My early years were spent in a small North-Eastern village. Our house on the main street was old, with an outside toilet round the corner. Its one redeeming feature was that it adjoined the bakery. Soft, tempting aromas wafted through the thick walls and I was occasionally allowed to watch as butteries, soft white baps and traditional funky pieces magically appeared. I've no doubt this is where my sweet tooth pushed through.
I had no brothers or sisters but I did have a friend – Maureen. She lived on the other side of the village and for an hour on a Saturday I was allowed to visit her. Saturday was a special day in the lives of Maureen and her sister Nora because, in the morning, they went with their mother to Mrs. Thomson's Corner shop, each to spend a precious sixpence on a quarter pound of sweets of their choice. These sweets had to last a whole week so were chosen carefully from the shelved jars. Aniseed Balls, Parma Violets and Midget gems were favourites because they were small and would last longer, as opposed to the Rhubarb Rock and Pineapple Chunks they really coveted. On returning home, the white paper bags were emptied into the girls' respective tins.
I had no such tin, nor a weekly sixpence. My father had his dinner at my grandmother's beside his work four miles away and she would sometimes send me something – an apple, a pencil, a bun if the baker's van had been. There were occasions when, quite out of the blue, a sixpence appeared and I was allowed across the road to Mrs. Thomson's.
I cannot recall my friend Maureen ever being invited to my house. Perhaps the thought of directing her to the outside toilet was too much to bear. Her abode was relatively new with all mod cons. On a Saturday we played board games, cards, did jigsaws at her kitchen table. And then, the highlight of the day: we were allowed into the living room to retrieve the sweetie tins from the sideboard cupboard. My most abiding memory of those occasions was the generosity of both Maureen and Nora. They took it in weekly turns to offer me sweets from the revered hoard. There was never ever any debate as to whose tin should be proffered and no reluctance whatsoever to share.
The tins were shut, returned to the shelf and I remember feeling so happy to be included. I left the village aged ten, but I've never forgotten that special sweet friendship.