Its funny looking back at old photos. Earlier this year we sold the family house. My parents had moved there after the war. Had brought up three children and it is where I was born. In the front room. So it was a bit of a wrench – but Mum had died 2 years earlier and Dad was in a nursing home and sadly died in Jan aged 95. 

Mum and Dad kept all of  their photos. Lots and lots of photos but rarely put them into albums. Many were kept in an old Chocolate box. A very old fashioned large Cadburys box. This housed their favourite photos. 

 It took us ages to clear the house but just as long going through the old photos. Some people we couldn’t and didn’t recognise. How I wished my parents had written a brief note on the back. Some I didn’t want to remember. Those of me!  How  I had changed. Days of having hair for one. Days of innocence. A smile here. A happy face there! 

So forgive me. This is a self indulgent blog. A really self indulgent one and for me a way or recording some of those photos. I have many more.  Stuffed in boxes in my attic. A job that many of you will know is on my retirement list. Along with the cellar. That’s for another week. In the winter. 

The earliest I found was a picture of me sitting with my Dad on the front doorstep. I’d like to say I remember. But I don’t.  I must be 3 maybe?  I don’t have the same cheeky smile these days. To be fair I don’t smile that often. 

With my Dad on the doorstep

So I got taken to see Father Xmas each year. I haven’t been in a few years now  but I still have a duffle coat. Hanging on the back of the door at the cottage.  Not the original as that would be silly. But a larger one. 

In later years I would dress up as father Xmas at my teams Xmas party. To hand out the secret Santa gifts to my colleagues. I think I was a more realistic Santa. Oh. And we had colour photographs by then. 

Who temembers school photos. I spend ages looking through this one trying to put names to faces. I could place  many and occasionally look at it when I remember someone’s name and try and fit the name to the picture. Names different to those in my god children’s classes these days. Sandra. Susan. Nicholas. Steven. Stephen. Martin. Yvonne. Sally. Vivienne. Elizabeth. Not names of today of India – Brooklyn – willow – Apple. Oh. I met Elizabeth a few years ago whilst visiting my parents. We were both in the local butchers. Both Older. She was talking to the  butcher who we had both been at school with. A gifted musician at school he joined the family business. ‘ I won’t be in tomorrow she said. I’m in court. Me. Big foot. Small mouth. ‘ ha. Some things don’t change then Liz’ I said. She’d been a difficult child though never in trouble.  She gave that withering look I remembered. Actually I’m a JP she retorted. Oops! 

This is from another group school photo. I wish my parents had made a note of the dates – I have no idea of how old i was. I certainly couldn’t wear stripes these days. Not suitable for a man of my height and weight! 

It’s good to see that I liked tank tops even then. I love this photo. A cheeky grin. A bit of a pose. And a knitted tank top. Made by my mother. In later years my colleagues would take the p when I wore similar to the office. Not knitted  though. I never did find any of me in the 70s. With flares. And couloured  knitted tank tops. In hoops. 

Smiley in a tank top
Slightly older – still a bit serious. 

Oh dear. Moody teenager – dark baggy circles under my eyes. I’d like to say that it was because of a heavy night out but I was about 12. That i suspect is not the case. I am more inclined to say hayfever. Not my best look. But to be fair. There are some far far worse in the 90s 

a bit Grange Hill

Do I look like a future pen pusher in this? I love how they took the school photos in the 60s. I look as if I had pixie ears too. No. They haven’t been fixed but the years of sleeping on them has maybe flattened them! 
Pixie ears
with my mother at my cousins wedding .

A wedding where the ladies still wore hats!

Good to see that I liked a polo neck back then too. Don’t think I’d get away with mustard these days.though.  Black all the way. 

So it went down hill after these younger school boy days. I grew hair. Got spots. That hair was real. My mother permed her hair. My sister and I straightened ours. I thought it was cool. Really. I did. My father called it Gulbert Osullivan. My mother Leo Sayer. Go ask your parents if your young. 

I then thought I had also found fashion. Hey I thought I was cool. That was how bad a judge I was back then. 


What was I thinking. You can’t see the shoes thankfully. I loved that polo neck. Another mustard colour. And the starsky and hutch cardigan. Suited me along with the sheepskins seat covers on the car. What happened to car seat covers? 

Evidence I still like a polo neck. I’d also like more hair. 

Oh dear. Those shorts were short. What was I thinkimg? Gawd. I was thin. Now I look like Ive eaten this person. 

In the first picture I’m not sure if I think I’m Magnum Pi. My attempt at Tom Selleck. The second is a pretty mean ‘tache. And that was before Movember was ever though of. Ha. Now it would be a mix of ginger and grey. If I could even grow one. 

So began my Broke Back mountain phase. I rode twice a week at least. Jumped. On the horse naturally. If there was going to be a naughty horse I’d pick it. A few sepctaular falls. Now you’d need a shire horse for me. With enormous assistance to saddle up. And to get on & off. And walk afterwards. 

So there we are. A record for me of some of the earlier photos we found at my parents. With some dodgy ones I found too. The really bad ones  will remain covered for another day. 

As I said. Purely self indulgent tosh. 

2 thoughts on “How times change! 

  1. Pictures really do say a thousand words, don’t they? And the sequence is fascinating. You don’t need many clues or words to paint a rich story.
    That Starsky & Hutch cardi was cool, by the way. I had a poster of Starsky sitting on a car bonnet, just like that.
    I hope you kept the number plate, then you’d never be old 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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