Henley-in-Arden 1 :: the good

In our detached garden

My memories do not go back to a very early age. Probably my first one is the arrival of my brother when I was three and a half. I remember my father getting me ready to visit my mother and the new baby in the nursing home: I decided that the proper thing to take to a new brother was some of my lead farm animals. My father said he thought we should take some flowers as well, and bought a bunch of daffodils.

I remember sleeping with my brother in the very large nursery-playroom we enjoyed at The Corner House, and even when I had a room of my own, I used to move back into the nursery with him over Christmas. This had obvious advantages for Father Christmas! Of course, like all kids, we used to wake up much too early, and our parents would come in and take our stockings away from us and tell us to go back to sleep for a while.

I also remember occasions in the nursery when our parents would creep in late at night to check on us, after they had been at some party. How wonderful they looked in their evening dress! They were such a handsome couple, and I think even small children know and appreciate when their parents are looking good. Sometimes – oh delight of delights - they would bring us back balloons and other party favours!

During my earliest years at The Corner House we had two live-in maids, who sometimes wore white caps and aprons - Dorothy and Jenny. I think they must have been the last of our live-ins, until after the war, when my mother took to offering a live-in post as 'help' to an unmarried mother and child. Dorothy and Jenny were sisters, and rather silly and giggly if I remember aright. I recall screams from the kitchen when one of them discovered a mouse floating in a pan of milk, which had been set to separate on the slate slab in our walk-in larder. But I should not be unkind, for they doted on me and enjoyed nothing better than a romp. They used to rouse me to such a pitch of hysteria by tickling my tummy that my mother was forced to intervene.

One of my favourite memories of that house is of running along the landing and leaping into my father’s arms as he sat two or three steps down the stairs. I knew I was safe, as children always do. [I have watched my youngest grandson in his own version of the game, standing several steps up the stairs from the bottom, and leaping upwards and outwards into the arms of his father standing in the hall.] There was a back staircase too from the landing, which led down into the shop. The door to it was kept bolted most of the time, and it was exciting for me to be allowed occasionally to go down those rather creepy-seeming stairs for a special treat.

Later when I was older, my father taught me to ride a bike in the lane at the back of the houses. He would run along behind me holding the saddle to steady me, and I remember the day that I managed the whole length of the lane without coming off. I turned to him to share my pleasure, and found that he was still standing at the other end of the lane where I had started. I could ride – and without help too!

An annual event in Henley was the mop or fair (descendant of the old hiring fairs). This took place in the market square in front of our house, and was a source of great excitement for me. My father allowed them to run a cable through an upstairs window into the house to supply power for the rides, and in bed at night I could lie awake delightfully, listening to the raucous music from the roundabout. There was an old lady who had a stall selling brandysnaps just outside the house, and I was always eager to spend my pennies with her.

[Part 2 to follow]