Growing up in Louth in the 1970s and 80s felt like living in a world that was perfectly self-contained, a proper Lincolnshire market town where everyone knew your name, or at least knew of you. Life moved at its own gentle pace, to the soundtrack of St James’ Church and the hum of the market.
My weekends were spent helping my grandparents. Gramps worked at the Wheatsheaf pub on a Saturday morning, I'd tag along to help get it ready for opening at 11am. I'd fetch empty glasses, gramps would be cleaning up the bar area. The smell of beer and wood polish was not the best smell as a kid but I'd do anything now to smell that again. Satisfied we'd done enough, we'd head off on our bikes to the Orange Tree Café.
After waving gramps on his way, I'd head upstairs to the kitchen where nan was preparing the soup of the day and this unknowingly at the time is where it all started, my love for cooking. The smell of fresh herbs simmering away with freshly cut veg and pieces of roasted chicken, you can't beat it.
After a quick tidy up we'd be off, back to theirs where uncle Mike was waiting patiently for lunch, but not before stopping at the butchers on the way for some good ham for the sandwiches.
When it was time to leave, my nan or gramps would slip me a few coins for helping out, and I'd know exactly where it was going to be spent, my favourite shop growing up, Metcalf's(Metty's). It's still my favourite shop but only in my memories.
Looking back now, Louth in those days had a magic that’s hard to beat. It was small but full of life, good honest hard working people, a close knit community, and a knowing you belonged somewhere.
The Wheatsheaf, the Orange Tree cafe, the market, Metty's, they weren’t just places, they were home, and it's still home, just different.
As for the people, although so many no longer with us, I miss them all immensely, they made me who I am.
Louth, it's why I'm me.
Wayne
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