Southend U3A

The Lottery - Joan Bond

March 2012

Life is a lottery, if my mum hadn't met my dad I wouldn't be here. Consequently I wouldn't have two sons, two daughters in law and eight grand-kids. I also acquired, by meeting my husband, a large family of eight who also had kids and now grand-kids, some great grand-kids.

By and large my mum and dad started something. I wonder of that connotation with another lottery meaning, ergo selling tickets for a chance that someone can win, what, I don't know, it doesn't always stipulate. I remember in the last war when you saw folk forming a queue, one joined it as it must mean there was something to buy that was in short supply, could have been a banana, to nylon stockings. They were in short supply unless one was acquainted with the Yank soldiers. My mum, and my cousin who lived with us seemed to find them occasionally, nylons not Yanks, and when each found more ladders than could be mended anymore, they were passed to me to wear. At fourteen I didn't really mind if they had seams up front and back with the darning.

It must have been rotten for our soldiers in their itchy looking uniforms, to have to compete with the Yanks. I have to say they looked very smart and always had gifts, chocolate for me, stockings for my cousin and a tin of ham for mum and dad. The war was a lottery in a way, according to where you were posted; my dad was older, so escaped the services, but was dragged, laughing, into the Home Guard. He used to practice with his broom at a school 'til they received rifles and he kept his under my bed. My cousin was a pilot and flew safely all through the war, only to be killed when he was flying the food in the Berlin Airlift when we were assisting our defeated foes.

I never won anything except a scholarship to a grammar school, where my mum couldn't afford the extensive uniform required; can you believe outdoor shoes, house shoes, hockey boots, gym shoes, science overalls, domestic science pinnies, sports clothes; it went on and on. Luckily because of the coupons needed to buy clothing at that time, they had a school shop where all the grown out of clothes were sent, allowing me to be kitted out. [I would like a few 'ohs!' at this point.]

Apparently this lottery business helped out some important projects, like the work of art outside the shopping centre area upon the hill in front of the pier. Unfortunately they needed another win to eventually have it knocked down as it became an eyesore. I suppose a considerable win would allow something of beauty on the pier, God knows it needs something to draw the crowds, but they would never have the chance to get close as fishing boats have this unfortunate draw to the frame of the pier and keep crashing into it.

I would like to have a handout myself, and wait week after week, but it was at last pointed out to me that I had to buy a ticket. Still I have been a winner each week for all the years it has been running. When I hear people moaning that the numbers haven't gone their way again, I think, unlike you, I still have the money in my pocket. Well my dad always taught me never to bet on anything unless it was a sure thing. No fun maybe but I have the last laugh.

I loved my dad, always following him about in his shed with a hammer and a few nails and a magnet which picked up so much priceless items. I found a poem that I have always kept close. When my father died, I never cried, but when my geranium died, I thought, I'll phone and ask my dad . . . and then I cried!