NOW ITS LIKE LOOKING THROUGH A WINDOW
by Mary Morgan
Chapter 1 page 6
Sometimes if the aisle was blocked I would have to turn the trolley
round and go down the aisle that the fish stalls were in. I hated this.
Everywhere would be running with water. All the fishmongers would be
"slapping" the fish into some sort of fancy display on the ice-covered
white tiled slabs in front of their stalls. They would be dressed in
layers and layers of rubberised aprons (no plastic in those days) and
big floppy gum boots. Every now and again I would have to pick up the
conger eel that we were having with parsley sauce for tea that night.
Mr. White, my favourite fishmonger, would meet me more often than not,
at the end of the aisle and hand me the package, so that I wouldn't get
my feet wet. By the time other people came to buy their fish the aisle
would be a lot better to walk down. Around the corner were the stalls
that sold biscuits and cakes. The biscuits came in large square
cardboard boxes then, no such thing as individual packaging, and you
bought them by the pound (lb.). The cake stalls were out of this world!
Everything from cream buns to multiple tier wedding cakes would be on
display. All home-made by the proprietor of that particular stall. My
favourite was a vanilla slice from Price's bread and cake stall but I
didn't get a freebie very often so had to wait until I had the money to
buy one.
 |
This is an old photo of the interior of the Retail Market. It is
very much as I remember it but the aisles nearer the fish stalls
seem a bit drier than usual. |
Just before going out of the Retail Market and onto the outside market
patch there was a cafe stall that sold the best bacon "sarnies" in the
world! Around this stall you could find the "cream" of both markets. It
was both an eating and meeting place, where a lot of business was done.
All the "not so legal" deals were agreed to here! If the taxman or the
weights and measures man or even the health inspector was to be avoided
then this, and the Chequer Ball public house nearby, was the place to do
it.
I used to take my time passing this place because I knew that one or
other of the market men would pass me a hot steaming mug of sweet tea
and a thick chunky hot bacon or sausage sandwich. Most times it would be
red-faced, barrel chested Billy Millichip - one of the market gardeners
from Kidderminster. He was always laughing and had that country look
about him, you know like Mr. Micawber, straight from Dickens' novel. He
was a lovely, lovely man.
My breakfast would have been well earned by the time it reached my
stomach with a sigh of relief, but I still had lots more to do. I would
now cross the outside market patch where most of the fresh vegetable
stalls were. These stalls belonged to the market-gardeners who travelled
at day break from the surrounding areas of Wolverhampton. Another set of
smells and noises would hit my senses. I loved the smell of the fresh
lettuce, watercress, spring onions and the fresh flowers that had all
still been growing the evening before. They had been packed away in
straw-like baskets still with the dew on them, before the day's sunlight
and town pollution had had time to destroy their freshness. One or two
stallholders would bring game and poultry with them. No such thing as
frozen "ready to cook" meals in those days. Their carcases would be hung
up around the stall and depending on what your choice was you stood
there while it was plucked or skinned, and then divested of its inside
organs!
