Be Excellent To Each Other

Last night I was in bed, and just about to drop off and in that state between being awake and asleep, and suddenly I found myself in my bedroom in my Parent's old flat.

I could visualise the view, the 2 trees in the lawned area, the creaky metal gate from the road into the courtyard area, the bike shed we used to hide under when it was raining (and use as a goal when playing football) the petrol station across the road, the winelodge and pub across the other road, the traffic island (that as 7-8 year olds we used to call the Falkland Isles after the war at the time), the bigger tree behind the bikeshed in the other grassy area.

I also remember lying down in my bed, and listening for cars driving at night, and trying to work out which road they were driving down and which way they were headed, and relatedly, looking out the window, trying to spot movement as quickly as possible from the still scene, and imagining that if I was to join the military that I'd make a good look out guard as I could spot movement easily.

What are you childhood memories of the view from your bedroom window?

Malc

I used to look out over fields, and could see the next village around 2 miles away over on the horizon. I used to watch the lights of the cars trailing across from left to right and right to left.

I'd also secrete myself between the window and the curtain and look up at the stars.

I used to live on a main road which was deathly quiet at night.

Once there was a fight that broke out between about 10 drunken people. A police van turned up within a minute and then took about 15 seconds to clear up everyone which included pushing one of the guys into a neighbours bush.

The roof of the bungalow next door. If I was at my desk I could gaze out to fields in the distance, and stretching my head I could just about make out the river, but it was mostly that roof.

Sadly a rather dull view from my old bedroom window of our back yard. Beyond that were just more houses so nothing exciting to see at all.

There was the occasional time where I'd see one of our cats at the window, wanting to come in - she'd make the jump from the fence running down the side of the house up onto the narrow window ledge. Looking at it, you'd wonder how she got up there, but even more so, how she got back down again.

The girl over the road's bedroom window. She's pregnant, now.

My over-riding memory from looking out of my bedroom window was of my brother Bob hanging out the washing in the back garden.

I was holding a pink dinosaur soft toy. I threw it at him, and he picked it up, threw it back up to me and said "If you throw that at me again, I'll rip its head off."

I didn't believe him, so I threw it down at him again. He picked it up off the floor, held it in his hands, and while looking at me swiftly ripped it's head off at the neck.

I was mortified.

I was 28.

RUSSSELLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My first childhood bedroom window view looked out across the street. It was pretty quiet really as I lived in a cul-de-sac. I do remember the layout of my room very well though, especially my dinosaur models that took pride of place on my chest of drawers.

If we're talking bedrooms, when I was a kid my dad made me a captains bunk and it was amazing!

It had a wardrobe, a secret compartment, a desk, space for me to display toys on loads of shelves. (Something which continues to this day)

I loved it loads and loads!

I lived on the very last street in the town, behind it was the council playing fields and the council owned stadium where a semi-pro team called Colne Dynamoes played.

Most evenings I would play football with my mates up on the pitches, then at night, I would look out over the fields and at the stars. When the Dynamoes were at home, I'd go to the game, cheer on the team, and be home and in bed. I'd read for a bit, then when the floodlights at the stadium were switched off, I would go to sleep.

Reminds me of a nice story: You can skip this bit if you like. Dynamoes were getting very successful, at their peak they would play in front of 2000 people in a town of barely 10000. I was usually roped in with my mates to sell raffle tickets for the supporters club. Usually, we clustered around the main entrance but for one game, we were told to split up around the ground. I still had my main entrance place, but I was on my own. For some reason, I kicked into Alan Sugar mode and sold loads and loads of tickets. Eventually the flow of customers stopped and I wandered into the supporters club hut. Inside, the various people were bemoaning that the other sellers had had a really shit night, and they couldn't believe that the big crowd wasn't reflected in the takings.

Then I started emptying my coat pockets. Then my inside coat pockets. Then my trouser pockets. Then my sweatshirt pockets. Then a bag. Coins upon coins upon coins. Turned out, I'd sold about 1900 tickets, so I had been walking around with the thick end of two grand in change.

And I was so engrossed in selling, I hadn't noticed. And I was too innocent to take any of it.

This is pretty much what I saw, except the window frames were wooden in those days.

I spent ages trying to recall what my view was and not being able to picture it before I realised there was no window in my bedroom.

The view I remember most was the first one I saw each morning, from the kitchen. This was the window that faced the cliff edge, which seemed to be about 200 metres away but subsequent visits make it seem that either the Coastal erosion there is rampant and eats about 10m if land each year, or everything seems huge when you're a kid. The angle of the land meant I could see only the ground and then air from the window, no sea. You could hear it but not see it unless you were standing outside.

In the mornings there'd be rabbits bouncing around, and pheasants having a nosey.

Oh, and it was always sunny, of course

I want one of these now.

Beds with ladders are cool

Until you roll off a bunk bed and smash your knee on your computer desk narrowly avoiding your C64.

I used to have a cabin bed. I used to go in the secret cupboard (it was secret because I took the handle off, and you couldn't tell it was a cupboard until I screwed the handle back on - aha!) and go round the corner and hide with a book about The Owl and The Pussycat and move the peelable stickers around the page to change the story.

You are Harry Potter AICMFP.

Alternatively, this is one of the most depressing things I've read all day.

*hides forehead scar*

It wasn't *that* depressing, really. It couldn't have had that much of an impact as I struggled to remember why there was no view.

It was the world's smallest room. I don't think you could have fit a proper single bed in there, but we had a three-tier child-sized bunkbed. Gaz slept on the top bunk, at the bottom bunk (which was pretty much at floor level) and Lynsey and I shared the middle.

So, because it WAS so small, my cousins and I never used the room to play/hang out in, it was just for sleeping.

It was hardly a room. It may actually have been a cupboard… I can't honestly say I remember there being a door.

That's because Russ took the handle off.

I often pull the handle off... it gives me a sense of enormous well-being.

Malc

One thing that brought childhood memories come flooding back was seeing the original Space Lego mini figs being used in modern lego builds on Flickr. Man, the Christmas where I got loads of space lego was one of the best ever.

*buys more lego*

Wait until your boy gets old enough to have proper Lego, you'll get 2 birthdays and Christmases then!...Our youngest is getting Lego for his birthday on Sunday, as he has for every birthday and Christmas for about 4 years now and if he gets *loads* I'm allowed to build it too, so that he can play with the finished models all at once

...I should have bought him more Lego.

The view from my bedroom window was the top of the conservatory, the back garden, the back garden of the house behind (where the family of dwarves lived) and then the main road, leading off into more suburbia...

Most vivid memories are watching the fireworks from the local school displays with my mum when I was little. RIP mum.

A chippy that went on fire occasionally. Equal parts exciting, scary and contributory to an unhealthy lifestyle.

Are you sure they weren't just far away?

What's a winelodge?

My view was only an embankment leading up to the garden. It started off as bare earth and rocks, then grass, then wild flowers and shrubs, now there are several fruit trees and bushes, which obscures most of the light. At various times the flatter part of the space contained a fort, then a BMX jump, then an old car for zooming about the fields in.



LOL.

We called them "the little people". I always wondered how they met and subsequently married, it's not like there was the internet in those days. Did there used to be dwarf social groups?

Must have browsed the small ads.

I never talked to them much, they were always a little short with me.

The view from my bedroom window was of "the neebors hooses o'er the back", so there was Mrs Graham, the Skivingtons and a rather loud gentleman who yelled at his kids all day and earned the nickname "Shouty John". I don't even know if his name was John. But he was definitely shouty. Mrs Graham had a rowan tree that my friends and I used to pick the berries from for absolutely no reason at all. The Skivington's had a huge garage that always seemed to have some sort of dismantled motor vehicle lying outside it. Meanwhile, Shouty John shouted. A lot.
All I can say is that the view gradually improved as the years went on. Early photos make it look like we lived in Beirut or something, but there were at least some things vaguely resembling gardens in later years.

Bedroom View by MrDavPaz, on Flickr

My bedroom view, circa June 2000. Since this was taken, the distant houses have been demolished and you can see all the way to the Riverside Stadium. The reddish car on the right is my dad's old Skoda Fabia. Awful Car.

Awful parking, too.

I looked up my childhood house on google streetmap, and it all looks completely different - trees gone, all sorts. What really freaked me, though, was that they seemed to have moved the houses forwards. I was sure there were some big front gardens, now there are just small ones. I was convinced they must have knocked the houses down, but obviously it's nuts that they'd have done that just to move them all forwards a few metres, it had to just be that the gardens looked big when I was little.

I've just looked again and obviously they've not moved, but our old house has had most of its front garden replaced by driveway, so I'm letting my memory off a little bit. No wonder I couldn't find the house before.

About halfway down on the left here http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=broadfields&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wl. Next door has been extended out, perhaps that was the start of my "They've MOVED THEM ALL".

Interestingly, well to me anyway, My dad only recently sold the house I grew up in. I lived in that house from 6 months old until I was 18 and went to uni, went back a few times for a few stretches and only now, after my mum passed away last year and there were too many memories, has my dad sold it and moved on. 35 years in the same house, not many people do that anymore!

It's kinda weird not having the house there anymore to go back to...

My aunties and cousins live in 'boro (my mum was from there) and a few years back some of their ex council houses got demolished and they had to move, was there a lot of that, or did they just live very near to where you used to live?

Malc

My Mum and Dad are still in the same (council) house where I grew up - they've been there for 50 years at this point. Never entertained the notion of buying it either, even though by now they could probably get it for about twelve quid.

Boro's not a big place, but a lot of the outskirts used to be prefab 60s houses. Most of them with a lot of asbestos in the walls. These were either stripped and reclad in brick or levelled completely. Hemlington, where I spent my formative years has been transformed since we left in '96