It was a sunny afternoon just as lunch service had finished and Dan the under chef was finishing the pots and pans. I decided to stand outside the kitchen door and unwind from the busy lunch trade. I filled my old pipe up and lit up, and as I looked down the High Street I observed a gentleman strolling towards me, dressed in khaki shorts that appeared to be a tad too large as they were flapping in the wind. But the dead giveaway was the fact he was wearing white socks inside his sandals. This could mean only one thing he was English, an Englishman on holiday.

Slowly he made a beeline towards me as I stood puffing on my pipe enjoying the rays of the late summer sun. It was not long before we came face to face, I gave a gentle smile, and then he spoke, “ Hey yew gotta loight boy?” My hand slipped into my pocket and I produced a box of matches. As he lit up his pipe and puffed away I had time to look at the stranger.  “I say” I said, “you remind me of someone. Hang you hard it will come to me in a tick.   Cor, blow me down you're a dead ringer for old Allan Smethurst.” This seemed to bring a slight smile to his face. “Do you know of him? I asked. “The Singing Postman.”

The stranger replied, “The singing postman, never heard of him.” I then said “Let me enlighten you; Allan Smethurst was known as The Singing Postman. He benefited from the public’s love for the underdog. His most popular hit was of course “Hey Yew Gotta Loight Boy” and for a while this outsold the Beatles and it became a catchphrase for all those that bought his records. Allan was a postman from Norfolk that hummed his tunes as he delivered the letters on his round, he brought a guitar from Woolworth’s in 1949 and started writing and singing in his Norfolk dialect. He plucked up the courage to send a tape of his songs to the BBC in Norwich and because of this he was given a spot on a local radio show compered by sales promotion man Ralph Tuck. Tuck decided to start a record label called the smallest recording organisation in the world.  This was to promote the then unknown Allan The Singing Postman. Tuck had only 100 discs cut in the early weeks of 1966 and promptly sold out. Allan Smethurst became an overnight star, ousting the Beatles from the top of the East Anglian hit parade. Allan in turn said “up yours to the Post Office” and quit his job, but left with his uniform. This was followed by his hit “Hey Yew Gotta Loight Boy”. “Molly Windley” was based on a gal that Allan went to school with, Molly Bayfield, and remained in the charts for nine weeks. There were other hits such as “I Miss My Miss From Diss”, and “Oi Cant Get A Noice Loaf Of Bread”. There were many many songs that came from Allan but the one everyone knows the words to, was the account of his chain smoking girlfriend Molly Windley, although she smoked like a chimney, she was in fact a very nice gal

Allan at his height was taken under the wing of EMI but by then the embers of Allan's fire were already starting to die down. Although he recorded more that 80 songs he was forever stricken with stage fright and by the 1970’s his career had come to an end. There was the unpleasant court appearance for his assault charge involving his mother, stepfather and a chip pan and with the further problem of his fingers that were threatening his guitar playing he decided to call it a day and signed on the dole in July 1970. He had in that time spent his was through £20,000. He remarked and said “yes I’ve spent the lot its all gone”. Allan, bless his heart, tried to make a comeback in 1973 at a summer season in Great Yarmouth, but by this time he had taken to drinking whisky, a sad end for an old Norfolk Boy. Allan finished his years in the Salvation Army hostel this had been his home for the last 14 years. A sad tale and a sad loss; gone is a real old Norfolk boy, November 19th 1927 - December 23rd 2000 The Singing Postman.”

“That's a very sad tale you have just told me old mate”, said my newly acquired friend.  “ Very sad, but I have a problem.” “What’s that?” I asked. “Well it’s like this. I’ve just bought a house in Heacham for when I retire in a few months time and my wife and I feel that we may not fit into village life. We had the thought that we may not be acccepted by the village people as we are moving from London.” He seemed a nice fellow so I said “What you and your good lady require is a crash course in being a good old Norfolk Boy. Hang you hard, I think that I have a list in the restaurant that might be of help to you.” I popped in and came out with a list of a few things that are a must to be done in Norfolk. I gave him the list and I told him that he and his wife must complete these as soon as possible and these will help you to fit in to the Norfolk way of life, he looked at the list and started to read them out. No 1 tucked into a lavender scone at Norfolk Lavender, No 2 brought a bargain from the Jaeger shop at Kings Lynn, No3 brought food for a picnic from Larders of Holt, No 4 spotted the Royal Family shooting at Sandringham , No 5 pretended to be a life long reader of the EDP, No 6 dropped a penny in to the well at Norwich Castle, No 7 given a tourist the wrong directions, No 8 suffered a hell of a hangover from drinking Woodfords Wheny , No 9 watched the sun set at Hunstanton, No 10 eaten fish and chips on Wells Harbour in a force nine gale, No 11 shouted “He’s behind you” at Punch and Judy show, No 12 been to Burnham Market without green wellies, and so the list went on. Armed with the list he reckoned that as he and his wife had a few days before they returned back to London and they could probably complete most of the tasks, so they could return to Norfolk to retire as if they have lived here all their life. “Oh by the way,” I said “you may just need this to really convince us that you are Norfolk born.” “What’s that?” he asked as I handed him a flat cap. “Pop this on whenever you are driving and whatever you do when you are driving on Norfolk roads use your third gear, stay in third and on no account drive above forty miles per hour, thirty five is even better, staying if you can on the white lines. You have got to learn to live life at a slower pace. At that point we were joined by a lady puffing away merrily on a hand rolled cigarette her face was only just visible from blue smoke, “Oh by the way this is the Missus, her name’s Molly.” With his newly acquired cap on his head he started to tap his pipe out on the wall, “Better be going, if we’re going to complete this list of yours.” It was at this point, arm in arm, they started to walk off. She by this time had lit up another cigarette and was puffing away. The old boy turned and smiled and in an unmistakable true Norfolk voice he said “I thanks yew for the light boy. By the way, my name’s Allan.”

Marrow Chutney

 As I walk through Heacham it seems that marrows are on sale and are in plentiful supply. Long gone are the days when I use to make marrow rum, but this recipe is well worth trying.

You will need 5lb of marrow, 2oz of salt, 8oz of onion, 8oz stoned raisins 8oz sultanas, 8oz currants, 8oz soft brown sugar, half oz ground ginger, 1oz mustard seeds and 1pt of vinegar

Peel the marrow and remove the seeds cut into small cubes, put into a bowl, sprinkling the salt between the layers, cover with a cloth and leave for twenty-four hours. Peel and chop the onion and cook in a little water until tender, add all the other ingredients except the marrow and bring to the boil, drain and wash the marrow and add to the pan. Simmer gently until the mixture is thick, about two hours. You will require a decent size pot for the cooking of the marrow chutney. Pour into sterilized jars and seal, leave for two months before using. It’s well worth the time spent making this chutney and if you start now it will be ready for using at Christmas.