Mostly about Food
Food, of course, was an obsession; not because we ever went hungry, but just because we loved eating. Mother was a good cook, and could be relied upon to fill our little stomachs somehow or other. Good, wholesome dumplings formed a substantial part of our menu, with plenty of vegetables and gravy for the first course, and then with jam or treacle for 'seconds'. We were well and truly full up after a meal like that. Another good standby was thick split pea soup. You could literally stand a spoon up in it! When someone killed a pig, there would be pieces of good fat pork mixed in, and how good it was to young hungry mouths.
Hasty pudding was another filler‑upper; I think Mother made it by boiling up flour and milk, then adding jam or treacle when we ate it. It looked exactly like the flour and water paste used for paper‑hanging. In fact, one of our neighbours, who went out to work, left her son's dinner ready as usual. After eating his stew, he still felt a bit peckish, looked in the pantry and found a bowl of hasty pudding. It was only after she came home to continue some paper‑hanging, and found the paste bowl empty that she realised David had eaten it!
Saturday morning was always boiled sausage morning. Father, Mother and Charley got the sausages, and the girls and I got the water in which the sausages had been boiled. It sounds awful, but actually a basin of this, filled with bread well‑soaked, with pepper and salt, made quite a tasty broth.
For all the lack of money, I never remember going hungry, and we all grew up healthy enough.
I even used to identify my various relations by linking them with the food they dished up when we visited them. My mouth would water as I thought longingly of Grandma's fruit cake, Aunt Minnie's sausage rolls, Aunt Jane's jam tarts, and last but by no means least, Aunt Nellie and her delicious shortcakes.
She was a farmer's wife living in the next village. Most Saturday mornings I would walk the half mile or so to her home, there to chop kindling, clean boots, knives and forks or any other odd job. For this I got sixpence, which was my week's pocket money. The highlight was mid‑morning when Aunt Nellie would call me in for a large mug of cocoa made with milk, and a plateful of her shortcakes. These were, without exception, the best I ever tasted, and I would demolish the lot. In fact it was the cakes rather than the money which kept me working when all my mates were playing.
This obsession with food wasn't limited to my generation either. Father told me that one of his boyhood chores was cutting firewood. For doing this, he would get one of his father's big plates to hold his dinner rather than the smaller ordinary ones. He was supposed to cut six bushel skeps full to get his reward. Grandfather would sit at the kitchen window and count the skeps as Father carried them past to the coal house. Father, who could think of many pleasanter ways of spending Saturday morning than cutting firewood, had a brain-wave. He threaded some 'brotches' or split hazel rods through the sides of the skep, about halfway down, and got away with cutting half the quantity there appeared to be, and still got his big plate for dinner. What he got in addition to this when Grandfather eventually found out was best forgotten!
Talking of rations and ration books, reminds me of poor old Mother's bitter experience with these. Grandma was at this time living in the village. When it became time for ration books to be issued, Grandma duly received hers. She couldn't write, so Mother witnessed her X. After a few weeks an incredible thing happened, for Grandma got a second book. Somewhere down the line of officialdom there had been a slip‑up. Now, Mother knew nothing of this second book, as one of Grandma's daughters or daughters‑in‑law had witnessed the old lady's X. Whoever it was kept quiet about it, so double rations were drawn each week for Grandma. After a time the cat was among the pigeons, for an official called to investigate. Worst of all, it turned out that the second book was the correct one, and the one signed by Mother was unlawful.
That started off what must have been the worst few weeks of Mother's life. She would no more have dreamt of doing anything outside the law than jumping over the moon; but according to the law she had done wrong, and was summoned to appear at the local court. The disgrace of this just about got Mother down. My brother Reg went to court with her, where she was found guilty and fined. Of course Father did all he could to comfort her, but villagers being what they were, it was the main topic of conversation for days. Poor Mother, she didn't even dare to go to chapel the following Sunday. Of course all her friends rallied round, and after a week or two things returned to normal. Nevertheless it was a long, long time before Mother returned to her normal self.
I well remember having a miserable time at school after the court hearing. When school was over for the day, I was followed down the road by a group of yelling kids, shouting "Old Ration Book, old Ration Book!" I think I howled most of the way home, but I did have sense enough to keep quiet about this at home. If Mother had ever heard about it, it would have been the last straw!
My sisters did all they could to help. They did most of the housework, for Mother was just about dead on her feet when she returned from her day's drudgery. Even then she had no peace or rest. There was the next day's food to prepare ‑ sandwiches for Charley and the girls, and Reg's dinner at work. Tea for the lot of us came next. Then after tea, out came the sewing machine, to conjure up dresses and pinafores for the girls and herself. I don't think even lion‑hearted Mother could have kept this up indefinitely. A good deal of relief came when kindly friends and relations took the girls over. One great friend in the next village took my middle sister, Gladys, while Hilda, the eldest and Queenie, the youngest, went to stay with one of Mother's sisters in Lowestoft.
Father had periodic stays in hospital, to see if anything could be done for him. I think the Sick Club to which Father belonged must have been responsible for doctors and hospital fees, and some of his many friends took care of railway fares when he went to Norwich.
He had a wicker bath‑chair, and Mother, with Charley's help, pushed him to Ellingham Station, and from Norwich station to the hospital. He used to have electric needle treatment , not to help the paralysis, for this was impossible, but to determine its extent. The needle would be inserted in various places, and by Father's reaction the specialist could form some sort of picture of his condition.
The last time he went, Mother came back in a sorry state. Charley said that after the examination the specialist came in, and turning to Mother said "Of course you know your husband will never walk again, as there's nothing we can do!" Mother no doubt had a good idea that this was the case, but she had hoped against hope for better news until she heard the verdict herself. Even then her incredible courage and Father's prayers kept her going until things began to improve.
Hasty pudding was another filler‑upper; I think Mother made it by boiling up flour and milk, then adding jam or treacle when we ate it. It looked exactly like the flour and water paste used for paper‑hanging. In fact, one of our neighbours, who went out to work, left her son's dinner ready as usual. After eating his stew, he still felt a bit peckish, looked in the pantry and found a bowl of hasty pudding. It was only after she came home to continue some paper‑hanging, and found the paste bowl empty that she realised David had eaten it!
Saturday morning was always boiled sausage morning. Father, Mother and Charley got the sausages, and the girls and I got the water in which the sausages had been boiled. It sounds awful, but actually a basin of this, filled with bread well‑soaked, with pepper and salt, made quite a tasty broth.
For all the lack of money, I never remember going hungry, and we all grew up healthy enough.
I even used to identify my various relations by linking them with the food they dished up when we visited them. My mouth would water as I thought longingly of Grandma's fruit cake, Aunt Minnie's sausage rolls, Aunt Jane's jam tarts, and last but by no means least, Aunt Nellie and her delicious shortcakes.
She was a farmer's wife living in the next village. Most Saturday mornings I would walk the half mile or so to her home, there to chop kindling, clean boots, knives and forks or any other odd job. For this I got sixpence, which was my week's pocket money. The highlight was mid‑morning when Aunt Nellie would call me in for a large mug of cocoa made with milk, and a plateful of her shortcakes. These were, without exception, the best I ever tasted, and I would demolish the lot. In fact it was the cakes rather than the money which kept me working when all my mates were playing.
This obsession with food wasn't limited to my generation either. Father told me that one of his boyhood chores was cutting firewood. For doing this, he would get one of his father's big plates to hold his dinner rather than the smaller ordinary ones. He was supposed to cut six bushel skeps full to get his reward. Grandfather would sit at the kitchen window and count the skeps as Father carried them past to the coal house. Father, who could think of many pleasanter ways of spending Saturday morning than cutting firewood, had a brain-wave. He threaded some 'brotches' or split hazel rods through the sides of the skep, about halfway down, and got away with cutting half the quantity there appeared to be, and still got his big plate for dinner. What he got in addition to this when Grandfather eventually found out was best forgotten!
Talking of rations and ration books, reminds me of poor old Mother's bitter experience with these. Grandma was at this time living in the village. When it became time for ration books to be issued, Grandma duly received hers. She couldn't write, so Mother witnessed her X. After a few weeks an incredible thing happened, for Grandma got a second book. Somewhere down the line of officialdom there had been a slip‑up. Now, Mother knew nothing of this second book, as one of Grandma's daughters or daughters‑in‑law had witnessed the old lady's X. Whoever it was kept quiet about it, so double rations were drawn each week for Grandma. After a time the cat was among the pigeons, for an official called to investigate. Worst of all, it turned out that the second book was the correct one, and the one signed by Mother was unlawful.
That started off what must have been the worst few weeks of Mother's life. She would no more have dreamt of doing anything outside the law than jumping over the moon; but according to the law she had done wrong, and was summoned to appear at the local court. The disgrace of this just about got Mother down. My brother Reg went to court with her, where she was found guilty and fined. Of course Father did all he could to comfort her, but villagers being what they were, it was the main topic of conversation for days. Poor Mother, she didn't even dare to go to chapel the following Sunday. Of course all her friends rallied round, and after a week or two things returned to normal. Nevertheless it was a long, long time before Mother returned to her normal self.
I well remember having a miserable time at school after the court hearing. When school was over for the day, I was followed down the road by a group of yelling kids, shouting "Old Ration Book, old Ration Book!" I think I howled most of the way home, but I did have sense enough to keep quiet about this at home. If Mother had ever heard about it, it would have been the last straw!
My sisters did all they could to help. They did most of the housework, for Mother was just about dead on her feet when she returned from her day's drudgery. Even then she had no peace or rest. There was the next day's food to prepare ‑ sandwiches for Charley and the girls, and Reg's dinner at work. Tea for the lot of us came next. Then after tea, out came the sewing machine, to conjure up dresses and pinafores for the girls and herself. I don't think even lion‑hearted Mother could have kept this up indefinitely. A good deal of relief came when kindly friends and relations took the girls over. One great friend in the next village took my middle sister, Gladys, while Hilda, the eldest and Queenie, the youngest, went to stay with one of Mother's sisters in Lowestoft.
Father had periodic stays in hospital, to see if anything could be done for him. I think the Sick Club to which Father belonged must have been responsible for doctors and hospital fees, and some of his many friends took care of railway fares when he went to Norwich.
He had a wicker bath‑chair, and Mother, with Charley's help, pushed him to Ellingham Station, and from Norwich station to the hospital. He used to have electric needle treatment , not to help the paralysis, for this was impossible, but to determine its extent. The needle would be inserted in various places, and by Father's reaction the specialist could form some sort of picture of his condition.
The last time he went, Mother came back in a sorry state. Charley said that after the examination the specialist came in, and turning to Mother said "Of course you know your husband will never walk again, as there's nothing we can do!" Mother no doubt had a good idea that this was the case, but she had hoped against hope for better news until she heard the verdict herself. Even then her incredible courage and Father's prayers kept her going until things began to improve.
posted by curlybonce | 2:43 pm
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