On the corner of Wesley Avenue and Shady Grove, lived an elderly brother and sister, Mr. and Miss. Hartley. They were always referred to as ‘Jammy’ or the ‘Jammies because of the fact that Hartleys were very well known jam manufacturers. Not that there was any connection of course. Jammy himself had a good job on the railway. Meaning that he went to work in a black overcoat, a best suit, and a black bowler hat! Miss Hartley had silver hair, cut in a mannish style, and she used to stride everywhere rather than walk, in tweed skirts end pastel coloured crocheted jumpers, heliotrope seemed to be the favourite shade.
They had come to Alsager in the late twenties from ‘somewhere down south’ so naturally were a bit ‘suspect’ because of this. Their very pronounced ‘Southern’ accent only served to confirm the fact that they would ‘take a bit of knowing’. However, the Wesleyan Chapel warmly welcomed them, more or less straight away. They certainly were very fervent worshippers, and in addition to Sunday school and two services on Sunday, they held little ‘prayer meetings’ in their home on several evenings.
Once, when Freda Holmes and I were about ten, she said one day, “Shall we go to Jammys’ prayer meeting tonight? They have tea and biscuits after”. Now neither of us was short of tea and biscuits, and both her mother and mine would have been horrified had they thought that that was our reason for going! It was a winter night, and the ‘Jammies’ had a cozy fire, around which was an assortment of chairs arranged in a semi circle. Mr. and Miss Hartley welcomed us with beaming smiles. I suppose there were about six or eight children, I cannot remember who the others were, but Freda and I sat next to each other, and eventually the ‘Jammies’ assumed sanctimonious expressions, closed their eyes, and the meeting began. One prayer followed another and I soon lost interest. I tried to concentrate my attention on the lacy pattern of Miss. Hartleys heliotrope jumper, underneath which, she was wearing a thick wool vest with short sleeves. Everyone else had their eyes closed and their eyelids were fluttering in what I thought was a most amusing way. I firmly swallowed the urge to laugh, and at that precise moment, Freda very gently nudged me, and in the merest whisper said, “lovely toasting fire” Indeed it was, just glowing red, no flame to smoke the bread, in fact just the sort of fire most difficult to achieve when someone suggested toast for tea! The sight of Freda’s twinkling face, plus the fact that the circumstances were very solemn, and we were supposed to be thinking reverential thoughts, completely undid me. I could feel my tummy shaking; I rolled my hankie into a ball and stuffed it into my mouth. I knew that Freda was in the same state beside me, and if you have ever been in a situation where it would be unthinkable to laugh, you will have an idea of the agony we were in. Fortunately the ‘Jammies’ brought the proceedings to a close with a hymn, and although we dare not laugh, it did release the tension a little, but we nearly choked over the tea and biscuits, which served us right.
When we finally did get outside we simply laughed till our sides ached, we stopped for breath, but each time we tried to speak, we laughed anew. Then we went home to tell Mum and Dad, as soon as we got in we started to laugh again, and couldn’t speak, they couldn’t speak for laughing either, though they had no idea what the joke was. We did calm down eventually, but for years after, if anyone said “nice toasting fire” I would find myself laughing. I need hardly say that we did not go to the prayer meeting again.
The ‘Jammies’ though, do come in to the story, (we are back to 1938). They were friendly with Shipley’s at the farm, and as has been said, Shipley’s kept goats. Well, I have no idea how it came about that Hartleys were persuaded that keeping two goats would be a good idea, perhaps the threat of war, and a possible milk shortage. However, two goats appeared, tethered on the back lawn. Naturally, they quickly became large goats, and the small lawn was quite inadequate for their requirements, so Miss Hartley took them for walks, just as one would take two dogs. Each had a collar and lead , and morning and evening Miss Hartley could be seen plodding across the fields, taking them for their constitutional, or sometimes just to be tethered at the farm, presumably for a ‘natter’ with the rest of the family. The real laugh came when the weather started to turn chilly. The goats appeared, resplendent in beautifully crocheted coats, one pink, and one blue! I suppose really it was a little sad, but it did cause a lot of amusement.