Sunday, March 9, 2014

Memorial Card

Philip Smalley
29 May 1921 -  9 January 2014
  

“I was just getting the hang of it
when the music stopped.”
Autobiography: philipsmalley.blogspot.com
Running Wild (1921-1940)
War-time Memories (1940-1946)
When the War was Over (1946-1985)

From Calpe to Ashton-under-Lyne (2000)

Memorial Tributes (8 March 2014)

Tribute by Marlies


I recently went to The States with my dad. We started and ended in Las Vegas and we got to see the Hoover dam, Grand Canyon, Bryce canyon and other wonderful national parks along the way. It was very similar to the trip my dad and Grandad took about 10 years ago. One day, when we were hiking down the Grand Canyon, we got chatting to a lovely American lady who now lived in Tibet. And at one point the Dalai Lama came up..

 The purpose of life according to the Dalai Lama is ´Happiness and Usefulness´.

And as I was thinking about what to say today I was thinking about how Grandad lived his life and what lessons we could derive from it.

 The first that springs to mind

·         By all means, avoid spending money as much as you can!!

o The things Grandad could fix with a piece of string and his clever way of thinking is a quality to admire. The pure joy of puzzling and therefore not spending a penny was something that gave him much happiness!

·         Luckily he didn´t care much for material things. He almost never locked the door or, god forbid, take the car keys out of the ignition. What a freedom to have! I remember one morning that Elizabeth came round the back, obviously used to the door being open, and when Grandad opened it he apologised that his guests kept locking up at night.

·         The one very important thing worth spending, is time. The man always had a project on the go (finding a place to start a vineyard, starting the vineyard, keeping up with the vineyard, getting rid of the vineyard, his mosaics, the moon, peaches, you name it). This was his way of living, getting up early and doing something, being and feeling useful.

·         And naturally spending time with family and friends so he could talk about his projects was a very important aspect of his life. He loved to chat and share a good story and he was so good at it too! You knew something was coming if you heard 'now' or 'well'.


 So if we take his holiness´ ‘Happiness and Usefulness’ as a way to score his life, I think he did a rather splendid job!

Tribute by Carolien


It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to say today.
I was confused, because I wasn't feeling as sad as I thought I should.
When granny passed away I felt as if she missed out on important moments in my life.
She would never meet Ruben, my husband, she would never see me in my wedding dress, she would never get to meet little Daniël Philip. But grandad did.
He was there to share all these moments with me. So I mostly feel grateful.

I remember him pampering me when I was pregnant. "He never did that for me when I was pregnant", my mum said.
For my birthday, in October, he sent me a Christmas card. I need to get rid of the lot, he wrote.
But when Daniël was born he bought a card, Well, he probably sent someone to buy a card, and wrote down that he couldn't wait to tickle him and make him giggle.
When we came to visit grandad with Daniël, then 3 months old, he said: he doesn't do much does he?
Luckily I got to take Daniël to see him for a second time. By this time Daniël was so active that we sometimes had to leave the room to give grandad some peace.

Although he got older and weaker, he never stopped living or lost his cheeky humour.

So I'm going to remember that man. The man that was full of life, had great sense of humour and loved having family and friends around.

Grandad loved life! And I'm sure he would want us to do the same!


Thursday, March 6, 2014

Memorial Tribute

By Emma Kimber


Introduction

We come to a memorial service with our own thoughts and feelings and with our own beliefs about life and death. Whatever form those beliefs take, whether they are religious or not, we all of us have the same human needs. Those are universal. Faced with the death of a loved one we all need to find suitable ways in which to express our grief. We need to honour those we have loved and to demonstrate our love as generously as we can and sometimes we need to find the strength to begin our own lives all over again.

As a result, this ceremony will simply be a quiet and thoughtful attempt to celebrate the life of someone who has been very dear to you. It gives us an opportunity of expressing gratitude for a life shared and enjoyed. We shall speak of friendship, admiration and love. And we shall remind ourselves of the richness of our memories. From these, I hope you will be able to take both joy and comfort.

We are here to remember and celebrate the life of Philip Smalley, who passed away on 9 January, aged 92. I know that some of you have just come from scattering his ashes at the paddock at Green Pastures, but at this time of revisiting your grief, I hope you can remember Philip with joy in your hearts and not be too sad at his loss.


Mark and Roger have given much thought to this memorial service, as had Philip himself, and he expressed his desire to have a Humanist ceremony. My name is Emma Kimber and I am a celebrant of the British Humanist Association and it is my privilege to have been asked to conduct this ceremony for Philip today.

It is normal to be sad on these occasions because in a very real sense, Philip is no longer physically part of your lives. The process of grieving, too, is natural  - all that has life, has its beginning and its end. Life’s significance lies in the experiences and satisfactions we achieve in that span and Philip’s life was certainly full to the brim of fulfilling events in his work and family life. He lived life according to his values, and his influence lives on in the unending consequences that flow from his life and character.

Now, rather unusually but somewhat wonderfully, I have a message from Philip to you all gathered here today. This was passed on to me by a Humanist celebrant colleague, Peter Herridge, who took  Peg’s funeral some years ago and who met Philip last November to discuss his funeral. The message from Philip reads as follows: “Dear folks, I was just getting the hang of it when the music stopped, so I would like to thank you all for celebrating my life".

Tribute
Mark and Roger have asked me to say a few words about Philip’s life on their behalf and we shall also hear more personal tributes from grandchildren Carolien and Marlies. A piece of music specially chosen by Philip himself will be played about half way through the service and to finish, we will have a poem read to us by a great friend of Philip’s, Graham Boaler.

Philip was born on  the 29th of May, 1921 in Lytham St Annes, near Blackpool,  to parents Sam and Grace and was the youngest brother to Cyril, Grace and Phyllis. His childhood was spent mostly outdoors and mostly, up to mischief – a typical little boy growing up in an era of no radio, television and certainly no computers. His parents owned a corner grocery shop and brother Cyril was away in Birmingham working as a journeyman joiner whilst sisters Grace and Phyllis were busy trying to make a living in Fleetwood market selling cheap clothing or jewelry.

When the Second World War started Philip was working at Redman's Grocery Store in Blackpool and it wasn't too long before all his contemporaries were all talking about joining up. Of all the Forces, Philip chose the Royal Navy  - he said that a big factor in all this was the question of which branch of the services had the most liberal attitude to smoking and which had the best uniform!

He joined up In February 1940 and within a few weeks of beginning his Commission, they received a signal from the Admiralty to join up with the Battle cruiser H.M.S. Hood and try and intercept the German Battleship Bismark and Battle cruiser Prince Eugene. Philip witnessed the infamous sinking of H.M.S Hood which was an event that shook the whole country and the Navy especially, as she was the very symbol of power and strength.

Philip’s naval career during the war took him all over the world, including Malta, Singapore, South Africa, Malaya and Ceylon as Sri Lanka was known then.  In 1943 he contracted a bout of dengue fever that everybody called "dingy" fever. He spent some time in the hills in a convalescent camp recuperating but his time in the East was coming to an end. He arrived back in U.K. in the spring of 1944 and was stationed in the main barracks at H.M.S. Drake.

The war came to an end and on 5 January 1946, Philip was released into civvy street. He was fitted out with a dark blue three piece suit and a matching trilby hat. He first made his way to his mother’s new home at Duneside but this was not to be a permanent situation for Philip. He was keen to get to London and join his brother Cyril in whatever venture they could bring about. The venture turned out to be photography and after six months, Philip was approached by The Sunbeam Photographic Company to work taking photos of the general public on the prom an beach at Folkestone. He went, and it was there that destiny awaited him. He met a “slim young woman” named Peg, who was working in the company office. 

Before long he was introduced to the rest of the Wigens family and his life was changed for ever. Not only had he fallen in love with Peg, but the whole family were a revelation to him in genuine kindness and consideration.

Philip and Peg were married on 6 Nov 1948 at All Souls Church in Folkestone and they went on honeymoon to the Trouville Hotel, Bournemouth, which Philip described as “full of old-aged pensioners”. The couple moved to London in 1949 and children soon followed - Mark was born in  1953 and Roger some three years later. The family gradually enlarged over the years with the arrival of grandchildren Eric, Carolien and Marlies, Harry and Catherine, and great grandson Daniel.

[Readings Carolien and Marlies]

Philip and Peg worked together in their Developing & Printing business on the Fulham Road, often doing the 'rounds' and delivering photos to chemist shops in the west London area and collecting films to be processed. Life in London was busy but enjoyable. Weekends were often spent at the Isle of Grain and they visited the Italian Bertorelli's restaurant at South Kensington and the Greek Cosmopolitan in Putney for Sunday lunches.

Both Philip and Peg passed on their sense of gratitude about their lives to Mark and Roger and taught them to enjoy sharing their good fortune and to celebrate how lucky they were to live in a nice house with enough money behind them. Their family life was also influenced by the strong bond of Peg and her sisters and the close and caring extended family.

Travelling was always a joy for Peg and Philip. It was in 1965 that they journey to Jersey. Other family holidays were spent in the South of France, Spain and Mallorca. 1972 saw the first of 7 trips to Canada, the last of which was when Edith's granddaughter, Marnie Drake, married in 1999.  Other destinations included Texas, Portugal, Australia & NZ, South Africa, Israel, Venice and Malta.

After Philip's retirement in 1985 they moved to Green Pastures, here in Holton. They both adored gardening and Peg was in charge of keeping things looking tidy, leaving the heavy jobs to her husband. Philip and Peg received a card from Queen Elizabeth on their diamond anniversary in 2008. This was to be the last big family occasion before Peg’s health began to deteriorate. She sadly died in February 2009 but with the support of his family and friends around him, Philip continued on his own journey of life.   

When Philip was diagnosed with throat cancer, he started a journal entitled “The Writing On The Wall” which started on 10 December 2012 and stopped on Christmas Eve 2013. He remembered an incident possibly a year earlier when he was assailed by a violent sensation in his throat and from then on had difficulty in swallowing – this, he concluded, was the beginning of the cancer and in his own words, “this is a case of the great movie coming to the end where the lion roars again and a big guy bangs a gong.”

The journal is 85 pages long and is a very moving piece of writing about someone who knows their time is almost up, but what struck me the most about it is that there is not a scrap of self-pity, anger or resentment within the words Philip wrote, which reveals the truly noble character of the man. I’d like to read to you just a few excerpts from the journal in Philip’s own words – most of them funny but some more poignant:

December 2012 – “mischievously, I toy with the thought that I allow the news of my cancer to leak into the public domain in one spot and observe how it travels through the village and how folk would handle it, and I would adopt the manner of a veteran who has been awarded a medal for long service and tell people if they live long enough they will get one too.”

Jan 2013 – “I could have a year or at the very, very best 5 years. Well it is quite possible I would die of something else before succumbing to cancer in that time. So, if I get two peach seasons in the bag I would indeed be lucky. Asked of the Radiographer how many machines there were and the answer was three. I said to the same radiographer that at nearly 92 I don’t have much of a future but “I do have a past” at which pricked her ears up and said “A past !”  - yes, and it’s been written up in the local paper and I’ll let you read it tomorrow, I said.”

April – “the afternoon brought momentous news of the birth of Daniel Philip my first great grandson to Carolien in Holland. Four weeks premature but a perfect birth. Mark sent a video and some photos by email -  great joy all round.”

May – “throat very difficult quite painful now.  Saw Dr Fox at 2.30 and she soon broached the subject of my prognosis and asked whether I would like to have the death at home or hospital as needed to make provision for that and for me to think about what I wanted as the end was likely to be not too far away. My stiff upper lip was nowhere to be seen and it was a bit tearful I regret to say. But she was very understanding and supportive.”

June – “picked up at 9.00am and then to St Margaret’s Hospice centre. Made very welcome. More volunteers than walking wounded. Super garden nicely laid out. Joined them for lunch which for me included a G&T!! Did not see the hospice side of things at this visit but as I can come again will see it then. Taken home at 3m. Roger waiting for me when I got home.”

July – “my Dr Fox appointment was at 11.0 but just before that the doorbell rings and standing there were a couple looking so upright and bushy tailed I could not avoid saying “Jehovas Witnesses?” to which  they said yes. I just knew it, says I, you have that glow about you, do you put it on when you get up in a morning? And so on and then said “ Sorry you can’t do much for me I’m Jewish, Mazel Tov, and so they trotted off all merry and bright.”

August – “great excitement at around eight in the evening when Cory came in to the sitting room showing off her engagement ring, congratulations were the order of the day.”

November - Peter Herridge, the Humanist celebrant, arrived at spot on 10:30. We talked and talked and by then time got to 11.45 he really knew all about me and my wishes I got to know something about his Navy career and life afterwards. He departs with a modest bunch of grapes.

In an email I received from Peter Herridge describing that very meeting, Peter said, “I met with Philip on the 20th of November 2013.  Although clearly unwell he was still bright and lucid with a real twinkle in his eye and we shared an hour of delightful humour. He was an extraordinary chap”

December – “Mark busy getting out the mosaics from the veg plot to the site around the tree. Managed to drink a cuppa with the aid of a straw, slowly, slowly. For the last two days had the feeling that there was a monkey sitting on my left shoulder.”

Tuesday 24th December – The monkey didn’t appear today...

And this is where the journal ends.  At 8am Christmas morning an ambulance was called and he was taken to Yeovil hospital where he initially recovered, only to pass away at home on Jan 9th. Mark said that whereas the stay in hospital was trying, the final week at home could not have been better, with support from St Margaret's Hospice, Marie Curie, Somerset Care and the District Nurses and for that, we should all be thankful.

Period of reflection
We’re now going to hear some music, it’s called “Whispering Grass” by The Ink Spots, specially chosen by Philip for this occasion. If you would like take some time now to reflect on all the wonderful times you’ve spent with Philip, then please do take this opportunity to do so now.

Closing words
On behalf of the family, I would like to thank you all for sharing in this ceremony today. May I say how disappointed I am not to have ever met Philip but that is has truly been a privilege to have read about his life and taken this memorial service for him. He has enriched all the lives of everyone gathered here today.  

[Reading Graham: The Lion and Albert]


Sunday, January 13, 2013

Smalley-Marsh Family History



OTHER CHAPTERS TOP RIGHT


In 1874 Elizabeth Kitchen and her younger brother Harry arrived in Stalybridge from Wisbech in Cambridgeshire where they had been living with a fairly prosperous farmer who had brought them up from birth.  They were the children of one of his daughters who had formed a relationship with a silk merchant in Cambridge, he in turn paid the farmer to bring them up with his own family. Elizabeth was now 18 and the arrangement was brought to an end.

Why Stalybridge was chosen is not known but is possible that a post had been found in service for Elizabeth and Harry was found a place on a farm in Matley. Before long she had met up with Charles Marsh. He had recently lost his wife through illness and was left with 3 young boys, Charles (but not stated in the more detailed story below), Nathan and George. They soon got married and went to live in a cottage in Mately together with the three young boys. Over the years Elizabeth was to give birth to seven children by Charles, James, Grace, Helen, Ervin, Harry, Elizabeth and Alice.

Cotton mills covered the area and this is where Grace Marsh found work in a mill in Stalybridge and also found Sam Smalley.  He was from a family of seven also. He worked for the Co-Operative Society in the grocery department. They were married in St Pauls Church Stalybridge and went to live in Kinders Street in Stalybridge where the first of the children were born, Cyril and Phyllis. Grace left her job as a weaver and continued life as a house wife bringing up her family.

She was very good with the needle and took to making hats and finished up being quite proficient as a milliner. Whether it was due to some estrangement they were going through at this time is down to speculation but Grace decided to move to Lytham St Annes on the coast to start a millinery shop taking the children with her. The shop and business prospered and things started to look up. Cyril recalls some talk about hired help to look after himself and Phyllis in the home. It was at this time that Sam decided to give up the job of manager of the branch of the Co-Op and move to be with Grace at the coast. It turned out to be a poor move for Sam as he failed to find any sort of a job and more over the shop ran into the sand and before long the family was on the move and I arrived by this time as my birth certificate records my place of birth as Lytham St Annes.


MORE DETAILED STORY ABOUT THE MARSH FAMILY (BY A THIRD PARTY ASKED TO WRITE THE STORY)

About the year 1874, ELIZABETH KITCHEN and her younger brother Harry arrived in Stalybridge from Wisbech in Cambridgeshire where they had been living with a fairly prosperous farmer who had brought them up from childbirth. They were the children of one of his daughters who had formed an association with a silk merchant in Cambridge. He in turn paid the farmer to bring them up with his own family but the time had obviously arrived when this arrangement was no longer welcome.

Why Stalybridge was chosen is not known but probably a post in service had been obtained and there they were. The younger brother Harry was found employment on a farm in Matley. Elizabeth was barely eighteen at the time and Harry a year younger. She was a hard-working girl having known no other kind of life, slim with dark hair and brown eyes, hair brushed back from the face and a centre parting. She had a strong sense of fun and never lost her Cambridgeshire accent throughout her life and it must have sounded strange to the Stalybridge people. Soon after arriving she met CHARLES MARSH. He had recently lost his wife leaving him with two sons Nathen and John. Charles's wife had been bedridden for many years with a form of paralysis which had left her with no use of her lower limbs. The doctor who had attended her suggested to Charles, no doubt having Charles' age in mind, that he take another wife and emphasised that she be a young one, no doubt bearing in mind the two young children with which he was left and having in mind also Charles' age for he was then past forty. Tall with blue eyes and a good complexion, he was always good company, a very moderate drinker and he had a remarkable resemblance to the then popular politician William Gladstone. Elizabeth and Charles were eventually married at Church on and went to live in a cottage in Matley together with the two sons of Charles' earlier marriage. In time, Elizabeth gave birth to seven children: JAMES, GRACE, HELEN, IRVIN, MARY, ELIZABETH, AND ALICE. All fine healthy children with dark hair of their mother and brown eyes and although the younger end of the family had not the stamina of the earlier born, they were all fine children and gave no trouble. The boys, being born soon after each other were great friends all fond of nature and the usual escapades of young boys with their mutual interests in birds nesting etc.

[June Parsons added that on Grace's birth on the 29th May, her dad put a bough of oak leaves on the door of the room where she was born. The date is oak apples day but the main reason was that he was so delighted to have a girl.] 

JAMES MARSH the eldest of the children was a bright lad and the only one of the boys to show any interest in the use of his hands. He was eventually apprenticed to a local firm of engineers Taylor and Lang who had big works in Stalybridge at the side of the canal. He was very skilful and had one or two minor inventions to his credit. Elizabeth had a favourite child it was surely Jim; he had her colouring, full of fun and a lovely face but it must be admitted he had a violent temper when roused, but he was always industrious and seldom out of work. He met and married Mary Anna Baxter, the daughter of a local coal merchant Harry Baxter and they went to live in a small house in Stalybridge. There came in quick succession three children, Percy, Alice, and Harry, they too had the colouring of their parents and with the long straight nose of their grandfather Charles.

Jim was very dissatisfied with his poor circumstances and seeing better prospects in South Africa now that the Boer War was finished, tried very hard to obtain a post in his trade in the mining industry in South Africa which at that time was booming but money for the fare was a problem. One wonders why the parent Baxter was not forthcoming for it would have meant comparatively nothing to him for his circumstances were infinitely better than most at the time although the coal business doubtlessly had its ups and downs or it may be that the two had previously been of loggerheads, for Jim would stand no nonsense from anyone. Eventually, Jim approached his mother, not for a loan, for her circumstances were as bad as anyone’s – Charles had lost his employment through a disastrous strike in the weaving trade – but for her to stand guarantor for a loan. Jim himself leaving the country was a poor proposition to repay any loan. Elizabeth tells the story "One day I put on my best apron and went to see Seth Bradbury. He was very kind and I got a loan of twenty pounds for my Jim".

Life for Elizabeth was far from pleasant at this time. After becoming unemployed, Charles never worked again: age and the times were against him. The only family income was that which was brought in by the children so it is easy to see that as the children left home one by one to get married there was a continual diminishing of income and instead of a marriage producing joy for everyone, it was a matter of sorrow.

Grace got married about this time that for months the atmosphere in the home was dreadful, and on the morning of her wedding day after returning home from making one or two purchases of domestic nature from Ashton Market, on enquiring for lunch she was met with the remark "there is some cold rice pudding in the kitchen". Perhaps that is why Grace was often heard to say that "cold rice pudding is good for love-sick folk". So, it is easy to see the burden which was placed on Elizabeth and repaying that loan as there was bound to be an obvious lapse of time before Jim could send money back to his mother so Elizabeth took the only way out which was open to working men’s wives in times of hardship, she took in washing which she attacked with vigour.

Jim duly arrived in South Africa and soon obtained employment in the mining industry at his trade. Gold mining was booming and employment for skilled men was easy and wages were good. Jim sent home money to his wife and to his mother. For his wife to save the money for the eventual journey to South Africa, but Mary Ann had other ideas, for apparently, she had no intention of leaving her parents and friends in Stalybridge for an unknown life in South Africa, and as she one day confided to her sister-in-law Grace, “I have no intention of crossing the water". It would have been far better had she had told Jim this earlier on; why she did not will never be known. It may have been the fear of Jim's bad temper or it may have been a moral weakness for Mary Anna was very easy going (this may have attracted her to Jim in the first place for they were completely opposite to one another) but it was the start of a lot of unhappiness all round. Of course, in a small town like Stalybridge it wasn't long before Jim became aware of what was going on and his wife’s lack of intention of joining him in his new life and the money ceased forthwith. Jim later made a bigamous marriage in Durban and raised another family. This was disclosed after Mary Anna and her son Percy enlisted the services of the SaIvation Army in tracing missing relatives. Much has been made of this distasteful story of Jims apparent desertion of his wife and family, but the tale just unfolded is the hidden story and the truth and it has never been previously told. Mary Ann, ere she died, told the writer that she had no reproaches to Jim for in her own words "he was good to me whilst I had him".

GRACE MARSH married Samuel Smalley, a journey man grocer employed by the Stalybridge Cooperative Society and he eventually became a branch manager. The were married at St. Pauls Church Stalybridge and went first to live in Huddersfield Road and later in Kinder Street before moving to the Fylde Coast. After marriage, Grace never worked at her trade as a weaver but continued to work as a housewife, bringing up her four children Cyril, Phyllis, Grace and Philip. Like all the Marshes, Grace was artistic by nature and particularly skilled in the use of the needle and although entirely self-taught, she could execute the cutting and finishing of all garments. Sam Smalley was, like his wife a child of a family of seven children, all like himself, hard working and of good stock, four brothers and three sisters, all eventually married with the exception of two sisters Amelia and Sara Ann, so named after her mother. Sara Ann was born with one leg shorter than the other and wore a club foot. The two sisters looked together in the family home in Willbrook, working as dressmakers and at this they made a successful business. Father and mother together with the two sisters were all buried at St. James Church Willbrook.

IRVIN MARSH was extremely handsome and a well-known heartbreaker, and it was said that a local girl Lottie Collins died through pining for him, for he married Rhode Hinchcliffe, a girl from Salford. They later went to live in Sale. Irvin worked in the offices of the Manchester Ship Canal until 1917 when he was struck down with consumption from which he never recovered leaving a widow and one son Harry.

HELEN MARSH married Jack Crabtree in 1914 and soon after he had to join the services and served throughout the war, returning home safely. Marriage was never a very happy one and they were later divorced. Helen later married Tom Connely from which there was one daughter Irene.

HARRY MARSH, after a short period fighting in South Africa where he contracted Enteric Fever and was invalided out, married Margaret Stanley, the only daughter of a family builders. There were four children, all independent thinkers. Harry's wife “Maggie” became a school teacher and taught all her working life at Christ Church School Stalybridge where she was well-known and respected. Harry worked as a cashier in the old S.H.M.D. offices. Artistic by nature and an amateur artist of some small distinction, he exhibited many works in pastel at the local Free Library Art Gallery. He was responsible too for that remarkable advertisement which ran for years on the back of "11 tram tickets issued by the S.H.N.D. Tramways which read “A RIDE FOR NOTHING” but a closer scrutiny between the bold words revealed a description of the beauties of the district which could be seen from the tram ride to the outlying parts of the town. Maggie shared her husband’s interests and it was a fairly happy marriage. There was one child Lena. She too inherited the artistic abilities of her parents. Harry was extremely kind to his mother in her later years for he was the only one who was able to contribute a modest sum to ease her aging years and give her a degree of comfort. Harry died of consumption in 1930.

ELIZABETH MARSH married Edward Duxberry, a clerk employed in the Cotton Warehousing in Manchester. He died later of thrombosis early in their married life. There were no children from the union and, as they had never set up a home, they lived with her mother in Crumpsall. She carried on her employment in Warehousing in Manchester until the Slump finished off the business when they moved to a Council House on the Ridge Hill Estate Stalybridge and in this house Elizabeth the Elder died in 1933. There were only the immediate family at the funeral and after a life of continual toil and near poverty, she was buried at New St. Georges. Her daughter Elizabeth shortly after through a mutual acquaintance corresponded with a widower in Canada and in 1935, she set sail for her new life where she married "Bob" and acquired and ready-made son.

ALICE MARSH the youngest child was particularly lucky from birth, always the pretty one she captivated all around her. Unassuming, witty and vivacious even at an early age, she attracted the attention of a young school teacher Patrick Brien who befriended her, bought her a piano and paid for lessons and generally behaved like she was his adopted daughter which suited Alice and the family for there was no guile in Patrick. They went on many holidays together with his friends to Blackpool and elsewhere. When Alice was eighteen old, as pretty as a picture, she met Harold Broderick, a rising Cotton Broker working at the Manchester Exchange and after a whirlwind courtship they were secretly married for almost year before she broke the news to her mother. A son Donald was born soon after but Alice's delicate health prevented further children, soon after she showed symptoms of consumption but a short spell in Switzerland cleared up this disease and they settled for a time in Gatley Cheshire later lived in Church Stretton. Alice died in 1950 after a full and exciting life. She gave pleasure to all who met her.

SMALLEY FAMILY (BY PHILIP)

My memories of Father unfortunately are not all that numerous. I was only 20 years of age when he died in 1941 when I was in the Navy, and prior to that I seemed to see very little of him. He always seemed to be working at the shop and busy with customers and when he was home in the evening, he would fall asleep in the chair. As with Ronnie Barker in "All Hours" the shop was his life and he not only had Ronnie Barker's attitude to shop-keeping, he had his tan coloured overall on as well.

A quiet thoughtful man with his own set of principles, not a man to go out of his way to find trouble, very hard working and popular with his customers and traders and mighty careful with the pennies.

I recall an incident that caused him some disquiet. He had discovered that the gas ring in the back room at the shop could be turned down low and the meter wouldn't tick over and register and so he could simmer and cook his pots of marmalade, boiled beetroot and jam when trade was slack for "free". When the meter was due to be read, he would make sure that a respectful amount of figures showed up on the meter, to allay any query. Unfortunately, he had a short period away from the shop due to either a short holiday or illness, and the meter got read without the "priming" taking place, whereupon with the meter showing almost nil, the meter men did a check on the apparatus and that put an end to Father's joyful free jam making.

Born in 1880, he and Mother married in around 1905, Cyril being born in 1906. He was a senior hand at the Co-Operative store in and around Ashton and Stalybridge for many years and eventually a manager. Mother was an excellent needlewoman and talented in the making of hats.

During the first world war Father was managing a branch in Stalybridge. Certain foodstuffs were in short supply and Sam suspected that some pilfering was taking place among the shop staff. I've always thought it interesting how he dealt with this. Not only were goods in short supply but good shop staff also, and this would have added to his natural reluctance to the job of sacking anyway. One day when all the staff were at lunch, he went through their coat pockets and bags and put all the packets of tea etc. back on the shelves and said nothing to anybody. The guilty ones knew they had been given a warning and another chance and it put a stop to the offence.

I don't know whether it was due to perhaps some estrangement that they were going through at the time or whether it was an ambitious desire on Mother's part, but just before I was due to be born Mother made the decision to rent a shop in St Annes on the coast and start up a Milliners shop. It was I understand a fair success but I don't think it lasted much more than three or four years, during which time I was born. I recall some talk of hired help in the house to look after me and Grace so things were on a slightly different plane than to life in Stalybridge. It was at this time that Sam decided to quit his job at the Co-op and up sticks and join Mother at the coast. I suppose he thought he could get himself a job of some kind and with Mother running a seemingly successful shop in a smart area of "Select" St Annes it could be a nice cruise.

However, the good times weren't to continue as the "Twenties" moved into difficult times and a big recession caused havoc everywhere. So, my first real memories are of Blackpool and of moving house approximately every two years.

I recall Father having a job in the season at a "Penny Arcade" on the promenade and of him doing a job as a chef in a hotel on the front at North shore Blackpool; how true that is I've no idea. He wasn't without some cooking skills but the term "Chef" seems a bit high flown. He was almost driven in desperation to take on the job of a cook on a fishing trawler at Fleetwood at one time. When we were at the third move in Alexandra Road South Shore, Mother took a job selling and canvassing a kind of Lemonade Powder and very nice it was too. She would go from door to door asking people to sample the stuff and then get them to put in an order, this was done usually at the weekends and evenings.

The abode at Alexandra Road was a large flat which ran over three shops and then round the corner to take in another shop. A very nice light airy flat with a good view of the sea and the promenade. The only way into the place was up the side of the building ascending a set of wooden stairs and then a right turn at the top and then through the door and straight into a large living room cum kitchen. When the winter gales were raging once the door was opened, the wind was quite likely to blow pictures off the wall and once in the street below, to get up to the Promenade it would be on hands and knees otherwise there was a great danger of being bowled over by the wind.

At this time Cyril was working away in Birmingham at his joinery job, so the household consisted of Mother and Father, Phyllis, Grace, myself and a lodger. We always seemed to have lodgers, wherever Mother could find a corner she'd get a lodger to fill it up. The chap we had here was a nice polite Jewish hairdresser by the name of Newman. If ever we asked him how business was, he would reply "The Ladies Vonderful, the Gents not so Vonderful".

The flat was laid out as a series of four rooms, each room over one of each of the four shops so it was a biggish place but no corridors at all so one walked from room to room. Mr Newman's room was the very end one.

I recall the tale of an incident of Mr Newman coming in the late evening and on traversing through Grace and Phyllis's bedroom found them both sitting down "doing a penny" and him being a Gentleman raised his hat and with all the aplomb he could muster said "good evening, ladies". To that they both replied "good evening, Mr Newman" as though they were just sitting doing their homework.

One of the shops down below was a Chemist and as what was quite usual in those days, they took in developing and printing and proceeded it themselves on the premises. In the height of the summer we could often hear the "clonk" of the printing apparatus going on late into the evening as they hurried to get the day's intake of films dealt with. Little did I know that in years to come I would be doing the same task. This was in the late "Twenties" just about the time silent movies were being overtaken by the "talkies". I well remember Al Jolson in the "Singing Fool" being on at the local cinema "The Rendezvous".

Somewhere about this time an aunt of Father's left him some money, probably two or three hundred pounds which at that time with a man's weekly Wage being between two and three pounds amounted to an equivalent of thirty thousand pounds in today's money. With this windfall, Sam decided to go into business and took a lock-up shop in Dickson Road North Shore. I forget the number but it was on the corner of Bute Avenue and Dickson. This he would turn into a greengrocers and general provision store. I would imagine from now on he would be a very happy man, at last in charge of his own destiny and from where he would work as hard and as long as he wanted. In the summer, shop would be open from seven in a morning till ten at night seven days a week, just like today's Pakistani corner shops.

Once again, we lived above shops, again three shops and round the corner but this time a much more substantial property with two floors and a total of five or six bedrooms. Here also we had a lodger a Mr Hartley who was a commissionaire at the Winter Gardens who was with us all the year round for the period we were at the dwelling which would have been about three years.

During the summer, Mother "did" what was called at that time "apartments", which was a strange arrangement whereby the client had a Bed & Breakfast deal plus they then brought in their own food for the midday meal which the landlady would then set about cooking. It was the accepted way of doing things and not Mother's idea. As I recall Mother wasn't all great shakes as a cook but she found herself having to deal with several different party’s choice of food which could amount to ten or twelve dinner plates of food produced from the same cooker which in retrospect sounds like a recipe for a frustrating time. However, several people returned the next year so she must have satisfied somebody. I recall she had a couple from Manchester, a middle-aged Jewish couple for who she had to cook everything in butter and I'm not sure if it didn't have to be special butter which they supplied, and this different cooking smell permeated the whole building. I don't think that Mother was built for the hard-working life as a seaside landlady and before long she had had enough of it. Her tummy was beginning to play up and it was back to her diet of tripe and tomatoes and "Scoffa" bread that I used to have to get from Yates wine Lodge in Talbot Square.

She did have a little maid who lived in and helped with the chores and was always dressed when it came to serving at table in a frilly pinafore and head piece a la Lyons Corner House. Ivy was a little gem and would also help father in the shop with me while he went to have some lunch, which in those days and times wasn't called lunch - it was dinner. It was breakfast, dinner, tea and supper, and "lunch" didn't enter the vocabulary at all.

Cyril was by now courting Phyllis and was earning a living as a journeyman joiner. Mother thought she would get Cyril to make a fold-down table to fit on to the kitchen wall as the room was a little narrow and would make for more room when folded down, this was duly done and was a great asset but Mother was a little put out when Cyril "put in" his bill which included "time" as well as materials. The materials cost she could tolerate but the bill for "time" was a bit difficult to swallow. She had assumed that No 1 son would have done it for love perhaps. It was to result in quite a row and it wasn't the last time that they would be in conflict over money.

To father, Phyllis was a fluffy, feather-brain piece but he quite liked her as she fussed and flattered him but nevertheless when one day when she flounced into the shop and said can I have an apple "Pop" and mounted the platform and chose the best she could see, she had a bit of a shock when he said "that'll be a penny, Luv". It was something she never forgot the rest of her life. She was from a quite different kind of family and as a soft, kind, and sentimental kind of girl, it must have been a bit of a culture shock to find herself mixing it with this hard-edged cloud. She came up trumps later on however when Sam was dying and she helped nurse him and help in the shop.

At this time, I would be about ten to thirteen years of age and rarely in the house playing with the local "har'em scar'em" kids, no matter what the weather some mischief would be being perpetrated such as using a burning glass to burn a hole in the hot water bottles in the chemists’ windows, and contemplate with glee the disaster to come to some poor unfortunate when the thing would leak out in someone's bed. Or in the summer to go on the sands fairly early and dig a hole about eighteen inches cubed and then cover it with newspaper sprinkled with a light covering of sand and then sit and wait for some unfortunate to fall into it, - fiendish, no other word for it. To earn a copper or two we would build a sand causeway across the outgoing tidal streams to enable people to get out to the sea without getting their feet wet. In the winter it would be roller skating on the promenade and pestering smokers for their cigarette cards.

It must have been in about 1934 when I was thirteen, my last year at school, Mother decided to move out to Bispham, two miles just out of Blackpool going north towards Fleetwood. The family was a bit smaller by now, Cyril and Phyllis having quit the nest. Things must have been easier financially as this was the first place we had lived in and no lodgers or summer paying visitors. The new dwelling was a detached bungalow at a pound a week plus rates. It meant a fresh set of chums for me but the same school. I remember distinctly that I casually analysed these new chums individually and came to the conclusion that what I had suspected all along was correct, and that I was a "superior being" after all.

Father would on occasions send me to the Bank for change and this would some-times make me late for school. The excuse I offered to the teacher of having to go to the bank was accepted without quibble and was used more than once and sometimes out of desperation. I was of the impression that none of my classmates and possibly even the teacher had a bank account, which seemed to make the excuse unassailable.

Father being in the grocery trade prompted me to do likewise, so on leaving school at 14 years I started work at Redmans in Talbot Road, leaving school on the Friday and starting work on the Monday. The pound a week wage was handed over to Mother at the end of the week and this would go towards the rent of 14 England Avenue, and she would then hand me back half a crown. Normal hours of work were 9.0am till 6.0pm but in the Summer it was 8.0am till 9.0pm but being under age I would have a long break midday of about 3 hours which I would use by going round to Father’s shop and help him and perhaps cycle out to Marton Moss and get a further supply of lettuce and tomatoes.

With the advent and commencement of the war in '39, the thoughts of myself and my contemporaries were turned to which service they would prefer to be in. In the end it seemed to hinge on which service would allow you to smoke all day long or whenever you wanted to. We figured that the trenches would give you all the freedom to do what you wanted. So it was going to be the Army for most of us, - what simpletons, how did we manage to win the war.

Why I chose the Navy, I couldn't say, perhaps I just fancied myself in the uniform. I had been in the Navy just over twelve months and just after returning to Rosyth after being given a thrashing by the Bismark German battleship, I received a telegram to say that Father was dying and to get home if I could. The starboard watch had already gone on leave and we the Port watch would follow in a fortnight. I applied for immediate leave on compassionate grounds and was granted leave to start the next day. Phyllis's husband Fred smoked a pipe and had mentioned in one of the letters that he would like some navy tobacco if I could manage it. Some weeks prior to this I had set about making up what is vulgarly dubbed a "prick" of tobacco, which is several tobacco leaves soaked in rum and then rolled up and then tied as tightly as you can manage into a roll.

The next day this small party of matelots with me making up the party of about ten mustered on the quarter deck and proceeded to go ashore. My "prick" of tobacco which was in excess of my allowance of duty-free allowance was secured with a piece of string to the spare button on the inside of my top coat which was folded over my arm. Ordinarily with the whole of the watch going through the dockyard gates this would have been a reasonable risk but as there was only ten to deal with, we all got pulled into the Customs Office and a search soon revealed my contraband.

I was allowed to proceed on leave but all the goods including my allowance were confiscated.

Father must have been ill for about six months with what turned out to be cancer of the liver. I'm sure I must have been told about the situation so it was not a great shock to me but I arrived home just 2 days too late but was able to be at the funeral.

The following is a short piece from a letter that Mother wrote to Cyril 3 months before he died which I find very poignant. It follows after she had told of her visit to the doctor and hearing of his diagnosis. "Well, my dear boy, from Sat afternoon to Monday morning has been a nightmare to me. So I asked your Father how much he wanted to know and how much would his mentality stand, and his reply was, "all of it". So I said well, you know what your father died of, and he said "yes". So, I as well as I could utter that is what you have got and it is on the liver. He thanked me and said he was quite satisfied and was quite ready when his time came. Strange to say, he has bucked up since and I have often heard him humming a little tune or just a little whistle now and then. He told me this morning that he was glad that he knew the worst and although he was emotional he said they were tears of joy not sadness. I am the one that feels it most, as I daren’t say anything to Grace in her present condition, and I don’t want to upset Phyllis as she is doing so well at the shop. He is so proud of her and it’s his greatest joy to visit the shop and see how she is going on." The letter continues for a little more, it is dated 5 Feb 41. Grace's "condition" was her pregnancy with her first born, June,  who Father would see just 10 days before he died, his first grandchild.

Father’s life at the shop had been the happiest time of his working time, he was in charge of himself, everything was down to him. He suffered the unintended slight that all small shopkeepers have to deal with of his local customers walking past the shop with their shopping bags full having come back from town and market and then having to serve them with a packet of salt for tuppence and with a smile and a pleasant word. His resourcefulness was one of his attributes. Distressed oranges and grapefruit would be made into marmalade. Apples and tomatoes with bruises would finish up as chutney, and unsaleable vegetables would be chopped up and offered for sale as veg. stock for soup; nothing was wasted. It was almost pointless for the Dustbin men to call as most things seemed to get converted to some further use. He even recruited the darkness of the cellar to help him grow mushrooms. Frugality -- Frugality -- he was an excellent manager,

I think that by the end of the year the shop was sold, Mother didn’t have the heart for it. Towards the end of the war, Mother must have felt like a bit of adventure so she sold the bungalow lease and most of the furniture and with the additional money she had from the sale of the shop stock, she bought a wooden chalet bungalow in Hayle Cornwall. Sight unseen from an advert in either the Daltons Weekly or the Exchange & Mart. It turned out to be typical of the kind of place that one would get from that source. It was in a community of similar wooden structures built just after the first world war with running water and electric but no mains drainage. Every week a Polish chap with name of Tizak used to come along with a horse and a two wheeled dung cart and remove the contents of the residents Elsans for a small fee.

Mothers place was called "Duneside" and it was built on the side of a small sand dune. The whole site was quite near the sea and near the estuary of the River Red which flowed into the sea having come through Redruth. Entrance to the dwelling was at ground level but the other side was out on to a veranda on stilts and then down some steps to more sand. The veranda soon showing signs of gently rotting away.

At the same time as Mother made this buy she also bought, again sight unseen, a caravan sighted just outside Paignton, Devon, which seems to show a degree of recklessness. After my demob and before l went to stay with Cyril in London, I stayed with Mother for a while, during which time she despatched me to Paignton to find out the state of the Caravan. I recall it being very damp and leaking in parts, a broken window, bed and bedding all damp and I felt lucky to escape without getting a bad cold. It was never used and I guess its fate was to gradually crumble in the damp Devon weather.

About this time Ted and Grace and the children came to stay at "Duneside" with "Ma" as Ted always called her. All the war work had come to an end in Blackpool and Ted was looking for a job of some kind. He got work with the "Camborne Electric Light Co" who could have been taken over by G.E.C. as I recall red working for them for a spell. The Etherington family used to go to the local Methodist Church of Sunday much to "Ma's" surprise but it became more clear when Ted revealed that the Preacher was the local butcher in Hayle and that Ted was partly praying for some extra meat on top of the weekly ration.

The "Duneside" period could have only lasted about two years and some difficulty arose when it came to a sale as none of these dwellings had any "deeds". The only paperwork Mother had was a bill of sale when she bought the place and so proof of true ownership was always jumped on by anyone who was going to deal through a solicitor. This hadn't deterred Mother but everyone wasn’t as willing to take a gamble as she. However in 1946 she had got, through the "Lady" a post as a seamstress for Lord and Lady Hoare at the historic house "Stourhead" in Wiltshire. The old couple were in there late eighties and were in need of help to get the house linen up to standard having been subject to the neglect of the war years. This job must have been of immense interest to Mother and it’s my regret that I didn't take more note of the tales she told of the place and the old couple. Sadly, the job expired as the Hoares did, both of these ancients died on the same day, and Mother moved on again. The National Trust took on the property in 1947.

From then Mother took a job as an assistant to a housekeeper in a nice big house in Newquay, Cornwall, the owners having a big hotel on the front. At the time I was working in Folkestone as a beach photographer and I took a weekend off to see how she was getting on. At this time reg and I were getting a little "sweet" on each other and I recall making the bold decision to buy a little "Cornish Pixie" brooch for her on my return.

The years '48 to '51 were spent for Mother in visiting and staying with Phyllis and Fred in Blackpool and Poulton-le Fylde and of the buying and selling of a property in Southport. The origins of a story about Mother which used to be re-told time and time again whenever the few of us got together and which was sure to have tears of mirth running down the cheeks probably came from this time. Fred and Phyllis lived in a mews type property and Mother came to call on them quite unannounced, which wasn’t unusual at that time as telephones weren’t all that common. Phyllis happened to meet Mother at the bottom of the stairs and called up to Fred "Mother’s here". Fred’s own Mother was dead by now, and Fred replied with what we always took to be a Freudian slip, "What Mother?", and subconsciously denying that his Mother-in-law existed. Of course, knowing the relationship that passed for an existence between Fred and Mother makes for a better feel for the story.

Peg and I visited Mother when she was in Southport a journey that Peg will never forget. A cheap return from London to Southport by Standerwick bus. Peg’s back was breaking by the time we got half way and I think she spent the first day in bed trying to recover. I recall we took the train back. Mother was in the stage of selling the house at this time, a bitterly cold late November. Mother had the house in the hands of an agent but was having a tussle with him as she had managed to get a buying client and was strongly of the opinion that the agent had no business in asking, nay demanding, his fee.

It was about this time that Cyril, being in the early stages of consolidation with the business at Dawes Road, found himself in need of capital. As Mother had sold the Southport house and had the money in a building society account, Cyril put the proposition forward to her that she take some debentures in the new firm "Touchstone Ltd" and receive better interest than the building society. Mother had no idea what debentures were and neither did I come to that but I wasn't party to the deal. When Cyril had set about to make the firm into a Limited Company he had studied company law and was pretty well versed in the intricacies of raising money of which debentures plays a part. He was quite proud, and quite justifiably so on the extent of his company knowledge, what he didn't know was how Mother's mind was going to work but he would be a lot wiser in that regard before long.

The money changed hands and was soon swallowed up in Cyril’s enterprise, but hardly had the ink dried as it were and any interest had been paid that mother's restless spirit had promoted another idea to her and needed the money back. Cyril couldn't produce the money and neither could he say when it would be produced: he had long term plans for it. Not for the last time had he got himself in a spot that he couldn't get out of easily.

This hiatus between them would never be bridged and was to develop into a tug of war which got hotter and hotter until Cyril had what he could never have imagined would happen, a letter from a solicitor acting on behalf of his Mother of all people. I don't know the real outcome of the dilemma but that was the end as far as Cyril was concerned as to the relationship. He never made any attempt to mend the fence and I don’t think Mother made any great effort.

Cale Street, Chelsea was Mother's next "smart" address. She had negotiated to buy the lease and contents of a ground floor flat consisting of just a sitting room, small kitchen and a bedroom. We still have the rather unusual sideboard that she passed on to us when eventually quit this address and came to Ifield Road early in '55 after we had moved on to "St Goar Cottage" in Putney. Mother enjoyed living in Chelsea and being in the centre of all the smart shops in South Kem, and for a short spell Phyllis and Peter and Dianna parked themselves there either before or after Cresswell Street South Ken where Phyllis took on the tenancy of an enormous property and took in variety of roomers, lodgers, and managed to finally extract herself from there and then finish up in the Brixton area.

Sometime in 1954 I received a beneficence in the form of two legacies from two Aunts, who to my knowledge I had never met. They were two maiden Aunts, sisters of Father and had left the area of Stalybridge to set up in Colwyn Bay and took a Newsagent and Tobacco shop. The died in their eighties within 12 months of each other and left their money to the Nieces and Nephews who numbered about nine. The amount as I recall was firstly about £700 and then to follow a larger amount almost doubling the first legacy. The total amount was the equivalent of the average three bedroomed house at that time and we had been working ourselves up to buy a house and move out of Ifield Road.

We fell in love with "St Goar Cottage" in Putney and spent the next 34 years there. We encouraged Mother to leave Cale St and move into Ifield Road, which she was pleased to do. She settled in quite well and made friends with "Amy", a little single woman across the way who had a leg in irons and a pronounced limp. She was devoted to Mother, and Mother being one of those kind of people who can get and make a submissive, obedient body out of an acquaintance, it worked very well. Mother by now had developed a hip condition and in today’s world it would have been dealt with by a replacement but she got over it with the aid of a wheelchair, which Amy used to push Mother around in. On occasions we would have them both over to the cottage at Putney as well as the wheelchair.

"Banana Skin" happenings can occur to anybody and to the observer even if ironically the victim is your "dear old Mother" can cause hilarity. Amy had taken Mother out in the wheelchair, it was just to be a chance to take some fresh air and a change of scene. She was proceeding down a slight incline in the Upper Richmond Road when Amy must have tripped on a flag stone and involuntarily let go of the chair which resulted in "Ma" proceeding downhill under her own steam with no means of stopping but fortunately with steering control. Happily, it all ended with it coming to a halt outside East Putney Tube station with Mother just as unflustered and serene as she started but with Amy in a "puther" of apologies.

Another occasion when Mother displayed her unflapperbility was when during our courting days and Peg was keen to give Mother a good day out. We all, that is about ten of us boarded the miniature train at Hythe to have a picnic at Dymchurch. We arrived at Dymchurch but "Ma" was absent, having got left on the platform in the rush to get on. When the next train arrived, she was in an open truck surrounded by a bunch of noisy snotty-nosed children with "Ma" in the middle doing her unconscious impersonation of the old Queen Mary complete with wide brimmed hat, or it could have been Lady Bracknell on a day trip to Dymchurch instead of Bognor Regis. Kath's dog and the stone, she insisted on planting in Ma's lap!

Sometime during 1956 Grace and Ted and Family moved to London from Cornwall, Ted either looking for work or being offered a job in Town. With Ifield Road having plenty of spare room it was agreed that they share the flat with Mother until something more suitable turned up. After about 18 months the Etherington Family moved to a house in Barking, and around the same time we decided that Mother should come to St Goar Cottage and live with us as she was now about 77 years of age and her hip problem getting worse. She was with us for several years in the room looking on to the garden.

In 1962 Peg’s Dad became very ill and we had both Peg’s Mum and Dad with us also at the cottage. With Peg’s work load becoming greater we arranged with Ted and Grace to take on the care of looking after Mother. They were by now in a big Leasehold property in Victoria. Peg’s Dad died at St Goar Cottage in 1963 and in the next year her Mum died in Putney Hospital. Mother came back to us again but Peg was feeling the strain of it all and we got her a place in Atney Road Putney were we could visit easy and see she was looked after.

"Louie" now comes into the picture. Louie Pearce was nearly 70 and her dear old Dad was into his 90's. They had a large bungalow dwelling in Steyning with a big garden running wild and this is where Mother would settle for the remainder of her time until she died in 1966. Louie was an artistic type, very unconventional but good hearted and a church-goer and Mother enjoyed the easy atmosphere of the place. Louie wasn't the type to waste her time on house cleaning and the like when she could be doing her water colouring and gardening and a meal would be a "happening". Louie would have made a good Buddhist as she was reluctant to kill anything. In the winter, mice occupied the house with the same proprietorial ease as the rest of the residents. In the summer, fruit flies swarmed in the kitchen around the fruit gathered but not dealt with as Louie would be elsewhere engaged on some joyful job which yet again would no doubt end unfinished.

I recall going to visit them in the winter and finding the open fire in the sitting room being fed by a log from the garden about eight foot long sticking out and resting on the back of a chair with wood smoke filling the room and everyone’s eyes. Mother would be sitting in a corner stoically trying to fan the smoke out of her eyes but quite accepting it all and once again pleased to see us.

During one of these winter days one of Louie's cats took a well-earned rest from catching mice by climbing through the open oven door of her "Rayburn". Who closed the door we never knew but when it was next opened poor pussy was cooked beyond repair.

Louie had a very bad arthritic condition in her back and for all the time we knew her she was almost bent double but never-the-less was possessed of a great energy and for some years after Mother died she would travel up to London to visit the Royal Academy Annual Exhibition in Piccadilly and get Peg to go with her. Peg would be quite worn out with all the traipsing around but Louie would still be steaming along with her bent form being occasionally fuelled with a hand full of nuts and raisins that she kept as "iron rations" in her mac pocket. She would then spend the night with us at the cottage before travelling back to Steyning. Eventually her Xmas cards stopped coming and we had to assume she had gone to visit the "Great Exhibition in the Sky".

Harking back to Father's time at the shop, I recall one of his economy dodges was how to deal with bread that was a few days old and approaching staleness, was to give them a light going over with fine water spray and then a few minutes in a hot oven. Once back on the shelf with the smell of freshness about them a sale might be had.

Also remembering my time at Dawes Road with Cyril. In the setting up of "Touchstone", Cyril was faced with the dilemma of what his newly recruited labour force, which was never more than four, was to call the pair of us. With his new status as "boss" he was now going to have these "workers" calling us Cyril or Philip, that would be far too chummy and if it was going to be "Mr Smalley" nobody would know which one of the two it might be, so we were designated "Mr Cyril' and "Mr Philip". So, whilst the "workers" were not encouraged to be familiar with the "Bosses" it didn't prevent the familiarity working in reverse. Dot Stevens, Molly and Vi were in their turn elevated from worker status to "Mistress" status over the years.

During my time with them at Lynton Road, the Dot Stevens affair leaked out and of course a great upset ensued between the three of them, Dot living in the flat above. Cyril accused me of being a "typical Smalley" as I was apparently quite unaffected by their problems and where all three were in emotional turmoil, I hadn't lost my appetite and was sleeping wonderfully well and immune to the trauma. I don't deny this judgment but would say that he had more of this ability to be detached than myself as he could never have coped with all the problems that were to be visited on him in the next two decades.


OTHER CHAPTERS TOP RIGHT

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Running Wild

OTHER CHAPTERS TOP RIGHT

Perhaps my arrival in 1921 was a bit of a surprise to Sam and Grace when they were by then aged 40 but it never-the-less did not result in me being in any way un-cared for. It was just that they were possibly so busy trying to screw a living out of that era that left little time to keep an eye on my boyhood activities in that period before the war.

One of the earliest memories was being dumped up to my neck in a lime pit. Houses build in the 20’s involved having a big pit containing a ready mixed lot of lime for the business of building with bricks. When the builders had pushed off for the day the site was left unguarded and at the mercy of the local kids. One of the older girls cajoled me to walk to the end of this long plank leading out to the middle of the pit. Being about aged four at the time the outcome never entered my innocent mind but when she stepped off her end I finished up covered in slimy mess.

This was a time of no radio, television and no computers so the big out-doors was where every child finished up to burn of their energy no matter the weather. In the winter the promenade was a roller-skater’s paradise especially the slopes down to the beach. The evenings would be spent racing around until it was time to go home. Adult strangers would be approached in the street or on the promenade and asked if they had any cigarette cards: ”Any cig cards mister?”.

The beach in the summertime provided all sorts of scope for fun and mischief and an opportunity to earn some coppers. One scheme was to dig a bridge of sand across the wet patches between the islands of sand left by the receding tide and then with a cheeky grin hold out a hand for anything the visitor would care to give.

A more devilish scheme was to dig a hole in the sand about a couple of feet deep and then cover the hole with a newspaper and a sprinkling of sand and wait for some unfortunate to fall into the hole. Call it what you will but shear devilment was the uppermost aspect of outdoor life.

Once we found the burning properties of magnifying glasses more havoc remained to be wrought. I could not say whether it was matches or the burning glass that set fire to a large expanse of sand dunes at the wild area that existed at that time south of the Pleasure Beach. However I feel the bit of play was not expected to get beyond our control but it did and the only answer for us was to get on our bikes and hare it back home passing coming in the opposite direction, the fire brigade coming to deal with our mischief.

I am sure I was not alone in finding a more mischievous activity for the burning glass. Sunday afternoons could be pretty quiet along the Dickson Road and I found myself idly focusing the glass on the inside of the local chemist’s window. The item that eventually got me interested was the hot-water bottle being displayed on this sunny autumn day. The smoke from the rubber was soon curling upwards and a sort of brown hole was forming on the target. What thrilled me more than anything was the thought of this bottle eventually leaking out in some unfortunate's bed.

This caper was much better than the practice of tying up a house brick in brown paper and fancy string and placing it in the path of pedestrian traffic. We figured that anyone coming across the 'parcel' would firstly give it a kick followed by a yelp. I can’t say this ever came about but even thinking about these devilish schemes was a scallywag's delight.

We all had bikes of course and a long ride out into the countryside was a Sunday occupation. The foothills of the Pennines was the farthest we would go but plenty of fun was available with the possibility of being able to swim in the lakes and go out to the islands where seagulls were nesting. There we could swim back with eggs and set about eating them raw. We would often be out all day and return home exhausted late in the evening.

I had fitted out my bike with a fairly unique form of lighting. Carbide lamps were quite a novelty and gave a lovely white light. Carbide being a white chemical in powder form which when water is added forms a gas. The lamp was usually on the front of the bike and the container was fixed in the rear with the gas travelling along a rubber tube via the crossbar. By adjusting the drip of water to the powder enough gas was made and the lamp could be lit.

The gas we found could also be used to make minor explosives. An inverted pop bottle filled with gas made a mini projectile. Pop bottles were soon found to be a bit tame and one eventful day was when we filled old oil drum mounted on bricks and waited till we could smell the distinctive gas coming out of the opening. The effect was dramatic, the drum went way up into the air but instead of landing back in the friends garden made its landing known with the sound of tinkling glass. We quickly vanished from the scene and just hoped we could remain in the clear.

I remarked earlier that there was no radio but of course in due time this was to be part of everyday life. Amateur radio was a flourishing hobby for lots of boys who could afford the parts and buy the magazines giving the latest one or two valve circuits. Making up these little radios was a regular pastime among the local chums. As we spent most of our time on bikes it was not long before radios were being made with the batteries in the saddle bag and the radio parts in front to twiddle the knobs and search the airwaves. With a pair of head-phones on and tuned in to the latest popular number life was a breeze.

This new craze could not be funded out of sixpence a week pocket money so other means had to be found. The local golf links were a good source of spare cash. Norbreck Hydro had a links attached to the hotel and a few miles further north was Cleveleys links. Four or five lads used to gather outside the golf pro’s office to await the sign to carry someone's bag. The going rate was 2 shillings for the 18 holes but quite often the chap would make it half a crown. I used to wear a very bright yellow jersey I used to fondly think that it used to nearly blind the pro as quite often he would call out “you with the yellow jersey” regardless of any rota. It was possible to get a round in morning afternoon and evening if the light held out. I remember a time when it cost sixpence to get in the cinema and I had thirty shillings in my pocket. A fondness for money never left me.

When the links were too wet to play the time could be taken up with looking for lost golf balls. This was not really allowed by the golf course but that did not stop us from scouring the roughs and into the ponds knee deep in bare feet trying to locate what had sunk in the mud. A maximum of sixpence for a good ball or much less for balls that the men would use for practice hits. Searching in the deep grass was not with out its hazards. One Sunday afternoon had me walking into the barbed wire fence producing a deep gash in my cheek which scared my face for twenty odd years.

This need for ready cash would lead eventually to an activity which crossed the legal boundaries. Whisky needs soda and soda in those days came in large soda siphons which were quite a solid piece of glass ware. These were a returnable item and from memory the money back was either 2 shillings or half a crown a time. These were returnable to chemist shops as well as off-licences. Who thought up this dodgy activity I fail to recall but I fell in with the scheme. Sunday afternoons were the best time to climb over into the back yards of a chemist shop and see if any of these items were to be had. It was decided that no more that say two were to be filched so as to allay any suspicion. It would have been too much of a cheek to take it in to the same chemist to get the refund so after cleaning them up they would cashed in somewhere else. This stunt was pulled off a few times until the shop owners figured something was amiss and kept the siphons safely doors We were lucky to getaway with this one but one of the group took up serious thieving and finished up in court. The year would be about 1936/7 when the authorities were stepping up the recruiting drive to boost the armed forces as things were looking grim in Europe. The offender was given the choice of either doing some time in a Borstal institution or joining one of the forces. He decided to join the Air Force and we thought that would be the last we would see of him but strangely after the war when Peg and I lived in London we came across this chap on a pitch in the Ideal Homes Exhibition demonstrating a potato peeler. Whether he was one of the few we never found out but he would have had the makings to break a few barriers.

It’s an age-old question, what were the parents doing, did mine know what I was getting up to?  Dad was busy at the shop desperately trying to screw a living wage out of his corner shop. Mother was probably laid low with the dicky tummy that seemed to plague her life. Her diet seemed to consist of tripe, tomatoes and a strange kind of bread that was called scofar bread only obtainable from Yates Wine Lodge in Talbert Square in Blackpool.  Of the rest of the family, Cyril was no doubt away in Birmingham working as a journeyman joiner. Grace and Phyllis were busy trying to make a living in Fleetwood market selling cheap clothing or it could have been cheap jewellery. I am sure if Dad had known of what I was up to I would have been on the end of some physicality. I know of only two occasions when he let fly at me.

When I was about seven we lived in a two roomed basement flat in Station Road South Shore in Blackpool. It had an old type kitchen range fired by coal. What was in the oven at this time I can’t remember, could have been bread or a rice pudding, however Mum and Dad were peering into the open oven to see what was in there was getting on and I said “Let’s 'av a scen then“ --- with that Dad turned round and I finished up on the other side of the room having got a good clout on the head. The word "scen" had really annoyed him. Scen was street talk that I had picked up from other kids and he wasn’t having that word in the house.

The other time was years later when I was in sole charge of the shop whilst Dad was in the flat above having his dinner. Nestle's Milk was sold in a very small size and I had taken a fancy to helping myself to one of these and enjoying the sweet milky contents. One day he confronted me with the empty tin which he had fished out of the dust bin. “What’s this?”. Quick as a flash, “Oh, I saw Jacky Dixon kicking it about on the pavement outside so I fetched it in” … ”Little liar”, followed with hard thump to the head. Bad enough mice eating his cheese or fruit going bad but to have his kid nicking stuff was just too much. Jacky was my local chum and we used to give ourselves electric shocks. The light switches in the house were a brass type with a cover that could be un-screwed revealing the connections. We would stick our fingers on the points and see how much we could stand or hold hands and with the free hand stick a finger on either the plus or minus. Wouldn’t like to try it now.

What remains in my head about school is virtually nil. I do know there were around 42 pupils in the class and I always came somewhere in the middle for marks. The boy next to me was Billy Broadly who became a friend. So it was Broadly & Smalley --- Smalley & Broadly. His family had a pig farm which I used to visit on occasions. One day we were leaping across a dyke near the farm and I misjudged the distance and fell waist deep in what could only be pig slurry from the stink that followed me home. Coming home after school I had to pass a nice house at a corner and one day the Lady of the house stopped me and asked if I would come in the house where she had lots of toys I could play with. Who these toys belonged to I could not say. Could be that they had perhaps lost a son and they wanted to see another boy playing with them. I guess I would have a drink and a bun and then off I would go. What I do remember about school was the caning I had a few times for inattention I guess and the pain and loss of half a front tooth falling in the school playground. Pain would appear to have a lasting effect on me.

At the time we lived in Alexandra Road at the flat above the shops I formed a friendship with a boy further down the road where the houses were quite large. The boy's father was a school master and they were quite well off in relation to my family with mother going out in the evenings selling door to door some rather nice yellow powder to make a refreshing drink.  At the rear of the big house was a garage run commercially. I always assumed it belonged to the school master but I could be wrong. The boy who’s name was Desmond Hough (pronounced Huff) his next door neighbour was his girl playmate Brenda Duff! She always reminded me of Elizabeth in the Just William books probably as she had a pigtail. The Hough family cultivated me no doubt as I made a play-mate for their dear spoilt boy. I had no complaints as I went everywhere with them. One year I joined them for a week in the Lake District and often we would drive out in his big car which had a folding canvas hood.

They were typical middle-class. I can’t recall the mother but the father would be dressed in a tweed double-breasted suit plus deer stalker. A meal at a restaurant after a fun was always Steak and Chips which went well with his florid round face. I made a mistake a decade later in seeking Desmond out. I was just curious to see what had happened to him. They were at a different address by then and he was different too. He didn’t want to know me, I soon got the drift. It was the class thing. By then I had joined up and childhood days were well in the past.

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