A beacon in the gloom, warm golden light tumbling forth, warms the chill air as I approach.
Here is a treasure cave of wondrous things. No ‘sesame’ is needed to enter, just the click of a well-worn latch and a tinkling bell to announce the arrival of a weary traveller or hungry hunter. And within this cave of wonders sparkle Glacier fruits, bonbons, kopkops, sweets of myriad colours in gleaming jars to tempt the tastes of tots and teens. A wall of glamorous cellophane coloured cartons, richly named Regal, Mayfair and Marlborough promise cool satisfaction to discerning folk. Humbler fare takes my senses by the nose and draws me to bread rolls, baps and balm cakes, smells sweet and savoury in morning goods, fresh from the van.
These odours royally mix with coffee beans, freshly ground, and the tang of oranges, lemons and red green apples roughened by the earthy smell of King Edwards and unwashed carrots. A loaf of bread is needed. Folded into tissue it is thrust beneath one arm so that I may spend some of the change on ‘goodies’, choosing three pennyworths with care. Four Black Jacks, as many Fruit Salads to go into grubby pockets. A pennyworth of sherbet pips rattle into a cone of paper to clutch in one hand. Now off home for breakfast through the broadening day.
The memories flood my mind as that light flooded from Bessie's windows. Bessie Bevin, her hair scraped up and pinned, her face welcoming with a crooked smile. Ronnie, her husband, in a blue apron weighing sweets on shiny brass scales that plunk and clank as weights are added or subtracted until the delicate balance is achieved.
There was a car accident, just a bump really but Bessie spent a couple of days in hospital with an injured leg. And then suddenly, a thrombosis and Bessie was gone. The shop lights seemed dimmer then as Ronnie soldiered on alone. Nothing was the same.
In the end, of course, the shop went the same way as the old terraced houses, demolished to be replaced by new terraced houses that now, as I stand as once I stood on a street corner, seem shabbier than the old shop. My memories are brighter now than that warm golden light that tumbled forth, warming the chill air. That treasure cave of wondrous things is stuffed more full in my mind's eye than it ever could have been in the reality of long ago.
