Today is Shouty Grandad's birthday. Nelly and I spent a lovely evening with him and Nanny, listening to him recounting all the dreadful things he used to get up to as a child. He grew up in a small village in Cumbria, where the fells meet the sea. The main industries were iron ore mining and farming.
He told us about his time at school, where, after having been to work on the farm and then out all night, up to mischief with his friends, he would get up after just a few hours sleep, wander into school, still covered in mud, cow muck and heaven knows what from their adventures. The teacher would walk in, sniff the air, locate Shouty Grandad and send him outside to clean his boots. Often he would spend all morning outside just mooching about, such was the teacher's indifference to children who chose not to learn.
He told us about the huge bell tent the boys used to put up on the 'Bankin' (an out of the way spot) in about March, capable of sleeping 20 people, it used to be there till September and the boys would sleep there if they had got themselves into hot water - to let the father cool off a bit before heading home. they would nick eggs, beans, beans, anything they could get hold of, set a fire by the tent and have a feed, boys being boys this would often get out of hand and the tent would be covered in, 'fried egg, boiled egg, beans, everything'.
He told us about the time he and his mates had played some awful prank on Mrs Cloudsdale (sister-in-law of uncle John?), she legged it after the boys, Shouty Grandad ran into his back garden where his saintly younger brother was just entering the outside lav. As Mrs Cloudsdale rounded the corner she heard the latch click in the lav, she put two and two together, yanked open the door, grabbed the 'culprit' off the toilet, spanked him soundly, then shoved him back in the toilet, satisfied that justice had been administered.
He tells of filling a dustbin with water and mud, leaning it up against the teachers home front door, knocking the knocker and running away - hilarity ensued.
He also described times when, after finishing work at the farm (after school) they would try to catch a carthorse to ride around, hitch to a sled and zoom down the snowy fells. Take a tin bath, used for watering the cattle, set it on the beck that ran through the farm and see how far they could get before the bath tipped over and they all got soaked then headed off to a barn or the woods and lit a fire to get dry.
He also recounted an occasion when he was working at the farm, bags and bags of seed potatoes had been delivered. These needed to be individually set in compost with 'eyes to the sky, roots to the earth'. It was very boring work, case after case of heavy mud and potatoes, several boys working in a couple of rooms that had been knocked together. You can imagine that boys will get bored after a time, then someone had the bright idea to switch the lights off and have a spud fight. Taters flying across the room, hitting heads, faces, body shots. No way they could shout out in pain, a sure fire way to get buzzed by 20 more potatoes. Then when the farmer came out to investigate the ruckus, they would quickly try to tidy up. The farmer could not have been fooled by the bloody noses and squashed potatoes all over the place.
I love listening to my dad tell tales of his misspent youth, he can make the pictures come alive with his gestures and language. I can imagine him being a bully and a rascal and a pain to the teachers. I'm glad to know him and proud to call him my dad (just don't tell him i said so, OK!). xxx
Happy Birthday Shouty Grandad. xxx
