A visit to Thiepval (1 - Norman Hiley)

The Thiepval Memorial to the Missing of the Somme battlefields, near Albert in northern France, bears the names of 72,194 officers and men of the United Kingdom and South African forces.

Four of these men had the Hiley or Highley surname. Today's post features Norman Hiley.

Thomas Norman Hiley, born in 1889, was from Shipley near Bradford in Yorkshire. He was the youngest of the 7 children of Joseph and Sophia who survived, 4 having died young. In 1911 Norman was a Warehouseman.

Norman was a Sergeant in the East Yorkshire Regiment 7th Battalion. The Battalion was part of the 17th (Northern) Division. The Division’s first major engagement was in July 1916, when it fought in the battles of Albert and Delville Wood, both part of the larger Battle of the Somme. Norman was killed in action on the first day of this battle, 1st July 1916.

The life of Henry Hiley Part 4 - the Pie Shop

In today's post Henry talks about the making of pies at 72 Victoria Street. 

I remember, I suppose what had been the sitting-room of a terraced house had been turned into a shop and on the big front window was painted in green paint on the glass ‘Hiley’s noted pies, peas and chips’. And that was what happened when I first took notice. I suppose Father would make about a couple of dozen pies, no more, perhaps as many as three dozen when it came towards the weekend and there was a bigger demand, and he sold them all at tuppence ha’penny apiece. There was a discount if any customer came in wanting to buy a quantity. Five pies at tuppence ha’penny they could have for a shilling, saving themselves one ha’penny on the deal.

When the business became more prosperous then there was no room for the chip range. That had to go out. We’d had a chip range for the chips and there was a little gas oven alongside it in the shop where the pies were baked and where the peas were boiled. But when business became better then the chip range went out and Father installed a beautiful big coke oven – wonderful. Later on I used to go and sit in there and do my homework where it was so nice and warm. The shop kept open until bedtime. Not a lot of customers came in the evening but some did and they would perhaps get a warmed up pie for their supper.

We children were all expected to help with the piemaking - not with the making of the dough. There was a big flour bin in the shop and that held 10 stone of flour. I don’t know why wheat and cereals were always sold in bags containing 140 pounds weight of flour or meal or whatever. You could get a half bag, a small bag of 70 pounds, that was 5 stone. But however, Father did himself a mischief by lifting those bags, 140 pounds. He ended up with a rupture but of course was always a strong man when I remember him at that early age. Anyway, it was not self-raising flour, it was just ordinary flour, that went into a big kneading mug, and the lard went into the kneading mug. There would be a little salt added to it and Father would rub in the fat and the flour and the salt, and for the meat pies he would pour in a kettleful, well as much as was needed. I thought it was boiling water. I can’t think that it was boiling now, but anyway it was hot, it had come out of the kettle that was on the fire. And a wonderful smell.

That was for the meat pies. That made a harder pastry when the pie was made. For the fruit pies and for the custards he made his pastry with cold water and of course that gave nothing like the lovely smell of the hot dough being made ready for the meat pies, the meat and potato pies and the cheese and onion pies.

We did occasionally get a fresh one but it would normally be that if we got a pie for dinner it had been one that had been left over from the day before. We would eat it up rather than see it wasted.

The life of Henry Hiley Part 3 - living arrangements at 72 Victoria Street

In today's post Henry talks about some of the living arrangements at 72 Victoria Street.

There were three cellars in the house. There was a coal cellar where the coal was tipped and the coke. There was a wash cellar and there was a big cellar under the shop. And it was in the big cellar under the shop that we normally had a bath once a week. It was a long zinc portable bath. It had to be filled with hot water from the boiler and there was a drain down there. We didn’t have to carry the water upstairs and tip it outside. And whilst we still had the chip shop, whilst we still sold chips, there was a potato peeler there. It was like a drum, a big drum. The inside of it was like a nutmeg crater. There was plenty of water sloshing about in there, and it was turned by hand, either by Sam or by Father, and then, when all the skin had been rubbed off, then the eyes had to be picked out manually. I never liked that contraption at all.

The plumbing in the house was primitive. There were just two cold taps, one in the kitchen over the big slop-stone, and one down in the cellar. Any hot water had to be got either from a kettle on the fire or from the gas boiler. Well that was it.

The lavatory arrangements were even more primitive than you can imagine. We had to go across the back yard to the lavatory, there was a little house there and there were five houses in the terrace but there were only four lavatories. We shared with the Hoyles who lived next door to us. Now there were two pail closets, two facing east and two facing west, and in between there was an ashpit. All the rubbish was put into a great big tub and that was taken away once a week. About the worst job in all the world that I can imagine was the man who came once a week with the muck-cart and emptied the pales and then drove his horse and muck-cart I don’t know where. Whether it went to a sewage farm or not, I don’t know. We always believed that it was tipped up Calderbrook in a field up there, but it was awful. When Father went across he used to take his pipe with him. He was alright. He could smoke his pipe but the rest of us were much too young even to try a cigarette.