Back to the neighbours
Closer even than neighbours were our lodgers, Mr. and Mrs. Whitefield. They rented two of our rooms, and shared our scullery.
In post World War II England such arrangements were not uncommon - there being such a shortage of housing.
“Uncle” Whitefield worked for the B.A.C - the Bristol Aeroplane Company, and we reckoned that anyone who worked there had “a good job”.
He was losing his hair, and “Auntie” Whitefield would give him a comb-over. He was a great supporter of Bristol Rovers Football Club (soccer), and wanted to take me to a game. My parents would not give permission on the grounds that I might hear bad language from the fans. (If only they could hear me now!).
The Whitefields owned a battery operated radio, and once in a while I would earn a few coppers by taking the accumulator (battery) to a home at the top of Stepney Road, where another neighbour had the equipment to charge the accumulator overnight.
When my brother Andrew came along in 1950, the Whitefields adored him, and I think would have liked to adopt him.
Now our home was getting very crowded and Uncle and Auntie Whitefield moved to a new City Council owned flat on Lower Knole Lane in Brentry, Bristol.
My twin sister and I would take the ‘buses to visit them, certain to be rewarded with a florin or a half crown.
Across the street from us were the Hurketts. Mr. Hurkett kept a lovely garden, and in the summer we would hear the click, click, click of his old fashioned mower.
From time to time a horse would pass by, maybe drawing a cart, or perhaps a horse for a mounted policeman. Mr. Hurkett, on hearing the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves would wait outside his gate, hoping that the horse would leave a gift - to be used as fertiliser
He had been a “tinker” (a mender of pots, kettles, pans, etc., usually an itinerant) which made him very romantic in my eyes.
At Christmas, each possessed with a good treble voice, my twin and I would sing carols for the Hurketts (and others in the neighborhood), and be rewarded with coins which we used to buy family Christmas gifts.
Across from the Hurketts, were the Perrys. I remember next to nothing about them, except that they were the very souls of that restrained English propriety and respectability which was the hallmark of successful English working class folks. They were amongst the nobility of our neighbourhood.
And there were the Staceys. Mr. Stacey sold insurance for the Cooperative Insurance Society. This was in the days when the “insurance man” came once every week or fortnight, and collected monies for simple life insurances. (I took one out “on my Dad” and was rewarded with maybe 30 pounds when Dad died in 1974 -- enough to buy a new suit for his funeral.)
Mr. Stacey owned a car, probably a Morris 8 and I remember seeing its chrome gleam in the sunlight. He was evidently quite successful, for in due course Mr. and Mrs. Stacey moved to the more than respectable suburb of Westbury-on-Trym. (revised Oct 7th to read Morris 8 instead of Austin 7)
In post World War II England such arrangements were not uncommon - there being such a shortage of housing.
“Uncle” Whitefield worked for the B.A.C - the Bristol Aeroplane Company, and we reckoned that anyone who worked there had “a good job”.
He was losing his hair, and “Auntie” Whitefield would give him a comb-over. He was a great supporter of Bristol Rovers Football Club (soccer), and wanted to take me to a game. My parents would not give permission on the grounds that I might hear bad language from the fans. (If only they could hear me now!).
The Whitefields owned a battery operated radio, and once in a while I would earn a few coppers by taking the accumulator (battery) to a home at the top of Stepney Road, where another neighbour had the equipment to charge the accumulator overnight.
When my brother Andrew came along in 1950, the Whitefields adored him, and I think would have liked to adopt him.
Now our home was getting very crowded and Uncle and Auntie Whitefield moved to a new City Council owned flat on Lower Knole Lane in Brentry, Bristol.
My twin sister and I would take the ‘buses to visit them, certain to be rewarded with a florin or a half crown.
Across the street from us were the Hurketts. Mr. Hurkett kept a lovely garden, and in the summer we would hear the click, click, click of his old fashioned mower.
From time to time a horse would pass by, maybe drawing a cart, or perhaps a horse for a mounted policeman. Mr. Hurkett, on hearing the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves would wait outside his gate, hoping that the horse would leave a gift - to be used as fertiliser
He had been a “tinker” (a mender of pots, kettles, pans, etc., usually an itinerant) which made him very romantic in my eyes.
At Christmas, each possessed with a good treble voice, my twin and I would sing carols for the Hurketts (and others in the neighborhood), and be rewarded with coins which we used to buy family Christmas gifts.
Across from the Hurketts, were the Perrys. I remember next to nothing about them, except that they were the very souls of that restrained English propriety and respectability which was the hallmark of successful English working class folks. They were amongst the nobility of our neighbourhood.
And there were the Staceys. Mr. Stacey sold insurance for the Cooperative Insurance Society. This was in the days when the “insurance man” came once every week or fortnight, and collected monies for simple life insurances. (I took one out “on my Dad” and was rewarded with maybe 30 pounds when Dad died in 1974 -- enough to buy a new suit for his funeral.)
Mr. Stacey owned a car, probably a Morris 8 and I remember seeing its chrome gleam in the sunlight. He was evidently quite successful, for in due course Mr. and Mrs. Stacey moved to the more than respectable suburb of Westbury-on-Trym. (revised Oct 7th to read Morris 8 instead of Austin 7)
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