ALBIE’S GRANDPARENTS lived at Wyndham Park, just down the hill from Cromer, in a little cottage which was part of a terrace that stretched from the coast road down to the cliff top. ‘Windy Park’ Albie’s father always called it, as, even in the summer, the wind always seemed to whistle up and down the row of houses. Louis Cottage, half way down the row, had been Albie’s grandparents’ home since the early 1900s, and the lad often went to stay for the weekend.

ARRIVING BY EASTERN COUNTIES ’BUS that Friday evening in late July 1950, Albie quickly ran down the lane to the back gate of Louis Cottage where Granny Gray stood waiting, whilst his mum and dad carried his little suitcase of clothes for the weekend. In no hurry, they paused to admire some of the colourful allotments – provided by the Parish Council for the residents of ‘the Park’– brimming over with rows of peas and beans, lettuces, tomatoes, and, under netting, to keep off the birds, the most delicious-looking strawberries.

Some allotment holders had clearly defined their territory with posts and wires, with other paraphernalia, such tinplate signs and an occasional old iron bedstead with brass knobs on, plugging the gaps for good measure. Chickens noisily scurried about in wire netting runs, rooting for tasty grubs in the bare soil, whilst ‘he-who-rules-the-roost’, strutted proudly back and forth calling to his next-door-neighbour: “Cock-a-doodle-do... these are my hens – stay away do!”

“Hello, Albie,” said Granny Gray, giving her grandson and hug and a kiss, “you’ve come for the weekend then?”

“Yes, please, Granny,” he replied eagerly, “if tha’s all right with you and Granddad?”

Elijah, the boy’s grandfather, always seemed rather old to Albie and, being a formidable figure, someone the boy feared, although his bark was definitely worse than his bite as he was such a gentle man at heart! A master builder by trade with Bullen’s of Cromer, Elijah had been retired for a good many years, but was kept busy on his nearby allotment growing vegetables and feeding his chickens.

“Wuh, young fella-me-lad,” said Albie’s granddad in his usual gruff manner, “I hope that mean yew’ll behearve yarself, dew yew dun’t yew kin go hoome agin...”

“Don’t joke wi’ the lad like that, Father,” replied Granny Gray, knowing how his dry sense of humour sometimes upset Albie. “Go an’ put the kittle on, so we can all hev a nice cup of tea afore Albert and Gladys catch the next ’bus home.”

Lilian May, Albie’s grandmother, was a remarkable person. A fair bit younger than her husband, she bottled and preserved fruit when it was in season, making all her own jam as well, and, being an experienced seamstress, she made all her own dresses. In a dark cupboard, under the stairs, she kept her sewing machine, a box full of remnants of dress material and a little bag containing hundreds of buttons. Albie always made a beeline for that little cupboard, but didn't like the smell of gas coming from the old meter in the corner. Once inside, he’d grab the little button bag, which was guaranteed to keep him occupied for hours on end sorting through all the pearly buttons and silvery buckles.

UNDERWOOD’S FAIR ARRIVES AT RUNTON

“I see the Underwood’s Fair’s back again at Runton,” said Albie’s dad, whilst they were all having a cup of tea. “That’ll be busy there, tomorrow night, I reckon – don’t you, Father?”

“Yew knows moi feelin’s onnit,” the old man moaned, never one for the bright lights, or people enjoying themselves. “That mearkes me suffin’ savidge, all them there waarmins hallerin’ all noight keepin’ orl good folk awearke – shun’t be allowed, nor that shun’t!”

That quite upset Albie, as he really liked a Fair. How he enjoyed seeing all the colourful sights, hearing the music from the Fairground organ, smelling the steam and smoke from the Showman’s engine as it generated electricity to power all the pretty lights and make the dodgem cars work! How he loved to ‘have a go’ on the penny machines, with a flick of the wrist sending silver balls tinkling towards a series of ‘WIN’ or ‘LOSE’ holes. Albie, it has to be said, usually lost!

However, following that remark from his grandfather, Albie resigned himself to a visit to the Fair on Saturday night being completely out of the question!

Nearing eight o’clock, Grandfather Gray lit the gaslight in the living room and, with a loud ‘plop’, it gave out a warm yellowish glow. Then, with a little fiddling with the knobs, the gaslight, now burning much brighter, began to lighten the room.

“Time for bed, young man!” said Albie’s father, as the old clock in the hallway struck eight. “There’s another day tomorrow.”

With that he and Albie’s mother left to catch the ’bus home to Sheringham, arriving at the bus stop opposite the long row of terraced houses at the end of Wyndham Park, just as the night sky was lit up by the lights of the Eastern Counties ’bus as it laboured up the hill out of Cromer.

Meanwhile, Granny Gray led Albie, by the flickering flame of a candle, up the steep stairs and along the narrow landing to the small bedroom at the back of the house, where he always slept whenever he visited. His west-facing bedroom overlooked the allotments and over the fields to East Runton. It was always as dark as the grave outside, with no streetlights in those days, just the moonlight and the twinkling stars for company.

Kneeling beside his little bed, his grandmother joined him.

“Lord, keep us safe this night,” they said, putting their hands together, “secure from all our fears, may angels guard us while we sleep, ’til morning light appears. Amen.”

“Goodnight, Albie,” said Granny Gray, tucking him into his comfortable feather bed, with his ‘Sunny Jim’ for comfort by his side. Then, puffing out the candle, which continued to smoke in gentle spirals for a moment or two, she quietly closed the bedroom door behind her and went downstairs.

“He’ll be all right, Father,” she told Elijah, “he’s settlin’ in well. Would you like your Horlicks now?”

“No-oo,” he replied, being somewhat bothered by indigestion,“Oi’ll jist hev a glarss a water an’ a drop a peppermint in it!”

ALBIE DREAMS OF A VISIT TO THE FAIR

For a while, Albie lay awake gazing at the night sky out of his bedroom window, spellbound by a myriad of pretty, twinkling diamonds of light all those miles and miles away. Over to the left of Runton, towards the old Mill, he could just glimpse some of the colourful illuminations of the Fair on the Mill field and, through his slightly open window, he could hear the sounds of jolly fairground music and happy laughter. How he wished he could visit the Fair on Saturday night, if only for a few minutes!

“Night, night, Sunny Jim,” he said, giving his ‘rag doll’ friend a little cuddle, then, pulling the pretty quilted eiderdown smelling of lavender mothballs up around his head, he drifted off into a deep sleep. Soon he was dreaming of a lovely warm summer’s day, running on the golden sands and paddling in the sea – and paying a visit to the Fair of course!

Saturday morning, dawned sunny and bright, with the view across the allotments to Runton bathed in glorious sunshine. The cockerels were crowing their raucous welcome for the day ahead, the hens were cackling gleefully as they left their nest boxes following their first lay of the day, and the milkman was whistling from door to door delivering his bottles of milk. As he rubbed the ‘sleepies’ from his eyes, Albie just knew it was going to be a lovely day!

“Mornin’, Albie,” said Granny Gray, handing the lad a cup of tea and a Rich Tea biscuit, “you slept well, I hope?”

Sitting up in bed, he sipped at his tea and broke the biscuit in two. Plain biscuits were all right, he thought, but custard creams were much better!

“Yes, thanks, Granny,” he replied, dunking his biscuit, “I thought I’d hev a look Granddad’s garden this mornin’...”

“You’ll have ya wash an’ breakfast first, though!” his granny replied, pouring a jug of warm water into a large flowered bowl on the marble-topped washstand nearby. “Then you can do whatever you like!”

“Perhaps we could go to the Fair tonight?” asked Albie.

“Oh, I really don’t know about that,” replied Granny Gray, giving the lad a good scrub behind the ears, “we’ll hatta ask Granddad!”

ALBIE VISITS HIS GRANDDAD’S GARDEN

After breakfast, which started for Albie with his favourite bowl of wheat flakes, Force, followed by some nice crispy bacon and a golden-yellow fried egg, Albie ‘asked to be excused’ and got down from the table.

“Is that all right if I go down to Granddad’s cliff top garden, please?” he asked.

“Course you can,” replied his granny, putting away the breakfast things and returning the jug of milk to the coolness of the marble shelf in the larder. “But remember what clothes you’ve got on, an’ dun’t yew get up to any mischief!”

“Thanks, Granny,” said Albie, putting on his shoes, “is there anything I can get ya?”

“Yew can pick some nice raarsbries fur us,” said his grandfather, reaching for his favourite flat cap as he always felt undressed without it! “We kin hev ’em fur our pudden– but, dun’t yew go on eatin’ enny, dew Oi’ll clip yar lug!”

Albie was out of the house like a flash and soon happily skipping down the lane towards the cliff top.

“He seems happy enough, Father,” said Albie’s granny, washing up the breakfast things, “are you gorn out this mornin’?”

“Yis, Mother,” Elijah answered, as he put on his old gardening jacket. “Oi’m gorn to the allotment fur an hour o’ two, to dew a bitta diggin’. The hins’ll need feedin’ an’orl then Oi hatta give the hin huts a good ole fie out.”

Elijah had two plots of land. His allotment, owned by the Parish Council, was at the top of the lane behind the row of houses. It was a good sized plot, double the size of some, and where he grew most of the seasonal vegetables for the table. He also kept a dozen or more chickens there, in purpose-built hen houses he had made himself. Not only did the hens provide a continuous supply of eggs but also, when one went ‘off the lay’ as he used to say, an occasional treat out of the festive season!

At the other end of the lane was Elijah’s pride and joy: ‘Grandfather’s Garden’ as everyone called it!

As a young man, he had bought the land many, many years earlier, for what we would now term an ‘investment’. His plan, as a ‘master’ builder, was to build his own dream home on that plot of land – a bungalow – so that he and his Lilian May could live near the cliff top and watch the sun go down in the autumn of their years – and just grow old together.

But Runton Parish Council had other ideas. They would have none of it and refused planning permission, so, sadly, his dream was never to be.

However, they did permit him to build a large, wooden, garage block where ‘visters’ on holiday to the region could stable their cars during their stay at Wyndham Park.

The rest of his land Elijah turned into a wonderful garden – Grandfather’s Garden – such a peaceful spot 500 yards or so from the cliff edge, with glorious sea views from Runton to the west and Cromer to the east – and such unforgettable sunsets!

Albie eagerly opened the gate to the garden and stepped in, taking care to close it tightly behind him.

Grandfather’s Garden always seemed such a magical place to the lad, somewhere he could escape into his own fantasy world, full of rustic charm, where fairies peered out at him from their secret dells, and where he could fight off the fiery dragon with his wooden sword and rescue the fair maiden from its evil clutches.

As Albie began wandering through the garden he realised what a beautiful place it was. Hollyhocks, foxgloves and delphiniums all grew in profusion, with ‘butterfly bushes’ that attracted a wealth of red admirals, yellow brimstone and cabbage white – the latter not best-loved by his granddad! Bees busied themselves gathering pollen from all the flowers, their legs heavily laden with the precious yellow dust; whilst small birds darted from bush to bush and sparrows cheekily dust-bathed at his feet!

With the sound of the sea lapping over the shingle beach far, far below – and the sea birds wheeling and calling high overhead in the clear blue sky – it was idyllic, heaven on earth, and somewhere he could spend countless hours just exploring the myriad of small paths, each with its own neatly-trimmed box-hedge border.

Through a rose-covered rustic archway he caught a glimpse of the rockery, furnished with a collection of large flints from Runton beach and with a flourishing colony of aubrietia which gave off a not-unpleasant musky fragrance when stepped upon. His grandfather, having been a builder all his life, had also incorporated pieces of piping and suitable-shaped lumps of now-weatherbeaten concrete. Large glass balls, coloured green, once used as floats by fishermen, took pride of place on top of some of the pipes. Albie’s granddad would let nothing go to waste, it seemed!

The large, well-kept lawn, which Albie always enjoyed cutting with an old side-wheel lawnmower, was always popular with his grandparents in their deck-chairs during the long summer months. They gained much pleasure from just sitting there, soaking up the summer sun and reflecting upon their many, many happy years together.

Albie’s granddad was always formally dressed in starched collar and tie, and of course with a waistcoat complete with pocket watch and chain. He rarely took off his jacket, even on the hottest of days, and was never to be seen without his large flat cap.

Finished with his daydreams, Albie ventured into the fruit garden where, when in season, his grandfather grew strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries and currants, red and black. Taking a large terra-cotta flowerpot off a bamboo pole, and shaking out all the wriggling earwigs, he began picking some raspberries.

JUICY RASPBERRIES FOR PUDDING!

“Cor!” he said to himself, popping one in his mouth, “these are lovely, so juicy and sweet! Granddad won’t mind me havin’ one or two...” As it happened, Albie sampled quite a few – for culinary reasons – to make sure they were sweet enough, of course!

“Hello, young Albie,” greeted Peter, putting an arm around the lad’s shoulder, “I’d heard you wuz here from yar grandpa, up on the allotment – how ya gorn’ on then?”

“All right, thank you very much, Mr Abbs,” replied the boy, tightly clutching the large flowerpot of raspberries.

“They’re moighty foine raarsbries, yew’ve got there, boy,” he went on.“Real juicy they look, an’orl. Kin Oi hev one?”

Albie quickly opened his granny’s back gate and went inside.

“No, sorry, Mr Abbs,” he said, “we’re hevin’ then for our pudden at dinnertime.”

Then, giving Peter Abbs a friendly wave, he ran up the garden path and went indoors where his grandmother was getting the midday meal prepared.

“Who wuz that you wuz speakin’ to?” Granny Gray asked, taking the raspberries from him.

“Tha’s Peter,” Albie replied, “Peter Abbs – he lives further down the row, dun’t he?”

“Yes, he do, Albie,” said Granny Gray, washing the raspberries in a yellow-enamelled colander.“Perhaps, he’d just come home from work at the cannery in North Walsham.”

“No,” replied her grandson, helping lay the table for dinner, “Peter had come from his allotment, I think!”

“He musta kept Grandfather talkin,” Granny Gray said, drying the juicy fruit in a tea towel, “He shoulda bin home by now.”

“Go an’ fetch him, an’ bring some eggs, will ya, Albie?” she continued, handing the lad a large wicker basket.

ALBIE FETCHES SOME EGGS

With the basket slung over his arm, Albie ran up the lane to his granddad’s allotment, where the old man was in the chicken run, surrounded by about twenty or so Rhode Island Reds, all chasing after the corn he was throwing about, with a solitary cockerel aggressively objecting to the unwanted invasion into his territory.

“Cock-adoodle, doo...” he crowed, fluffing up his magnificent tail feathers. “Feed us – and go!”

“Granny says, can we hev some eggs, please, Granddad?” asked Albie, putting down his basket. “I can git them meself, if you like.”

“Orl right, boy Albie,” replied his grandfather, opening the door to the hen-house. “But dew yew tearke care when yew put yar hand in that there nest-box there be only eggs present!” It seemed the allotments had more than their fair share of rats, who were also very partial to new-laid eggs and were often seen ‘rolling’ them back to their nests!

“They’ll hooly give yar fingers a nasty ole nip if they catch ya,” he went on with a laugh. “So dew yew watch out!”

Albie took note and, after a quick look in the first nest box, plucked up courage to put his hand inside.

Soon, with his basket full of eggs, Albie and his granddad made their way back down the lane to Louis Cottage, where their dinner was waiting.

With a mouthful of fresh-boiled ham and broad beans, Albie listened to his grandparents talking of the plans they’d made for later in the day.

“As you’ve been so very good, Albie,” Granny Gray told him, “after tea, we shall be taking you to the Fair after all!”

Albie was so pleased he almost cried. They were such kind grandparents, the very best in the whole wide world, he thought.

“An’ bein’ as yew helped gather the eggs, an’orl,” said Grandfather Elijah, putting his hand in his pocket, “here are a few coppers fur them there penny mashines yew’re allus gorn on about!”

“Oh, thank you, Granddad,” said the lad, as the pennies chinked into his hand, “I know I’m gonna enjoy meself tonight!”

And he did!

THE EPILOGUE

Time moves on – as it always does of course – and, after a while, all the allotments became overgrown and neglected as more and more people bought frozen peas and the like from Supermarket in Cromer, in preference to growing them for themselves.

Then, one day, years later, ‘organically-grown’ produce started to become trendy and people actually began growing vegetables for themselves once more.

Passing through Wyndham Park recently, Albie noticed a transformation! The allotments had taken on a new lease of life and, with new owners toiling the land, they were flourishing and full of fresh vegetables as in his grandparents’ day.

But, what, you may wonder, happened to Grandfather’s Garden?

Well, when Albie’s grandparents grew too old, with the upkeep of the cliff top garden proving too much for them, they had to sell their land at the bottom of the lane where Elijah’s idyllic garden once stood. Their dreams of ending their days in the comfort of their own little bungalow with outstanding sea views was never to be.

Their little piece of ‘heaven on earth’ was quickly snapped up by an outsider – a foreigner to Norfolk – who built a bungalow there, on the cliff top, overlooking the sea!

However, for Elijah and Lilian May, they found the ‘heaven’ they had dreamed of, as they sleep now – together for all time – in the peaceful, green and pleasant land within the shadow of West Runton church.

NEXT: There’s sadness for Albie when he faces the Moment of Truth.

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Thanks to www.landofnurseryrhymes.co.uk and www.ukmagic.co.uk for use of music.