I sprang from a family of two parents
and eight children, which was pretty typical for depression era England.
Family size didn't seem to be affected by lack of finances, although
I'm sure lack of birth-control played a factor.
I grew up in Carshalton, Surrey, now the largest village in the London Borough of
Sutton. It was also the childhood home of singing idol Sir Cliff
Richard, who was a classmate of one of my sisters. Young singer Wayne
Woodward Jr., my nephew's son and former runner-up in Britain's Got
Talent competition, is now the best singer in my old homestead.
During
my time there, Carshalton was definitely a two class society made up of local
labourers and middle class office workers who rode the train into
London. Our neighbourhood was segregated by Stanley Park Road, a street that
ran right down the middle of town, with the working class and
poor district on one side and the "uppers" in the posh
area, on the other. My Dad was a bricklayer, so you can figure out where
I grew up.
Unfortunately, the poor were really
looked down on by those who considered themselves our betters, and since
very few went on to pass their 11+ exams (many being pulled out of
school early to help support the family), they were securely kept in
their place.
Unlike the rationed war years, food was plentiful
throughout Carshalton. It was far enough from smoky London that
people could grow their own fruits and vegetables, although the soil wasn't the
most fertile. Luckily there was an abundance of working
horses around to provide good manure.
Still, most relied on the local grocer.
Depression era mothers sent their smallest kids to do the food
shopping in the hope shopkeepers would take pity on the poor little
gaffers and charge them less. It was a rite of passage for boys
to switch to long pants at the age of 13, but my mother kept me in short
pants beyond that on the Saturdays she sent me off to do the family
shopping.
Children were well versed in the
protocol for making purchases. We wouldn't dream of buying pre-sliced
bread neatly wrapped in cellophane. We'd pick up the less
costly "cottage loaf", which was formed from leftover nobs
of dough. It wasn't the most attractive of breads, but smelled just as
good while baking and was as tasty as the fancy stuff.
We'd also linger over the best
looking day-old biscuits and cakes and carefully choose our
"speck", which was fruit blemished or speckled with spots. It was
almost, but not quite, on the brink of spoiling and the grocer was
eager to let it go at a discount.
Mutton was cheap and made for a deliciously tender stew, but only if it was stewed for several
hours, otherwise it was tough and chewy. Another inexpensive cut
of meat was hambone and to this day I enjoy the meat
closest to the bone.
Of course credit cards were unheard
of back then, but nobody paid cash for their groceries either.
Every family had an account with the grocer and when the labouring
husbands handed over their wage packet to their wives, the women
would dutifully trot down to the grocer to proudly pay their outstanding bill.
While a few homes
were heated by fireplace, most had electric or gas power which was
operated by a meter installed in the house. People tossed loose shillings
into a bowl next to the meter so there was always a couple available to plop into
the meter when needed. We considered Dad quite inventive
because he often saved his shillings by using steel washers rescued
from a factory instead. I don't recall him ever getting caught!
It was many years before the NHS came
into being, but medical care was readily available and not overly expensive,
even for the less advantaged. It was expected that the doctor would come
out to the house when needed and he never charged more than a shilling for
a home visit.
Those were the days
long before computers or television, but most households managed to
purchase a radio. Mind you, the license fee was a dear 10 shillings a
year, so when the inspectors came around word would spread quickly and those
lucky enough to get advance notice could hide their radio in the cupboards and
swear they didn't own such a luxury.
We weren't churchgoers, but if you
wanted to join the boy scouts you were required to at least make a pretense at
attendance. Lots of parents sent their kids off to Sunday School to get
them out of their hair and there was the added attraction of the church walls
being used as a projector for Magic Lanterns (early slide projectors) where we
were fascinated by fairy tales, historic events, geography of the world and,
naturally, moral tales.
Entertainment was cheap for us kids. We would play football for hours in
the streets after school and on weekends (even those of us who had part-time
jobs always found time for a game of footy) and it only cost pennies to swim in
the local pool or catch a matinee at the Carshalton cinema.
Yes, those depression years may have been hard times to grow up
in, but we kids didn't really know any better. All our friends
and neighbours were in the same boat, so we not only made do - we
made fun.
Ed
Pearson
