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Page 18 of 19
Chapter 17
Before Central Heating - Sue's Story.
One Saturday evening in January I was fifteen years old and there was a dance in St. Mary's church hall, arranged by the social club. How strange now in my centrally heated home to think back on my preparations for that engagement. To leave the comfort of a blazing coal fire, the little black and white screen, Dixon of Dock Green, the only warm room in the house for an icy bathroom and bedroom. There I would shed woollen jersey and skirt and replace them with my best summer frock with a passing envious thought of the men more warmly clad in dark suits and even a v-necked jersey. Should I walk the two miles into town in my only pair of high-heeled shoes or carry them with me and walk in my school lace-ups. Arriving in company with youth club friends encountered on the way I would mount the stone steps to the tiny lobby and inspect my appearance in front of the chipped and spotted mirror. The hall, musty and decorated in once cream paint was heated by a single solid fuel stove and approximately sixty bodies. With a local band in action playing quicksteps, waltzes and the Gay Gordons, all were perspiring by suppertime. Tiny sandwiches - egg and cress, fish paste and sardine the most usual fare - with sausage rolls and little iced cakes laid out on white tablecloths. There was a choice of orange squash or coffee to go with the food. After the excitement of the last waltz and wondering who would pair off with whom we would troop out into the winter night. It was usual in that age of chivalry for a young man to walk home, not only with his own girl, but to see several of her friends to safety as well. When I arrived home my father was still up and wrapping rags around the bathroom pipes against that sudden drop in temperature that occurs in that bitter hour before dawn when life is at its lowest ebb. I crept into bed my feet reaching out for the hot water bottle my mother had placed there an hour before.
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