Aprons and Silver Spoons: The heartwarming memoirs of a 1930s scullery maid by Mollie Moran
Authors: Mollie Moran
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and all on my own. Did I feel fear or regret? Not one little bit. I felt more
alive than I had ever done in my whole life. Ready for whatever experience life had to
offer me. Excitement drummed through me. What an adventure.
‘Mollie Browne?’ asked a
voice.
The smoke cleared and standing in front of
me was a most peculiar-looking man. He was wearing dove-grey knee breeches, matching
grey jacket, boots so shiny they made mine look dull in comparison and white gloves,
with the whole ensemble topped off with a peaked cap. A fine sight he made.
‘Mr Thornton,’ he said.
‘I’m Mr Stocks’s London chauffeur come to collect
you.’
‘Ooh, ’ello,’
I gushed. ‘Pleased to meet you. Nice of you to come and collect me.’
And with that I stuck out my sticky hand.
Looking at me a little strangely, he ignored
my outstretched hand and took my bag instead. Next he ushered me to where a black shiny
Daimler was waiting.
‘Get in,’ he said,
opening the back door.
Didn’t I feel grand sliding into
the cool, black leather seats? No one had ever held a door open for me and norhad I ever sat in such a grand motor car before. Cars were a rare
sight where I came from and here I was sitting in the grandest of the lot. I could get
used to this.
‘This beats sitting next to a
chicken,’ I chattered on.
He smiled coolly as he slid the Daimler out
into the road. They say the streets of London are paved with gold, but back in them days
they were filled with cars, trams, buses, errand boys, buskers, traders and a million
other forms of life and transport. It seemed even busier than when I’d visited
two years ago.
I gazed out of the window as London in all
its glory unfolded. Soon my head was spinning at the sights. In Downham Market there
weren’t that many cars on the road – lots of men on bikes or horses, and
lugging barrows and ladders about, but not much in the way of cars. Here in London they
were everywhere; not like you see today, of course, but to my eyes it was still a lot of
traffic. By 1931 elegant motor cars had replaced most horse-drawn carriages. It would be
another two years before the London Passenger Transport Board was established to bring
all of London’s transport providers together, but there were still many
different ways to get about London if you had the knowhow.
Red double-decker buses and trams whizzed
past, belching out clouds of smoke. The 20 mph speed limit had been abolished the
previous year and drivers were bombing about at speeds that made my eyes water. Amazing
when you think about it, isn’t it? Driving tests weren’t established
until 1934 so any old lunatic could get behind the wheel.
Soon we passed an underground station, which
I’d heard so much about.
‘Train every ninety
seconds,’ informed Mr Thornton.
Unimaginable.
We paused briefly at some large poles with
strange moving lights inside.
‘Why are we stopping?’ I
asked.
‘They’re traffic
lights,’ replied Mr Thornton. ‘Bloomin’ nuisance they are,
going up all over London.’
Traffic lights were just one of the many
changes sweeping 1930s London.
Organizations were popping up to deal with
the city’s existing problems and make it a cleaner, more efficient place.
There were slum clearances and council-house building programmes, and electric lighting
was being installed across the city. The telephone exchange in Mayfair where Mother had
worked when she was my age was now automated. To me, all this heralded an amazing new
era of sophistication.
Charlie Chaplin’s latest flick was
on at the pictures and, outside, street traders sold you pretty much anything you
wanted, from roast nuts for a penny a bag to chestnuts and baked potatoes. The streets
were teeming with people plying their trade from the back of horse-drawn carts to simple
barrows. Wounded old soldiers still wearing their medals and uniforms sold
alive than I had ever done in my whole life. Ready for whatever experience life had to
offer me. Excitement drummed through me. What an adventure.
‘Mollie Browne?’ asked a
voice.
The smoke cleared and standing in front of
me was a most peculiar-looking man. He was wearing dove-grey knee breeches, matching
grey jacket, boots so shiny they made mine look dull in comparison and white gloves,
with the whole ensemble topped off with a peaked cap. A fine sight he made.
‘Mr Thornton,’ he said.
‘I’m Mr Stocks’s London chauffeur come to collect
you.’
‘Ooh, ’ello,’
I gushed. ‘Pleased to meet you. Nice of you to come and collect me.’
And with that I stuck out my sticky hand.
Looking at me a little strangely, he ignored
my outstretched hand and took my bag instead. Next he ushered me to where a black shiny
Daimler was waiting.
‘Get in,’ he said,
opening the back door.
Didn’t I feel grand sliding into
the cool, black leather seats? No one had ever held a door open for me and norhad I ever sat in such a grand motor car before. Cars were a rare
sight where I came from and here I was sitting in the grandest of the lot. I could get
used to this.
‘This beats sitting next to a
chicken,’ I chattered on.
He smiled coolly as he slid the Daimler out
into the road. They say the streets of London are paved with gold, but back in them days
they were filled with cars, trams, buses, errand boys, buskers, traders and a million
other forms of life and transport. It seemed even busier than when I’d visited
two years ago.
I gazed out of the window as London in all
its glory unfolded. Soon my head was spinning at the sights. In Downham Market there
weren’t that many cars on the road – lots of men on bikes or horses, and
lugging barrows and ladders about, but not much in the way of cars. Here in London they
were everywhere; not like you see today, of course, but to my eyes it was still a lot of
traffic. By 1931 elegant motor cars had replaced most horse-drawn carriages. It would be
another two years before the London Passenger Transport Board was established to bring
all of London’s transport providers together, but there were still many
different ways to get about London if you had the knowhow.
Red double-decker buses and trams whizzed
past, belching out clouds of smoke. The 20 mph speed limit had been abolished the
previous year and drivers were bombing about at speeds that made my eyes water. Amazing
when you think about it, isn’t it? Driving tests weren’t established
until 1934 so any old lunatic could get behind the wheel.
Soon we passed an underground station, which
I’d heard so much about.
‘Train every ninety
seconds,’ informed Mr Thornton.
Unimaginable.
We paused briefly at some large poles with
strange moving lights inside.
‘Why are we stopping?’ I
asked.
‘They’re traffic
lights,’ replied Mr Thornton. ‘Bloomin’ nuisance they are,
going up all over London.’
Traffic lights were just one of the many
changes sweeping 1930s London.
Organizations were popping up to deal with
the city’s existing problems and make it a cleaner, more efficient place.
There were slum clearances and council-house building programmes, and electric lighting
was being installed across the city. The telephone exchange in Mayfair where Mother had
worked when she was my age was now automated. To me, all this heralded an amazing new
era of sophistication.
Charlie Chaplin’s latest flick was
on at the pictures and, outside, street traders sold you pretty much anything you
wanted, from roast nuts for a penny a bag to chestnuts and baked potatoes. The streets
were teeming with people plying their trade from the back of horse-drawn carts to simple
barrows. Wounded old soldiers still wearing their medals and uniforms sold
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