When I was a lad of about nine I remember my Mum coming home in a Salvation Army bonnet. We lived at No 11 Market Place, Barton-on-Humber in Lincolnshire. U.K. My Uncle Jack had fixed a new electric bell to the door to replace the old brass one did not work when it was held by a robber s hand thus giving him ample time to empty the till and take whatever else he fancied while my Mum was out hanging the washing in the back yard. Dad was unemployed and drew his dole money from the labour exchange. Asleep on the couch in the kitchen he was oblivious to all that was happening around him. But when Mum opened the door to the shop from the kitchen and screamed, Lawks a mussy, we have been robbed; Dad opened one eye and mumbled:  What’s a matter?

Uncle Jack worked on a farm just outside Barton. When he came home he assessed the situation and commented, there's nae chance of catching  the thieving  beggars so we just made the best of  it
Then he painted the shop front and what had been a small sweet shop now became,  The Corner Caf
 With a new electric bell the shop began to make  money. Harraway man Charlie, what dya think?  Warbled Uncle Jack with his Geordie lilt, to my Father. My Dad yawned, spat into the fire grate, turned over on the black horse hair couch with just enough effort to break wind and went back to sleep. Mum was counting the takings on the kitchen table and jotting little notes. She gave her horizontal hippo hoppo on the couch a look of disgust and carried on totting up in the notebook. Suddenly she had a bright idea,  we could do out those two empty rooms and we could do Bed and Breakfast for travellers.

She broached the subject the next morning at the breakfast table and Uncle Jack thought it was a good idea. Dad said, so long as they kept out of his way he couldn't care less. As long as Dad got his baccy he was happy. . Then Mum came home one day and opened a hat box. If one has ever observed the Coronation of the King as the Priest hold the crown aloft for all to see and gasps of awe ascend to the Heavens, this situation was a bit like that. My sisters and I, along with Uncle Jack and my Dad were all silent and wide-eyed as my mum withdrew the Salvation Army bonnet. It looked like a black bonnet from one of those Western movies where the woman is driving the covered wagon among the rampaging Indians. This bonnet had a crimson ribbon that was splashed right across the front of the bonnet and in huge letters of gold there were three words.  Blood and Fire, Blooming ell!  Exploded Dad

With the bonnet in place my Mum walked to and fro past the full length mirror in her bedroom. That bonnet had every one in our house bewitched. Uncle Jack bought a trombone and joined the Salvo's band

A little later my Dad bought an oompah gizmo that coiled round and round and made rude noises when it was blown into. He also joined The Salvo s but because he could not play so good he left. He complained he could not read the music and get his fingers to press the right buttons on the gizmo at the same time. Then Mum bought a tambourine.

Uncle Jack would be in the back yard giving it,   Waaaaaaaaauuup  as he pulled and pushed the sliding bit back and forth while blowing through pinched lips into the mouth piece. Some notes sounded remarkably like a Suffolk punch plough horse as it strained in the harness to pull the plough through heavy clay soil, and we kids were standing there giggling at the red faced effort being used to get something resembling a tune.

Dad was in the kitchen giving it, Oompah  oompah. Mum was upstairs in the top room warbling.   When the saints  rattle rattle, ching ching,  when the saints,  ching, rattle ching. Then next doors mob were banging on the wall. The Cops called and wanted to see an entertainer’s license. Then I bought a mouth organ with a slide and began practicing  The Colonel Bogey march.

Me Mam said I had to joint the Salvos cos she didn't fancy living with sinners! So I went one Sunday evening just to make her happy. The meeting had just started. There was snow on the ground outside.

Mrs Thinner who sang like those people do in the German opera s was there and every time they asked for a volunteer for a song she was always the first on her feet, to mutterings from the rest of the audience  of,   Aw  Gawd, not again

The Salvation Army Captain who bore such a remarkable resemblance to a South American vulture that some in the audience referred to him as El Condor and in the pulpit and I remember him saying, now all you sinners come and kneel at the repentance bench. Mum kept nudging me to go.

So like a good boy I went, it was a mistake, boy! Was it ever a  mistake! No sooner had I got there and knelt down when a lady in a hat like my Mum s new Salvo s hat came and put her arm round me.  Aye up! What is going on, I asked, trying to edge away. But she clung on and began whispering to me, and I could smell  violet cashews on her breath.

Then because I was not responding to her sweet warbling into me shell like lug hole, she asked,   Are you deaf or what?  I paid attention and it was not long before she had convinced me I was the Devil . It was like being whipped with words. The lady thought she had won when suddenly I burst into tears and sobbed all the way back to me seat. But it was a ploy to get away from the clinging arms that would not let me move as the voice kept on telling me what a rotten little sod I was. I never offered to go there again but I did attend Sunday school and I got a book for good attendance. The book was called  Cherry Ripe .

Well I did think it was better than getting two ripe shiners from  me dad for disobedience. Later when I saw any Salvo ladies in the street I would dive into the nearest shop and pretend to be looking round. Trouble was as I began to grow up and used this ploy, the bloke behind the counter would stop what he was doing and reach under the counter and put a base ball bat on the counter within easy reach until I left the shop. Dewey s toyshop in George Street got really smart one Christmas when the shelves were loaded with toys. The manager had the entrance modified between the till and the door. When someone came into the shop they walked over one part of the floor and a little window in the wall registered their weight.

On passing the till going out the numbers would be the same as the person left if they had not used the till to pay for what they had picked up in the shop. But if the numbers differed and the till had not been used the door would automatically be locked and the would be shop-lifter would be trapped inside the shop. Unfortunately the idea had to be scrapped because one time the door locked and the owner had to ring the fire brigade to come and take the door off to let a lot of angry people out Ah indeed, those were the days.

By Tom the Pom

Location: Barton-upon-Humber, Lincolnshire