I was born on 20th May 1899 at 70 Swinebank Cottages, Dawdon. (Darden as
we called it).
It was a small village of stone built cottages for miners
working at Seaham Colliery called the 'Nack'. The most widespread opinion
as to the name 'Nack' was that the windmill which stood at the foot of a
bank called the Mill Bank made a clicking noise of 'nicky nack' as the
arms turned round and round and so the pit was known as the Nicky Nack, or
just the Nack. This colliery was perhaps three miles from where we lived
at Swinebank Cottages and the miners had to walk. One road was called the
Pitman’s Walk, now known as Strangford Road. Men had to use this road from
Dawdon to the pit. Then, the little village of Dawdon consisted of 83
cottages standing in four rows. Two rows with their backs separated by
toilets (middens) and coalhouses standing in a back yard. Gardens were at
the front and the two centre rows of gardens were known as Garden Walk, at
the top of which stood the village school run by the Londonderry Family.
This also served as a church and Sunday School. The teachers at the school
were also expected to teach at the Sunday School. The Vicar of Seaham
Harbour used to pay intermittent calls and the Vicar of St. Mary's, whom
we called Daddy Copley, paid more infrequent calls, but he was a grand old
man and his visits were heralded as if they were royal.
The cottages at Dawdon were built of stone. I have heard my parents say
that they were built for two families to each one. One family occupied the
front and one the back, which is why there were remains of toilets at the
bottom of the gardens. Then they were altered to house one family each,
because miners with plenty of sons were given the houses with their jobs.
The world often seems to turn topsy turvy. Then men were encouraged to
have families, now they are discouraged and the know-alls are scheming how
to punish the big families.
Each cottage had a sitting room, a small living room with a big pantry
running along one side and a staircase with three bedrooms. I mention the
staircase because they were the pride and joy of every housewife. You see,
before the houses were divided they just had a ladder to climb up to the
bedrooms. Hence the saying 'up the ladder' when it was bedtime. My father
kept his ladder for many years. He carried it to the bottom of the street,
stood it up by the big fence surrounding the football field, and had a
free show. Well those with big families could not afford the ha'penny
admission for every week.
You notice I always say the top or the bottom of the street. Well
everything seemed simple in those days. When parents looked for children
they looked at the top or at the bottom, 'go to the top' my father would
say and watch out for the caller. It was the man who came with a crake and
told the miners if it was working the next day. Weather or lack of boats
used often to lay the mines off. My father was a stoneman down the pit and
he would bid me listen to the caller to see if he said 'all the pits idle
the morn, shifters, wastemen and mechanics', 'and mechanics' was the vital
part for my father because if the caller stopped at wastemen my father
would work, but if he added the dread words 'and mechanics' my father
would loose a shift. I remember the first time I was sent to the top to
listen for the caller. My father asked what he had said. I told him 'all
the pits idle the morn, shifters, wastemen and me nannies’, I never lived
it down.
The four rows of cottages were surrounded by fields. At the bottom was the
football field I have mentioned, called the 'Stars Field' after the name
of the team which was mainly composed of Cottages men. Then the South
Hetton railway running down to the Docks separated the Villa's field where
the Villa team consisting of Seaham Harbour men mostly working at the
Bottleworks played. There was great rivalry between the teams. Don't talk
of rough play, I know, my eldest brother was goalkeeper for the 'Star' and
he had all kinds of injuries, but it was accepted as part of the game.
What rejoicing when the Star players won a silver medal. There couldn't
have been more rejoicing or more honour heaped on them if they had won the
Victoria Cross.
There was a road at the bottom of the street and the
football field which had only three sides fenced. The other side needed no
fence because there was an embankment and at the top the North Eastern
Railway ran. My father used to say that people let their pigs feed on this
embankment and that was how it was called Swine Bank Cottages. Of course
that would be before the railway was laid. Then on the south side of the
cottages was the cow’s field owned by the farmer who owned Dawdon Farm.
Our garden walls in the last row of cottages formed part of the fence for
this field. It was beautiful meadowland and we spent most of the summer
playing in it near the garden walls. Only the farmer himself would chase
us. Periodically he would ride round his land on a beautiful horse. We
scattered when he came towards us. We did no harm. Our pleasure was
picking the flowers, and playing the lovely game of funerals. One child
would lie on the grass full length with arms duly crossed on the chest and
the other children would heap grass and flowers on top of him. We made
wreaths and crosses of daisies, buttercups, dandelions, bluebells,
cranesbill, ladies fingers, cowslips and many more. It was difficult to
get anyone to tackle the dandelions for we firmly believed if we touched
them we would wet the bed. That would set off an argument as to how many 'skelps'
mothers dished out on bare bottoms for committing this awful crime. I was
once the victim of a funeral. I was buried under a great mound of grass
when all of my playmates scattered. Someone shouted 'keep down and he
won't see you'. My goodness the horse went very close to my head, too
close for comfort and I very nearly became a real dead one. It was the
farmer. One hears of so many cases of poison these days and I wonder how
we escaped. We ate the corns of the cranesbill dug out of the soil without
washing, we ate sour docks, which were the leaves of the dock plant. We
would make fiddles out of them first. That was pulling the centre of the
leaves apart leaving the strings or veins like a fiddle. Then we ate them.
They tasted like vinegar, we got turnips out of the big field on which
Deneside is now built and had feasts off them. We plundered our gardens
for mint, lettuce, rhubarb and carrots. We would play on summer days from
dinner time until bed time without going home for any food. The taps were
in the street so it was easy enough to put ones mouth under and get all
the drinks one needed.
Miners were very proud of their gardens. They had the most beautiful
flowerbeds in great profusion, the colours had to be seen to be believed.
Every little hole and corner was decorated with boxes or barrels. Mother
had barrels of chrysanthemums, bronze and white at either side of the
front door with boxes of nasturtium growing up the wall under the window.
But the good gardeners had Canterbury bells, phlox, marguerites and many
more. They were ready for the big flower show held in Seaham Hall grounds
on the first weekend in August. It was called 'the big flower show'. Big
marquees were erected in the grounds. There were all kinds of side shows,
and refreshment tents. That was the day of the year, for people came from
all the surrounding collieries and there was great fun. I look back with
nostalgia on these great days although I always had to sly into the
grounds. The first time I was allowed to go with my sister was when I was
eleven years old. One had to pit ones wits against the gatekeepers, but we
won at last. We had the magnificent sum of one halfpenny between us - but
that did not mar our fun in the least. There were plenty of boys to chase
us and plenty of other people with a lot of money to spend so we watched
and shared in their fun. Then the gardeners had Paddy Finn's Leek Show
which followed a few weeks after the big show. Paddy was landlord of the
Station Hotel and had a big marquee erected outside his hotel at the top
of Marlborough Street. On Whit Monday morning was the big cycle parade.
Cyclists from far and wide joined in. I do not know where they started
from or where they went to, but I can remember taking my stand at the
corner of Railway Street and North Terrace to see them all sweep around
onto the North Road.
On Good Friday there was a big parade of all the Sunday Schools, excepting
Catholics, scholars and adults marched along the main streets singing
lively hymns. Nobody would miss this. Then on Easter Monday the Cottages
folk en bloc would go 'down the Dene'. It was a lovely little dell in
those days and Easter Monday saw it crowded. Everybody skipped and danced,
the boys chased the girls and stole their hat pins and everybody picnicked
on the grass. Then there was the celebrated race with our eggs. We rolled
them down the bank that leads into the Dene. The winner took the egg from
the loser. Then there was the game of jarping. You held your egg closely
in your hand while your opponent bashed it with his. The wide boys knew
exactly how to win. These eggs were dyed and on Easter Sunday morning we
would run to our friends houses with a can full of eggs, one for each
child in the family and then they would return the compliment. We had
Carling Sunday. These were greyish brown peas, which our mothers steeped
on the Saturday and we all had packets of them to eat on the Sunday. We
would pick the wild rose branches and stick a carling on each point. It
was who could get the biggest one to hold the most carlings. Simple
things, but then we were simple. Our fun never had to depend on money. We
had a holiday on Pancake Day, and one on Royal Oak Day. The boys and girls
would gather into gangs and roam up and down the four streets singing
'Royal Oak Day on the 29th of May, if you don't give us holiday we'll all
run away'.
But I think the greatest day for the children was the Sunday School treat.
It was always held on the Friday the schools closed for the summer
holidays. We, from the Cottages, joined with the mother church of St. John
from Seaham Harbour. We marched in procession from the school along what
is now Princess Road and so far through the Dene then into the Jubilee
grounds, which have since been closed because of mining subsidence. These
grounds were large and had swings and roundabouts and May poles. There was
a large building with tables and forms right down the centre, where we had
tea if it rained. If the weather was fine we sat on the grass and school
teachers and parents supplied us with the tea, buns and sliced currant
loaf from clothes baskets. The boys and the men would take the women and
girls up on the swings, but I remember a big row when a new curate stopped
the fun because he would not allow such infamous goings on as mixed
swinging. He stopped a couple by hooking the swing with his walking stick
and nearly caused a serious accident whilst tearing the lady's blouse. She
happened to be the wife of a policeman and there were ructions about it.
He, the curate, didn't last long after that. There were rebels you see in
those days too, for they made their voices heard although they stood in
awe of church authority.
There was a drill hall beside the Co-operative store at Seaham Harbour.
Every year the volunteers staged a big parade - it was a grand sight. All
of the officials at Seaham Colliery were the top notchers in the volunteer
brigade, and they headed the parade in their grand uniforms and plumed
hats, some on horseback, some on foot. There were brass bands and the
whole population (en mass) of Seaham Harbour and the Cottages (it was
seldom referred to as Dawdon) turned out to watch. At night a big ball was
held in the drill hall. We stood around the outside to watch the people
arrive for this great event. We goggled at their dresses of velvet, silk,
satin and the jewellery worn by the women. The men were mostly in uniform,
but some few were in tails. I remember peeping in and seeing a great
cannon standing in the middle of the floor. I suppose it would be moved
for the dancing. Yes, times were good and mildly exciting. We were poor,
but we did not miss what we never had and we depended mostly on the
weather for our enjoyment. What we had most of was fresh air. Families
were large, houses were small, so we had to come in only at meal times.
Even in the cold weather we spent most hours out of doors. We were warmly
clothed, had good strong boots, had good plain food so we took no harm.
When our fingers were cold we would stand up against the gable ends of
houses and warm them on the wall. It was surprising the heat that
penetrated from the large fires of the miners. They had free coal in an
adequate supply so everybody was warm. Bricks or oven shelves were put in
the beds to warm them. I can remember when we had only oil lamps. It was
quite a ritual trimming the lamps each night before it turned dark. A man
came round selling lamp oil. He had a trolley and he would shout ‘lamp
oil, lamp oil'. It was a favourite pass-time of the children to stand
round a corner, pop out and shout 'what do you feed your donkey on' and he
would shout 'lamp oil'.
We only had three little tuck shops at the Cottages. Old Janey had one in
the first street. Danny had one in the second and MacDade's had one in our
street. Then a family had a little paper shop in their front room. They
had a family of boys, one of whom fancied himself as a yodeller. You could
hear Joe yodelling in the early and the late hours of every day. I
remember their father used to bath them every Saturday afternoon in the
poss tub in the back yard. We would see one little naked body after
another running across the back lane into the house to be dried. They were
as tough as nails or so we thought. However mother's predictions came true
for they were not a long living family. You see mother thought the best
place after a bath was bed, and that one paid the price in after years for
all this 'foolhardiness'. It may have had no such effects.
Meals were not elaborate in our early days. All bread was baked at home.
We had small round ovens, which were always hot. Mother used to bake 48
loaves at a time. She and her neighbour had an arrangement whereby one
would bake one day and half was baked in the neighbours oven after she had
made her midday dinner. Then when she wanted to bake Mother would stoke
her oven and return the compliment. Then mother baked forty eight tea
cakes each week. The boys liked them for their 'bait' down pit. A couple
of tea cakes with jam in between was considered a good 'bait' down pit.
Then she baked a large ginger cake in a big dripping tin and it was cut
into squares. I can still see my father with a pint pot of cold water, a
large chunk of ginger cake and his cracket, strolling across the back
street. He would sit in the sun with his back to the backward wall and
have his snack. He was also very fond of rhubarb pie and Victoria plums.
We had a big bed of cherry rhubarb in our garden, so while it was in
season we had plenty of rhubarb pies and puddings with white sauce over
them and rhubarb jam. Gosh! I could never eat rhubarb jam again. There
were stacks of seven pound jam jars stored on the top shelf of the big
pantry. Some with a little apple mixed in and some with ginger. Mother
worked exceedingly hard to make ends meet. She sometimes baked bread for
sick neighbours, or washed a few shirts or towels to help a neighbour to
‘put over until she was well again'. She made all of our dresses and
underclothes and night clothes. Everything she made was decorated with
feather stitch. I remember she made my father and brothers some new
flannel body shirts for the pit, and my father who was very witty said how
nice they were but one thing was missing - the feather stitch. These
shirts were put on when they finished their shift so that they absorbed
the sweat and helped the miners to prevent them catching cold when they
came to the cold atmosphere at bank. She also made 'bait pokes’ and many a
family bought them from mother. She also made ladies aprons, just very
plain, made of white calico for best and blue and white checked ones for
every day. She made a lot of chemises (shifts as they were called). Some
were very decorative and lots of people having babies would buy them. All
babies were breast fed in those days. Then there were things called abbot
shirts which women wore when feeding babies. These prevented them from
being too exposed. Pit men wore flappers. These were very simple and while
covering the men allowed them plenty of air. They were worn like bathing
trunks. When pitmen came from work these flappers were so wet and covered
in pit dust one would have thought they had been dipped in a muddy pool.
It was the job of the girls of the family to ease the lives of the miners
by having hot water ready to fill the tin bath, and after the bath we had
to wash out the flappers and socks and put them to dry. Then we took all
the pit clothes outside and dashed them against the wall to remove the pit
dust. One had to feel in the pockets and take out face cloths or bait
pokes and often one found beetles in the pocket. My father and brothers
would often say that they hung their clothes and bait pokes on pit props
down pit and when they went for them they were covered in beetles. So a
tinsmith set up a shop and began to make bait tins which were carried in
their pockets. Then they had tin bottles made by the same man to carry
their drinking water. Often we had to take these bottles to have new
bottoms put in. They had a little 'lug' at one side of the neck through
which a string was passed and it was hung on a button stitched to the
shoulder of his coat. My father loved to scour the beach at the Blast
Sands' to collect corks washed up from the sea. Mother kept these in a
special drawer after she had sterilised them, and everybody in the
Cottages knew where to get a new cork for a pit bottle.
We also had to grease the pit boots. This kept the leather pliable. We
would put tallow candles in a tin, put the tin in a warm place to melt the
candles, then after removing all dirt with a scrubbing brush, we used a
cloth to rub on the tallow. Men’s feet were often covered in blisters by
the time they had walked three to four miles from the pit in 'clarty'
socks and heavy boots. When the pit clothes were 'dashed' we put them in
the right order, the coat spread out first, then the shirts then the socks
then wrapped the sleeves of the jacket around the lot and put them into
the cupboard under the stairs. When the time came around for another shift
we lifted them out and spread them before the fire on the fender.
Daughters had to work very hard in a family of pit workers. Woe betides
you if you ever forgot to fill up the boiler at the side of the fireplace.
The boiler was on the right and the oven on the left with a flue to feed
each with hot air. The back of the fireplace had a shelf of two bricks
wide. Coals were heaped on here to rake down with a big coal rake when
needed. We had to take our turns at filling the coals'. How many mother?
'Two on and two to stand' was the answer. One full pail stood in readiness
at either side of the back yard step. We had two steps up and a foot
scraper at one side. This was sorely needed as streets were like ploughed
fields in wet weather and at your peril to bring mud in on the good mats.
People made their own mats in those days. Mother made one or two, as was
needed, every Christmas time. As soon as the mat back was stitched into
the frames we smelt Christmas. Mother would buy some red, green and gold
felt at the store and cut it up into clippings. Some people measured these
with a match box. Not Mother, she was as quick as lightening snipping the
clippings and I bet you all would be the right length when she was
finished. These coloured clippings were used to outline a pattern which my
father had already designed. He was very good at drawing although he could
neither read nor write. Mother was a good reader but oh the fun we had
with her spelling! As she ran out of things for the pantry she would write
the items with chalk on the back of the pantry door. We have spent hours
trying to decipher them. She could, and always said the same thing 'you
talk about scholars, I can beat the lot of you'. Back to the mats. The
rest of the mat was filled up with mixed clippings from old trousers or
coats or such strong material so as to give good wear. Oh yes - and the
border was always black. When the mat was finished and cut out of the
frames it was my father's job to make a big pan of toffee and this was
shared amongst those who had had any share in the making. What a time to
look forward to and to be the first to roll on the new mat. Great days.
You will all notice that our pleasures had to be without cost. Mother many
times had to go to bed as soon as my father had left for work, around 8:00
to 8:30, because she had no money for oil or the gas when it was
installed.
Only twice can I remember my father and mother having a trip on a
Saturday. Once they went on a train trip to Stockton. We children thought
they had gone to the other side of the world. We had never been left on
our own for so many hours, although my older sisters and brothers were
quite capable. Father told us the train would pass along the line at the
bottom of the street and we were all to wave farewell. We waited and
waited but most of us were asleep before they came home, but we wakened
up, came down stairs and they had brought a big bag of horehound candy.
What jubilation. The other time they went to Sunderland. My mother brought
a new hat for me. It was bright red and exactly like the helmets worn by
Dad's Army, only it had a big feather sticking out at one side. I hated
it, however one of the girls in my Sunday school class chewed the feather
almost entirely and finally when out one blustery evening the crown blew
away and I was left with just the rim. Mother always bought our clothes
when she saw bargains. Whether they fit or not was a different matter. I
remember the sailor's suit she bought for my brother John, to wear on the
Sunday school trip. The legs reached down to his ankles, but it was
Mother's contention that that was the wise way to buy clothes then you
grew into them. Poor bairn - he looked comical and matters were worsened
because he had to wear his straw bertie with it. These were very popular
but not with a sailor's suit and to make matters worse everybody laughed
and pointed. John had a violent temper and I often wonder that he did not
take the offending trousers and rip them to pieces, instead of which he
just walked with a red face and a very set mouth. It made him look worse.
But we did not realise then as we do now in these affluent days, the
struggle mother had to make ends meet. We were well fed and warmly clad
thanks to her ingenuity. She could always manage a trip to the pantomime
on a Saturday afternoon in the winter, a small present each from the three
penny bazaar, with a new hanky and a new penny at Christmas time, a paste
egg at Easter and carlings on Carling Sunday. No birthdays were
celebrated, but then 'there were too many'. Mother used to get very angry
when one used this phrase in any connection with her family. She would say
never say too many if you were talking of her family, because if God gave
her a choice to sacrifice one she would not be able to decide. She was a
good wise woman, but very strict, but then she had to be as there were
twelve of us every day, including father, mother and Jack Blake. The
latter was a cousin to us, nephew to my parents. His mother was my
mother's only sister and when she died, Jack, who was thirteen, joined our
family. We always referred to him as Jack Blake. He was a good worker, and
every fortnight on payday he would give each of the little ones of the
family a penny. We looked forward to this as we never got any other money;
men were paid every fortnight. One weekend was called pay weekend and
other was called baff weekend. The pawnshops did a good trade every baff
weekend. I remember one family, in our street, would have a glorious time
on pay weekend. Friday was payday and all the family would be off to the
theatre on the Friday night, into town on the Saturday and dead broke
after that. Everything possible was pawned the next week. Mother was too
proud to live this way. She schemed and pinched and made her money serve.
Theatres and pictures were out of the question.
Boys and girls all played together. We played with balls and skipping
ropes and hitchy dabbers and diablos (father called me the diablo queen)
but he always predicted a broken nose. We played rings, choosing the boys
we wanted to kiss and we played boy’s games as well. In winter the boy
would put a candle in a jar hung with string. This was known as 'the
Maggie'. They would run away in the dark, shine their Maggie and we had to
follow the light and try to catch them. As we ran we shouted the jingle:
'Jack shine yer Maggie, or the dogs canna foller'. The girls played
buttony. We had bags of buttons round our necks and we would play each
other or in teams. We had to throw a button up against the wall and then
your partner would follow suit. If you could span the distance between the
two buttons you were the winner and took your partners button. Then we
played hitch bays. Bays or squares were chalked on the ground, we had no
pavements, and we hitched the dabber from square to square. Of course
there were many rules and diversities in the game and one had to practise
a good deal to be expert. We were not allowed to play any of these games
on a Sunday, It was supposed to be against God's rules, but I suspect it
was because of our Sunday boots. But like all children we could find a way
round. We played 'Sunday bays' which omitted the dabber, and ball games
against the wall. The wall took the battering instead of our boots and
that did not offend God. We could not play ring games like 'Looby Loo',
'Old Roger is dead', 'Oh Mary what are you weeping for' and Romans and
British' etc. because we could not sing songs on Sundays. I had to take
the younger children out for a walk on Sunday morning while the dinner was
being made. Of course we went to all the forbidden places. Many a lie
we've told to cover up. Then we went to Sunday school which was held in
the village school. I remember we were never allowed to miss, both mother
and father were strict on this. But we never received a prize for good
attendance. This went on for some years until Mother noticed that the
prizes were given to the children who lived beside the teachers in the
first and second rows. Some of my friends received a prize for good
attendance in several successive years. So Mother took us away and sent us
to the Free Church in Seaham Harbour. I loved it, and received a prize for
my contribution at the Anniversary. It was a book called 'A Basket of
Flowers'. I loved the happy singing at Sunday School and it was such a
bright lovely church in those days - alas it is no more. However, old
'Daddy Copley' was paying frequent visits to our house to bring us back to
the fold, and after about a year and a half we were sent back to the
dreary old school again. After this some of our family did get the odd
prize. They stood on the best table which was covered with a plush cloth.
The big family bible stood in the centre with grandmother's photo on top,
then the books at each corner with a photo of uncles and aunts on top. I
remember some of the books quite well. My ‘Basket of Flowers', 'The last
of the Mohicans', 'What Katy Did', ‘The Log Cabin', ‘Children of the New
Forest', ‘Bachelor’s Buttons' and some I don't remember at present. I
loved them but Mother wasn't keen on reading 'trash'. All books were
'trash'. She thought one's time was better spent on mending, darning,
knitting, etc. You see how times change and progress. I read a good deal
when my children were young. Stories at bedtime, and rhymes and jingles
were great pleasures for you when you were young and not the distorted
versions my father used to repeat to amuse us. He would draw for us mostly
amusing pictures and make up a story as he went on and we would be in
stitches at him and remember he was no scholar. He bitterly regretted this
all his life and was determined that we should not be like him. He told us
many times that when he was only an infant he was brought to Seaham
Colliery. His father was a miner and he went from pit to pit. He was taken
to the local school and in order to find out which 'class' he was fitted
for, the master asked him to read from a child's book. Father recognised
the picture and reeled off the nursery rhyme. The master looked very
pleased but when asked to read the next page he did not recognise the
picture and could not read a word. The master thought he had been taken
for a ride and that he thought, should not escape punishment. He beat my
father so severely that he ran from the building and no further punishment
or persuasion could ever make him return.
Of course in those days children had to pay to go to school and no doubt
my grandmother would be glad to be relieved of this debt. But how
different these days, thank God or man for making it so. There was a life
blighted from childhood for when he became an invalid in his latter years
he would have been glad of a nice book to pass his weary hours in greater
pleasure. Yes times have changed and the greater part for the better, but
don't believe that the old days were all bad. We were very poor, but we
had a peace which you will never understand, that is why I still find
great pleasure in my old age, watching the cows go back to pasture across
our village green. It recalls my very young days when I sat on our garden
wall and watched old Sally from Dawdon Farm call the cows, 'kee-op, kee-op’,
she would shout and all the cows would turn and follow her, I can see her
still in her milk maid's bonnet, skirt turned up at the front and pinned
behind, with several frilled petticoats down to her heels and a coarse
apron tied with string around the waist She had big boots and a very
weather beaten face, having worked on the farms all her life. We knew her
by no other name but Sally. We crossed the same field, went under the 'Dardon
Bridge' to the farm for milk. We always took three cans 'two pints of old
and one of new please'. The old milk was very cheap and we had it on our
porridge for breakfast. We used condensed in our tea. We never had coffee
or cocoa. The latter we didn't like and the former we had only heard of in
the shops. The 'hitchy dabbers' I mentioned before were got from the
'bottle house'. This was a factory making glassware. It was situated along
Ropery Walk at Seaham Harbour, just before my time there had been a Ropery
and a Blacking Factory, but these had ceased and the 'Bottleworks'
employed many of the adult population of Seaham Harbour and the Cottages.
Many of our friends worked there, but mother thought it a common place for
girls. The 'Blacking Factory' I mentioned used to make, amongst other
things, blacking for boots and horses harnesses. You put these black cakes
in a tin, poured water over, then applied the paste to the boots or other
articles to be polished. It needed a lot of elbow grease to make a shine.
Jack Blake was an expert at making his boots shine. He took a great pride
in his boots, so much so that no one had to touch them but himself. It was
the girls' job to take all the Sunday boots into the back yard on a Monday
morning before school and clean them ready to put away until the next
Sunday. Then when we got 'off the floor' that meant school or bed, in this
case school. Mother would brush all the Sunday clothes, remove anything
from the pockets and they were then folded and put away in the two bottom
drawers of the tall boys (chest of drawers) until the next Sunday. Nothing
but a funeral would disturb those clothes until the following Sunday.
'Funerals' - there was an occasion, alas not an uncommon one. Everybody in
the Cottages would rally around the bereaved and on the day of the
internment the body was brought from the house into the street and set
upon chairs. The population would gather around and sing hymns and
standing in the background would be the 'waiters on'. These women would be
dressed in their Sunday black with a white apron on. Mother was usually
amongst them. Then the coffin would be carried to Dawdon Cemetery. Only
the better off could afford a hearse. These huge black painted, glass
fitted monstrosities were decorated with plumes at each corner. The bigger
the plume the dearer the service. The mourners rode in cabs. If it were a
child being buried, a box was hung on the back of the cab. It had sides of
glass so that you could see the coffin. But I remember as a child seeing
women carrying little white boxes under their arms. These were babies of a
few hours or days old being taken by the midwives to the cemetery.
But even at death the miners could joke. They had a very keen sense of
humour, and so many of their pals met with fatal accidents in those days
that they must have developed this humour to protect themselves. The
powers that be at the collieries showed no respect. It seemed to be
considered as one of those things. I remember a man falling down the shaft
into the sump. His wet dripping body was brought by comrades through the
streets on a very roughly constructed hand cart. He had been a very short
sighted man who wore very thick glasses and I, as a little girl, wept as I
saw it go along. But I heard the men joking and actually laughing about it
afterwards. Again I remember the story father told mother when one of our
neighbours was killed. The official at the colliery chose a man to go down
and break the news to the family. This was always a terrible job, so the
chosen one tried all the way to think of a gentle or subtle way to break
the news. This particular messenger knocked on the door and the housewife
answered. He said "does widow Brown live here?", she said "my name is
Brown, but I'm not a widow". He said, "well you soon will be when you see
what is coming". Yet they were only callous outwardly. Underneath they
were a grand lot of men extremely kind to all children.
Men played several games in the little free time they had. I remember
seeing them at marbles with a huge ring chalked at the bottom of the
street. Street played street in competitions, and their knuckles would be
red raw by the time the game was over. Remember we had no well laid roads
or streets and no footpaths as we have today. They used to box, bare
fists, and wrestle, all in fun but there were many black eyes and bloody
noses, when they were finished. Another popular game was handball. The
miners had a 'ball alley' at Seaham Colliery. This was a high very wide
wall built on some waste ground near the bridge which led over the railway
to the pit. It was smoothly cemented and was always kept in good trim. Men
would smash a hard ball with their fists against this wall. They counted
and followed various rules. They played in teams, and other collieries
joined in matches just as they do with darts today. Then they had cards
and domino matches. My father's hobby was pigeons. Most men kept them.
They had dockets at the bottom of their gardens, had pigeon races and
really enjoyed their one day off at the weekend. Some men had whippets.
You always knew a whippet man because he wore a red handkerchief tied
tightly around his neck. These men were the gamblers, so my father wasn't
amongst them. Many men went fishing, especially those with male families.
They owned their own cobbles, so fish was plentiful and cheap. They
brought their catch and hung it on iron roped fences at the bottom of
Church Street at Seaham Harbour. So if we wanted fish we went to the
‘rails'. There were four fish and chip shops in Seaham Harbour. These were
only open at night, every night excepting Sunday. One proprietor was known
as George Willie. It was near the Theatre Royal, the only place of
entertainment in those days and at the interval, all would rush to George
Willie's. “Two ha’porths George Willie”, meant a fish and a ha’porth of
chips. These were usually the families like the ones I mentioned before
who lived up our street, no breeches with backsides in and no shoes to
their feet, but the whole family excepting the father, would be at the
theatre each week. We were only allowed to go to the pantomimes at
Christmas time, but we were well clothed and well shod.
We looked forward with glee to pay Saturday. We had several families at
the Cottages where the father took too much drink, and caused a terrible
scene at the weekend. One man always opened the upstairs window and threw
out pictures and crockery or anything that would go through the window.
Another couple, for both drank too much, fought with flour. It is quite
true. She would fetch a large bowl of flour from the pantry, put it on the
table and they would throw handfuls at each other. Crazy! But great fun to
watch. It was like a comic picture. Another one had a rifle. He was a
poacher and he would scare the life out of the whole street. We children
would see him rolling back home and we would scatter shouting 'Jimmy
Thomas'. The streets were emptied till Jimmy was safely indoors. I never
knew him shoot the rifle but there was always the chance.
There were many hawkers in those days. We had only the little tuck shops
at the Cottages, so hawkers were very welcome. There was the lamp oil man,
the pikelet man with two clothes baskets on his head. These were filled
with pikelets and covered with clean white cloths. When warmed and
buttered these were lovely for tea. There was the yeast man. He came round
once a week in a little trap. Mother could get the yeast on the baff week
to pay for it on the pay week. There was the egg man, hen and duck eggs,
brought in big baskets. No milkman, we carried our own from the farm.
There was the 'prop wife' called one eyed Clara. What a character.
Terrible to look at poor thing and this enhanced with her rags that she
wore. She carried the props on her shoulders and called out "clothes
props". The boys and girls teased her unmercifully and she would reply
with the foulest language, words that we had never heard but guessed they
were swear words because it was Clara. She would go berserk, put down the
props and chase them all, and really to see her with her arms and legs
flaying the air was very laughable, but thank goodness she never caught
anybody. Then there were fruit hawkers. Whatever was in season, someone
would come round with a small horse and cart selling that fruit. There was
the ragman. Oh their trumpets! They would give candy for rags, bones or
jam jars. So any raucous noise was referred to as 'the candy man's
trumpet'. Oh, I forgot to say the pikelet man rang a little hand bell.
Then there was the potman. His visits were fairly rare, but I can still
see him with about a dozen plates in his hand which he rattled. He held
them like a man holds a stack of cards when he is displaying them. He also
sold brown dishes and jars. Then there was the second-hand clothes woman
with her big basket. They were clothes begged from the better off and sold
cheaply to the poor. Not for mother. She said you never knew what diseases
you might get from them. There was the vinegar man. It was surprising the
trade he had, but then people in those days were very fond of vinegar and
gardeners had onions, beetroots and pickling cabbages to pickle for the
winter. In every pantry you would see big jars of pickles ready for the
winter. We never had preserved fruit. Mother believed in fresh fruit when
it was in season. Once a man came round selling eggs. They were extremely
cheap. He said he had got them from a boat in the docks. Someone who had
been served first happened to use them straight away and found out they
were all bad. Word went round the grapevine in no time at all, and the
poor man was pelted with the rest of his eggs before he could make his
escape. Make no mistake, tempers ran very high if they thought they were
being cheated.
Money was scarce so every halfpenny counted. I remember going shopping
with mother and a thing would be marked 6 3/4d. Now the farthing was being
phased out, so mother reckoned if you could not get your farthing change
why mark things in farthings? So she decided she would have her money's
worth and asked for a farthings worth of pins in lieu of her farthing. She
never purchased anything without a lot of palaver. She would ask for
something made of cotton and she would pull this way and that and examine
it thoroughly and reject it saying it was full of starch and when washed
would be like a clout. If by buying two small items she could save a
farthing she would buy two. I can still feel her nudging me with her elbow
and saying "you have to watch shopkeepers, they are selling but I'm
buying". Every Monday following the pay Saturday she would go to the
Co-op. She would say "if I only have a penny or tuppence to put in the
savings bank, I know that I am not in debt, and always remember pennies
grow into shillings". She would also say "you can look anybody in the face
if you have a pound or two behind you". She didn't economise on food, she
bought all she could afford, but we often just had half a kipper each for
tea, or even half an egg. I often think of her when I have a boiled egg. I
can see Mother with one flick of a knife, slice an egg in equal halves and
never waste a bit of yoke. What a mother to be proud of. Mind you, disobey
her, or cross her in any way and out came the tawse. We called them 'the
tars'. This was a leather strap with tails cut half way up. One lash with
the 'tars' and you submitted. Yet we had a lot of love. Father would sit
by the hour asking guessing stories. Many of them were made up by himself.
He would repeat nursery rhymes which had little semblance to the original
but were much more entertaining. The same with fairy tales. His father was
quite a good scholar although he was self taught. At the early age of
eight he lost his parents, and his sister and he was left alone. They
lived in the Isle of Man. His sister went to train as a nurse in London,
she being the elder, and my grandfather came to Cumberland as a stowaway.
He often used to tell us of the old cottage they left behind. One room
downstairs with half of a ceiling built above. This half made an upstairs
bedroom, which had a ladder. I saw one which I imagined must be very
similar when I was in the Isle of Man. He never heard from his sister
again, as he had landed in Whitehaven. He was looked after by a miner and
his family and worked as a trap boy down pit. He was only eight years old.
As he grew older he went to other pits, then married and had a family,
finally settling in Seaham Colliery. He was a great one in the union
movement and was deported to America, as he was blacklisted and could not
get work throughout the country. He was brought back and became one of the
best respected men at Seaham Colliery, but a strong trade unionist.
My father David, called after his father, was the second son. He married
my mother who was an orphan. She had a sister (I am called after her) and
a brother. Mother was the youngest. Her father was a sea going man. He had
gained his tickets and had been promised his own ship on the next voyage,
but was lost at sea, just off Hartlepool. This was a great tragedy for the
family. My grandmother was terribly crippled with rheumatism and could do
nothing. In those days when the head of the house was taken the whole
family fell to pieces. Mother's sister and brother had been well educated
(for a poor class) but mother got not further education after reaching
seven. At eight years old she was working at the farm, but she was always
grateful for the kindness the farmer's wife displayed towards her mother.
It wasn't the coppers she received but the butter, eggs, potatoes and a
turnip each week, sufficient with care to last them. All those years
afterwards mother still used to weep about the heartbreak her mother
suffered over parting with her bits and pieces. They could receive no
assistance as her mother refused to part with her sewing machine. All they
had left was the table, three chairs and the beds. Although grandmother
could no longer use the machine she was bent on keeping it for mother.
Grandmother had been a tailoress, indeed, she made the riding habits for
quality in her younger days, being employed in a shop for that purpose.
Mother too was very handy with the machine. Employers seemed so heartless
in those days. Yet mother always got comfort from the fact that she had
been spared the fate of my father's aunt.
She worked down the mine. She pulled the tubs like a beast. Yet she lived
till she was eighty. She was a very small, thin but tough old lady. She
always looked as if she had just got out of a tub of hot water. Her
clothes too were plain but immaculate. She wore a little bonnet tied with
ribbons under her chin, a big warm shawl and very bright black boots. I do
not think she had ever ridden in any vehicle in her life, but walk, my
goodness, she had her constitutional every day. Her house which consisted
of one room and a pantry was as clean and neat as herself, and I remember
she made ginger beer to get a few coppers, well she had to, her room cost
one shilling and sixpence a week rent. Mother used to send her a quarter
pound of tea every pay weekend. Her husband had left her with two small
children. You see she was a Salvationist, a non smoker, non-swearer,
non-drinker and non-gambler, just a good efficient housewife. She was very
roughly spoken, but very honest. Matt her husband was none of these and so
at last she gave him to understand that he must either conform or get out.
He chose the latter and she worked very hard to bring up her two children
respectfully. Years afterwards, she was paying a visit to her sister (my
grandmother) when they heard someone singing in the street. Thinking it
was a beggar, a very usual thing in those days, grandmother looked out of
the window and asked Aunt Annie if it was Matt. Yes it was. She got up to
the window and pelted him with all the tea things on the table. The
astonished Matt made his getaway as quickly as possible and was never
heard of again.
Grandmother was a little stout woman with the pinkest parting down the
centre of her snow white hair. She was what we would call a canny little
soul, mild and gentle and greatly loved by grandfather. He was boisterous
and drank a lot, talked a lot but left the house and family in control of
grandmother entirely. When I was very small they lived in the old mill I
told you of at the beginning of this tale. It had ceased to work and was
converted into a dwelling house called the Round House. It was extremely
quaint but neither hygienic nor satisfactory. Next to it were some little
old cottages called the Mill Cottages. They have long since disappeared.
Next to the Round House was a big field, one had to climb a stile to get
to it, and I remember the big dog grandmother had leaping over this stile.
In their latter years they lived a little distance from this mill in the
Miners Homes. Grandfather paid frequent visits to the Mill Inn, where he
was well known and well treated. His legs were failing him and when he
left the pit at night he would stand and shout "Janey, Janey" at the top
of his voice and Janey would come and take him home. He had to promise he
would not cross the road without her. He died when he was 83 and
grandmother soon followed him at 81. Their family did not reach anything
like these ages. My father was only 53. He never touched spirits in his
life, yet my grandfather has been known to drink several bottles in a
week. He used to say it preserved him and that was the last thing he asked
for before he died. Grandmother's house was very clean but very poor as
was normal in those days. I remember Grandfathers big arm chair with the
spittoon beside it. He was not allowed to spit into the fire place. She
had a square table, a dresser and some odd chairs. I also remember a stool
made out of a butchers block. It was very, very heavy, but it stood solid
on four legs and could not be tippled. Grandmother seemed so opposite to
Grandfather. She neither smoked nor drank, nor swore. She had little to
say, whereas Grandfather never stopped talking. After rambling on he would
look at her for some comment and all she ever said was "aye so Betty was
saying", or "aots man" yet she could rule him and he loved her.
As I said before Father had his pigeons. Uncle Bob (he was father's
brother in law) lived up the street and he was a great pal. He had a very
loud voice, which was always heard above all others, and when he laughed
it could be heard all over the Cottages. He laughed all the hours that he
was awake mostly at himself, which my father used to say, showed the
quality of the man. I remember when Uncle Bob built his first pigeon
ducat. He built it in the attic room of his house, and then found he could
not get it through the door. He had everybody in the Cottages up looking
at this beautiful ducat he had made before he would take it to pieces
again. It caused peels of laughter, the loudest from Bob himself.
Talk of smoking. Even the old women smoked pipes. Ganny Race would sit at
her back door enjoying her pipe. I can picture her so vividly. She was a
tiny little woman with a very wrinkled face. She always called bananas ‘fananas’.
Her husband was just as tiny. He had an accident at the pit which caused
brain damage. He became like a little child, I remember he used to run out
of the house as soon as her back was turned. One day I and some other
children were playing at the bottom when we saw the old man running
towards us. He was just in his shirt, no pyjamas in those days, so we ran
for Ganny. Of course, before she caught him he was half way across the
cows’ field. We were highly amused when we saw her bringing him back. She
was holding up his shirt tail and slapping his bottom as he ran, just like
you would treat a naughty child. "Run away wad ye, I'll larn ye", she was
saying. I am saying old Ganny Race, but you know she would not be sixty,
because she did not die until nearly twenty years later. But people looked
and dressed old when they were comparatively young. Grandma bonnets and
capes, with long trailing skirts made them look very old. Mother never
wore those, they were going out of fashion.
Mother had to go down into Seaham Harbour every Saturday night to do her
shopping. Shops were open then until near midnight. She would see all the
work done and the young ones bathed and in bed before she went out. Two
older ones were left in charge. As my oldest sister went into service I
was left with my sister older than me to keep charge. My sister was always
up to some tricks. Once she varnished all the furniture. My mother was
really mad when she returned and we couldn't sit on a chair or touch the
furniture for days. There was no quick drying in those days. Another time
she had a fancy to make welsh rarebit, but as the frying pan would smell
of cheese and give the game away she fried it on the dust pan. The greasy
mark left behind gave the show away. Another time she would make some
pancakes. But instead of a few tablespoons of flour, she used a very big
dish full, mixed it with water and poured a good pan full out. It would
not set so we had to get rid of the lot. Where and how, that was the
point, so we each took a cup and threw a cup full into every midden in the
street, thereby spreading the load. It was years afterwards when we told
mother. For once we fooled her.
Then my father began to stay with us instead of going out. He would make a
pan of toffee and would tell us not to tell mother or he would get into
trouble for wasting the stuff. This was just a joke because he knew what
would happen. When mother returned we would stare at her until she asked
what was wrong and childlike we would say "father hasn't been making
toffee". Sometimes when the little ones were off to bed, he would make a
big pan of hot pot. He knew my brother and Jack Blake would be hungry when
they returned. Mother had already made some flat yeasty cakes ready for
tea. This was always our Saturday tea with a big jar of strawberry jam. A
treat from the rhubarb. Many a chunk has Mother given to the beggars.
There were many of these in those days both men and women and especially
cripples. Some would sing some would play mouth organs and some would
dance. Especially popular were the Scots in full regalia with bagpipes and
swords. They would do the sword dance and many of the women in our street
would join in a highland fling. They would give these men the very last of
their coppers. I remember one beggar who came regularly and was often
served by mother. She must have been very short this day but had not the
heart to face the man. So she told me to say "she is not in today". He
said, "well I'll not be back tomorrow". Out popped mother and told him
"never" would be soon enough and he could save himself the bother of ever
calling again. That was the last we saw of him. There were several men who
lived in the caves on the 'Blast Sands'. One was known as Loppy Dick. He
hung in absolute rags and never washed, but he didn't beg and no matter
how he was teased he never spoke a word. He lived there for many years but
was never in any trouble for he molested no one.
We had our weirdoes even in those days. We were severely warned against
them and would scatter quickly when we saw them. They molested little
girls and the funny thing was they belonged to very good families.
I remember the women who came round at Christmas time with a dolly in a
box, supposed to be the Christ child. It was always on the Christmas Eve,
after mother had hung up the mistletoe. These were the rims of apple
barrels, two inside of each other and decorated with coloured tissue
paper. Mother was a good hand at these. Then we bought little toys,
sometimes candy ones, to hang on the mistletoe. I remember spending all my
money at one go on a wax angel. It was so beautiful with its little gilt
wings I couldn't leave it in the bag. I was taking it out to have another
peep when I let it fall. I remember I said "aoh-ah" and that lived with me
for many years. The poor angel never reached the mistletoe. I can still
picture father teasing us on a New Year's Eve telling us to go to the
bottom and we would see a man with as many noses as there were days in the
year. After looking at all the men we saw we would come back and tell him
they had all only one nose. My mother had to explain, because he just went
on teasing. We all had to sit very still when he was using his cut throat
razor, getting ready for going out "where are you going Da?" we would say,
"to get my ears pinned back" "Are you going to the doctors then?" "Aye my
doctor", he would say meaning the pub but we didn't guess. When he came
back we would examine his ears very closely, but could see no sign of any
shifting but he would insist we were blind. The next time he would say he
was going to have his lugs put back again and there was the same
performance. He used to get 2/- or 2/6 every fortnight for pocket money,
and every Sunday following the pay day he would send us to old Janey's
shop to buy some sweets. This cost him 2d. He would share the sweets
amongst us. We had to choose small sweets so that they would go round.
This always happened after we had been to church on the Sunday evening. We
couldn't wait for the service to finish. In the later years, as we got to
thirteen or fourteen we were allowed out for a while after evening
service. Everybody made for the terrace at Seaham Harbour. Boys and girls
would follow each other, exchanging chat, from the Railway Street corner
to the old infirmary and back again. The Terrace was brightly lit with
sweet shops and it was a great attraction. I bet every couple in that
generation met and courted on the Terrace. Very few young people ventured
beyond the old infirmary, it was a dark stony frightening road beyond. Yet
in daylight we loved to roam down Lover's Lane, now Denehouse Road but
when we got to the sea we turned back again. On summer nights Saturday and
Sunday it was a great delight to go into Adam and Eve's gardens. These
were beautifully kept gardens, where bunches of flowers, fruit and drinks
were served. You went down Chapel Road as far as the police station and
opposite was an opening. You walked down a bank, across a foot bridge over
a stream and into the gardens. There were stone effigies of Adam and Eve
set in the flower beds.
Talking of the police station reminds me of our village bobby. He lived in
the first house of the Cottages. The mistress of the school, a Scots lady
lived in the same street. The policeman was a big, strong fellow,
magnificent in his uniform. He was a friendly, fatherly figure, but mind
you everybody had the greatest respect for him. Boys used to get up to
tricks but anything beyond the limit and they got a severe clout across
the face with his gloves. They seldom repeated the offence. Everybody went
to him with their troubles and he always lent a willing ear. He had a big
family himself and understood young people. He joined in all activities so
there was always order. I remember only once Jack Blake had had too much
to drink. He had the horrors as they were called. Bring the police. Now,
he would whip him into custody but not our village man. He sat on Jack,
douched him with cold water, undressed him, put him to bed and stayed
until he was sound asleep.
Our doctor lived in Seaham Harbour. He was six feet three, a very fine
looking Irishman. He had great respect for mother. He thought she was the
best and most efficient housewife he had come across and told her so. When
the last of her nine children were born, he asked her what she was going
to call it. She said she had run out of names, so he suggested calling it
Gerald after himself. This mother did and he gave the baby a threepenny
bit. He sometimes rode on a horse to pay his visits.
I seem to be hopping about like a cat on a griddle. I am back again to New
Year's Day. This was Mother's Day. Father would say "let ma alone today,
look after yourselves because it’s her day off”. You see the neighbours
had parties in each others houses. Mother's was always on New Year's Eve.
There was singing, dancing, joking, eating and drinking. Mother always
boiled a ham, a big piece of beef, a pig's head which was pressed in a
dish with a plate on top and on top of that the flat iron. She did a big
dish of spare rib and rabbits made into a pie. With the stock she made a
furnace pot full of broth. It would take my father a whole day to chop the
vegetables. We had plenty to eat for a full week, so that the celebrations
could go on. You see life was still good even on ginger wine. She was due
to this week of celebrations because she had papered and painted and
scoured and washed and made mats all in preparation, and all with the
greatest enthusiasm and anticipation. She was a great dancer. I can still
see her twinkling toes whenever she heard music. Father never danced but
he would sit in a corner and enjoy watching.
Of course we had 'broken up' at school. We had had 'the scramble’. This
was a ritual always held on the last day of school. The Marchioness of
Londonderry supplied an orange for each child. Then she supplied a big
sack of mixed nuts. The centre of the big room was cleared and the nuts
were thrown onto the floor and we all had to scramble to get at them. The
thickest skin held the longest out. Needless to say the boys did better
than the girls but it was all hard fun. Sometimes Lady Londonderry would
visit the schools when in residence at Seaham Hall. We were taught special
songs, mostly patriotic to sing to her. She was a singer herself with a
deep contralto voice. I remember she sang for us once, 'Rocked in the
Cradle of the Deep'. I can still see this well made woman, weighed down
with a big hat trimmed with huge ostrich feathers. I thought my mother
looked far nicer in her new hat with the bird's wing in the front, which
she bought to go to Stockton, and she had a much smarter figure. In fact
she was more commendable in all ways to our minds, but don't tell the
Marchioness.
The big day in the year for the men was 'Cavel Day'. This was a draw at
the pit to see where the putters and hewers worked for the next so many
months. Some places were good and some were very bad. On Cavel Day all one
could hear was "what's thee cavel Dave"? "Oh in the watta", was the reply.
This meant he worked in a seam full of water, which brought their skins
out in great big boils. It was the dread of every man to 'get in the watta'.
Some families were very lucky and got good cavels, others always seemed to
be dogged with bad luck, so there was either great despondency or great
joy. These men worked in teams, called 'marras'. "Wee's the marras?, one
would ask another, when the man told his enquirer “bugger my” you knew the
poor fellows marras weren't up to much. The putter filled the coals into
tubs. The coal hewer hewed the coals and the putter filled them into the
tubs and hung a token on each one as it was filled. There were 'token
slingers' at work sometimes. This was a man who changed the tokens on
another man's tub. They were hard to catch, but when they were, they were
either heavily fined or dismissed. His life wasn't worth living if he was
caught for he was never forgiven by his workmates. These hard working men
had Saturday and Sunday off, but maintenance men had no respite and men
like my father only had a Saturday. Mind you they could be sent for at
anytime of the day or night for an extra shift, which was always reckoned
a 'god send'. Sometimes father would work a double shift. A boy would call
for extra bait to be sent down to him. I remember my oldest sister writing
on the bait poke Father's name, The Maudlin, Staple Top. The ‘Mauldin’ was
the name of the seam. Then there was the 'the Main' and many others. My
father's 'marra' lived at Seaham Harbour but they always met at the
crossing to travel along pitman's walk over a footbridge onto Seaham
Colliery Road, then up the Black Road to the ball alley, across the
railway bridge and into the pit yard. It was a long way on foot especially
in the winter, and it was very, very lonely and dark. I remember I once
walked up the Black Road in daylight as I was going to visit my
grandmother, then on my way back I had to call at the overman's office and
collect my father's pay note. This was every other Thursday just after
tea. As I went up the Black Road, two pitmen were walking in front of me.
I kept well behind and when they came to the high wall around the pig
field they stopped. So did I and they shouted "away hinney we'll not hurt
ye", but I off back home without the note. This was a terrible thing to
do, as you had to have a very good excuse for not collecting the note at
the proper time or place, otherwise it was returned to Londonderry Offices
where all the knobs worked and they could treat you with great disdain.
When I explained to father he said the men would be hiding their pipes
near the wall, with their matches so that when they left the pit at the
end of their shift, they could have a smoke on their way home. This proved
correct as the two men recognised me and explained to father. You see when
mother was a little girl, a playmate was murdered on Feather Bed Rock and
we got so many warnings all men were suspect, so I was forgiven. I do not
know how or where the note was collected.
I forgot to mention the game of quoits which was very popular. A big spike
was driven into the ground and the mean threw heavy rings called quoits to
land on the spike. All these games have many rules which must have made
them very entertaining as they were very popular. Collieries played
collieries for prizes.
Every morning very early say two three or four o'clock a man called a
caller used to come round to call up men for the first shift. He would
knock on the door with a knobby stick, and shout 'caller'. He would
continue to knock until you answered so it was best to jump straightaway
or all the house, or even the street, would be wakened. I remember one
caller was very deaf and would go on knocking until someone opened the
door. My brothers thought it would be good fun to frighten him. They
waited until they heard his footsteps at the yard gate and then they
hammered on the inside of the door. He was mad and they could hear him
cursing all the way down the street. The man who came to warn about the
working of the colliery was called 'the crake man'. He rattled this crake
up and down the street before telling that the pits would be idle.
I have told about funerals, now I shall tell about christenings. These
were big events, almost as big as the weddings. Even the fathers would not
miss or the uncles. The woman who carried the baby to church would give
away its 'cheese and bread’. This was the name given to the little parcel
presented to the first girls she met if it was a baby boy being
christened, or the first boy she met if it was a girl being christened.
The parcel had small cakes, a piece of the christening cake and some money
in it. Weddings were big occasions too. It wasn't common for the bride to
be in white. Any gay colour would do. Everybody wore buttonholes and most
people walked to the church, but the bridal party went in a cab drawn by
two horses gaily decorated with ribbons. All the children of the Cottages
would gather and as the bridal cab began to move we shouted "hoy a
ha'penny out”. The men would throw out coppers and we would scramble for
them. The men would all go off to the pubs after the meal and then return
late to end in a punch up. The newly married couple usually set up house
in one upstairs room of their parent’s home. In Seaham Harbour there were
many houses with little cottages built in the back yards. These little two
bedroom cottages were greatly prized but one had to know the landlord to
be able to acquire one. Key money as it was called was often exchanged as
bribes in those days as houses were in short supply. They were between 1/6
and 2/6 a week rent. My cousin set up in one of these cottages and it was
very comfortable. My Aunt Annie whom I mentioned earlier had one room
downstairs at the corner of Adelaide Row and above her in one room was an
ex-schoolmistress. Aunt Annie was very religious and thought God has
blessed her in choosing such an aristocratic lady to be her near
neighbour. All the 'elite' of Seaham lived in Marlborough Street. Seaham
Harbour Station stood at the top. There was a ramp to walk up to the
Station and as children we used to love to run up and down this on a
Sunday morning. To get to it we had to walk down to Seaham Harbour and go
up Marlborough Street. There was an alternative, but we had to cross the
South Hetton Line and walk along the Black Road which brought you out at
the cabin crossing. But this Black Road was very narrow and hemmed in on
one side by the railway embankment and on the other by alley-ways leading
to the allotments. One man who had one of these allotments was a bad
character so we were forbidden to go along the Black Road without escort.
So we used Marlborough Street but we were often chased away. These houses
had small front yards and footpaths. The occupants all boasted maids who
scrubbed the steps and paths so we were not allowed to walk on them. We
had to walk on the road and even so were often made to turn back. Class
distinction was very rife. We went down the docks to play on a Sunday
morning, because we knew there would be no one around. We were forbidden
to go there, but children have always been the same. Then we went back
home to our Sunday dinner. After dinner, Sunday School and mother would
have an afternoon nap on top of the bed. This was a great treat for her.
As I have told you before we all had earth closets. There was a big wooden
seat which stretched from wall to wall narrow ways. This had to be
scrubbed after washing day, because one could not throw out good hot soapy
water. Then it was scrubbed again at the weekend on a Saturday morning. It
was a rotten job and we used to wrap a scarf around our nose and mouth.
Poor Paddy the midden man had to shovel them out and lead his load away to
the tip. Some people used to scrub their chairs and tables. We scrubbed,
baking boards, rolling pins, potato mashers, brushes and broom handles and
anything made of wood and used in the house. Then we cleaned knives, forks
and spoons with bath brick every Saturday morning. An older member of the
family would do the brasses. These consisted of fender, tidy betty, brass
kettles and stands, candlesticks etc. The hearth was whitened with
whiting, and the fireplace blackleaded. This would all take up to dinner
time. Then the floors would be scrubbed downstairs and mats replaced which
took up to teatime, when the men would return from their football matches.
The females of the house relaxed after tea until it was time to bath the
little ones and put them to bed. Monotonous? Well we were so glad of a
relaxing hour or two that we enjoyed it. Anyway it was our way of life and
grumbling got you nowhere. There were no places of amusement as in these
days, but we enjoyed an early evening with "The Band of Hope" or at church
concerts. Sometimes we had a 'magic lantern' show. These were generally
shown to help missionary work. These all took place in the long winter
evenings, in summer you could find your own recreation in the fields or
streets.
Religion in those days was a scary thing. We believed that for every lie
we told we would pay for it in the hereafter by having a hot poker pushed
down our throats. 'Don't eat while you sit on the netty, or you were
feeding the devil' was a firm belief. The netty was the name for the earth
closets. It was so widely used we thought nothing of it; in fact people
had the name in whitewash on their back yard doors, because any hawker or
beggar could use it without question. God was never presented as a kindly
fatherly figure but more of a spy watching, unseen, any little
misdemeanours one committed, yet overlooking the good. One expected him
behind any door ready to pounce and slap you down to size. Death was the
ultimate, when God decided to send you to heaven or hell, where you burned
in a fierce furnace forever for any sin committed. Imagine any sensitive
child lying in sheer terror at nights recalling all his little sins of the
passing days. We feared our parents, the priests, the policemen and the
'class' of our society. I often think now that we only enjoyed God's free
gifts like, fresh air, wind, rain, snow, the green grass and most of all
for me, the birds and flowers. Seeing a swallow now brings surges of
happiness that I have forgotten for so long. My father was a bird lover.
After a hard long night shift in the mine he would come home, have his
bath, get his breakfast, crumble some bread to put on the yard fence posts
for the birds and take an early stroll across the fields onto the Blast
Sands. He would come home have his dinner and go to bed until it was time
to go to work again.
Everybody bathed in either the poss tub or big tin bath. If the poss tub
was used it was rolled to the back door after use and tipped over the
step. The water cleaned the yard and gutters with the aid of a broom. If a
tin bath was used two people had to carry it to the door to tip it for the
same process. We had to rub the backs of the miners with a coarse towel.
These towels were made from coarse sugar bags. Every family had one or
more coarse towels hanging from a nail on the pantry door. You used them
to dry any part of your body excepting your face. As I said before we
rubbed men's backs with them, as it was a general thought that washing
weakened a miner's back. You can imagine what it was like for all the
members of a big family to get a weekly dip. The tin bath hung on a nail
in the back yard when not in use.
We had our own special dialect, which was a mixture of Scottish, Irish,
Wels and English, like the population of the Cottages at that time. We
never said 'go' but 'gan', ‘tak' instead of 'take', thrippeny bit, 'hume'
instead of 'home', 'lugs' instead of 'ears', 'brick' instead of 'break',
'breed instead of 'bread'. Oh dear, it was like a foreign language. For
example - 'had away doon the bottom an see if ye can fin the bairns', 'if
I etter tell ye again the can luck oot for it". The boys in class at
school felt positively soft when they had to read from a book. In fact
some of them could not understand the language, swear words were used
always by many children, but they had to be clean swearing. It was not
allowed in our home, but we knew all the words.
School was a terrible place. It was the rule of the rod, and parents had
no redress. It was supposed to be good for us. The lessons were very
monotonous. Reading, writing and arithmetic. Writing in the winter was
really terrible, because a blot from your pen brought severe punishment.
We had a little geography and history when we reached the senior class,
but geography was just a repetition of all the rivers, mountains and
promontories around the coast of England. We learned songs, mostly
patriotic, but these lessons were only occasional. When you reached the
top standard the boys got drawing and the girls sewing. A garment like a
nightdress would be produced by each pupil and that was all. We learned
all we ever knew in sewing and knitting from mother. One could sit an
examination at 12 or 13 years to leave school. It mostly depended on the
state of the labour market whether one succeeded. Boys went to the mines
girls went to the Bottleworks or into service. A servant girl was lucky to
receive three shillings a week for doing all the work including washing,
cooking and minding the children while the mistress went out at night.
They would have Saturday night free, one week and Sunday night the next,
always depending on the whims of the mistress, but as mother said if they
were in service they 'were one less to feed out of our own pantry'.
Life was very hard for our parents but, of course, like all children we
did not realise this. But one good thing was we were free from all fears
of war, which when we came to experience war later on brought home to us
our peaceful security in our very young days.
Washing days were the greatest dread in those days. I remember our clothes
were made of strong heavy stuff, like worsteds or woollens, for endurance
as they had to be handed down. These were hard to wash and harder still to
dry. People had very big mangles in those days, but no spin dryers, or
biological washing powders. No, the dirt had to be removed by hard
scrubbing with hard blue mottled soap. This was bought in long bars and
stacked for weeks to harden so that 'they would go a long way". Mother
bought blue mottled for household purposes and 'pale’ soap for personal
purposes. All was hardened in a cupboard for weeks until you could
scarcely cut it up. Clothes were possed with a poss stick made of hard
wood. The part that possed was like a tree trunk cut like clothes pegs are
cut. Then there was a handle convenient in length for the handler, with a
thick wooden peg at the top to hold when possing. Plonk, plonk, plonk went
the posser, plonk, plonk, plonk if you double possed. Mother had two
possers because everything was double possed. But the drying was a
different matter. If the weather was fine and windy all was well. The
clothes were hung in the gardens and across the back street. But in bad
weather they hung in the small kitchens for nearly a week, and tempers
were frayed to breaking point, trying to dodge damp clothes. If the
weather was good tempers were good and there was singing and much banter
between neighbours. I laugh now when I think of the clothes flying in the
back street. Women's wide voluptuous shifts and bloomers of every deep
colour you can imagine, swelled out with the wind like barrage balloons.
Men's long Johns and wide big shirts of flannel, all blowing in the wind.
The remarks passed were jolly and in clean good fun. There was widespread
happiness on those lucky days. But big rolleys covered in, bringing goods
from the co-op would be sure to come on washing day. Some of the drivers,
who always came from Seaham Harbour, would be anything but helpful. There
was widespread antipathy towards the Cottages people to start with, so
they would drive through the clothes, knocking out the props and snapping
the lines. Clothes would be dragged through the streets and dirtied. The
women decided they had had enough. They knew the drivers and decided to
wait. It only needed one rumpus, and no driver did it again. They knocked
at the door and asked if they could be through, sometimes clothes had to
be taken down, sometimes they could be propped higher, but peace was
restored. There were Catholics and Protestants all living together, and
sometimes there was trouble but no more so than between Catholic and
catholic or Protestant and Protestant. Gunpowder Plot was a great night.
There were plenty of crackers and London lights and a big bonfire. It was
a welcome way to get rid of a year's rubbish for parents, and a jolly
night for all of us. But our joy was marred the year a tiny tot was burned
to death in its pushchair. Its older brother or sister had left it too
close to the bonfire. I witnessed it and I have always been fearful of
bonfires since. But the old order changeth. When I was nine years old a
railway line was built along the bottom of our street connecting the South
Hetton line to a site near Dawdon Farm. It was the foundation of the 'new
pit' as it was called at Dawdon. Trucks began to fly backwards and
forwards an on this line and one of my playmates was killed, crushed
between two wagons. He was a rough boisterous happy boy. As he came
rushing out of school that fateful lunchtime I remember the teacher
shouting after him. “Tom Wharton, you know what's in store for you when
you come back". But he never came back. Then houses began to spring up,
houses for the new miners, occupied first by the sinkers and freezers
working on the new pit shaft. Our little peaceful village was no more.
Streets and streets of houses, newly built, began to be occupied by miners
from outlying collieries, and we began to be despised. Although these
people had left worse colliery houses than our beloved cottages they felt
superior in their new houses, and we were gradually pushed out. A new
school was built and new teachers bought in. A new church was built and a
new vicar installed. A new surgery was built and a new doctor appointed.
What a change. We did not want to stay anymore. Whereas we had hated the
idea of leaving the Cottages to go to Seaham Colliery, we now queued to
go. Once over everybody longed to be given a house at the Cottages, now
nobody was keen, only as a last resort. Mind you I had never heard of
Durham Big Meeting until Dawdon Colliery came into being. I suppose it was
too costly for our fathers to go to Durham so it passed us by. But not
now, this new breed made a great thing of their big meeting. It was talked
of for a good few weeks before and then on the day before the women folk
were kept busy baking. I remember seeing meat pies and bilberry pies
galore outside cooling, all in readiness for the big day. The banners and
band were on the march to Seaton Station at six o'clock that morning. What
a turn out and what a return in the evening. We had never in all our lives
seen as many drunken men. But we were to see a lot of them in the future.
I suppose it was a way of life then and, of course, times have changed
again.
At first I didn't like the school although I loved the new teachers. I
didn't like the church, but all this was because it was a new way of life.
At first the church called 'St Hilda's (HILD’S??) and St Helen's' was
referred to as the brick factory. The inside was all bare brick, no doubt
the best of bricks, but the pillars were square and all brick. We had been
used to round, plastered pillars nicely painted, but this was new, and it
took some of us a long time to accept it. All our lovely fields
disappeared and new roads opened up to what had been to us inaccessible
places, we felt old, small and despised. The Cottages had died and we
mourned its loss and many of us forsook it and went to live at Seaham
Colliery. I myself felt my childhood had been ruthlessly destroyed. I
think we look back with nostalgia on many things which are better to look
back on than to endure. Our parents were very strict and 'spare the rod
and spoil the child' was strictly followed. I know if mother said we were
to be punished we were punished. I remember the time near Christmas when a
concert was to be given by the Sunday Schools in the Candlish Memorial
Hall. This was a big building, a community centre, we would call it now,
situated near the Bottleworks. I had been presented to the community in
memory of one of the Candlish family who owned the Bottleworks. Now a girl
who lived in our street, who fancied herself as a theatrical, and whom we
regarded as a stuck up clown (which she may not have been) was one of the
artists. She was going to sing and dance. Our motive for going to the
concert was quite ignoble, for we had no idea of the girl’s ability. To us
it was a great joke. We had looked forward for weeks to the great event
but when the Saturday dawned the rain simply pelted down and we couldn't
go out of doors. A Saturday of all days to rain like that when there was
so much work to be done in the house. So mother said we could play in the
upstairs bedrooms, but not in the best room. Well there was a crowd of
little feet galloping around and the noise got on mother's nerves and at
last she said 'any more and no concert'. You would think this would have
curbed us but somehow it didn't, and we thought she would be so glad to be
rid of us for the whole afternoon that she would relent. Not mother, all
our apologies and tears could not move her, so we did not go to the
concert. Our friends afterwards sang high praises for our girl and we had
missed it. You can imagine what we thought and said on the sly about our
punishment, but no doubt we deserved it. I wouldn't care there was only a
collection and we could pass the plate without any shame, we were so used
to it.
Shanks’ pony was our way of travel. I can remember my first ride in a
train; I would be eight or nine. Mother took us to Roker in the summer
holidays. 'Never again' she said and no wonder. We had bottles of water,
bread and jam and teacakes, which we thought a sumptuous meal. But the
seaside air made us so hungry it had gone as soon as we hit on the beach.
Mother couldn't afford to supplement this and we were all crying out for
something to eat before we had been there half of the allotted time. It
was a long trail from Roker to the Sunderland Station and another nearly
as long from Seaham Harbour Station to the Cottages. That was the end of
our trips. Mother said and quite truthfully that we had more fun playing
in our own fields with much less bother. Then I remember having a ride in
a trap. A man living at Seaham Colliery had ponies and traps which were
used for public travel. Two used to stand at Seaham Harbour beside the
store. It was called the Castlereigh Stand. It took you up Seaham Colliery
Road to Model Street. That was its terminus. My grandmother lived in the
house attached to the Miners Hall. So we left the trap and walked up the
Black Road. I thought I was somebody great because I had ridden a trap. We
always walked. The doctor rode a bicycle, a contraption with very high
handlebars and two big wheels. Before that he had a horse. But when we
went to Seaham Colliery the doctor had a motor bike. You should have seen
the excitement when this noisy thing roared through the streets and in
those days the doctor seemed to be always on the roads. His surgery was
open every day and all hours. But I remember when the new surgery was
built at Dawdon and I had to go to register a call. I rang the bell, a new
innovation, and I heard a voice saying "yes, what is it?” I could not tell
where the voice was coming from. A maid came to the door at last and she
must have been mad at me and I bet she thought me the nitwit of the year
and pointed to a speaking tube just above the bell. I was so frightened
and confused I forgot my message. This was when we still lived at Dawdon.
I am skipping around aren't I? But it is just as I remember. The same man
with the traps had traps standing at the foot of the bank that led into
Dawdon Dene from Dawdon end and these carried passengers through the Dene
to the foot of the bank leading out at Dalton-Le-Dale. There were no
lights along this road and there was no other means of transport. I
remember years after, a young man was killed on his motorbike at the
Dawdon end of the Dene. He ran into the shafts of one of the traps
standing there. This Dene was very popular on a Sunday night in summer
time when families went out walking. Aunt Annie, whom I have mentioned
before, used to walk right through and back again once every week, winter
and summer. She was a funny old girl very determined and very brave. She
and my grandmother used to chuckle over the stories they could tell of
Uncle Matt. Evidently this gentleman made a habit of grumbling about his
dinner, no matter what was set before him. He always said the same thing
"what muck is this then". Annie would say it was no muck and many a man
would be glad of it etc. etc. whereupon he would fling it away. One day
she went to grandmother's very distressed and told her he had flung away
his dinner again and said he would rather have dog muck as eat that
rubbish. Now grandmother never had any trouble like this. She said "well
Annie, you can easily satisfy him there". It set the notion in Annie's
head and she soon was thoroughly enjoying the thought of seeing his face
the next day when she put grandmother's suggestion into action. Sure as
life "what's this muck then?" She removed the cover and said "something
you've been asking for for a long time Matt, and I hope you enjoy it". He
never grumbled again, but he never mended his manners either and at last
decided to disappear altogether. She used to say it was the best thing
that ever happened to her. What a woman, scarcely five feet high with a
face so thin and weather beaten that her eyes, nose and ears swamped her
head, but she was afraid of no-one. Isn't it funny the things you
associate with people when you are young. I remember one day when I walked
across to the back yard, and as I put my hand out to lift the sneck I
thought my goodness that looks like my uncle's face. And do you know to
this day when I look at an old fashioned sneck I am reminded of him, I
think it was the way he wore his cap tilted over his brow. Many of the men
who lived at the Cottages were very small in stature. It seems to me, as I
look back and remember that this present age is much taller than they were
then, although my father was nearly six feet and very straight. People
always thought he was a member of the volunteers.
Living in a family of boys is a great experience. You had to be tough to
stand up to them because they were very rough. Mind you we were never
allowed to fight with fists. Mother always said she was quite capable of
chastising all without any help, and so she was. As is the case today boys
didn't like best clothes. Sunday was a penance. Indeed they never liked
decent trousers or gansies (jersies now). I remember my brothers
deliberately making holes in the knees and seats of trousers to have a
patch so that they could be one of the lads. Their boots had to be filled
with hob nails, with steel toe and heel caps. The heavier they were the
better they liked them. A case ball to them was as good as a gold mine.
They used to go to the butchers shops on a Tuesday night which was killing
night and get the beasts bladders which they would blow up for footballs.
Cricket was not popular to my knowledge although we had a cricket field
and a team. People tried to make a little bit on the side to help out in
those days. Some would make toffee, some would make ginger beer, others
would boil and sell crabs and winkles, many sold fish from their cobbles.
I know a man who would fill your boots with protectors. These were three
pronged nails and even girls shoes or boots were covered in these. In the
later years of my father's life when he became a complete invalid mother
used to do all our cobbling. She could rip off a sole and resole the shoe
as good as any man. She even stitched with the waxed thread any splits.
She could turn her hand to anything. She was solely occupied with her home
and family and a visit to the local theatre when there was a good drama
called ‘The Fatal Wedding'. There was great fun over this because two very
subnormal people we knew got married at that time and wit was flying high.
The theatre did well that week and the actors and actresses must have
wondered at their popularity.
Lovers Lane' now called Dene House Road was the popular place to walk on a
Saturday and Sunday afternoon, but when darkness crept in the couples went
onto the terrace. Lovers Lane was a country lane with fields on either
side and many couples met there and later married. At the sea end was a
deep hollow where the Dalton-le-Dale stream ran down to the sea. This
hollow was called Bessy's Hole. We were told it was the haunt of witches
and were warned never to go there. But we did and although we never saw
any witches we were still convinced that they lived there, but perhaps
were engaged on some terrible deeds somewhere else. It was a frightening
way of life really. All sorts of weird tales were told of things that
would happen to you if you told lies, red hot pokers would be pushed down
your throat when you died. If you sinned in any little way you would be
cast into everlasting flames. If you passed the cemetery gates in the
evening you would see ghosts with flaming swords sitting by the closed
gates. If you walked round a tomb stone three times then put your ear to
the ground the corpse would speak to you. If you bit your tongue it was a
sign you had told a lie and punishment would catch up on you. If you
looked into the face of a cross eyed person you were going to die. Think
of the effect of all this on simple childish minds. Yet I cannot recall
one delinquent.
It was a code of honour strictly adhered to, to show respect for old
people. The roads were very bad in the winter, indeed they weren't good at
any time, and everybody would help old people to get from A to B, or run
messages or fill pails of water or coals. We thought nothing of it but
that it was the done thing. And you must remember women were old at 60.
Children were old at 8 or 9 years. We all had jobs to do in the home even
before this age but girls of 9 or 10 would stand on a cracket (stool) and
poss the clothes. We had huge mangles that would wring blankets and
quilts. They had a big iron wheel to turn and one girl would put the
clothes in the mangle while the other turned. Most of the clothes were
pressed by mangling as ironing was a long job. We used flat irons, which
as their name implies, were flat pieces of dressed iron triangular in
shape with a handle. The fire had to be very red and a stand was hung on
the front bars with flat irons resting right up to the fire. To test the
heat you turned the iron up and spit on it. If the spit slid down and off
the iron without leaving a mark the iron was ready. It was such a slow job
that ironing was kept to a minimum. No dress shirts, excepting very
special occasions, mufflers instead of collars, no pyjamas, table cloths
only on Sundays, everyday cloths were made of oil cloth which were rubbed
clean with dish cloth. Boys wore white rubber collars for school. They
were uncomfortable things as they rubbed against the neck and caused sore
red patches. They were fastened at the neck with a stud. It was a grievous
calamity if you lost your stud just as you were getting ready for school,
as excuses were never tolerated. As soon as we came home from school, the
girls took off their white pinafores, folded and put them away for the
next day. The boys took off their collars and all changed shoes. School
ones were cleaned ready for the next day and then we could go out to play.
The master walked up the front and down the back of the lines of boys
assembled in the playground and inspected back and front of feet and
looked at their collars. The mistress inspected the girls in the same
manner, looking at shoes and pinafores.
A big boy was set outside the playground to watch for the appearance in
the distance of the head master or mistress. He would run into the school
yard and before you could say 'Jack Robinson' lines were formed and
teachers stood at the ready. Woe betide anybody, scholars or teachers, if
they as much as blinked when the head walked into the school yard and up
those lines.
School was very monotonous under the Londonderrys. Religious reading,
writing, arithmetic, home time and homework. We only learned patriotic
songs when some VIP was expected, but on a Friday afternoon after
playtime, the boys would have drawing and the girls needlework. Even so
this was dreary, for the boys would draw a jam jar and the girls would
stitch a hem on a piece of calico about 5" x 3", the object being to get
even stitches. But when we went to the Council School when Dawdon Colliery
was built, we got library books to read every Friday afternoon. How I
loved this and I still remember being very upset when I went up a class
and could not finish my library book. It was called 'A Rough Shaking' and
was the story of a young boy's experience in an earthquake. I have never
heard mention of it in any way since that time although I made many
enquiries. I promised myself I would buy it when I grew rich.
I have been watching the 'Horse of the Year Show'. There was a parade of
beautiful Suffolk shires which reminded me of bygone days. The coal carts,
midden carts and rolleys were drawn by big horses very similar. I remember
the Clydesdales drawing the coal carts. They were great big powerful
beasts. The clop clop of their hooves on the rocky streets was the only
traffic noise we knew, other than the roar and whistle of the railway
engines. We loved to give these horses dry crusts of bread. The coalman's
horse would not move from our door until he got his crust.
Down pit they had ponies, called Gallowers. The putters loved their
Gallowers. My father had one which refused to start his shift until he got
a black mint. Father was very kind to all birds and beasts. His 'marrer'
down pit said he would never use a whip or stick like other men but would
flick the animal with his cap, but my father would say life was bad enough
for them, working so hard and never seeing the light of day without being
cruelly treated, so when we went for our ration of sweets on a Sunday
night, we brought black mints for his Gallower. Many cruel things were
done to ponies down pit when men lost their tempers. Father loved birds as
I have already said. He fed them every morning before he had his own
breakfast and it was considered a sin in our home to throw the tiniest
crust on the fire. The Cottages was a place of many birds, swifts,
skylarks, house martins, swallows, amongst the many that were common to
us. Amongst the trees in what is now called the Green Drive were many
owls. We never saw them because being so lonely it was forbidden ground,
but if we awakened through the night we could hear them hooting. A funny
thought has struck me. I cannot recall many families with dogs. There was
one in our street, a big retriever dog which used to tear down the street
and across the football field to try to catch the train which passed every
day at 1:10 pm. This train was so punctual we as children knew it was
about time to go back to school. Punctuality was a great thing in those
days and no excuse saved one from punishment. There was also the
Bottleworks buzzer. This blew at one o'clock and was never known to be a
minute out. Everybody set their clocks and watches by the Bottleworks
buzzer. My father used to say that the sun and moon might go wrong but not
the buzzer. Then there were the ships’ buzzers. We knew many of the ships
by their buzzers and on foggy nights the fog horns were very familiar
because we were very close to the docks as the crow flies. Yes the buzzers
and the fog horns, the whistle of the trains, the clip clop of the horses
and the bells or crakes used by hawkers, and the candy man's trumpet were
all the nuisance noises that disturbed our peace in those long ago days.
And walk, my goodness how we walked. To the farm right over at the far end
of Dawdon where the pit is now, and to Seaham Harbour at the butchers
before we went to school on a morning but we were all in bed before my
father set off for work just turned eight o'clock at night. Mother would
be sitting in her nighty waiting for him to go, and would shoot the bolts,
then his voice would call "goodnight and god bless" and mother would say
the same to him, then all would be quiet until he returned early next
morning. "Open the door to nobody when I have gone at night" he would
repeat to her. I wish it was in the nature of things to turn back the
clock and have a reunion just once in a while, then we could say all the
things we neglected to say in their lifetime.
Little boys and girls were all dressed alike in those days. No boy wore
trousers until he was nearly five years old. I remember taking my two
little brothers and sister out one Sunday morning and the one five years
old went missing. I was in a panic and weeping bitterly. A woman advised
me to go to the police station where a policeman asked for a description.
All I could tell him was that he was dressed in a velvet frock made out of
mother's old coat. When I got home the culprit was there. I expected a
thrashing but my distress excused me.
I can picture mother sitting on her cracket with a knitting sheath in the
waist of her skirt and her knitting needles clicking so quickly you
couldn't count the stitches. She was always re-footing stockings or socks.
We all wore wool ones and the legs could be green with age but as long as
they held together they were re-footed and worn again and again. All
clothes were handed down from one to the other. Mother counted herself
lucky that her family were so spaced that this was no problem. There was
my oldest brother the first born, then four girls, followed by four boys,
which was ideal for the handing down system. Nothing went out of fashion
in those days. Household things were bought very cheaply or handed down
from one generation to another. There was a pokey little shop in Seaham
Harbour owned by Annie Redman. It was a dark, dingy, tiny little place,
but it was amazing what was stored there. Couples setting up rooms could
buy anything from a brass bedstead or big mangle, to a tiny little Kelly
lamp for a bedroom. Pots, pans, dishes, brushes, flat irons, poss sticks,
tubs you mention it Annie had it in her shop. She sold blacking, blacklead,
bath brick, tallow candles, curtain rings and bamboo poles - everything
and anything. Many a home has been set up for less than five pounds which
in those days was counted a fortune.
The firesides of the house proud were works of art. First of all the old
brick fireplaces were blackleaded and polished until they shone like
mirrors. A lid with a brass handle covered the boiler. These lids along
with pokers, coal rakes, dust pans and blazers were made at the colliery
blacksmith's shops, on the sly of course. Then we had an ash box made of
metal under the big bars.
Bars and ash box were both blackleaded. Next came a tidy betty which stood
in front of the ash box. This was made of steel and was polished until it
looked like silver. It too had brass knots on the front and a row of brass
spindles under the top rim. Then we had two brass stands with brass
kettles on them standing in the fireside, with a big steel fender with
brass spindles to match the tidy betty which surrounded the whitened
fireside. At your peril to put your feet on that fender. We had a long
seat which my father made at one side of the fireplace and if one sat in
the corner and put down the round oven door it formed a table on which to
have a meal. All places were utilised at meal times, but this was a much
sought after seat especially in the winter so we had to take our turns.
Life seemed to be made up of turns. Who would sit nearest the fire, who
would get the crusts off the loaf, who would get the legs of the rabbit.
Mother would try her hardest to be fair but in the end her word was law
and sometimes we thought unkindly of her decision. Who filled the boiler,
who filled the coals, who slept in the middle, the warmest place when
three in a bed. Who went to the farm, or who went to the butchers. Who
scrubbed the netty seat and who did the knives and forks, who washed and
who dried the dishes. These little things were of great moment to us when
growing and we fought like little tigers. Often we ended with a good
hiding plus the job we hadn't wanted. When the jobs were finished we were
free to roam. Vandals didn't exist in those days. Nobody would dare
destroy property. They were colliery houses and nobody could afford to
replenish so it wasn't done. Little things happened of course. Boys played
at knocky nine doors, or rattled bobbins down your windows. This sounded
like the firing of a repeating pistol and would frighten the inmates
nearby to death. They would raid your gardens for carrots. Another thing
was often practised was when at night we wanted to go to the toilet we
would take a candle in a jar and two of you would go together across the
street and into the back yard. Boys playing about would see you and know
where you were going. They would get some water from the tap in the street
and quietly open the wooden hatch (used for emptying) and throw the cold
water up onto your bottom. What a fright! Once when mother had been
baking, she put two yeasty cakes, or oven bottom cakes some used to call
them, out on the window sill to cool. It was a dark night and when she
went for the cakes there was just a tiny bit of each left. Mother
questioned us but we all denied any knowledge. She wasn't convinced and
said we should own up and we wouldn't get wrong. Next day the pals of my
eldest brother sent a message to say that they were the best yeasty cakes
they had ever tasted. So the mystery was solved with no hard feelings.
As I have said before our language was quaint and far from King's English,
but we were never allowed to swear. Mother's hair would have stood on end
if we had used the word damn, never mind anything else. She would say
"talk proper its just as easy as the other way, talk proper".
All men and boys had nicknames. Stinker, Nobby, Gussier, Shorty, Lengthy,
Footie, Loppy, Nitty, Potty, Tuck and many more. One family had a 'tupenny
a penny and a hapenny. Some had been handed down from family to family.
There was a family of three boys, not very bright, who during the years of
the depression searched the gutters for tab ends. They were nicknamed
Stop, Point and Pick. The first one would stop, the second would point and
the third would pick up the cigarette end. They always walked in single
file. There were expressions used that one never hears today. Like 'that's
wasky water' when it tasted soft. We were used to the limestone water.
Mother used to call us 'gleyky when we were a bit daft. My father would
chastise us by saying "I'll mak the down slot off yer heed". I couldn't
fathom this for years. A person who was a little subnormal was always 'not
reet. 'Gie ye ways out an play’ was always the command when you were one
too many on the floor. When people were wasteful mother would say 'they
spare at the tap and pour out at the bung’. I remember the time when my
brother, when he was around five years old came to mother and said 'gis a
ha'penny ma'. Of course, she hadn't one so she said 'adaway and luck for
one' so he did. He was searching around when a neighbour a little worse
for drink came along and asked him what he was looking for. Joe said 'a
ha'penny'. The man helped in the search and finding it fruitless put his
hand in his pocket and gave Joe one. Whereupon he turned round and asked
for 'one for our Herb’. The man said 'has he lost one an' all?’ Joe
replied "no man I was just lucking for one". Of course this story went the
rounds of the pit and father got to know that way. I remember some girls
coming to me at the grammar school and saying, "so your brother is a
hawker now", I didn't know what they meant but apparently Joe was going
around the street with his little toy barrow hawking horse muck, penny a
lump. In the family he was often referred to as the fat juicy turnip full
of sweet yuss, because this was a sentence found in one of his writing
books brought home when full. He had been writing an autobiography on 'I
am a turnip'. This kind of humour might not please nowadays but it caused
great fun in the family. There were many little things like this which
might seem unworthy of comment today, but fun in those days was directed
towards oneself as well as all the family. As I grew older I had to help
in the cooking. Mother never made fancy cakes but on a Sunday we had rock
buns. My first attempts were not very successful they really lived up to
their name. Of course a situation like this was not allowed to pass
unnoticed. So one of my brothers came in on the Monday and said to my
other two brothers "eh lads, Cornish Street is declaring war on Australia
Street tonight around seven, so we'll tak some of our Addie's rock buns in
stocking legs for our secret weapons". He thought the other side would
never stand a chance. Life was great fun amongst them all. They were
always trying to scare the girls in the family. Once when mother went out
and my sister and I were in alone we heard some heavy footsteps on the
stairs. Ghost stories were all the rage and we were petrified, but it
turned out to be the boys who had climbed through a bedroom window. As I
have said the Old Cottages were surrounded by fields and boys could let
off steam with football or cricket or I remember a game something like
wrestling. Perhaps the lack of the space accounts for a lot of the
vandalism now, although money was so scarce we would have been in serious
trouble if we had spoiled property of any kind. If we could take the joy
of those days with the real joy of today it would be Utopia. I often think
back on my early days with longing for the quiet peace that reigned and I
think of Winston Churchill's words "the old world in its sunset was fair
to see". But then I have never been faced with the anxiety that poverty
entails and perhaps mother and her generation would have different
thoughts. One thing I do know, if she knew of our existing circumstances
she would say "my goodness if I were in your position I would own streets
of houses". Owning her own house was her burning ambition but she never
achieved it. But then she used to say "you cannot have both stock and
money". She certainly had the stock. What a straight women she was, never
devious but called a spade a spade. Her firm conviction was 'neither a
borrower nor a lender be’. She would say that if your circumstances never
improved it was no use to resort to borrowing. Neither did she like to
lend or borrow household goods. I remember Mother's big shiny tin baking
mug. It had to be large because as I think I told you she baked forty
eight loaves at one go. This baking tin was used for no other purpose. A
neighbour came to borrow it and mother loaned it very reluctantly but she
made the stipulation it was to be returned with the paste sticking to the
sides. We protested saying why should we wash it after she had used it,
but mother said it was the only way she could be sure that the neighbour
hadn't washed the pit flappers in it.
There was a neighbour whose husband had a wood stump. He had lost his leg
from above the knee in an accident at the pit. He drank more than he
should. One afternoon father was standing at the gate getting his fresh
air, when old Mary came past. "I've fettled him the day Davy" she shouted
to my father. "He's anted till I come back” and she opened her shawl and
showed Father the wooden leg. 'Anted' was a word used by pigeon fanciers
when the birds had settled into their ducats, and would fly back 'home'
from any distance. So poor Paddy was 'anted' until Mary returned with his
wooden leg. This leg was just a thick wooden stick like a fat broom shank
with a leather socket and straps at the top. When father was bedfast in
his later years a miner friend used always to call with a flower from his
garden, preferably a rose and father would have it as a buttonhole in his
shirt. This man was ill too and now I know it was sclerosis but not known
as such in those days. He died just before or just after my father. He
went by the nickname of Blunt for obvious reasons.
I hope I do not give you reasons to despise our way of life, for we had a
code far more to be desired than some today. We were taught that honesty
was the best policy, even If we sometimes doubted it. We were taught
respect for all our elders. Nobody would have cheeked a neighbour, and
neither boy nor girl would refuse assistance of any kind to the old folk.
We ran messages without any reward as far as money went, but often we
would be given a slice of jam and bread. This was never despised.
Men were always drunk at weekends, when they would often be very generous.
One just had to say "Hello Mr So and So" and he would give you a ha'penny.
We were quick enough to exploit this even though forbidden. A lucky bag or
a lucky potato was a great treat. Some were supposed to contain a
threepenny bit (a tiny little silver coin) but I never knew anyone to be
so lucky.
There - the cows are coming back to the farm yard again - no Sally and the
lights have gone on in the village. That reminds me of the lamplighter
when I was a little girl there were gas lamps then, one at the top of one
street and the bottom of the other so we had four lamps for the Cottages.
Old Tommy used to come with his long pole and light the lamps. This was a
great step forward for we had only lamp oil before that. Old Tommy, who
lived at Seaham Harbour, was everybody's friend. We used to wait for him
then follow him all around the Cottages until the lamps were lit.
I remember the 'Maypole Shop' in Seaham Harbour. We always went there for
our margarine. You got double weight, that was if you bought one pound you
got a pound free, so we went each week for three pounds of double weight.
Now that had to last the stipulated time. When the margarine ran out you
had to have jam, treacle, fat (every drop of fat was saved) or sugar on
your bread. We did not mind, when the fresh margarine came it tasted all
the nicer. We even got presents at intervals when buying the margarine. A
balloon, a flapper, a windmill, and at Christmas a new penny. The new
penny was given with every pound sold so, of course, Mother sent each one
for a pound, so that each got a new penny. It was given to mother, but it
appeared in our stocking on Christmas Eve. Of course, it was from Santa
Claus. You had to have all your buttons on in those days and Mother had
none missing. I have known eggs be 48 a shilling when Easter came round.
You wouldn't have had an Easter egg otherwise. There were no chocolate
eggs for us in those days. Even the boiled eggs were rationed out. You
could eat one on its own on Easter Monday but the rest had to constitute
meals. Often we were given a ha'penny between two and thought ourselves
extremely lucky. We were, because father would make us toffee. We would go
for a penny worth of sugar and he would make a pan of toffee. This was a
great treat, more so because he used to add things to the toffee for
variation like condensed milk, nuts, raisins or anything he could find at
hand.
As I have said previously all clothes were handed down. I remember little
reefer coats which had been worn at certain ages by every member of our
family. Mother was quite convinced that if you put them away in a drawer
over the summer they would clean themselves and come out brand new in the
winter. Not so with footwear. Each wore ones own, but even if they
crippled you nothing could be done about it until your turn came round.
Every step was bath bricked. These were hard square blocks, cheap to buy.
You washed your step thoroughly then while it was wet you rubbed on the
bath brick. Then we had to wet the floor cloth and rub the bath brick
evenly all over the step. Some people used to make fancy patterns with the
bath brick and leave it like that. Pantry floors and water closet floors
(or netties) were done the same. Two blocks of bath brick were rubbed
together to make a powder and this was used to clean knives, forks,
spoons, fire irons and the flat irons. Firesides were done with whiting
which was 4d per bag like a pound bag of sugar.
Everybody hadn't fancy fireplace’s like mother had. One girl with whom I
played had no covering on the living room floor, just a very old mat at
the fireside which was just kept swept. The ashes just fell into the space
under the grate and half a wagon wheel served as a fender. This was very
common in the poorer people's houses, I say poorer but the father worked
at the pit the same as mine and he had a cobble to go fishing and their
family consisted of six whereas ours had twelve. So you see it’s the same
as today some make the best of things while others couldn't care less. As
a child I loved to go to this house as there were no restrictions about
the house. The boys could go upstairs through the window and slide down
the roof, or chop and hammer and make sleighs or go carts in the house -
nobody bothered. Such licence seemed enviable to us, but in after years we
realised that mother's ways was for the best and fitted you better for the
life that was to follow.
Another family of girls we knew all worked at the Bottleworks. They had a
nice clean home like our own. They took in a lot of weekly books like The
Red Letter'. These had stories, in weekly instalments like The Life of
Mary Ann Cotton’ or ‘Mary Martin and the Red Barn’. The girls used to talk
about them and wait for the next issue with great anticipation. They would
have passed them on to us but mother would never allow them in her house.
A hard backed book 'a proper' book as
