My grandmother frequently told the story of how, when she was having the front pebble-dashed, a local worthy by the name of Harry Libby, accosted her. ‘You are burying a piece of Mumbles history,’ he said. He was objecting to the fact that the pebble-dash was covering up the name Albert Inn, which was painted on the front of the house. (Which in itself seems to me to be a good reason to cover it up: after all, who wants thirsty strangers knocking on the door at all hours demanding their three-happence of ale.) Anyway Granny told him where he could bury his history and the pebble-dashing went ahead, leaving only a legend.
It’s certainly one of the oldest houses in the village with walls thick enough to keep out the Normans or the Germans, not that the Germans would have got as far as the house
with great-gran on guard at the gate with her carving knife. I come from a long line of ferocious Welsh women.
Strangely enough though I’ve never been able to find a record of Albert Inn on any map or document. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my grandmother’s part; she liked her daily pint of stout. Or maybe, like the ice cream, it is just another of those village legends.
Being born some years after the war, I was brought up on the story of Mr Macari of Fortes Ice Cream Parlour, and how, on the day war ended, he gave free ice cream to every child in the village. Can you imagine anything more wonderful to a child than being given free ice cream? It was the knickerbocker glory of dreams. But then someone poured sour cream on my legend.
I was recounting this story when a lady much older than me said, ‘That can’t be true. There was sugar rationing during the war: they can’t have made ice cream.’
The truth or a myth? I know which one I’d prefer.
1 comment:
Maybe the dear man had been saving up sugar for just that occasion!
I would really like to see a picture of Albert House and all it entailed!
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