The Doors are loud

So while the doors were made of a good, thick, solid, timber, they were consequently very hard to, if not completely, impossible to hear through. Being solid, in some ways was a disadvantage for when you pushed them closed, a little too enthusiastically, noise occurred. Without intending to, the slam was sometimes thunderous, and consequently, parents often interpreted this as, ‘Slamming the door in a tantrum’. This could in itself, land the door ‘slammer’ in very hot water. Even when done accidentally, the sound was loud and the concussion felt throughout the house. They were solid. So were the floors and walls, which meant, not a lot of gaps. And although we never were exposed to much on the laws of audio-dynamics and physics, (as mentioned in many earlier blogs), concerning the transference of sound, and pressure, we certainly heard what could occur.

The results of concussive waves of sound, travelling through the air, and through some dense matter, would certainly encounter the ears of our parents (I don’t know if that was one of the laws of physics, but it certainly happened). The weight of the door, smashing into the frame of the door, and the concussive wave that reverberated could sometimes draw a restrained religious prayer from a stressed, and possibly frayed nerve damaged mother. “For God’s sake, stop slamming the door”, was sometimes heard to escape her lips, (usually ‘sotte voce’ as all prayers should be). Though what God and the doors (apart from the one into heave)n had to do with our house I was never too sure.

There was one instance with my oldest sister I recall, where she had had a minor dispute in the kitchen, with her mother, and, being the teenager she was, she had left a little unhappy and made her way to her room, just as father arrived home. Closing her door a little forcefully on the rest of the house, created the very type of shock waves of sound we are discussing. Just as father had entered the dwelling. All he hears, as he enters, is the slam and the large banging vibration of the building echoing down the house length. This is not how he wishes to be greeted. ‘Right’ was the phrase that issued from a tight-lipped mouth as he deposited his jacket on the chair and in his usual ‘fatherly’ manner made his way to the door of my sister’s room. He threw open the door so quickly that my sister barely got to say “ Haven’t you…(heard of knocking)”, was probably going to be the next words out of her mouth, but seeing the look on her father’s face, she stopped and looked at him. “How many times have you been told not to slam the doors in a tantrum.” My father started.

Now. Every so often, when we believed we were right, we, ….. over-stepped our right of reply to anything our parents may have said to us. This was one such classic moment.

(continued tomorrow)