The writer and academic Jo Bryant was inspired to write the following by a Wednesday afternoon in 1964, in her parents’ sweetshop in Winter Road.
Mrs Clifton, diminutive and smart, is in her 70s, retired from her wool shop. She helps in our shop. Brenda, her daughter, is a menopausal mother of three, of whom Marjie (me), is 15 and the only one left at home.
Mrs Clifton: Ooh, I read that book you gave me. It had some terrible bits in it, but I had to see what happened.
Brenda: I’ve got a new one, a Howard Spring. I think you’ll like it. An ounce of Digger Shag, Sir? Certainly.
Brenda weighs the tobacco on the brass scales, gives it to the customer, who takes his change and leaves.
Mrs Clifton: Wasn’t that Evadne Legg’s father?
Brenda: Yes, she came in Monday for some Murray Mints.
Mrs Clifton: A wreck on a stick!
Brenda: Mrs Legge’s a terrible cook. Ah, Mrs Spooner, what would you like?
Mrs Spooner: A quarter of iced caramels, please. I’d have Lucky Numbers, but there’s no Number Elevens, and Ron’s complaining.
Brenda: I’ll have a word with the Cadbury’s traveller, he’s due in tomorrow.
Mrs Spooner (stiffly): Thank you. Keeping well, Mrs C?
Mrs Clifton: Very well thank you.
Mrs Spooner departs.
Mrs Clifton: Always moaning, isn’t she?
Brenda: That’s bloody Marjie, isn’t it? Number Elevens, chocolate fudge, she gets in here when Jack’s busy and fills her face.
Mrs Clifton: That girl eats too much, she overloads her stomach.
Brenda: She’s like the cat, never bloody satisfied.
Mrs Clifton: Language, Brenda!
Brenda: I’m going to sort out the window, that traveller Mr Jennings brought some new bits, they’re out the back.
Brenda disappears, returning with a cardboard cut-out of a bluebird advertising Sharp’s Bluebird Toffees. She clambers into the window, a yellow duster protruding from her left armpit. She removes the old display for Player’s Navy Cut and begins dusting.
Mrs Clifton: Bren, come here Bren!
Brenda: What, Mum?
Mrs Clifton: Isn’t that Annie Sawyer with that man?
Brenda: Ooh yes!
Mrs Clifton: They just came out of that alley by Williamson’s yard.
Brenda: Mike’s been away at sea again. She’s no better than she should be.
Mrs Clifton: Their Desmond’s nothing like him, for that matter!
Brenda: Must’ve been the milkman!
The shop door opens, Mrs Clifton scuttles behind the counter, an elderly man enters.
Mrs Clifton: Hullo Mr Cawley, what can I get you?
Mr Cawley: No Jack today?
Mrs Clifton: He’s visiting his mother.
Mr Cawley shuffles out, mumbling to himself.
Brenda: Bloody old tightwad, never buys anything, just comes in to talk to Jack about the horses.
Mrs Clifton: Old Mack’s another.
Brenda: Him and his supposed relationship to John McCormack!
Mrs Clifton: A likely story.
Brenda: Only in here singing Gilbert and Sullivan to Jack on Friday.
Mrs Clifton: Old fool puts henna on his hair, doesn’t he?
Brenda: Fancies himself as a ladies’ man!
Mrs Clifton: Not if he was hung with diamonds…
Brenda climbs out of the window display.
Mrs Clifton: Very nice!
Brenda: I’ll wash my hands and bring us in some tea.
Mrs Clifton: And a couple of Royal Scot? Hullo Mrs Thompson.
Mrs Thompson: A packet of Fisherman’s Friend and five Woodbines please.
Mrs Thompson, a timid woman, makes her exit. Brenda comes back in with the tea and biscuits.
Brenda: Here you go, Mum.
Mrs Clifton: Poor soul, suffers terrible with her nerves.
Brenda: Is it any wonder with him? I’d put something in his tea if it were me.
Mrs Clifton: You are awful, Bren.
Brenda: Well! Here comes Jack. Thank God, my feet are killing me. How was your mother?
Jack: Wants some help with the electricity bill.
Brenda: She can whistle. I haven’t forgotten the glasses.
Mrs Clifton: What about them?
Brenda: Crafty old cow, got money out of all of them, said she needed new glasses, they all coughed up, so she had enough for four pairs. We didn’t find out till Ena’s birthday.
Mrs Clifton: She’s a bit of a one, isn’t she?
Jack: It’s not been easy for her since the Old Man died.
Brenda: Yeah, we’ve all had to keep her in whisky.
Brenda and Jack glare at each other, and Mrs Clifton breaks the silence.
Mrs Clifton: Isn’t Marjie back?
Brenda: She’ll be with that guttersnipe. Such a bad influence.
Jack: Man-mad, that girl!
Mrs Clifton: Who?
Brenda and Jack together: Clare!
Jack: Any tea left in the pot?
Brenda: ‘Should be, can you give us a break in a minute, it isn’t busy.’
Jack: All gone to that supermarket, I suppose.
Brenda: The bank have been on the phone.
Jack: And the auditors are coming.
Brenda: We’ll have to sell up, work for someone else for a change.
Mrs Clifton: Your father and I could always help.
Jack: No, no, mother, it’s time to call it a day. Now the older ones have left home, it’s just us and Marjie.
Brenda: We’ll get somewhere smaller – work from nine to five.
Jack: Even have a holiday one of these days.
Mrs Clifton: Might be for the best, but I better get my bus now, get your father’s tea.
Brenda and Jack: Bye Mum. Where is that kid?
The family left the shop on 1st February 1965. The abolition of Retail Price Maintenance had been the last straw for my parents’ business.
Photo Clock_Tower,_Portsmouth,_Hampshire_-_geograph.org.uk_-_567849.jpg re-used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
