Our landlord was Piet Croese, who ran a grocery store with his wife, a few doors from us on the corner and next to it they had also a druggist, as well a liquor store in Alexander Street. Mum couldn’t stand him, she thought him a ruthless operator, apparently he owed quite a bit of real estate in our neighbourhood. However we didn’t mind to do an errand for mum and going through that grocery door…tinge ling…to be met by the friendly Mrs. Croese and handing down the small list together with the warm coins from our tightly closed little fist. With one eye we watched her slicing the smoked beef very fine as mum so explicitly demanded and see her scooping the sugar into a brown paper bag on the scale.
While handing the lady our leather shopping bag to be filled with the goodies, our other eye was already glancing over the row of large glass jars full of lollies near the window facing Alexander Street. Mrs. Croese in her starched white apron was a dear old soul who never missed to guide us to one of the jars with all those alluring colours and as usual we pointed to the ‘ulevellen’ motto-kisses. Busy steering the big lolly from cheek to cheek, we were in a slow pace, homebound again. Her husband balding Piet was not to be seen, he stood behind the counter in the grog shop and druggist store, forbidden territory for us little ones.