Christmas In the 1940's

There were seven of us in our family, including Mum & Dad -  two boys and three girls. Dad had come back from the war all in one piece, but only just.  He didn't earn very much and I suppose we were only just above 'poor', but everyone else seemed to be the same, as it was only a few years after the end of  World War 2, and so much was either rationed or simply unavailable - even more financially better off people had to do without - rationing was a great leveller lol!

I don't remember doing without, we were well fed and well clothed - and what you've never had - you never miss!

I remember the Christmas when I would have been about 4 or 5, Dad had made 3 cots for us girls, in three descending sizes, Mum made all the cot sheets in our favourite colours - blue for Mavis, green for Barbara and pink for me. We all had dolls, with moveable joints, so that the dolls could 'sit' and they had eyes that closed too - we were so delighted with them! Mum also made clothes for our dolls, and they were well played with, we didn't need anything else.  The boys had train sets, which I loved to play with as well - I was a real tom-boy!

In later years, the boys had huge meccano sets, they were only made of unpainted metal, but I so loved playing with them - I made a crane that hooked underneath the car I'd made and you could wind up the crane so that it picked up the car - I found that fascinating.  But I had to let the boys play with my bagatelle in return - the whole family wanted to play with my bagatelle :-(

Books were a 'must' for me at Christmas - Lucy Atwell's Annual and Film Star Annuals (which I still have), also jigsaw puzzles and new white ankle socks.  You've no idea how wonderful new ankle socks were - socks had to last until they were too small for me and consequently had many darns in the heels and toes - not very comfortable.  New socks felt lovely and I was proud of the sparkling whiteness of them.

The good part of Christmas past, was that it didn't take much to make us happy - a skipping rope, a whip & top, a home-made gollywog and an orange - I don't remember having chocolate in the 1940's, but Mum used to make toffee apples as a special treat and she would put silver threepenny pieces in the Christmas pudding - one lucky person would find the solitary shilling!

But my very favourite plaything was a book of cardboard dolls, which you either cut around or pressed out, along with a variety of dresses, tops, skirts, slacks (no jeans then lol!) hats and gloves, even dogs and umberellas, and I loved interchanging their outfits.  And all my cardboard dolls had names - my favourite was called Grace, and they would have to do 'lessons' - I made tiny school books for them lol! They were my children and my freinds and I loved them dearly! 

We three girls would take part in the Christmas Concert in the local Church Hall, dressed as angels, our dresses and wings made from Mum's net curtains - which had to go back up at the windows afterwards lol!

Somehow I have managed to put in a photograph of myself aged 6 and one of my Mum & Dad in their younger days - may even have been an engagement photograph.  Now off to see if I can do it again and add photos to my other entries lol!

Hope you had a lovely Christmas here in 2004 and I wish you all a fantastic 2005!

lotsa luv

Freda

Christmas in the 1950's

Just a quick entry so that you don't forget me lol!

I can never regret being the age I am (63) as I have such lovely memories and I lived through such terrific era's - the 50's and 60's!

I am working right up until the very last moment this year, so everything is such a rush, and no time to enjoy the thought of the coming festivities- and I bet this is the same for SO many of us!  So I took a peek into my diary of 1959 whan I was 18 years old to see what I was doing then.  Of course it fell to Mum to do all the organising, for us teenagers - it was just fun, fun, fun!

I lived in a small village, and most social activities were focussed around the village church.  I belonged to the church choir, as did most of my friends, so I was a regular churchgoer, and for me, Christmas was all about going to church, it was the only time of the year when it would be 'standing room only' lol!  For a small village, we had a suprisingly large church -  perfect acoustics for the rousing hymns and Christmas carols.  It was a truly wonderful atmosphere, and it always seemed to snow in those days. I particularly enjoyed the Watchnight Service.  I'll never forget walking back home in the early hours of the morning, (hardly anyone had a car) making the first footprints in the virginal snow, calling Happy New Year, to whoever we met on the way.  On New Years day, we always wished everyone we met 'A Happy New Year' whether we knew them or not.

By now we would already have had the Christmas Dance in the church hall, where we would do 'proper dancing' to a septugenarian trio lol! dressed in their ancient evening jackets and bowties, and their shoes highly polished. It usually comprised  Saxaphone, Bass and Drums (or more acurately - drum lol!)I can still hear the steady 123,123, rythm of the snares on the single drum

Most young people could waltz and quickstep to some degree, but we all got up to do the Paul Jones and the Barn Dance - absolutely no one was allowed to sit down during these dances - even the the Vicar (who mostly stood drinking tea) was made to join in.  Of course we always ended the evening with the Hokey Cokey and then the last waltz, when the lights would be dimmed for a minute or two and the boys could sneak a quick kiss from their partner ( you had to be very careful who you did the last waltz with lol!)  I'll  never forget finding myself in the arms of the young curate for the last walz - I fancied him like mad, but was desperate for him not to know, ha ha - no, I didn't get a kiss!

We would then look forward to the Gala Dance in the New Year - the hall would be gloriously festooned with lots of balloons which would come down upon us like confetti at the end of the evening.  I always hoped to be able to take one home, but the boys were determined to pop them all with their cigarettes lol! 

As I got older, I would forsake the local festivities for  the much grander events at The City Hall in the centre of Sheffield, we girls always hoped we would find a nice young man to take us home - preferably in a car!

We didn't get a lot of presents in those days. There would be one main present, and then things like, bath salts (THE most popular gift of the time lol!) perfume, make up, chocolates and stockings (no tights then!) My favourite gift that year was a lovely net half slip, which had lots of layers to make my dresses stand out and a wide, white leather belt that made my waist look half its size lol!

Was going to add a pic with my net slip peeping from beneath my dress, but somehow it doesn't seem to work for me :-(

Freda

ps Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all! 

 

My First JOb

It’s September 1956 - we leave the school gates behind and out into the big wide world of earning our living aargh - it’s scary!!!

The boys would like to be footballers but will probably work in the steel mills, the girls want to be hairdressers, typists or telephonists, most will work in shops. I can’t decide between being a Writer or a Biologist, so I settle for being a telephonist! Most would-be telephonists go to be trained at the G.P.O (General Post Office), and they have to go to Halifax for a three week intensive course - there is a long waiting list. I go for an interview and get put on the list. If I were still a schoolgirl, I would be enjoying a 6 week holiday now, and I’m happy to do just that - but mum insists that I get a job. She finds an ad in the local paper - The Grand Hotel in the centre of Sheffield are advertizing for a trainee telephonist, I go for an interview and get the job, but it turns out that I will, for the most part, be a lift attendant - cum general dogsbody, and occasionally get to go on the switchboard.

I have to wear a dowdy brown uniform that’s obviously been worn by many before me, it’s too short, too tight and totally demeaning. I feel pretty miffed at how the job has turned out, I feel that I’ve been conned. But then I find it quite interesting meeting the people who stay here - and wonder at how they can afford it, after all it costs 25/- (£1.25) per night for a pretty basic room plus 10% service charge, and everyone expects a tip for anything they might do for the guests. When Martin, the page boy, takes a packet of cigarettes to a guest’s room, he sometimes gets as much as a shilling tip! (5p).

I will have to work in shifts - 7.0am til 2.0pm one week and 2.0pm til 10.00pm the next, I alternate with Anita, the other lift attendant. I have to work every other weekend on the switchboard. For this I will get paid £2.4.5 a week. (£2.221/2p ) minus tax, insurance and bus fares. I give what is left of my wages to mum and she gives me a £1 pocket money, which is probably more than she got to keep me for a week!

Most of the guests are very nice, only the minority treat me with a quiet contempt. The porters tell me that many famous people stay here, and I am looking forward to meeting them! Apart from the cinema, Live Variety is the most popular form of entertainment - not many people have a TV, and we have The Lyceum Theatre which is mostly for plays and opera, and The Empire Theatre where wecan see the likes of top comedians Max Wall, Ken Dodd, Frank Randall and Al Read. Our favourites are Albert and Les Ward, who sing ?There?s a Hole in my Bucket? and no matter how many time we hear it, we always have a good laugh. I also love sand dancers Wilson, Kepple and Betty.

The manager of the Empire lives at the Grand, he is a very large Jewish man who expects excellent service, he walks around as though he is a very important person, but he is always very kind to me and gives me two free tickets for any of the shows I want to see, and they are always on the front row, right in front of the stage. Mum and Dad could only afford to take us up in the ?gods? - which always used to scare the life out of me, the rows were so steep up there, I was always afraid I would topple over if I wasn?t careful!

There is great excitement at the Grand - Johnnie Ray is appearing for one night at the Sheffield City Hall, which is just across the road from the hotel, so he is staying here!! I cannot wait to meet him - he is a very big star, and my sister Mavis?s favourite singer, so I must try to get a signed photograph for her. The fans start to gather outside the hotel at mid-day, by evening it is pandemonium and the porters close the glass entrance doors and keep guard to make sure none of the fans can get in, the guests have to run the gauntlet of the fans. They are mystified by all the excitement, this sort of thing just doesn?t normally happen!

When Johnnie arrives he is rushed through the hotel and into the lift by a posse of managers and body guards. He is tall and very thin, he smiles at me and says "Thank you Ma?m" when I deposit him on his floor, but it happened so quickly, it was all a bit of a blur. I did manage to get his autograph before he left the next day, but unfortunately no photograph for Mavis.

 

I met many famous people whilst working at the Grand, including the Duke of Edinburgh, but eventually it was time to move on. Working in shifts played havoc with my social life - and I just had to get out of that uniform!!

Freda

Saturday Jobs in the 1950's

 

In those far off days, we were not allowed to work until we were 15 years of age. I became 15 in May, but would not leave school for gainful employment until September, so I started to look around for a Saturday job to boost my meagre pocket money (ha!).

Woolworths were always looking for Saturday workers - so this is where I got my first taste of paid employment. It was a 20 minute bus journey into the centre of Sheffield, then a ten minute walk up town (and I do mean ‘up’!). I had to wear the most diabolical green overall, but the person in charge of my counter was very kind, which helps enormously when everything is so alien. These were the days when counters ran all the way around the perimeter of the store, and the main part of the floor space divided into ‘island’ counters. I would much preferred to have started on a ‘wall’ counter, as one felt so exposed in the middle of the store, totally surrounded by customers, also, it was impossible to know which customer was next in line to be served, I just served who happened to be in front of me with their arm outstretched - consequently there would be a constant cry of "Hey, I’m next".

The tills were of the old fashioned variety as seen in ‘Open All Hours’ - we had to really bash the keys to make the price card jump up into the display window - and they did not calculate the total amount of purchases.

On Saturdays, ‘Woolies’ would be packed to the gunnels - it was very hard work indeed. I had to be there 20 minutes before the store opened (for which we did not get paid!) and I then worked from 9.0am til 6.0pm, with half an hour for lunch. There was a staff canteen which produced the kind of food I loved - steak and kidney pudding, creamy mashed potatoes and carrots in white sauce, there would be the usual puddings too - steamed treacle with thick custard, or Bakewell tart. I could not resist the aromas emanating from the staff canteen kitchen on my first Saturday, and gave into temptation. It was also the last time. The food was not expensive, but by the time I had paid out for my bus fare and lunch, I took home very little that day. The pay was 9/- (45p) for that 81/2 hour shift, and they deducted tax, which, I realised too late, I was not eligible to pay. After that, I took sandwiches, but eventually realised that I was wasting my time. Saturday night was for going out and having fun - I was far too tired to do that - and the few shillings I had left would barely have paid for a cinema ticket.

I saw quite a lot of shop lifting going on, but felt unable to ?shop? the people responsible as they were either very young or old, and none of them actually looked like criminals, just ordinary people, and I wrongly assumed that they could not afford to pay for the goods. There was one shoplifter I remember well, a large middle aged woman in a fur coat, it had large capacious sleeves, as was the style then. One end of the counter was just like a huge tray, random-filled with bottles of shampoo, she actually brought herself to my attention by make a bit of a racket moving the shampoo bottles around, which I thought was rather odd, then I saw one slip up the capacious sleeve, I turned round to tell my supervisor about it, but of course, in a trice she had slipped away into the crowds. It made me wonder though, what else has ?slipped? beneath that capacious coat!

I left Woollies and decided to try my luck at Davy?s tea shop. This turned out to be even worse! Again I worked long hours, and absolutely non- stop. The advert had declared ?good rates of pay? (Ha! again) I would get paid 6/- (30p) but was told that I would get plenty of tips to make up the wages. Toasted buttered tea cakes were the most popular item on the menu, and apart from serving, we had to toast the tea cakes, making sure they didn?t burn, whilst we rushed around making up the accompanying pots of tea. I went home that day with a burn on the tip of every finger - I didn?t go back the following week........ In fact I gave up on Saturday work altogether. I would just have to make do with my 10/- (50p) pocket money, I had always been encouraged to save, so most weeks, 5/- (25p) went into my post office saving account, and as a 12" record was about 5/- in those days, I had to really save hard to buy one, but this made it a great event, and trying to decide which one, out of the top twenty in the Hit Parade (Charts) was a nail biting decision. I have many happy memories of ?the good old days? -  because we had so little, we got a huge amount of enjoyment from small things.

Freda

More of My Favourite Job

We all know that Derbyshire has a pretty hilly terrain, and the Lilybank hotel was situated at the top of what seemed at times, to be a small mountain! It could be approached by either one of two very steep roads, with the Lilybank at the apex, and when you bear in mind that hardly anyone had cars in those days, walking around Matlock made for pretty hefty thigh muscles!  At the bottom of one of the roads stood the magnificently named Matlock Ritz.  And no self respecting Pop Star of the Fifties failed to play there!  (but bear in mind that we were now in the Sixties....) The forthcoming events poster proclaimed with much pizazz, that Eden Kane and Sheffield's very own home grown talent, Ron Lindsey and his Group, would be appearing there next  week. 

Just for a laugh, myself and some of the other young people who worked at the Lilybank, thought it would be good fun if Eden Kane came to stay here, so, never one to resist a challenge, I left a letter for him with the manager of the Matlock Ritz. 

 It was whilst I was having my lunch break a few days later, that one of my fellow conspirators came rushing in - "Guess who's in the bar, looking for you?"  I almost choked on my crumble - not because Eden Kane had actually come to the Lilybank, but because he had caught me in my dowdiest clothes and no make-up!  It took no persuading at all to ask her to keep him talking whilst I dashed up to my room to  make myself more presentable.  Meanwhile, Eden booked into the hotel. We met in the bar and  had a bit of a laugh about the letter.  He was performing that evening, but said he'd come in the bar afterwards, and he did.  But what had started out as a bit of innocent fun, somehow changed.   His advances were unwanted, but it's always difficult to get this over to any guy, let alone a Pop Star, who was no doubt used  to getting what he wanted.  I escaped to my room up on the top floor, which was where the staff lived. When the  knock came, I refused to answer it at first, until a female voice giggled "It's only me - let me in".  It was Joan, one of the waitresses. "He's knocking on all the doors, looking for you", she whispered.  We giggled conspitatorily, it was all just a bit of fun, wasn't it?  We peeped out of the door, and finding the coast clear, decided we would all congregate in one room. 

One of our habits was to gather in someone's room, after the evening shift and play cards, so this is what we decided to do, but, for once, kept the noise down, so that we could listen for footsteps in the corridor.  We could hear someone knocking on each of the doors, and my name being called, eventually, afraid that his activities would draw the unwelcome attention of the managers, one of the lads went out to tell him that everyone, including me, had gone to the chinese restaurant in Matlock Bath - another of our after work habits.  This seemed to work, and eventually we all went back to our own rooms, but every time I heard a floor board creak out in the corridor, I held my breath.  I didn't want any trouble - and Eden seemed a like a very determined character.  He left the next morning.  Perhaps eventually realising that his kind of 'fun' wasn't mine!

My favourite job!

Following on from the gruesome toads, here are my memories of a much nicer way I earned a crust.

Moving on a couple of years, I'm now approaching my 21st birthday and working behind the bar and living in, at 'The Millstone' in Derbyshire,  I enjoyed working here very much, this country pub was mostly frequented by the 'sports car brigade', and I had a lot of fun with the young, well heeled regulars.  The downside was - I had to work very long hours - 'Mine Hosts' loved to throw 'private' parties after closing time, and the bar staff would often still be serving the Landlord's friends at 2 0'clock in the morning - and then we would have to be up at 8.0am to clean the whole of the pub, including the private quarters.  So when I heard that the Lilybank Hotel in nearby Matlock was looking for someone to run the cocktail bar, I packed my bags in a flash!

And what a difference life was here!  I started work at 10.0am, the bar had already been cleaned by the hotel cleaner, even the dirty glasses had been washed, dried and put away - all I had to do was think about which outfit I was going to wear.....

When things were a bit too quiet, I'd take everything off the mirrored shelves behind the bar, dust off the various ornaments and re-arrange them - phew, tough work!

The funny thing was - I didn't drink! Never could understand the 'pleasures' of the likes of whiskey, gin or brandy - which was probably just as well, because the husband and wife managers, practically drank the place dry!  I always knew they'd had a good night by the number of empty soda syphons left outside their door, it was also a fairly good indication of how long it would take them to get up the next morning.......

Occasionally, I would deign to dust off the myriad bottles of liqueurs behind the bar, they came is such amazing containers, and the labels led one to believe that they must be quite delicious.  So I would unscrew the stopper and take a sniff - if it smelled nice, I'd tip a little onto my finger and gingerly raise it to my lips. They were all, without exception, too potent for my fledgling taste buds!

It's Easter 1962 - the local bye-elections are taking place in Derbyshire - for once the hotel becomes alive - buzzing with reporters, photographers and the leaders of the Liberal Party - Joe Grimond and Jeremy Thorpe, there's also a debonnaire, young (ish) man called Ludovic Kennedy, who has come to interview the two leaders.  Naturally, the cocktail bar became their 'headquarters', and as they were all staying in the hotel, they could drink all day and all night long, (and they did!) 

I enjoyed myself enormously during this long Easter weekend, there was one particular young man who would come into the bar and sit quietly reading his newspaper, it was only when he seemed to find the courage to approach the bar, and remain on one of the high stools, chatting, that I discovered how nice he was, and I began to look forward to seeing him.  His name, I discovered, was Peter Eckersley, and he was a reporter on the Daily Mail - he would also go on to write for Coronation Street, and eventually married one of the actresses - Janet Reid.

Discovering that I would soon be celebrating my 21st birthday, was an excuse for EVERYONE to celebrate early - the normally severe and unsmiling manageress, took it upon herself to concoct all manner of cocktails - paid for by our guests - in an attempt to get me to partake of an alcoholic drink.  She succeeded - and I discoverd the delights of gloriously named (and probably very expensive!) liqueur cocktails.  I never looked back, suddenly my awakened tastebuds were able to appreciate the joys of gin and lime (with lots of ice...) and pernod and lemonade.

But oh how deathly quiet the hotel seemed, after their departure...... sigh.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about the pop star who came to stay - and it was a case of bolt your doors girls!

Freda

How things have changed!

You probably won't be able to comprehend just how wonderful technology is, unless you lived in the 1950's!

For instance, what does it take nowadays to test for pregnancy?  A few minutes?  Back in the 1950's it could take up to a week, and to be obsolutely sure, even three weeks!

It also took rather more than a small kit bought from a high street chemist. 

It took a whole hospital laboratory, which required:-

Several tank fulls of very large toads

2 laboratory assistants

1 packer

1 cleaner

1 filing clerk

1 secretary

1 laboratory technician

At 18, I went to work at the PDC (Pregnancy Diagnostic Centre) at my local hospital.  I'd always being very interested in biology, and working with toads held no fear far me, even though they were huge!  I actually felt quite sorry for them, for what they had to go through.   These toads where shipped all the way from South Africa, and those that survived the tests, were shipped all the way back again, we had to have a constant supply of 'fresh' toads!

The first task of the morning was to lable the many bottles of urine that arrived either by hand or through the post.  The bottles came in all shapes and sizes, from tomato sauce bottles to pickle jars and the urine came in a wide variety of colours! ( I know, I know - too much information lol!) each had to be well labelled and had its own identification number. 

The urine then had to be neutralized using water and chemicals, then whizzed inside a centrifuge before being tested on litmus paper, if we didn't get the correct neutrality, the urine, which was to be injected into the toads, would cause burning to various degrees - I would feel horribly guilty when this happened.

There was quite a knack to holding the toads to expose the pouch on their back where the urine had to be injected, one grasped the back legs with the index finger in between the thighs. The toads where then put into large, individual  jars of water and left to spawn - or not......

24 hours later we would check the jars for signs of spawning, then we would do a second test - hopefully, the first and second tests matched, if they didn't we would have to segregate the specimens, do another test and keep a careful eye on the results.

Very special attention was given to specimens that came in from Doctors who's patients were under age.  I remember well the 'case history' attached to one specimen - the boy and girl involved were only eleven years old.  We had to do the test three times - each time the result was positive, and this was in the 1950's.......

Unfortunatley, I spent a great deal of time in the casualty department, which was just a short walk from the laboratory.  It was only too easy to prick ones fingers on dirty needles, which then turned septic, or pick up germs on our feet wading through dirty water.  We used to make our own pippettes, and I still have the scars on my fingures to remind me of the ones I broke in the process!

I would often have nightmarish dreams involving the toads, as they had cannibalistic tendencies, so eventually I decided I'd had enough, and went back to being a telephonist!

 

 

'im next door.....

I don’t need an alarm clock anymore - I don’t get much sleep, not since HE moved in from next door. I never asked him, he just came. He’d been coming round of course, just being neighbourly I thought, then suddenly I realised he’d moved in.

I can’t say I wasn’t attracted to him, those soft gentle eyes, his quiet ways - not at all like the usual brash male. Yes, I think you could say it was love. I wondered what SHE was going to say when she realised he’d finally gone. I avoided her of course, if we happened to be hanging the washing out at the same, I’d spend an inordinate length of time sorting through my washing basket until she bent down to hers, then I’d quickly peg out a garment and bend down again as she stretched up to her line. A comical sight we must have made, dodging up and down in unison, desperate to avoid one another’s gaze. An uneasy silence had descended upon our adjoining homes. Living in a row of terrace houses everyone knew one another’s business, but nothing was said, or even alluded to. So life went on like this for quite a while, and HE had his feet well and truly under the table!

My children took to him well enough, but then he knew where he came in the pecking order and never tried to push himself forward. He lived a peaceful existence, never asking for more than a quiet life and a few crumbs of love. The biggest problem was having to share my bed again, I’d had it to myself for a long time, now I had to get used to sharing it again. But he began to take up more and more space, in fact I suddenly realised that he was getting rather portly - gone was the youthful figure, the slim hips had broadened - and the tum had become decidedly tubby.

I couldn’t understand it - he didn’t eat that much. Then one day, whilst chatting to my neighbour on the other side of me, THE SUBJECT came into our conversation, I asked the burning question - had she seen him slipping next door again? I’d never been entirely sure he’d left home. She gave me a knowing nod, she had seen him next door at meal times, and she too, had noticed his widening girth and suspected he had a foot in both camps.

By this time I had accepted him as mine, and now felt a sense of betrayal. He was also getting a wee bit cocky - he was taking up far too much of the bed nowadays, and he snored appallingly. I would try to sneak upstairs ahead of him, to snatch the largest share of the bed, and hopefully be asleep before he came up. But he’dtaken to pushing the door open with such force that it slammed against the furniture, waking me with a frightened start. And, unperturbed by my refusal to move over, would just lay on top of me! With his burgeoning weight, it was no joke.

My squirming around to dislodge him, brought forth strange sounds - mingled with his snores and grunts, made for many a sleepless night. Then I found that no matter how early I went to bed, he was always there before me, in fact I was beginning to think that he never got up!

All came to a head recently, when coming up to bed in the early hours, he arranged his great weight on top of me - I could barely breathe. No matter how hard I wriggled, I could not make him shift, with my face squashed into the pillow, I thought my end was near. With every bit of strength I could muster, I raised my face and yelled into the quiet of the night - knowing full well that in the still hush, the whole terrace would no doubt hear me-

 

GET OFF ME, YOU GREAT HAIRY CAT!!!!!!

Ps.Timmy really did seem to prefer living with us, he got on very well with my own cat, and we were both very sad when my neighbour moved away and took him with her, but I pop round to see her now and again (ok - I pop round to see Timmy....) At 16 years of age, he?s still taking life easy.

 

 

 

 

 

Discovering Rye

I'd heard of Rye, but to be brutally honest, I wouldn't have known where to find it - but when I did - oh wow!!!

Many years ago, when I lived in Royston, every Wednesday & Saturday I'd make for the Auction Rooms to see what treasure I could find,  I only had £5 to spare (which actually bought quite a lot) and there were always so many things I wanted!  On this particular occasion, I espied a pair of etchings, I didn't recognise the subject matter, I just liked the quaintness of them, on the back of the pictures, someone had written 'The Landgate, Rye' on one, and 'The Mermaid Inn, Rye', on the other.  I just enjoyed looking at them, they had an aura about them that took me back in time - I had to have them!  They ended up costing me £6, but worth every penny, I thought. 

They hung, prominently, on the walls of every house I ever lived in, and when my husband and I divorced, I made sure the etchings came with me!

Some years on, and the etchings still hanging on my wall, never failed to tranfix me.  As my 50th Birthday approached, my friend David, asked me what I would like as a gift - I told him that I would like to go to Rye, and find these landmarks, as by now, I had discovered that they were very famous landmarks indeed - the Mermaid Inn, in particular, was shown on many calendars and Christmas cards.

So out came the maps and the Tourist Information guide to b&b's in Rye.  Our first choice could not accomodate us, but suggested Playden Cottage, just a mile outside the centre of Rye. Playden Cottage  turned out to be a large, imposing, white house, nestling on the side of a hill, amongst the most beautiful gardens.  Our host, Mrs. Fox, came out to greet us warmly.  It was the start of a most wonderful experience. 

After settling into our large, immaculately furnished, twin bedded room, complete with tea/coffee tray and bowl of fresh fruit, we set off to explore Rye.  What we found just took our breath away - here was a town who's amazing history had been frozen in time. Rye is one of the Cinque Ports and has a wonderful maritime history, David had spent most of his life in the Royal Navy and I just loved history and architecture, so Rye suited us both very well indeed!  Little had changed since the old smuggling days, the steep cobbled streets flanked by the original houses, each with their own unique, never changing, facade  Many, now hotels and restaurants, art galleries, potteries and book shops.  So much to see, but our first priority was to find The Mermaid Inn and The Landgate.  We had been told by Mrs. Fox that we would find The Inn very easily on the incredibly steep and cobbled, Mermaid Street - cramping irons not a necessity but definitely no high heels!! We walked the length of it - up one side and down the other, but couldn't find any building that resembled my picture, eventually it was pointed out to us, an ivy covered, flat faced building with none of the character of the old Mermaid Inn the etcher had drawn - how could it have changed so much????

Full of disappointment, we went in search of The Landgate.  As we approached, it was obvious that it too, was very different from the etcher's interpretation of The Landgate as he saw it 70 years ago.  This was a town where time stood still, how could it be that two of Rye's most famous landmarks had changed so much?  Or had the etcher taken 'artistic licence' to the extreme?

Sadly, David and I walked on through The Landgate and up the narrow street beyond, stopping to glance in the window of an art gallery, there were many pictures of the Landgate, but none quite like mine. I looked back at the Landgate, and suddenly, there it was - my etching sprang to life before my eyes!  We had been looking at The Landgate from the wrong side!!  Very little had changed, in my picture, the top of The Landgate had crumbled slightly, and this had since been repaired.  Thus encouraged, we made out way back to The Mermaid, and sure enough, by going round to the back, we found the very famous view of The Mermaid Inn.

Content with our findings, we now felt able to explore the rest of Rye.

For anyone visiting Rye, the Heritage Centre should be the first stop.  Here you can discover its amazing history in the exciting Sound and Light Show - there's murder, mayhem and smuggling!

All Rye lies before you as you sit around a grand, authentic scale model of this ancient town.  The lights dim,the music starts, and you travel back into the past. As night falls, the houses light up one by one, smugglers move stealthily about in the moonlight.......  Ah, it was so exciting, we had to see it twice!

After such an interesting first day in Rye, we slept so soundly that night, that we awoke very early the next morning, Mrs. Fox was already up and about, preparing breakfast, she showed us into a really charming breakfast room.  A large oval, mahogany dining table dominated the room, it was set with silver cutlery and sparkling white linen.  Fresh coffee percolated on one of the sideboards, another, laden with a wide variety of cereals, fruit juice, muesli and various dishes of dried fruits and nuts.  We were invited to make our own muesli, and this was then topped with a dollop of fresh yoghurt and drizzled with local honey.  Normally this would have been easily sufficient to see me through till lunch time, but no sooner had we finished than Mrs Fox deposited a plate of bacon, sausage, egg, tomato and large flat mushrooms, before us, and the hot toast just kept on coming!   We must have sat for an hour, eating our fill.  Those wonderful breakasts are something neither of us will ever forget.  Afterwards, we went to explore the beautiful gardens, the rhododendruns were in full bloom, we took some lovely photographs to remind us of this wonderful place.

We decided to use up some of those calories by walking the mile into town.  Today we went down to the quayside to poke around the antiques at the wonderfully named Pocketful of Rye, a large wooden construction that had once been one of the many boat houses. Then on to the Cinque Ports Pottery, housed in the old monastery where, from the public gallery, we were able to follow the entire process of pottery being made.

We didn't need lunch, but we did pop into The Cobbles Tea Room for a pot of tea and a fresh cream cake later in the afternoon! 

There's just so much choice of  places to eat, but The Flushing Inn had featured strongly in the Sound & Light Show, so we decided we really must relish the experience.  I adore seafood, but when I saw the seafood platter I'd ordered as a starter, I realised I wasn't going to be able to eat anything else - it was enormous!

It was most fortunate that David and I did a great deal of walking during our visit to Rye, because we also did a great deal of eating!

We were able to experience another of Mrs. Fox's wonderful breakfasts, those mushrooms were to die for, she went out to pick them fresh every morning, their wonderful flavour enhanced by cooking them with the bacon.

Eventuallywe had to go back home, but we knew that we would be back at the first opportunity, and we did go back the following year, and stayed at Playden Cottage again, of course.

The one thing that I'd never managed to find out - was the etcher's name.  Each print carried his signature, but it was proving impossible to decipher.

A few years later, the story of how I went in search of the landmarks in my etchings, was featured in the Channel 4 series 'Collector's Lot', as in the meantime, on a visit to Royston, I'd popped into an antique shop and found another etching by the same artist, but this time, no clue as to where I might find the castle on a hill, featured in the drawing. (This one cost me £25!)  After showing my pictures on Collector's Lot, Presenter, Sue Cook, asked viewers if they could identify the third etching and come up with the name of the artist.  The response was amazing, I was inundated with letters, all telling me that I ought to know that the third picture was of Bamborough Castle in Northumberland!  This too, was a very famous landmark, and had been used many times in films and television programmes.  One person managed to come up with the artist's name - George Huardel Bly!

Sadly, I have not been back to Rye for many years, but it will remain - a very favourite place!

ps Scanner not working at the moment, but will post photographs as soon as I can.

How it all began

 

1940's

The blackout, the bombs, the barrage ballons, the sirens. The midnight race down the garden to the Anderson Shelter.

I was born in Sheffield in May 1941, the youngest of five children, Raymond is ten, Maurice eight, Mavis five, and Barbara is three. And the pattern of 2 & 3 years which emerged between each birth, would continue........ I was just four months into gestation during the blitz of December 13th 1940. But I do remember the devastation that Sheffield suffered during the war. I know our memories can play strange tricks - can I really remember with such clarity, running down to the Anderson shelter in the dark, stumbling on the path, being picked up in a strong pair of arms and rushed to safety? The terrifying wail of the sirens, and inordinate fear of the barrage balloon, just above our house? I have strong pictures in my mind's eye that no newsreel could have provided. I can remember the addresses of the various houses we lived in, the neighbours, the games we used to play, even the clothes I used to wear! But certain things can become a little 'shuffled around' in our memories, and although I'm trying to ascertain the accuracy of names, places, events, it’s entirely possible that my memory may stumble a little!

Leather leggings, liberty bodices and black patent ankle straps. The cry of the rag & bone man - he offers me a balloon in exchange for my shoes and I'm outraged!

Victor Sylvester represents chairs on the table whilst mums mops the kitchen floor, Housewives Choice - a house full of damp washing.

Sent off to nursery school at the age of three and a shove from my young neighbour, Peter Parker and I'm 'scarred' for life.

Al Jolson enjoys a come back. Raymond becomes a big fan so I grow up the sounds of 'Mammy'.

Mavis is diagnosed as having a hole in her heart. She will become known as 'The Sheffield Blue Baby', and becomes something of a celebrity. There are always photographers and reporters around, and at a very early age, I start to meet the 'Stars' of the day - Frank Randall, Al Read and Albert & Les Ward - one advantage of being the sister of a 'famous' person!

A special trip to the Sheffield Empire Theatre to see a Christmas pantomime - and I'm terrified!

Early 1950's

I did not expect to pass the 'Eleven Plus' - and I didn't. So a Secondary Modern School education for me. At least I'm with all my friends. And despite being something of a chatterbox, I get to be quite good at certain subjects - "The girl now too busy chatting to pay attention has come top in English, how, I'll never know” - Mr. Parkin, the English teacher.

I also love singing, and join the school choir.

Gymslips, the biggest passion killer of all time, are still part of the school uniform - unfortunately.

We listen to ‘Uncle Mac', who plays children's requests on the BBC light program.

At 7.0pm we cluster around the wireless to listen to Dick Barton - Special Agent, Jock, and Snowywhite - exciting stuff!

Hopalong Cassidy is the cowboy hero at the Saturday afternoon matinee', but my young heart has a yen for his side-kick, Larry. Then, aged 12, another Larry steals my heart - Larry Parks. I go to see 'The Jolson Story', and I'm captivated! That wonderful rich voice, that handsome face, the singing, the dancing......... I start dancing lessons - and I want to go on the stage!

I rush home from school to watch ‘Billy Bunter’ on children’s T.V.

We huddle under the blankets with our transistor radios on a Saturday night (11pm til 12am) to listen to Radio Luxenbourg and Jack Jackson's 'Record Round-up' (the 50's version of today's 'Chart Show'). Which beget the BBC program 'The Top Twenty', (presented by Brian Aldiss) featuring the top twenty selling singles that make up the 'Hit Parade'. (Forerunner to the 'Charts').