Story Seven - 1953 The Breadman

1953

The Breadman

Mum shopped at Bailey’s the butchers for our Sunday roast, Home and Colonial for general household needs, and Boase’s for fruit and vegetables. Food was cheaper, though not as fresh, at the Cooperative Society, a small but busy shop at the bottom end of Market Jew Street, opposite the railway station. Sometimes, if money was short and she couldn’t wait until Dad got his Friday pay packet, Mum shopped at the CO-OP.

If I’d finished my homework quickly, sometimes, Mum would ask me to go and pick up groceries from the Home and Colonial. I liked going there.

It was an adventure and I would run as fast as I could over Morrab Terrace, jump two steps at a time down the Arcade and onto Market Jew Street. The Home and Colonial was just on the left, across the road from Woolworth’s. 

It was a beautiful shop. Its big brass-plated window was set in a wall of green and black tiles.  Mr. Wakfer, a small man with thinning black hair, black moustache and long white apron tied at the back, would take my list, gather the tins and cans from the shelves, lick his yellow pencil , then cross off the list, and fill my shopping bag. We didn’t buy bread from the Home and Colonial, though. It was too expensive. Bread came either from the CO-OP or from Gendalls, the breadman. But, there was a difference, not only in the price, but in the quality. The CO-OP sold Wonderloaf bread. Wonderloaf  bread  was white, sliced, thin, and tasteless, and came in a plastic wrapping. It wasn’t good for making a sandwich or for spreading with creamy butter and jam. It was at its best when fried in bacon grease, and added to the bacon and egg breakfast most families had at the weekends.

With a knowing smile and a wink, Mr. Wakfer would sometimes pack in an extra penguin biscuit. “You’re a good boy, Johnny Paull. ‘Ere, eat this penguin on the way home, OK. Oh, and say ‘Hello’ to your mum for me. Alright, is she?”

After giving Mr. Wakfer a kid’s shy smile back, I’d say, “Thank you, Mr. Wakfer.” Then I’d carry the heavy shopping bag up the 32 granite Arcade steps to Bread Street, up to Morrab Place, and back home to Gwavas Street where I’d share my chocolate penguin bar with my little brother, Charles. Then it was time for tea.

Mr. Gendall’s bread, always fresh, warm and crusty. was a teatime treat, especially when Mum cut a thick slice and covered it with yellow butter, not the  then topped it with a spoonful of thick, sugary treacle. Yummy!

Washing down a mouthful of bread butter, and treacle with a hot cup of coop tea, sitting in front of the fire, listening to Workers Playtime on the wireless, was really special.

Even more special, though, was Saturday teatime when we had strawberry jam and Cornish cream on our Gendall’s bread.

Mr. Gendall delivered his freshly baked bread in our street three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. As his black and yellow bread van would pull up in the middle of Gwavas Street, he’d hoot his horn, and the front doors would fly open as the mothers came out of their houses to buy a loaf or two. And, perhaps, some saffron buns.

One Saturday afternoon I was playing cricket in the street outside my door with Brian Thomas, his brother, Titch, and Scocher Rowe. We used the base of the street lamppost outside Ma Smith’s house as the wicket, a flat piece of wood as our bat, and an old tennis ball.  Just as I curled my fingers around the ball, ready to bowl a leg-break, my specialty, I saw Mr. Gendall’s van turn the top of the road and head down to the middle of our street. We ran indoors to tell our mums that the bread man was here.  My mum came out right away, went over the back of the van where Mr. Gendall was wrapping a couple of loaves for Mrs. Donnisthorne, our neighbor across the street. Mr. Gendall’s hair was slicked with Brylcreme. He was wearing his long brown dust jacket over his white shirt and tie.

When he’d finished serving Mrs. Donnisthorne, Mr. Gendall turned and looked at my mum. His smile disappeared. I heard him sternly say: “Hazel, you owe me from last time– and the time before. Pay that off, please, otherwise no bread. Sorry. I have a business to run”

My mum turned away, upset. I could see her lips trembling. She started to sob. I followed her inside the house and, as she sat down on the kitchen chair, asked her what was wrong. “Your dad’s going to be mad,” she said. “There’s only CO-OP bread for tea.”

At teatime that night you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Dad looked down at his plate and fiddled with his bread and jam and Cornish cream. “It’s CO-OP bread! he said. “I don’t like CO-OP bread. What happened to Gendall the bread man? Didn’t he come today?”

My mum looked at the floor and didn’t answer. I could tell she was ashamed to tell him why we didn’t have fresh bread for tea.

I couldn’t sleep that night and kept my brother Jimmie awake. I told him about the conversation I’d overheard in the street.  “Shut up, Johnny and go to sleep.” he said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.” I lay awake for ages, thinking about what I could do to raise the money my mum owed the baker.

The next day, Sunday, after breakfast (CO-OP bread, fried with bacon grease, topped with a fried egg), Dad took his shotgun from the cupboard under the stairs and went off on his pushbike to the woods. I knew we probably would have rabbit for dinner.

Just as he left, Titch Thomas knocked on the front door and asked if I wanted to play cricket with three or four boys already playing around the lamppost at the bottom of Penlee Street. Out I went. The game, though,  didn’t take my mind off the bread incident. I kept thinking about my mum and the money she owed the bread man.

After a while, it came to me!. I knew what to do. I often ran errands for the old lady next door up from our house. She was in a wheelchair and I often fetched what she needed from the corner shops. She always gave me a threepenny bit and I would always go back to the shop and buy a bag of Smith’s crisps.  I could, I thought, ask some of the other old people who lived in our street if they needed anything doing and hope they’d give me a penny or two. That way I could save enough to pay Mum’s bill.

When the game finished, I knocked on the bright blue door, about three doors up from the corner. I knew Mrs. Johns hadn’t been well lately and I was sure she needed someone to fetch some shopping for her. Mrs. Johns opened the door. She had a long grey shawl on her shoulders. She looked surprised when she saw me and asked what I wanted. “What you want, Johnny?” I looked up at her. “Anything you want doing, Mrs. Johns?” I asked.

Well, my timing was good. She told me to go to Stones’ corner shop and get some cigarettes for her husband, and gave me a 2 shilling bit. I ran up to the shop, bought the cigarettes and ran back. Mrs. Johns was pleased that I was so quick and gave me tuppence for running her errand. Two pence!! Hey! I’d started. How many more errands did I need to run to pay off the money Mum owed?  Mmmm………..I thought, I’d have to run a lot! I was determined, though, so I knocked on a few more doors. By midday, I’d been to the corner shop about a dozen times and raised over three shillings.

I went home around noon, just as Dad returned on his bike. He looked pleased with himself when he showed Mum the two rabbits that he’d caught.

After a quick CO-OP cheese sandwich, I went to St. Michael’s Street.

I knocked on more doors, and ran more errands. I walked up the hill to Tolver Road and knocked on a few more doors.

By teatime I had a pocket full of change.

On Monday, after school, Mrs. Sloggett gave me 2 bob when I fetched a really heavy bag of potatoes from the CO-OP.

By Friday teatime, I’d reached my goal. Early Saturday morning, I ran up to the baker’s shop. “Here, Mr. Gendall, here’s my mum’s bread money.”

Mr. Gendall, with a forced smile, said “Thank you,” and “Here teck this and tell Hazel, thank you.” He put a fresh loaf of bread in my hand.

When I got home, I told Mum what I had done. Without a word, she leant over and gave me a kiss.

That night, when she told my dad why we hadn’t had Gendall’s bread and what I’d done, he gave me one of his especially big, wide-eyed, ear-to-ear smiles.

Ah, the power of money.

I felt so good when I cleared Mum’s debt with the bread man.

I don’t know to this day why she owed so much.

It was something she never talked about in front of us three kids.