Growing up in & around Clevedon, Somerset, in the 1940’s, 1950’s and mid-1960’s

BEGINNINGS

Had it not been for the German Luftwaffe, I would have been born a Mancunian – as it was, so my Mother told me – that due to a particularly heavy air raid on Manchester late in the evening of 20th October 1943, she and other heavily pregnant women were evacuated from St Mary’s Maternity Hospital, put into ambulances and driven out into the Cheshire countryside towards Prestbury.

                                    Collar House in Prestbury

Sir Oswald Moseley, leader of the British Fascist Party had apparently owned a mansion called “Collar House” in Prestbury, and this had been requisitioned as a maternity hospital – it was here that my Mother was brought just after midnight on Thursday, the 21st October.  I was born about 10.30 am that morning – in what had formerly been Sir Oswald’s ballroom.

After about a week in Prestbury, my Mother and I returned to “The Hollies” near Carrington – this was the farm where my Uncle Harry and Aunt Dolly (my Dad’s oldest sister) lived.  Mum and Dad had lived at “The Hollies” for about a year since their marriage in Southport.

                                                                                    31st Oct. 1943

From about 1940, my Dad had been the northern representative for B.A.C. – the Bristol Aeroplane Company – in those days production of various parts of fighter and bomber aircraft were contracted out to engineering companies all over the country – his role was to re-organize continued production in factories that had been blitzed.  His work took him north of Coventry and all over the north of England and Scotland.  From time to time he would return to the B.A.C. at Filton, Bristol, and stay with Edna – another of his sisters – who lived with her husband first in Bristol, and later in Clevedon.

As the War progressed and air-raid damage to factories involved in aircraft production lessened, Dad was required to spend more and more time at Filton.  My Parents decided it would be better to move south permanently.

We moved down to Clevedon early in January 1944, and lived for about a year in a flat in a house called “The Chestnuts” on the corner of Cambridge Road and Kings Road.  Mum and Dad were then offered a requisitioned house called “Riverdale” at 76 Old Church Road – we moved there in 1945.

Number 76 Old Church Road, is the first house I remember,  it was a large stone-built semi-detached Victorian house with a low walled front garden.  A path led down the left side of the house to the enclosed back garden.  The dark green front door was off this path and led into the hall with stairs leading upwards, the front room (with bay window) was off to the right.  To the left of the hall was the dining room – which led through to the kitchen, where there was a “Belfast” sink with an Ascot over, and beside this was a gas cooker.  Outside the back door were a couple of steps down to a brick paved courtyard, where there stood a pump and a large mangle.  As you came down the steps from the back door, to your left was a door to the outside loo.

Looking down the back garden, there was a large shed to the right.  To the left, a lawn and rockery – beyond which was a soft fruit and vegetable garden and then a rough area right at the bottom.  At the very end of the garden was a low stone wall which looked over the meandering Land Yeo River.

Me and Dad in the back garden of “Riverdale” 

Upstairs were two double bedrooms – Mum and Dad’s over the front room, another over the kitchen, and in between, a smaller bedroom (mine), plus a landing with a small adjoining room containing a toilet and washbasin, with a small Ascot over.

Apparently, so my parents told me, it was quite a cold damp house, and whatever the time of year, they often lit a fire in the dining room.  Like many older properties, the house had no bathroom and so we, like most people in those days, tended to have a bath just once a week – usually on Sunday evenings.  My Mum always insisted that it had to be at least an hour after eating our tea  – “to let our food go down.”

On a wall in the brick-paved yard were two large nails upon which hung a large galvanised tin bath (about 4ft 6 inches long) with a handle on each end, and a smaller oval galvanised tin bath (about 2ft 6 inches long) with handles on each end.  My parents would carry my bath in first – into the dining room, and put it on the rag-rug in front of the fireplace.  If it was cold, then the fire would have been lit.  My bath would then be filled, using a white enamel jug, from the Ascot in the kitchen, I would get stripped off and be bathed by my Mum or Dad in front of the fire.  After being dried, it was upstairs in pyjamas and dressing-gown – to bed with a bedtime story.  After I was dispatched, my bath would be emptied and taken outside and swished round with some clean water before hanging it back on its nail.  Then the big bath would be brought into the dining room and placed on the rag-rug in front of the fire.  It would be filled from the Ascot and my parents would take it in turns to bathe.  After they’d cleared up, the bath would be hung up back in the yard, and the back door locked for the night.

Next door to our house, in what had formerly been a small detached farmhouse, were the Golding Family – Ewart and Alice Golding with their three boys – Ted, Bert and Jack, and their older daughter, Miriam.

The two younger boys (Bert and Jack) used to spend a lot of time with me – sometimes they looked after me when my Mother went shopping and I would help them feed their chickens.  If my Mum was agreeable, they would even take me to the Nursery School in Coleridge Vale.  The Golding boys had a canoe made from a WW2 aircraft fuel tank – they would often take me – unknown to my Mother – for adventures up and down the Land Yeo.

At the end of the War, Dad transferred to the Planning Department, Technical Division of the newly formed Car Production Division at BAC (Filton) – working six days a week.  He went off quite early to work in the morning before I was awake, and returned home at about half-past six in the evening.  I remember that on sunny days, I would wait by the front gate for his bus – he would be on the rear platform of the bus, hanging onto the rail.  The bus stop was opposite the bottom of Victoria Road – he would drop off as the bus began slowing down,  and I would run out of our front gate and up the pavement to meet him.

One of Dad’s best friends at this time was the local policeman – Police Constable Poole.  He lived in a police house on the Fernville Estate with his wife and daughter (Joan).  P.C. Poole used to take my Dad out hunting rabbits using a ferret and an old jacket – we used to eat a lot of rabbit then.  P.C. Poole was also a keen gardener and I remember I used to spend quite a lot of time round at his house “helping” him in his garden.

Uncle Charlie

Dad had another friend, who came to stay from time to time – I knew him as “Uncle Charlie.”  I believe he had been a commando during the War and he was immensely strong.

One time I recall, when “Uncle Charlie” was staying with us, Charles Heal’s Fun-Fair came to the Salthouse Fields – “Uncle Charlie” and Dad took me.  I think it was probably the first time I’d ever been to the fair.  There was a “Wall of Death” where motor cyclists rode round the inside of a smooth-sided circular wall about twenty feet high – much to the gasps of the crowd peering over the edge.  There were dodgems, roundabouts, coco-nut shies, toffee-apples, shooting gallery, and a boxing booth .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

                                                                          Uncle Charlie

The boxing booth was in the centre of a largish marquee, which you paid to enter.  Once inside, male members of the crowd were encouraged to strip to the waist, don a pair of boxing gloves and enter the ring to face the “Fairground Champion.”  Apparently, if you survived one round – you got 2/6, if you survived two rounds – you got 5/-, and if you survived three rounds – then you got 10/-.  If you managed to knockout the “Fairground Champ” – then you got £5.

As we stood there, a steady stream of bruised and bleeding unsuccessful combatants appeared from time to time from the marquee.  I remember that “Uncle Charlie” wanted to go in to see what was happening.  Dad – as he knew several of the people waiting outside – asked if they minded looking after me for a few minutes whilst he and Charlie went inside.  After a few minutes, however, there came the sound of loud cheering from inside the boxing booth – and people outside began pressing forwards towards the entrance to see what was going on inside the marquee.  I slipped away from my “minders” and squeezed my way through the entrance towards the boxing ring, just in time to see “Uncle Charlie” pulverising the “Fairground Champ” against the ropes – it didn’t even last one round !!  The unconscious “Fairground Champ” was unceremoniously carried from the ring, and, after a lot of arguing, “Uncle Charlie” (who was unmarked) got his £5 prize.  It was a proud moment for me to be hoisted up onto his shoulders and carried through the appreciative crowds – he carried me like that, all the way home.  Though we visited the fairground a few more times during that week, the Boxing Booth marquee was always closed.

Out and About

Whilst I recall absolutely nothing of the actual War, I do remember the rationing that began in the War, and lasted for a good many years afterwards.  I remember that every week or two, I used to go with my Mum to the “White House” in Highdale Road – opposite Christ Church.  Here we got my supplies of concentrated orange juice, bottles of cod-liver oil and jars of malt.  I – and thousands of other children across the nation – were given daily teaspoons of foul-tasting cod-liver oil, quickly followed by a teaspoon of concentrated orange and then a desert-spoon full of malt.  From what I remember, this daily torture went on for many years.

There were no supermarkets during the 1940’s and early 1950’s – we got our groceries from Mr Dyer’s shop in Strode Road, our coal from Victor Peglar – whose yard was on the corner of Coleridge Road and Old Church Road.  Our fish came from Mr House – his shop was on the corner of Lower Queens Road. Other shops I knew well were the International Stores – where everything seemed to be wrapped in either blue sugar paper or grease-proof paper – I remember the large square tins of broken biscuits from which I was allowed to take one or two whenever we visited.  Parkers sold bread and cakes.  We used to get our meat from Hasnip’s (in Station Road) run by Bob Hasnip, his brother Tim and their mother. Our vegetables used to come from Billet’s, and there was Hodder’s the chemist – if we needed medicine.

For special treats I used to go with my Mum at least once a week to the “Golden Slipper” Tea Room  (now the Cheung Chaw) – a hundred yards on the right from our house, down Old Church Road.  There you could buy cakes over the counter or sit at one of the tables and have a cup of tea and a scone or cake.  The waitresses who served at the tables were dressed in black with white frilly aprons and headbands. On sunny days they used to open the French doors onto a narrow grassy strip overlooking the Land Yeo river – the same one that flowed at the bottom of our garden

Another of my favourite haunts, however, was to visit the big shed that housed the town’s steamroller – it was just down the road from my house, to the right of Hangstone Quarry and opposite the entrance to Coleridge Vale Road.  The steamroller had been built in about 1929, by John Fowler & Co. of Leeds, with the serial number of 18637.  Clevedon Urban District Council had acquired it in about 1931, and when I knew it, it was coloured brown – apparently it still exists today in Devon though it is now painted red.

                                       The old Town steamroller in current livery

I loved to be near this mighty traction engine as it snorted smoke from its chimney and hissed with escaping steam.  It was lovingly looked after by a couple of roadmen (whose names I’ve long-forgotten), and they took a delight in my interest in their beautiful machine.  Whenever I visited them, they would sometimes lift me aboard to look at the furnace.  If ever I saw them trundling about Clevedon, I would get a friendly wave and usually a loud blast on their whistle.

Life in Clevedon for a small child in the mid to late 1940’s, was a lot safer than today – in Lower Clevedon, everyone was very friendly and seemed to know everybody else – there was little traffic on the roads and I often used to spend a lot of time wandering about with the Golding boys or with our dog “Butch.”

“Butch” was a funny, rascally character – a Jack Russel terrier who was very loyal and whom, I suppose, for the few years that we had him, was my best friend.

                                                                                     Me and “Butch”

“Butch” was well-known in Lower Clevedon as being a bit of a rascal – Dad and I once witnessed him scampering out of Hasnip’s butcher’s shop with a string of sausages in his mouth, chased by Bob Hasnip, armed with a meat cleaver.  Bob never caught “Butch” but I remember him remonstrating with my Dad for having such an uncontrollable dog.

“Butch” and I often went to Clevedon Railway station – where I knew everyone – to watch the steam train going back and forth to Yatton.  I used to sit on the edge of the platform, near the buffers, with my legs dangling over, until the train came into view.  Then I would go and help collect the tickets from the passengers on their way out of the station.  “Butch” got so used to the staff at Clevedon Station, that he often used to go there on his own – and more than once, he jumped aboard the train and travelled on his own to Yatton.  After fun and games at Yatton trying to catch him, the staff there would eventually get him back on the train, for the return trip to Clevedon.

                      Arriving at Clevedon Station from Yatton

Disruption and Change of Scene

In the Autumn of 1946, when I was just three, my Mum contracted tuberculosis – she was in hospital at Frenchay in Bristol for about three months and during that time, I went to stay with my Aunt Edna and Uncle Stuart at “Combe Hay” in Hallam Road.  Dad spent his time between work at Bristol Cars, seeing Mum every day for a few hours at Frenchay, and then returning to 76 Old Church Road, to sleep.

My cousin Pat took me “under her wing” whilst I was living with my Aunt Edna – I think my life was so full of interesting things to do, that although I saw my Dad from time to time at weekends, I don’t recall being troubled by the absence of either my Mum or my Dad.  Pat, who was about sixteen years older than me, used to push me about in my pushchair all over Clevedon – usually in the company of her many boyfriends – we seemed to spend a lot of time going for walks along the cliff path at Ladye Bay, and visiting secluded spots over the top of Hangstone Quarry or going round Dial Hill.

It was whilst staying at Aunt Edna’s and Uncle Stuart’s, that in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes night, my cousin Stuart – who was about thirteen years of age – decided to make some fireworks.  His plan was to make his own gunpowder, put it in cardboard tubes, roll newspaper round the outside and put a twist at one end for the fuse.  We were in his Dad’s Victorian greenhouse, and Stuart had already made a number of fireworks a few days earlier, and had them stored in a box on the floor.  He was making a second batch and had put all the necessary ingredients for making gunpowder (suphur, saltpetre, charcoal etc) together and was grinding it up with a pestle and mortar.  Suddenly, there was a flash – the contents of the mortar ignited – and Stuart dropped the flaming receptacle accidentally into the box of completed fireworks.  Within seconds, he and I were fleeing from an exploding greenhouse – Uncle Stuart was not amused with the damage to his greenhouse !

On the night of the 5th November, dressed in warm coats, gloves and scarves and armed with bought fireworks, we carried baking trays full of Aunt Edna’s homemade black treacle toffee – Aunt Edna, Uncle Stuart, my cousins Pat and Stuart, me and my Dad, made our way up the zig-zag to Dial Hill to witness the biggest bonfire and firework display that I’d ever seen.

When Mum came out of hospital, she had to convalesce for anything upto six months.  Dad was in the process of leaving Bristol Cars to begin a One-Year Emergency Teacher Training Course at Exmouth, and as Mum wasn’t  fit enough to be on her own to look after me, she and I went by train up to Southport, in Lancashire, to be looked after by her Aunts at 143 Duke Street.  We were in Southport for about three months, during which time I managed to catch german measles.

Whilst staying with the Aunts, when I wasn’t actually ill, I spent quite a bit of time digging a vast hole at the far end of their back garden – nobody ever came to check on what I was doing.  On the day of our departure, I announced to the Aunts what I had been doing over the past weeks and invited them to come and see my handiwork.  They were somewhat horrified to see what I had achieved, and I learned later, that they had had to employ a man to fill in the hole. Mum and I returned to Clevedon on the train, and we were soon off again for a week down in Exmouth to see Dad.

It was during this week that we met up with Dad’s new friend, Leslie Colbeck – also training to be a teacher at Rolle College.  Leslie’s wife Yvonne,  with their daughter, Jeanette, were also visiting Exmouth during the same week.  The friendship between our two families was to continue for around ten years with holidays spent together – either them coming to Clevedon or us going to Southampton and Bournmouth – where the Colbeck’s lived.

                                                                 Jeanette and me on Exmouth Beach

EDUCATION, PLAY and OTHER THINGS

Wycliffe School

In early September 1948 I started at Wycliffe School in Linden Road, Clevedon – the Headteacher (Miss Starr) was a formidable lady with steel grey hair drawn back into a bun and a pair of spectacles perched on the end of her nose – she terrified all the younger children and probably many of the older ones too.  Wycliffe was a girls’ school that took girls up to the age of about fourteen and boys up to the age of about six.

To begin with, I only went half-days – my Mum used to take me in the morning and collect me at lunchtimes.  Just before my fifth birthday in October, I started going full-time to Wycliffe. Mum would collect me and take me home for lunch and afterwards would take me part of the way back – letting me go the rest of the way of my own.  For the first few weeks, she would leave me in Linden Road, then after a few more weeks she’d leave me at the end of Princes Road.  Mum always came to collect me at the end of the afternoon.

 Resplendent in my new Wycliffe uniform

As the distance I was allowed to travel on my own increased, I frequently dawdled on my way back to school in the afternoon and often arrived late.  When reprimanded by my teacher (Mrs Harris) for being constantly late – I blamed my Mum for making me help with the washing up after lunch.  This excuse worked well for a number of weeks, until unexpectedly (for me), Miss Starr confronted my Mum in the playground after school, to complain that “helping with the washing-up was making me late for afternoon school.” When the truth came out, my Mum began shouting at me in the playground and clouting me around the head in front of lots of amused mothers and rather startled children !

By the start of the Autumn Term 1948, Dad also started his new school – he had been appointed as a teacher at Carlton Park Boys’ Secondary School in Russel Town Avenue, Lawrence Hill, in East Bristol.  Initially his responsibility was as form-master of a class of eleven year old boys – teaching general subjects.  The Headmaster was a really nice man by the name of Fred Greenland – he was affectionately known as “Pop” by all the boys.  He’d been wounded in the First World War and had been Head of Carlton Park for years – and was much loved and respected by practically all of the families in that part of East Bristol.

Dad’s real flair was in Art, and his artistic skills were soon recognised and appreciated by “Pop.”  Over the years, Dad developed the Art Education in the school to such a high standard that he was promoted as Head of Art – and in time, was able to take over the vacant Infant School building next door and organise it into a six-room Art Department.  During the 1950’s, many of his lads were selected for further commercial art training at the Royal West of England College of Art.

Moving to 48 Westbourne Avenue

Because Mum and Dad had been been living in a requisitioned house in Old Church Road since early in 1945, and the War had been over for two or three years, Clevedon Urban District Council gave them the opportunity of moving to one of the new council houses that were being built on the Westbourne Estate.

I remember going with my parents to look at number 48 Westbourne Avenue – on the corner of Westbourne and Pizey Avenue.  As we had no key, we could only look through the ground floor windows – but even on that basis, my Parents agreed to have it.  We moved in around Easter 1949.

                                       48 Westbourne Avenue

It was so different from our last house – with a dual-aspect through-lounge with tiled grate and parquet flooring, a small entrance hall, a dining room with built-in cupboards, a solid-fuel Ideal Boiler and a bay window.   It had a kitchen with an electric cooker, a Belfast sink with wooden drainer, a walk-in pantry and a walk-in cold-room.  It also had a separate utility room with a sink, wash boiler, and airing cupboard containing a hot-tank fitted with an immersion heater.  There was a covered outside porch leading to an outside loo and a block-built 15ft x 7ft flat-roofed storage shed (with window) containing a coal bunker in one corner .

Upstairs were two double bedrooms and a single bedroom – all with electric wall heaters and large built-in cupboards for clothes and storage.  The bathroom, containing a bath, wash basin and loo, had partial central heating in the form of a heated towel rail taken off the Ideal Boiler which was downstairs in the dining room.  At the front of the house was a very small garden, but down the side were two fairly large lawned areas.  The 30 ft square back garden was bounded by high walls to the west and east, and the northern boundary was a wire fence which separated us from our neighbours in Pizey Avenue.  After what we had experienced in Old Church Road for the last few years, number 48 Westbourne Avenue was a fantastic house

Teacher Training for Mum

By July 1949, Mum had successfully applied for teacher training at Redland College in Bristol.  It was a one year course starting on 9th August.  During her teacher training, Mum did Teaching Practices at Nailsea and Portishead Secondary Schools.  She completed her course and received her Teaching Certificate in August 1950, and began working temporarily in Portishead (Slade Road) from September 1950 to mid 1951.

By late June 1951, Mum desperately needed a more permanent post and I remember going on the bus with her to Bristol and her telling me to stand by the gate at Baptist Mills Secondary (in St Paul’s) whilst she went inside for an interview.  She was offered the job to start from the beginning of the Autumn Term 1951.

Friends and Neighbours

Life on the Westbourne Council Estate in the late 1940’s and into the mid-1950’s – from a child’s point of view – was really good – the large areas of grass and the tarmac paths provided many opportunities for child and parent-centred activities.  We played football and cricket, and used the tarmac paths as an athletic track.  We fished for minnows and sticklebacks in the Land Yeo River near Sidney Keen’s Brickworks in Strode Road, and also fished in the lake – just beyond Westbourne Crescent where the Council were dumping household refuse – the sticklebacks in there were much bigger than you could ever find in the Land Yeo.

We had dens in nearby fields and on Wain’s Hill and Old Church Hill.  We roller-skated on the promenade between the Marine Lake and the Pier, we climbed trees in the copse above the Lake and near the swings on the Salthouse Fields and sailed home-made model boats on the Marine Lake.  With magnifying glasses, we sometimes lit small fires on Old Church Hill – though once, one of these got out of hand and the Clevedon fire brigade had to come.  We looked for and collected .303 brass cartridge cases of bullets fired on the rifle-range out on the sea-wall.  We searched for conger eels in the rocks on the foreshore below Old Church and Wain’s Hill, we carved secret symbols and our initials in the bark of trees with our sheath-knives, we dug for treasure and made collections of all manner of strange objects that we found – a much treasured possession of mine was a bag of what we “believed” were emeralds – they were, in fact, decorative green glass pieces from gravestones in St Andrew’s Churchyard.

Whenever the Marine Lake was emptied – in the vain hope of reducing the accumulated mud from the bathing area – we used to search the lake bed near where the paddle boats and rowing boats were for hire in the summer.  You could always guarantee, that if you were there searching as soon as the lake was being emptied, you could always find sixpences, shillings, the odd florin or half-crown.  Another occasional source of revenue was to be found on the Salthouse Fields immediately after the Fair had left – usually it was only pennies, three-penny bits or sixpences.  If however, you wanted a more regular source of income from Easter to the end of the summer holidays, then collecting any empty lemonade bottles along the promenade and taking them back to the many outlets along the length of the sea-front was the thing to do – each bottle had a deposit of between three-pence and sixpence, so you could easily amass enough money to buy yourself some lemonade or an ice-cream with your share of the proceeds.

We played war-games with real tin helmets, gas masks, bayonets and a de-activated hand grenade in a field just off Pizey Avenue, known as the “Donkey Field.”  We had “pop” guns that fired corks, cap pistols and potato-guns, as well as water pistols and home-made catapults and bows and arrows – it was a wonder that no one got killed or had their eye poked out !

In 1949, some of the Westbourne Estate was still being constructed – particularly between the electricity sub-station next to 56 Westbourne Avenue and on towards Strode Road – the foundation trenches and stacks of breeze blocks, provided wonderful opportunities for adventures over several weeks.  Quite a lot of the houses on the Westbourne Estate were either semi-detached or in blocks of four – we lived in one of the blocks of four.  The two end houses (numbers 42 and 48) had external gates to the back garden, whilst the middle two houses had a tunnel or passage to access their back gardens.

Next door to us at number 46, were Bill and Betty Palmer and their son Nicky – Bill worked on the railways.  Next to them were the Page Family and next door to them, at number 42, were Norman and Cynthia Wright and their son Barry.

Norman was a very friendly man who would do anything for you – he was a good amateur decorator and I remember him helping Mum and Dad decorate rooms in our house on several occasions during the time we were there.  Norman had been in the Gloucester Regiment during the the Second World War and I remember him being called-up again to fight in the Korean War in 1950.

When my Mum started teaching at Baptist Mills Secondary School in Bristol, Cynthia used to come each morning from just before 8.00 am for a couple of hours to clean for my Mum – she also did the washing and ironing and looked after me before I set off for school  The cleaning arrangement between my Mum and Cynthia Wright continued for about ten years – long after we had left Westbourne Avenue.

Next to us in Pizey Avenue were Mr and Mrs Belcher – their son, John, was one of my friends – Mr Belcher worked at Wake & Dean Furniture Factory in Yatton.  Mrs Belcher used to look after me – after I’d come home from school – until my parents arrived home from Bristol.  Next door to them were Mr and Mrs Cooke – Mr Cooke worked on Clevedon Pier and their son, Michael, was also one of my friends.  Next door again were the Henley Family – Mr Henley was a cheerful man with a ready smile.  He owned a rather large motorbike and sidecar – and from what I remember,  he seemed to spend a lot of time tinkering with this machine.  Mrs Henley, however, was a rather difficult lady – her feelings towards us depended on how her two children – Paul and Pauline – were being treated by the rest of us.

Me, John, Pauline and Michael

In the last of the council houses on that side of Pizey Avenue, were the Davis Family.  Mr Davis worked at the Coastguard Signal Station at Walton Bay.  Mr and Mrs Davis had two sons – Austin (who was a couple of years older than the rest of us) and Bobby (who was younger than us).  We had many adventures with Bobby – many of which usually ended up with him getting wet !  In their back garden, the Davis Family had a large walk-in aviary filled with budgies and canaries.  They also kept several large hutches filled with rabbits – which were bred to eat.

Across from us in Pizey Avenue  were the Webb Family – from what I remember, they were quite a noisy family – Mrs Web and her daughters always seemed to be shouting at each other about something or other, or Mrs Webb would be out shouting at her son, Colin, or her husband.  Mr Webb owned a shooting brake – he often had his head under the bonnet of this vehicle – probably to keep out of the way of his complaining wife.  Mr Webb owned the only fish and chip shop in Clevedon, almost opposite the Triangle Clock.

Next to the Webb’s were the Stone Family – John Stone was a really nice man.  Before the war, he had worked at the Co-op (on the corner of Station Road and Old Church Road).  I believe he had been in Bomber Command and was shot down over the Ardennes and managed to evade capture, and via an escape line managed to get home months later.  After the war, he returned to his old job at the Co-op.

John Stone and my Dad became very good friends over the years.  They did the Littlewood Football Pools together – hoping to win a fortune – but they never did.  John and Norah Stone were frequent visitors to our house in the evening and vice versa.  Their son Chris, was my best friend –  and it was he, who introduced me to collecting stamps and collecting autographs of sports personalities.

Next to the Stone’s were the Clothier’s – Mr Clothier was a postman and also a special constable.  He and his wife had young twins – I’m afraid that Chris and I sometimes used to tease them unmercifully to make them cry.

On the opposite side of Westbourne Avenue from me, were two more of my friends – Terry Short, whose Dad was “the Man from the Pru,” and Jimmy Bridle – he and I often played at stalking wild beasts in the jungle whilst wearing a large fearsome tiger-skin rug that his grandfather had given him.

Round in Westbourne Crescent was one more friend – John Price.  He was the son of one of my boyhood football heroes – the great Herbert George “Bert” Price.  John and I were the same age and later attended St Andrew’s School and Weston Boys’ Grammar School at the same time.

St. Nicholas School

When my sixth birthday came along in October 1949, arrangements were already in hand for me to move from Wycliffe School to St. Nicholas School in Herbert Road – I moved there in early 1950.  My Dad obviously thought that private education was a “good thing” – in reality however, St Nicholas was an awful school.  It had about forty-five boys aged from six to about fourteen years run by the Rev. St. Dennis Fry.

There were three permanent staff at St Nicholas – Miss Coulson, Mr “Barney” Barnes (who wore long-johns tucked into his socks), and the Rev. Fry.  There were also two part-time teachers – Mr and Mrs Robinson.  Tommy Wilkinson – who owned the Oak Room Cafe (above the Maxime Cinema) – used to come in to help with games and P.E.  These activities were done mostly in Herbert Gardens or sometimes on the playing field adjacent to the Cricket Ground at Dial Hill.

St Nicholas School in Herbert Gardens 1950 – I’m on the extreme right of the front row.  Staff from left to right: Tommy Wilkinson, Mrs Robinson, Mr Robinson, Rev Fry, Mr Barnes and Miss Coulson

St. Nicholas School had been originally opened by Mr Grundy – a gruff man who wore large brown boots and had his grey hair brushed straight back.  He sported a walrus moustache and looked to us, a bit like Joseph Stalin – the then leader of the Soviet Union.  When I was at St Nicholas, Mr Grundy would turn up from time to time, and we would all stand reverently as this ogre eyed us up and down.  He would perch himself on a chair to one side at the front of the class, tell us to sit down, and then he would stay to listen to what was going on in our lesson.  Over the years at St Nicholas, I became a pretty good speller and could draw and paint reasonably well – but I could do very little else.

Boys would begin arriving at school from around 8.30 am – the Rev. Fry slept in a one-roomed flat upstairs and we could often hear him snoring if we arrived early.  He would subsequently appear and one of the older boys would collect the Union Jack from inside the school and hoist it up the flagpole at the front of the school.  We would all troupe in for morning assembly – held in the front classroom – with Mr Barnes playing the piano. After Assembly we would then return to our classrooms.

My first classteacher at St Nicholas was Miss Coulson – she had about 12 boys in the small room overlooking the back yard.  She taught us general subjects up till break-time each day.

Every day there were always two tea monitors in the morning – we all had to take it in turns.  As a tea monitor, at about twenty-past ten, we had to go into the small kitchenette that was adjacent to Miss Coulson’s room.  We would fill the kettle, light the gas on the stove and put the kettle on – and when it boiled, make tea for each of the teachers.  The tea monitors carried the tea to each teacher wherever they were in the school – usually the two downstairs classrooms and one upstairs.  Older boys from another class used to carry in the crates of third-pint bottles of milk from the front yard, to just inside the front door.  Each boy was expected to collect one bottle of milk each per day from the crate as he went out into the back yard for morning play.

The back yard was actually a hard-packed area of gravel and stone-dust, bordered on one side by a stone wall, and on the other, by a high wire netting fence separating the school yard from next door’s garden.  At the far end of the the yard was stone wall, about chest height, with “soldiers” on the top.  If you looked over, you found yourself looking down onto the playground of Wycliffe School.  It was great sport to hurl bits of gravel over the wall into their playground, and then hide from the girls and their teachers, behind the “soldiers” on top of the wall.

Because of our antics, the Rev. Fry was frequently visited by staff from Wycliffe who complained about our behaviour.  We would then all be assembled in the yard to apologise in unison, to the ladies from Wycliffe.  However, as soon as the Wycliffe Staff had set off back to their own premises – and the Rev. Fry had gone back inside – we knew we had about four minutes to mount a hail of gravel and other missiles onto the hapless girls before their teachers returned to Wycliffe playground.

When I first went to St Nicholas, some boys went home for dinner.  Amazingly, however, all the St Nicholas staff used to depart at dinnertime too – leaving the rest of the boys to their own devices in the empty school.  I used to take a packed lunch and there was always much swapping of sandwiches etc. between the boys.

All new boys staying in the school at dinnertime were put through an initiation ceremony by the “old hands.”  In the ground-floor front classroom, was a walk-in storage cupboard.  Innocent newcomers were shoved into this dark cupboard for a few minutes.  Older boys (who had already hidden themselves on the shelves of this cupboard) would bombard you with balls of screwed-up paper and also books – together with high-pitched screams and shouts – all designed to scare the living daylights out of you !

One dinner-time I remember, some older boys began flicking milk from the half-empty milk bottles, at each other – this was soon picked up by more and more boys.  The milk residue from the bottom of the bottles soon ran out, so milk bottles were then partially filled with water from the various taps around the school so that the “flicking” game could continue.  As one can imagine, it was not long before the stairs, hall, landing and classrooms were swimming in milky water.  Realising that there would be trouble, some of the older boys had the bright idea that we should clean it up before the teachers returned after lunch.  Mops and rags were located and we all set to work.  The results were somewhat patchy and rather unsatisfactory and so someone suggested that better results might be achieved by adding more water and soaking and mopping everything.

When the Rev. Fry and his staff returned after lunch, they found a very wet, but very clean school – and all the boys playing innocently outside in the yard – hoping not to raise any suspicions.

Retribution was swift, long and very hard on the ringleaders – no one was left unpunished – I got an after-school detention.  Detentions were recorded in the “Detention Book” together with details of the crimes committed.  Details of these misdemeanours would, at the end of each term, accompany the School Report to parents.  Many boys had several detentions for this dinner-time escapade, and no doubt fearing further parental retribution at the end of term, it was not surprising therefore, that the “Detention Book”  listing all the criminals and their crimes “went missing” just a few days afterwards.  The book was recovered a year or two later in the space under the floor of the front ground-floor classroom during some building repair work.

As a result of our lunch-time escapades, the opportunity for bringing packed lunches ceased.  All those boys who could go home at lunchtimes had to do so – the rest (and I was one of them) had to pay for lunches at the Oak Room Cafe above the Maxime Cinema, and eat with the Rev. Fry.  The Oak Room Cafe was run by Tommy Wilkinson.  The cooked two-course lunch cost a shilling – the ten or so of us who stayed for lunch, were escorted down to the Oak Room Cafe by the Rev Fry – but not before he had checked and securely locked the school.  After we had eaten and paid for our meal, we were escorted back to school again – in time for the afternoon session.

                 The Oak Room Cafe as I remember it

I remember a very sombre lunch at the Oak Room Cafe – it was Wednesday 6th February 1952 – the day on which King George VI died.  The radio was switched on, and we, and the other diners, ate our meal in complete silence.  The only sound apart from the occasional clinking of cutlery on plates, was the sound of continuous funeral music being played over the radio.

Dead Body

I’m not sure which year it was – it was a Friday in late October in either 1951 or 1952.  We had been to the Oak Room Cafe as usual, with the Rev Fry, for one of Tommy Wilkinson’s lunches.  As the Half term Holiday was due to start that afternoon, we were dismissed straight after lunch from outside the cinema.  As it was my usual habit to wander about here and there – rather than going directly home, I decided that afternoon, to walk along Old Church Road towards the Steamroller shed to see if my friends (the roadmen) were there.  As luck would have it, the shed was locked, and peering through the crack between the doors, I could see that the shed was empty.  I knew that my two friends were out on the steamroller somewhere in Clevedon.

I decided to make my way up the narrow winding path behind the shed, through a thin copse on the side of Hangstone Quarry, through the bushes at the top, climb over the rustic fence and join the public footpath over the top of the quarry.  I then intended to walk down to Victoria Road, along Strode Road and into Westbourne Avenue and home.

I set off up the path leading from behind the steamroller shed, and was soon approaching the bushes near the top – where the path got a bit narrow.  I found my way blocked by a figure, lying face downwards away from me.  The figure was wearing brown shoes, green trousers and brown tweedy jacket.  As we were only about a week away from Bonfire Night, part of me concluded that this was some life-sized Guy Fawkes that had been abandoned or hidden for later use.  Unable to get past, I decided that if I wanted to investigate my “Guy” further, then my approach would have to be from the public footpath that led over Hangstone Quarry.

I retraced my steps back down towards the steamroller shed – it was still closed up.  There was nobody to be seen as I walked back along Old Church Road and up Hillside Road.  I turned into St John’s Avenue and began walking up the winding public footpath until I reached the rustic wooden fencing – over and beyond which, was the narrow path through the bushes to where “Guy” was lying.

By now, I was beginning to have severe doubts as to whether it really was a Guy Fawkes after all – maybe it was someone who wasn’t very well.  I’m not sure quite what I was feeling as I climbed over the rustic fence and entered the area of the bushes – but I can remember calling out “Hello” several times.  Within a few steps, I came across the figure with the top of his bald head towards me – I couldn’t see his face as he was lying in a pool of blood.

Strangely, I didn’t feel scared by the macabre scene in front of me – I remember turning quietly and making my way back through the bushes to the wooden fence, beyond which was the public footpath.  Climbing over, I began walking over the top of Hangstone Quarry.  By the time I reached Victoria Road, I had made up my mind that maybe I should tell someone what I had seen – but there was absolutely no one around to tell.  I crossed over by the drinking fountain at the bottom of Victoria Road, and began walking up Strode Road towards Westbourne Avenue.

On the corner of Westbourne Avenue and Strode Road, I saw three workmen repairing a stone wall.  I had first met them a couple of days earlier, when they had let me spend a few minutes shovelling through their mortar – so they knew me.  I stopped for a while to talk with them – though I wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of what I had seen, but eventually said “Guess what I’ve found ?”

Various suggestions were made – all of them incorrect.  Finally I told them what I’d seen and I remember one of them telling me to “Clear off you little bugger – telling us such stories !”  I persisted and eventually one of the men said he would take me down to the Police Station where I could tell them what I had found.  Taking me by the hand, we walked down Strode Road into Old Church Road, past my old house and past the cinema towards the Police Station.

Here the workman explained to the sergeant what I had told him.  After listening, the sergeant told the workman to go back to work and then turned to me to ask for my version of what had taken place.  I relayed my story very carefully, word for word – even telling him exactly what one of the workmen had said to me when I told them what I’d found.

The sergeant called a constable from the back room and quickly explained what was required.  The constable put on his helmet and, taking me by the hand, we went through the front door.  We crossed over Old Church Road and up Hillside Road and into St John’s Avenue.  We made our way up the winding footpath till at last we reached the rustic wooden fence, over which was the narrow path leading through the bushes to “Guy.”  The constable told me to stay by the fence, whilst he climbed over and disappeared into the bushes.  There was a lot of rustling about and then, a minute or two later, he reappeared and told me to “run along home.”

I set off over Hangstone Quarry for the second time that afternoon and soon reached Victoria Road.  I crossed into Strode Road and walked along it towards Westbourne Avenue.  The three workmen whom I’d met earlier had packed up and gone home.  I turned into Westbourne Avenue, reached number 48, and let myself in – rather than going next door to Mrs Belcher.

Mum and Dad usually arrived home soon after five o’clock.  I can remember thinking over the events of the afternoon and wondering quite how I was going to tell them.  For some inexplicable reason, I was now beginning to feel a sense of guilt about what had taken place, and by the time they arrived home, I had decided I wasn’t actually going to say anything at all about what had happened.  However, not long after they arrived home, there was knock on the front door.

My Dad went to answer it – it was P.C. Poole.  For a few minutes, there was the sound of hushed voices coming from the front hall and then the sound of P.C. Poole departing.  Dad came in and asked me whether anything had happened on the way home from school – at first, fearing I was in trouble, I assured him that “nothing had happened.” Though with further questioning  and encouragement from my Dad, I slowly recounted the afternoon’s happenings to my somewhat astonished parents.

My Dad was, I think, very fearful of the effect might have on me, and decided that the best solution was to have a fish and chip supper from Mr Webb’s shop, followed by a visit to the Maxime Cinema to see the war film “The Frogmen” starring Richard Widmark – it certainly did the trick !!

Going to the Maxime Cinema

The “Maxime” Cinema – more or less the same building that is now called the “Curzon” – is apparently one of the oldest continuously running cinemas in the country – it originally opened just after the sinking of the Titanic in April 1912.

When I lived in Westbourne Avenue, going to the “Maxime” on a Saturday morning, was the highlight of the week for most children aged between about six or seven upwards to about the age of fourteen.  What seemed like hundreds of excited youngsters would assemble in a disorderly line along the front of the shops on the ground floor of the cinema building just before 10.00 am on Saturday mornings clutching their sixpence – waiting for the doors to open.

In those days, the foyer was twice as big as now, with the ticket office just to the left at the bottom of the stairs.  You had to go up one flight of stairs and turn left through double doors to get to the stalls.  The stalls were always filled up first, and it was a question of finding a seat with your friends anywhere you could – seats were all one price.  At last the noisy rabble would be seated and the programme would be ready to start – the lights would dim and the show begin.

There was always a western – usually Hopalong Cassidy (William Boyd) with his sidekick “Gabby Hayes,” or a Tom Mix film, or Roy Rodgers and his horse “Trigger.”  The “baddies” always wore black stetsons and the good guys always wore white ones.  If they weren’t fighting “baddies,” then they were fighting red Indians – we soon learnt that “the only good Injun was a dead Injun !”

Sometimes there were a few Disney cartoons – Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Pluto and Goofy.  There was always a comedy film – either Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, or “OId Mother Riley  (with Arthur Lucan and Kitty McShane).  Sometimes there was a “Batman” or “Zorro” film.

The shouts, cheers, screams and laughter from the audience were often deafening and sometimes objects would be thrown at the screen in support of the heroes in their fight against “the enemy.”  Missile throwing usually brought the film to a shuddering halt – the house lights would go on and the Cinema Manager would come on the stage.  He would bellow at the miscreants who were out of their seats, he would complain about the missile throwing and, amid raspberries and other indescribable noises, one or two well-known criminals would be threatened with ejection.  Once order was re-established, he would then depart – to a mixture of loud cheers, boos and raspberries – the house lights would dim, and to increasing cheers from the young audience, the film reel would stagger to life and the morning’s entertainment continue.

If I remember correctly, the Saturday morning film show would finish at about twelve noon, and within minutes, excited youngsters would spill out of the exit doors on either side of the screen and onto the pavement and wend their way homewards.  In our case, my group of friends and I would re-enact the adventures we’d just seen on the silver screen, all the way home.  The blue gabardine mackintoshes – widely worn by youngsters in the the late forties and fifties – made admirable cloaks for Batman or Zorro or other caped crusaders swooping along the top of Hangstone Quarry.

For quite a number of years, Mum, Dad and I  went out regularly to the Cinema on Friday evenings.  I always wanted to go upstairs on the balcony or into one of the boxes at the side – Dad always said that the best place to sit was in the middle of the stalls – whether that was actually true, or whether it was the cost of the seats that appealed – I’m not sure.  If my memory serves me well,  centre stall seats were 1/6 each (about 7p in today’s money) and my ticket cost ninepence (about 4p).

In those days, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of different categories of films – most films shown at the “Maxime” seemed suitable for children.  There were westerns, war films, crime, comedy and romantic films.  The sort of films I can remember seeing included: “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon” (western), “Ivanhoe,” “The Mudlark,” “Oliver Twist,” “Destination Moon,” ” The Greatest Show on Earth,” “Bambi” and “Swiss Miss” (Laurel & Hardy).  The film performance usually consisted of a “B” film followed by adverts and the Pathe News, followed by the major film.  Performances were only from Monday to Saturday and began in the early afternoon, and were repeated until about ten o’clock at night.  If you were so inclined, you could actually sit from about 1.30 pm through to the end of the evening without having to pay for a new ticket (over 8 hours).  If you were there at the end of the evening’s performance, it was marked by the playing of the National Anthem – at which most people stood reverently until it was over – though there were always some, who would make a bolt for the door as soon as the music began.

As I have said, we used to go regularly to the cinema on Friday evenings.  For various reasons, my Mum didn’t always come – it would then be just me and my Dad.  I remember one particular Friday – Mum had been unwell and Dad didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted that he and I went as usual.  We were about an hour into the performance and were both engrossed in watching an exciting western, when a crudely written message appeared superimposed on the screen.  The message stated that we were “required at home immediately” – I can remember my disappointment on having to leave the film at that point, and never knowing how it turned out.  Mum had apparently been taken ill at home on her own, and had been able to get help from Betty Palmer (next door).  Her husband Bill, had run down to the phone box in Old Church Road (by the Salthouse Fields) and phoned Dr Hylton, and the “Maxime” Cinema.

Our weekly visits to the cinema “tailed off” with the acquisition of a television in late 1952 when the Wenvoe transmitter opened.  We did however, go to the cinema from time to time, to see something different.  I remember sitting with my parents – all of us wearing red and green lensed-glasses to watch 3D cinema in Bournemouth.  I also remember seeing “Cinemascope” for the first time – in a film called “The Robe.”

Car to Pier Beach and Ladye Bay

My Parents had a number of cars over the years.  When I was about two or three years of age, Dad had a box-like Austin 12 – which he kept at Mr Ford’s garage on the corner of Strode Road and Old Church Road.  As far as I can remember, Dad didn’t have this car long – I think he got rid of it in about 1946 – about the time he transferred to Bristol Cars.

His next car purchase was in about 1950 – it was a two-door, four-seater 1936 Ford 8 with the registration number of AHR 205.  Dad bought it from the garage on the Pier Beach,

where there was a Wems Coaches Booking Office, with two petrol pumps on the roadside and where some of their coaches were stored and maintained (now the cafe at No. 5 The Beach).  We spent a couple of weekends at the Garage, repainting the car inside and out with black cellulose paint, and Mum made some loose-fitting fawn coloured covers for the “leather” seats – which had seen better days.  Dad kept the car in a “lock-up” garage at the back of Willcock’s Garage on the corner of Pizey Avenue and Old Church Road.  As well as using it to go to school in Bristol, my parents used to go out for little trips (with me) on Sunday afternoons – usually around the lanes of Kenn, Yatton, Kingston Seymour and the Gordano Valley and along the Coast Road to Portishead.  They then became even more adventurous and we were soon visiting Weston (via the Kewstoke Toll Road) and even travelling up in the Mendips – to Burrington and Charterhouse.

                      Me in the driving seat at Brockley Combe

Before car ownership, visits to the Marine Lake happened now and again during the summer, as did visits to Little Harp Bay and the Green Beach – but it was always a bit of a problem on these visits to cope with all the picnic stuff, travel rugs and me.

Now that we had a car – new possibilities opened up – the Pier Beach !  Having a car meant you could take almost everything with you – except the kitchen sink – and spend a whole day on the beach.  We became fairly regular visitors to the Pier Beach during that summer, until someone suggested we might like Ladye Bay even better – so we tried it – and that was the start of a long and happy connection with Ladye Bay, that lasted until the beginning of the 1960’s.

Car ownership also opened up the prospect of holidays away from Clevedon – we once stayed with friends in a Tudor manor house – said to be “haunted” – at St Katherine’s (near Bath).  One summer, we rented a bungalow near Burton Bradstock in Dorset, and every Whitsun, for about ten years, we rented caravans with uncles, aunts and cousins in Lyme Regis.  We visited the Aunts in Southport, and visited friends in Bournemouth, Oxford, London and Tewkesbury.

Within a year or so, Dad got rid of the Ford 8 and bought a 1938 Hillman from Willcocks’ Garage – that was soon followed

                   Dad and our 1938 Hillman – behind Willcocks Garage

by a 1954 Hillman Minx with four doors and faux leather seats.  His first new car didn’t come until 1963 – an ivory coloured Triumph Herald 12/50

1951 – The Festival of Britain

After the austerity of the war, the Clement Atlee post-war Labour government planned the Festival of Britain as the “tonic to the Nation.”  It was not without it’s critics, and many felt the £8 million would have been better spent on housing.  For many people in Britain, the world outside the proposed Festival was a grim place – rationing was still in place, dockers were striking, the Korean War was in full swing, the Rosenbergs had been convicted of spying for the Soviet Union, and the testing of nuclear weapons continued apace in Nevada.

In the midst of this grimness however, the Festival of Britain introduced a sense of possibility in the world.  It was designed to show what was best about British culture and design – it was to be Britain at its best in terms of both its history, its industrial development and, looking towards the future.  It covered aspects of architecture, engineering, science, medicine, history and culture.  A huge 27 acre bomb site had been found in London (almost opposite the Houses of Parliament) on the south bank of the River Thames.  A range of exhibition buildings and structures were erected, including the Royal Festival Hall (which is all that still remains of the original site), the concrete and aluminium Dome of Discovery (a structure whose diameter of 365 feet and height of 93 feet made it the biggest dome in the world), and the precariously balanced pencil-thin Skylon.  The year had also been carefully chosen, as it was the Centenary of the Great Exhibition of 1851 – the Festival of Britain opened in May 1951.

      1951 Festival of Britain with the Dome of Discovery and Skylon

Mum and I travelled up on the train from Clevedon in late June – it was my first visit to London.  To experience riding on the Tube, seeing the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, a boat trip on the Thames and then to visit the Festival site was a truly fantastic experience.  The memories of riding on escalators in the Dome of Discovery, marvelling at life-size models of dinosaurs, inspecting jet engines and clambering onto huge railway engines, and standing beneath and looking up at the Skylon – have remained with me ever since.  Just as fascinating for me, was the display of allied and captured enemy WW2 planes assembled on Horse Guards Parade – a great day out for any eight year old boy !

Amazingly, the Festival site was controversially flattened when Winston Churchill led the Conservatives back into power in October 1951 – it was as if the vision of the future was somehow out of step with the real world.  It is said that almost 8 million people visited the Festival – I’m glad I was one of them.

The Bully

I’ve only been bullied once in my life and that was for a few days when I was eight.  It started one day towards the end of the week, as I was walking to school by one of my roundabout routes, through the Fernville Estate.  His name was Richard – he was bigger than me and about twelve years of age and went to Highdale Secondary Modern School.  It first started with him commenting on my St Nicholas uniform, and then it developed into name calling – on the second day, there was a bit of pushing and shoving.  My Dad sensed I was unhappy about something that evening, and on the following day, I feigned illness to avoid going to school.

On the Saturday morning, whilst fiddling about in the shed with some wood, a saw and a hammer and nails, Dad came in and asked me if anything was wrong.  At first I was rather reticent, but eventually told him about Richard and about all that had taken place over the previous two days.  His solution was simple . . . . . . . . . .

My Dad found a small hessian sack, and getting a few old newspapers, we began screwing up the newspaper sheets into small balls and stuffing them into the sack.  When it was full, he securely tied the bulging sack from the roof of the shed.  Next he got a sheet of card on which he drew a “life-size” comical face – with a big nose.  The face was then fixed to the sack at what I estimated to be the height of Richard’s face.  I was then given a few hints on boxing and then left on my own, to punch hell out of “Richard” – especially around the area of the nose.  I practised most of the rest of Saturday and quite a lot of Sunday too – I could hit “Richard” squarely on the nose – even with my eyes closed . . . . . .

As you can imagine, I could hardly wait to set off for school on the Monday morning, in the hope of meeting Richard and trying out Dad’s plan.  As I approached the area where my foe lived, he suddenly appeared from a nearby gateway and started name-calling.  I ignored him at first, and he moved in closer to begin jostling me.  With Dad’s advice ringing in my ears, using all the strength I possessed, I gave Richard one huge punch on the nose.  His nose literally exploded under the force of the blow – blood spurted out across his face and on my fist.  The look of disbelief on his face must have been equalled by my own – he turned and fled home – I turned and ran in the opposite direction – away from any possible terrible retribution from his Mum.

That evening, Dad asked how things had gone and I explained what had happened – he was obviously pleased at the outcome and assured me that Richard wouldn’t bother me again.  About an hour later, however, there was a knock at the door – and Dad went to answer it.

Peeping through the net curtains of our front bay window, I could see a lady talking earnestly to my Dad.  Standing next to her was a boy with sticking plaster all round the middle of his face – it was Richard.  From what was being said, it was obvious that his Mum was demanding to see the thug who had beaten up her son.  Slowly, I eased my way out of the dining room and into the hall, and peeped out at her from behind my Dad.

When she saw me and compared my size to that of her son,  she immediately turned on him – accusing him of wasting her time.  As they walked away from our house, I remember the wonderful sight of Richard being clouted around the head and shoulders by his Mum.  Dad was right – Richard never did trouble me again !

Christmas

Ever since I was a little boy, I have always enjoyed the magic of Christmas.  I have many happy memories of different Christmases – mostly whilst living at Westbourne Avenue.  I think one of my earliest recollections was the Christmas after we moved in, when my Mum and Dad took me to see the pantomime at the Salthouse Pavilion (between Haskell’s “Westend Gift Shop” and the Salthouse Pub) – it was Cinderella.  I can remember being invited onto the stage – with two other children – by the Ugly Sisters, to learn and sing and do all the actions to “I’m a little Teapot, Short and stout. Here’s my handle, Here’s my spout.” etc.  It was obviously well received by the audience who laughed and cheered as we came off the stage.

In Six Ways in Clevedon, where the “One Stop” shop now is, there used to be a shop called “Babyland.”  Each year, on Saturday afternoons from mid-December, “Babyland” used to have Father Christmas – his Grotto was in the basement, and a queue would form at the appointed time, in the adjacent alleyway behind the building, accessed from Alexandra Road.  All the Mums and Dads would assemble with their excited offspring as they shuffled their way forwards to rear door of the “Babyland” basement and the entrance to Santa’s Magical Grotto.  Sitting on Santa’s knee, he would ask you whether you’d been good all year – your answer would be relayed to Mum or Dad.  Then you would tell him what you hoped Santa might be able to bring you on Christmas Eve.  I always thought Santa was a little deaf, as he always repeated – more loudly – what you had told him you wanted.  Having told your wishes to Santa, you were then allowed to dip into a very large box of wrapped gifts – pink for a girl and blue for a boy.  Then you were directed pasts shelves of “goodies” and on upstairs to the ground floor where there were more delights to drool over.

Being so soon after the War, there was not too much choice in the range of toys available – in my letters to Santa (of which I still have several), I always asked for a tangerine, chocolate money and crayons – if I was feeling lucky, I might even ask for a box of dates too.  One Christmas, I was delighted to get a “Lone Star” cap pistol – I was the envy of all my friends – it was far better than any toy gun that my friends had ever had.

A few days before visiting Santa’s Grotto, when my Mum used to pick me up from school, I used to find an excuse to divert her in the direction of “Babyland” to look at the displays of toys in their windows.  One year, I remember wanting a metal racing track that I had seen in the “Babyland” window – it was a metal figure-of-eight two-lane track with blue and red wind-up metal cars.  I knew it was asking a lot to expect Father Christmas to bring such a big present – but he did – though I could never figure out quite how he’d actually got it down our chimney !

One Christmas, two of the Aunties came down from Southport to stay with us in Clevedon.  Being Catholic, they decided they wanted to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, at the Catholic Church – just at the top of Marine Parade.  Mum, Dad and I went with the Aunts – it was my first time in a Catholic Church, and I remember ducking each time when the priest began swinging burning incense around in the thurible, on a long chain.  In those days, the whole service was in Latin and, of course, I couldn’t understand a single word – I thought it very mysterious that the Aunties seemed to know this strange language, and knew exactly what was going on.  The service finished just after midnight and I can remember trying to hurry the four of them home as quickly as possible – I was terrified that Father Christmas would arrive in my bedroom, find my bed empty and leave without filling my stocking.  I’m pleased to say that he hadn’t, for my stocking was full when I awoke the next morning.

One particular Christmas Eve that I remember, I was particularly excited.  I had, as usual, written my letter to Santa and pinned it to my stocking on the bottom of my bed.  Once in bed, no matter how I tried, I just couldn’t get to sleep.  The more I lay there unable to sleep, the more worried I got, knowing that Father Christmas wouldn’t come if I was still awake.

Eventually, I must have “drifted off” and then awoken again – this time feeling a heavy weight on my feet – maybe Santa had come !  I sat up in bed – it was dark and the room was filled with moonlight.  Not wishing to disturb my parents, and having no bedside light, I proceeded to feel what was at the bottom of my bed.  Whatever it was, was large and heavy.  By the light of the moon, I realised it was a long large dressing gown – and as it was cold, I put it on.  I began searching through my stocking – there was a tangerine (which I ate), a bag of chocolate money (which I ate), a box of dates (which I ate), a torch – which I flashed all over the bedroom and then realised I could use it to illuminate the decorating of my new crayoning book with my new packet of crayons.  At the bottom of the stocking was a Christmas cracker – which I pulled.  So there I was, sitting up in bed, wearing my new dressing-gown with my torch switched “on” (propped on my pillow to shine on my colouring), with a paper hat on my head and blowing the whistle I’d found in the cracker.  I was making so much noise and so engrossed in my colouring, that I wasn’t aware that my bedroom door had opened and there stood my Dad.  As you can imagine, he wasn’t too happy about having his sleep disturbed.  I had to put everything back in the stocking, take off my dressing-gown and put it at the bottom of the bed, settle down and go back to sleep.  I had rather a fitful sleep – expecting it to have all been a dreadful dream and that maybe Father Christmas had never called at all – I was woken by Dad the next morning to find it wasn’t a dream after all.

Apart from the year that the Aunts came to stay at Christmas, the three of us always had Christmas Day at home.  Christmas Dinner  was always roast chicken with all the trimmings, followed by home-made Christmas Pudding – it was always a mystery to me that I always seemed to find the silver three-penny piece in my portion of pudding .  Afterwards was spent in front of the fire, roasting a few chestnuts and listening to the radio or, from the time we had acquired a television, watching the entertainment on that.

Car ownership in about 1950, brought about a change in our Christmas celebrations.  After we had had our Dinner at home, and everything was cleared up, we used to go off to Uncle Stuart and Aunt Edna’s house in Hallam Road for tea, and to spend the evening with them.  I used to enjoy these evenings for it was an opportunity to see my older cousins – Stuart and Pat.

Comics, Papers, Books and Hairdressing

I can never remember learning to read – it just seems to have been something I could always do.  Right from an early age, I used to look at newspapers, magazines, comics and books, and ask my parents what particular words were, and then I would remember them afterwards.

Dad used to buy the “Daily Mail” – then a broadsheet – from a shop called “Little’s” (in the Triangle) on his way to work in the morning.  In the evenings, after Dad had finished looking at it, I would try to read what it said.  I also liked to look at the cartoon strips – “Rip Kirby” (who was a Special Agent) and “Flook” (a rather strange woolly-like creature whose friend was a boy called Rufus).

I can remember sitting at the table in 76 Old Church Road and writing the football results down on Saturday evenings from the radio – in the vain hope that Dad might win the pools.  Dad also used to buy either the “Evening Post” or the “Evening World” on his way home from work.  On Sunday we had two papers delivered – both are now extinct – the “Sunday Pictorial” and “Reynolds News.”

When Dad was not cutting my hair in the garden (if fine) or in the shed (if wet), he and I used to go to “Coopers” in Coleridge Vale Road North (opposite what is now the Christadelphian Church Hall).  Apart from the wonderful smells of the sprays, gels and Brylcreem, there was always a lot of chatter about the successes or failures of various football teams and also much talk about the successes or otherwise of British boxers of the time – such as Don Cockell, Freddie Mills and Tommy Farr.  What I enjoyed most at Cooper’s however, were the comics.  Mr Cooper had vast collections of “The Beano” and “The Dandy” – he also had “The Victor” – but best of all, he had a regular supply of American Marvel Comics with “Spiderman,”  All-Star Comic hero “Superman” and DC Comic hero “Batman.”  It was always a great relief to go into Cooper’s and find a long queue, for it meant I could expect to have about half an hour or so, reading his comics.

Seeing how much enjoyment I was getting from Mr Cooper’s comics, Dad used to buy me the occasional “Dandy” or “Beano” – so I could read further about the adventures of Corky the Cat, Lord Snooty, Biffo the Bear, Dennis the Menace and Desperate Dan.  When I was about nine, I had my own pocket money of sixpence per week – I could now afford to buy the “Eagle” – it cost me fourpence ha’penny each week and the rest I could spend on sweets.

The “Eagle” was a marvellous comic with science, stories, comic strips and cut-away drawings of cars, planes, ships, tanks, motor bikes etc.  My favourite characters in the “Eagle” were Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future, set in the 21st Century), PC49 (adventures of a Metropolitan Police Constable), Jeff Arnold and Riders of the Range, Sergeant Luck of the Foreign Legion, and Jack O’Lantern (about smugglers and highwaymen).

From an early age, I had access to books – though most of them were not children’s books.  The earliest children’s book (which I still have), is called “Some Nursery Rhymes” containing three illustrated stories of “Old Dame Trott,” “Sing a Song of Sixpence” and “Jack and Jill.”  When I was little older, I was very fond of “Toby Twirl” and the “Rupert Bear” books that I had as presents at Christmas.  When I became a fan of the “Eagle,” then the Eagle Annual was always a good present at Christmas – as were the “Riders of the Range” and “PC 49” books issued by the publishers of Eagle. 

My bedroom had a small bookcase with lots of Dad’s books on – from quite an early age, I used to try and read books like “Treasure Island,” “Captain Hornblower R.N.,” “Robinson Crusoe,” “The Wind in the Willows,” “Children of the New Forest” and the “Thirty-nine Steps.”  I’ve read and enjoyed them all many times since.

The Piano and Television

We often used to travel on the P & A Campbell Steamers from Clevedon Pier – they were quite cheap, often crowded, and ran more frequently than the steamers nowadays.  They were big paddle steamers, painted black and pale pink with lots of varnished woodwork

and one or two white funnels – they had names such as the “Bristol Queen,” the “Cardiff Queen” and “Glen Usk.”  Sometimes we used to sail to the Old Pier at Weston and stay for the afternoon on Weston sands – an opportunity to ride donkeys and eat ice-cream or candy-floss.  Once we went to Penarth and then onto Barry, where there was a huge permanent funfair which included a high helter-skelter.

It was on the boat trip back from Barry that Mum and Dad were approached by a lady who asked if I was their son.  When they said that I was, and asked the lady why she wanted to know – she apparently said that she was a music teacher in Bristol and that I had “pianist’s hands.”

                                                   In the bow of the “Bristol Queen”

The conversation developed in such a way, that by the time we arrived back at Clevedon Pier, my parents probably thought that they had a budding piano-playing prodigy on their hands.  The outcome was that the following Saturday, Mum, Dad and I went off to Bristol to “Mickleburgh’s” shop in Stoke’s Croft, to look into the possibility of buying a piano.

In those days, the rear of “Mickleburgh’s” shop was a vast museum of different kinds of musical artefacts – there were harpsichords, pipe-organs, fairground organs, hurdy-gurdys, pianolas etc.  Mr Mickleburgh (Snr) took great delight in showing and demonstrating his many instruments for us.  My parents eventually chose a small modern mahogany-cased piano – which was delivered to Westbourne Avenue the following week.  Before its arrival, a piano teacher was engaged – at a fee of three shillings and sixpence an hour – by the name of Victoria Greenhalgh.

She was a matronly spinster in her early sixties with white hair.  She was very much into “the Theory and Practice of Pianoforte Playing.”  She made me practice scales for most of each lesson with a pencil rubber balanced on the back of both my hands – apparently it was imperative that the backs of the hands were level when playing !

Over the years I was with Miss Greenhalgh, I learned all about brieves, semi-brieves, minims, crotchets, quavers and semi-quavers.  I learned all about four-four time and three-four time and took and passed several theory and practical exams – I even played solo before an audience in the Central Hall, in Old Market, Bristol – but I never learnt to sight-read music.  For years I struggled through Beethoven, Chopin and other worthy composers, but eventually, Miss Greenhalgh and I parted company – partly because she didn’t want to teach me popular music numbers and partly because I didn’t practice enough.  One of the reasons I didn’t practice was because of the sound of the television coming from the next room.

I first saw television in about 1950.  One of my best friends at St Nicholas School was Rodney Denmead – his Mum and Dad had a television.  Mr Denmead owned a bicycle shop which was next door to a radio/television & electrical shop in The Triangle.  On the odd occasion I used to go to Rodney’s for tea, we used to watch the flickering image (looking as if it was through a snowstorm) – transmitted all the way from Sutton Coldfield – on their television.

By late July 1952, my parents decided that they would like to purchase a television, and as the Wenvoe transmitter (near Penarth) was about to open – that settled the matter. Dad went to see Mr Light at “Clevedon Engineering” (opposite W.H. Smith and next to the Land Yeo).  Mr Light, I remember, had a huge street-map of Clevedon on the wall of his shop showing all the houses in the town – each house on the map, that had a television supplied by “Clevedon Engineering,” had a coloured flag (mounted on a pin) stuck in it.  Ours, I remember, was the third flag on Mr Light’s map.  You could only get black and white television then, and there was only one BBC Channel – our television was a 12 inch Bush that cost Dad, 69 Guineas.  To begin with, reception was poor, but as soon as Wenvoe opened in August, the picture quality was much improved.

Television programmes were very limited at first – apart from “Watch With Mother” in the early afternoon, programmes tended to start round about 5 o’clock for children.  There were long periods of the day when nothing at all was broadcast – just the “test card” was shown – this was apparently to enable television dealers, when installing new sets, to adjust the horizontal/vertical holds and the contrast/brightness controls correctly.

The first continuity announcers that I remember were MacDonald Hobley, Peter Haigh, Mary Malcolm and Sylvia Peters.  Among my early favourite children’s shows was a string puppet show called “Muffin the Mule” with Annette Mills.  Programmes for grown-ups included “The Brains Trust,”  in which a panel of “experts” answered questions sent in by viewers – or “What’s My Line” which was a quiz game, chaired by Eamonn Andrews in which a panel of celebrities had to guess the occupation of contestants from a mime and asking questions – where the answer could only be “Yes” or “No.”  If a contestant was able to answer their questions with “No” ten times – then they were a winner.  The first soaps I recall were “The Grove Family” and “The Appleyards.”

As television was “live,” there were often intervals in transmission.  The BBC would put on “The Interlude” – usually some idyllic country scene like a breeze blowing across a cornfield, or horses pulling a plough up and down a field, or a potter at work, or “Angel Fish” swimming idly round in an aquarium.  In the early 1950’s, the television day ended with “The Epilogue” – then the National Anthem would be played and then everything would close down – usually by about half past ten.

Even though many of the programmes were rather “tame” in comparison with today’s television schedules – they seemed infinitely better than the prospect of a half hour’s piano practice on weekday evenings and an hour a day at weekends !

I did take up the piano again when I was about thirteen years of age – my piano teacher then was a cheery woman by the name of Molly Costello, who lived with her parents in Oldville Avenue.  I went to her for over two years until the need to work hard for school exams became more pressing.  She and I got on pretty well and Molly was happy for me to play Buddy Holly, Russ Conway and Winifred Atwell numbers.  Despite much encouragement from her, when we finally parted, I still hadn’t managed to learn to sight-read music – but I could pick up a tune quickly and “play by ear” reasonably well.

Teeth and the Highwayman

From an early age, I always had rather soft teeth – my Mum said it was due to poor diet during the War.  She had always cleaned my teeth twice a day from the time I was quite a little boy.  I believe my first filling came at aged three – and I know that I was one of the first patients of John Nicholas – just after he had come out of the Navy.  He and his wife (Eileen), set up a surgery, a few houses up from us, in Old Church Road.  Later they moved to Linden Road – and I remained a patient of his until his retirement several years after I married.

After my milk teeth started dropping out, my jaw was rather too small for the number of new teeth that wanted to grow in their place.  To stop them twisting, some of them had to be pulled out, and in an effort to straighten my remaining teeth – frequent appointments were made for me to visit an ortho-dentist in Clifton.

From about eight years of age, I was fitted with a brace – initially on a plate, but finally, I had a more permanent brace – all wired-up properly.  I had that until I was about the age of twelve.

I have said previously that I was quite good (for my age) at drawing and painting.  In late June 1952, whilst looking through a copy of the “Bristol Evening World,”  I saw a painting competition advertised on the “Wolligog Club” children’s page.  I remember getting out my Dad’s box of watercolours and setting about doing a painting of a Highwayman – and when complete, I posted it off to the paper.  I was somewhat amazed when a few days later, a letter arrived  from “Aunt Margaret of the Wolligog Club” – lo and behold, I had won first prize of a £1.

I and the other prize-winners were invited to attend the “Evening World” offices in The Centre, in Bristol.  We were to have our photograph taken and a brief write-up had been prepared for publication.  Unfortunately however, I already had an appointment to visit the ortho-dentist at the precise time I was supposed to be at the newspaper offices for the photo-call.

                                    “Bristol Evening World” (12th July 1952)

Arrangement were then made for me to visit the “Bristol Evening World” later the same day.  Mum and I were given a personal tour of the newspaper printing works, after which I was given some orange squash and biscuits.  I received my prize from “Aunt Margaret” and had my photograph taken for publication.

Moving School Again

Just slightly after midway through the Spring Term of 1953, Dad came to the conclusion that I wasn’t learning much at St Nicholas School, and that being there, was all rather a waste of eight guineas a term.

I remember him coming up to school to see the Rev. Fry at the end of one afternoon – just as everyone was leaving the premises.  I had no inkling that this was going to happen and my first thought – when I saw him coming to school – was that I was in trouble.  He and the Rev. Fry had quite a heated discussion – resulting in Dad informing him that I would be leaving at the end of the term and not coming back – this was apparently contrary to the terms and conditions for attending St Nicholas School – parents normally had to give a whole term’s notice or pay the next term’s fees – my Dad told the Rev Fry that he wasn’t going to  comply with either of these conditions !

Arrangements were then made for me to transfer to St Andrew’s Junior School (next door to Clevedon Fire Station) – I  began there straight after the Easter holiday.  Although I was only at St Andrews for four terms – I have to say that these were probably the happiest four terms of my whole school career.

St Andrews was a six class school with Miss Freda Page as a teaching Head.  The other teachers were Miss Baker, Miss Dean, Mrs Morgan, Mr James and Mr Saxby.  The school was designed with three classes down one side and three classes down the other side of the Headteacher’s house – all in the shape of a letter “U.”  Miss Page had a private garden at the back of her house, and beyond that was a raised playground – usually played in by the girls.  There were also two toilet/washroom areas at the back, and a large playground at the front of the school – where there was space for games of football, and the “Jungle Jim.”

I was put in Mr Saxby’s class – I liked him – he was amusing and he also praised you if you worked hard.  It was a lot different from that which I had experienced at St Nicholas – for a start, there was no uniform to wear.  My new class had nearly thirty children – compared with about twelve to fifteen at St Nicholas.  We wrote in pencil rather than pen – and didn’t learn French.  We listened to and participated in BBC School Broadcasts through a big speaker in the classrooms with such programmes as “Service for Schools,” “Singing Together,” and “How Things Began.”

I had the opportunity of learning all kinds of crafts with Mr Saxby – such as lino cutting and printing, painting with powder paints, simple bookbinding – which was making three, five and seven-stitch booklets with wax-resist patterned covers.  We did sewing, and printing with potatoes and string blocks – it was all fascinating.  I became Mr Saxby’s “Art Monitor” – if we were painting I would spread out newspaper covering on the desks, half-fill jam jars with water, put out trays of powder paint and brushes.  Mr Saxby was also, I think, good at maths – for I certainly improved radically within a short time of being in his class.

The only thing I didn’t like at St Andrews in that first summer term, was walking from school on Wednesday afternoons to the Salthouse Fields for the weekly swimming lessons at the Marine Lake.  The Marine Lake in the early 1950’s was a much different place from the way it is now.  It had a springboard, a two-stage white metal framed diving board and, what was called “the raft” – which was a wooden platform about thirty yards out.

The changing/swimming club rooms were in a large slatted wooden building built out into the water on concrete piers.  At the edge of the lake, near the changing rooms, was a circular kiosk on stilts with a shower underneath – which was absolutely freezing.

After changing, we used to stand in icy-cold waist-deep water for twenty minutes or so – shivering and splashing about.  I don’t think any of us actually managed to swim – I know I didn’t.

The Coronation

Queen Elizabeth II was crowned on Tuesday 2nd June 1953.  At school, in the weeks leading up to the event, we had been making bunting to hang on the front playground wire netting, which overlooked Old Street.  We also made huge cardboard, painted and varnished shields to hang on the netting too.  As Mr Saxby’s “right-hand man,” I was much involved in the making and painting of these shields and it was a proud moment when they were put up in time for the great day.

On the Westbourne estate, preparations were made by the Mums and Dads to have a “Coronation Fancy Dress Parade” for the children, followed by the “Coronation Tea Party” – also for all the children.  If the weather held good, it was planned to have an evening entertainment performed by the parents for anyone who wanted to watch.

The morning started out cloudy and a bit drizzly.  Being the owners of a television, Mum and Dad invited a number of friends and neighbours round to see the Coronation Ceremony and Parade.  Before long, John and Norah Stone were there – and so were the Palmer’s and the Belcher’s – and also, a lot of other people who I didn’t know – and I’m not sure my parents did either !  We must have had about twenty people crowded into our lounge, peering at the 12 inch black and white screen, for just under two hours.

By early afternoon, the weather had improved dramatically, and the final task of getting the tables, chairs and benches in place was soon under way.  Table cloths were spread, cutlery placed, plates piled high with cakes and sandwiches, and jugs of squash were filled.

The Fancy Dress Parade took place for the little ones, there were games for us older children, and at last, the time came for the

           Me, Bobby King, Nicky Palmer, Anne Page and her younger sister

Coronation Tea.  It was a splendid affair – we were all given paper Coronation crowns to wear with red, white and blue horizontal stripes.  When we were all “stuffed” with food and squash, all the children were presented with Coronation Mugs.

All the children were then sent home with some of their parents whilst the rest of the adults cleared up and took things home to wash-up.  Some of the men had borrowed a farm cart from somewhere just beyond the end of Westbourne Avenue, to use as a stage for the entertainment in the evening.  Barrels of beer and cider were set up and there was much singing, laughter, cheering and dancing till late in the evening.  As I was only nine years old, I wasn’t allowed to stay up too late and had to go home to bed.  As the entertainment was taking place on the large grassy area right in front of number 42 to 48 Westbourne Avenue, once my parents had gone back outside to watch, I was up again and looking from the open front bedroom window, at all that took place – right up until the end.

“Jungle Jim” and Broken Bones

I have previously mentioned the “Jungle Jim” in the front playground at St Andrews School.  This was actually a construction of steelwork (about the thickness of scaffolding poles), consisting of two low arches, linked by a higher part from which hung a rope-ladder and also a rope for climbing or swinging on.  The ladder and rope were put on the “Jungle Jim” by boys from Miss Page’s class just before morning break.  It was removed by them at the end of afternoon play.  Each class – except the youngest – had a day on the “Jungle Jim.”

There were certain conditions that had to be adhered to with regards this equipment – it had to be dry weather, you had to wear daps or sandals, and there had to be a teacher on duty in the playground near the equipment.  If any of those conditions were not in place, then the “Jungle Jim” could not be used.

On this particular Thursday afternoon – our class day was Thursday – I was standing on on a horizontal bar on the “Jungle Jim,” about 5 feet off the ground, when the whistle blew for the end of playtime.  I was wearing my sandals and holding onto a vertical bar with one hand.  The teacher on duty (Mrs Morgan), told me to get down, and as I bent down to move my feet to a lower position, my sandals slipped and I spun round the horizontal bar – and letting go of the vertical bar – fell off onto my right side, with my right arm tucked under me.

I remember getting up and feeling excruciating pain in my right elbow.  Mr Saxby and Miss Page arrived on the scene, and I was walked the hundred yards or so to the Cottage Hospital by Mr Saxby and my friend, John Price.  Once at the hospital, and in the care of the Staff there, Mr Saxby returned to school – leaving John with me.

My right arm was x-rayed and it was decided that I would need to go to Bristol for treatment.  John Price was sent beck to school whist attempts were made to contact my parents at their respective schools in Bristol.

I was put aboard an ambulance and ferried to the Bristol Royal Infirmary, where I was admitted to the “Mary Monica” Ward.  My Mum and Dad arrived soon after I was taken up to the Ward.  Having had my shirt cut off me, I was undressed by Mum and a gown put on.  I was then placed on a trolley and wheeled, for what seemed ages down corridors and then a tunnel under Marlborough Street, and along more corridors to the x-ray department.

The x-ray revealed that I had a smashed right elbow joint – the end of the radius, ulna and humerus were in several pieces, and apparently would be difficult to set.  I was given painkillers and returned the the Ward for an operation scheduled the next morning.  The following day, I was taken down early and soon under the anaesthetic.  I returned to the Ward and had regained consciousness by the time Mum and Dad arrived in the late afternoon.

Life on the Ward was a strange experience – the “Mary Monica” Ward was actually a Men’s Ward.  Part of it however, overlooking the yard where the ambulances came in, was for children.  There were just six of us ranging in age from a five year old boy (in the bed next to mine), who cried all the time – to a girl in her early teens.

Mid- morning on the day after my operation, a nurse arrived at my bedside to ask if “I had opened my bowels that day ?”  I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about – and not wishing to appear ignorant – I told her “No.”  The next day she came round again and asked the same question – I answered in the same way.  I could see as the days passed, that each time I answered “No,” she seemed to be getting more and more worried.  On about the fifth day, I thought I would please her by giving her a different answer.  When she arrived and asked her question, I said “Yes” – she was obviously pleased at that ! Unfortunately, I hadn’t reckoned on the next question when she asked “How many times” I remember thinking for a short while at what my answer should be – and still wishing to keep her happy – I answered “Thirteen !!”

A few days after my operation, my right arm was x-rayed again to see if it was knitting together – unfortunately it was not.  In fact, so I understand, the bones had not been put back correctly and if left untreated, I would have little or no movement in the elbow at all.  It was decided that another operation was needed to re-set the bones.  This time it was successful and it still works perfectly alright – though the arm is mis-shapen and slightly shorter than my left.

My two week stay in hospital, including a visit from Miss Page, took me within a day or two of the end of the summer term, and so I did not return to Mr Saxby’s class.

The prospect of enjoying the summer holidays with a bent-arm plaster cast was a bit limiting – playing cricket, riding bikes, climbing trees etc. were all impossible – as was swimming in the sea at Ladye Bay.

                    Ladye Bay, August 1953

The plaster was finally removed in the last few days of August, and though my arm was thin, pale, wizened and weak – it seemed alright.  I was to embark on about ten weeks of a half hour’s physiotherapy, twice a week, at the Cottage Hospital, during the Autumn Term.

Miss Page

Miss Page was a very nice lady – she was unmarried and had a couple of spaniels, and lived in the school-house between the two wings of three classrooms at the school.  Her garden was wonderful – full of flowers and insects, with a shady area under an old apple tree –  where groups of us older children went to read on sunny afternoons.

She taught all subjects, but she was particularly enthusiastic about history – especially “The Romans” and “Life in Roman Britain.”  It was through her influence, and her friendship with Mr Sykes (whose wife worked at St Andrews School serving school dinners), that my Dad and I joined the Clevedon Archaeological Society.  Mr Sykes, who owned the tobacconist shop in Station Road (next to W.H. Smith), was the Chairman of the Archaeological Society, and Dad and I went on quite a few “digs” with him.  One of the sites we visited was the Roman Villa at Birdcombe Court, Wraxall, where I found a piece of Roman floor tile with part of a human footprint quite clearly showing on it – it’s amazing to think that someone must have accidentally trodden on the wet clay tile nearly 1800 years ago. My piece of clay tile was on display in Clevedon Museum for many years.

Through Miss Page’s efforts, and with consolidation at home from my Dad, I became very good at knowing my times tables, tables of weights and measures, adding and subtracting, long multiplication and long division.  I thrived on being able to do sums like “reduce £14-13-6d to farthings.”  We didn’t have many textbooks then – most of the teacher’s work was written on the blackboard and easel – I could whip through a board- full of sums within minutes.

Miss Page was not as able as Mr Saxby, with art and craft subjects – though we did weave cane baskets.  We also made  papier-mache headed glove puppets of the different characters in Charles Dickens’ “Christmas Carol,” and the class performed it for the rest of the older junior children as part of our Christmas festivities.  The other highlight of our craft lessons in the first half-term was to make bamboo pipes (recorders).  They were about 15 inches long – we cut the mouthpiece and the window, fitted the cork in the mouthpiece and drilled holes of various sizes down the bamboo tube to make the notes.  Having spent several weeks making our pipes, we painted them with enamel paint to our own design – mine I remember, was black and red.  Miss Page taught us how to play them, and we used to play all kinds of tunes both in the classroom and for school Assembly.  I think I was fairly good at playing – probably because of my piano tuition.  Indeed, we were asked to play at an important Service attended

                                                   The former St Peter’s Church – in the 1950’s

by Clevedon dignitaries at St Peter’s Church – then a tin Church (on the corner of Alexandra Road and Copse Road).  We played one piece as a whole group, and then three of us (of whom I was one) played a second piece.

New Year and the End in Sight

The Spring Term of 1954 was not one I was looking forward to – for it meant the dreaded Eleven Plus Exam.  I believe now, that when I first went to St Andrews, Miss Page put me in the wrong class – for I was much younger than everyone else.  The realisation of this fact came to me when I returned to school after the Christmas holiday – everyone in the class was to take the Eleven Plus on the 2nd of February – but I was only ten years and three months old.  If I passed the exam, then I would still only be ten years old when I started Grammar School.  I don’t think my Dad was too worried about whether I was the right age or not – I think he felt that Miss Page should know what she was doing.

The 2nd February arrived – the day of the exam – and I was ill.  Whether I had decided to be ill to avoid doing the exam or not – I don’t know.  I had the opportunity for a retake on the 2nd March, and just after Easter, the results came through.  I had passed – subject to a successful interview.  I was called for interview at Weston Grammar School for Boys – I can remember telling the interviewing panel that I wanted to be an archaeologist – I was very interested in the subject and I told them that the archaeologist, Sir Mortimer Wheeler, was my hero.  They asked me a lot of questions about archaeology – I think my answers surprised and pleased them for I heard a day or two later that I had passed.  My Parents were delighted and some of the summer term was spent in “kitting me out” for the Boys’ Grammar School, Weston-super-Mare.  In a way, I was proud to have this recognition for my efforts but saddened that most of my friends would be going to Clevedon Secondary Modern School – or “Highdale,” as it was then known.

The rest of the summer term passed quickly.  Looking back, it seemed to be sunny every day, and days seemed to be made up of a succession of school trips out on nature walks to the fir woods, a picnic on “The Warren” above Clevedon Court, pond dipping and rock pool investigations on the beach.  We played sport on Clevedon Town Football Ground in Teignmouth Road, and did a lot of P.E. in the front playground of the school.  I was quite sad to eventually finish there on the last day of term – I knew my life was never going to be the same.

Car ownership and Notable People

My Dad was an easy-going sort of chap who had always enjoyed the company of people from all walks of life – he was easy to chat to and a had a good sense of humour.  One aspect of owning a car was, that as a family, we now had more time to do all kinds of additional things that would otherwise have been difficult to do – visiting more places around Clevedon and the surrounding district, participating in local activities and, as mentioned earlier, going on longer trips to places like Lyme Regis, Oxford, Bournemouth, Southport and even London.

In Dad’s case, because of his experience as Head of Art at Carlton Park School, he felt he now had the opportunity of further developing his own artistic skills and so he joined the Clevedon Art Club.  Here, he came into contact with many talented local amateur artists. In particular, though I’m not sure how, he developed a friendship with Doris Hatt – a friendship that was to last for a number of years.

Doris lived with her partner, Margery “Mack” Smith, in a white coloured art-deco house called “Littlemead” in Swiss Valley, on the corner of Valley Road and the road that now leads to Clevedon Comprehensive School.  Dad and I visited Doris and Margery on numerous occasions over a number of years  – sometimes on Saturday mornings and occasionally on Saturday afternoons when Doris and Margery would make a pot of tea and I would have orange squash – they always seemed to have a plate of delicious flapjack for us (me) to eat.

Doris Hatt’s former house “Littlemead”

We usually sat in their large lounge with the curved window.  Doris, would sometimes show Dad her latest painting, or talk about times past – particularly of her time in Paris in the 1920’s with the likes of Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque.  I wasn’t so interested in her paintings then, but I was always intrigued with Margery’s loom – which was kept in an adjacent room – she always took great pains to explain and demonstrate how it worked and from time to time, allowed me to help thread the heddle.  Dad had always painted pictures from when I was a small boy – usually of harbour scenes and street scenes.  Occasionally he would take in a painting of his to show Doris, and she would give him advice on his work – certainly, she became quite an influence on his style for a year or two.

Doris at home

Over the period of their friendship, Doris gave my Dad two paintings of hers – one was a signed oil painting (about 18 inches x 24 inches) of a harbour scene – possibly in the South of France – with four or five boats, a female figure and a building behind – with a coloured awning.

The second picture was a pen, pencil and water-colour (about 15 inches x 9 inches) of a jug, a cabbage and a few small vegetables – this still-life was more natural looking than the harbour scene painting.  Doris’ two paintings hung in my parent’s house for more than forty years – though I believe my Mum sold them in the late 1990’s.

*                    *                    *                    *                    *

Another notable Clevedonian, who was a friend of ours for several years – at least until we moved from the Westbourne Estate – was Michael John “Jack”  Willcocks.  Quite a few of the local children  from the Westbourne Estate (including me) knew his wife, Helen.  She was, I believe, Chair of the Somerset Branch of the RSPCA, and had a great many cats at home – she also looked after several injured birds at various times too.  We used to visit Mrs Willcocks to play with the cats and help feed the birds for her – and, of course, to have a free drink and some biscuits.

“Jack” and Helen, lived behind the family-run Willcocks’ Garage – their house called, I believe, “Sea Mist,” was only a few yards from where Dad rented his lock-up garage – and that’s how Dad and I met up with “Jack” one day, when Dad was tinkering with his car.  Willcocks’ Garage was on the corner of Old Church Road and Pizey Avenue, and at the rear of the garage, “Jack” had established his engineering company early in the 1920’s.  “Jack” was an amazing man – he was an inventor, a skilled precision engineer who thrived on challenges, and a boat racing enthusiast.  He was apparently the first person to ever drive a car to the top of Crook Peak – but his real claim to fame was concerned with the fact that he was Sir Henry Seagrave’s mechanic on board “Miss England II” – when Seagrave (as driver), with Victor Halliwell from Portishead (boat’s engineer), and “Jack,” sitting on either side of him, were attempting to break the world water speed record on Friday 13th June 1930 at Lake Windermere.

Miss England II soon after launch, before attempting the World Water Speed Record

On the first two runs of a measured kilometre, “Miss England II” averaged 98.82 mph – a new record.  On the third run, she is thought to have hit a floating branch, capsizing the boat on top of Halliwell – and killing him.  “Jack” was thrown from the boat and sustained a broken back – which troubled him for the rest of his life.  Henry Seagrave was rescued unconscious as the boat sank – he regained consciousness for a few moments and asked after his crew.  Shortly after Seagrave had been told he’d broken the world record, he died from his injuries.  The boat was salvaged and in the following year, was driven by Kaye Don in Northern Ireland, and reached an unofficial speed of 107 mph.

Jack’s involvement with high-speed boats didn’t end with “Miss England II”, for I remember (in about 1954), on the occasion when the Circus had come to Clevedon.  Bad weather had destroyed the tentage where the elephants were housed, and the animals were brought over from the Salthouse Fields to Willcocks Garage, to be housed for the week.  The garage was a large high building and within it was the smaller flat-roofed car showroom with large windows facing to Old Church Road.  When Dad and I were looking at the elephants – housed in the main garage building – and talking to “Jack,” I noticed several wooden-hulled powerboats on top of the car showroom roof and asked him about them.  He said that they were all still usable, but he didn’t want to risk using them off Clevedon as there was likely to be too much seaweed floating about in the Channel.  What eventually happened to them is unknown to me.

Willcocks Engineering (Clevedon) Ltd had a high reputation as a precision engineering company that could probably solve or make anything you cared to think of.  I can remember going round the Company machine shop with Dad in late 1953 or early 1954.  “Jack” had wanted to show us a new instrument that they’d recently made for one of the doctors at Ham Green Hospital – it was a strange looking instrument housed inside a glass case, with tubes and bottles and a bag that inflated and deflated.  It was called “The Clevedon Ventilator,” and it was designed to help people suffering from the terrible disease of poliomyelitis.

                The Clevedon Ventilator designed by Dr McCrea and built by Willcocks Engineering (Clevedon) Ltd, in 1953

Poliomyelitis had been around for years – it could attack almost overnight and spread easily – causing paralysis of limbs and paralysis of chest muscles, causing death.  There were only a few cases in Britain during the War, but there was a huge increase in the number of cases in Britain following the warm summer and autumn of 1947.  Bristol was particularly badly hit and in 1950 there were over 250 cases with several deaths and many patients suffering total or partial paralysis.  A massive epidemic in Copenhagen in 1953, with over 3,000 cases  in that city alone – identified between August and December – led to an upsurge in the development and production of artificial respiratory machines across the world.  The Clevedon Ventilator was one of many such designs.

I also remember “Jack” showing us a polishing machine he’d developed to polish stainless steel to a mirror finish.  Apparently there had been a problem with the jet engines used in, I believe, the Comet airliner.  Engineers felt they needed to see inside the engine whilst it was running, to identify exactly what the problem was.  They  thought that a stainless steel mirror system might be the answer, but were unsuccessful at polishing the steel to a satisfactory finish.  “Jack” was approached to see if he could devise a polishing machine which could solve the problem – he did – and even gave me a bit of one of the trial partly-polished pieces (about 2″ x 1″) as a souvenir.

 Michael John “Jack” Willcocks

When I was about twelve, “Jack” let me have exclusive use a small laboratory in his factory – I even had my own key to let myself in at any time.  He had set it up originally for his son Christopher, and it came complete with bunsen burner, test-tubes, tripod, gauze, petri dishes, glass vessels and flasks of every size and shape, distillation apparatus, pipettes, filter funnels and bottles and bottles of chemicals – including a very large jar of mercury.  I made fairly frequent use of this facility for about two years – copying experiments I’d done at school – until we moved from Westbourne Avenue.

As far as I remember, the last period of contact that Dad and I had with “Jack,” was spending two or three days during the February half-term holiday of 1958 – driving him about – on Clevedon and Nailsea Moors.  “Jack” was convinced that there was a hot, or warm spring, somewhere in the area.  We spent a great deal of time lowering thermometers into ditches, rhynes, streams and rivers in

           “Jack” Willcocks, Dad and me searching for a thermal spring

the area – recording the water temperatures and recording on an O.S. map, the locations of where testing was done.  Whilst I remember there were variations in water temperature – I never heard whether “Jack” was ever able to determine the source of any thermal spring.

*                    *                     *                    *                   *

I think it was in Spring 1952, that Dad and I first met William Fishley Holland.  Dad had heard from somewhere, that a Pottery Club for youngsters was being started by Mr Norris – a Dental Mechanic in Clevedon.  Mr Norris had a premises in Alexandra Road (accessed by an alley just to left of the entrance to Alexandra Gardens) .  I believe that Mr Norris had been on a course at Holland’s Pottery in Court Lane, and had decided it would be a good thing to introduce pottery-making (without the use of a wheel) to children of various ages.  He had obviously discussed this idea with Mr Holland and the two of them were waiting on the appointed evening, when about a dozen boys and girls aged from about six to fourteen, my Dad  (as an observer) and me, turned up at Mr Norris’ workshop.

Over the next eight weeks or so, we made thumb pots – mine was about 4 inches in diameter and about 3 inches high with a pie-crust frilly top.  We tried our hand at decorating pots by scraping lines onto the outside of the pots.  We were shown how to join bits of clay successfully together and from there, over the next few weeks, we made coil pots and slab pots.  We made plaques and also some pottery animals – I remember one of the girls making a magnificent elephant.  All our work was taken away (when dry) for biscuit firing in the kilns at Court Lane.  Most survived glaze firing too and these were given back to us in due course.

As Head of Art at Carlton Park School, Dad had always concentrated mainly on developing painting and drawing skills, puppetry making and papier-mache sculpture with his lads.  He hadn’t much experience of pottery, himself – but saw how readily the youngsters in Mr Norris’ Pottery Group had taken to this medium.  He decided that it was something he could introduce to his school’s Art Curriculum – but first, he knew he needed to develop his own skills considerably.   Discussions took place between my Dad and William Fishley Holland for my Dad to come on a two-week pottery course at Clevedon Pottery, during the first two weeks of the school summer holidays.

                 W. Fishley Holland making clay balls prior to throwing pots

Clevedon Pottery soon became one of my favourite places to visit – and it was easily accessible now that we had a car – old Mr Holland always seemed delighted to have visitors.  Mum, Dad and I were often taken round the site – to view his storage pens of Fremington clay brought up from North Devon, to watch his muffle kilns being loaded or unloaded, to look at sheds full of long boards laden with drying leather-hard pots. The most enjoyable thing I liked to see however, was Mr Holland throwing pots on his kick-wheel – all done in a few minutes – all exactly the same size and shape.  It was said that in his heyday, he could throw a thousand pots in a single day – and having seen him at work, I wouldn’t doubt it.

Dad went on his two week course in the Summer holiday and learnt to throw pots from the master and from his assistant and friend (George Manley).  Dad learnt all about pulling handles, slip making and decoration (using goose feathers, scrafitto, and brushes).  He experienced loading kilns and firings – and unloading kilns after firing. During the course of his time at Clevedon Pottery, Dad made a considerable number of bowls, containers with lids, jugs, mugs, vases, plates, cups and saucers – using the full range of glazes and decorating techniques that William Fishley Holland and George Manley could provide.  At the end of a fortnight, Dad had certainly learnt enough from them that he felt quite capable of introducing Pottery to the curriculum at his School.  Mum was so impressed with all that Dad did on his two-week course, that she also did the same course – in the last two weeks of the school summer holidays.  She brought home a few bowls and vases – but her best work was a coffee pot, cream jug, sugar bowl and six coffee cups and saucers.  One or two of their pieces have survived at home today – some sixty-five years later.

 NEW HORIZONS

Weston Grammar School for Boys

Because I had passed the Eleven Plus Scholarship, some of the summer holiday was spent making numerous trips to clothes, shoe and sports shops in Weston and Bristol, to buy the correct school uniform as per the “list of needs” sent out by Weston Grammar School.

I was to be in King Alfred House and so I needed a blue rugby shirt, with a white collar – but I also needed a white shirt as well – though I’m not sure why.  I needed black shorts for rugby but white ones for PE.  I needed daps and a dap bag.  I needed short grey flannel trousers or long grey flannel trousers, grey shirts, long grey socks with one gold and two maroon rings round the top. I also needed a maroon cap with two gold bands round its circumference, a maroon and gold striped scarf, and a dark blue or black long raincoat.  I also had to have a black blazer with a pocket badge of the Somerset Griffon. For some reason, Mum’s always seemed to buy blazers that were one or two sizes too big – some boy’s blazers looked so big, that it seemed as if their occupants could walk a couple of paces before the blazer moved !!  I was also supplied with a ghastly-looking leather satchel – it was bright orange in colour, and led to much ridicule from other boys – so much so, that I quickly defaced it with biro and pen ink, to give it a “lived-in” appearance.

Weston Grammar School was at the Uphill-end of Weston-super-Mare.  It was a large site, on which were both the Girls’ Grammar and the Boys’ Grammar schools.  The two schools were joined by a central clock tower and their playing fields were divided by a long straight drive – the Boys were allowed no contact with the Girls – and steps were taken by Staff to see that this rule was adhered to.

Each of the schools was built around a quadrangle – the Boys’ School had classrooms on the north and south side, the Gymnasium and Main Hall were to the west, and to the east were the Staffroom, Head’s office and Physics and Chemistry Labs.  On the first floor to the north, was the Geography Room and another Science Lab.  Above that was the a room called The Museum – where Weston Museum kept surplus artefacts and display cases.  The Girls’ School was a mirror-image of the Boys’ School – except that the Girl’s side had been extensively damaged by incendary bombs during the war.  In addition to the main school buildings, there were also a number of concrete-hutted rooms in each school.  The whole building was, I think, started in the early 1930’s – my cousin Stuart (son of Edna and Stuart – mentioned earlier) had been a student there in the early 1940’s. Many of the staff who taught him, were still there, when I arrived on the 6th September 1954.

“Old Masters” and some Very Good Influences

The staff at Weston Grammar School for Boys were a strange collection of men – with some real characters amongst them. Some were old-fashioned academic types who’d probably started their teaching careers in the early 1930’s, and may have spent much of their early teaching years in private or minor public schools.  Others were a newer breed of teachers, who had been in the War – and had qualified soon after.  Then, there was another group of much younger men – probably in their first few years of teaching, and not much older than some of those students in the Upper Sixth.  As with most Teaching Staff in any school, there were those who could teach – and those who could not.   Some Students got on well because of the quality of the teaching at Weston, some in spite of it.

The Headmaster was Mr Whimster, who, because of his rather large red-veined nose, had a reputation for liking his drink – it wasn’t just his nose that gave him that reputation, but also the fact that one of the boy’s fathers was the publican of the Anchor Inn in Bleadon – and Mr Whimster was a known regular.

All the boys were known by their surname, and I started in Class 1S – the “S” was for Mr Simmonds (our form-teacher) – we knew him as “Soapy” Simmonds.  We sat in single desks – with tip-up seats, in regimented rows, in lines facing the wall blackboard with the teacher’s desk at the front and to one side.  In our first year, most of our lessons took place in our classroom – with a succession of teachers coming in to teach their subject.  It was all very formal and most uninspiring.  We used to do Geography, Art, Woodwork, General Science, Music and P.E elsewhere in the school.

Whilst I had been at St Nicholas School in Clevedon, I had made only very limited progress with French during almost two years tuition from the Rev. Fry.  We “covered the same ground” in French in the first two weeks with Sid Trapp at Weston Grammar School.  “Feud” Hill took me for History – I remember being praised for my drawing of the cross-section of a pit-dwelling and visiting Worlebury Camp – but his History lessons were never as interesting as Miss Page’s at St Andrews Junior School in Clevedon.  “Dad” Rees took us for Geography – in the first year this seemed to consist mainly of drawing a cross-section of a coal mine and drawing pictures of the different types of fishing nets use by North Sea trawlers.  “Willie” Davis – the great Welsh International fly-half, both at Rugby Union and Rugby League – was our P.E. Teacher.  “Willie’s” Physical Education lessons  were mainly the sort of P.T. done in the armed forces – but his rugby tuition, as one would expect, was superb.  Mr Whimster took us for Literature – though all I remember of his lessons was, that they seemed to often consist of us writing limericks.

“Bill” Davies took us for Science – in my first term, I can remember drawing a section through a Bunsen burner to show how it worked, and also doing a diagram of the cross-section of a Bessemer Converter – but not much else in my first year.  “Bill” was also the Deputy Head – a fearsome individual who spread terror into our lives – he carried out the school’s official corporal punishment on behalf of Mr Whimster.  “Robbie” Robinson took us for Woodwork – he was reputed to be an ex-wrestler and was built like a gorilla.  If you as much as glanced the other way when he was explaining something – you got a “clip round the head” for not paying attention.  “Tommy” Thomas was the Music teacher – he had a room just off the Main Hall – he was a heavy smoker and appeared to have little or nothing to do with the other staff.  He was a friendly chap, and well-liked by all the boys. In my first couple of years at Weston, “Windy” Walters was the Biology teacher – a man with a rather strangulated voice.  He used to prowl round the classroom – and the school building, when on duty – with a human femur gripped in his right hand.  The femur was a weapon that “Windy” used to clear a pathway through any crowd of boys in his way – it was also used to great effect, to poke boys whom he thought were misbehaving in class.

The Latin master was “Mike” Lawrence – a man very much immersed in his subject.  I never had much idea about the subject and it was with great relief, that I was able to drop it after a couple of years of futile progress.  I thought I had left learning Latin far behind me, when for timetabling reasons (when I was about fifteen), I was “forced” to take it up again.  I don’t know who was more dismayed – “Mike” Lawrence or me ?  After a couple of years lay-off from Latin, I had forgotten most of what I’d learnt previously – I’m not sure whether my results in the end-of-term exam were a reflection of my abilities or Mike’s teaching – I came 3rd equal out of a class of thirty-five students – having scored a mark of 12% !!   Common sense eventually prevailed and I was able to drop Latin for good.

“Mike” had a very ancient bike – a death-trap – which he used to ride to school every day and put in the Boys’ cycle sheds.  The police used to come round from time to time to do a bicycle inspection – and on those days, “Mike” would not ride his bike to school.  There was one occasion however, when he obviously forgot.  His bike was selected by the police officer as being the most dangerous machine he had ever seen and he demanded it be taken off the road immediately !

There were, however, some great teachers at Weston – who were well-organised, knew their subject and could put it across in an absorbing way.  Notably Mr Forbes, who took me for Geography in both Fifth and Sixth years and who organised fascinating Field Trips to the Mendips.  Don Brown joined the Staff about half-way through my time at Weston – he introduced the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award to the School, and he was also instrumental in introducing the opportunity to participate in the annual Somerset County Youth Camps  – both of which caught my imagination, and both of which I was involved in for many years after.  My favourite teacher however, was Ian Sutton – he was the Art teacher – and a very good painter in his own right too.  He and I became good friends over the years that I was at Weston – and the only teacher who ever called me by my christian name.  I spent many lunchtimes in the Art Room – painting or making pottery.

I’m know that I was not alone in concluding that the Staff were a rather disparate group – for when I was about fourteen years of age, some of the older boys got together and financed an advert in the “Weston Mercury.”  The advert stated that there were some “Old Masters for Sale” and gave the school telephone number.  I don’t know how many would-be purchasers made enquiries, but there must have been some, for there was certainly an inquisition at School to find the culprits – without success !

Trains

The Weston Grammar Schools took students from a very wide area.  Those from Portishead and Pill went to Temple Meads on the train and then changed trains for Weston.  Living in Clevedon, I went on the train from Clevedon to Yatton and caught the commuter corridor train that already contained youngsters from Portishead, Pill, Long Ashton and Backwell – and on to Weston.  Youngsters from other localities – such as Banwell, Hutton, and Cheddar went to school on the service bus.  The transport costs for Somerset County Council, to ferry all these students to and from school in Weston, must have been considerable.

Somerset County Council did attempt to cut costs one year.  Their plan involved putting all of us from Clevedon, Pill and Portishead, on two ancient coaches run by Empress Coaches of Portishead.  The Clevedon contingent used to wait noisily outside the Constitution Club in Kenn Road for the coaches to arrive in the morning.  They were often late, sometimes broke down and were extremely over-crowded.  The drivers found us to be an undisciplined bunch of passengers – they frequently had to stop the coaches partway through the journey, and climb out of their cabs, to remonstrate with us. Travelling by coach also meant that you couldn’t stay after-school for clubs or detentions.  After a couple of terms of mayhem, with late arrivals at school, travel sickness etc – we were all glad that Somerset County Council saw good sense, and put us back on the train to travel to and from Weston.

I, and about thirty-five other youngsters, used to catch the 8.00 am steam train from Clevedon Station to Yatton, cross over the footbridge and wait for the 8.17 on the down line.  In 1954, this was likely to be one of the “Castle” Class engines pulling eight to ten carriages.  The train was usually so crowded that there were insufficient seats – and so the 15 – 20 minute journey to Weston General Station (stopping at Puxton & Worle and also at Weston Milton), would be spent standing in the corridor, or sitting on the floor and taking the opportunity to copy homework, or having a last look at material that should have been learnt the night before – for a test later that day.  At Weston, you flashed your season ticket at the ticket collector on the gate, tore up the steps, over the footbridge and down the steps on the other side, and ran across the Station forecourt towards the no. 90 or no. 163 bus stop.  If the busses were there, you ran as fast as you could to get on first.  If they were late, then a huge noisy rabble developed round the bus stops until the busses arrived.  It cost tuppence to travel on the bus from the station to Broadoak Road (just outside the school entrance).  If you were lucky, you arrived at school at about ten to nine – if unlucky and were later, you got your name taken – three times late meant a detention for one hour after school.

School Day

The day began with registration in your classroom, then Assembly in the Main Hall.  All four hundred and fifty-or-so boys would troupe in class by class – the youngest at the front and the oldest at the back.  The staff came in one by one, mounted the steps on the stage and stood in a semi-circle glaring at the assembled boys.  Mr Whimster stood at the front of the stage, behind a small table on which was a small lectern.  To one side was a larger free-standing lectern upon which was an open bible – one of the older boys (usually a prefect) would read the lesson during the service.

Mr Whimster would welcome everyone, announce the hymn and “Tommy”  would strike up on the piano and we would all join in.  The reading would be given, a few prayers said, a second hymn sung and then more prayers.  We would all troupe out to our first lesson, whilst “Tommy” played some stirring music on the piano.

Break-time was at 10.30 and everyone was expected to be outside – prefects and patrolling staff made sure that you were.  Free third-pint bottles of milk were available for those who wanted it, and there was a tuck-shop (run by fifth and sixth-formers), selling doughnuts, “lardies,” Chelsea buns and currant buns.  Break finished at 10.45 and the second half of the morning’s lessons resumed.

Before the new school kitchen and dining hall was built beyond the caretaker’s house, the morning would end with a bell at 12.10 and we would all line up in a noisy disorganised rabble outside the Main Hall – ready to devour our school lunch.  By about 12.20, the teacher on duty would arrive, quieten us all down and let us file into the Hall.  We stood behind the benches at our allocated tables and Grace would be said.  After sitting down, the boys would be sent up table by table to get their food – there was no choice of menu.  Main courses were roast one day, salad the next, fish the next and so on – puddings seemed to consist largely of milk puddings (sago, semolina or rice) with stewed fruit – usually prunes.  We also had fruit salad, jelly and blancmange, apple pie and custard, trifle, chocolate sponge and peppermint sauce.

As boys left their tables to line up to collect their food, their absence provided an opportunity for others to sabotage the vacant table – either by salt being poured into someone’s drinking water or the removal of eating implements.

After lunch, if fine, it was “out on the field” – if wet, then “back to classrooms” – prefects were allocated to each classroom.  If it was wet, they would report any breaches of order to a patrolling duty teacher.  The prefects had the power to issue detentions for minor problems – which meant an hour after school in detention – after 24 hours notice.  Three prefect detentions in a half term meant one “Master’s Detention” – still an hour after school following 24 hours notice – three “Master’s Detentions” in a half term meant having the cane from the Deputy Head (“Bill” Davies)

Afternoon school began at 1.30 with registration, and then we would begin a new round of lessons – Games lessons were usually in the afternoon.  In the Autumn and Spring Terms, Games would take the form of either Rugby or Cross-Country – if it was cross-country, then that meant leaving from school, across the golf course, through the sand dunes, along the sands towards Uphill, round the sea-wall, back along the sands, through the dunes, across the golf course and back to school.  Some boys who didn’t like cross-country, used to hide in the sand dunes on the way out, and rejoin the stalwarts on the way back !  In the Summer Term, we played cricket – though my particular area of interest was Athletics.

I had always been a pretty good sprinter and a moderate high-jumper.  I could already long-jump quite well, but the arrival of Dennis “Doug” Field to the Staff of Weston Boys’ Grammar School in 1959, was a godsend for me.

 Weston Boys’ Grammar School Athletic’s Team – I’m in the middle of the middle row

Dennis W. Field had represented England in Triple-Jump at The Empire and Commonwealth Games held in Cardiff in 1958 – he must have seen some talent in me and I spent many hours with him after School, learning new techniques to improve my long-jump and triple-jump – in fact I became Somerset Triple-Jump Champion in the County Athletics Championships at Taunton, and, a few weeks later, was placed Second in the South-West Championships held at Sherborne in Dorset.

Day’s End

School used to end officially at 3.50 pm.  Those boys who lived in Pill or Portishead had to catch the 4.02 train, to make the necessary connection at Temple Meads – or they wouldn’t get home until half past seven !  To enable them to catch the 4.02, those boys were allowed to leave around twenty to four to catch the earlier buses to the station – some unsuspecting teachers could be tricked into thinking that you also had to catch that particular train.  It was not unusual, therefore, to see as many as double the number of those who actually lived in those “far-off parts of the world,” departing early from school.

Sometimes, if you left school at the proper time, it was possible to be lucky with the buses to the station and after a sprint across the station forecourt, you could get through the barriers onto the platform just as the 4.02 whistle was being blown.  Once or twice I’ve even managed to get on it after running down the platform when the train was already moving and one of your obliging friends, already on the train, would open a door for you.  If you managed to get on the 4.02, there was always plenty of space, and with the connection at Yatton, I could be walking out of Clevedon Railway Station at four-thirty – according to the Triangle Clock.

Clevedon Railway Station entrance

The train that we usually caught was the 4.35 to Paddington – “The Merchant Venturer.” Sometimes our homeward train ride was enhanced by celebrities being on board – one afternoon I remember, in late 1958, just before the 4.35 was about to pull out of the station, onto the platform came Billy Wright (Football Captain of England) and his fairly new wife, Joy Beverley (of Beverley Sister’s fame) – Joy (without her sisters) had been performing in Weston and she and Billy were going home.  The excitement amongst the boys was considerable and most of us took the opportunity to shake hands with Billy, once he was on board – I would imagine he was very grateful when the train finally got to Yatton and nearly all of us got off, leaving him and his wife in comparative peace for the rest of their journey.

 No 6026 “King John” Castle Class engine – “The Merchant Venturer”

Once or twice there were incidents on the 4.35 train – perhaps the most memorable was one time when, within sight of the approaching signal box at Yatton, the train should have started slowing – but it didn’t.  We realised, as it thundered on towards Yatton, that we would not be getting off.  Someone pulled the emergency communication cord and the tremendous de-acceleration that followed, as we careered through the station, caused lots of passengers to fall over.  The train screeched to a halt somewhere between the end of the platform and the road bridge.  The Clevedon contingent – realising that if we didn’t get a move on, our connection to Clevedon would leave without us – opened the doors and jumped out onto the grassy embankment with our bags and satchels, and began making our way back to the Station.  Members of the public who lived in Yatton, also jumped out. The Station Staff and the Guard on the train were extremely unhappy at what we’d done – especially as the “Merchant Venturer” was now stranded with all its doors open on one side – and about fifty or so youngsters and members of the public were now straggling along the edge of the track back towards Yatton station.   We got home to Clevedon at our usual time, but we never found out quite why the 4.35 train, hadn’t followed its correct timetable and stopped at Yatton.

Catching the 4.35 train usually meant arriving in Clevedon at 5.00 pm.  If you had the misfortune to have an after-school detention, then you would obviously miss the 4.35 and have to catch the 5.15 non-corridor train from Weston – if you were lucky.  If you weren’t lucky, then the next train was the 5.40.  If you made the 5.15 from Weston, it meant you’d arrive in Clevedon just before 6.00 pm.

There was much “larking about” on the train in the evenings – and even a certain amount of minor vandalism – usually consisting of what you could find to unscrew in the train compartment – ashtrays, pictures from the walls, luggage racks etc – all used to be removed or loosened, and a fair number of light-bulbs would go out of the window.  The homeward journey also provided an opportunity to sample the “cookery delights” made by the girls from the Girls’ Grammar School – many a macaroni cheese or shepherd’s pie met its end on the railway track somewhere between Weston and Yatton – we were a most discerning group of tasters !

As I progressed up the school, the lure of the coffee bars in Weston – with their thunderous juke-boxes, the maturing girls from the Girls’ Grammar School, visiting the Open Air Swimming Pool in the Summer Term – particularly when it was the Miss Modern Venus Finals, and  “chatting up” French girls who had come for a month on the

“Bristol/Bordeaux Exchange – and staying for Athletics Practice after school – meant that I often caught the 5.15 train from Weston.

Land Owners

When I was almost 13 years of age, Mum and Dad bought a piece of land in Clevedon – in what was later to be known, as Edward Road South.  Actually at that time, it was just a muddy track with two or three bungalows in a large field that contained horses.  The owner of the field had divided the land into potential building plots – and ours was the second plot in, from Edward Road.  The plot was two hundred and twenty feet long (sloping down into woodland – known as Bennet’s Ripple) and forty-two and a half feet wide – just wide enough for a small bungalow.

On one side of our plot was one of the existing bungalows – on the other side, builders were in the process of putting up a house.  Our first job was to put a fence across the road frontage – then Mum, Dad and I began work on planning the garden.  Dad thought it would be good to break up the long length of garden by having some low natural stone walls running partway across the garden.  As there was no building stone on the plot, Dad bought someone’s tumbledown wall in Old Church Road, that he’d seen advertised in the Clevedon Mercury.

Ferrying the stones by car to Edward Road South, together with bags of sand and cement was not the easiest of tasks.  It meant many journeys to bring the collapsed wall up to our building plot.  Dad’s barrow (which also had to come in the car), was one of those flimsy garden wheelbarrows – not really meant for transporting anything other than leaves, weeds or a bit of compost.  We removed the turf and began building our walls – it took a month or so, but at last it was finished.

Our next task was to plant a rose garden and fruit trees further down the garden – and here the likelihood of future difficulties were revealed.  What we hadn’t known was that further down the slope – under the turf – was about four inches of soil with the odd small pieces of limestone in it.  Below that was another four or five inches of soil which contained a lot of stones of varying sizes and below that again – was solid rock – not ideal for growing roses or fruit trees !  Pickaxes and crowbars were purchased, and with Dad and I digging – and sometimes Mum using a sieve, it took many weeks to dig the rose-beds to a depth of about eighteen inches, and much deeper holes for the ten or so fruit trees that Dad had ordered.

Dad used to get his water for cement mixing from a nearby house in Edward Road and carry it round in a large enamel jug.  The house was owned by an elderly chap in his eighties – Mr White.  He and Dad became very friendly over the months, and when we were fed up with either building walls or digging holes, Dad and I used to go round and sit with old Mr White in the summer house of his very large garden, and talk over a pot of tea…  He was a very interesting old man – having spent a lot of his life in the Indian Army at the turn of the century.

It occurred to Mr White, that the owner of the horse field in Edward Road South, must have made quite a bit of money by selling off building plots – Mr White thought he might do the same with his vast garden.  He engaged a surveyor – who eventually marked out his land into four building plots – all them facing onto the opposite side of Edward Road South.

Because he enjoyed our company and got on well with Dad, Mr White offered one of these plots to Dad – at a special cheap price of £300.  It was a level site with quite a good depth of soil – and it also had a flat-roofed stone-built shed at one corner.  Dad leapt at the chance and arranged a loan with the Westminster Bank in Hill Road.  Mum and Dad owned this piece of land for just over a year – but it was soon obvious that by owning two pieces of land,  they were never going to be able to afford to build a house on either of them – one of them had to go !

“Ripple Hollow” – 40 Edward Road South

I don’t think that Mum and Dad had considered living at Westbourne Avenue for ever – for them it was a “stepping-stone” to the next stage in their lives. They had, in late 1956, begun designing their retirement bungalow – and the only way to make the dream come true, was to sell the plot of land they had bought from Mr White and get a further loan to build their bungalow on the other plot.  The land they’d bought from Mr White, was sold (at a good profit), and an architect was employed to produce working drawings of their designs.

Victor Parsons, the then landlord of the “Waggon and Horses” pub in Old Street, was also a builder – my parents engaged him, and construction work began in the Spring of 1958.  All was completed over the next few months and we moved into “Ripple Hollow” in October 1958.

 “Ripple Hollow” under construction – Summer 1958

It was a well-built bungalow, with some features similar to our house in Westbourne Avenue.  It had walk-in wardrobes in the two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small lobby, a dining/hall, fitted kitchen and a utility room with walk-in airing cupboard and store cupboard.  The 16 foot square-shaped lounge had a large picture-window – with views over the woods at the bottom of the garden and onward to the Mendip Hills beyond.  The lounge also had french doors and two porthole windows.  There was a floor-to-ceiling natural stone fireplace with a solid fuel open fire (with back boiler).  Beyond the backdoor (but under cover), was an outside toilet and also a coal store with a hatch.  Between the adjoining single garage (which had doors at both ends) was a covered passageway from the front garden to the back.

Over the years, the garden developed and flourished – providing hours of enjoyment and produce over the years.  Dad and I built a small patio outside the lounge – this patio was later incorporated into part of a 20 feet X 10 feet in-ground swimming pool area – we built it of concrete block, rendered with a paved surround – it was approximately 6 feet deep at one end and three feet at the other.  Painted blue with a pump and filtration system of our design, that provided crystal-clear water from May to early September.  Dad and I were immensely proud of our achievement.

Benelux

My Dad was born in Salford, Manchester, in 1914.  He often spoke to me, about when he was a very small boy, of visits by groups of injured young men – with their helpers from the local hospital –  to the family home.  His Mother used to invite these poor chaps for tea – many of whom were amputees or had been blinded in the trenches of Flanders.  As my Dad grew older, she would talk to my Dad about the places they had fought – mainly in the Ypres Salient.  Names like Ypres, Hill 60, Menin and Poperinghe, became familiar places to him, over the three or four years that these men visited for afternoon tea on Saturdays.  Such was the effect on him, that as he grew older, he would avidly read books on the horrors of trench warfare in the Great War.

Early in 1959, he saw an advert in a Sunday newspaper which interested him greatly – a company called “The School Travel Association” were organising an eight day school trip to Belgium, with visits to Holland and France – including an overnight stay and sightseeing tour in London.  The proposed trip would take place at Easter and cost £15.  Making further enquiries, Dad found out that he needed a minimum of thirty youngsters – so that two staff could travel free.  He put it to Mr Greenland – the head of Carlton Park Secondary Boys’ School – who had himself, been in the trenches in Belgium during the First World War – he encouraged my Dad to go ahead and organise the trip.

Late in the afternoon on the day before Good Friday, my Dad, and another member of Staff from Carlton Park – together with twenty-nine hand-picked boys from East Bristol and me (aged 15) – set off from Temple Meads Station.  We were met at Paddington by a representative from STA, who escorted us to a rather seedy hotel in the vicinity.  The next morning, we climbed aboard a coach which took us on a lightning tour of the sights – including Marble Arch, Piccadilly Circus, St Paul’s, Trafalgar Square, The Mall, Buckingham Palace, back down The Mall and into Whitehall, then Parliament Square, and onto Victoria Station.  Here we boarded a train for Dover – with hundreds of other youngsters.

We eventually arrived in Dover and, armed with our collective passport, my Dad ushered us up the gangway, and onto the ferry, for the three hour or so trip, to Ostend.  It was a new experience for all of us, and it soon became obvious that there seemed to be a lot of badly-organised school groups on board – many of whom, had managed to get their hands on alcohol.

As we left harbour at about 5.00 pm, the seas became rougher and rougher – tossing our ferry and its passengers about.  The under-age drinkers soon became violently ill, and it was not long before the decks, toilets and corridors were awash with vomit.

We arrived in Ostend at about 8.00 pm, and were met by the proprietor of the “Hotel Vindictive” (Henri Lebin) – where we were to stay for the week.  A Belgian coach (Goetthal’s), took us and our bags, to our destination on the promenade at Ostend – overlooking the sandy beach and sea.  There was a lovely hot meal waiting for us – with the most glorious chips I had ever tasted !  Our accommodation was in bunk-beds – three to a room – on the top floor, with a bathroom at the end of the corridor.  After the boat journey we had just experienced, it was pure heaven.

Continental breakfasts were a bit of a shock to the lads – they were expecting cereal and toast and marmalade – rather than the Continental Breakfast on offer.  After breakfast, we were taken on a guided tour of part of Ostend by the STA representative – and then had the afternoon free.   The following days involved a day trip to Bruges – including a boat trip on the canals, a visit to the Sepulchre of the Holy Blood, clambering up what seemed like hundreds of steps to the top of the Belfrey, and a tour of the Beguinage.  We did a day trip to the battlefield at Waterloo and visited Brussels – including a visit to the top of the Atomium and a visit to the Royal Palace.  We also did a day trip to Ghent and visited the magnificent Castle of The Count of Flanders.  On another day we crossed  the border into Holland – to the small border town of Sluis and then took the ferry across the River Scheldt to the island of Valcharen.  Another day trip took us across the French border into the Pas de Calais, to visit Dunkirk – the town and surrounding countryside still “pock-marked” with the signs of war – the beach still littered with the rusting hulks of trucks and the twisted shapes of sunken ships and boats – I even found and brought back, a German helmet !  We visited many cemeteries that day – filled with thousands of graves of the fallen – from both the First and Second World Wars.

The highlight for Dad, however, was the day trip to Ypres and the visits to Hill 60 and the Menin Gate – together with visits to the small towns and villages that had formed the front line of the Ypres Salient.  The sight of countless memorials and cemeteries marking the graves of thousands of allied soldiers killed in the area – together with numerous cemeteries with black crosses of German soldiers – was a most moving experience for us all.

For Dad – to tramp round and through the trenches, to walk through the still-shattered woods that had seen so much death and destruction, brought tears to his eyes – as he saw again, the faces of the young men he remembered visiting his home for tea, all those years ago.

Henri Lebin, proved to be quite a character – as well as providing “good” accommodation and food. Dad and his colleague from Carlton Park discussed with Henri, the possibility of coming again the following year – only this time, they would organise the holiday themselves.

When back in England, that’s exactly what Dad looked into doing – he made arrangements to go to London by a local Bristol coach (without an overnight stay), train from Victoria to Dover, First Class on the ferry (to avoid the hordes of vomiting  youngsters from other schools), Goetthal’s coaches for all visits and seven nights in the Vindictive Hotel – he did it the following Easter for £12 a head.  Dad organised this annual trip every Easter until 1967 – and even then, it only cost £20 per head !

From Train to Scooter

Like most youngsters, I had a succession of wheeled transport over the years. When I lived at 76 Old Church Road, my transport had been a green and red pedal train engine – in which I used to career up and down the side path of the house from the front gate to the brick-floored yard at the back.

          My green and red pedal train at Old Church Rd

In the early days at Westbourne Avenue, I had a strongly built three-wheeler, on which two friends could stand on the back, as I pedalled furiously round the paths and pavements.  It improvised as a tank in “war” games, or as a police car in “cops and robbers” games.  It travelled all over Old Church Hill and Wain’s Hill, though I’m not quite sure what happened to it in the end.

My first two wheeled bike was bought when I was eight – it was a maroon coloured BSA with a thin gold line painted on the frame and mudguards.  Dad bought it from Denmead’s Cycle Shop in The Triangle.  It was my pride and joy for several years, and I used to go on cycle rides all round the lanes – one afternoon I even rode it to St David’s School in Yatton (the present site of Cadbury Country Club), to play cricket for St Nicholas School.  I lost my bike on one occasion – having left it leaning against the flagpole on the Salthouse Fields  whilst I went off to play with friends by the Marine Lake.  I forgot completely about it and went home – leaving it still propped against the flagpole.  I didn’t discover it missing until two or three days later – my Dad and I searched all over the Salthouse area – without success.  Eventually, Dad contacted Clevedon Police Station – someone had come across my bike leaning where I’d left it, and they’d very kindly wheeled it all the way to the Police Station and handed it in.  We never found out who that kind person was, but I was very grateful for their honesty.

I eventually outgrew it and when I was about thirteen years of age, I  bought a second-hand pale blue Raleigh racing bike with drop handlebars from a shop on the corner of Gardens Road and Alexandra Road – it cost me £8.  I rode it all over the place – even to Broadmead in Bristol – though the furthest I ever rode it was to Kilve and East Quantoxhead and back.

When I was sixteen, Dad told me that a member of staff at his school, had a 125cc Douglas Vespa Scooter for sale.  He asked me if I was interested in purchasing it – its price was £60 – too good to miss.  With a loan from him, and armed with a provisional licence, I went to Nailsea to pick it up.  It was pale

  My Vespa 125 at “Ripple Hollow”

blue with a long double seat and a large windscreen – which acted rather like a sail.  If the wind was against you, the maximum speed could be as little as 15 mph.  If the wind was behind you, then your speed could easily be in excess of 60 mph.  It was very economic – about 125 miles to the gallon using two-stroke fuel – and it was mechanically fairly simple – though I had to carry out fairly frequent de-cokes on it.

In nice weather, I used to ride it to school in Weston – rather than going on the train.  The freedom that scooter ownership provided was almost limitless, and it meant I was able to participate in all kinds of activities round and about in Clevedon, Nailsea and Weston.

Jobs for the Boy – Bolstering Income

I began doing summer jobs from 1958 – when I was fourteen – my first employment was picking dwarf french beans at Weir’s Nursery in Tickenham.  We had boxes about 2 ft x 18 inches by 18 inches deep to fill – I did it for three weeks – earning one shilling for each box filled.  It was back-breaking work but earned me nearly 20 shillings (£1) in cash each day.

The following summer, I worked at the “Haven Cafe” (now “The Little Harp”) on the beach, with three other youngsters.  We began work at 10.00 am by loading up the coffee maker and serving morning coffee (and toasted tea-cakes), then lunches – that consisted of trout and chips, cod and chips, chicken and chips or fried egg and chips.  We also did afternoon tea with either toasted tea-cakes or cream tea with scones, clotted cream and jam.  A lot of the time I waited at tables, but occasionally I also cooked – though I never had to do the washing up.  We got paid three shillings and sixpence an hour and had to put any tips into a pot for distribution at the end of the week.  After we had cleared up and washed up and wiped down, we usually finished at about 5.15.

I had been there a little over two weeks when I remember one old chap coming in for afternoon tea.  I was waiting on tables and there weren’t many customers.  He was a nice old boy and as I served him, I chatted to him.  He was so pleased with the service and the company, that he wanted to give me half a crown (about 12 pence in today’s money).  I thanked him but told him the owner’s policy towards tips – he insisted on seeing the boss (I don’t remember the name of the boss, but he was Italian with an English wife) and told him how well I had served him and that I had been both friendly and polite.  He asked if it would be possible for the boss to open that evening – for it was the old man’s birthday – and he wanted to bring his family for a meal.  The boss explained the limited food menu, but the old chap didn’t seem to mind.  The old man asked if I was available to serve them that evening – the boss agreed to open up for the family of six at 8.30 and stated that he and his wife would cook and I would serve.

I returned in the evening at the appointed time – the old man and his family duly arrived, armed with a couple of bottles of wine and a big tin containing a birthday cake.  I sat them down, took their orders and – much to the boss’ annoyance – I was offered a glass of wine whilst the food was being cooked.  When the food was ready, I served them and after clearing away, presented them with plates and knives for the cake – there was even some for me too.  At the end of the meal, the family called for the boss and his wife to thank them for their delicious meal and the old man paid the bill – he then said that as I had looked after them so well and had been so kind to him during the afternoon, he was giving me a tip of a crisp £1 note.  It was obvious from the thunderous look on the face of the boss, that he was unhappy at this, but he refrained from saying anything until after the guests had gone.  He demanded the £1 from me as it was “tips” – but I insisted that the old man had given it to me personally for “my services,”  so I refused – and finally left for home at about half past ten.

The next day when I arrived for work, I was told by the boss that because I had kept the tip money for myself, I was no longer required and was dismissed.  He did, however, pay me my wages up to date – that was the first time I had ever been sacked !

I had heard that Clevedon Urban District Council was looking for beach attendants – car parking duties and selling deckchairs – so I walked next door from “The Haven” and saw Bernard Faraway (the Beachmaster) in his office, and was immediately hired.  There were about eight or nine of us and jobs were allocated on a daily basis – it was a fairly mundane sort of activity, wherever you were asked to go – trying to sell car parking tickets to motorists parked on the road by the pier or by the tennis courts in Elton Road, or looking after one of the three big car parks that Clevedon had – the Salthouse, the Hawthorns and Ladye Bay.  Selling deckchairs was also a rather thankless task – the “plum job”  however, was to be in charge of the paddle boats and rowing boats on the Marine Lake –  that job, mysteriously, always went to Bernard Faraway’s son, Geoffrey !

Once or twice, we had to go on the Pier and help when the paddle steamers came in – that was quite exciting and it was quite eerie walking down the slippery cast iron steps and ladders under the pier-head to reach the lower stages to tie up the steamer.

Whatever your job had been during the day, the last thing you did before you went home (after cashing-up), was to gather the hundreds of deckchairs scattered along Green Beach and Beach Lawns, and stack and tie them under tarpaulin in amongst the bushes near the shelter adjacent to Little Harp Bay.  The deckchairs in Little Harp Bay would be stacked at the base of the steps under tarpaulin, and similarly, those on the Pier Beach.  It was not a well-paid job – just three shillings and sixpence an hour – and on wet days, when it was particularly miserable – we were often sent home without pay.  I worked for the Council the following summer as well – and “mysteriously” Geoffrey Faraway still always got picked to work on the boats at the Marine Lake !

As well as working my Summer holidays on a variety of jobs, I managed for a few years, from 1959 onwards, to work on the Christmas Post deliveries out of the post office at Six Ways.  Because I knew the upper part of Clevedon and could strap my large postal bag onto the back of my Vespa, the round I was usually given was Marine Parade, Wellingron Terrace, Bay Road, Edgehill Road, Argyle Road and Lower Cambridge Road.  In the “build-up” before Christmas, people tended to be quite generous with Christmas gifts for the “postie” – this might seem unfair to the permanent postman left back at the sorting office, but as the gifts usually consisted of a mince-pie and a “small glass of something to keep out the cold” – it had to be consumed on one’s travels.

Hard Lessons and a Satisfactory Outcome

Academically, I did not do well at Weston Grammar.  I had always found difficulty with tests and exams – and because of the varying quality of teaching at the Grammar School, lack of motivation on my part, and not taking life seriously enough – I found most subjects quite problematic.

September 1958 found me embarking on O’Level Studies in the fifth form.  I did badly in the “mocks” in February 1959, and badly in the actual examinations in June and July – I passed in only one subject (Art)

    Class Vb (1958/59) – I’m second in from the right, on top row

and failed in eight or nine others.  It was suggested that because I was the youngest in my year, there was an opportunity for me to stay in the “fifth year” for another year, and do retakes at Christmas and in the following June/July.

As you can imagine, it was quite hard to return to school in the Autumn Term 1959 to be in the “fifth year” again, with boys I didn’t really know.  It was also quite hard because my friends, with whom I had come up through the school, were now entering the Sixth Form ahead of me.  Failure again would mean leaving school the following year, with hardly any qualifications and having to get a job.  I “knuckled down” in my second-year-fifth and worked considerably harder to overcome the precarious position I now found myself in.

In preparation for possible failure however, I applied for training as a Navigation Officer with the Alfred Holt Shipping Company in Liverpool.  By the end of the year however, I had passed most of the subjects that I had earlier failed – and even a quite a few new ones too – though English Literature, Chemistry and Physics continued to elude me.  In September 1960, aged sixteen years and ten months, I went into the Lower VIth.

A SATISFACTORY OUTCOME

Going into the Lower Sixth Form at Weston Grammar School for Boys meant a completely different uniform – a black cap, and a black tie with a thin gold and maroon line running through it.  There were two types of Sixth Form courses we could do: an Arts Course or a Science Course – I was in the Lower VI Arts, doing three A’Levels and a few additional O’Levels.

   Swotting for A’ Levels

We began the academic year with a residential week away at Dillington House (near Ilchester) – where outside speakers introduced us to a wide range of topics ranging from Cybernetics, the workings of the National Grid, and the importance of Industrial Growth to the Future of Britain.  On the whole, not the most scintillating programme for a group of sixteen and seventeen year old lads – some of whom were more interested in the young ladies who served us our meals.  The highlight of the week however, was a visit to – and an extensive tour of – the fairly new Hinkley Point Power Station.

Once back in school, I settled down to work.  Because I was now considered to “have turned myself around,” I was made a Sub-Prefect at the end of the first year in the Sixth Form and a Full Prefect in the Autumn Term of 1961 in the Upper VI.  All Prefects and Sub-Prefects wore a small enamelled badge with maroon and gold stripes.  The difference between a Sub-Prefect and a Prefect was that a Sub-Prefect could give an after-school detention, but counter-signed by a Prefect – whereas a Prefect could give a detention in “his own right.”

   Complete with enamelled badge 

Prefects wore a black tassel hanging from their black cap.  Being a Prefect also meant that you had the dubious privilege of being able to read the lesson at School Assembly in the morning – because of reluctance of many of my peers, I found myself a regular reader in the School’s Morning Assembly.

One of the Staff (Don Brown), had advertised in School, details of the newly-formed Somerset County Outdoor Activity Camp.  Basically, this was a mixed Mini-Outward Bound Course for about thirty youngsters, held during the first seven days of the summer holiday, run by members of the Somerset County Youth Committee.

I went on the first camp in 1959 – held at Charterhouse, on the Mendip Hills.  There we experienced potholing in Burrington Combe, rock climbing on Haytor, and a two-night three-day canoeing expedition on the River Avon involving overnight camping and portaging canoes up and down weirs and paddling about twenty-odd miles – and also completing a British Canoeing Union Competence Course on the way.

I enjoyed it so much, that I applied for the Camp the following year.  It was on this camp (also at Charterhouse), that I did my Duke of Edinburgh’s Silver Award Expedition.  This involved locating hidden tins at given map references – each tin contained a new map reference to the next tin and so on..  There were about six tins on each full day and three on the last half-day.  The last tin of the day gave your campsite location – you were expected to be in camp with the tent pitched and evening meal under way – all by 6.30 pm.  Staff would visit about 6.45 pm to make sure you were settled in, and would give you the first map-reference for the next day.

The following year, when I applied to be a participant, I was invited instead, to attend as member-of-staff – to act as a canoeing instructor – the camp venue was to be at Kilve Court, at the foot of the Quantock Hills.  That year activities included sailing Enterprise dinghies on Clatworthy Reservoir, canoeing, using the climbing wall at Kilve, a two-and-a-half day Expedition on Dartmoor,  and Pony Trekking on Exmoor.

Don Brown also introduced the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award Scheme to the School – I participated in this when I was seventeen and eighteen years of age – I got my Bronze and Silver Awards and I was invited to meet with Prince Phillip, and Sir John Hunt (leader of the successful 1953 Everest Expedition) at a Duke of Edinburgh’s Award Scheme meeting at Taunton.

It was assumed by School, because I had passed so many O’Levels by now – and seemed to be doing quite well in my A’Level Studies – that I might now wish to consider going to University – I had other ideas however !

My Mum and Dad had been secondary teachers for a number of years in Bristol – and were both pretty successful at their jobs.  Indeed I had been in both their schools on numerous occasions over the years,  and had come into contact with quite a few of the youngsters.  Mum and Dad had sometimes let me work with students from their classes as individuals or in small groups.  Mum, in particular, had allowed me to teach her class of Special Needs children for the odd morning or afternoon whenever the opportunity arose.

Whilst the pay for teachers was not particularly good at that time (starting at £520 per year and rising by annual increments to £1200 per year after 10 years) – the length of holidays had a certain attraction for me – so Teaching became my chosen profession.  I needed at least two A’Levels and as I was doing three, I decided to apply for a place at my Mother’s old college in Bristol – Redland College.

I Don’t Want to be in Uncle Sam’s Army

My Mum had been born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 1923, and the following year, was brought to England by her English-born Mother and left to be looked after by her Aunts.  My Grandmother returned to the States – leaving my Mum here to be brought up in England. She met and married my Dad in 1942 and I arrived in late 1943.

By the late 1950’s, Mum decided she wanted to find out more about her American father – whom she had never known.  She wrote to the American Consulate (then in Cardiff) seeking information about him.  Apparently, as she was American by birth – she was automatically an American citizen.  The Embassy officials suggested that the records she was seeking would be more easily obtained if she actually went to the USA herself.  They also suggested that she should consider taking up her lapsed American citizenship and obtaining an American passport.

She managed to get together sufficient documentation to prove her birth in Philadelphia, and was granted full American citizenship with a U.S. passport in April 1961.  What we also learnt, was the fact that I, as the son of an American citizen – could also have automatic American citizenship too.

Initially, this seemed a fairly attractive proposition, but further investigation by me indicated that if I took this opportunity, I would not only have American citizenship – but would also be (as all young American males) drafted into the U.S. Military.

Because of the end of conscription in the U.K., I had just missed out on National Service here.  With the storm clouds of war gathering in South-East Asia, I certainly didn’t relish the thought of joining Uncle Sam’s Army and going off to Vietnam.  I thanked the U.S. Government for their kind offer of U.S. Citizenship – but declined.

REDLAND COLLEGE, BRISTOL

The Beginning

I applied for, and was called for interview, at Redland College, during my last Summer Term at Weston Grammar School for Boys (1962) – I would have been eighteen years and eight months old at the time.  I remember catching the bus from Clevedon to Bristol and walking from Hotwells on a very hot and sunny afternoon, up to the part of the Downs between the Clifton Suspension Bridge and the Zoo to where the College was then situated.  It seemed strange to be coming to “Felixstowe” –  the same building that my Mum had come to as an Emergency Trainee-Teacher in August 1949.

My Dad was, I think, quite pleased that I wished to follow in his footsteps and become a teacher.  He had always thought that I would make a good Art Teacher and had advised me to consider going to Art College at Corsham and gain an Art Teacher’s Diploma (A.T.D.).  I however, saw my future in primary education rather than in secondary – after all, the fifteen months that I was a pupil at St Andrew’s Junior School in Clevedon, were amongst the happiest of my school days.  Corsham would have prepared me only for a secondary school career and I wanted to be a primary school teacher – so Redland College was my choice.

Arriving at Redland Teacher Training College, the would-be students had just about thirty-five minutes to write a five hundred word essay on “The place where I live” – I wrote about Clevedon being built on seven hills and about it’s history and personalities.  Following the essay writing, I was interviewed by a short bespectacled lady wearing a tweed suit, by the name of Miss Saywell – I remember my Mum previously describing her as “a bit of an old dragon.”  It was obvious that she knew Clevedon quite well and we chatted about the town and its place in history for about twenty minutes – we got along fine – she was not the “dragon” I had expected !  The outcome of all this was that I was offered a conditional place to do a Primary Teaching Course in the September – subject to me passing at least two A’Levels – which I did.

Although I lived only twelve miles from College, I had decided to be a residential student rather than attending daily.  In those days, student accommodation was “vetted” and provided by the College.  Some students were housed in Residential Halls and each of the Halls had a resident College Tutor “to keep and eye on things.”  Those students not in Halls, were in “digs” – my “digs” were at 193 Redland Road – just three hundred metres from the almost new College Campus on Redland Hill.

                                                                                                                  193 Redland Road – today

My landlady was called Mrs Wicks and two of us “would-be” teachers shared a large room on her top floor – Mrs Wicks, her husband and sons and a daughter all lived below.  Mrs Wicks was a kindly lady who provided us with a “full English” breakfast each morning and changed and washed our bedding weekly – for that she got paid the princely sum of £8 per week by the College.  In addition, Mrs Wicks would do our own personal washing and ironing for a further three shillings and sixpence (18p) per week – a bargain when compared to the time and effort that most students had to take going on a weekly visit to the launderette.

The Redland College building had only recently been built, on a sloping site between Redland Hill, Durdham Park, Iddesleigh Road and Redland Road.  To the left of the main entrance, was a large Hall with a stage, and beyond which, were music practice rooms.  To the right of the main entrance were stairs up to the Admin Office and several floors of lecture rooms.  On the ground floor was a large common room with coffee bar, and access to the well-equipped gymnasium.  Beyond, were more teaching rooms, a large pottery, woodwork and metalwork workshops.  Behind the whole building was a small car-park, a detached building called the Small Hall, and tennis courts.  The one problem was, that there were no playing fields on site – rugby, soccer and hockey etc had to be played elsewhere.

A hundred metres or so away, on a steep grassy site below Elm Lane, and attached to “Malvern” (one of the women’s residential hostels),  were the Upper and Lower Dining Rooms for Students and Staff, together with kitchens. Adjacent to these dining rooms, were three student common rooms – one with a black and white television.

There were approximately five hundred and twenty students at Redland – of whom about seventy-five were men.  Teacher-training was a three-year course in September 1962 – prior to that, teacher-training had only been for two years.  As well as the three-year trainees, there were also a few one-year mature students – mainly men and women who attended following a career break or career change.  There were also post-graduate students doing a one-year course – we saw little of them as they spent most of their time out in schools.

Most of us in our First Year, were straight out of school.  We were to be split up into different education groups: Infant, Infant/Junior, Junior/Infant, Junior, Junior/Secondary, Secondary/Junior, and pure Secondary – I chose a pure Junior Course.

On the first day, all the new students milled around together – no-one knowing quite what to do – eventually it filtered through that we had to “sign-up” for our Main and Subsidiary Subject Courses – we would follow our Main for three years, and our Second subject for just  two years.  I chose to do Main History and Subsidiary P.E.  Depending on what age-group you wished to teach, then you followed that Education Course for three years as well.  In addition, all students, regardless of Main and Second Subject Courses, had to do a basic one-year course consisting of Art, Science, P.E. & Dance, Maths, English and Religious Education.

History was my chosen Main Subject – and surprise… surprise – my Tutor was Miss Ruby Saywell.  I was delighted, as I felt that we had got on so well when I came for interview.  Our three-year History course was to cover the period from the emergence of civilisation between the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates, right upto the Cold War – a mammoth task, but one I was looking forward to.

My second subject was P.E. – my tutor was an odd little chap named Doug Hooper – who for some strange reason, liked to dress up (in his spare time at home) in a matador’s “suit of lights.”  Despite being a slightly eccentric man, his P.E. Course was absolutely fantastic – Doug either taught us – or got in “experts” to teach the twelve of us who had chosen to do Men’s P.E. – a vast range of sports and activities.

During the two years I was with Doug, we completed an F.A. Coaching Course (with Tommy Casey – ex-Irish International & Bristol City F.C.), a Trampoline Course (with John Ley – a former British Champion).  We built kayak canoes and passed our BCU Basic Survival Course (with Freddie Briscoe – whom I knew from Somerset Outdoor Activity Camps), we did an L.T.A. Course (with an L.T.A. Coach from Redland Tennis Club) andwe did a British Sub-Aqua Course.  We learnt rock climbing in the Avon Gorge and then went on a one week “Climb n’ Camp” Course in Snowdonia – led by Doug.  I thoroughly enjoyed the Amateur Fencing Course we did, having fenced previously for Clevedon Sword Club for two or three years.  We did a number of one-day and a three-day British Amateur Gymnastic Association Course (with Nik Stuart – the British Coach) down at St Luke’s College in Exeter – and finally,  we completed an Amateur Swimming Association Life Saving Course.

Molly Michael was my Education Tutor – she was a great teacher with a good sense of humour – I learned a great deal about child development from her and have been able to put it to great use ever since.

First Teaching Practice

After the first week in College, we had a three day “crash-course” on “classroom technique” – including mounting displays of work.  All the new First Years were all to be sent out on a two-week Teaching Practice in Schools.  The “crash-course” was really to cover the “do’s and don’ts” in your first visit to a school as a Student Teacher.  It covered anything – from making sure your flies were done up before standing in front of the class, to not sitting in the most comfortable chair in the staff-room, or serving yourself with tea or coffee first.  It covered the type of clothes you should wear and the hairstyle you should adopt, and the fact that if you smoked – you should not do it anywhere but in the staff-room – and then only if other staff agreed.

Unfortunately, my room-mate, Mike (who was doing a Secondary Course), had a bright blue three-piece suit with drain-pipe trousers, black “winkle-picker” shoes and a rather slim tie.  He had black hair combed back with a quiff at the front – he also sported fairly longish side-burns.  To all intents and purposes, he looked a bit like a “Teddy Boy” – though in fact he was actually a very nice chap.  Unfortunately, he turned up on his first Teaching Practice in some tough Bristol Secondary School to do woodwork and metalwork – to be faced with rows of boys all dressed very much as he was.  Apparently it was a complete disaster and the Head of the school refused to have him back.  Mike decided that teaching was not for him, and he only stayed for the rest of that autumn term at College – mainly to finish the coffee table he had started making during his first week or so in College.

A list was put up with names of all First-Year Students and the name of the school they would be going to for their two-week First Teaching Practice.  To my utter amazement, I was allocated my old Junior School – St Andrews Junior School in Clevedon !   I also had the opportunity of staying in Clevedon – rather than commuting daily on College transport, from Redland to Clevedon.  The College Authorities were happy for my Mum to become my landlady for two weeks – she received the princely sum of £8 a week to look after me !

The main school at St Andrew’s was still next door to Clevedon Fire Station, but the Staff had changed a little bit from when I was there as a pupil – though the Headteacher was still Miss Freda Page, and Mr James was still there too.  I was put with the class of David Bryant (Commonwealth Games Bowls Gold Medallist).  His classroom was some distance away from the main school – in a classroom annexe in Marson Road.

According to College, when on T.P., we were supposed to observe for at least the first week and watch what went on in the classroom.  Towards the end of the first week (if we felt confident), then maybe we might like to work with one or two of the children.  In the second week, we were supposed to work with small groups (when not observing) and, if we felt up to it, to “whole-class” teach one or two lessons on the last couple of days.  At any time during the two weeks, you would be visited by a Supervising Tutor, who would “sit-in” on what you were doing, check your lesson plans and Teaching Practice file, and write copious notes about what they had seen.  I suppose the opportunities of teaching in my parent’s classroom had helped considerably for, by the end of the first week, I was teaching several lessons per day with the whole class – whilst being supervised by David.  In the second week, I was teaching full-time with David in attendance – and sometimes not.

Back to College and New Friends

Mike, my room-mate, was not the only one to fail their first T.P. – several students left College during that Autumn Term.  Once back in College, the first couple of weeks were spent with your Education Tutor (Molly) and Personal Tutor (Ruby), reviewing your Teaching Practice lesson plans and the Supervising Tutor’s comments – after which, life quickly settled down into a fairly simple routine.

I have said previously that there were far more women at College than men – we were outnumbered about 7:1.  Some of the eighteen year old female students who came to College sporting engagement rings, quickly discarded them in the first few weeks.  It was the Early 60’s – this was the age of The Beatles  (whom I saw at the Hippodrome), transistor radios, the Contraceptive Pill, Student Marches, “Rag Week,”  weekly College Dances, listening to Radio Luxembourg fading in and out, etc. etc.

I formed a number of good friends whilst at College – one or two I have seen since then, but none that I have really kept in touch with:

CH came from Exeter – she owned a bright red coloured 1936 two-seater MG TA “Tickford” – it was christened “Basil.”  I was once a passenger with her when, as we approached downhill towards a busy crossroad in Bristol, CH realised – despite “pumping” the foot-brake pedal – that there were no brakes.

  “Basil”

Somehow or other, she managed to avoid any collisions as we shot at right-angles through two streams of opposing traffic – I yanked on the handbrake with both hands – I think the pair of us were screeching as much as the brakes when we finally came to a stop – fortunately uninjured and without mishap, but with much smoke coming out of the brake drums !

JJB was Jewish and came from Wigan – she was a really funny character who teetered about on very high stiletto heels.  She smoked like a chimney and frequently made us laugh through being an excellent mimic of the Old Music Hall comedienne, Hilda Baker.  JJB shared “digs” with two other girls : HJB (from Southampton) and BAH (from Catford, S.E. London) – BAH’s older sister was already doing a Teacher Training Course at Redland.  BMB was from Brixham – he was a good rugby player and played regularly for the Redland College Rugby Team.

CS was a farmer’s son from Cumberland – he’d  lost part of an index finger in an agricultural accident when younger.  His “party piece” (usually on a public bus) was to poke his severed finger either into his ear or up his nostril, and then to discreetly observe the effect on squeamish fellow passengers !

JR was the daughter of an International Golfer, and who at that time, was also Captain of the Great Britain Ryder Cup Team.  I remember one lunch-time, when a group of us – including JR – met up with some Bristol University lads in a pub.  One of these lads took rather a liking to JR – so we all agreed to meet later that day at the Long Ashton “Pitch and Putt” course.  This particular lad, who thought he knew how to play golf, decided he would demonstrate his coaching skills to JR – even to the point of standing behind her with his arms around her, showing her how to grip the club, back-swing and follow-through.  JR, very good-naturedly, didn’t “let-on” who her father was – nor the fact that she had been playing golf since she was four years of age.  When we all met up for drinks later that evening, we took great delight in letting the poor unsuspecting University lad know, exactly who she was – he was, as you can imagine, rather crestfallen at this disclosure.

The sister of PS was was an actress who had starred with Cliff Richard in the film “Summer Holiday,” and she was later in “Till Death Us Do Part” and “Worzell Gummidge” on television.  I believe PS still makes pots and furniture down in Somerset.

MM was from Newcastle-on-Tyne.  She had hair reaching below her waist and was very much into visiting Folk Clubs.  She also knew many students from the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School – through her cousin Jane Lapotaire.   Jane later became a famous stage, television and screen actress.  As an “Old Vic” student, Jane was a “great party animal” and we attended many wild parties in Clifton and went to several Student Drama Productions near the University and to plays at the Theatre Royal.

Peeping Tom

I have said that men were outnumbered by women at College to the ratio of 7:1, and that accommodation at College was either in Halls of Residence or rooms in individual houses owned by landlords/landladies.  Many of the Halls of Residence were female and had strict rules of access by members of the opposite sex.  One day, I think it was during the second term, one of the First Year women complained that she was sure that there had been a “Peeping Tom”  prowling about after dark, in the grounds of her Hall.  As the days went by, there were one or two similar complaints from other female students.  A few of the men decided they would take matters into their own hands by setting up patrols.

With co-operation of the girls in the Hall, it was planned to keep watch from about 9.00 pm till about midnight over the next few nights.  Well-wrapped and well-concealed in the shrubs and bushes near the Hall – and well-supplied with occasional sips of alcoholic spirit to keep out the cold, the silent watchers waited.  All went well for the first few nights.

On about the fourth night, however, the sound of someone approaching, put everyone on their guard.  Whoever it was, their movements indicated that they didn’t want their presence known – presumably this was the “Peeping Tom.”  He was pounced on and wrestled to the ground.  Someone produced a pillow-case and it was put over his head – he was then frog-marched to where there was a little more light.

Much discussion followed as to what should be done with him – despite his apologetic protestations.  Some suggested that he should be taken to nearby Redland Police Station, other suggestions included giving him a beating.  Finally it was decided to take him in one of the student cars, with as many as could fit in, and take him up onto the far side of the Downs.  Here every article of his clothing was removed – and there he was left, standing on the dark frosty grass of the Downs, hundreds of yards from civilzation.

A slight detour home was made via the Clifton Suspension Bridge and  “Peeping Tom’s” clothes and shoes were ceremoniously dropped off into the darkness to float down to the Portway or into the River Avon.  There were never any more reports about “Peeping Toms” from that day onward.

Identity Parades

Student finances were fairly limited in the early 1960’s. Parents applied for a Grant towards a living allowance for their offspring – tuition however, was completely free !   How much you might receive as a Grant was dependent on Parental income.  As both my parents were teachers, then our family income was deemed to be fairly high, in comparison with others.  A teacher’s salary then, started at £520 p.a. and rose by annual increments to £1200 p.a. after ten years of service.

In my First Year, whilst my tuition was free, the Grant that I received for a living allowance was only £45 – spread over three equal termly payments.  In my Second Year, my Grant for the year was reduced to £15 – spread over three equal termly instalments.  In my Third Year, I received no Grant at all – in fact my Parents had to pay a “one-off” payment towards my living allowance to College of £8.  It was, therefore, imperative for many students, to find ways of supplementing their income.  During term-time – when not on T.P. – some students did occasional bar work.  All of us had summer vacation jobs and many worked for the Post Office at Christmas.  Another way to supplement your income during term-time was to take part in ID Parades at Redland Police Station in Lower Redland Road (now a school).

   Redland Police Station

Over the three years I was at Redland College, I volunteered to take part in about ten or twelve of these parades.  Now and again, we would be contacted by the police, asking for eight or nine tall dark-haired males in suits – or short, fat, blond men wearing jeans and tee-shirts.  If you roughly fitted the physical criteria demanded, you showed up at Redland Police Station at the appointed time.  If you were lucky enough to be selected by the sergeant, then you lined up in the police yard and the accused would then be brought out.  He could select his position in the line-up.  When everyone was satisfied, you were told to “face front” and “not to talk.”  From a side door, witnesses (or victims) would be produced who, one by one, would walk along the line scrutinising each person in the line-up.  If they saw anyone they “recognised” they had to touch them on the shoulder and withdraw.  I never got “picked out” myself, but once one of my fellow students did get “picked out” by a witness.

After the line-up was completed, you were given a cup of tea, a biscuit and the princely sum of three shillings and sixpence (worth about eighteen pence today).

Bolstering Student Income – Hales Bakery, Labouring, Mushrooms & “Postie”

Over a number of years, I had always worked in my school summer holidays – picking beans at Weir’s Nursery in Tickenham, waiting at The Haven (now the Little Harp), working  on Clevedon Beach for Clevedon UDC for two summers and in 1961, working at Hales Bakery in Clevedon.  Knowing I was to embark on a three-year course of Teacher Training in September 1962, I realised the need for acquiring as large a pot of money as I could, before going to College – I returned to Hales for the second time.

Working at Hales was always an eye-opener – my experiences there, certainly caused me to doubt the wisdom of ever purchasing any of their products – one could assume that nearly all the cakes had been handled by anything upto half a dozen people, and some cakes may have been on the floor at least once.

The summer of 1962 was incredibly hot, and working in some of the areas at Hales was almost unbearable – especially working at the ends of the ovens – the sweat just poured off you and frequently dripped onto the cakes.  We used to take it turns to stand in the freezer room – without protective clothing – just to cool down.  The majority of the workforce were female – and as one might expect, the dozen or so male students soon became targets for much hilarity and sexual innuendo – all tremendous fun for all concerned.  Some ” larking-about” took place from time to time – making “butter-cream” was done by hand – this involved you being up to your elbows in the stuff – and you could always expect a jet of this mixture aimed at you, if you went anywhere near the operatives whose job it was to squirt the “butter-cream” into choux pastry eclairs.

I used to begin work on weekdays at seven-thirty in the morning and finish at five.  By the end of the week, the floors and some machines were pretty thick with sticky or blackened cake-mix or grease.  Those who wanted overtime, could work on Saturday mornings to clean up.  If you wanted overtime on Saturday – so that production could begin again on Monday in a fairly clean bakery – then it was an eight-thirty start with a one o’clock finish.  For this, I earned thirty-five shillings (£1.75) a day from Monday to Friday – and the same for the Saturday morning clean-up.

Occasionally, we would be given two day’s notice that the Factory Inspectors were going to pay us a visit – on hearing this news, all cake production would cease, and the entire production workforce would be set to clean the factory from top to bottom.  Every machine, conveyor belt, rack, trolley, baking tin, door handle was cleaned and the floor scraped, cleaned and washed.  On the day of the Inspection, we would all be issued with newly laundered overalls and hats, and production world start – usually timed to be “up-and-running” with cakes coming out of the oven about thirty minutes before the Factory Inspectors arrival.

As an “experienced” vacation worker, I was sent to the second floor to be in charge of a machine – the sponge-mixing machine for Victoria and Battenberg sponges.  Most of the ingredients  moved around the factory via vacuum tube from central hoppers – the required amounts of flour, sugar, colouring etc was weighed by using calibrated knobs – you pressed a button and it was delivered automatically – ready to drop into your mixing-machine.

The frozen New Zealand butter came in large 28 lb boxes with the word “Rejected” stamped across it – these boxes had to be opened up on the floor and then you had to “attack” the frozen block with a stainless steel spade, to get it into small enough chunks so it would hopefully melt, in the mixing process.  The eggs came in two gallon tin containers from China which you hacked open – the eggs all had tiny yolks, and we always wondered what kind of birds had actually produced them !

My mixing-machine was about five feet by three feet and about four feet deep.  All the ingredients went in and you closed the lid and switched “on.”  After about fifteen minutes, you stopped the machine, opened the lid to check whether the consistency was correct – if it was, then you pressed a warning button – this informed the ladies immediately below on the ground floor, that you were ready.

The ladies down below were responsible for putting your mix into individual greased baking tins and putting them into the long rolling oven.  Eighteen minutes later, the cakes would appear at the other end of the oven, be taken out (by some long-suffering highly paid sweating male), allowed to cool, then each cake would be grabbed to remove it from the tin, the tin scraped, re-greased, and the whole process repeated.

If the ladies below, were ready for me upstairs, they would open the trapdoor and shout up that they were “ready.”  They would then move a large hopper under the trapdoor, ready to receive the cake mix from my machine.  I would then shout back to confirm their readiness, and if “ready,” I would gently tip the contents of my machine through the trapdoor in the floor, and into the hopper below.  However, one morning towards the end of my second week,  a new charge-hand on the sponge-making line below, failed to get the hopper in place – even though I had had confirmation that all was “ready” –  unfortunately it wasn’t !!  I deposited about five hundredweight of yellow cake-mix through the hole in the floor – all over the end of the oven, over their conveyor belt, their tins, racks and trolleys – and all over several of the women and the floor.  As one can imagine – that was the end of my career with Hales

I then managed to get a job for the rest of the vacation “on the buildings” as a labourer – it was infinitely better working outside in the sunshine and fresh air, and the pay was equally as good as at Hales.  I worked for Tappenden’s on a bungalow in Rippleside Road and a house at the bottom of Woodside Road.  I also worked on their refurbishment of “The Regent” in Hill Road and also on a new property being built on the hillside at Tickenham – later to be known as “Cedar Lodge.”

During the Summer of 1963, I worked on J.A. Venn’s building site on Strawberry Hill in Clevedon, where I was attached to a self-employed “brickie” named Alex.  He was paid weekly by Venn’s at a “fixed price” per house – he was the fastest bricklayer I have seen and also one of the most careful and precise.  As his labourer, I had to keep him supplied with mortar and bricks – I used to arrive on site at 7.00 am and start stacking a couple of hundred bricks for him to use, after loading up the first mixer-full of “muck.”  Alex would arrive about 7.30 and work through till about six in the evening on a good day – I used to get paid by Alex on a Friday – after he had been paid by Venn’s – if he was feeling generous and work had gone well, then I would get a bonus too.

During the summer of 1964, I worked at the Wrington Mushroom Farm at their Langford site – that was quite an experience.  We prepared the growing boxes for mushroom cultivation from well-rotted chicken and horse manure mixed with straw.  There were quite a number of students working there and we had a lot of fun – I and another lad were soon “promoted” from sowing mushroom spores, to shovelling manure from one place to another, mixing it with straw and shovelling it all back again.  We did this activity each day for about ten days, before all the mixture was carted off for putting in the growing boxes.  A new load of horse and chicken manure would be brought into the yard, together with new bales of straw, and the whole process of shovelling it from one place to another began again – at least our work was taking place in the “fresh” air !!

For the three years I was at College, I worked for the Post Office at Six-Ways, Clevedon to help with the Christmas sorting and deliveries.  About twelve to fifteen students used to be employed to work alongside the full-time postal workers – some students helped with sorting, some took over delivery rounds – I did deliveries.  Because I lived fairly near Walton Castle, I was always allocated the route from Marine Parade, Wellington Terrace, Bay Road, Argyle Road, Lower Cambridge Road, Edgehill Road and up to and including the Golf Club.  I used to take my large bag, strap it onto the back of my Vespa scooter, and set off on my deliveries.

In the “build-up” towards Christmas, people tended to be quite generous with Christmas gifts for the “postie” – these usually consisted of a mince-pie and “a small glass of something to keep out the cold” – and of course, this had to be consumed on one’s travels.  Needless to say, when delivery rounds were finished, there were sometimes one or two inebriated students making their way back to the sorting office – especially if they had been out on a “second” delivery.  Not to be outdone, the full-time “posties” usually had a large barrel of beer to sup from, whilst sorting the mail.  The pay was not all that great, but it was all good fun for the week leading upto midday on Christmas Eve.

I remember one Christmas Eve – it had snowed a bit during the morning, and people living along Wellington Terrace had been particularly generous with the “wee hot toddy”  By midday, having been “paid-off” with my Christmas earnings, I went a little unsteadily out into the Post Office yard to get my Vespa and go home.  Try as I may, I couldn’t get it started and so I was faced with the prospect of having to push it through snowy slush  – all the way from Six-Ways,  up to my home in Edward Road South.  I set off up Bellevue Road, along Hill Road, past the Catholic Church and along Wellington Terrace.  As I was nearing the Walton Park Hotel, I became increasingly aware of a car moving very slowly behind me.  I stopped pushing and turned – to my horror, I realised it was a police car – with four policemen inside.

One of them wound down his window and asked if everything was alright – I suppose it must have seemed rather suspicious to come across someone struggling along in the gutter, pushing a motor scooter.  In my best “sober” fashion, I explained that the Vespa belonged to me and that it had stalled and I couldn’t get it started.  Two of the policemen got out of their car and offered help.  I stood back whilst one of them put it on its stand, and the other tried to “kick-start” it – without success.  He crouched down, took off the engine cover, tinkered with the engine for a minute or so and tried to start it again – this time it burst into life.  He replaced the engine cover and I was invited to sit astride my scooter – which I did.  As I eased it off it’s stand in order to move off, the officer who had started my Vespa, shouted that they would follow me up Cambridge Road.  One of the others said they would follow me as far as the beginning of my road – just in case it stalled again.

Fortunately, my scooter kept going.  One can imagine however, my apprehension about riding my Vespa slowly up a snowy hill, ” a bit the worse for wear,” being followed by four policemen.  At last I made it to the entrance of Edward Road South, where they waved a cheery goodbye, and we wished each other a “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, I Do Like to be Beside The Seaside”

During our First year, we were supposed to have a second Teaching Practice (lasting three weeks) during the Summer Term of 1963.  Usually you were allocated a school by the College, and a list was then posted on the Student notice-board – for all to see.  Just after Easter, I happened to see an advertisement requesting student help at a Bristol School’s camp later in the term.  Thinking this might be more fun than having to prepare work and stand in the front of a classroom for three weeks, I contacted my Education Tutor (Molly) to ask if a number of us could go on camp and it be regarded as our Teaching Practice.  Molly made the necessary enquiries and it was agreed by the College Authorities.  The School in question was  Hareclive School in Hartcliffe, Bristol – and they needed two male and two female students – JH, HJB and SMJ and myself volunteered.

Before you went out on T.P., a student normally went on two preliminary visits – this was to get to know something of the class of children we were going to teach, the routine of the school, and meet the staff and discuss possible topics to teach.  This Teaching Practice was to be somewhat different – our preliminary visits were spent meeting with the Deputy Head (Colin), and gathering together all the equipment that we would be taking from School to camp.

We were intrigued to find out that on the first day of our Teaching Practice, we four students would be departing from Hareclive School with Colin and his wife, in a big furniture van filled with marquees (for Dining and Kitchen) poles , tents, hessian screens, bowls, buckets, cooking utensils, field kitchen, Tilley lamps, spades, kerosene, food, games equipment, reference books, paper, pencils etc.  Our job was to erect the camp for thirty-five children – we had a week to complete it before the children came down with the Headmaster and his wife – for a week at camp.

All the marquees, tenting and field kitchen equipment was supplied from the Bristol Education Equipment Store in a furniture van – we just added the school equipment and set off on the Monday morning for Woolacombe – with us four crammed in the back, and Colin and his wife in the cab.

The site was a farmer’s field just adjacent to the long sandy beach.  We began unpacking the van – out came the marquee and tenting equipment for erection.  It was not long however, before it was realised that the Education Store had sent marquee poles of different lengths for the marquee that we were to use for dining and educational purposes.  The obvious solution was to dig a hole for the longer pole, but when it came to putting up the actual marquee, because it was now much lower to the ground, it was not possible to put the side walls up.

Colin set JH and myself to work – digging four latrines for male and female staff and boys and girls.  Colin erected the necessary poles and hessian modesty screens around the trenches that we were digging.  Colin came to inspect our handiwork later and was somewhat horrified by the depth JH and I had achieved.  When the children arrived the following week, I understand that some of the girls were very apprehensive about using it – fearing they might topple in !

Whilst Colin’s wife and our two female students were cooking the evening meal, we managed to get up three tents for us – unfortunately  however, the tents were not ridge tents as JH and I had been expecting, but were “bell” tents with a single central pole – similar to those used by the military in the early twentieth century.

The rest of the week was spent setting up the rest of the “bell” tents for the children and one for the Headmaster and his wife.  The weather was absolutely gorgeous – as well as putting up the rest of the camp, the six of us did a lot swimming, and playing cricket on the beach – much better than being in a classroom !

I don’t remember much about the week that the children were there – the weather was good, there were no mishaps and everyone seemed to have had a jolly good time.  We explored the area, collected and identified shells, found out about the birds we saw, identified plants and birds, made rubbings of different surfaces, played games, went in the sea, drew and painted all manner of pictures – all a wonderful experience for these Hartcliffe children.  At the end of the week, the coach arrived and took the Headteacher, his wife and all the children back to Bristol.  We four students, with Colin and his wife, had the job of striking camp, filling in the latrines, packing everything back in the furniture van and returning to Bristol.  We arrived back at Hareclive School at lunchtime on the Wednesday and spent the rest of the day unloading all the school equipment from the van, so it could be returned to the Bristol Education Committee Store.  The Thursday and Friday were spent with the children reviewing all we had been doing at Camp – and then it was all over – our three-week Teaching Practice was complete.

Colin was obviously most impressed by our efforts at Camp – recommending us all for good grades.  On returning to College, it was obvious from our sun-tans, that no-one had had such an enjoyable time on their Teaching Practice – as we four !!

24 Hour “LE MANS”

All Universities and Colleges have “Rag Weeks” – this is an opportunity for students to go mad for a week, do silly things, get a lot of publicity, have good time and raise a lot of money for charity.  In Bristol, the University, St Matthias College of Education and Redland College of Education all used to have their Rag Weeks at the same time.

Someone had the bright idea that, as part of Rag Week, we should hold a 24 hour pedal car race.  Permission was granted by the Bristol City Council for it to be held on College Green with the perimeter pavements as the track.  A couple of days before race-day, scaffolding frames draped with tarpaulin were erected along the frontage of the ornamental ponds by council workers – these would provide pits for the different racing teams taking part.  Cars were designed and built in college workshop and garages, and covered in protective highly-coloured distinguishable bodies.

I don’t remember how many teams or cars there were, actually taking part – the Redland College car was number “55” and painted bright red – it had the aerodynamics of a concrete block.  All the cars had to comply mechanically to a standard design – with a pedal-operated chain-drive – but without gears.  The Second Year Men’s P.E. group of ten, were enlisted as Redland College drivers with a “Le Mans” style start.  The race was to last for twenty-four hours with as many driver change-overs as were necessary – but driver-exchange could only take part in your pit area.  Scrutineers would check the cars prior to and immediately after the race, and “official” lap counters kept a check on each car’s progress in the race – the ultimate winner would be the car that covered the most laps in the 24 hour period.

Prior to actual “Start” of the race, up to four drivers – of which I was one – were allowed to do a total of two laps “warm-up” – this was so that teams could identify any potential problems with their cars.  Our car survived it’s “warm-up” laps without difficulty and so we felt confident as we waited for the Official Start.

The race started at noon with an old-style “Le Mans” start – this meant the drivers congregating on one side of the track, facing their obliquely parked cars on the opposite side of the track.  At the firing of a starter’s pistol, the drivers sprinted across the track, leapt into their cars, and set off pedalling furiously.  Quite a lot of cars dropped out within the first few hours – the Redland car was fairly robust and made good progress.  If your car did break down, the driver had to push it to the pits for any repairs.  If the problem was serious, and repairs could not be resolved in the pits, then the team were allowed to remove the car from the race-track area altogether – especially if sub-frames needed re-welding – which apparently, they frequently did.

Me at the wheel of No 55 

More and more people arrived during the afternoon to support the Redland Team – as night fell, the Redland pit took on the appearance of a huge bed with about thirty students sleeping.  Exhausted drivers were provided with food and drink from doting fans, whilst drivers-in-waiting limbered-up before their next stint on the track.

At about 2.00 am, the Redland Team experienced a major problem with our sub-frame – some of the welding had parted company.  The car had to be removed from the track and taken back to College, where a forced entry provided access to the workshops.  Within an hour or two, No. 55 was back in business.  The lull in proceedings provided an opportunity for all our drivers to get some sleep.

As daylight came, it seemed that the Redland car – despite an hour or two away from the track  and numerous breakdowns – had covered more laps than most of the other Racing Teams.  When the end of the race came at noon, and following scrutiny by the marshals, the Redland car was declared to have covered 327 laps – we were placed 4th – which was pretty good as we only raced a total of eleven hours out of the twenty-four.

“Yo Ho Ho ! And a Bottle of Rum”

There was no Teaching Practice in our Second Year – it was arranged that all the Junior Education Groups would work with individual classes of youngsters from various Bristol Schools on one morning a week.  Our Education Group (Molly Michael’s) was divided into two sections to work with St Michael’s Primary School (just off St Michael’s Hill).  The group I was with, got together and planned to deliver a topic on “Treasure Island.”  We planned to cover the 18th Century history of Bristol including life in the city and on board ship.  In Mathematics, using simple home-made navigational aids, we would teach the children to calculate the height and distance of objects.  In Geography, the youngsters were to study maps and coastlines and make a three-dimensional model of “Treasure Island.”  Because of the range of practical work planned, it was determined that it would not be possible to do this in their school.  Instead it was arranged that the class of 8-9 year olds would be brought by coach every Tuesday morning – arriving as College at 9.30 for departure at 11.50 am.  The children were to work in different groups taught by small groups of students.

The idea was, that at about 11.30, all the class would come together in the Great Hall at Redland College, where, over the weeks they were coming, it was my role to read an abridged version of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” to them.  This gave an opportunity for my fellow students to clear up in the various art, maths and geography rooms, where activities had been going on.  I feel I read it pretty well – with different voices for the different characters in the story – it certainly seemed to go down well with the children.  I’m not sure however, that their teacher was very amused, when I referred to “Pew, the old blind bugger !”

Anyway, as mementos to our “Treasure Island” Project, some of the children brought us small gifts – mine was a small wooden one-legged pirate that shoots it’s arms and leg(s) out sideways when you pull on a string – I still have it today, hanging on the wall in my kitchen.

Pyjama Dance

Every Friday evening we had a College Dance in what was called the Small Hall – this sometimes featured our very good College Group – whose repertoire covered hits by the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Searchers, The Animals, and Manfred Mann together with instrumentals recorded by The Shadows.  As well as “live” performances, sometimes one of the students would act as a DJ and play the latest records.

At the beginning of each term, we had a “Coming Up” Dance in the Great Hall, and at the end of term, we had a “Going Down” Dance.  In between, we had occasional themed fancy-dress dances – all of these took place in the Great Hall and were always well-supported.  Titles of these themed dances included such things “Vicars and Tarts,” “Tramps and Vamps,” “Hallowe’en” “Gangster and Molls” etc etc.

The themed dances were often an excuse for “cross-dressing” to take place – so for instance, some of the “Vicars and Tarts” were female “Vicars” and the males – wearing wigs and wearing evening dresses and make-up, were the “Tarts” – all good clean fun !  For those students and staff from Redland College in the early 60’s – the “Pyjama Dance” of October 1963, will go down in history as one to remember.

One of the female students amongst my group of friends (HJB) and I, decided to go to the Pyjama Dance as twins.  She happened to own two fairly large striped nightshirts – and as she had fairly longish hair, I made myself a shaggy wig.  She had a pair of frilly knickers over a one-piece swimming costume, and I borrowed a pair of frilly knickers from another female student to wear over my swimming trunks.  The two of us dressed in our lacy knickers, nightshirts and long hair, arrived at the dance – we were an immediate “hit” – though I have to say, that some of the night attire we saw on other dancers that evening, was a great deal more revealing than ours !!

Anyway, a good time was had by all and everyone went home at the end of the evening quite happily.  Unknown to us, however, a Bristol Evening Post photographer had been present at the dance, and had “snapped” my partner and I dancing.

The following day, our photograph appeared in the paper – and this sparked a flurry of letters over the next few days from Evening Post readers.  The first –  was anonymous – and just signed “Father of some lively teenagers.”

The following day saw a number of letters condemning the attitude of the “Father of some Lively Teenagers.”

The College Staff defended us “to the hilt” in the press, parents of students wrote letters of support to the paper and we even had letters of support from college landladies !!

Final Teaching Practice & Theses

My Final Teaching Practice took place in September 1964 – the Autumn Term of my Third Year.  The school I was allocated to by the College, was Little Stoke County Primary – where I had a class of thirty-five ten year olds.  Little Stoke Primary was just off Gipsey Patch Lane in Filton – right in the path of the main runway – it was especially noisy when the engine for the experimental TSR2 tactical strike and reconnaissance aircraft was being tested.  From what I remember, the engines were being tested fairly regularly, up to full power during the whole of my T.P.  I believe the plane flew (with escorts) for the first time at the end of September at Boscombe Down – all this was of particular interest to many of the youngsters in the school, as their dads worked on the TSR2 engines.

Little Stoke was very forward-looking school and had a very good name, in particular, for physical education and games – “right up my street.”  My class-teacher (Windsor) really was a super teacher and was marvellous with children.

This was to be a six week T.P, and we were expected to be teaching almost full-time by the end of the first week – and to be teaching full-time from the beginning of the second week.  As well as planning schemes of work in a whole range of subjects, we had to plan a main topic from which we could get English, Art, History, Geography, Mathematics, Science, R.E. etc.  At College, for my Main History Course Thesis, I had been researching a “study of Glastonbury Abbey until it’s Dissolution in 1539” – this had involved numerous visits to Glastonbury, and a good deal of research in libraries.  Inevitably, a study of the Abbey at Glastonbury, brought in the legends of King Arthur – and it seemed obvious therefore, to use “King Arthur” as the basis for my Final Teaching Practice.

Within the six week Teaching Practice, we had visited Glastonbury, climbed the Tor, visited the Chalice Well, tramped round the Abbey and clambered to the top of Weary-All (Wirral) Hill.  The youngsters had learned about post-Roman Britain and the invasion of the Saxons.  They learnt about the Legends of King Arthur, The Round Table, Codes of Chivalry and all about Tournaments.  They had made a cardboard and papier-mache suit of armour and painted lots of pictures and designed their own Coats of Arms – it all  seemed to go down well with both children and their class-teacher.

My Main History Thesis had been going well during the first two years at College and I managed to complete it for the external examiners, by Christmas 1964 – a term early.  I also had to do an Education Thesis too.  My particular interest was regarding “The Integration of Caribbean’s in Bristol.”  With easy access to my Mother’s School (Baptist Mills) in St Paul’s, Bristol, and also through connections I had formed with Anthony H. Richmond, who’d been doing a national study on much the same subject and was writing a book (later published by Penguin Books), I managed to complete my Education Thesis soon after Christmas.

I have said previously that my Teacher Training Course at Redland College of Education was for three years – in fact we were the first of the Three-Year Students  – and the course that we did, seemed to be the original Two-Year Course spread over an extra year.  Consequently, there was plenty of spare time – provided you kept on top of the work.  That’s exactly where I found myself early in 1965.

Having completed all my Teaching Practices and also my Main Subject History Thesis and my Education Thesis – there was nothing much left to do, other than to attend the occasional lecture, enjoy working in the gym on Olympic Gymnastics, visiting both my Parent’s schools to do some occasion voluntary teaching, and going out with friends.

I did do a mini Special Needs Education Course within my last year at College – as well as lectures, this entailed visiting a number of specialist schools within Bristol, who were supporting children who were either deaf, or blind, or were suffering from Downs Syndrome.

Tamla Motown – Tuesday 23rd March 1965

I have said earlier that my Mum was a secondary teacher in Bristol – at Baptist Mills School – right in the heart of St Paul’s.  When she first taught there in 1951, the school was exclusively white – by the early 1960’s however, there were hardly any white students left.  Most youngsters came from the Caribbean – with a few additions from the Indian Sub-Continent.  In the early 1960’s however, the teaching staff of Baptist Mills were exclusively white – with the exception of the part-time Teacher/Youth Leader named Paul Stephenson.

I had met Paul, on a few occasions in the Staff-room, when visiting my Mother’s school – and found him to be a most interesting character.  As a Community Worker for the British African-Caribbean Community in Bristol, he had, in 1963, led a boycott against the Bristol Bus Company – because of it’s refusal to employ Black or Asian drivers or conductors.  This boycott had had the support of both Tony Benn (the local M.P.) and Harold Wilson – and the bus company finally “caved in.”

Early in March 1965, Paul had managed to get hold of a large number of tickets for a concert to be held later that month at the Colston Hall.  The concert was to feature the new black musical sensation from Detroit, who were doing a three-week Tour in the U.K. – Tamla Motown.

Though I didn’t known about it at the time, the Tamla Motown Tour had not been going well – playing to small audiences in London.  Apparently the local Bristol impresario, Charles H. Lockier, gave away 1,000 tickets in an effort to generate interest in the Tamla Motown Concert in Bristol                                                                                                         

Strangely enough however, the youngsters at Baptist Mills were not interested in having any of them – Paul left a huge pile of tickets in the staff-room for any of the staff, who wanted to make use of them.  Thinking I might be interested, my Mum picked up a couple of dozen tickets and brought them home for me to use at College.

No one at College (including me) had ever heard of Tamla Motown, and I had quite a hard job giving away these tickets at College, for the concert at the Colston Hall.  Finally the day arrived and twenty-four of us made our way to the Colston Hall – it was quite noticeable that there didn’t seem to be many people waiting to go in.  When, finally, the doors opened and we trouped inside and sat down, it was obvious that there couldn’t have been more than a hundred or so in the audience – all black – except for a group of twenty-four white students sitting in a block in the middle of the auditorium.

Apparently Bristol was second stop on a nationwide tour – two concerts in London had performed before small audiences, and the same seemed to be happening again.  However, when the lights went up and the show began – wow !!!!  The sound, the colour, the glamorous costumes of the female vocalists – it was a superb spectacle – the best I had ever seen.  We were enthralled for about ninety minutes of wonderful music with a short interval in the middle.  The show was compered by Tony Marsh and we saw and were entertained by such acts as Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, fourteen year old Stevie Wonder – accompanied by the Earl Van Dyke Six, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, the Supremes and – the only white group on the Bill – Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames.  I would imagine that all those students from Redland College, who went to witness that Concert, are probably still avid fans of Motown music and remember to this day, the fantastic singers and musicians that they saw that night.

All Good Things Come to an End

All good things come to an end – the end being, the need to get a teaching job from September onwards.  From just before Easter 1965, Final Year Students were frantically making applications.  At that time, you tended to get jobs in the “pool” of teachers, recruited by a Local Education Authority, rather than applying directly to a school.  It was said in College, that if you were an “A” or “B” grade student, then that was usually the minimum that was accepted by LEA’s such as Cornwall or Bristol.  If you had a “C” then there were quite a large number of LEA’s willing to employ you – if you had a “D” then Birmingham and other large conurbations would give you a job.

I applied for the Bristol “pool” and was duly summoned for interview in an attic office at the top of the Council House, on College Green, in Bristol.  My interviewer was Andrew Sparkes – the Chief Inspector for Bristol.  I was accepted into the Bristol “pool” – though I was not to hear which school I was to be allocated, until the last few days of August.  Being in the “pool” meant you could be given a school anywhere in Bristol – from a “tough” school in St Paul’s, or Withywood, or you could be offered a school in an area like Clifton or Henleaze.

Quite a lot of students were not so fortunate in their applications and interviews – though I think most had secured jobs with one LEA or another by the end of the Summer Term – though not necessarily in the area they had originally hoped.

At last the Final Week dawned.  I remember, we were asked to go to our Main Subject Lecture rooms, where we were asked by our Main Subject Tutors, to write a resume of what clubs we had belonged to at College, which other courses we had participated in during our Three years and where we had done our school experiences.  We were somewhat amazed on the final day, to be asked to go to the Main Office to collect our College References – only to find that these were a rehash of what we had written earlier in the week about our time at Redland.  Had we known at the time, many students, I’m sure, would have greatly embellished their descriptions in much more glowing terms !

A WHOLE NEW WORLD – Summer 1965

Westbury Park

That Summer vacation was a bit flat after life at College – not wanting my usual type of summer vacation employment, I took over the next door neighbour’s garden for the summer whilst he was on a two month tour of duty with the Royal Navy in Malta.  When I wasn’t gardening there, I was pottering around in our garden helping my Dad, or lazing around on a sunbed or swimming in our pool.

At the end of August, the letter I had been expecting, arrived from the Bristol Education Authority – I was going to Westbury Park Junior Mixed & Infant School, in Bayswater Avenue, Bristol – just about half a mile from where I’d been in “digs” during my three years at Redland College.

I arranged to visit the Head at School on the Thursday afternoon, just a few days before term started – hoping to get in my classroom to begin preparations for the new term on the following Monday.  I arrived on the Thursday – surprisingly however, the school was all quiet – there were no other teachers anywhere.  Hearing me enter the school, the Headteacher (Mr Lander) came to investigate from his office.  I introduced myself and we shook hands – he then took me out of the school entrance, down Bayswater Avenue, across Coldharbour Road and about a hundred metres down Cossins Road.  We eventually stopped outside a detached white square block – he told me this was the local youth club building, with toilets and entrance and stairs on the ground floor – my classroom was on the first floor.  He went on to say that I would have forty-six eight year olds in my class and that I would get a class-list and all new exercise books and pencils on the first day of term.  Apparently, my class was the only one in the building, and he told me that each evening, I would have to get the children to move all the desks and stack the chairs to one side of the room – so the youth club could use the room.  Finally he warned me that if I put up any displays of children’s work – it would be best to remove it at the end of the afternoon, as they might not be there in the morning.  With that, he gave me a bunch of keys and left me to it.

                  My classroom was the first floor of Etloe Evangelical Church                                                                                                                

This was not quite what I had been expecting.  I found great difficulty in opening many of the cupboards because of distorted doors and drawers.  The few text-books I found were years old – there were no schemes of work, no maths equipment, a few stiff paint brushes and some half-full tins of powder paint and a few jam-jars.  There was a faded map of the world high up on one of the walls – showing the remnants of the British Empire in pale red.  Altogether, surroundings were not particularly conducive to providing a stimulating educational experience for a group of second year juniors.

As one can imagine, on getting home, I had a rather hectic Friday, Saturday and Sunday, preparing work for my class to do for the first few days of the new Autumn Term.

I arrived  at school at about 8.15 am. on the Monday and let myself into the building in Cossins Road.  There were already several piles of new exercise books, pencils and rulers on my desk – plus a class-list, together with a rough time-table indicating when I had to bring children up to the Main School for Assembly, PE and for school dinner.  By 8.45 am, I could hear the first children arriving – some with mothers.  I made my way downstairs and let them in.  Forty-six children in one room is rather a lot to cope with – especially with no coat-hanging facilities !

I had no information regarding the abilities of any of the children in my class, nor any schemes of work that would indicate what stage they had reached and the direction I was supposed to take them – this was a totally “new ball-game” for me, and beyond any experience I had ever had whilst on Teaching Practice.  It was now obvious to me that Westbury Park was a very “formal” school, with children sitting in regimental rows, and all pupils working on the same activity at the same time – not what I was used to – and certainly not the best way of dealing with so many youngsters.

I set them work that I had prepared, whilst I did the attendance register and collected dinner money – a shilling a day (5 pence).  By then it was twenty past nine and time to get them outside, line them up, and take them in two’s up Cossins Road, across Coldharbour Road, and up Bayswater Avenue to the Main School for morning Assembly – where I was introduced to the children of the school and staff.  By the time we got back to our classroom, it was after ten o’clock – just time to begin some maths from the board, followed by writing a story – that took us until dinnertime.  The afternoon was spent doing artwork and reading them a story – and then came the inevitable clearing of the room in readiness for the Youth Club in the evening.

I realised – having gone home that night with forty-six maths books and forty-six english composition books (as they were then called) – that unless I changed my classroom teaching style quite radically – then this was going to be my life for the next thirty-five to forty years, until I retired !!!

Within a couple of days, I had set up a more appropriate approach with structured group-work and a range of different activities going on at the same time – all with processes for reviewing and planning individual work and recording children’s progress.  I set up reward systems within the class and by the second week, we seemed to have settled down to an amicable way of working.  Parents sensed things were different, because I started having offers to help with reading, sewing and craft-work – and even help with games on the playing area across the road from the classroom.

When I had first gone to Redland College in September 1962, newly qualified teachers started on £520 per year paid in twelve equal monthly instalments.  When I left College in July 1965, this had risen to £570 per year.  In Bristol, payday for teachers was on the last Wednesday in the month – payslips were brought round by the Headteacher (Mr Lander) – my first was for £47 – 10 – 0d gross for the whole month – not much different from the money I had previously earned working on building sites in the summer holidays !

A Vacuum to Fill

Socially, I found there was quite a vacuum to fill – I had been away from Clevedon for three years (except in the vacations) and had completely lost touch with  “happenings” in Weston.  I suppose I felt quite lonely after the hustle and bustle of College life – to the extent that for a few weeks at least, I found myself being drawn back to some of the old haunts I knew from when I had been at Redland College.  I still had friends at College, and the dances and other evening activities were welcoming and felt comfortable.  I realised however, that I had to move on – but to what ??

I remember scouring the “Clevedon Mercury” just after Christmas 1965, to check through reports of the different organisations and clubs that were “up and running” in the area – to see if any appealed.  Most of them didn’t – I didn’t want to join the Clevedon Playgoers or the Operatic Society, nor play chess or badminton, or join the bowls club.  I had been a member of the Clevedon Archaeological Society – but that didn’t quite have the appeal that it once had for me.  I had previously been a junior member of Clevedon Golf Club for about three or four years until since I went to College – my Dad was a member, but I didn’t fancy playing the adult game at that time – and anyway, it was too expensive.  What I was looking for was an organisation with young people in it – and one that was likely to be fun !!

At last I located what I thought might provide the solution – the Clevedon Young Conservatives !!  Whilst I was not in any sense a “political animal” – from the reports in the “Clevedon Mercury,” allegiance to the Conservative Party seemed a small price to pay for the opportunities of mixing with a group of young people who spent time doing a variety of social activities – such as trips out, beach hockey, visiting pubs, parties etc.  The reports in the newspaper indicated that they were looking for new members to join the Clevedon YC’s – so I made up my mind to give it a try.  I waited till after the New Year before turning up at their base – upstairs in the old Coach House, adjacent to the Council House in Highdale Road, where Clevedon Urban District Council (at that time) had its Offices and Council Chamber.

 The Coach House used by Clevedon YC’s was at the top of the slope

It was everything I though it might be – weekly meetings in the Coach House (usually with an outside speaker) covering a whole range of topics – then off to a pub (usually the Regent, the Highcliffe, or the Bristol), followed by a visit to someone’s house for coffee after that.  Beach hockey on the sands at Weston most Sunday mornings, then off to the pub (the Woolpack at Hewish) on the way home – after lunch, to someone’s house for mass-washing of cars, then more trips to the pub.  We visited several places of interest over the weeks and months and because of close links between the YC’s and Clevedon Motor Club, I got to meet a lot of new people – as well as renewing old friendships from my previous life in Clevedon.

Drilling in the Gordano Valley for the M5

Old habits die hard – and so it was with me working in my summer vacations – something I’d been doing since 1958.  Early in 1966,  I had arranged a summer vacation job from when school broke up near the end of July, and all through August.  The work was with a company called Soil Mechanics.  They were a multi-national Civil Engineering Company, who were setting up a temporary local base down Wemberham Lane in Yatton – their role was to investigate (by drilling), a possible route for the proposed M5 Motorway, through the Gordano Valley.

My job, so I was informed, was to act as a labourer – at 15 shillings and six-pence (about 78 pence) per hour – with one of the drilling teams on the Gordano-side of Tickenham Hill.  I was told to be at East Clevedon Triangle for 7.00 am, where I’d be picked up by Landrover.   On my first morning,  and on subsequent mornings, the Landrover arrived at the appointed time – already containing three or four other chaps.  We were driven along Clapton Lane, past Whynhol Farm and up a very steep, narrow, muddy and slippery track  – not far from The Black Horse in Clapton-in-Gordano.  Progress through the woodland and scrub was very difficult and slow – even for the four-wheeled drive Landrover.  Eventually we abandoned our vehicle, and scaled the rest of the steep hillside on foot, till we reached a large tarpaulin supported by poles and ropes.  This provided a simple shelter for us (and our equipment) from inclement weather.

Next to the shelter was the drilling rig, supported on scaffolding and large baulks of timber.  The rig itself was about thirty feet high with wheels that could be fitted whenever the rig needed moving – as it did, a couple of times during that summer.  There were stacks of hollow drilling rods (about 5 metres long), and these had to be manhandled when adding to the drill or removing the drill from out of the ground.  Attached to the lowest end of the drill was a large drill-bit encrusted with industrial diamonds.  We had two or three spare drill bits on site – for they could easily be damaged.  There were also a couple of dozen wooden core storage boxes with hinged lids.  Each of these boxes was about two metres long and about 450 mm wide and about 150 mm deep.  Each box had three partitions going length-ways – thus allowing for a total of just under six metres of rock core samples to be stored and transported for investigation by the geologists back at base, in Yatton.

The drill was lubricated from a generator which pumped water from the drainage rhynes down in the bottom of the Gordano Valley.  Initially, as I was the “new boy,” it was my task – if we were ready to begin drilling – to clamber down through the trees to the valley bottom, cross the Clapton Lane and set out across the fields, following a hoseline out to the pump on the edge of one of the rhynes.  After checking the fuel, I would start up the pump.  The water that was pumped up from the valley floor to the drilling rig, lubricated the diamond bit, and stopped it from overheating and being stripped of its cutting stones.  The process of clambering down to the pump, getting it going, and clambering back up to the rig usually took about thirty-five to forty minutes.

At times, drilling seemed a fairly monotonous process, though from time to time, the drill would hit voids and suddenly drop – we’d drilled into an underground cave.  The presence of these voids and their depths all had to be recorded.  Periodically, we’d stop drilling, pull up the drilling rods one-by-one and undo them with very large stillsons.  The core samples of rock were then removed and put carefully in order of depth, into the core boxes – for the geologists in Yatton.

There were about four drilling rigs spread along the south side of the Gordano Valley – all competing with each other.  The guys on our rig worked hard and we continually held the daily record for the largest number of feet drilled by any team – that was – until we moved our rig close to the environs of the “Sunshine Club.”

What we called the “Sunshine Club” was actually (and still is, I believe) known as the “Ridgewood Sun Club” – it was a naturist club built in a clearing amongst the trees, fairly near to where the Clevedon-end of the M5 two-level section now is.  For some inexplicable reason, and for quite a few days, our drill kept developing “mysterious problems” that necessitated having to take it in turns to climb to the very top of the rig, and sit there, surveying the surrounding woodland – particularly if there were games of volleyball going on nearby.  The “powers that be” at Soil Mechanics HQ in Yatton soon sensed that “all was not well” – as our daily drilling results were diminishing at an alarming rate.  An investigation took place by senior engineers, and our drilling engineer was severely reprimanded as a result – needless to say, our daily drilling results improved radically after that !

I worked for Soil Mechanics for almost six weeks, earning on average £39 a week – compared to the £47 – 10 – 0d gross per month that I was earning as a qualified teacher !!  I thoroughly enjoyed my time working for the company – I learned a great deal about operating the rig, recording the drilling results and liaising with the geologists.  On my last day, when I went to Yatton HQ to collect my final pay packet, I was asked if I’d consider working for them on a permanent basis – it was a tempting prospect, but one that I declined – for Westbury Park School was beckoning in September.

At the end of that first Summer Term, I had been informed by Mr Lander, the Headteacher, that I would not be in the Cossins Road annexe in September, but would be up at the main school.  However, when I returned to Westbury Park School for the Autumn Term 1966, I found to my surprise, that that was not entirely correct !  True I was no longer in Cossins Road, but I was now with forty-three eight and nine year olds in another annexe – this time upstairs above the caretaker’s house, next to the main school in Bayswater Avenue.  My classroom was H-shaped with my desk situated on the crossing – it was impossible to see all the class at once – if I looked one way, the other half of the class were behind me and vise-versa.

The staff at Westbury Park School were all much older than me, and there were only one or two posts of responsibility in the school – which would have meant more money.  There seemed little opportunity of me getting one, unless I was willing to wait years for someone to move, retire, or “fall off their perch.”  I decided it was time for me to seek a teaching job elsewhere.

I applied for a Special Needs Teaching Post at South Street Junior School in Bedminster – if successful, this would mean another £135 a year to me.  I hadn’t realised when I first applied, that the Headteacher of South Street was a man called Aubrey Edwards .  He’d previously been on the staff of Baptist Mills School – where my Mother taught.  Aubrey had known me since I was about eight or nine years old, on those occasions when I was taken into School by my Mum – usually if my school holidays didn’t coincide with hers.  Anyway, I was interviewed by both Mr Edwards and also the Principal Inspector for Special Needs from the Bristol Education Authority and, I was offered the job – due to start in the first week of January 1967 with a class of fifteen Special Needs nine and ten year olds.  .   .   .   .   .   .   .

*                    *                   *                    *                    *                    *

In setting down my thoughts and experiences of growing up in the 1940’s, 1950’s and into the mid-1960’s in and around Clevedon, I have, where practical, tried to put things in some sort of chronological order – however, there have been many occasions where I have recorded incidents just as they have occurred to me.  It is in no way a complete story, but perhaps gives some insight into the life that I, and any number of youngsters, could have experienced during the immediate post-war years.

What of the the period since the mid 1960’s ? – well, since then, marriage, children, a long career in education and subsequent retirement, have all taken place – and whilst I’ve not lived in Clevedon for more than 55 years, I still have very fond memories of the town where I lived and grew up, and the people I knew during the 1940’s, 1950’s and into the mid-1960’s.