THE PERKINS GENERAL STORE, EDITH STREET, ST BUDEAUX, PLYMOUTH... (My poem about early summer holidays...)

 

The Perkins General Store, St Budeaux, Plymouth, Devon…

There was an aura, certainly an odour,

A concoction, a mixture, quite unique,

Of vegetables, cooked meats, fruit and household goods,

Swathed in confectionery, pipe-smoke and a 

bakery’s mystique.

There was a clutter, certainly a muddle,

A miscellany, a wonderland, a jumble

Of tins and bottles and packets and cartons,

Yet a warmth and an excitement for a child so humble.

There was a magnetism, certainly a draw,

A curiosity, a novelty, a need

To loiter, to peruse, to marvel, to lend a hand,

To replenish, to restock as requested and agreed.

There was a pleasure, certainly a pride,

A dependency, an importance, a trust

In scouring, hunting and foraging around

The garage, amongst cardboard and packages and boxes and dust.

There was a satisfaction, certainly a pleasure,

A responsibility, a faith, a credence

In removing the returned and empty pop bottles

And replacing the flavours of customers’ 

preference.

There was a comfort, certainly a delight,

A moment, a daring, a thrill

In creeping into the shop in the dark, after hours,

To spend pennies, bag sweets and manipulate the till.

There was a chattering and certainly a gossiping,

A friendliness, a familiarity, an affability

About Alice’s smile and sweet, acid tones

And Harold’s gruffness and pipe-smoking 

incredulity…

Pete Ray 

The corner shop, Edith St, St Budeaux, Plymouth, Devon. The owners were my Uncle Jack’s sister Alice and her husband Harold, both from the 

Midlands, originally. 

They adopted a child and relocated to become hoteliers in Torquay, before taking on the shop. 

My parents and I would generally travel by rail and meet Jack and Auntie Ivy, plus their twin sons Dave and Derek (pictured with me in the shop’s yard) at Plymouth Station. 

We stayed with the Reveleys or the Felwicks, also in Edith St but the shop was like a magnet for me. 

I couldn’t resist the unique smells, the activity, the customers, the awesome, packed shelves and the need to stack them. 

I adored taking the empty pop bottles to the yard and replenishing the flavours, feeling important for the first time in my life and out of my father’s shadow, or iron grip. 

I idolised my twin cousins, everybody did and we were all expected to but they I’m sure hated the attention… 

Harold delivered shopping in his small van too but the responsibility of being able to buy and place in small, white paper bags, just a few sweets or liquorice, late in the evening was a memorable and exciting experience. 

HAROLD & MY FATHER AT THE BACK, MUM, ALICE & ME AT THE FRONT...

I adored 44 Edith St, which became a private house. 

Trixie, the gruesome, black dog was always around, getting in the way and a permanent fixture, constantly breaking wind. 

ME SHARING A DARTMOOR RIVER WITH TRIXIE, THOUGH I WOULD SUGGEST THAT HAROLD'S OCCASIONAL FLATULENCE WAS BLAMED UPON THE DOG...

Harold died first, yet Alice lived on for many years and passed away in her nineties, after 

retiring to Bere Alston.  

JACK, IVY, MUM & ME...