The threat of war was ever present and on the newsreels at the pictures we saw Neville Chamberlain returning from a meeting in Munich with ‘Herr Hitler’ as he politely called him. Chamberlain was waving the famous white paper, this means “peace in our time” he said. I think the public believed him, it was what everyone wanted to believe. However, a massive programme of preparations started, reaching out even to our little bit of Cheshire; the building of the Royal Ordnance Factory at Radway Green commenced. A big London firm, Trollope and Colls were the main contractors and their lorries and men were everywhere.
‘Billeting Officers’ came round to every house, and anyone with even the smallest amount of room to spare was urged to take one or two men. I moved into the small front bedroom and we had two men in the back bedroom. They changed every few weeks as the building progressed. First were bricklayers, then joiners, plumbers, electricians, and finally painters. They were a cheery crowd and we seemed to be lucky in that we always had nice friendly ones. I‘ve no doubt that they were paid very high wages; they certainly worked very long hours. One night when Stan and I were coming home from Crewe it was just dusk, and a lorry from Radway Green came hurtling round a bend on the wrong side. Stan tried to pull out of the way and I remember putting my hands up to my face and shouting, “he’s going to hit us.” In fact the lorry scraped the side of the car, the windscreen was smashed and the door on Stan’s side was badly dented. The lorry did not stop; I don’t think he knew he had hit us. We called at Alsager Police station to report it and the policemen were very concerned and bathed my hands, which were bleeding. Nothing was heard of course and we felt lucky that we had escaped serious injury. Stan had the car mended, but bought a Ford 8 soon after, it was nearly new and seemed very ‘posh’ I got a Provisional Licence and Stan taught me to drive.
It was about this time that Shipley’s house and farm disappeared in a day. The bulldozers moved in and work was started on the new Ministry of Defence estate of flats and houses. The tall hawthorn hedge so glorious in May, with its foaming blossom, was torn up as heedlessly as burning yesterday’s paper. The houses and flats soon began to take shape. We thought them very ugly with their flat concrete roofs, and, so we were told, the floors downstairs and even the stairs were concrete.
I had never entirely given up the idea of working with dogs; it was a sort of vague ‘sometime in the future’ thing. However, a man used to come into Hunters with two or three wire haired fox terriers, they were always beautifully trimmed and one day when we were not too busy I got talking to him and of course made a fuss of the dogs. He worked in the Railway works and the dogs were his hobby. He took them to local shows with some success. When I commented on their smart appearance and the fact that they were so expertly ‘stripped’, he said, “Oh that’s because I make my own stripping knives.” he took one from his pocket and it was indeed a beautifully ‘made for the purpose’ knife. I told him about my time at the kennels and he said, “I’ll make you one of these knives if you’d like one”. I was delighted, and he was as good as his word, a few days later he brought me one that he had made.
Now, a regular customer at Hunters was a man called George Bosley. He too kept several wirehaired terriers. I talked to him sometimes when I was not too busy. Beyond the fact that he was middle aged and lived in Broad Street with his mother, I knew nothing about him. One day he came in with his two dogs and I suppose I said, “they are not looking as smart as usual.” to which he replied, “No they re not, I haven’t time, I’ve so many other dogs to trim, people keep asking me and I don’t like to say no.” “Oh,” I said, I could come and help you on Wednesday afternoon, if you like”, (thinking of my nice new knife.) When I explained that ‘yes, I did know how to do it’, he was very pleased and said he would look forward to seeing me the following Wednesday afternoon, he told me what number Broad Street. When I told Stan that I would not be going home on Wednesday afternoon, and where in fact I was going, he was not pleased. “You do do some daft things, I don’t like the look of that fellow and I don’t think you should go,” he said. “Oh I’ll be all right, besides I’ve promised him, and I want to do it,” said I. It was strange that mum had not objected, but I had talked her round, saying “he lives with his mother” so I suppose she thought I would be all right. As soon as the shop closed I hurried off to Broad Street. I’d taken some bread and butter and a banana for my lunch, and thought I would be certain to be offered a cup of tea. The house had been a shop; the shop window was still there but painted black on the lower half. George Mosley opened the door and was very pleased to see me. He showed me into the room that had been the shop, and the old wooden counter was still there. “I find that very useful for standing the dogs on,” he said, and of course I had to agree. He said he was just having something to eat and had I brought anything? “Yes” I said, but suddenly I did not feel very hungry due to the overpowering smell that seemed to pervade everywhere. He went into the back regions presumably to finish his lunch, and I managed to eat the banana. I hoped he would not bring me a cup of tea but he did, and then said he would show me the dogs. Apart from several which were his own there were four terriers waiting to be trimmed. He chose one for me, and carried it through and put it on the counter. It was a nice friendly little dog with a very overgrown coat. However, it was quite amenable and I was soon engrossed in making it smart. I conveniently let the tea go cold, having seen the state of the back premises, and also the realization that the smell was not just due to the quantity of dogs, it was dirt that had built up over the years.
George said that he would work out at the back so that the dogs would not upset each other. Eventually I was pleased with the result of my work, and called him. He was very delighted and said that I had really helped him, he gave me half-a-crown and asked if I would come again, “perhaps next Wednesday?” “:All right,” I said, “but I have to hurry now as I promised to be home for tea”. “Before you go”, he said, “would you just have a word with mother”? She’s confined to bed and seldom sees anyone “Oh yes”, I said.
His mother was in a downstairs room, she looked incredibly old, but that may have been because her hair was long, her face was paper white and very wrinkled. Dirty curtains almost covered the dirty windows, and the smell in this room was ten times worse than in the rest of the house. Medicines and pills covered a small table at the side of the bed. The pillows and bed cover had been white a very long time ago, now they were gray and horrible looking. She was able to talk, and said that she had not been out for years. She said it was difficult to get shopping done, “a neIghbour’s child comes sometimes, and George gets the food, but’, she said “I’ve been wanting this brooch mending for a long time and George won’t take it,” whereupon, she rummaged in a filthy old bag and produced a pink glass brooch with the pin missing. Well of course I readily offered to take it to Moody’s the Jewelers for her. I was so sorry for her, the thought of spending life in that awful room and in that smell. I don’t know what she was suffering from but I was absolutely appalled. I took the brooch and said I would collect it from Moody’s when it was repaired and would bring it back to her. I did not tell mum what a filthy place it was but I knew I could not bring myself to go again. I certainly did not tell Stan what it was like, as I knew he would have said, “well I told you not to go”, but I did tell him about the old lady and that I had offered to get her brooch mended. I took the brooch to Moody’s on Thursday lunchtime, and they said yes they would put a new pin on it and it would be ready in about a week. The following Tuesday lunchtime a child came in and handed a grubby bit of paper to Stan. ‘The Manager, Hunters’, it was addressed to, and the message read, ‘make that girl bring my brooch back; she took it off me last week! Signed M. Bosley. Of course, Stan was furious, telling the child, ‘alright, go along home’, he took a pound note out of his wallet saying to me,”Now go to Moody’s and get the brooch, if they haven’t mended it bring it back anyway, and take the damn thing back to Bosleys and don’t go near the place again, don’t go in or wait for the money for the repair, I’ll write that off, and I’ll tell that George Bosley you won’t be going to help him with his bloody dogs again either!” Off I went to Moody’s, who in fact had put a new pin on the brooch at a cost of half-a-crown!
I took it to Broad Street where George Bosley came to the door, greeting me with a beaming smile. When I handed him the brooch for his mother I just said that I’d collected it from Moody’s where I had taken it to be repaired: for her. He wanted to pay but I said “No, you’d better see Mr. Clarke when you come into the shop. The next day when he came in, Stan told him to make sure that his mother did not send any more nasty little notes, and that I had merely been doing what I considered to be a good turn, in taking the brooch to be repaired for her, and I certainly would not be going to help him with the dogs in future either! Of course the poor man was quite mortified as I’m sure he did not know anything about the affair at all. He apologized to Stan and to me and was most upset because I would not be going again to help him.
I just have to say that I did use my knife in the future. During the war some people named Brown had a Sealyham called Peter, and Mrs. Brown happened to say to dad that it was a problem getting him trimmed. “I’ll ask our Brenda if she’ll do It.” said Dad. The result was that I went to see them. They lived on the Ministry Estate, having been moved to Alsager from Birmingham. They were lovely people, they had no children and I’m afraid that Peter was a substitute child. We quickly became friends and thereafter I kept Peter looking smart, he was a good-tempered dog, something that Sealyhams are not famous for. Lots of people began to ask me to trim their dogs but I refused, I just had not the time, but I continued to look after Peter until I left Alsager.