Page 51 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘You will indeed. Bye-bye, Daisy,’ she says, waving at her great-niece.
Daisy waves back from Poppy’s arms.
‘We’ll let ourselves out,’ Poppy says. ‘You see to your next guest. See you soon, Kate.’
They head out into the hall and we hear the door shut behind them, and Lou’s little dog Rosie comes poddling through.
‘Rosie avoids Daisy,’ Lou says, bending down to stroke her. ‘She’s that little bit too small and too grabby for her right now. Would you like a cup of tea, Kate?’ She points to a large china tea-pot standing on a tray on the table. ‘There’s still some in there if you do.’
‘No, thank you, I’m fine. I had a cuppa before I came out.’
‘So you want to talk to me about the fifties?’ Lou asks, sitting back in her chair.
‘That’s right.’
‘Any particular reason why?’
I had thought Lou might ask this so I’d already prepared my answer. ‘I found a few old diaries up in the attic of the shop. Nothing that interesting, but it got me wondering about the history of St Felix around that time.’
Lou nods, but I’m not sure if she entirely believes me.
‘So what do you want to know? Like I said the other day I can’t remember too much as it was a long time ago.’
‘I was wondering if you remembered any more about Clara’s shop?’ I begin. ‘You said it used to be where mine is now.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I thought about that a little bit more after I saw you. I remember the shop well – quite successful it was. As you can imagine we were a bit remote here in the fifties. The railway opened things up a lot, bringing holiday-makers and the like, but it was difficult for us teenagers to access all the latest fashions, magazines and records. We could order things from catalogues but they took so long to get here, not like today when you can order something over the internet one day and it’s delivered the next. To suddenly have a shop that was making and selling fashionable clothes was quite unique, and very popular amongst us girls.’
‘I can imagine – and you say Clara made everything herself?’
‘I think she did to begin with, but as the demand grew I believe she hired a few local ladies to sew for her.’
A bit like me, I think to myself, but instead I say, ‘Goodness, she must have been doing well.’
‘I think she was. You know, I thought a bit more about her daughter too – she would have been about my age back then.’
‘Really? So you did know her.’
‘Well, not really. When she moved here because she’d been ill – polio, I think it was – she was held back a year at school, so when she became well enough to start at our local grammar school she was a year below me.’
‘Did she recover from polio?’ I try to ask as casually as I can. ‘Did she walk again?’
‘I think she was on crutches for a long while. I seem to remember her around the school on them – big wooden things they were, but she wasn’t in a wheelchair then like you said.’
‘That’s good to know,’ I say, thinking about Maggie. Perhaps Arty pushing her to walk had helped after all. ‘Do you remember anything else? What about the artist I mentioned – Arty or Arthur, you might have known him as?’
Lou shakes her head. ‘No, but like I said there were a lot of artists coming to St Felix back then. That’s when it all began really, in the fifties. We didn’t have the big art gallery like we have now, or all the smaller galleries dotted about the streets, so people used to display their paintings in the windows of their homes and people would buy them direct.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I say, totally able to imagine this.
‘I do remember this one old man – lovely fellow, he was. Quiet, unassuming. He used to paint on all sorts of things, usually bits of old wood – you know, scrap bits when they’d broken up one of the fishing boats. I don’t think he could afford proper canvases and I’m surprised he could even afford paint. He was very kind to us children though. If you asked him nicely he’d let you have a go with some of his paints.’ Lou screws her forehead up trying to remember something. ‘Oh, what was his name … on the tip of my tongue, it is.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ I say in a kindly way. ‘So you don’t remember an Arty then?’
Lou shakes her head. ‘No, the only other painter I remember was another Lou, strangely enough – except this one was male. He used to travel around in a red camper van – the same one Ana uses now, I believe. Now that’s a story and a half … Poppy told me all about it if you’d like to hear?’
‘That’s kind of you, Lou,’ I say, smiling at her, ‘but it’s really the late fifties I’m interested in right now – only because the diaries I found date from then.’
‘It’s a shame Stan isn’t still around,’ Lou says. ‘He would have been able to tell you more. Stan was wonderful for old stories about St Felix. He would have been in his early twenties back then. Sadly, he passed away a couple of years ago.’
