The houses that once stood at the
Ratcatchers Row (also called Rats Row) at Eastgate were demolished in the early
1960s. For more than 100 years they had provided homes for several families of
Cawston. The occupants of these houses were relocated to new modern two-room
bungalows that were built for them further along the road at Rodwell Corner. I
remember the Saturday in the 1960s when almost everyone moved on the same day.
Friends and relatives came to help with their lorries, cars, vans and
wheel-barrows. At that time I was no longer living at the Ratcatchers Row but I
could feel the reluctance and tension in the atmosphere for many had spent the
better part of lives living in these old red brick houses. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
From 1949 to 1957 I lived at number 1
Ratcatchers Row. On the Eastgate Road (now Easton Way) and Norwich Road
junction was the Ratcatchers inn owned by Alfred Easton. This inn was so-called
because when the building was first converted to an inn the local ratcatchers
was the first person to stay there.
In the 1950s the Ratcatchers inn had a
popular bowling green at the back. There were garages for the school busses and
a car repair garage at the front on the right hand side. The bowling green was
always kept in immaculate condition, which made it very popular at weekends.
Men would stand there with a glass of stout or ale in their hand closely
observing their opponents throw. After the match they would retire to the pub,
or sit outside in good weather, as either winners or losers. It was probably
the side attractions like bowls that kept the Ratcatchers inn going in the 1950s
when for example the Friendship pub situated more centrally at Eastgate close
down.
I recall going into the Ratcatchers inn
for the first time at the age of about 4 or 5 with my grandfather (Cecil Dunn)
who took me there to buy a packet of Smiths crisps. (Maybe I went inside
earlier, but I cannot remember.) The counter at the front seemed very high when
I was small, but I was always noticed later when my grandfather sent me there
alone to buy his crisps. He ate the crisps nearly every night after tea and
would always say that the manufacturers of crisps are the biggest robbers alive
as you can produce a 4d (old currency) packet of crisps from a medium-size St.
Edwards potato. Despite hearing this nightly criticism, he still enjoyed his
packet of salted crisps while smoking his pipe and listening to the “Archers” on
the radio. I remember how he would often sit in the evenings in front of an
over-heated fireplace that he fed constantly with jet-black, high-quality coal.
Sitting there he would take his tobacco from a round tin, rub it between the
palms of his hands and carefully put it in his pipe. Sometimes the pipe smelt
pleasant but often it reminded me of an autumn bonfire in the fields. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP Related
Link:-
PUBLIC HOUSES
Compared to modern day housing standards
the houses at the Ratcatchers Row in the 1950s were basic. There were two rooms
downstairs known as the front room and back room (or back place), and two
bedrooms upstairs. The front door of the house led directly into the front room
and the back door led into the back room that served as the kitchen and main
living area. The front room was only used on special occasions and was always
kept spotlessly clean.
In the back room the family washed,
cooked and had their meals. We had no electric cooker in the early years of the
1950s. There was a stone oven built in the wall which was heated by putting
firewood and coal into a small enclosed fireplace directly under the oven. Food
was prepared on a large wooden table near the door and much of it was cooked
over the open fire that also provided warmth. Before we had an electric kettle
a large black kettle with a long spout was used to heat water by putting it on a
metal stand over the fire.
In both rooms a 60 watt bulb with a
colourful lampshade resembling a Vietnamese hat hung from the ceiling. A torch
was always kept handy in the cupboard in case of a power cut. Of the two
bedrooms upstairs only one had electric light. In the darkest nights of the
year white candles bought in boxes of six or twelve were used as a source of
light. And the traditional hot water bottle was never missing in the winter
months.
The windows in the house were smaller
than they are today and the frames were made of wood which the woodworm
occasionally enjoyed. In the winter months it was always draughty near the
windows and doors. Innovative housewives used to fill an old nylon stocking
with pieces of used sewing material and put it on the window sill or near the
door to prevent the draught from coming in.
Although this brief description was
typical of the semi-detached house at the Ratcatchers Row in the 1950s, I do
recall some slight variations in the other houses. The rooms downstairs were
more or less similar in size and shape to ours but a few of the houses had three
bedrooms. In all of the houses the staircase to the bedrooms was located behind
a door in the living room. The bedroom floors were made of wood which was were
either polished or covered with linoleum. I remember in particular that the
floor boards would often squeak and were not always level in certain places.
Life in those days was tough but the
closeness of the family made life bearable. There were no mod cons as you see
today. An old broom, scrubbing brush or pan and brush were the standard
cleaning utensils. Most of the furniture in the houses had been purchased
before World War II (1939-45). TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
The vegetable garden was a my
grandfather’s paradise and contained many different types of vegetables,
potatoes and onions. Gardening for people at the Ratcatchers Row seemed to be a
national sport as they all had plenty of time on Saturdays afternoons and
Sundays. The gardening season normally started on Good Friday when nearly
everyone started to dig their gardens.
We had several fruit trees in our
garden. The large plum tree along the side path next to the house was full of
sweet red plums in the late summer months. We also had a very old plum tree at
the top of the garden. There was a small apple tree growing in the lower part
of the garden that was always full of large green cooking apples in the autumn.
I often wondered why this apple tree never grew any higher. No one could
explain this to me so I put it down to nature.
At the top of the garden we kept
chickens that provided us with fresh eggs as well as our Christmas meal. I
remember that my grandfather always sent his son in Buckinghamshire one of these
chickens (dead) by registered mail at Christmas time. I closely observed how a
flat red wax candle was melted over the string that tied the parcel together in
accordance with the postal regulations at that time.
Along the garden path was the spacious
tool and bicycle shed that had seen better days. Most of the tools were very
rusty and worn and you could see that they had been used a lot. There were also
currant and gooseberry bushes along the garden path. I once asked where I came
from and remember being told that I was found under one of these gooseberry
bushes. Mrs. Monsey, one of our neighbours, insisted that I was dropped off by
a stork.
On one hot evening I remember standing
in the front garden when a thunderstorm had caused a breakdown in the
electricity along the Ratcatchers Row. A wire was hanging down from one of the
electricity poles that stood opposite along the hedgerow. The electricians used
a ladder to climb to the top of the pole. That evening my grandfather was
outside with his rifle to ward off the birds from eating his beans by firing a
shot into the air at frequent intervals. My mother told him that he was also
frightening the men up the electricity pole and they might fall down. I will
never forget what he said: “Bugger the men, the birds are eating my runner
beans”.
The houses at the Ratcatchers Row had
small flower gardens at the front of the house. Blue Lavender and colourful
roses, lupines and wallflowers were common flowers in every garden. When a
plant died the “garden centre” of the 1950’s was the next door neighbour who
gave you a cutting or seedling. On almost every window sill along the
Ratcatchers Row there were red geraniums that flowered all year round. They
stood there between photo frames to brighten up the pictures of distant and
deceased relatives. At the end of the 1950s the geraniums were gradually
replaced or supplemented by plastic tulips and daffodils that were given away
free with packet of washing powder.
A common sight in spring and summer
along the Row were the men cutting the hedges in the evenings or at weekends.
One Saturday I stood outside when my grandfather who was cutting the hedge when
a car driver asked him the way to Aylsham. He replied in his best Norfolk
dialect: “Go up the Rats Row, straight over the first junction, go past Cooks
farm on the right, then turn right at the junction and go straight on.” I
wondered if this man ever found Aylsham. A countryman’s knowledge of the area
where he lived most of his days is so obvious to him that he takes it for
granted that you must have the same knowledge TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP.
There were a few domestic animals at the
Ratcatchers Row: dogs, cats and a budgerigar. The cats were kept to kill the
mice and rats and certainly did a good job as you often saw a cat enjoying its
victim. The mice and rats had a good life in the surrounding fields which
provided them with nourishment and warmth in the bales of straw that often stood
in the fields for months. They would also frequently crept into the gardens and
even into the houses. One day I discovered a dead mouse in a mouse trap in Mrs.
Monsey’s small bedroom. She would say that if you catch the mice in the small
bedroom they would keep out of the big one.
Rabbits were kept in small outdoor pens
as pets. They did not seem to suffer from the weather fluctuations and survived
both the hot summers and the cold winters. They were given hogweed that grew
along the hedge opposite and hay that was left over in the fields.
I remember once in the 1950s when all
the men were talking about the rabbit population decreasing owing to a virus
called myxomatosis that apparently came from Australia. Everyone at the
Ratcatchers Row talked about this disease as wild rabbits and hares were still
being shot in the woods and taken home for Sunday dinner. We skinned rabbits in
our back yard and prepared them in the kitchen for a hot meal with home grown
potatoes and vegetables. We often had a rabbit or hare for a meal as well as a
partridge and pheasant that was shot on the land. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
My great-grandmother died in 1952 or
1953. She lived in the house next door and as a toddler I visited her
regularly. The hedge between the two houses had been opened up behind the
shed. She made delicious Norfolk dumplings which were eaten with a stew or
thick soup; they were also cooked in plain boiling water and served as a dessert
with jam, treacle or butter. These dumplings were testimony of the
grain-producing heritage of Cawston. I distinctly remember the smell of baking
in the kitchen and her traditional home-made shortcakes. My great-grandmother
would always give me a freshly-made hot shortcake which for me at the age of two
was far too big to eat. As I liked to receive things at that age, I used to
hide the shortcakes behind the garden shed near the lilac tree and go back
asking for more. This continued until one day my mother found them which no
doubt disappointed the rats and mice.
I remember once when my grandmother
(Bessie Dunn) burnt her shortcakes in the oven and the entire house smelt of
burnt cakes for hours. She was very upset and did not know what to do as she
had run out of flour. At this moment of crisis when a remedy for shock was
needed she suggested a cup of Brooke Bonds tea. This calmed her down immensely
and was probably her only addiction.
One of the neighbours who lived up the
road was Winnie. She lived in the house near the water pump and had an apple
orchard at the back of her house. In late summer or early autumn my grandfather
would devote one long Saturday afternoon and evening picking Winnie’s apples.
It was always fun going with him and playing in this overgrown orchard. I
remember discovering lots of old birds’ nests in the bushes and brambles. My
grandfather would pass me the apples which I would carefully put in the bucket.
He would then carry the buckets of apples to Winnie’s house where she would pack
and preserve them for the winter months. At regular intervals Winnie would
offer him a copy of hot tea made with a tea bag and a plain digestive biscuit.
My grandfather always maintained that she would use the same tea bags twice.
All I received was a glass of diluted lime juice and was told not to eat all the
apples.
As a reward for his efforts my
grandfather would received two buckets of apples he had picked from Winnie’s
orchard to take home. He always cursed Winnie for her ‘generosity’ but kept a
smiling face and a year later appeared in her orchard again to pick her apples.
Once I remember Winnie peeling an apple
for me and cutting it into small pieces. I asked her why she removed the apple
skin so thinly. She told me that if you waste too much God will not give you
any more. She obviously wanted to ensure a good harvests of apples the
following year. On another occasion I was upstairs in her bedroom and wondered
why she had a bucket of water standing next to the window. She told me that it
was there to throw over unwanted strangers who knocked at her door. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
There were no shops near the Ratcatchers
Row so people relied largely on home deliveries by the shop suppliers in Cawston,
Reepham and Aylsham . I remember clearly that the Reepham delivery van came
every Friday evening after tea and I was always given a few pence to spend which
I considered to be my first step towards independence . The delivery van from
Aylsham came late on Saturday afternoon and brought the weekly order of
groceries to many households at the Ratcatchers Row. At home, the order
remained the same every week so it was not surprising that you suddenly had a
big surplus of commodities such as white sugar on the larder floor; luckily with
no sell by date.
In the 1950s the average age of the
occupants in the Ratcatchers Row was rather high. Despite this, the people were
fit and many cycled to the shops in Cawston to do some light shopping. The over
65s cycled on a Thursday morning to collect their pension from the post office.
For those who could not cycle they used the taxi service provided by the
Ratcatchers inn. This taxi service had been operating for a number of years and
I had the honour to use it for the first time in the summer months of 1949 when
I was about 8 weeks old. It took me to Brandiston church for my christening.
The milkman and newspaper delivery boy
came daily and the butcher and baker came twice a week to the Ratcatchers Row.
In those days mail was delivered twice a day. In the 1950s you could post a
so-called “local” letter in the morning that was sorted at Cawston post office
and delivered by the postman in the afternoon. Not far from the corner along
the Eastgate Road was the small red GPO letter box built in the garage wall next
to the Ratcatchers inn. This was a frequent meeting place and it was often
debated why the postman would forget to change the indicator that showed the
next collection time.
The fishmonger from the coast came once
a week. He was very popular and went from house to house selling inter alia
cockles, whelks, mussels, shrimps, sprats. I always remember being given
lightly fried sprats at teatime.
Occasionally I went to Norwich with my
mother by local bus on a Saturday morning. In those days everyone seemed to
head for Woolworths and spend hours going from counter to counter. This was
followed by a visit to the fruit and vegetable market and to the ladies to spend
a penny (in those days it actually did cost one old penny) before heading back
to Woolworths for cup of tea and fruit bun. My mother always took me into the
ladies toilet with her for fear of losing me. As I became older and more
conscious of this, I was very embarrassed standing near the wash basin holding
the shopping bags with all the ladies literally looking down at me.
We often arrived back from Norwich in
the early afternoon when the horse and cart from Haveringland loaded with coal
and firewood would come down the Norwich Road to the Ratcatchers Row. As a
child I loved this horse and gave it straw to eat as it moved from house to
house. I was, however, not so keen on the dirt that it left behind. Some were,
and they used it as manure in the vegetable garden. On one occasion I was
playing hop-scotch on the road when the horse left its droppings in one of the
squares that I had drawn with chalk. I was not amused. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
And then there were the gypsies and
black men who knocked at the door. The gypsies nearly always wanted you to buy
their clothes pegs. As it is considered to be unlucky not to by from a gypsy,
they traded well at the Ratcatchers Row. There was a rumour that they lived in
a caravan near the lake at Haveringland but we only saw them about once a year
so they probably travelled from village to village. The so-called “black man”
would also regularly knock at the door and insist on coming in to show you the
contents of his large black suitcase. We would always offer him a cup of tea
and he would make himself comfortable on the couch by showing us his hand-made
rugs, colourful woollen scarves and bleached underwear. My grandfather always
insisted that he had everything until the black man said that he had a large
family to feed.
A man selling all kinds of hand-made
brushes would also call by at the Ratcatchers Row at irregular intervals. He
came on a old rusty bicycle; no one knew his name or where he came from, but he
gave the children sweets and small bars of chocolate. Another man who sharpened
knives visited the Row from time to time and this was a true blessing for
several housewives. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
The village policeman (called Bobby)
lived in one of the red brick houses along the Holt Road. No one could explain
to me why he lived so far away from the village. Standing at the window along
the Ratcatchers Row I would often see this tall policeman on his high bicycle
come along the road and call at the Ratcatchers inn. I recall no incidents
where he had to take action. I would, however, like to add that authority in
the 1950s was very much respected and appreciated.
If anyone was sick you would call for
the local nurse who lived in the village. She attended to bumps and bruises but
for anything more serious she would call the doctor or send you to him.
The chimney sweep came at least once a
year. He came on his bicycle dressed in black with a round brush, bucket and
several wooden handles that were screwed together. We knew when he was due to
come and had to ensure that no fire was lit. I often watched him screw the
handles together, put the round brush on the end and then push it up the
chimney. After he had collected the soot in his bag it took ages to clean the
fireplace. But afterwards the entire family agreed that the fire threw off more
warmth than it did before. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
One of the most characteristic sounds of
the Ratcatchers Row in the 1950’s was the monotonous squeak of the old pump
handle that stood along a small path with high hedges on both sides that led to
Winnie’s house. As the houses in the Row did not have any running water, water
was collected in buckets (in those days known as pails) from this pump. The
pump stood on the former site of a water well that had been used for many years
before World War II. In keeping up the process of modernisation after the war a
pump had been installed for the people who lived at the Ratcatchers Row.
The time for collecting water was
normally after tea when the men would come to the pump with their empty pails.
The pump often developed into a meeting place in the evenings where the men
exchanged views on local politics, football and their gardens. Winnie could
often hear the men talking outside and come out in the summer months and
complain about the birds picking her apples.
I was frequently a witness to ‘pump’
talks about the
British Legion. My grandfather fought in the Great War (World
War I - 1914-18) and was a member of the British Legion just like a few others
in the Ratcatchers Row. He was always active in this ex-service charity,
dedicated to caring for men and women who had served in the armed forces as well
as their dependents. The poppy was the symbol of the British Legion. In the
late summer a man or woman would come along the Ratcatchers Row selling poppies
which were proudly worn for weeks by the entire Row.
I remember once that there was a lively
discussion near the pump in the spring about the theft of birds eggs from a
nest. I cannot remember who actually started the conversation but I do remember
Kate being very upset that someone had stolen some birds eggs from the nest in
the hedge near her house. Little did she know at the time that I had just had
these eggs for my tea. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
When I was still about two years old my
grandfather still owned the wood and the surrounding land that is situated on
the sharp corner on the right hand side of the road as you travel along the
Norwich road to Eastgate. This is where I first remember hearing a cuckoo sing
and seeing other wild animals and birds. I used to sit along the hedgerow under
a beech tree while the others indulged in various agricultural activities.
There was often talk about a fox living in the wood but I do not think it was
ever seen. In May and June the wood was always covered with bluebells which we
picked to take home. When I was about four years of age my grandfather sold the
wood.
It should not be forgotten that I was
born only four years after World War II finished and the fact that England still
rationed certain commodities up to 1954 clearly showed that the country was
still struggling. The people at the Ratcatchers Row all seemed to have blue
collar jobs and less white collar occupations, working for the small farms in
the vicinity. Big sums of money could not be earned in those days, but the wage
seemed adequate to pay the rent, utilities and food with a little left over for
entertainment, like a Sunday visit to the coast.
Men in the 1950s were mostly the bread
winners and were expected to make enough money to support their family and for
all the necessities. He was responsible for the outdoor work in the garden, for
repairs and to fix household items while the women were mostly expected to stay
at home and take care of the family, home and housework. This was quite evident
at the Ratcatchers Row. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
I shall never forget the Sunday walks in
the summer to Haveringland to pick the bluebells and lilies that grew in the
wood down by the lake. The walks to Haveringland showed the flatness of Cawston
and the vicinity that made it ideal agricultural land. In August and September
we also went to Haveringland with our baskets and bags to pick blackberries that
thrived along the hedges near the main road. We all returned home with lots of
blackberries as well as black fingers that needed scrubbing. The fruit was
mainly used for making puddings, preserves and blackberry jelly.
We would walk as far as the old school,
to Quakers farm or to the small village of Haveringland. We often walked to
Brandiston to the see church of St. Nicolas standing in a small country lane
next to Gibbs’ farm. I will always remember the view from the Norwich road of
the church of St. Peter at Haveringland that stood isolated on the far side of
the aerodrome.
In the wood at Haveringland there were
numerous types of old trees that stood near
Haveringland hall and by the lake:
cedar, oak, yew and cypress and some unidentifiable species of old trees. My
grandfather knew all about the Hall and its owner in those days, Jesse
Underwood. He also recalled how, after the war, victory was celebrated here,
with a great bonfire built of tree branches. In 1953 it was decided to open a
caravan site along the lake which offered solitude and excellent fishing
facilities.
The countryside around Cawston has
indeed a beauty of its own. The sight of the cornfields that can be seen from
the Ratcatchers Row, stretching as far as the eye can see towards the horizon,
was unforgettable. On our walk vistas of barley and wheat were a familiar
sight. As a small child I enjoyed picking wild flowers and pressing them in a
large book and then putting them in a album as dried flowers. The hedgerows at
Eastgate, the field opposite and the walks to Haveringland and Booton provided a
wonderful opportunity to collect a wide variety of local wild flowers. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
On our walks from the Ratcatchers Row to
Haveringland we passed some fields where it is believed that the site of the
medieval village of Alvington once stood. This site is somewhere near the
junction of the Norwich Road and the road leading to Hall Farm and Quebec Farm.
The closest human settlement to Alvington was the Ratcatchers Row and it is not
surprising that some of the people there talked about this former village.
I remember Ronny (Sonny) Monsey and his
knowledgeable wife, Stella, often trying to imagine how this village used to be
in the Middle Ages. Stella, who came from Felthorpe, often visited her
mother-in-law Mrs. May Monsey at the Ratcatchers Row, and had a passion for
local history. She would often tell me that she had heard from her parents and
grandparents that Alvington was once a community of about 250 people living from
farming, sheep rearing and working on the estate of the Lord of the Alvington
Manor. I recall Stella telling me that wooden and brick cottages once stood in
Alvington village. She told me that the sheds and pens for the animals were
situated around the houses which were surrounded by animal pastures and fields.
The village only had gravel paths. Chickens, dogs and cats lived outside in the
roads. She seemed to know about Alvington’s annual trade markets selling
home-made produce, animals and wool. I cannot say whether she imagined this or
not but we talked about Alvington several time when I was older and she was
always very convincing.
History books tells us that village life
in the Middle Ages would often change based on market pressures from external
influences and of course new landlords. An economic decline or plagues could
also cause the population to fall. Life was often hard in the village if the
soil was not arable, if the lord of the manor was difficult if he decided to
move away or if there was a clash of interest between the lords and the
tenants. Another major factor leading to shrinkage and depopulation was the
farming policy of landlords which often led to a clash of interests between
lords and tenants. As the centuries passed, more and more people found
themselves drawn to larger communities. It is highly likely that Alvington was
a temporary village in the Middle Ages and the inhabitants moved on for one or
more of the reasons stated above. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
RETURN TO HISTORYRelated Link :- Alvington extinct Village
The elderly people at the Ratcatchers
Row were not interested in keeping up with fashions and had no such ambitions.
Each household had its own wireless set, but it took until the late 1950s for
the first television aerial to be installed. The only television was a large
black and white set with a small screen in the Easton’s home at the Ratcatchers
inn where I remember often watching children’s hour at 5 o’ clock.
We had an old gramophone in the front
room which I was not allowed to touch. I never really understood why the needle
had to be changed so often. I remember listening to popular songs at that time
like “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend”, “How Much is That Doggie in the
Window” and “I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts”. I recall people singing the
songs of the popular Alma Cogen. Although I was only about five at the time I
loved the melodies of her songs but never really understood what she was singing
about. And then suddenly everyone started talking about an American truck
driver who decided to become a singer. He called himself Elvis Presley.
There was a national game that kept
almost the entire Ratcatchers Row nervously waiting for the football results to
come through at 5 o’clock on the wireless every Saturday afternoon to see if
they had got eight draws. The football coupons came every two weeks by post,
were filled in and returned by mail with a postal order to the Littlewoods
football pools office. I do not recall anyone winning a fortune on the pools
but one person at the Ratcatchers Row did win a few pounds. When Winnie found
out she said one evening near the pump that “no good will come of ‘pools’
winners as money cannot buy happiness”.
I also remember being taken to the
cinema at Aylsham which in those days was commonly known as the ‘pictures’. The
first film I remember seeing was in black and white and had a happy end. The
Saturday afternoon pictures would be a big pastime as it was an all afternoon
event. It started off with a short film, followed by the newsreel, cartoon and
then the feature film. Ice cream was offered during the interval.
Another major annual event was the Royal
Norfolk show at Costessey. My grandfather and I spent hours looking at the new
agricultural machinery and horse jumping. On one occasion I recall meeting some
half-cousins of mine there which helped to relieve the boredom as I was not
really interested in combine harvesters. Even in those days thousands of
visitors from all over the country would flock there to see this two day show.
The famous Blickling Hall was not far
from the Ratcatchers Row and I went there just before my birthday sometime in
the mid 1950s. Although I thought the Hall was beautiful this visit was for me
a terrifying experience. Anne Boleyn, who is believed to be born there and
later became the wife of King Henry VIII, was executed on the date of my birth,
19 May, but in the year 1536. According to the legend, at midnight on 19 May
each year a coach is drawn by four headless horses and driven by a headless
coach man bringing her ghosts with severed heads on her lap to the hall door.
This was not really the birthday story that a six year old appreciated when
other children were being read Toby Twirl and Noddy. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
In the 1950s society was different; much
stricter and more structured than it is today. There were certain rules which
were not to be broken. In those days we all knew as children what was right and
wrong. Children and people were held responsible for their actions. I remember
the phrase when I was small; “children are to be seen and not heard’ meaning
that children did not talk back to parents. In every family there were rules
and chores for the children which were to teach us values in life,
responsibility and to develop morals. I remember being read fairy stories (e.g.
Aseops fairy tales) at bedtime and would always end with a moral. There were
two golden rules in those days which I think all children were taught: “do unto
others as you would be done to” and “treat your neighbour as yourself”. In
general terms people in the 1950s were less tolerant than they are today. On
the other hand people helped one another enormously and I saw at the Ratcatchers
Row. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
The ration coupon system was finally
abolished in 1954, that rationed certain types of commodities after the World
War II. Most of the people at the Ratcatchers Row gave me their unused and
invalid ration coupons which I collected for a while but threw away later not
realising that they would be of historical interest fifty years later. For a
few people at the Ratcatchers Row the abandoning of the ration system proved
fatal. Many adults were now smoking woodbines and players (cigarette brands),
but the habit was then regarded as rather good for weight control. I was given
more and more food to eat and got fat and remained so until I was twelve.
The newly created welfare state was very
concerned about the welfare of newly born babies after the Second World War and
provided parents with small children coupons that could be exchanged at certain
grocery shops for a bottle of concentrated orange juice. I remember drinking
this concentrated juice that came in small flat bottles. Reflecting back, this
was probably a good substitute for oranges that were a rare commodity in the
1950s. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
At this point I would like to add that
one person from the Ratcatcher Row was killed in World War II whilst serving his
country. His name was Eric Monsey and his name can be read on the war memorials
in St. Agnes’ church and on Cawston cemetery. His father Stanley Monsey often
took me as a three and four year old boy to Booton Clay pits where he regularly
went fishing. I could not sit still all the long hours he stay there and
preferred to play in the fields, especially after the harvest.
Related Link:- War Times Index War Memorials
I spent a lot of my time with Eric’s
mother, May Monsey, when my mother was working as a nurse at St. Michael’s
hospital at Aylsham. I played there in the house, and in the back and front
garden. I shall always remember when I was allowed to open up Mrs. Monsey’s
built-in cupboard which contained books and toys of her children who were now
adults. I was particularly fascinated by an album which contained a collection
of postage marks on stamps that had been cut from envelopes. You could clearly
see that the name of the post office was more important to the collector than
the postage stamp. These had been collected by her son Eric who never returned
home from the war. I still have ten albums of cigarette cards that Eric
collected from Players and Park Driver (cigarette brands) before the war and a
1932 edition of John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress”.
I was also fascinated by a clock in the
shape of Cologne cathedral that Mrs. Monsey had on her set of drawers. Her son
Sydney who was stationed with the forces in Germany brought this home for her.
Little did I know at the time that I would spend most of life living less than
25 miles from Cologne cathedral.
I remember Mrs Monsey’s chest of drawers
very well. Apart from clothing, they contained writing paper, scented hankies,
scraps of lace and cloth, dry feathers, lavender sachets and painted buttons,
typical items of the 1950s. She hoarded nearly everything like most people in
those days. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP Related Link:-
WAR MEMORIALS
There was a
bus stop on the corner of
the Eastgate Road near the Ratcatchers inn. The red double-decker busses served
the route from Cawston through Haveringland to Norwich and back. These
so-called “Workmans’ Busses” ran twice a day and passed the Ratcatchers corner
at about 8 o’clock morning to Norwich and 6.45 in the evening from Norwich. The
bus was nick-named ‘Workmans’ Bus” as it took the workers to Norwich in the
morning and brought them home in the evening. In the 1950’s two more busses
served the Cawston to Norwich route on a daily basis. The busses departed from
Cawston market place at about 10 o’clcok in the morning and at about 2 o’ clock
in the afternoon. Even at the small bus stop at the Ratcatchers, a bus queue
was formed confirming British tradition.
With the exception of the cars at the
Ratcatchers inn, Alfred Betts was the first to buy a car in the Ratcatchers
Row. I went to the seaside sitting on the back seat of his four-cylinder black
car that could not do much more than about 30 kms per hour. It took over 30
minutes to get to Aylsham, had problems going uphill, and seemed to take ages to
get along the narrow winding roads to Mundesley. Parking was no problem in
those days as special parking zones and prohibition sign did not exist. For me
the seaside meant a bucket and spade, candy floss and fish and chips and buying
an stick of red and white rock to take home.
Nearly everyone in the 1950s had an old
bicycle. For the majority of people it was the only means of transportation,
especially for the men to get to work. Spare bicycle parts were bought from the
bicycle shop at the Market Place in Cawston and, as far as possible, the repairs
were done at home. If you could not repair it yourself you asked the next door
neighbour.
In the early 1950s the Eastgate road was
badly in need of repair. This was the first time that I had seen, what in those
days seemed to be, a gigantic steamroller. I distinctly remember the strong
smell of tar that hung over the area for days. The road was blocked off for
most of the day the men were working. I stood in the front garden watching them
work in the hot sun and being offered cups of tea by the housewives of the
Ratcatchers Row. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
Related Link:-RAILWAY
STATION TRANSPORT
Booton church was not far from the
Ratcatchers Row and a taxi from the Ratcatchers pub used to take the small
children there every Sunday morning to attend the Sunday school service. One
Christmas I was a shepherd in the Christmas nativity play. It was fun dressing
up and acting with no lines in front of a full house. I loved this truly gothic
church with its ornate twin towers, although built in this revived style in the
second half of the 19th Century. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
I started attending the new opened
Cawston primary school on the first Tuesday in September in 1954. I was told
that schools always opened on Tuesdays after holidays so that the caretaker
could attend to the heating. It was hot that day and the heating was not on.
Like all the other new children who started in Ms. Tuthill’s infants class, we
wore short dark grey trousers which were replaced by long trousers about two
years later. I remember that my mother took me to school that day. After the
start of the first lesson my mother remained outside and looked through the
small glass window in the classroom door to see if I would start crying. I
cannot remember if I cried or not. We did not do much the first day apart from
drawing with soft coloured crayons on square pieces of newspapers that had been
cut for this purpose.
When I look at my left hand today and
still see the one inch scar between my first and second finger I always think of
that day in 1955 when I felt down on the concrete playing ground taking Ms.
Tuthill’s empty tea cup back to the canteen after the morning break. I remember
how blood poured out of my hand and Mr. Kett, the headmaster, attended to me
with his first aid kit. That day I was given a bottle of orange juice that
often came with the morning bottle of milk that primary school children received
in those days.
At the first school sports day I
experience I recall that my family and several people from the Ratcatchers Row
came to see an overfed six year old come last in a running competition and be
presented with a drawing book afterwards for this achievement. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP Related
Link:-
EDUCATION/SCHOOLS
Guy Fawkes’ night on the 5th
of November was celebrated on Mr. Easton’s small field directly opposite the
Ratcatchers Row. There were always lots of people there with their fireworks.
Those who did not come could enjoy the fireworks from their bedroom windows.
This was a night to remember and the one night of the year when some of the
adults wanted to frighten Winnie. I remember how my uncle once lit some bangers
on her doorstep and ran away. Winnie shouted from her bedroom window that she
would pour a bucket of water over him and we all found that hilarious. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
Christmas preparations in the 1950’s did
not start as early as they do today. People started to talk about Christmas
after Bonfire night. The real spirit started when the carol singers came to the
Ratcatchers Row. Different groups of carol singers appeared in the two weeks
before Christmas. No one knew them or where they came from. Dressed in thick
clothes and mittens they would sing carols on the doorstep. After we had given
them a few coins I could hear them singing in front of the neighbour’s house.
Christmas eve was always a busy time for
my mother and grandparents. Listening to that popular Christmas song “Rudolf
the Red-Noosed Reindeer” they would stuff the chicken (called a ‘bird’),
prepared the vegetables and get me off to bed - there was no trouble on
Christmas eve, the night when Father Christmas arrived. I can remember putting
the mince pie and glass of brandy on the mantelpiece. In bed I tried to keep
awake, waiting to see him arrive, at the same time being somewhat fearful of
some stranger filling that long stocking which hung at the foot of the bed.
The Christmas tree with real wax candles
stood between the larder door and front door in the front room. The candles
were lit about 2-3 times under strict supervision. As the wax would often drop
onto the linoleum floor the candles could not be kept burning for very long. I
always received lots of presents from the neighbours and from the nurses at St.
Michael’s hospital in Aylsham where my mother worked. On Christmas Day at three
o’clock there was silence in the house when my grandfather, ensuring that
everyone was sitting comfortably to listen to the Queen’s Christmas Day speech
(after 1952) on the wireless. This seemed to be the highlight of the day, and
was always followed by a lively discussion about what the new Queen was doing
right and wrong. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
One of the biggest event as a child was
the wedding of my Aunt Barbara to Freddie Barwick. Freddie was a barber in
Aylsham and came to Cawston a few times each month in the 1950s to cut mens’
hairs. He rented a room from Mrs Stackwood near her fish and chip shop.
Freddie was loyal to several of his older clients by visiting them at home to
cut their hairs up to 2005 when, at the age of over 70, he had to stop work for
health reasons.
The wedding of Barbara and Freddie took
place at St. Agnes church in the village on 4 December 1956 and I, at the age of
seven with my new teeth coming through, was page boy with Christine Easton as
bridesmaid. A few days before the ceremony we practised our roles at home to
ensure perfection on the day. I was fat at the time and hand-made red velvet
trousers were made for me. Mr Ames officiated, and after throwing confetti and
posing for the black and white photographs we walked to Cawston institute to the
reception that had been prepared by Mrs. Stackwood. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
Painting of St.Agne's Church
There is one important national event of
1953 (2 June) that I vaguely remember but which was of importance to the entire
nation: the celebration of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. I recall the
many small union jack flags were hung outside the Ratcatchers inn and that I was
given a commemorative coronation mug which today, more than 50 years later
stands on my bookshelf in Bonn (Germany) along with others. TOP OF PAGEHOMESITE MAP
Related Link:-
ROYAL OCCASIONS
So that was the Ratcatchers Row in the
1950s. If you have managed to reach the end you may think that this should have
been titled “Ratcatchers Row - The Coronation Street of Cawston”. It was very
funny at times and we all had fun there. Life in the country there was simple,
but pleasant. But there is one thing we must all not forget, it was the people
who make the Ratcatchers Row and not the houses.
One of the biggest event as a child was
the wedding of my Aunt Barbara to Freddie Barwick. Freddie was a barber in
Aylsham and came to Cawston a few times each month in the 1950s to cut mens’
hairs. He rented a room from Mrs Stackwood near her fish and chip shop.
Freddie was loyal to several of his older clients by visiting them at home to
cut their hairs up to 2005 when, at the age of over 70, he had to stop work for
health reasons.