Memories Part II


A few days ago, I read a post on a blog where an American Lady, living down under, began to miss Thanksgiving.   I would recommend to any person to pop over to Housewifedownunder’s blog and have a read, because she writes such inspiring blog posts and spends time interacting with her readers.

Her blog is one of my daily port of calls with regards to which blogs I always pop over and read. Anyway back to what I want to speak about… We got into a conversation about Brits and the traditional Sunday Dinner and how we make a fuss of it and to her it seemed like it was our weekly Thanksgiving.

It got me thinking about Sundays now and the Sundays I remember as a child and I have come to the grave conclusion they are not the same and they definitely don’t hold the same values as they used to do in my parents’ younger years.  Our lives over the generations seem to have taken on a whole new meaning… now the traditional Sunday Dinner with family has been thrown out of the window.  We are either spending Sundays roaming around some shopping centre or glued to the TV watching the racing.

I can remember as a child that Sunday would be the day my dad wore his best bib and tucker.. he would shave, wear a shirt, smart trousers and would class Sunday as a day of rest.

My nan was bedridden with rheumatoid arthritis and therefore could not go out to visit her sons and daughters for dinner, so the family came to her.  My aunt and uncle lived with her and my granddad, and we would go up there for Sunday dinner.. my aunt would cook, my mum would set the table and my other aunt would do the clearing up.  The women mucked in to do the dinner, the kids played and the men retired to the pub.. to get out from under their feet was always the excuse.  The Prince of Wales definitely had a strong calling on a Sunday, that is sure because come rain or shine, the men always went there and my granddad would always bring back a bottle of stout for my nan.

After a couple of beverages the men folk would return and dinner would be served and nan drank her medicinal bottle of stout.  There was laughter, fun and such enjoyment… and it was like Christmas minus the presents, tree and the coconut mat that was always rolled up for the dancing to begin.. after a quick game of postman’s knock or pin the tail on the donkey.  It was a time that families spent time together.. and nobody would even contemplate going to the shops other than to get the Sunday Morning papers..

It seems to me now, that as time has evolved, those traditions have now faded.  Sometimes I long for those days.. even though I am happy as a pig in **** with my life; those memories still hold a special place in my heart.

Whether things are not the same now because families are smaller in size, (my god in those days having 5 or 6 children was classed as a small family… some went on to have 7 or maybe 9) or whether families are spread all around the world I don’t know.  But it has changed.. and when I think deeply about it, I think it is a change that I don’t really like. Family to me, as a child, seemed to live close by, with each and every one of them within walking distance… relatives would pop in and Sunday’s were treated with respect.  I can remember people being upset when my Uncle decided to move to Scotland, it was a case of either move there or take demotion… and that is something my Uncle didn’t want.

Even though he spent some years abroad, in Singapore to be precise, there was always that knowing that one day he would be back, close to the home he was born in and back close to his family.. but moving to Scotland permanently was so definite, it seemed so final. It seemed so far away.  Nowadays people jump on and off of trains and planes and Scotland is just a couple of hours away by plane but back in those days, it was like going to the end of the earth.  But back in those days, it didn’t feel so close.

The Sunday Lunch is still there, and it catered for in pubs but honestly it is just not the same now… Sometimes I yearn to return to the good old days… when neighbours were neighbours, people looked out for each other and kids were allowed to be kids and they were allowed to play outside.

I used to laugh when my parents would say about the good old days, and how things have changed and they longed for those good old days… I vowed as a young woman that I would never be like that, no way was I going to harp on about the past.  But I have found as the years have been rolling by and believe me, the years seem to be passing by with such speed, I too am now thinking more about the past and missing it and wishing I could roll the clock back just one more time.

Memories….

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Bren

Bren Ryan is a female amateaur photographer who along with her husband, Ashley, have created a photography blog called RyanPhotography showcasing the places they visited places on their Photography journey. Bren and Ashley primarily concentrate their photographic skills to landscape, architecture and floral subjects. Based in the South East of England they hope to give their readers an insight to the wonderful landscapes, buildings and places to visit in the South of England and beyond.

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