This was very nostalgic, and beautifully written...it was the hand cranked egg whisk for the Angel Delight that rang every bell. I can still hear the noise as it ricocheted around the mixing bowl!
Oh, thank you, Sarah! My brother and I would take it in turns to stand on a stool so that we could reach the mixing bowl on the kitchen worktop. The egg beater was pretty tired and rusty, and sooooo exhausting to keep turning! Good job there were two of us for the job.
That’s a very modern egg beater. I still have a much older one in my second drawer. It’s not perfect but it works well enough. And the joys of peanuts in the shell! Ah the memories. Your grandmother was so good to you both popping her change into those little purses. What treasure! A lovely read. Thanks so much.
Thank you Beth! I’m so glad you enjoyed this story of childhood. I wish that I’d been able to find a picture of a more authentic beater - Granny’s was a similar design, but not in the slightest bit shiny, and by golly it was hard work when we were little!
As we got older we’d help Granny with the roast. One of us would be in charge of the menu, which Granny would write on a piece of grey cardboard. On the left-hand side was a list of the items to be served - ‘Giant chicken’, ‘roast potatoes’, ‘gravy’ etc - and across the top were the initials of those who would be eating. It was my job - or my brother’s, depending on whose turn it was that day - to ask everybody in turn to tell us what they’d like on their plate from that list.
We never knew why the meat was called ‘giant chicken’. Turned out years later that Granny didn’t think we’d eat it if it was called ‘turkey’ (which I gather is what it was). In fact, we were the unfussiest eaters on the planet, so it wouldn’t have mattered a jot - I mean, I would even eat the sardine sandwiches she would sometimes give me for tea! 🤣
Ah, such memories! I remember vividly the ritual of opening peanuts at Christmas, along with cracking open Brazil nuts with a vice-like nutcracker. Also, having a threepenny bit to spend in the sweet shop! I could never decide between flying saucers or a sherbet dab! Happy days.
Two Christmases ago I was given a nutcracker of the type we had when I was a child, along with a bag of walnuts from the farm shop, harvested from a local plantation. Sadly the next harvest was obliterated by the squirrels, so no walnuts last Christmas. In fact, when I started writing this post it was all about nuts at Christmas - hazelnuts, Brazils, almonds (impossible to get into) and walnuts - including the walnuts which had been opened, their kernels removed and replaced with a Brussels sprout each, and glued back together - which had accompanied my nutcracker Christmas present. In the end it had been the peanuts at Granny’s whose story had demanded to be told! 🤣
I remember flying saucers! Really dry on the outside, like polystyrene, and then all that fizzy sherbet inside! 🤣
It was hilarious - apparently the rest of the family had all been in on the joke! Half a dozen sprouts had been peeled down to a size that would fit into empty walnut shells, and the shells in which they were concealed had had to be opened very, very carefully so that they cracked only along the seams.... After that, it was a job for Superglue.
They were impressed when I actually ATE the sprouts I'd cracked into, too - I love a raw brassica! 🤣
I thought “pebbledashed” was another of your clever made up names like “craftermath”, which I fondly use these days in making my own art.
Your story took me back to my own childhood. But we lived off a country road about three quarters of a mile from home by foot—or car for that matter—from the little penny candy and cigarette shop which also held a few small bird cages with tiny canaries in them.
My best friend and I would often be sent there by our moms to get their ciggs for them which at that time only cost a quarter. They’d also give us a nickel each to buy some two for 1c penny candy for our efforts. The shop keeper, an elderly man would give us each a small bag to put in our own candy.
We’d then run all the way back home before opening the bags and inspecting each piece of candy before popping it into our mouth.
Oh Gail, I love your story of buying candy from the local shop! I was always very envious of my best friend at school, who lived in the kind of village which had lots of shops and pavements to walk around, and everywhere interesting was a very close walk from home - friends' houses, the recreation ground, the Scout & Guide hut, the village hall and church, the sweet shop....!
When we were older (14, in my case, for the first time) we might sometimes go down that scary main road (60mph limit, all in a straight line so drivers went a little crazy) on our bikes to the farm shop (twice the distance than to the other shop) if Mum needed a pot of cream in strawberry season, for instance. I preferred the way there to the way back - to get home it was all uphill! 🤣
PS Pebbledashing is the kind of architectural feature which in my opinion belongs in the same place as stone cladding and crazy paving.......... ie somewhere preferably not visible from the street! It's a lovely word, though, I agree!
This was wonderful Rebecca! Such vivid details and such a sweet story. We had a candy shop for a time in my home village which was always treat to visit. But so many choices! And such vivd colours! Almost too overwhelming for my little brain.
I still to this day (and I confess even after lunch today!) eat peanuts from the shell. I love them to bits and part of the joy is having to crack open the shells to eat the roasted nutmeat within.
Thanks for the word treat to double my pleasure today!
Thanks, Sabrina! And oh, the decisions that had to be made at the sweet shop - I know exactly what you mean! Dad would take us to the newsagent with him once a week, every Sunday morning to buy the Sunday paper, and we were each allowed to choose some sweets for after lunch that day. My favourites were called ‘Pacers’ - they don’t make those any more, but they were spearmint-flavoured chewy white squares with green parallel stripes and looked like close cousins to ‘Opal Fruits’ (which have since been rebranded ‘Starburst’).
What an evocative post! We had a grocery store maybe a mile from my house, all along residential streets. We were allowed to walk there during the summer to get candy. Mostly I had a nickle or dime to buy one or two pieces. But there were a few candies which only cost a penny each, so it was possible to go for a greater number if you really wanted to. Once in a while my dad would give us a quarter, and we could splurge! It was fun although not good at all for our teeth—
I love this memory. The independence, the coppers. Oh the joy of taking our "hard earned" pennies and whatever to the store for penny candy. A quarter (25 pennies) could buy enough to line clear up my arm to the elbow. An tiny paper sacks to hold the booty. And we could walk ANYWHERE in the neighborhood. I usually walked three blocks to school, or to the grocery on an errand for Mom. Free-range kids, we were. Thank you, Rebecca, for this trip to your Granny's village and its wonderful parade of shops. I can just see it.
Free range kids, indeed. Our parents didn't know where we were most of the time. It was normal for kids to be responsible for themselves - and their younger brothers...
And no matter what the neighborhood was like, kids lived in the streets and became toughened by sandbox politics and neighborhood Moms supplying bandaids and mercurichrome.
It was. Stung like hell! My doctor would paint a little mouse or something similar on my arm before giving me a shot, but it never really relieved the pain of the shot. In fact, it made it sting more. Alas, they tried.
Hi Rebecca, I loved reading this story. Your Granny sounds wonderful and how fun at that age to go off on your own adventure to the store. What fun memories to write about.
I sometimes wish we lived closer to shops for my kiddos to get this independence. Instead, I drive them to the grocery and give them a list to gather items together. We go our separate ways and meet back up at the checkout. They are amazed to learn how much items cost.
Thank you, Rebecca, They love it! :) This is a win for me since before I had this idea they had no interest in coming to the grocery with me. WHOOHOO!!
"Anyone who nibbles noisy snacks or rustles any kind of paper or packaging within twenty yards of me these days drives me absolutely nuts." YES!!! I thought I was the only one! I loved this post so much, Rebecca. ❤️ Your descriptions of the shops and twisting the peanuts and leaving the adults for your adventure are some of the best I've ever read. You give Mr. Milne a run for his money, Pooh not far behind.
Awww, that means so much - thanks, Mary! And good to know that you’re just as sensitive to the sounds of crunching and rustling as I am - I’ve always said that we’re kindred spirits, haven’t I?!
What a wonderful grandmum to invent such a thing for her grandkids. Coins in purses!
And how exciting to walk to the shop on your own - the world was such a big place in those days, wasn't it? Our imaginations created vast spaces out of the smallest distances.
The illustrations are beautiful - soft and gentle and a complete contrast to the crisp crackle of a nut being unwrapped and devoured. Thanks, Rebecca.
She was brilliant, Prue - and SUCH a character - she’s the grandmother whose homemade mint and apple jelly had contained a perfectly-preserved earwig! Never a dull moment with Granny around!
It was soooo liberating - and terrifying, and exciting, and downright wonderful - to be allowed out to a shop on our own. We would absolutely relish the experience (and of course the peanuts!)!
What an entertaining post - loved and related to so much here! ('Dusty boxes of Angel Delite' - exactly lol!!) Your entire *experience* sounds delightful, such a truly wonderful, special Gran. I too recall The Corner Shop and the way they expertly twirled the bags after filling. (Pear drops were, and remain, my favs and now even available in the British shops here in darkest Canada!) No bag twirling though, alas. Thanks for this Rebecca, your detailed descriptions are always the best xo
"... what generosity in their gifts of both coppers and independence of the kind that was only available at Granny’s..." Wow! What a beautifully written piece, Rebecca. I would read an entire collection of your family memories. They represent a childhood I would love to have had. Thank you, as always, for the morning cheer you give me.
Oh Sharron, that’s so kind! Until I started writing I had no idea just how many stories like this there are to tell. I’m pretty sure there are more where this one came from…..! xxx
very interesting, from a sort of sociological point of view. I was given a LOT of freedom when I was young, which was no doubt partly because I'm male, but it was also a lot to do with the era. There were child molestors, of course, but also there was a much greater sense of community: if someone had looked like they were up to no good, they'd be questioned. I remember being allowed to take my sister to the park when I was 10 and she was 5. Not sure that would happen these days.
Thanks for mentioning my course, and for your kind words. However, any such attempt at ingratiating yourself with my teacher self is a waste of time. Only one thing cuts any ice with me: DO YER HOMEWORK!
Our freedom reins might have been longer had we lived in a different kind of location, but at home there was literally no way we could leave our garden safely, and nowhere to go that was within walking distance anyway, really. I loved visiting my friend who lived in a really ‘villagey’ village - a bit like the one I live in now - she could leave her house and walk all the way on pavements to the sweet shop or the recreation ground (they had SWINGS! And a ROUNDABOUT!) or the village hall or to friends’ houses - and everybody knew each other and looked out for each other. Those visits were great.
Well, you had me right at the start with the vintage egg beater / hand mixer. We had the same one in my childhood kitchen. I suspect my mother and your grandmother might have been similar ages -- what year was she born? And, like you, I remember the delight of being permitted to go to nearby stores with "my own" money. Such a right of passage.
Elizabeth, my heart is FULL now I've watched the video - thank you so very much! 'Shocking' peanuts is so interesting - it's very rare over here now that we see shocks of wheat - made up of sheaves of wheat stacked into shocks - for very many years now of course cereal crops have been harvested by combine harvesters. And we don't grow peanuts over here, which is a shame!
When Jim was shooting his book about meadows a couple of years ago it was wonderful to see so many hay meadows being cultivated using traditional means, with scything and tedding and winnowing. Absolutely fascinating - and beautiful.
Granny's egg beater was already a relic when my brother and I first came across it. And gosh, it was hard work! We had to take it in turns and would always want our turn to be over so that we could give our arms a rest! Granny was born in 1922 - so would be turning 103 this year if she were still with us! x
This was very nostalgic, and beautifully written...it was the hand cranked egg whisk for the Angel Delight that rang every bell. I can still hear the noise as it ricocheted around the mixing bowl!
Oh, thank you, Sarah! My brother and I would take it in turns to stand on a stool so that we could reach the mixing bowl on the kitchen worktop. The egg beater was pretty tired and rusty, and sooooo exhausting to keep turning! Good job there were two of us for the job.
That’s a very modern egg beater. I still have a much older one in my second drawer. It’s not perfect but it works well enough. And the joys of peanuts in the shell! Ah the memories. Your grandmother was so good to you both popping her change into those little purses. What treasure! A lovely read. Thanks so much.
Thank you Beth! I’m so glad you enjoyed this story of childhood. I wish that I’d been able to find a picture of a more authentic beater - Granny’s was a similar design, but not in the slightest bit shiny, and by golly it was hard work when we were little!
As we got older we’d help Granny with the roast. One of us would be in charge of the menu, which Granny would write on a piece of grey cardboard. On the left-hand side was a list of the items to be served - ‘Giant chicken’, ‘roast potatoes’, ‘gravy’ etc - and across the top were the initials of those who would be eating. It was my job - or my brother’s, depending on whose turn it was that day - to ask everybody in turn to tell us what they’d like on their plate from that list.
We never knew why the meat was called ‘giant chicken’. Turned out years later that Granny didn’t think we’d eat it if it was called ‘turkey’ (which I gather is what it was). In fact, we were the unfussiest eaters on the planet, so it wouldn’t have mattered a jot - I mean, I would even eat the sardine sandwiches she would sometimes give me for tea! 🤣
😃😃🤗🤗
Ditto! Delightful.
Ah, such memories! I remember vividly the ritual of opening peanuts at Christmas, along with cracking open Brazil nuts with a vice-like nutcracker. Also, having a threepenny bit to spend in the sweet shop! I could never decide between flying saucers or a sherbet dab! Happy days.
Two Christmases ago I was given a nutcracker of the type we had when I was a child, along with a bag of walnuts from the farm shop, harvested from a local plantation. Sadly the next harvest was obliterated by the squirrels, so no walnuts last Christmas. In fact, when I started writing this post it was all about nuts at Christmas - hazelnuts, Brazils, almonds (impossible to get into) and walnuts - including the walnuts which had been opened, their kernels removed and replaced with a Brussels sprout each, and glued back together - which had accompanied my nutcracker Christmas present. In the end it had been the peanuts at Granny’s whose story had demanded to be told! 🤣
I remember flying saucers! Really dry on the outside, like polystyrene, and then all that fizzy sherbet inside! 🤣
Love the Brussells sprout walnut trick. 🤣
It was hilarious - apparently the rest of the family had all been in on the joke! Half a dozen sprouts had been peeled down to a size that would fit into empty walnut shells, and the shells in which they were concealed had had to be opened very, very carefully so that they cracked only along the seams.... After that, it was a job for Superglue.
They were impressed when I actually ATE the sprouts I'd cracked into, too - I love a raw brassica! 🤣
🤣
Loved this post!
I thought “pebbledashed” was another of your clever made up names like “craftermath”, which I fondly use these days in making my own art.
Your story took me back to my own childhood. But we lived off a country road about three quarters of a mile from home by foot—or car for that matter—from the little penny candy and cigarette shop which also held a few small bird cages with tiny canaries in them.
My best friend and I would often be sent there by our moms to get their ciggs for them which at that time only cost a quarter. They’d also give us a nickel each to buy some two for 1c penny candy for our efforts. The shop keeper, an elderly man would give us each a small bag to put in our own candy.
We’d then run all the way back home before opening the bags and inspecting each piece of candy before popping it into our mouth.
Ah…
Thank you for this memory treat this morning. 🤗🫶🏼
Oh Gail, I love your story of buying candy from the local shop! I was always very envious of my best friend at school, who lived in the kind of village which had lots of shops and pavements to walk around, and everywhere interesting was a very close walk from home - friends' houses, the recreation ground, the Scout & Guide hut, the village hall and church, the sweet shop....!
When we were older (14, in my case, for the first time) we might sometimes go down that scary main road (60mph limit, all in a straight line so drivers went a little crazy) on our bikes to the farm shop (twice the distance than to the other shop) if Mum needed a pot of cream in strawberry season, for instance. I preferred the way there to the way back - to get home it was all uphill! 🤣
PS Pebbledashing is the kind of architectural feature which in my opinion belongs in the same place as stone cladding and crazy paving.......... ie somewhere preferably not visible from the street! It's a lovely word, though, I agree!
This was wonderful Rebecca! Such vivid details and such a sweet story. We had a candy shop for a time in my home village which was always treat to visit. But so many choices! And such vivd colours! Almost too overwhelming for my little brain.
I still to this day (and I confess even after lunch today!) eat peanuts from the shell. I love them to bits and part of the joy is having to crack open the shells to eat the roasted nutmeat within.
Thanks for the word treat to double my pleasure today!
Thanks, Sabrina! And oh, the decisions that had to be made at the sweet shop - I know exactly what you mean! Dad would take us to the newsagent with him once a week, every Sunday morning to buy the Sunday paper, and we were each allowed to choose some sweets for after lunch that day. My favourites were called ‘Pacers’ - they don’t make those any more, but they were spearmint-flavoured chewy white squares with green parallel stripes and looked like close cousins to ‘Opal Fruits’ (which have since been rebranded ‘Starburst’).
What an evocative post! We had a grocery store maybe a mile from my house, all along residential streets. We were allowed to walk there during the summer to get candy. Mostly I had a nickle or dime to buy one or two pieces. But there were a few candies which only cost a penny each, so it was possible to go for a greater number if you really wanted to. Once in a while my dad would give us a quarter, and we could splurge! It was fun although not good at all for our teeth—
Thanks, Kerry! And yeah.... we didn't really think about our teeth back then, though, did we?! Such reckless youth! 🤣
I love this memory. The independence, the coppers. Oh the joy of taking our "hard earned" pennies and whatever to the store for penny candy. A quarter (25 pennies) could buy enough to line clear up my arm to the elbow. An tiny paper sacks to hold the booty. And we could walk ANYWHERE in the neighborhood. I usually walked three blocks to school, or to the grocery on an errand for Mom. Free-range kids, we were. Thank you, Rebecca, for this trip to your Granny's village and its wonderful parade of shops. I can just see it.
Free range kids, indeed. Our parents didn't know where we were most of the time. It was normal for kids to be responsible for themselves - and their younger brothers...
And no matter what the neighborhood was like, kids lived in the streets and became toughened by sandbox politics and neighborhood Moms supplying bandaids and mercurichrome.
That’s it!
Ooooh, I've just looked up mercurochrome - gosh, nasty stuff, by the sound of it! 🫣
It was. Stung like hell! My doctor would paint a little mouse or something similar on my arm before giving me a shot, but it never really relieved the pain of the shot. In fact, it made it sting more. Alas, they tried.
Oh, what a lovely thought - to paint a little mouse on you both for distraction and pain-relief purposes! Shame it didn’t really work, though!
Hi Rebecca, I loved reading this story. Your Granny sounds wonderful and how fun at that age to go off on your own adventure to the store. What fun memories to write about.
I sometimes wish we lived closer to shops for my kiddos to get this independence. Instead, I drive them to the grocery and give them a list to gather items together. We go our separate ways and meet back up at the checkout. They are amazed to learn how much items cost.
Thanks again!
Thanks, Julie! And what a lovely thing to do with the kids - really exciting, and very good practice for independence!
Thank you, Rebecca, They love it! :) This is a win for me since before I had this idea they had no interest in coming to the grocery with me. WHOOHOO!!
That’s such good news! What a lovely experience all round!
"Anyone who nibbles noisy snacks or rustles any kind of paper or packaging within twenty yards of me these days drives me absolutely nuts." YES!!! I thought I was the only one! I loved this post so much, Rebecca. ❤️ Your descriptions of the shops and twisting the peanuts and leaving the adults for your adventure are some of the best I've ever read. You give Mr. Milne a run for his money, Pooh not far behind.
Awww, that means so much - thanks, Mary! And good to know that you’re just as sensitive to the sounds of crunching and rustling as I am - I’ve always said that we’re kindred spirits, haven’t I?!
Indeed!
What a wonderful grandmum to invent such a thing for her grandkids. Coins in purses!
And how exciting to walk to the shop on your own - the world was such a big place in those days, wasn't it? Our imaginations created vast spaces out of the smallest distances.
The illustrations are beautiful - soft and gentle and a complete contrast to the crisp crackle of a nut being unwrapped and devoured. Thanks, Rebecca.
She was brilliant, Prue - and SUCH a character - she’s the grandmother whose homemade mint and apple jelly had contained a perfectly-preserved earwig! Never a dull moment with Granny around!
It was soooo liberating - and terrifying, and exciting, and downright wonderful - to be allowed out to a shop on our own. We would absolutely relish the experience (and of course the peanuts!)!
What an entertaining post - loved and related to so much here! ('Dusty boxes of Angel Delite' - exactly lol!!) Your entire *experience* sounds delightful, such a truly wonderful, special Gran. I too recall The Corner Shop and the way they expertly twirled the bags after filling. (Pear drops were, and remain, my favs and now even available in the British shops here in darkest Canada!) No bag twirling though, alas. Thanks for this Rebecca, your detailed descriptions are always the best xo
YES! Bags with twirled edges - oh, yes, you’ve reminded me soooooo much - I’d completely forgotten those little twisted ‘ears’ of the paper bags!
I AM IN LOVE with this memory even more now, Sue - thank you sooo much! x ❤️
"... what generosity in their gifts of both coppers and independence of the kind that was only available at Granny’s..." Wow! What a beautifully written piece, Rebecca. I would read an entire collection of your family memories. They represent a childhood I would love to have had. Thank you, as always, for the morning cheer you give me.
Oh Sharron, that’s so kind! Until I started writing I had no idea just how many stories like this there are to tell. I’m pretty sure there are more where this one came from…..! xxx
I look forward to them!
very interesting, from a sort of sociological point of view. I was given a LOT of freedom when I was young, which was no doubt partly because I'm male, but it was also a lot to do with the era. There were child molestors, of course, but also there was a much greater sense of community: if someone had looked like they were up to no good, they'd be questioned. I remember being allowed to take my sister to the park when I was 10 and she was 5. Not sure that would happen these days.
Thanks for mentioning my course, and for your kind words. However, any such attempt at ingratiating yourself with my teacher self is a waste of time. Only one thing cuts any ice with me: DO YER HOMEWORK!
Our freedom reins might have been longer had we lived in a different kind of location, but at home there was literally no way we could leave our garden safely, and nowhere to go that was within walking distance anyway, really. I loved visiting my friend who lived in a really ‘villagey’ village - a bit like the one I live in now - she could leave her house and walk all the way on pavements to the sweet shop or the recreation ground (they had SWINGS! And a ROUNDABOUT!) or the village hall or to friends’ houses - and everybody knew each other and looked out for each other. Those visits were great.
😃
Well, you had me right at the start with the vintage egg beater / hand mixer. We had the same one in my childhood kitchen. I suspect my mother and your grandmother might have been similar ages -- what year was she born? And, like you, I remember the delight of being permitted to go to nearby stores with "my own" money. Such a right of passage.
Rebecca, if you'd like to add a whole new layer of appreciation for peanuts, spend 7 minutes on this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PLZOQPflsA
Regardless, thank you for these memories and for writing this lovely piece.
Elizabeth, my heart is FULL now I've watched the video - thank you so very much! 'Shocking' peanuts is so interesting - it's very rare over here now that we see shocks of wheat - made up of sheaves of wheat stacked into shocks - for very many years now of course cereal crops have been harvested by combine harvesters. And we don't grow peanuts over here, which is a shame!
When Jim was shooting his book about meadows a couple of years ago it was wonderful to see so many hay meadows being cultivated using traditional means, with scything and tedding and winnowing. Absolutely fascinating - and beautiful.
Granny's egg beater was already a relic when my brother and I first came across it. And gosh, it was hard work! We had to take it in turns and would always want our turn to be over so that we could give our arms a rest! Granny was born in 1922 - so would be turning 103 this year if she were still with us! x
My mom was born in 1927, so definitely in the same generation as your Granny, and I'm guessing the egg beaters shared a generational connection. :)