Cosy Corners in Depression and War
Autobiography of
Joan Hughes
The story of one person's nests
THE STREET
The Street I lived in was called May Street. May is also my second name. I was never sure whether I was called May after the street, after my mother's sister, Agnes May, known as Aunt May, or whether I just took my father's name. He was oddly named John May Martin; he told me May was an old family name.
May Street was where I often played. The main games were marbles,
unhealthily played in the gutter; or skipping endlessly; or a complicated
ball-game, which could be played with others or alone. The ball-game
consisted in a series of pitches against a wall, but there were ten
variations on how the ball was thrown, which had to be executed in the
correct order, otherwise one was "out". The child who first completed the
sequence was the winner.
These games were usually played with other girls living in the street.
At one end of the road next to the corner shops lived Jean. She was a
silent child, but invited me into her front garden sometimes, where there
was a beautiful Virginia creeper.
Much more talkative was Lois, three years younger than me. Unlike me,
she liked dolls and had a magnificent pram. But she also liked colouring
drawing-books and other such quiet occupations. Her parents were very
devout members of some nonconformist church. Part of the rule was that Lois
was not allowed to play with toys on Sundays. Nevertheless, I often saw her
on Sunday afternoons, and she had her colouring books out in the front
garden.
"Lois, you told me that you were not allowed toys on Sundays. " I told
her.
She said, "Ah, but these are religious drawing books, containing
pictures of Jesus and bible illustrations." I looked at them and thought,
"Well they are nice colouring books, so the religion can't be so bad."
She told me that Lois was a Bible name. Her big brother, about two
years older than me was called David. She said all her church members had
bible names. There was another family of four, also of the same faith. The
girl nearest my age was Jessie, who I included in play sometimes. Her older
brother was Joseph, and younger sisters Ruth and Faith. I disputed whether
all these names were from the bible, but Lois won the argument, saying that
"Faith" was on every page of the Bible. I had to agree, as I had very
little biblical knowledge.
An adult I met sometimes in the street was "Uncle John", who took
little notice of me, but I stopped him always to ask if he had any
cigarette cards for me. He would usually oblige. We did not often invite
any friends into the house, but the children were allowed into the small
front gardens and occasionally into the back gardens.
The reason my mother did not invite any one in was because we always
had a full house. We took in lodgers, one with an upstairs room, and one
downstairs.
My mother's name was Gladys. She had a friend living at the other end
of the street. She was also called Gladys and ran a clothes catalogue. My
mother bought clothes for herself and occasionally for me on the instalment
system. This was called a clothes club and I had to take the money weekly
to Gladys, when my mother did not feel like doing it herself. But I think
Gladys was one of the few friends my mother invited in occasionally.
As soon as I was old enough, from age seven I think, my parents sent me
on errands to the shops at each end of the street. In those days there were
no supermarkets, but once a week my mother did her shopping in North End
Road, on market day when this road was filled with stalls selling fruit and
vegetables, much like to-day. The medium-sized grocers, Gapps Stores for
tea, Sainsbury's for other groceries, the new "cut-price" shop,
occasionally a small butcher selling rabbits and stewing steak were the
shops my mother regularly visited.
But I got small items for her during the week. There was Wilson's, a
small grocer's near St. Andrew's Church, which I passed every day on my way
to school in Greyhound Road. Here I would buy sugar, butter or tea
occasionally when my mother had run out. Opposite Wilson's was Cosy Corner,
a sweet-shop primarily, which also sold cigarettes. Here I was given
twopence for chocolate on Saturday mornings, when I would also usually
purchase twenty "Weights" cigarettes for Dad. In those days it was legal
for small children to buy cigarettes, but not smoke them of course.
In the week, I might have a farthing "everlasting stick" made of
toffee. For a real treat, I would also have a "Wall's" water-ice wrapped in
blue-check thin cardboard. These could be sawed in half, and often when I
had not the money for a whole one, I would offer the ice-cream man a
halfpenny and wait patiently while it was sawed in half.
Though I would never have dreamed of trying to smoke one of my father's
cigarettes which I had brought from the shop, I was often afraid of doing
quite reasonable things, or so it seems, as my father even complained about
me rustling paper during his afternoon rest on Sundays. Fortunately, he was
out much of the time at week-ends, always on Saturday afternoon, when I was
told he gave "political speeches" drawing a crowd by jumping up on a
soap-box. He was a powerful speaker, very persuasive, and my cousin has
often said "Uncle Jack could have sold refrigerators to Eskimos!"
When I was not buying cigs for Dad, I was buying a loaf of bread for
Mum. Hemmings the baker's was at the other end of the street on the same
side as Cosy Corner. Here I often bought a crusty loaf, always white bread
in those days. I don't think wholemeal was available in our local shops, as
we had never heard of "healthy eating". Nevertheless the food my mother
provided was very varied, even when money was short Hemmings issued a
ticket with every purchase, recording the amount spent. When we had
collected about one pounds worth, we were entitled to a free box of cakes,
costing one shilling. I used to hang about outside Hemmings, as many
customers dropped their receipts, and would pick these up, so that every
two months, I had gathered enough to get this free box of cakes, twelve in
a box, and I preferred them to my mother's home-made cake, in that strange
way of children. Mum's home-made cake was usually in two parts, baked as
one cake, one side contained caraway seeds, the other currants and
sultanas. The caraway side was for Dad; he preferred this.
Opposite Hemming's was a public house, the only building left still
standing today from the old May Street, which was demolished, around the
mid-seventies to construct a block of flats in the form of an estate. The
pub was called "The Clarence". Every Sunday I would call at the side
entrance, an "off-licence" section, for a pint bottle of Watneys' Indian
pale ale.
I set off for the off-licence one Sunday morning to buy a pint of ale
to go with Sunday dinner and was proudly bearing it home, when for some
reason I had to cross the road. As always, when the coast was clear, I
almost run across. This habit was acquired because my father was always
shouting "Hurry across the road." He meant "Be careful!" Yes, I did look
each way, up to three times before crossing. In the middle of the road, I
dropped the bottle of ale, which broke into many fragments. Not a drop of
drink was left. Only the stopper remained whole. I sat down in the middle
of the road and cried, fearing my father's ire, and for a few moments,
careless of the traffic. But perhaps I did stumble to the road side to
continue crying. A middle-aged man crossed over to see what was the matter
with me. I had never been told not to talk to strangers, at least not in
our street, so I told him, that my father would be very cross, and I was
afraid to go home now. He said, "Don't worry, Have you got the stopper?". I
picked it up.
He said "The Public House will replace the bottle, if you go straight
back and tell them you have dropped the bottle, and show the stopper."
This cheered me up, and I thanked this kind stranger, but only half
believed him. But I went back to the off-licence and they did replace the
bottle of beer. I thanked them profusely. The stranger had told me this was
the usual policy . But I'm not sure about that. All I know is that they
probably recognised me, and whether it was their usual policy or not, they
replaced the bottle of Indian pale ale. When I got home, I said "Here's the
beer, Dad"; that was all I said. I did not tell my father of this incident.
I remembered this man for long afterwards but did not see him again.
Neither did I ever drop another bottle of beer in the street. I was very,
very careful.
There is not so much more to relate about the street. On Saturday
mornings, my cousin Leonard would often visit to play with me. He was an
only child also, with no other relations nearby. Aunt Violet, his mother
had been a widow since he had been eighteen months old. One of the games he
liked playing was "car spotting". Probably about 12 to 20 cars per hour
passed by on Saturday mornings. There was no roadside parking. Probably
no-one living in our street owned a car. The shopkeepers may have had small
vans. At that time cars were owned by "the gentry".
The object of the game was to spot the make of car. The usual makes
were Austin and Morris, with occasionally a Bedford van. My cousin told me
this. It was his game and he was better at it than I was. At the end of an
hour he had spotted about 6 Austins and possibly 3 Morris's if he was
lucky. He did not usually miss a car. But I was usually only able to see
the make of two cars, before they had whizzed by. We were both standing
safely on the pavement, and to see the insignia on the front of the cars
was quite difficult. Occasionally there passed a rarer make of car, unknown
to Leonard.
Horses also used the street. There was the coalman, the rag and bone
man, and sometimes someone calling out "Apple a pound pears!" or that was
what it sounded like, but he passed by early on Saturday mornings, before I
had got up. My father saw the horse manure in the middle of the road and
coveted it for his small back garden. He would ask Leonard to scoop it up
for him, but Leonard always refused. I said "I would do it!" but he refused
this offer, saying it was too dirty a job for me. I don't know who cleared
up the horse manure. Street cleaners would work before children came out in
the mornings , so I never saw them. But I did see the lamplighter. There
were gaslamps in the street, one just outside our house, and I would often
watch the lamplighter lighting this lamp on winter evenings, from the
upstairs front window.
Sometimes, an old man would set up a piano at the end of the street
near Cosy Corner. When this happened , I think my mother would say "Keep
away! These are not nice people". This man had a monkey who sat on the
piano, and was accompanied by a woman who danced, wearing fancy dress.
Mother liked animals. She would have considered this treatment of the
monkey unsatisfactory. Aside from this, these people were asking for money,
of which we had little. So usually, I just observed these people from a
distance.
But the street corner bookmaker was a popular figure. The bet was
"Sixpence each way!" and one horse was selected. I would be asked to go up
to this man, when he was out and about on Saturday mornings, and place this
bet. But I was told, "Make sure there isn't a policeman about!" I enjoyed
the frisson of excitement I got from doing this. We were very honest people
in the street on the whole. Back doors could be left open. But somehow, we
were wary of policemen. Perhaps I had been told when very small, "If you
are naughty, a policeman will take you away!"
George V celebrated his silver jubilee in 1935. This was the occasion
of our first street party. A special holiday from school was given, and the
children received Silver Jubilee mugs. In the morning, we took our small
Union Jacks to wave, when the King and Queen passed by, in their
horse-drawn carriage, and to watch the accompanying procession through the
streets in Central London. I'm not sure where my family stood. It was
probably in the Royal Borough of Kensington, near Kensington Gardens; this
being our nearest large park, we knew it well.
I did not appreciate this event. Being seven years old, I could not see
over the heads of the people in front, and got tired of waiting. But while
we had been away the street had been decorated; strings passed high across
the street from upstairs windows on one side to those on the other side.
The men of the street must have got their ladders out while the rest of the
family watched the morning procession. The decorations were mainly
multi-coloured rags cut in strips, with a few prominent Union Jacks. There
were very few commercial paper decorations, the street dwellers could not
afford these. Sitting at trestle tables beneath the gay streamers, the
children had a street party. We wore coloured hats from crackers, as if it
were Christmas. As there were no parked cars, and little traffic in
residential streets, these parties were easy to arrange by the street
dwellers themselves. The women of the street had co-operated to make
jellies and cakes; there was much excitement and jubilation, and as we
drank our tea, we said "God bless the King!"
For days afterwards, my mother took me for walks round nearby streets,
admiring the decorations, which were left up for a week or more. Fane
Street was a narrow alley. May Street people looked down on it, but it too
had marvellous decorations, and we wondered how the people there had
managed it. I voted it the best display. Incidentally, Fane Street has
survived to this day, and is now a gentrified street, unlike demolished May
Street.
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