Memoirs of Penny Chilvers/Macdonald/Penn page 5

Cherry Blossom Shoe Polish

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

Apart from the various local shops, there were many street vendors that called at our house or "cried their wares" as they passed along the street. Some of these were regular street sellers, but others were itinerant vendors or tinkers with numerous and varied goods for sale. Gypsies called at the house with their "cabbage-stalk flowers", split wood clothes pegs, lace and heather, and different religious groups approached with their tracts and leaflets to support their views. The window cleaner cycled along on his pushbike with his ladders slung over one shoulder and his brass bound bucket hanging from a hook over the last rung a superb balancing act, as neither ladders, bucket, or man were ever seen to fall. It was from the window cleaner that I inherited my name of "Smiler", a name that stuck for many years and which I was interested to hear many years later was also given to my Australian niece Margaret by a friend of her family when she was a small child.

A daily caller at the front door of No. 4 was the postman in his heavy navy-blue serge uniform, wearing a "coal-scuttle" hat in the same colours. He rat-tatted on the iron doorknocker, delivering letters and parcels that he carried in a dark red wicker handcart covered with a black tarpaulin as a protection against the rain. On alternate weeks, we always knew for certain that we would receive a large tin of clotted cream from my mother's friend in Redruth, Cornwall, and special fish bag sealed with a wooden skewer sent by our Great Uncle Mark in Dover, containing fresh fish that had been caught the day before and put on the train overnight, to arrive early the next morning and met with mouth-watering anticipation by our family. Another daily caller was the milkman, yodelling his way to the door, having pushed his three-wheel trolley from his dairy. The trolley contained a sparkling clean brass milk churn and several assorted sizes of metal containers, each with a carrying handle and hinged lid. These hung all around the trolley, and the required amount of sweet-smelling creamy milk was poured into the customer's own container by the milkman from his measures.

Each Saturday, a real treat was forthcoming that was heralded by the sound of a hand bell as the vendor walked along the lane. This was the muffin man, and we always waited by the window for his first appearance as he called out his wares "Muffins and Crumpets for Sale!" while balancing a large flat tray on his head with the muffins and crumpets covered with a spotless linen cover and himself wearing an equally spotless linen apron. Sitting later in front of the kitchen range with a long brass toasting fork, we drooled in anticipation as our mother thickly spread each muffin or crumpet with precious butter, which oozed deliciously through to the underside and, if we were not careful, down our chins.

The middle of the week saw the rabbit woman Mrs Huxley arriving with her much smaller of stature husband pushing a coster barrow laden with dead rabbits, some of which were hung by their crossed hind legs all around the barrow. "Fresh Rabbits!" was the cry that induced housewives to open their front doors and begin the task of choosing the rabbits that they wished to purchase. There were two types of rabbits, English and Ostende, the latter being the pinkest, most luscious, and possibly the cheapest. Ron and I watched carefully and with some amazement as Mrs Huxley swiftly skinned the chosen rabbits, making a few deft snicks around the head and pulling off the whole skin in one sharp move before throwing it into a bin, to be made, we were told, into cosy gloves, muffs and hats. I am not sure that either Ron or I realised that only a short time earlier the rabbits had been living, breathing creatures. We only saw them as items of food that arrived with Mrs Huxley.

From a long way off on Sunday mornings, could be heard the shrimp and winkle man calling his wares. Even the cat sat by the kerbside awaiting his arrival and to be offered a couple of shrimps, which she munched happily and noisily. However, our pleasure was winkles for Sunday tea not merely the pleasure of eating them, but also the joy of first removing the little cap from the shell and extracting and exhibiting the contents on the end of a pin. When I say our delight, I should exclude Ron, who had an allergy to any type of shellfish throughout his life and therefore enjoyed some other delicacy on "winkles night."

Our "paper-boy" was in reality a man who had lost most of his arm during the war, but he nimbly balanced his papers through a strap dangling from the stump of his arm, forming a strap to carry the papers. With his cap cocked rakishly over one ear and wearing a cheerful grin, Wally's cry of "Star!, News!, Standard!", fetched his customers out of their homes to purchase the paper of their choice. He was a much-loved character in the neighbourhood.

Although Burlington Lane was at that time a lovely peaceful backwater, it had always known an interesting and historical life. This had mainly been due to the fact that in earlier centuries the Chiswick riverside had been the country retreat for many famous and wealthy identities from the City of London. These included Hogarth, Whistler, Cromwell, Walpole and his mistress, Thornycroft, to name but a few. The air and atmosphere of Chiswick was so healthy that many wealthy people came to build their houses and estates in this delightful rural area. Many of the houses in Church Street were built in the 17th and 18th centuries, the old Lamb Brewery having been built established in 1773 and Ferry House and Brampton House dating back to the 1600's. "The Old Burlington" in Church Street is still a beautiful example of an Elizabethan building. It was once a quite famous inn called the Burlington Arms and has four front doors, outside one of which is a cupboard where drunks were locked up for the night. It was here that famous highwayman Dick Turpin is supposed to have had his marriage breakfast and on another occasion escaped from the police by jumping through a window onto his horse that was tethered outside. Probably the oldest structure in Church Street is the tower of St. Nicholas Church, having been built between 1416 and 1435. Also, the churchyard wall in Church Street bears a fascinating inscription in old English, indicating that the wall was built in 111623 to keep those buried in the churchyard from being violated by "swine and other Prophanation".

An annual and joyful occasion was the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, when our normally very quiet Burlington Lane was thronged with people on their way to the river and with itinerant salesmen carrying light velvet covered stands on which were displayed celluloid dolls dressed in light blue for the supporters of Cambridge University and dark blue for the supporters of Oxford. The Penn family members were fortunate enough to be able to watch the race down the river from a number of different vantage points over the years that we lived in Chiswick. These included our own local part of the river only a minute's walk from Chiswick Square, from Hammersmith, from Putney, from Mortlake, and on one very enjoyable occasion, from a malt house right alongside the river, where we had to walk through masses of barley seed laid out to dry on the malt house floor.

Soon after my brother Ron was born, I was transferred at the age of seven years, from the Infant's School to the Elementary School right next door. This was a large two storey Victorian building with long, dark green tiled corridors and classrooms with high ceiling, heated by round iron stoves fuelled by logs of wood. The stoves were very hot for those close to them, but the heat was not generally felt by those furthest away. Desks were quite basic, being a wooden bench with grooves for pencils and pens, and holes for china inkwells. The ink was powdered and made up into liquid form before being poured into each inkwell. In the older classes, this was often done by a child designated the "ink monitor". There were also "milk monitors" who were responsible for crates of one third of a pint bottles of milk that were supplied free of charge for every child in the school. In winter, the crates of milk were placed near the classroom stoves, whereupon those closest became quite hot, whilst some of the others remained quite cold. Writing pens were wooden handles into which were slotted steel nibs. These were usually quite good to write with when they were new, but spluttered and scratched as they were used more and more, dropped on the floor, or used as darts. Of course, this latter practice was only carried out by the boys in the class! The younger schoolchildren each had a tin box in which they kept grey plasticine for model making and at times, slates and slate pencils were used for writing and sums, etc., although this custom was almost at an end when I was at the school.

Memoirs, Page 5 of 7

Penny Chilvers Memoirs, Page 5 of 7

<< Previous Page | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Next Page>> |