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Childhood Memory

escargot said:
The lovely Scottish nurse offered Youngest the jab and I accepted, promising to stop off at the sweet shop on way home. :bthumbup:
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I can recall getting my jabs at primary school. According to my memory, the vaccine nurses and the 'Nit Nurse' was always Scottish. I used to wonder if it was a special training school 'up there'. :)
 
AnonyJ said:
So are my folks. I know you've asked this question of me before, but are you me?

I remember having the UK's early generation of standalone Rubella vaccine as a pre-teen girl, before the MMR became commonplace.

Had Mumps, not too badly about age 9/10, before that vaccine came about, but we had every other one bang on schedule. Even then a young relative had whooping cough, but only mildly, because they'd been vaccinated as a baby.

I do remember being a bit put out that my little sister & my cousin (same age at the time) had mild Scarletina (Scarlet Fever rash) but I didn't catch it, hence no time off school!

This is a great infographic showing the vaccine progress in Britain since 1796.

View attachment 69984
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My three older kids were vaccinated against whooping cough (all my kids have had every vaccination going), but they all caught it. There was some talk about the fact that they were vaccinated in Somerset before we moved to Yorkshire - the Yorkshire vaccinated two didn't catch it - that maybe there had been some problem with the way they'd stored the vaccines down south.

Two of them weren't too badly affected, but eldest daughter missed half a term of school, couldn't walk to the end of the garden without coughing herself sick, and, when all three had it together, I frequently ran out of bedding because they would cough themselves into throwing up several times a night.

If they'd not had ANY protection from the vaccine, I dread to think how it would have turned out.
 
catseye said:
My three older kids were vaccinated against whooping cough (all my kids have had every vaccination going), but they all caught it. There was some talk about the fact that they were vaccinated in Somerset before we moved to Yorkshire - the Yorkshire vaccinated two didn't catch it - that maybe there had been some problem with the way they'd stored the vaccines down south.

Two of them weren't too badly affected, but eldest daughter missed half a term of school, couldn't walk to the end of the garden without coughing herself sick, and, when all three had it together, I frequently ran out of bedding because they would cough themselves into throwing up several times a night.

If they'd not had ANY protection from the vaccine, I dread to think how it would have turned out.
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Yup, my former mother in law was somehow lax about the kids' vaccinations. They didn't all get the full set.
Perhaps she regretted this because I'd hear her pontificate about how the kid who had one of the jabs still caught the illness and it was worse than for the one who hadn't. (I know, sounds unlikely.)

I eventually pointed out that this meant the child might have died without the jab. Didn't hear another word after that. :thought:
 
Ghost In The Machine said:
I had rubella at primary school and remembered it fondly as I got a week or so off school and didn't feel at all ill. Think I had a rash. It was ace. So years later, when they tested for antibodies said my immunity was still there and I don't think I ever had a jab for it.

Must have been about 8 or 9 and I remember being made to stay in bed all day which was way better than being at school. And I just read and read.

Apart from that only had measles as a baby which of course I don't remember (apparently I screamed the house down) but I did catch chicken pox from a kid when I was on my first teaching practice (the parent sent her to school despite obvious symptoms - we had to send her home - not long after, I went down with it). And it led to a miscarriage (of one non-identical twin - the other survived).
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So sorry about the loss of one of your twins.
 
There was a time my parents dropped me and my big Sister off at our Grandparents to sleep over for the night. We were only little then so we were excited at the adventure and decided to have a play fight after we'd been sent to bed. We were on a mattress, all good natured play fighting when she suddenly shouted "HIIII YAH!!!" and kicked me in the face.

The 'Hiii Yah!' bit came from The Muppet Show which we both loved when Miss Piggy would karate anyone who messed with Kermit.

This caused me to have a large chip out of the bottom of one of my incisors for years. My Sister was upset she'd kicked me in the face by accident so took me downstairs where my Grandad ordered her to take me back to bed without looking to see if I was OK. She sat up in charge watching me until I fell asleep. I wasn't angry with her.
 
Three incidents of my pre-teen shenanigans.

Running around in my mate's garden, playing tag or somesuch, glanced back to see where he was then turned forward ... running face first into the ladder of a garden slide. It had chipped the corner off my front tooth, exposing the nerve ... as I felt as soon as I breathed in cold air! My dentist did a good job, as the cap is still in place after all this time.
While visiting my nan in the depths of the Sussex cuntryside, I was encouraged to play with a couple of kids of my age, across the lane, in a working farmyard. Playing hide 'n' seek, ran around a corner and bounced off a wire fence. Picked self up ("no harm done") and carried on. When the found me, they asked what I'd done to myself. Apparently the fence I'd bounced off of was fitted with barbed wire! Yup, I'd been bleeding all over the place but didn't notice. I've still a scar in the middle of my forehead.
'Look before you leap'? Pah. For wimps!
A more fun incident was me and a couple of mates were mooching around, checking out some condemned Victorian housing - as one does. Went up to the front door and tried it but t'was locked. I was an avid fan of the Kung Fu TV series, so I said to my chums "Leave this to me." I did a run up and with my puny body single-kicked the lock ... and the door slammed open! Dunno about them - I was impressed!
 
Stormkhan said:
While visiting my nan in the depths of the Sussex cuntryside, I was encouraged to play with a couple of kids of my age, across the lane, in a working farmyard. Playing hide 'n' seek, ran around a corner and bounced off a wire fence. Picked self up ("no harm done") and carried on. When the found me, they asked what I'd done to myself. Apparently the fence I'd bounced off of was fitted with barbed wire! Yup, I'd been bleeding all over the place but didn't notice. I've still a scar in the middle of my forehead.
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I too have a scar in the middle of my forehead, which was the pointed corner of a paving stone after I caught my sandalled foot on another paving stone and went face-first onto the floor. My mother was less than impressed - we were walking home from Peterborough station after watching my dad in am-dram in Stamford, and there she was with a profusely bleeding child, on foot, on a Saturday evening. A nice man in a VW beetle stopped the car and asked if we would like a lift to the A&E department; I remember sitting in the back, with my mother staunching the blood with a handy tissue, and the driver peering back at me quite anxiously.

I also impaled myself on barbed wire but on one of my calves - I think it was the left one. I had a ruched scar there for a long time but having just felt my leg for it, I think it might have gone somehow.
 
bugmum said:
I too have a scar in the middle of my forehead, which was the pointed corner of a paving stone after I caught my sandalled foot on another paving stone and went face-first onto the floor. My mother was less than impressed - we were walking home from Peterborough station after watching my dad in am-dram in Stamford, and there she was with a profusely bleeding child, on foot, on a Saturday evening. A nice man in a VW beetle stopped the car and asked if we would like a lift to the A&E department; I remember sitting in the back, with my mother staunching the blood with a handy tissue, and the driver peering back at me quite anxiously.

I also impaled myself on barbed wire but on one of my calves - I think it was the left one. I had a ruched scar there for a long time but having just felt my leg for it, I think it might have gone somehow.
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Are you slightly proud of that scar? I like my scars because I had fun getting them. The last ones were/are on my left leg from sliding down a cliff edge gathering firewood and they look like I've been shot with a blunderbust.
 
@Stormkhan @bugmum @Swifty
vic.jpg
 
My wife lost a finger as a kid. She stuck it in abandoned industrial machinery. Her eldest brother then turned the handle.

She hid her finger in her pocket as she was scared of getting told off.

I was seeing her for about two years before I noticed it.
 
Spudrick .It's funny how you don't notice these things, just the person.
When I met one of my good friends it was ages before I realised that she was born with one of her hands with just buds for fingers.
 
Apologies I just realised I never responded to a thread that I opened. I did not mention it to my sister but if the opportunity arises to ask her I will but she isnt a Fortean by any stretch of the imagination. The figures were just standing overlooking the bed we were sleeping in. This was our parents room and the room they used to stay in when they visited Ireland. Its a long time ago now with nearly all my relations in London having passed on.
 
One memory I have which stands out for no particular reason relates to a Sunday when I was about 6. I was playing with cars on the floor and watching skiing on the telly. There was a virtual blizzard outside which was fairly common back then in West Yorkshire. My mother was ironing. Normal week end domestic day and nothing out of the ordinary, but when I see skiing on the box, or heavy snow (rare where I live) or smell ironing I occasionally get transported back to that particular day. Sticks In my memory like it was yesterday.
 
PeteS said:
One memory I have which stands out for no particular reason relates to a Sunday when I was about 6. I was playing with cars on the floor and watching skiing on the telly. There was a virtual blizzard outside which was fairly common back then in West Yorkshire. My mother was ironing. Normal week end domestic day and nothing out of the ordinary, but when I see skiing on the box, or heavy snow (rare where I live) or smell ironing I occasionally get transported back to that particular day. Sticks In my memory like it was yesterday.
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I recall an 'incident' at a friend's home one summer afternoon when I was around 12 years old. His parents were away so we - a gang of 6 or 7 of us - congregated in his rear garden to muck around. Someone suggested we have a kick-about - his garden was on the large side so was ample for a group of us youngsters to knock a football around. We all went into his father's garage, a well appointed building not actually attached to the house where he stored his various garden tools, equipment and his pride and joy - a vintage BMW (I have no idea what model it was but it was really old). We quickly located the football but rather than carry it outside like any sensible person would, I decided to kick it out through the rear door.

As much as I love football, Sir Bobby Charlton I am not, and rather than exiting through the rear door of the garage, the football - after a hefty kick - ricocheted around inside before colliding with a stack of half-filled paint pots on a high shelf to the side. After what seemed like an age, a couple of the pots tipped off the shelf and emptied their, not inconsiderable, contents all over the BMW's roof and bonnet. The BMW was black - the paint, white.

It was whilst we stood in absolute horror at what had transpired, and my thoughts were drifting to cutting lawns for the rest of my life to pay for the damage, that in walked our salvation.

In the form of the neighbour's much hated cat. Doubtless come to see what the idiot boys from next door had done now.

It wasn't me I swear, but in a flash the cat was grabbed and even before it's usual smug look was replaced with shock, its feet were dipped into the paint and carefully placed on the bonnet of the BMW. Helpfully, the cat decided that the safest way to get away and out of the rear door of the garage was over the bonnet, roof and boot of the car. The dainty white footprints leaving absolutely no doubt as to the culprit.

We rapidly followed the cat, closing the garage door behind us, commencing our kick-around without ever mentioning a word of what happened again.

I console myself in the knowledge that the cat, who never showed its face in the garden again, was already utterly loathed by my friend's father and that this incident couldn't really add any further fury. I heard from my friend that the BMW received a respray after claiming on the insurance and was as good as new within a couple of weeks. His father, now sadly passed, never learned the truth.
 
Windsock said:
I recall an 'incident' at a friend's home one summer afternoon when I was around 12 years old. His parents were away so we - a gang of 6 or 7 of us - congregated in his rear garden to muck around. Someone suggested we have a kick-about - his garden was on the large side so was ample for a group of us youngsters to knock a football around. We all went into his father's garage, a well appointed building not actually attached to the house where he stored his various garden tools, equipment and his pride and joy - a vintage BMW (I have no idea what model it was but it was really old). We quickly located the football but rather than carry it outside like any sensible person would, I decided to kick it out through the rear door.

As much as I love football, Sir Bobby Charlton I am not, and rather than exiting through the rear door of the garage, the football - after a hefty kick - ricocheted around inside before colliding with a stack of half-filled paint pots on a high shelf to the side. After what seemed like an age, a couple of the pots tipped off the shelf and emptied their, not inconsiderable, contents all over the BMW's roof and bonnet. The BMW was black - the paint, white.

It was whilst we stood in absolute horror at what had transpired, and my thoughts were drifting to cutting lawns for the rest of my life to pay for the damage, that in walked our salvation.

In the form of the neighbour's much hated cat. Doubtless come to see what the idiot boys from next door had done now.

It wasn't me I swear, but in a flash the cat was grabbed and even before it's usual smug look was replaced with shock, its feet were dipped into the paint and carefully placed on the bonnet of the BMW. Helpfully, the cat decided that the safest way to get away and out of the rear door of the garage was over the bonnet, roof and boot of the car. The dainty white footprints leaving absolutely no doubt as to the culprit.

We rapidly followed the cat, closing the garage door behind us, commencing our kick-around without ever mentioning a word of what happened again.

I console myself in the knowledge that the cat, who never showed its face in the garden again, was already utterly loathed by my friend's father and that this incident couldn't really add any further fury. I heard from my friend that the BMW received a respray after claiming on the insurance and was as good as new within a couple of weeks. His father, now sadly passed, never learned the truth.
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Priceless. For once in life, Humans 1, Cat 0. Take the small victories where you can.
 
escargot said:
You don't like cats then? What have they done to you?
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I like cats just fine. But their attachment to us is one of convenience... They're fickle, capable of cultivating multiple owners, and sometimes they're just plain weird. And if they were bigger, or we were smaller, they would definitely eat us. And they play with their prey. A dog just eats it. The cats are our masters...
 
SimonBurchell said:
I like cats just fine. But their attachment to us is one of convenience... They're fickle, capable of cultivating multiple owners, and sometimes they're just plain weird. And if they were bigger, or we were smaller, they would definitely eat us. And they play with their prey. A dog just eats it. The cats are our masters...
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This is why cats are divine.
 
Floyd1 said:
A tougher breed back then............
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Indeed. My mother as a preteen tripped and bashed her eye against the corner of a table. Her eye popped out of it's socket. She put it back herself. No NHS back then so no A and E, no antibiotic eye wash, X Ray or CT scan, no eye specialist and follow ups from an ocular consultant. She just got on with it as you had to back then.
 
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