A valley roof, jasmine over the door, a privet hedge and crooked walls. These are the four most memorable aspects of the house in which I spent the first twenty-one years of my life. It was a comfortable house with low ceilings, a walled garden and it was the sort of house where you felt safe.
The deeds of Ivydene dated way back with one particular owner being a Christopher Cook who, in the 19th century had about ten children. Some of their death certificates were in amongst the papers. The poor little things died from measles, teething and croup. I believe that the house dated from the 17th or 18th centuries. (NB The house is now named Hardings again. It was originally two cottages.‘15th April 1718 Thomas London a Minor was admitted after the death and under the Will of Thomas London his Grandfather: To the Tenement called Hardings containing by estimation one acre and one rood of copyhold land holden of the said Manor’. Robert Parr, Yoxford Yesterday).
Ivydene was in Yoxford High Street on the main A1120 road from Stowmarket through to the A12 and Yarmouth. A privet hedge was in front of the house next to the pavement. It survived being barged into by heavy tanks, bicycles and the odd drunken customers from the nearby New Inn which is now a private house. Behind the hedge were two flowerbeds, one on each side of the front path. These contained white hydrangeas. Mother was always trying to turn them pink or blue. The doorstep was kept white and woe betides anyone who left a dirty footprint before the whitening was dry.
The front door was painted green and surrounded by a decorative iron porch covered with a white jasmine. The scent was fantastic when it was in bloom but after blooming the whole thing became rampant and had to be severely pruned. As with the clippings from the hedge it seemed to be my job to clear up the mess which ensued. Every time you thought that you had finished – low and behold a few more leaves would emerge from somewhere.
Behind the rather substantial front door was the HALL. Although quite a decent size it was gloomy. There were no windows and the walls were decorated on the lower half with a dark brown ‘anaglypta’, a kind of stiff, embossed and shiny paper. I believe that the upper half was painted terracotta. Coats were hung on hooks on the right hand side of the hall and at the end were the staircase and my toy cupboard.
Toys were kept on the floor of the cupboard under the stairs but there were also shelves. Sweets and chocolate were kept here as it was one of the few places in the house which was dry. On one shelf was a fascinating, pretty tin which had, at one time held ‘Cadbury’s Drinking Chocolate’. I could not understand this as I could not think how you could drink chocolate. This was the cupboard where Mother kept a box of two dozen (at least that was how many were there to start with) bars of Dairy Milk chocolate. These had been obtained from the lady who ran the NAAFI at Cockfield Hall and had been swapped for some meat. The staircase was painted cream but had probably been dark brown at some time. The carpet was cream with a pattern of green leaves and red roses. The carpet was removed for a short time when two soldiers were billeted on us. Mother was certain that they would go to bed in their boots.
There was no light in the hall, on the stairs or landing. A torch was used to light the way. I was terrified of being in the dark on those stairs. I was convinced that either a Bogey-man or Hitler or both would be lying in wait to kidnap me. I used to run up and down those stairs as fast as I could and jump down the last two or three to gain extra speed. I was determined that when I had a house of my own there would be lights on the stairs-but my first house was a bungalow.
On the landing wall hung a picture entitled ‘Rent Day’ a dull print of Victorian tenants lining up to pay their quarterly rent. On the long wall of the stair well was a beautiful large mirror in a fancy plaster and wire frame. Unfortunately pieces of plaster kept falling off – probably something to do with little girls racing up and down the stairs. Eventually the beautiful mirror had to be taken down and given a plain rectangular frame.
There were four BEDROOMS but no bathroom. The threefront rooms were decorated in co-ordinating colours. The bedroom opposite the top of the stairs was Mother and Father’s room. The main theme in this room was green. The eiderdown was green and gold, the dressing table ornaments were green and the toilet set on the washstand was also green. I think that there was mottled green wallpaper and the homemade rugs were green. All the walls were covered with paper which did not have a pattern that needed matching. Father maintained that this was because the walls were uneven but I believe that it was because he became very stressed when things did not go according to plan. The net curtains were white with tiny green fluffy spots. The furniture was all dark oak in the style of the 1920s and 30s.
The middle room was the smallest and was mine until I was eleven or twelve. The curtains here had red spots. Nothing else was matching. The chest of drawers was white and a single white iron bedstead was against the wall. This was later upgraded to a wooden one bought from the land lady of the ‘New Inn’. There was a wide window sill and the window opened on to the front porch. I spent many happy hours sitting there reading and watching the world go by. I can’t remember if I ever dared to venture out on to the porch and it did look rather flimsy.
The third bedroom was decorated with a blue theme. It was in this room that the curtains had blue spots and the dressing table mats were blue. All the dressing tables had the appropriate colour mats and china. In this room the washstand china was blue, i.e. the basin, jug, soap dish and toothbrush mug and chamber pot were decorated with blue flowers. Under the window was a blue chest and on the far wall was a dark oak single wardrobe. This was the room that was kept for visitors and it contained a double bed. The two soldiers slept here as did Aunt Peggy when she came for a rest from the London bombing. My school friends, Janet, Marian and April would stay here for what is now known as a ‘sleep over’. After one such visit Janet developed measles. It is not surprising that I also succumbed and was allowed to sleep in the big bed. I also suffered from heatstroke and once again, it was into the blue room that I was moved.
At the back of this room was a large cupboard built into the wall. It was very dark in there and I believe that all sorts of ‘stuff’ was stored such as suitcases, clothes and things that might be useful one day.
The fourth bedroom was above the kitchen and pantry and therefore stretched the full length of the house. It was cold. There was linoleum and rugs on the floor as in all the bedrooms. The sash windows were not double-glazed and rattled in the wind. From these windows we would look out and watch the aircraft going out to bomb Germany and then limp back. We watched the guns on the coast at Dunwich, Southwold and Minsmere firing at the enemy planes and V1s as they flew in to bomb us and it was from these windows that we could see the red glow in the sky which turned out to be Norwich burning after one of the ‘Baedeker’ raids.
This room was, as I have said before, cold and the atmosphere was not helped by the fact that it must have been built as an afterthought and when there was heavy snow it would collect in the valley roof and then you would put a foot out of the bed straight into a puddle of very cold water. What an awakening! I moved into this room when I was about twelve. My dolls’ house stood on a large wooden chest at the end of the room. There was a beautiful mahogany chest of drawers (which Uncle Frank claimed, much to Mother’s annoyance) and a nondescript washstand. The double bed was thought at the time to be very old fashioned but is now considered the latest thing. It was brass and had a feather bed over the spring and mattress. I used to write messages and hide them under the screw-on brass knobs. An earthenware hot-water bottle was a winter necessity but the bedstead was high and care had to be taken not to kick the now cold object out during the night. The windows faced north east (hence the cold), and when I was revising for exams I would wake early and memorise my work according to where it appeared on the pages. Thank goodness for a photographic memory. I was given a portable Vidor radio after I gained seven ‘O’ levels and would play it quietly late at night. ‘Book at Bedtime’ was a favourite.
Running up and down stairs was a speciality of mine. I always ran up any stairs even the three flights at Otterspool. Running down was much more fun as I always jumped the last two or three steps. I attacked stairs in this way until I was seventy years old when arthritis stopped the practice.
Back to Ivydene. The SITTING-ROOM (Mother thought that ‘lounge’ was too posh) was on the left of the hall coming from the stairs. It was typical of its time and was kept for high days and holidays, Christmas, Sunday tea, visitors and parties.
This room had a wooden floor and should have been warmer than the other downstairs rooms, but wasn’t. The piano was here and I was expected to practise scales and set pieces for piano exams. It was fine in the summer but in the winter the only heat was a small electric fire and I had to be well wrapped up with warm clothes. I remember that cold fingers made it difficult to play and chilblains made the job more miserable. I collected sheet music for the pop songs of the day and Mother also had the music for old sentimental ballads as well as two community song books. I started music lessons when I was six. The teacher was a single lady called Miss Wright and she lived in a cottage on Askers hill on the Sibton Road. She was grey-haired and seemed to be very old. I learnt to play The Blue Danube and the Bluebells of Scotland. Later I was taught by one of the teachers from Yoxford School. She was Miss Martin and much more friendly than Miss Wright. When I was at school in Beccles I had lessons from a much better-qualified teacher. Once I could play with a bit of fluency I would play and sing at the top of my voice with only the dog to listen.
I learnt to play well enough to enter music examinations. In April 1946 I went in for the preliminary grade and passed with 81 marks out of 99. Miss Martin was my teacher at that time. In July 1948, with Miss. Redgrave as my teacher I took Grade 1. Here the result was not quite so good but I passed with 112 marks out of 150. On 29th I became thoroughly fed up with the practice required for the exams. Playing the same pieces over and over again to try to achieve perfection became a burden when I only wanted to play well enough to amuse myself. Mother and Father both considered that my other school work was more important so the piano lessons came to an end. Miss Redgrave was not pleased but I was very much relieved as the lessons had to be squeezed in at lunch times or after school. It was not until I became a teacher that the work with the piano proved its worth when I could play hymns in assemblies and for singing.
The floor of the sitting-room was covered with a ‘congoleum’ square. This was a classy kind of linoleum printed with a pattern to resemble a carpet. The boards around the edge were stained dark brown. When we moved to Saxmundham Mother wanted to take the precious square with her. Unfortunately the years had taken their toll and the fake carpet came up in small pieces.
The three-piece suite was royal blue moquette but the tiles around the fire place were green. This was something that we had to put up with as during the war we did not consider changing their colour. The settee was rather intriguing as there was a wooden knob at one end that had to be pulled or turned and the arm would lower so that a person (not too tall) could sleep there. I never saw the arm down or heard of anybody trying to spend an uncomfortable night on it.
The upright piano was placed against an inside wall on one side of the hall door and on the other side stood the oak bookcase/china cabinet made by my grandfather who also made the piano stool and a mahogany lamp stand. On this stand stood an oil lamp with a brass base and a fancy glass globe. I don’t know what happened to it (Mother had a habit of throwing things out) I imagine that the globe broke but I can remember that the lamp was difficult to light and the chimney smoked. After the demise of the oil lamp father rigged up a silver-coloured electric converted oil lamp. This lamp had sand in the bottom to stabilise it but was always likely to tip over. In the bookcase was a set of Rider Haggard books – a mixture of stories about Africa and England. In the 1920s and 30s these books were very popular but the representation of the British Empire was not politically correct. There were various Zane Grey and Bulldog Drummond books and a selection of school prizes won by Father, Mother and even grandmother Rose. I read them all. There was a Mystery Book, a thick book with many thin pages. This was full of ghost stories, Sherlock Holmes mysteries and horror stories. I read most of those too and frightened myself and had nightmares. Later I graduated to Denis Wheatley novels which were about the Occult. There was one other volume called ‘Simon Called Peter’, this was reputed to be rather risque, I read that one too but as I didn’t know what a harlot was I was unimpressed.
A black-covered Bible given to Mr. and Mrs. Starling on their wedding day was on the bottom shelf. It was not read very much but was useful for R.E. homework. There was another small brown paper-covered bible. There was an inscription inside saying that the book had been given to Albert George Starling by his grandmother and had belonged to his grandfather.
The top section of the bookcase was full of china bits and pieces. Not used but often admired at many times. There was the blue-and-black typical 1920s tea set which has never ever been used, six very fine glass champagne glasses (6d from Woolworths). Small, delicate objects intrigued me, two flowery cups and saucers suitable for children, a cream Wedgewood teapot and milk jug. A whistle shaped like a dog’s head which only a dog could hear and a small wooden box containing a silver thimble. The silver-plated teapot, milk jug and sugar basin given to Mother and Father by Mr. and Mrs. Lomax (father’s employers) for a wedding present took pride of place but was little used as Mother said that the feet on the teapot caught in the lace tray cloths. The piece of pottery which later proved to be the most interesting was a brown earthenware money box. I took little notice of this as I was told that money could be put in the slit on the side but it was impossible to retrieve it without a lot of fiddling or breaking the pot. The inscription ‘Harriet Borrett’ meant little to me at that time. In fact Harriet turned out to be my great-grandmother and further research led to the Suffolk Shadows saga.
By the window in this ‘best room’ was a small round ‘pie crust’ table with a potted fern on it, grandfather had been busy again. A wooden, metal-lined box stood beside the fireplace. Its original purpose was to hold logs or coal for the fire, but Mother used it to keep her store of knitting wool – the sort that came in skeins and had to be wound into balls. I spent many hours holding these skeins while Mother wound the balls. Later we found that the back of a chair would do as well and eventually I learnt to do both jobs on my own. I still enjoy unravelling cottons or wools that have got themselves into a bit of a mess. There was another cupboard in this room. This was a supposedly dry cupboard and held yet more china and glass also homemade jam.
During the war years this room came to life when parties were held, usually on a Saturday evening when friends were invited. Food was provided and Mother played the piano, the more booze that was consumed the louder the singing. ‘The Old Mill by the Stream’, ‘Cockles and Mussels’ and many other songs from The Community Song Book were rendered with great gusto. Needless to say I was not present at these parties but I heard tales afterwards. There was the supper party when Mother ate her meal with the pickle fork and the night when the milk saucepan welded to the hot plate. I believe that sherry was the problem especially if mixed with homemade wine.
Across the hall opposite the sitting-room was the DINING-ROOM. This was the room which was used the most although the ceiling was quite low, the walls crooked and the floor damp. The walls were covered with the same mottled paper as elsewhere in the house. This was later painted over with terracotta paint which made the room rather dark but gave the illusion of warmth. The floor was made of bricks laid straight on to the earth. To give some form of insulation brown paper was laid on the bricks to be covered with the inevitable linoleum. When we moved to Saxmundham and tried to clean the floor we found that the bricks were covered with a sticky mix of paper and black grease from the lino. It took some scraping off!
Red-glazed tiles and an oak-surround fireplace were on the side outer wall of the dining-room. The fire here was lit every day during the winter, entailing quite a performance. Often Father would clean the ashes from the grate and lay the fire ready for lighting. If he did not have the time Mother would scrape out the ashes causing as little dust as possible and replacing any unburned coal. Newspaper was scrunched up and put in the grate, kindling (small pieces of wood about 1-inch thick and 6-9 inches long) was added and coal arranged on top. Sometimes a firelighter would be used but this was considered wasteful and a bit wimpish so many matches were struck before the paper and kindling ignited and the fire took off. This was not the end of it, logs and coal had to be added during the day as necessary. A fireguard was constantly in use as some types of wood and coal would ‘spit’ and sparks would fly out onto the hearthrug or any linen hanging on the airing-horse.
By each fireplace stood the fire irons. Those in the sitting-room were made of brass and had to be polished but those in the dining-room were smaller and were called a ‘companion set’. Both sets comprised a small shovel, a brush (one of the dogs was fond of running away with the brush in the dining-room), tongs (to retrieve fallen pieces of hot coal) and a poker. The poker was usually much smaller as it had been worn away by much vigorous poking when the fire nearly went out. Apart from the kitchen this was the room where books were read and homework was done as well as all craftwork. It was in the dining-room that wool was wound, knitting, sewing and crochet carried out and where you would sit for hours shaking a ‘kilner’ jar containing some cream hoping that a small portion of butter would result. Before the introduction of electric mixers egg whites were spread on to a plate and whisked using a kitchen knife until they became stiff enough to form meringue. Needless to say we did not succeed in making much butter or many meringues.
Homemade rugs were in all the rooms, small ones in front and behind every doorway and larger ones scattered around. Each room had the correct colour rugs made from scraps of knitting wool or proper rug wool. They were made using a special type of hook. This was something that my father stubbornly refused to learn to do. We did not have rugs made from rags (strips of fabric) as Mother thought that they looked ‘poor’.
Saturday night was bath night. Water would be heated in the copper in the wash-house at the bottom of the garden and carried into the house in buckets. The bungalow bath would be taken out of the shed and laid in front of the fireplace. Of course one side of the bath (and the person inside), would be too hot whilst the other side would freeze. Bathing was accompanied by radio shows such as ‘Variety Band Box’ and ‘ITMA’. (NB ‘bungalow baths’ were “specially designed for small villa or cottage property as an efficient substitute for a fixed bath”. They were available with a tapered end or equal-ended. (Bradley & Co Ltd (Beldray) website).
I had my bath first with very little water and then went to bed. More hot water was added and Mother had her bath followed by Father. Then the bath had to be emptied using a hand cup (a kind of long-handled metal bowl) and a bucket and the water tipped out onto the garden. We were not inconvenienced by the wartime directive of just five inches of water in a bath. To add interest the water came out of the large water-tank in the garden and contained foreign bodies especially those of mosquito larva. We called these ‘battleships’ and they did not worry us at all.
Hair washing was difficult and was either done in the bath or over the sink using kettles full of hot water. We did not rinse four or five times. Drying was a problem as we did not own a hairdryer and we had to dry our hair by rubbing with a towel which resulted in tangled hair or even using the wrong end of the vacuum cleaner. My mother’s and my hair was dead straight and could be permed (more later) but metal curlers or rags could be used. These were both uncomfortable to sleep in and difficult to remove. We used (Amami) setting lotion but in wet or foggy weather the hair returned to its natural state.
On each side of the fireplace was an armchair. The dining-table and chairs were dark oak and Mother was proud that they were a copy of a suite seen at the Ideal Home Exhibition circa 1927/8. The table was square but had two extra leaves to form an extension to accommodate six people. Under the table were cross pieces to strengthen it. This was where I used to play house, each quarter being a different room. The table also became our air-raid shelter and many times I, Mother, and Father’s money bag hid underneath the table when Father was carrying out his duties as Head Air Raid Warden. Mother was annoyed that Father was out and she was left alone with a young child. I can still hear the bombs whistling down on Cockfield Hall. Luckily these were the only bombs that were close enough to hear above the general cacophony of planes and gunfire that disturbed our nights.
The table was accompanied by five dining chairs, one of which was an arm-chair. This chair stayed beside the front window. One arm was much lighter in colour than the other as this was the arm that the dog leaned on to see out of the window. In the corner stood a small square table on which stood the radio set. This was a typical 1930s Bakelite radio and was well used. At first there was a glass jar called an accumulator beside the wireless, as we called it then, which had to be taken to Billy Chapman’s garage to be recharged each week. Later the wireless was connected to mains electricity. The aerial was in the garden, a wire led from the wireless set, through the window frame and out into the garden where it was slung between two high metal posts. Father listened to the news, the Brains Trust and the Palm Court (a programme of popular music). Mother liked Mrs. Dale’s Diary and I listened to The Top Ten. This was a countdown of the 10 most popular songs as represented in the number of copies of sheet music sold each week.
At the far end of the room the sideboard was carefully positioned to conceal a particularly uneven wall. It contained glassware and cutlery and other bric-a-brac. I used to hide under this piece of furniture when the doctor called. I did not like doctors. They poked and prodded you, gave you nasty-tasting medicine and enquired about things that should be private. I learnt that it paid not to complain if feeling unwell, unless it was a games or exam day.
In the last corner of the room stood the bureau that grandfather had made for Mother as a birthday present. The many forms issued by the Government were kept there. There were air raid report forms and drawings of the ‘doodle bugs’. I read everything and helped Father with his day-book. This was difficult as his writing was so bad that in the end I memorized the complete list of his customers in the correct order of their deliveries.
On the walls were paintings by Aunt Nellie, a mirror, a photo of Grandma Rose and one of me aged two.
I remember and still own many small items that lay around the house. Amongst these are the beautiful sewing-box that had belonged to Grandma Rose, the wooden puzzle book, and a miniature chest-of-drawers and a wooden barrel-shaped plant stand. There were copper and brass candlesticks, grandfather’s glue pot, polished and often containing small flowers, the fascinating brass pig which had once held a pincushion and stools with hand-embroidered tops now renewed by me. A trip to Scotland was remembered by a small piece of Arthur’s Seat Mountain, a paperweight brought back from a school exchange visit to Chartres and a model of the Eiffel Tower bought in Paris but probably made in Birmingham.
Between the dining-room and kitchen was a well worn wooden step. This was my favourite seat. From here I could safely watch my mother carrying out various tasks in the kitchen; I could talk with her but be away from boiling water and hot utensils.
The KITCHEN and PANTRY stretched the length of the house. There was a small window above the sink which caused the far end of the KITCHEN to be rather dark. The glazed earthenware sink had been installed by a short man at a comfortable height for him. This meant that both Mother and I suffered from backache when leaning over it. The plumbing was basic. A waste pipe led from the sink to a drain outside and the water disappeared somewhere down the garden and eventually into the river Yox. There were no taps. The wooden draining board was well worn but scrubbed clean and suitable to sit children on for a wash.
A cream earthenware water-filter stood on one side of the sink and similar ones now appear at ridiculous prices in antique fairs. There was a tap at the bottom but water had to be pumped from the well outside (next to the drain). At first the green-painted wood-covered outside pump was used for drinking water. I can clearly remember the scorch mark on the front left by a malfunctioning Catherine wheel. The whole assembly was lagged with sacking in the winter to stop it freezing. I presume that during very cold weather a bucketful of water was drawn off during the day and kept in the pantry for later use.
Later a rotary pump was connected to the well and fixed over the sink. This was difficult to work as the handle had to be pulled back and forth sideways and gave one considerable arm-ache. It was often my job to pump enough water to fill the large earthenware pot which Father used as a brine tub. Brine consisted of a special salt dissolved in cold water. The salt took a long time to dissolve as the water and kitchen were cold and a piece of wood a bit like a small rounders’ bat was used to do the stirring. We often had salad or celery for tea on a Sunday and cleaning these entailed hands being immersed again in that very cold water.
Mr. Spindler used to call each week with a van-load of fresh fish from the fish market in Lowestoft. The fish was certainly fresh as three plaice bought and left on a plate on the draining-board flapped at the moment when the family cat was having a tentative sniff. He moved away very fast indeed.
A scrubbed-top wooden table with black-stained legs stood on the other side of the kitchen. Baking and ironing were carried out on this but we never sat down to a meal here. Food had to be eaten in the dining-room. A large cast-iron bath filled the end of the kitchen, it was covered with three wooden covers and a large amount of stuff lay on the top. This bath would now be extremely fashionable but was not used until the late Forties or Fifties. There were large brass taps at one end and a rather glorious plunger to let the water out. I do not think that the waste was connected to any drain and the bath had to be emptied by hand. The drainage system at that house did not work very efficiently and if too much water was sent down, the garden flooded.
Between the bath and the sink lurked a cooking range. This had a mind of its own dependent on the direction and strength of the wind and the quality of the coal. ‘Zebo’, a kind of black polish was used to give a shiny black surface. Later the range was replaced with an electric cooker which stood by the dining-room door. The space left by the removal of the range was filled with a table which had a slab of marble for a top especially for pastry-making.
When the range was in use hot flat-irons were used for ironing. A blanket and sheet were spread over the kitchen table and the irons were heated on the top of the range. A damp finger determined the heat of the iron. As one iron cooled a second was hot enough to replace it. Later Father bought Mother an electric iron. This was heavy and the controls were for cool, warm and hot. There was no facility for steam. If an article was too dry it was sprayed with water or ironed under a damp cloth.
Between the table and the electric cooker was another cupboard under the stairs. Brooms, brushes and other cleaning materials were stored here including the laundry and shopping baskets. No plastic bags were available then. This was where I used to hide when Mother was gutting rabbits or chickens.
Coconut matting was an eco-friendly type of matting made from the outer covering of coconuts and woven to form a mat. The draw-back was that the dirt seeped straight through and the mat had to be lifted in order to sweep underneath.
At the other end of the kitchen was the PANTRY. This was a square room which would probably be used as a utility-room nowadays. There was one small window one side of which was filled with perforated zinc to allow air to circulate. On three sides of the pantry were wooden shelves, covered with special waxed shelf-paper. The walls were white-washed. On one side was the door, painted dark green. This was a substantial door but the bottom cross-panel had suffered from woodworm and a hole had appeared because the wood was so soft. Actually the hole was caused by a little girl giving the closed door many kicks after being shut in the pantry as a punishment for misdemeanours. One such crime was my saying ‘damn’ for some reason or other. Oh dear! It didn’t stop me swearing in later life but did lead to a dislike of being shut in enclosed spaces.
In the floor of the pantry was a large trap door. When this was lifted a ladder was revealed. This ladder led down into the cellar. An electric light had been fitted into the ceiling but there was a green candlestick and a store of candles kept in a tin box for backup. After Father’s disaster with the outside air-raid shelter this cellar was reinforced with railway sleepers and we would go down here for safety. There was a large tin trunk on one side which contained papers and Mother’s best china and a large box of tinned food and a tin opener ready for an emergency. The cellar smelt ‘foisty’ and the sleepers smelt of creosote but we did feel safer down there.
Let’s get out of there and look at the pantry itself. The shelves were full of plates of various sizes and Mother’s baking basins and tins. The enamel bread bin and flour bin were white and blue with FLOUR and BREAD painted on. There were the glass bowls for pork cheeses (brawn), an iron cooking pot for making them and for ‘trying down’ fat to make lard. The remains of this process were called scraps. We now know them as pork scratchings. A large earthenware pot was used for salting runner beans to preserve them and another pot filled with ising glass for preserving eggs. The eggs kept well but the beans became limp and lost what little flavour they had to begin with. I didn’t like them then and even now prefer to eat them raw. Fruit and vegetables were kept under the shelf in the cool. Sweets were in the sideboard in the dining room. There was no fridge but meat, bacon and butter were kept in a metal box about two feet by 18 inches with a perforated door. Milk was delivered each day in glass bottles containing one or two pints. The bottles had card tops which, being round were just the thing for making pompoms. In the summer the milk bottles were stood in cold water in an attempt to stop the milk from going sour. Milk jugs would have lace trimmed cloths on top to keep flies and dust out. The milk was ‘full cream’ and so went off quickly and tasted horrible.
The pantry shelves were covered with a waxed paper printed with a fancy pattern. This could be wiped with a damp cloth but it all had to be renewed in the spring and this was quite a task as everything on the shelves had to be moved, washed and replaced.
The Garden
The front garden was narrow but dominated by the privet hedge which was still there in 2009. Father would cut the hedge with garden shears and it was my job to sweep up all the clippings. Not an easy thing to do as the path outside was not smooth and the path inside was just beaten-down earth. Each side of the path to the front door was a rectangular flower bed. Not much grew there because of the shade from the hedge. Hydrangeas flourished and a few daffodils. Between the hedge and the pavement were the cast iron railings which were painted green. The railings were removed at the beginning of the war to help with the war effort. In front of the green-painted door was a stone step. This step was whitened every week using water and a ‘bath brick’. The step was swept, wiped with a damp cloth and the bath brick (which resembled a small grey brick). When dry the step was very white but nasty footprints were left if someone was careless enough to put a foot on a wet step.
There was a high wooden door to one side of the house leading to a narrow passage between the garage/shop and the side of the house. In the winter, snow would accumulate in the valley roof and when it melted water would seep through into the back bedroom. So, when it snowed, as it did much more often than now, Father would raise a ladder in the narrow passage and climb onto the roof to clear the snow. This procedure frightened me as he had to climb up the back of the ladder and twist round halfway up to get to the top.
The back garden appeared to me to be quite large. There was a rectangular lawn in the middle surrounded by a concrete path with larger borders on three sides. The flower border round the lawn was about two feet wide and the path was edged with bricks laid diagonally. These were dangerous as when I raced around on my bicycle and was stupid enough to fall off I cut my hand on the brick points and still have the scar to prove it. It was my right hand so I had no difficulty in distinguishing left from right.
The lawn was my summer playground. A large green and white striped tent was erected in the lawn, actually it was an old bathing tent, but I was not aware of that. It was tall enough to allow an adult to stand inside in order to change when going bathing or swimming. The inside walls were covered with pockets for stowing items of clothing or my treasures. Inside the tent stood a child-sized wooden table and chair. This was my house and I spent many hours playing here with my dolls or friends.
Later a ‘Beauty of Bath’ apple tree was planted in the middle of the lawn. It grew and grew but the apples were small and always contained at least one maggot.
On the side border to the right of the back door stood a brick wall which separated our garden from that of the cottage next door (see below. NB this cottage is now part of Hardings). In the corner by the house stood the dustbin surrounded by lilies-of-the-valley and purple perennial geraniums. In front of the dustbin was a narrow path leading to the wall. It was here that my mother spent many hours chatting with the neighbour, Beryl. The bottom of the wall was wider than the top giving a ledge of about four inches, just wide enough to gain a foothold for climbing to the top of the wall. I spent a long time sitting on this wall, watching Beryl and her daughter, Sandra.
At the end of the flower- and shrub-filled border stood the wash-house. This was where Mother did the washing and was where she kept the small metal tub for washing and the wringer for taking out most of the water. Clothes were washed using special washing soap, put through the wringer and then rinsed using clear water. ‘Whites’ made of cotton or linen had to be boiled to get them clean. They were then put into the boiling water in the large copper which stood in the corner of the wash house. The water was heated by a fire burning in the ‘copper hole’ underneath. This fire had to be lit early in the morning to heat the water in time. Water for baths was also heated in this way. After a certain amount of time the linen was removed from the copper and rinsed in a tub of cold water containing a ‘blue bag’. This was done to ensure that the linen stayed white. A certain amount of skill was needed when using the blue bag as instead of being white the linen would end up being coloured blue. After the final wringing the washing would be carried in a wicker laundry basket outside to be hung on the line to dry. A wet day was a disaster as the linen had to be dried indoors on the clothes horse.
There were many euphemisms for the word toilet. ‘Privy’, ‘loo’, ‘Aunt Lottie’, ‘spend a penny’. Whatever it was called the little building was right at the bottom of the garden and the obligatory rambler rose surrounded the door. Although most country toilets had roses around the door they were a mixed blessing in the rain as there always seemed to be a very wet branch to swipe you in the face. Inside was a wooden seat with a hole in and provided with a wooden cover. Under the hole was a specially shaped metal bucket. This had to be emptied somewhere in a hole in the garden when full. I was not allowed outside when Father was performing this unpleasant task. The ‘little house’ next door was much more interesting – it was a ‘two-seater’. One high one for adults and a smaller one for children .On nails in both little houses hung small sheets of carefully-cut newspaper. This was replaced by rolls of ‘San Izal,’ or ‘Bronco’ toilet paper. This paper was shiny and not much use but it was supposed to be ‘hygienic’. Later the old bucket was replaced with an Elson chemical toilet, which was probably more hygienic but still stank and had to be emptied.
The rockery filled the far end of the garden in front of yet another wall. Our garden was much higher than the land beyond which reached down to the river Yox. Frequently the river flooded and water reached that wall but we were high and dry. This wall eventually became unsafe and had to be replaced. Unfortunately the new wall lacked the character of the old even though it was made from recycled bricks. We spoke of second-hand, used or reclaimed items, ‘recycling’ is a modern ‘buzz’ word. A few steps led up to the rockery garden where aubrietia flowered in the spring. In the centre stood an old chimney pot covered with cement decorated with pottery shards. Recycling?
Across the path was the lily-pond. The pond was quite small as the base was made from an old earthenware sink. The white lily housed therein was beautiful. When I was very small the pond was surrounded by my playpen to stop me falling in.
Yet another brick shed was on the other side of the garden. This had an earth floor and contained garden equipment and bicycles. This was where Father decided to make a ‘dug-out’ for shelter during the war. He worked hard digging out and propping up the walls. Next day when he went to examine his handiwork the whole thing was under water. Result – the shelter was filled in and we used the cellar under the pantry instead.
Round the corner, on the fourth side of the garden, stood Mother’s ‘greenhouse’. This was not a proper wood and glass house as it was actually made from the body of an old Austin 7 van and the windows were made from a reinforced plastic-type glass which let the light through but was not transparent. In time this ‘glass’ became brittle and fell to pieces. Inside were shelves on which Mother planted seeds, grew cuttings and using a small paraffin heater was able to overwinter precious plants. I held snail races. A wide border was backed by another brick wall and Father’s favourite fruit trees grew against it. There was a peach tree grown from a stone, a fig tree, (Father loved figs but the pips got under Mother’s false teeth) and a greengage tree which bore little fruit.
Next was a large partly underground concrete water-tank. As the water was too deep to freeze solid a long-tailed goldfish swam around for many years. Part of the tank was covered and the cats liked to sunbathe. They never managed to catch that fish. There was also another small round black water tank. One visitor, it had to be a boy, tipped me into this tank. Luckily I went in backwards and scrambled out.
My swing straddled the path and I would swing as high as possible and then jump off. I was not hurt but I discovered that dolls with china heads do not take to swings. Each side of the lawn were Mother’s washing-lines and props. Two very high metal posts held the high wire used as a radio aerial.
The garage and yet another shed formed the other side of the narrow passageway to the front gate. The shed contained the coal stock and Father’s work bench and tools. My father was not much of a carpenter but preferred to fiddle about with electricity and motor cars. I think that my mother was quite disappointed about this as her father had been an accomplished cabinet-maker. Still, Father did make her one of the first ‘cat’s whisker’ radios in the district. Talking of cats, our cats were supposed to sleep in the shed to keep the rats and mice away but a coal shed is not the best place for a white cat to spend his nights and eventually the cats slept indoors, usually on my bed.
Until the late 1940s the front of the building was used as a garage. The floor was of bare earth and there were an awful lot of cobwebs. I used to help Father to effect running repairs on his car/vans. One van was a green Austin 7, Reg. AGA 166. It was reckoned in the village that Father and I were the only two people who could drive that van. It was my job to find and retrieve all the small parts that were dropped and it was here that I learnt swear words other than ‘damn’. Later the garage was converted into a smart tiled butcher’s shop containing a large walk-in electric fridge. (NB Gillian’s father was Albert Starling, butcher, whose first shop was at the house opposite, since known as ‘Starlings’).
Above the garage was a loft and a ladder had to be climbed to reach into it. There were even more cobwebs up here but also many intriguing objects. Grandfather’s old toolbox was here and his fretsaw which I supposed to be some sort of sewing-machine. One day I climbed into the loft and peeped into a sack – ugh! – inside was a forest of long, thin white stalks. I was frightened, screamed and ran down the ladder at top speed. I do not think that I mentioned the experience to anyone and it was some time before I worked out that some potatoes had been left and forgotten about and had started to shoot. I now keep a strict eye on bags of potatoes and their shoots.
Next door to Ivydene and joined to it was a cottage. This belonged to my father and was let for the princely sum of two pounds, ten shillings (two pounds and 50 pence) a quarter (three months). On reflection the cottage was inconvenient and old-fashioned but I loved it. It was like a large dolls’ house. There was a tiny front room just big enough for a sofa and behind was a reasonable-sized living-room. The kitchen was an addition and there was no cooker or sink. The lady who lived there cooked with an oil stove and she was very good under difficult circumstances. Outside, about six yards away was the outhouse with a sink. I cannot remember any taps or proper drains. There were two bedrooms the same size as the downstairs rooms but no bathroom. I suppose they bathed in the outhouse going through the same performance as us with hot water and bungalow baths.
Gillian Bryant (nee Starling) 2020
(Albert George Starling was born 17th May 1898 in Tunstall. His father James was the village postman but was unable to afford to send Albert to a Grammar School and so he left school aged about 14 and started work as a waiter at two of the local hotels then trained as a motor mechanic. He enlisted into Suffolk Regiment at the age of 18 on 24th June in 1916 in Bury St Edmunds and served in the trenches in France. He was injured and blinded with mustard gas and also won the Military Medal. His three brothers also served in France and all three came home safely.
After the war Albert became chauffeur for the Lomax family of The Grove and lodged at The Mill House. He married Isabel Rose in 1928 and they lived in what was called Gardeners Cottage in the High Street, which had been built for Charles Lomax (now Beaumont Cottage). It is not known exactly when they moved to Ivydene, which it is thought already had that name. It was then that Albert became a butcher, trained by John Sporl. On the 1939 Register Albert is a master butcher and Head Warden for Yoxford and Darsham in the ARP. John and another worker left to join the military and Albert and Isabel were left to run the business. The cottage at the right of Ivydene (now part of the house) was lived in by his assistant, Frank Eke. The cottage was very small and basic with no mod cons. The rent was £2.10 a quarter. Albert and family left Yoxford in 1957 and moved to Saxmundham.)