Any old iron …

Over the last decades I have reflected on my life particularly my experiences in post-war Britain. Tending to consider the hardships and the negative  effect they had directly or indirectly on my life, presently. 

Without wishing to get into a psychological or philosophical debate as to whether this was a healthy or wise way to come to terms with those harsh times, I would like to think it about more kindly.

Some of the incidents happened as a direct result of the hardships,  yet, had positive results and powerful effect on my life now and will continue.  

My dad was boat builder in a boat yard beside the Hamble River, also he salvaged broken crafts that were found at sea or washed up on the beaches.  Using his skills to build new boats for pleasure boating or for homes, that were still required since Southampton and Portsmouth had been flattened during the recent war.  

In his explorations and because of his workmanship he accumulated spare scrap metal. This was a vital source of cash for him as a father and home and boat builder. In Southampton beside the Itchen River lived a man whose business was the collection of scrap metal, initially for the war effort of the previous years. People would bring ‘any old iron’ or he would collect regularly in the city streets, before the days of garbage collection.

While he no longer needed to provide this service scrap metal was still a valued a commodity for people for like my dad.

Every so often, perhaps 2 or 3 times a year my dad would fill his canvas bag, which incidentally he had stitched using fragments of damaged sails, with copper, lead and iron. Taking the bus to town. While the Itchen River was not far as the crow flies, with a heavy bag the circuitous bus journey was necessary and oh so worthwhile. 

Obviously, the cash input to our fragile economy was vital. However, for me I enjoyed the gifts that my dad returned with in his now empty bag!

One such gift was a sewing machine for my mother who went on to make clothes and household items for her growing family and later teach me to sew. For me, a bike, unable to bring this in his bag and on the bus, he rode it home! The bike was very old, no brakes, a fixed wheel and solid tyres nonetheless the bike and subsequent replacements have been my preferred form of transport to this day. 

So, these items potentially ‘old iron’ and destined to smelting pot became catalyst to my journey that still goes on.