Santa took a break from his Christmas preparations to pay a personal visit to Hethersett and brought with him elves and a snowman.
I hope you enjoy a few of the photos as Santa and entourage set off from the King's Head for a two hour tour of the village.
The tour came shortly before our esteemed Prime Minister decided to do a volte face or, in English, a U-turn and virtually cancel Christmas. So it was good to at least have some joy in an otherwise depressing day. We seem to be right back where we were in March. Ten months to get absolutely nowhere.
But at least there's some good news for children. Santa has magical powers and so will not have to go into quarantine!
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As promised/threatened yesterday here is the first extract from my autobiography which I have enjoyed writing and which I will be adding to as new memories come to hand.
I have called this Story of a Life after the song by Harry Chapin and I will intersperse the lyrics of that song within my ramblings.
Story of a Life (Part One)
I can see myself it's a golden sunrise
Young boy open up your eyes
It's supposed to be your day.
Now off you go horizon bound
And you won't stop until you've found
Your own kind of way.
And the wind will whip your tousled hair,
The sun, the rain, the sweet despair,
Great tales of love and strife.
And somewhere on your path to glory
You will write your story of a life
Life in 1952 - the year when I was born- was a quieter and much simpler time, although the end of the Second World War was just a handful of years in the past and rationing was still a thing of present day memory.
I was (am) an only child born to Arthur and Phyllis Steward in Hellesdon which is about three miles from the centre of Norwich. At the time of my birth, and during my first 10 years, my parents owned a greengrocer's shop on Reepham Road. Many is the happy hours I spent chatting with customers and helping myself to sweets from the numerous jars on the shelves. My grandparents on my father's side lived directly opposite.
Legend has it that my grandfather was one of the first residents in Hellesdon when it was a village and before it grew out of all recognition. I don't know how true this was but I do know the family also owned a dairy. By trade my grandfather - also named Arthur - was a painter and decorator. He was a jovial extrovert who had a great influence on my early years and I loved him dearly.
My father was a television engineer in those days being unable to make a good enough living through the shop which was run by my mother. I believe that the business failed to flourish because of her kindness and insistence on charging fair prices, not to undercut any other businesses but because she wanted her customers to have good value. I hope that this trait of generosity and kindness has been with me all my life and will continue to be so in the future.
Northgate Groceries (I may not have got this name exact) was not only a place where local people came for their vegetables, sweets and cigarettes but also a place where they came for a chat and to unload their problems. My mother was always a willing listener. Again I hope that I have inherited this aspect of her and it came to the fore many years later when I spent a number of years as a Samaritan helper.
The shop struggled along for many years and was a focal point for my pre-school years. I still vividly remember Friday afternoons when my mother would divide the week's housekeeping money into various tins to help meet the bills. I still have the small brown case she used with the initials P.M.D on the top (these represented her maiden name of Phyllis Margaret Dew).
Friday was also the afternoon when local deliveries came and I happily spent time sorting through oranges and apples. Looking back it was an immensely happy time and I suppose at that time I thought it would go on for ever. I remember a delivery from a man named Russell on Fridays. I believe he came from a company by the name of Pordage, although once again I may have got that name wrong.
A number of particular memories flow from those times - all very ordinary in the great scheme of things but all of which left their imprint on a toddler and young boy.
Those memories include stand up washes in a tin bath by the fire because it was too cold to go upstairs for a real bath, having measles and being made to take disgusting medicine, kind Doctor Cowan who came to see me and remarked on my model soldiers on the mantelpiece. Isn't it strange how such a small thing can bring such a lasting memory. Dr Cowan probably thought nothing of it, but I remember it over 60 years later.
I also remember being in a cot, being in a playpen, going to visit friends at the age of four when I thought I was really grown up and also regular bus trips into town on Wednesday afternoons when the shop was closed. From the city we went to visit my maternal grandmother who was a widow and lived in a terrace house at 97 Rupert Street. Selina Maud Dew was another kind woman who I was very close to.
My maternal grandfather died before I was born. He was apparently an accomplished musician and I am sure that is from where I inherited my love of music. I also inherited the middle name of Owen from him. I have in turn passed this on as the middle name of my eldest son. For many years it led me to believe that I had Welsh blood and that this Christian name had been handed down to underline Welsh ancestors. Research established this not to be the case, however, as Owen was the maiden surname of one of my distant ancestors. This in itself is intriguing as this ancestor must have been dearly loved and respected to have her surname turned into a Christian name and handed down through the generations.
The greengrocer's shop was next to a large ironmongers store called Dixons. They always had a line of dustbins and other items outside on the forecourt. These effectively cut the forecourt in two. I used these to make a racing circuit for my pedal car and subsequently my small four wheeled bikes. Years later Dixons turned into a number of individual franchise stores and the forecourt was turned into a car park. It still exists to this day and the house and bedroom where I was born attracts my attention every time I drive down Reepham Road in Hellesdon.
More later