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Life in a Yorkshire Village in 1944 by Madge Goodman

They were both in their mid seventies, Grandma Wood and Grandma Clegg, when I first met them during the Second World War. They lived in one room cottages side by side, which belonged to a Working Men’s club in a small Yorkshire village, which relied on one woollen mill and one cotton mill for employment.

The daughter of Grandma Clegg was married to the son of Grandma Wood. He was a member of the club’s committee, so they were entitled to live in one of these cottages.

The cottages were simply but adequately furnished. Grandma Cleggs bed folded into a cupboard during the day. A small chest of drawers where the family portraits stood, a table, a rocking chair with cushioned seats and antimacassars to keep the backs clean, two buffets (stools) pushed under the table should a neighbour drop in for a chat and a cup of tea.

Grandma Clegg had a horsehair sofa under her window but Grandma Wood had two round backed chairs where you could sit and watch the world pass by or call out to a passing friend.

The front door, in fine weather, was always wide open. Visitors always popped in and out for everyone knew everyone else and many were related in some way or another. There was only one light in the middle of the room hanging down from the ceiling (one gas mantle) and in one corner sat a penny gas meter. Hand pegged rugs covered the floor which was stone flagged.

A small room led off to the back, the pantry it was called, on big stone shelf whereon stood a one gas ring and a little wire — meshed wooden cupboard where fresh foods were kept. There was a stone jar with a lid for keeping bread, lardy cake and tea cakes and dried foods. Anything perishable was kept in tins. Under the shelf, the coal supply was kept. At that time coal was one shilling a bag and the best coal was one shilling and eleven pence.

A Dolly tub, a Betty for pummelling clothes and a wooden top mangle stood opposite. The cold tap sink was under a very small window facing the backyard. A tin bath hung from the wall and under the sink was a slop bucket for the toilet was around the back of the cottages in the yard and was shared by the two of them. Each of them had a big chamber pot under the bed for night times and was hurriedly emptied with the rest of the slops early in the morning before work started at the club.

Taking pride of place was a black leaded grate oven at one side and a little boiler on the other which they kept filled with water — only enough for a quick wash and washing up. The grandma’s used to wash and change dress and pinny in the afternoons after their snooze after dinner. The grates were lovingly blackleaded every Friday morning and brass irons and steel bits on the oven doors gleamed in the firelight. A steel fender, well sandpapered surrounded the fireplace, a black kettle was always on the boil on the hob. Over the fireplace was a high mantelpiece complete with a mantel border of red velvet with a fringe, a clock, china cats, a box of matches and candlesticks and a long wax taper for lighting the gas light or ring when necessary.

Sunday was spent quietly, a day of rest, only the ashes were removed and the grate tidied. After breakfast, if not going to church, Grandma Wood would get out her big family bible and read it till dinnertime, resting it on the table.

As it was wartime and meat was rationed, the grandma’s would put their coupons together to get a little joint of meat for the Sunday roast. Grandma Wood cooked the meat, Yorkshire puddings while Grandma Clegg would do potatoes and vegetables and perhaps a little rice pudding or rhubarb and custard to follow. The dripping from the meat would was saved to put on their toast for breakfast throughout the week. Any meat left over from the joint was cut up, added to carrots, swede, potatoes herbs and stock and made into a hash for Monday (sometimes lasting till Tuesday). Dumplings were added to make it more filling.

Mondays were wash days, come rain or fine. Out came the dolly tub in which clothes had been soaking all night. Water was heated on a fire in pans, kettles on the gas ring and added with soap to the dolly tub and beating would begin with the betty. Dolly blue rinse was always added to the last rinse before the washing was mangled and hung out, if it was dry, over a line which stretched across from building to building . If wet, they would hang around the fire on a wooden clothes horse or up on the pulley attached to the ceiling. A bucket of hot water was always saved from the washing to do the front step and outside flagstones which were always whitened with whitestone on Mondays and Fridays. They would then have their hash which would have been cooking on the side of the fire as they got on with their washing. They would have a little snooze for about an hour then out came the two flat irons, which were heated on the fire top, then placed inside an aluminium slipper before starting to iron. Of course it all had to be done before tea and any articles needing starch would be done last (collars and cuffs of their dresses usually). The laundry would air in front of the fire and up on the pulley where it would stay all night and put away first thing on Tuesday morning before the grate was cleared out.

On Tuesday they would take it easy, but they went to the Chapel Sisterhood in the afternoon to meet old friends.

Wednesday was usually mending day when out came the workboxes, darning on wooden stools or patching on undergarments would be attended to.

Thursday was pension day and shopping day for groceries which they did at the local co-operative store.

Friday, well!!! Windows were cleaned, grates were blackleaded, furniture polished and the front doorstep and flags were whitened. As a treat they would have fish and chip dinner for sixpence from the local chip shop. After tea hair washing and bathing occurred, filling the old tin bath with pans and kettles of hot water from in front of the fire.

Saturday morning after breakfast, which usually consisted of porridge (which had been left soaking all night), a slice of toast and dripping and a cup of tea, they would go to the butchers for their meat ration plus a rasher of bacon. Their ration of corned beef they left until the middle of the week. They would then go and get their potatoes and vegetables from a cart that came round on Wednesdays and Saturdays. The milkman came round with a horse and cart and they left milk cans with lids on the doorstep to be filled. Milk was 2 ½ pence a pint at that time. Bread was
4 ½d 9p for a large loaf and rent, paid monthly, was 5 shillings a week.

On Saturday afternoon their families would call, returning freshly laundered sheets, a bit of cake and sweets or flowers. They would sit and chat with them for a bit and bring them up to date with the weeks events and coming events in the near future. As they left the son would slip a few shillings into her hand to help out with expenses. Any doctors bills were paid off weekly, but they were only called out in an emergency as they preferred to treat themselves with embrocations or herbs, bread poultices for boils and hot salt filled socks for sore throats being but a few of the treatments at home.

They used to have an insurance man call. They both put away a bit so they would have enough to cover funeral expenses and kept a white gown in a drawer to be laid out in when their time came. Very independent, they were as different as chalk and cheese; they both liked their own privacy and valued it.

How do I know all about them? Well, I married Grandma Wood’s grandson. He was in the forces but had been a member of the Working Men’s Club. When a house became vacant, I applied and was lucky to be accepted as a tenant. My house was slightly bigger, I had a bedroom upstairs because I had two little girls who were thoroughly spoiled by the grandmas . I added a gas boiler to the pantry and I had a radio that ran on batteries and paid sixpence each time it was charged. My rent was 2o shillings a month. Before long I was blackleading my grate and whitening my doorstep and flags, having a bath in front of the fire in the big tin bath on Friday nights like everyone else in that little Yorkshire village. I lived there for four years. My husband was killed in action, he never did see our wee house and we moved to Suffolk leaving the two grandmas tearfully behind. They have now passed on, but I can look back, now myself a grandma and reflect on the many changes, not all for the better that have happened since then.

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