We recently visited Sutton Hoo and nosed around the famous ship, or rather where the famous ship was buried. It left me wondering about the lives of those who sailed in it and their stories. Many travellers tales no doubt. We don’t have access to them now but I was left wondering about the good ship “Terry” and its passengers and crew. So I thought I’d people my imaginary vessel with my own “ghosts” and their possible tales. And ask your forgiveness for my obvious lack of any real knowledge of all things nautical.
In my imagination I went back to find those people and places from my seventy plus years. And to think a little of their impact on me at the time. And where on this boat we might find them.
My first passenger lives below decks in the hidden parts of the ship. This is God. Over the years his drum beat has set the pace and direction for much of my life. From prayers at bedtime with my mother to Billy Graham in my teens and twenties, the evangelical drum beat set the rhythm of my life. And still does in some ways – albeit to a different beat. I have to inform the deity that Freud et al have now taken over what was once God’s province. They make more sense and are much less judgemental. But still exercise quite an influence. So that’s below decks where all manner of things are stored.Things for which there is not a daily requirement but are necessary from time to time.
Next are the cabins, occupied by one or two women / girls from my early days. One houses Denise whom I remember as a delicate creature who found my birthday party too rough. She wanted no part of British Bulldog only to “sit and talk”. I remember her wearing a soft pink Angora cardigan and calling forth every ounce of chivalrous feeling I possessed aged seven. Her family were part of the furniture trade in Wycombe. The G plan range. So I imagine her cabin as sumptuously furnished with silks and fine wools. She was, I suppose, my first “therapy” patient. Aged seven. Freud eat your heart out! She had a friend Glynis whom I liked – and vice versa – but she was no match for my English rose.
Further along there are more cabins housing with three more boys from my school days, Stuart, Christopher and Ian. They must have made some impact on me but I struggle to remember what! Except that Ian was quick to lash out if provoked. I had several black eyes from him. I remember that he wore glasses which always gave him an unfair advantage! Why I invited him to my party I cannot now recall. I didn’t particularly like him nor he me. But he got an invitation and came. At least once. I remember hiding his cap one day. And being the child who “found” it. Hidden in an impossible place in the school cellar. I couldn’t have found it by chance so finding it was tantamount to an admission of guilt. (These days I wouldn’t find it. My seven year self was obviously a moral child.) Those are my school companions from my days in Hazlemere from 0 to 10. Other cabins house Sue, Gwyneth and John – my playmates from six to eleven. I wonder what they are doing now and if they remember me?
There is a myth that school days are the happiest days of our lives. For me they weren’t. Times of some happiness but also times of misery. Thinking back, two memories pop up. Being at school in a reading lesson, aged about seven and literate. The girl next to me had lost her place. I helped her find it and lost my own place. For some reason this infuriated the teacher who slapped my face as punishment for not paying attention. I was dumbfounded and hurt. I had been feeling so chivalrous!
My other memory is the same school at about the same age. We were having a school photo taken except that I had gone AWOL for some reason. I was hiding at the back of our school hall. Dying for a pee with a wet patch slowly spreading. Nobody came to find me. How I got home I don’t know. What happened I don’t know. So much for the “happiest days of my life”!
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