Post by buhi on Dec 8, 2016 7:20:02 GMT 7
My father who should be in heaven.
A ramble.
My father and I were not close. I know now why I hardly knew him as a child. The war had taken its toll on him. A young man experienced the horrors. As had his father before, in the great war. A stetcher bearer on the front line. Neither ever spoke to me about it until I was old enough to take it in.
My father was never there for me. Why? He worked all hours to earn money to buy us out of the gutter. He would never borrow money, would only pay for everything in hard cash. His father had taught him that. He saved to buy the house, the good house away from the gutter. The one person he would allow to lend him money was his father. He paid it back.
Hence I had a good home, but missed on having a father. Probably very true of many.
We had a house with a bathroom and flush toilet. Our previous abode had no bathroom and an outside privy. I was spared the winter chills of using it as I was under five and had a toilet made by my father, a commode.
Thus my childhood from five years on, was in a very nice home. My own room, a bathroom, hot water, and flush toilet.
At twelve I went to France on an exchange. It was mentioned about travel opening eyes.
I stayed with a family who were not poor by the standards of the time. Had a small shop in the market.
This was post war France, not the highly developed country it is now. The streets were an open sewer.
The "rest room" was a square hole in a concrete slab outside. I can smell it as I write.
I had been spared anything like this before, my father's commode.
I had no idea how to shit in it. Could not.
Fortunately my sister was staying with another family who had a slightly better hole in the ground , a ceramic one. You will still see the same in Thailand. I could manage to deficate in that one.
One night the French food caught up with me. I had to use the stinking hole. I think I held my breath for minutes, but it seemed like hours. Nearly passed out.
I learnt at a very early age of differences.
Were these people inferior, did they not want to live with a bathroom, hot water, flush toilet? Were they pikeys?
Not their choice.
A very good early lesson in life.
A ramble.
My father and I were not close. I know now why I hardly knew him as a child. The war had taken its toll on him. A young man experienced the horrors. As had his father before, in the great war. A stetcher bearer on the front line. Neither ever spoke to me about it until I was old enough to take it in.
My father was never there for me. Why? He worked all hours to earn money to buy us out of the gutter. He would never borrow money, would only pay for everything in hard cash. His father had taught him that. He saved to buy the house, the good house away from the gutter. The one person he would allow to lend him money was his father. He paid it back.
Hence I had a good home, but missed on having a father. Probably very true of many.
We had a house with a bathroom and flush toilet. Our previous abode had no bathroom and an outside privy. I was spared the winter chills of using it as I was under five and had a toilet made by my father, a commode.
Thus my childhood from five years on, was in a very nice home. My own room, a bathroom, hot water, and flush toilet.
At twelve I went to France on an exchange. It was mentioned about travel opening eyes.
I stayed with a family who were not poor by the standards of the time. Had a small shop in the market.
This was post war France, not the highly developed country it is now. The streets were an open sewer.
The "rest room" was a square hole in a concrete slab outside. I can smell it as I write.
I had been spared anything like this before, my father's commode.
I had no idea how to shit in it. Could not.
Fortunately my sister was staying with another family who had a slightly better hole in the ground , a ceramic one. You will still see the same in Thailand. I could manage to deficate in that one.
One night the French food caught up with me. I had to use the stinking hole. I think I held my breath for minutes, but it seemed like hours. Nearly passed out.
I learnt at a very early age of differences.
Were these people inferior, did they not want to live with a bathroom, hot water, flush toilet? Were they pikeys?
Not their choice.
A very good early lesson in life.
