| An old lady who lived in Shady Grove, was telling Mum one day about the wine she made from Elderberries, Potatoes and Rhubarb. “Come on in and I’ll give you a glass of the rhubarb to try”, she said. Mum tasted it and had to admit that it tasted very nice. After she had finished it and given full measure of praise, the old lady said, “I’ll tell you how to make it.” Pencil and paper were found and Mum proceeded to write down the instructions. Here, I must digress for a moment to say that the old lady had an elderly son-in-law who, (without wishing to be unkind) could only be described as extremely repulsive, being not very clean, and having a nasty rash on his face and hands. his name was Willy Arthur, and he was always so called. While Mum was writing down the recipe, a point was reached where the old lady said, and then you have to strain it, the book says ‘muslin’ but I don’t go to the expense of buying that, I usually use one of Willy Arthur’s old vests!” Mum instantly remembered something left cooking, or ‘visitors expected’, any excuse to rush home, feeling very sick! For years after if anyone mentioned rhubarb wine, poor Mum felt ill. The old lady’s daughter once borrowed a hot water bottle from a neighbour when the little boy was ill. Sometime after, when the neighbour called to ask for the return of the hot water bottle, the daughter said “I’m sorry you can’t have it back today, Willy Arthur wants it”. Needless to say, “WIlly Arthur wants it”, became another family saying. Two friends at school were Milly Barker, and Audrey Cartwright. Milly’s full name was Millicent Primrose, partly because she was born on Primrose Day, and also after an aunt who had died tragically through being stung in the mouth by a wasp. I envied her pretty name, and often bemoaned the fact that I had only one Christian name. Milly’s Mum was a widow. They lived in Audley Road. At the side of their house was a cart track, always called the Fanniscroft. It was a peculiar name and possibly way back in history someone called Fanny had had a small croft in that area. However, the Fanniscroft led to Brookhouse Farm where Audrey lived with her parents and two sisters, Annie and Mabel. Her father, Tom Cartwright is the one mentioned earlier, the Captain of the Fire Brigade. Annie worked in Dickenson’s, the local drapers. Mabel worked on the farm with her father, she worked very hard indeed, ploughing and sowing and milking, all the jobs that a man would normally do. She appeared to enjoy her life, and always had a lovely golden tan through being out of doors in all weather. Mrs Cartwright came from Wales and had retained the attractive lilting voice. She was always kind and welcoming whenever Miilly and I went to play with Audrey. Audrey often refused invitations to tea, on the grounds that she had to hold the cow’s tails while her Dad and Mabel were doing the milking. I suppose it had been a little manufactured job for her when she was very small and wanted to help, but she took her duty very seriously. She did get a special dispensation for parties or other special occasions. The two horses on the farm were called Boxer and Empress, very splendid chestnuts, they were of course invaluable in the working of the farm. For many years they had a pet sheep called Bunty. I remember Milly and I taking turns to give a cade lamb a bottle, whether Bunty was the same lamb, I am not certain, but she had the freedom of the farm, including the kitchen. Outside the kitchen window was a small orchard, and on summer nights when the window was open, Bunty’s head would appear above the sill, she was finding out whether toffees were being handed out, as soon as she heard the rustle of paper she would trot round into the kitchen for her share. Often on summer evenings, Mum, Dad, and I went for a walk, and sometimes we called at the farm. Audrey and I played in the fields until dusk, then when the lamps were lit her father brought out the hand bells, and he and the girls stood round the table in the kitchen and played tunes on them. They each had several bells on the table, and it demanded a great deal of skill knowing which bell to pick up quickly in order to strike the right note. After a cup of tea or cocoa and a piece of Mrs. Cartwright’s mint and currant pie, we walked home through the quiet, dark, sweet smelling fields, passing Boxer and Empress champing the grass at the other side of the fence. Home to candlelit bed, just before going to bed, Dad always went into the garden to listen to the Church clock striking the hour, so that he could adjust his watch, and the clock on the mantlepiece. There was no question of the Church clock being wrong! This was our life in our little corner of Cheshire, in the late twenties and early thirties. World events hardly concerned us. Mum and Dad read the papers, and expressed sympathy with people on the dole, and the iniquitous ‘means test’. Later, we saw pictures of the Jarrow marchers with Ellen Wilkinson at their head, but all this tragedy was remote. Just a few men from Alsager worked at Pooley’s at Kidsgrove, and when it closed down Dad met one of them in the village and he said “Arthur, if they’d only give me a job digging a hole and filling it in again I’d gladly do it.” I remember one friend at school whose mother went to work, this was Freda Holmes. Her mother was a paintress in a pottery and she carried on with her job in order to pay the college fees for the eldest daughter to become a teacher. They were also buying one of the new houses in Wesley Avenue. She must have been an exceptional woman. Most women, once they were married, expected to stay at home, and as I have shown, the housework and cooking all done the hard way, did not leave them much free time. |
