Love this piece on doorsteps with all of the wonderful pictures. I am lucky enough to have both a front and a side doorstep. The front step is almost entirely devoted to potted plants, sunbathing cats and an occasional splash of pumpkins and Christmas lights. The sidestep provides me with the perfect upper perch to speak to whomever has arrived at ground level. There is a storm door for added protection from the less respectful visitor. How people act at the doorstep reveals so much about who they are!
I'm now in my 70s and well remember my father painting the doorstep of our brand new council house with cardinal red paint. My mum would then polish it every week with special red polish. Absolutely lethal really as it was very slippy but it showed the world what a good housekeeper my mum was. My mum lived in that house for nearly 60 years and as she aged the step became neglected and the paint flaked away. A new family live there now. I wonder if they've cleaned off the old paint that was left and query why it was ever painted.
So much to love about this piece. My children would be astonished to learn that their grandma once used to polish her doorstep with cardinal red (a job handed over to me as I got older).
I’m trying to develop my ability to be ‘the eyes on the street’, by making more of my front garden, and using its shady position to advantage in these increasingly hot summers by sitting out. I love the casual chats I have with passers-by when I’m gardening there. Just this week I gave away a handful of verbena plants I was removing to a woman who was passing because we chatted. And yes I’m one of those people who always starts a conversation with anyone I pass in their front garden. Changing the world one tiny (door)step at a time.
In the fishing communities of north east Scotland, a sign of a woman being a good housekeeper was hanging a deckchair-striped curtain over the front door to protect the varnish from the "blistering" Scottish summer sun. If it was a particularly hot day, i.e. over 18C, the door could be left open behind the curtain to let a cooling breeze into the house without passers-by being able to see in. Every door had two hooks screwed into the door jambs at the top of the door, and then the curtain on its plastic-covered extendable wire was hooked on when needed. These striped curtains really brightened up the "seatowns" in summer, tho they were quite bright already because of the traditional house painting style: https://www.lodging-world.com/uk/hotels/craigewan-cottage-seatown-cullen-in-cullen-97307893. I have luckily inherited my grandmother's striped door curtain and I treasure it.
It's interesting how the social connotations of front and back door use have changed too. I grew up in a house where the back door was the tradesman's entrance. Nowadays in our house the fishman and one-off couriers ring the front doorbell (the fishman I suspect because it's a shorter distance to the front door), and friends, and couriers who deliver often, come round to the back door.
As a Southern girl, the stoop / porch has always played an important role in life. Easter and Christmas pictures were always taken on the front porch to document not only the most recent fashion creation Mother had spent hours and hours on, but also the weather for the year one was this many years old (Oh! I forgot the crocus bloomed that year early! or Remember how we worried that Santa couldn't get to the chimney for the snow!??) Stoops were usually the site for that first kiss after a date while an eager parent stood just out of sight to click on the light just as lips touched.... and they were the places one met friends to play until all the front porch lights on the street came on --- a sign that dinner was ready and one had FIVE minutes to get home, washed, and to table or ELSE!
As an old woman I now live in a house with a large wrap around porch offering multiple places to talk over the rail, receive packages, or lean while watching the fall leaves fall or to inspect for the first spring roses.... My children held many dance parties on the porches which were lit with lanterns or twinkle lights.... And it provides a delicious place to stand and listen to the soft thudding of snow hitting the ground and roof...
There is something so wrong about a house without a stoop or porch... it's like wearing eye shadow without mascara... why bother?
Your posts (I’m a reader of your blog from a horribly large number of years ago) are always a pleasure to read but this one was particularly fascinating and has got me reminiscing.
I grew up in a 1950s semi with quite a wide tiled doorstep. Polishing them from an ancient round tin of red polish was a chore my mum gladly let me do! It was where we stood for our first day at school photos, with the house name swinging on chains above our head. My dad would put the empty milk bottles in their holder out at night and let the cat in or out, depending on the season. That cat, half siamese with loads of personality, would whack the door knocker when she wanted to come in with such force that you would think a human was calling. It was the place where my dad dealt with the football pools collection chap every Thursday night when Top of the Pops was on. The Avon Lady would also come round, though my mum wished she hadn’t got herself on their rota! In more recent times, the door and side windows were replaced with double glazing and a ramp and a metal bar were added to help an elderly parent. It became a much quieter place.
Your post has certainly churned up lots of memories. Who would have thought it was such an important place yet barely gets a mention on estate agent blurb.
Goodness this brought back memories. Fabulous reading as always.
I lived in Peabody Estate in Hammersmith when I was a little girl and the doorstep was very social in early 70s, there was a long line of terraced cottages all with green front doors, stone steps and tiny front bricked front gardens and a wide pavement. My sisters, brother and I all used to sit on them whilst mum (and nanny who lived two doors down) had chats with neighbours and friends, we had photos of us on our first day of primary school or nursery there. I can still remember sitting on the front step with my arm round the dog sharing an ice cream watching mum and nanny have a chat whilst I was plotting how to escape over the road and get inside the communal wash house to look round without them seeing me. Never did manage it, although my brother did pick me up to peek in the window.
My Nan payed her near neighbour Joyce Body to wash the doorstep when she was doing her own. Joyce was skeleton thin with sunken eyes and threadbare clothes. She loved my Nan x
I bought my first home two years ago, and on the day I came to take possession, the real estate agent was running late. So I plonked myself on the doorstep in my good work skirt, lifted my face to the sun, listened to the birds, and thought "I live here now." It was a moment of profound satisfaction that I've often remembered since.
Oh, I loved this piece Jane. As always, it sent me down lots of interesting rabbit holes!
My Saturday job, to earn my weekly spending money (before I was old enough to go out and work in Woolworths, Huddersfield), was to scrub the front step and then do the edges with a 'donkey stone'. I found it quite satisfying. I never knew why I had to do the edges - it was just part of the ritual and I suppose it showed the neighbours we were keeping up standards (washing on Mondays, ironing on Tuesdays, steps on Saturdays ...), even though my Mum went out to work and was not dedicated to non stop housework. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I discovered this morning that the last manufacturer of donkey stones was Eli Whalley, of Tameside. The business closed in 1979 and there is a blue plaque to commemorate the business at Donkey Stone Wharf!
Another thing I remember from my childhood on our Council estate, was sitting with my friend, Brian, on his steps eating 'pobs'. My Mum was rather horrified because she felt she was giving me good nutritious meals at home and then found me supplementing them with 'pobs'. I found it hilarious to discover, on the 'net this morning ,that there are actual recipes for 'pobs'. I think on our estate, it was needs must - old, dried bread cubes with hot milk and sugar - and not a gourmet option.
I'd looked up donkey stones and found Eil Whalley - didn't know about Donkey Stone Wharf, though. Somehow or other, I managed to avoid cleaning our red doorstep, a job my Mum disliked. I love the idea of pobs on the doorstep, although we didn't have those in Stockport. Just bacon butties.
Hi Joan, there's a detailed account of donkey-stoning doorsteps in a book I have but can't remember which one! May be David Kynaston's Austerity Britain or Virginia Nicholson's Perfect Wives in Perfect Homes. When I find it I'll let you know!
Thanks for another wonderful post! I’ve always been fascinated by all the doorstep scrubbing and whitening that I read about in British novels. In New York, where longer flights of stairs lead up to the front doors of row houses, there’s a great expression, “stoopin’ it,“ i.e. just hanging out on the stoop with friends, gossiping and chatting with passersby. There’s also the tradition, now less often seen, of hanging out of the window of a tenement, with a cushion on the windowsill, to chat with people on the street below and supervise the goings-on.
This is so lovely. The photos are a treasure trove of yesteryear. And the Doris Lessing photo and story made me laugh out loud. Thanks Jane, as always!
I'm often on the top step of my Brooklyn stoop--in full agreement with Jane Jacobs. Great post, as always. You always make the best artwork selections; I particularly love the photos. I have a photo from the early 60s with my mom and her family. All squeezed in on the front steps of my great-grandparents home in Ealing.
Love this piece on doorsteps with all of the wonderful pictures. I am lucky enough to have both a front and a side doorstep. The front step is almost entirely devoted to potted plants, sunbathing cats and an occasional splash of pumpkins and Christmas lights. The sidestep provides me with the perfect upper perch to speak to whomever has arrived at ground level. There is a storm door for added protection from the less respectful visitor. How people act at the doorstep reveals so much about who they are!
I'm now in my 70s and well remember my father painting the doorstep of our brand new council house with cardinal red paint. My mum would then polish it every week with special red polish. Absolutely lethal really as it was very slippy but it showed the world what a good housekeeper my mum was. My mum lived in that house for nearly 60 years and as she aged the step became neglected and the paint flaked away. A new family live there now. I wonder if they've cleaned off the old paint that was left and query why it was ever painted.
So much to love about this piece. My children would be astonished to learn that their grandma once used to polish her doorstep with cardinal red (a job handed over to me as I got older).
I’m trying to develop my ability to be ‘the eyes on the street’, by making more of my front garden, and using its shady position to advantage in these increasingly hot summers by sitting out. I love the casual chats I have with passers-by when I’m gardening there. Just this week I gave away a handful of verbena plants I was removing to a woman who was passing because we chatted. And yes I’m one of those people who always starts a conversation with anyone I pass in their front garden. Changing the world one tiny (door)step at a time.
So much significance and social history in doorsteps. Someone should pick up the subject and write a book akin to the one on British house names: https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/publishing/british-academy-monographs/sunnyside-sociolinguistic-history-british-house-names/ (pity it's so expensive!).
In the fishing communities of north east Scotland, a sign of a woman being a good housekeeper was hanging a deckchair-striped curtain over the front door to protect the varnish from the "blistering" Scottish summer sun. If it was a particularly hot day, i.e. over 18C, the door could be left open behind the curtain to let a cooling breeze into the house without passers-by being able to see in. Every door had two hooks screwed into the door jambs at the top of the door, and then the curtain on its plastic-covered extendable wire was hooked on when needed. These striped curtains really brightened up the "seatowns" in summer, tho they were quite bright already because of the traditional house painting style: https://www.lodging-world.com/uk/hotels/craigewan-cottage-seatown-cullen-in-cullen-97307893. I have luckily inherited my grandmother's striped door curtain and I treasure it.
It's interesting how the social connotations of front and back door use have changed too. I grew up in a house where the back door was the tradesman's entrance. Nowadays in our house the fishman and one-off couriers ring the front doorbell (the fishman I suspect because it's a shorter distance to the front door), and friends, and couriers who deliver often, come round to the back door.
I grew up with the shout of "go round the back!" if we pushed our luck trying to get someone to open the front door!
Gosh I remember my grandma and grandpa had one of these on their front door in Clapton, London back in the 60s
Lovely to hear that they're a British thing. Imagining 1960s London brighted up by striped door curtains!
As a Southern girl, the stoop / porch has always played an important role in life. Easter and Christmas pictures were always taken on the front porch to document not only the most recent fashion creation Mother had spent hours and hours on, but also the weather for the year one was this many years old (Oh! I forgot the crocus bloomed that year early! or Remember how we worried that Santa couldn't get to the chimney for the snow!??) Stoops were usually the site for that first kiss after a date while an eager parent stood just out of sight to click on the light just as lips touched.... and they were the places one met friends to play until all the front porch lights on the street came on --- a sign that dinner was ready and one had FIVE minutes to get home, washed, and to table or ELSE!
As an old woman I now live in a house with a large wrap around porch offering multiple places to talk over the rail, receive packages, or lean while watching the fall leaves fall or to inspect for the first spring roses.... My children held many dance parties on the porches which were lit with lanterns or twinkle lights.... And it provides a delicious place to stand and listen to the soft thudding of snow hitting the ground and roof...
There is something so wrong about a house without a stoop or porch... it's like wearing eye shadow without mascara... why bother?
Your posts (I’m a reader of your blog from a horribly large number of years ago) are always a pleasure to read but this one was particularly fascinating and has got me reminiscing.
I grew up in a 1950s semi with quite a wide tiled doorstep. Polishing them from an ancient round tin of red polish was a chore my mum gladly let me do! It was where we stood for our first day at school photos, with the house name swinging on chains above our head. My dad would put the empty milk bottles in their holder out at night and let the cat in or out, depending on the season. That cat, half siamese with loads of personality, would whack the door knocker when she wanted to come in with such force that you would think a human was calling. It was the place where my dad dealt with the football pools collection chap every Thursday night when Top of the Pops was on. The Avon Lady would also come round, though my mum wished she hadn’t got herself on their rota! In more recent times, the door and side windows were replaced with double glazing and a ramp and a metal bar were added to help an elderly parent. It became a much quieter place.
Your post has certainly churned up lots of memories. Who would have thought it was such an important place yet barely gets a mention on estate agent blurb.
With best wishes.
Goodness this brought back memories. Fabulous reading as always.
I lived in Peabody Estate in Hammersmith when I was a little girl and the doorstep was very social in early 70s, there was a long line of terraced cottages all with green front doors, stone steps and tiny front bricked front gardens and a wide pavement. My sisters, brother and I all used to sit on them whilst mum (and nanny who lived two doors down) had chats with neighbours and friends, we had photos of us on our first day of primary school or nursery there. I can still remember sitting on the front step with my arm round the dog sharing an ice cream watching mum and nanny have a chat whilst I was plotting how to escape over the road and get inside the communal wash house to look round without them seeing me. Never did manage it, although my brother did pick me up to peek in the window.
My Nan payed her near neighbour Joyce Body to wash the doorstep when she was doing her own. Joyce was skeleton thin with sunken eyes and threadbare clothes. She loved my Nan x
I bought my first home two years ago, and on the day I came to take possession, the real estate agent was running late. So I plonked myself on the doorstep in my good work skirt, lifted my face to the sun, listened to the birds, and thought "I live here now." It was a moment of profound satisfaction that I've often remembered since.
Your writing is brilliant! I feel like we're having a chat and you are telling such good stories. Thank you for your time and sharing.
Oh, I loved this piece Jane. As always, it sent me down lots of interesting rabbit holes!
My Saturday job, to earn my weekly spending money (before I was old enough to go out and work in Woolworths, Huddersfield), was to scrub the front step and then do the edges with a 'donkey stone'. I found it quite satisfying. I never knew why I had to do the edges - it was just part of the ritual and I suppose it showed the neighbours we were keeping up standards (washing on Mondays, ironing on Tuesdays, steps on Saturdays ...), even though my Mum went out to work and was not dedicated to non stop housework. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I discovered this morning that the last manufacturer of donkey stones was Eli Whalley, of Tameside. The business closed in 1979 and there is a blue plaque to commemorate the business at Donkey Stone Wharf!
Another thing I remember from my childhood on our Council estate, was sitting with my friend, Brian, on his steps eating 'pobs'. My Mum was rather horrified because she felt she was giving me good nutritious meals at home and then found me supplementing them with 'pobs'. I found it hilarious to discover, on the 'net this morning ,that there are actual recipes for 'pobs'. I think on our estate, it was needs must - old, dried bread cubes with hot milk and sugar - and not a gourmet option.
Thanks for a great post.
Joan H
I'd looked up donkey stones and found Eil Whalley - didn't know about Donkey Stone Wharf, though. Somehow or other, I managed to avoid cleaning our red doorstep, a job my Mum disliked. I love the idea of pobs on the doorstep, although we didn't have those in Stockport. Just bacon butties.
Hi Joan, there's a detailed account of donkey-stoning doorsteps in a book I have but can't remember which one! May be David Kynaston's Austerity Britain or Virginia Nicholson's Perfect Wives in Perfect Homes. When I find it I'll let you know!
How fascinating! Thank you.
Thanks for another wonderful post! I’ve always been fascinated by all the doorstep scrubbing and whitening that I read about in British novels. In New York, where longer flights of stairs lead up to the front doors of row houses, there’s a great expression, “stoopin’ it,“ i.e. just hanging out on the stoop with friends, gossiping and chatting with passersby. There’s also the tradition, now less often seen, of hanging out of the window of a tenement, with a cushion on the windowsill, to chat with people on the street below and supervise the goings-on.
This is so lovely. The photos are a treasure trove of yesteryear. And the Doris Lessing photo and story made me laugh out loud. Thanks Jane, as always!
So grateful for these beautiful sentences this morning. Thank you!
I'm often on the top step of my Brooklyn stoop--in full agreement with Jane Jacobs. Great post, as always. You always make the best artwork selections; I particularly love the photos. I have a photo from the early 60s with my mom and her family. All squeezed in on the front steps of my great-grandparents home in Ealing.
I really loved reading this. So much sentiment and beautiful detail about the simple little doorstep.