|
 | |  | |
Memories of a childhood in wartime Leith. The trials and tribulations of the period, allied to the camaraderie of the community in facing up to an uncertain future made a lasting impression on John Stewart.
Despite the lack of space in the houses in the area, it was not uncommon for friends to be invited in to play in the evenings. One of the games we got up to was to challenge each other to see how much water we could drink. Dry bread could be eaten to assist.
We had a wide choice of cinemas in Leith, five in fact, and with the programmes changing twice a week there was no lack of features. We made full use of them but only matinees were open to unaccompanied children.
We got around this by standing outside the cinema and asking adults to pass us off as being with them. We did of course give them our admission money, a sixpenny piece. This would be taboo today asking strangers to do this.
The films shown in those days were mainly American productions. Often having sat through the programme, we would hide beneath the seats and wait for the house lights to dim and watch it all over again.
When we finally emerged from the cinema, we would relive the adventure all over again and make believe we were part of it.
Of all the cinemas in Leith, I think the State was our favourite. Being the nearest may have, in some part, been the reason for it. Regardless of what was being shown, Mondays and Thursdays were our 'State' evenings.
Smoking was part and parcel of an evening at the cinema then. In fact I think there were many who used the cover of the place for a covert cigarette.
The manager, a little man with a dark moustache and dressed in an evening suit, paraded up and down the aisles operating a large syringe spray dispersing a highly perfumed disinfectant. At least that was what we thought it was.
There were no in house sales of sweets or ice cream in those days; we had to take along our own that was saved from our rations.
Everybody was issued with sweet coupons, 'd's and 'e's, during the emergency, and how you used them was your own business.
The rations were worked out monthly, the ounce values of each lettered coupon varied according to the time of the year and the availability of stock as determined by the Ministry of Food. Christmas was invariably a period when the value increased.
Some blew their monthly quota in a short period while others made it last throughout the month. The general practice was for the coupons to be handed in to the local sweet shop and the proprietor would receive sufficient supplies to meet them.
In most cases locally, Mrs Wells would take them. Her shop was situated in Giles Street overlooking the Broad Pavement (Parliament Square).
Our elders would instruct her that on no account should she allow us to withdraw upon all our rations in one go. If the permitted allowance were 8 oz per month, then 2 oz per week would be our allotment. No cajoling or pleading could make her relent.
To compensate for the lack of sweets, it was not uncommon to suck upon an Oxo cube, a piece of liquorice root or a cinnamon stick. The latter we would sometimes light up and smoke it as a cigarette especially under the cover of darkness in the cinema.
As well as sweets, Mrs Wells's shop stocked a variety of other wares. She always had plenty of potatoes that were stored in a large wooden bin with a hole at the bottom from which she shovelled them out.
The most common amount asked for was a 'forpit', a fourth part of a stone (3 1/2 lbs). These would be weighed off and poured into our tattiebag (tattie is the Scottish word for potato).
John Stewart, 2001
| |  | |  |
To add a comment you must first login or join for free, up in the top left corner.
|
|
