MEMORIES FROM A 1950'S CHILDHOOD

Some more days of beautiful Spring weather with the birds singing and the trees now bursting into leaf. I thought we had collared doves or wood pigeons nesting in the upper storey of our barn using the square opening which is the dovecote entrance, that was until yesterday morning. I went down to have my early morning check on the garden for new growth, and found a trail of large [and I mean large] branches across the garden on the roofs of the two small outbuildings and actually one half sticking out the dovecote entrance[which is large enough for a cat to get in]. How strange I thought and sat down quietly at the garden table to wait. Then I was rewarded a large black crow with twigs in mouth swooped down and flew into the barn. Our barn residents are black crows, maybe hooded crows, I am still checking. How amazing is that? There I am, at the moment, working on the Chunky Crow Book, and suddenly Crows have decided to live with me. By chance or what?

There is a lull in the garden at the moment, yes the plants that are established are pushing up and growing, the magnolia is blooming and some beautiful tulips, weeds have been tackled but there is no actual planting to be done until my plant order arrives later this month, then it will be full speed ahead. So there is time for now to sit at the table working on various projects, enjoying the sunshine and just generally chilling out and being at one with the garden.



Also time to think about gardening in my childhood. I began to remember gardening at my grandparent's house in the Spring. I can remember sitting in the old shed with grandfather, the door would be thrown open to the mild weather and the air was permeated with the shed smells, linseed oil, potting compost and the heavy sweet aroma of my Grandfather's pipe its smoke twirling and swirling out towards the door. My Grandfather would sit at a makeshift bench glossy redbacked notebook and stubby pencil in hand making a list of needs for the garden that summer, grass seeds, seeds, bedding plants etc. He would then give this list to my Grandmother who would take it into the Seed Merchant's when she visited the town for Saturday shopping and the garden goods would be delivered in the Seed Merchant's van. How civilised!



The above memory of my Grandfather and his garden led me on to thinking about THE SATURDAY SHOPPING TRIP [yes, the capitals are because it was a most important day].
From when I was a small child until I was about ten years old, every Saturday, I remember we went into the town for the SATURDAY SHOP. This is how those childhood weekends went.
On a Friday, my Mother would go to the local grocery store with a handwritten list which she would hand over the counter.

This was before we had supermarkets in our area. Though I do remember when a supermarket did open in our area, opposite the local grocery store. I was so excited, I thought 'wow this must be like shopping in America'. Unfortunately, housewives did not have their own cars, or even drive, so it was soon discovered that the downside was having to carry your shopping home. As I was saying, before I got waylaid, on the Friday evening the door would ring and there would be a delivery boy with your box of weekly groceries where upon my Mum would get her purse and pay for the groceries. So that was all your dried goods etc so Saturday would be the weekend fresh food shop.

Entrance to covered market

Every Saturday my Mother and I would get the 8.30 bus into the town and we would meet my Grandmother outside of the covered market. Before we go into the covered market, let me tell you about the Seed Merchant's. At this time of year my Grandmother would drop my Grandfather's order off at this shop. To me it was a very boring shop, not a lot of stock, but bays full of various grass seeds with a large metal scoop and a huge set of scales. The grass seed would be weighed and put into a sturdy brown bag and marked with type. I used to love to look at the packets of seeds in the racks, lovely colourful packets promising such wonderous glories from such tiny hard objects. Only later in the season did the shop become interesting when the annual bedding plants filled the shop to the brim. There were also stacks of things such as onion sets, gladioli bulbs and seed potatoes. Then towards the back of the shop were the bays of fertilisers and potting composts a mixture of pungent musty smells, of fishand blood, bonemeal, and john innes compost. The items on the list would be picked out, weighed and then delivered later in the day to your home.


Down into the market

Then it was on to the covered market. On a Saturday morning huge trestle tables were put up in the aisles of the market and the country women straight from the farms would come in to sell their wares. Everyone seemed to have a favourite lady and if you were a regular anything she did not have a lot of would be kept under the trestle for you. These were no fay earth mothers but rough hewn ruddy cheeked farmer's wives with short sensible haircuts, rough hands, berets and sensible belted overcoats and laced up brogues who spoke with broad Cumbrian accents. I remember huge wicker baskets of eggs complete with the odd feathers, Madge the farmer's wife would sometimes pick an extra brown speckled egg out and say to me ..and here is an extra one for you tea missy. We would also buy in season freshly picked vegetables and in spring she would have newspaper wrapped plantlings for our gardens, such as calendula, nasturiums and bunches of yellow daffodils. There would be freshly churned butter and seasonal items, bunches of holly, and in February when you just began to think Winter would never end she would bring in bunches of beautiful white snowdrops, my Grandmother always bought me a bunch of the first snowdrops, and I loved to sit and look at them in a lovely topaz coloured bowl my Mother kept for snowdrops. After the farmer's wives it was straight to the butcher to pick up the Sunday joint to roast and some other cut of meat to keep going until the Tuesday, when my Mother would return to town again. We would finish off at the fruit stall and last of all the bakers, where I could choose a cake for tea.



When we returned home we would eat our lunch, my Father would get ready for an afternoon of sport and my Mother and I would return to the town, no sturdy shopping bags this time, this was a more genteel outing. This time we would meet my Grandmother and her sister, and her sister's step-grandson outside Marks and Spencers, which the adults browsed around while the boy and I became engrossed in one of our imaginery games, were we in a store, no way, we were superheros battling to save mankind amongst the racks of clothes. Then came the highlight of our afteroon, we would retire to a cafe for tea and toasted teacakes, though in our case, Lemonade and a chocolate biscuit or in summer ice-cream. The grownups would drone along gossiping whilst we brought out our treasures....American Comics, both D and I would avidly swap these, we were American Comic fanatics, he had many more than me, but apart from Superman and Batman I used to love Casper, Lulu, Little Richie and my favourite and I can't remember her name, she was a little witch with a red cloak. After the cafe there was more shop browsing whilst we resumed world saving, then the final highlight of the afternoon, a visit to the one newagents in town that stocked American comics. Should it be a Superman or a funny? What did that one say Superman's dying from Green Krytonite, it's got to be that one, yes! Oh the delicious agonising thrill of trying to decide which one to buy that week, it was almost, but not quite as good as my weekly visit on a Monday to the library. Then goodbyes were said and home we went for tea, me clutching my new comic. Those were the Saturday's of my childhood.


I note there is a challenge going around for an old photograph of yourself. Well here goes! Above is a photograph of my other half and myself in September 1977 [Yes it is another of those strange photos that have turned pinky brown over the years]. It is a momentous photograph, I think we have both just sold our souls and become part of the system, the hippy dream faded away. My husband no longer had very long hair and a beard, he just has normal length hair for the time [the moustache has long gone thank goodness]. I had just had my very nearly waist length hair cut and styled and I was pregnant with our son. That is our beautiful cat Jasper, who lived to a ripe old age of thirteen. We look as though we are taking life very seriously. I may publish some more photos next posting, to show how you can watch my hair grow bigger and bigger!