Friday 30 October 2009
14:12 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
Ask anyone to draw a frog and it would almost always be green, ask them where their green frog came from, they would probably shrug and say from a pond; ask where the pond is they probably wouldn’t know. The red eyed green tree frog comes from Latin America which sounds so much more exciting than a market in Kettering, but that’s exactly where my red eyed green frog came from. Frog was found in Kettering market on Wednesday lunchtime sometime in the early summer of 1984.
I came to be in Kettering not through choice I was here on a course, learning Pegasus an accounting software package. Leaving Wales the day before in my dark blue company car I was excited and so desperate to get out of the office, 3 whole days away in a hotel. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being in the modern offices occupied by Dawn Computers, but I had joined as a trainee sales person and after being tortured by the chauvinistic Graham for 4 long months I couldn’t take it any longer. I had headed nervously into the general managers office and looked imploringly into his deep blue eyes and asked to be transferred to the training department, thank goodness he was sleeping with the receptionist otherwise there might have been a price to pay. I must have tugged at his heart strings because he let me move upstairs to join May and Eva straightaway. And so with my background in accounts I was quickly booked onto the course.
The journey to Kettering was uneventful, out of Wales via the M4, across country to the M5, M5 to the M6 and then onto the M1, not much to see just endless grey tarmac and a colourful collection of cars occupied by boy racers to pit my wits against. In just 3 hours I had arrived, it was dark and the historical relevance of this town slipped by me in my eagerness to get to the hotel and have a gin and tonic on the company. The 3 storey 16th century red hotel was tatty and the musty smell reminded me of stale damp washing, not quite the luxury my young mind had conjured up. The following day I was wakened by the sun as its warm rays stole through the gap in my flowery curtains burning a line across my face. The shower dribbled on me, the white rectangle of soap didn’t lather and the tiny pink towel barely covered me, what was breakfast going to bring I laughed as I dressed?
An hour later I was out into the street and walking the short distance to the equally old office perched on top of a glass fronted shop and there I sat for two whole days without venturing out. By day three, sheer boredom drove me outside and an aimless wander placed me at the edge of the market. The sheer thrill of seeing the stalls perked me up and I rushed from each looking at the assortment of bric a brac, time was running out when out of the corner of my eye something green glinted against the sun. There was green frog, its bold red eyes filling my imagination of a time of nipped in waists, voluminous skirts pushed out with layers of net. I could see green frog adorning a short boxy jacket with just one big button at the neck, ¾ sleeves, finished with fresh white gloves. Possibly, the smart sophisticated owner would have had a chignon and pill box hat?
As green frog sat in my hand the owner told me how just 3 weeks ago he had walked up the wooden stairs of the otherwise empty building and there sitting in the middle of the floor was a box, lined with a newspaper from the 50’s, all of the contents brand new, with a note explaining that they were samples made in 1951, he didn’t know who had left the box and as he had no need of them they were all to be sold. I didn’t need a green frog but I wouldn’t be back and it was old with an undiscovered history. A fiver later green frog was mine, wrapped in white tissue and placed in a plain brown bag. I tucked the bag safely in my handbag and walked quickly back to the course, only a few hours left and I could take green frog home.
Copyright : Dale Darley : 2008
I came to be in Kettering not through choice I was here on a course, learning Pegasus an accounting software package. Leaving Wales the day before in my dark blue company car I was excited and so desperate to get out of the office, 3 whole days away in a hotel. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being in the modern offices occupied by Dawn Computers, but I had joined as a trainee sales person and after being tortured by the chauvinistic Graham for 4 long months I couldn’t take it any longer. I had headed nervously into the general managers office and looked imploringly into his deep blue eyes and asked to be transferred to the training department, thank goodness he was sleeping with the receptionist otherwise there might have been a price to pay. I must have tugged at his heart strings because he let me move upstairs to join May and Eva straightaway. And so with my background in accounts I was quickly booked onto the course.
The journey to Kettering was uneventful, out of Wales via the M4, across country to the M5, M5 to the M6 and then onto the M1, not much to see just endless grey tarmac and a colourful collection of cars occupied by boy racers to pit my wits against. In just 3 hours I had arrived, it was dark and the historical relevance of this town slipped by me in my eagerness to get to the hotel and have a gin and tonic on the company. The 3 storey 16th century red hotel was tatty and the musty smell reminded me of stale damp washing, not quite the luxury my young mind had conjured up. The following day I was wakened by the sun as its warm rays stole through the gap in my flowery curtains burning a line across my face. The shower dribbled on me, the white rectangle of soap didn’t lather and the tiny pink towel barely covered me, what was breakfast going to bring I laughed as I dressed?
An hour later I was out into the street and walking the short distance to the equally old office perched on top of a glass fronted shop and there I sat for two whole days without venturing out. By day three, sheer boredom drove me outside and an aimless wander placed me at the edge of the market. The sheer thrill of seeing the stalls perked me up and I rushed from each looking at the assortment of bric a brac, time was running out when out of the corner of my eye something green glinted against the sun. There was green frog, its bold red eyes filling my imagination of a time of nipped in waists, voluminous skirts pushed out with layers of net. I could see green frog adorning a short boxy jacket with just one big button at the neck, ¾ sleeves, finished with fresh white gloves. Possibly, the smart sophisticated owner would have had a chignon and pill box hat?
As green frog sat in my hand the owner told me how just 3 weeks ago he had walked up the wooden stairs of the otherwise empty building and there sitting in the middle of the floor was a box, lined with a newspaper from the 50’s, all of the contents brand new, with a note explaining that they were samples made in 1951, he didn’t know who had left the box and as he had no need of them they were all to be sold. I didn’t need a green frog but I wouldn’t be back and it was old with an undiscovered history. A fiver later green frog was mine, wrapped in white tissue and placed in a plain brown bag. I tucked the bag safely in my handbag and walked quickly back to the course, only a few hours left and I could take green frog home.
Copyright : Dale Darley : 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments: