Mrs. Brown

A good friend of mine recently sent me a link to a video on YouTube. The name of the video is Mrs. Brown. It is a popular (and extremely funny) stage production travelling 'round the UK. The main character, Mrs. Brown, is an Irish woman who has a particular take on life in general. As I watched the clips my own English side of the family came to mind. My dad was English (the proper kind) as was his mother and father. My dad was even born within the "sound of the bells" in London, making him a true Londoner. My Nana (Kitty) had a German father and an Irish mother. She was one of seven children, which was fairly typical of that time period, after all there was no television or central heating to pass the long dark winter nights. So people resorted to what comes naturally to bored, cold partners. This is usually after the man has been down round the local watering hole to chat with his mates and neighbours. Sometimes the Mrs. would join him, but there was usually a wee one at home, so the wives visit was considerably shorter than the the males. In my nan's family there was one sister in particular who sticks in my mind, my dad's Auntie Ivy. Auntie Ivy and Uncle Fred lived at the end of a track (goat path) just the other side of the railway track. The train would rumble by a couple of times a day and once in the late evening. I swear the house was literally yards away from the track. Ivy and Fred had no children, but they did have hundreds of pigeons. Fred raised them for racing, quite a popular past time back in the 60's. Anyway, whenever we went to visit Fred and Ivy we would all end up down at the local (me being a wee tot, wasn't too much of a bother back then, so long as I sat under the bar stool with the dog, as there is always a dog in the pub under the bar stool, then no-one would say a word). I have fond memories of Ivy in her brown wool coat, hat (usually the brown beret) bright red lipstick and a fag stuck in the corner of her mouth. A fag in the U.K. is not what a fag is here in North America, just like a fanny is the front of the female anatomy and not the back end. Uncle Fred would yell out "Come on Ivy! up to the piano wi' ya, and play us a song!" Thing was Ivy had never had a music lesson in her life, but she could belt out a song on the ivories as if she had taken lessons from Scott Joplin hisself. The joint was jumping with my parents doing a jig (as well as a few others) Ivy squinting with the smoke of her fag trailing straight up into her eye (usually the left) and everyone singing at the top of their lungs. The more the Guinness flowed the better the singing and playing. Now my nan was a bit of a straight lace, but get a couple of glasses of sherry into her and look out! Watching the video of Mrs Brown was not only hysterical at the time, but left me giggling and smiling broadly at the memories of those days. It makes me wonder what ever happened to the spontaneity of just having fun. Of meeting with your neighbours and having a laugh or for that matter a sing along. Oh, I know, the Japanese gave us Karaoke, but really is it the same? I think not. Then there is the question of drinking and driving. Living in such a small community gave us the luxury of just walking down the road and over the tracks, all hanging on to each other, not because they were all so drunk, but because that is what friends and family do.
So I leave you with the thought of, no matter where you are or what you are doing, don't forget the past. No matter how trivial it might seem at the time, it is sure to come back and give you great joy.
Cheerio for now,
Cat x