spectacles on 34th Suffolk Road

Miracle on 34 Suffolk Road

I looked at my beautiful grand daughter, in her Nativity Play with tears in my eyes that no one can see, as I have become so very professional at only crying on the inside, this I learned as a child.  My dad spotted it, when I was about six.  He was in the garden permorming miracles with machines..and he said 
 " I know you are crying!"
how did he know ?
" you are crying on the inside, ...I do that too"
I had never noticed that, as he was always the hero, always right, always did things like make cupboards and build walls and sheds, always had the answer to everything.  Sometimes though, he was wrong, he slapped my leg in the car, as he thought I was crying on the godamn outside, as I had my head on my arm leaning on the window with my eyes shut.
"what you done that for ?" I said
" you are mardy because I told you off, you can just stop that "
" No I'm not..I'm playing a game..it's guess where we are, you close your eyes and plan the route in you head..no I'm not crying"
" Oh I'm sorry"
" and I won't cry because you slapped my leg either, I will cry when I chose"
think that' how it started..I can't cry, I can only cry when things really really cut me up, pain doesnt even reach that point either..but the holy sweetness of innocent smiling children hits me harder than a mans fat hand slapping a chlds leg..Forgive each other's mistakes, I can also be mardy on the inside too, I think mardyness is more enduring that tears and it's best to keep it to yourself rather that put it on display.  I can do that, I can do that for years and years.  In the throng of proud parents and grandparents I sat with a smile born from rememberence and admiration for the little lambs in my view.  Beautiful clear eyes and radient skin without blemishes on their pure souls, singing their hearts out, little Christmas sparrows full of energy, full of life in it's infancy... and I remembered me at this age in the times gone past.
   It was Christmas day, and so very cold tucked up under woolen blankets and crotched throws.  There was no heating upstairs, only a coal fire in the living room down below, that heated one small tank of water, which would not be still hot overnight unless someone had lit the fire early in the morning.  If it was really cold, their would be ice on the inside of the windows, probably from the condensation generated in the night from breathing, it would stick to the cold glass and freeze, my lip gloss froze overnight in my bedroom once.  Throwing back the bedclose we risked one foot on the linoleum, or oil cloth, gaily painted it was, we had a few rugs down so it wasn't so cold.  I always used to  bang on my  brothers door just to wake him up of a morning.  Specky four-eyes..he would just smile like a japanese unscruitable soldier and tell me I was spoilt.  I used to look at myself and think, well where am I spoilt, I am just as I am.  I didnt understand what part he thought was spoilt but I guess he was talking 'on the inside' .  On the inside I was just perfectly me, what ever makes you unique it was there at that time, the real me.  Other's came along an left their tractor marks across my heart, other's.  I am now on the landing about to perform like female Tarzon down the spiral staircase, my mother has forbidden me to do this, hence it is perogative that I do.  I swing down it like a pole dancer in the making, so easy I go downstairs just using my arms and my feet don't touch the floor.  I remember one time my brother was late for work.  I was already up and at the bottom of the stairs.  I had shouted him, he came hurling from the top of the landing and landed full pelt on the upturned prongs of  the sewing machine plug  which had been left at the bottom of the stairs.  Progress has it's drawbacks.  The dance that he performed was a specticle that will always remain in my brain. .. and he perfomed it without making a sound, as my dad was in bed off nights and that would be like waking the ogre from death...I could not master laughing inside, I could not.  I was almost flat out myself as I had witnessed this take place like a film before my eyes .  I did remove myself from the hall so that I didn't wake up the ogre from his bed.  Scenes seem to play before me and I feel honoured to  witness them.  They are like scenes from comedy sketches.  My little sister was once really poorly in bed.  Sibling rivalry I also kept that inside.  We were always treated the same, so where my brother gets the notion that I am spoilt I don't know.  Anyways, my older sister, the first born, was fussing around my little sister who was laid up in bed, being outright mardy and wingy, and I was just stood there at the side watching it all occur.  I am sure my older sister missed her vocation, she should have become  a nurse as she was doing a perfect job of caring for my little sister in bed, who was probably about five,  she offered her drinks, fussed around the bed clothes, was being really sweet as I stood like a little imp besided the bed, wondering if she would have done that for me, but she would I know, I know her spirit she is the most caring and sympathetic female that I know,
"let me bring you some biscuits"
" no, I'm ok"
" I will bring some biscuits'
off she went and returned with a plate,
" I don't want them"
" I will put them here"  she put them at the bottom of the bed on the sheet.
Then she fussed about a bit, like Florence Nightingale.  I didn't know if I was jelous or what, these basal feelings come from nowhere and spout like fountains out of control.  She was just about to leave as I still stood at the side of the bed.
" let me straighten the bed clothes"
and the took the bottom blanket  and flapped it..the plate flew up in the air and hit my little sister square in the face.  Did I laugh ? did I,  yes I did because I saw it from the side.  Boy  did she howl, my big sister was Florence Nightingale times two after that.  I had to leave because it wasn't nice to laugh.  Beware of overdoing kindness, it can backfire on you like a biscuit from outer space.
Well it was Christmas now.  We had a few wrapped presents under the tree.  All four of us, with our names on.  Mostly we got one present that we asked for, a bike or a dolls house or whatever we fancied.  My sister asked for a pony once but she didnt get that.  We always had paint boxes and selection boxes .  I used to eat mine that day, my brother used to save his for months till we ate it out of spite.  The Christmas dinner was always the focal point.  Mum would cook it single handedly, that was the mother's obligation on this day.  The Turkey always seemed so big back then.  There was always brussel sprouts, and lovely white sauce with onions in it.      I  can not stand bread sauce it makes me feel sick.  My mother's stuffing was always cooked in a tray, and was crispy.  I ate this with the onion sauce, my mother always gave me extra as she knew I loved it.  When it came to carving the bird, my dad would ask if we wanted breast or leg. My two sisters always had breast, and I had leg.
" a whole leg ?"
" yes a whole leg"
they looked at me, and my dad put a whole leg on my plate.
" you better eat that!"
I immediatley wished I had not have said it, as it was hanging off my plate either side.
" I will eat it"...but I didn't.  I could feel a lecture coming on, and a very big lesson.. Something told me I am a lot smarter than what they give me credit for.
" I will eat it, but not all at once, save it for me and I will eat it at tea"...phew, I was eating it for three days.  It wasn't till  a couple of years later I saw something like this in a film with John Mills in - The Family Way, where he made his daughter eat a plate of sardines for a week.  I did laugh, and I remembered that Christmas with the turkey leg ordeal.  Which reminds me, be careful what you wish for, as it might just come true.
merry christmas..