It's the Spring of 1964 and I've just arrived home after a little rough and tumble down the park at the end of the road, probably instigated by the lad across at No.13 ringing the doorbell and, with all the innocence he could muster, asking Mum '...is Swede playing out?' My shirt hangs loose from beneath a favourite cardigan, one that I will outgrow within a matter of weeks. The wellies are still on and a plaster just above my left knee covers the most recent scrape in a childhood full of scuffs, cuts and grazes. Look at that face though - properly over-excited. The reason? It's right behind me. While I was out, Dad (and probably Uncle Ivor) had installed a full sized swing at the bottom of the garden - a swing! Actually at this point it's just the metal frame cemented into the ground, but the all important hanging bit would materialise shortly afterwards. The swing's arrival was a complete surprise and I'm impishly as pleased as punch about it.
On and off for a handful of young summers, that swing at the end of the garden was central to my world. The frame alone became a mini-chicane as I careered around the garden on a succession of scooters and bikes, it also formed the goalposts for a thousand kickabouts (reducing Mum's grass to a muddy swamp in the process) and it substituted as a Bat-pole for my imaginary adventures as the Caped Crusader. All this in addition to being a, y'know, swing!
I've no idea (and irritatingly never thought to ask) how Dad acquired this magical plaything that made me the envy of my infant school pals and equally I have absolutely no recollection of it being dug up and removed from the garden a few years down the line, after I'd outgrown it it. The scruffy little scamp in the photo couldn't give a hoot about the details though. What larks he's going to have.
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9 comments:
It's so good to see another post from you, Swede, and always worth the wait.
A wonderful reminiscence and a credit to your parents for the commitment to the swing, cementing in the frame and all. It must have been an equally significant task of hard graft digging it up, years later.
But all those happy memories in between. Worth every moment.
Did your parents ever sneak a go on the swing?
Good to see you back.
We had a swing too, it took up half the back garden of our semi. I don't think the workmanship was as good as yours though. If only we had known Uncle Ivor.
As Khayem said - it's great to see you back on the blog and following your memories.
How lovely to see you here again - and what a wonderful post. You lucky thing too - I'd have loved a swing, my favourite piece of playground equipment (slides were a bit scary and roundabouts a bit dull). Hours of fun to be had just going back and forth on repeat on those things (oh we were so easily pleased, weren't we?!)
Lovely photo TS and some lovely words from you that evoke memories of a sixties childhood. A simple thing a swing, but as you say, you would have made you the envy of your pals back then.
I remember being in awe of the kids who lived next door but one - they had an air raid shelter in their back garden. An AIR RAID SHELTER!
You've been missed Swede!
I'm sure Dad would've given the swing a trial run Khayem, though sadly the moment wasn't captured for posterity!
Ernie: Yes, the swing was an extremely solid job. I can't believe I never thought to enquire as to its origin and now of course there's no-one left to ask.
Walter: Thanks pal.
C: By virtue of its location, if I (or anyone else having a go) swung too exuberantly, there was a good chance of ending up in a small hedge, particularly as it grew fuller during the summer. It happened on a fairly regular basis as I got older...and larger!
Alyson: Yes, for a time the standard asking if I was 'playing out' was replaced by 'can I come round yours...?'
JM: When we were nippers it was less than 20 years after the end of the war. My Nan still had a gas mask and tin hat hanging in her cellar and I can vividly remember Dad pointing out bombsites as we walked around central London.
CC: Thanks, I've missed you lot too.
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