Wednesday 26 October 2016

Fun and Games at Froggie Road

   Althea and I were in the same class at school and several times a week I went home with her after school. I did nip home to let my mother know on those days. It was one of her rules that we always called home first after school. Then off we dashed down to 'Froggie' Road, past the stock well, the school, the workhouse, over the railway bridge to the gate onto the cinder path that ran between the railway lines and the allotments and on to Frogmire Road. We rarely walked on the path. Instead we clambered up onto the fence bordering the allotments and, arms outstretched on either side for balance, we made our precarious way along the top rail to the end of the path. We became so adept that we could almost run along. I don't remember ever falling off.

   Beatrice and Bill lived in an end house with a large garden on three sides. The railway lay just beyond the bottom of the garden and whenever a train steamed by we stood on the garden rails, waving to the passengers who smiled and waved back to us; just as in the famous book, 'The Railway Children.' On fine days we played out with with other neighbourhood children and when the weather was bad we played table tennis on the dining room table with the leaves pulled out, or cards and board games. The table tennis always started off quite seriously, but before long we got carried away and the ball went flying all around the room until the game became more like outdoor tennis.
 
There was one wonderful toy which took pride of place in the bedroom where Althea and Mavis slept. Dad and Bill had at one time done some painting and decorating at Conyngham Hall which was then owned by Sir Harold Macintosh. One of the toys that the Macintosh children had played with was an exact replica of an open top automobile. It was huge and seated four children. There was even a luggage box on the back and large headlamps on the front.

   On hearing that Bill had young children Sir Harold gave the car to him. Something was wrong with the workings and the car would not move, it was parked, in all it's splendour, in the bedroom; Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang minus wings.  That didn't deter us, we took off on the wings of imagination. Oh! the outings we had in that car, taking turns to drive. Up and down leafy lanes, pausing by a rippling stream for a picnic of Shipham's salmon paste sandwiches; trips to Scarborough, buckets and spades and 'cossies' packed in the luggage box or off  to see Grandma and Aunt Annie at Brighouse.


                                             

    Althea on the right and me, in Grandma's garden at Brighouse.  This time we travelled there by bus, which in those days was every bit exciting to us.


   Beatrice was easy going and great fun. One particular Sunday, after I had stayed overnight we woke up to pouring rain. It was coming down in sheets with no sign of letting up. It was wartime and Bill was away fighting for King and Country, so there was only Beatrice and the four of us children. She suggested that it would be fun to have breakfast in bed with her, there was room for all of us. We thought this a great idea, so using a piece of board for a table in the middle of the bed, we took cereal, toast, jam, tea, books, magazines and games upstairs and snuggled around our table. Legs tucked under the covers with thick cardigans and woollies to keep our upper halves warm, we stayed there all morning, reading, chatting  and playing board games.

   Dinner time came with the rain still pouring down so we had beans on toast in bed and stayed there all afternoon too. It was an unforgettable day. Never before had I lazed about in bed all day unless I was ill. It wasn't until years later that I realised how canny Beatrice was. She had an ulterior motive; by keeping us all warm and cosy in bed she was saving precious coal and money. Both of which were in short supply.

 Beatrice was exceptional in many ways. She had excelled at school, gaining a scholarship to the Grammar school and the full uniform that was awarded to the scholar with the highest marks. Sadly, she had to turn it down and go out to work as the family needed her wages, little as they were. She worked as a waitress at Miss Clarkson's Bakery and Tea Shop in the Market Place.

   It saddened Mum and Dad that Beatrice could not take advantage of furthering her education, as she deserved to, but times were hard and as a painter and decorator, Dad was out of work every winter when snow lay heavy on the ground and there was no outside work to be had. But! Intelligence and wit never go to waste, and Beatrice's keen intellect stood her in good stead as she applied it to all aspects of her life. She was a lovely person to be with; there was a gentleness about her while at the same time an inner strength. Clever and witty, she was also kind and compassionate, always ready to help anyone in need, sharing whatever she had, [which at times was not a great deal], unstintingly.
 
At some time Bill's Dad came to live with them. He sat in his chair by the fireside; silent and still, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around him. With his jet black hair, wary brown eyes and wrinkled, nut brown skin, Grandad Watson was a true Romany. I often wondered if, as he sat there, caught between four walls, he was dreaming of the open road and rabbits roasting over an open fire.
Then suddenly, one day, he was gone. His chair stood empty, yet his brooding presence lingered on for quite some time.
 
Beatrice had lots of friends and when one of them, Rosie, hit a bad patch and Beatrice took her in. Rosie was pregnant, no home, no job and no one to turn to. She was a sweet person who had made  some wrong decisions and was sorely in need of help. Fortunately, she had a truly good friend in my sister. Rosie stayed with Beatrice and Bill until after her baby was born and she was back on her feet again. When she left she gave Beatrice the only thing of value she possessed; a Singer sewing machine which my sister put to good use. Life turned out alright for Rosie in the end. She met another chap, got married and got a job as a bus conductress. I often used to meet her when I travelled to and from Harrogate on the bus.
 
 When the war ended, Beatrice and Bill shared their home once more with my brother Arthur, his wife Irene and their small daughter, Marlene. Housing was in desperately short supply and young couples had to bunk in with relatives while they waited to get on the council waiting list or found somewhere to rent, which was well nigh impossible. The council were building houses as fast as they could but it was a lengthy process.

   At one point the  bedroom  wall between the two couple's rooms developed a huge crack in it and it became a nightly ritual for Bill and Arthur to shake hands through the opening and say 'Goodnight Bill', 'Goodnight Arthur'. No one seemed to be too fazed about the crack and I suppose it was repaired in due course.  I know the two families got on very well and had a lot of fun together.


Irene
Arthur


   Arthur and Irene finally got a council house of their own but not until they had a second child, Michael.

1 comment:

  1. Love reading your blog would Rose be Rose Clark y any chance

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