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My wonderful bedroom

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Peter Walker

gone but not forgotten
I had the best room in our 1934-vintage semi-detached house. My parents were in the front room, which had a bay window for effect, although it faced north and uphill. The Perrys over the road could look down into my parents' bedroom from their front downstairs room, if they ever used it.
From the time I was old enough to sleep in my own room, I had the big back bedroom, not all that big mind you. It was the sun and the view over Birmingham that was magic. You could see from Gravelly Hill on the left right round to Hamstead Colliery tip on the right, almost without obstruction. Landmarks I could see on a clear day included the tower of the University in Selly Oak, the tuft of trees on Frankley Beeches, Monument Hill on the Lickeys, Quinton, and the enticing slopes of Turner's Hill, Dudley Castle and the Wren's Nest and Sedgley Beacon, which had a greater fascination for me than clinical Birmingham.
With my child's eyes. I would imagine that I was looking at a sea with boats passing on the middle horizon. The long flat roof of the Lucas factory in Great Hampton Street, surmounted by two or three blockhouses, two tall chimneys and some flagpoles was an oil tankers. The elaborateb curves of the Elizabethan gables of Aston Hall were a galleon. The South Stand of Aston Villa football stadium had a low rounded gable painted cream which, used to catch the setting sun, and looked as if my galleon was passing over an aqueduct. I could watch the smoke trails of the steam trains passing from Perry Hall through Perry Barr, Witton and Aston to Vauxhall and Duddeston.
In the evenings as a little kid I loved to watch the pigeons kept by someone in College Road, as they were let out for exercise. They would circle around for half an hour or so in such an elegant formation, like geese on their incredible long journeys.
In the summer too, there were sounds to listen too. Lawns had to be mown and hedges had to be clipped. I have always loved the smell of newly clipped privet, though I have never had any down here in Croydon.
Why has nostalgia been changed?
Peter
 
The view from my bedroom window was not as glorious as yours Peter. I could see the row of houses in the road behind ours. A row of terraces with the 'little back bedroom' tacked on above the kithcen. I used to wave to my best pal Lorna, we would hang out of our bedroom windows and call our arrangements for meeting later.

At the end of our neighbours garden was a cherry tree, the only tree in any of the gardens, and I loved its blossom in spring. When a piece of fence blew down one winter, the tree was my stepping stone to the gap in the fence, and a quick route to get to Lorna's house.
 
Funny that I used to live nera to Frankley beeches and we used to go up and look into the city ..

There was a great bluebell wood just down the road from fankley beeches.

And when I was older i used to go down lovers lane by the ressa there ..

little tinker .
 
Frankley Beeches and the Res

Exactly 54 years years ago I did some of my courting round Frankley. My favourite route to get there was by Bristol Road tram to Bell Holloway. In those days it was just that - a narrow lane in a rut several feet deep, running - but I expect it's a lot wider now, and that the trees on either side have gone too, in place of houses. We would walk on up Merriotts Hill, past Ley Hill. We could either turn left along along Frankley Lane past Scotland Farm to the top end of the reservoir. where I seem to remember some sort of chapel where you could sit, snuggle and get a bit warmer - January and February 1951 were quite cold as I remember, but no snow to speak of. Or we could turn right past Bangham Pit Farm (as it still was), and then along Jenners Lane on the dam wall to Bartley Green to get a 12 bus back.
I remember going past Kitwell Farm a few times, with its wonderful view of the Hunnington valley, dominated by the railway viaduct [this was over a generation before the M5 was built], and we one afternoon we saw the twice-daily Austin Works passenger train going out Longbridge to pick up the workers en route for Halesowen.
A walk a week or two later that stands out in my mind as the most romantic was from Rubery tram terminus past Rubery Hill Farm and Rubery Lane to Gannow Green, which was a quite little hamlet with some nice old cottages, all gone I suppose for the motorway. Then on to the Bromsgrove Road, almost as far as Romsley, where we turned left and down the lane past Great Farley Wood on the left to a narrow valley with a stream running along ot. There we turned right, a long climb up Walton Hill. We looped round to get back to the Halesowen Bromsgrove Road, where we got a brand new Midland Red bus, OHA something back to Bearwood, and the young lady lived not far away.
All this may be trivial, but I hope someone may find it interesting. Apart from having a fairly good memory I was a terrible note taker, and have the route of all our walks marked on a map, so I am fairly confident of the facts.
Peter
 
I used to live off Kitwell Lane . there was a farm there is the eraly 1960 ,s the farmer was Harry Bayliss and we used to go and help at haymaking.

Not sure if it was Kitwell Farm though .

When the M5 and Frankley services were being built we played on the building site and would run under the motorway works where they had put storm drains .
 
The view from my window

I saw from my window the row of houses opposite. Not much, you might think. There was Mrs. Brown who made the most wonderful bread pudding I have ever tasted. I'm now closing rapidly toward my 50th and nobody has come close. I won't eat bread pudding now, because to quote a song 'nobody does it better'. To the right of her house, from my window lived Mr.- do you know, I cannot remember his name? I've a feeling it was Hammond. Yes, Mr Hammond, I am almost sure. A big man who always carried a cane. He had a handlebar moustache and the demeanour of an army officer, which I believe he had been. I have to skip two doors now, and come to 'Jumbo's'. An Irishman of the old school. He could drink a table under the table! But what a wonderful man. Many a time, when I was old enough to drink I have pulled him from a hedge and taken him home. And his son, John, older than myself by 5 or so years would always insist I came in for some supper, by way of thanks. Missing another house or two, on the corner was a family of two sisters and a brother, back then in the 60's elderly. Cannot remember their names, but remember the brother, who also liked a drink standing on the corner, swaying, afraid to go in, talking to us kids about his days at the 'Golden Gloves'. Then one or other of the sisters would come out, tell him off 'awfully politely' and ask where he had been. 'Down the coffee house' he would reply. And everyone, even we kids knew he was lying. And this went on for years! Coming back up on my side of the road was Mrs Poole. A cantankerous old bugger. ('scuse the French!) Just her and her son. They never got on with anyone, so I'll leave that there. Then there were the Bradnocks (hope it's spelt right) I only remember Elaine, and then only by name. She went to school with my older sister. Next to them were the Birds. I remember Mr Bird used the Gas Club on Weastmead Crescent. He was retired but fixed cars and used to come home drunk (bet you think they were all alcoholics in my street!) most Saturday afternoons, and me and my mates would revel in him trying to put his false teeth in his dog, Rex. He had a son, Richard who I can only recall as throwing a stone at me in my new pedal car and knocking me out when I was about 5.
Next to the Birds was Mr Glendenning. A wise old fellow. I used to be best mates with his grandson who lived there with his mom, Betty because of family problems. Funny how we looked after our own in those days. And we would play together all day, using lollipop sticks to dig the tar out of the road and climbing trees and lamp posts. Then came Mr Mac-something-or other. We just called him Mr Mac. He was a Welshman, but lovely with it! His wife, we used to call Auntie Min. I remember playing ‘stop the bus’ with her many a rainy Saturday afternoon. Next to them were Mr and Mrs Wall. They had a dog that would bite the legs off the Eiffel Tower! Then cam our oldest neighbour, Mrs Whitehouse who I still believe lived there during the Stone Age. She was old for as long as I can remember. Then back to my room (well, actually our room as I shared first with my sister, then my younger brother). And looking out again, I see Mr Hammond walking out with his cane, and Mrs Brown crossing the road with a tray, covered with a tea towel bringing us our bread pudding. I wonder, because we never had much in the way of money or possessions, was it just a neighbour with more than they could eat or was it a friend making sure we didn’t go hungry? Whatever, God bless ‘em all.
I suppose the view from my window wasn’t much, but the view from my heart is priceless.
 
Hmmmm snobs, each and every one of you! I didn't have my own room until I was 21...sob
 
What lovely memories Paul, I would place a bet that each and everyone of us had a cantankerous neighbour in their street. I know we did, she used to scare me to death, if I was to came across her today I believe she would still be able to do so.
Maggie
 
Peter Walker said

( A walk a week or two later that stands out in my mind as the most romantic was from Rubery tram terminus past Rubery Hill Farm and Rubery Lane to Gannow Green, which was a quite little hamlet with some nice old cottages, all gone I suppose for the motorway)

Well you are correct Peter....the hamlet I think you are decribing is Dayhouse Bank.....my nan Annie Colin nee Waldron was born there in 1891, the Waldron's family had lived in those cottages for 50 or 60 years...her grandparents on her mother side Carringtons had also lived there for many years......Saturday just gone I was telling the forum about the brick I was able to find which was part of the pavement of my old school.....well in my garden is a rose bush that came from a cutting from the cottage of where my nan was born....I can never remembering seeing the cottage....I do visit the area every couple of years mainly to the church of St Kenelms where my nan and grand dad got married in 1911, and where most of my nan's family are buried....Peter did you every take any photo's while on your travels....
 
:angel: We never had a cantankerous neighbour! My Mom was the cantankerous neighbour and that's why I lived in so many areas of 'Brum' when I was growing up.
Like kandor I never had my own bedroom till I left home, all the windows from the rooms I did have almost always looked out on to a brick wall, or another block of flats. The only one my sister and I ever had with a view was when we lived in Pype Hayes and our room had a great view of Pype Hayes Park and nothing else 'cept the washing line.
 
JKC said:
Peter Walker said

( A walk a week or two later that stands out in my mind as the most romantic was from Rubery tram terminus past Rubery Hill Farm and Rubery Lane to Gannow Green, which was a quite little hamlet with some nice old cottages, all gone I suppose for the motorway)

Well you are correct Peter....the hamlet I think you are decribing is Dayhouse Bank.....my nan Annie Colin nee Waldron was born there in 1891, the Waldron's family had lived in those cottages for 50 or 60 years...her grandparents on her mother side Carringtons had also lived there for many years......Saturday just gone I was telling the forum about the brick I was able to find which was part of the pavement of my old school.....well in my garden is a rose bush that came from a cutting from the cottage of where my nan was born....I can never remembering seeing the cottage....I do visit the area every couple of years mainly to the church of St Kenelms where my nan and grand dad got married in 1911, and where most of my nan's family are buried....Peter did you every take any photo's while on your travels....
Click to expand...

Are you at all related to Lewington Waldron? he is listed on the 1901 Census as being from Day House Bank and is listed on the War Memorial in Bartley Green - which I how I came across him. I'm undertaking research into the men listed on the memorial and would be interetsted to see if you know anything about him. I've got some small snippets of information if you are interested.
 
Your posts about views from windows made me remember the view from our back bedroom window. We could see over to Merrits brook, a little stream that meandered from where to where i havent a clue, we spent many hours paddling and catching tiddlers, and jumping bashes!, going home with squelching shoes and wet knickers ( from the stream, i hasten to add). During the summer we could see the corn ripening in the fields, which are now known as Ley hill estate, after the harvest we would play in the haystacks,until the farmer chased us off. Picnics in those same fields, bread and jam butties and a bottle of water, and then home to tea. My windows now look out on a row of houses at front and back
 
I remember the views of and from the Ley Hill area when I was doing my teen-age courting, and the Bristol Road trams were still running. Being possibly more interested in trams than girls I was able to persuade Cynthia to walk all round that area between Northfield, Bartley Green. Frankley and Rubery. On one glorious March afternoon we started at Rubery tram terminus and got past Gannow Green, Dayhouse Bank, down to Shut Mill, furning right and up a long climb east of Walton Hill got up to St Kenelm's church at Clent, and right back to Romsley, where we got a brand new Midland Red bus (OHA something) to Bearwood, and on to Harborne to see her home just after dark.
It is wonderful scenery round there, and I always think of the Lickey, Clent, Rowley, Dudley and Sedgley ridge as the backbone of England. Pity so much more is built up today.
Peter
 
We moved to Tyburn Road in 1953 and I had a single bedroom at the front of the house overlooking the road with the central reservation where the Trams ran. (Although I can remember going on the Tram to town, I can't recall if they were still running down Tyburn Road at this time. I'm sure someone out there will know 'though.) My main memories are of winter nights with the snow falling. I'd spend hours (or so it seemed) watching the patterns through the light of the street lamps. I've always complained that we don't have the same amount as we did then!
 
Worse than Chris and Les, I've never had my own room. Before marriage I shared with my brother and after with my wife (surprise that, eh?).

Anyway, our bedroom window when I was growing up in Wellington Street overlooked the five small gardens of the yard, a greenhouse, two outside loos, an Anderson air raid shelter and the LMS Railway bank, where the steam engines would stop at the signals. It wasn't much of a view but it was better than the four girls had through their attic wind which, being in the roof, only showed the sky. Their best view was the stars and a bit of the chimney stack.
 
I had 4 bedrooms whilst a child.

Bedroom 1


I spent a large part of my younger days being brought up in the village of Berkswell. I lived with my aunty and uncle for a while after a business venture my father under took turned sour. They lost almost everything and while they got back on their feet we moved 'in' with aunty and uncle. It was a large house with 5 bedroom’s, two on the first floor and a further three up another staircase which had a latched door to the attic for us three kids, me, my sister (nine years older) and elder brother (eleven years older). Richard’s bedroom could have easily have been split into two. It ran from front to back with a window at either end, He had a three quarter bed, book cases, a small settee; very comfortable with space for me to play with my toy cars. Helens room had the hot water tank, it was small but snug, it smelt of fresh linen from the airing cupboard and scent, which Aunty Marrie gave her. After my brother left home for the Navy we had the top floor to ourselves but I can’t remember much of my childhood with my sister although we must have played at sometime I can’t remember what but I do remember on cold winters evenings when my room was too cold to sleep in. On those occasions I would share with her, we would snuggled up against each other in her bed close to the water cylinder; an early for runner to what was to become central heating, flannelette sheets, bedrocks and hot water bottles were the order of those days. My little bedroom had an uneven floor. The bed had three Readers’ Digest magazines beneath the right hand bottom leg. There was two wall lights with cartridge-patterned shades with brown scorch marks from the heat of the 60-watt bulbs. I also had a bedside table with a lamp; I could turn it on by pulling a little brass chain. By placing a chair under the window I was able to climb up and open it wide peering through to the little red tiles and the Scots Pine tree almost within touching distance. On one occasion while playing hide and seek with Mom I was able to hide so well that she became concerned. I had climbed out of the bedroom window and shuffled across the roof to the chimneystacks. After that episode the bedroom window was screwed shut permanently I was never to fully explore that roof and only recently with Google realise the fully extent that it covered I could have had so much fun if it were not from those 4 x No.10 screws.
 
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As a teenager growing up New Jersey in the US, the view from my bedroom window was of New York City. We lived at the top of a steep hill and there was an unbroken view of the city.

At night, I'd sit and watch the lights, imagining all the things that were taking place over there. I was no stranger to NYC. It used to be one of my favourite places to visit and play in.

The biggest impact, however, was the fact of watching the twin towers of the World Trade Center being built. It changed the landscape and I wasn't sure I liked it. Over time, however, it blended in and the lanscape changed in my mind. It became as much a symbol of the city as the Empire State Building, which would be lit up every night.

Then the day came when it was no more. Now, every time I see the skyline of NYC, in my minds eye, I can still see the twin towers watching over the city. An indelible impression that will never leave my mind.

Norma
 
That's a very bittersweet account of your growing up bedroom view NAS.
The view from high up in a place on the Jersey shore must have been
magical especially at night. It's still hard to imagine those towers being gone
from New York.
 
Jennyann,

I think all of the posts on this thread are magical. The memories shared by the members are all very special to hear about and I know they were special to the members.

Isn't it amazing the things we remember and how much they meant to us all and the impact they had on us? I love hearing about them. Coming here, for me, is like curling up with a good book. I don't want to put it down because I simply cannot wait to see what the next chapter brings!

Norma
 
Growing up in Westminster Road my bedroom was rather small. However, I felt everything in it was all mine: The single bed with its shaded blue bed spread The row of books on the self above the small fire place - to my dolls all propped up along the windowsill which looked out across the gardens of Grosvenor Road.
I loved that room and didn't at all mind going to bed early - With a couple of dolls in bed beside me, I would read as long as the eye could see. . .
 
Living in a typical Brum semi as we did with parents and three kids there was a reshuffling of bedrooms as the children came along. At first, when we were very small my older brother and myself shared the back bedroom. Living high on a hill the view was quite spectacular. Looking out a couple of miles away at the Trinity Road stand at Aston Villa and the panoramic view in which ever direction you looked.

When I was five my second brother arrived and when he was three years old the two boys were put in together in the back bedroom and I moved into the box room. My parents bought a new continental bed and a very small wardrobe. The view looked out across Witton Lakes Park, with a good view of Oscott College and in the far distance Barr Beacon. The room was cool in the summer since our house at front had a northerly aspect. In the winter, and when I was growing up the winters were bitter cold and snowy, the room was an ice box....water in a glass had a tendency to freeze and the inside of the windows were often covered in frost! Later on my parents bought me a small kidney shaped dressing table with a glass top and three mirrors. Mom made curtains to cover the very slim drawers. All this remains in the house today. I had a small bookshelf installed as well.

When I left home to live in Canada my youngest brother took possession of my room. An extra electric wall plug was put in and Bill immediately had a wall heater bought for him and also in the winter an electric blanket was put on the bed. These items were now available for such purposes at this time. When I came home on visits it was lovely to crawl into an electrically heated bed after having to rely on hot water bottles in the winter.
 
Bedroom 2.
Appleton Avenue Great Barr

I know the theme is bedrooms as this one is, although as usually I seem to have drifted, forgive me.


When we moved back to Brum it was into a new little semi, built during the fifties to meet the demand for housing after the effects of the war. They were literally thrown up almost to an industrial system where brickies were followed by chippies then sparkies and were utility built using cheap resources. Private housing didn’t have the safeguards and regulations of the minimum standards that social housing did and as a consequence were not so well fitted out. Typically, kitchens were tiny as were bathrooms, but to those who had previously lived in rented accommodation they were little palaces, a place to take a pride in and most did. We moved in 1954/55 my brother had joined the navy so there were just four of us. Mom and Dad had the front bedroom with a bay window; Helen had the back bedroom, which was of similar size. My room was tiny, officially called the box room but it was to be my room for six years till my sister married and moved away. It was tiny, just enough room for a single bed and little else. There were shelves above my bed but my clothing was kept in Moms wardrobe, the only item which pronounced it to be mine was a Muffin the Mule light shade above the bed. The window overlooked the street or as more correctly described the Avenue. There were grass verges and neatly planted blossom trees. We could play out in the road with little traffic to interrupt us. Dad got me a crystal set, it was connected to a long wire which disappeared through the airbrick to the outside wall and trailed across the rear garden to a tall pole. I could tune it in and sometimes hear continuous music or a play for several minutes before it would fade and leave me to fill in the missing content. A crystal set was the only sound to interrupt those quiet evenings before the invention of the transistor and my first portable radio. I had a pair of ex-army and navy head phones; big thick black ones that had seen service in the desert against Rommel, outside my window the street light cast shadows on the wall and the shadow of the headphones made me look like Mickey Mouse. Even when they were removed the silhouette of my sticky out ears drew comments from kids at school; this was to continue until longer hair was in fashion which coincided with my height and size overtaking that of Dads’ and an allowance of a right to self determination and the end of short back and sides which reminded everyone regularly of my connection to Dumbo.

Across the road lived Susan, she was my age and as pretty as Cinderella she had two sisters but unlike the fairy tale they weren’t ugly, just younger, so Susan got her own room at the front as I did. She wasn’t allowed out to play like other kids and was confined to their rear garden protected by a high fence. We were in the same class at school and in those days when boys of my age thought all girls were sissies I fell in love with her so badly it used to give me belly ache. Our house elevation was slightly below Susan’s and even with Dad’s ex-A.R.P. night watch binoculars I couldn’t see into her bedroom as well as she would have been able to see into mine. I often left my curtains open at night so that I could see her before drifting to sleep and never saw her once; except in my dreams.

One year at junior school we did a springtime pageant, it was to commemorate May Day it was the idea of my new teacher Miss Fisher. It was usual that we did a Christmas play, either the nativity or a pantomime theme. The main characters were always picked from those who were academically advanced whereas the slower children were either clouds or trees. The same could be said for those who got to use the musical instruments, if I were to say I always got the triangle you can gather which category I fitted into. The May Day pageant was a new venture and was to be held outdoors so that we could perform the pagan ritual of May Pole dancing around a netball pole. It had a radical change to tradition and the selection process, we had Miss Fisher to thank for this new idea. The pageant was based on British Heroes. They would be announced by Simon Baines; the school swat, he spoke with a clear un-accentuated voice and an authority that his bank manager father would have been proud of, Simon lived in a big house at the top of the hill which backed onto Red House Park; his Mom looked like Doris Day and had big skirts and an aga.

I mentioned in a previous posting that I spent a lot of time with Aunty Marrie. Aunty and Uncle Jeff didn’t have any children and consequently I was very important to them, Aunty ran a café in the village mostly for day-trippers from Brum and those from Coventry who had over nighted there during the bombing raids.. It was a little business, which offered simple café fayre: egg on toast, toast and jam, jam scones, fruitcake, pots of tea, you get the picture. Sometimes at the weekend she catered for weddings, usually a roast dinner, chicken, pork or beef with vegetables from the garden.
I spent most of my school holidays with them and during the summer months almost every weekend. When I told Aunty Marrie about the pageant and she asked what I was going to go as,( it had never occurred to me that I should join-in), usually I was allotted a role where a pair of shorts and a white shirt was all that was required. So Aunty, who was never one to miss an opportunity to push me forward from the shadows, had an idea. She took me upstairs to the first landing and through a small door that I had always thought was a cupboard. It was access to the loft area that ran above the Café. It had originally been a large barn attached to the house, it was 30’ wide and about 60’ long. To the sides were Uncle Jeff’s apples and stored veg, potatoes, carrots, wrapped pears and jars of honey. In the centre of the loft were several large trunks, these were costumes collected from Birmingham and Coventry Hippodromes during the war for safekeeping and protection. Aunty had been a variety performer her stage name was Marrie Shaw and she had used the costumes in several Village shows which she had produced in the Village Reading Room. After rummageing through looking for something suitable, something with a link to a British Hero, she found it! It was Dick Whittington and by a slight stretch of the imagination it became the garb of Sir Walter Raleigh, thigh length boots, velvet pantaloons and a jacket with 12 brass buttons, there was also a cape and sword. On the day of the pageant I was Sir Walter Raleigh. I was to escort The Virgin Queen Elizabeth and when we came to an imaginary puddle I was to disrobe my cape so that she may step over it, Susan was my Elizabeth. She was also Queen of the May and had her own words to say “ wake me early mother dear for today I am to be Queen of the May” thankfully mine was a non speaking role. The closeness to Susan turned me into a blithering stammering idiot. As I held her hand to escort her it gave me belly ache, when we touched at the May Pole I had belly ache. Susan never saw me she looked straight through me totally oblivious of my existence. That was the closest I ever got to her. Shortly after the pageant she was taken ill, first a delayed diagnosis ironically with Stomach ache then appendicitis which went on to become Peritonitus and Septicemia.
Susan was in intensive care for two terms before being allowed home to regain her strength. We prayed most morning in assembly and as we finished and said ‘amen’ my voice was always the clearest.
During her recovery her mother had a baby boy. He had the box room and Susan moved to the back bedroom with her two sisters. I didn’t see her for over a year and by the time we both left junior school we were graded into different streams at our new school. When we did see each other she sometimes smiled and each time she did I would lose the power of cohesive speech. By the time I’d got over this impediment she was taken. A new lad had moved into the area from a wealthy background he had a car whilst I still had a bike. My sister got married and I moved into her bedroom replacing the Muffin the Mule shade with one of Fireball XL5. I left visions of Susan behind but not my thoughts.

I found another who looked at me and saw me, she pursued me as I did her.
Susan moved in different circles and I hardly saw her again apart from when her boyfriend dropped her off at night, until one day when I was late for college in Birmingham. My scooter was out of petrol and I had to walk to catch the bus, crossing the road without looking Susan almost ran me down. We exchanged words and she asked me whether I wanted a lift into town. For the rest of that term I didn’t use my scooter to go to college, Susan took me. We hardly spoke most morning; I couldn’t.

Many years later after we had both married I saw her in West Bromwich she hardly recognised me. I introduced her to my wife, just the usual chitchat that you do. We parted but my wife noticed that I had gone pale. We sat down until my belly stopped aching.
 
You are totally off topic here David, but you will be forgiven by the mods, because that was a poignant story of young love, beautifully written.Thank you.
 
Charlie said:
That was lovely, and so well written. Thankyou.
From Susan x
Click to expand...

I'd like to answer this one but am unable to at the moment for I have belly ache.

I'm pleased you enjoy these glimpses into former times.
It makes the effort worth while when I recieve such encouragement.
TY.
 
Re: The view from my window

Paul Higgins said:
I saw from my window the row of houses opposite. Not much, you might think. There was Mrs. Brown who made the most wonderful bread pudding I have ever tasted. I'm now closing rapidly toward my 50th and nobody has come close. I won't eat bread pudding now, because to quote a song 'nobody does it better'. To the right of her house, from my window lived Mr.- do you know, I cannot remember his name? I've a feeling it was Hammond. Yes, Mr Hammond, I am almost sure. A big man who always carried a cane. He had a handlebar moustache and the demeanour of an army officer, which I believe he had been. I have to skip two doors now, and come to 'Jumbo's'. An Irishman of the old school. He could drink a table under the table! But what a wonderful man. Many a time, when I was old enough to drink I have pulled him from a hedge and taken him home. And his son, John, older than myself by 5 or so years would always insist I came in for some supper, by way of thanks. Missing another house or two, on the corner was a family of two sisters and a brother, back then in the 60's elderly. Cannot remember their names, but remember the brother, who also liked a drink standing on the corner, swaying, afraid to go in, talking to us kids about his days at the 'Golden Gloves'. Then one or other of the sisters would come out, tell him off 'awfully politely' and ask where he had been. 'Down the coffee house' he would reply. And everyone, even we kids knew he was lying. And this went on for years! Coming back up on my side of the road was Mrs Poole. A cantankerous old bugger. ('scuse the French!) Just her and her son. They never got on with anyone, so I'll leave that there. Then there were the Bradnocks (hope it's spelt right) I only remember Elaine, and then only by name. She went to school with my older sister. Next to them were the Birds. I remember Mr Bird used the Gas Club on Weastmead Crescent. He was retired but fixed cars and used to come home drunk (bet you think they were all alcoholics in my street!) most Saturday afternoons, and me and my mates would revel in him trying to put his false teeth in his dog, Rex. He had a son, Richard who I can only recall as throwing a stone at me in my new pedal car and knocking me out when I was about 5.
Next to the Birds was Mr Glendenning. A wise old fellow. I used to be best mates with his grandson who lived there with his mom, Betty because of family problems. Funny how we looked after our own in those days. And we would play together all day, using lollipop sticks to dig the tar out of the road and climbing trees and lamp posts. Then came Mr Mac-something-or other. We just called him Mr Mac. He was a Welshman, but lovely with it! His wife, we used to call Auntie Min. I remember playing ‘stop the bus’ with her many a rainy Saturday afternoon. Next to them were Mr and Mrs Wall. They had a dog that would bite the legs off the Eiffel Tower! Then cam our oldest neighbour, Mrs Whitehouse who I still believe lived there during the Stone Age. She was old for as long as I can remember. Then back to my room (well, actually our room as I shared first with my sister, then my younger brother). And looking out again, I see Mr Hammond walking out with his cane, and Mrs Brown crossing the road with a tray, covered with a tea towel bringing us our bread pudding. I wonder, because we never had much in the way of money or possessions, was it just a neighbour with more than they could eat or was it a friend making sure we didn’t go hungry? Whatever, God bless ‘em all.
I suppose the view from my window wasn’t much, but the view from my heart is priceless.
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hello Paul,nice story. you sent me a pm not so long ago? you have,nt sent me anything, since i was born and bred in nechells Cromwell st, and knew a family called Higgins, my mom could make bread pudding to die for, god bless her. i have that recipe and i can tell you now with me getting near my sixty,ith we make it as she did, and it,s bostin. be nice to know if you are related to the higgins family from nechells,as it goes the view from my window was across to there,s.. regards dereklcg.
 
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