John Nash: Just a thought

Just a thought…

John Nash is a retired, well sort of retired, fruit farm manager in Kirdford who enjoys scribbling about life on the farm from the now to days gone by.

In the throws of the last two years of this pandemic, I’m sure, like me, you’ve had plenty of time to sit and reminisce. Times you’ve enjoyed over the years – birthdays, weddings, holidays –and sadly, even losing loved ones.

It’s the brighter side though that I want to look back on here; there’s been enough gloom. So, let’s have a little of the lighter side of life.

For those of you who have a few years tucked under your belts, you must, like me, find the speed of change in the world around us accelerating at a rate that can bewilder and confuse with ever increasing regularity.

For a quick example, in the last year and a half I’ve carried virtually no cash in my pockets at all! A small piece of plastic, flashed over an equally small black box, has allowed me to shop with pockets devoid of anything other than a screwed up piece of tissue and my car keys. A slight change from pre-decimal days when you walked with a distinct lean to one side as the weight of a quid’s worth of coppers could jangle noisily away in your heavily reinforced trouser pocket.

Childhood has altered too. The average baby now is born, and for a short while gurgles and burbs in equal amounts, and then by the time he or she attends primary school, childhood has passed them by and technology has become their mantra. “No Gramps, you’ve got to press the hash key!”–this from the five-year-old!

It was so much simpler once upon a time. Let’s see how much you can recall of those days.

For me, I grew up on a brand new estate. Built post-war to house the baby boom that had for some reason occurred when the men came home on leave from the forces. The place was full of us scruffy little devils. Short trousers, socks around the ankles, and shirts covered by jumpers knitted by doting grannies. The short trousers stayed on average until voices were on the point of breaking , or college beckoned. (Although the fact that clothing was rationed may have played a large part.)

We played in the car-less streets until we were called in for bed and with double summer time operating this could be nearly ten o’clock if we were lucky. Various games rotated through the year with their own time period; they each had their own season. I never did figure out who decided the start or stop time but it was set in stone that it would happen. Marbles, fag cards, five stones (dabs), conkers, and pavements marked with the chalk boxes of hop scotch.

There was street entertainment from a few hawkers too. The rag and bone man was an eagerly awaited participant. His flatbed cart pulled by a reluctant horse was a regular. For an armful of old clothing he would offer either a couple of balloons or a small goldfish in a bag. We always chose the goldfish, and then shed tears as it was flushed down the loo a couple of days later after it had floated upside down to the surface of its improvised container (usually a large jam jar at best). You will notice no doubt that I haven’t mentioned the girls here yet. There’s a very good reason. We were, I’m sorry to admit, completely oblivious to them being the opposite sex! If there’s one thing that illustrates the speed that the modern male child grows in maturity over us old foggies it’s their recognition of girls! Ye Gods! They brag about their girlfriends at four, and by the time they reach teenage years are fully conversant in all aspects of the other gender. Sigh! Never mind, once we did cotton on, we did our best!

All this said. I am in some ways envious of the modern child. I now look back on all the wonderful innovations that have been made in my time, and wonder at what the future has hidden up its sleeve for them to experience.

I’m reminded of that old TV programme, Tomorrow’s World, hosted then by the wonderful Raymond Baxter. I can still recall him showing us the first hand-held adding machine and later that first mobile phone that resembled in its proportions and appearance a great big house brick! How things have changed since then. What wonders await our grandchildren in the years before them!

Thankfully we can at last see a light at the end of the tunnel. A chance to return to a fairly normal life. Once more we can travel, meet friends, marry, and even leave this world with a crowd in attendance.

So, remember these times my friends, especially you younger folk. Store away in the depths of your minds the many events that you experience as time passes by. Log those words that your loved ones have said to you and enjoy the memories that make up the passing years. Think of it rather like a patchwork quilt, with every memory a square that’s stitched into place as it occurs. Something you can then look at in future times and recall the memory that each square brings. Some are easy to spot, while some get faded or the edges blurred. No matter. Just pray that quilt gets to be a darn great big one! John Nash