Pies and Things Pending

    Following on from my sausage making activities I was given the chance of a trip to Redcar (a seaside town), to deliver Moles’ pork pies to a public house. This was about 6 miles away.  At first, when Jim asked me to go, I was rather taken aback at the thought of having to ride there on my butcher’s bicycle with about twenty four pork pies.  However, it transpired that Jim had no intention of letting me cycle there and gave me the bus fare for my journey.

     I agreed to take on this job but first I had to learn how to prepare the pies by filling them with gravy. This proved easy with Jim’s guidance - put a funnel in a prepared hole in the crust and pour the gravy through. I counted the pies and packed them in the huge basket. A diagram was given to me outlining my destination, cash given to me for my fare.  Don’t forget one for the errand boy Jim said with a grin and off I went.

     Two hours later, mission accomplished, I returned to the shop having ate my pork pie beside the sea!

     The sudden move again from the countryside back to the city from evacuation upset me. I did not know if I was coming or going. First we went to Reighton,Yorkshire, then Kirbymoorside,Yorkshire with an instruction to prepare ourselves for a translantic visit to Canada, which was, as far as we (Bessie and I ) knew was just a place on the other side of the world.  I, as the older of the two of us, did not understand what was going on.

     The rumours of war heightened and regularly the Air Raid sirens sounded daily to keep us on our toes as it were.

     The Air Raid shelters on the Market Place were finished on one side of the square and we were expected to go down there whenever the sirens let out their Scream around our house and in the local area. Believe me, it was a dull and dreary experience to be down there - lighting was at a minimum and seating consisted of wooden forms, certainly not comfortable. Toilet facilities were basic, just a little alcove with a curtain around, a bucket with a seat on the top, sanitation was minimal. Thinking back, it was not much better than the toilet facilities used in the house at Egerton in Nova Scotia, and the odour was just as bad.

     Dad had had a letter one day, about this time.  It was an instruction for Bessie and I to visit the local health centre for a physical examination.   There we were checked over from head to toe and pronounced fit.   Mam and Dad had to give their consent to us going to Canada with the evacuation scheme and duly put their names and signatures to an official document. It was not, apparently, a foregone conclusion that we would go but we were to be ready if consent came through from the authorities, so we all four of us returned home and continued to wait and wait. Mam started to sort out our clothes and Bessie and I prepared ourselves for our new adventure.   At least I did.  I was hoping to be a cowboy in Canada.  Those thoughts were far from reality!                              RONALD MIZON