Day twenty-five: A couple of days ago I was discussing old
television shows with a friend, comparing the shows we used to watch. The shows
I remembered were for sentimental reasons mostly, shows I used to watch with my
grandmother, and it got me thinking back further, to my much younger days.
In those days we were allowed to watch an hour of television
a day – I think. I can’t remember in truth, because there was not much to watch
apart from the afternoon children’s television which only went for an hour
anyway, and the Saturday morning cartoons. When I was home sick, which happened
a lot as I had unreliable tonsils, I would watch the midday movie. That’s why I
have a fondness for old movies - those days spent lying on a camp bed and
eating jelly and ice-cream to soothe my ravaged throat.
Our mum was often at work – she worked at the local
telephone exchange – when we got home from school. Our afternoon tea would be
prepared for us and in the fridge, our milo drinks in the freezer if it was
summer. My favourite show at the time – because it was the only show for my age
group – was called Adventure Island. I don’t remember anything about it, except
that at the time I loved it. My brother preferred a war series called The Rat
Patrol. All I remember about that was the opening credits with a lot of jeeps
driving over the crest of sand dunes.
The problem was that these two shows were on different
television channels, and they were on at the same time each week day. That we
only received two television channels did rather restrict what we viewed, but
still, it was an unfortunate coincidence that led to many fights between us. We
were supposed to watch our shows on alternate days, but since mum wasn’t there
we always fought over whose day it was.
My brother, who has now grown into a very nice man, was a
horrid brother – as all big brothers are I’m sure. He would change the channel
to his show, regardless of whether it was his day or not. When I say we fought,
I don’t mean we shouted at each other although we did that too. We fought,
literally, physically. As I was five years younger I usually came off worse,
but it didn’t stop me laying into him as much as I could. We gave each other
scratches and bruises we fought so much. Even the notes our mother left on the
kitchen table always ended with ‘DON’T FIGHT’.
Remember I said our mum worked on the local exchange? In our
wee little town the home phones connected directly to the exchange when you
picked up the receiver. I can’t now remember if there was even a dial on them
as all calls were connected by the exchange. Eventually one of us would stomp
to the phone and grab the receiver to complain to mum about the other. That
poor woman would have to tell one or both of us off over the phone.
One day we must have well and truly over-stepped and she
carried out the threat we heard every time we got too much – she took away the
television. We got to stare at an empty corner of the lounge for what felt like
a month. I don’t remember now the real duration of our punishment, but I still
remember the empty corner of the room. That slowed us down for a while and we
didn’t fight so much.
Eventually we grew out of it; the five year age gap meant
that soon he was too old for such nonsense. And I became the annoying little
sister who always wanted to hang out with him and our cousin. I was so annoying
that on one memorable occasion they let me come with them to the river whereupon
they abandoned me high on the river bank where it was difficult to negotiate
the trees and grasses. I used to go alone with the family dog frequently so I
did know my way around – childhood in the country, but still. I had to make my
own way home – I was furious, they were unrepentant and none of us ever thought
to tell any parental figures about that one.
We did a lot of things as children that our parents never
found out about until much later. In my very early years we lived on a dairy
farm. I remember clearly one wet afternoon my brothers, sister and I sliding
down a muddy hill on a piece of cardboard - or maybe it was wood – and lying
flat at the bottom to clear the underneath of the barbed wire fence.
Anyway, back to television. There were two other shows that
I loved (apart from Dr Who) – The Banana Splits and Lassie. Everyone loved The
Banana Splits, if we were at my cousins house we would all watch it there. I
adored Lassie, but the music was so sad it invariably made me cry. There was
always a rush when the opening bars of the theme song came on and a shout from
my mother, ‘Quick, turn off the TV! That music still makes my cry, right at the
part where Lassie lifts up her foot.Lassie end credits Does me in every time.
Those were the days when Disney movies were so sad: Old
Yeller – the dog dies, Bambi – traumatized an entire generation when Bambi’s
mum was shot, The Fox and the Hound when the widow abandons Tod in the woods, Lady
and the Tramp when Trusty is hit by a car, and that’s just some of them. Mind
you, they aren’t that much better now.
When I think back to those old shows I am put into the past.
I can see the lounge room of my childhood, I can feel the despair when Old
Yeller had to be shot, I can feel my agony when poor Lassie wore the pads of her
feet down so that they bled. I remember lying on the camp bed watching Gene
Kelly singing in the rain, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing so
beautifully, James Garner leaning forward and casually sticking his finger into
the barrel of a shotgun in Support Your Local Sheriff, a
drunken Lee Marvin on his drunken horse in Cat Ballou, and so many more. I was
sick a lot one year in particular with my tonsils, so I saw many classic
movies.
My childhood was not ideal and things happened that have
affected me my whole life. I have blank spaces for a lot of it, gaps in my
memory as though a knife has surgically removed sections. But the memories of
tormenting my brother and cousin, watching those television shows, walking to
the river with our border collie (a very patient dog), sitting in a cold bath
on a hot day reading a library book, perching on the veranda rail in the
predawn stillness to watch the street lamps switch off, reading under the
covers by the light of a torch after lights out – those are good memories and I’m glad to have them.
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