Round Our End

Round our end, come Easter or Whit it seemed to be the practice to buy and wear new clothes for the year. Thinking now, this was probably to use up the coupons. Socks were rationed, hence the proliferation of northern knitters. This time of year prompted me to to request something new to wear. Thus the rise of the fine feathers make fine birds derision from my mother from a previous blog. The money in this house goes on the table not on people's backs, thus the shot down in flames, from the same source.

That being said, we did dine at the high table when compared to my friends. This gave significance to the errands I was sent on from the earliest years. The local parade of shops known as The Shops, rather than the The Village where such exotics as Bookbinders Patisserie could be found, these were known Just as The Shops.

Bookbinders the Patisserie was in the village. I can call it a patisserie now, in the future as it were, because I have reference to such establishments as I found on travels into Europe. Then it was just a Jewish cake shop. It closed early on Friday shut Saturday and opened Sunday.

Only later in life visiting Patisserie establishments across Europe did I realise the true nature and excellence of Bookbinders. Mother was a regular customer and indulged herself with abject immorality and carried me with her decorated with chantilley cream and chocolate sauce.

My mother was gently rounded in later life but not obese and in the Bookbinder days slim as a pin. Age is the heavy weight. Well that was Sunday morning and the delicacies waited until tea time,
Locked in the pantry as a luscious temptation.

Back to The Shops: two greengrocers, one where I worked on Saturdays; two butchers; one independent grocer John Willams and the Coop which had a butchery section also; one sweet shop and fancy stationary; one bakers third rate; newspapers and tobacconist; one fish and chip shop; haberdashers and bicycle shop(separate). There was an obvious emphasis on what went inside than that which adorned the outside.

On Monday a boring day of cold roast, mash and peas. Tuesday steak and onions, usually frying steak and perhaps a little piece of fillet for mum.
Wednesday lamb chops with peas and new potatoes in the summer, roast in the winter. There was a day with Lancashire Hot pot somewhere in there, as there was a dish of tripe and onions with crusty bread. There were summer tea delicacies of honeycomb tripe with malt vinegar and sliced tomato and yet another down to earth end of the week meal, when not fish on Friday, was pig'strotters again with malt vinegar and lashings of white pepper. The only thing I heartily hated was lumps of cow heel in stew. It was used to thicken the juice and made me heave.

Sunday high tea with visitors was an event. There was home cooked ham and salad, celery with cheese, a cake or fairy cakes, sherry trifle or tinned fruit and evaporated milk and the table was piled high. There was nothing left. This tea was a moveable feast and sometimes it took place on Saturday with an aunt and uncle to the accompaniment of the football results, noise of chewing only please.

JL Feb 4 10:11