Oh, a madeleine moment! Me at four years old, holding my dad’s hand as we walked down the street to Dales to get some paraffin.
We used to go there a lot when I was a child. Indeed, the’ Paraffin run’ became one of my jobs, along with taking letters down to the post box and nipping into the Off Licence once a week to get my Great Aunty Ann her miniature bottle of Bells (to go into her final cup of tea before bedtime). Old Mr. Dale (wearing the official brown warehouse coat) carried on running the store well into his late eighties. His son, the Young Mr. Dale, also worked there and his hair was grey. Brilliant shop – Victorian double width with big windows and deep, with a wide oak staircase to the first floor. It sold everything – nails of all shapes and sizes (laid out in trugs on a rack and sold by the pint) wool and knicker elastic, pots and pans, spades and other gardening weaponry (scythes hung from the ceiling – I remember those!), sacks of dog biscuits and bird seed, outdoor clothing, shoe polish and dubbing for boots . . .