Obsessions

We all get them don’t we? I know people who are obsessed with all sorts of things that I couldn’t care less about, (like spring cleaning and exercise). I’m obsessed with ironed clothes and sheets especially. I love to slide into freshly laundered and smooth bedlinen at the end of the day. I can’t put sheets and pillowcases away un-ironed, and in the summer when we have changeover days in our holiday let, I wash the visitors’ three or four pairs of sheets and then look forward to taking them to the laundry in the next town where they are ironed to perfection and returned to me crisp, folded and wrapped. I stroke them as I put them away. I know, sad, sad, sad! But there was a time when my obsessions were slightly more exciting.

When I was 11/12 my obsession was Airfix kits. I would save my pocket money for a few weeks, take it to Woolworths and with two shillings burning a hole in my pocket, buy aeroplanes and helicopters to assemble, using smelly glue, (probably outlawed now). They crowded onto my bedroom mantelpiece incongruously taxiing up to the little Wade Whimsie animals from a previous collecting obsession I’d grown out of but couldn’t bring myself to part with.

My next obsession was pop music. It was in the days of Radio Luxembourg but before transistor radios, so I would sit in the morning room, (yes, we had one of those), sit in the rapidly cooling room as the fire was allowed to go out after tea. (yes, tea in the morning room, what’s your problem?). With my ear pressed up against the big valve radio, the only radio set in the house, I listened to the pirate station fading in and out. It broadcast every night from the North sea somewhere off Kent, and I lived in Glasgow, so it was a miracle on nights when snatches of the latest pop hits came across the airwaves.

The morning room in the substantial house that we couldn’t afford to heat was an all-purpose room, as the dining room was only for special occasions, and the lounge contained the TV set, which we were allowed to watch for an hour a day, just the kids programmes. However, when my Dad left us, all bets were off, and we watched all sorts of unsuitable stuff. But most of all I watched Juke Box Jury and Oh Boy! Anything with pop stars in it, expecially Cliff Richard. In truth Elvis was my hero but as an American, he was unattainable, whereas I could expect to bump into Cliff walking down our street (if only he’d lived in Glasgow).

At school we had to have an American idol and then a lesser, more realistic British one. There were plenty to choose from in the early 60’s – Fabian, Bobby Rydell, Ricky Nelson – but there was only Elvis for me. From the British contenders, girls chose Marty Wilde, Adam Faith, even Tommy Steele, but there was only ever Cliff for me. Fortunately The Beatles and the Rolling Stones came along and flushed Cliff out, but it was not the done thing to like both groups, so I chose The Beatles and George in particular, and spent any spare money I had in going to concerts.

Going back to the 1950’s, my granny at the age of 79 became obsessed with a piano player on TV. Granny was a perfect example of what a granny should look like – short, dumpy, with grey hair in a bun, always smiling and very kind. But also very set in her ways. When Papa and the one aunt still at home decided they wanted a TV set, Granny disapproved, stating that there was nothing on it to interest her and she refused to sit with them in the evening, preferring to write weekly letters to her sons in Canada and Glasgow.

However, one night in July 1959, she wrote –

‘On Saturday night Dad had Billy Cotton and his band on TV which is one of his favourite programmes. At that time I happened to come in and there was a nice young fellow playing the piano. I enjoyed his playing and I shall add, his good looks. I’m not sure of his name, I don’t know if it was Russ Conway or some name like that. I sat on the arm of an armchair looking at this fellow. He got up to sing as I got there. He looked at me and gave me a wonderful smile, so I rose and got away for fear I would disturb him’.

She mentions him several times more. In February 1960 she says this

‘We enjoyed Russ Conway last evening. Every time he plays I get up + sit near the T.V. he always gives such a wonderful smile, that I feel like laughing too’.

At the start of March the same year, my Dad (Len) wrote to Russ Conway to ask for a photo for his mother and she wrote this –

‘Len, what a nerve you had to write to ‘Russ Conway’ asking for his photo to be sent to me. You know I may be wrong but I really don’t believe you sent this letter to Russ. You might have written a note just to tell me you had done so, but I can’t believe that you mailed it to him. I hope you didn’t. We had Russ on Friday. He was very good when playing the piano, but I don’t care so much when he’s among the crowd. That is, playing in an orchestra, he loses his lovely smile then’.

So then imagine her surprise when at the end of March she writes

‘As you know, Len, Russ Conway has now arrived at Yaralla. You know I never thought I would have that picture of him. It's a lovely photo, with his best face on, his charming smile & lovely set of teeth. Well you know I did not really know what to say or do with it when I got it on Friday, in an unsealed envelope. I nearly did not open it thinking it was from some advertising firm. Then I noticed it had the post mark of St. Johns Wood, this made me open it, but when I saw the lovely face coming out if the envelope, I first could not make it out. I felt so surprised, then I saw it was Russ, I had a good laugh to myself. Now, I don't know if he has to be thanked for sending it. I don't think so. Len should know, it's him who did the bargain. Anyway I'm very pleased with it, I've put him in a frame. I hung it up between the two windows in the front room. He's put his signature on, "Sincerely Russ Conway"..’

In May 1960 granny reemphasises that she doesn’t like TV, except ‘boxing and Russ Conway’ but she worries because he ‘he doesn’t smile as he used to do and I don’t know what the reasons are.’ According to Wikipedia he was drinking heavily by this time, but she would never have believed that reason.

On January 8th 1961, in one of her last letters to Dad, (she died the following month at the age of 81), she wrote this in response to a card I had sent her -

‘Please thank Susan for her little letter card of thanks, she asks if I saw Russ Conway on TV. Yes, I did on the Billy Cotton Band Show. He was in good form. I sat on the arm of the armchair near the TV to watch Russ. He gave me such a lovely smile when he saw me, then believe me or not, but this is the truth, he gave me a second broad smile, as he was doing so, I wished him a happy Christmas. He then bowed his thanks to me in such a lovely way. Yes, I was proud of it. Please tell Susan about it’.

Granny. photo needed to be resized but I can’t do it

My aunts said she mentioned Russ almost every day, and I think she was only half joking when she thought he was smiling just for her. Although if she’d known he’d been in Borstal, got awarded the DSM in WW2 and was gay, I think her emotions would have been thoroughly scrambled. 1960 was not a time when elderly ladies applauded difference.

So I think we can say it’s never too late for an obsession to grab you. My mother obsessed over Donovan and Leo Sayer when she was old enough to know better. I’m just waiting for my next obsession, hoping it’s more exciting than ironed sheets.

Have you got an obsession? Share your guilty secrets in the comments. I won’t tell!

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

I read

Trespasses by Louise Kennedy. Set in 1970’s Northern Ireland, this is an intricately told story of a family living through the Troubles. The minutiae of everyday life laid bare and seen through the eyes of Cushla, a young schoolteacher, who also doubles as a barmaid in her family’s pub where her brother rules the roost. In addition to her brother, Eamonn, thinking he’s head of the family and her mother, Gina, who drinks, there’s a boy in her class she befriends and looks out for, and the married man she gets entangled with. There’s always ‘stuff’ to be dealt with and secrets to be kept. There are some wonderful passages in this book, it’s very understated and I didn’t want to put it down.

I listened on Audible to

Tidelands by Philippa Gregory. It’s 1648, England’s been protestant for 100 years and is in the throes of civil war and Charles 1 is in exile in France.Alinor lives on the marshlands in the south. She lives in poverty since her husband disappeared, scraping a living as a midwife and a herbalist. She wants a better life for her children and when by chance, she meets a priest in hiding, her fortunes take a turn for the better. Unfortunately the luck doesn’t last and the social mores of the time work against her. The last section of the book was harrowing and had me on the edge of my seat, even though I knew it had to be ok because there are two more books in the series! Can’t wait to read them, the setting, characters and research is just as you would expect from such an experienced and imaginative writer.

I’m watching

Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light. BBC1 Sundays 9pm and IPlayer, love it! So atmospheric, sumptuous and riveting. You know the story and are willing them to change the ending. As soon as Bishop Stephen Gardener, (Alex Jennings at his slyest), appears onscreen in the King’s (I truly believe Damien Lewis is Henry’s reincarnation) company, it’s all up for Cromwell. ( Mark Rylance, almost bewildered by the speed of events, a brilliant performance). Wait ‘til Norfolk (Timothy Spall, no longer cuddly and loveable), gets his claws in! I love the fact that there is not a sound stage in sight, all done in locations. Don’t want it to end.