I am very happy to share again a post from Judith Barrow, a fellow Yorkshire lass. When I asked her if she would like to write a guest post, I didn’t expect so many familiar memories, a short story… and photographs of Yorkshire too!
Published by Honno, Judith’s books Changing Patterns, Pattern of Shadows and the newly released Living in the Shadows, trace the journey of a family, from a Lancashire POW camp through to the 1960s.
Judith’s books are not just love stories, they recreate an era in a vivid detail that many of us will recognise and show that although the decades slip by, many of the underlying social issues are still as present and relevant today as they were for our parents and grandparents.
As well as being an award winning poet, a writer of children’s stories and seeing her play staged at the Dylan Thomas Centre, Judith writes a blog where she gives much support to other writers.
I’ve never thought there was anything out of the ordinary about my childhood. Not for then, the late fifties, the early sixties. I was often alone; my father didn’t like me to bring friends home, so I wasn’t usually asked to go to play at anyone’s house either. And, I suppose, I was what was then known as a ‘latch key kid’; front door key attached to a piece of string around my neck.
I expect the things I took for granted, then, would be looked upon with dismay now. And probably not allowed.
My parents worked in the local cotton mill. I’ve frequently talked and written about the times I went to wait for Mum to finish work and how the scene there–and my discovery that the first German prisoner of war camp was a disused cotton mill–led to the first book of my trilogy. But I haven’t thought to share my childhood until Sue invited me to be part of her guest blogs.
I was six years old when my mother started work full time. Dad went out of the house at seven o’clock, Mum not until half past. I would walk with her until we came to the lane that led to the mill. We’d kiss and hug and she go to work and I’d carry on to school.
I actually loved being the only one there at that hour with the caretaker; she was a kind woman who always had a slice of toast from her breakfast to share. Can’t beat cold toast with loads of butter spread on it!
I’d help her to clean the teachers’ desks and I’ve loved the smell of lavender polish ever since. But I wasn’t a Miss Goody-Two Shoes. I hated the Headmaster, Mr Clayton, with all the hate a child can muster for bullies. He gloried in terrifying and humiliating the children with words and the cane. So, in his office, when the caretaker wasn’t there, I’d polish the wooden chair he sat on as hard as I could, reasoning that he might slip off it and hurt himself so he wouldn’t be able to come to school. See? Not that innocent.
After school there were two hours when I was on my own. I’d make myself useful: washing dishes, dusting. I even learned how to use the washing machine with a paddle in the middle of the tub that sloshed the water about and had the rubber rollers that squeezed all the water out of the clothes.
Setting the fire in winter was my favourite chore. I’d carry the ashes from the previous fire to the dustbin outside. I was proud that I could roll the newspaper to tie into triangles before laying it on top of a few old cinders, and in the way I carefully placed the sticks of wood and small lumps of coal on top. I knew how to strike the match, holding it away from me, as Mum had shown, before lighting the paper.
Sounds like slave labour? It wasn’t; this was 1959, when children grew up quicker, and in a different way, than they do today. I can hear many mutters of ‘thank goodness’ as this is read. But I thought nothing of it; I was free to do these things just as I liked. I was free from adults.
And it was the freedom I loved.
We lived in a village on the edge of the Pennines. All around there were places to explore. When I was ten I was given a dog for my birthday. Rusty was a ‘Heinz fifty-seven, a corgi on long legs. I adored her, she was mine, and I was hers. We roamed the hills, the lanes, the fields around us for hours at weekends and in the school holidays. We paddled and splashed in the streams, picked blackberries (well I did while she sat and watched with suspicion, keeping well away from the prickly branches), had picnics of jam butties and lemonade (Rusty always had a bone from the butchers that we’d collected on the way through the village). We were free.
Sorry, this turned into a bit of a ramble. When I started to write the post it was with the purpose of telling how all the things from my childhood was fodder for my books. And, in the first two of them, Pattern of Shadows and Changing Patterns, I have used a lot of my memories to give them a setting, a sense of place, of the times.
But I don’t want to include an extract of those here. Nor of the last book of the trilogy, 
Living in the Shadows, which came out recently and is the story of how the next generation has to live with the consequences of the actions of the characters in the first two novels.
No, this is a short story, written a while ago and still in a drawer.
I called it, Stitched Up…..
We collide in horrified silence at the back door; the grey slush of the streets dripping from the Wellington boots that we each hold. The puppy, startled, sits with a piece of cloth hanging from her mouth. My sister turns to me, eyes wide.
‘Dad’s cap!’
Pleased to see us, the dog squirms in excitement across the kitchen, leaving a trail of urine over the newspapers and pieces of material on the floor.
‘Get that cloth off her,’ I tell Jenny.
She chases the dog, giggling nervously.
Scrabbling on hands and knees I pick up pieces of the cap’s lining; nylon, cotton padding, stiffening. I’m relieved when I find the sturdy outside of the tweed cap intact under the kitchen table. I hurry to get Mum’s sewing box from the sideboard and begin the jigsaw of torn pieces, carefully fitting together each layer.
When she comes back Jenny watches, adenoidal breathing shallow; near panic. ‘The dog’s going to get it.’
The cap is new, bought as a joint present for our father’s birthday between us and Mum. The weekly penny ‘spends’ carefully dropped into the jam jar.
Now the cap is wet, its insides chewed and frayed.
I’m okay at sewing; I’ve been making clothes for our dolls, for years. But, matching the frayed edges of each part of the lining, I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering if I can do this. Tiny stitches, tiny stitches, I think. Only the sound of my sister’s breathing and the whisper of metal on metal, as the thimble forces the needle through the thickness of cloth, is heard throughout the hour of my silent sewing.
The grating of the key in the door signals Mum’s homecoming from work.
She can see what’s happened.
I know the fear inside her; another row, another fight. This week the atmosphere between our parents inside our home is the equivalent of the harsh winter outside where snowdrifts level out the rolling moors. The hordes of sheep, brought down into the fields from the moors huddle together for safety and comfort, just as we snuggle up to Mum in her bed, knees close to our chests, nighties wrapped around our feet; avoiding the icy outer regions of the sheets. Dad’s sleeping on the settee in the living room.
Yet now Mum only says, ‘I’ll leave it with you then, love. Just do your best.’ And quickly gathers up the soiled newspaper to crumple it into the living room fireplace. Out of the corner of my eye I see her making the fire, lighting it, balancing the metal blower on the hearth to create a draught; to get the flames going.
She washes her hands, says the water is cold and there’s no time for the fire to heat the back boiler. Dad likes his bath as soon as he comes in so she runs upstairs to switch on the immersion heater; a necessary extravagance.
My sister sets the table with knives and forks, salt and vinegar. It’s Friday, so we’re having fish bits and chips.
In the centre of all this activity, I fold and sew, suck at the blood where the needle has stabbed my finger. The clock on the mantelpiece in the living room marks each passing minute with a loud clunk, each fifteen with a metallic thud. Thirty minutes before Dad arrives. If I can get the lining right I can sew it back into the cap.
Mum and Jenny now watch as I pull each stitch tight.
The puppy lies in her wooden box, ignored, oblivious to her potential fate.
Footsteps crunch on the path outside. Without a final check I hastily hang the cap on one of the hooks behind the kitchen door.
We’re taken by surprise; Dad’s in a good mood. And in a hurry. He throws down his canvas lunch bag onto a chair. He speaks for the first time in days, saying he needs a couple of pounds; he’s heard of a pair of breeding canaries, ‘going for a song.’
His anticipation of a laugh for the joke he’s obviously practiced on his walk home from work is disappointed. We grin faintly.
Mum says, ‘Tea’s brewed.’
We watch him. Tension tiptoes around the room.
‘What wrong with you two?’
’Nothing, Dad’
‘I‘ll go and pick the canaries up before someone else gets them. I’ll have my bath when I get back.’
He takes off his old working cap, dark and greasy, and reaches for his new one. I stop breathing. The icy cold in my belly makes me want to go to the lavatory.
A moment’s hesitation as my father fingers the material, adjusts the peak, stoops in front of the mirror on the kitchen wall. Then quickly, and with satisfaction, pulls the cap jauntily down over one eye.
‘Back soon,’ he says.
He never discovered that he and his cap had been well and truly stitched up.
*
Judith Barrow is the author of Pattern of Shadows, Changing Patterns and Living in the Shadows, all published by Honno. She’s had various stories published in Honno anthologies. She is also an Indie author having written Silent Trauma, a novel of fiction built on fact about women being given the drug Diethylstibestrol when pregnant. Originally from Saddleworth, Yorkshire, Judith moved with her family to Pembrokeshire, Wales in 1978. She has an MA in Creative Writing, B.A. (Hons.) in Literature, and a Diploma in Drama and Script Writing and works as a tutor of creative writing for Life-long Learning Pembrokeshire.
For more about Judith visit: http://www.judithbarrow.co.uk email judithbarrow77@gmail.com
Changing Patterns
Living in the Shadows
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
A fine, well-written and enjoyable post. Thank you (both).
I loved the bit about Judith polishing the headmaster’s chair in the hope that he might slip off and hurt himself. Real Roald Dahl that! So I’ve just added to my must read list. Do I feel a TV series.?
Does Judith have a set writing routine/weird rituals/place to write ?
All the best
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I’ll let Judith andswer those, Kris 🙂
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Hi Chris, thank you for your kind comments and that I’m now on your TBR list! Oh, a TV series – that would be my dream. The headmaster used to line all the ‘miscreants’ of the week (I was usually one – for talking in class – not a lot changed really) in front of his class, the eleven year olds, and make fun of us before we got the cane. He used to say I’d come to nothing – gives kids a pretty poor opinion of themselves. Mum would say, ”you show him you can pull yourself up by your bootstraps.’ Never sure what that meant at the time!
My routine? Well, I’ve always got up around half five in the morning, so it’s a nettle tea and down to writing.I make myself wait until at least seven before I go onto social media because, once I start reading messages/blogs/ post I’m hopeless; i can be on an hour. If it’s a day when I’m taking a class or a workshop, I don’t write again until evening. If it’s a day at home I write again then until the shout of domestic trivia gets too loud to ignore. I’m not a good sleeper so I have been known to write all night if I’m on a roll. (good thing I have a patient husband!). Place I write? I’ve been lucky enough to have a room we made into a study. The window looks across to Saundersfoot in the distance (we live in Pembrokeshire) and overt a couple of gardens to the village where I’m guilty of people watching. Have you ever studied the different ways people walk? Fascinating! Thanks again for dropping by.
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Reblogged this on Barrow Blogs: and commented:
Many thanks to Sue for inviting me to be on the Daily Echo today
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It has been a pleasure, Judith 🙂
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A lovely piece ladies.
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Thank you Rosie. Jx
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Thanks, Rosie 🙂
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Reblogged this on Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life and commented:
Lovely to see Judith Barrow in the spotlight over with another friend Sue Vincent. Not only is Judith talking about her books and early childhood in Yorkshire but has a terrific short story to share.. #puppies and their mischief.
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Sally, you’re a great mate! Thank you. Jx
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Fabulous post about Judith and great story. Thanks Sue and Judith!
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And thank you Olga, what a lovely few days I’m having , thanks to two fabulously generous bloggers. I can’t tell you how much all this has done for me. Sometimes I can’t believe I’ve actually been published; it was a life-long dream. As my mother said, when my first book came out, ‘well it took you long enough’ And it did! Thanks again
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Thanks, Olga…. Judith is a great guest, isn’t she? 🙂
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Reblogged this on Anita & Jaye Dawes.
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Thank you so much.
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lovely short story, but I want to read more about this family!
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Truth? It was a real story – it happened. It is an updated part of a set of stories about my childhood that I wrote years ago that actually turned into a book. I left this story out, turned it into fiction – and then put it in a file where it’s been ever since. Thanks again.
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I’m glad you dusted it off for us, Judith 🙂
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Reblogged this on William Chasterson.
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Thank you so much, William; it’s much appreciated
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What a wonderful post. I only recently started following Judith’s blog so this has been an excellent opportunity to learn more about her. I must add her books to the tbr pile now.
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Thanks, Mary.. it has been lovelyhaving Judith over.. and another Yorkshire lass as well 🙂
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Well, don’t hold it against me, I lived in Lancashire for ten years – but my best friend is from Yorkshire.
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So are both my fellow directors in the Silent Eye… Not all is perfect in this world 😉
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Manchester moved the borders once, which meant Saddleworth was in Lancashire for a few years. there was such uproar – and a Save Saddleworth’ champaign so vociferous they moved us back (actually I think my mother was giving them such earache they were glad to get rid of her!)
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To be honest, I think the best solution would be to move the Scottish border further south to encompass Lancashire and Yorkshire. I’m sure you fit better with us up here than with the deep south! And, Sue, we have lots of standing stones!
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Mary, we are far closer to Scotland in every way… I’m inclined to agree. Or we could just bring Scotland… with all her stones… into Yorkshire 😉
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There’s a radical thought! It could work – with Wales – as long as we can ditch Westminster.
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If we could ditch Westminster, we probably wouldn’t worry about boundaries at all 😉
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Yes, let’s just all join up – moors, standing stones and all. I’ll bring Wales with me!
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That’ll do nicely 🙂
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I wish they’d leave well alone… what was wrong with the Ridings? Worked perfectly well for centuries…
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Oh yes, I did like being part of the Ridings. Gave such a feeling of the history of everywhere.
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I ‘still’ come from the West Riding, and no ruddy parliamentary paper-pusher is ever going to alter that.
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Thank you,Mary, I’m so thrilled to be here and to have all these lovely comments. Do hope you manage to get through your TBR list my books eventually.
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Marvellous to read about your childhood, Judith, and I loved the story. But I can’t get over how you’re the only person I’ve ever come across who adores cold toast with lashings of butter – it’s the only way to eat toast!
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I share that taste too … and so, oddly enough, does Stuart, my writing partner. 🙂
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How odd! Music to my ears!
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I only like cold scones too for that reason… the butter 🙂
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Ah, now there we differ as I like them warm. However, hot cross buns cold with mountains of butter and you’re talking!
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Oh give over 😀 … I’m supposed to be on a diet 😉
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Aren’t we all? All the time.
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Not if I can help it 🙂
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yep!!
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Ah scones … and bara brith … current bread ….ever tried it on …
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Well, that’s four of us!
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🙂 Nice and balanced then 😉
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Thank you so much. My family think I’m mad to eat cold toast – I think they’re mad not to like cold toast. perhaps we should all start a club … hmmm … what would be the acronym?
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Thanks so much for this lovely post Sue and Judith. I loved hearing about Judith’s childhood, and how she loved having so much freedom to run with Rusty. That story ‘Stitched Up’ was brilliant. There was so much to be learned reading between the lines as well and you could almost taste the tension when the dad walked in. 🙂
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I recognise so much in that childhood. Thanks, Judy.
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It seems that you both had a pretty tough childhood, but also a lot of freedom. It must have been lonely at times,
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I don’t think I was ever lonely… there were always books 🙂
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Well yes, they can transport you anywhere and totally immerse you. 🙂
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And they did 🙂
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Books were the only escape in the house. Mum and I went to the library on Saturday mornings where i was allowed six books – all read by Monday.
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You and me both… and we had all the books I could read at home too.
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Thank you for this lovely day I’ve just had, Sue
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Thank you for being here today, Judith.
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Thanks Edwina, it was a true story The ending was different though – at a family gathering I actually did tell my father about the cap once I was safely married.
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Ha! I don’t blame you for waiting until then 🙂
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There was a smugness inside I must admit.
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I’m not surprised 🙂
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What a delightful story of Judith’s childhood. The fiction short was fabulous. I was sitting on the edge of my chair as she hurried to finish the hat.
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Lovely, wasn’t it? I’m so glad Judith agreed to come over 🙂
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Thank you so much. I really enjoyed my guest day at Sue’s – she was a brilliant hostess.
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Reblogged this on oshriradhekrishnabole.
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Many thanks – much appreciated.
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I’d saved this post to read when I had plenty of time to read it, and I’m so glad I did. Wonderful memories Judith. I would have loved to have met Rusty and am trying to imagine what she looked like (a corgi on long legs). People often think that Toby (my Cardigan Corgi) has too shorter legs for his size, but of course he is built that way to herd cattle.
Thank you Sue, for allowing Judith to write a guest post. It was a delight to read.
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She was a pleasure to have as a guest, Hugh. When are you going to come over and guest here 😉
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Thank you, Hugh, for your kind remarks.Rusty lived until she was fifteen, I missed her for years afterwards. And she did look like a corgi, same colour, except she had longer legs – which was a good job seeing as we walked miles! I’ve been so grateful to Sue for letting me write a guest post; I’m a great admirer of her writing. Look forward to yours.
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Hugh hasn’t agreed to it yet, Judith 😉 I have my fingers crossed though 🙂
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Oh, jumped the gun there, sorry, Sue .Still a little encouragement … Such fun!!
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Let’s encourage away 😉
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You can uncross them now 🙂
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Wow, such a great age for a dog. Do you have photos of her? I’d love to see her and hear more about her.
Yes, I’m looking forward to meeting Sue at the Bloggers Bash on Saturday (when she may change her mind about letting me write a guest post – lol). 🙂
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HI High, I do have photos of her somewhere (black & white, of course)She was a great little dog. I would have loved to make the Bloggers Bash. but will be travelling to see my mum. I really enjoyed my day with Sue and sure you will as well. J x
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What? Me? Do you know what you are letting yourself in for? 🙂
My word, Sue, I’d be delighted to (if you’ll still have me after meeting me on Saturday!)
May be a few weeks before I can put something together, but I’d be delighted to talk to you about it.
Thank you so much.
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Hooray! And envying you’re get-together. Hope you all a have a great time. J x
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Wish you could join us for the day, Judith 🙂
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Would have loved to, Sue but I’ll be with Mum. Jx
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Then I shall raise a glass in your honour, Judith x
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Email is under the ‘contact’ button, Hugh 🙂 I’d love to have you over 🙂
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I enjoyed reading that again. Thanks so much to you both 🙂
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Thanks, Judy. Judith is such a good writer 🙂
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Sue, thank you so much – this has given me such a boost! And thank you for your lovely comment.Jx
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My pleasure, Judith. And I meant it 🙂 x
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I’ve not been around for a few days, Judy. It was such a lovely surprise to find this here again. Thank you for dropping by.Jx
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I enjoyed my visit 🙂
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Pingback: Replay – Guest author, Judith Barrow – memories, a short story and a new book! | Barrow Blogs:
🙂
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Excellent story – so glad the puppy was spared! I’m going to download Pattern of Shadows to read over Christmas.
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Oh that’s lovely of you Annabelle – thank you so much.Jx
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I enjoyed re-reading this wonderful post. Since I read it first time I’ve read Judith’s trilogy which is wonderful. I hadn’t clicked that she had another novel, Silenmt Trauma – will add it to the wish list.
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You’re up next, Mary 🙂
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I remembered the story and loved Judith’s account of her childhood. Thanks!
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I wanted to post it again… I was in those hills last weekend 🙂
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Reblogged this on TheKingsKidChronicles and commented:
This was a fun guest post to read. Judith Barrow knows how to weave a tale and keeep you interested. Re-blogged from https://scvincent.com. It was posted 2015/12/10
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Thank you 🙂
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You had a trying childhood which gave you wonderful memories that helped you create your fabulous stories. I love the short story, Judith. I just downloaded your first book Patterns and look forward to reading it. It may be a while before I get to it though with my bulging TBR list. Thanks for sharing your childhood memories with us. They make us who we are. 🤗 ♥️
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