The following is the transcript of a talk given by Joan Emerson to the local U3A Writers' Group in 1996, as she approached her 80th birthday. Her talk was unscripted but, thankfully, recorded for posterity. It gives us a vivid insight of life in Bishop's Stortford around the time of World War I. My thanks to Ms Emerson for giving permission to use the transcript.

The castle in the Causeway was built in the l2th century by the Normans, but in the l4th century it was knocked down by Prince John. Before that Bishop’s Stortford was a Saxon village, with Edith the Fair living in the manor house. She sold it to William, Bishop of London, hence the name 'Bishop's Stortford'. A few years ago a huge stone coffin containing a man's skeleton was dug out from the water meadows on the Meads, and once, when they were planting new rose bushes in Castle Gardens, a number of skeletons were found. It was thought they were Norman soldiers killed by the Saxons.

I've lived for the greater part of my life in Bishop’s Stortford, first at No 5 and then at No 9 the Causeway, which was in a row of cottages opposite the present Jackson Square entrance. Beside the Castle Gardens it was lined with trees, and across the road was all lined with bushes. There were no railings beside the river at that time, so if you weren't careful you could easily slip down and fall in, which I often did. There used to be loads of beautiful kingfishers there, flashing blue, but you don't see them any more. I remember one very hot summer I was going up the Causeway to Hockerill School and several people were frying eggs on the pavement. Someone had said, 'It's hot enough on the pavement to fry eggs', and that's exactly what they did!

Between Nos 5 and 9 the Causeway was the Castle Cafe run by a plump little lady named Miss Moss. It had big double doors that were fully opened in summer, and it was all home cooking. Stortford was a busy town at that time and she was always very busy serving her regulars, who were mostly men from local businesses. Miss Moss was spotless and very fussy, but she was also a good cook. She sold fairy cakes, and there was also a sweet counter where sweets were weighed into paper cones.

The cottages were brick fronted, but inside they were lath and plaster – thin strips of wood filled in with plaster. They were very warm in winter and cool in summer. We had a front room, a long kitchen with a range (stove) which was kept burning all the time, and three good-sized bedrooms. A mangle stood at the bottom of the stairs! We loved it when my grandmother wasn't well because she had a fire up in her bedroom. Although the cottages were near to the river we never got flooded, although sometimes the water did come right up to the back door and we would paddle.

Every Thursday was market day, and drovers would run the cows and bullocks through the town, often via the Causeway. These were mainly Hereford bullocks with white faces and very big horns, and to see a herd of Herefords rushing towards you can be quite frightening. Poor Miss Moss never knew whether to stand across the doorway to stop the cows from coming in or hide at the back of the shop, but mostly they were running much too fast to stop at her shop. There were a lot of houses in the Causeway on both sides of the road, and on the side where the Shades pub was were gardens and gates. You should have seen the panic when the cattle came by as people scrambled to get in the gateways. It was fun to watch from my grandmother's front window.

I was in the cattle market one day when one of the farmers shouted, 'Bull loose! Bull loose!' You've never seen so many people trying to get in the pens with the cows! I believe I was one of the first, being far more frightened of a bull dashing about than I was of cows. The only thing about cows is that they are nervous creatures, and that is when they 'splash'. On that day there was a lot of 'splashing' with all the people in their pens with them.

Every morning the baker's boy came round with baskets of bread and huffas. These were like three cornered bread rolls but much lighter, and all hot. My mother would buy a huffa on a Saturday and cut it in half for my sister and me. She would then butter it and we would sit on the doorstep enjoying every mouthful. It was quite a treat to have half a huffa all to yourself. You can still get them in Dorringtons. The milkman used to come round every morning with a big can, and you brought out your jug to be filled up. Everyone breathed all over it, but you never thought of illnesses with people breathing on it. Some evenings the muffin boy would come round with a tray on his head ringing a bell and shouting, 'Muffins!' We would usually buy them on a Saturday evening.

What we children liked most on a hot summer's day was the horsedrawn water cart, which sprinkled water on the road to lay the dust. It had a big round container on it to sprinkle the water, and we used to go dancing up the road behind it. What I didn't like was afterwards, when my grandmother gave me a bucket and shovel, and I had to go and pick up the horse's droppings. The smell was dreadful!

The cottage I lived in had gas lighting in the front room, oil lamps in the kitchen, and candles for the scullery and bedrooms. The front door opened onto the road, and every morning we would sweep the pavement outside, sending the dust and dirt into the gutter. Later, a man would come along with a broom and shovel and handcart. Once a week we would swill the pavement with water and scrub it with a broom, but the doorstep was scrubbed and whitened every day and the brass always rubbed up. Everyone did this all the way along the cottages and, unlike now, you could almost eat your food off of the pavement.

Every evening the posh people would come hurrying past our house with furled umbrellas, dark suits and bowler hats. They came off the London train, heading towards their homes which were the big houses up Windhill. My sister and I were supposed to be in bed, but I used to take the flour dredger up with me, and as the men came by our window I would lean out and shake the dredger on their bowler hats. It looked just like snow! If mother had known she'd have killed me.

The toilet was outside. We had a flush, and many's the dark night I crept out with my candle, even with the wind blowing. The Meads area was all fields and trees, and with bats flying around and owls hooting, you tried not to go outside too often! I remember one winter's night my grandmother went outside to the toilet and there was a small burst in the pipe. Not to be put off she took an umbrella with her and sat there with it over her head, but a little while later she returned white and shaking, soaking wet and very shocked. The pipe had split open and the force of the freezing water had knocked the umbrella from her hand, drenching her all over. For a woman in her late seventies it was quite an ordeal, but of course we little beasts were delighted and fell about laughing as mother tried to shut us up and get her mother to the fire.

In the town was Holland and Barretts, a shop that sold wines and spirits, high class groceries and, upstairs, china and glass. They also had a tea-shop upstairs. You were allowed to taste the cheeses before buying, and the men behind the counter would always advise you about the best way to cook sausages and so on. Mr Flack used to work in Holland and Barretts, getting the orders together and then driving round the countryside taking further orders and delivering goods. He would make deliveries up until nine o'clock at night, but at Christmas time it would be past midnight. He and another workmate used to roast and grind the coffee beans, and there was this lovely smell all over Stortford.

The river used to run across the road by Handscomb's, and a smaller river used to run from it under the road where Jackson Square now is. There used to be a water mill across the road from where we lived. What is now the Causeway car park used to be full of trees, and where Waitrose is now sited used to be all bog. In the summer it was one mass of yellow kingpops and in the water meadows further on, where the swimming pool now is, there used to be what we called 'merry milkmaids', a fine little delicate flower coloured mauvey-blue. Horses and cattle were also kept there so you got lovely mushrooms, which we picked by the bucketful in the early mornings.

At the side of the Shades public house where Jackson Square is, there used to be a water company, and one-year they had a circus there. The elephants were regularly taken down the cutting by the Shades to be washed, and it's just as well they weren't pink, or anyone who'd been to the Shades for a drink... ! On the other side the watermen used to bring the barges up from London laden with coal, and then return laden with wood – the barges pulled by horses that used to plod by the side on the bank. When they came to a roadway the horses were unhitched and crossed the road on the bridge, but the water people used to lie on top of the barge and push it along with their feet. The living quarters on barges were very small and they all had lots of children. We weren't allowed to mix with them because they had a language all of their own, and believe you me, it WAS a language.

One hot humid afternoon when I was out mushrooming, the bullocks seemed to think I was the cause of all their troubles. I had been chopping up wood (it was wartime) when suddenly I heard a noise like a train, and there were all these bullocks surrounding me. I waved my axe at them, but when they didn't stop I jumped in the river and swam to the other side. I still waved my axe at them, but had to wait until they calmed down before I could cross the river again. I often wonder what would have happened to me if that river hadn't been there. It's been diverted now, since they built the Link Road, but the Causeway really was a causeway.

Where Charrington's building now stands there was a large area of concrete during World War II, with Nissen huts on it occupied by American servicemen. This area had been a dump until it was concreted, and for a while after the war the huts became the town's first secondary school. My mother and Mrs Flack used to go to sewing classes there with Miss Turner to teach them. Mother always used to tell Miss Turner to watch out for the river at night as she left the huts, but one night she forgot and fell in. Mother and Mrs Flack came to her rescue and dried her off a bit, but she still had to catch the train back to Stansted soaking wet. My mother was very serious about all this, but Mrs Flack couldn't stop laughing, which made mother cross. Miss Turner later taught at Margaret Dane school until she retired.

On Thursdays and Saturdays the country people from the villages all around would come into the town. To them, Stortford was like London! Each village had its own way of speaking, and I could always tell whether they'd come from Henham or Elsenham or elsewhere. Stortford was alive on those days, and long queues formed waiting for the two cinemas to open. The Phoenix was called the 'flea-pit', while the Regent was the posh one. On one occasion I was trying to get into Woolworth's with my friend, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shop. She seemed reluctant to come in but I tugged and tugged, and when I looked up I hadn't got her hand at all, I'd got a man's hand!

On Saturdays in the market there used to be a man making rock, and of course there were always some people who thought they could put one over on the country people. I remember one stall with little dancing dolls which my mother was really intrigued by, until someone said, 'Look, they're all on black cotton!' And so they were. Well, he really had to move fast because the crowd got a bit angry.

There used to be loads of halls in Stortford, including the 'Great Hall', the drill hall, one by the boys school at Hockerill, and St Michael’s church hall. But Longs in North Street was the hall of halls, with a sprung dance floor. There was a cake shop in front and they did meals, too, which were out of this world and very reasonably priced. They had 'sixpenny hops' when you paid sixpence for a whole evening's entertainment. Everybody behaved themselves and you could go home at ten or twelve at night and nobody bothered you. There were no lights in the town at night, but there were flares. How Stortford never got burned down I'll never know.

My father was manager of Walkers World grocery shop in Market Square (where Premier Travel is now), and when he first came to Stortford nobody wanted to be served by him because they couldn't understand his Gloucestershire accent. His mother had a large family and was very ill when he was born, so he was brought up by two old aunts. He met my mother during World War I. At night my mother and father used to read in bed, each with a candle that they balanced on the pillow. Well, one night my mother's candle tipped over and set light to her hair, but fortunately for her, hair doesn't blaze, it frizzles. The next morning she came downstairs with her hair all frizzy and smelling of burning.

Potter Street is very old and got its name from the potters who used to work there with their kilns. They even found a potter’s kiln in St Michael’s Hall. Fish Street is l4th or l5th century, and some ancient fireplaces were found in the buildings there. Along Water Lane I notice that the name is down low so that you can read it, but when I was young it used to be right up high for the coach and horses that used to come round there. If you look up in Stortford it's very interesting. Around the time of World War I, the George Hotel's stables were upstairs in the building next door, and the horses used to look out of its small window. Once the horses were all let out and galloped through the town.

The cake shop where Dorringtons is now, used to be held by two old ladies – Miss Harding and Miss Farge – and they were funny old dears. I went there with my mother one day when it was raining, and she said, 'Are you buying anything?' I said 'No, I'm with my mother'. 'Well' she said, 'You're taking up room. Go out! Go out!' I was ever so pleased when one of the bulls got loose and went in there and upset all the cakes and plates.

The barge people's cottages used to be round Dane Street, and there were houses all along the river bank. They must have been knocked down when the flourmill was built. The father of an Italian family living there used to have a barrel-organ on a pole and carry a monkey on his shoulder.

We used to have wonderful Christmases, as all the family, including aunts and uncles, used to come down to the Causeway and we would all sit squashed at the dinner table. My grandmother used to make all her own mincemeat with apples from her own trees, and all the children used to help her by taking the pips out of raisins. Grandmother kept us talking so we didn't eat too many! The candied peel used to come in whole slices with a lump of sugar inside, and we could eat as much of that as we liked. We all had a stir of the pudding, and silver threepenny bits were boiled to clean them before they were stirred in. I never got one, but I had an aunt who always made sure her girls got one. My mother wasn't like that!

My favourite time was in the winter with my grandmother when we lived in Sawbridgeworth for a little while, and I used to go to her for the weekends. We would sit by the fire in the twilight and see castles in the flames. She was a good one for that. A piece of coal would fall and all the sparks would fly up, and she would say, 'Ooh! Look at all the children going to school,' or perhaps she'd say, 'Look at all the birds getting ready to fly away for the winter.' I had a happy childhood.