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Maury Biddle’s law offices jnd Jean’s tack shop,” Lillard recalled. “That’s the only year we’ve ever had three new businesses in town!” In rural areas, “mom and pop’’ general stores double as information centers. Village life focuses there; old timers ga'ther around pot-bellied stoves for a game of checkers and tall tales of the good old days; newcomers learn survival skills of country living—who to call to fix a broken water pump or plow a snow clogged driveway, what kind of snake that was they killed next to the wood pile, where to buy farm fresh efts and just-pressed cider. , J Boo ami Frances Bradford took that general store heritage and with the addition of their restaurant business, spiced it up with a bit of sophistication.
Bradford's Superette became "the club.” Every morning, a contingent of Flint Hill ladies gathered around the tables for coffee, sweet rolls and conversation. At lunch time, local farmers and the staff of Farmers and Merchants Bank were joined by the court house crowd and business people from Washington.
Villagers and nearby residents trooped in again for country cookin’ at dinner time. And in the midst of it all was Frances Bradford, skipping from table to table, gathering all the news fit to print—and then some.
If there was gossip that Frances hadn’t heard, it wasn't worth knowing. She was THE source, Rappahannock’s version of Watergate’s “Deep Throat”.
For the six years the restaurant was open, real estate agent Roger Batchelder was a lunch counter fixture, the most regular of Bradford’s legion of regulars.
“I used to call her ‘Ma Bradford’,” Batchelder noted. "Her menu varied from hamburgers to salsify sandwiches. You probably don't even know what salsify is. Most people don’t. Mrs.
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