Generally, people have little to no interest in looking at other people’s old photos. Unless they themselves make an appearance somewhere along the line, the interest is temporary at best.
However, I don’t really care. What I’m hoping, as I said in part one, is that you find something in the picture that reminds you of your own childhood. For example, look at this:
Tell me you didn’t have one of these blankets.
A wise person once told me that we spend so much time looking into the past because we don’t like the present. We spend so much time looking at ourselves in the past because we don’t like ourselves in the present. Touché salesman, touché.
This blog serves many purposes to me – I won’t go into them all now…but I do want to entertain, and I do want to learn something about myself as I write. In fact…I learned this week that writing about politics and relatively serious social issues is a lot like eating a whole box of pringles to yourself. You know that what you’re doing is wrong…you kind of enjoy it as it’s happening, you can’t really stop yourself…then when it’s all done, you want to vomit.
So, this blog will do its best to never fall into a political pit. Keep it light hearted eh? Speaking of which…
You’ll notice that I was bitching and moaning from the very start.
I’d love for others to share their own personal interests in nostalgia. Sure, we all enjoy looking at how we used to look and what buildings used to be there…but is there more to it?
Here’s a picture taken outside St. John’s Church, where I was christened. I have no idea what event this was…possibly just a typical Sunday. In the picture is my Gran and Grandad and my own mother and father. I don’t know about you, but I think they all look fantastic. I love how elderly gentlemen dress – always with such dignity. Up at the crack of dawn, into their best suit, down for their daily paper, and then do very little for the day. My father looks like a cross between a modern day hipster and a ginger terrorist. Looks pretty spiffing though I have to admit. When today’s music and fashion is looking to the past for inspiration, nobody can blame me for these blogs…
Here’s my nanny again. I’m pretty sure she’s contractually obliged to only appear in pictures with some kind of religious significance. This is my communion day. The other woman is my nanny’s sister, Kitty. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t christened Kitty. I mean what happens there? My nanny was born as bridget, and then when she went to collect her first pension she was told that from henceforth she would be known as Biddy, or Biddins. Or she wouldn’t receive her entitlements.
Biddy and Kitty made a great team. When they were upwardly mobile they used to fly all over the world and see all kinds of mad shit. Two deeply devout catholics who don’t drink or smoke, I can only assume they were drug trafficking. Lourdes is not so good as to want to see it repeatedly.
For us grand kids growing up they were always sympathetic to our plight no matter what we did. Burn the house down? “Ah kids will be kids”. Break a full bottle of bacardi? (I did that once) “Ah would ya stop hitting the child with that wooden spoon, you’ll need that for the Christmas Cake”. No they were more sympathetic than that…always ready to give you a pound, always had your back against the menace of your parents. Kitty has passed on but my Nanny will do no such thing. Not until everything is right with her family. A couple of legends they are.
By the way, I wouldn’t be surprised if, in that pic, Kitty was reaching into her pocket for an emerald sweet…
The sweets and crisps that we all ate as kids, we’ll get to that in the next blog.
Me and one Daniel Murphy on communion day. We were buddies growing up. One day we were playing football in my back garden and Daniel put a ball through the back window. He blamed me for not saving it. I blame the parents for watching us use a large window pane as a goal.
The church above is Ballybricken. The teacher was Mrs Power. No comment.
The Skelton Clan (Grandkids) with “Nanny Theresa”.
The funny thing about Nanny Theresa is, that wasn’t her name at all. And it wasn’t even one of those things where her name evolved with old age. One day her two daughters, Mary and Theresa, were sitting on the step waiting for her return from buying eggs, when she was spotted coming around the corner into Pearse Park, Mary said “there’s nanny Theresa”. And somehow, amazingly, that name stuck. True story. I think.
I bet most of you reading this from Waterford will know at least one person in this picture. Well you do actually, you know me. Typical Leo that I am, I’m in the middle in the bottom row, rocking that nappy. Feel free to distribute this picture and embarrass all concerned.
The Shaws Santa.
I was 1 year and 4 months, so I was probably at home minding the house.
I think every child in Waterford saw the Shaws Santa. When and why did they stop? I remember meeting Darth Vader one year. I’ll say one thing for my mother, she had us decked out in some gear.
Who want’s to have a guess what was in those presents from Santy? A colouring book anyway…crayons…some manner of a puzzle book…
Here’s me and my sis. In our back garden on the Cork Road. Notice I have a broken arm? (LEFT!) My Brother pushed me off a bunk bed. I’m hoping he’s not in this picture cause he was locked in the attic at the time.
I lay awake at night wondering about the things in this picture…the bikes…the clothes…that beautiful straw hat. Where are they all now? Killed by the internet probably.
I’m not going to apologise for my passion for nostalgia. Yes I have some issues with 2012 Darren Skelton, but my 6 year old self, and my 10 year old self is giving me a good talking everytime I look into his eyes and imagine what hopes he would have had for the future. It’s not too late is it?
p.s. (again) you’ll notice a new name to the blog (and a pretty crap logo)…a view from the blue (with a hashtag for all you twitter folk) is the name of my new column which starts in the news and star this week. For the first few weeks I may repeat myself so if by some miracle you are a regular reader of my blog, apologies for that. The DeiseSupes bit is my twitter username. Talk to ya soon!