Our house in Southwell Square seemed to be a centre for my fathers friends. This is one of my strong memories of my childhood. I recall men always popping around, staying for tea with some of my Mum’s renowned chocolate cake or occasionally for Sunday dinner. Many were on their way to the Broadway pub, around the corner. I recall very few of them as individuals and never knew their names, apart from Reg Brotton. We all knew him as Reg, but it turns out his name was Arthur and was around 3 years younger than my Dad. I have photo’s of him and Dad around somewhere, which I will add to the blog when discovered.
Then, over time they stopped coming around. I don’t know why I remember this but I’d hear my Mum and Dad mention, in somewhat hushed tones, that such and such had left the area, which I worked out was a euphemism that they had died. This was the late 1950’s into the 60’s, when lung cancer started to take its toll of men in their 30-40’s who had been through the effects of the second world war and perhaps Korean War. Everybody smoked, sharing your cigarettes with everybody else around was what you did. I’ve looked at the stats and it did happen.
There may be some other reason, perhaps some did leave the area, but Im sure the War and National Service continued to take its toll of younger men well into my youth.
I don’t know why this thought crossed my mind and I thought it worth musing about, but its always been there in my memories; where did my Dad’s friends go?
My Cardboard Castle 