"Dreams - Really Do Come True" - A Book By Gordon Beard
Jubilee
On 6 May, 1935 the village held a fete to celebrate the silver jubilee
of George V. The spring weather had been disappointing and cold
but, when we awoke on that day, the sun shone brilliantly, the sky was
cloudless and the temperature soared to the eighties. The whole village
participated in a fancy dress parade. My elder brothers Reginald and
Alfred dressed as Elsie and Doris Waters - the popular stars of the day.
Each wore a full-length floral dress, a long row of beads round their
necks to their waists, silk stockings and fashionable pointed strappy
shoes. They also wore large bonnets with upturned brims edged in
black, carried large cigarette holders and painted red lipsticks on their
mouths and rouge on their cheeks. They even had false hair pieces,
styled in earphones! My sister Madge went as a Lyons corner house
waitress in black with a white, frilly apron and a white lace head piece.
I think Keith opted out – probably because the character my brainy
brother would have chosen to dress up as would have no doubt been
one my parents had never heard of - something from H. G. Wells or
Tolstoy probably. But he would have enjoyed the races, side shows
and, most particularly, the ice creams.
Phyllis, my sister who came next after Keith, looked exceptionally
pretty, with her rosy cheeks and beautiful blonde locks that Mother
used to set in ringlets. She was dressed as “The Little Old Lady Passing
By” which was the title of a popular song of the day and she wore
Mum’s long black dress and a string of black pearls reaching to her
knees. She also wore black stockings and shoes and a black bonnet
and she carried a black parasol. Her pose was immaculate, as she is of
similar build to Grandma Beaney.
I was recruited by Mr. Scott, a retired police officer, to man the side
show “Roll the penny”. The table was marked in small squares, a tight
fit for the penny coin and the contestant had to roll the penny across the
table and get it to land exactly in the centre of a square. If successful,
I would pay them out the figure marked inside the square; if not I
took their money. This was very popular and I drew a good crowd,
including the daughter of the aristocratic family at the Elms, Valerie
Golding, a beautiful young lady in white shorts, a low cut blouse and
the latest fashion – a red silk floral triangular neckerchief. Her coins
had a habit of falling within the square so I could enjoy her beauty.
Luckily, the table height hid my true feelings but the sparkle in her eye
suggested that the feeling was mutual.
Whilst I had been studying at school, my mother had continued giving
birth on a regular basis. Keith was born on 16 March, 1928, a day
before my fifth birthday. He was a welcome brother for me to play
with because my two elder brothers were now at work. Then came
Phyllis May, born 24 May, 1929, then Donald on 6 Feb 1932 and Maurice
Frederick, called by his middle name Freddy, on 21 May 1933.
I remember most of these births, but the one that stands out most came
on the evening of March 12, 1934. I can still picture Nurse Bonner
arriving on her sit up and beg ladies bicycle with carbide gas lamp on
the front. The lamp had a small round green glass light on the port
side and a red one on the starboard side. Quite why these two lights
were necessary I do not know but I know why the rear wheel spindle
had a yellow and black cord threaded through it - to prevent her coattails being drawn into the spokes of the wheel as she sped along at
about 25 mph from her home at Stagden Cross.
Nurse Bonner’s form of transport was a downgrading from the nurse
who had delivered most of the rest of us. Nurse Ratcliff had ridden a
belt-driven motor cycle – an unusual mode of transport for a lady, I am
sure. Her number plate was VX 2922 – I always thought this indicated
the number of babies she had delivered. There was no indication of
Nurse Bonner’s tally though as she left her bike at the gate and walked
cautiously up the path, past the ferocious barking of Dick, the dog that
had followed after Tip.
“There it is!” I cried as we all gazed at her brown leather bag in wonder.
How on earth could the new baby breathe inside such a tightly fastened
bag? But long after midnight, it finally seemed to work out how and
the screams of the new arrival were heard throughout Hopkins.
Next morning, Mrs. Wilkinson, a volunteer maternity carer from
High Roding, three miles north of Hopkins, came to look after us and
mum and told us we had another baby sister. “I’ve got a birthday in
four days,” Keith said. “Then, when I get a penny, I shall give you a
ha’penny,” Mrs. Wilkinson replied.
The baby, a welcome girl after two boys in a row, was named Doreen
Nancy – she was always known as Nancy though, because mum
preferred it. Nancy had a chest infection which only really cleared
after her marriage to Doug Stock a local boy from High Roding. She
was the last Beard sibling.
I adored all my brothers and sisters but Keith and I were especially
pleased with the extra boys – to help build our very own sports team!
Freddy was rather young but could be seated behind the wicket to
prevent the ball going into the ditch (it was only a soft one.). And by
the time he was five, Donald could just about hold a bat and his stroke
came only about 60 seconds after the ball had hit the stumps. He was
a beautiful quiet lad with a mass of curly hair and a happy disposition.
Freddy was very independent and, aged about two, wandered off
across a stubble field called Hunger Downs on the other side of the
road from Hopkins. He was finally found at Fox and Crows over a mile
away. On another occasion, he went missing and I found him sitting
on the bees’ landing board, his bottom covering their entrance hole
while he happily ate a honey sandwich. The bees buzzed all around
him but not one stung him.
Saturday night was bath time at Hopkins because that was the night
the men went out. At around 6.00pm, Alfred would set off up the
pub, Reginald would be out courting his girlfriend, Amy Manning and
dad would be outside in the garden or in the back-house (we called it
‘the backus’) making wine or hanging the honeycomb in a muslin bag
above a large bowl to catch the dripping honey ready for putting in
jars.
Dad liked to go to the pub too but could only afford to go at 9.00pm
– an hour before last orders at 10.00pm. This gave him time for two
pints and an opportunity to meet his pals and pay his club – each man
paid a shilling a week to a collector at the bar and had a card signed for
the amount. In those days, banks were only available to the gentry, so
the club was a way for a working man to save and earn some interest
on his money. The club money was banked at the post office to gain
interest and drawn out again before harvest each year and divided
among the members. A jolly coach outing would then be arranged,
men only, to a seaside town of their choice – Southend, Brighton,
Hastings, Eastbourne. I well remember dad coming home full of songs
and stories of the antics he’d been up to on these excursions. There
would always be a present too, for his beloved Bertha, usually a china
vase to add to her collection on the mantelpiece. It would bring her
such joy; the very simplest things in life made everyone happy in those
days.
As soon as the men had left the house, Mum would haul the huge
galvanized bath onto the rug in front of the blazing log fire and lift up
the huge black Dixie pot full of boiling water from the stove, ready to
pour it into the bath. The pot must have held four or five gallons of
water - mum was small framed but she had tremendous strength and
determination. She would pour the boiling water into the bath, then
add a couple of jugs of cold water - though not too much as the bath
needed to stay hot long enough to bath six children! This meant the
unfortunate first entrant was forced into the boiling water with slaps to
the head and body and harsh words if the victim did not get her bum
down quickly enough! I say ‘her’ because, for some reason, my middle
sister, Phyllis was always chosen.
How she survived to this day, I’ll never know. Her skin would turn
bright red and almost blister, and, her beautiful long blonde hair
required special attention too – so, she had to endure buckets of boiling,
hot water poured relentlessly over her head. How she held her breath
so long, God only knows. Meanwhile, sitting naked, her brothers and
sisters sat shuddering at the thought of who would be next, although,
how glad we were not to be chosen first - at least the water would have
cooled down slightly! As soon as we were bathed, we were towelled
down and dressed in our nightwear – the girls in long, ankle-length
flannelette nighties and the boys in clean nightshirts. Then mum
would lead the way to bed with a lighted candle in a metal candlestick
which was placed beside the bed and extinguished as soon as we were
tucked up in bed – the boys all in one bed, the girls likewise. The beds
were iron framed with metal strips crisscrossed beneath the mattress
for support. There were no springs. Each corner post had a brass knob
fitted and the mattress was filled with flock – a cheap filling also used
in the pillows. The one and only feather mattress was on our parents’
bed. Better for reproduction, I suppose!
In the summer months, we were sent to bed at 7.30pm. As it was still
light, my brother, Keith, the brainy one, devised a game to play in bed.
The no smoking rule for under 16’s was strictly adhered to (although
you can be sure that as soon as a youth reached his 16th birthday he
exercise his right to buy his first packet of 10 John Player’s navy cut for
6d. or 10 Will’s Woodbines, the working man’s fag, for just 4d.!).
But the no smoking rule didn’t stop us getting hold of the treasured
cigarette cards that came in packs of Player’s. You could collect cards
on a variety of topics – wild birds, football players, cricketers and
many other subjects, with a full history printed on the back, but few
smokers bothered to collect them so
they would pass them onto us children,
which we loved. It was difficult to
collect the whole set - we were left with
several incomplete sets – but that didn’t
matter to Keith. His idea was to take a
near set to the bed and lay a card on the
edge of the blanket and flick it with his
forefinger and thumb to see who could
send it the greatest distance down the
bed. Now, occasionally, a card would
fly through the rails of the bedstead onto
the floor and, as Keith slept on the open
side of the bed, and I was nearest the
wall, he would be the one to jump out
and retrieve it. It was part of the game
to try and get out of the bed and get the
card without mum hearing but she should really have been employed
in the submarines to detect the passing of ships – there was no need
for radar when she was around! Somehow, she would always hear his
footsteps, creep up the stairs, pounce on him with her hazelnut stick
in her hand and whack him one. I would dive under the bed clothes
so, when the stick fell on me, the bed clothes gave me some protection.
Sorry, Keith. I beat you for distance but mum beat you for real.
 |
| Brother Fred with the dog |
* I have a good memory for car number plates. John Lucking had a new Morris
eight in 1936 - DTW 296 a small green and black car with the spare wheel mounted at
the rear. Mr Reynolds, who bought Hopkins’ Farm from Hugh Matthews in 1928 had
a 1920 Morris Cowley tourer with fabric folding hood and large chrome head lamps
with the number plate, PU 66. This was later replaced by a new Morris Oxford saloon
in dark blue, VX 6000.
Next Chapter
|
