Memories of Childhood
by John Appleby

~ 16 ~

I think special mention should bemade of our aunt and uncle's shop, since it was the source of many an hour of chidhood delight. There my mother's sister and her husband catered to the sweet lovers for about 30 years. It was sandwiched between the Railway Inn and the Dolphin Hotel. It had a wooden frontage and a single plateglass window, on the right of which was the doorway. A flight of lino-covered stairs led up to the bedrooms, and it was on these stairs that we would sit as children to watch the customers coming and going. (Pictured above - me and my older sister in our Aunt and Uncle's shop doorway in 1926 - click the image to enlarge)

On the left was the shop with the glorious aromas, a mixture of everything sweet, toffee in metal trays, mint rock, pineapple rock, and rich chocolate. The counter was lined with big glass-lidded jars full of tempting sweetmeats. Out of sight behind the counter stood a wooden tub containing the cannister of home-made ice-cream, nestling in chipped ice. A cry of "shop!" would bring Uncle Jack Turner from the kitchen to weigh the sweets, or use his little hammer to break the Voses Everton toffee, Harrogate, treacle, butterscotch. Small amounts for children, he would place in a deftly created cone of newspaper. The variety of caramels and sweets seemed to be endless. A child's paradise it was not, since uncle like most of the populace was frugal with handouts. Only if we had behaved to his satisfaction, or if some sweets were past their best, would he relent.

Inside the little kitchen Uncle Jack used to sit beside the fire on his cracket (stool) reading his newspaper and smoking his pipe, whilst auntie cooked and baked the brown bread for which she was often commended in the annual baking competitions by Hindhaughs. I can visualise him using his old pocket knife to cut shavings from a coil of Rubicon twist tobacco, rubbing them between his palms, and tamping into the bowl of his blackened pipe. The flare of the Swan Vesta match, followed by the crackle of the fiery bowl. Should we annoy him by running in and out, he would bring us a terrific wallop with a rolled-up newspaper.

The fisher-folk were good customers who liked black bullets, a spherical and brittle mint toffee. Iremember vividly on some kind of gala day, a bandsman coming into the shop and upending a huge brass instrument on the floor. It seemed to me as tall as I was. He invited me to blow a tune on it, and I was confronted by a mouthpiece the size of a milk bottle top. I puffed and blew on it but couldn't raise anything but a red face, but however he assured me I would grow up to be a good musician and join a brass band.

© 2003 John Appleby, New Zealand

All enquiries for editorial and content should be directed to the webmaster, Jason Thompson on enquiry@newbigginbythesea.co.uk.