Biography, Autobiography, Old Steve of Scarborough, North Yorkshire, United Kingdom

1. On the mantel piece, above the fireplace, where I suppose at one time a fire had burned, but which to me, was always stuffed with old dirty newspapers, was a very large, ornate clock that had neither ticked nor chimed in goodness knows how long. In the hearth were two bronze statues that I suppose, looking back, were some sort of Greek Gods or woman carrying water jug, type thing. But I do clearly recall the piece of antique machinery, that stood at the bottom of the staircase and behind the front door and which my mother would diligently attempt to use on every visit, the vacuum cleaner. It was green with a silver coloured base and had to be pushed back and forth vigorously to get the gyro revolving at speed, so that, for at least a couple of yards or so, it made a poor attempt to suck. I was told that when purchased it was the only one in the village and was acquired before the days of electricity. There was never electricity in the big house, only a large oil lamp that was moved from room to room, as required.

2. In the dining room and standing on what was once a dark brown carpet square, laid over dark green linoleum, but which was then mainly black and shined with ingrained dirt, stood a large, white wood topped table, two stools and one, high backed easy chair. Along the back wall stood a sideboard and along the other wall a large food cupboard. I never saw any food in it and we never ate there. In one corner was a shallow, sand stone sink, that smelt rank and sticking out from the wall above it was the only brass, cold-water tap in the entire house.

3. Hot water and all cooking was achieved by using the large cast iron, coal and wood fired, range that dominated one wall.

4. Other things I remember about that house and that room in particular, was a very large polished, wood Gramophone complete with brass horn and little doors that opened at the front to control the volume and a collection of records, all of which were 'of the very best taste,' according to my mother, they being recordings of Brass Bands and Pier Gint. Who the hell Pier Gint, or Gynt, or whoever he was is anyone's guess but I clearly remember being told it was and it being played, yet I cannot recall the tune.

5. Then the house windows. The glass was yellow, either from age or neglect and probably both, and the edges were patterned and a deep blue colour, all of which created, what I thought was, a very scary atmosphere at best of times.

6. A description of the house would not be complete without some knowledge of the outside.

7. It was built on an incline and having entered the front gate, of going through the opening where a gate had been before it was removed and taken away, along with most others for the 'War Effort,' there was a steep path that ran up the side and led to the back. The front garden, or wild neglected patch of ground that might have been a garden at one time, was terraced, totally abandoned and a complete contrast to the back and side gardens.

8. Dominating the side garden and set in the centre of a beautiful lawn was a monstrous pear tree, who's annual fruit crop was distributed to family and friends in the village, though not fairly according to my mother who without reason, having refused most of what had been offered, always claimed to have been cheated and would give us hell, on the way home regarding who had been given what and should not have been and above all who had got her share and all the big ones.

At the top end of this side garden stood the, all important, rabbit shed. A large affair with literally dozens of cages built up inside it and all immaculate and well looked after;

a sharp contrast to the rest of the house.

9. When one turned the top corner of the side path, as you had to, to get to the back door, it was to enter another world. The garden was steep and terraced and running along each terrace was the largest selection of cultivated roses, I think, it was possible to see and when in full bloom the sight was incredible and all a sharp contrast to some of it's other surroundings. Then over to the right there was the vegetable and fruit garden where just about everything you can imagine was grown. Also to the right there were some outbuildings, which housed most of the gardening equipment. But one was the loo and there was no way my sister would go in that place, despite the fact that it was considered modern when compared to the 'dig out,' the remains of which were in the building next door. It was in there, partially hidden under all the accumulated gardening equipment, that could be seen the original wooden seat, with the hole in it and the trap door at the back, where the waste was dug out and taken away. But that was in the 'old days.' Next door to that it was a different story. In there and with only a rickety door for protection against prying eyes, the elements and, I imagine, also necessary to let the pong escape, was a round, cast glazed pipe, sticking up through a stone slab. It had no seat on it; didn't need one apparently, and when one looked down it, as opposed to using it, as kids are apt to do, it went one devil of a long way down. Sometimes if you moved your head about and the light outside was strong enough, and you could stand the pong, you caught a glimpse of water and what have you, way down at the bottom. It was that water that scared the hell out of you. Imagine, if you can, sitting there, as I often did and the last drop that you parted with or that came from someone else, who had run some water in the stone sink in the house, and that was all it took to tipple, flush and empty the full iron container down there. Believe me, it was enough to make you do more than you originally went in for and my sister, bless her, preferred to squat round the corner, when unable to hold on any longer, than to go in that place. I won't tell you and will leave it up to your imagination to guess the effects it had on us, as kids, when constantly reminded to be careful and not fall down there.

10. But enough of loos and nearly enough about the house, but we can't leave before I mention two minor but, I think, rather amusing incidents. One of which I witnessed the results of and the other I was told about long after it happened. My mother, in one of her more lucid and friendly moments told the tale of having gone home late one night and how it was always a nuisance lighting the oil lamp in the dark and that it was easier to grope about and manage without it. Anyhow, on this particular night she had done just that, but feeling hungry knew just where the bread was and on this occasion, where there was some cheese. Cheese sandwich made and eaten, in the dark, she went to bed. The next morning her mother reminded everyone present that she would have to purchase some more cheese as that in the cupboard had developed maggots and she had had to throw it away. Then the one I saw for myself and clearly remember and comes' from the period during the last War. The government in its wisdom and desire to protect the population from air attack, decided to deliver and erect Anderson Shelters. For those not familiar with an Anderson Shelter, it was a series of curved, metal corrugated sheets, which when erected was placed in a hole in the ground. specifically dug out for it, and then covered over with the earth removed from the hole, to create a Bomb Shelter.

11. Along came the men and asked grandad where? At the top of the garden, in the corner where to compost is, was the reply. Too far away from the house, they said. There or nowhere, they were told; anyhow it didn't matter, as it wouldn't get used. However there it went and several weeks later along came 'Gerry' and out goes grandad to watch him fly over. He was in trouble and crashed in some woods over the back but not before he got rid of his bomb. The blast broke most of the windows and blew grandad back into the house. Several days later, I, along with my sister and our mother, went to look at the hole left by the bomb and you've guessed it; it was right where the Anderson Shelter had been. I remember grandad saying that he had told them he wouldn't be using it but it could have been useful for storing plant pots or something.

12. My feeble attempts to prove my rightful place, as bestowed upon me by my mother, into the aristocracy of the United Kingdom, hasn't got me far in that direction, has it? I have only my own vague recollections to go on and that's not very helpful when you can't even remember your grandmother's name on your mother's side. Although I have a nagging, at the back of my mind, that it might have been Mary. But before we leave that line of enquiry, although we might have to come back to it, perhaps we should investigate my mother's claim that someone in her family, who of course she couldn't possibly mention, because of the shame, was compromised in the linen cupboard, by another member of the domestic staff, at Nostel Priory, a nearby Stately Home. That then maybe the all-important link that I am desperately searching for and certainly has the possibility of being the nearest that I will get to the aristocracy. Also, and this is important, my mother was closely associated, in her youth, with the ladies who took the legendary photographs of the 'Cottingley Fairies' and I remember being taken, as a youngster, and shown the spot where it all took place and of having certain people pointed out to me as having been involved. I believe my Godmother was related to one of them. But then my mother spent so much of her life away with the fairies that I can never be too sure about anything.

FAVOURITES.