Blast from the Past: The Bread Man

Our bread man was called Tom.

He called every Saturday about 11am, his fat Mother’s Pride van practically taking up the full width of our narrow country road.

Wearing a Daz-white coat and an equally dazzling smile, he’d opened the back doors of the van and you’d be hit with a mix of aromas, savoury, sweet, the smell of fresh bread. There was really nothing like it.

I remember two versions of his van. In the first you were to walk inside and peruse the shelves for goods.

In the second, his produce was contained in long trays, which when pulled out seem to go on and on for ever.

Those trays were packed with all manner of goodies - lemon meringues, Paris buns, Apple Tarts, coconut fingers, Battenburgs, Swiss Rolls, not to mention Mr Kipling’s entire repertoire from French Fancies to Bakewell Slices, and everything in between. Of course, the van was packed with sensible stuff too, soda farls, potato bread, pan loaves in waxed paper, Vedas and fruit bread, that, to my young tastebuds, only old people seemed to like.

At Christmas the bread was wrapped in waxy paper emblazoned with holly and berries and Tom would get a tip from all the neighbours.

But the best bit of the bread van’s arrival for me was that Tom delivered my Twinkle magazine, ‘the picture paper specially for little girls’, enabling me to catch up on the latest goings-on with Nurse Nancy and all the shenanigans at the teddy bears’ hospital.

He also brought my mother’s copy of Women’s Weekly, packed with dull romance stories, knitting patterns and recipes.

Tom would always come in for a cup of eat and helped out his customers, above and beyond the call of duty. I once heard he helped an old farmer calve a cow!

The bread van was a lifeline for those living in rural and remote areas, who had no means of transport. If you weren’t home, the bread man intuitively knew what you’d like and would put some items in a bag and attach it to the door handle.

The bread man also brought news and merriment - ours, never, ever seemed to be in bad form. But with early starts, deliveries in all sorts of weathers, and the odd tricky customer, I’m sure the job wasn’t wee buns.