I don't know if anyone has experienced this, but occasionally I'm prone to have memories from my childhood that, when I've mentioned it to my family, they have told me never happened. When this has happened in the past I tend to have two different reactions:
1. I will adamantly stand by my account and tell them that they are the ones who are wrong for not remembering it. Clearly I have the superior memory brain.
2. Even though I'm convinced at the beginning, when they've said it didn't happen and I really think about it, I agree that this is probably something I've fabricated.
However, there are a few memories where, even before I have got to talking about them with my family, I am convinced they never really happened. I had probably just dreamed it once and then it turned into something that I thought was real afterwards. The memory that I'm going to talk about today is one of those, except, instead of my family confirming that it wasn't true, it has been confirmed that, apparently, this totally happened, mainly by Older-Brother-Glyn who was the one who shared the bulk of this memory with me.
The memory is vague as it's one of my earlier ones. Which I guess just makes things even more bizarre. I'll try and flesh it out as much as I can though... okay, here goes.
I was around 4 years old and it was a Sunday Morning. Coming from a Christian family, we were all getting ready for church. Older-Brother-Glyn and I were ready downstairs, although Younger-Brother-Daniel, who would have only been 2 or 3 at the time, was still running around the house. All of a sudden, there was a massive crash and I ran to the hallway to see that Younger-Brother-Daniel had fallen down the stairs, cracking his head open... it wasn't pleasant. Incidentally, this was the first in a long line of accidents where Younger-Brother-Daniel managed to crack his head open. For some reason, he got some weird kick out of getting himself into situations where hard or sharp things would come into contact with his head. My other favourite including an incident where he had become so angry over not being able to swing on the swing that Older-Brother-Glyn was on, he decided he was better off making his protest of this by standing right behind where Older-Brother-Glyn was swinging, screaming at the top of his lungs... Unfortunately, he just didn't see that swing seat coming...
Anywho... back to this particular head cracking incident, (which had included some form of wheely toy at the top of the stairs coming into contact with his feet) Marmie and Father automatically went into panic mode, and, realising that not only did they now have a bleeding child to get to a hospital, but also two other children who would need to be put somewhere out of harms way whilst this was dealt with, Father called for an ambulance and Marmie ran next door to the neighbours for an emergency babysitting session.
Thankfully, the neighbours were in and happy to help. So Older-Brother-Glyn and I were sent round to theirs in our Sunday best with slightly traumatised looks on our faces over what we had just witnessed... there had been a lot of blood, guys.
Once the ambulance left with Younger-Brother-Daniel, Marmie and Father, it gets a little sketchy over what happened immediately after. I would guess we sat around the house until roughly midday, when the people in charge of us then decided to take us out on a trip. We were then shipped off into a car and taken to a local pub... at least I assume it was local. I'm not going to pretend that I knew the locations of any of the pubs around that area, given that I grew up in a Tee Total household... oh and also due to being 4 years old.
I remember sitting in a darkened room and eating crisps. Then Older-Brother-Glyn and I were asked if we wanted to help unload some stuff from the back of a van. We must have said yes, because we were then taken out back to find a parked van with a bunch of men opening the back doors. Our temporary guardian picked me up and sat me on the ledge of the back of the open van and I remember seeing all these crates inside. The man then opened one of the crate and showed us... (no word of a lie, Older-Brother-Glyn has confirmed this) cases of bullets.
I'm suddenly aware that should anyone be reading this from across the pond, this might not be so shocking given that I hear you all carry ten guns each or something. I'm sure the supply and demand of bullets is pretty high within the American States... I'll admit I don't really know, given that I've not spent much time over there. But, in the same way that I hear you all imagine we've got a castle on every street (which, of course, is 100% true), I tend to imagine that there are bullets being sold on every street corner. I'm basing all of this purely on the fact that guns are legal there. Therefore my brain has just come to the natural conclusion that it always tends to make. The same way I imagine that you guys use guns to open cans of beans and stuff, you know... because you can.
However, guns are not legal in Great Britain... unless your in some special department in the police... or a farmer. Farmers seem to be above the law and have a bunch of them. The thing is, I lived in London at the time, so the chance of these people being Farmers was pretty low. They could have been police officers... but Marmie and Father didn't seem to remember that being the case, when I have asked them in the past.
So, with those deductions made, the fact that Older-Brother-Glyn and I found ourselves helping people unload bullets off the back of a van down some street alley really didn't sound all that law abiding. On account of my 4 year old body not really being up for much heavy lifting, I was given the task of sitting on the end of the van and looking cute whilst the men worked. I think Older-Brother-Glyn helped a little, although I suspect not too much, given that he was 6. I was even given a couple of bullets to play with, so as to occupy myself.
There's not much else that I remember of that day. Only that we came home and Younger-Brother-Daniel was all stitched up again (in case you were worried). I don't know whether we mentioned what we had done with our day to Marmie and Father. If we had, Marmie and Father didn't seem to be too worried about the whole thing. Which apparently just confirms the theory that Older-Brother-Glyn has over the whole incident...
According to him, he was under the impression the bullets we were offloading weren't even real bullets, but rather blanks or something. Something to do with a shooting range that might have been located nearby. Apparently the whole thing was completely innocent, although he has no evidence to back this up... that I know of.
Due to this lack of evidence, my over-imaginative brain has come up with all sorts of theories as to what was really involved in our back alley task. Needless to say, in my mind, I starred a minor role in some form of scenario you might find re-enacted in a Martin Scorcese type film and narrowly escaped a life of Black Market crime. Or Black Market crime narrowly avoided me... I'm not too sure how useful my constant blogging and natural cluelessness to things around me that are based in reality and don't come out of my TV screen, would have been. I mean, let's face it... I'm not exactly mafia quality...
Although, having said that, from what I remember of that day, I held my own pretty well. If shizzle had gone down, I reckon I could have defended myself with my mad skills. Although, as I can't really remember there being any actual guns there, perhaps my throwing of the bullets at my attackers might not have had the same effect.
And on that note...
Peace out my lovelies.
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