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MY MEMORIES of DERITEND
(BACK to BACK)
by John J Pegg
I was born 4th June 1935 at 2/27 Radnor Street Winson Green Birmingham.
My mother's name was Maria, and my father was Alfred Pegg.
I have no memories of Radnor St, or of my father who died when I was about 3years of age.
My earliest memories of my childhood days, was when I lived at 23 Lower Trinity Street Deritend, with my mother, elder sister Irene, and elder brother Alfred. There would have been 2 other elder sisters (Violet, & Rona) but they had died before I was born, and I knew nothing about them as they were never talked about in the family, ( I never knew why) except that I believe in those days the people didn't speak of the dead as it was a hard life and tough just to think about living.
It was a typical working class street of the times with back-to-back houses, mixed with factories, and the little corner shop.
Our house was a front terraced type, with one room at street level, one room on the next floor up, and one more room above that.
The room on street level was where we lived, played, washed, cooked, and ate our meals.
I remember as you entered through the front door, you were straight into the living room; there was no porches, halls or vestibule.
Immediately on your left was an old upright piano, above which hung a picture or photo, with more photos' standing on top of the piano.
My mother would on occasions play for us, and teach us the words of some amusing songs like “I'm a lonely little Petunia in an Onion patch” to name but one.
When you realise that the piano filled almost the whole of the wall on that side of the house, you will have some idea as to the cramped conditions we lived, especially later when my stepfamily arrived.
In the centre of the room was a large table ( well, I remember it to be large in my child's mind) it had 4 very heavy turned legs, which were black in colour, and the table top was plain wood which my mother would regularly scrub clean with a scrubbing brush that seemed as big as a Bass Broom head, and needed her 2 hands with which to hold it.
Around the other walls was an old wind-up gramophone with a horn speaker that I loved more than anything, especially when my mother would allow me to wind it up and choose the record to play.
The gramophone was situated immediately to your right as you went through the front door.
Then there came a single armchair near to the fire, where my mother always sat when she could find the time to relax. Around the rest of the room was some stools, and chairs if you could call them that as they were usually made up out of old crates and boxes which we kids would sit on when eating our meals. The rest of the time we would probably sit on the floor near to the fire.
I suppose the main feature had to be the “Black Fire Range” as this was where all the activity of normal household chores took place. This is where you boiled your water, cooked your food, toasted your bread, dried your wet washing, and kept yourself warm on those nights when the wind seemed to find every little crevice to enter and try it's hardest to freeze us. Even the mice would come out of their holes and sit with us by the fire on such nights.
There was always a fireguard around the range and a brass fender, which surrounded the hearth.
In front of the fireguard, and between the table was a rug, that was made from old clothes and rags, which mom had torn into strips, and then using an old potato sack as backing, and a tool
known to us as a “bodger” would, with the help of sister, brother, and myself spend hours upon hours making this rug, whilst listening to the gramophone or the wireless.
Another big chore that we all took part in doing, was to “black lead” the fire grate. Although I must admit that I only used to do the bottom part near the ash pan, because I was only small and unable to reach the upper parts.
That grate used to shine like a black mirror as I remember.
To the left of the fire was a small door which encloses an area under the stairs where we kept the fuel for the fire. (Coal when we could afford it) Our main fuel was coke, which we had to fetch from the local Gas Works or as they were commonly know the “Coke Yard.” This is also the place where you would hear the mice on a regular basis scurrying to and fro. I remember my mom used to say how she recond our mice were so loud that they must be wearing “Hob Nail Boots”.
To the left of the “Coalhole” as the above mentioned room was known, was 2 flights of narrow stairs leading to the bedrooms, and to the left of these was a recessed area which was screened off from living room by a piece of cloth suspended across a length of string to act as curtain which hid the brown stone sink and the only cold water tap in the house. Mind you that was good fortune, because I can remember that some people didn't have water in their houses, and had to go outside to fetch water from the stand pipe in the quadrangle or “Yard” as it was called.
The walls to this room were rough brick, which had been whitewashed by my mother, who used to give it a fresh coat about twice a year. I remember she used to have a big ball of whitening, which looked like a giant stick of chalk, and she would soak it in a bucket of water until the right constituency then remove the ball, dry it, and wrap it up for storing until needed again.
It's a good thing the room was whitewashed, because without, it would have been a real black, dark hole, and such a dismal place.
The only light we had during the daytime was whatever light penetrated through the one and only small window at the front of the house. At night we lit the single gas mantle that suspended from the ceiling of the living room. There were no other lights anywhere in the house, and that's why I hated being sent to bed on my own at night.
Even with the aid of a candle or sometimes an oil lamp I was scared. These forms of lighting used to throw shadows, and as a child it was very frightening, especially when the shadows were accompanied with sounds of scratching, and scurrying of mice as you entered your dark black room.
It was a case of trying your hardest to be very brave, to undress, jump into bed as quickly as you can, then pulling the bedclothes right up to your chin, with both hands firmly grasping the top of the bedclothes ready to pull them straight over your head at the slightest sound.
Usually it turns out to be mom who had crept up the stairs to check on me.
“Have you put that light John” she'd shout, “Yes mom” I reply-“No you haven't, I can see it under the door,-now put it out and get off to sleep Good Night, God Bless”. “Okay mom” I'd reply. Then carefully placing my hand around the flickering flame, and at the same time making a blowing sound I'd say
“Good Night Mom God Bless”.
I'd wait until I was sure she had gone, and then resume my previous position of holding onto those bedclothes, and usually falling asleep.
Later my brother would come upstairs and get into the same bed as myself, and he would blow the candle out.
After a little moan and groan from myself about him being cold and pulling the bedclothes off me, I would again settle down feeling safer now.
In the morning I was woken by my mother shouting to my sister and brother to get up and get ready for school. I wasn't of school age, so I could stay in bed a little longer, teasing my brother that it was lovely and warm in bed. He of course had to go down stairs, where although the fire had been lit, it had not raised sufficient heat to have warmed the room.
Then he has to go into that dark little room behind the curtain, where there was that horrible stone sink, and cold water tap for him to have a wash.
The water from that tap was always freezing, even in the midsummer. I hated it so much that when it was my turn I would wash my hands and just a quick splash on my face, hoping to get away with it.
That was until Friday nights came around, which is when my mom would make everyone have a bath. This was in a large galvanised bath tub, which was placed on the rug in front of the fire, my sister would be the first while the water was hot and clean, and also we were sent outside or upstairs to give her privacy.
There would be some extra pots on the fire, heating water ready to top up the bath whenever the temperature became too low.
Towels made from old bits of sheets or blanket would be kept warm hanging over the fireguard or from the rail under the mantle shelf above the fire.
After my sister, it was my brother's turn and he used to be bathed by our mom using a large bar of soap and a scrubbing brush.
I would sit cringed listening to the screams of torture from my brother, dreading the moment when it would be my turn.
Fortunately before my brother was finished my mom would tell me to get undressed and get in the bath with him as the water was getting cold. This, I didn't mind, because with 2 of us in the bath there was less chance of being scrubbed raw with that hedgehog of a brush.
This is also when my mom would make up for all the times I skipped out on having a proper wash. She would wrap her hand into a piece of cloth that she used as a flannel, and then rub that large bar of soap onto the cloth, grab my head in her other hand, and pressing downwards until my neck and spine formed into a complete crescent. Then WHACK onto the back of my neck came this hand wrapped in the cloth, and with a to and fro, up and down, around and around motions, she'd rub and rub until I felt there wasn't any skin left on my neck.
“Ow mom! You're hurting me” I'd yell. “I'll hurt you” she says. “Just look at the muck around your neck”, “this'll teach you to wash yourself properly in future”. She was so rough; it felt like she was trying to skin me alive.
There's only one way out of this situation:- “Mom you are really hurting me, OW MOM”, followed by some tears, and if I could keep them flowing long enough, and make them sound realistic, she would eventually give in.
Usually by standing me up in the bath, and pouring a large jug of water all over me to rinse me down.
Then a friendly slap on the backside, “That'll do” she'd say, and wrapping me in one of those home made towels that had been warming by the fire, lift me out of the bath, stand me on the rug in front of the fire to give me a good rubbing down to dry me all over.
This is when all the tears, and hollering stops, and the laughter begins, because she used to tickle me whilst drying under my arms, and on the soles of my feet
After a good laugh we would cuddle together, mom kneeling on the rug, and myself half sitting, and half leaning on her lap, wrapped in the towel, just for a few moments, ( I remember those moments with great fondness).
At the same time she would start fingering my head which for a long time thought that she was being very affectionate not realising that she was checking for “nits.” Then finally I found out, and that's when out came the “toothcomb” or “nit comb” as sometimes called.
That was another torture that unless you had personal experience cannot be described.
Then it's a tap on the head, and “Come on, that's enough, get dressed whilst I empty the bath”.
The bath was usually carried by my mom at one end, and my sister, and brother at the other, out into the street to be emptied in to the gutter.
Sometimes it was too full to be carried, and they would have to ladle some water out before they could lift it. Even then, it was funny to watch them struggle as the water sloshed from one end of the bath to the other, and everyone trying not to let the water splash over the sides until they were outside
Soon it was time for bed again, and our bedroom was at the top of the house, and unlike today when nature calls, you couldn't just get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, because there was no bathroom. The only toilet would mean a journey down 2 flights of stairs,
out into the street, and up the “Entry” (this was a passage between 2 houses) into a courtyard or quadrangle, where at the far end was a block of 2 toilets, shared between 6 houses.
There is no way that I was going to take that trip, especially in the dark as there wasn't any lighting. Fortunately we solve that problem by having a “Po” (chamber pot) under the bed for just such emergencies.
I remember the time when I was taken short in the very early hours of the morning, I got out of bed onto tip toes, not to be quiet, but simply because the floor was freezing cold. Then reaching for the Po, I discovered that it was already full. I wondered, would there be enough room in it to accept the amount I had to pass. I stood there with legs crossed, so desperate that the decision was made I had to try, only to find that it began to overspill, and I had to stop in mid-stream.
Now I was really desperate, I had started, and it has become very difficult for me to hold myself.
I must relieve myself somehow, it was then I spotted the only option left for me. Grabbing my Willy tightly I waddled over to the window, which was the old sash cord type, and meant I could open it quite easily, especially as the sash cord was broken. The only thing I had to remember was to hold the window open or it would crash down, and with what I was about to do could have been very dangerous.
Well, it solved my problem of an overloaded bladder. I emptied myself through the window out into the street below, hoping no one was out there or passing underneath. Also trying my hardest to make the stream go out as far as I could into the street, so that it wouldn't splash onto the window below mine where mom slept. It was in the early morning hours, so I got away with it.
As I have already mentioned we lived in Lower Trinity Street Deritend. So let me try to give you some idea of the area.
Lower Trinity St, ran from Adderley St to Heath Mill Lane, and about halfway between these 2 streets was Hack Street which formed a tee junction with Lower Trinity St.
At the top end, on the corner of L/Trinity, and Adderley St, was the local corner shop owned by 2 spinsters, and was known as “Rose and Nellie's”.
It was here that you could buy anything from Apples to Zebo (Black lead polish for the firegrate).
As you travel down L/Trinity St, from Roses, you would pass under a railway bridge. Then on the left hand side were several other back to back houses, but I can't recall the names of all the people that lived there, except Paddy O'Conner
A little further down, and back on the right hand side you came to the “Paperstock” on the corner of Hack Street, and L/Trinity St. The “Paperstock” as the name suggests was a company that collected old paper, and cardboard, and old rags, which they would bale up into large bales, which I now realise was for recycling.
I can remember the rats we used to see running around both inside, and outside their factory, and how we kids would try to hit them with sticks or throw stones at them.
We were so brave in a group, but on your own, if you saw a rat you would quickly make haste in the opposite direction.
On the opposite corner to the “Paperstock” (Hack St and L/Trinity St) was the old Laundry, which as I remember converted into houses for 2 or 3 families. This was directly opposite our house, and very convenient whenever there was an air raid during the war years because we used to use the large cellar as a shelter, until it was demolished by an explosion of unknown source.
Next door to our house was a large building, which I never knew what it was, except that it was on occasions used by the Catholic Church for some sort of club activities.
Then our other neighbour on the other side separated only by the ENTRY (passageway between the house leading to the backhouses) live the Bankes who used to sell the odd bits of vegetables not what he'd grown himself, but what he'd scrouged from the market for nothing.
That was the way things were every other street would have a little shop which was operated from the front room of their house.
Then came “Tricroft Motors” a place I remember for the cannon they housed in their yard as a defence for the railway that ran the full length of L/Trinity St
This was an elevated railway line that ran at the back of our houses, and was higher than our rooftops, so you can understand what a dangerous position we were in, when the bombers came a calling.
Directly opposite “Tricroft Motors” was “Bridgewaters” the timber yard, where they made packing cases etc:
We would scrounge all the off cuts timber as firewood for home. It was also our official air raid shelter. That was until one night during a raid we were ordered to vacate, because a land mine had exploded in Heath Mill Lane, and set fire to the timber yard where we were located.
We were told to make our way as quickly as possible to the shelter at the Post Office in High St Deritend.
I can still remember all the people running all the way from L/Trinity St, up to, and along Adderley St to High St, and hearing the planes over head, and the gunfire, and explosions, and the screams from the women as they ran.
I can remember the Searchlights, Sirens, and Barrage Balloons, I can remember the air raids the bombs, I can remember the buildings that were there one day and gone the next, I can remember the fear in the faces of the older people, and how that transmitted down to me, but I was too young to really understand the true seriousness of the situation.
Most of my time was playing with other kids of a similar age to me, who all lived, in different streets.
I remember the Ladbrooke's (Ron, Gerald, & Pat) Peacock's ( Barbara & sister)they all lived in Allcock Street.
Then there were the Townsend's Mayer's and Nicholls all of Adderley St.
Teddy Williams from Bromley St, and I'm sure there were loads more, but memories fade as you get older.
I can remember the pubs within the area, such as the Wagon in Adderley St, the Great Western corner Hack St & Allcocks St, the Old Crown in High St Deritend (still there today), the Rainbow corner of High St & Adderley St.
The Forge corner of Fazeley St & Gt Barr St, and finally The Lamp Coventry Rd Bordesley. And the Barrel Watery Lane.
Opposite the Old Crown in Heath Mill Lane I remember the man who used to make wicker baskets of all shapes and sizes. Some were very large and would be mounted onto 3 wheels, much like the supermarket trolley of today, but much bigger. I used to watch him for hours, and sometimes he would show me how to weave the willows, little knowing then, that when I became
older I would be pushing one of these large trolley's full of bundles of firewood as a delivery boy to some of the shops and homes
On the High St near to the Old Crown was a shop called Pittaways. This is where we used to take our accumulator for recharging, as this was the only source of battery power we had for the wireless.
Why they called it wireless I'll never know, because there were wires for the aerial, wires for the earth,
wires for the positive, and wires for the negative, wires everywhere.
We always had 2 accumulators, one for current usage, and the other either standing by, or at Pittaways being charged up.
You always made certain that you had a fully charged battery when certain programmes were to be broadcast, like: - Dick Barton, Valentine Dyle (The man in Black) and sing along programmes like Joseph Locke and later Donald Peers.
Further along the High St was the Co-Op where we used to get most of our groceries, because it was a little cheaper than at Roses, and you also got your “Divi.”
This was your dividend that was paid back to you as a sort of loyalty payment. I can still remember our dividend number (214144) today. This is the number you had to quote whenever you made a purchase at the Co-Op so that it could be recorded, and your dividend would be calculated.
I can see the shop now, with its 2 counters facing each other, and tins, boxes, and sacks of produce stacked just in front of each counter. The top box, tin, or sack was opened so as to show the contents of each.
On one end of the counter was a bacon slicer, which was operated by turning a big hand wheel. I
used think of it as a sort of torture machine, but fascinated to see the different thickness cuts of meat etc; that used to slide off that giant circular blade.
Across on the other counter I can remember the way they used to weigh out the dry goods, like sugar lentils etc; and pack them into bags or parcels of a greyish paper all by hand. ( Non of the
pre- manufactured packaging of today) Also on this counter was the Coffee Grinder, which wasn't in operation very often, because folk couldn't afford real coffee. They would have to make do with the cheaper variety of chicory coffee. (Popular brand was “Camp” not the sort of name one would choose today).
Whenever I was lucky to be in the shop at the same time as they were operating the coffee grinder, I would love to just stand there and take in the aroma.
Over the top of both counters was another fascinating gadget, where the counter assistant would put your money and the ticket with your divi number into one half of a cup. This was then attached to the other half of the cup that was suspended on a wire line. The line ran the full
length of the shop from the counter upto a small office raised on a higher level than the counters, and occupied by a cashier.
After the attachment of the cup to the overhead wire the assistant would pull down on a handle and the cup would shoot along the wire to the cashier.
She would then enter the transaction into her ledger, and return the cup in the same manner that she received it, together with any change, and your little divi ticket.
There were 3 or 4 of these wire gadgets operated from each counter by assistants serving different customers or produce.
The Co-Op was our main shop for most of our groceries when we could afford to pay. But it was Roses you went to when things were difficult, and you need to have it put on the slate, which is something I used to hate doing when my mom sent me on such errands.
Just to mention afew other shops around the area like:- “Daisies” the fish & chips shop in High St Digbeth, where we would buy the best fish & chip, and faggots and peas you could wish for.
I remember many a time going with my brother to Daisies carrying a pudding basin to fetch the faggots and peas for the family evening meal.
There was the famous Bird's Custard factory, now converted into a Arts and Craft centre. There was the Red House where they sold and repaired cycles etc; and then there was the home made sweet shop where we would buy our Troach Drops, and Treacle Toffee known as “ Lock-jaw”, also there was the Cobblers (later became Paynes shoe repairers), then there was Fox's in Bordesley near to the Bordesley Railway Station, Joe Fox used to be a boxer, and he had lots of photo's of himself all over the shop walls. I guess he must have been pretty useful, because I can remember some photo's showing him wearing some sort of championship belt. Another one of those shops that was just the front room was Mrs Smith's in Hack St, but I remember we only used her shop when we became desperate, because she was more expensive, and miserable.
When I was of school age I went to St Andrews's infants and junior school Small Heath.
Although the official name of the school was St Andrews it was commonly know as Ada Road
The infants and juniors was a mixed school attached to the senior's school which was an all boys, also known as Ada Road.
It was situated right on the side of an embankment of a main railway line, near to where St Andrews's football ground is today (Birmingham City F.C.). I can remember the bullet marks on the walls of the school where as I understand a train was fired on by an enemy plane, and some of the stray shots hit the school. Some folk say the school was occupied at the time with school children, but I can't confirm that was tru
About this time my mom met and married my stepfather Walter Bell, whom she introduces to me as my Dad. I think I only referred to him once as Dad, and thereafter I called him Wal as he was known, (real name Walter Bell)
He was O.K. but somehow it wasn't the same as having a real Dad, and he was very strict.
I suppose he was a typical working class man of the day, who worked hard for a very poor wage, because he hadn't a good education, so could only take jobs of the heavy manual labouring type.
This is the time when my stepfamily arrives, as my mother had five children with Wal.
That was beside the five she'd had with my real father, 2 of which died before I was born, so I knew nothing about them, and no one ever seemed to talk about them.
The five children of Wal's was;- Walter Keneth, Larraine Margaret, Peter Michael, (died age 5months) Albert Edwin, and Mercedes. (She was named after a American pen-pal I had, who sent us lots of food, clothes, etc: at that time) Unfortunately we lost touch after we both grew older and eventually married. I would loved to have reunited with her again, but as she was older than myself I guess she may have passed away now. Her maiden name was Mercedes Woods and she came from Boston, and I have no information about her later life.
My happiest times with all the family,was when my mom and Wal would sing along together in what we knew as First & Seconds a sort of harmonisation, and we kids would join in, at the same time, and the younger kids, including myself trying to get near to mom for her affection.
I loved to hear the singing and the songs we sang, that's why I suppose that I joined the local church choir. It was at St Basil's & St John's in Heath Mill Lane.
Originally it was just called St Basil's, until St John's church which used to be situated in Digbeth, (near to where the Irish Centre is today) was burnt down during the raids over Birmingham, and so the congregation joined with St Basil's.
My time spent in the choir allowed me all the time I needed to sing my heart out without feeling shy or embarrassed. It was also the lead into my becoming more involved in regular church services, and Sunday school
Later I became head choirboy, serving at the altar, and even ringing the church bell.
That was lots of fun, when you held tight onto the rope so that it would take you flying high into the air.
I remember when we were invited to sing in a church service at Holy Trinity Church, Camp Hill.
This was for the “Forces Network,”and I sang solo the Psalm “Come unto me”, that was a proud moment for a young lad.
We also had our own Boy's Scout Troop, and our own Gymnastic Club. The latter being a great favourite of mine, as I was very good at most of the exercises, even if I do say so myself, so good that I later joined the B. A. I. (Birmingham Athletic Institute).
In the scouts, I was a patrol leader of the Eagle Patrol, where I achieved all my badges through to Senior Scout.
Whilst attending church I also took my Confirmation, which was performed at St Judes Church, which used to be near the Birmingham Horse Fair.
I suppose I took at lot of interest in the activities of the church, because firstly I really enjoyed what I did. Also, my mother, who was of the catholic religion but not practising, encouraged me.
I remember once how she even spoke to me, about changing my religion to Catholoism but that never happened.
My days at school and church, I suppose were much like anyones. The usual games that we played, and the fights we got into, and the caning we got from the teacher for misbehaving in class. Nothing too serious, just kids having what we thought was a bit of fun at the time, whilst still holding respect for all the teachers, unlike what I have seen in these modern times.
I wonder what happened to some of my old school mates, like Billy Ayres, Johnny Purvin, Kenny Rickets. Tommy Hollis, and Ronnie Ladbrooke. Suppose like me, they went off to work, met a girl got married and raise their families. Perhaps one of them may even at this moment be writing down his memories just like me before they are lost forever. There are lots of things that have not come to mind, but one day something is said and that sparks off the memory so I will end this little bit of my history by saying
“This is not the End”.
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