We have a horse chestnut tree that was planted in the corner of our yard. Our friend Jack had grown the tiny sprout in a pot from a conker - he could only have been 8 or 9 at the time -and now he is in his early twenties. Needless to say the tree has grown as well as Jack and is now competing with a huge fir tree for daylight.
The sticky buds at the bottom are still sticky and tight, but the buds at the top are bursting open daily. It reminded Mum of when she was at school many, many years ago. (We think Mum is even older than Harvest). The topic was 'Spring' and the story had to be supported by exhibits. Out of the class of 30 eight-year olds, the teacher selected three of the most entertaining ones, these having achieved a Gold Star. To Mum's utter horror her story had gained this high accolade and she was summoned to the front of the classroom and stood in a line waiting to read her tale out. This had never happened before and Mum was terrified, her not being one to put her hand up even. The time came and Mum read her story about storing Sticky Buds behind the settee and how they somehow rubbed against the bottom of the curtain, leaving black marks that could not be persuaded to be removed in spite of frantic and secretive efforts. The class giggled. It was going well. Mum could hear her voice outside of her body going through the motions of reading the now infamous Sticky Bud Tale. She felt hot, very hot. Then the class clapped and Mrs Weir said that it sounded almost true - had it really happened? Mum was able to nod weakly before fainting. She tottered forwards, then tottered backwards and quite quickly and conveniently fell into the waste paper bin with the pencil sharpenings and screwed up balls of paper. The class liked that. And there she sat until retrieved by Mrs Weir.
Ten years later Mum started work at the Auctioneers and Cattle Market in Haywards Heath. From an all girls school to being one of the first female auctioneers' clerks to work outside was quite a change, shall we say. And as such Mum was immediately part and parcel of a lot of fun and ribaldry. Lets just keep to the bin theme here - there are far too many other tales to tell - and some best not to tell.
The grand and sturdy building that was the offices of T. Bannister & Co was on the opposite side of the road from the railway station. For good reason in olden days. The Market offices were up two flights of stairs and a large bay window looked across the road on a level with Platform 1. Market Day was Tuesday and Wednesday meant a lot of office work. Time to have a bit of fun first though. Anyway to cut a long story short Mum ended up in the waste paper basket, her bottom sunk to the base and the rest of her body unable to manoevre. She was placed on the large wooden table in front of the bay window, the floor having been scattered liberally with drawing pins first. Then - Hey Presto! The blind was lifted and all the commuters on Platform 1 saw Mum in her basket. The funny thing was the platform cleared as if by magic. People jostled for a space in the rest room and hid behind the iron supports - within seconds Platform 1 was empty! And she had to stay there until it was deemed time enough to rescue her.
Mum says that luckily there probably won't be a third time as she wouldn't fit in a waste paper bin now! Gordon x
Ten years later Mum started work at the Auctioneers and Cattle Market in Haywards Heath. From an all girls school to being one of the first female auctioneers' clerks to work outside was quite a change, shall we say. And as such Mum was immediately part and parcel of a lot of fun and ribaldry. Lets just keep to the bin theme here - there are far too many other tales to tell - and some best not to tell.
The grand and sturdy building that was the offices of T. Bannister & Co was on the opposite side of the road from the railway station. For good reason in olden days. The Market offices were up two flights of stairs and a large bay window looked across the road on a level with Platform 1. Market Day was Tuesday and Wednesday meant a lot of office work. Time to have a bit of fun first though. Anyway to cut a long story short Mum ended up in the waste paper basket, her bottom sunk to the base and the rest of her body unable to manoevre. She was placed on the large wooden table in front of the bay window, the floor having been scattered liberally with drawing pins first. Then - Hey Presto! The blind was lifted and all the commuters on Platform 1 saw Mum in her basket. The funny thing was the platform cleared as if by magic. People jostled for a space in the rest room and hid behind the iron supports - within seconds Platform 1 was empty! And she had to stay there until it was deemed time enough to rescue her.
Mum says that luckily there probably won't be a third time as she wouldn't fit in a waste paper bin now! Gordon x