Tag Archives: Sunday

Writing 101 – Sunday for Tea

Day 10 and the challenge is :

Tell us about your favorite childhood meal the one that was always a treat, that meant  celebration, or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

Free free to focus on any aspect of the meal, from the food you ate to the people who were there to the event it marked.

Today’s twist: Tell the story in your own distinct voice.

For this challenge I decided to reblog a post I wrote a couple of years ago at the beginning of this journey into the world of blogs.

I choose how I will spend the rest of my life

Sunday for tea
I’ll see you Sunday for tea
And though it’s not far away
Each hour’s a day to me

Lettuce and ham
Or maybe crumpets and jam
Oh baby it’ll be fun
Havin’ a Sunday tea

So sang Peter and Gordon in the 1960s.

For our family Sunday afternoon tea was a ritual.  The whole family that is Grandma and Poppy, their two sons and daughter, their spouses and the 9 grandchildren regularly met on Sunday at Grandma and Poppy’s apartment.

While the adults talked and discussed whatever adults discussed, the 8 granddaughters and the sole grandson amused themselves as children did then. We played cards, dominoes, monopoly  and other childish games that our grandchildren would not think of playing today.

DominoesPlaying cards

Dice

The adults would of course, have cups of tea while catching up on the gossip.  They all lived near each other, in fact my grandparents lived in…

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I Gotta Horse

Saturday was our day for visiting the market with mother to get supplies for the week.  Our local market was in Ridley Road and I have written about street markets before – if you are interested in my meanderings here is the link – Down Memory Lane.

But Sundays we were taken to another market by father and here we discovered Prince Monolulu and his catchcry “I gotta horse”.   Prince Monolulu (real name was Peter Mackay) was a huge, larger than life West Indian gent togged out in his finery and offering tips on the horses to anyone who would listen.  He made his money selling tips, handed over in sealed envelopes.  As there were few immigrants in London at the time, and this flamboyant person in both speech and dress was a figure of great interest to the three little girls and I suppose, most of the other people who came into contact with him.  He was a well-recognised character at most of the racetracks from the 1930s to the 1950s but of course, we never were taken to the racetrack.

Petticoat Lane was where we first came across him and where he was to be found most Sundays.  He was easily recognisable in his outrageous clothes and usually sporting a hat of high feathers.  All the colours of the rainbow could be seen in his clothing.  While Petticoat Lane has become a tourist destination for those visiting the capital, for us it was a place to be taken by father while mother prepared the Sunday lunch.  The stalls here were full of clothes, shoes etc a delight to three young girls who could look enviously but not buy.

But more exciting for us was the nearby Brick Lane market – often confused with Petticoat Lane.  Here were the costermongers selling their wares.  Everything from beautiful fresh fruit and vegetables to clothes, china, kitchenware, jewellery etc etc.  And there did seem to be a lot of stalls selling bath towels and sheets and pillowcases.  Of course the fruit and vegetables were fresh as they only sold what was in season.  No transporting of produce around the world then or at least not for those of us who lived in the East End.

There were always puppies and older dogs for sale and in fact when we moved from the flat to the house this is where father bought our first dog – Tex the Alsatian.  I am not sure that this was such a good choice at first.  Three little girls who were unused to having pets and suddenly we had an Alsatian.  But we quickly grew to love him and to realise that he wouldn’t hurt us but woe betides anyone who came too near when we were out with him.  He was a very large, gentle animal and while I don’t remember how long we had him it seemed that he was our constant companion while we were growing up.

We must all have been living at home when Tex died because I recall my elder sister going to the Lane and buying Micky a Heinz 57 Variety dog whom we all immediately fell in love with.  However, Mickey turned out to be Michelle and subsequently had a litter of beautiful pups.  There was great consternation when it was discovered “he” was pregnant and many hours spent wondering when this happened as “he” rarely went out without us.  So we had to find homes for all these puppies – I think there were 4 or 5.  They were so cute that we had no trouble re-homing them but mother declared there would be no more pups and had the dog neutered.  But my how mother loved that little dog who was her constant companion when the girls and father were all out all day at work or at the weekends, at play.  There was a series of dogs that followed in the footsteps of Tex and Micky after we left home but I don’t think any were as loved as were those two.

I do remember that father had a Dalmatian who was deaf and so was kept on a short lead when father walked him just in case..  And mother had a particularly bad-tempered Corgi who would nip at the children’s’ ankles whenever it had the chance.

So many memories of an East End childhood that I want to share as things are so very different now and if we don’t record our memories they will be lost as are the memories of my parents and grandparents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sunday Morning

It’s 9.45pm on Sunday night and I have absolutely no idea what to blog about today.  So I will turn to Prompts and Practices in Judy Reeves’ “A Creative Writer’s Kit” for inspiration.  Today is February 12 and she suggests Write Your Morning

Well the day started as usual around 6.45am – why does this early wakening dog me even though I now no longer have a reason to waken this early?  Obviously, because of the many years of having to be awake this early my mind and body have become accustomed and have formed a habit.

On getting up and attending to the bathroom requirements, the next thing is get Madam awake.  She doesn’t stir while all this activity is going on around her.  I guess she thinks if she is quiet and still she might get a couple more hours of sleep.  But hey the sun is shining, the wind is absent and perhaps the powers that be have suddenly realised that it is summer here.

Lotte in bed

So a shower, breakfast and then a short walk out into this lovely day.  Only a short walk because I have to attend an Open Home with my Real Estate Agent friend at 11 am.  Once home Madam settles down to sleep almost as if she knows it is Sunday and she will be left to her own devices for a couple of hours.

And so to the Open Home.  Only one today which is very unusual but my friend has been away for a couple of days in Sydney, Australia following a successful few weeks of selling.   So we each arrive independently and put out fresh flowers; make sure the beds are made tidily, the bathrooms look spik and span   But where are the purchasers?  Nobody arrives and we spend the next 45 minutes sitting in this very pleasant family house catching up on what we have each been doing for the past few days.

Then we pack up; lock up the house and take off for a ‘well deserved’ coffee in a local coffee shop.  Not a busy morning or a particularly fruitful one but it was my Sunday morning.

Weekends don’t count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless. 
Bill Watterson
1958 –