I suppose she was to be admired for her attitude. I never heard her say that we could not afford something; there were always other reasons for not having it. However, I was not really disappointed, and felt sure that something would turn up. The following week when Dad came home from Rode Heath he said that Ella Sadler had been asking about me, and mentioned the fact that Clara and Sammy Bennion, who had a smallholding and milk round at Betchton, wanted some help. “I know it’s not a long term prospect”, said Ella,” but they are such nice people, they have no family and I’m sure they would love to have Brenda to help them, if you would let her do it until she gets something suitable.” We all went to Rode Heath on the Sunday evening and Ella convinced Mum that letting me go to work for Clara and Sammy would be like doing a good turn for friends. It was agreed that Ella would tell Sammy when he delivered the milk on Monday morning, that Mum and I would be going to Yew Tree farm on the Monday afternoon. .
It was a golden, late September afternoon, and of course we walked to Betchton. I could have gone on my bicycle but Mum wanted to come with me, so we had to walk. The walk was very pleasant, I suppose the distance was not far short of three miles, but as we were well used to walking, it was no problem The air was filled with the scents of approaching autumn, and here and there blackberries gleamed richly, hut this was not a blackberrying expedition, so we had to pass them by. Eventually we reached the farm. The house had been partly modernized, in that it had two round bay windows and a tiled porch at the front, a narrow path with lawn at either side led to a small front gate. The farm drive, at the side was guarded by two geese; and a liver and white spaniel was chained to a kennel; his barking reinforced the determination of the geese to repel all comers. .
However, Clara came out to meet us, and shooed the geese away. A poor reward for their loyal effort, but I came to know that this was their life, always stoutly defending their territory, only to be shooed away, just when the confrontation became interesting, when they might have drawn blood! Clara was what would have been described those days as a bonny woman, and nowadays as too fat. She had a very attractive face, lovely skin, and a very ready smile. Her dark brown hair was parted in the centre and drawn into a knot at the back. She was very welcoming, and over a cup of tea, said that they wanted someone to help a bit in the house, and also on the milk round. Starting time would be eight-o-clock till about one thirty, seven days a week of course, dinner provided, and “shall we say four shillings a week?” It was agreed that I should start the following day. I enjoyed the cycle ride along the lanes, past Colclough’s farm in the hollow at Cresswelleshaw. The Wilbrahams Arms now stands on the site. The name probably comes from the fact that a lot of the land in the area belonged to Wilbraham’s from Rode Hall. The wood that I mentioned in the first part of the book, was often referred to as Wilbraham’s wood! There were just a few cottages at Lawton Heath End. Thin plumes of smoke from the chimneys were the only signs of life. No noise to detract from the bird song and the peace of early morning. The only part of the journey that I did not like very much was Chells Hill Aqueduct. It always seemed very gloomy, and the old bridge carrying the canal was green and slimy, the road underneath was always wet. I had the horrifying thought that it might suddenly collapse and the canal would come rushing out. It has not done yet, so I need not have worried .
Lovatt’s farm was on the left, beyond the bridge, then the lane joined the main road, into Sandbach. Pointon’s farm was on the left of this main road, then a little further on, Nield’s. Both these farms were very clean and looked prosperous, I don’t know whether they were. Further down on the right, was Yew Tree Farm. That was its name, though it could hardly claim to be a farm, being only five acres. There was a shippon for three cows, a stable for the horse, and a row of brick pigstyes. Sammy was ‘into pigs’, at that time, he was a man of varied enthusiasms, some of which faded very quickly. A very large wooden building, long abandoned, bore silent witness to his ambition to make his fortune growing mushrooms. He was the only son in a family of daughters, his father, having made a considerable amount of money dealing in pottery, had over indulged Sammy, consequently there never seemed any pressing need for hard work. A young farm labourer looked after the cows, did the milking, and other odd jobs, perhaps only one field was ploughed and set with potatoes. The man’s name was John; he lived out at Rode with his sister. I never heard him speak, he made a strange noise that passed for ‘hello’, and he must have understood what Sammy or Clara said to him, but I never heard him say anything, .
The kitchen was probably as it had been originally, blue/gray tiled floor, a black iron range, (like ours at home), a small white deep sink in one corner, this was modern, only new houses being built had white deep sinks, older houses had a shallow brown one called a slop stone. On the wall facing the window was a tall chest of drawers; a large cooker took up the rest of the space. It was quite long, and had three burners in a row; with an oven underneath, at the end of the cooker was a gallon, glass container of paraffin. I had never seen anything like it, and never have since, though they may have been very common in country districts where there was no gas or electricity. Nevertheless, Clara did all the cooking on this paraffin stove, and I have never tasted such delicious food. Her cakes and pastry were superb. She used only butter, no margarine, which must have made all the difference regarding the flavour, but in fact everything she cooked was perfect. The only thing she did not cook on the paraffin stove, was chips, and these she made on the Primus stove on the big scrubbed kitchen table. .
The Primus stood about a foot high, it had a brass container at the base, which held a pint of paraffin. Connecting the cooking plate to the base was a fine brass tube round the top of which was a little metal cup. Methylated spirits was poured into the cup and lit. After two or three minutes you could start to pump air in by means of a small pump in the base. If you had timed it right the result was a fierce noisy flame, if, however, you were impatient and tried to pump it up too soon, tall waving tongues of paraffin flame arose all round the stove, and the air had to be turned off immediately, and you had to start again. In the living room they had a ‘Tilley’ lamp that worked on the same principle, but gave a brilliant white light. Clara very carefully kept me away from these hazards! We established a very happy relationship from the start, and I never regarded it as going to work, it was more like visiting a favourite aunt, though I did work quite hard. I lit the kitchen fire when I arrived at eight-o-clock, then washed the dishes. After that I helped Clara to put the tops on the bottles of milk that she had filled earlier. The tops were cardboard discs that just pressed into the rim of the bottle, no foil tops. This little job was done in the dairy, which also housed the sterilizer for the bottles. Next to this was the boiler house. A pipe from the boiler led into the sterilizer, and when it was filled with used bottles and the heavy door clamped down, boiling steam made a thorough job of cleaning. This was another area where I could watch only. When the boiling steam had had its allotted time, Clara released the pressure gradually before finally opening the door. In the boiler house were kept all the house cleaning buckets, mops, brooms, and two or three shovels, and it struck me as very strange that they were all new. .
In fact they were not new but were kept in new looking condition because every Friday they were all scrubbed and scoured with ‘Glitto’! I had never heard of anyone scrubbing brush and shovel handles before, and Mum found it almost unbelievable when I told her, but I soon got used to the idea. Of course we did all the jobs together, there was never any bossiness on Clara’s part, we just worked very amicably, and I think I enjoyed it because, at home Mum would never let me do any of the housework. I could wipe the dishes, but nothing else, and where some girls would grumble because their mothers expected them to do too much in the house, I would have loved to do more, but Mum seemed quite incapable of letting anyone else do things.