Jam
Tarts
By
Dominic Horton
My
dear son Kenteke and I recently baked some jam tarts for Cradley
Heath Creative's contribution to the Women Chainmakers' Festival as
our input, in our new 'oss box, was focused around food and
what particular foodstuffs mean to different people. The jam tarts
were workmanlike at best but they can't have been too bad as they
were all scoffed by festival goers and no one asked for their money
back – which is a good job really as the jam tarts were free. Home
made jam tarts remind me of my Nanny Gladys who, together with my
Grandad Charlie, lived in a council house in Blackheath. The jam
tarts that Nan used to bake were warm, rich and sweet, just like Nan.
They tasted like love.
 |
| Mine & Kenteke Jam tarts, by request of Toby In-Tents. |
Food
was all around at Nan and Grandad's house as their large garden was
effectively an allotment and Grandad used to grow all of his own veg:
carrots, spuds, cabbage, green beans and in the green
house fragrant tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers. He built the
greenhouse himself out of bits and pieces he found in skips and on
wasteland. Living through the war and the austerity that followed
meant that Nan and Grandad watched every penny and they didn't have
much but they were both generous, giving souls in many ways.
Once,
in the hot summer of 1976, an ice cream van pulled up outside
Grandad's house and he asked me if I wanted one, to which I said yes.
The ice cream man held the ice cream out and said, “5p please.”
Grandad said, “'ow much?! I aye a-payin' that me mon! Yow can 'av
thruppence and not a penny moowa.” The bloke said, “But it's 5p.”
But by now in the sweltering heat the ice cream started to melt down
the man's arm. He reluctantly and unhappily conceded, “alright
then, gie us thruppence.” That was one of my earliest memories.
Instead
of doing all of their shopping at one supermarket, as people tend to
do today, to make the most of their money Nan and Grandad would go
round all of the shops in Blackheath seeking the best deals and using
coupons from newspapers and magazines to get money off. Nan and
Grandad didn't have a fridge when I was young or a telephone, the
television was only black and white and they had a coal fire. It
didn't matter though as they were happy and I was happy when I was at
their house too.
When
they went on holiday in this country Grandad would sniff out the
British Legion as the beer would always be cheaper and better there.
They used to take us grandchildren to Blackpool in the summer. On the
way Grandad would avoid the expensive motorway services and would
pull over in a lay-by on an A road, where he would brew tea using a
camping stove. He would warn us about the evils of costly motorway
services and to this day if I buy anything at the services I feel a
great sense of guilt and decadence.
 |
| Cradley Heath Creative's 'Oss Box. |
Friday
night was bingo night at Blackheath Labour Club, a big deal in Dodge
City. Grandad would buy us a bottle of dandelion and burdock and tell
us not to guzzle it as we wouldn't get another one. We would guzzle
it. When Grandad went into the bingo hall Nan would buy us another
bottle and told us not to tell Grandad. As there were no ipads or the
like back then us kids used to entertain ourselves by reading The
Young Solider magazine, which was a Salvation Army paper
sold by a fella who used to tour the pubs and clubs selling The
Young Soldier and War Cry.
As
it was a Friday night there was a great sense of anticipation of the
following day's football. Uncle Alb and Auntie Ann used to be there
too and Alb would take my brother and I with him to watch Aston
Villa, his team. But I couldn't go to the Villa until I was 7 years
old so until I was old enough Grandad used to take me to see local
teams such as Oldbury United or Halesowen Town. I remember seeing
Willenhall Town scoring off a corner at Oldbury using a tactic where
the attacking players gathered in a huddle on the edge of the penalty
box and split and made different runs on the corner kicker's strike.
As I was no older than 6 and impressed by the routine I guess that I
was always destined to be a football coach in later life.
 |
| Me and Nanny Gladys on Blackpool beach, 1970's. |
I
was finally allowed to go up the Villa with Uncle Alb and my brother
but being little there was the problem of me being able to see as the
Holte End at Villa Park was all standing at the time. Kids used to
stand on plastic beer crates but Grandad had other, grander ideas.
Out of scrap wood Grandad made my brother and I a wooden step to
stand on, it had two levels and he even painted it claret and blue. I
don't know what happened to our treasured step but I wish I still had
it now.
When
I was old enough I was allowed into the bingo hall at the Labour Club
to observe the proceedings but I had to be deadly quiet. There was
always a great tension in the air. After a while a woman would
excitedly shout “house!” but often once the bingo caller checked
the card he would declare somberly over the PA, “Ladies and
gentlemen, it's a bogie.” A bogie meant it wasn't a house at all
and the old lady had made a mistake – she would have to walk down
the central aisle of the hall to get her card back to quiet boos and
hisses from the disapproving crowd. “ 'er's always a-doin' it she
is, the clarnet*,” they'd say. On the way home Grandad would say,
“I was one off the flyer again, whack!” He seemed to be one off
the flyer every week.
 |
| My Dad, Ken, and my Grandad Charlie - this is my favourite photograph, I love the difference in styles of dress, my Grandad in his Sunday best, looking immaculate with his newspaper folded neatly under his arm and my Dad in his Teddy boy gear. |
Grandad
fought in the war in the Coldstream Guards but he never used to talk
about it, even if I asked him. I used to wear Grandad's uniform cap
sometimes and pretend I was in the army. He was regimented and
disciplined in everything he did and all items in the house had its
place and when you had finished using something you had to put it
back where it belonged. If you left the room you had to shut the door
and if you didn't Grandad would say, “put the 'ood in the 'ole
there's a lark in the lezza**.” Having learnt the value of this
approach as a child I follow it now as an adult and I am organised
and neat and tidy, bordering on OCD but that is for other reasons. At
Christmas I used to read Nan and Grandad's Christmas cards that were
on the sideboard. One was written in a foreign hand and the
sender sent a card to Grandad every year. One year I asked who the
card was from and Grandad said it is from a Dutchman he knew in the
war. I asked what was written in the card and Grandad said, “I doe
know, I cor read Dutch.”
The
one thing I remember about Nan is her laugh – she used to laugh all
of the time. “I dae 'alf loff me eye up” she used to say. Nan
used to love to watch the wrestling on Saturday afternoons on World
of Sport featuring such wrestlers as Giant Haystacks, Cat
Weazel, Big Daddy and Jake “Fit” Findlay. Grandad used to pass
through the room and say to Nan, “It's a bloody fix Gladys, a
fiddle.” But Nan would have none of it. She must have known it was
all fixed but she didn't want to acknowledge it as she loved it too
much. When Cry Baby Cooper was wrestling Grandad would say, “'ee's
a cry babby he is.”
I
used to help Grandad in his garden and when we had finished and were
tired we'd sit on the bench, which Grandad had made himself, and Nan
would bring a pot of tea down and digestive biscuits. The tea
was made with tea leaves and the milk was sterilised. I can taste
that heavenly, quenching tea now. Try as I may as an adult I have
never been able to replicate the taste of my Nan's tea. I have not
manage to replicate my Nan's delectable jam tarts either.
*
Clarnet means idiot or fool in the Black Country dialect.
**
Lezza means field in the Black Country dialect.
©
Dominic Horton, August 2015.
*
Lowlife is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
