Me, my dad and a Knickerbocker Glory

I forget the year, nineteen-fifty-something

We went for a week to the sea

We stayed in a caravan, nothing too grand

Just enough for my Mum, Dad and me.

I forget the name of the ice cream parlour

I remember it opened at 10.

I remember that Dad took me there every day

Our treat, it was just me and him.

I forget what he ordered to have for himself

I’m guessing a strong cup a tea.

I remember exactly what I had each day

A Knickerbocker Glory that was bigger than me...

...Now I’m all grown up I realise that it wasn’t actually bigger than me, but in nineteen-fifty-something it certainly felt as if it was...

...and the memory is even bigger and very precious.

This post was in response to Jenny Matlock’s Alphabe Thursday. Jenny issues all sorts of tasks for all her followers. This week’s task was to blog about something beginning with K.  Knickerbocker, as you no doubt have noticed, has three Ks in it and it’s a bit of a special memory for me right now. 

For some perverse reason, since Mum died in April, I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad, who died in 1977. I’ve been thinking about the precious times we had together, just the two of us. It’s not only Knickerbocker Glory memories. In the school holidays I used to go with him to buy jewellery for his market business. We went to London on the train, travelled to Hatton Garden on the tube and, when he’d bought all the new stock, we went for a salt beef sandwich before heading home. Happy days.

 

I’m going to be taking part in A River of Stones during July. It involves close observation, picking on one thing each day and writing down exactly what I see. I’ll be tweeting them daily using the tag #aros. I'm also planning to post up my favourites once a week so yet again, watch this space.