Dear Diary – Page 63 (Mid 1960’s – Reflections)

Whatever happened to……?

There was a time when, reflecting on my past, I started to wonder “Whatever happened to my ……?”

My first train set*? I have no idea. When Frances was born, the railway disappeared seemingly to make room for her crib in our (Valerie and I) bedroom in the caravan. I never saw it again.

My first bike**? I have no idea but, given that I got a new one for passing the 11+ examination, and would have grown out of it, I have to assume that Dad disposed of it somehow.

My 11+ bike***? I have no idea but, given that I built my own bike from parts for touring and I was probably still growing, I have to assume that Dad disposed of it somehow.

My touring bike****? I have no idea, but talking to Valerie about it, it would appear that Dad sold it while I was in Cardiff. This was based on the rationale that heading for a career at sea, I would not need it!

My text books, uniforms and 2nd Class Honors Certificate from Cardiff*****? I have no idea, but must assume that the “he won’t need this stuff now” logic dictated disposal in some manner.

Note that there is a common theme of decisions being made regarding my things, but without consulting me.

Whereas part of me resented that kind of decision making, I also had to recognize the deeply entrenched patterns of minimalist living as a result of many years in the caravan. There simply was no place to store items that were not serving a purpose, and those habits did not change until my parents had many years of living in a house.

*See “Dear Diary – Page 4” – May 20, 2015

**See “Dear Diary – Page 21” – July 11, 2015

***See “Dear Diary – Page 29” – July 28, 2015

****See “Dear Diary – Page 49” – September 16, 2015

*****See “Dear Diary – Page 60” – October 14, 2015

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19 thoughts on “Dear Diary – Page 63 (Mid 1960’s – Reflections)

  1. I can’t understand these chuckerouters. My kids are going to be feeling like they’re weighed down with a house on their backs with all my sentimentalia. I’ve keep most of their artwork, clothes, toys, books. They get put in crates in our roof and I must admit we’re expecting the lot to come crashing through the ceiling at any time. xx Rowena

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