Ray T
master brummie
I remember playing as a boy in the tiny garden at the front of our back-to-back that was down an entry in Sparkbrook's Long St of a Sunday morning, when there'd come the shout of, "Wakey, wakey!", from the radio inside as the Billy Cotton band show started. By then, my mother would be cooking father's breakfast and the smell of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and sausage would be wafting from the little kitchen (if one could call it that) window that was barred and without glass. My sister and me only got cereals and milk and my mouth used to water at the aroma of the fry-up. At the top of the entry was Mrs Spencer's little shop with its tin advertising signs outside for Brasso, Park Drive, R White's Lemonade, and the like. Worth a few pounds to collectors nowadays. I'd sometimes be sent in to buy loose cigarettes two or three at a time for my mother. When we wanted salt, Mrs Spencer would chip fragments from a large block and weigh them off on her old balance scales. Opposite us lived Mrs Lucas, a dear old soul who used to make us a currant cake with her own baking, which she'd give to us once a week or so and which was devoured gleefully. Such was community life down a typical Birmingham entry in the 1950s.
Regards, Ray T.
Regards, Ray T.