Yer grandad was a Green Line bus driver.
Left school at 14. Called Gran "the guv'nor"
and before he biked off to work at the garridge,
he used to take her a cup of tea up in bed.
Milk bottle on the tea-table, eggs and bacon for
breakfast, and gave the plate to the dog to lick.
Came home for his dinner at lunch time. Read
a good deal, and listened to the wireless a lot.
Rented a terraced house for nearly all of his life.
Kept a couple or three beers in the sideboard, with yer gran's Bristol Cream and his toffees.
Wore a weskit down the garden Saturdays,
kept a pencil behind his ear and mucked about
in the shed while yer gran peeled the spuds
squinting, a Kensitas hanging from her mouth.
Tin o' salmon, in case o' visitors. Toast'n' dripping
for supper, some Sunday nights. If you brought a
girl home, it was a "cooked tea". Swiss roll & Evap
for pud. Not "sweet". Not dessert. Pud. You didn't
come across garlic, granary bread, sea salt or
a pepper mill till you were almost 20.
The coal cupboard used to be in the kitchen.
An outside toilet. Not loo. Not lav. Never, khazi.
On Monday mornings Gran boiled the hankies
in a special saucepan and threw the lodger's
socks out the top window. He did the front garden
in his shirtsleeves on a Sunday - which had been
a bit controversial in its time. You were amazed
if you went round to a school friend's for tea and
they had a breakfast-room. Or a study. Or a
garden big as Hampshire. And not a long, flinty
strip with conker-tree staves for beansticks.
If company came round, the kettle went on and
the telly went off. Occasionally he spat on the fire,
and he always pickled his own onions. Weekends
and holidays he let you stay up late. Then he said: "Come on now Cocker. Clean yer railings,
then up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire." You never
heard him describe himself as working-class.
Wasn't the sort of thing he went on about.Reuse content