Dignity of the poor was his pledge, by Terry Gilder

Click the thumbnail to see full size image

THE WOMAN who walked into Ernie Hush's pawnbroker's shop on Corporation Road was in a state of agitation as she asked to pawn her diamond ring. "Whatever will my friends say if they find out that I've been to a pawnshop," she kept muttering in a refined voice as the genial pawnbroker prepared her contract After repeating her worries several times, Ernest lost his temper. "Did you notice the sign over the doorway as you came in, madam?" he asked. She hadn't, so she was asked to go and tell him what she found. "Three brass balls," she replied. The pawnbroker retorted: "I'm so relieved - for a moment I thought they had been replaced by a red light!"

It is one of many stories told in later life by Ernest Hush who returned from the Great War as a 25-year-old to take over the two pawnbrokers' shops at Corporation Road and Cannon Street bequeathed him by his father. But while he was to recognise the funny side of the business, he traded throughout the years of depression and saw its sadness as people on the breadline pawned their few possessions to exist.

Throughout it all, Ernest Hush underlined the importance of upholding the dignity of his customers, with the philosophy: 'Having no money is no sin - wasting it is.' "No matter who they are or how hard up they are, they still have dignity. They may be reluctant to hand over their belongings, but they do it with dignity."

And shrewd as he was in business, he was the first to recognise people's enterprise, such as the woman who regularly pawned her husband's suit on Monday mornings for £2 and lent the money to neighbours in amounts of five shillings (25p) with interest. Another customer pledged her canary every morning as she made her way to work, fearing that her cat would eat it otherwise - and collected it each night as she returned home.

An old whitewood kitchen table remained in pawn at the Cannon Street shop for years until the premises closed down in 1966 in the months before its demolition. It had been taken out on special occasions, such as Christenings, weddings and funerals and was always left outside because it would not go through the door.

Another regular customer asked £30 for a valuable diamond ring but was only offered f25 and came back hours later flashing a wad of notes he had won on a horse, but complaining that Hush had prevented him winning more!

He also told of the man who pawned three suits to buy a new tyre for his car and the woman who wanted her wedding ring back because she didn't like going to bingo without it. One local bookmaker pawned his large umbrella between racing seasons, while another customer pawned a suit but returned within minutes to collect a fiver he had left in the pocket.

Pawnbrokers were barred by law from dealing in goods on hire purchase, but were permitted to deal in goods supplied by the ticket or tally men - sometimes known as credit drapers. So his Cannon Street shop would be swamped with £10 parcels of bedding and household goods pawned before even the first payment had been made.

Some of the legendary stories which Ernest Hush collected in his half century in the business are sadder to relate. The well-dressed woman who began regularly pawning her household silver worried the trader and he contacted her husband who was unaware of his wife’s activities. It later transpired that she was an alcoholic.

Queues regularly formed the hockshops - as they were often nicknamed – in readiness for seven o'clock opening on Monday mornings, with many people a week or month behind in payments. He once told the Evening Gazette: "Once a man had paid his rent and food debts, there was nothing left for a week to come. Some people can't imagine what it is to like to be penniless on a Monday"

He often told the story of the woman rushing into a pawnshop with a warm frying pan, explaining that the eggs had just been fried and she needed cash for the bread. "That never happened to me, but things weren't much better in those days," said Ernest.

The terrible days of the Thirties were marked by men such as the one who stood every day on the corner near their shop. "My wife Miriam or I would give him a cigarette before he went home for his dinner - if he was lucky enough to get a dinner. They were sad days”; he recalled.

The run-up to Christmas always marked a busy time for the pawnbroker - one year he had forgotten that banks were closing early and his supply of cash was short. "The shop was full. They were nearly fighting to get at the counter. You should have heard the roar of laughter when I had to announce that I had no money for their pledges - they thought it was a great joke that a pawnbroker should be without money" But ever resourceful, Ernest borrowed money from elsewhere and everyone went away happier.

Main hazard of the trade were attempts at pawning stolen goods, with a suspicious pawnbroker asking his assistant to reach for 'the bottle of blue ink' - a tip-off to fetch the police.

By the time that Ernest Hush retired at the age of 72 in 1966, he confessed that he was ready to devote more time to his home village of Great Ayton. Ernest, a member of the Middlesbrough Hebrew congregation, was born at Cambridge Road, his father having married his niece. He told the Gazette: "In those days, such a union in this country was illegal and they went to Germany to get married. Until the law was changed in this country, I was illegitimate, now I am respectable!" His father - who always wore a skullcap - had established the business, one of 23 pawnshops in Middlesbrough soon after 1874.

But by 1966, the bustling life of Cannon Street was fast fading and the impact of the Welfare State was helping to cushion families against the financial realities of life. As money became easier, he reflected that he had once had 1,000 wrist watches which no one had bothered to redeem. "They can get everything on HP nowadays. Nobody wants to buy second-hand," he said.

Looking back, Ernest Hush likened his life's work to that of a bank manager meeting a male client. "The only difference;" he said, "is that a bank wont listen to all his problems."

Ernest retired to spend more time at his Linden Road home at Great Ayton and died in January 1985

Folk redeeming their pawn tickets at the firm run by Mr Ernest Hush would collect their parcels via the backdoor on Waterloo Road, recalls reader Alice Charlton (nee Hurst) who once lived on nearby Lumley Road, but now lives at Villa Road.

But the problem was that the parcels they collected were easily identifiable by the huge straight pins with which they were fastened.

Customers, believing that there was stigma to using the pawnshop, would drop them on the ground and Alice and her brother would pick them up, lay them on the tram lines, the trams making them into tiny swords which they wore as badges - or swapped for cigarette cards or marbles

Remember When, August 22, 1998

THE memory of Middlesbrough pawnbroker Ernie Hush and his wife can still bring a blush to the cheek of Charles James.

He recalls how Mr Hush served as a trustee of the old Joe Walton's Boys' Club, of which he was junior captain of Haig House. When Mr Hush organised a party to celebrate his wedding Charles, then living at Gurney Street, was chosen to present a bouquet to Mrs Hush.

"Being rather shy, I could feel myself blushing. To make matters worse, Mrs Hush kissed me on my cheek; the members gave a roar and I had to live it down for weeks," recalls Charles.