I remember once, Dad saying he would paint the kitchen. Mum usually did the decorating. Now, Dad was not one to rush, and by the time he had got the steps arranged, stirred the paint, selected what he considered to be the most suitable brush, ‘Mum was in a ferment, she jumped around him, her fingers twitching, offering bits of gratuitous advice, “You’ve missed a bit there, I always use the other brush, it’s quicker if you work across, instead of up and down. ” Finally she could stand it no longer, “Oh come on let me do it, I can do it a lot quicker”, she said with one eager foot on the bottom step. “Here then,” says Dad, “you do it, I can’t work while you’ re telling me what to do, though why you think you are the only one who can paint, I don’t know.” Exit Dad in a huff, and Mum carried on with the painting! .
Once, she was poorly when I got home from school at dinnertime. She did suffer from headaches from time to time, but this was more than the usual headache, and Dad said, “Why don’t you go to bed Jess, perhaps you’ll feel better if you rest”. I think I’ll have to do that,” said Mum, “I was going to do the washing this morning but I just did not feel that I could, I’ll go to bed when you two have gone.” On the way back to school I quickly formed a plan. I went to Miss Nield and told her that Mum was poorly and needed me to look after her, and could I please go home. She was very understanding and said, “Yes certainly”, and hoped that mother would soon be better. I suppose my earnest expression and the fact that I did not normally have time off, convinced her that the request was genuine. .
I ran all the way home hoping that Mum had indeed gone to bed, what I was going to say if she hadn’t, I had not decided. The house was quiet when I crept in, so feeling sure that I would not be disturbed, I went to the washhouse and filled the boiler, and lit the fire. The idea being to have the washing done by teatime; when Mum got up. While I was waiting for the whites to boil, I washed some of the other things in cold water to save time, it was a summer afternoon, and I soon had them out on the line. At about half past five, Dad came home, and I had nearly finished, and was feeling very pleased with myself, thinking how surprised Mum would be when she found all the washing done. Alas, it did not work out like that. At that moment, Mum came down stairs and when she came outside and saw what I had been doing, instead of being pleased she became very angry. Dad tried to calm her down, saying, “don’t grumble at her, Jess, she thought she was doing such a good thing.” “Well, she wasn’t”, retorted Mum, “and besides, you should have been at school.” When I said that I had asked permission to come home because she was poorly, that only made matters worse. I was in tears by this time, and simply could not understand why I had provoked such wrath. .
I could not understand it then, and years after when I thought about it, I was still puzzled, because she was not unkind, yet she must have known how upset I was. The reason must have been her obsessive need to do everything herself. .
The days at Bennions passed very happily, I enjoyed going on the milk round, and soon became friends with all the customers. Before setting out, Clara gave me a big mug of cocoa or Ovaltine made with milk, and cake or malt bread thickly spread with butter. When we returned she had always cooked a delicious dinner. Chops, steak, sausages, or rabbit pie, with steamed or rice pudding to follow. It is surprising that I did not get fat. .
At Christmas I had a few days off and we were going to my cousin Bill’s wedding. We went on the Saturday; the wedding was to be on the Sunday. When we arrived in Manchester it was very foggy. The trams were running and we found one that was going to Seymour Grove. From there we had to walk to Woodstock Road, where aunty Nan and uncle Tom had bought a house, after leaving Russell Street. This was Chorlton~cum~Hardy, a much sought after district. You could really be said to have arrived if you lived there! .
We had been many times and would have had no difficulty had it not been for the fog. It was like a thick dirty yellow blanket. We could hardly see each other; the road names were low down on the walls so we had to bend down to read them. Dad was stooping down on a corner of one road, and a postman was creeping towards him, and they nearly fell over each other. “Oh good”, says Mum, “a postman, you’ll be able to help us, are we any where near Woodstock Road?” “Sorry luv, I do this round every day, but I don’t know where I am” he replied. After a very long time progressing at a snails pace, we finally made it and were soon in front of a warm fire with hot drinks. Dad said it reminded him of the time he was in the Eye hospital, (after the bandages had been removed, and of course he could see perfectly) but a ‘Manchester fog’ descended on the city one day, and he literally could not see the man in the next bed. Happily the fog lifted on the Sunday and there was a gleam of hazy sunshine for the bride and bridegroom. .
After Christmas I soon settled back into the routine of going to the farm. Then one afternoon in late February, it was snowing heavily as I was cycling home. It continued all night, and the next morning it was very deep. Dad shoveled a path to the coalhouse, and the loo, and then got the big gardening spade to clear a track to the front gate. He came in all rosy and glowing, saying, “You’ll not be going out on your bike today.” I was very dismayed and went to the gate to see conditions for myself. It was still dark and a quiet stillness lay everywhere, not a soul about, not a sound to be heard. I went back into the house saying, “I could walk, couldn’t I?” “Don’t be silly,” said Mum, ‘they won’t expect you on a morning like this.” ‘1Well, said Dad, “lets have breakfast first, and then if you really want to go, I’ll walk with you.” I could not get ready fast enough, Dad put his boots on, I had Wellingtons, and we set off. Mum thought we were mad as we set off in the half-light. .
“We’ll go across the fields,” said Dad, “its quicker.” As we passed Shipley’s farm, a faint yellow square of light at the window, and a thin plume of smoke from the chimney showed that they were in. The farmhouse looked like a heavily iced cake nestling cozily into a deep bed of sugar. As we made our way across the fields I kept looking back to see the tracks we had made, it seemed as though we were the only two people in the world. We walked down the side of the wood, branches of trees bent low under the weight of snow, and total silence and stillness everywhere, apart from the odd faint twitter from deep in the wood, as the first birds were stirring. As we crossed the bridge over the brook it was hard to imagine that this was the field where cowslips and ladies smocks bloomed and larks sang. Even so it had a magical air that morning, covered as it was in a deep snowy blanket. I was thoroughly enjoying the walk, and I am sure Dad was too. Eventually, we got to the road near the Horseshoe, and then began the walk down to Chells Hill Bridge. When we got to the bridge, it was the most eerie sight, long icicles were hanging from the inside like ghostly fingers, and in the gray morning light the effect was most sinister. I clutched Dad’s hand. In imagination now, I can feel that comforting warmth through our thick rough woolly gloves. “Come on, they’re only icicles, they do look queer though, don’t they?” he said. I know if I had been walking on my own I would have turned back, nothing would have induced me to walk under that bridge on my own. When we reached the main Sandbach road I said I would walk on my own from there. “Shall I come to meet you this afternoon?” said Dad, but I said I would be alright, though secretly thinking that I would go the long way round, through Rode Heath, rather than go under the bridge, even in broad daylight. .
However, when I got to the farm, Clara said, “Well, I never expected you this morning, have a hot drink and sit by the fire, you must be frozen.” In fact I was warm and glowing, and not at all put out by the walk in the snow. Sammy put the snow chains on the van wheels when we went out with the milk, motorists had to do this, as in the country at least, no one bothered to clear the roads. Clara took me home in the van in the afternoon. We followed the same procedure the next day, and then a thaw set in, and that was the last of the bad wintry weather for that year. .
Suddenly it was spring, with bright scented mornings, and Cuckoos calling over the fields. After I finished work, I used to take Paddy, the spaniel, into the fields, just rarnbling around for an hour or two. I suppose I should have been giving some serious thought to the future, and to the fact that I could not drift along on this pleasant country cloud forever. I have to say I did nothing of the kind. I just thought that this was the life I would choose, surrounded by fields, animals, and chickens. It was a nebulous sort of dream, no thought of who was to provide this idyllic setting for me! .
One day, Clara said, “Do you think that your Mum and Dad would come to stay at the farm for a week while we have a holiday”? ‘We have not been able to get away for ages, but now you know the run of the place, we feel that, we could comfortably go, if your Mum and Dad agree. When I asked them, they did agree, and Clara and Sammy happily made their plans. It was arranged that Frank Walters from Rode Heath would come to drive the van. He lived with his father and brother at a little general shop. The brother was an invalid and I suppose that Frank was glad of a bit of extra money, as the shop only just kept them afloat. The week before the holiday, Clara said,”do you think your mother will know how to light the ‘Tilley’ lamp, and the ‘Primus’? They can be very tricky, if you’re not used to them. “I said I did not think she would, as we certainly had never had one at home. It was arranged for Mum to come one afternoon, to be instructed in this complicated procedure. .
Now, I have said that Mum would have a go at anything, and would never readily admit that she ‘couldn’t do it ‘. However, she had not seen a ‘Tilley’ lamp at close quarters, so she could hardly claim to know how to light it. She allowed Clara to show her, and afterwards declared that ‘there was nothing to it’. .
Clara and Sammy went off on the Monday morning, and after Frank and I had finished the milk round, he said, “Mrs. Bennion said I could take you all for a run in the van, tonight if you’d like.” Of course, this met with general approval, and with Dad at the front and Mum and I on cushions in the back, off we went. I cannot remember where we went but I do know that we enjoyed it; it was such a novelty. When we got back to the farm, ‘Mum said that she would make the supper. Dad, Frank, and I sat in the dining room, talking and after a while, a scream, and a faintly hysterical shout, came from the kitchen! When we rushed in, Mum was running round the table blowing with all her might at tall billowing tongues of fire, arising from the ‘Tilley’ lamp! Frank just reached forward and turned off the air, whereupon the flames subsided, and Mum stopped blowing’! Frank laughed and said, you’d never have blown it out, duck, and shall I light it? “Well I’m certainly not having anything more to do with It.,” said Mum, whatever should we have done if you had not been here, Frank?” “Sent for the Fire Brigade”, he laughed. Dad loved to tell the story afterwards, and Mum had to laugh, as the night she nearly set the farm on fire, was recalled. .
The following night, Dad said, “What are we doing about the lamp”? Mum said, “We’re going to bed when it gets dark, that’s what we’re doing”, and apart from another evening when Frank came to take us out, that’s what we did. “Don’t you tell Clara Bennion about this”, said Mum, and I didn’t. Apart from that the week passed uneventfully, and I was sorry when it came to an end. The summer days all seemed to be golden, I suppose we had some rain but I don’t remember it.