On A Roll

Not a bacon or a cheese and tomato roll, rather I’m on a roll with childhood memories. I’ve been thinking about tripe and tripe shops, and the latter reminded me of some of the other shops in the village where I grew up. There were all the usual types of outlets where people could buy virtually all they needed but there was one shop which as a child, I found totally fascinating, notably Cyril Grant’s hardware shop.

Originally, I suspect, it had been a two up and two down, and what had been the front room became the shop itself, and the back room was the stock room. What was upstairs I couldn’t say and didn’t care about. All I cared about were the countless hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the things Cyril sold: a wide range of tin buckets, mops, brushes of all kinds, wallpaper paste, hammers, small bags of plaster, donkey stones – the list goes on, and on. Need three six-inch nails? You could buy them at Cyril’s for pennies. No plastic bags full of six-inch nails at B&Q prices which you would likely never need again. Want a couple of screws, some poison to get rid of vermin, a ball of twine, a tube of glue and a tin opener all in one order? You’d have gone to the right shop.

Half or more of the things hanging from the walls or piled up around the counter and set out on a long table outside, were a mystery to me but nevertheless I found each and every one fascinating. I also loved the smell in there: sawdust, no doubt from the bags of kindling Cyril sold – everyone needed some in those days because everyone had a coal fire. There was also a smell of paraffin which could be bought in small, affordable amounts and used for the paraffin heaters many of us had in the 1950’s. Carbolic soap might also be smelled along with turpentine and firelighters. People used to ‘black lead’ the old iron ranges which many people still had, and Cyril sold the ‘stuff’ they used although the name of it escapes me! He also stocked ‘cardinal red’ liquid polish which everyone seemed to need for this, that or the other.

If you wanted a new mat for behind the back door then he had a variety of sizes to choose from and if the same back door needed a couple of coat hooks Cyril had them too. Latches, locks and handles for doors and windows were also available as were screwdrivers to fix them with and pliers to undo things if you bungled the job. I seem to remember too that he sold pan sets, if you were posh enough to have sets, and in the summer months there would be plant pots, seeds and gardening tools of all shapes and sizes. A torch was available should you require it as were electrical plugs, fuses (remember those?) and plugs for the sink, light bulbs, candles and matches to light them, curtain hooks, scissors and knives and although I couldn’t swear to it, he would probably have sharpened the latter if asked. Speaking of sink plugs reminds me that he sold washing up bowls, pan scourers, Ajax, (you need to be a certain age to know what that was), Fairy Soap Flakes for hand washing your delicates, disinfectant, dusters and cans of wax for the furniture.

I am certain that if I were to ask anyone who remembers Cyril’s they would be able to supply another list of his goods at least as lengthy as mine, and without much replication, such was the extent of his wares. Sadly, shops like this today are in very short supply and there is no way the big DIY stores can compete with Cyril in terms of value for money, variety, the wonderful mix of aromas and most importantly his customer service. I wish these little gems would reappear on our high streets. I think they would do extremely well and I for one would be first in the queue. I could do with a new washing up bowl, four or five one-inch nails (I only need two, but I always bend some), oh, and Ajax is handy when there’s a bit of scouring to do.

How I wish I could hold your hands, walk back in time & take you to Cyril Grant’s shop. We could wander around his brooms, buckets & bits ‘n’ bobs, inhale all the aromas & wonder at all of the stuff we would have no clue about. We could spend 2s & 6d on a few packets of seeds & a trowel & plant the seeds in my mum’s garden & water them in with one of Cyril’s metal watering cans. If mum were home, she’d no doubt shout at us for putting the seeds in the wrong spot & shoo us out to ‘go & play’. So we’d go to the ‘tip’ where there were big shrubs down the sides & we could make a den & hide. Then, when we thought mum had calmed down, we’d go home & make jam butties & a bottle of ‘spo’ & get on her nerves again! Sadly, we can’t do any of that, but I’ve enjoyed the idea of us doing it & smiled because you don’t know what the tip was, or where, or what ‘spo’ was or why mum was usually cross. She’d smile too now at what I’ve written because she’d know what I was talking about & she’d wish too that she could hold your hands, & mine, & we could all go to Cyril’s.  She wouldn’t be cross & she might even buy us all a custard tart at Smith’s the bakers which was just up from Cyril’s. None of that can be, but never mind, it’s the thought that counts & maybe, when we go to sleep tonight we can dream about it? xx