Jellied Eels and Zeppelins: Witness to a Vanished Age

Jellied Eels and Zeppelins: Witness to a Vanished Age

Sue Taylor

Language: English

Pages: 152

ISBN: 185418248X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

As every year goes by the number of people able to give a first hand account of day-to-day life in the early part of the last century naturally diminishes. The small but telling detail disappears. Ethel May Elvin was born in 1906; she recalls her father's account of standing sentry at Queen Victoria's funeral, the privations and small pleasures of a working-class Edwardian childhood, growing up through the First World War and surviving the Second. Anyone intrigued by the small events of history and how the majority actually lived day-to-day, will find this a unique and fascinating book.

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Standard every Saturday night. My Dad used to see him when he walked our elk-hound, Laddie, past Coppermill Lane School. He came home one night and said ‘There’ll be trouble there,’ ‘cos the mother used to go and fetch him home and the girl was left to run around the streets. She always had a load of boys around her, even though she was only 12 or 13. One morning, my mother met her mother coming along when she was going shopping up the market. I must have been about 17 then - it was after my.

Went to the doctor with tummy trouble, you got an extra ration of egg. I used to have to line up for bread. And they used to give the children orange juice and cod liver oil, I remember that. The dried milk used to be nice. I used to get dried milk and cocoa and make chocolate for my grandfather (paternal). He used to say ‘I’ll give you my sweet coupons, girl.’ He liked my chocolate better than the bought stuff - said that was too sweet. Grandfather was really lovely. He was so appreciative of.

In Doddinghurst. I got involved when I saw an advertisement in the Brentwood Gazette and went along - without Joe. A Mr and Mrs Rushton ran the club. It started off in the large village hall in Doddinghurst then, as the number of members dropped, we moved into the small hall or priest house. We ended up eventually at the Rushtons’ bungalow every Monday afternoon. When they got ill, I helped to look after Mrs Rushton and took over the running of the club for a couple of years until they died. They.

Wonderful at sewing though - more practical than academic - but, at school, if anyone laughed at my stitches, I hated it. We didn’t have no uniform while we was there. We just wore a skirt and blouse or a dress. You had to be smart and clean. They used to look at your shoes, look at your fingernails, everything, you know. Dad always used to make us polish our shoes every morning before we went to school. If we forgot, he would soon find out! Miss Muffet was a lovely teacher. She was a.

Glass of sarsaparilla before we went in. St. James Street Cinema was a flea pit. It was known as ‘The Jameos’ and you used to see serials there. We used to pay for ourselves to get into the cinema - a penny. My Dad gave us our ‘Saturday penny’ for washing and drying-up and for cleaning the knives and forks on an emery board. And that penny, or the penny we were given by anyone who came to visit, was split by Dad into two ha’pennies or four farthings. We had two money boxes like pillar boxes on.

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