Around 1928 electricity was brought to Alsager, until then, the gas street lights were lit by a lamplighter. The shops too, were lit by gas, and in winter, most of them had the gas turned down low in the window, just to let you know that they were open for business, no sense in wasting money, after all people out shopping after dark were there with a definite purpose, a ‘Sentinel’ from Leather’s paper shop or a lamp glass from Edwards’ if one had cracked at teatime as a result of turning up the flame too quickly before the glass had got properly warm. There was little impulse buying in those days. Mum and I went for a walk down the village on the Saturday night after we had been ‘switched on’. I suppose that they had only put small bulbs in because you could not exactly say that the lights were brilliant but we thought that they were wonderful and, of course, brought the promise of an end to filling and cleaning lamps, when homes could have electric light installed. This did not happen right away, and when it did it cost one pound per room just for a light, so we only had two, one for the living room and one for the front room. The cost of Two Pounds represented nearly two weeks wages, so we still had candles for the bedrooms and a lamp in the kitchen.
The whole village was also put on mains drainage, which meant that we could have a flush loo, it was made compulsory for every house, so the landlord had to install one where the houses were rented. This miracle eclipsed every other modern marvel.
Every summer a carnival was held, most places had one but Alsager’s was quite a grand affair and attracted a lot of entrants. The decorated bicycles were truly works of art in crepe paper, not a bit of metal to be seen, every spoke covered, hundreds of paper flowers over the whole thing, they must have taken ages to do. Jazz bands were just beginning to be popular, and troupes came from Harrisihead and Kidsgrove and several of the big towns. They were all smartly turned out, big, bouncy girls leading, and tiny tots who finished the procession on someone’s shoulder. It was all very colourful and exciting. You must remember that this was a yearly novelty, this spectacle of colour, even the cinemas were only in black and white. There was a carnival queen and the Fire Brigade!
The Fire Brigade was six in number and it was strictly a spare time activity. Whether they ever met apart from Carnival day I do not know, but they looked very splendid, riding on Tom Cartwright’s farm cart, their brass helmets polished to dazzling brilliance for the parade. On seeing them, everyone cheered, confident in the knowledge these were the men to rely on should the occasion arise. Alas, the occasion did, and it was not the men who were at fault, rather, a combination of unfortunate circumstances. Holland and Hollinshead’s garage was where it is now, at the corner of Wesley Avenue. It was a very modest affair then, corrugated iron and wood. Further down Wesley Avenue they had a large wooden building where they kept cars sent in for repair. One summer evening this building caught fire. I suppose it was the early hours of the morning when I was awakened by loud bangs (petrol tanks exploding), and Dad rushing along the landing shouting to Mum “Jess the garage is on fire”. Of course, the firemen had to be rounded up, which took some considerable time as they all lived in different parts of the village. The Captain was Tom Cartwright, a farmer. A little boy volunteered to run to the farm to tell him, but when he got to the dark fields his courage deserted him and he came home. In fact, the first the Captain knew of the fire was the following morning when someone told him as he was delivering the milk! When several of the firemen had been roused from sleep, they made their way to the Council Offices, adjoining this was a large shed which housed, among other things, the ‘Fire Engine’. This very loosely describes a hand cart with a length of hose rolled up on it. Unfortunately, Alsager was having the roads ‘Tarmacced’ that week, and in those days this was a rather spectacular performance involving the use of a steam roller, and when the steam roller driver had finished work for the day he had, quite rightly, put the steam roller away in a place of safety, and where else but the council shed! Right in front of the Fire Engine! This horrifying truth was discovered when the shed was unlocked. Now, a steam roller is one thing which can not be moved in a hurry, no matter how eager half a dozen men may be. It was obvious that the expert with the means to start it and move it out of the way was needed, the snag being that he lived in Kidsgrove! However, someone with a car was found and the driver was brought unwillingly from his bed. Eventually, the monster was out of the way and the firemen came running down Wesley Avenue with the cart and hose. They were greeted with cheers and applause from the crowd who had assembled and were now enjoying the unexpected entertainment. No-one was hurt by the fire which, by this time was reduced to smouldering embers and soon to sizzling black ash by the energetic efforts of the firemen. We went to Manchester the next day and Mum and Dad had the relatives falling about when they told them. Shortly after this, ‘arrangements’ were made whereby in the event of another fire in the village, we could call upon the services of Burslem or Crewe Fire Brigade.