DURING the war we were given the choice: change to general butchers selling all rationed meats or stay as pork butchers selling 'off the ration' meat products such as sausages. So that's what we decided to do.

I was away during the war in service with the RAF in North Africa, but as rationing started before I joined up and remained in force for some time afterwards, I still have vivid memories of events at the shop. The queue you can see in the photograph was typical early each morning for sausages. It was a case of 'first come, first served' while stocks lasted. To treat everyone fairly, each family was allowed just one pound, which then cost one shilling and twopence: the equivalent of six pence now. We asked customers to form a single file queue which was watched very carefully, as people would try all sorts of things to get more. Some dashed back home to change clothes and hats, or put on glasses and return to rejoin the queue. Children were sent in with notes from supposedly ill parents who had previously just been served themselves.

Our supply of meat was restricted and we had to accept any that we were sent. This was often of major concern to us. One day a van arrived and the driver brought in three large boxes and dumped them on the floor with a bang. 'That's your lot,' he said. I asked: 'What do you mean - whatever is it?' 'That's your week's allocation of meat,' says he, opening one of the boxes. Inside was a solid block, dark brown and as hard as iron. I said: 'You must be joking?' 'Oh no', he replied, 'that's dehydrated meat from America. You just saw off what you want, put it in a tub of water overnight and in the morning - you've got a tub of meat...' I was not at all pleased!

To save transport we supplied Taylors of Prickwillow with their allocation, so I sawed off their portions. When Miss Taylor saw it she was far from happy...so like Old Mother Hubbard's dog in the nursery rhyme, that week their customers in Prickwillow had none. Occasionally we managed to get some pigs' tongues which we made into potted tongue, selling it in 2oz pieces. One day a woman came rushing in, passed the queue and said: 'I think I've left my tongue on the counter'. I told her that there was nothing there. 'Oh dear', she said, 'that means I've lost my tongue'. A man in the queue was heard to say 'Thank God for that', and everyone laughed. I then recognised him: it was the woman's husband who was queuing up again to get another pound of sausages. He was refused. So it just goes to show that in some cases it pays to 'hold your tongue'. I have no doubt he realised that when he got home: I expect it was a real 'banger'!

Published in the Ely Standard of January 2, 2003