Shepherd Street Mission Children's Home, 1930s - memories of my siblings

These are the recorded memories of three of my siblings, Hilda, Fred and Jean. We were all sent to the Shepherd Street Mission Children’s Home when we were young as our mother had died and our father could not cope at home with us all, and his work, on his own.

Hilda

At the age of 41 in 1930, our Dad was left a widower with five young children. I was 8½ years old, Fred 6¼, and Miriam 5, (already away from home and in hospital as she was a spastic, unable to do anything for herself). As Mum had not been able to look after her owing to her illness, (she had cancer), Dad thought it best for all of us if Miriam was cared for where she could be looked after properly, leaving him more time to look after Mum, we four children and run his business, which wasn’t doing too well as the country was going through a slump at the time. Jean would have been about 3 and Dennis just turned one year old.

For about a year after Mum died, Dad employed various housekeepers to look after us and run the home. This wasn‘t very successful, he reckoned they were robbing him all ends and sides. So the next move was to give up his home, his building business was practically finished and we moved in with a very good friend, Mrs. Sarah Noblett, her husband and five children of theirs. They’d had ten altogether, the eldest five were already working, living-in on farms, where they were employed as farm-hands or domestic workers.

Aunty Sarah was a jolly, motherly, hard-working little woman, with a heart of gold. The house we lived in was quite a walk down a lane near the village of Woodplumpton. We christened it ‘The Tottering Temple’ as it appeared to sway behinds the trees which lined the lane at that point. We must have stayed with them for about a year and as Dad was finding it increasingly difficult to find work, he had to travel about quite a bit to find employment, as his building business by now had folded.

As children do the world over, there were often squabbles between the two families & with Dad working away from home sometimes, he had to find other accommodation for himself. Very reluctantly and with much heart-break, we were put into the Children’s Home in Oxford Street, Preston, belonging to Shepherd Street Mission. It must have been around Easter time then, and thinking back, most of the momentous things in my life have happened around Easter time.

There were 56 children in the Home at that time, plus Sister Marland and Sister Holden for the girls, matron, Mrs. Chadwick, a cook, matron’s maid, two laundrywomen and handyman, Mr. Daggers. All the work, such as cleaning the children’s quarters, darning socks etc, was done by the children, those between the ages 8 - 14. As I got older, about 13 years of age, I had to clean all the windows, inside and out downstairs and inside, upstairs, on the girl’s side once a week. I have never liked cleaning windows since.

The daily routine was a follows: 7am, rise, wash, dress, clean teeth, the youngest ones being looked after by the older girls. Each week day four of us swept, polished and dusted the dormitory after first straightening the beds, putting on the white counterpanes for the daytime. Each counterpane corner had to be perfectly square and the top turned down in a straight line with the rest of the beds. The landing, toilets and stairs were done by other girls.

Saturdays, the dormitories were given an extra clean. Firstly, the polish was put on and later polished to a high gloss. All this done on hands and knees - no polisher in those days. When this job was done, I had to clean the windows.

Breakfast: two slices of bread and margarine, and a cup of cocoa, and occasionally we’d have a hard-boiled egg, when they were plentiful and maybe someone sent the surplus in for the children. After breakfast, I had to help with the washing up before going to school.

From the age of 11½, when I won a scholarship to Deepdale Modern School, I had to walk there and back twice a day, no tram fares unless it was raining and only for going to school, I had to walk back in the rain, unless one of my friends paid the halfpenny fare.

Dinner on Mondays and Wednesdays: stew and milk pudding, Tuesdays and Saturdays, pea soup and milk pudding ( I still hate pea soup), Thursdays and Fridays, mince beef, potatoes and vegetables, and a milk pudding. Sunday was the best dinner of the week, when we had roast beef or mutton, potatoes and vegetables, and the usual milk pudding. Sometimes we had what we called cake pudding, which to us was a real treat, it being a mixture of various kinds of stale cakes mixed together with custard poured over it.

Tea times didn’t vary much, same as breakfast. Sometimes we had a boiled egg, hard as usual, or bread and jam, in which case the bread had no margarine on it. By bedtimes I was always very hungry. We had bread and jam, I suppose it was, because there was no fat on the bread. We didn’t have suppers. Sunday, we had either rhubarb and custard, stewed apples and custard or jelly and custard, depending on the time of the year.

We went to the mission in Shepherd Street, three times a day on Sunday. Sometimes it was a real treat to go on Saturday evenings too, especially if there was a concert on - mainly items by the choir, recitations, hymn-singing, etc. The highlight of the evening was the refreshments, which consisted of a cake or maybe a biscuit and a cup of tea. The only time we ever had tea was Sunday tea time or if we happened to go to one of these concerts.

On Sundays, we weren’t allowed to play out or play games. When we weren’t at church, we could read, and most Sunday afternoons we went for a walk on Avenham Park. Very nice in the summertime but a bit bleak in winter.

After the evening service at the mission, which the older ones had to go to, it was back home and go to bed, after first putting away our Sunday clothes for another week. Each evening before bedtime, those who did the dormitory cleaning had to remove, fold and put away all the white counterpanes, which were only put on during the daytime.

We all had to have a bath on Fridays, and in the three years or so when I was at Secondary School, I was always the last home, so consequently, I had to use the same bathe water that twelve or thirteen other girls has been bathed in. So by that time the water had cooled off and was rather mucky.

When I passed my eleven plus exam to go to Deepdale Modern School, it was the start of better things for me. I met other people in the world outside the home and made several friends at school, one with whom I am still friendly today. The walk to school was a good half hour’s journey each way, twice a day but soon became a normal part of life to me. One very wet day, I was given a halfpenny for the tram fare but if the weather was still wet after school, I just had to walk home through the rain, unless one of my school friends paid my fare.

I enjoyed life at school, there was always something going on and I did quite well at most subjects, especially English. I learnt to cook and sew also. There was always plenty of homework which I had to do in the evening after the other chores were done and on Saturday afternoons.

Dad was only able to see us for an hour, once a month on visiting day. How we looked forward to those Saturdays. The hour passed oh so quickly. Dad used to gather us all in his arms and sit us on his knees, until we got too big. In all the four years we were in the Home, he only missed one visiting day and that was because visiting was stopped on account of an outbreak of measles.

When the hour was up and he had to go, there was much hugging and kissing and lots of tears, with cries of, “When are coming home, how long have we to stay here?” Of course, Dad hadn’t got a home of his own, so all he could promise was that someday we would all be together again. But oh how those days dragged on… for four years, until at Easter time again, when I was 14½ years old. I left school in order that I could look after the home which Dad had got together by sheer guts and hard work. I had an awful lot to learn, which I did by making lots of mistakes but Dad was always to help and encourage me. (And now, even though we are all married and gone our separate ways, we are still a very close family.)

Even though life seemed hard in those days at the Home, with a deep faith in God and consideration for others, Dad taught us to be honest and self-reliant, something we found I’ve found of great value throughout my life. It wasn’t all doom and gloom in the home, and here are some of the incidents I remember.

Christmas was a great time for all, we received several presents on Christmas morning, followed by going to one of the churches in town for Christmas service and to sing carols. We had quite a good little choir. After Christmas dinner, we had a lovely party and Santa always came through dining room window during the evening with a sack containing a gift for each of us. Sometimes we went to a pantomime.

Three out of four summers we went away for a month’s holiday. They used to take a large empty house over and along would go all the goods and chattels for the use of 56 children and 5 staff. One year we went to Cleveleys, another year to Ansdell, then out in the countryside near Bamber Bridge. The fourth year for some reason no house could be found, so some of us went for a fortnight’s holiday to a home run by the Police at Lytham.

I remember the Harvest Festivals and all the lovely fruit and vegetables we had afterwards, especially the harvest loaf which we had for a couple of tea-times, all crunchy and crusty, such a lovely taste.

I remember Dad meeting me after school at Deepdale and taking me to a little shop in town for my tea, meat pies and fresh cream cakes, and there was no room for bread and margarine at the Home afterwards. I had to keep quiet about it or there would have been a row at the Home. So it all had to be done quickly and quietly.

I have a picture of my sister Jean in my mind; she must have been about eight years old, with a huge apron tied on her and 26 pairs of clogs to clean before tea.

Another highlight was a trip to Stratford. When I was about 13, we were all given a leaflet at school about a day trip to Stratford on Avon. I took the paper home, thinking there was little hope of me being able to go. Mr. Tom Slater and his wife were in charge of the Home at that time and one morning as I was going to school, he gave me the slip from the paper which we had to return saying whether I could go or not. Surprise of surprises, he gave me the money to pay for the trip as well. I was walking on air going to school that day; I just couldn’t believe it. It’s something I talked about for years after.

Sister Holden who was in charge of the girls, was a bit of a tartar, very strict with us, made sure we did our jobs properly, finding fault where there was none to be found. She used to poke her bony fingers behind the radiators, saying they were filthy and we had to do them again, and so she earned the name ‘Mouldy Annie’. Sometimes we could do nothing right. On the whole, she was rather kind to me and looking back it must have been quite a job looking after so many children.

On the way to Sunday School, I remember seeing the old women sitting on doorsteps or chairs outside their front doors. One used to smoke a clay pipe, another woman hadn’t got a nose, the hole was covered with sticking plaster, there were children running about without shoes, or else with shoes but no stockings, and ragged clothes on their skinny bodies.

Tickets used to be given out at Christmas time to many poor children in Preston. The ticket entitled them to a Christmas breakfast, which consisted of a bag of goodies plus a small present.

One day I was back later than usual after having my tea with Dad on Friday after school. He went back with me to the Home to make sure I was alright. There was one holy row, Mr. Slater telling Dad he had no right to take me for a meal, etc, and as Dad was rather quick-tempered, a lot of things were said which shouldn’t have been. It all ended up with Dad saying, “I’ll have my children out of here, where they can have a bit of freedom. This is England, not Russia!”

It wasn’t long before he found a little house at Longridge but it needed an awful lot of repair work, which he did in the evenings after working all day, and also at the weekends. One evening around Easter time, we were all on the bus with our Dad on the way home at last. It was quite dark outside by the time we arrived but the lovely, warm welcome little house was truly home at last.

Fred

Daily routine, was the same every day. Wakened by Misses Anne and Mary Smith at approximately 7am. Chores before school included cleaning clogs, making beds, polishing floors and peeling potatoes. Breakfast and tea were exactly the same. Two rounds of bread and margarine and a mug of cocoa. Dinners, taken at the mission were usually some kind of stew, very little meat, plenty of potatoes, little vegetables. Saturday was always pea soup. Sundays, like other days for meals. Never allowed to ask for more. Nothing to eat or drink for suppers. Sometimes, milk pudding was served after dinner.

Periods after school were taken up by either playing in the grounds if fine, or inside reading comics and playing with other boys. Girls were kept separated from the boys, except at meal times. The dining room was the only room for boys to play in; no other room available.

Weekends were much the same. If fine, playing in the grounds on Saturdays, after the usual chores had been done. Sundays, marched in columns of three to church. In the afternoon, marched to Sunday School and then to the evening service. No special treats at the weekend, no sweets, no chocolate, no fruit.

All the boys wore grey shirt, grey pants, grey stockings and a grey cap. I’m not sure about coats. Girls wore gym-slips and black woollen stockings. All children wore clogs.

Once a month, parents were allowed to visit. They were allowed to bring sweets, chocolate or fruit, and these presents had to be handed to matron, who shared them all out among the children, as there were some children who didn’t have visits.

There was nothing special for birthdays, unless parents sent something. Holidays, like Easter and Whitsuntide were exactly the same routine for meals, but the children got an Easter egg, and at Whitsunday, were allowed to go to the fairground as deprived children, treated by the fair people, and were given free rides. Summer holidays, twice taken to Ansdell, St Anne’s, for about three weeks. We stayed in a big house. Routine was much like mission but we were allowed to play on beach. Other times we were taken to Cuerden Hall, Bamber Bridge, for summer period. We were given 4d to spend on holiday. Christmas was a bigger event. Full Christmas dinner, fruits, nuts and crackers and a tree, and a concert by local people.

I was always aware of the stigma at school as some of the more fortunate children taunted us about being in Shepherd Street Mission.  I was caned by Mr. Slater, with a black stick, often for fighting. Once every three months, council officials came to inspect the Home. We were given a special treat that particular day, like an orange with our tea, or an apple, probably some sweets, but only for that day for the benefit of the officials.
I have a bad memory of Misses Smith: being made to wear girl’s black stockings and then refusing to go to school in them. I was reprimanded several times by the Misses Smith over incident with Mr. Slater. I have no happy memories at all, and no special friends. I hated every minute of every day.

Jean

In 1932 I remember one morning sitting on a slop-stone sink at home, being washed and changed. I could smell bacon frying. After that, I don’t remember going to Shepherd Street Mission Children’s Home.
I remember walking from the girls’ quarters across a yard to the boys’ side where we had our meals in the dining room. Girls on one side, boys on the other.

I remember the bread and margarine we had at mealtimes, I can still remember the horrible taste of it. I also remember the pea soup we had on occasions. I couldn’t eat it, and it was served up cold the following day.
The only nice things I remember were: when Dad came to see us; garden fetes once a year; going singing carols at different churches at Christmas time; and going on summer holidays.

We were there, I think, for four years, which seemed like a lifetime. I remember Sister Holden, whom I thought was mouldy, because we called her ‘Mouldy Annie’ behind her back.

I was delegated to cleaning the clogs and shoes we wore, one of my jobs I seemed to be doing for years. We wore the clogs to school with thick woollen socks. The shores we wore when we went to the Mission Hall on Sunday, about twice on Sunday and the same walk every Sunday down to the park, over the Tram Bridge across the River Ribble and down Tram Road. If I am correct, it was the same walk every Sunday afternoon. We walked behind each other, like the army. We also walked to school the same way.

We always put pinafores over our clothes, with pockets in them and I used to put food in them I didn’t like or couldn’t eat. I threw it away if I got the chance. However, when I was in the sick room, in bed, I had nowhere to put the food, so I put it in the pillow case, which of course, was found.

I do remember once, a pretty straw hat with flowers round it, which I must have worn in summer. I remember making the beds when we got up in the morning. The bed clothes were stripped off and we had to turn the mattress, half-way over before breakfast and then I think we made the bed before we went to school. I remember Dad coming for us and taking us to a small cottage in Longridge. Although I knew I had two brothers, Fred and Dennis, it wasn’t until we came home to Longridge, that I felt we were a real family.
I remember it was spring and some children asked me to play out in the fields. There were primroses and may-flowers and it seemed like heaven. The smell of frying came back.

Dennis Crompton © 2003
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2012)