My Father's Life In Hay

Born at West house, Broad Street, Hay in December 1901 my father’s older sisters often told my sister Ann and I, that on the day he was born there was such a severe snow storm that the family were very worried that the local midwife would not be able to get to the house.

Broad Street, Hay at about the time father was born. West House is on the immediate left Father’s long life was not remarkable or unusual but he lived through a period that in social, economic and technological terms, more transformations occurred than any other previous period in history. When he was born, there was no electricity in Hay; there were no cars and no telephones. Within the wider world, aeroplanes had not flown, the internal combustion engine was in its infancy and the only forms of transport were the horse or the railway. All this changed beyond recognition by the time he passed away in 1995. During his long life he lived only in Hay. He didn’t go anywhere overseas and because he was a dedicated shopkeeper, never went away on holiday, certainly during the time he had his own business as a tobacconist and confectioner on The Pavement. When my sister and I were small, Mother took us on short breaks away but Dad never came. The business came first. The other great interest in his life was gardening, at which he excelled. Living and working at the shop meant we did not have any outdoor space so he rented, over the years, the biggest allotment patches he could find. The first one I remember was at the top of Belmont Road and covered almost the whole area where Carlesgate now stands. His later patch, which he had until he and Mother retired in 1973, was the garden at the rear of the council offices. Both these gardens were immaculate and much admired by all his friends and local people. The home grown vegetables he produced were superb and his dahlias were a sight to behold.

The Pugh family in 1895. This photograph was taken before Dad and his youngest sister Joyce were born. From left to right are Gertrude, Grandfather John Lewis Pugh, Edith stood at the back, Hilda in front, Grandmother Mary Jane and Thomas.

Dad or ‘Billy Pugh’ as he was known to everyone in Hay and district was born into a family with a father who believed in a strict Victorian upbringing. He was the youngest of 6 children, four girls and two boys. Discipline and respect were paramount in the home. When the two boys sat down to a meal they had to each undo their belts and no talking was allowed at the table. Disobedience usually resulted in “the strap”. Mum told me several times that my Grandfather had been “a very strict man”. Grandfather John Lewis Pugh was a shoemaker and repairer. He specialised in making the ladies high buttoned boots which were much in fashion in those days. I still have a pair of men’s’ boots that grandfather had made and several of his original tools. Father was just 19 when his father died. Thankfully, Dad turned out to be a placid and gentle man. His honesty and straightforwardness were acclaimed throughout the district. Religion also played a major part of life in the Pugh household. Father was a pupil at the National Church School in Brecon Road and was a choirboy at St. Mary’s Church where he had also been christened in 1902. I remember Dad telling me that for a time his father became interested in the preaching of Father Ignatius at Capel-y-ffin. This also demonstrated the walking abilities of the Victorians and their forebears. Grandfather would rise very early on a Sunday morning, walk over to Capel-y-ffin to attend the service and be back in time for dinner at midday. Father was 14 and approaching the end of his time at school, when his headmaster Harry Morris, who father always considered a “very nice man”, entered the classroom and in tears told the pupils that his only son, Lieutenant Geoffrey Morris had been killed on the Somme. Years later I realised that he had been killed exactly 20 years to the day before I was born. The Memorial Chapel in St. Mary’s was presented by Mr. Morris and his wife in memory of Geoffrey and subsequently the chapel commemorated all the lads from Hay who had given their lives in the Great War.

Harry Morris. Headmaster of Hay Church School

I remember Dad with tears in his eyes when we used to attend the annual Remembrance Day service together at Church. Many of these lads were his contemporaries. He was one of the few lucky ones. He was too young for the first war and failed his medical for the second. More details about this later. It was especially poignant, when in those days at the Remembrance Service; all the names of those who had lost their lives were read out to the congregation.

Upon leaving school his father had arranged with a Mr. Kedwards, who had a grocery shop in Broad Street, that father would work for him as an errand boy and apprentice in the grocery trade. According to Dad, he loathed the arrangement and disliked Mr. Kedwards instantly, who proved to be a bit of a tyrant. He soon left amidst much disagreement with his father. He was then persuaded to take up shoemaking with his father but this again didn’t work. Although during this period he did learn the rudiments of his father’s trade. At this time there was another grocer in Broad Street by the name of Hitchcox and a son of this family became a great boyhood friend. His name was Eric and one of their favourite games was to get hold of some empty tin cans from the grocery shop, tie string through pierced holes and walk on top of a can underneath each foot, held on by the string up and down Broad Street. Many accidents ensued from this pastime both to the boys and passers-by. They were performing this ‘trick’ in Broad Street one windy day when a slate blew off one of the roofs and landed on father’s head. Quite what happened afterwards I don’t know, but he had this deep scar at the top of his forehead for the remainder of his life.

Another favourite game was practised by the local lads at this time. This was carried out at the top end of The Pavement when there was a side door to the Chemist’s shop opposite the entrance to Roberts Williams Ltd. (“The Limited”). The side doorway at the chemist’s up three steps has now disappeared. At that time it was a convenient place to wreak havoc on the local passing gentry and other innocents. Two lads would station themselves either side of the top of The Pavement, one concealed within the chemist’s doorway and the other inside the main doorway to “The Limited”, obviously outside shop hours, wait for any gent passing by wearing a bowler hat, which was very common at the time, drop a length of cotton held between the two of them and whisk off the targeted bowler. This caused enormous consternation amongst the locals. The hilarity between the boys can only be imagined. The Crown Hotel was one of the two primary hotels in Hay for many years. Several times a day, during Dad’s schoolboy years, a brougham was despatched to Hay railway station to await the arrival of passengers Hitchcox’s who wished to stay at The Crown. A favourite game was to run after the in Broad Street carriage and jump on the rear to have a free ride. The driver a Mr. Probert employed by the hotel would eventually realise the lads were hanging on the back and having a long horse whip, at which he was very adept, flick it way back over the carriage and catch the ‘hangers on’ painful lashes down their necks and backs. The marks must have been obvious when arriving home when Grandfather would probably deliver further admonishment. A favourite pastime he used to relate, involved a gathering of local lads and lasses somewhere near Hay railway station, I was never sure where. There, a competition took place to see who could sing the whole of the National Anthem whilst holding a live wriggling piglet. One young lady invariably won the contest causing much chagrin amongst the boys. Father often spoke too of the great rivalry, which existed the, between the lads from Clyro and the ‘townies’ from Hay. The Clyro boys would stand Boys in Broad Street in 1911 gathered at the northern end of the old Hay Bridge and shout taunts at the Hay boys on the southern side in Bridge Street. Gradually the two ‘mobs’ would draw together and much fighting would take place until the local Hay and Clyro ‘Bobbies’ arrived on the scene and endeavour to break up these altercations, which on odd occasions developed into almost a riot. This was apparently quite a frequent occurrence. One accident, which befell him during his ‘teens’ could have proved very serious. It seems that Dad, Eric Evans, Eric’s brother Rex and Tom Price were all up on Hay Common with air rifles. They were shooting at each other with the air rifles. One had the rifle and his partner was holding a large tin sheet in front of him for protection. The other team of two had the same. Eric was holding the sheet for father’s protection when he was hit on the finger by a pellet from Rex. Eric dropped the sheet and Rex quickly reloading fired his rifle again hitting Dad right in the middle of his chest. All I remember is that father had this lead pellet in his chest for many years afterwards as they had been too afraid to admit what had happened. The strange thing is that it never seemed to cause him any problems and when visiting doctors throughout the years he was told that as long as it stayed

where it was, to leave it alone. I was at home years later and father must have been over 60 at the time, when he emerged from the bathroom one day exclaiming to Mother that the pellet had just dropped out from his chest into the sink and he produced it to show us. It really was amazing. To show how times have changed is illustrated by Dad often relating about the amount of drunkenness prevalent among the populace when he was young and at school. He told how often, when on his way to school from Broad Street to the school in Brecon Road, he would see many drunken men fast asleep or unconscious lying in the gutter early in the mornings. Also a few people were still not averse to emptying the chamber pots out of their upstairs windows out onto the street. Their houses were obviously to be avoided on the way to school.

Tom Pugh’s greengrocery shop in Lion Street,. Left to right are Uncle Tom, Tony, Auntie Dorothy (Tom’s wife), Auntie Hilda (sister) and Dad.

At this time his older brother Tom had married and opened a shop in Lion Street as a fruiterer and fishmonger. Tom persuaded Grandfather to let Dad come and work with him. Thus ensued twenty years where the two brothers worked together in great harmony. Dad always referred to his brother as “Our old Tom”. A great affection existed between the two.

Uncle Tom’s market garden, where he grew much of the stock for his shop, was situated just the other side of the bridge on the left hand side before the turn for Cusop. This was quite a substantial piece of ground where twice yearly it was hand dug by Tom and father ready for planting. Free range chickens were also accommodated at the end of the garden for a supply of fresh eggs and Dad spent many all night vigils with a small bore shotgun to despatch marauding foxes. These years also brought my mother Doris Williams into the picture. She was the youngest daughter of the Williams family of eight children from The Ship Inn, at the top of what we always called “Ship Pitch” (now Newport Street). The inn was demolished in 1978. I think they started courting when Mum who was two years younger, was about 17. Mother worked at “The Limited”, where her eldest brother Herbert eventually became the general manager. The courtship lasted for quite a few years. Mother was a Baptist and consequently father became a pseudo non-conformist during their courting years. His big pal was Eric Evans and much to mother’s annoyance and embarrassment, years later she found scratched into the wooden hymn shelf in front of one of the pews upstairs at the Baptist Chapel the words “Bill Pugh and Eric Evans sat here, bored to tears Easter Sunday 1921”.

Doris Pugh née Williams 1903 - 1975

Dad was persuaded by this friend Eric Evans, to join the local fire brigade. Eric’s father was the brigade’s chief officer. The very first fire they attended in about 1920 was at a shop on The Pavement, which was almost completely gutted. Being the novices, they were ordered to be the first two into the building. A confidence building exercise? Little was Dad to know that in years to come this would become his and mother’s place of business.

Many tales arose from his early days in Hay Brigade. Most seem to emulate shades of ‘Will Hay’. One very big fire occurred some distance from town at a fairly large farm complex. It seems the owner was renowned for his meanness and after several hours of very hard work by the brigade and the fire had still not been controlled. Chief Evans asked the farmer if he could supply some refreshment for his men. “Oh no”, was his reply “I can’t afford that sort of thing.” “Right boys”, said the fire chief “Turn the water off and roll up the hoses, we’re going home”. Refreshments soon appeared. At another farm fire, again outside Hay, two brigades were present, probably Hay and Talgarth. The brigades were there for several days. During the second night the men were allowed in turns, to have a sleep in one of the untouched barns. Father and his pal, Eric were the last to be allowed this privilege but deciding that the floor was too uncomfortable each found a cattle feeder mounted on the walls. These were quite common at the time and consisted of a large oval, cast iron, half cup shaped grated receptacle filled with hay or straw and the cattle would drag feed from the bottom. Dad and Eric awoke from a very deep sleep to find that they had become completely wedged into the bottom of the feeders. The animals had been into the barn early in the morning, eaten all the hay and the two lads had slowly sunk down into the feeders. It seems they had to be rescued by their colleagues amidst much hilarity. The horses which pulled the steam fire engine belonged to the Crown Hotel and were pastured at a field situated the other side of Hay Bridge. When a call came for the fire brigade these two black horses had to be caught and brought back into town to be harnessed to the engine. This caused many a delay to a “callout” as the horses, when anyone in uniform appeared at the gate of the field would bolt to the opposite side. The only solution seems to have been that someone in ‘civvies’ had to collect the horses. Fireman Bill Pugh in 1921

Eventually in the late 1920’s modernisation came to the Hay Fire service and they were issued with a farm tractor to pull the engine. This was, although new then, one without tyres and had massive iron wheels, designed for farm work but highly unsuitable for fire duties. The very first time they had a callout with the tractor, was on the road towards Capel-y-ffin in the Black Mountains. They had reached as far as the Gospel Pass when one of the wheels came off and it and its holding nut rolled down into a creek. Much time was spent hauling the wheel back up to the road but of the offending nut there was no sign. “Blower” Turner, who was a local plumber, after the wheel had been replaced, used one of the sledge hammers, which were always carried on board, riveted the end of the shaft over the wheel centre instead of a nut. That wheel didn’t come off again!! What happened at the scene of the fire, Dad Hay Fire Brigade in 1923 (Dad is the one without a cap). never disclosed.

During these years, Dad was working with his brother at the shop in Lion Street where he was learning the trade of a fishmonger. He eventually became very skilful at the preparation of fish for sale to the customers. The fresh fish were delivered to Hay railway station about three times a week very early in the mornings, direct from Swansea docks. Dad would collect them in a horse and cart, return to the shop where he and Uncle Tom would fillet and prepare them for sale. Apparently there were pounds and pounds of fish of all shapes and sizes, from haddock and mackerel to plaice and cod. Several days before Good Friday were spent engulfed in fish as almost every household in Hay ate fish on this holy day. To store the fish, Uncle Tom had bought a building in Brook Street, which contained an ‘ice well’. This building had always been known as “The Ice House” and still is by local people. Ice wells were devices for storing ice which was collected in winter from a nearby pond, lake or other frozen source. They were constructed either completely or partly underground and were lined with bricks as an egg-shaped or domed container. In order to stop the ice from melting for as long as possible (this could be for many months or even up to a year) they were made with cavity walls for maximum insulation. I Dad with “Bess” in 1921 remember Dad telling me that by the 1920’s the ice would be delivered by train along with the fish. Although the one in Brook Street has not been used for many years, the well still exists down in the building. Three days a week father would load up the cart with fish, harness the horse “Bess” very early in the morning and set off delivering and filleting en route, to Talgarth, Llyswen, Eardisley, Whitney and other surrounding villages. It was so cold on many winter mornings that he would get off the cart and run alongside the horse to keep warm. He obviously developed a great empathy with “Bess” as he often spoke of her with great affection. Many of his customers on these “rounds” became friends and he seems to have been supplied with tea and a warm at many of his ‘regulars’. He and Mum didn’t get married until 1934 which was quite late in their lives and was unusual in those days. I believe it was because they were both the youngest in their respective families and all their siblings had married and left home. They therefore had to stay to look after aging parents as long as they possibly could. They eventually married at Hay Baptist Chapel and this same year they started their own shop on The Pavement as confectioners and tobacconists. In the early days they didn’t confine their wares to just tobacco and sweets but sold some groceries as well. Twice a week they had a delivery of Palethorpes” sausages from Tipton, Staffs. These were delivered by Mr. Edgar Brooks who drove the three wheel railway delivery wagon. Everything seemed to come by rail then. The sausages came in a substantial cardboard box which was sealed with wire. We always seemed to have these boxes at home for storing things in. They lasted for years. My early Meccano bits were always kept in a “Palethorpes” box.

Mum and Dad’s wedding in 1934

Some of my early memories at the shop were of course during the second war. In the early days the shop always seemed to be filled with British soldiers as they were billeted at the closed Crown Hotel and in High Town where the post office is now. Some of them became great friends of the family and we kept in touch with many of them throughout the years. One in particular stands out in my memory. His name was Percy Trembeth from somewhere in South Wales. He and Dad became great friends until of course

he received his posting overseas. I still have a children’s book he gave me on my birthday in 1940. During the war Mum and Dad became concerned when his letters stopped and only having his service address, were unable to find out anything about him. Eventually, after the war, in about 1946, Percy appeared in the shop. Many tears and hugs ensued, especially from Mum. Percy was hardly recognisable; the whole of the right hand side of his face had disappeared. He had been left for dead on a battlefield in Italy when American medics were checking through the dead. One of them came across Percy lying face down, turned him over and realised he was still alive. He was rushed to an American first aid post and after many months in hospital was allowed home. He had lost all his left cheek bones and his eye and ear from that side of his face which had received the force of the blast. He was still a sick man and I believe Mum and Dad kept in touch for a few years but then Percy succumbed to his wounds and died quite a young man. Early in the war Dad volunteered for the National Fire Service. He had stopped being a fireman when he and Mum married. By this time Hay Fire Station was located in Castle Street, opposite The Blue Boar. This became a little too convenient for the men on duty at the station overnight, which had become a required wartime regulation. When the Chief wasn’t on duty the men used to draw straws to see who would sit by the telephone at the station in case there was a ‘callout’ whilst all the others went to The Blue Boar. Soon Chief Evans forbade any visits ‘across the road’. Several times Hay brigade were despatched to the outskirts of Swansea during the ‘blitz’ to be on standby and I remember Dad saying they could see the conflagrations in the centre of Swansea from their positions. He related how on one visit to Swansea they were assembled in a street ‘standing by’ and there were laid out the bodies of firemen who had been killed in the city. Hay, luckily, was not called upon to go into the city centre. One of these nights during the ‘blitz’ Dad was on duty at Hay Fire Station and was the night a lone German bomber decided to either shed the remainder of his load or, as more popularly believed locally, there was a light showing at “Moonlight’s” cottage up on the Black Mountain. Mother and I slept in the same room when Dad was on duty and this night, when the ‘crumps’ started, she flung herself and me under the bed. Dad arrived home very early the next morning and told Mum about the ‘raid’ on the mountain. He said he and his brother Tom were going to walk up there to see what had happened. It is all a bit hazy but I do remember what seemed most of the town of Hay trudging up Forest Road to see the spectacle. Uncle Tom found four fins which were the remainder of the incendiary bombs which had been dropped. It had been only incendiaries, nothing bigger was ever found. I still have these fins somewhere. If only I could find them. Hay National Fire Service Brigade in 1941. Outside the old fire station in Castle Street

Father had his call-up papers in early 1943 and he was to report to Cardiff for a medical. This caused great consternation at home as I was only small and my sister Ann had been born the year before. Mother had the prospect of looking after the shop, me and baby Ann. Father was by this time 42 years of age. On the train to Cardiff he met and had a long chat and pleasurable journey both to and from the medical with Tudor Watkins, who was later to become our

local Member of Parliament. Fortunately Dad failed his medical because he had suffered with severe psoriasis all his life. Whether Tudor Watkins passed or failed I cannot remember. So relief at home at this news and the shop was running smoothly again in spite of the ‘blackout’. In 1940 Dad had made an inner light proof cubicle just inside the door to the shop so that customers would not show any light when they entered. This of course also meant that the shop could stay open very late. I remember sitting at the bottom of the stairs which were just at the rear of the shop and listening to all the conversations that went on. It was, I’m sure as much a gossip shop, as a tobacconists and Mum and Dad often stayed open until 10 or eleven o’clock at night. Frequent visitors were people like ‘Sid New Buildings’ who seemed to be permanently chomping on chewing tobacco, mostly Franklyn’s Best. Another visitor was ‘Price the Lane’ who had fought in the Boar war and told some amazing stories of the conditions the men had to endure. Especially on board the ships which conveyed them to and home from South Africa. Matches were very scarce so Dad had Bert Breeze, the local gas manager and frequent customer, to install a small gas burner on one of the wall uprights, just inside the shop door. This obviously encouraged the customers to buy their Woodbines and tobacco to ‘light up’ in the shop, thus saving their precious match supplies. It was quite early in the war and Mr. Breeze, due to lack of the correct type of coal for gas production was often hard put to keep up the supply for the town, especially on Christmas mornings. One year Mum and Dad were presented with a beautiful goose for Christmas dinner by one of their farmer friends. Early that morning mother found that there was virtually no gas at all. Dad then remembered that his brother-in-law, Uncle Fred Watkins who had a baker’s shop in Lion Street had offered to cook any poultry on Christmas day in case of a gas shortage. Dad and I carried the bird over to Uncle’s bake house very early, only to find that we were not the only ones who had learned of this ‘service’, for which Uncle was charging top rates, of course. There was quite a queue. After depositing the birds and other joints, everyone was told to come back at about 1 o’clock, when they should all be ‘done nicely’. Arriving at the shop in Lion Street at about a quarter to one we found the bakery was closed and all these people waiting. Time passed until eventually Uncle and his brother, who was a partner in the business, emerged from The Black Lion rather the worse for wear. There was almost a riot as when the ovens were opened, every bird and joint was burned, virtually to a cinder. I will draw a veil over the subsequent proceedings, especially about hearing things that little boys in those days were never meant to hear. Then, the ‘Yanks’ arrived. They were stationed at The Moor, which was a large house and estate on the road to Clifford, but spent much of their free time in Hay. I do remember “got any gum chum” and how generous they were to us kids. Most of them were coloured and the majority were very polite especially to Mum and Dad in the shop. I went for fish and chips one night with father down to Martin Jones’s chip The Moor before World War II. It was demolished in 1953 shop in Broad Street (formerly The Tanner’s Arms) and one American asked for two ‘bobs’ worth of chips. I couldn’t believe the size of the bag and that one man was going to eat all those chips.

Dad was not a very big man and was usually quiet and placid. However, late one night, when the Americans were in Hay, he and Mum heard dreadful sobs and screams emanating from the passage which ran by the side of our building. Father opened the back door which led into the passageway and shouted in his deepest, most authoritative voice “What on earth is going on here?” then followed by “Clear off”. There followed sounds of someone running away down the passageway and grateful thanks from the young lady in distress. It turned out however, that the gentleman concerned had been a black American, about six feet six inches tall and four feet across. It’s fortunate it was in the blackout and he couldn’t see how big father was. An almost daily visitor to our home for many years was ‘Uncle Moggy’. He was the local Borough Surveyor. His name was Bill Morgans, he came from Merthyr Tydfil to Hay with his wife Edith, just before the war. He was an extremely knowledgeable man, he could draw brilliantly, he could play a jazz piano and I thought the world of him. He lived on Brecon Road and of course as he worked at Hay Council Offices by the Town Clock he came to us for a cup of tea and a sandwich at lunchtimes to save walking all the way home. My most vivid memories of this time were of him and Dad greeting each other every day with “Can I do you now, sir” and “TTFN or some other ‘ITMA’ popular sayings.

Uncle “Moggy”

During the war Dad also managed to buy the empty shop next door, the downstairs of which was being used as the local labour exchange. This meant that he would be getting a steady income from the building and would have the upstairs for storage and a workshop. He had always been clever with his hands and during the war became quite adept at using every spare piece of wood available and making something useful out of it. Dad was always singing, even around the house and had a lovely tenor voice. When he was younger he appeared with his brother Tom in several Gilbert and Sullivan operettas performed by a local ‘Glee’ party which had been started by the redoubtable Rees Harding, the local choirmaster at St. Mary’s Church. Uncle Tom had an even better tenor voice than Dad and where Dad was in the chorus; Uncle Tom always played one of the lead roles. His performance as ‘Nanki Poo’ was acclaimed all over the district. During the winter months of the war father would be up in his workshop next door. Eventually he and another old friend Tom Price from The Bear knocked a doorway through from our property to next door. Mum was now able to communicate with him much better and I was allowed to spend much time with him in the workshop. I always remember him singing, over and over again “The White Cliffs of Dover”. No wonder I still remember all the words. Before the war Mum and Dad had purchased a second hand, fairly large ice cream maker and storage machine. This proved to be a real money maker but entailed much hard work. Many times he would be working until after midnight to prepare ice cream ready for the next day, especially May Fair day. During the war he still managed to keep making ice cream although in very much reduced quantities as the milk powder was in very short supply and rationed. A calamity occurred one day towards the end of the war when one of the bearings in the ‘maker’ part of the machine disintegrated. This of course consisted of steel rings containing ball bearings. It was absolutely impossible to obtain a spare, so he and ‘Uncle Moggy’ designed one to be turned in a piece of oak. This took many hours on a primitive lathe he had in the workshop. It worked very well but for one mix only and then literally flew to bits. Ice cream making then ceased for a considerable time until a Canadian soldier who was stationed in or near Hay wrote to his parents who had an engineering factory ‘back home’ and believe it or not a new bearing arrived from Canada. How all this was achieved I shall never know. Shortages, continued however to curtail much further ice cream manufacture until the end of hostilities.

I had an uncle, Uncle Amos, one of Mum’s brothers, who had a public house in Cardiff and had come home for Granddad Williams’s funeral, so it must have been 1942. He was very involved in a charity for the aid of the widows of merchant seamen who had been lost during convoy duties. He asked Dad if he would make him some toys and models to raffle in aid of this charity. Father scrounged wood from everywhere. Uncle Tom was one marvellous source as he still had pre-war orange boxes in his warehouse. Dad turned out some beautiful models. One of a British submarine obtained, what seemed to be in those days, an enormous sum of money for the charity in Cardiff. He had a letter of thanks from the committee. I wish he had kept it. The only time I remember Dad being the ‘worse for wear’ was on VE night. The local young lads had pulled a flaming brazier on a truck through town and had parked it in front of the clock where there was an Uncle Amos enormous gathering of celebrating and inebriated townsfolk. I was eventually made to go to bed and I remember the shop was still open but Dad wasn’t there. Mother was not very happy having to look after the shop on her own with so many people about. I believe he told her he would ‘only be a few minutes’. I remember creeping down to the bottom of the stairs, anxious not to miss anything when Mum caught me there. She said “Come and look at your father, it’s really not good enough”. I was allowed to go out in front of the shop where she pointed out to me Dad, Uncle “Moggy” and Doctor Wilson, who was our local GP and then lived and had his surgery at what is now known as Tinto House, swaying with their arms across each other’s shoulders and singing at the top of their voices along with the rest of the populace of Hay. It turned out that Dr. Wilson had a ‘saved for the occasion’ bottle of whiskey and he, Dad and Uncle ‘Moggy’ had marked the occasion rather too well. I was soon despatched back to bed and never heard any more about the ‘celebration’. Rationing of sweets lasted long after the war and Mum and Dad were often quite pushed to obtain supplies. They were lucky as some old friends of Dad’s from before the war were the manufacturers of sweets and especially boiled sweets in Hereford. Their factory was in Bewell Street, where Tesco now stands. Dad would take me to Hereford on the train on a Tuesday afternoon to ‘Haines Bros.’ where they would always seem to find enough jars of sweets to keep the shop going. The last train for Hay always left around about five o’clock from platform five at Hereford station and many times we almost missed it through having to carry a load of full sweet jars. I was still in school at Brecon when Dad decided that he would make a Christmas ‘cavern’ at the back of the shop in front of the ice cream machine which was always stored away during the winter months. This cavern rose from floor to ceiling, made out of scrap wood, covered in papier maché and painted white. A dummy Father Christmas, borrowed from an aunt who had a dress shop next door (Nina Maddy’s mother, Aunty Effie), an awful soft head from somewhere given a cotton wool beard and dressed by Mum in a red cloak. A pair of Dad’s old Wellingtons protruded from under the cloak. In front Dad had made, again out of scrap wood, a chimney top with a bag down inside containing the “gifts” at 3p a time. The local children thought it was marvellous especially after all the austerity during the war years. So many locals of my age still talk about ‘Father Christmas’ at Billy Pugh’s. I rather spoiled it all one year when I was training to be a Radio Officer in London and came home just before Christmas on leave. Thinking I was now pretty smart at electronics I persuaded Mum and Dad to let me bury a small loudspeaker down in the front of the cloak and sit at the bottom of the stairs with a microphone to say to the children, in my best deep Father Christmas voice “Ho, Ho, Ho and how are you today” or some other nonsense. I spent ages getting this right but Dad wasn’t all that keen. On the Monday morning as the first little child came in with his or her parent, I waited until the little one was dipping down into ‘the chimney’ and said in a deep gruff voice my ‘spiel’. The child let out a howl of fear and ran out of

the shop crying with the parent running after. Dad said “take it all from here, that’s enough of that” plus some other choice comments. The experiment was never tried again. At the end of the 1950’s Dad was able to really to make ‘proper’ ice cream again and it was very popular in Hay together with Jack Bryne’s also ‘home made’ ice cream, in Bear Street, a friendly rivalry existed for many years over whose was the best.

Dad outside the shop in 1953

Dad always prepared an enormous amount on the night before May Fair Day because the number of people attending the fair in Hay in those days was tremendous and Dad’s (and Mr. Bryne’s) ice cream was very popular. The night before one May Fair day he had made the usual large amount only to find that when we arose the next morning it was snowing and it snowed all day. No one wanted ice cream of course. It was one of the few times I remember that father was really annoyed.

Around this time sweets came off rationing and a quantity became available again. Dad had the idea that to make them easier for customer’s choice, he would make a large tray running up the whole of the one side of the shop and divided into smaller trays where each selection of sweets would be openly on sale. This was eventually fitted at a low height so that children could select their particular favourites. An early form of ‘pick ‘n mix’. Unfortunately he forgot the light fingers of small boys (and some girls). These smart children would wait until Dad or Mum were behind the counter, which was the other side of the shop and serving perhaps several customers, then, with their backs to the tray, the children would literally ‘shovel’ large amounts of sweets into their pockets. Father soon noticed these discrepancies but wouldn’t admit that any children from Hay would do such a thing. Mum soon pointed out that it was too much of a temptation and also reminded him that he probably did the same thing when his was a little boy. The tray only lasted two days! Hay seemed to hold a carnival through the streets so often in those days after the war and Dad was always a keen participant. I have several faded photographs of him and Uncle Tom in fancy dress made for carnival parades during the 1920’s. In 1954 he and two friends, Uncle ‘Moggy’ and Owen (“Howie”) Jones from Cusop, Rita Like’s father, decided that they would make a large elephant out of wood covered with sacking. Dad and Uncle ‘Moggy’ were to be inside the elephant with trousers made to look like elephant legs. Father was to be in the front but unable to see so the Howie was to dress as an Indian ‘Mahout’ and lead them through the parade. Dad also had a bicycle pump ingeniously fed into the ‘trunk’ and could squirt water at people as they passed by, on instructions from the ‘Mahout’.

The “Elephant” entitled “Stafford Cripp’s Problem Child” All went well as they gathered at Hay railway station for the parade up through town but as they passed The Blue Boar on the way to Hay show field in Brecon Road, Dad and his ‘back legs’ found that they were on their own and not being directed. They had wandered into the crowds lining the route. Much to their consternation they had by now arrived as far as Swan Bank. The ‘Mahout’ was nowhere to be seen. It was a very hot day and Howie had decided to pop into the Blue Boar for a ‘quick one’. They did eventually win first prize.

Dad stayed in the fire brigade for some time after the war and one onerous task I knew he hated was

when the town reservoirs, which were situated up on Hay Common, became almost empty during the summer months. The fire brigade was given the task of pumping water from the Dulas Brook in Cusop up through the dingle, across the top of Forest Road, over two more fields and into the reservoirs. This usually took up to three or four days and the pumps had to be continually manned for 24 hours a day. It was a most boring task and I, when quite a small lad used to take flasks of tea up for father and his colleagues. Why did we always seem to have longer, hotter summers then? The time came when Dad became too old to be a fireman and amidst much relief from Mother had to hand his notice in. They both continued in the shop until in 1973 they at last decided to retire. Neither sister Ann nor I thought they could ever be persuaded to take this drastic step. A house they had fancied for years came up for sale and I was directed to go to the auction at The Crown Hotel to bid for the house. I bought it on their behalf. The house needed quite a few repairs and all the family and a lot of friends helped in the rewiring, plumbing and decorating for them to move in. It also had its own garden so father was able to give up his allotment at the Council Offices and turn his attention to the garden at Oxford Cottage. The shop was eventually sold and they moved into their own home where they were often visited by all their old friends and especially their grandchildren. This obviously lessened the wrench of leaving the shop after 40 years. The garden became a much admired part of Oxford Road and passers by would stop and admire the show of dahlias and profusion of colour.

Oxford Cottage Sadly, Mum had a very bad stroke and died in Hereford County Hospital in 1975 so they had such a short retirement time together. Dad was never the same again and I believe he wanted to follow her as soon as he could. However, he lived another 20 years on his own and looked after himself very well. He cleaned the house, did his own washing and cooking. My wife June or my sister Ann called every day and he would come to our home every week for Sunday lunch. I used to call for him in the car but if I was late he would start to cook his own lunch, he was so independent.

One Sunday I arrived outside Oxford Cottage to find anxious neighbours waiting for me as they hadn’t been able to raise father by knocking and banging on his door. He was usually up and about by 7 am. I let myself in amidst much trepidation to find him unconscious in the kitchen where he had apparently lain all night. He was rushed to hospital but never returned to Oxford Cottage. He died in Hereford Hospital on 8th July 1995.