I was born in a small upstairs room of a two-bedroom row
house on Doncaster Road, Tickhill, Yorkshire. I
do not remember anything about that, but my parents, who were there,
informed me of this and I believe it.
My father, (William Henry) was a coalmine worker at the
time; “Colliery surface worker” was the jargon, this being much more
acceptable than being a miner in those times. It
was not long before the troubles in the coalmines came about. I
wish it known that this was not my fault. The
mineworkers were being very severely abused by the mine owners in those
days and jobs were hard to come by, the big stock market depression of
1929 was in its early days and working class families were hard put to
in making ends meet.
The house was a very small; two up and two down, the
outside toilet was, what was then known as, an ‘earth toilet’, which
had to be cleaned out at frequent intervals, laundry was done in a
communal shed, shared by the neighbours of the row. This
had a coal-fired tub. There
was no electricity and the water supply was from a well up to the time
of my arrival. Shortly
after which a water tap was provided by the landlord and placed over the
kitchen sink. The hot water
was supplied from a small reservoir situated at the right hand side of
the open coal fire, there was an oven to the left and a warming shelf
above, the weekly bath ritual took up most of a day as I grew older. When
my Dad did manage to have work, his routine was to have a bath in front
of the fire then have his supper, have an hour in the garden tending his
vegetables and pigeons, then totter off to bed and rise again at five
o-clock. His days off were
Saturday afternoon and Sunday.
Across the road from us my dads
family (Pictured
Above), (William Richard
hereafter noted as ‘Bunty’) were lucky enough to have a more modern
house with electricity and hot and cold water, plus a real bathroom and
water closet, the latter accessible from outside only, oddly enough. To me this was the very lap of luxury. In the household, which was a three bedroom, semi detached, my
two grandparents Bunty and Lily, together with their, now grown
children; Frank, Herbert, Arthur, Gertrude and Mary, all got along just
fine. I have no
recollection of Uncle Fred living there and Uncle Maurice had died many
years before. The girls both
got married during these years but I saw them quite often as they both
purchased houses at the other side of Tickhill on Worksop road. The three remaining boys did not get married, and indeed, I
never knew them to have steady girl friends, in the case of Arthur,
(known as Pobs, for some reason) this was understandable as he was
schizophrenic and the whole household suffered as consequence. I
loved them all, particularly Bunty and Pobs.
Just about two doors down from them lived another Stables
family Harry and Dot. The funny thing is that I was discouraged from
visiting them, and in retrospect, I imagine there must have been a
family quarrel carried over from God knows when, and, as is the way,
perpetuated far too long.
Another skeleton for which I have only a vague
understanding, (and which will not be revealed) is that my brother,
named Raymond but known to all as ‘Bob’ was never made welcome at my
grandparents, indeed I recollect him being told to “bugger off, you
little blankety blank” whenever he ventured over there. Happily, the
other grandparent always made a big fuss of him; unfortunately, they
lived some miles away, just South of Grantham in Stoke Rochford.
One of the favourite games was for the strikers to gather
at the home of a ‘blackleg’ and keep the poor chap awake for hours
on end.
My very first memory is being seated on the table next to
an oil lamp, (no electricity, remember?) whilst mum did some work on the
floor. I have always
been inquisitive and took a peak down the chimney, this promptly
terrified poor mum by catching my hair afire, eyebrows and lashes
together with the ‘forelock’ all frizzled up, I remember the smell
to this day. It was
shortly after this that my next memory comes; I was still small enough
to require mum to bathe me in the galvanized bathtub in front of the
fireplace, all was proceeding well when a house brick came crashing in
through the window, followed by a voice shouting, “Sorry Bill, wrong
house!”. Times
were stimulating in those days of strikes and riots!
One of the favourite games was for the strikers to gather
at the home of a ‘blackleg’ and keep the poor chap awake for hours
on end. They did this to
make him so tired it would be impossible for him to break the strike by
going to the mine. I
remember seeing them chase one poor man around his garden; they took it
in turns and all, except for the victim, seemed to be having fun to me.
I think one of the funniest stories of those early years
was to do with granddad Bunty. Up
to about four years old, my mum liked to have my hair in a style that I
later thought of as a ‘Shirley Temple’ cut, I had blond hair and it
was very curly so there I was looking like a little cherub from an
ancient painting. I
recall, vividly, visiting old Bunty and him looking me over and saying;
“Nah than lad, go and bring me the haircutting kit”, being an
obedient child, off I went and produced the items as instructed. He
proceeded to give me a ‘proper’ haircut; he did this by grasping my
forelock in one hand and cutting off all the remainder, to the bone, as
you might say. “By gow, that
looks right bonny” he said, “now go and show thee mam”.
Her screams ring in my ears to this day.
I have no recollection of deprivation, we must have been
very short of money for Dad was on ‘The Parish’ as relief for the
unemployed was supplied from Parish funds in those days. This money had
to be reimbursed to the council when he found employment again. I
know that the vegetable garden was most useful as one of my jobs was
collecting the produce whenever my mum required it. My grandparents kept chickens so we had fresh eggs and the
occasional broiler bird from them, there seemed to be a system of
sharing stuff with neighbours in those days, perhaps we found
alleviation for our mutual misery by sharing what we had.
The pubs were
always busy, considering there was little or no money for groceries...
The interests of the grown men seemed to be owning and
racing pigeons plus team sports such as soccer and cricket, boxing was
of interest through the newspapers and the talk in the barber shop was
always very loud with disputes as to the merits of the various champions
of the day. The pubs were
always busy, considering there was little or no money for groceries
there was always a brisk trade in the ‘Working Men’s Institute’ or
the ‘stute as it became known. Dad
had a cobblers last and repaired the shoes of the four families who
occupied the other houses in the yard, they had to supply the leather
and nails, but dad would do the job. It
was about this time that the traveling out of work men, (tramps) would
come into the yard on their long walk ‘down south’ looking for
employment, they would stand in the yard and sing, with varying degrees
of competence, and invariably would be offered a meal, and, if possible,
a coin or two to help them on their way. There was a lodging house in Sunderland street just in west of
the old tollbooth where the lucky ones would be able to get shelter. There
were itinerant vendors calling by all the time. We had tinsmiths and knife sharpening men who transported
their tools in barrows, amongst others, again, with varying skill, but
all of them made very welcome, as everyone knew that they were trying to
make a living, and “There but for the grace of God go I”. I
do remember mum hiding on one occasion, for she was unable to face the
chap who was trying to sing because she did not have a coin to give him.
Old Bunty used to
give me the odd penny for performing odd jobs, cleaning the chicken
roost etc. and this I spent very quickly, as soon as the ice cream
seller came around. The ice
cream man traveled from Doncaster in a horse, (Pony?) drawn trap. The
ice cream was kept cool with dry ice in an insulated container, the trap
was very colourful due to the owner being an immigrant from Italy, a
refugee, (as I understood it) from the Fascist regime in Italy of that
period. The salesman was a
very grumpy individual who was crippled with a club foot. In
retrospect, I count myself lucky, my basic diet was just what modern
“experts’ now call healthy, lots of vegetables, (we could not afford
anything else) and no candy, cakes or chocolate. The
fruit was there for the picking, we had access to plums, pears and
apples right there in either our garden or the neighbours, and when that
was gone from the tree, the women had preserved the surplus for the
winter months.
School
started at age five, as I believe it still does. I was a reluctant
scholar and was able to think of many other things to do with my time.
There were two schools in Tickhill in 1935; both were Church of England.
The infants was behind the old candle factory, which ran North of
Sunderland street close to the Buttercross behind the Rectory, I tried
very hard to be a good pupil, but found it hard to concentrate on simple
things like the alphabet, because I was already able to read books quite
well. My mother said later, she encouraged me to read because it was the
only thing that would keep me quiet! There was no television in those
days and we could not afford a wireless, (radio) at that time.
I
took part in many school functions, I do not know why, it may have been
because my Mum was good at making the outfits I was required to wear, I
just do not know. I participated in May Queen Parades. I particularly
enjoyed the Maypole and sword dancing. To perform this latter, about
eight of us boys obtained flat wooden sticks and we were taught how to
lock them into intricate patterns. The maypole was another complicated
affair with girls and boys dancing in and out, half dancing clockwise
the other half anti-clockwise, the rehearsals were a lot of fun with the
ribbons getting all tied up in wrong designs.
We
all started at the other school, (close to St Mary's Church) at about
eight year old, (I think). The first thing I learned there was to share
cigarettes in the adjoining field, hidden by the boys' toilets. I am so
happy that I found this pastime too expensive for me, and have never
smoked since.
I
did have a job as milk boy for a while, in those days milk delivery was
direct from the farm to the customer's door, it was my job to rise early
and go down to the farm on the corner of Common Lane, the farmers name
was Mr. Count. I enjoyed the pocket money but disliked the can handles
cutting into my hands when carrying them. I was, and still am, a wimp.
The
farmer did not have a very large herd and, twice daily, either he, or
his sister, would milk the cows by hand, a skill, which I found
difficult to master. I was always leaving some residue and if the farmer
had not supervised me the poor cow would, (I have no doubt) have been
infected with all sorts of illness. The milk was body temperature and
had to be cooled, this was achieved by running it down an open
corrugated galvanized metal board, (similar to a laundry rubbing board)
and then into churns. I am sure they were as hygienic as their
contemporaries were, however; even then, I was surprised that this work
was performed so close to the central manure heap, where, of course,
flies abounded. From the churn, were measured different quantities into
the tin cans ready for delivery to the customers.
The main
treatment appeared to comprise of putting you to bed and ensuring you
did not get out until you either recovered or died!
Throughout
this period, I was prone to catching any diseases that were going
around; there were such horrors as Measles and Chicken pox, Scarlet
fever German measles, Mumps, you name it I got it. There were no
antibiotics in those days, and, if one of the school kids got something,
it usually passed around rapidly. One exception was a Diphtheria
outbreak about 1939/40, I just happened to be one of only a couple in
the school to get it, I believe I contracted it from someone who was a
'carrier', for it is possible to have Diphtheria and show no signs at
all . I was rapidly isolated to the fever hospital at Conisborough,
where we all went to die. Apparently, there was no cure. The main
treatment appeared to comprise of putting you to bed and ensuring you
did not get out until you either recovered or died! The procedure seemed
to be that you lay about in the general ward for a few days, weeks or
months, and then moved to a side ward where, after a decent interval,
you died. The mortuary staff came for you late at night. This
surreptitious, nighttime maneuvering was to preserve the fiction that
the rest of us did not know what was happening. When it became my turn
for the side ward, I remember thinking, "bugger this, I am going to
show them I can live". I, (obviously) did. It took me about three
months before I could walk properly as my leg muscles had wasted away.
The
1939-45 war was building up during this period. I recall the only people
I knew who were against it happening, were some conscientious objectors
and not a few of the 1914-18 veterans, these latter were quite
vociferous in stating that they had sacrificed a lot of their youth and
lost not a few of their friends in order that this nonsense would never
happen again. I have strong memories of local "Red necks"
swaggering in the street, shouting; "We beat 'em once we'll beat 'em
proper this time". The opposite faction would counter this by
retorting, "I bet tha'll be no where near t'front line if t'war
happens". They were right too. For me it was an exciting time, for I
was an avid newspaper reader. To be honest, I little thought that
England would be involved; I thought it a purely European problem, a
true Englishman, I believed that the Continent of Europe was 'Foreign'
and England was not only isolated, but also superior! We had no idea,
(with one exception, which I will explain later) of the atrocities
being perpetrated by the Nazi regime, and could not have done anything
if we had. Our military was in a very sad state indeed. The big news, to
me, was that Hitler had turned around an economy, in a country that was
almost moribund, (due to galloping inflation) into a world super power,
and all this in just a few short years. A very few people questioned why
our own government appeared incapable of emulating this example. I found
it fascinating to listen to the arguments of the adults; I regret to say
that I never heard any of the Stables family giving a strong opinion one
way or another! This fitted their personalities however, so I should not
have been surprised.
The
exception was that a niece of grandma who had married a German National
some time after the Great War of 1914 - 18. They took up residence in
Germany. Later on, in the late 1930s, there was a huge flurry of
activity in getting documents to prove her racial origins and birth
details, these were sent off in great haste, but nothing was ever heard
from her, or her husband, ever again.
The
threat of war did galvanize industry throughout the country. The men
were able to return to work, and, with this sudden influx of money, we
were able to move house during the closing days of 1939. We moved to a
place on Wilsic road, the 'privy' was still situated outside, and again,
there was no hot water but we did have electricity so cooking was a lot
easier, it had much more space than the row house,
There
were trips to the seaside, Mablethorpe and Skegness, these were usually
organized by the Chapel, (on Sunderland Street) and with the
acquisition of a bicycle, I was given the freedom to explore the
surrounding area. Life was good. My biggest ambition was to travel, in
particular to travel the 'Great North Road' a two-lane highway that ran
from London to Edinborough, or vise versa, depending on your heritage.