What an amazing response to my request for women willing to share their memories of post war Britain. Thanks to the power of social media, I have had 500 hits on my website in 48 hours, several new followers – who may not be aware quite what they have let themselves in for – and willing, enthusiastic volunteers. I still need more and will be seeking to address the sample balance that currently favours those from the south-east. Strangely a third of my volunteers are called Lyn/Lynne/Linda and there’s me thinking everyone of my generation was called Janet!
Partly in order to come up with a snappier title for the project (and eventual book) than 1946-1969, I have asked volunteers what epitomises that era for them. Many have made references to freedom and rebellion, alongside family security. I can’t wait to get started.
I have been diverted from my immersion in the 1950s and 1960s by the need to put the finishing touches to my day course on early C20th family and community history, scheduled for Friday. A fair chunk of this relates to the first world war so it was good to take part in the Society for One Place Studies’ Hangout on Air on researching communities in world war 1.
The building work has ground to a halt whilst the brick work dries out in preparation for the erection of the glass bits. ‘Dries out’? Has anyone looked at the weather forecast? Mature fishermen of my acquaintance are muttering that they have never seen such high tides. The swimming pool that will one day be my conservatory floor now has a deep end and a very deep end. You can see wonderful reflections of trees and yes I even managed to dodge builders and rain to get the washing out.
The lack of a letter box (yes I know I have mentioned this before) has proved troublesome. This week I retrieved my post from various puddles and drains down the road when the temporary post box blew open and the contents blew out. I am now drying my train tickets to get me to Who Do You Think You Are? Live and my Race for Life sponsorship form on the Rayburn.
Those of us who are currently dwelling on the post war era are recalling that women of the time knitted and sewed and generally made things. Grandmotherhood has done something to reawaken my latent (and they are pretty well buried) craft skills. I can knit reasonably well but apart from an annual village sponsored knit (strictly squares only) I haven’t knitted for decades. I may have been somewhat put off by creating, at great personal effort, an arran jumper for a boyfriend who then promptly departed the scene. So far I have produced two sets of bunting (not knitted – that would be weird), which seem to have turned out ok and one set of booties, oh and a knitted hippo. Well, the latter is still in pieces and the instructions for sewing various parts together are a little unclear but it may turn out to look like a hippo in the end. With this in mind I went to order stuffing via a well known online retailer. I found 1 kilo for £6.49. The same make was available at £5.99 for 2 kg – looking like a no brainer. Then I spot that 4 kg of the same product is £6. I hesitate to order 4 kg, this stuff is pretty light, just how big is 4 kg going to be? I have been caught like this before. When I first left home I bought bacon and was blissfully unaware of just how much bacon weighed. I can’t remember how much I purchased but I did have bacon three times a day for a very long while.