The constant attention that the customers demanded from my Mother (who did most of the serving and pricing) passed over my young head, and to me at the time was normal.

It was nothing unusual for there to be a knock on our private side door evening time, somebody wanting to purchase something trivial, so disturbing what little evening relaxation she had; or a young mother to come dashing into the shop carrying a baby and asking my Mother to help as she did not know how to cope.  She was the teller of good news and of bad, being only one of a few people in the area owning a telephone, all this she did with a smile a kind heart and a comforting word.

Things moved at a slower pace then, there was time to chat, time to cut and weigh cheese to the amount people wanted, sweets to be taken from the jar and put into tiny paper bags.  Time to pass on messages, time to stand in the shop door way and waive to school children on their way to School.

The premises has no indoor loo, and a bath in front of the fire a weekly ritual, there was no washing machine only a gas boiler in the cellar and a mangle that took the effort of both my Mother and Father to turn.  Wet washing was hung to dry indoors on a wooden clothes horse in front of a coal fire, and if a small pair of hands tried to move it to one side to see the fire there was dire consequences.

Hard work for my parents certainly, but rewarding with more personal contact, a good time and place for me to grow up.   

Submitted by Rosa
Location: Kent