Me throw a tantrum, a fit, show off, ignore everyone – no never, well almost never. Of course as a kid I suppose I did annoy mum from time to time, but she never really understood the principles of child psychology. There was only one remedy to hysterical screams and feet stamping, and that was a firm hand on a tender part. No, not very often, no reason to accuse my parents of being aggressive, they just were not prepared for revolution.
I was about 6 years old and remember it as if it was yesterday. I was shopping with mum for the daily food and we were in the Bethnal Green Road in London, where the stalls were selling the fruit and vegetable. There were also shops and mum had to get the daily bread in the bakers. It must have been the early fifties, and supermarkets with everything you need were then only at the beginnings, and probably only across the pond in the States. So we entered the bakers, which was also a cake shop. For some time I had seen their prize piece in the window. It was proably a special cake for a birthday or some sort of celebration. It really looked good. I can see it as if it was yesterday.
It was basically covered in white icing and the top had a raised piece where various roases were peeping out. I do not even know if it was just a model or the real thing, but it looked so good. The roses were in different colours and the cover had been decorated with twirls and whirls. Mum said I could have a cake and I naturally though she meant a real king sized cake like the one in the window, and not the common custard creams or doughnuts. I said I would like that one and pointed to the masterpiece in the window. That was when mum made a mistake, although she still blames me, for some unknown reason. She said firmly “No, you can have a doughnut”. Tears welled up in my eyes and my voice increased in volume. She took me by the hand and we left the shop, or did she drag me out. I began to scream a real 200% hissy fit. To be quite honest, I did not know myself that I was capable.
She then dragged me long the road to home, which was not far away, me still thinking that the end of the world was nigh and I really thought that when she says you can have a cake she means a real cake and not one of the cheap imitations.
We arrived home and we had to climb the stairs, as we lived on the top floor. Grandad lived downstairs. There were 11 stairs. This was really something to the extent that after telling dad, she related the event to my Aunt Lil who lived opposite with Uncle Arthur. Yes, for every step we took on the stair she attacked my private part with her hand and gave a running commentary. Did it hurt? Not really, I was still wallowing in disappointment not getting the cake I had seen in the shop. This cake was not new, it had been there for some time. I had been planning on this fulfilment of my cake dreams for some time. Some times parents just do not understand their children.