Not surprising then, as a "Bulge Baby" all my stories are historical and located in the heart of the East End - known now as Tower Hamlets and/or “The Isle of Dogs”.
At the close of World War 2, Dad was de-mobilized from the navy. He'd spent five dangerous years at sea and was eager to start a new life with Mum. They'd lost everything in the Blitz; their house, furniture, belongings and possessions. All those precious photographs and letters had all gone up in a puff of smoke. Still, my parents were alive and together and that was what mattered.
My aunts and uncles were a musical bunch with fine singing voices and threw lots of parties. My cousins and I loved listening to the grown ups getting merry as we huddled in our den beneath the table watching various sets of feet trip past accompanied by howls of laughter.
Dad and Mum developed itchy feet once more, but this time we headed south. I was sent to a small school on the coast where the nuns were kind and softly spoken, quite a contrast to my lively family background. One of the nuns, Sister Patricia, sat at a fabulous oak desk and daily placed a thick, creamy candle to burn on its leather surface. As she called the register the liquid wax bubbled down the sides and the bright blue Parker ink oozed from her fountain pen. Her longhand flowed effortlessly across the page and I was hooked! I can still smell the candle, hear the rustle of the register page and see her beautiful slim fingers clasped around the pen. Now I often burn a scented candle as I write and I still arrange my desk, books to the left, pens and pencils to the right.
I wasn't a wild child but I adored the Beatles. All my memories of falling in love are synonymous with their songs. Marriage and children followed, combined with scribbling, diaries, doodles, little stories and big ones, recording the tales that had drifted down under the table when I was a child.
Thanking you for joining me here on my blog pages and I hope to see you again.
As always, much love Carol XX