Why I spent time to sit and remember while moving house - Christa Ackroyd

Sorting out the clothes was easy. How on earth did I ever think I would fit into a size 12 again ? I won’t. And what’s more I don’t care. I gave away my newsreader jackets ages ago. The rest was easy. I plan for a much simpler more casual life from now on. But then I said that last year and I have never been busier.

But so far packing is not going well. In fact for someone who is not prone to panicking I am starting to panic. I should have started this months ago. But hey ho I didn’t.

You see my school reports which my mum kept diligently were right, I really need to concentrate more, not leave everything until the last minute and stop being so easily distracted. Which is ironic really because even they distracted me this week. I have re-read them all amidst the chaos and I really must apologise to all those who had the misfortune to try to teach me.

According to my school reports from the age of eight it would appear I was one of those most annoying pupils that no matter the warnings of failure, no matter how many times they told me that what amounted to a butterfly mind would be my downfall, I could just do exams.

It must have been the sense of drama when we were instructed to pick up our pens turn our papers and begin. I loved them.

‘Christa’s positive exam results are surprising,’ said one. ‘Christa really must learn to be more organised,’ said another. With the final dire warning in my A-level year. ‘Christa must decide on a suitable career as I fear she will not be passing her A levels and must learn to choose her occupation accordingly.’

Well I did pass and I did choose a suitable occupation thank you very much. It wasn’t my fault that they didn’t have a leaflet on journalism but suggested office work instead. Nevertheless I could have done better.

And as I put them back in the toffee tin I am wondering why my mum, and now me, saved them all these years? The simple truth is I suppose that they show who we are, and who we will be, is there from a very young age. We just have to read the signs. Only English shone through in those reports.

‘Christa has an impressive ability for storytelling said one report, but it is often spoilt by the need to get things down too quickly which affects her spelling and punctuation.’

I was to learn that truth very quickly at the hands of some very tough newspaper sub editors, far more frightening than a teacher’s red markings.

But then there was also this one. ‘Christa needs to stop asking questions and get on with her work.’ Little did they know that would be how I earned a living. Anyway I digress. Which of course was also noted in not so many words as among my many failings.

Though I did smile looking around at the chaos created in a house move when my domestic science and needlework teacher noted ‘I do not think Christa is interested in these subjects’.

I like a jam-packed life. I just don’t like packing it away in boxes. Neatness and order are not my strong points. I much prefer the hours I spent yesterday going through hundreds, no thousands of photographs, than sorting out the kitchen cupboards.

Then even they tell a story of the past judging by the sell by dates of items I found there. And that story was the pandemic. I hadn’t even realised until I switched on the news for the first time in days late last night, that this week is the fifth anniversary of the Covid pandemic.

This time five years ago we were preparing for our first lockdown. My kitchen cupboards reflect that time so perfectly. Never before and never since have I baked. Another of my failings I suppose.

But during the pandemic I baked liked a maniac, hence the dried yeast, the currents and raisins, the various essences not to mention the myriad of electrical equipment that were either thrown out or rehomed this week. I was far more adventurous than banana bread.

If I am going to do anything I do it with gusto. In my cupboards I have found graters, choppers, grinders and every other kitchen gadget I ordered during what seems like a lifetime ago when the world stopped and our habits were forcibly changed.

How easily we forget the fear, restrictions, lack of human contact. But also the little things, the kindness, the neighbourly coming together when we were allowed and how the smallest of distanced celebrations became so meaningful. But also the loss. Two hundred thousand lives gone in the blink of an eye.

The removal men called today and asked me how many boxes I would be taking. Too many was my reply. I cannot throw a single photographs away of my family.

I cannot throw away a single memento of weddings and yes funerals, newspaper cuttings, my children’s first shoes, even my granny’s pottery hen which was always filled with mint imperials and sixpence pieces for when the grandchildren came to call.

I have postcards I sent to my parents, and a precious little note mum had kept in which it said sorry for breaking your best mug mummy here is two shillings from my piggy bank to buy another. And a whole host of ‘things’ that probably won’t be looked at until I move again. But I can’t get rid of them.

They tell the story of my life. No doubt future generations will wonder why they were so precious. And will have a laugh at my expense over those school reports. While all the while wondering how on earth I had the audacity to lecture them about doing their homework.

They say moving house is stressful. I will let you know after it happens. But for me it has simply been a time to sit a while and remember.

Well actually to sit for far too long daydreaming when I should have been working. You see in the end we don’t change much do we?

Still always on to the next thing before the task is complete. Such thoughts brings me onto my final point.

Does anyone need a food processor barely used and gathering dust in a cupboard? But when it was I made some pretty damn good cakes.

Which goes to prove what my teachers always told me, ‘you can do it when you try Christa, it’s just that you never quite complete anything before you are looking for the next thing to occupy your mind.’ Sorry, that’s just me.

And that is exactly how life should be lived.