Hi Everyone, Memories bombard me, triggered off by the fascinating contributions that have been pouring in, in the past day or two. Thank you Dorothy, Len and Joe in particular, and if I have missed someone please don't feel miffed as I'm bound to do so. My long term memory operates fairly well but the short term one has "done a bunk", and I often forget where I've parked the car! Memories such as those narrated, allow us all to enter into the spirit of past decades.We then understand them better because of the new insights we've gained. And they help those of us who "spew" them forth, as in the telling, those times, and the people in them, come alive again.. Older civilisations and communities passed down their knowledge verbally, and some graduated to the written word. Now we have been given a more immediate tool with a huge potential for sharing what we know. Someone in Canada queries "coppers"? Within the hour they are being answered---some are specific and concise---and others like me may tell you all about them and a long-winded story or two, to boot! Phew---got that off my chest! Talking of the peasoupers of the past; Coventry used to have some beauties.A combination of the winter mists of the Midlands, with the proximity of a sinuous canal winding its way through the northern suburbs---throw in a generous dash of industrial and vehicular pollution, plus smoke from the open coal fires that were our sole form of heating, and you had the ingredients for dense smog! One such time I can remember, in the 1940s, as I raced home in a thickening scene, in order to change out of uniform for our White House party, to be held at school that evening, on the other side of the city. Mum was dubious. "Your father said that you were not to return there, if you arrived home", she said. In the end my whinings and pleadings won the day and I was allowed to walk to Eld Rd to meet my friend. It was very scary---and exciting. I could scarcely see my own feet! Suddenly, in crossing a road I misjudged the depth of the gutter, which happened to be a deeper one and stepped down with a jarring impact! Oh, that hurt--- ooh, my back! Should I return home ? -----"No!" My friend and I got to the bus stop and buses were crawling out of the haze, now and then, so we slowly progressed to town and then changed buses to continue our journey. Everyone was keyed up---it had the element of adventure! It was foggy everywhere but less dense once Foleshill was left behind. We were glad to lose the horrid taste and smell of it, too. Later, as fogs and mists do, it got patchy and then began to lift, and so our journey home was uneventful. But Dad was pretty cross with me! As a bus driver Dad had some hairy duties when smog settled on the city. He knew the city "like the back of his hand", but sometimes , even for him it wasn't easy to navigate the route. Buses were slowed to a crawl. All interior lights blazed. The conductor sometimes went out to reconnoitre, but they delivered their passengers safely. Once, he proceeded down the Foleshill Rd. very slowly as it was particularly dense. His conductor hopped off now and again, and reported that they had a procession of vehicles, following. As it was the end of their shift, they turned off the route and everyone followed!!! They had to stop and redirect the stream that had docilely followed like sheep. Thankfully, Clean Air Acts, and changes in industrial fuels and domestic heating mean that the smogs are a thing of the past. Mists occur, yes, but they are a natural occurrence, and have to be prepared for accordingly. I am quite blank about the Barracks Market prewar, but do remember the market clock and an exceedingly narrow street leading to the market square. This memory kept evergreen by the old fashioned confectionery assortment sold by a little shop, there! I think that it was a remnant of old Coventry, as the houses leaned close together, maybe Tudor style? As it was quite a way into the city, our greengroceries and meat bought, (as in Dorothy's family), late on a Saturday night, were from the General Wolfe shopping centre. Muriel , Joyce, and later Roy, were safely tucked up in bed whilst this was happening. I remember the market square in connection with the City Of Coventry Salvation Army band, though. Dad walked me down town and we listened enthralled, as they were one of the premier brass bands in England. I do remember my disppointment on finding out that the glorious sound I had associated with an instrument whose horn wound up and over the player's shoulder did infact issue from the trombone!. Not even the movement of the slide redeemed it in my opinion! Tram rides were for longer distances, and it was a long, long ride to Bedworth terminus. Once there we shopped at the street market and visited Smiths, the department store, or caught the Midland Red 'bus to Bulkington, where Gt.aunt Alice lived. As both Len and Joe have said, at various times previously, we WALKED everywhere. I was amazed, as an adult when I saw on a street-map how far I walked. There were the visits to Mum's friend "Auntie" Ida, and Mum pushed my sister in a pushchair, whilst I walked alongside holding the handle. We walked from Paradise, taking the route alongside the canal and over Stoke Heath, and on to Forum and Longfellow Rd. We loved going to see this sunny natured lady. Once I distinguished myself by falling into her goldfish pond! There was always the return journey, with a very tired little girl. I don't remember going once Roy was born, shortly before I was seven. Those were the days of weekend walks to Naull's Mill Park to see model yacht enthusiasts sail their boats---and also to listen when there was a band at the rotunda. Feeding the ducks and watching the graceful swans at the Swanswell was an exciting jaunt too----always walking of course! The War drew a dividing line between so much of the "then and now" memories, as things changed so rapidly By the 1940s we went to town by 'bus and as Mum was a great lover of markets, and liked nothing so much as bargaining we did grace the market scene. One of Auntie Florrie's friends had married the owner of a stall and they sold lingerie and other similar items. In the times of short supply we were glad to buy "seconds" She was always very cheerful, and full of the stallholders usual banter as she tended her stall, wrapped up well in winter, with coat, headscarf, and mittens on her fingers. We could buy fruit and vegetables there now that we could afford the busfares home. Mum often bought an extra amount of fresh peas and we discreetly ate them as we shopped! I kept well away from the area of the fish stalls, knowing that when we went to Birmingham, and got off the bus in the Bull Ring, I had to be held firmly by the arm and rushed past the fish market! I held my breathe as long as I could---but never long enough and it was a nauseous experience. Fish were smelling pretty strongly by the time they reached the Midlands. Thank God we now have our modern methods of refrigeration! At Birmingham market we children tried to follow our instructions from Dad given half humorously, of course. "Don't let your mother come home with any chickens!" Quite often we did! Unsexed day-old chicks were so cheap and for your dozen you got 13. Mum had an affinity with them----she'd had a pet hen as a child----and successfully kept us in eggs and chicken through the war years. So many incidents surface---going to the Bluebell Woods and coming home with armsful of flowers. How lovely in their drifts under the trees and how disappointing once picked as they soon wilted. The sliminess of their stalks---ugh--- and Miss Clew's warning about their potential danger if dropped, for someone could easily slip on them. The scrambles over Corley Rocks, a modest red outcrop, but the nearest to "cliffs" that the area possessed. I hope that urban sprawl hasn't swallowed it up. Such happy times there. I do remember a Girls' Life Brigade trip to Wickstead Park, when I was in my early teens. Outings were venturing further afield by then.We were having a super time and naturally the braver girls wanted to go on the roller coaster! The more timid of us didn't like to confess that we really didn't fancy it! So---- there we were, all aboard and occupying several carriages. I was in a front one with a shaped nose. U-u-up our little car climbed, to go over the top and plunge down the other side. I clung like a limpet, but couldn't seem to find a purchase for my feet! Next plunge I lost the battle and slipped into the nose cone. Laboriously I inched back but never quite made it before the next plunge. So I completed the ride like that! Meanwhile our officers were waving as the group shot past. But where was Muriel? They were very worried by the time that we came to a halt, and I sheepishly emerged. Some of my memories, of course, are of places that are no longer there, being lost in the bombings or reconstruction. I remember the fine plans drawn up, and published as a thick brochure. They never seemed to come to fruition.Sadly I feel that the city has lost its way and the centre is no longer memorable. Maybe this will change in time----I hope so, as I am proud to have been born there. Regards, Muriel. -- No virus found in this outgoing message. Checked by AVG Anti-Virus. Version: 7.0.300 / Virus Database: 265.6.8 - Release Date: 3/01/2005