Victoria's Birth Day
Charlotte A Bennie
I can remember the day you were born. I know that sounds so squashily sentimental, the type of remark made by an aged and dotty auntie whos over indulged in the sherry at a family do, but I can. The day and the announcement. Out of all my nephews, nieces and great nephews, your birth day is the one I can remember. Even your cousins birthday, the year before is more vague, all confused with your parents wedding and your Grandpa being ill. But March 19th, 1964; that is surprisingly vivid.
I am standing in the tiled living room. Even although its early, before breakfast, theres muffled clatter and chatter echoing along the lobby as the shop opens up. It is cold, very cold. I dont know whether this is because global warming has raised the temperatures or simply because there was no central heating. The coal fire would have to be cleared out, set and lit. Your Grandpa is sitting in his leather chair beside the roll top desk and he is on the phone. Unusual. A phone call so early in the day. Private calls were made in the evening and during them, everyone kept quiet so as not to block the voice coming through the crackle. He holds the phones handset upside down; he always does this, so that he can hold the earpiece close to his hearing aid. He is wearing his dark green cardigan, the one with the brown, leather buttons and his flat cap is tilted over his right eye. The flex for his hearing aid snakes down from his left ear into the small box clipped to his shirt. I dont know where your Gran is, but she must have been there. Standing just out of vision.
I am all excited as I am off to sit the Control; something like a selection exam. If I pass, Ill go to the Douglas Ewart. And it is snowing! Not a lot, just a few flakes flittering in the dark air outside the window. And now this call, long distance from London!
The heavy, black phone is replaced on its hook. Your Grandpa announces that was Norman. And you are a girl!
Says hes been phoning for hours. Wonders where weve been. Where does the silly bee think wed be? At four oclock in the morning!
This is a large, rambling, old house; in Scotlands oldest Royal Burgh. Its really a recycled cathedral; wide, shadowed corridors leading to draughty, high-ceilinged rooms. And there are only two phones; this one in the living room and another, very trendy in two tones of grey, through in the office. None upstairs, no mobiles. No chance of a phone ringing during the early hours being heard.
The news from London must have caused a real kafuffle. I cant remember breakfast but I went off to that exam wearing woolly tights and sandals. Last summers, navy blue, with the diamond cut out patterns. Through the snow! I can remember sitting with my feet on the heating pipes at the school attempting to dry my steaming toes.
The exam didnt bother me at all. I enjoyed it; the challenge of the questions; the experience of spending a full school day on the one exam. How very grown up! I had been given a 1956 half crown; for a reason which I can no longer remember, half crowns with that date were considered lucky and now your birthday. It had to be luck! And one or the other must have worked; I passed the exam, although I didnt know that for another two months.
And then what? Home through the wet, slushy snow to tea and Blue Peter on the telly. In black and white.
No e-mail with a clutch of digital photos attached by an electronic paper clip. Cyber space was still an empty void. I didnt know what you looked like for about another month, not until your Gran and I went down to London for a visit. By train, overnight on the Paddy from Newton Stewart station.
Easter holidays in London... But thats another story. Another memory.
