Skipping to School Read online

  Every year as a child, at some point during the winter months, I developed tonsillitis. One year I caught it at the beginning of December, just in time, I thought, to get out of playing the part of the angel. No such luck! I wasn’t off ill for long enough and when I returned to school, the white sheet, the crêpe paper wings and the golden halo were waiting for me. With my voice now back in good working order, as the curtains parted, once again I stepped forward, held up my arms, opened my wings wide, and gave my familiar speech:

  Fear not, for behold, I bring you glad tidings of great joy,

  Which shall be to all people.

  For unto you a boy is born this day in the city of David a Saviour,

  Which is Christ the Lord.

  (Luke, 2:10-11)

  I hated the dark nights of winter. After Christmas, it was the long haul through the rest of winter until spring arrived. The clocks went forward an hour at the end of March and the evenings grew lighter by a cock-stride every night. Daffodils came into bloom, and birds would sing noisily as they built their nests. Easter was the first date on the calendar that showed that spring had really arrived.

  Easter meant we had two weeks’ holiday. We could usually play outside in the Easter holidays; the weather was growing warmer and the sun had lost its winter harshness. I really looked forward to chocolate Easter Eggs. We were not allowed to eat many sweets because they were considered bad for our teeth, so Easter Eggs were a real treat. I was usually given three eggs: one from my mother; one from my father and one from my godmother Auntie Liz, my mother’s sister. Chocolate eggs came in many varieties and sizes. Some were wrapped in brightly coloured silver paper, some had our names or ‘Happy Easter’ piped on in white icing; some had extra packets of chocolates rattling tantalisingly inside and others were beautifully decorated with coloured flowers, fashioned from sweet fondant icing.

  There were two shops in particular where we went to see the most amazing displays of chocolate confections. One was Mr Edwards’ sweet shop in Aintree, near to where my Auntie Elsie lived. The other was Matti & Tissot in Southport. The shops were very different in style, but they each set out lavish window displays of chocolates for Christmas and Easter. Children and adults were captivated by the wonderful sweet things on display in their windows.

  Mr Edwards’ shop was in the middle of a small row of shops set back off the main road and used mainly by local people. His window display was lit up with fairy lights and had lots of chocolate eggs with ‘Happy Easter’ written on in coloured icing, some were even decorated with small roses created from fondant icing and crystallised violet petals. The centrepiece of Mr Edwards’ display was a large chocolate windmill. It was on show every year and had sails made from sheets of spun sugar, and there was a small electric motor inside the chocolate windmill, which made the sugar sails turn round slowly. Small windows in the windmill were lit from inside by a tiny coloured light. The windmill was surrounded by eggs made from spun sugar, and the fronts of the eggs were partially cut away to show miniature cardboard figures inside. Mr Edwards also sold eggs made by the mainstream chocolate manufacturers, Cadbury, Rowntree’s and Fry’s.

  Every Easter would see the start to Mr Edwards selling his famous water ices. Triangular in shape, like Toblerones, the ices and had very strong fruity flavours which seemed to explode in the mouth, leaving a tingling sensation like sherbet on the tongue.

  The Easter display in the window of Matti & Tissot’s shop in Southport was quite different, however. Owned by a Swiss family, Matti & Tissot was a luscious chocolate shop, patisserie and tearoom in the famous arcade of shops along Lord Street. The front window of the shop was set back at an angle from the pavement. The shelves in the shop window were draped with golden yellow satin, and the variety of chocolate items sitting on the shelves and the floor of the window were amazing. There were life-sized chocolate animals – boxing hares, rabbits, roosters, hens sitting in large chocolate baskets, chickens of different sizes and so many beautifully decorated Easter eggs, all made from chocolate and marzipan. It was almost impossible to take it all in!

  My sister and I walked from side to side in front of the window of the shop to make sure we saw everything. At the front of the display, wrapped in cellophane paper and tied with silk ribbon, were tiny chocolate eggs and sugared almonds, tucked into china ornaments. Fluffy, yellow baby chicks sat in small baskets, made entirely from marzipan; towards the back of the display stood the larger creations and some enormous chocolate eggs. We wondered how it was possible to make such big, complicated things out of chocolate, and how long it would take to eat such big eggs! Some of the chocolate wonders in the window, especially the larger ones, were not for sale – they were for display only and would be given to the local children’s hospital on Easter Sunday.

  As we walked into the shop our noses were hit by the tantalising smell of chocolate, and the array of handmade chocolates of all different shapes and sizes set out on small golden trays behind the large glass counter made our eyes shine with wonder. A separate glass counter displayed a selection of luscious cakes and pastries. As a special treat, we went through the shop then down the steps at the back into the tearoom, to have cakes and a pot of tea.

  My sister and I always had new shoes for Easter. They were given to us on Easter Sunday morning and we would wear them for the first time to Sunday school. I loved the smell of new leather. Whenever I got new shoes, before I put them on, I poked my nose inside and breathed in deeply to inhale the smell of the leather. What I really longed for was a pair of black patent leather shoes. One Easter, my mother finally decided I could have a pair. I couldn’t believe it! I had wanted them for so long. New shoes meant a trip to Hendersons, one of the big department stores in the city centre, where one of my mother’s old school friends worked in the shoe department.

  I am flat-footed and so I had to be fitted for Kilte shoes, which were specially made for children with flat feet. The shoes had an extended shaped heel under the arch of the shoe for support. There was another brand of shoes sold especially for children, called Start-rite. The typical advert for their shoes was a small plump child striding out in a lovely pair of shoes, wearing a blue coat and a bright red hat topped with a large pom-pom. After I’d been measured for the shoes I had to stand in the ‘X-ray’ machine. It wasn’t a real X-ray machine, it was a glass panel strongly lit from underneath, and when I stood on it wearing just my socks I could see the flesh of my feet glowing red around my bones, which showed up very clearly. It was magic! I stood looking down in wonder at the shape of the bones of my feet, so many small bits of bone. It was easy to see whether or not the shoes fitted correctly and whether or not my toes were scrunched up and if there was enough room for growth. A new pair of Kilte black patent leather shoes was decided upon. The shoes sat in a box in my wardrobe, waiting for Easter Sunday. I opened and closed the box many times, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  On Sundays, and other special occasions, my sister and I used to take turns wearing a small fur scarf called a tippet, made of white ermine, which, our mother explained to us, is the winter coat of the stoat. The tippet had small black tails hanging along its body, at one end was the head of the animal with shiny black glass beady eyes while at the other end were four small black and white tails. A clip behind the animal’s nose held the head to the tail. The tippet was lined with white satin which felt luxurious against our necks.

  Before her marriage, my mother had trained as a furrier and we had lots of small pieces of fur in the house: coney (rabbit), moleskin, musquash and squirrel. Occasionally, as a favour for friends, she would alter or shorten a fur coat for them. She would clean a fur coat by rubbing it with a mixture of warm silver sand and benzine. She kept the bits of fur which were left over from the alterations and used them as trimmings for our coat collars, hats and the backs of mittens.

  My Uncle Bill, who was in the Merchant Navy, came home after one of his trips to Canada with a bag of grey squirrel pelts, which my moth
er made into a stylish, short fur cape lined with grey satin, for his daughter Betty.

  After Easter, the next event in the calendar was May Day. We celebrated May Day in school by dancing around a maypole – tying coloured ribbons onto a large pole in the centre of the playground and performing a ritual dance around it. We learnt the intricate system of crossing and weaving the ribbons round the pole, to make a pattern, and then we reversed the process to undo the ribbons.

  Empire Day was held on 24th May. All the children who were in the Brownies, Guides, Cubs, Scouts or Boys’ Brigade came to school in their uniforms. We saluted the Union Jack, said a prayer and sang some hymns to celebrate the British Empire and its achievements. Large maps of the world were unrolled and hung on the blackboard, showing the Empire coloured in pink stretching all the way around the world. Empire Day was rounded off by a parade around the school playground.

  By the time the summer term drew to a close we were ready for the holidays. Reports were sent home in a sealed envelope with a small tear-off slip to be returned by our parents. I was nearly always top of the class, but one year, 1943, to my shame, I came fourth! I still have this report to remind me of my fall from grace.

  Chapter Four

  PILLS, POTIONS AND

  CHILDHOOD ILLNESSES

  Before I started school, I’d already caught measles and chickenpox, which my sister contracted at school and gave to me at home. Measles seemed to be the most dangerous, as the doctor came to visit me twice. He took my temperature several times then gave my mother some foul-tasting medicine for me to take. This was in the days before penicillin was available. I knew I was very ill, because I had to stay in bed for a week with the curtains drawn to protect my eyes from bright light, and the fire in my bedroom was lit continuously. Things had to be serious for me to be allowed a fire in my bedroom; even when it was so cold that we could see our breath on the way upstairs, we were not allowed to have a fire in our bedrooms.

  In winter, going upstairs to bed meant dressing in long winceyette nightdresses and warm woolly bed socks. On the way upstairs, we had either a metal or a stone hot water bottle, clutched tightly under one arm. If we were lucky, the oven shelves in the kitchen range would still be warm from cooking and we wrapped them up in a piece of sheeting to take upstairs and put in our beds. Our soft feather beds, with their warm winter flannelette sheets and pretty flower-patterned eiderdowns, were nice and cosy once we’d snuggled down under the covers.

  To keep us warm during the day, we wore Chilprufe Liberty bodices over our vests. They were thick white cotton sleeveless vests, like waistcoats, strengthened with white tape and fastened up the front with small, cotton covered metal buttons.

  When summer came, the flannelette bed sheets were replaced with cotton sheets, and the eiderdown by a fine white cotton bedspread embroidered with white lovers’ knots and flowers. My white cotton nightdress case was embroidered with a matching pattern, and the word ‘nightdress’ was stitched right across the middle. I still have both of these things.

  Most of the children I knew, including school friends and relatives, had all had the childhood illnesses: measles, chickenpox, mumps and whooping cough. It was quite important for the boys to have mumps when they were young, because if they caught it later in life it could make them sterile. I hated chickenpox because of the itching; I scratched and scratched at the rash all over my body and had to have my hands tied up in white cotton gloves, but I still managed to make myself bleed when I picked the scabs. Fortunately, most of the spots were on my body and not on my face, so I didn’t have any scars.

  After I started school, I caught mumps. This was very uncomfortable as my neck was rubbed with camphorated oil and wrapped in a thick woolly comforter made from one of my father’s stump socks (more about these later). I had difficulty eating, swallowing, or speaking for a week. As a child, I was always very talkative (I still am), but when I had mumps I could barely croak, which was a welcome relief to my family.

  Sometimes I didn’t mind being ill, as my mother wrapped me up in a big fluffy blanket, turned out the lights, drew the settee up to the fire, sat me on her knee and rocked me back and forth while she sang:

  Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low;

  And the flick’ring shadows softly come and go.

  Tho’ the heart be weary, sad the day and long,

  Still to us at twilight comes love’s old song,

  Comes love’s old sweet song.

  (Bingham and Molloy)

  The combination of the warm blanket, the gentle rocking and the pictures I saw in the flames dancing in the fireplace soon sent me to sleep. My mother was a firm believer not only in the power of sleep to heal, but also, love, warmth and a good cuddle.

  We managed to survive all our childhood ailments and in the process we built up our antibodies, which stood us in good stead as we grew into fit, healthy adults. There were two illnesses which we really feared – diphtheria and polio, which thankfully neither my sister nor I ever caught. Large orange and black notices on hoardings warned us that ‘DIPHTHERIA CAN KILL!’ A child with diphtheria was often put into the isolation ward in the Fever Hospital, until they were no longer infectious.

  The Salk vaccine for polio was still in the early stages of experimentation in America and had not yet been produced for widespread use. A small number of children died, and some who developed polio were left with partial paralysis. Sadly, a few had to spend what remained of their lives confined in an iron lung.

  My mother had many good remedies for seeing us through our minor childhood complaints. They were purchased from either Boots the Chemist or from our local chemist, Mr Turnpenny MPS. Inside his shop, one wall was taken up by a brown wooden cabinet which contained dozens of drawers like small boxes. Each box had a small glass knob and bore a white label with the name of the contents written on it in large black letters. In the window were three large glass flasks, each one was filled with a brightly coloured liquid, red, yellow, or blue, but I think they were for decoration only.

  Mr Turnpenny stood behind his counter, dressed in a crisp, white cotton coat and a pair of sparkling gold-rimmed glasses. His counter was raised on a step, and customers looked up to Mr Turnpenny in more ways than one. He would walk around his counter and step down to have a closer look at the customer’s complaint. He was a fountain of knowledge and knew almost everything about any ailment, and he gave advice on minor complaints, which saved his customers the expense of a visit to the doctor that had to be paid for every visit.

  He produced many wonderful concoctions, which we called his ‘cure-alls’, and every one of his potions was dispensed in a brown glass bottle, which hid the contents from prying eyes. Each bottle bore a label stating Mr Turnpenny’s name, the contents, the correct dosage and the date. His own cough mixtures were legendary: red cherry-flavoured syrup for children and a strong potion with an aftertaste of ammonia for adults, both of which were guaranteed to cure.

  Customers felt free to discuss their most intimate complaints with him in great detail: bowel movements, piles, problems with their water works, women’s problems and boils in unmentionable places, to name but a few. He was a man of great discretion; a secret was safe with him.

  Nurse Roan, the District Nurse, was a frequent visitor to Mr Turnpenny’s shop. She was a tall stately lady, who always wore a navy blue gabardine coat over her crisp blue and white uniform, and a small navy blue pork pie hat. Her black bicycle had high handlebars, in a style we called ‘sit up and beg’. It had a big black box strapped onto the back containing things we could only speculate about. We made very rude guesses about what they could possibly be, and tittered and giggled amongst ourselves. When we were young, the rudest words we could think of saying out loud were ‘knickers’ and ‘District Nurse’.

  Nurse Roan was a mystery as she came and went around the neighbourhood on her large black bicycle. Sometimes, after Nurse Roan had been to a house, a baby would appear. We were convinced she either ke
pt them in her black bag, or she bought them from Mr Turnpenny’s shop. We didn’t believe the tale told to us about the gooseberry bush; I’d looked under the gooseberry bush in my Uncle Harry’s garden and I’d never seen a baby under it. I was quite anxious one day when I saw my mother talking to Nurse Roan for a very long time. I didn’t fancy a new baby in the house, I enjoyed being the youngest, and babies seemed to cry a lot and take up a lot of time. I watched my mother carefully for a while and waited for the baby to appear, but nothing happened. I was amazed one Sunday to see Nurse Roan in church with her husband and son – she was just a normal human being after all!

  Friday nights, after we’d had a bath and our hair had been washed, was the time when my mother brought out and administered her tried and tested remedies. From various large and small brown bottles came an assortment of potions. To keep our bowels regular we had to have a teaspoonful of either Syrup of Senna, or Syrup of Figs, both equally obnoxious. Next, a dessertspoonful of cod liver oil and malt was scooped from a very large bottle – it slipped easily off the spoon, down unwilling throats. The sharp taste of the treacly malt could not disguise the strong fishy aftertaste of the cod liver oil, which came back repeatedly into our mouths. For a high temperature or a slight feverish attack, out came a clear glass bottle containing a colourless liquid called Fenning’s Fever Cure; it had a sharp bitter taste and gave a slight burning sensation on the way down, but it did the trick.

  The worst remedy I had to take was the dreaded Brimstone and Treacle. Brimstone was another name for sulphur. Every spring I used to break out in large pink lumps, called heat bumps, which were incredibly itchy. To ease the itching, I used to dig my thumbnail deep into each of them to form a cross. These heat bumps were due, apparently, to the overheating of my blood and I had to have doses of Brimstone and Treacle to cool me down and clear out my system. This time the thick dark yellow doses came by the tablespoon from a huge brown jar. I dreaded having to take this mixture, as the smell of sulphur seemed to ooze from every pore in my body. The smell of hydrogen sulphide was appalling when I had wind and went to the toilet, and I desperately hoped no one was around when this happened.