Just An Ordinary Life: Even if You're a Nobody - You're still Somebody

By Patricia Gooch

In her memoir, Pat shares the lessons she learned and the adventures she had throughout her ordinary yet extraordinary life. From proving that Life is What You Make It to the importance of not living to please others, Pat’s story encourages readers to embrace their own lives and make the most of every opportunity. Along the way, she reminds us that it’s better to look back and say “I’m glad I tried that” rather than “I wish I’d done that.” Follow Pat’s journey and be inspired to live a fulfilling and meaningful life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398479654

Patricia Gooch

When Pat decided to write her story, it was to read it when she got older and relive the memories. She stopped writing it in 2020 – at the age of 80. After reading it all the way through she decided it was a good story and would try to get it published. You don’t have to be famous to have a good life.

Book preview

About the Author

When Pat decided to write her story, it was to read it when she got older and relive the memories. She stopped writing it in 2020 – at the age of 80. After reading it all the way through she decided it was a good story and would try to get it published. You don’t have to be famous to have a good life.

Dedication

Dedicated to our wonderful family, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Copyright Information ©

Patricia Gooch 2023

The right of Patricia Gooch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of the author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398479647 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398479654 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

My thanks to Austin Macauley Publishers for giving me the opportunity to have my life story published.

Preface

Approximately 30 years ago, while reading the ‘Life Story’ of a TV personality, I thought – I’m not famous but I do have a ‘life’!

I was 50 at the time and began by going back to my early childhood. I wrote it as though I was telling my story to a friend.

I am now 81.

School days; starting work; getting married and divorced; married again. Many personal things. Had several exhibitions of my hand embroidered pictures. In 1990, sold some to Harrods of London. While working at an entertainment agency, met DEE PRESLEY, Elvis’ stepmother. At the age of 52, made my singing debut on BBC Television. Had never sung anywhere before. Auditioned for several TV talent shows; didn’t get through but thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Sung at many local venues for several years.

I shall always regret not trying for a singing career when a teenager, but had no confidence to even try!

I’ve lived in the same council house for 56 years; have never been able to buy my own home. At times have struggled to manage; but have never once been in debt.

Having said that, I’ve had what I consider to be a great life; perhaps not always easy. Had many health problems over the years including, nearly died from Pancreatitis (1994) and Septicaemia (1997), Diabetic since 2014.

Please find the time to read my life story. It shows how an ordinary person can have a good life. Even if you aren’t rich and famous!

Proves that ‘Life is what you make it’.

My advice would be – ‘Don’t live your life to please other people’. It’s best to look back and say ‘I’m glad I tried that’ rather than ‘I wish I’d done that’.

The ‘ups and downs’ of ‘Just An Ordinary Life’.

My dearest Mum and Dad; July 1932

Dad, 1935

Mum, 1937

Chapter 1

The Early Years

I was born on 7 January 1940 – a war baby; nine months after my mum and dad were married. Obviously, I don’t remember much of the war at all, only what my parents told me when I was older.

When I was born, we lived in quite a large house, but unfortunately it got damaged during one of the air-raids. Apparently, after every raid, my dad would walk to where his mother, father, brothers and sisters lived, to check if they had survived the raid. It must have seemed like an eternity until he got there and saw for himself that they were okay.

Thank God we all survived the war. I can remember Dad telling me of the devastation after some of these air-raids; buildings completely bombed down. And worst of all, dead people or perhaps limbs laying around. Mum once told me of an incident, when she opened the back door and a child’s arm lay there. It’s hard to imagine what this must have felt like.

The house next to granny became empty, so we moved in there; I was still a baby. It was a small terraced house with just two bedrooms. My half-brother, who was five, had the back bedroom and I shared my mum and dad’s bedroom. This I had to do until I got married.

Our back garden, which was quite long, was completely filled by a brick air-raid shelter. I think it was meant to take all the occupants of the street. Thinking back, I could never understand what the advantage was of being bombed in the shelter, rather than in the house. If enough warning was given, we would go to the shelter.

Many a times, my dad would hide me under the seat and place himself in such a way as to protect me. If there wasn’t time to go to the shelter, we would all get under the table in the living room. Sometimes we would go without neighbour into their shelter – this was small but underground.

During one raid, we were all about to have a cup of oxo when the siren went, so we took our oxo with us. I can vaguely remember that, so it must have been in the latter part of the war.

There were times when it was particularly dangerous to stay in the city. My mum’s parents lived in the country. So we would stay with them for a while. To get there, Mum and Dad had to walk twenty-two miles; pushing the pram holding my brother and I. They must have had tremendous stamina.

My dear mum, although slightly built, must have had strength too. My dad was taken ill with Appendicitis, and gangrene set in. He had to be rushed to the hospital and it was touch and go for quite a while. He did pull through, but he had to come home from the hospital soon after the operation and Mum had to look after him.

There was an air-raid and no-one was available to help her. It must have been a particularly bad raid, so we all needed to get to the shelter. First of all, she took my brother and I and made sure we were comfortable. Then she went back for Dad. She had to carry him down the stairs on her rack, then through the back yard and into the shelter.

What a Lady!

After the war, I had a happy childhood. Although there was food rationing, we didn’t seem to want for anything. My dad worked in a shoe factory and Mum was in charge of the works canteen on the railway station.

Being a child, the main thing I was concerned about was sweet rationing. However, my dad used to give me his coupons as well. This must have been quite a sacrifice as he had a sweet tooth too.

We had an outside loo, which I hated going to in the evenings. We were the passage house and I always felt that someone would come round the corner and grab me as I came out. They never did, thank goodness. Nice soft toilet tissue was unheard of then, we had squares of newspaper. There was no bathroom either. It was a tin bath in the kitchen on Saturday nights. We couldn’t afford fancy shampoos. To wash my hair, I used to mix a little washing powder (usually Tide) with some water. This was finally rinsed off with vinegar and warm water. Although this didn’t smell very sweet, the hair had a nice sheen.

Chapter 2

School Days

I don’t remember much about infants’ school, except we used to have a sleep in the afternoons. Junior school wasn’t too bad, although I was a bit on the shy side. I wasn’t all that clever, but I did quite like school. It was a lot different then, there seemed to be more respect for the teachers; or perhaps it was fear.

You didn’t even know a teacher’s Christian name, let alone call them by it. There was definitely no answering back, you accepted what the teacher said. I can remember doing a composition I was particularly proud of for the English teacher, Mr. Anderson.

In it, I mentioned that my aunt lived in Briston, which is a small village in Norfolk. Obviously, he had never heard of it, because when he returned my work, marked by him, he had crossed out Briston and written Bristol. Although I was right and he was wrong, I daren’t tell him so.

I do believe that school put me off knitting for life. The very first thing we were taught to knit was a pair of socks on four needles. I never did get the hang of it and eventually, had to ask another pupil to help me get around the heels.

It was at sometime during my latter years at school that the shelter in the garden was removed. I’m sure this must have been a major job, but I can honestly say I don’t remember much about it. Dad made the garden look really nice, there was a section for flowers and a small lawn.

We had two or three chickens and a couple of bantams. At one time, we had two cockerels, they seemed huge compared to the others. I can clearly remember being pinned against the wall down the bottom of the garden by one of them, it kept pecking me on the leg. Ever since then I haven’t liked long necked birds.

Dad also started to keep racing pigeons, this was a hobby that he really enjoyed. I can picture him now, sitting in the back garden in his deck-chair, waiting for the pigeons to fly home so he could clock them in.

As I mentioned earlier, my mum’s parents lived in the country. I always referred to her as my ‘station granny’ because we had to go there by train. I loved going there for visits; quite often there would be other members of the family visiting too. Mum was one of eleven children so there were many aunts, uncles and cousins.

It was a fairly large house, but compared to ours, it seemed absolutely huge. They even had an attic. I used to go up there sometimes just to look out of the window, you could see for miles. As well as the occasional visits, we usually went there to stay for one week every August.

My grandad had two allotments and an orchard; he used to grow every kind of fruit imaginable. We were encouraged to eat as much as we wanted; it was wonderful.

Christmas was so different then, it was a time to really look forward to. We always had a chicken on Christmas day, that was a treat. Also, an apple and an orange, which we didn’t get during the year. I used to try and save some of my sweets for Christmas, but for me that wasn’t easy.

We always decorated up at Christmas. Not the foil and tinsel of today, but paper chains that I used to make with coloured strips of paper. We didn’t have a television set of course, but I did love listening to the radio. I can remember so many programmes, we would often sit and listen to the serials – such as ‘Dick Barton’, ‘Special Agent’ and ‘Paul Temple’. Comedy was good too, with ‘Life with the Lyons’, ‘Take it From Here’, ‘Ray’s a Laugh’ and ‘The Charlie Chester Show’.

I loved radio Luxemburg too, the music seemed different on there. Although, reception wasn’t always very good. (The first time I heard Elvis Presley was on Luxemburg). If I could arrange it, I’d try to be the last one to bed so I could just sit and listen. Of course, in later years, I realised that Mum and Dad didn’t mind me coming to bed a bit late as it gave them the chance to be on their own for a while.

The winters seemed colder then and there were times when we did put an overcoat on the bed for extra warmth. I had a stone hot water bottle, which was literally stone cold when I woke in the mornings. I loved the weekends as I came downstairs to a lovely coal fire. Sometimes we had the fire lit in the front room as well on Sundays, usually if we had company.

My dad must have belonged to the labour club. As once a year the members’ children had a party. Oh how I looked forward to that. Just for one reason. That was the only time I had a chocolate eclair cake. Not a fresh cream one, but it was such a treat.

I should think I was about ten years old when things seemed to change: it would be a little while before I found out why. There were silences, arguing and sometimes tears; I was completely bewildered by it all.

The reason for the change was someone had sent my dad an anonymous letter, saying that my mum was having an affair with someone she worked with. We never did find out who sent it, but we had our suspicions. Things were never the same after that.

Dad thought the world of my mum and he was extremely jealous. Every time Mum was a little bit late home from anywhere, there was a row. There were times when they each threatened to pack their bags and leave, they never did though. I can clearly remember that every day, when I came home from school, I would go straight upstairs to the wardrobes to check if their clothes were still there.

A couple of times Dad packed his case, but he never actually left, and Mum used to threaten to take Brian and leave. It wasn’t clear to me as to where I would be. I thought the world of both my mum and dad and just couldn’t imagine life without either of them. I used to pray that I would die before they did.

I left the junior school and went to secondary modern. It seemed very strange at first; all my class were little girls, but the others seemed like young women. It was sometimes difficult to tell the teachers from the older pupils. I settled down quite well, but I didn’t find school very interesting.

This school was a bit further away than the juniors, but I had always stayed to school dinners so that didn’t make much difference to me. I think I was one of the few children that actually liked school dinners, or admitted to it anyway. The head-teacher put my name forward to the art-school exam, I felt quite proud when I passed.

However, my mum persuaded me not to accept the place at art-school and to apply for the commercial course at the college. This I did and passed that too. When I started there, I felt so out of place. I just didn’t settle at all. I got on quite well with the typing and book-keeping but the shorthand used to worry the life out of me.

I was upset most of the time and after about two months I was allowed back to the secondary school. I did feel that I had let everyone down, but I was so relieved to get away from the college. On reflection, it would perhaps have been better if I’d gone to the art-school. Although Mum had the best intentions for me, the commercial course being the most practical.

The art teacher at school asked if she could paint my portrait. I said it would be okay as I was flattered that she should choose