There’s joy in repetition … 

A Prince song title , of course…. But in times of change and movement I take comfort in what I’ve always known.  I was brought up with a love of my surroundings , shabby as they often were.   My father was a Traditional Signwriter… He learnt his trade whilst in hospital.  He was in hospital for years. He was diagnosed with a TB, he held the prosegious award of being the first in Grimsby to ‘go in the Iron Lung’    He told us tales of life on the TB ward.  He made light of an operation to collapse his lung throughout which he had to stay awake as back then they weren’t sure he would awake if put to sleep.. They had the radio on and listened to cricket.. The deep wide scar curving  across his back stamped authenticity to his stories.     But when they had a hospital fayre one summer they thought ‘Snowy’. ( My dads youthful nickname due to his mop of blonde hair) would do it.  He did it, was great at it and from then on set up a room in the hospital doing posters… The doctors bringing him in jobs .  Sounds very Carry on Doctor I agree but that’s how he explains it…

So my dad was a Signwriter with a love of Cleethorpes, Grimsby and the previously thriving docks.  We lived behind the workshop, our lives were dominated by it.  I would often wake up in the morning with every inch of my bedroom. Hallway and house covered in posters…my dad had been screen printing all night.  Dad was old fashioned, he’d been brought up by his gran and didn’t really know what to do or say to children.  The best spent time with dad was in the car driving to deliver signs … He was the most animated I remember.  He would explain what shops had been there before , when he was a lad . We would drive to the docks and he would become animated , lit up, explaining the thriving pontoon of his youth… This was dad’s  world and so long as you were quiet you were allowed in briefly.   Cleethorpes was another favourite.  Still now I often go to the prom early morning, as my dad did to think , reflect and consider.  But as a child we would drive and discuss the signs, the styles, colours, rate them.  Talk about the changes and differences.

It is this that I repeat , often , weekly ,sometimes  often more.  I silently pay homage to the sights and sounds that my father loved so much. That I love so much .. Prince is right.. there’s joy in repetition  …

Tonight’s journey to the comfort zone….

   

                 

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