Did you have a secret hiding place when you were a child?

Of course!  And I was 51 before I had a bedroom of my own in my own place, and that was purely by accident.    I did my fair share of driving my sisters crazy, though,  during the childhood years spent in our family home.  I was the middle child; that speaks for itself!

But I can say this: 

They never found my treasures!

‘The most important person in your life is you.’  Who said that?  Don’t care, but it’s true; that’s why we hide things from others.  If you don’t look out for yourself, you cannot dream of being there for others.  Shared bedrooms lead to the instigation of secret hiding places.  I was the roomy mate from hell, one of the worst people you would want to have to share with.  Untidy!

The ‘pile file’ system of clothing in the corner on top of my boxes of junk worked very well when finding a hanger was not an option, as it was late when you crept in after a date.  In the morning when asked to tidy up, or “TIDY UP!”, you extracted any garment that needed the go to the laundry basket, and saved the rest for a rainy day.  Sports clothes lay in a heap, socks kicked under the bed….

Treasures! So what were my treasures?

Not money, as we didn’t get pocket money regularly.  Maybe birthday money, in later years, or cash from my first employments.

I hid my ‘diaries’, books in all shapes and sizes, I liked to think of them as, diaries.  They began their life as diaries, with entries about holidays, and ended up filled with beginnings of stories, poetry, words to songs and lists. 

The mind was always working overtime, doing three things at once, as you do when you are a woman!  Had to write things down while I had the idea, you see, even in the younger years.

I hid my sweets, if we were lucky and allowed to take three as the bag of sweets was offered around, one or two of mine were  always saved and stowed away.  This was a good system, because when ‘others’ saw you munching sweets on a ‘non sweet’ day, they were insanely jealous.  I wallowed in this, what a witch! 

Half a Crunchie, in the gold wrapper comes out a little stodgie after a week, with the honey comb resembling toffee.  Might even have been stuck to the ……. oops, almost gave the game away, but it always tasted delicious when you cleaned the fluff off.

I was a brat at getting up in the middle of the night and sneaking chocolate cake from the cake tin in the kitchen, especially if it was the last piece and I had been denied it earlier.  This never found it’s way into my hiding place, but straight into the tummy.

I hid the code to my Gibberish language, shared with my cousin and pen friend in Rhodesia. 

Irene, my beautiful cousin and I drove our mothers to craziness, because they couldn’t read our letters.  A letter in those days was like a hand reaching out to you across the world.  Every little bit of news was devoured, re-read and re-told.  The postage stamps were a dead give-away when the letter arrived, but sadly once opened, only I could read what was neatly written on blue or pink pages! Some parts of the letter would be de-coded for Mommy eventually, the rest was way tooooo juicy.

There was no need to hide our letter’s!

I hid the remainder of my ‘well making’ chocolate there ALWAYS.  This we all received as the norm  when we were sick in bed having a day off school.  There is a possibility that Mommy used this as a medical diagnosis. (clever really!)  If you were well enough to eat the chocolate, it was off to school the next day for you!  If your slab of Nestle or Cadbury’s chocolate lay abandoned on your chest of drawers, for your siblings to handle, finger and stroke longingly when they came in from school; you were really sick.

Oh yes, and the piece of wedding cake that I slept on time and again in the hope that I would dream about that guy at school that I was madly in love with.

I kept my nightly yearnings of the first man in my life to myself. He was my Adonis in the playground at school,  that no one ever knew about. Sadly he too knew not of my existence. So my lack of trust in my friends at the time could have meant that Freddy, whom I never got to meet nor dance with at a session, go steady with nor even be a friend to, is lost forever in never, never land. But for almost a year he was the one I thought of as the light went out each night.  Who knows where my life could have gone, if I hadn’t been so shy.

 I can say that if I had received love letters, that is where they would have been hidden; but when I fell in love for real, that was that, no time for love letters.  No dilly dallying.  It was pretty much a ‘hands on’ no nonsense relationship.  We knew from the beginning how things had to be.  This also involved loads of wish lists, poems about us, favourite songs, lists for the ‘bottom drawer’ collection for the new home together, what we needed, all spirited away to safety.  There were lists with prices of furniture, honeymoon destinations, household costs, areas to live and even names for our children. 

They all had pride of place in my secret hiding place. 

I have wondered off the point a little now, as by the time this happened, I was then no longer a child, was I!

When you are a child, things have different values, you live day to day; some things evade the memory bank completely; but my secret hiding place I will never forget.  You can hazard a guess, but it won’t help you!

Go on guess!

Advertisements

About liz2you

Life just happens when you plan something else. 50 years spent in Africa and relevant stories.
This entry was posted in Africa, postaday2011, South Africa, this is home, wardrobe and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Did you have a secret hiding place when you were a child?

  1. fgassette says:

    I Love your post. Thank you for taking the time to stop my and visit my post. Hope you visit again.

    BE ENCOURAGED! BE BLESSED!

  2. Love this post. Thank you for liking mine.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s