Cherry Rogers recalls the Market Hill...

The Market Hill was the meeting place for everyone.  It was always a busy place.  Children going to and leaving the school, market stalls and shops. Woodrow’s on the corner of London Road and the market, it was one of those shops that had the smell of paraffin and lubricating oil, wooden floors which must have been impregnated with those smells.  They sold ironmongery, nuts, bolts, screws, hinges, all in drawers, polishes and lubricants, bleaches, household items such as lamps and kitchen equipment, mincers, graters and baking tins.  Miss Dann’s, sweets and cigarettes.  It was popular with the school children who bought packets of broken crisps, penny chews, liquorice boot laces, flying saucers, sherbet dips and ice cream.  Miss Dann made lollies and put them in moulds outside on the pavement to set.  Mum wouldn’t let me have them, she said Miss Dann’s cats licked them!  She had two or three white long haired monster cats.  I should imagine they were more fur than cat. Mrs Lambert's fish and chip shop on the corner by the 'smithy.  I don’t know much about Mrs Lambert’s shop because we went to Aud Bilverstone on Thetford Road for our fish and chips, or a bit later Snushalls chipvan.  I think Mrs Lambert's was popular with people who came out of the cinema, but sometimes there was a chip van on the market place for the cinema crowd.  Mrs Lambert's shop became a wool shop when it closed.  There have been loads of different things in that building. The school, the Headmaster’s house (Mr. Wintle and later Mr. Lay), next door a butcher shop - Jim English; it always had a pig’s head with an apple or orange in its mouth and bits of parsley scattered around it displayed in the the window.  I didn’t think it was all that attractive. Arthur Marchant just across the road, corner of Bury Road and George Street.  The Five Bells.  Then a long piece of fence where the posters for the fair or events were stuck where you could look through the gaps and see piles of flints behind it.  The bus shelter was eventually built there.  The Flintknappers.  Nearly everyone I know went in there for their first visit to a pub and my first visit was there, taken by Harold Lockwood who thought it was hilarious to take me home half cut, much to the wrath of Doris Ada.  I must have had all of a half of bitter. The market was held there twice a week, Thursday and Saturday, and I believe it still is.  I can’t remember much about the stalls from my early school days.  I know Pinkey Wright was there with fruit and veg on a Thursday and Les Wright on a Saturday.  Mum and Nana used to go to Les Wright and I can remember piles of oranges and nuts at Christmas time, with “Eat Me” dates and holly wreaths hanging along the top of the stall.  Bananas hung on hooks and there were big heads of dirty celery with black fen earth on it.  Cauliflowers with the leaves still on them.  You were asked if you wanted the leaves taken off, nothing wrong with the leaves, just the same as cabbage.  Late on winter afternoons hurricane lamps lit the stall.
I hate grass sandwiches!
Everything was fresh and nothing came pre-packed.  There was always a big heap of mustard and cress, which was sold by the ounce, you got masses if you bought an ounce in a brown paper bag.  No polythene bags in those days and carrier bags were strong brown paper.  We got the cress in sandwiches with a hard boiled egg.  I like it now but I didn’t like it much then.  I used to say, "I hate grass sandwiches", but if I was given grass sandwiches I ate them because I wouldn’t get anything else. Ted Bond from Thetford Road in a van with fish laid out in the back.  Lovely fish.  In the summer Mr. Wicks, who owned the shop and post office at Tip had an ice cream kiosk, which he towed behind his car.  He sold the best coffee ice cream I have ever tasted. The Market Hill was used for all gatherings, such as bands, military parades and the Remembrance Service.  Everybody went to the Remembrance Service as the war was still fresh in people’s memory.  Although we kids didn’t remember we knew it was important and lots of women cried at the service.  I remember when there was an election.  Loudspeaker vans drove through the town urging people to vote and all the parties did it, in fact loudspeaker vans were used for lots of things.  I loved them and used to rush out to see what was going on.  An updated version of a Town Cryer.  I remember it was very busy on the Market Hill, lorries decorated with the party colours and people wearing huge rosettes, a band playing, it was all very secret as to who would receive your vote and you didn’t tell anyone.  On election day, my mum and Mrs Barton were chatting outside Woodrow’s, the market side, under the cinema poster and Lynette hollered as loudly as she could “MY MUM IS A TORY!”  Cor blimey she got sorted out for that! I loved the market place.  Below Miss Dann's shop.

Memories of the Market Hill

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.  
Going to church