Oh here I go again . . .
Recalling my childhood of seventy years ago brings back images of a different time, the way things are nowadays, a different place too.
Winters. The seasons do seem to have become milder. Yet, back in those days there was no central heating. Post war was a time of shortage. Food was in small portions. Carpets were virtually non-existent, fitted carpets had never existed. The floor was cold, the walls were cold, the air around was cold. Water, anywhere, froze over. There was a very small fire, which did not warm anything more than a yard (a metre) away.
You didn’t undress to go to bed. You went to bed fully clothed, then as the bed warmed up you might remove an item. In the morning you stayed in bed, putting on clothes and waiting for them to warm up. Then you would slowly emerge, putting a foot onto freezing cold lino and unwillingly pulled yourself out of the warm bed into the chill of the world. Your breath emerged as clouds of water vapour (I won’t call it steam - that implies warmth). You couldn’t see through the window, it was covered in a sheet of ice, on the inside. Puddles of ice and water lay on the window sill. Washing was a very, very quick splash of cold water.
Trudging to school in wellingtons on snow and slush, cold toes, knees poking out beneath shorts, kneecaps mottled blue and pink as were the backs of hands and fingers. Mum shouting ‘Come back here and put your scarf on, it’s cold’. She was right, the scarf was cold. All clothing was cold until you’d had it on for a bit. In school the radiators were so hot they burnt you if you accidentally touched them. No health and safety, but you only did it once, that was enough.
I’ll leave you there. It was probably, if not comfy, the most warm place in those cold times.
