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A Shout From The Attic: Nont Sarah’s

Ronnie Bray shares his memories of the Yorkshire mill town where he was born.

To read earlier chapters of Ronnie's autobiography please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/a_shout_from_the_attic

On the high windswept road across the ghost-laden moors stood a legendary inn whose reputation was a byword in my young days: Nont Sarah’s. This was a Yorkshire rendition of ‘Aunt Sarah’s’. This public house, set in wild and desolate surroundings, served epic ham and egg breakfasts, spoken of with slavering lips by those who had been initiated and heard of with bright eyes, growing envy, and widening mouths by the uninitiated.

Closer to home was New North Road, which in fact did not lead to the north. That needs saying, and my boundary was the traffic lights at its junction with Edgerton Grove Road and Blacker Road. Beyond that, we would venture only for the annual sled run in the field behind the wooden tram shelter that still stands and serves as a bus stop.

Beyond that lay Edgerton and merchant wealth, marked by grand detached houses with servants ‘below stairs’ and at least one Rolls Royce in the stables. These houses stood in their own well-cultivated grounds reflecting the manicured look of that jewel among Victorian parks that served as my playground. Huddersfield’s mill owners and traders who brought oriental teas, South American coffees, wool from the backs of exotic goats and llamas, romantic perfumes, oriental furniture, peacock feathers, and cheap tin trays into our dingy market town until the outbreak of Hitler’s War made import difficult, lived in these palatial homes.


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