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Do you remember this?

Wythall mid-20th century by Eileen Terry

"The Welfare"

Each Wednesday afternoon a steady procession of prams and push-chairs made its way towards Wythall Institute. There were not that many new babies in Wythall during the 50's. The new housing developments were not yet completed and young Mothers knew each other if not by name, by sight. "Going to the Welfare" was not only our duty but a social outing when we could exchange gossip, measure our child's development against the others, while waiting our turn for the weighing session. We sat on upright, hard wooden chairs, balancing our wriggling bundles while trying to undress them. No easy "Baby- Grows" in those days!

First, if a new-born baby, the shawl came off. This was usually of an intricate pattern with lots of holes for little fingers to get caught up in. Then the bonnet (the ribbons usually managed to get into a knot), followed by the pram coat with buttons to be unfastened. Leggings next, not the kind young girls wear to-day, but a sort of pull-on trouser with built in feet. Later as the baby grew and began to walk, the foot was replaced by a piece of elastic which went under the sole of the shoe. In wet weather this got muddy and made undressing even more unpleasant. If a very young baby, say three months or younger, a long Viyella nightie came next, followed by a vest. Otherwise a dress for a girl, a romper for a boy: again more buttons to be coped with. Modern Mums would have bought a Cherub vest with an up to date envelope neck, more traditional babies would be wearing a hand-knitted design with a cord through the neckhole which invariably got tangled. Last of all the nappy, Turkish towelling followed by the muslin nappy liner. All these clothes were dropped into an enamel bowl which was placed at the side of each chair. I can't remember what we did with the wet nappies because I don't think polythene bags were in use. Miss Pope or Miss Pike, the Health Visitors, relieved us of our baby which, if it was not already crying after being undressed by a mother who was feeling ill at ease, soon would be, when it was placed on to the cold, hard, tissue -paper lined scales. That ordeal over, we had the weight recorded on the card we had clutched in our hand. Then the whole process was repeated, this time in reverse.

We deserved our cup of tea served in the big hall by a cheery lady from the W.V.S. She admired each baby and gave biscuits to the little ones as they shuffled or crawled around the dusty, splinter-ridden floor. We were not so health and safety conscious in those days. But look at our babies now, they survived.....

Denis the Postman

He was always smiling or whistling as he cycled around the village delivering the post. He was a plump-figured man who looked almost top heavy for his old-fashioned bike. He showed great ingenuity and would go to some length to ensure your parcels were safely delivered. An acquaintance of mine was surprised to find a parcel deposited on her bath-room floor when she returned home one day. Not to be thwarted Denis had seen one open window. He tied the parcel to the end of a piece of string, somehow clambered up to the window by means of a flat roof and lowered the parcel down.

Church Garden Parties

Saint Mary's Church Garden Party was held in the vicarage garden, when the vicarage was still in Chapel Lane. There were all the usual side-shows and stalls dotted around the large well-trodden lawn. There was a fancy dress parade, strawberry cream teas and, horror of horrors, a Baby Show! The children who attended the Church School would sing, lined up on the French widow steps. A well used upright piano was wheeled out from the vicarage and Mrs Wright (Infants) played the accompaniment. Mrs Wheatley (Juniors) and the Head Mistress conducted, wearing a splendid Summer dress and silk elbow length gloves.

After the singing, the piano was trundled across the lawn to a far corner of the garden to await the onslaught of the young pianists in the talent competition. Most of them were taught by the same local piano teacher so the repertoire was similar and repetitive

But wait - there was an outsider! She went to a 'posh' private school in Edgbaston and had her piano lessons there. She oozed confidence as she sat there, resplend- ent in her Helen Parker best dress and shiny patent shoes. No well scuffed sandals and cotton dress for her. She started her piece, not from the Beginners' Book of Easy Pieces, but a Chopin etude.

Of course she won.

Cows

On our afternoon walk each day to the shops, and the station, to watch the trains steam in, we would often stop at Manor Farm. We bought cracked eggs for one and six a large tray from Mrs. Beckett at the kitchen door. The children were encouraged to help feed the calves, dipping their little fingers in the buckets of milk and squealing when they felt the rough tongues lick it off.

Each afternoon the cows were herded up Station Road after they had been milked. Householders lined up ready, for the cows were no respectors of their tidily kept gardens The farmer did his best to keep order, shouting and brandishing a large stick. The cows left a trail of deep hoof marks across the verges and lawns, at the same time manuring the drives for good measure.

One afternoon I had visitors for tea. We sat by the French window sipping tea and exchanging gossip. Suddenly there was a drumming of hooves, followed by shouting and yelling. Tea cups in hand we sat open-mouthed as the cows, having leaped over the front hedge, lumbered around the side of the house, passed in front of the window, crossed the lawn to the bottom of the garden and were away across the golf-course, the farmer in pursuit.

My visitors were astounded, but impressed by my calm demeanour. Perhaps I should have stood up, waved my arms like Betsy Trotwood, and shouted, "Cows, cows."

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