Up in Smoke; Musical REM & a Strange Enchanted Forest (Childhood Memories)

Member Name: marandina

Product:	Childhood Memories
Date:	01/08/02 (239 review reads)
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They say that childhood moulds the man or woman you are; those formative years forging a link between innocence and knowledge. For some it's a time of perpetual Secret Gardens; for others something more of a struggle against the harsh realities of life unveiled too early.

I don't recall my own childhood with any particular fondness but even in a morass of mediocrity, a few stars will shine a little brighter than the rest; these being the defining moments in a journey along life's highway.

So if this concentrates purely on the minutes and seconds that stand out with a degree of warmth only, then I apologise for my own bias as I've chosen reflections which bring to book only those times that were good.

My mom and dad were never rich. In fact, we were relatively poor most of the time. Not down and out, 1930's Depression poor but the kind that amounted to only 2 holidays that lasted longer than a day or a weekend. Consequently, those holidays I did take stand out disproportionately maybe to many other folks'. The family holidays we endured wouldn't fall into the category of shinier stars in the piercing black canvass of a night sky. However, a skiing trip abroad when I was 12 does. It was to Ravascletto in Northern Italy; a school affair that involved testosterone fuelled lads in a foreign country for a week. It was/is still my only experience of sliding down snow laden mountains with 2 long sticks on my feet but it's one I remember fondly.

Anyone that's ever traversed to the top of a mountain will know there's different ways of getting there. Cable car's quite popular but if it's merely a small slope then you may get a small plastic, circular seat that's on a kind of elastic rope. As these seats go round in their own particular circuit, up and down the slope, the idea is to grab one, pull it down and slip it under your bottom (steady on, Auld repro) all quickly enough to allow it to
pull you to the top. On my first day I tried about a half dozen times to negotiate this particular beast, all with the same result i.e. me falling over in a variety of ways. I fell over to the left, to the right, backwards, whichever way was possible I fell over much to the amusement of those watching.

The evenings at the hotel saw us gathered on various tables for different guises of pasta dishes. It was that particular holiday that confirmed me as having a dislike of Italian food. The teacher's would award various prizes for the best at, say, the "snow plough", for that day.

The following day I managed it first time. I was elated getting to the top of the slope my very own Everest. That's where one of the defining few seconds of my youth occurred. As I got to the summit I found myself at the top of a large mountain looking down. As the slope finished the mountain simply carried on for quite a distance. It wouldn't have been possible to ski off the edge of the slope as there was all manner of fences but there was a shear drop followed by a forest that seemed to caress the horizon. Just for a few seconds, I stood in awe, literally frozen gazing at this stunning scene. It was an empty forest of pine trees, blanketed in snow, further flakes falling steadily turning it into a scene straight from your favourite Christmas card. I couldn't see any signs of animal life; just a snow covered forest that belonged in one of those little glass things that you shake. It was just so beautiful. Those seconds stand out from most; I'm not sure I even dared to breathe as I took that scene in. It just seemed to capture the existential core of what life was about even if it was all too fleeting. I mean, if things could really be this beautiful then life couldn't be all bad, could it?

That evening I got called up and awarded a little prize (I think it was just a glass of orange juice or something) as the most improved skier.
It seemed somewhat ironic as I'd only managed to negotiate something that virtually everyone else had 24 hours earlier. Still, it was a few seconds of fame capturing a time when my self-esteem underwent something of a transformation. Maybe my soul still remains in the middle of that quiet forest even now. I know that the peace it captured influenced my own view of what's important in my life to this day.

Writing reflections on your childhood can be hard. So hard, in fact, I fell asleep during the writing of this piece. There I was, slumbering on my settee when I suddenly found myself in REM stage. Was this a dream?

<Blink> It’s late 1970’s and the Punk Rock revolution is in full throw. I can see images on the TV of teenagers wandering about the centre of London. They’re wearing full bondage gear, studded belts, rings through their noses and plumes of coloured hear. They remind me of peacocks into sado masochism. The newsreader is marvelling at the new phenomenon. On the back of the great "Rock and Roll Swindle" (phrase coined by Malcolm MacClaren). I can see the bands of the day </Blink>

<Blink> The Damned are playing at the Locarno. I’m in a hall with 300 punks watching Captain Sensible strut his stuff on stage complete with yashmack. A riot has just been averted following the band’s late arrival on stage. "Disco Man" is played as a special request for the bloke at the bar that bought the Captain a drink before the gig started. The audience is thrashing wildly to the music; flem everywhere courtesy of the strange inauguration of a disgusting ritual. </Blink>

<Blink> I’m at Bingley Hall in Birmingham. There’s Mods everywhere; fishtail parkers with bullseyes on the backs. The Jam are on stage; my latter day hero – Paul Weller – going through his impassioned set to the adoration of the throng. I’m travelling home on the bus afterwa
rds; Jam T-shirt bathed in sweat, still high on adrenaline after the best concert I can remember. </Blink>

<Blink> I’m in the Odeon, New St, Birmingham and U2 are on stage. Stagehands are circling at the bottom of 2 huge speaker stacks. Bono has climbed to the top and is whipping the crowd into a frenzy. "Make the room as small as possible." He implores. In the background, the image of a young boy is beamed onto a canvas background. It was the War tour at the time of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and all that. U2 went on to play much bigger venues than that one but I was lucky enough to see Big Country as the support that night too.</Blink>

I vaguely recall waking and thinking I’d only scratched the surface of the groups I’d seen back in the 70’s and 80’s. Other ventures included Echo & The Bunnymen and David Bowie in Cardiff but maybe they’ll wait for another time.

Music was rebellion but then isn’t it always for young people that want their own space? Punk Rock seemed to rail against the ills of the day. I don’t know, is it the same today?

OK, final trip back into my murky depths. I used to smoke. I remember being lured in by peer pressure early on in school. One fateful night, skipping merrily along, I was offered the dreaded weed. I puffed on the white stick with a filter. It tasted awful. "Drag it back and twirl around." I was advised. I did as I was told and, yes, it went to my head. I got that funny, dizzy feeling. Thus, the next 16 years or so were mapped out as a smoker.

One of the few things I had in common with my dad was smoking. I recall my mom knowing about it and suggesting that I ask my father for permission to smoke in the house. I was 15 and he said yes. Just for a few minutes, there was a bond of sorts there as we sat in our respective chairs, billowing toxic gases into the atmosphere.

Smoking was an opportunity to
escape the boredom of school. There were derelict houses surrounding mine. Both at break and in lunchtime, I’d bunk off with a few mates and we’d share the B & H. Other favourites were Embassy No.10, Rothmans and the like. We’d sit in these condemned houses, smoking away as a kind of statement to the world that we were adults.

Break times were a military operation. A brick wall bordered the playground. As soon as we thought the teachers weren’t looking, a group of us would hitch over the wall and into the nearest house. With only 10 minutes available we had to be quick but it was exciting at the time. I’m sure we must have been caught sometime but I don’t remember if we ever did.

I finally gave up about 7 years ago. I’m not sure if my alveoli will ever forgive me but I did manage eventually so maybe they’ll come around in time.

Other childhood memories?

The Clangers and Blue String Soup.

Being given stew for dinners and hating it.

Chinese food whenever my parents won at Bingo.

Leaving school for the final time and spending the afternoon drinking and playing pool.

School discos with modern day fallacies like getting drunk on coke and aspirin.

My first car – a blue Vauxhall Viva that was built like a tank.

I could go on but I'd better not..life's about the here and now, isn't it?

Thanks reading this one.

Dedicated to the lovely lady who dreamt this category up.

Marandina

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