THE FREEZING

Dolly & the Poor Kid she Froze

Monday 12th April 1999

As a child I was given the nickname of 'me-oner' (rhymes with moaner!). This was because I was always crying. I remember it was like that. For some reason, everyone seemed comfortable with mocking me and playing practical jokes on me.

My sister is six years older than I am. With me at sixty-five and her at seventy-one it doesn't make much difference. But, in the early years, Doll, or as we sometimes called her Granny, was like a mum to me. She often had to look after me and, of course, this was not welcomed by her.

Well, one-day mum told Dolly to take me out to the park. It was winter and very cold. Dolly played with me for a time and then some of her friends came along. Dolly sat me on a seat and joined her friends in their game. A good time later she remembered me, came over, and went to take me off the seat. Oh dear! She couldn't move me. She tried to get me to talk but my face wouldn't move. I was frozen stiff!

Poor Dolly was panic stricken. Luckily, there were some adults there and helped to get me home. Mum almost had a fit! She took me to the hospital where I had to be thawed out. I was in for three days.

But they still all laughed at me. They said that it was the longest that I had stayed quiet!

At one time, my mother was so fed up with me crying that she threw me across the room into my pram. Luckily, she could aim straight! I finished in the pram. There was no sound. Mum rushed over. She looked at me and again I just started crying. She couldn't win!

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Dolly died 16th May 2003 at the age of 75. My eulogy is here.

Extracts from my diary :-

 Friday, 23 May 2003. And more sadness…………….. Carl phoned this afternoon to tell me that my sister, Dolly, died a week ago. He heard from Chloe.
I always had a special relationship with Dolly, as she was six years older than I was. At her age of twelve, I was only six, and she had to look after me. We called her Granny!
It was Dolly, who persuaded me to move back down to Essex when I was planning to move to Wick six years ago. Ain't life strange?
Dolly was 75. No-one expected her to be a long liver, as she smoked so much. Mum always said, "That Dolly will never make old bones." Dolly disproved them all! Though, she was a sickly child.
The family must have not wanted me to know that she had died. Not to tell a brother that his sister has died, irrespective of the past, is reprehensible. However, like me, they will have to answer to their God, or to their consciences.
Dolly had not spoken to me for about four years - I know not why. It's possible that she was upset that I had a go at my brother uterine
those years ago.
I wrote to her in January, to ask if we could meet to discuss any problems, but I had no reply, so she went before we could make our peace.
It will be hard for Fred, her husband. He is in his eightieth year. Ivor always despised, and ridiculed both Dolly and Fred, and yet they respected him. I wonder ………. does she now know the truth?
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Sunday, 25 May 2003. I have spent some time thinking of how I can correct the wrongs that have been done regarding recent events. The Ted of old would have done something. Now, I am too tired, and I hope, philosophical. There is no way that I am going to be able to get my points across. So, I am going to do nothing.
The conversations at Dolly's funeral will, no doubt, be interesting, with the prevalent topic being me, and my conspicuous absence. Will the 'responsible' people say, "We didn't tell him that Dolly died!" What with Mischa, Chloe, Ivor, Joyce and Karen being there, the cross talk would have been, for me, (about me?), very amusing!
I am certain that Chloe and Mischa will wish to discuss my fictional story with Ivor, Joyce and Karen. (I wonder if her father will be there?)
I have content myself with writing my eulogy.
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My further thoughts on Dolly's funeral are here.

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