I remember the red roses and had to keep my mouth shut because I had no front teeth. My Aunt's wedding and there's a Patsy Kline song that instantly takes me back to the reception. You would think I'd at least remember the food but I was always too crook to eat.
This photo is only 6cm by 8cm which is why it's so hard to scan. My mother is in the middle and my father is to her left. Of all the men here, (nine) he was the only one to survive TB. The surgery was pretty basic in those days. They would dislocate the shoulder, take out a few ribs and whatever of the diseased lung they could or the whole lung. Then the patient would wake up with a brick on the shoulder to stop it dislocating again. And would you believe they still all smoked cigarettes. Stopping the smoking let Dad put on weight, enough to give him strength to go through the operations. My mother walked into his ward, carrying his breakfast and he said, "Hello Angel" and Barbara Cartland couldn't have written a better start to a love story.
I remember the red roses and had to keep my mouth shut because I had no front teeth. My Aunt's wedding and there's a Patsy Kline song that instantly takes me back to the reception. You would think I'd at least remember the food but I was always too crook to eat.
This photo is only 6cm by 8cm which is why it's so hard to scan. My mother is in the middle and my father is to her left. Of all the men here, (nine) he was the only one to survive TB. The surgery was pretty basic in those days. They would dislocate the shoulder, take out a few ribs and whatever of the diseased lung they could or the whole lung. Then the patient would wake up with a brick on the shoulder to stop it dislocating again. And would you believe they still all smoked cigarettes. Stopping the smoking let Dad put on weight, enough to give him strength to go through the operations. My mother walked into his ward, carrying his breakfast and he said, "Hello Angel" and Barbara Cartland couldn't have written a better start to a love story.
14 comments:
Bad scans but the memories and sentiment behind them are perfect.
WV = fuxtscae
A new rude words for the new decade :P
I love looking at old photos...
Funny thigs about smiling with your mouth shut...I almost do and have done that 90% of the time in photos, its just me...but my sisters sometimes get a bit stroppy because I don't bare my teeth and display my tonsils - seems to be the fashoin these days...you look fine with your mouth shut.
Nie to know your mum and dad loved each other
God that's a lovely story.
I love looking at my old photos, but in every single one my mum is not smiling and not looking at the camera. I don't like smiling for photos either because my teeth are bad.
My dad used to tell me he had TB and the doctors wanted him to eat an invalid diet etc, he says he ran away and joined the army instead and got better. Not sure if I believe him or not, he did tell an awful lot of lies...
Jayne, that rude word sounds so elegant but it's more suitable to an archaeologist wearing tight shorts in a freezing wind.
Therese, I have a lopsided smile, one ear is higher than the other so I was always sending mum up by asking her if she ever dropped me on my head. Along with the lopsided smile, one eyebrow used to raise up, giving me a 'Oh Yeah' look.
HB, he called her that all his life until she almost died in the late 80s then he called her 'Babe'.
River, that was the best thing Dad did as it was during basic training that they discovered the TB. The training was so hard on him that he was forever going AWOL.
He did it so many times that when we found his army records, we thought that was his rank.
What a story. A brick on the shoulder post surgery to stop dislocations. Bits of lung chopped out while people continue to smoke post surgery.
And you were born into this world. You've clearly taken on some of that capacity to survive. Thanks.
She's lived through it and it's put weight on her.
smoke smoke smoke that cigarette! Damn right! And Bob Richter, smartest lawyer in this country smokes thirty a day and says the latte set (who faint at the sight of someone lighting up) can get fu**ed.
Elisabeth, my father was dying when both my sister and I were conceived but we never had problems with TB. His mother was dying from it when his younger brother was born but he never got it either.
Robbert, I've never liked smoking but my sister has smoked since she was 17 but never in front of father. He nearly caught her in a smoking carriage but she was fast. He had to ask in the finish what she did with the butt. She stubbed it out with her thin shoe and nearly burnt a hole in her foot. He thought it was hilarious.
People with TB were usually put in quarantine, it's highly infectious, you can catch it from someone coughing. George Orwell died from TB (and grumpiness), but it's a working class disease and he might have been pleased about that.
WV: egatess.
An egat must be a bloke.
Right, well I've just put my smoking jacket on. Seems a bit toffee when you're rolling butts....all the same, you need a laugh at yourself, go mad otherwise.
Robbert, the problem was, quarantine came after diagnoses and the spitting and coughing was already out doing a fine job of spreading. TB is now multi-drug resistant and still the curse of the poor.
A smoking jacket, how terribly Noel Coward of you. Now how about a tinkle on the piano and a rendition of "Don't put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington". I'd actually pay to see that.
Being Noel Coward would also require a cravat. And you don't like them. I'd require a cigarette holder as well, and you don't like cigarettes. I can't play Mrs Worthington anyway, but do a nice Mad Blogs and Englishmen.
There's no charge, and my audience at present is inadvertant -and reluctant, unfortunately. But you are welcome anytime. Come in the evening, and if you hear me playing as you approach, watch out for flying objects; this is an uncultured area, very low neighborhood.
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