My Dad’s a Goldfish – Glimpses from the past

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I know, I know, I’m hopeless at posting regularly! I really meant to put a new post up days ago but I’ve been doing a bit more rummaging through photos and papers in what the DH calls the Dad Archive.

As well as finding lots of army photos, I’ve come across paperwork from those days including the order of service when the Lovat Scouts were stood down in Greece, a lovely reference from his Commanding Officer and his Lovat Scouts cap badge.

I’ve not found any photos for the period from when Dad left the army to when he went to live on Islay where he worked for the next eight years. He took many, many photos on Islay including colour slides (not sure how to deal with them so happy for advice if anyone knows) and he loved life on the island. I think if it hadn’t been for me, he’d never have left. In those days – 1950s – the school only went up to Primary 7 after which pupils had to go to the mainland and be boarders. Mum wasn’t keen on this idea (to think I might have had the opportunity to fulfil my dream of going to boarding school –  though in fact I’d have been at an ordinary secondary school and staying in lodgings) and when a vacancy on the mainland came up, Dad applied and we moved in 1960.

This time, I’m leaving the army days behind (though I’ll come back to them) to show some of the photos from the Islay days. This is where I was born and lived for the first seven years of my life.

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Dad and Mum on a picnic on Islay

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Dad with Betsy the dog, who growled if Mum tried to chastise me, and Blackie the cat named with enormous originality

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Dad on the peat bank on the back road between Bridgend and Port Ellen with Innes McLellan whose mother was my Godmother

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In full song at a ceilidh in our house, Bowmore, Islay. Dad with his arm round someone who was not his wife! Both of them smoking!!

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All the best parties happen in the kitchen. Beside the packet of Corn Flakes is our tea caddy which had a picture of the Queen on one side and Prince Phillip on the other. I always thought (when I was young) Dad looked like Phillip.

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Now, he’s got his arm round yet another woman not his wife! I was going to say it was possibly before I was born but I think that’s a tin of baby powder on the mantelpiece.

 

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Christmas or New Year – whichever, a good time was being had.

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I love that they still wear their ties however wrecked they are! And the man in the front is sitting on Paddy, my dog on wheels with which I learned to walk.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into Dad’s past on Islay. When I look at the ceilidh pictures I’m reminded of when I found a Gaelic CD at Dad’s. I put it on and within minutes he was singing along, though it was about sixty years since he’d last heard those songs.  The power of music and song.

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My Dad’s a Goldfish – the fidget box

cropped-goldfish-87-1254566814ncva1.jpgAs the Goldfish seems to sink further into himself conversation becomes increasingly limited, as, of course, does his ability to engage in the games of snakes and ladders or dominoes which he previously enjoyed.

We find looking at old photos is no longer a useful thing to do. He shows little interest, perhaps because he no longer recognises the people in the photos. I make up scrapbooks containing pictures of animals and birds, which he enjoys looking at sometimes. Companies produce all kinds of resources including reminiscence cards and DVDs of times gone past but they are expensive and the Goldfish seems to have moved beyond such activities.

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A few bits and pieces from the fidget box

 

Almost by accident, I hit on what we came to call the fidget box. Into a shoe-box sized box I put a random selection of miscellaneous objects. They included a small trophy with the legend, ‘World’s Best Grandad’, fastened inside a clear plastic box; a Christmas cake decoration with Santa in his sleigh being pulled by a reindeer; a small block of wood, one side of which had been charred; a tiny brass spirit level; a small mandala; three small juggling balls; a plastic wallet containing  a dozen old black and white postcards of working horses; a golfing tiepin; a glass paperweight with a picture of a peregrine falcon and a bull’s nose ring.

This latter object puzzled us for a while as we could not figure out what it was. The Goldfish shrugged whenever we asked him. Then, one day in one those moments of lucidity he said: “It’s a nose ring for a bull.”

“It’s quite fancy,” I said, indicating the inlaid metal work.

“It’s for when the bull’s in the show ring.”

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World’s best grandad trophy – a bit the worse for being fidgetted with!

The Goldfish had great fun opening the little trophy box, undoing the cord which held the trophy in place and removing the trophy. Then he’d put it back in the box. The fastening disappeared, as did one of the handles but he didn’t seem to mind, or even notice.

One of his favourite pastimes was picking at the leather backing of the paperweight. He finally, after much time and hard work, succeeded in removing it. He could also spend hours with a coaster, attempting to split the picture on the front from the backing.

 

The fidget box did not work its magic every time we

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The fidget box

proffered it to him. Sometimes the Goldfish ignored it. If he did not want to rummage through its contents nothing would persuade him to do so. At other times he would pick up the box and remove the lid himself and be totally content for hours.

Many of the resources and activities for sale are excellent but are more geared to be used when people still have the cognitive ability to recognise artefacts, people and events from the past. I’d recommend a do-it-yourself fidget box.