A Warwickshire Childhood E-Book

Eveline A. Hughes

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

This collection of memories follows a Warwickshire girl as she grows up during an era of huge transformation in Britain. Written to reflect her childhood impression of the world around her, this memoir reminds readers of the realities of everyday life in a bygone era. Illustrated with charming family photographs, this is a memoir which creates a vivid picture of day-to-day life in Nuneaton in the 1920s and '30s, including time spent in school, family holidays and the changes in the town itself. It also provides a youthful insight into the turbulent decades between the two world wars. This delightful book will evoke nostalgic memories in those who recall growing up in this era, and for children of the present day it provides a unique recollection of growing up in a different age.

Leseprobe

‘No Cakes For Tea’

EVELINE A. HUGHES

First published in 2009

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2012

All rights reserved

© Eveline A. Hughes, 2009, 2012

The right of Eveline A. Hughes to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 8665 9

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 8664 2

Original typesetting by The History Press

Contents

Introduction

1 Wash Day

2 Sundays

3 Gran’s Stories

4 Pre-School Years

5 Starting School

6 Christmas

7 Special Occasions

8 The Circus and the Carnival

9 Our Donkey

10 Dad’s Allotment

11 Hard Times

12 Moving On

13 My Town

14 Our New House

15 Horses

16 Excursions by Train

17 Market Bosworth

18 The Flood

19 Winters in the ’20s and ’30s

20 Changing Times

21 Medical Care

22 Baby Sister

23 Holidays

24 War

Postscript

Introduction

My parents, Alf and Annie, were engaged in 1915, but war came and my father was called up as a soldier and sent to France. They decided not to marry in case he did not come back. Difficult years passed and he came home in 1919. They had survived the war and the equally terrible influenza pandemic, so they were delighted to marry and even more pleased when their new daughter was born in 1920. Times were hard, but I was surrounded by adoring adults, and for five years we all lived together.

Life is so different now from the days of my childhood in the 1920s. That is why I have decided to put my recollections of those days into words, as I saw them when I was a child.

At first, Mum and Dad shared a house with my Mother’s mother – my Gran – and her two other daughters – my Auntie Flo and my Auntie Ada. Space was very limited. I shared my parents’ bedroom, with a little bed next to theirs. Gran slept with Auntie Ada, and Auntie Flo had the little room because she was a semi-invalid and often stayed in bed. The downstairs rooms were quite crowded. The front room had been converted into a shop, with a counter where cigarettes and tobacco were sold, and the closed part had a big bench and two special chairs. You see, Dad was a barber. In those days, the early 1920s, men came to be shaved. Dad had a lather boy who got the customers ready in the first chair – lathered – ready for Dad to shave him in the second chair with a cut-throat razor. He was an expert and it only took two minutes, then the next customer was ready, lathered to be shaved.

Safety razors had not yet been invented so there was always a line of men on the bench waiting their turn. Shaves cost one old penny, and that was when it took 12d to make 1s, and then 20s to make £1. Wages were low – it was my Gran’s shop and she paid Dad £2 a week. His day started at 8 a.m. and ended at 7 p.m., except Saturdays when it was 8 p.m. Thursday was Dad’s half day, when he went to his allotment. For water for shaving, Dad had to go through to the kitchen range which had a special boiler at the side of the oven, so that there was always hot water. Haircuts were afternoons only, and they cost 9d.

Annie and Alf Hughes, August 1919.

Mum and me in October 1920, our first picture together.

I used to be allowed in the shop to talk to Dad from 7 p.m. until 7.30 p.m. each night. I am sure he looked forward to this half-hour as much as I did. I sat on his knee in the special chair and combed his hair, and we talked and joked. I can still smell that smoky room, the air thick with tobacco smoke. I must have been a passive smoker all my life and it has never affected me in any way.

I loved the shop. As I grew older I arranged the cigarette packets in rows: Gold Flake yellow packets, Craven A red, Players with the sailor on the front and little packets of Woodbine, green open packets with five cigarettes for 2d. Then there was twist; thin twist like liquorice, thick twist that you cut with a special knife, and tins of flake – redbreast and St Bruno. I loved the smell of them all. By the side was a hook where the triangular snuff bags were kept. By the time I was eight, I was allowed to weigh the snuff into ¼oz bags. I felt really grown up and loved the smell. Dad and Aunt Ada always checked the weight (to my disgust) but snuff was like gold dust. If you gave more than the balance, all profit was lost.

The family in 1914. From left to right: Ada, Gran, Mum, Will and Flo.

The middle room was our living room. There was a big centre table, a sideboard where the money was kept, a piano, a sofa and a sewing machine. Of course, there was a coal fire and by the side a corner cupboard and a bookcase. It was not a lot of space for five adults and one lively child! We always ate at the table, cleared for meals with a white tablecloth, and used at other times for everything else – painting, sewing, homework, ironing and even tiddlywinks.

The kitchen was dominated by the big black range, carefully polished with black lead. It had bars at the front where irons were heated. I remember to test the heat you had to spit on the iron – if it sizzled it was hot enough, while if the spit ran off it was too hot, and would scorch the fabric. The sink was brown and deep with only a cold water tap. Gran was usually in the kitchen cooking. She cooked for all of us, and her brother who was widowed and lived next door. Every Friday, Gran was especially busy because Mrs Williams, a local farmer’s wife, came with the eggs – two dozen – butter, swedes and nearly always a couple of rabbits. I watched Gran skin the rabbits and she would say, ‘Come on, first push his leg back and the skin will come off, just like taking off your gloves’. She also prepared chickens. She plucked them ready for the oven, and showed me how to pull the tendons to make the feet walk, urgh!

I couldn’t do it now, but I loved it then.

1

Wash Day

We had an outside coal place, lavatory and wash house. The wash house had a copper tub with a fire underneath, and a chimney which smoked. The copper fire burned everything; wood, rubbish, old shoes. Coal was too expensive for wash day. By the side of the copper was the dolly tub. A zinc barrel and a sort of plunger with four wooden legs – that was the dolly. Gran used to say, ‘Fifty jumps with the dolly please’, and I loved to hold it and jump it to wash the clothes, coloured ones in the dolly tub and whites in the copper. There were no detergents or soap powders. The soap was grated into flakes and washing soda added. Then the clothes were lifted from the copper with a big, strong copper stick. Next step, the wringer was used to get excess water out and finally they were put onto the clothes line hoping for a wind to dry everything.

On to the mangle house, which was Uncle’s wash house really, but the copper had been replaced with a big mangle – wooden rollers approximately 4in in diameter turned by a big wheel (big enough for a five-year-old to sit on and swing). Sheets, pillowslips, and towels were mangled; everything else had to go indoors to be ironed.

When the wash house was not in use (it was only used on Mondays), Uncle used to hang birds on the inside door handle. He got them from a friend’s farm when they went shooting. Quite often these were rooks, and pigeons, and sometimes a jay. I was terrified of them, hanging with their beaks wide, eyes staring and wings flapping open. I had to peep I was so scared, but just could not look. My cousin Beryl, who often stayed, loved them and stroked the feathers, especially the pretty jay.

I must introduce myself properly, as an only child called Eveline (Eve to the family; except when I had been naughty – then it was ‘EVE-line!’) The two terraced houses were ours and the fence between was dismantled, so I had two small yards and two small gardens as my own. The big gate at the bottom of the garden was always firmly bolted, as it led to the road. I was strictly forbidden to go out of this gate. It was a promise I always kept, but sometimes circumvented.

There was the time when I just had to get out, by myself. You see, I had found where the fairies lived, and I wanted to take presents. I knew it was fairyland, a green grassy land with lots of daisies growing. I had discovered it by accident when I was out with my Auntie Flo. We were going through a little alleyway as a short cut, and I got a stone in my shoe. As I bent down, I saw a strange grating in the wall. I peeped in. There it was – fairyland. It was my secret. I just had to take them presents. I made sure that Mum was busy (she helped my Aunt Ada, who was a dressmaker), Aunt Flo was out shopping, Dad was busy in the salon, and Gran was cooking in her kitchen. I was (safely) playing in the yard. On this special day, I had saved some sultanas and sweets. I was determined to take them to the fairies. I could not go out of our gate, but next door’s gate was always open! I clambered over the low fence, and I was out.

Our first house, No. 83 Queens Road.

It was a scary journey. I kept my head down so no one would see me. I had to go about fifty yards along the street, and then cross the main road which was a bus terminal. I waited till two buses went by; they seemed much bigger and noisier than when I was with Mum. Trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear, I got there. Over the cobbles in my alleyway to my grating – the secret door to my magic world. I knelt down and carefully pushed my gifts through the grating, and blew kisses to my fairies. I was very pleased with myself. Then I had to get back; past the people waiting for the buses, wait for the big, red, monster double-decker to go by. What if I can’t get in? What if they have missed me? I realised the enormity of my escapade, and with shaky legs, climbed back. All was well! They thought I was playing with my balls or Teddy and Wollygog, my constant companions!