An insight of the shopping habits of Cherry Rogers and her late father.

Shopping when I was growing up was quite a social activity.  You went shopping with your list, to the market or to a shop, and sat down while the shopkeeper assembled your order.  Sometimes there was a discussion about your purchase with the shopkeeper and it sometimes included the other customers.

My dad wasn’t much of shopper and he sent me and mum to get all his stuff – underwear, shirts, trousers; we had to get them and bring them back for approval.  If asked what colour he wanted, he always said he thought black was a nice colour.  He didn’t get it though, he got what we brought.  When he wanted work boots or wellies, he took me down to Goodalls in the van.  I went in and told them what he wanted and brought out the boots for him to try in the van,.  I went in and out as many times as was needed for a good fit and then back with the money.

On a Saturday, in the Daily Mirror, there were pages of small advertisements for things – Doans Liver Pills, Elastic bandages, fence posts, sheds, tins of paint, ladies interlock knickers; you name it.  My dad loved those pages and bought loads of stuff with varying degrees of success.  He would scour the pages and say to me, “Look at this Flo’ee, that is good idea.”  He got hair clippers because he thought mum could cut his hair and it would save him going down to Caban’s.  She was a master with them.  He always had circles the size of a shilling which were bald because she got the clippers caught up in his hair.  He only had a bit round the edges anyway and when he hollered, she laughed and said, “Don’t make so much fuss Jack.  You shout before you are hurt”.

Dad said to me one day, “Go down and get me a postal order.  There is a good pair of gauntlets in the paper today.  They are heated.  Be lovely on the old motor bike.”  So I went and got the postal order and posted the letter.  When the parcel arrived, we gathered round the table and dad undid the box, quite a big box.  He opened the lid carefully and looked into the box and we all peered in, looking at each other too.  He took one glove out and put it on his hand.  The big cuff was leather, the hand and fingers were canvas, they all had bits of wire in them and stood up as if someone’s hand was already in them.  Mum and I started to grin, then my dad looked at us and said very quietly, “CO’ ‘TER HULL“, which translates to, “Go to hell“.  Mum and I laughed until we couldn’t stand.  My Dad would have loved internet shopping.

PS – for anyone who isn’t local “Go to hell” in this instance didn’t mean mum and I should, it was a comment at the gloves which really meant, “Well I’ll go to hell”, and an expression of surprise or shock.