occasions.
The gas and electric meters were hungry monsters in our house. Mum would feed them with shillings whenever she could but they were never satisfied and cold food and darkness were their cries for more. Every three months the electric man or the gasman would come to empty the meter. This was a bit of a red-letter day as because of the way the meters were calibrated households always overpaid, so there would usually be a sizable rebate to come. Margaret and I would wait expectantly in the kitchen while the meter was emptied. Then there would be a knock on the kitchen door that would indicate the gas or electric man was ready to go. Outside in the scullery, underneath where the gas and electricity meters were screwed to the wall, would be a pile of shilling coins sparkling with promise. This would definitely be a banana roll day if we were lucky!
Of course there were also the desperate days when the meter would have been broken into and there would be no money inside. This happened more than once, and I can remember the meter man questioning Mum sharply. We never knew how those bad people got in to take the money, or how they managed to break into the meter without Mum knowing.
We had no fridge when I was a child. Perishable foods, meat, fish tended to be bought on the day they were going to be used, or certainly not long before that. Items such as eggs, cheese and milk would be stored in the huge larder, which was built into the wall next to the front door. It had stone walls and was very dark with just a tiny ventilation grill at the back. Food did keep quite well for most of the year but in the summer Mum would try to keep the milk cool by putting it in a bowl of cold water. When Isobel came to live at our house the occupants of the larder slowly began to change. The smells were different now. Strange-looking sausages appeared and were hung in there. These added a new aroma, rich and spicy. Isobel showed Margaret and I how to eat melon, even sucking the seeds, splitting them with our teeth to chew out the insides. She also made tortilla with potatoes and eggs, turning these simple ingredients into a feast of flavour, which we devoured with relish.
The house was even more chaotic now than it had been before. Meal times were complicated, and sleeping arrangements were even more so. We now shared the bed settee with Mum in the kitchen, which meant that we stayed up very late every night. When the bed was put down, Margaret and I would snuggle up on each side of Mum. I remember so clearly how Mum would unfold her arms so we could rest our heads there. She always did this even when I shared her bed as an older child in the box room. It must have made her arms ache, but she never moved me away.
One bonus of having both Michael and Isobel and Peter and Linda living with us was that they both had tiny babies. Once they were born, Vicky in December and Carolyn in January, my brothers’ search for a place of their own began in earnest. This meant that Margaret and I spent even longer periods of time away from school. We were allowed to play with the cast-off bottles, dummies, nappies and other baby paraphernalia. Mum even showed us how to ‘swaddle’ our dolls in some old material she found for us. Margaret was in her element.
Soon after the babies were born, my brothers both managed to find flats of their own. Michael was given an army flat in Woolwich and Peter found a small flat on the ground floor of a converted house not far from my Aunty Maggie in Seven Kings. Mum would often take us to visit them but most often we went to see Michael, or rather Isobel and baby Vicky. The journey from Dagenham to Woolwich seemed never ending. We would walk to the bus stop to catch the 62 and then get the 106 from Barking. For me, the journey was fraught with danger. Would people look at us? Would they say something horrible to Mum? Would they shout at us and would Mum have to shout at them? There had already been so many
The gas and electric meters were hungry monsters in our house. Mum would feed them with shillings whenever she could but they were never satisfied and cold food and darkness were their cries for more. Every three months the electric man or the gasman would come to empty the meter. This was a bit of a red-letter day as because of the way the meters were calibrated households always overpaid, so there would usually be a sizable rebate to come. Margaret and I would wait expectantly in the kitchen while the meter was emptied. Then there would be a knock on the kitchen door that would indicate the gas or electric man was ready to go. Outside in the scullery, underneath where the gas and electricity meters were screwed to the wall, would be a pile of shilling coins sparkling with promise. This would definitely be a banana roll day if we were lucky!
Of course there were also the desperate days when the meter would have been broken into and there would be no money inside. This happened more than once, and I can remember the meter man questioning Mum sharply. We never knew how those bad people got in to take the money, or how they managed to break into the meter without Mum knowing.
We had no fridge when I was a child. Perishable foods, meat, fish tended to be bought on the day they were going to be used, or certainly not long before that. Items such as eggs, cheese and milk would be stored in the huge larder, which was built into the wall next to the front door. It had stone walls and was very dark with just a tiny ventilation grill at the back. Food did keep quite well for most of the year but in the summer Mum would try to keep the milk cool by putting it in a bowl of cold water. When Isobel came to live at our house the occupants of the larder slowly began to change. The smells were different now. Strange-looking sausages appeared and were hung in there. These added a new aroma, rich and spicy. Isobel showed Margaret and I how to eat melon, even sucking the seeds, splitting them with our teeth to chew out the insides. She also made tortilla with potatoes and eggs, turning these simple ingredients into a feast of flavour, which we devoured with relish.
The house was even more chaotic now than it had been before. Meal times were complicated, and sleeping arrangements were even more so. We now shared the bed settee with Mum in the kitchen, which meant that we stayed up very late every night. When the bed was put down, Margaret and I would snuggle up on each side of Mum. I remember so clearly how Mum would unfold her arms so we could rest our heads there. She always did this even when I shared her bed as an older child in the box room. It must have made her arms ache, but she never moved me away.
One bonus of having both Michael and Isobel and Peter and Linda living with us was that they both had tiny babies. Once they were born, Vicky in December and Carolyn in January, my brothers’ search for a place of their own began in earnest. This meant that Margaret and I spent even longer periods of time away from school. We were allowed to play with the cast-off bottles, dummies, nappies and other baby paraphernalia. Mum even showed us how to ‘swaddle’ our dolls in some old material she found for us. Margaret was in her element.
Soon after the babies were born, my brothers both managed to find flats of their own. Michael was given an army flat in Woolwich and Peter found a small flat on the ground floor of a converted house not far from my Aunty Maggie in Seven Kings. Mum would often take us to visit them but most often we went to see Michael, or rather Isobel and baby Vicky. The journey from Dagenham to Woolwich seemed never ending. We would walk to the bus stop to catch the 62 and then get the 106 from Barking. For me, the journey was fraught with danger. Would people look at us? Would they say something horrible to Mum? Would they shout at us and would Mum have to shout at them? There had already been so many
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