A Portrait of a 1990s Husband

This light hearted portrait of my husband was written in 1990s when he had 'accidentally' bought a whole set of golf clubs on his way home from work!

Eric Jones 1965 -2003

Respite care needed urgently

This wayward chap is still fairly young, but his wilful and demanding nature places an impossible strain on his carers. He is friendly and outgoing, he enjoys meeting new people, and on first meeting his vices and limitations may not be obvious. He is fascinated by bathrooms and in particular by showers. If he is not closely supervised he will spend hours locked in the bathroom creating various splashing and wallowing noises. He loves toiletries of all kinds and enjoy lining up bottles and sprays on the shelf - it is not uncommon to find four or five open containers of the same item. His fascination does not extend to cleaning anything in the bathroom and when he eventually vacates the room a scene of devastation becomes visible as the steam and chemical fog slowly disperses. Breathing apparatus should be used in the bathroom for at least one hour afterwards.

He also has an obsession with clothes and even the strictest carers will struggle to manage this aspect of his behaviour. His belongings already fill three wardrobes and overflow in to the bedroom. At last count, his shirts numbered more than eighty but he still buys more! And even a centipede would not require as many pairs of trousers as this chap. He often tries on a number of outfits and leaves the evidence scattered all over the room - to be picked up by the good fairy perhaps! In his teenage years, he developed an obsessive relationship with the Next store, this was destructive and financially draining attachment. Sadly, increasing age has taken its toll and he is now less discriminating in his shopping habits, these days he likes to shop at Marks and Spencer and at Debenhams. There is little hope of improvement, usually when a condition has degenerated to this stage there is no cure. Carers are warned to prevent the purchase of corduroy or thermal undergarments at all costs!

He is known as "half a job Jones" with good reason. He comes from a remote and backwards region called Cornwall and has resisted all attempts to adjust to life in England. In particular he has difficulty with the concept of urgency or time management. To get him to attempt the washing up takes hours of persuasion and always leads to harsh words and raised voiced. When he finally gets to the sink he considers he has completed the task when he has put it in a bowl of soapy water. The good fairy then comes upon the unwashed pans and crockery in a soup of congealed, greasy cold water! No wonder there is a need for respite care.

He is deeply attached to a number of security objects, the most important being his mobile telephone and the television remote control. It is a pathetic sight to see him sprawled across the sofa with the phone in one hand and the remote control the other. He cannot sit in a chair, he has to sprawl so that he can conveniently fall asleep rather than converse with his family. He retains control of the TV even when asleep and his long suffering carers cannot recall ever watching a complete programme without a 'quick flash'.

Despite his age, he still has not understood the relationship between the cash point machine and the bank balance! Strict discipline must be enforced in this area. Be warned, he collects credit cards in the way other people collect stamps.

I will only make passing reference to the more unpleasant sounds and odours you must expect, and of course there are numerous anger management issues too. It is only fair to point out that his role model is Victor Meldrew - a half hour episode may be amusing but how would you feel about spending the rest of your life with him?

Are you up to the challenge?!

My Life Story by Colin Lloyd - Part 5

Before I start on my next part, I would like to mention that Frank, Mary (Northampton Past admin) and I went out photographing all the newsagents in the villages that I delivered to and out of 14 only 4 were still trading. Virtually all the others have been converted into private houses. At East Haddon there is no shop at all now and their nearest shop is Ravensthorpe. When we got to Long Buckby I had quite a shock as the newsagents shop hasn’t been altered since I used to deliver there in the 1970's.

In 1988 I took Margaret, her Mum and my wife Betty to Brighton to the Butlins Hotel for a week’s holiday. Little did I realise that three years later Margaret and I would marry. When I went to pick them up they had ordered a breakfast for me at the hotel. I didn't tell them I had just eaten one at a cafe around the corner from the hotel, so I ate that one as well. As we were about to leave, an old gentleman came and asked me if I knew the way out of Brighton I asked him where he was going and he said Nottingham. I told him to follow me to the M1 as I was going through London because of the roadworks on the M25. I told him not to "jump" any lights as I would keep sight of him in my mirrors. When we arrived at the services on the M1 he told me that it had been the experience of a life time.

Now as I said I had eight weeks holiday and after three weeks I decided to look for another job so I applied for a job with Compass Security at British Timken and was accepted. It turned out to be quite interesting. During the day most of our time was spent in the gate house but after 4.30 in the afternoon we took over the switchboard and we were receiving calls from all over the world. At night we did patrols both inside and outside the building. It seemed rather strange patrolling inside the factory when people were working. We also had to check on the social club and make sure everything was locked up and secure. There were two gatehouses, one at the main entrance where the workers went in and out of the factory and the other was nearer to Bants Lane. That was where lorries had to go to be weighed.

Great Russell Street

Compass also had security contract with the Chronicle and Echo. This was a job that no one seemed to want because it was said to be too boring, so I volunteered. Okay, there was not much to do during the day except opening the side gates for the lorries to deliver the reels of paper and then to let them out through the top gates in Great Russell St. At night, when everyone had finished, I would go to the library and get a bound volume of the Northampton Independent. They had all of them in yearly volumes from the early 1900's I would take it down to the gatehouse and read through it. If I found anything of interest, I would turn the corner of the page down and then, at about four in the morning, I would go and photocopy it. By the time I had finished I had six albums full of photographs of old Northampton. That is how I became interested in the history of Northampton yet while I was at school I hated history. When Alan Burnham brought out his first books of Northampton Past, I was fortunate, in as much as I managed to get him to sign them for me

By this time my wife had become more difficult to live with. She was causing trouble with the neighbours and I was being left to sort things out and this is how I became involved with Margaret, who was to become my third wife.

Manfield Hospital

One day I had a phone call from my wife to say that Margaret's mum had fallen off the front doorstep. As Margaret was working at Plessey at the time, I rang the company and explained what had happened. She came home and we subsequently discovered that her mother had broken her hip and had been taken to hospital. She was later transferred to Manfield Hospital.

By this time things were getting worse at home, my wife wouldn’t clean the house and after several arguments between us, she took an overdose and was taken to hospital. After she was discharged, she went to the doctors surgery where she was given her some tablets. I came home from work one particular Friday evening and she had vanished, not for the first time. I rang my daughter Jennifer in tears, not knowing which way to turn. She told me to pack some clothes and to get over to Sawston, where she was living. As I was packing my wife came in and asked what was I doing. I told her I had had enough and I was going to leave her.

Before I left, I went over and told Margaret what was happening and told her that I would ring her. I eventually arrived at Jennifer's at about eight thirty. Although my wife would not clean the house, she would do anything to help anyone, for example when my mother was alive, she would visit her at home, in Hardingstone, at least twice a week even in the snow. If mum needed anything, she would go into town to get it. I was very grateful for this.

As it was Friday night when I arrived at my daughter’s house, I rang the Chronicle & Echo the following morning and explained the situation I was in. At lunchtime, I received a phone call from the Chronicle saying my manager would ring me on Monday.

On the Sunday, I decided to go over and pick up the remainder of my clothes. I took my grandson Aron with me as I knew my wife would not cause a scene with him there. After I had loaded up the car she asked if we wanted to stay but I said Aron was tired and I would take him home. This was a lie, as I had arranged to meet Margaret at Manfield Hospital and after visiting her mum she would come over and meet Jennifer. Whilst we were at the hospital, the other ladies in mum's ward thought the world of Aron and really made a fuss of him. After Jennifer had met Margaret I drove her back to Northampton before returning to Sawston.

It was about ten o’clock one Monday morning when I received a telephone call from the manager of a company named Compass, offering me a post at Ciba Geigy at Whittlesford, which was only a fifteen minutes drive from Sawston. I accepted the offer. It was situated at Junction 9 of the M11, opposite Duxford airfield and museum. This was a very interesting job, gatehouse duties during the day and patrolling the premises through the night. There were always two of us on duty at night and four during the day, due to the volume of traffic. At night I used to take Jennifer's black Labrador with me, which I always took on the outdoor patrols with me.

When there was a show on at Duxford Air Museum, if we were fortunate enough to be working on the day shift, we were often able to watch the various aircraft practising. It was great to see the vintage aircraft in flight.

Jennifer was expecting her second child when I arrived and on the eighteenth she went into labour. While her husband was taking her to hospital, I took Aron over to see friends at Cambridge.

Duke Street

Luke was born on the nineteenth and we went to see them. When we arrived the sister said we could not go in but I told another white lie saying I had driven all the way from Northampton and had to be back for six o'clock to start work she relented and let us in. Back in Northampton, Margaret's mum stayed in hospital for three months and when she came out, they moved from Salcey Street to a two bedroom flat in Duke Street, opposite to where I lived.

In March I decided to move back to Northampton and managed to get a bed sit in Charles Street, just above where Margaret and her mother lived so spent most of my time with them only going back to my bedsit to sleep while I continued to work at the Chronicle and Echo

One afternoon when I was in their flat, I looked out of the window and could see thick black smoke. My first thoughts were that it was the Chronicle & Echo. I went there as quickly as I could and discovered that it wasn't the Chron. While I was there, the phone rang and it was one of the reporters asking if we knew where the fire was. I dashed up onto the roof and I could see that it was coming firm the Brackmills area. I went back downstairs and phoned the reporter to tell him. It turned out that the fire was at British Pepper and Spice

On the 25th of May 1989 my brother Malcolm became Mayor of Northampton and I received an invitation (sorry summons) to attend the annual Mayor Making Ceremony at 11 am at the Guildhall. As I stated before, my parents had adopted Malcolm when he was eight years old. In his speech he said he wished they could have been there to see him but unfortunately they had died before the occasion. I felt very proud.

By this time Margaret’s Mum was in a wheel chair but would not go out in it in case people stared at her. On Carnival Day I said I would take her down to the Savoy to watch it and she would see Malcolm. She reluctantly agreed and off we went as the Carnival went past she said he waved to me but I knew he was waving to everyone. Whilst we were there Margaret's brother and his wife came down and after the carnival had passed by, we all went home for tea.

The Garibaldi

After we had finished our tea, I offered to take Mum around town centre that Sunday as it wouldn't be crowded and she could have a look round, as she hadn't been to town for some time. On the day, we went to the market and back up Abington Street. I thought it would probably take about an hour but she wanted to look in every shop and it finished up taking two hours. On the way home we went into the Garibaldi in Balliff Street, as I had arranged to meet Margaret there at about eight o'clock. There was young girl in there who was also in a wheelchair and mum really enjoyed herself. Once she had got used to going out in the wheelchair we couldn't keep her in.

Chronicle and Echo

I left the Chronicle & Echo in the early 1990 when they decided to reduce our wages. I went to G M Lighting as a security guard but was there for only 3 months before I applied for a job as gatehouse security at M F I. for me, it turned out to be a very good move. The lorry drivers from France used to bring in duty free beer and brandy which was very helpful, to say the least.

In the meantime, while Malcolm was The Mayor, Princess Diana came to Northampton to receive the Freedom of the Borough. After first attending a service at St Sepulchres Church, they then went on to the Guildhall where she received the Freedom of the Borough Scroll and then took the salute at a march past. I asked Malcolm what she said to him , He said when they came out of the church she said "isn't that church cold"

Margaret and I never went out without taking Mum with us. One day we went to Bognor Regis to visit my aunt. On the way back Mum wanted to go to the loo so I drove into Newbury and found a pub. I went in and explained our situation and they were very obliging. I have never seen a person on a Zimmer Frame run so fast but she made it ok.

Another time, we went to see Jennifer's husband's family who lived in Mablethorpe. We took our next door neighbour Phyllis and her dog Tina. During the journey home, as we were approaching Market Deeping Mum, Phyllis and Tina were asleep in the back of the car. We came to a level crossing which I passed over a little on the fast side which made the car bounce a bit. This made all of them jump, including the dog but they were ok.

Phyllis was a brilliant neighbour. If ever Margaret and I wanted to go out she would come and keep Mum company. We usually went out for a meal on Saturday evening and we always took Phyllis with us.

One New Years Eve we went over to the Locks Pub at Welton where we were enjoyed ourselves enormously. We had taken Mum with us and I expected her to get a bit tired, so about 1am I asked her if she wanted to go home. Her reply was somewhat surprising as she said "no I’m enjoying myself". We eventually managed to drag her away at three o'clock in the morning...

Christmas at M F I meant that we had Christmas dinner served to us by management which was always very enjoyable.

At Mum's, we inevitably had all the family round for a party.

Before going into my next part I must mention the wild life I used to see. At G M Lighting, whilst watching cctv during the night, we would see foxes, hares, and rabbits but it was at M F I that I saw the best, all kinds of birds, bluetits, chaffinches and the like. We used to put nuts out for them and the squirrels used to come and steal them so we eventually put bowls of nuts near to the gatehouse where we could sit and watch them enjoy themselves.

By the end of 1990, Margaret and I had decided to get married and we set the date for early 1991. We were married at the Guildhall on the 21st January, with my brother and Margaret's sister as witnesses. All my family attended including my granddaughter Angie, who was in foster care. Her foster mother accompanied her. The only one not there was my middle daughter Denise. She had married my ex wife's brother and I gave her away but it was awkward, as her mother was there and I had to sit next to her at the reception. We didn't speak and after the toasts I went to the other end of the room to get away. We sent them an invitation to our wedding but they didn't reply and I haven't seen her since their wedding. When we came out of the Guildhall the bells were ringing at All Saints so for us, that made the day.

The reception was held at the Polish Club in Craven Street. One of our neighbours did the buffet and also made the cake. When we arrived, the decorations were still in place from the Polish New Year celebrations, so that really made it look great. After the reception mum went to stay with Margaret's sister for the night whilst Margaret and I spent the night in a hotel
After settling in at the hotel, we went for a meal at the Locks Pub at Welton. One of the barmaids there had attended our wedding and taken some photographs and when we arrived they were in an album with a miniature wedding cake and a bottle of wine so that made the event even more special.

Margaret's brother Derek was concerned, before we got married, that we would put Mum in a home but we were able to assure him that we were going to look after her thus putting his mind at rest.

The same year, Margaret's niece Michelle got married at Buckingham. We attended the wedding along with Mum. The bridesmaids wore yellow and Michelle's sister, Kerry, was chief bridesmaid and as she stood outside the church on the grass she said" I feel like a bloody daffodil".

In July we decided to take Mum on holiday and decided to go to Newquay in Cornwall We took the country route and stopped at the Little Chef at Taunton Dene for the night so as to break the journey for Mum. The staff there told us about a good pub which was nearly five miles from the Little Chef, called the White Swan. It was very good and they made us very welcome. The following morning we left Taunton at about nine thirty and arrived at our destination at about half past one. Our hotel in Newquay was called the Kilbernie and as supper wasn't until 7:00pm, we decided to have some sandwiches and a drink before we unpacked and got settled in.

We went for a walk along the cliffs and Mum seemed to be really enjoying herself. The hotel dining room was amazing with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the food was very good too. By the time we had finished our meal mother was feeling tired so I waited in the bar while Margaret put her to bed and then joined me down stairs for a drink. That was our first night.

In the bedroom was a sign saying please do not feed the seagulls as our room over looked the cliffs. The following morning there was a tap tap on the window and when I drew the curtain there was a seagull sitting on the sill. Margaret had some biscuits so she broke some and fed the bird and after that it was back every morning at the same time.

Every night except Saturdays the hotel had live entertainment which included line dancing.

On Sunday we decided to go for a walk around the town as we had never been there before. Our stroll meant that we had a good look round the town centre before we went down to the harbour. It was beautiful and very peaceful. We found somewhere to have a lunchtime snack and by about two o'clock, as mum was feeling tired, we went back to the hotel so she could have a rest before dinner. Margaret and I had a drink in the bar.

That Monday, we decided to take Mum to the zoo. When we arrived there I asked for 2 adults and a pensioner and the lady said wheel chair and pushers were admitted to the zoo free of charge. So I asked for 2 adults she told me that I was a wheelchair pusher so only Margaret had to pay. After leaving the zoo we went for a walk around the flower gardens, Mum loved that.

During the week we traveled all around the area, Mevagissy, Polperro and Fowey. It nearly broke my back pushing mother up the hill in Fowey.

One day we decided to visit the miniature village just outside Newquay. When we got there we paid full price for us and Mum got in half price. The following day we went to St Agnes where there was another miniature village. As we had been given vouchers to get in half price, it turned out that Mum got in for nothing and we only had to pay half price for Margaret and me.

We also went to Peranporth on the way back from St Agnes and I took Mum down on to the sand. We had only been there for a little while when I suddenly realised I was getting stuck luckily another gentleman was there and he helped me to pull Mum out.

After we left Newquay, to come home, we stopped at Taunton again and went to the same pub we had visited the week before.

In 1991 we all went up to my granddaughter who was in care at the time. And we also went down to the New Forest so mother could see the ponies and then went down to Milford on sea so she could see the Needles on the Isle of Wight. We were quite busy throughout 1991 the pub at Welton had closed so for our meals out, we decided to try the Wharf at Bugbrooke. Mother really liked it there.

On Sunday afternoons I used to take Mum and Uncle Bill out for a ride whilst Aunty Phyllis used to walk across the Racecourse to our flat and help Margaret get the tea ready. Now Uncle Bill had only seen hayricks before and he could not understand why they were wrapped in plastic. One Sunday, after we had just left Leamington Spa, we came up a hill and round a roundabout, there was a cafe. I pulled in and went inside to order and explained about mum and uncle and, bless her, the waitress brought our order out on a tray, complete silver service, it was a very nice touch.

One day we decided to take mother up to Matlock, in Derbyshire, so she could see all the scenery. Unfortunately she fell asleep and when we got to Matlock, I parked up and Mum woke up and asked "what god forsaken hole is this" but when we took her into town she brightened up, looking in the shops and walking by the river where we found a cafe and had a bite to eat.

Another laugh we had was when Mum's granddaughter Carol brought her son Scott down, he was only five years old. He went under the chair to stroke the cat and it scratched him. He went and told his Mum, came back, bent down and said "I'm bringing my gun and going to shoot your head off".

Christmas we took Mum over to the Wharf for Christmas dinner it was beautifully set out with all the trimmings including crackers; she was well pleased. On Mother's Day we decided to take Mum over to the Wharf and we invited an old gentleman who lived in the same block of flats he was 99 years old. He brought Mum a box of chocolates. When we arrived there was a party going on for an old lady. After we had our meal Frank went over and asked how old she was, they told him she was 94 and he said you are only a spring chicken they asked me how old he was and were surprised when I told them he was 99.

He was still swimming at the age of eighty and Anglia News came down and filmed him .They gave him a video of it and as he didn't have a video player so he came in to watch it. He celebrated his 100th birthday on 27th Jan 1993, the day Margaret's mother died. All the cobblers team came to see him when he was in St Edmund's Hospital as he once played for them, the year, I do not know!

We took my Mum to Whipsnade zoo and also down to Bognor Regis to see my Aunt Gladys in 1992.

We went down to Newquay again in 1992 but mother slipped in the bathroom at the Little Chef and was in so much pain they sent for the doctor he said we should get her home and get her x-rayed so we had to cancel the holiday. When we got home it revealed she had chipped her coxis bone.

That same year, Mum went to the toilet and slipped over, resulting in the zimmer frame jamming against the door so I couldn't open it. I had to call the fire brigade and when they came, they thought they would have to take the door off the hinges but then one of them, who was quite a bit smaller than the others said that he thought he could get through the bathroom window, which he did He was, though, worried about the mud down the wall but I told him that the cat made more mess coming in and out. Mum was taken for a check up and everything was fine.

Also Margaret developed C.T.S. (Carpal Tunnel Syndrome) in her right hand and when we went to the doctor he told her that the waiting list for an operation was about a year. As I was working for M F I, I had medical insurance with H S A (a private medical company) so I told him to go through that company. We saw the consultant on the following Thursday and she had the operation on the Monday at St Matthews Nursing Home. When I went to pick her up the first thing she wanted was a cigarette and by the time she got home she had got through three. As it was her right hand she could not do very much for herself, so I helped out all I could. This went on for about six weeks but I didn't mind.

In the meantime, Margaret's Mum had been getting weaker and had to go to hospital twice. The second time was after she caught her heel and after being home for a week it began to go sceptic. At our doctors surgery there was a certain doctor who kept saying she should be in a home. One night, I had to call out the doctor and made it quite clear that we did not want this particular doctor to call on her. Within two days we received a letter from the surgery informing us that we had been removed from their list.

We enrolled with Dr Woolmore in Billing Road who surprisingly was the same doctor who had dealt with my children when we lived in Edith St. It wasn't too long before we had to call him out to see Mother. As soon as he had examined her, he sent for a district nurse who turned up the following morning. When the nurse saw mother he said "I'll be back in an hour" and when he came back he had with him a special mattress for mum. He also arranged for us to see a social worker so that we could get respite care. This meant that Mother went to Collingtree Nursing Home for what we thought would be for about two weeks. Mum always said that it was me that put her in there and sometimes she would not talk to me. When this happened I would wander off and talk to some of the other residents but she always got Margaret to fetch me back. We went to have Christmas dinner with her but she kept falling asleep.

On New Year’s Eve Dr. Woolemoore was called and he immediately ordered her to hospital. Gangrene had set in and on the same night her leg was amputated. Margaret and her Sister stayed with her all day. When she came to in the morning, she was delirious telling Margaret and me to go to school.
She returned to Collingtree but was getting weaker Margaret and her brother Derek took it in turns staying all day and all night.

I was at work when one of the security team came to tell me to go to Collingtree but when I arrived there Mum had passed away. The date was 27th January 1993. When we got home I told the family I would do the running round for them. The funeral was at St Sepulchres and burial at Kingsthorpe Cemetery.

So ended two and a half years of happiness and sadness...

My Life Story by Colin Lloyd - Part 3

The year is 1956. I’ve been demobbed and returned to work and had moved into our house, number 9 Edith St, next to the diary in the cul de sac. Things were beginning to change at the Co-op and I was continually being shunted from shop to shop as a stand in and eventually finished up working at the pork factory in Ransome Rd, cutting up pork and making sausages.

Meanwhile my first daughter Jane was born in St Edmunds Hospital on July 12th. I decided that there was no future in what I was doing so in September I gave in my notice and started work for Dewhurst Butchers. My first shop was in the Drapery and It was so small that if you had two people working behind the counter, the shop was full. The cutting room was in the basement.

Before long I was being sent out and about as holiday relief to different shops all over the place. One of the first was the Farmers Supplies in the centre of town, opposite the Town Hall, next to Brown's shop. There was plenty of room in the shop but in the middle of the floor was a large trap door down into the basement and you had to be careful you didn't fall down. The manager grew his own tomatoes and used to bring them in to sell but they were so beautiful I was always eating them.

Then I was sent to Bedford where there were three shops. The first, in Silver Street, was very busy. While there, I was amazed at the amount of chitlins they used to sell. At lunch time I often went along to the embankment, where I used to feed the swans and the ducks. The second shop was in St John’s Street and it was there, one Christmas, I took some homemade wine. We finished up sitting on the blocks spearing chicken giblets with our knives. The third shop was in Ampthill Road where my main job was to deliver orders and collect the money.

To get to Bedford I had to catch a train from Bridge Street station at 7.30 and then catch the 6.30 home. On the homeward journey the train used to pass under the Yardley Hastings to Olney Road where there was a slaughter house. Sometimes the train had to wait for the signals to change and the smell was terrible. One of the lads knew the manager of Collins pet store and if we could get up there by six o 'clock he would give us a lift home in the van so we were home by 6.45.

Another shop I used to go to was in the High Street in Market Harborough andI think this was the one I used to enjoy more than any other. I used to catch the 8.30 bus to Market Harborough, which got in at 9.30 and then catch the 6.03 home in the evening. Eventually, I decided to try and hitchhike, so I used to cycle to the Kingsthorpe shop and then walk along the road to Whitehills, where I would eventually get a lift. I was picked up regularly by a van driver from Linnels and I used to get there by just gone 8.30. The manager was very good to his staff. During the week if we weren’t busy, he would let me come home with the delivery driver but I always stayed behind on market day, Fridays and Saturdays. Each lunch time we would steam fry a mutton breast, get a Spanish onion and put them in the fire and go down the pub. That was our lunch, washed down with a glass of cider.

My final shop was the one in Kingsthorpe, where I went as a relief manager. I was there for about three months before I once again finished up working in the cold store, in Far Cotton, behind the old Tivoli cinema. 

Whilst working as a butcher, I was still in the RNV(W)R and I had to do two weeks training each year. This was done aboard HMS ISIS, which was an inshore minesweeper.

In 1957 we went to Bruges and on to the World Fair in Brussels, which was very entertaining. In 1958 we went to a small fishing village in Norway called Odda. The only way the village could be supplied was by boat. I met a man who was a school teacher, teaching English there, so when I came home, I went to my old school to get some pen friends for the children in Odda.

In September of 1958 I handed in my notice at Dewhurst's and applied for a job with United Counties as a conductor. I received two weeks training for my job as a bus conductor and when I passed, my first journey was the 302 to Moulton. I remember it well.

My favourite journey was to Aylesbury via Buckingham. We would leave at 10.30 am arriving in Buckingham at 1200 noon where we had half hour break giving us time to go and have a cup of tea. After leaving at 1230 we continued to Aylesbury via Winslow, getting there at about 1.30. We had another wait of an hour before we left Aylesbury at 2.30, getting back into Northampton at 4.30 giving us time to make one more trip, to Harpole and back. That was a good day's work. Sometimes we worked a split shift, perhaps 3 hours early morning and then another 4 hours in the afternoon covering the rush hour but we got paid from the hour we started in the morning to when we finished in the evening, which could run into 12 hours.

We were often met on the road by inspectors, who would travel out in a car, so you didn't know where they would turn up. If you were running early they would report you and you had to go before the manager, Mr Maycock, who would issue you with a warning. This only happened to me once and that was on my favourite run, to Aylesbury. Most of the inspectors were pretty good and helpful if they got on during a busy time especially on the Duston run. Then they would ride on the platform and operate the bell whilst you went round collecting the fares and issuing the tickets. We also had to issue weekly and monthly tickets to workers, especially on the Corby run for the steel workers.

The Company sometimes asked for volunteers to work at Bletchley, which meant you would catch the 6.00 train to Bletchley and come back on the 6.30 at night, so you were paid about 14 hours a day. Due to the low bridges in that town, there were only single deckers available so, when you went to the estates, you would pick up perhaps 50 or more passengers and as you had no chance of collecting the fares, you stood in the doorway and the passengers would drop the money in your bag. As soon as the bus was empty, we had about a quarter of an hour break before making the return journey, so I would reel off 47 or so tickets and on the way back on the train we would work out what went into your bagging up pouch and what didn't. I used to regularly volunteer as I knew that on Market days and Saturdays you were on a good thing.

I was sitting in the canteen one day when an inspector came up to me and asked if I wanted to train as a driver. Now, I had never been inside a car let alone driven one and I told him this. He replied "all the better, that way you can start from scratch" So I said ok let's give it a go . . . .

Right here we go, the first day of my driving lessons.

The bus was an old half cab with all the insides ripped out. My instructor drove it to the bottom of Rushmere Road and I had to practise double de-clutching (where you had to dip the clutch twice to engage the gears) It took nearly all day for me to get the hang of it. I also took a lot of time getting used to letting the clutch out slowly, so that I could pull away into the traffic flow. Once I had mastered that, he would take me half way up Rushmere Road and stop on the hill. There he would put a matchbox behind the rear wheel and I had to pull away without rolling back ward. Once I had mastered that, we went back to the Bedford Road junction with Rushmere Road. Before the junction was altered, there was a fork in the road, left fork to Bedford and right to Northampton. He made me reverse around this for what seemed like all day, telling me "once you can do this, you can reverse around any corner". One day we had had about two inches of snow. My instructor took me out to the Mears Ashby/Sywell cross roads and he told me to reverse round one of the corners without using the mirrors and looking around at the back of the bus. He simply said "watch the kerb". I said " what kerb?" You could not see it for snow; he said "well just guess". He was a bit of a comic. After about six tries, I finally got it right. After two weeks training, I graduated to a double decker and what a difference that was. The only way the instructor could communicate was through a small window behind the driver. There had a special bus which he would train us on, number 713. It had bent clutch plates and you could not change gears the same way twice but once you got used to it was quite easy. He would then take me out around town to get used to the traffic and then onto longer routes i.e. Wellingborough, Kettering and Corby. After that, he would ask "which routes are you not sure of?" So I picked my favourite, which of course was Aylesbury, a lovely drive. Towards the end he would take me out at night to get used to night driving around Walgrave, Hannington and Old. This was a six week course in total.

Then came the day for me to take my test. The examiner told me to turn left out of the bus station turn right into Cheyne Walk, continue to Abington Square, along Kettering Road to the White Elephant, then turn left into Kingsley Road going along to the Cock Hotel where we were to turn left to go back into town and the bus station. There I was to back it on to a bay. While I was carrying out this final manoeuvre, backing onto the bay, he was writing my pink slip out. I HAD PASSED !!!! This had taken place in the morning and I was given overtime in the afternoon. My first journey was to Old via Moulton, Holcot and Walgrave. The only problem I encountered was getting out of York Road into Abington Square with a full load. I quickly realised you needed first gear to get up and around the corner.

I was then put on a rota system whereby I would be on earlies one week then lates the next. Sometimes we were put on a split shift. We had a different conductor each shift but everything worked just fine and after six months, everything was running smoothly and I had got used to everything. I only had one mishap! That was while I was reversing in the dark at Piddington. I was waiting for the conductor to ring the bell telling me when to stop. Unfortunately, he didn't ring the bell until after I had reversed into a garden wall. I had to appear before the manager but got away with a warning.

By this time my youngest daughter had been born, May 20th Jennifer Elizabeth.. . . . . . .

Every now and then we would get a shift where one was on standby, this meant waiting in the canteen until all the scheduled drivers were accounted for. In the event of a driver not turning up, the standby driver took over his shift. One morning, an inspector approached me and asked if I would do an overnight trip to London. Because the coach drivers were separate from the ordinary drivers, I told to the inspector to clear it with them first, which he did. I also told him that I did not know the route and his reply was not to worry as the inspector, who logs the coaches out of London, would be coming with me. I agreed to do it. I was told to go home and to return at 5.30pm to take the 6.00 coach to London via Luton, when I went home, my wife could not believe it.

I packed a bag and returned to the bus station at 5.30 and met the inspector, Lou Chapman who said he would look after the passengers and that all I had to do was drive and so we set off. The first stop was Newport Pagnell, onto Wavendon, Dunstable and Luton. The first passengers alighted at Harpenden and we continued our journey onto St Albans. From there it was Barnet, Finchley, Golders Green and then onto Marlybone Road. I drove down Edgeware Road and in the nearside lane were the red London double decker buses. I was getting a bit close to them so the inspector told me to look out of my window to check that there was plenty of room. We carried on to Hyde Park and onto Victoria Coach Station where we were to drop off the passengers and then parked the coach in Samuels Garage opposite the Coach Station where we met up with other drivers that did the M1 run. Some of them had arrived only an hour earlier.

We took our bags along to our rooms which were only a ten minute walk away before going out for supper. We then went to the West End to one of the Steak Houses where you can't beat a good plate of steak and chips. Then, it was back to the digs. In the morning after a good breakfast, we met up with two colleagues, and together we went and collected our coaches. We all left at 9.00, two of us on the Motorway, which was a 2 hour run and the other, on the route I had travelled the previous evening, which was a 3 hour run.

My Motorway run was uneventful and I arrived back in Northampton at 11.00, when I was sent home and told to return at 5.30 to do a run to Nottingham at 6.00. My job, on this occasion was to follow another coach, which was being driven by Bill Mills a very good driver. We left Northampton and after calling at Market Harborough, continued our journey via Leicester, Loughborough and onto Nottingham. We parked our coaches in the bus garage before going to the pub opposite the depot. This particular establishment was run by an ex- policeman and quite often the police inspector and sergeant would turn up and would come in, take off their hats and have a pint with us.

One morning I was driving towards Northampton along the Newport Pagnell Road approaching Baxter's abattoir. It was very hot and the coaches we drove had got split windscreens which we could unscrew allowing us to push the windscreen outwards.

I had a full load of passengers and as we came down the hill, in the middle of the road was a pheasant which I expected it to fly either right or left, but it didn’t. The next thing I knew was a bang and it came through the windscreen and dropped on to the steering wheel. I stopped the coach and as the bird was still fluttering about so I got out of the bus and wrung its neck! When I arrived at Derngate, the inspector asked me what had happened, so I showed him the pheasant and said “he was to blame not me” I took it home plucked it and prepared it for dinner and It was lovely and it apparently had only had a bruised backside.

During my first year, we often had to do runs to Eastbourne, Hastings and Brighton. These left at Northampton at 3.30am, so we could get down there in time to come back at about 9.30. It seemed quite strange driving through London early in the morning as we went along the A23 to Brighton and along the A22 to Eastbourne and Hastings. One particular Saturday, I was running back empty from Brighton and one of the local Southdown coaches had broken down, they asked if I would do the run to London once it had been cleared by my own inspector. They then gave me a route to follow and information about where to pick up and everything went fine and I reached London on time.

If we were not doing any service runs, we were often asked to do seaside trips during school term time to Skegness and during school holidays, we would take trips to Lowestoft, Yarmouth and Hunstanton.

In September United Counties would take over the Royal Blue service to Portsmouth via Oxford, Swindon, Winchester, Southampton and Portsmouth. We would leave at 11 am and get to Portsmouth about 4.30 to 5.00 pm. After leaving the coach at the Southdown bus garage, we would go to the lodgings where we stayed overnight. It was lovely; we’d have a smashing dinner and then out to the cinema. The first time I saw "The Sound of Music" I it was in Portsmouth. When I arrived back at my lodgings there was cheese and biscuits and tea or coffee waiting to be enjoyed before going to bed. There was always an electric blanket warming the bed, and indeed it was luxury at its best. In the morning we would go to collect the coach and make it ready for the return trip.

1962 saw us take delivery of some new coaches which although they were longer, were a lot easier to drive. They had rear mounted engines. The early morning runs were discontinued, meaning we didn't need to leave until about 7.00 and for every two coaches, there were three drivers. This meant we could share the driving and cut our driving hours down. On the A2 going to Ramsgate and Margate, there were some construction works building a new road and our speed was very low. This meant the driver that wasn't driving would jump out and go and get ice lollies for all of us.

Occasionally, if we had done an early Sunday run from London, the inspector would ask for volunteers to take out an evening tour from the Market Square and if I was asked, I agreed. They would let me go and pick my mother up so she could travel with us. There were a few raised eyebrows when I used to take a single decker around Kingsway to Canons Walk. We had some good nights and always finished up at a pub for a quick drink.

1962-1963.When there had been a very heavy fall of snow, I was returning from Nottingham with another driver. We reached Maidwell Hill only to find there was only one lane open and at the bottom of the hill was a lorry and trailer. The other coach driver was in the front coach, so I got out and watched him descend the hill. I was walking backwards when all of a sudden I felt a bump, I had walked into the tow bar of the lorry's trailer! The coach was still coming so I jumped onto the tow bar out of harm’s way. I remained on the tow bar all the way to the top of the hill where the lorry driver stopped to let me off. I then drove down the hill and on to Northampton where we arrived about three quarters of an hour late.

Later that year and again in the snow, I was driving to London and following a lorry laden with bricks, & when we reached the M10 junction we saw a police car facing us with its headlights full on. The brick lorry driver braked and I did the same, but as I touched my brakes my coach started sliding on the icy road surface. I knew there was no way I could miss the lorry so I tried to steer on to the central reservation. Fortunately, immediately before colliding with the lorry, two men who were sitting in the seat behind the door walked to the back of the coach. I say fortunately, because the front near side of the coach was completely demolished and I was winded by the steering wheel. When the Police came to check on everyone, I told them that I needed another coach, they told me they had already radioed to Luton and another coach was on its way. I continued the journey to London and then drove back.

When I arrived back at Northampton, I was informed that I was to go back onto the ordinary rota, driving a double Decker! But after three weeks I was re-instated. The two men who had walked to the back of the coach, had come forward and spoke on my behalf, telling management that there was nothing I could do to prevent a collision. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I had one more mishap. One evening I was scheduled to take the 6pm coach to London when we were 15 minutes late leaving Northampton and unfortunately couldn't make up the lost time. To make up that time, I decided to take a short cut through Belgrave Square to the Kings Road, in Chelsea. It was raining as we approached a set of traffic lights, but the road was wet as the lights changed to Amber and I carried on. Unfortunately these lights did not have a pause on them and a mini cab travelling along Kings Road came across the junction and collided with my coach. The mini cab hit my coach just behind the front door, bounced off and demolished the traffic light junction box. While we were waiting for the police to arrive a taxi driver came up and told me that if I had any problems to get in touch with him.

As a result of the accident I was charged with driving without due care and attention, and I was summoned to appear at Marylbone Magistrates Court. The driver’s Union solicitor appeared for me and the taxi driver came to court to give evidence on my behalf. However! The mini cab driver did not turn up, and when I gave my version of what happened although I was found not guilty. I was given a telling off for going off route because coaches had a set route to follow. When the solicitor asked the taxi driver how much he wanted for appearing, the cabby said he wanted no payment as it was nice to get one over the mini cabs, as at the time there was a war going on between the taxis and the mini cabs .

The day the above accident happened I was waiting to take a coach to London. As I could not turn right I had to turn left and go along Bridge Street.

I remember going out one evening with some other crews for supper to a steak house. After eating my meal I happened to comment that I could eat that again. Next thing I knew the inspector had ordered another meal for me told me that I had to eat it and I just about managed to eat it all. By the end of March I was getting more than a little fed up and I was offered a job with Heep's Coaches at Guilsborough so I tendered my resignation and my work for the United Counties Omnibus Company was at an end...

This brings to an end the third part of my story. . . . .

A 1960s Childhood in Northampton – Part 4 School Days (Primary School)

Spring Hill

I didn't want to go to school, I was perfectly happy at home, I wasn't used to spending time with other children and my first weeks at school were frightening and upsetting. The school that my parents had chosen was Spring Hill in Cliftonville (it was the junior department of Northampton High School for Girls). At the time it felt very big and frightening, but it wasn't really. It was a beautiful house with a big gravel drive and a lovely garden. Cliftonville was very different and much quieter in those days, there were allotments stretching back towards the Bedford Road on the land which is now occupied by Northampton General Hospital.

In summer we wore red, yellow or green gingham check dresses, a blazer, a Panama hat and white gloves. At first the winter uniform consisted of a navy blue skirt, navy cardigan, white shirt, a school tie, navy gabardine raincoat, a navy hat and navy gloves. Thankfully they changed the uniform after a year or two, to a much more practical blue pinafore dress worn over a mustard coloured turtle neck jumper with a Harris Tweed coat instead of the gabardine raincoat, so I was released from the worry of ties until I moved up to Towerfield. Our uniform had to be bought from Sanderson’s on the Kettering Road, I didn’t enjoy going there, the uniform was expensive and it had to be bought with plenty of growing room so it always involved trying on lots of different sizes and lengths which I detested. We had to buy our shoes from Jones in St Giles Street, which was another ordeal; we had to have indoor shoes, outdoor shoes, black gym shoes and dancing shoes. As I progressed through the school the uniform requirements relaxed a little, but I vividly remember how much I hated my first pair of indoor shoes. They had buttons on rather than a buckle and at age four I couldn’t manage the button on my own. Our school books were also bought from St Giles Street, from a shop called Savages which was not far from Lawrences. I rather liked going to that shop, I could have stayed there all day looking at the books.

Spring Hill

I was terrified of Miss Beasley the headmistress of Spring Hill, but I remember other teachers more fondly. It was a girls’ school, but a few boys attended until the age of seven; we had two boys in our class. In Kindergarten we only went to school in the mornings, and then when we progressed to Upper Kindergarten we stayed for two afternoons as well. From Transition onwards we had one half day each week. Most of us lived too far away to go home for lunch so we had to stay at school. Lunch was a very formal affair with all sorts of rules to be observed, we had to have our own napkins and napkin rings. We could ask for 'small' or 'ordinary' helpings and selected second form pupils (age eight) took turns as servers. The meals were quite nice really but as far as I was concerned Friday was the worse day, fish in parsley sauce with potatoes and mushy peas! I have always detested mushy peas and fish in parsley sauce was not among my favourite meals. After lunch we had ‘rest’ we walked across to the annex and after queuing to collect our rugs from the rack outside the cloakroom we went to the hall, unrolled our rugs and lay down to rest. When we were all settled stories were read to us by the teacher on duty; The Borrowers, Milly Molly Mandy, Dr Doolittle, Sam Pig, The Country Child, 101 Dalmatians, The Moomins, My Naughty Little Sister, Paddington Bear, Little Grey Rabbit and so many more good books. I loved them all and I can remember them very clearly so many years later. Rest supported the formal process of learning to read by nurturing a less formal enjoyment of books.

Our school day was regulated by the shiny brass bell with a wooden handle which stood on the table outside the staff room. At the end of each lesson a second form pupil would be given the coveted task of ringing the bell. The worst part of Spring Hill was music lessons with Mrs Willson who seemed to be at least a hundred years old. She stood us in a semi-circle and graded us according to our singing ability. I was always among the 'growlers' at the end of the row and I have detested music ever since. I loved handwork lessons; we did sewing - making such things as oven gloves and needle cases, weaving, raffia work, painting, making models with pipe cleaners, papier-mâché and junk modelling. I remember spending a whole afternoon making butter in a jam jar.The nature table kept us busy all year round. In spring we collected spring flowers, sticky buds and catkins. Then as spring reached into summer we saw tadpoles emerge from the frog spawn that we had collected. We watched fascinated as the tadpoles grew and gradually became frogs, then it was time for them to be taken back to the pond or stream that the frogspawn had come from. We collected feathers, fragments of birds’ eggs, scraps of sheep’s wool, caterpillars, sea shells, and even empty wasps nests. The darker evenings and cooler days of autumn gave us an endless supply of fallen leaves in rich autumn colours, we made displays of leaves and we used them in our art work. We collected acorns, conkers, berries of every kind and sycamore seeds that fluttered down from the tree spinning like tiny helicopters. As autumn gave way to winter we collected pinecones, honesty and other dried seed heads, glossy holly leaves and bright red berries. In Transition we kept silkworms in the classroom.

In those far off days when the government was too busy dealing with other matters to meddle with education, my school nurtured a love of books which has remained with me ever since. When I first started school at the age of four I wasn't too keen on learning to read, I had no need to read because I had a ready supply of adults to read to me. We had little red check gingham bags which hung on the backs of our chairs to hold our reading books. The Happy Venture reading scheme was deeply uninspiring, the books were about Dick and Dora, their friends May and Jack and their dog Nip. I suspect those books came out of the ark because as a child growing up in the 1960's I didn't know any children called Dick, Dora, May or Jack, I didn't identify with them and I couldn't care less about what the words meant because it was so boring. Who in their right mind would call a dog Nip, it is asking for trouble! We had better reading books later on, I think those were called Wide Range Readers, finally there was something worth reading and suddenly I could read. We also read poetry in class every week, I enjoyed it and I wanted to be able to read the words in the book (which I think was called Rhyme and Rhythm) so that I could read the poems again and again. The poems were fun, one of my favourites was called When Daddy Fell into The Pond by Alfred Noyes, but best of all was the Spike Milligan poem The Ning Nang Nong. As well as promoting a love of words and a desire to read, these early adventures provided a wonderful foundation on which a lasting love of poetry was built.

The school day always began with prayers in the hall. As we filed into the hall class by class Mrs Mossman played Men of Harlech on the piano. I don’t remember much about Prayers except that we always sang a hymn, my favourite at that time was ‘He who would valiant be’ and my least favourite was ‘God be in my head’. I think we had a Bible reading and a prayer as well but I really don’t remember. At the end of each school day we would line up in our classroom and our teacher would lead us across to the hall where we sat cross legged in the care of the teacher on duty until our mothers came to collect us. Then we when our names were called we had to walk across to the teacher, say ‘Good afternoon Mrs xxxx’ and hold out our hands to show that we were wearing our gloves (white for summer, navy for winter) and hats, before we were allowed to leave.

A couple of times each year we put on our hats and coats (and gloves of course) and walked two by two along the Billing Road to ‘main school’ in Derngate. The ‘toy service’ took place shortly before Christmas, it was a whole school carol service and we all took gifts of toys to donate to charity. To me it was an ordeal, main school was big and frightening and we had to spend weeks learning carols and practicing for the toy service. Sports day took place towards the end of the summer term on in the ‘main school’ grounds alongside Victoria Promenade. It was a very formal affair; our parents were seated in rows in the shade of the copper beech tree and the teachers were all in their best clothes. We had to practice the races for weeks before the big day; we even had to practice walking up to receive the winner’s ribbon and shaking hands. For me practice did not make perfect, I didn’t win any races so I was spared the worry of remembering how to shake hands properly.

I have lots of good memories of Spring Hill but perhaps the most enduring memory is the smell of TCP and the row of pupils with cut knees sitting in the First Form cloakroom waiting to have their knees bathed after falling over in the playground.

Towerfield

At age 9 we left Spring Hill behind and moved to Towerfield in Derngate. The two years that I spent there were among the happiest of my school career. We referred to that part of the school as Towerfield, but it actually consisted of two connected buildings, 66 Derngate (Towerfield) and 68 Derngate. They were wonderful old building with so much for inquisitive young girls to discover. There was a speaking tube and a dumb waiter between Miss Thornton’s classroom (on the ground floor in 68 Derngate) and Mrs Nichol’s room (above). If you entered the building at street level you had to go downstairs to reach the garden. There were cloakrooms downstairs in what were perhaps the old kitchens in 68 Derngate and there was a garden room below 66 Derngate. The gardens, which had retained some of their former charm, included a fish pond and a monkey puzzle tree. Beyond the paved area near the garden room some steps led down to a long narrow lawn where we played in summer. There were still one or two private houses between Towerfield and main school, but a path bordered by an old brick wall led along the right hand side of the Towerfield garden and around the back of the private gardens to the main school grounds. This enabled us to get to the main school without going out onto the street, but when we went to our music lessons at Beckett House on the corner of Victoria Promenade we had to walk along the pavement to get there

I loved 68 Derngate best of all

We first met Mrs Nichol in Towerfield, she had a low, strong voice and a certain style and presence. She taught 'Speech'. We had to write out and learn a poem every fortnight, then in the lesson we took turns to stand up and recite our poem to her and the class while she marked the exercise book. Her marks were not generous, but just occasionally everything went well and she gave an A*. We soon learnt not to get into her bad books. She was firm, but fair and she knew how to get the best out of people. My parents paid for me to have ‘Extra Speech’ lessons with her as well. We had to work hard, but I enjoyed working for Speech and Drama examinations. I perhaps didn't recognise it at the time, but Mrs Nichol played a significant part in my education and I have a lot to thank her for. I am grateful that we were required to learn so much good poetry by heart. I have kept my 'Poems for Pleasure' books from Towerfield days and they are among my most treasured possessions.

Mrs Noikavitch was my teacher for the first year at Towerfield, I liked her. Her room was upstairs in 66 Derngate; from the front window we could look across the road towards the veterinary surgery of Sutton Steel and Holmes (where an office block now stands) and from the back window we could look out over the gardens and the tennis courts, past the Cripps Block to Becket’s Park and beyond. Mrs Lett taught us history and biology, I liked both subjects but she made us copy notes from the board at top speed, you had to write very fast because when she ran out of space the notes would be rubbed off and written over. My worse memory is being made to run from school to the Mounts for swimming lessons, it was all uphill and we had to run through the derelict streets near the Mounts that were awaiting demolition. I was so pleased when later in my school career the pool at the hospital Cripps Centre was used for swimming instead; at least we didn’t have so far to run.

78 Derngate

I did not enjoy music lessons, but the music department was based in Becket House on the corner of Victoria Promenade and I became very fond of that building, it had bunches of grapes in the coving. I wish I had taken more notice of the wonderful buildings that were part of our school, but perhaps I was too young to appreciate them. 78 Derngate (the Charles Rennie McIntosh house) was owned by the school at that time and the downstairs room was used as a classroom. I didn’t have any lessons there, but I walked past it almost daily and I must have been into that classroom at some time or other, but I didn’t give it a second thought.

The Dining Room 78 Derngate was a school room

My second year at Towerfield was spent in Miss Thornton’s class. I missed the warm caring nature of Mrs Noikavitch, but Miss Thornton was interesting in a stiff and starchy sort of way. She sometimes took us out to explore forbidden parts of the garden and she told us about previous pupils that she had taught. I was amazed to find that Caroline Bradley (an international show jumper and one of my heroes at that time) had not only attended Northampton High, she had been taught in our classroom and had sat at one of our desks. Our desks were ancient, double desks made of heavy wood with bench seats and desk lids that opened up so that we could keep our books inside. Each desk had an inkwell and a groove along the top for pens. When we moved from Springhill to Towerfield we no longer wrote in pencil, we had to have an Osmiroid fountain pen. At the start of each term a brand new piece of pink blotting paper was issued to each pupil and we were expected to write neatly in our unlined exercise books, without blots. The inkwells were collected on a big wooden tray each week by the ink monitor and refilled with ink from a large bottle. We had monitors for everything, a door monitor to open and close the door when teachers or visitors came to the door (we had to stand whenever an adult entered the room), a book monitor to hand out and collect exercise books, a milk monitor to distribute our daily bottle of milk, and the most coveted job of all, a bell monitor who had to ring the hand bell which stood on a table in the entrance hall of 66 Derngate, at the end of each lesson.

At Spring Hill I was taken to and from school by car, but when I moved to Towerfield I was expected to travel home by bus. On the days when I went to my parents shop I caught the 6, 6A or 12 bus from George Row to St James. On other days I caught the number 8 bus, (I think from Wood Hill, but I’m not sure) to Landcross Drive. Several of us caught that bus and then walked together along Abington Park Crescent to our homes. Unfortunately there was not safety in numbers, the girls from Abington Vale School would surround us, grab our hats and throw them into the road to get run over. We were too scared to remove our hats, it was a terrible ‘sin’ to be spotted by a teacher in uniform without a hat on, but having our hats damaged made our parents angry because they were costly to replace. When I was a bit older, I caught the number 1 bus home instead because it was safer. 

A 1960s Childhood in Northampton - Part Three The Cottage

My parents business gave them little freedom, in those days we still had a half closing day, so on a Thursday afternoon the shop closed at 12.30pm and reopened to sell the evening newspapers at 4pm. Sunday mornings in the shop were surprisingly busy, coach loads of men heading out for a day of fishing crowded into the shop to stock up on sweets, cigarettes, newspapers and magazines. By the time the shop closed it was almost lunch time and my parents had already done the equivalent of a full days work. We would sit on the stairs and enjoy a milky coffee together before re stocking the shelves with sweets and cigarettes ready for the following morning, only then could we turn our back on the shop and escape for the afternoon.

Summers Sunday afternoons were spent at our cottage about thirty miles away in the north of the county. The car would be packed with food and toys and all the essentials for an enjoyable afternoon. We listened to the radio in the car, Jimmy Clithero was a great favourite of mine and his series The Clithero Kid was often on as we travelled. I still recall the whooshing noise of passing cars as we travelled along with the car windows open. The journey of about an hour took us through Kettering and out towards Corby past the huge cranes and the quarries that scarred the landscape, until we reached the village of Weldon. It was our routine to stop at a little shop there to buy an ice cream and I was allowed to buy some penny sweets, my parents didn’t sell such things and to me they were a great treat. The last part of our journey took us into a pretty rural world completely different from our everyday surroundings and I loved it. The bumpy farm track led us through a field of cattle, they surrounded the car and followed us lazily across the field to the cattle grid at the top, and then we drove away from the cattle along a lane bordered by the forest on one side and on the other a field sown variously with wheat, barley or fodder crops. The lane turned at the next cattle grid and led us past the farm house and on down the hill and up again towards the cottage and freedom.

For me the afternoon stretched into endless adventure, but for my mother and grandmother there was still work to do. We often had a cooked Sunday lunch, perhaps we had cold meat, I don’t recall, but the smell of minted new potatoes still conjures up memories of summer Sundays at the cottage. We always had a glass of pop with lunch on Sundays, Tizer or my favourite Cherryade, on other days we drank water with meals. Tea was usually a salad with tinned salmon, pork pie or cold meat and piles of bread and butter. Grandma always peeled the cucumber, sliced it thinly and served it in vinegar; I could eat it in those days but I decided long ago that life was too short to wrestle with the evils of cucumber or Brussels sprouts. Throughout my childhood tea was taken in cups with saucers, the mention of a mug would send Grandma into a decline and drinking out of such a thing was, like walking outside the house in your slippers, evidence of being ‘common’ and not properly brought up. Tea was made with loose tea in a teapot, the little spoon inside the tea caddy measured out just the right amount of tea, one spoon for each person and one for the pot. Even on a warm summer Sunday the teapot was adorned with a thick tea cosy to preserve the temperature while the tea brewed. There was always a homemade cake for Sunday tea time, Madeira perhaps or a fruit cake with almonds on the top or my absolute favourite, cherry cake. Often there would be jelly and tinned fruit and cream as well. Tinned mandarin oranges were a special favourite of mine, but I liked them just as they were, not with cream, ice cream or anything else. My other grandmother, known to her grandchildren as Nanny used to get the tinned oranges especially for me, but she always put Ideal milk on them, apparently my older cousin Calvin loved it, but I wished that she would keep it for him because it spoiled my oranges.

I had a sandpit at the cottage and a beautiful swing, sometimes we took my paddling pool, my dolls pram or my little bicycle, but I was happy to play on my own wandering in the lane looking for wild rabbits or bird’s nests. Often there were cattle in the field at the back of the cottage and I would spend hours leaning over the fence feeding them handfuls of long grass and letting them lick my fingers. I wasn’t afraid and even as a very tiny child I loved the cattle. There was ample evidence of the presence of moles and it was my job to jump on the molehills and flatten the soil. I only saw a live mole once; it had fallen into the pit of the cattle grid and become trapped. I wanted to stroke it until the farmer known to me as Uncle Joe said that it would bite me, but as an act of kindness to me he rescued the mole and set it free. That is one of the few occasions that I recall him making a concession to sentiment.

Rhubarb grew in the cottage garden, sometimes my mum would cut a nice stick of rhubarb for me, and when it was washed and cleaned she would give me a saucer with a little bit of Sugar on it to dip my stick of rhubarb and eat it raw. We picked gooseberries from the bush in the garden, I wasn’t quite as keen on eating those raw, I wasn’t over fond of them cooked either! Plums from the tree in the farmhouse orchard were much more to my taste as were the blackberries that grew in the hedgerows as summer turned towards autumn. Uncle grew peas, potatoes, runner beans and all sorts of salad crops in the cottage garden and we often went home laden with produce. I liked to pop the pea pods and scrape the peas in to a colander, but it was a pleasure tinged with fear as occasionally the pod would contain a wriggly maggot and I dreaded accidentally touching a maggot.

I recall little about the homeward journey, I always looked out for the Teddy Boys in their bright suits with drainpipe trousers as we drove through Kettering, but the movement of the car soothed me to sleep long before we got home.