We all have vivid childhood memories, stored in our heads, snapshots of a previous life which when analysed as an adult may not be quite as we remember. One such memory was reawakened on a visit to my parents in October. In my dad's barn is kept a wide array of useless objects which have been collected over his lifetime (he's now 78) and which came into his possession, not for their value, but because noone else could find a use for them. Everything from 'pale mushroom' paint, - (we had a spate when everything that needed painting had a liberal coat, thankfully I think it's all used up now! ) to bits of old turret clocks. Everything's in there, ends of farm sales, house sales, the detritis of people's lives. When all the best pickings had been sold, our barn became an archive of other people's left overs. This is not to say that my dad took on the semblage of a rag and bone man, he just couldn't resist anything that had a piece of wood attached to it. So it was that whilst being shown his latest creation that day back in October, I spied a sort of wooden box that had it's resting place ontop of another cupboard and was being used as a storage cabinet for all those odds and ends. On the side in dashing swirls was the owner's name, the faded markings belying the importance of the owner now long since dead. " H.E. Brassey 7th Hussars"
No comments:
Post a Comment