How I survived 1970 Sundays

I have blogged several times about how I like Sundays.

The quiet pace of the day, the Church Bell, The Archers omnibus......the day has evolved into a bit of a pleasure.

Mind you, it was never always so!

As a child I hated Sundays (and specifically Sunday afternoons!)......and only recently (as a result of a bit of family reflection) I have come to the conclusion just why it was so!.

My twin sister and I grew up in a time when the extended family played a large part in our day to day lives. Weekdays had a pace and and a routine governed of course by school, but weekends possessed their own, bipolar life of their own and provided times of great warmth coupled with the double edged experience of a slightly depressive dysfunctional set of parents

Friday afternoons were joyous. My Grand parents held open house, and their tiny one bedroom bungalow was filled with grandchildren and great grand children all talking at once. Everything was loud , chatty and animated. Copious amounts of tea was drunk, large wedges of jam sponge and nice biscuits eaten and even my Mother and her shopping friend Auntie Greta would turn up for a cuppa after their Friday afternoon "shampoo and set" at Jean's Hair Salon.

Janet and I would always stay for tea, which would always be laid out on a blue and white checked tablecloth in front of the tv in the lounge.

Being pensioners, "tea" was basic and never changing..but to us as children the food was a real treat! Cheap white bread, lightly buttered was smothered in baked beans (and eaten with 1940s bone handled cutlery) was for mains and tinned fruit cocktail with evaporated milk was served up in small floral dishes for "pud"

Saturdays were always spent at my sister's house by the beach. We played in the sandy garden with a risk filled nephew in tow for hours. Swinging incessantly on an old metal garden swing (the size of an average sofa) our aimless day was punctuated by chatty lunches, craft projects (usually involving glue and copious amounts of glitter), races around the house in a whole set of prams and trolleys and of course World of Sport tv wrestling (at 4pm).

The sun always shone and Nasturtiums always filled the garden,

Sundays on the other hand were "home days". My parents would have their "lie in" then my mother would prepare a full roast dinner for most of the morning which would have to be ready for 2pm for when my father would return all warmed from his lunchtime visit to the Conservative club.

Afternoons would be quiet and boring. Dad would be asleep in his chair, mother would knit on the couch. The tv was always on, and we would be left to ourselves until a semi formal tea would be set up in the cold dining room with the hateful Mike Samms singers on radio 2 belting out ".............Sing something simple........"

My parents didn't do anything drastically wrong with us kids...they just didn't do ANYTHING with us which was, I think, fairly typical for many 1970 families...... Sundays always became synonymous with an feeling of indifference and a slightly depressive routine which felt so cold and sad after the warmth and vitality of our Fridays and Saturdays.

I have said this before on the blog........funny what you remember isn't it?