Bradford Lad: The Little Things That Mean Lot
Throwing away one's "rubbish'' is like throwing away one's memories, says Mike Coatesworth.
I was going through some of my old belongings the other day. It's amazing what we hang on to. Small personal items. Bits and pieces which are completely useless but we don't want to part with them.
My missus brought me some articles, asking me what I wanted to do with them.
I said I wanted to keep them.
She asked why I never throw away things which to anyone else would appear to be rubbish.
I guess many people are like me. These things are not rubbish. They are part of my life. An old jacket...a cup with a broken handle...and old, torn and empty photograph album...
And, best of all, the very first letter, after many years, from my Mum. It begins "My dear Mike...'' I feel highly emotional whenever I see this letter. I would never part with it, or with any of the letters and pictures which she sent me. I never tire of reading them.
Every letter, every item that I have kept has a story to tell. My story. Throwing them away would be like throwing away my memories.
When I was growing up, at home with my parents, living for a time on the streets in a cardboard box, during my military service, I carried around an object to link me with my past. A bolly - a shiny ball bearing. It was given to me by my dad when I was a young lad. I clearly remember the day that he gave it to me.
When he arrived home from his work at Croft's Engineering he could see that I was sad. I had been playing marbles with my brothers and sister, and I didn't have so much as one marble left. When my dad came into the room my brothers and sister were laughing and joking about having won all my marbles.
Dad pulled a large shiny object from his pocket and placed it in my hand. As he did so he put a finger to his lips and smiled. It was the ball bearing.
Later he told me it had been given to him when he was young by his dad. Later still he confessed that he had lost the original bolly and had acquired another for himself at Croft's.
My brothers and sisters were envious when they saw the bolly. And every time I looked at that shiny object a smile came to my face.
My missus agreed that my "rubbish'' should not be thrown away, but requested that it should be neatly stored in a cupboard. So now when I want to refresh my memory I know exactly where to find each object.
