Accompanying Mum on her Friday afternoon shop in Wenlock was a big treat! This was very much a social outing calling for clean dresses and freshly braided hair! Mother herself wore her ‘best’ clothes with her favourite hat and handbag. She even put on a dab of powder and smear of lipstick!
Primarily a social event, lots of time seemed to be spent waiting patiently while Mum met with friends and neighbours. We were always certain to meet several farmers’ wives in from the countryside around as well as most of the members of the WI and Mothers’ Union! This was a time to catch up on all the village gossip and discussing upcoming events and plans without giving one’s complete commitment! Such conversations always ended with
“Well of course I’d love to but I’m not sure, I’ll have to check with my husband”!
It was fascinating to hear how my mother’s way of speaking would immediately change from ‘Kings English’ to broad Shropshire (and visa versa) to match her audience. Since we were always corrected unless we spoke ‘properly’ this seemed a bit unfair! In her defence, looking back now, I don’t think she was even aware of the way her speech changed.
Christian names were never used! It was always ‘Mrs. Yates’. Since there were several ‘Mrs. Yates’ in and around the town, when mentioned in other folks’ conversation, their husbands’ Christian name would be added. In Wenlock, we had Mrs. Don Yates, Mrs. Ted Yates,Mrs. George Yates and the late Mrs Fred Yates in our family alone!
Our first stop was always Phillips Grocery Store. Here, as in most stores, there were chairs in front of the counter where the ladies always sat as they gave their order. The shop assistant quickly came forward with a small order pad, (on which she wrote Mum’s name and the date), and a cardboard box. Very few items were pre-packaged, everything had to be weighed or cut so it was quite a lengthy process. Mother would request 2 lbs of sugar. This would be written on the order pad, weighed carefully, tipped into a blue paper bag, added to the box and the price written on the order pad. Next it was the tea. I think the flour came in 2 lb bags ready packed and of course there were some tinned items like syrup, baked beans and canned fruit which used ‘points’ from our Ration Books. There was no frozen food!
The cheese wheel was massive and a special marble slab with a cutting wire was used to cut off the requested amount. If it was too much or too little Mother would request that they cut another piece. I suppose the first chunk was sold to another customer. Coffee beans were weighed and then ground, filling the air with their pungent aroma.
Flitches of bacon hung from the roof on huge hooks and these were lifted down and cut by Mr. Martin himself. Mr. Martin was the manager and there was another younger man was the Assistant Manager. All the machines were operated by these two men. The shopgirls only wrote and packed the orders and did all the cleaning and most of the shelf stocking.
When our order was finally finished, the order list was placed inside the box which was set on one side ready for the Delivery Boy. He had a bicycle with a huge basket and often he had already delivered our order before we returned home. Nobody locked their back door and delivery people just came in and set stuff on the table inside the back door.
Now it was time to pay for last week’s groceries. Mother had brought the previous week’s list with her having checked all the prices and amounts carefully when she unpacked the box. If there were any discrepancies these were discussed and rectified. Only then did she take out her purse. Susan and I became very attentive at this point waiting for our favourite part!
The bill and the cash were placed by the shop assistant in a small metal cup. This cup was pushed into the base of a long tube. Immediately with a tremendous whoosh the cup shot up the tube and over our head down into a very small glassed in box which was about 2 feet higher than the shop floor. Here sat a very stern old lady with glasses perched on the end of her nose. She stamped the bill paid, made a note in a huge register, put any change required in the metal cup and ‘whoosh’ back it came to our assistant. This apparatus was considered to be very ‘modern’ or ‘new-fangled’!
Our next stop was the Butchers. Clayton and Graingers’ shop was in Raynalds Mansions, a very old large black and white house with huge windows and even its name carved into the decorative design! The half door was always open, and a strong breeze blew throughout the long narrow shop area towards the open back-half door to their backyard. It seemed a big step down onto the red quarry tile floor which was liberally covered with sawdust! The very air was redolent with the smell of meat! Sides of lamb, pork, beef, strings of sausages, fluffy chickens, furry rabbits and, in season, partridge and pheasants hung upside-down from nails behind the counter.
Mr. Warburton (I remember him as being very tall and thin and wearing a large blue and white striped apron over a white jacket), towered behind the butcher block counter as he wielded his axe very close to my nose. The glassed-in display counter contained a sparse display of joints which had already been cut, pork and lamb chops, pork and beef sausages, black pudding sausages and large pans of tripe. I have never tasted tripe, the look of it and knowledge of its origin were sufficient to place it on my ‘never ever’ list along with my father’s favourite, poached brains’!
Mum needed to choose the Sunday joint! We usually had lamb or beef. Her choice was made with much deliberation. Only rarely would she accept one from among those in the glass case. She preferred a freshly cut joint where she could inspect the its source! Usually Mr. Warburton would lift down a side of beef or lamb onto the big butcher block just level with my nose! I hastily skidded backwards through the sawdust as a couple of blows from his axe reduced the side to halves or quarters. One piece stayed on the block; the rest were rehung on the large hooks along the wall behind the counter. With our Mum giving precise instructions, he used a long sharp knife to cut a joint to fit her requirements! A very small square of grease-proof paper separated the meat from the scales! A small bill tag with the weight, price and our name was slapped on top and speared onto the meat with a curly ended pin. The curl held the price ticket safely during later delivery. Our meat went into a large blue and white enamel tray with all the other orders. The delivery boy would carry several orders in his large basket on the front of his bicycle with no additional wrapping.
Saying ‘Goodbye’ to Mr. Warburton we trailed behind Mum into the next room to where old Mrs. Grainger sat behind the iron grill window of her tiny room within a room! As usual we did not pay for today’s purchase but for the previous week’s orders. It seemed to take forever to check the amount owing and finally hand over the money. Everything was paid in with cash. Meat was generally bought as needed and Mother would have popped up during the week to buy sausages, scrag end of lamb or liver to supplement the Sunday roast. We had rabbit stew whenever my Father managed to shoot one but we never bought rabbit.
It was a huge thrill if we needed to visit the treasure-trove of Formby’s hardware! That dimly lit, low ceilinged little shop seemed a huge step down from the street through one narrow half of a double door. The whole interior was packed to the rafters with everything anyone ever dreamed of. Small items such as nuts and bolts, washers, nails and screws came in bulk and were sold by weight. Dad would ask Mum to pick up such items. For anything larger he came himself!
Often there were shoe repairs to be collected from Mr. Jones, the Cobbler, or a call at the Chemist for Andrews Liver Salts or Syrup of Figs (the latter a weekly Saturday night routine). Our last stop was always at Thompsons the Newsagents on Barrow Street. Our daily newspaper was delivered each morning, but the bill was always paid at the newsagents during our Friday afternoon shopping trip. If we were especially good Mum might buy us some crayons or a new pencil! By Summertime those we had received in our Christmas stocking were virtual stubs. Alas, any reminders usually met the same reply “Nonsense there’s plenty of use left in them yet!
By the time we arrived home it would be teatime. 5pm was teatime! There would be a plate of bread and butter and a dish of jam with weak milky tea to drink, some kind of fruit pie, perhaps jam or syrup tart and either a Victoria sponge or a cut and come again cake. If the weather was very cold, sometimes we would be allowed to toast our bread in front of the fire before it was buttered. It was considered unwise for children to have a heavy meal before bed. I have no recollection of my father being there at teatime. I expect he ate later.
Bedtime was 6.30-7 pm with no exceptions. Mother would read us a short story, hear our prayers, tuck us in with a goodnight kiss and woe betide anyone who made a sound after that! As my brother grew older, he was allowed to stay up a bit later. In the spring and autumn, when dusk came earlier than high summer, he often went with Mum and Dad to shut up all the hen-houses at dusk.