My Dad’s Memories of Childhood, From 1915 – 1920.

As an old man, my dad was easily bored. I suggested he make use of his prodigious memory to write an account of his early life – he was born in 1915 – to send to his younger sister in New Zealand. He was eighty-seven when he began this task and wrote over fifty thousand words in all. Here’s the opening chapter. I’ve made the occasional change to punctuation, to assist the reader, but the words are unchanged.

Smallthorne, the village where I lived is a village situated on the south side of Stoke-on- Trent – usually called the five towns, but actually there are six – and together they constitute what is known as   the potteries.

At school, we were taught that Smallthorne was the largest village in the country.  It consisted of one main road, with seven streets, running parallel and thirty more connecting streets, sixteen on one side of the main road and fourteen on the other, there was no need to go out of the village as we had everything there, readily available.

In my minds eye, I can still remember, and put in their respected order, every facet of village life.  I knew all the shopkeepers by name, as well as the professional people.  At the time of my school days there were two doctors, two chemists’, a dentist, an undertaker, two music teachers, an headmaster, an head mistress, three infants teachers, two tailors, a police sergeant, a relieving officer, a priest, a vicar, and a curate, three farmers, a blacksmith, a plumber and decorator, and a stationmaster.

Businesses included three farms, a corn chandler, five coalmen, a gas office- showroom, a printer, two bookshops, four newsagents, a post- office, a bank, and four boot repairers.  There were 102 shop keepers, and 23 mixed businesses in all comprising, two mans shops, three ladies shops, four men’s hairdressers, a ladies salon, five butchers, seven bakers, nine grocers, a dairy, five greengrocers, two wet fish, shops   eight chip shops, a furniture shop, and two pawnbrokers. All helping to supply the needs of the village, and paid for mainly from wages earned at the local chain and anchor works, the iron and steel works, and the colliery.

There was very little work for girls when they left school, the shops were small, and mostly family businesses, but there were the textile mills at Leek,  seven miles away and within easy access by train. Most of the work was for the  rag trade. It must have been noisy, with all the electric sewing machines being driven at full gallop, with the foot pedal down to the floorboards.  It could have been boring, but for the fact that they sang as they worked; it was clean work, the money was good, and they got a wealth of experience, that would be useful when they were married.  Most girls left work and   started a family.  In those days no self-respecting man would allow his wife to go to work,

His wife’s place was at home, to look after their children, and to have a cooked meal ready for him, when he returned from work.  Of course, in my young days, there were very few overheads, a girl did not expect to start married life, with a house full of    new furniture, wall to wall carpets, all the mod cons of gracious living, and a millstone round their necks.   She was happy.  She had her husband, there were houses at a reasonable rental, and second-hand furniture would do for the present. She was no worse off than her mother or her married friends.  After all’s said and done, a house is just a shelter from the elements, a home is what you make of it.

One of the first priorities, for a young married woman, was to get herself   a sewing machine.  She would be able to make all her own dresses, and possibly shirts for her husband. My mother was a good dressmaker; she could   make her own patterns, and cut dresses down, to fit a smaller person, or a child.  She never made any money at it, usually it was for herself, the family, or neighbours and friends; she did it as a labour of love.  She liked sewing, it was something she was good at, and she liked sewing better than housework.  Before her marriage, she had been a drudge for their family, and that must have taken the heart out of house-work, and so, apart from week-end, our house always seemed to be cluttered up with sewing materials, and we could always find pins, on the hand- pegged rug.  There wasn’t much she couldn’t do, if she put her mind to it.

Once, she re-upholstered a seven-piece suite, comprising a settee, two armchairs, and four ordinary chairs.  She began by first stripping the whole thing down to the bare wood, then, standing each piece, two legs at a time in an old tin bath, containing some solution, (I think it must have been caustic soda), and ladling it on until all the old varnish was removed, then she washed it down with hot water, until just the light coloured walnut remained. Then she mixed some potassium crystals with water.  (It is purple to begin with, but when it comes into contact with wood, it changes to a lovely golden colour.)  The next thing was to varnish all the wood that would be visible when it was finished.   This she did with church varnish. It was clear, almost like water, but when dry, was very hard.    Then came the tricky bit, laying the stuffing evenly, and covering it with the leatherette she had cut to shape  (using the old covering as a template).  This had to be tucked, and tacked into position, and not until she was satisfied, did she perform the finishing touch, fixing the leatherette tape.  This  she bought,  ready  made,  along  with  the  studs,  covered  with  the  same material,  then  fixing  the  tape  with  studs  at  regular  intervals the work  was  complete,    I  don’t  know  how  long  it  had  taken  her,  from start to  finish,  but  when  at  last all  was  tidied  away,  she  could  look at  the  finished  product,  and  say “with  the  help  of  God,  I  was  able to  do  that”.

Mother did all the decorating.  Dad did nothing in the house as he worked long hours, and could not be expected to really.   For the first twelve years of my life, he worked twelve-hour shifts, seven nights a week.  He was night   foreman, in the casting shop at the aluminium factory, a mile and a half, from where   we lived. He tried to sleep during the day, but it was very difficult. Our house was opposite the boy’s school, and when they were singing, or out at play, he would often wake up, and find it hard to drop off again. We had to creep round   the house – it became a habit, and, over eighty years afterwards, I still do it.

Both my grandfathers were short in stature.  I don’t remember much about my dad’s father, only that he seemed to be a timid sort of man.   He died during the   miner’s strike of 1921, and at that time, I was only five.  My grandma ruled the roost in that household, her daughters, even after marriage knew better than to   contradict her.  But, she was a marvellous cook, and doctored most of the young children’s ailments.  She had all sorts of herbs, in   brown paper bags, hanging from   a beam in   her scullery.  One day, a lady called the doctor to her child. He came and said,  “What does granny next door recommend?”  She told him, and he said,   “Well, you can’t do better”.

Strangely enough, it was my grand father on my mother’s side of the family who was the botanist, and collected the herbs.  He won prizes   for the best   in show    at the   park fete, held annually for wild flower arrangements.  He had worked as a shot firer, at our local colliery, but had retired early, after being diagnosed as suffering from miners nastigus, a disease of the eye brought about through many long years of   working underground with poor lighting. There was no known cure, but doctors recommended green fields, and   plenty of fresh air. Not much chance of either in the Potteries!

He used to go fishing in the local reservoir, about three miles from their house.  His mongrel dog, Scamp, trotted alongside, but when he got tired, he would jump on the cycle carrier, and travel in style. As a young man, he was working underground at a colliery when there was a fall of rock.  It must only have been a shallow mine, for they worked by the light of candles.  They were cut off and it took five days for the rescuers to reach them. All three were alive, having survived on candles, and water that dripped from the roof.  Later, he was involved in another accident and broke some ribs.  By that time he was married with   seven children.  The older children were forced to beg to sustain the family, (there was no sick pay in those days).

One day my mother was given a jar of beef dripping. She thought it was a treasure, and clutched it to her, all the way home. Grandfather was off work for twenty weeks, with nothing coming in the house except for the handouts of neighbours who were very good to anyone down on their luck, but of course a family of nine, would have stretched their generosity to the limit.   My mother told me that my grandma was not the best of   managers; she was in poor health, having   had   nine children,  (but had lost two) with very little time in between.  She was only fifty-six, when she died.   We may ask, “Why did they have such a large family?” Colliers earned good money when in work, but were heavy drinkers, and as a result, many children, were conceived, while under the influence of drink.  And so the burden of responsibility, for the household rested mainly on my mother, she is the eldest daughter. But, they survived, and it was good training for my mother in household management.

We lived in one of seven terrace cottages, two up two down, and a scullery.  There was no lobby or entrance hall, the front door led directly into the front room which we called the parlour,  (rarely used except for special occasions), but they were warm and cosy.

Most houses had a range grate, consisting of a coal    fire with bars across to   keep the coal from   dropping onto the hearth.  Underneath the fire was a tray, to catch the fallen ash.  Above the fire was a gibbet with a hook that hung on a chain, on which to hang the kettle, or cooking pot at various heights above the fire.

On one side of the fire was an oven with an adjustable shelf, when not in use there was usually a fire-brick, put there to get warm, and then, wrapped in a piece of old blanket, it was used to air the bed in winter, or as an alternative, the oven shelf was used. Over the oven and the boiler was what was called hobs.  A large iron kettle stood on one and was always near to boiling point. Dinners could be kept warm to await late arrivals. Extending the whole length of the range was a burnished metal plinth. This had two functions; the roasting tin was rested there when lifted from the oven when   basting the meat, and then returning it to the oven, secondly, because it was polished steel, heat from the fire was reflected into the room.

The cottage range was a very versatile piece of equipment.   Not only did it cook and boil water, but also being constructed entirely of cast iron, it helped to warm the upper room.

In good times, the best-loved meal of the week was Sunday morning breakfast, usually bacon, cheese and tomatoes, cooked   on hangers and a tin bonnet in front of the fire.  The hangers were two iron hooks that fitted over the fire bar, then, dropped down to turn at right angles to support a   sheet of   metal where lay the tray containing the ingredient. Behind this was placed the tin bonnet. This was very much like a bonnet, or a quarter of a sphere.  The heat radiated from the fire, was, reflected on to the meal being cooked, cooking time before a good fire, was a matter of seconds, and usually meals were cooked individually.

The scullery, or kitchen, consisted of a brown porcelain sink, a cold-water tap, a wash boiler,   (this was like a large tea cup, that held ten gallons of water, bedded onto a cement area, that topped a brick enclosure, about four feet square).  Underneath the boiler was a firebox, with a cast iron door. The heat from the fire circulated in the boiler, before escaping into the chimney, and through the roof. A circular wooden top that was in position while the clothes were being boiled or when the boiler was not in use covered the boiler itself.

Taking up the rest of the end of the scullery was a space where the coal was kept, coal was delivered in one -hundredweight bags. If the coal man came on washday, he was told to come another day.

I didn’t like washing day particularly if it was raining.  On wet days the windows were all steamed up, and washing was in front of the living room fire, on a clotheshorse.  It consisted of two frames, each made from two uprights connected   by four more   slats of wood, and about two inches wide, the two frames were joined by means of two-way hinges made from upholsters webbing.  The two frameworks stood at a twenty-degree angle, the clothes were then hung on the rails, and placed before the fire.  When dry on one side, the whole contraption was turned about, to dry the other side.  Care was taken that the clothes did not get singed.

Washing was an art in   itself, and required two galvanised washtubs a dolly-peg, and a mangle.  The tubs had corrugated sides that made the water swirl round and percolate through the clothes.  But first, the clothes were put into the boiler with soap -powder added.  The whites were boiled first, then they were reached out with a length of broom handle, carried over to the sink to the first tub, followed by the water from the boiler.  Using what was called a ladling can, a galvanised steel mug, that must have held upwards to a gallon of water, the boiler was refilled ready for the next wash, then the clothes in the tub were agitated, using the dolly-peg.  This was a round stool with four legs, and through the centre   passed a wooden shaft with a crosshead that acted as handles.

The next stage of the exercise, and exercise it was for it entailed lifting the dolly, placing it on top of the washing in the tub, and then holding the two handles, crossing the wrist’s in shuttle fashion, and lifting the dolly occasionally to prevent the clothes from becoming tangled, and proceed to dolly.

Then the rinsed clothes were passed through two wooden rollers connected by gears, and turned with the aid of a large iron wheel.  The same procedure was carried out throughout the wash, except for dainty fabrics, which were washed by hand.   Washing took up most of the day, the boiler and tubs had to be emptied, and the floor mopped.

At night the ironing was done, not on a board, but on the living room table, with an old blanket that helped to retain the heat. The irons, usually three, were a little in shapes, like the electric irons today, but were made of cast iron, and   were much heavier. All three were placed on a rack,  (made for the purpose), in front of the fire, with the flat surface facing the fire. No thermometer was needed; our mothers had their own way, of telling if the iron was hot enough.  They would hold the iron over the fire, spit on it, and if the spittle slid off into the fire, then, it was ready for use. (You may think it was a filthy habit, but everybody did it, it was the accepted thing to do.

On Thursdays, the sheets on the beds were changed and the upstairs rooms cleaned. Friday was bath night, with a tin bath in front of the fire.  This was difficult where there was a mixed family. Saturday morning, the whole  of  the  downstairs  had to be  cleaned, the  dishes  washed,  the  grate  black-leaded,  the  front  step donkey-stoned, floors  cleaned  , rugs  shaken, the  toilet, at  the top of the yard, cleaned  and  the  back  yard brushed and  swilled  down,  with  bucket,  after  bucket  of  water.

Saturday  afternoon  mum would do some  baking, or  go shopping.  If  the  order  was  taken to the  Co-op  shop, it  would be delivered next  day on   the   horse  drawn  bread van.   I don’t know what breed the horses were, but they were almost white, whereas the coal horses were black Shires.

Dad would go fishing or occupy himself on   the allotment.  He was a keen fisherman and would often   bring home trout or pike.  Fried fish made from roach were second to none, and boiled pike, with parsley sauce, was equal to fresh salmon.

As time went by, flooding occurred, due to mine subsidence. The bridge over the brook was no longer able to cope with the volume of water that came from the hills on both sides of the brook.  At the merest sign of thunder, the people would move their belonging upstairs. The man who had a sweet shop, where the water was deepest, took his donkey upstairs. After a thunderstorm, we lads used to go and watch work- people, being ferried across, or to their houses. The situation rose to the point where some of the houses had to be demolished, and the bridge, and the road widened, and lifted up six more feet.

My first memories, as a child were of my brother. He had ginger hair, and was eighteen months younger than myself, and died, when he was eighteen months old.

I   remember being in a makeshift playpen with my brother; it must have been just before he died. From what I remember, it must have been a Heath Robinson contraption, devised and constructed by my father.  It consisted of a framework made from wooden slats, covered with chicken wire,  (so that our mother could see us, and we could see her).  The frame was secured to the two ends of our sofa, with the top rail padded, so that we wouldn’t hurt ourselves.  Dad made it so that mother could put us out of her way, while she got on with her sewing, so much for ingenuity.