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.