The Rogers family at the seaside[/caption]Cherry Rogers remembers going to the funfair My first memory of going to the fair is of me sitting in my pram, in Nana's kitchen, ready to go. My Nana looked out of the window and said, "I don’t know Doll, it’s a bit black over Will’s Mothers." I piped up, "I don’t want to go to Will's Mothers. I want to go to the fair.” For anybody who doesn’t know what that means, it means the sky is dark and it looks like rain. I don’t know if only my family said it or it was a common thing to say. I have never found out who Will was or his Mother. When I was little everyone went to the fair, it was looked forward to with great excitement and was always held on the Ram Meadow, the field behind the Ram. Not just kids went, but the whole family. We had candy floss, which stuck to your cheeks and your nose and I loved it. But I didn’t like the spit wash I got afterwards. Ugh. There was a rifle range and coconut shy, and they were a swizz. They stuck the coconuts on at an angle so they wouldn’t fall over. We did win one once and it was about a hundred years old. There was a stall with yellow ducks floating round and you had to hook them out to win a prize. I won a goldfish once. You got them to take home in a jam jar or in later years a plastic bag. There was hoopla and darts, where you had to hit playing cards. There was roll a penny and you had to land it right in the middle of the square to win and you won in pennies whatever number you landed on. You could win a toy, a coconut or a big chalky ornament of a boy standing with a dog. You could buy rock, humbugs, toffee apples, big slabs of coconut ice and nougat with hazelnuts in it. There was swinging boats and you made them work by pulling a rope with a woolly bit on the end which was red white and blue, like a bell rope. There was dodgems, with bits of metal on top which scraped across a bit of wire netting above the ride and blue sparks came off it. One of the fairground men used to ride on the back of some of the cars and move about to get traffic jams going. My favourite was the carousel, which had horses and bench seats for three or four people to sit together. The bench seats were preferred in the teenage years! The music was loud and you could hear it half way up the High Street. There was noise from generators, with a distinctive smell of smoke, petrol and trodden down grass. They had a wall of death once and a side show which said come and see the little people. You paid and looked into it and it was, short people having a tea party. How awful is that? When I was in my teens I used to go to the fair to meet boys and go on the dodgem cars with them. Later we went to the funfair at Yarmouth. Some of the rides you see today are mind blowing, I wouldn’t like them! I like to watch people come off them. I bet we still had more fun on the Ram Meadow though.
Cherry Rogers' memory reflects back on the railway ...
For some reason the station was a favourite place to walk to. Mum and nana used to push me down there in my pram to see the trains and I in turn used to take my kids down to see the them. It was a nice walk and the pink flowering chestnut trees along the meadow opposite the Great Eastern were lovely, with horses kept in the field. They were lovely steam trains. You could sit on the platform to take the names and numbers, while watching all the parcels and livestock being loaded. There were cages with rabbits, chickens and ferrets. I didn’t like the ferrets much, I thought they were smelly. People came off the train and often collected a bike, a parcel or a suitcase from the guards van. When the guard blew the whistle, what fun it was to rush to the footbridge and stand over the top of the train to get covered in smoke and little black smuts. Not so much fun when mum saw the smuts and I brushed them. We would watch people go to the bookstall and the train fill up with water. If stood in the right place, when the pipe swung back you could wash the smuts off, followed by a smack when you got home. It was expected and probably deserved so it didn’t matter. Definitely wasn’t bad enough to stop us doing it!
I can remember there was a large turntable up by Redbrick Cottages, with lots of busy sidings where they turned and loaded trains. There was a lot of activity with goods. Really long trains used to go through which were open goods trucks carrying iron, steel and timber. The covered trucks carried livestock, sheep and cows etc. The railway was used for most things. I remember the convoys of British and American troops which went through by road, but also large troop trains. Some soldiers were bound for the battle area and they all got off the train, formed ranks and marched away. Sometimes there were trucks waiting for them at the Mundford Road side in the station yard.
When I went to work, Mr. Blanchflower worked in the Booking Office and Nellie Lewis was in the Goods Department. I used to have to do consignment notes for all the gates and timber leaving from Calders sidings. And for the pheasants. It was thought that a brace of pheasants would be a good Christmas present for regular customers. Whether the recipients thought the same is another matter! I did labels to tie on the necks of the pheasants. I didn’t tie them on, Geoff Southgate did. He used to purse his lips up and say "bloody kids", but he still did it! I did the consignment notes and Harold Lockwood put the pheasants in the van. Then we went over to the Goods Office to check them in. If there was an odd brace to go I was made to carry them over, but I wouldn’t do it unless they were on a long bit of string so I didn’t touch them.
The very first porter I remember was Mr Bob Fowl. He was a short white haired gentleman who lived in the station cottages on Mundford Road, near to the crossing gates. Mr. Brand, the signalman, always called him 'Bob Chicken'. Mr Fowl's wife made things out of raffia covered milk bottle tops and he always carried a shopping bag made of them. She used to make Christmas chains out of old wall paper and give them to everyone. We were the proud owners of some.
The signalman in the signal box, Stanley Brand, was my fiend Ivy's dad. We always called him Herbert. He used to heat a shepherd’s pie, or cheese and potato pie, or something, for Ivy, Beryl Philpot and me. Our mums took it in turn to make something and we dropped it off at the signal box on the way to work. 'Herbert' would bring it over at lunchtime. You see he had an oven and we didn’t, not until some years later. We only had a hotplate.
Parcels were delivered and collected by lorry by a chubby man called Geoff who was based at Thetford. My great aunt Nell worked in the refreshment room at Wymondham Station, so I am told, and my aunt Crystal worked in the Goods Office at Thetford for years. When I was about ten I used to go on the train on Saturdays to Thetford, to go in the Goods Office to see 'Aunty Crys'. We would then go on to Norwich shopping. Her boss was a man called Sydney Raven. She also worked with a man named Dougie, but I can’t recall his surname. They always gave me a shilling to spend in Norwich.
My Great Grandfather Walter Randall was a signalman at Brandon for the Great Eastern Railway. He came from Tivetshall and lived on London Road.
After I married I travelled to and from Thetford on the train every day to work. Things started to decline on the railway. The Booking Office and Goods Office were closed, first at Brandon and then Thetford. The bookstall disappeared at both stations. The waiting rooms closed at Thetford, but I was always allowed to sit in the Porter's Room to wait. At the Brandon end, if the train was going to be late I sat in the signal box and waited. The train driver would wait for me in the morning if I was late and the buffet car man poured me a coffee before they got to Thetford so that I could drink it before we got to Brandon. I used to sit with the postman and chat while I waited for my train home. All the post was sent on the train and would collect a bag of mail to send off. The mail always arrived on time. We had three deliveries a day at one time - early morning, mid-day and five o’clock. When Norwich City had the cup run, 1959 I think, we decorated the office windows with green and yellow. When the trains full of fans stopped at the level crossing, we went out and shouted "Up the City!" It’s a shame it’s all gone, because it was efficient and kept the traffic off the roads.
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Walter Randall[/caption]
Cherry Rogers recalls antics going to church
I was christened at St. Peter’s Church. Nana was Church of England but always went to the Methodist with Grandad, so I always went to the Methodist on London Road. Watson's shop was next door, across from Towlers Lane, and Mr. and Mrs Watson lived there with their sons Roger and Tony. Mrs Taylor and Mr and Mrs Brown lived in the cottages behind the chapel and further up Mrs Lambert who had the chip shop on the market place. The Methodist minister lived at the top and on the left. Right at the top on the right-hand side was a bungalow where Miss Parrot lived with her sister. I think the sister went to live there when her husband died.
I went to Chapel and to Sunday school in the afternoon. From the time I was quite small Dorothy Warren took me, she was my teacher. Mum took me to her house and when I was a bit older I walked along the Thetford Road by myself to Aunt Alice’s house, as I called Dorothy’s mum. They lived nearly opposite the chip shop. When I was older I was made to go in the morning, afternoon and dragged back to chapel in the evening. I think they wanted me out of the way in the daytime, but I used to get out of it in the morning and go with dad on the motorbike to see Uncle Ted in Sedge Fen and Uncle Jim in Lakenheath. I remember vividly being quite young but was taken to the evening service, where I fidgeted and stared at flies walking along the window pane, doing anything to not to have to listen. I loved the hymns and knew the words before I could read them properly. I used to stand up and sing like fury, even putting the organist off at times. I have never been able to sing in tune and all the rest of my family are musical.
I used to like the Harvest Festival and the harvest supper, where we had a meal and all the goods were auctioned. Grandad nearly always bought the harvest loaf in the shape of a large wheatsheaf. It was horrible really, the bread was always stale and as hard as hell. I liked the Christmas service where we all had a little bag and hung our collection on the tree, but not so keen on the Sunday School anniversary. They put a stage over the communion rail and us kids had to sit on it and face the congregation. I always had to do a recitation, but they wouldn’t let me sing. They did once and everybody laughed, probably thought I was a stand-up comic I think. The only good thing about the anniversary was I got a new dress ... but flipping brown sandals!
My Grandad was in the choir and sat in front of me, nana and mum. He sat with Mr and Mrs Deacon, Mrs Goodman, Betty Palmer, Dorothy Warren and Miss Gladys Parrot who lived at the top of Towlers Lane. She was a very short lady and she used to bounce when she sang, she put her heart and soul into it. She wore a black hat usually but on festive occasions, like Easter Day and Christmas, she wore a red velvet gathered model. When I was about eight I always used to stand and wonder if she was wearing knickers, because my mum used to say “Red hat, no drawers!” I came to the conclusion that she must be.
On several occasions my mum had a fit of laughter in chapel. She went to the spiritualist meeting once, just to test it out and when they were waiting for the spirit to move she went hysterical and got chucked out. When she opened her hymn book she had a photo of great-granny Harriet in the pages and if it opened at that page she used to laugh because Harriet was wearing a funny hat. On one occasion, I don’t know if it was the hat or the fact that the visiting preacher had a set of teeth that clanked a bit, but my mum started to splutter a bit trying to be serious. We never dare look at her or smile, because it would make her worse. She started to laugh out loud and nana’s lips twitched a bit and mum thought she would look at Mrs Hunter because she would look serious. Mrs Hunter smiled back. That did it. My Mum got so bad she laid head along the pew and laughed and snorted. My grandad turned round and said “I say, I say” which made mum worse because when he said that she always chanted “ Icey, Icey” behind him. I think most of the congregation laughed in the end. That poor preacher.
After all that, can you believe that when Dorothy Warren married Charlie Wharf and left the Sunday School, I taught the little ones. I taught them to sing their hymn for the anniversary service, so they were all out of tune.
Photo below - the crowning of the Rose Queen, Methodist Chapel. Left to right - John Yoman, Jane Adam, don't know the lady but think it may be Mrs Lindsey from the dairy, Lynette Barton, Joan Mills (Rose Queen), me with brown sandals, Betty Palmer (Jester), small girl Ruth Davies and far right Howard Davies (Page), Rev. Davies' son and daughter.
Cherry Rogers remembers her school days
I remember my first day at school. I told mum I didn’t want to go and I should make a fuss, so she was dreading it. I went with a girl called Rita who was the granddaughter of Mrs Parrot who lived at the old Manor House. When it actually came to the point of going into school and leaving mum, I turned to her and said "Goodbye" and then marched in. It was mum who was the one who cried. I remember leaning on the classroom door with some other children to stop Rita from escaping, she wanted to go home. When Mum came to meet me at the end of the day, I said, “Oh well. I have done my bit!”, thinking I only had to do one day.
I think my first teacher was Miss Parr, who lodged in a house on Thetford Road, right next to Monkey’s Style. She rode a motorbike. I was always sent in with the nursery children on a Friday when we had a story. I hated a story where things all went wrong for people or animals were hurt. I never waited for the happy ending. I used to bawl and get so upset that the teacher sent me off before she even started. I am a bit the same today, I don’t bawl, but I walk out of the room or skip the sad bit in a book sometimes. I don’t just like a happy ending I like a happy middle and beginning as well. I remember Miss Pollard was Headmistress in the infant’s school and Miss Risdale had taught there for years.
The first teacher in what was called big school was Miss Huke. She frightened the life out of me. I remember having to knit a doll’s bonnet with needles the diameter of telegraph poles and short with it, not easy, like knitting with bits of kindling. Boys had to do it the same as us, but I can’t remember any boy in my class who would want a doll’s bonnet! I remember cast iron stoves, the smell of wool coats drying on the fireguard, wet shoes standing underneath, chalk dust, squeaky blackboards, pens you dipped in inkwells, ink stains on clothes, blots on my work book, small bottles of milk with cardboard tops - you pushed out the hole in the middle for your straw (those milk bottle tops were used to make woolly pom poms and they were covered with raffia and joined together to make shopping bags, table mats and all kinds of things). I remember nature walks, all marching along in a crocodile with a tin to collect samples to write about when we got back to class, sometimes on a hot day we sat outside for a lesson. Sports days, I hated em, I couldn’t run to save my life. I remember chanting the tables with Miss Stevens, being caught passing a note to a boy, asking him to meet me after class, getting caught and Mr Cook reading it out. I didn’t care, I had no shame, but the boy did, he was embarrassed beyond words. Country dancing, again Miss Stevens, I always got told off for being too exuberant.
Singing lessons with Miss Downy. I got in the choir by being recommended by Catherine Talbot. I had to mime because as soon as I let out a sound Miss Downy said “Someone is out of tune.” Guess who? Mr Smalden who took us for geography, he had a cane in the cupboard called 'Nothing'. If he asked what you wanted and you said "Nothing sir", you got it! I remember having to chant all the states and cities of Canada. He took us for music after Miss Downy and he had a tuning fork that, when he banged it on the desk, you had to sing the note. He went round the class and we did it in turn. I wanted to die, I dreaded it. Mr Smalden used to put his glasses round the door before he came into the room and we thought he was daft. I never realised he could see us in the reflection in his glasses.
Mr Jackson was locum, he had been retired some years, so when a teacher was ill he stepped in. He always taught maths and the theme was always working out your co-op divi. He smoked like a chimney and his moustache was yellow. Sewing lessons. I was making a dress for three years, had to keep unpicking it, talk about fussy. It didn’t fit by the time I had finished! I had grown about four inches. Art classes with Mr. Cook. I couldn’t do that either, mine would have been more suitable for the Tate Modern. I went home wearing more paint than was on the paper. Mr Wintle was Headmaster and so many other teachers - Mr Lee, who was a wartime hero, Mrs Crane, Mr Tweedie, Mr Alan, Mrs Hall, Miss Dibley, Mr Hall, Mr Dannett, Miss Davies, Mr. Fish to name a few. Going to see the bridge opened with Miss Killengrey, having the ruler from Mr. Froud - expect I deserved it!
We had to go to Mildenhall for the last year, picking up other pupils from Lakenheath and all the surrounding villages. Mr. Lee was there and Mrs Hall was back there as my form teacher, and I think Headteacher. She used to ride a bike with a large basket on the front and used to send me and Mary Adams to the bank with the dinner money. She put the money in a bag and put it in the basket on the front of her sit- 'up-and-beg' bike, saying, "Now, keep it in there and walk with it." We said "Yes Mrs. Hall", and walked sedately down the drive. As soon as we were round the corner we got on the bike and pelted down to Mildenhall, giving us time to look in the shops. Mr Star was Headmaster and his wife was games teacher. Mr Lee was deputy head. We had to go to Mildenhall on the bus. We were so rowdy and uncontrollable the Baptist Minister, the Rev Morris, was sent to take control on the journey to and from school. We used to sit and flick bits of pastry from our cookery lesson at his hat, some of that pastry was as hard as hell, like firing cannon balls. Mum used to ask, "What happened to your cooking today?", to which I would reply, "Dropped the tin." Someone got chucked off the bus for trying to pack a parachute in his satchel and then jump out of the bu. He had to walk home.
I was rubbish at maths, although I knew my tables. The silly thing is I worked with figures from the time I started work, adding up ledgers and balancing books without even an adding machine in the early days. I wrote letters and did all kinds of office work, so I guess I must have learned something. I always hope my spelling is reasonable. It should be after having to chant the word and then the spelling. You learn quickly if you must stay until the work is correct and you have a date. They were happy carefree days.
We all had an autograph book in those days. I have all the teachers from Brandon and all my classmates from my last year at Mildenhall. This one is Mr. Froud, he was always popular because he did a drawing instead of a boring signature. Below is the autograph from Mr. Froud, the book is a little tattered now but I have all the pages.
Home deliveries
Cherry Rogers remembers a time when deliveries to your door were common place. For our grandparents and parents, ordering your shopping and having it delivered was quite normal. The internet…
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.
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Dad with his first van[/caption]
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.
Cherry Rogers reflects upon her youth - buying a book from the railway station bookstall ...
I was just thinking how times have changed, when I was listening to two young children chatting while I was out shopping. Talk about being grown up!
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Colin and Alan. They look the sort to tie a lady to a tree![/caption]
It got me thinking about my childhood and growing up. Playing down the 'Rec' and in the woods at the back of Greens, having dens among the logs. It wouldn’t be allowed now and if those logs had slipped, doesn’t even bear thinking about, but we all did it. Colin Rogers, now my husband, tied me to a tree and set fire to the grass round the bottom of it! I think I was a human sacrifice or it might have been Indians setting fire to white man. Nothing changes! I remember my friend, Joan Norton, hitting him with a pink handbag.
Everyone played out and lots of people went on to do a paper round for a bit of pocket money before they were old enough to start work. I didn’t do one as I wasn’t allowed to, but my husband Colin did one and so did his Brother Alan. Colin delivered for W.H Smith, of the Railway Station bookstall, delivering the Polish newspapers to the London Road camp. Lots of my friends delivered for Mrs. Green on the High Street.
These children chatting led my thoughts on, from paper rounds to starting work. I hadn’t been at work for much more than a week when I was sent over to the Pine Vista, which was out of bounds for me. Happy days, I got in there at last! I wonder what my Mum would have said if she knew that after a few months working, I started in July 1959, I was sent over to the Railway Station bookstall to order three copies of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. This was about 1960 I should think, when it could be published in the unexpurgated version. I as the office junior was sent to order the books. I thought as I was going I might as well have one as well and keep it in my desk drawer for lunchtime reading.
I dreaded going to order them because Bert Kidd knew my Mum and Aunty Crystal worked in the goods office at Thetford. So I sort of rehearsed what to say on the way over and hoped he wasn’t wearing his leather flying helmet because he was a bit deaf anyway. When I got to the counter he was doing his books, so I said, "I would like to order four copies of Lady Chatterley’s Lover please Mr. Kidd". He looked at me a bit astounded and said, "Pardon?" I had to holler it "FOUR COPIES OF LADY CHATTERLEY’S LOVER, PLEASE MR KIDD". He humphed a bit and wrote it in his order book. I scuttled off and thought now I have to go and flipping collect 'em. What a fuss the publication of that book caused. It was mild to what is heard and seen on TV these days and what is published. I used to have a fit of mild hysteria when Nana was really riled and said "Oh! Bum to it". I don’t know if it is a good or bad thing that the children know so much so early. I think they miss a lot in some respects but we were a bit naive. Just an observation.
Cherry Rogers remembers her mum and nan on wash day ...
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Nana with some dry washing, she doesn't look very pleased. Background the land Newell's sawmill was on next door.[/caption]
Monday was washday. Tuesday ironing. Wednesday bedrooms. Thursday front room, which was only used at Christmas, so why it needed cleaning every week I don’t know - a quick dust and that would have been it, blinking freezing in there anyway! The only good thing was I could dust the piano and pretend to be Winnie Atwell, giving it a real good bash. Friday was living room - mats were taken outside to shake, hung up and had the living daylights bashed out of them. Lino round the sides of the mats was polished. The dusters were washed and knitwear and hand washing was done. Nothing was ever done on a Sunday as it was a day of rest - a walk round Tip and home via the Plough or down Fengate Drove and round Weeting in the afternoon. Chapel in the evening. Sunday tea, and if you were posh a tin of fruit with Nestle’s cream from a tin which you had to shake like the clappers to re-mix it and get it thick. My Dad always ate bread and butter with his and wanted me to, but no thank you.
Anyway, Monday was washday. We had a big scullery at Thetford Road with a 'Dutch oven' and a copper in it, but I don’t remember Mum using them. Dad kept tins of paint in the Dutch oven and Mum had a gas copper which you fitted on the side of the cooker. She didn’t use it much, just for the bath water because she went down to help Nana and they did the washing together. Nana lit the fire under the copper in the wash house and Mum brought her washing down from Thetford Road balanced on my bike in a wicker basket. She tried to ride with it a couple of times ... with disastrous consequences. They filled the copper with buckets of water and got it boiling. Two tin baths were filled with water for rinsing and a small bath with Recketts blue bag to make the washing whiter and another small one with starch. Washing was sorted into piles - anything with stains was scrubbed with a bar of soap on the washboard, sheets, pillowcases, tablecloths, tea towels and white terry towels all went in to boil. Sometimes towels were done separately, depending on the quantity of washing. They were poked and prodded with the copper stick - an old broom handle cut down a bit and boiled so much it was white at the end and frayed. When the whites came out the coloureds went in the hot water but were not boiled.
The mangle was wheeled forward, the wing nut tightened and linen was mangled. It was rinsed twice, put in blue bag and or starched, being mangled between each process. The last process was mangling two or three times tightening it up each time.
Washing was hung out, mangle rollers dried and loosened baths emptied. The water in the copper was used to scrub the wash house floor and the path between the wash house and the house. Then Mum wheeled her washing home to dry.
Below Nana with some dry washing, she doesn't look very pleased. Background the land Newell's sawmill was on next door.
‘Courting’ in the 1950s
Cherry Rogers remembers courting in the 1950s ... The thing to do in Brandon in the late fifties and early sixties (same in most places I think) was to go…