Back to Backs in Birmingham

It's drizzling with rain on a cold autumn night and you're snuggled warmly under layers of blankets, with a cold nose as there is no central heating. Finally, the urge to go to the toilet is overwhelming, so you are forced out of your nest, through the chilly house, out the back door and into the outhouse. Okay, so I could be describing my own youth, as until my teens we had an outside toilet (although thankfully fully plumbed and 3 strides from the back door), but in fact it is life in Birmingham, in the Back to Backs, and not in a 1930s bungalow in Australia, that I am describing. In the Backs to Backs, the outdoor toilet was merely a bucket, also used by about 60 other people, and at the end of the visit you would be going back to a bedroom that was inhabited by a large proportion of your family and a fair share of bed bugs. Thankfully, the outdoor plumbing, and lack of central heating (although in Australia, not as much of an issue), is where the similarities end, and I was ever so thankful of that when it is brought home to you the constant cooking and boiling of water, the exhaustion of the wash day, and the long hours of labour in your marriage bed. I enjoy a healthy dash of nostalgia, but realise that the women of my lifetime have it the best they have ever had it, with the vote, epidurals and washing machines.

The trip down memory lane started in a most evocative way - with a visit to a 1950s sweet shop. As we inhaled the sugary delights, it took us just seconds to choose the favourites which bought back the sticky and delightful nostalgia of our youth. For me the winner was popping candy, or Fizz Whizz, which crackles and bursts on the tongue, and is so addictive that I couldn't be satisfied until every last bit had been cherished on my way through the properties. 

 Our friends had thoughtfully booked our guided tour ahead, as this is the only way to see the houses. Our guide was really engaging, responding to our interest by lingering over the tour. The groups size was exactly right - we had the four of us, and four others - a grandmother, her daughter, and her two children of only about 3 and 5, who were incredibly polite, patient and well behaved. So it really is a place to visit for all ages and interests - even my Bygone Bloke, who has little interest in history before the turn of the last century, and no interest in domestic history (unlike my fascinated self), thoroughly enjoyed it.

The houses are known as 'Back to Backs' as they are houses built literally back-to-back around a communal courtyard - with the poshest houses facing the street. There are 3 homes in the courtyard which are renovated to capture the story of 3 families in periods from the 1840s through to the 1970s, as well as the shop and other treasures of George Saunder's tailoring collection. He can be thanked for the reason that the Back to Backs probably survived at all, as he used them as an over spill from his own workshop until their acquisition by the National Trust. If an afternoon visit doesn't seem enough, then you can also stay in the refurbished homes which face the street.



As we walked through the first property on the tour, we were invited to take a seat which immediately set a welcoming tone, as normally seats in historical buildings are sacred 'no no's'. Feeling at ease from the gesture, and sitting in the reconstructed spaces, made it possible to visualise the way of life at that time. I cosied up to the fire alight in the grate, with real candles flickering around me, admiring the lovely homely touches such as a rag rug, embroidered doily or patchwork quilt. It is particularly the later that had a further resonance for me- they are not the painstaking and elaborate constructions that many people make today, but the simple patching of real spare fabric which isn't always matching but creates a cosy and pleasing effect. They remind me of old Mrs Shaws quilts; a lady I remember breifly meeting when I was perhaps 6, who lived in an annexe of my grandfathers house, and who, when she passed away, willed my father several quilts and 2 blanket boxes which had travelled with her from the continent at some point. From then on one was used to store my mothers sewing, the other was used as my glory box, and the quilts were spread over the beds to be snuggled under for many a winter. I only wish I had one now as the weather starts to turn and the central heating remains off.



Libraries and Lambswool

Swept up in my own austerity drive as well as a memory of the pleasures of such visits in my childhood, I went into my local library recently and became a member. The local librarian was delighted to see a new face and add another number to help justify their existence, with less people joining since books were so much cheaper (2 for 1 offers abound) and many seem to be purchasing e-readers. Such technology is, in my opinion, dreadful - I despise reading a novel from a screen as I associate that with work. While anything which encourages people to read can only be a good thing, in my opinion there can be no replacement for the ability to flick back and forward between pages, savouring the weight of the book, and best of all, feeling a sense of pride as you pass the halfway mark of a thick classic. I do hope that paperbacks and libraries do not become a thing of the past, especially with the dread of cutbacks constantly over us at the moment.

I felt so good to be there that I wondered why it had taken me so long after moving to join this library. Such a wave of greed swept over me as I walked along each row and saw the masses of books and smelt the faint scent of other homes. Such treasures! An immediate sense of calm came over me and I stalked around with care, occassionally grabbing at my prey. Books that I'd never seen, books that tantalised and promised with their covers, books that were old friends, and books that I'd heard of but half forgotten. One of the later which I snatched from an end display was Susan Hills 'Howard's End is on the Landing', which I had read a review on a couple of months ago but to this point had failed to get hold of.

It was the first from the pile that I began to read as soon as I arrived at home, only to pause after several pages to grab a notebook. I needed to write down the names of authors which I'd not read but which I felt I needed to after Susan Hill's recommendation, or to put down the names of others I too felt the urge to re-read. It was also refreshing to read that Susan Hill had the same dread of e-readers that I have, and that she adored lighter fiction, such as PG Wodehouse, as well as the denser classics, such as Dickens. It is a shame that she dismisses all of the fiction of Australia and Canada - it is her personal taste, to be respected, but there is one book I would, if I met her, urge her to read. 'A Town Like Alice' by Neville Shute (who is, if it helped, British) was a book that I had avoided myself for many years, based on reading and heartily disliking his bleak 'On the Beach' while at school, as well as a misguided impression I had gained of the book. Where this had come from, or even what it was, I could not put my finger on, but I had zero interest in reading the novel, or anything else Shute had written. It was not until one month when no fewer than 6 women, from the ages of 14 to 60, had mentioned their love of the novel, and how it was, without exception, in all of their top 5 reads, that I was compelled to pick it up, and I am so glad I did. It is now in my top 5 as well.

Another treasure which I found in the library was one which I had never heard of before - 'Ginger Beer and Cherry Cake' by Jane Brockett. What I discovered in these pages was a fantastic journey which went through a range of the stories most of us remember from childhood, and found the recipes for the meals that had benn described, from Paddington Bear's marmalade elevenses to the feasts of the Famous Five. What actually excited me most was a recipe for Anne's Linament Layer Cake (minus the actual linament) from my favourite stories growing up about Anne of Green Gables. But the whole book is a pleasure, with recipes from the most simple treats, such as 'lashings of boiled eggs' to more complicated macaroons, which had inspired the author to write the book. What I love even more is that in Jane Brockett's introduction, she discusses how in children's stories the feasts are always well deserved after a day of physical activities and adventures, which I feel is an important consideration.

Within a week I was back at the library to get more books, inspired by the above, desperate to read more. My first choice this time had to be Enid Blyton, and I have been devouring 'Five Go Down to the Sea' today, filled with fantastic adventures, walking, swimming and cycling while staying at a farm in Cornwell, and, of course, truly magnificent high teas, such as the one they have on their first night with ham, salad with lashings of hard-boiled eggs, 'an enormous tureen of new potatoes, all gleaming with melted butter, scattered with parsley...homemade salad cream', cream cheese, fruit cake, drop scones and, finally, 'cherry tart made with our own cherries, and our own cream with it'. While Enid Blyton may seriously over use her exclamation marks, she could never overdo the fantastic descriptions of such simple homemade fair which is luxurius in abundance and, now, nostalgia.

It is just the weather to go for long autumn walks and then cosy on the couch, wrapped in a lambswool cover, and continue to read my way through my library allocation.