Ciss was very rarely still. Even when she sat down for a while she was either knitting, sewing or crocheting. No lazing in bed in the mornings; it was always, "Come along you girls, time to get moving", and move we did.
Ciss had a very positive nature; full of vitality she seemed never to be in any doubt as to what we should do and what was good for us. She was like a jolly games mistress, bowling us along and we, unable to resist her enthusiasm, complied willingly. Whatever Ciss did she gave it everything, no half measures and she expected the rest of us to do the same.
She saw the funny side of everything. Her wit was sharp and she picked up on things we said and did which she found amusing and she was quick to make fun of them, but never in an unkind or malicious way.She had the gift of making us laugh at ourselves and not mind: probably because she was as quick to make fun of herself too.
By the time I was born Ciss and Arthur were already married and had a baby daughter, another Barbara, [ who, to avoid confusion with my sister Barbara was referred to as Barbara B. or little Barbara ]. Ciss and Arthur both worked long hours in the family fish and chip shop on Westmorland Street in High Harrogate, along with Arthur's brother, Herbert and his wife, Mary.
Brent's fish and chips were famous for miles around. The shop had previously belonged to Arthur's parents and they and their sons had lived over the premises.
Mrs. Brent senior employed a maid. When Ciss and Arthur married, Ciss joined the family over the shop and Mrs Brent sacked the maid. Apparently Ciss was to take her place, unpaid, while Mrs Brent, who did not work in the shop, lived the life of a lady.
Ciss was a willing worker but she did not take kindly to being regarded as a servant. She stuck it out however until after Barbara was born then, one day, she turned up at our house on Stockwell Avenue with a suitcase and Barbara, who was then about a year old and said that she had come home for a while, if that was alright with Mum. Mum wanted to know if it was alright with Arthur.
Assured by Ciss that it was Arthur who had suggested she come home until he had found a house for them, Mum was perfectly happy for Ciss and Babara to stay and that is how Ciss, Arthur and Barbara came to be living at 73, Regent Avenue, Harrogate, just a few minutes walk from the fish shop. Ciss still helped in the fish shop every day, taking Barbara with her but now she had her own home to return to. Although it was only a two up and two down terrace house with no bathroom and an outside "lav", they loved it and so did we. They stayed there for almost forty years and would never have moved if circumstances had not changed.
Their sister- in- law, Mary died and Herbert wanted to retire and take his share of the business and so it was sold. It changed hands a couple of times over the years and a long time afterwards I saw it advertised for sale again with the caption,"Formerly Brent's", which tells you how famous their fish and chips were.
Meanwhile, we were often at Ciss and Arthur's, with Mum and Dad when we were small; then as we grew older Barbara and I spent weekends there, to keep Barbara B company. Mostly it was just me as my sister was three years our senior and had friends of her own age. We were trusted to be on our own while Ciss and Arthur were at the shop, though Mrs. Chapman, the next door neighbour kept an eye on us.
Mrs. Chapman was a tiny little woman due to being asthmatic from childhood. There was no recognised treatment at that time.She and Mr. Chapman had one son, Peter, the apple of their eye. Ciss told us that there were times during the night when Mrs. C. was having an asthma attack that Mr. C had to carry her to an open window to help her to breathe. I'd look at Mrs. C. with awe and wonder how she managed to stay so happy and cheerful. She was a sweet little lady.
Barbara B. was accustomed to being on her own but for me it was a novel and quite heady experience. We came and went as we pleased, roaming the neighbourhood freely, venturing beyond the bottom of the street, over the railway bridge to the 'Airy Mountains' where we raced madly up and down the tussocky dunes chanting; "Up the Airy Mountains, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a'hunting for fear of little men. Wee folk, odd folk, trooping all together. Green jacket, red cap and white owl's feather". Then, tired out we made our way back home to sit and read or play board games.
Ciss loved nice clothes. On cold or rainy days we raided her wardrobe, dressing up in her hats, frocks and shoes and parading around as fine ladies calling in for afternoon tea. We made sure everything went back exactly as before as Ciss kept her house and everything in it in perfect order.
Around mid-day when it was time for dinner, we walked up to the shop for fish and chips and took them to eat back at home along with a large bottle of Tizer as a special treat. After the lunchtime trade the shop closed for a few hours and Ciss came home to catch up on housework and prepare tea. Sometimes we walked up to meet her and on the way home we called in on Mr. Thackeray, the butcher, to buy a joint of meat for Sunday dinner. Everyone liked Ciss with her lively wit and humour. Mr. Thackeray was no exception. His eyes lit up when Ciss walked in his shop. Jokes and good natured banter flew between the two of them while we stood by enjoying the show.
Back at Regent Avenue Barbara and I set up the drop leaf table for tea. With both leaves up the table took up most of the sitting room, there was just enough room for the chairs Arthur came home for tea and then it was back to the shop for both of them for the evening trade. We got ourselves off to bed more or less when it was time, with Mrs, C. popping in to see that we were alright.
I didn't very often have a bath at Regent Avenue as I did not stay long enough. Bathing was not a daily occurrence even if you had a bathroom. We had no central heating or immersion heater. At home our water was heated via a small back boiler behind the open fire. A large cistern of water took a long time to heat so in between baths we made do with strip down washes. At Ciss and Arthur's, bathing took place in a long tin bath in the kitchen. A gas clothes boiler stood next to the sink, under the draining board, [which was lifted off when the boiler was in use]. Once a week water was heated in the boiler and the tin bath was carried in from the shed in the back yard. Fortunately, the rim of the bath just fitted under the outlet tap on the boiler so the bath could be filled directly from the boiler. If I did happen be at Ciss's when a bath was deemed desirable, Barbara and I got in together and had our bath first and, after a top up of hot water Ciss followed suit. Afterwards, dressed again and all squeaky clean, we ladled the water a panful at a time, down the sink. As the water got lower one of us had to tip the bath up on one end, a rather risky manoeuvre but one that we enjoyed as the bath wobbled about and someone was in danger of getting wet.
Out in the back yard, the dregs were tipped as close to the drain as we could get, the bath was dried with clean cloths and carried back to the shed where it hung on two hooks until it's next outing. All this seemed like great fun to us, just as today, children have fun in outdoor paddling pools. We didn't think of it as work.
On Sundays when the fish shop was closed Ciss cooked a roast dinner. In a family of good cooks my sister Sarah was outstanding. She seemed to have a magic touch.
With very little effort she turned out sponge cakes which almost floated on air; her pastry was light as a feather, and we couldn't get enough of her rich, tasty stews with dumplings floating on the top and meat and potato pies topped with a thick, light, crispy suet crust. But best of all were her Yorkshire Puddings. They were Divine. Baked in large oblong tins, the outside edges rose up the sides, perfectly browned and crispy while the centre was light and fluffy and melted in the mouth. Cut into squares and piled high, they were served on their own with lashings of rich, meaty gravy. To me it was Angel food, fit for the Gods.
Nowadays we have Yorkshire Pudding buns served with the meat and veg and while I still enjoy them, such as they are, they cannot compare with the ones our Ciss used to make. I dream of them still.
I don't have any photo's of Barbara B. and me together as children but here we are as fourteen year olds, at 28 Park Crest with Ciss and David, peering through the window. Not forgeting Rascal, Barbara's dog, sitting on the window sill between us.
Ciss, Arthur and Barbara came to our house for tea every Sunday. On fine sunny days instead of taking the bus we walked the four odd miles to Knaresborough through the fields. The way led through the "Airy Mountains" to the open fields, by- passed Starbeck and came out above Bilton Fields, across the river from Conyngham Hall in Knaresborough. Then it was a short walk alongside the river, over High Bridge and up the hill into town and home.
Sunday tea was as special as Sunday dinner. Mum sliced up the cold remains of that day's joint and sometimes there was a large pork pie from Holche's Pork Butchers, cut into wedges. A couple of homegrown lettuce with dark green outer leaves and pale, lemon-y hearts were taken apart, washed and placed in a clean tea towel to be taken out in the yard and, making sure that a tight hold was kept on the four corners, the tea towel with the wet lettuce inside it was whirled round and round, forcing water out in a shining arc. Piled in a large glass bowl the lettuce was topped with radishes, sliced spring onions, quartered tomatoes and hard boiled eggs. Shallow dishes of thinly sliced cucumber and onions in slightly watered down vinegar added flavour along with pickled onions, beetroot and piccalilli. Scrubbed stalks of celery, [ large ones cut in half ], stood in a glass jug in the middle of the table. We dipped the end of the stalk in a little pile of salt and chewed away happily and of-course there was a great plateful of bread and butter. If we had unexpected guests we children were instructed to eat plenty of it so that the rest of the food would go round.
Cakes of some sort followed the salad, butterfly buns or sponge cake, fruit pies and squares of pastie, filled with jam, dates or currants, [ whatever was to hand ] freshly baked that morning while the oven was going. Topping it all off came tinned fruit, pears or pineapple and more often than not a dollop of Mr Dove's ice cream.I think it was no coincidence that Mr Dove, who with his wife, ran a small tearoom and bakery at the bottom of Briggate and who also made his own ice cream, just happened to be in our neighbourhood as we were finishing our tea. We children were sent off to Mr Dove with a large bowl as there was always at least ten of us to feed. Mr Dove was pleased as it practically cleaned him out and saved him from pushing his barrow any further. Arthur B. bought the ice cream. It was his treat, however many people were there and very often we had unexpected guests. Uncles, aunts and cousins, over on the bus from Brighouse, were welcomed and found a place at the table. One of us was sent running to our allotment over the road to pull another lettuce and a large tin of salmon or tinned meat was opened.
When there were too many of us to fit around the table in the front room we "younger end" ate our tea sitting around the kitchen table, an arrangement that suited us very well. Free from adult supervision we larked around, laughed and giggled more than we were normaly allowed to do at the table.
Sunday teas in Summer continued pretty much the same for years, even after we were all grown up and married with children of our own but the ones of my childhood remain with me in their bright, joyful, carefree innocence, cocooned in the midst of my loving family.
