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eeling that jack the ripper was hiding in lower binfield。 the crippen case—but that was years later； when i was almost grown up—upset her badly。 i can hear her voice now。 ‘gutting his poor wife up and burying her in the coal cellar！ the idea！ what i’d do to that man if i got hold of him！’ and curiously enough； when she thought of the dreadful wickedness of that little american doctor who dismembered his wife （and made a very neat job of it by taking all the bones out and chucking the head into the sea； if i remember rightly） the tears actually came into her eyes。
but what she mostly read on week…days was hilda’s home panion。 in those days it was part of the regular furnishing of any home like ours； and as a matter of fact it still exists； though it’s been a bit crowded out by the more streamlined women’s papers that have e up since the war。 i had a look at a copy only the other day。 it’s changed； but less than most things。 there are still the same enormous serial stories that go on for six months （and it all es right in the end with orange blossoms to follow）； and the same household hints； and the same ads for sewing…machines and remedies for bad legs。 it’s chiefly the print and the illustrations that have changed。 in those days the heroine had to look like an egg…timer and now she has to look like a cylinder。 mother was a slow reader and believed in getting her threepennyworth out of hilda’s home panion。 sitting in the old yellow armchair beside the hearth； with her feet on the iron fender and the little pot of strong tea stewing on the hob； she’d work her way steadily from cover to cover； right through the serial； the two short stories； the household hints； the ads for zam…buk； and the answers to correspondents。 hilda’s home panion generally lasted her the week out； and some weeks she didn’t even finish it。 sometimes the heat of the fire； or the buzzing of the bluebottles on summer afternoons； would send her off into a doze； and at about a quarter to sihe’d wake up with a tremendous start； glance at the clock on the mantelpiece； and then get into a stew because tea was going to be late。 but tea was never late。
in those days—till 1909； to be exact—father could still afford an errand boy； and he used to leave the shop to him and e in to tea with the backs of his hands all mealy。 then mother would stop cutting slices of bread for a moment and say； ‘if you’ll give us grace； father’； and father； while we all bent our heads on our chests； would mumble reverently； ‘fwat we bout to receive—lord make us truly thankful—amen。’ later on； when joe was a bit older； it would be ‘you give us grace today； joe’； and joe would pipe it out。 mother never said grace： it had to be someone of the male sex。
there were always bluebottles buzzing on summer afternoons。 ours wasn’t a sanitary house； precious few houses in lower binfield were。 i suppose the town must have contained five hundred houses and there certainly can’t have been more than ten with bathrooms or fifty with what we should now describe as a w。c。 in summer our backyard always smelt of dustbins。 and all houses had insects in them。 we had blackbeetles in the wainscoting and crickets somewhere behind the kitchen range； besides； of course； the meal… worms in the shop。 in those days even a house…proud woman like mother didn’t see anything to object to in blackbeetles。 they were as much a part of the kitchen as the dresser or the rolling…pin。 but there were insects and insects。 the houses in the bad street behind the brewery； where katie simmons lived； were overrun by bugs。 mother or any of the shopkeepers’ wives would have died of shame if they’d had bugs in the house。 in fact it was considered proper to say that you didn’t even know a bug by sight。
the great blue flies used to e sailing into the larder and sit longingly on the wire covers over the meat。 ‘drat the flies！’ people used to say； but the flies were an act of god and apart from meat…covers and fly…papers you couldn’t do much about them。 i said a little while back that the first thing i remember is the smell of sainfoin； but the smell of dustbins is also a pretty early memory。 when i think of mother’s kitchen； with the stone floor and the beetle…traps and the steel fender and the blackleaded range； i always seem to hear the bluebottles buzzing and smell the dustbin； and also old nailer； who carried a pretty powerful smell of dog。 and god knows there are worse smells and sounds。 which would you sooner listen to； a bluebottle or a bombing plane？
PART Ⅱ…3
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joe started going to walton grammar school two years before i did。 neither us went there till we were nine。 it meant a four…mile bike ride morning and evening； and mother was scared of allowing us among the traffic； which by that time included a very few motor… cars。
for several years we went to the dame…school kept by old mrs howlett。 most of the shopkeepers’ children went there； to save them from the shame and e…down of going to the board school； though everyone knew that mother howlett was an old imposter and worse than useless as a teacher。 she was over seventy； she was very deaf； she could hardly see through her spectacles； and all she owned in the way of equipment was a cane； a blackboard； a few dog… eared grammar books； and a couple of dozen smelly slates。 she could just manage the girls； but the boys simply laughed at her and played truant as often as they felt like it。 once there was a frightful scandal cause a boy put his hand up a girl’s dress； a thing i didn’t understand at the time。 mother howlett succeeded in hushing it up。 when you did something particularly bad her formula was ‘i’ll tell your father’； and on very rare occasions she did so。 but we were quite sharp enough to see that she daren’t do it too often； and even when she let out at you with the cane she was so old and clumsy that it was easy to dodge。
joe was only eight when he got in with a tough gang of boys who called themselves the black hand。 the leader was sid lovegrove； the saddler’s younger son； who was about thirteen； and there were two other shopkeepers’ sons； an errand boy from the brewery； and two farm lads who s