Childhood Memories
October 2011
#033
Summer Fun!
It was a warm summer’s day and we had arranged to meet at the top of my road. After about the fifth change of clothing, 1 bottle of hair mousse and six hairstyle make over’s later, I was ready. It was the first weekend of the summer holidays and I was in year 5 or these days year 11.
Hayley turned up and she was wearing her jeans as well so I didn’t think I looked freaky although mine were maroon! Valentines Park was overflowing with families and other people around our age. It was boiling hot! Hayley suggested a boat ride on the boating lake, even though she knew I couldn’t swim properly. I kind of fluked my length!
She promised we wouldn’t go too far into the lake middle and then I don’t know what possessed me but I said, yes! I kept thinking of Jaws the movie though realistically there was no chance of a great white shark being in Valentines parks’ lake, was there? It took us a good 15 minutes to get into synch’ with the rowing but it was actually fun until we heard the whistles. Two shirtless, okayish looking blonde guys on the embankment were smiling at us. Hayley promptly stuck two fingers up to reply to their invitation. Instead of putting them off the louder one jumped in and started swimming over. By now I had cursed Hayley to kingdom come with no return ticket!
As I was the one with no experience I was obviously the one screaming loudest.”Help! Help!” The guy just kept coming undeterred with a massive grin on his face. Admittedly he was better than o.kay looking but at that moment he was not a priority! I started to imagine the bottom of the lake, dark, murky and full of rubbish with an empty shopping trolley. Hayley and me lying there motionless, pale and eyes bulging out. The guy put his arms up over the side of the boat, tilting over to Hayley’s side and this time she was the loudest screamer! All the commotion had actually attracted the attention of the boat hire shed and the men were shouting “Oy!” to the guy still hanging onto our boat. He seemed quite amused.
”We could’ve had fun, see you around!” Blurrgh!! Thank God and good riddance. His idea of fun was obviously out of some psychotic horror film where they scare you to death. After watching him swimming away Hayley and I finally co-ordinated our rowing technique and made our way back. Finally dry land! Solid concrete under our feet.
“You two! Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking everywhere! Hurry up, there’s still time to catch the last film! It’s really scary!” Little is known to our friends, in a round about way we had just been in a live version of a real scary film!
Zahida Shah
Childhood Memories Poem
A shopping trip to Reading
To buy a pair of jeans
To the pink flared type I was heading
A shopping trip to Reading
Would suit me by all means
With two blue seahorses as beading
A shopping trip to Reading
To buy a pair of jeans.
Mark Crittenden
GROW
Memory Stick
Can you remember the day you began?
A fragment of nature, a purpose, a plan;
who turned into a wee small boy.
Was he called Sebastian or just plain Roy?
Eating jam sandwiches by the sea;
starting to scream;being stung by a bee.
Tree house in a forest;there's no escape;
seeing a rider with a soft velvet cape.
What colour was it? I asked myself;
another memory crawling with stealth.
Some will recall the times they ran
across open fields waving a fan;
Sam lost a football down a flowing stream;
Judy cheered on the winning team.
Street names with relatives wearing thick woolen socks;
being reprimanded for watching "The Box".
"You'll have to work young man,no use sitting round here;
get yourself a paper and don't get drunk on beer.
The sisters however did agree;
they started sewing hems on skirts showing them off for free.
Me,I prefered the long dune walks on a sandy beach
chasing fading specks on a shoreline retreat.
To some childhood's an observatory in which you stare at life;
or a place where adulthood is sharpened with a knife.
Cuts,bruises,adventures;drawers of Leggo and thread
put in a filing cabinet stored inside my head.
Simon Walker
Goodmayes Writers
Bogland
(from Memory Harbour: a reading of Jack B.Yeats' Watercolours)
This is what he remembers most clearly
of Donegal, not the mountains, the loughs,
the townlands, the abandoned lime-kilns
he used to play among, but the various bogs,
each named after some long-forgotten
farmer, fisherman, priest, or maybe just
the first man who ever fell into one
and couldn’t climb out. The colours form
a backdrop against which his parents,
his brothers & sisters, his friends, the priest,
are gradually fading year by year.
Mainly browns & greens, occasional
small flowers & heathers, often washed
to grey by the rain he always hated.
Green, he learned early on, could turn
treacherous, to be tested with sticks & stones;
brown could stick to your boots
or slide you into standing water.
On his ninth birthday, the priest
took a sally rod to his backside
for saying emerald green was the colour
of treachery, the priest shouting out
“Only an Orangeman could claim that
to be literal or metaphorical truth.”
His father declined to beat him further,
but sent him out to cut some more turf,
his least favourite chore even then
He has travelled the Eastern Seaboard
of America these forty years, but never,
never, thank God, has he seen a bog.
Brian Docherty
Word for Word Writers Group
Function
Every time I visited the Kelvingrove Museum,
I would head straight for two things,
one was the Japanese Spider Crab,
Macrochiera kaempferi, big enough
to put me off swimming in the ocean,
the other, was the little brass model
in its glass case, an analogue of some part
of the machinery of the Industrial Revolution,
Mamod miming Mammon endlessly,
which had a large button, resembling
the delayed-action light switch in houses
converted to bedsits; thumbed decisively,
it set this piece of machinery in motion.
It did one thing, performed one action,
then stopped. This was its single function
in life, which it performed to perfection,
or at least to my ten year old satisfaction.
No matter how many times I approached
& thumbed the button, it never did
anything more or anything different.
I never heard that anyone else succeeded
in getting this little machine to behave
differently, but I’m sure all of us had
the satisfaction of seeing it perform
faultlessly every time, & some of us
might have suspected that this could be
a preview of our working lives, to stand
in front of a machine or on an assembly line,
punch a button over and over again
& watch the same outcome over & over.
Brian Docherty
Word for Word Writers Group
Childhood memories
Childhood memories
full of dreams
and wishes.
One day
I shall grow up
and only crumbs
are left.
All paths
disappeared
into snowy
mountains
and howling wind
outside the windows
is reminding ...
- of what?
Of endless hours
of play like
there is no tomorrow.
Protective brothers
and sisters
who were always there
for comfort,
to calm down
each outcry,
to hang a red balloon
at the bed post.
Childhood memories -
mother's face
turned up
to my window
in the hospital.
Childhood memories
swept away
by living
grown up life.
Childhood memories,
world of illusions
and fairy tales.
Marie Neumann
POW!
I Remember When I Was A Child
I remember when I was a child
I used to let my imagination run wild
I remember the fun and games
Memories today in picture frames
Those were the days when I couldn’t care less
And other people were there to clear up my mess
I had an adventurous spirit and a thirst to explore
Whatever it was I wanted to know more
It was lovely to live a life with no worries
And to be able to take my time, no hurry
No set deadlines, no pressure no responsibility
All I worried about was whether people at school liked me
There would be a party every year for my birthday
When all my friends would come to play
I grew up on a farm so I could play free
I loved to go for walks and climb trees
I used to try and distract my parent’s watchful eyes
Then I used to go and hide, with trees as my disguise
I used to love to help out on the farm
With constant supervision so I came to no harm
I used to help to hand rear the orphan lambs
I wanted to keep them, but the farmer had other plans
Now as an adult I look at the fond memories and say
Things were an awful lot cheaper back in my day
Elizabeth Jury
GROW
Toys
I had a one eyed teddy bear
And he went with me everywhere,
A tin drum and a rocking horse,
Toy guns and cowboy hats of course;
Bows and arrows, big balloons,
A xylophone to make my tunes
And there were board games I would play
Or jigsaws for a rainy day.
I had a scooter and a bike
And rode all over, as I’d like.
Sometimes I would read a book
Or even watch my mother cook.
She’d get me hoovering the hall,
Then I’d go outside with my ball.
We didn’t have computers then
So we played cards now and again.
No Emails, so we’d write a letter.
I think those times were much better.
Kids today don’t know the joy
Of growing up a post war boy
When even toys were less delight
Than playing on a building site.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
Jean
When I was two I never knew
How Jean could live along the road
And be my cousin in Southend,
Or be the lady in the shop,
Because to me Jean was Jean,
Yet different each time she was seen.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
Do You Remember?
Do you remember
How important it was to fit in
When your fate rested
Upon the whim
Of the popular kids,
The ones who judged you
On the clothes you wore
And found you wanting -
Even when they had
The same gear at home?
Do you remember
How bad it felt to be left out
Watching the other kids playing
Wanting to join in
But not understanding the rules
Lurking on the periphery
Hoping that your isolation,
The difference that made
Them ok and you not,
Wouldn't be too obvious?
Do you remember
How you cried inside
When they turned on you
Told you to go away
Said you stank, were dirty, had nits
And your clothes were rot
And that if they were like you
They'd kill themselves
And why didn't you kill yourself
Because no-one liked you anyway?
Do you remember
Wishing you were dead
So you wouldn't have to pretend
Not to see the faces they pulled
or hear their spiteful comments
Yet you still stood near them
Because there was nowhere else to go
And the sound of your own voice
Was strange because you were
Never allowed to answer?
Do you remember
That huddle that whispered and pointed
And made you feel less than nothing
Even when you were the centre of attention
And how they took it in turns
To shoulder past you
Making sure you understood that
Even the space you stood in
Belonged to them and that they had
All the power and you had none.
Do you remember?
Ashley Jordan
GROW
A Room With A View
In the house where I grew up
The first home that I knew
I had a bedroom in the loft
My own room with a view
It overlooked a little wood
Where I would often play
I always thought, as I looked out
My soul could drift away
It was such a peaceful place
Cares and troubles banished
Hopes and spirits were uplifted
As restrictions vanished
I felt so free, so released
Behind the breath-steamed glass
My mind rustling through the leaves
Dreams dancing on the grass
Ashley Jordan
GROW
Child In A Storm
(A memory of my daughter, Jessica, as a toddler)
Slate eyes bright, framed by lashes
Gaze up from the soft grey quilt
Shadows dance between the flashes
Slate eyes bright, framed by lashes
Rumbling thunder, rain that dashes
Fearless and with wonder filled
Slate eyes bright, framed by lashes
Gaze up from the soft grey quilt
Ashley Jordan
GROW
Growing Pains
I used to wear a blazer
With a badge sewn on the pocket
To show the school I went to;
A white shirt and a school tie,
A pullover to keep me warm,
Black shoes, grey trousers and a cap,
Completing my school uniform;
A tidy little chap.
But when I was a teenager
I bought a pair of baseball boots
And then a pair of jeans,
A tee shirt with a logo
And I’d wear these at weekends
When I was full of beans.
I’d be a rebel, cause some trouble,
Chat up girls and play loud music.
I would smoke and lounge about,
Sophisticated, cool ..........
And when it came to Monday
I’d get dressed again for school.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
Misspent Youth
Some years ago
I got on a bus.
The conductor alighted,
Continuing a row
With a man on the pavement,
So I rang the bell.
The driver moved off
And the bus took me home.
When I was at school
I got half a crown
Each day from my mum
To purchase my lunch,
But I went to my aunt
Who fed me for nothing.
I bought some fags
With the money instead
And like a fool
I genuinely thought
That my mum didn’t know.
I went to the pictures
And I didn’t pay.
I got in through the exits
Held open by friends.
I was kicked out of galleries,
Banned from museums
And sometimes was stopped
From entering a shop.
I’d trespass and truant,
School didn’t appeal,
But I never did violence
Or blatantly steal.
And over the years
I had clips round the ears
For so many things.
If I did them today
They would put me away.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
The Bite
I was bitten
By a dog
Upon the bum
When I was four.
I ran home to my mum
Crying and sore.
And so I was soaked
In a boiling hot bath
To get rid of the germs.
It gave me a fright
That was worse than the bite.
I’ve always been wary
Of dogs after that.
I much prefer
To be scratched by a cat.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
The Rec
When I was a kid I went to the Rec
In South Tottenham behind the school.
We’d play football and cricket and go on the swings
When we got older we did other things.
There was a tramp who we called Dirty Dick,
He sat in the Rec and was smelly and thick.
The older boys made him do things for money;
Many thought it was terribly funny.
I never did, I was only a kid.
We played in the street, there were no cars about.
My mother agreed I was better off out.
We’d play knock down ginger or play hide and seek
Some had competitions in taking a leak.
Then there was tennis, where I was a menace
By smashing my balls against neighbours’ walls.
They’d complain to my dad and he would go mad.
He’d lock up my racquet, a pain in the neck,
So I’d get all my mates and we’d go to the Rec.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
Close Shave
When I was fourteen I went out
And visited a chemist’s shop.
I bought myself a razor
Because I knew I was growing up.
And then, as I was walking home,
I met a girl I knew from school.
I proudly showed her what I bought
To prove I had a manly tool.
She said, “You best put that away
‘Cause you may need to shave one day!”
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
The Circus
My father and I went to the circus
Under a Big Top in Lea Bridge Road.
When it wasn't there the ground it was on
Was used as a fair and we went there too.
But back to the circus, with animals then;
Elephants, seals, horses, lions, chimpanzees;
The men and the girls on the flying trapeze;
The clowns with red hooters and comical tooters.
So many things going on in the ring.
The bare back riders, the man on the tight rope.
A safety net hung to catch flyers who might drop.
The music, the popcorn, seats near the front row;
A spectacle under the Ring Master’s nose.
Not many of these sort of shows any more.
They say it is cruel to make animals work,
But the elephants seemed to have had a good time.
They enjoyed all the chocolates I put in their trunks
When they were displayed at the end of the show.
We went home on the bus and sat on the top
And then my dad sneezed; his dentures fell out
And they split in half. Oh, how I laughed!
He never cared; never had them repaired.
At times I’d enjoy simply being a boy.
Footnote: I have submitted an earlier version of this poem in Challenge 18 (The Circus) but it is a true childhood memory that I think deserves to be read in this category.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
The Funeral
I looked in his grave;
He lay next to Mum
And then, in my head,
A picture had come
Of days when at school
And home for my lunch.
My friends all would call;
A glad, noisy bunch.
My parents were there
And they both looked on.
I thought of those days
And realised they’d gone.
Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers
My Mother
Newham Festival of Writing - 25th Anniversary 21st May 2011 Working Memories - Workshop (Jackie Premitt)
My notes & finished piece
1st Brief
Visualise and write about a room from memory – describe – how does it make you feel?
Kitchen
Back door with wooden panels. Red patterned lino floor. Two doors to the right, one to the cosy, welcoming living room. The other a cellar door – closed holding it's secrets. Pushed against the wall, a large rectangle, white wooden table, with three chairs around. Opposite a white enamel sink, chipped along its front edge – by me when I was five!
Thin material hung as curtains, the colour and pattern escapes my memory. Next to the sink, a cooker – clean, but showing signs of age – very well used! On one of its rings, a chip pan always sat. The only other furniture, was a home-made cupboard, with a pale blue door and I remember wire mesh in one of its panels.
Wallpaper, with flowers, slightly peeling at the corners.
A happy place – a family gathering place, despite other rooms in the house, making me feel warm, nurtured and loved. Sometimes though, when arguments broke out, I didn't like the kitchen and would hide behind the cellar door (our cellar was clean and swept, it had a light you could switch on, so it didn't scare me, like my Aunts cellar next door.
Once there was a chip pan fire – I didn't like it at all then.
2nd Brief
See a person in the room, in the context of the time you described the room, and describe the person, what are they doing in the room?
My Mother
The person is my mother. Although many tasks were carried out in the kitchen, it is the memory of her standing at the cooker, that is the strongest. Looking weary and worn-out tired – yet always unruffled, coping.
Navy blue cotton frock with white spots, belted at the waist – not quite a full skirt, that would be two extravagant. Covering her arms, always a cardigan and when cooking, sleeves pushed up. Mom never wore an apron.
Cooking chips at a Saturday tea-time, my nephew – not yet two – on one hip as she shook the chips in the pan and all the time, holding a conversation with the family gathered in the kitchen. Except Dad, who would be quietly sitting his armchair in the next room, waiting for the classified football results.
3rd Brief
Write a poem ( or piece of writing) 'around' one's notes, making changes if need be. Or write from 'fresh' of another room, time or place.
My Response Poem
Back door flung open, bringing in the scents from the potted plants, hung on the whitewashed wall.
Red Geraniums, Candy-tuft, blue and white trailing Lobelia and sun orange Marigolds; bright with fresh watering – they broke the routine of her day.
The baker called, the milkman called, the window cleaner knocked for a bucket of water and the dustman clattered metal bins. She knew them all by name.
All came to her kitchen door, but none crossed the threshold onto the patterned lino, or graced the kitchen table; each, including her, knew their place.
Her place now, was at the tired looking cooker, she knew how it felt, so treated it gently, coaxing the blue flame into life and heat, to melt the lard in the brown veined chip pan. Watching it slip from a whole, into a bubbling liquid; into which she lowered the basket of the first batch of snake peeled King Edwards, the best potato for chips, carried home from Charlie's that morning, in a newspaper lined old shopping bag.
For today was Saturday. Match day! Blues were at home, and soon they would be home ; her family. Win or lose, they would all want to shake malt vinegar over her crisp coated chips and re-write the game.
Jan Hedger
GROW
My Aunty Oll
‘Go on, go on, pull him down, hold him, yes, yes! Hoy! Yer dirty devil, come on referee!’
‘Yer aunts off, hark at her,’ our mom would chuckle. Then we’d collapse in a fit of giggles, as a great guffaw of laughter exploded through the wall. Aunty Oll was watching the wrestling.
Born in1900, the eldest of twelve three died in infancy) aunty Oll lived next door. She was more like a Nan to me, loving, caring and sweet natured; she had a wicked sense of humour. She could also be as stubborn as a mule, as strong-willed as a camel and as set in her ways as a footprint in cement! One could describe her as a chocolate covered toffee with a soft centre.
A great lady, with the courage of a lion and an indomitable spirit, the early chapters of aunty Oll’s life could be likened to a Catherine Cookson novel. Kept at home from school with the arrival of each new brother and sister, she was self –taught, intelligent and as sharp as a needle. You could never pull the wool over aunty Oll’s eyes!
When she was eighteen, my uncle Ray was born, physically and mentally disabled from a high fever in the early weeks of his life; aunty Oll took him under her wing, cared for him and nurtured him. It was to her credit that he blossomed and grew into a fine man.
Aunty Oll had a son, Colin, born of an ill-fated affair. It must have been a very hard time for her, as a child born out of wedlock was much frowned upon. I used to weave a magical story of a fairytale romance, a true love story, reminiscent of an old black and white movie; starring Walter Pidgeon and Greer Garson; it was a world of fantasies, of heroes and heroines.
Such a dream world started for me the moment I opened aunty Oll’s gate and stepped into the back yard. Leaving the cold stark entry behind, one was met by a profusion of colour and scent. Vibrant red, deep-sea blue, salmon pink, snowy white and many shades of green. An artist’s palette sprinkled with nature’s perfume. Plants in pots on rickety old tables, plants in boxes appearing as if they had grown out of the very world itself. All tended lovingly by aunty Oll, they bloomed. Aunty Oll would talk to them,
‘Look after them and they will reward you with their beauty,’ she used to say.
‘Yer aunt can get anything to grow, she’s got the touch,’ our mom would chuckle.
When it was dark mind, I used to open that same gate very gingerly. Aunty Oll still had an outside toilet and I used to imagine a fierce menacing figure would leap out of the shadows. Courage would fail me!
In three strides I’d be through the back door only to be met with the door to the cellar, mocking me, daring me to open it and face the demons lurking below. The very kitchen itself would become, scary, frightening, threatening!
On entering the living room all fears vanished with the warmth of the welcoming air. Here was the hub of the house. Aunty Oll was the Queen bee; family, friends, neighbours would buzz in and out daily; workers returning to their hive, exchanging news and seeking advice. Aunty Oll was already to listen, share her wisdom and offer a cheery word. She was a mother figure, a matriarch.
Some of my earliest memories are of being minded by aunty Oll. Curled up on uncle Ray’s bed – in the front room him and aunty Oll shared – I would watch in fascination as she cocooned herself in layer upon layer of clothing. Two vests, a liberty bodice, two petticoats, a dress a cardigan and finishing off by enveloping herself in a large flowery apron!
Then, whilst aunty Oll tended to uncle Ray’s needs, I would amuse myself by playing ‘Littlewoods’. I’d set out my groceries (empty boxes, packets etc.) on a small table, aunty Oll would give me a few coppers and I would happily play shopkeeper to imaginary customers.
Often, on a winters evening, aunty Oll would get out the family photographs and as we sat by the coal fire she would tell me of days gone by. I’d close my eyes and picture this house full of children’s laughter and tin baths in front of the dancing flames. Such simple pleasures. Only later when I grew up, was I aware that it hadn’t always been so; life had indeed been very tough, but as a child I had been protected from this.
Aunty Oll continued to care for Uncle Ray until his death aged forty-eight. On shaking hands with the vicar after the service – where Uncle Ray had been buried in the family grave – he said, ‘I’m so sorry, was that your son?’
Aunty Oll replied, ‘no, I’ve just given him back to his mother.’ So began another chapter in aunty Oll’s life.
With her new found freedom, aunty Oll joined clubs and came on family outings. I recall one trip in particular. On a visit to visit to see family in Wales we’d stopped at a transport café. When asked did she want a small or a large cup of tea, with no hesitation, she emphatically replied, ‘a large one!’ Well it was a bucket! Not only did she drink every drop she also tucked into a full fried breakfast!
With one of her clubs, aunty Oll went on holiday for the first time, joining in the fun and frolics with great gusto. On one evening a fancy dress was held and aunty Oll transformed herself into a swashbuckling pirate. I treasure dearly the photo I have of her brandishing a cutlass!
Aunty Oll retained her fighting spirit right to the end, frustrating family and social workers alike. She’d stand in the doorway (having now moved to a bungalow) arms folded, grim faced like a bouncer refusing them entry. For instance, when the physiotherapist tried to deliver a Zimmer frame, she took up her stance and sent her off with a flea in her ear, saying,
"You are NOT bringing THAT in here!" She relented only once, using a wheelchair for her grand-daughters wedding.
Struck down with arthritis she remained stoic and rarely complained. Sadly illness overcame her and aunty Oll died aged ninety. After her funeral, it was heard to be said,
"The helm has gone."
I miss her and will be forever grateful to have known such a wonderful woman.
Footnote: Written for my English GCSE - eight years ago - and reproduced here in its original form.
Jan Hedger
GROW
Childhood Years
As I sit on Sunday evening
With little on my mind
I tried to recollect
Some of the Memories left behind
To take that long walk back in time
When I was only three
And bought a bag of chocolate buttons
For just one half-penny
There were no thoughts of War then
And luxuries we never had
But Happiness was paramount
When I were but a lad
So on along Life’s road I walk
To 1939
And War’s declared in Europe
The bright lights no longer shine
‘Tho young at heart I saw the difference
And noticed the growth of fear
As hostilities were extended
In little more than a year
Food was now on Ration
As an Island supplies were short
For a lot of the food we needed to live
We only acquired by Import
From other parts of the Commonwealth
South Africa and the U S A
Even Argentina had an important part to play
Of course the mode of travel then
Was across the Atlantic Ocean
But because of German U-boats & Navy
Armed convoys were set in motion
To guard their precious cargo
Too many Merchant ships were lost
Along with Naval vessels & crews
What an enormous price in lives lost
Undaunted they carried on their task
As did the RAF lads in the skies above
Relentless to repel the Luftwaffe
To save the Cities we all love
Civil Defence & Fire Service as well
Civilians too were joining the fight
Even the Air Raid Wardens
Saying “ Oi! you put out that Light”
But back to the children who now knew the strain
And witnessed Air Warfare
As the bombs continually rain
Down on their home Towns and Cities as well
Is this what it’s like if you are living in Hell
Where once were rows of houses
Now huge craters in the ground
Death and destruction
Is all that can be found
But they carried on their young lives
As well as they could
For this sort of existence
Is all they understood
They went to school with Gas Masks
And in Air Raid Shelters they slept
Whilst Mum & Dad were sleepless
As their nightly vigil they kept
Then the youngsters were resilient
Not too worried at their plight
As they played in the Park in the daylight
And did their homework at night
There were smiles on their faces
And laughter and tears
As they carried on with their young lives
During those disastrous five years
So once again in Post War years
When hostilities cease
Did the children of Great Britain
Know the meaning of Peace
Now they can move forwards
On Life’s road once more
In a peaceful environment
And free to explore
The pleasures that surround them
Never aware of the cost
That regaining their freedom meant
Many thousands of lives that were lost.
Dennis Shrubshall 16th March 2008