THE CITY HALL

On Thursday afternoons, at the City Hall, there used to be a Women's meeting. Mother said, "You don't have to go to school this afternoon. You can come to the Meeting with me." Well, anything was better than going to school, so I went. "Mum," I said, "What about Rosie?" Rosie Brand was the caretaker of the City Hall. "Well," Said Mother, "What about her?" "Won't she say sufFen about me being there?" "Do she," said Mother, "I'll be ready for her. I shan't say nuthen in the Hall. I'll run afoul of her when she comes out." The prospect of a battle with Rosie served as a tonic for Mother.

As we entered the Hall Mrs. Daw was there with her brother-in-law, George, so I didn't feel so bad with another male in the room. The meeting started. After a while Rosie served tea with two shortbread biscuits each. As she handed me mine I am sure she hoped I would choke. I glance at Mother. She had a half smile on her face as her and Rosie's eyes locked. Nothing was said.

After the tea the meeting commenced. The elder Miss Plumer was a plump woman in a grey suit with a brown hat. She reminded me of Mrs. Jarley in "The Old Curiosity Shop", her sister was very thin. She wore a camel coat and a navy blue hat. Both ladies ran the City Hall. The elder Miss Plumer played the piano. The congregation started with the hymn "Pull for the shore". Half way through the hymn there was one almighty crash, followed by moans and groans and scuffling - poor George was in the throes of a fit. "Look to the front," hissed Mother. Miss Plumer put her foot on the loud pedal and brought her hands down firmly on the keys. After a wavering start the singing recommenced and rose triumphantly above the sounds coming from the rear of the Hall. When George recovered from his fit, Mrs. Daw led him out and took him home. The meeting ended shortly after.

Mother went into Grandmother's for a cup of tea and to talk over events of the afternoon. I went down to the Hard, revelling in the fact that there was quite a lot of afternoon left to be away from school.

LIFE IN THE LANE

THE AIR RAID

One night during the war the siren went. "Get up," said Mother. She got my brother out of his cot and sat him on her lap. All was quiet for a while. Then we heard this high pitched whistling. "Get under the table," shouted Mother. Not much good that would have done us if we had been hit. It was a three-legged rosewood table that once belonged to great great grandmother Caroline Rudlin. We heard the thud as the bomb hit the ground, then nothing. Some time after, the All Clear went, and we went off to bed.

Come the morning, my Mother was dressing my brother, when the door opened and Mr Pullen, an ARP warden came in and Said, "Anyone here?" 'Well, what is it?" said Mother, her hackles up at the thought that someone should dare open her front door without knocking first. "Didn't you hear that bomb last night, Woman? You have got to git out. it went underneath John Hewes' dyke (toilet), he was in it at the time, and it hasn't exploded. The Bomb Disposal have got to dig for it." Mother put my brother in his pram, snarling about bombs, air raid wardens and Hitler in particular. We spent the day with Aunt Ruby and my cousins in Firs Chase. When we returned home we went to look at the hole. It was about twelve feet deep and the soldiers had to shore up the sides with planks to get the bomb out. It was then taken away for disposal.

THE AIR RAID II

After the incident with the table, Mother told the story to Mrs Jim Pullen. Mrs Pullen said, "I have got a table you can have." It was a huge mahogany table with a single pedestal and claw feet, and underneath, written in chalk, were the letters "Cudmore 1878". it was the sort of table that King Arthur and his Knights could have sat round comfortably. I don't remember ever sitting under it. Great great grandmother's table went under the axe to help out the fuel. Mother had the table until the 1960s. It must have been nearly a hundred years old.

SWEEPING THE CHIMNEY

Grandmother said, "That owed range in't drawing very well. I reckon that owed chimney want sweeping." Ruth's husband said, "I'll sweep it for you, Nan." "All right, Mate," said Grandmother. So Ray borrowed Uncle Bob South's brushes and proceeded to sweep the chimney, All went well until the brush reached the pot. Then the brush stuck, much to Mother's consternation, thinking of Uncle Bob and his brush and rods. "Don't worry, Iris," Ray said to Mother, "I'll give it a good push," and e did. The next moment soot and bricks came raining down the chimney, thumped on top of the range and fell into the hearth. Luckily Grandmother had a tall brass fireguard which kept the soot and bricks in the hearth.
"Go and see if the brush is out, Mate," said Grandmother to Mother. "It's out all right, and the pot has fell off the stack," said Mother. Grandmother came out and looked at the devastation calmly. "We shall catch it off Miss Gladys," she said. Mother said, "That owed Mawther Gladys will come down here and raise Cain. She will have to be sent for." So Aunt Gladys, who owned the cottages, was sent for, and proceeded to raise Cain. "Look at the state of that 'ere stack," she said, "Don't that look suffen for that owe lot to garp at?" She meant the rest of the Laneys. "I'll bet that stack is going to cost a pretty penny." Aunt Gladys was very careful with money. "Have a cup of tea, Gladys Mate," said Grandmother, "I've got the kettle on the Beatrice (oil stove) and Earnie (meaning Father) will mend the stack." "Tea!" snarled Aunt Gladys, "I didn't come down here for tea. Thass a nice muddle I think." She turned to Mother, "Why did you let that owe Ray do that?" "That's right," said Mother, "Blame me." I wondered when I would be to blame for it all. Now them two are going to have a jangle. As soon as them two clap eyes on each other they start to jangle. 'They always did," said Grandmother. Aunt Gladys paused and rubbed her nose with her forefinger as she did in moments of excitement. "I think I will have that cup of tea afore I go hoom," said Aunt Gladys. "The sooner the better," Mother said under her breath. "What did you say, Iris?" "I said," said Mother, "I shall have to clear up this hoolrush, Mother can't do it and you 'ont do it, will you, Gladys?"
"No I 'ont," said Aunt Gladys. So Aunt Gladys went home, her ruffled feathers smoothed at the thought of the stack being repaired for nothing.

Father and Cousin Dick repaired the stack: Mother cleared up the hoolrush and relit the range and put on the big brown kettle,- It held over two gallons of water - for more tea and washing up. "That owed range draw suffen better now," said Grandmother. Peace and tranquillity settled over The Lane once more.

Notes at end of Sweeping the Chimney:-
Suffen - something
Clap - to look
Garp - to look
Jangle - to have a row
Raise Cain - to cause a row
Hoolrush - to have a muddle
Mowther - girl, woman
Allus - always
Hoom - home

BILL FRENCH, MRS STEEL AND THE FOGHORN

Reading an article on Bill French by his daughter Pauline, brought back memories of Bill who was a real Mersea character, he lived with his family in the cottage "The Rosary" at Spite Corner at the top of The Lane.

Next to Bill's boundary was "Four Winds", a black clapboard cottage in which lived Mrs. Steel, an Irish opera singer. I don't think she was a prima donna. She probably sang in the chorus. As a boy I used to cut her lawn for her to earn a few shillings (pence) for my first boat. She told me she used to get up at all hours to sing, as her voice used to tell her what to do. If you went by "Four Winds" in the evening you would hear the piano and this high pitched wailing noise.

Apparently this went on at night for some time, keeping Bill awake, so early one morning he took his foghorn to his boundary and gave several blasts. All The Laneys woke up. "Listen, Man," said Mother, "There's a boat hooting in the river." There was a pause as Father listened. "That in't no boat. Thass coming from the wrong quarter. I reckon thass Bill French and his foghorn." He got out of bed to slide back the window and put his foot on the hustler (jerrymiah) which brought forth a load of objurgations from Mother, which boded ill for the rest of the household later that morning. "Dirty owed devil," said Mother. "You'll clear that lot up, Mate, afore you get back to bed."

Come the morning The Laneys gathered in The Lane to talk over events. Mother, Grandmother, Aunt Mary, Aunt Beulah, Mrs Jim Pullen and Mrs Roy Mole. "Whoever was making a row with that blesed foghorn?" said Aunt Mary, looking as fierce as a buck rat in a drainpipe. Mother said, "Ernie ^meaning Father) reckon it was Bill French," and so it was. As the news filtered down The Lane, and the reason for it - "That owed crevice (incomer) want to git back over the Strood and take her piano with her," said Aunt Mary.

THE MANGLE

Grandmother had this mangle. It was a massive thing. To our eyes anyway it was about 6ft. high and 5ft. wide with two big screws on top to tension the rollers which were huge, and a scrubbed board back and front to feed the clothing through the rolers and catch them at the back.

As children my cousins and I used to creep into the stable where the mangle lived in solitary state and turn the handle and sing to it. The resulting racket would bring Grandmother out and she would say, "Will you leave that mangle alone altogether, if you get your clars caught in the rollers don't come howling to me." On blanket washing day Grandmother would say to Mother, "Turn the handle will ye mate. That owed mangle pull my poor owed inside suffen cruel. Don't have them screws too tight or we won't be able to shift it." Mother would say, "That owed mangle don't do much for my insides either, Mother." So Mother would turn the handle and Grandmother would guide the blankets through. The mangle would grumble and thump and water would run out. The blankets would be nearly dry when they came out the other side.

In later years Grandmother sold the mangle to a Rag and Bone man for 5 shillings (25 pence). As the mangle rumbled down the yard it was like saying goodbye to an old friend. I suppose it would be a Collector's Item now.

Notes
Clars - hands
Suffen - something
Owed - old
On't - won't
Ye - you

THE TYRE

At one time there was a craze for tyres. Everyone had to have one, so the Laneys, not to be outdone, raided the Griffon garage tyre dump. I think my tyre once belonged to a lorry. It was quite heavy as we bowled them home and I wished I had picked a lighter one like cousin Rick did. All went well till we got to the top of The Lane. Then my tyre ran away from me and I couldn't catch it. Everyone was laughing and yelling. It roared down the Lane and crashed into Joe Hewes' bike which was parked outside his house and sent it flying across The Lane. The tyre raced on down The Lane just missing Roy Mole's door stones and crashed into the telegraph pole at the bottom, and went about four feet up it. So ended the epic tyre journey. Thankfully no one was about to get hurt. Very soon after that the tyre craze faded.

THE VALOR COOKER

Mother bought this Valor Cooker from a jumble sale. Father sanded it down and black enamelled it so it looked quite smart. It had two burners and an oven on top and a glass tank which you had to fill with paraffin, screw in the valve and turn the tank upside down quickly, otherwise you would get smothered in paraffin. Every now and then when it was alight it would give a gurgle as the paraffin went down in the tank. Mother would say, 'That owe stove make me jump rods when it do that."

The Valor had a life of its own. Mother would turn the wicks down when she went into Grandmother's. When she came back flames and black smoke would be belching out, covering the kitchen in soot and smoke. "That owe thing will have us alight afore long/' said Grandmother. If you out pastry in the oven it was the same colour when you took it out cooked, white with a tang of paraffin.

"I can't use that owe oven" Mother said to Grandmother, "we shall all get cackled (poisoned) afore long and them owe burners are as slow as a wet week. I shall run that owe thing down the yard afore long "

Soon after that Mother disposed of it.

An advertisement for Valor Perfection cooking stoves and oil heaters, from Digbys' 1924 Tide Table