NOW ITS LIKE LOOKING THROUGH A WINDOW
by Mary Morgan
Chapter 1 page 4
After I had finished this I would push our trolley up to the wholesale
market to collect some of the stock that my mother had ordered. She
would be on her way back home in order to prepare the shop for opening
at nine o'clock. Our trolley was made by workers at the Blind Institute,
from strong cane interwoven through a series of wooden supports into a
huge box shaped carrier and then attached to a wheel carriage,
consisting of two large side wheels and a small front wheel. I can
remember it being taller than me at first. I would have to push it the
same distance my mother had travelled on the bus, all up hill and in all
weathers. In Winter when the snow and ice were so slippery, I would have
to find the deepest snow in order to make the damn thing go where I
wanted it to go and to stop it slipping all over the place on the ice.
In summer it was a different story - I used to love being one of only a
few people on the street at that time in the morning. I would meet the
people that worked the same hours as Mom and myself, and we were a
"cliquey" lot. We looked after each other and were separate from the
"strangers" that used the streets so early - only on special occasions.
On my journey I would pass first of all the Golden Cup public house at
the top of our street then the Fox Public House, now the Fox Hotel.
There were actually five pubs all within 200 yards of each other around
our area. Outside the Fox pub would be the cleaner Mrs. Robinson
scrubbing the front door steps or polishing the brass nameplates and
doorknobs, and cleaning the windows and windowsills. By the time I
returned the whole of the previous day's dirt had been wiped away and
the Public House was shining again and awaiting the influx of yet
another days customers. Mrs Robinson always used to wave and shout
"Hello Mary, hows your knees and things?" and I used to laugh and shout
the same back, because I knew her knees and things used to give her
"jip" as she used to say.
While pushing the trolley on along Worcester Street, I would pass the
Scala cinema or "Picture House" as we called it. I'd stop and have a
look at what was on for the week, or if I already knew I'd stop anyway
and have a look at the filmstars again.
Next would be the White Hart public house on the corner of Worcester
Street and Brickiln Street. The cleaner there had a habit of throwing
her dirty water across the pavement into the gutter without looking
first. I copped it more than once!
Further on I would pass Kay's Grocery Store where mom would expect me
to pick up the weeks groceries on the way back from the market on a
Saturday morning. More times than not Mr Kay, the manager, would be
outside writing the day's specials on the outside of the big plate glass
windows - in whitewash. Then he would pull the shades down over the
windows to protect it from the rain. He used to call me Miss Quick and
ask in a very correct sort of way ... "How are you today?" and I would
answer "Very well Mr Kay, and how are you?" He would have a small bag of
broken biscuits in the big square pockets of his perfect white dustcoat,
and would hand them to me as I passed. I used to look forward to this
and was very disappointed if I missed him because I had had nothing to
eat up to this point and I was starving by now.
