Chesham - The Hamlet on the River Chess
This Buckinghamshire town is well known for boots, brushes and Baptists.
Many of the army boots for the first world war were made here. My Uncle George Hawkes Wilshire worked in one of the boot factories as a clicker. This was an important job and one of the better paid.
There were several wood works where the brushes were made. Two of the factories sounded hooters at the start and end of each working period, and everyone knew the time when Jesse Wrights or Beechwoods blasted forth.
The Baptists were well represented in the town and well attended – probably as a form of entertainment. The ladies went for a gossip and to check up on any new hats that were being worn, and to notice any absentees. The men made no secret about going straight from the chapel to the pub, while the women took the children home. Some of them cooked a dinner, but some were too pious to ‘work’ on a Sunday. Talking of absentees, when there was a funeral, many people turned out – especially widows and widowers – to size up the prospects and the opposition.
As well as chapels and pubs, there was a ‘picture palace’ showing silent films with a pianist belting out tunes appropriate to the pictures on the screen. On a Saturday there was always a line of children clutching their pennies ready to get in the ‘early doors’. This meant that you could join the rush to get the good seats. The front rows were for ‘early doors’ children. The seats further back were more expensive; the seats at the very back were usually taken by courting couples. I remember going to the ‘pictures’ with another girl, and the film operator asked us if we would like to go upstairs and see how things worked when the film was going. My friend said yes and I went along. We did not see much and we went down again. When I told my mother she was horrified. I was so innocent – I did not know what all the fuss was about – I just thought it was an interesting visit and all we did was watch the films being wound, but she went to see the manager and he agreed that it was not acceptable. I had a talking to about ‘that sort of thing’ but I still did not understand. I have learned since!
There were two grocery shops in town. One was the International Stores, which was impressive to me. The shop had a very high ceiling, and the walls and everything looked like marble. Mother usually bought her cheese there, just red or white, and I loved watching the bacon slicer – you could choose your preferred thickness from the chart. The other grocer was Mr. Collins. I was always amazed to see him serving sultanas or currants. He would weigh them out, ½ lb or 1 lb as ordered, then tip them out onto a piece of dark blue paper about 6” x 6”, fold the sides together, then tuck in the ends to make a very firm parcel, and never dropping a currant or sultana.
There were several “characters” in the town. There was Johnny Parslow who was a little old man who always seemed happy. He was dressed more like a tramp and always had a bit of a cigarette in his mouth. This was because he would walk the streets looking for ‘dog ends’ of cigarettes that had been tossed into the gutter. These he unraveled and used the scraps of tobacco to make smokes for himself. He was a friendly man and would sidle up to a man and offer him a tip on a horse race. He was rewarded by a coin or two - for his friendliness if nothing else. I don’t know if the horses ever came in!
Other noticeable people were Frankie Howard and his brother Phil (Phillip). Frankie was a local solicitor and a real ‘big wig’ in town – looked up to as a leading light. Anyone who saw his brother would think he was a tramp. Phil was not always like this. At one time he was a successful athlete and the record books confirm this, and he was once offered a substantial bet that he could not run the length of Park Avenue while the church clock was striking twelve – Phil won. Nobody seems to know why he dropped from grace, but I think Frankie was disturbed.
I remember two doctors in the town. One of them rode around on a tricycle with the Gladstone bag strapped on the frame. He wore a half high top hat and gaiters. Doctor Smith was the one we had and he was a tall man who wore a very long overcoat that made him look like a drainpipe. If you went to the surgery, you had to take a medicine bottle with you. These bottles had raised lines on the back indicating tablespoon measures. It was soon recognized that many people just tipped the bottle up to the mouth ignoring the amount. In the fight against germs, there was a scheme by the authorities to give disinfectant freely to anyone who fetched it. You had to bring a proper poison bottle, which was made of dark brown glass. So every Saturday morning I would go down the road to a little room by the side of the Water Works. There was a miserable man sitting on a stool with a vat of disinfectant in front of him. He scooped a measuring can full from the vat and poured it through a funnel into your bottle. For this, my mother gave me an extra 1-penny for the extra chore. If any of the neighbours could not go down that day, they would ask me to get it for them. Lucky me! That would be another penny for me.
There were several barbers’ shops in the town where men would go for a shave. Some would go just before the weekend, but the better off would go every day. Were their hands too shaky to use a ‘cut throat’?
It must have been a happy day when the railway came to Chesham. It was just a shuttle service linking up with the main line at Chalfont Road. So now it means that the newspapers and football results can be obtained easily. Consequently, evenings in the town were quite lively with the paperboys yelling “Football results” or “Evening news”, and people milling around discussing the news and results in between trips to the pub to celebrate or drown their sorrows.
Chesham Cycling and Athletic Club (C.C.& A.C.) were all going strong, and each year there was a sports day. The Silver Prize Band was always a good attraction and the races introduced many strong competitors. There were always large crowds at these events and never any trouble among them. There was always a carnival in the town, when the decorated floats and people progress through the streets and ended up in the grounds of the Squire house where there was a fete and a fireworks display taking place on the other side of the lake.
With most young people, courting was a slow affair, going through several stages. After meeting several times with smiles and talks, they would dare to go for a walk keeping well apart from each other, and it was several weeks before they would hold hands. The next stage was when he pecked her on the cheek when they said, “Good night”. Then perhaps they would go to the picture palace, the back row if possible, then he could put his arm around her shoulders and move close up, then when they came to say, “Good night” – Oh! What bliss! – They would press their lips together. What was the next stage? I don’t think I will answer that! Some young people would be horrified when they discovered the result of that last stage. If only he had had his hair cut first! When a young man went to the barbers, there would be whispers between the two men and the barber would furtively pass a packet of French letters to the customer. This was all good trade for the barber and his customers were made happy. Why did the young men of that time need their haircut so often?
Various tradesmen came past regularly. There was the milkman who came every morning with the lovely pony pulling the milk float on which there were the churns of milk and the measuring mugs. The milkman came to each house with his pail of milk and filled each jug that was left on the doorstep. Then there was the baker who carried a large basket on his arm. The bread was lovely, especially the loaves that were baked at the bottom of the oven so if you bought a cottage loaf and found a cinder stuck on the bottom; you knew you had one of the best.
Then there the men who came round once a week calling out, “Raa Bo”, translated that means Rags and Bones. It does not matter what they call, you recognize the tune. He would come along the backs of the houses with a sack over his shoulder in which to put the disposables, and all the time calling out his signature tune.
Someone who did not need a signature tune was the muffin man who came round about once a week. He carried the muffins and crumpets in a large tray on his head. He walked along with a bell in one hand and as he walked the bell announced his arrival.
Then there was a coal man who delivered coal regularly to his customers. There was one house in particular where he used to slip into the house for a bit of “Ows yer father”. That was all right until he took his wife out for a drive with the same horse pulling the family trap. The horse stopped at the usual house and expected to stay for half an hour. Gossip does not relate what the wife said!
Another interesting event was seeing the timber wagons hauling big trunks of trees to the woodworking place, which was near our house. Howard’s works were at the back of our house, and the way for the timber wagons was up a short steep hill close by. The wagons that were pulled by two big horses were stopped just outside our house while the drivers added two more horses to the front, and then they began, with the driver shouting encouragement and waving the whip about and the four great horses thundering up the hill.
Another event I enjoyed was when we could buy cakes from the cake shop. The small cakes were one penny each or seven for 6 pence, and I loved selecting my favourites from the arrangement displayed.
There was great excitement when the first bus came along as far as the Nashleigh Arms near my home. It was a double decker and everyone was determined to get on. Fond parents were lifting and pushing their children to make sure they did not miss out on the great occasion. Later on, the buses went as far as Watford, but many times, everyone had to get out and walk up Scots Hill, a short sharp hill near Rickmondsworth, and the bus could manage to conquer the hill when there was no load aboard. Many people said that the buses would never get to Berkhampstead because of the Hockridges, which were hills. Many people went to Watford on Saturdays to do their shopping, and everybody had visited The Churchyard. Years ago a man was dying and he was not troubled because he knew there was life after death, and he said that to prove it, when he died and was buried, there would be a fig tree growing out of his heart. The grave is up against the church wall and I have seen the fig tree many times.
We had great fun in the spring when the floods came up. They started with the springs along the Vale and the floods came past our house and on towards the town, petering out before it reached the town centre. We played jumping across the water, very often not quite making it, and then floating sticks and paper boats to race in the flow. There was more serious flooding when there was a cloud burst in Church Street and many of the houses were flooded.
And that is another story!
