The folks on our Terrace
Our terrace contained five houses. Each backed on to the old L.M.S. railway (now a bike path), and the terrace was on the rise which led up to the railway bridge.
We were # 47, and the Charltons and Auntie Elsie, of whom I have written were at #49.
At #43 were the Halletts. They were jobbing builders. They had an "L" shaped builders’ yard, the bottom end of which cut across our back garden.
Old Mr. and Mrs. Hallett were pleasant enough, and my parents and they would have the occasional “across the wall” chat. They were the only neighbours with a ‘phone, so we relied on them for the occasional emergency call. They had two children, Phyllis and Don who worked in the family business.
Phyllis was the book-keeper for the family business, and I always think of her) pardon the expression) as a “maiden lady of a certain age”. She kept herself to herself, and bore a certain air of disapproval.
Don, the son, in due course inherited the family business. This was long after he married a lovely woman named Joan. As was the custom, even though we were not invited guests, Mum took a few of us children to the wedding at St. Stephen’s Church in Soundwell, Staple Hill.
Sometime before the wedding, my twin sister and I took a wedding gift to Don and Joan. We gave them a tubular canister of “spills”. “Spills” were maybe 8” x ¼” pieces of very thin wood. They were used to take a light from the open fire for a pipe or cigarette, or to take a light from one already lit gas stove burner to another.
That was the only time I ever entered their home.
Joan was the most friendly of the family. She and Don never had children, and I think that she grew sadder as the days went by. She was always so very kind to us, even when we reached our peak of nine children.
Don was a “piece of work”. He had a certain arrogance and disdain towards his neighbours. Once, soon after Dad had died, he climbed the wall into our garden to erect a fence on the low brick wall which separate his yard from our garden. Mum was incensed and offended that he had not bothered to ask for permission to enter our garden.
It was left to me to “ream him out” which I greatly enjoyed.
At #51 were Mr. and Mrs. Fox. They kept themselves to themselves. They too never had children. Mrs. Fox was “house-proud to the max”. She was reckoned by other neighbours to be shrewish and gossipy and we were not supposed to like her. (She was Welsh, and that was, in good English fashion, held against her).
# 53 was owned by the Plymouth Brethren of the Gospel Hall we attended. The house’s big wide side wall could be seen from the railway bridge, and the Brethren painted a text theron.
“But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 8:5).
I am not sure if that text “saved” anyone. But it confused me. I thought that the third word was “condemneth” and I could not understand why God would condemn his love!
The Brethren used the house to accommodate missionaries and evangelists who were on furlough. First, there was Mr. and Mrs. Norton, and their daughter Ivy, retired missionaries from India. I adored Ralph Norton, and when I was a little boy I said “when I grow up I want to be like Mr. Norton”.
Ivy taught piano, and I was enrolled as a pupil. But I did not like to practice! In their spare and un-heated bedroom the Nortons had nothing but a bed frame and spring on which they stored apples, to eat in the winter months. Ivy Norton took me there one day to pick out an apple, a somewhat shriveled “Coxes Orange Pippin”. I suppose that they had bought the apples in bulk during the season.
After the Nortons came the Moores. They too had been missionaries somewhere or other - I think in the Caribbean. Jack Moore was a pompous bully. I rang the door bell one day to ask if I could see his son Ken, a lad about my age. “Why to you want to see him?” bellowed Mr. Moore. “Because he is my friend” I replied. “No” said Mr. Moore, “he is not your friend, he is just an acquaintance, and you may not see him”.
Then came the Hislops, (or Hyslops) Mr. Hislop was an evangelist. He set up tents (in the American “Revival” fashion) , from which he blustered “the Gospel”.
As an earnest young 17 year old Plymouth Brother, I “worked for his campaign” in Yate, Glos, when I was employed at the Westminster Bank in nearby Chipping Sodbury.
He said one thing which I have never forgotten. “God” he said, “has cast all our sins in the depths of the sea”. Mr. Hislop continued - “then God put up a sign saying ‘no fishing’” Not a bad description of unconditional grace!
Tomorrow, a bit about other neighbours, the Hurketts and the Parrys, and some stuff about local traders - with thanks to my brother Martyn for his reminder of these.
We were # 47, and the Charltons and Auntie Elsie, of whom I have written were at #49.
At #43 were the Halletts. They were jobbing builders. They had an "L" shaped builders’ yard, the bottom end of which cut across our back garden.
Old Mr. and Mrs. Hallett were pleasant enough, and my parents and they would have the occasional “across the wall” chat. They were the only neighbours with a ‘phone, so we relied on them for the occasional emergency call. They had two children, Phyllis and Don who worked in the family business.
Phyllis was the book-keeper for the family business, and I always think of her) pardon the expression) as a “maiden lady of a certain age”. She kept herself to herself, and bore a certain air of disapproval.
Don, the son, in due course inherited the family business. This was long after he married a lovely woman named Joan. As was the custom, even though we were not invited guests, Mum took a few of us children to the wedding at St. Stephen’s Church in Soundwell, Staple Hill.
Sometime before the wedding, my twin sister and I took a wedding gift to Don and Joan. We gave them a tubular canister of “spills”. “Spills” were maybe 8” x ¼” pieces of very thin wood. They were used to take a light from the open fire for a pipe or cigarette, or to take a light from one already lit gas stove burner to another.
That was the only time I ever entered their home.
Joan was the most friendly of the family. She and Don never had children, and I think that she grew sadder as the days went by. She was always so very kind to us, even when we reached our peak of nine children.
Don was a “piece of work”. He had a certain arrogance and disdain towards his neighbours. Once, soon after Dad had died, he climbed the wall into our garden to erect a fence on the low brick wall which separate his yard from our garden. Mum was incensed and offended that he had not bothered to ask for permission to enter our garden.
It was left to me to “ream him out” which I greatly enjoyed.
At #51 were Mr. and Mrs. Fox. They kept themselves to themselves. They too never had children. Mrs. Fox was “house-proud to the max”. She was reckoned by other neighbours to be shrewish and gossipy and we were not supposed to like her. (She was Welsh, and that was, in good English fashion, held against her).
# 53 was owned by the Plymouth Brethren of the Gospel Hall we attended. The house’s big wide side wall could be seen from the railway bridge, and the Brethren painted a text theron.
“But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 8:5).
I am not sure if that text “saved” anyone. But it confused me. I thought that the third word was “condemneth” and I could not understand why God would condemn his love!
The Brethren used the house to accommodate missionaries and evangelists who were on furlough. First, there was Mr. and Mrs. Norton, and their daughter Ivy, retired missionaries from India. I adored Ralph Norton, and when I was a little boy I said “when I grow up I want to be like Mr. Norton”.
Ivy taught piano, and I was enrolled as a pupil. But I did not like to practice! In their spare and un-heated bedroom the Nortons had nothing but a bed frame and spring on which they stored apples, to eat in the winter months. Ivy Norton took me there one day to pick out an apple, a somewhat shriveled “Coxes Orange Pippin”. I suppose that they had bought the apples in bulk during the season.
After the Nortons came the Moores. They too had been missionaries somewhere or other - I think in the Caribbean. Jack Moore was a pompous bully. I rang the door bell one day to ask if I could see his son Ken, a lad about my age. “Why to you want to see him?” bellowed Mr. Moore. “Because he is my friend” I replied. “No” said Mr. Moore, “he is not your friend, he is just an acquaintance, and you may not see him”.
Then came the Hislops, (or Hyslops) Mr. Hislop was an evangelist. He set up tents (in the American “Revival” fashion) , from which he blustered “the Gospel”.
As an earnest young 17 year old Plymouth Brother, I “worked for his campaign” in Yate, Glos, when I was employed at the Westminster Bank in nearby Chipping Sodbury.
He said one thing which I have never forgotten. “God” he said, “has cast all our sins in the depths of the sea”. Mr. Hislop continued - “then God put up a sign saying ‘no fishing’” Not a bad description of unconditional grace!
Tomorrow, a bit about other neighbours, the Hurketts and the Parrys, and some stuff about local traders - with thanks to my brother Martyn for his reminder of these.
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