Memoirs of Penny Chilvers/Macdonald/Penn page 2

Cherry Blossom Shoe Polish

Dan & Charles Mason, pioneers of the shoe polish industry in Chiswick

Located in a three storey building on the left of the picturesque square, No. 4 (as it has always been affectionately known in the family) was a constant source of delight and wonder to a growing mind, with rooms scattered at every turn of its twisting staircase. Two rooms stood at opposite sides of the small entrance hall, with a cellar door and a staircase lying between them. The cellar itself reflected a bygone age and its 18th century construction. The floor was paved, and against one wall stood a huge open fireplace with the irons and fittings for spit roasting and cooking. Obviously the cellar had originally been a kitchen and it appeared that the large chimney shaft from the kitchen would have been an effective and efficient method of keeping the whole house warm and dry by being placed so centrally in the building. In our day, the cellar was shared by the three families who lived in various parts of No. 4 and also our next-door neighbours whose house adjoined No. 4 in the street outside the Square. Shining gold-flecked coal was deposited into the cellar via a chute by coalmen wearing sacks which had been split down one side in order to cover their heads and shoulders from the grit and coal dust whilst carrying the bags of coal on their backs that each weighed a full one hundredweight. Strong "Shire" horses pulled the heavy coal carts from the depot on a weekly delivery round the streets and the repeated shouts of "COALman" could be heard far and wide, bringing out the housewives to buy as and when they required.

For many years, my father kept his World War One army uniform on a hanger in the cellar and the rough feel of the khaki jacket and trousers still comes across the years from the days when he proudly displayed it to his small daughter who gazed in awe at her ex-soldier Daddy.

The room on the left of the entrance hall, which was our so-called "front room" had one wall in Chiswick Square, with the other external wall running directly along the Burlington Lane pavement. The room had the rather unusual distinction of having a second front door opening onto the Burlington Lane pavement, although the front door in the entrance hall of the Square was most used. The second door came to an untimely end a few years after we moved there when a new bus service was inaugurated to come round a bend into what was then our tiny lane. What actually went wrong was never clear to me, but a shattering crash nearly shook me out of my childhood bed immediately above. My white-faced parents collected me from upstairs and took me to see the damage and there coming into the room through the shattered doorway, was the large wheel of the bus. From that time on, the room became much more ordinary when an extra window was installed in place of the wrecked doorway.

There was yet another door in our front room, this one leading into our next-door neighbour's flat in Burlington Lane. This neighbour (Mrs Arnett) distinguished herself forever in our eyes by purchasing a piano and learning to play by ear quite proficiently. One disadvantage however, was that she also liked to sing at the top of her voice, and to this day I can still hear "Bo-o-nny Mary of Argyll" which she sang over and over until we fervently wished that Bonny Mary and her singer would speedily return to Argyll and stay there.

Entered by the door on the right side of the entrance hall was our living room. This was a warm, comfortable room with a cooking range on the far wall, next to another door that led to the wash place and scullery, the bathroom and a toilet. The living room furniture was plain and functional solid wooden chairs and Windsor armchairs, a substantial and well scrubbed table under which I played for hours, using the ledges which housed the drawers as receptacles for all kinds of hidden treasures. It was in the living room that the pages of history turned as my father bought a "crystal set" wireless and allowed me to fiddle with the "cat's whisker" until I excitedly heard a voice speaking through the headphones. The next step was to place the headphones in a tin box on the shelf above the range, which amplified the sound so that we all could hear the talks and music. Some time later, my father came home with plans and parts for him to make his own wireless/radio, a "Cossor Melody Maker" which served us faithfully and well for many years. "2LO and Daventry calling" became the accepted radio call sign of the day and the sound now came projected through a slender and elegantly shaped speaker. The new radio was powered by an accumulator wet-cell battery, which had to be recharged at a local bicycle shop every week. This thoroughly modern wireless completely eclipsed the square shaped louvered windup gramophone, which boasted a large round horn appropriately called a "bullphone" which had entertained us for years.

The scrubbed table in the living room which provided me with such a delightful playhouse was in complete contrast to the table in the "front room". The table in this room was made of solid mahogany with a single pillar standing on balancing legs and with the tabletop hinged at the centre so that an extra section could be raised if more space was required. Other furniture included plush covered and fringed dining chairs ornately carved on back and legs and a black leather couchette with a raised and padded end and a low railing along the back.. This was a play toy of many descriptions, ranging through all the gambits of a child's fertile imagination, and also served as an extra bed for visitors. Another chair in this room was an aircraft cockpit seat from the war, bucket shaped and leather covered with four "barley-sugar" legs that had been added by my father. A photograph of myself, seated in this chair at the age of four years, still exists, but the chair, like all the other furniture in the house has gone elsewhere. The furniture in the room was completed with a piano with candleholders and velvet trim behind a fretwork front and a rectangular card and chess table, also with "barley-sugar" legs.

The door to my parent's bedroom was situated halfway up the stairs (no landing) and boasted the familiar sight of a brass knobbed bedstead somewhat similar to those that have re-emerged in more modern times. My brother Ron recalls that he used to be convinced that the brass knobs on the bed were repositories for valuables and often screwed them off when no one was around, only to find that he was wrong. Probably he just liked taking them off! As I grew older, one of my weekly tasks was to polish the brass knobs on the bedstead, together with all the other incidentals of brass that proliferated in those days. The windowsill in my parent's bedroom was low enough to be able to step out onto the slate roof that was above our living room and kitchen. Here was hung the daily washing and also where my mother had gathered together an assortment of tubs and pots filled with bright flowers, giving a gay, continental appearance to the whole area of the roof, with the crisp clink of the slates as one walked on them, seeming to speak of other worlds and different cultures.

Living in the top part of the house was a family of four who rejoiced in the name of Cackett. The son and daughter were seldom home, but Mr. Cackett stayed at home while his wife worked as the manageress of the Chiswick Products canteen located at Boston House. The reason for this arrangement was that Mr. Cackett had lost a leg in the war and had a stiff, wooden replacement that made it difficult for him to get around. His progress going up the stairs filled me with awed interest as he placed his good foot and walking stick on the step above then followed it by swinging his false leg alongside before attacking the next step. He was an excellent house person, doing all the cooking, cleaning and washing. He caused a great amount of mirth in our household one day when he had been hand polishing the linoleum floor and lost the tin of floor polish. After hunting everywhere, he discovered the tin of polish stuck to the heel of his false leg. One day I chanced to be in their flat and was utterly horrified to see the leg, complete with sock and shoe, leaning against the wall. I remember circling it very warily indeed. Poor Mr. Cackett, little did I realise, until my mother told me many years later, the agonies that he suffered from the inflamed and painful stump of his leg where it chafed against the false limb. To me he always had a pleasant word and smile that did not betray his painful condition. A specialty of all the Chiswick Products canteens was creamy rice pudding that they seemed to be able to produce in limited quantities, even during the strict rationing in World War Two. My brother Ron was able to re-acquaint himself with this delightful dish during the World War Two period when the manageress of the Chertsey Road factory used to secretly put a large bowl of it aside for him to eat when he was on duty as an AFS fireman at that factory.

At one stage, Mr. and Mrs Cackett's son Tom purchased a motorcycle and everyone turned out to see his new pride and joy and for him to take a pillion passenger on his first trip out. As there were no tests or safety requirements in those days and there was no provision for a passenger on the motorcycle, a cushion was placed on the rear mudguard to absorb some of the shock of bumps and holes in the lane. However, as the tall passenger stood up astride the bike to adjust the cushion, Tom took off, leaving an astonished and bemused young man open-mouthed and the spectators convulsed with mirth. Some minutes later, Tom returned with an ashen face. He had called out to his passenger while travelling up the lane and receiving no reply, thought that he had deposited him on the road somewhere. On not finding him anywhere on the way back, Tom was completely mystified at his disappearance and was greatly relieved when he found him back at his starting point.

Page 2 of 7

Penny Chilvers Memoirs page 2

Memoirs, Page 2 of 7

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