Chapter II
Stambermill Days

I can, of course, remember little about my days at Stambermill as I was only three when we moved in 1926 to the house at 7, New Road, Stourbridge with which my early school days are associated. I do recall, however, my first girl-friend whose name was Sybil Smith. She wore thick black stockings which had an inevitable hole. One day she allowed the iron gate to swing shut, in the process hitting me on the back of my head and leaving a scar which I bear to this day. That was the end of that little romance and I still am somewhat wary of 'Seers and Sybils'.

There are memories of frequent visits to the grandparents' home - it was only a few hundred yards walk or being pushed in a push chair - and of being entertained there by the two aunts, Ethel and Vera, who were then unmarried. There are vague memories too of Christmas parties when a vast cracker containing a present for each of us cousins was pulled with much excitement.

At Yardley Street there was a cat, a garden, a 'mangle' in the wash house, which was dangerous but the handle of which one was allowed occasionally to turn under very close supervision. ("It'll crush your fingers!")

There was also Mother's 'Work Basket' which contained scissors. These, I found by experiment, could be used for removing the toes from my socks. However, this, my first essay into scientific experiment, resulted in a little domestic friction, and in my regarding scissors as taboo for some years.

Another memory of Stambermill is of a certain Mr. Homer who appeared regularly outside our house with his horse-dawn wagon loaded with fruit and vegetables. He announced his arrival by shouting 'Flowey!' This, I was told, was an abbreviation of 'Potatoes like flour', indicating their smoothness when mashed.

The coal also came by horse and cart. I recall being warned off any contact with or closeness to these. Not only was there the risk of committing the ultimate sin of getting dirty - the common admonition, 'You'll get yourself black' may account for many an unconscious tendency to racial prejudice - but there was also the comparatively minor catastrophe of having coal falling upon my head. Ironically my later career brought close contact with millions of tons of coal.

Other horse drawn itinerants were those with huge blocks of salt which they would saw into lumps suitable for your requirements. These also had 'red raddle' to 'do' your front doorstep, and 'lily-white sond' (sand) for scouring purposes. Brillo came much later.

The salt merchants all seemed, for some reason which I could never discover, to hail from Gornal.

These horse-and-cart merchants were sometimes followed by one or more small boys, each with a bucket and small shovel. There was great glee when the horse provided some free rhubarb fertiliser. A bucketful could earn as much as a penny! The small boys' enterprise was regarded by my family with that mixture of disgust and pity reserved for 'the poor'. Our rhubarb, being of a 'better class', did not apparently need fertiliser. Some merchants were so mean as to carry their own bucket and shovel, this being treated with contempt.

'We', of course, did not engage in that sort of thing!

The terrace owned by my Grandfather had a common yard which backed on to Baffler Street. On one side was a row of privies where, through a hole in the wooden seat, one could deposit materials surplus to requirements into a fearsome black hole, the depth of which appeared to be infinite and which provoked a sense of gloom and terror.

On the other side of the yard was a series of outhouses with 'coppers' in which the weekly wash was done. Owing to their previous use for other purposes, these were known as 'Brew-Houses' or more usually 'Brew-usses'. "Er's in the brew-uss a-washin'" was common usage when directing a caller.

Twice daily into this yard came Fanny Edwards with the milk. She was a thin little character wearing black buttoned boots, a black shawl and a little black straw hat. She had an old pram in which were two milk churns and a selection of measures. You went out with your jug and Fanny would solemnly measure out your pint or quart. She must have walked miles every day pushing quite a heavy load, but her crab-apple of a face always had a cheery grin.

In the yard also was 'The Pump' In my time, mains water had been laid on to the 'Brew-usses' but not long before, this pump had been the sole water supply to all the houses. It was an up-and-down hand pump, replicas of which are much sought-after today. It pumped up 'soft' water from a large cistern under the yard, this being fed by roof drainage.

A common description of a lanky sort of character was that he 'looked like a yard of pump-water'. As the yard pump outlet was about three feet above the ground, it is easy to see how this expression originated.

As the local water was very hard, pump water was still. used for washing as it saved soap. But the pump had to be primed before use. This was done by emptying a kettle full of hard mains water into the pump body, after which it would deliver large quantities of soft water.

It took me many years to discover the principle of this miracle water softener.

Half way along Grandfather's terrace was an opening known as the 'Entry' which gave access from the main road to the yard and thus to all the back-doors. This was useful as front doors were hardly ever used. Years later as a temporary postman I delivered a Christmas Card to one such house. Only after I had released the card did I realise that it had fallen behind a piano which completely blocked the door. The card is probably still there to this day.

Our house in Yardley Street was comparatively superior. It had a flushing toilet! It was little more than a 'two up and two down' but larger than the houses owned by Grandfather. It had also the luxury of a garden, and being an 'end of terrace' we had side access by way of the garden gate.

Recollections of living at Stambermill are somewhat sparse as I left there when I was three years old. I recall having a cat and a girl friend named Sybil Smith who always had a hole in her black stockings. Sybil left her mark on history and on me by letting an iron gate swing against my head. The resulting scar was thereafter remarked upon each time I had a haircut until I was old enough to tell people not to make personal remarks. Some later girl friends may have had similar feelings about me but fortunately did not express them with such violence!

Our house at 31 Yardley Street, had a common back-yard which was roofed over and was where the washing was done. The "dolly tub" and mangle were stored there. There, too was the "copper", a coal-fired boiler built in to a brick structure. It was necessary to build a fire under this boiler to obtain an adequate supply of hot water. You could always ten when "er" was doing her washing by the smoke from the "copper" chimney.

There was a regular pattern for household laundry. "Soak on Monday, wash on Tuesday, Iron on Wednesday". Washing consisted of churning everything in a galvanised tub with a "dolly". This looked like a five-legged milking stool with a "T" handle sticking out of the top. Then there was the wash board, corrugated galvanised steel on a wooden frame. Items with stubborn stains were stretched over this board and then scrubbed with a scrubbing brush. I still cannot understand how clothes withstood being treated with these ferocious instruments - they must have been made of tougher material in those days.

Detergents had not then been invented, so "Hudson's Dry Soap" was used as washing powder.

As has been indicated, the water in the locality was extremely hard, so a cistern or barrels for collecting soft water was necessary, otherwise a huge quantity of soap was needed to get a lather.

Another product similar to 'Hudsons' was on the market, "Watson's Matchless Cleanser", but this was considered rather down-market, probably because Aunt Ethel was reputed to use it. "Hudson's", caused some confusion because our neighbour was a Mrs. Hudson, a large person with a correspondingly large pinafore and her hair in a bun. I could not understand why "her" soap was so popular since we "did not have much to do with her". We met on Mondays and Tuesdays in the common covered yard.

The "Mangle", used for squeezing out as much water as possible before the clothes were put on the line, was an impressive instrument with wooden rollers about 6" in diameter. These were turned by an 18" wheel with a handle, operating through a fearsome cast-iron reduction gear. There was nothing in the way of guards on this machine so I was warned not to come within six feet of it on pain of penal servitude, being given graphic descriptions of what would happen to my fingers if they got in the gears. Towards the end of my stay in Stambermill I was permitted to turn the handle under close maternal supervision. This probably stimulated an early interest in engineering which I had also inherited in my genes from my maternal grandfather.

Whilst on the subject of detergents, I became aware of two sorts of soap, "Sunlight" and "Lifebuoy".

The former, the colour of cheese and smelling of GKW, was used almost exclusively to supplement "Hudsons" for laundry purposes. "Lifebuoy" was red, smelt of carbolic and was used for personal hygiene - it "killed the germs". Whereas more refined soaps were available, these were regarded as being rather "posh", and as they were used by people who thought more of their personal toilet than they did of God, rather sinful. What is more they were a "waste of money" - even more serious than being sinful! There was another soap on the market - 'Monkey Brand' - on the label of which was shown a filthy tramp who was saying, 'I bought a cake of 'Monkey Brand' ten years ago, since when I have used no other." Advertising humour doesn't change much!

Of the inside of the house at Yardley Street I can remember hardly anything. I was told that one day I extracted a pair of scissors from my mother's work-basket and proceeded to cut the toes off my socks, but I don't remember that myself.

Whilst at Stambermill, excursions to the outside world were somewhat limited. I do recall being pushed in a pushchair through the 'entry' and being warned to 'keep your hands in' as it was rather narrow. We caught a bus 'Up the Lye' fairly frequently to 'do the shopping'. This excursion was usually on a Friday night after Dad came home. The shops were open until 8.p.m. and in winter the lights and bustle were fascinating. As a reward for 'being a good boy' whilst the grocery order was dealt with, Mr. Robins the manager of Moyle & Adams, the grocers, would sometimes do an 'elevation of the host' with an arrowroot biscuit which would then be solemnly handed to me over the counter. Sometimes a call would be made at the sweet shop next to 'Brookses' the greengrocers on Lye Cross. They did a nice line in small toffees.

'Brookses' was still there on my last visit to Lye in the early 1990's. Vinnie Brooks, (of that ilk), who married Harry Fletcher, had a sister who married Harry White, the father of Sam White, who married my mother's sister Ruth.

A visit to 'The Lye' sometimes included a call at Allchurch's the butchers where great slabs of red meat were hacked to bits by blood-stained characters wielding fearsome weapons.

As the grandparents had 'a business' they had access to wholesale warehouses in that 'Ultima Thule' known as Birmingham,  to the hoi-polloi as 'Brum', Family were allowed to use the Hughes' 'warehouse number' and thus obtain clothing at wholesale price.

This necessitated frequent family meetings and journeys to 'Brum', that by bus being described elsewhere. (See 'Buzzes'). Only years later, after our move from Stambermill was I privileged to share such a long journey.