"They did a survey to find out where people are happiest living in the UK. And do you know where was top?"
"No Grandma, where?"
"Skipton."
"Never!"
"Yes. It's probably the countryside - we're right on its doorstep. We were always happy out and about. It was good the 1930's you know, we didn't want for anything - we were just happy out in the fields around here."
... The 1930's is a time Grandma, not a place. But I'm glad you are happy there!
The 1930's is a topic of conversation much visited when any of us pop over for tea. I still enjoy hearing the tales which conjure up another era within these blackened-brick terraces, with their chimneys smoking in the crisp autumn air. The measuring out of days by memory and mealtimes. The simplicity of a home without TV, internet, entertainment... just armchairs, a ticking clock, an electric fire, the sun steadily stretching across the garden and pond as the visit passes.
Today's tale came from 1937. The girls and boys would go up to the Science and Arts school for their separate classes on a given day. Cookery on this particular Monday morning was 'poached eggs on toast'...
"It took the whole morning. First you would have to go up there - the teacher didn't come. You just walked up by yourself. There were tables all round the edge of the room. No heating but a great big fireplace with a guard in front, you know the type? And the teacher had a desk at the front. She told us how we had to mek' the toast golden brown. My older brother teased me about it when I got home, cos I said I wanted mine golden brown. It didn't matter if it were burnt on one end, but I'd been told you see! This teacher talked on - told us how to poach the egg and so on. Well then it were playtime. We didn't have a yard, and we weren't given anything to drink. Just a break. Then after that she told us to go up in groups and toast our bread on the toasting forks over the fire. Well, can you imagine! Groups of us girls jostling each other- pushing as we tried to waft our toast from side to side, leaning over this guard! I don't know... "
And on the story went. 1930's schooling, children left to cook their own lunches or supper of hotpot for the family. Apparently, Grandma's greatest success was her Christmas cake, which they baked one week and iced the following. She has no interest in my retelling of the Great British Bake Off, but has insisted I bake and bring "Melted Moments" next time I visit.
After a doze in the sunshine, the film reel splutters back into play - we are back in the arts school and I listen as Grandma chuckles to herself, "And then once, me and the other girls were dutifully doing our laundry. We'd pegged out our pillowcases in the back to dry. The boys were across the street, where they had their woodwork class, and this day they took to flinging bits of wood and dirt at the laundry at playtime! There was nothing the teacher could do, so we washed them again." ... "They used flat irons - they were red hot - not at all safe!" Grandma exclaims, "We had one each, you know. Nothing electric in them days."
Ah, them days. Them good ol' Yorkshire days in the happiest place on earth.
"No Grandma, where?"
"Skipton."
"Never!"
"Yes. It's probably the countryside - we're right on its doorstep. We were always happy out and about. It was good the 1930's you know, we didn't want for anything - we were just happy out in the fields around here."
... The 1930's is a time Grandma, not a place. But I'm glad you are happy there!
Today's tale came from 1937. The girls and boys would go up to the Science and Arts school for their separate classes on a given day. Cookery on this particular Monday morning was 'poached eggs on toast'...
"It took the whole morning. First you would have to go up there - the teacher didn't come. You just walked up by yourself. There were tables all round the edge of the room. No heating but a great big fireplace with a guard in front, you know the type? And the teacher had a desk at the front. She told us how we had to mek' the toast golden brown. My older brother teased me about it when I got home, cos I said I wanted mine golden brown. It didn't matter if it were burnt on one end, but I'd been told you see! This teacher talked on - told us how to poach the egg and so on. Well then it were playtime. We didn't have a yard, and we weren't given anything to drink. Just a break. Then after that she told us to go up in groups and toast our bread on the toasting forks over the fire. Well, can you imagine! Groups of us girls jostling each other- pushing as we tried to waft our toast from side to side, leaning over this guard! I don't know... "
And on the story went. 1930's schooling, children left to cook their own lunches or supper of hotpot for the family. Apparently, Grandma's greatest success was her Christmas cake, which they baked one week and iced the following. She has no interest in my retelling of the Great British Bake Off, but has insisted I bake and bring "Melted Moments" next time I visit.
Ah, them days. Them good ol' Yorkshire days in the happiest place on earth.
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