My mouth and hands are sore and I feel nauseous despite being off the tablets this week. I hear on the news this morning that there is widespread fog on the Mainland. I could do with some fog to conceal my face from the general public. My skin continues to erupt into unsightly spots lumps and red marks. It is becoming depressing even to look in the mirror. I think back to the infamous smogs of my childhood.
The Pea-Souper
As a child I would often see buses travelling at crawling speed, with volunteers holding torches in front of them to light their way. Old people and small babies had to be kept at home, because their lungs couldn’t breathe in the air very safely.
To get to school I walk from Deanery Road, along Water Lane and then up to Maryland Point. My large classroom has small wooden desks. Each desk has its own inkwell. Behind the teacher’s desk stands the large blackboard, which has thin lines, embossed upon it for demonstrating handwriting. An open fire surrounded by a large mesh fireguard nestles in the corner of the room. When my teacher has a cold she tosses her used tissues into the fire and I love to watch them curl and shrivel, as they are slowly devoured by the bold yellow flames. The acrid smell lingers unpleasantly. From time to time, particularly in November, we have thick fogs known as ‘pea-soupers’.
One November afternoon in 1958 when I am seven years old, we are surprised when my teacher says that we all have to go to the assembly hall. It is now so foggy that when we look out of the windows the playground has disappeared, and we can’t see the school gates.
The Headmaster’s voice sounds serious.
“School will close this afternoon. There is a dangerous pea-souper. No-one is allowed to go home until they are collected.” I feel excited at the prospect of disappearing into the depths of the murk. What an adventure!
Parents begin arriving one by one to pick up their children. After about ten minutes I see Mum. She is wearing a thick hairy dark green coat. I am looking forward to walking home with her.
“Now I want you to be a good girl. Put this scarf round your face and hold my hand tightly. You have to keep this on so that you don’t breathe in the fumes.”
We step out into an eerie silent world of swirling yellow mist, so thick the smoky bitterness coats your tongue. We start walking slowly towards Water Lane.
“We’ll have to be really careful crossing the main road”. Mum’s voice is strangely muffled behind her scarf.
“Now put one foot in front of the other, but be careful of the kerb.” I look down,
“But Mummy I can’t see my feet!”
We tread gingerly down into the road and try to cross in a straight line. We have no way of knowing where the road finishes, or even if we are still walking in the right direction.
“Ok, now hold my arm, and we will take really tiny steps, try to feel the kerb with your feet so you don’t trip”. Mum’s voice is reassuring as ever and I have every confidence that we will be safe. It’s exhilarating to cover familiar terrain but to experience it so differently using senses beyond sight.
We shuffle along like this for what seems like ages. We cross a road, but struggle to find the other side, losing our sense of direction completely.
“Ouch! What’s that?” We have bumped into a lamppost, but didn’t see it.
“Look Mummy, we are home”. I peer at the roadsign and trace the large embossed black letters with my finger. “Deanery Road.”
“Now we just need to find the house!”
It is both weird and thrilling being out in that fog, knowing we are so close to our house, but not being able to see it.
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