Daily Prompt: Heroic

When you were five years old, who was your hero? What do you think of that person today?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us a HERO.

Me and girl from lodgings on a pony about 5 years old

I suppose the hero was the pony at the time of the photo. Mum and dad did not have a lot of money and annual holiday for a factory worker like dad were just a week per year. They did their best and so we were off to Blackpool, a seaside resort in England. There was no money for a caravan, a fancy hotel or even a holiday apartment, so it was bed and breakfast somewhere in a large house. It was not allowed to be in the house during the day so hopes were for for good weather with no rain. At least I saw the sea and the Blackpool Tower. Living in London at the time in 1950 there were still ruined buildings from the war and food was still rationed. A holiday away from the smells, dust and dirt of London was welcomed, even if it was only Blackpool.

I can remember the holiday as the owner of the boarding house had a little girl about my age and mum and dad would often take her with us as company for me I suppose. I have a faint memory of the pony ride on the beach. I wonder if the pony remembers me.

I think at the time I did not even realise that there was another sort of human. It was pre-television and the heroes were not yet born to be worshipped. Mum and dad would take me to the pics on Friday evening, and my film life was filled with Abbott and Costello and Walt Disney. I probably had dreams of being Cinderella, wearing nice big fluffy dresses, and losing my glass shoe somewhere on the way home from the ball. Unfortunately I was at the short white sock age, and the glass production of slippers only existed in fairy land; princes were few and far between.

I remember a boy named Keith that lived in our street and a few games of kiss chase, but he was faster than me and so that was the end of what might had become a big romance. When I think of it, he would now be around 70 years old and I am convinced he would no longer recognise me. I suppose this would be an answer to the question what would you think of that person today? I even see photos of Mr. Swiss in 1950 and I do not think I would have looked twice if I had seen him, but who knows. Like the Hollywood films perhaps where time stands still, I see him from across the room and my heart begins to bounce double its normal pace, our eyes meet. No, I do not even think that the game of kiss chase existed in Switzerland, that is more an English thing. He is about eight years older than me, so he would have probably been more interested in learning how to play drums and I am sure the girls in his class were not wearing short white socks.

After this memorable holiday in Blackpool I began school at the age of five. It was a mixed class. I realised that boys were different to girls. They were a bit rougher and had short hair. They wore short trousers, and we girls wore dresses (with white socks and shoes).

So where were my heroes? I had no time for heroes, was too busy playing on bombed sites in the area where I grew up, exploring bombed out houses and having stone fights with another gang on the street. It is a wonder we were not seriously injured. The idea was you divided into two groups, picked up the next stone you found and threw it. Luckily our aim was not so wide and there were no serious injuries that I remember.

Life must have been boring with no electronic games, no x-box or whatever and even without television. You were just left to your own devices.  The word Blog did not even exist.

Daily Prompt: Heroic

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