Growing up in Sheffield, England

Lynn White

 
Lynn White as a child

By Lynn White

The first home I remember is the one described in 'Bath Time'. It was in Sheffield inner city, a stone's throw from the house my mother had grown up in and lived in until the death of her mother in 1941. The photo is taken opposite my home and you can clearly see the ringlets described in 'Sore Fingers'. Just before my 6th birthday when we moved to a Council House on the northern outskirts. This was to be my home until I left to go to college and my parents home until their deaths. It was a 10 minute walk from my auntie's where my mother had lived after the death of her mother. Opposite was the rough ground where 'Red Car' is located. Further down the wild area met the 'bottom road' which divides the houses from the countryside. Coming up the other side the street is lower and the wild area forms the 'cliffs' of 'Running Wild'. My school, till the age of 11, was 10 minutes in another direction. I would have been 8 when we had the Student Teacher described in 'Such Nonsense'. Another auntie lived in a village on the south side of Sheffield and the setting for ' School Shoes' is there.


Bath Time

The bath used to hang on the wall
in the scullery.
Not our scullery.
His scullery.
We borrowed it from Mr Neil
who rented us the rooms
at the front of his house.
One down, one up.
My mother would knock on his door
and he would lift it down for her.
But she had to carry it to our 
living room.
It was heavy,
made of zinc she said.
It took a lot of water
which had to be carried from the outside
tap and then heated on our gas ring.
It took a lot of hot water
and had to be filled 
and emptied
with a jug.
Sometimes it was just too much work
for her
and she washed me in a bowl
as I sat on her fat lap.
It was snuggly.
I preferred it 
that way
really.

First published in Visual Verse


Sore Fingers

At night my long hair was wrapped
in rags - pristine strips
of thick white cloth.
Sore fingers, my mother called them.
My unruly curls bandaged
into six stiff sore fingers,
to be unravelled in the morning
to reveal
shiny ringlets
ready
to be tied in bunches
with broad, bright, bias cut ribbons.

I wanted plaits.
All the heroines
in my childhood 
books had plaits
I dreamt about plaits
fantasised about plaits.
No more sore fingers.
I wanted plaits.

Sometimes I untied the ringlets,
to my mothers displeasure,
and made untidy, unsuccessful plaits.
Plaits would ruin my hair, my mother said.
Would spoil it’s natural curl,
destroy it
in some
way
never
specified.

I didn’t care.
I hated ringlets.
I hated sore fingers.
I wanted plaits.

First published in Silver Birch Press


Red Car

The abandoned car stood on the waste ground,
rusting away, doors hanging off, leather seats ripped.
The children played there on warm summer days
but I was not allowed.
The place was dangerous
and the children were rough.
It was the first time I had ever been in a car.
I sat behind the wheel to drive it making
engine noises like a bus.
It was a black car.
In those days all cars were black.
Any colour you like, so long as it’s black.
I thought that a red one would have been nicer.

First published in Blognostics


Running Wild

She had been one of my mothers best friends.
Her daughter was in my class at school
and one of my best friends.
But I was rarely allowed to call on her
to play out.

She lived in a street opposite ‘the cliffs’,
which when I’ve been there since,
weren’t cliffs at all,
just a steep area
overgrown
with bushes 
and small tees
with an overgrown field above.

It was great fun scrambling around there.
“Dangerous”, my mother said,
“and those children
are allowed
to run wild”!

But it was great fun while it lasted!

First published in Mocking Owl Roost


School Shoes

I loved the pond near my auntie’s.
Just a short walk from the village.
I could get right up close 
and peer into the water.
That was how I saw the frogs.

They were not easy to catch but
I managed it eventually, one at a time.
I kissed each carefully
to make sure they were real frogs,
didn’t want one of those prince things.

Then I put them in my shoe and placed
my other shoe on top
so that they couldn’t jump out.
I walked back barefoot 
over the rough ground
and the village street.

I discovered that my mother and auntie
were afraid of frogs.
Perhaps they would have preferred princes.
They didn’t like the barefoot walk either.
My dirty feet would show them up, 
they said.

And worse! They were my school shoes,
which were also my only shoes
and now they were smelly with pond water
and frogs!
But my uncle was cool
said they were good for the garden.
So I watched them leapfrog through his garden.

I hoped they’d be happy there.
He told me they were,
but I never saw them again.

First published in School Shoes, Four Feathers Press


Such Nonsense

We had a new teacher,
a student still in college.
He read us a long poem. 
I listened carefully trying
to make sense of it.
It was funny.
Was it meant to be funny?
or was the laughter of derision,
to what sounded like nonsense.
Laughter seemed allowed
and that was unusual.
School was not a place for fun.
Well, maybe it was nonsense
but I loved the imagery
and the colours of the words.
I asked if 'pea green' was
the colour of mushy peas
from the chip shop,
or was it those in pods
fresh from the garden.
Nothing was clear,
but it was fun.

First published in Medusa’s Kitchen