My Gran came to Coventry in 1915 from Swalcliffe, Oxfordshire to be a cook for a Spiritualist. She met my Gramp, a Coventry kid, and married in 1916. She would often say that everyone in her village had the same surname- Lines. I’m not sure now how good this was. My other grandmother came from Nelson, a town in one of the valleys in South Wales. My grandfather was from Rowley Regis in the Black Country. He had been a miner. I never knew them; they died before I was born. The two families wove together somehow. My maternal grandparents lived in Munitions Cottages just off Holbrook Lane. 

They had seven children and my grandmother was pregnant again when she died. She had been a Canary Girl, working in munitions with mustard gas, and it killed her in the end. Sadly then the family went into different children’s homes within the City council system as their father could not get over his grief. Boys to Hillcrest My mother to the girls home in Hill Street, and my Uncle Ray to the baby’s home. They were well fed and clothed in the homes and there was no abuse going on but they were not shown any affection.

 

My Gran was a really good cook and all-round person to be relied upon. There was always someone knocking the door for help. This might be to lay someone out, or to help at the birth of a baby. This was pre 1949 when Aneurin Bevan set up the Health Service. Doctors would not visit if you didn’t have the money, and people died. 

Gran had a country woman’s’ common sense and miles of superstitions. Putting shoes on the table? Nooo. passing on the stairs, forbidden. Common sense really. Two pouring from the same teapot meant a birth within a year. In the times before birth control very likely anyway. . Crossed knives on the table meant a death. She liked people and they liked her so her house in Meadow Rd always had someone in it. 

Want something sewn? She had the pins in her mouth ready. Need a few carrots from her allotment? Not a problem. Ailments were sorted out by herbal remedies or what seemed to be old wives tales. Sore throat? She had just the thing, a boiled onion slapped round your neck in a tea towel- never mind what anyone thought. There was Gentian Violet that stained your face purple if you had impetigo, and calamine lotion leaving white patches everywhere. And ‘don’t scratch’ if it got unbearable. I remember having warts and the doctor’s remedy of permanganate of potash didn’t work. Gran rubbed the warts with raw bacon, tied a piece of string round one of them. Untied it, and buried the piece of string in the garden with the bacon, and told me within six weeks the warts would all go. They did! Dad said it was because I was granny licked and believed everything she said. Maybe. 

As a community they jelled and could be relied on. People were considerate and there was not much money around so doing a favour would be repaid in kind somehow. Everyone knew each other and spotted if anything was untoward. So in times of trouble everyone was supported. Clothes were passed on and it didn’t matter. I remember her telling me if someone offered me something never to refuse. So I don’t! There was knitting and crocheting group held once a week in Grans’ and a good old gossip was had. Tealeaves were read then too. 

Julie and Michael lived further up Meadow Road. They were Ukrainian and both worked at Courtaulds Main Works with me. Julie never spoke but managed to convey how she was feeling. She was tiny and timid. I pointed to the number tattooed on her arm, and her eyes filled with tears. Michael explained that they had met in a prison camp, and at the end of the war they came here, classed as aliens. Julie had been sterilised in the camp, which devastated her life. As a couple they were friendly but guarded which was understandable. It was a condition of them being here that they had to take their passports yearly to the police station to be checked. This made Julie sad. Meadow Road with its caring spirit encompassed and understood their differences. This was caring in the community without any fuss. It was a great big melting pot with room for everyone.