Polishing the step


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I always remember scrubbing the front step,infact we had two up to the front door,the first was was concrete and very well worn with a dip in the middle,we always kept the front of the house looking posh even if we were really skint,a bit of spit and polish cost nowt,except elbow grease

One of my old bosses used to quote the following from a former music hall comedian, Billy Bennett, who recited slightly (but only slightly) risque poetry :

"Three cheers for the postman, the jolly old postman,

With letters for Smith, Brown and Kelly -

A load in his sack, a hump in his back,

And a pain in his Marie-Corelli.

Now the soldier sees sights in the battle,

And the sailor sees sights in the depths -

But the postman sees sights in the morning

When a fat lady's scrubbing the steps..."

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I have to admit to still using Red Cardinal for the tiled floor in the porch. This gets done somewhat infrequently and I must have purchased this tin in the 90's! It's still useable!

Welcome to the Forum Sneintongal, whereabouts was your double doorstep in Sneinton?

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the front steps were nicely polished but do not know how they got worn down,as we never went through the front door,back door entry only,and the front room with the large dining table with the thick dark red cover on it and the aspidaestra,sitting in the middle in the big brown pot,thechina cabinet with all the ornaments and two fireside chairs,no central heating and the coal fire was lit only a few times each year,how come everything wasnt ruined through dampness

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:biggrin: I remember with love my great grandma's front room (parlour) on Leivers Street, Radford Woodhouse: in the front window behind the gloriously white lace curtains, was a small, walnut table with barley sugar legs, an aspidistra placed upon it; a brown leather sofa you could just flop on to, a few rugs and pride of place an upright piano.

We kids would be made to hang around for a short time in the parlour whilst grandma finished 'doing' for her mum and dad. I loved this privilege because I was allowed to practice on the piano. The first piece I mastered was:

'Oh can you wash your father's shirt'

Oh can you wash it clean

Oh can you wash your father's shirt

And hang it on the green?'

Well done me for remembering. :biggrin:

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A friend lived down off Colwick Road near the Ginger Tom, will put his name here in case anyone recognises (or Googles) it.

Johnny Batchelor or 'Johnny Batch' a thick set guy, sadly deceased many years.

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  • 4 years later...
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When I was a young lad from about eight years old it was  one of my jobs to clean the Metters Stove top once a week, with stove polish and lots of “elbow grease “ my Mother said .After I had finished the stove I would then clean the front and back wooden doorsteps with the same polish, but the steps needed lots of “extra elbow” grease because the shine had to be a real sparkle  ,so as not to leave a trace of thick black polish that could be walked in on to the linoleum floors.

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It wasn't uncommon to find children doing all manner of household chores years ago.  My one remaining aunt will be 90 next April. She often speaks about the chores she and her older sister, Mary, faced on Saturdays.  The Sparrows lived in Chapel Street, Beeston, in a sizeable 4 bedroomed house.  On Saturday mornings, it was divided into upstairs chores, which was Mary's domain and downstairs chores, which was Hilda's responsibility. While Mary stripped the beds and put on clean sheets, Hilda scrubbed front and back doorsteps, the kitchen floor, blackleaded the range, tackled the pile of dirty crockery and anything else that needed doing.

 

Their mother, Kate, let them get on with it, content to sit in her chair by the fire. Kate, my grandmother was a lazy cat, although no one who wasn't tired of living would have made that observation to her face.

 

Prior to starting her upstairs chores, Mary would have spent the morning delivering orders on foot for bread and home made salmon paste for the local bakery. After Hilda had finished her downstairs chores, she would put on her coat and go round to see Nellie Clarke, landlady of a local inn. Nellie would give Hilda a shopping list and Hilda would battle round Beeston, trying to find what Nellie wanted amid the rationing.

 

There was no payment for any of this and, knowing Kate, no thanks either!

 

Can't see today's youngsters complying with any of this, somehow.

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