Ere Life Has Flown

book 1

A Stepping Stone

by

Barbara Bamford

ISBN 0 946008 094 (paperback)
ISBN 0 946008 086 (limited edition hardback)
Price:
£13.95 (paperback)
£50.00 (limited edition hardback - sold out)

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To each is given a book of rules,
A lump of clay, a set of tools,
And each must build, ere life has flown,
A stumbling block, or a stepping stone.

BOOK ONE

A STEPPING STONE.

I don't know who wrote this little verse, or where I first heard it, but I do know that it has stayed in my mind for a number of years, and it is one of the reasons for writing this book. Its appeal for me was even greater when I started a studio pottery, and worked with clay.

I was born the year before the Great War broke out, in a small village on the outskirts of Manchester, Clayton Bridge. Most of the families in that district had at least one member who worked "i't mill", but my father was a local school master, and so I was not allowed to wear clogs like my friends. This was one of the great disappointments of my early life. Not for me the kicking of sparks, or the business of collecting snow on the clog irons which we children called clog boggers. I used to wander to the local cobbler and watch the new irons being put on the clogs - little ones, big ones. The way the cobbler used to hold a mouthful of nails always fascinated me.

Our neighbours on one side all worked in the mill, mother, father, two teenage daughters and a son. The girls, Kathleen and Dorothy, used to tell me long stories of their exploits, and I listened to their stories with all the awe and admiration that a seven year old could give to a couple of exoerienced seventeen year olds. Although they were twins, they were as unalike as it was possible to be. Many's the time I've sat in our kitchen and listened to the two girls next door having a fight, usually finishing up with, "Ma, our Kath" (or "our Dorothy", as the case may be), "has pulled me 'air".

Hair. That was the bane of my life. Mother wouldn't let me have it cut - bobbed - like my friends. For me the agony of having it brushed and combed in vinegar each night in case I'd picked up any livestock during the day. Then came the twisting of it up in rings to make it curl. The day my father took me to Town and I persuaded him to let me have my hair cut short, we nearly had a riot at home. Mother wouldn't speak to either of us for days. In due course, when it became evident that my hair would grow again, mother began to accept my shore appearance, and I revelled in the fact that there were no more lugs and tugs and rags to sleep in. I haven't worn it long since.

To get to school we walked through the park, the boys taking the path to the right of the pond, and we girls going in front of the pond. We all finished up ath the same school, boys at one end, girls at the other, so why we always took different paths I really don't know, but we did. I never saw anyone change paths all the time I went to that school.

Actually I cannot remember a great deal about the first few years of the First World War - after all I was only one year old when it started in 1914.

My parents were married in 1910, and went to live in a terraced house in Clayton Bridge, on the outskirts of Manchester. My father had a well respected position of schoolmaster in the local school. The house consisted of two bedrooms upstairs, and two rooms and a scullery downstairs. The rent was three shillings and six pence per week (17p in present day money). My father was not in a reserved occupation, so was one of the first to be called up for active service when war began. He joined the army, and my early recollections of him are of a khaki clad figure with bright brass buttons, legs encased in puttees - a long length of khaki cloth that was bound around the legs from over the boot tops to just below the knees. He was posted over into France so we did not see him very often. When he did get home on leave,both mother and I received many cuddles! He sent letters home, but they were heavily censored, as were mother's letters to him. She was not allowed to write anything that would undermine the moral of the troops. Both my mother and grandmother continually knitted socks, and balaclavas and gloves, all in the same khaki colour. Many of the younger unmarried girls used to enclose notes with the gifts of knitwear that were sent to France.

As I got a little bit older and started to walk mother decided it was time to get away from the city and she took me to a little village in Yorkshire called Skackleton where her Uncle Frank and Auntie Jinny lived . They had a big house, and a fair amount of land. They grew vegetables, and kept hens, and also had a cow. Uncle Frank used to take me about with him in the fields, and I learned to tell the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool, and we collected eggs from the hens.

When Auntie Jinny cooked breakfast for Uncle Frank I was always allowed to stand beside him, and he would give me a taste of his succulent mushrooms, and sometimes even the top off his boiled egg. There was plenty of good wholesome farm food so we did not go short.

Mother also had another uncle in an adjoining village. He was a shoemaker, and in later years it was he who was to make me my first and only pair of clogs. They were made of red leather with brass nails all around the edge. Unfortunately I was not allowed to have the clog irons on the bottom, but had leather soles. I was only allowed to wear them on Sundays. I used to like going into this village, Terrington, as mother's uncle was also a farrier, and shoed horses. I can still smell that horrible burning smell as the shoe was put on to the horses' foot. We had to walk down into a valley to get to Terrington from Skackleton, and when we got to the bottom of the valley we would hoot to the owls, and they would call back to us.

My mother had nine brothers, but no sisters. Willie was the eldest, married to Nellie. Maurice was the youngest married to Maggie. In between came Alan, Robin, Bertie, Percy, Harold, Norman and Sydney. Sydney was the only one that was killed during the war. He used to send us silk postcards - collectable items now!

Towards the end of the war we came back home to prepare for the return of the soldiers. We still had to observe the rules about blacking out all lights at night. An old lady, at least I thought she was an old lady, but she was probably in her twenties, dressed in a long black skirt and bodice, with a black shawl around her head and shoulders used to walk around the darkened streets at night. She carried a long stick over one shoulder, and used to rattle this stick against any upstairs windows that were showing a glimmer of light shouting, "Put that light out!" She also used to act as a knocker up in the mornings, for a couple of coppers a week.

Not all the soldiers returned home at the same time of course, so one Sunday whilst mother and I were still waiting for the return of my father she took me to visit her father, a widower who lived in a big three storey house in Miles Platting, on the outskirts of the city of Manchester. It was a long walk and took us a couple of miles down Oldham Road. It was a road lined with shops, and in each shop doorway was a soldier with a girlfriend, making the most of their new freedom. My grandpa Hopwood had a dog called Micky. He used to let me ride on his back but I was severely chastised for doing this if I was caught.

The house was on the main road; trams used to run in front of it. There was a short walk up the steps to the front door. There was no garden, but a paved blackened area surrounded by railings at the front. The windows of a cellar could be seen covered with blackened soot. The front door was heavy and imposing, with a large white knob in the centre, and a shining brass bell to one side.

Mother pulled the bell cord, and the door was opened by mother's aunt, Sarah, who had looked after Grandpa since her sister's death. She was a bustling little old woman with her iron grey hair scraped back off her face, and screwed into a bun at the back of her head. She welcomed us both with a kiss, and we stepped into a large hall. An ornate wide staircase ran up from the hall. Everywhere was carpeted in red patterned carpet. There were two sitting rooms, one behind the other. My Uncle Robin was to bring his new wife Rose to live here in the front room. Uncle Bertie brought his wife Emily to live in the room behind. At the end of the hall was the large kitchen in which Grandpa and Auntie Sarah lived. It contained a large table, a big sideboard, and an enormous black fireplace with an oven to one side. A black kettle was always to be found near the fire, which burned continually. All the cooking and baking was done in the oven beside the fire.

Before grandpa owned the house this must have been the servants' quarters because over the door leading into the hall was a row of bells, all marked with the room with which they communicated. Bell pulls were in every room and were in working order - I know because I got told off for trying them! At the end of the kitchen was the door into the scullery. Here was the slopstone - a stone shallow sink. The scullery also housed the wash tub, the mangle, posser, dolly tub and dolly, and of course the washboard , a wooden frame with corrugated zinc on it. The idea was to rub the soiled washing up and down the corrugated sheet vigourously, with both arms. Another door, the back door, lead out on to a paved area. It was a big yard for the younger members to play in and it also housed the washing lines, and clothes props. Not a blade of grass or any greenery was to be seen anywhere.

There was a lovely smell of roasting meat in the kitchen and the table was spread with a spotless freshly ironed white tablecloth. At precisely five minutes to one o'clock we all had to sit at the table, grandpa hung his cloth cap up behind the kitchen door and presented himself at the head of the table. We said Grace, then no one was allowed to speak until the joint of meat was set in front of grandpa and carved. Grandpa meticulously picked up the carving knife, a long dangerous looking object, in one hand, and the steel in the other, then started to draw the knife across the steel in long regular practised strokes. After nine or ten of these strokes the knife was really sharp. The blade was worn down to about half its thickness because of the incessant sharpening. Aunt Sarah took the joint from the oven beside the fire, placed it on a large dish and laid it in front of grandpa who started to carve it on to the hot plates which aunt Sarah took from the top shelf over the fireplace. The carved slices were placed on to the plates, aunt Sarah served the vegetables, then the gravy out of a large matching tureen. When grandpa picked up his knife and fork and attacked his food then we could start.

Uncle Percy owned the little butcher's shop opposite the house on the other side of Oldham Road, so if any meat was available grandpa got some. Aunt Sarah was a good cook, and always managed to provide a good meal for us. Mother always started her dinners with Yorkshire pudding by itself but with gravy, as that is the usual way to start a meal in Yorkshire. This is supposed to fill you up so that you don't eat so much meat. We usually had a nice steamed or sponge pudding to finish , with lashings of custard.

After the meal grandpa took his usual seat by the fire, after replacing his cap on his head. The ladies did the washing up, no easy task because there were no such things as dish washers, or Fairy liquid. They just used bars of soap. I usually managed to escape upstairs with Micky. We went up past the first floor, then the second floor, and still further upstairs till we came to the attic. There I was able to climb up on to a chair so that I could look out of the grimy window.

At the pack of the house were the railway lines, and the sidings. Plenty of shunting of the various trains and carriages took place here. There was one tiny little steam engine that we children had christened Puffing Billy. It was a great day when he was to be seen bustling and chugging up and down the lines.

Downstairs the elders made a cup of tea when they had finished washing the dishes. Grandpa always placed his cup with the saucer on top of it on the shelf over the fireplace. The kitchen range was kept spotless with daily blackleading by Aunt Sarah. The house was lit by gas lights - a great improvement on the oil lamps that we had had in Skackleton. Uncle Frank had to prime and clean these every morning before refilling with oil ready for the evening. The gas lights at the Oldham Rd house made a hissing noise. They all had gas mantles which were very fragile and broke at the slightest touch. We always seemed to be buying new mantles - tuppence each.

Grandma and grandpa Chadwick lived on the opposite side of Oldham Road, in a side street. Their house was much smaller than the Hopwood one. The front door opened directly on to the street from a long dark hall. Off this hall on the right hand side was the parlour, a room kept only for best and Sunday use. Then came the living room, and the scullery. They had a small back yard, but nowhere near so big as the one on the other side of the road. Grandpa Chadwick had been the headmaster of a small village school in Yorkshire, Thorp Arch, but had been transferred to Manchester, so the family had had to move.

Auntie Lil, (Elizabeth) was their eldest daughter, unmarried, and lived with them. They were all very strongly connected with the church, and were ardent churchgoers. Mother and I visited them quite often, but I didn't like going there so much; there wasn't much to do. Grandpa used to sit me on his knee, pull a tram ticket out of his hat band or his waistcoat pocket. There were two letters and some numbers on each ticket. I had to make up words using the letters as the first and last letters of my word. Then I had to add up the numbers in my head and give grandpa the correct answer. All this was before I had even started school.

Grandpa Hopwood had worked at the carriage shop. This was a place where railway coaches were built or repaired. Uncle Maurice also worked there after grandpa retired. This meant that both of them could have concessionary rail travel. They had an allotment in Clayton Bridge, near to the station. After his retirement grandpa used to get on the train at Miles Platting station, ride to Clayton Bridge, then get off the train and go into the Railway Inn. Once there he would have his pint, then walk up the brew (hill) to our house in Graver Lane for his dinner. After he had eaten he would go and spend a couple of hours on the allotment. He had a little wooden tool shed there, and he could quietly sit and smoke his pipe. He often took me with him on to the allotment to play. I liked that. There were trees to climb, and a small stream where I used to paddle and catch tadpoles. Grandpa could keep an eye on me from the comfort of his shed.

Opposite to our house we had a private bowling green, surrounded by a high fence. If I went into mother's bedroom at the front of the house I could watch the bowlers all dressed in white playing bowls. I liked doing this too, although I did not understand the game.

Our house had a front garden and a large back garden. At the front of the house was a gate leading to the front door. There were steps leading from the gate to the door. It was my job every Saturday to donkey stone these steps all the way down the pathway. The rag and bone man pushed his cart along the Lane, and collected old rags which I presume he sold to the mills for recycling. In exchange for the rags we got lime stones or donkey stones which we used for cleaning. If mother had a large collection of stones in stock I would occasionally get a balloon from the rag and bone man.

Another tradesman in the lane was the man who sold pikelets. They were round savoury crumpets, but much thinner. He carried them on a tray on his head. After entering our front door there was a vestibule, then the hall. The vestibule door had ornamental glass in it and so we had a much lighter hall than grandma Chadwick. On the left of the hall again was the parlour - a room kept spotless for special occasions. Then came the living room or kitchen, then beyond that the scullery. In the left hand corner of the scullery was a large brick built washer. A copper was in the centre of this brick building, and a fire could be lit underneath. This happened every washday. There was also the usual dolly tubs, mangle and posser, and a stone slopstone stood at the far end. Outside the back door we had a small greenhouse, then the path continued down the garden, lawn on the left hand side, garden on the other. Right at the bottom of the garden was the W.C. There was no light in the W.C. and if it happened to be raining you had to take an umbrella. Inside the W.C. was white washed, but there was invariably a huge spider in one corner of the ceiling. I always kept a wary eye on this creature! Hanging from a nail which had been hammered into the brick wall were squares of torn up newspaper threaded on to string. This was another of my jobs, - to keep a supply of torn up paper in the W.C. No such luxury as toilet paper them.

The day finally came when my father was demobilised. His knock came on the door, and he was home for good. He brought his haversack with him, and we had a great time going through his pathetically small collection of souvenirs. He had one or two photographs of mother and me - he called us his two girls. He had made a slave bangle for mother - which was worn above the elbow - out of some salvaged aluminium, and he was in the process of making a ring, but that was only half finished. I still have the slave bangle, but the ring has been lost. He also brought his name tag - a metal plate on a chain giving his rank and number. This I also have kept. One rather unusual item was a mills bomb, spent of course, that he had cut in half and smoothed the top. He had made a small dish or tray out of this. The