FOWC with Fandango: Carry

Me, mum and dad

I was always tall for my age, even as a 3-4 year old. Here I am on the left with mum and dad dressed in the style of the early fifties, almost like Princess Anne of England, although the quality of the coat was probably not the same.

It was a working class family: dad with he customary cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and mum next to him. We were on holiday in Blackpool, a sea resort in North England. In those days you didn’t walk around in the bathing dress in the street or wear sandals with bare feet, it was all nice and neat.

And note, no-one was carrying me, that is until it was necessary, generally to do with the financial situation One of mum and dad’s favourite outings on holiday was a visit to the local horse racing course if there was one.  I do not think Blackpool had one, but we would often go on holiday to Great Yarmouth and sometimes a day out near London if there was a race

Mum and dad always took me with them. It was when we approached the entrance to the racing track where we had to pay at the cash desk. There was always a notice saying “children in arms free”. This was the signal for mum to struggle and pick me up and carry me into the stadium, because if she carried me the entrance was free.I was not really heavy, just rather large with long legs and arms and of course, I was not very happy about this. I felt stupid, but saving an entrance price with a child in arms was worth it. I remember my uncle and aunt, who had twin boys, often came with us and all three of us were being carried. I do not think any of us were very happy, but so was life in the fifties.

FOWC with Fandango: Carry

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