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" An Evocation of Childhood in South Shields "by Ron Gray
| An Evocation Of Childhood In South Shields What a
posh sounding name - evocation. I had to look it up even though in a different
life I had to write about the very same thing at college. Miss Bell our English
Lecturer gave us the title and, while I accepted its context, it is only 40
years later that I have found it means 'The act of calling forth or conjuring
up; an evocation of childhood memories.' The original submission had to be
written in our local dialect. Well Dorfy I ain't so it comes in a format, which
I hope is acceptable to aall. It was quite a year was 1933: - Ø January 30: Adolf Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany. Ø February 6/7 Officers on the USS Ramapo record a record 34 meters (in old money about 112 feet) high sea wave in the Pacific Ø March 20 Dachau, the first Nazi concentration camp is completed Ø April 11 Aviator William Lancaster takes off from England in an attempt to make a speed record to Cape Ø May 2 The first modern sighting of the Loch Ness Monster Ø June 17 In Kansas City, Missouri, Pretty Boy Floyd kills four unarmed FBI agents and captured fugitive Frank Nash in a failed attempt to free Nash Ø July 22 Wiley Post becomes the first person to fly solo around the world, travelling 15,596 miles in 7 days, 18 hours and 45 minutes. Ø The film of Edgar Wallace's book King Kong was made. Ø December The Douglas Dakota, Model DC 2 made its first flight. (The DC 3 came along in 1935 or so). Quite a list of happenings , but then it all went downhill with my arrival at 23 Brabourne Street at around 6:30am on July 18, which is more than further events of 1933 can cope with.
Being carried home to Brabourne Street from Grandma Smith's in Ethel Terrace, clay pipe in mouth and calling "Gzette", when a man asked for a copy and I had to admit to pretending to sell the Gazette. In latter years I found that Grandma Smith was born at The Barnes, Westoe. This puzzled me for some time until a visit to the South Shields Reference Library revealed that in 1875 the district of Westoe stretched all the way to Temple Town and beyond as the map shows. I had spent some considerable time trying to think of a relationship between The Barnes and Westoe, as I knew it. She paid a ha'penny a week to go to school, probably the Jarrow Chemical School for boys and girls as shown on the map.
In about the same period my Granda Smith, now retired from being a mineral guard as a result of an injury, took me to Tyne Dock engine shed. This was off Green Lane, roughly where Colchester Street, Glaisdale and Rydale Courts are now, and could be seen from the railway bridge, which still exists. The access to it was from Clive Street. Towards Tyne Dock and under the bridge were a plethora of lines; it was a very busy stretch of railway. Not only did it carry the LNER traffic in and out of Tyne Dock via the Brockley Whins branch (I am sure it was also called the Londondary branch), that joined the Newcastle/Leeds line at Boldon Colliery Station, but the Harton Coal Company coal wagons between Boldon Colliery and Westoe which travelled over Pontop crossing to the pit. These were hauled by their private locos. Getting the wagon train into the colliery meant that Hedworth Lane level crossing had to be closed. When I was working at Boldon Colliery station I had to visit all the signal and crossing boxes and one shift at Hedworth Lane was manned by a chap called Peter Hanney (?) who had lost one arm. The Pontop branch went on through Hedworth Lane Crossing, West Boldon, Three Horse Shoes, which was beside RAF USWORTH, now the site of Nissan, and on to Consett. Allegedly Pontop Crossing was unique in being a 90º crossing to the Newcastle Leeds branch. Boldon Colliery station was originally called Brockley Whins, the name by which it is once again known, and of course Pontop Crossing has long gone with the closure of all the collieries and Consett Steel Works. There is still the junction leading towards Springwell and Pelaw, with a new (to me) link towards East Boldon and Sunderland. There were many allotments on the south side of Green Lane, opposite to Wenlock Road. On the north side after passing over the railway level crossing, there was a bottling factory (was it The Victoria Bottling Co. which may have had a connection with Westoe Brewery?) and further on you came to a number of cottages that had their back yards linked. You could see there were about six cottages in each yard. Granda Smith entered this world on 9th July 1870 in Green Lane Cottages, Harton. His parents had a number of sons, four that I know of and how they coped in such a small dwelling is beyond understanding. There were many allotments on the south side of Green Lane, opposite to Wenlock Road. On the north side after passing over the railway level crossing, there was a bottling factory and further on you came to a number of cottages which had their back yards linked. You could see there were about six cottages in each yard. At the rear of these was a council built estate with Rykneild Way, where my Uncle Alf and Aunty Mina lived as the main thoroughfare as I recall. Further north of this on the west side of the Tyne Dock - East Boldon branch railway, were bungalow pre-fabs, which were built after the war. My cousin Audrey had one of these and they proved a very comfortable house. Prefabricated housing was supposedly to last only ten years, but they did better than that. In fact I have seen in this 21st century examples of the pre-fab houses, which are still in good working order. At that time and until the early 50's, Green Lane's paved road ended not far beyond Wenlock Road and led on towards farms by way of a track. Then one came to a T-junction with the brick wall of a farm building, where a right turn took you, still on a farm track down towards Newcastle Road, while a left sent you to Boldon Colliery station and the colliery itself. Fields bounded both sides of this track; the next habitation was at the station, which had a row of Railway Cottages.
The family went up in the world around 1937, becoming house owners of a new build property in Emlyn Road, which was and is, one of the links between Ashley Road and Talbot Road. Number 19 on the Talbot Road end, it was a house not a flat as were all the others, and had a bath, an inside toilet and a proper kitchen instead of a scullery. The bath was under a bench top in the kitchen, but the toilet was more conventional being upstairs. We were there for less than two years as my Dad panicked on finding water seeping in under the floor boards. I don't know whether he contacted the builder Harold Clunie or just bailed out, if you will pardon the pun, but we ended up in Ashley Road at about the time King George VI and Queen Elizabeth were doing their countrywide tour following the coronation. I tried to see the cavalcade supposedly travelling up Stanhope Road, from our upstairs flat window. There existed an open-air swimming pool on Harbour Drive, I'd guess about midway between the pier and The Groyne, lying beneath the North Marine Park. I remember going to watch a Swimming Gala one summer evening. My first and last visit. It closed during the war years and I am uncertain if it ever was reopened. In this period of Emlyn Road and Ashley Road, Stanhope Road Infants School welcomed me as a pupil and Miss Smith was the first year teacher. None of the Reception Class nonsense in those far off times. Miss Smith guided us through both years of Infants and I met her on a number of occasions in later life, She was a firm but fair lady and stood no nonsense from the most badly behaved boy. He came from a tough family; his elder brother sold firewood from a cart and was regarded as one to avoid stirring up. This young man, Wood, was on at least one occasion tied to his desk seat with a rope, which, in our eyes would have safely moored the Shields ferry. The desks were doubles with a lift up lid and the seats were tip up as in the pictures (cinema some may call it). Access to our classroom was through another, so if you put your hand up and said "Please Miss I want to leave the room", you exited through a trapdoor into the schoolyard to get to the outside toilets. The school buildings are gone, replaced by a car park adjacent to what was the Senior School, which is now used for other educational purposes. For the first year or so Joyce Blythman, who was one year older than me, escorted me to school. Joyce was the daughter of George Blythman the butcher who had his shop at the bottom of Talbot Road, close by The Stanhope pub. By the time we had moved to Ashley Road I had a girl friend Kathy Giles who lived in the next upstairs flat and we went to and from school together with her pal Audrey Mudd. The Lambeth Walk was the song of the year and we did all the moves for it as we sang through it. No wind up gramophone then, let alone record player or hi-fi. At least what we thought were the moves. Sadly, Kathy's life was short lived as she had a heart condition, which prevented her from, have the vaccination against diphtheria and the inevitable happened, she caught it. Mrs. Urquhart, from downstairs came to the front door, a most unusual occurrence, and passed the sad news to my Mam. I sat on the stairs listening to this and felt deep sadness for the first time in my life, unable to fully comprehend the event. I remembered the day Kathy and I had walked up Ashley Road to the Daisy Field, where the Brinkburn Comprehensive School is now, through the Daisy Field to Prince Edward Road, Brinkburn Recreation Ground with its swings, and back home. It was not until I got back that I realised I'd lost my clockwork machine gun. I never found it. Milk began to be delivered more commonly in bottles. Fred White's Dairy lay in the shadow of the Harton Colliery railway embankment at the north end of Egerton Road, on the corner with Stanhope Road. The Harton Coal Company railway bridge carried the line over Stanhope Road. It was fascinating to watch the process of milk flooding into the bottle and the card top being put in place. The bottles rattled as they processed around. Those milk tops were a collectable item as they formed the basis of a game where you flicked the top towards a wall and the nearest won all the tops.
The time at Infants came to an end in July 1939, but entry to Stanhope Road Junior School was delayed by the opening of hostilities on 3rd September 1939. The military took over the Junior School for billets and we had an extended summer holiday. This came to an end when the schools organised home tuition for half days, and I went to Eddie Jackson's house in Richmond Road each morning for lessons from Miss Edwards, later to be known to we lads as Tashy Edwards. By now the separation of sexes came into force so it was an all boys class of about ten which met in Richmond Road, In the afternoon my Mam had given over the front room to a senior school class which was run by Miss Chapman. Miss Chapman lived in the north end of Cranford Street just around the corner from us and she took me in with her group so I got double schooling. How long this house schooling lasted I am uncertain, but we eventually began half days in the Senior School building and had practice air raids during which we moved into a room reinforced with timbers. We each had to take to school a mug with an Oxo cube in the bottom and this went with us to the shelter although I cannot remember where we stored these items. Whatever happened to our mugs and the unopened Oxo cubes? Are they locked in some timewarp patiently waiting to be scalded and drunk? In the fullness of time the soldiers moved out of the Junior building with Mr. Davison as Headmaster, and Tashy Edwards was able to gather the whole class of about 45 lads under one classroom roof as it were. Year 2 saw us in the care of Miss Kirby who gave everyone the cane for the slightest thing, be it misbehaviour or not getting stuff right in your exercise book. Exercise books - well it was half an exercise book really. It being wartime we had to cut down on the use of paper so exercise books were considered a good target for economy. All were persuaded to collect paper for re-cycling and I donated my collection of LNER magazines, which my Granda Smith had given me. Today I wish I'd not been quite so patriotic, and kept some back as the photographs alone would be fascinating. There was no drawing paper; each of us had a small blackboard allocated from the strip of board that covered three walls of the classroom. Artistic interpretations on mine usually were about cars, tramcars, railway locomotives or aircraft all of which were drawn with coloured chalk, which did not appear to be on 'the ration'. I used to liberate one or two small pieces and on the lampposts in Harton Lane I remember drawing RAF roundels and writing 'Fly with the RAF´ beneath them. This was the regular advertisement in the papers. Who would have thought, I would do just that for five or so years some ten years later, and then again as a civilian another sixty-four years on. Miss Kirby was also very kind. She saved her sweet ration to give as prizes every term end. The top boy would get a 4oz bar of Cadburys chocolate and then all the way to the bottom pupil it tailed off to maybe a single Rowntrees winegum. There were about four of us who did very well out of this system. Even a single winegum was a blessing in those times. Binyons shop was in a house at the bottom of Ashley Road. Their back up stock of everything was stored on the staircase, which lead off from the shop entrance. This was really the front door of what had been the house. Despite the ease of access to this stock I cannot remember any mention of thieving. Outside, on the wall, was a Wrigley's Chewing Gum machine, which would take a ha'penny for a packet of five pieces of chewing gum. Sweet rationing put a stop to the use of this dispenser because you needed the coupons out of your Ration Book to give to the shopkeeper for your sweets. Oddly enough a similar product was not on ration, but was easily obtained from the Chemist shop. The difference was its intention, not only a good chew, but also a moving experience. This chewing gum was intended for the constipated. The size was marginally larger than the regular Wrigley's was but if only two or three were used then the chemists variety would fit in a Wrigley wrapper. No one refused your offer of a chewy out of a Wrigley wrapper and some of your 'friends' could be quite greedy!! There was a small corner shop at the junction with Westcott Road and Talbot Road run by Mrs. Heslop (or Hislop,) that sold a variety of goods including sweets. You could get a quarter of Cadburys chocolate buttons for a ha'penny. This would be a quarter of an ounce I guess. Branigans Newspaper shop was at the top of Talbot Road, while next door was a wool shop, then the off licence, which in those days opened for the same time as did the public houses, something like 11:00am to 2:00pm, 6:00pm to 10:00pm. Opposite was Harams (pronounced Hair'rums by us) a greengrocer shop, and round the corner in Nora Street was a fried fish shop. Fried fish shops were in abundance. There was another at the other end of Talbot Road, in Stanhope Road next to Just's Post Office. At the Harton Lane end of Talbot Road was the entrance to the Harton Hospital. In the same grounds was the South Shields Union Work House. It was here that Catherine Cookson started her working life. There were two classes in each year at both the boys school and the girls school. They were streamed, which does not rest easily in the modern educational mindshifts. On Friday afternoon both second year classes crammed together and the teacher from the lower group gave us talks about how a tap worked for example. We also drew the tap AND its cross section. The drawings must have been pretty crude as we had hardly anywhere to rest our books. Subsequently I helped a plumber to change a tap washer in our back yard as a result of that particular lesson. By now the Luftwaffe were taking an intense interest in the River Tyne and anywhere even close to it. If the air raid went on beyond 2:00am we did not have to attend school until 10:00am. The original air raid shelter for the Gray three was in the flat downstairs in a cupboard under our stairs. The men of 98 and 100 Ashley Road did not come in with us, as there was barely room for two women and two young boys in the cupboard. I was pleased we did not have to put this form of shelter to the test. Later we all had brick and concrete shelters built in the back yard of the upstairs flats and the downstairs had their existing washhouses reinforced. Communal shelters were built in streets capable of accommodating them. Brownlow Road had two such buildings built. Our shelter had two bunks built into it with a webbing support you lay on. Candles provided the lighting and a modicum of heat came from a paraffin stove! I suppose most folk had their own variations of creature comforts in the shelter. The men went outside to keep an eye open for incendiary bombs, which by their nature made good firelighters. Our block had acquired two long ladders of which the men had charge, for rescue and fire fighting purposes I assume. We had one of these in our back yard; the other was kept at the Bourne's house further down. It was great, you could climb up and see a good deal of the happenings in nearby back yards and if you kept very still, and snug against the ladder, you rarely got shouted at, when folks came out of their outside toilets for example, as they did not notice you. I was told there was a bit of bother at Harton pit during the blackout when a cow got through the field fence and onto the small pit heap. A pit heap generates a great deal of heat within itself and the surface is not strong. The poor cow fell through the surface and exposed the glowing interior, a good guide to the bombers on a dark night. The only damage our house suffered was broken windows at the front when a bomb or landmine hit two semi-detached houses in Harton Lane. The next-door resident of the bombed property was headmaster of Cleadon Secondary School and his house did not display any real sign of damage, apart from broken glass. Good job they did not hit Harton Laundry and its duck pond. It was not uncommon at the age of six onwards to walk to Jarrow with my parents to visit my Mam's cousin, Uncle Clem Smith and his wife Mary. They lived in York Avenue and the route took you through the Tyne Dock Arches where you could yodel and the echo came back to you. It would be somewhere near the site of the supermarket that a heap of telegraph poles were stacked up. There never seemed to be any more or any less of these over the years we made our way along Newcastle Road. They had one daughter who I met later in a different capacity, she taught languages at the High School. One Sunday in particular stands out. I was always fiddling with batteries, bits of wire and 2.5 volt bulbs and decided to try and light up one of these in the lamp holder which in those days was a common means of connecting electrical appliances. This one served to power the ancient HMV wireless. Waiting to go out I filled the time trying to get the bulb across the two contacts and eventually succeeded. I've no idea what happened to the bulb, but I was thrown the length of the kitchen, right past the open range and landed on the floor in I suppose surprise and probably shock of the electrical type. My Dad heard the noise of my fall and came to see what was going on, but the full story has remained locked in my head until now. Needless to say the 240 volts was, forever after, treated with some respect. Grandma Gray's house had a table shelter. It was called a Morrison Shelter, after Herbert Morrison who was Minister of Supply in Churchill's wartime coalition government. Made of steel it doubled as their dining table. How they got the bits into the house for bolting together, heaven knows, because they were not small. I used to wonder what would happen in the event of getting a direct hit - would it sink down like a Binns lift into the cellar?. Getting back to the air raid situation, it was the practice to collect as much shrapnel as possible, some of which was covered in a sticky yellow oil, which was difficult to get off your skin. Both school and parents quickly banned these items, as it was even more difficult to wash out of clothes. By now the block wardens had been issued with steel helmets so it was not surprising that I was the proud possessor of a tin hat. I shudder to think what might have happened should one of the favoured shrapnel pieces fell on me while wearing it. It was quite literally a tin hat. None the less I went out in the middle of raids to look at the fires. In October 1941, by which time I was eight years old, the Market Place was hit twice in a week and the fires from those raids were clearly visible from Ashley Road. Croftons was gone.
This store was the place to visit at Christmas time as they always had an excellent Hornby railway layout running. The Market underground air raid shelters had had direct hits on Tuesday and Royal Navy sailors from a ship being refitted, probably at the Middle Docks, were caught in the second raid on the Thursday while still undertaking recovery work. Some of those sailors killed were lodging in Ashley Road, in the upstairs gable end flat, which overlooked Brownlow Road, the one with the window. It may have been in the same raids that The Queen's Theatre in Mile End Road was destroyed. This was the place of pantomimes and the weekly music halls.
While the Luftwaffe was having a go at us, we also returned the compliment in the form of anti-aircraft artillery, or triple A, as it is known these days. At Whiteleas there was an anti aircraft battery which made the most enormous noise when it fired. In our street it was referred to as 'Big Bertha'. While towards the Coast Road on farmland, roughly between Horsley Hill and where Bamburgh Avenues is today, there was a rocket firing site. These fired and over, I suppose, ten seconds or so these projectiles would be launching, the whoosh could be clearly heard in Ashley Road. Then in Reading Road on the south side, on what became allotment gardens after the war and now is built on, was a balloon barrage site. On one occasion the balloon developed a leak and drifted towards Harton Colliery, the cable just like Little Bo Peeps sheep, trailing along behind it. When it was time for the road surfaces to be recovered it involved a night watchmen with his small cabin and a blazing brazier. This would be after the blackout had ended of course, as the brazier would have been seen for many a mile on a dark night during that period. Coupled with the watchie would be the gentle snuffle of the steamroller, the fire of which must have been dampened down, but sufficient to get up steam quickly in the morning. We can only see these beautiful machines on TV with Fred Dibner or at a steam fair. The steamroller fell into the same interesting smell classification as steam locos and the Shields Ferry. Billy Butterley and I spent time talking to the watchie. Occasionally a cup of tea was taken but or even more rarely a lift onto the platform of the steamroller.
Billy Butterley was a keen student of building work. In later life he produced hand made bricks and his work can be found decorating the front of the Laygate Mosque. So when the end of the working day arrived, between us, we found sufficient left over mortar from the shelter building to make a dam in the back lane gutter. Now this was not vandalism it was more an attempt to improve the lot of our feathered friends who at times did not have a puddle to bathe in. However the adults kept putting their oar in and invariably before the cement had time to harden and the birds to adjust to this luxury, the dam was demolished. They would not at that time have heard of Barnes Wallis, and his theories about large German dams. Readhead's shipyard was the source of many enterprises. How some of them got out of the yard could form the basis of a book. Billy's bogies would deserve a chapter to themselves. You see he was severely disabled and to get around the area he used these cart things, which we called bogies. They started off being made from wood but the squared off front caused a few problems with the handle. The handle was originally used to pull him along, but his character was such that he would not depend on others so he developed a technique where the tow bar was a tiller. Billy would push with his knee and steer the bogie with the handle. Alternatively someone sat back to back with him and used their feet for propulsion while Bill steered. Development work on the bogie led to a rounded front so the tiller could swivel the front wheels more accurately. Naturally it was easier to make in metal than wood, which is where Readheads unknowingly came to the rescue. This gave an opportunity for greater speed when the guy at the back could really get his feet going. My Mam never worked out why it was the heels of my shoes got to be so worn down. We spent quite some time in the West Park watching the bowls. Then on the way home we would go past the Park Superintendents house (and the greenhouses), which neatly brought us to the hill down to the park gate. As skills and speed were built up we came down there like a rocket. On one occasion the brakes (my shoes) were not applied and Bill tried to make the turn to the left instead of out of the gates to Prince Edward Road (now West Way). We failed to turn quickly enough and the pair of us ended up on the grass with the bogie on top. Himself was not best pleased and I got the length of his tongue big time. During 1937, or thereabouts, I watched week by week the building of the Savoy cinema in Ocean Road. In later years I watched it being demolished. Similarly with Cleadon Park Secondary School - watched it rise, did a teaching practice in it, and then later it also disappeared from sight. I learned to ride a two wheeler bike, progressing from only going in a right-handed circle, to riding a straight line and a left turn. Tom Hartford had one of these fascinating items, which was his pride and joy. His mother went ape when she saw me having a ride on it. Later I was able to translate this skill to Laurence Engwood's tricycle having found that it was possible to lift one rear wheel clear of the ground an ride it balanced on two wheels. You could only do this using the right side wheel as the left hand one was not driven. Mrs. Engwood had similar opinions to those of Mrs. Hartford. Two or three wheeled cycles and mothers were not a good combination for me. Mr. Engwood was a Merchant Seaman working colliers from the Tyne to the Thames. He took my Dad and I to see his ship, which was tied up off the Mill Dam. We had to get to it by the 'water taxi' - a foyboat. The Foy boatman sculled us over, and then we climbed up the side of the ship by a rope ladder, which then seemed to go on forever. Sculling was accomplished, standing up and facing to the stern, using one oar at the stern, which was operated in a figure of eight motion to provide way and by swivelling it to port or starboard it steered the foyboat as well. At about the same time, following one of the Sunday visits to Grandma in Eastbourne Grove, we would walk to the Pier Head to catch the tram back to Stanhope Road. Occasionally the driver was a friend of Dad, Jerry Fawkes, who subsequently went on to drive the new trolley buses. At the Pier Head terminus the trams had be 'turned round' which meant the conductor would push the seat backs over, so that passengers would be facing the new direction of travel, while the driver swung the trolley pole from one end to the other. Now it happened that my weight just balanced the trolley spring, so I could hang onto the rope and swing out and around to the other end of the tram. This was something to look forward to if Jerry was on duty. In the tramcar days I remember being at the Market with my parents in a Stanhope Road tram when the one in front failed. We, meaning our tram, pushed it all the way along Station Road, Adelaide Street and Laygate Lane into the Chichester depot. For a youngster this was the highlight of the day, upstairs at the front with the other tram inches from your nose.
During those war years the trolley buses did not run to the Pier Head from the late autumn to early spring. They were replaced with a shuttle service operated between the Pier Head and The Marine College by tram number 16, the only remaining four-wheeler from the original tram stock. By then, I was heavy enough to do the whole thing myself, but the South Shields Corporation Transport (SSCT) had put in a self turning switch, or frog, at each end so the driver did not need to touch the trolley rope. It was simply a triangle of overhead wire. Where the tram route coincided with the trolley bus, they used the overhead nearest the centre of the road, the positive feed, as the trams negative, or return feed, are through the wheels and rail to earth. The rail and overhead crossovers were already in place outside the Marine School building. It would require the conductor to hold down the connection for the switch into the side street, otherwise every trolley would shoot off in that direction! See the diagram below.
I have seen a similar arrangement to allow trolley buses to reverse into a side road and turn round but I'm blessed if I can remember where. It could have been in Newcastle or on the continent somewhere. There was another 4-wheeled tram, which was retained until the end in 1946; it was number 52, which was identical to the Sunderland streamlined stock. It did its stint with the remaining bogied vehicles on the Mile End Road to Ridgeway service. Number 52 was not destroyed, but sold on to Sunderland, repainted and given the fleet number 48. This was the only vehicle to have an air braking system in the SSCT fleet. All the others gave the driver a great deal of exercise winding on the hand brake with its notched foot ratchet. It did not half fly off when the driver released it, the brake handle, made with a polished brass of course, whizzed round. Not that they relied entirely on the hand brake, there was a rheostat system on the controller below the power off position, which (I was told) turned the motors into a dynamo and gave very effective braking. Trolley buses also utilised this system. This was probably pay back time, putting energy back into the electric supply when going down a hill, such as Fowler Street, the hill down to the Coast Road at Marsden (under the Marsden Rattler railway bridge of which there is still evidence) or preparatory to stopping. Tramcars were capable of being driven from either end, which meant that a warning bell for pedestrians was fitted in both cabs. No one I knew ever let a chance go by, operating the bell pedal when boarding or disembarking. While I think on I have somewhere a poster from 1923, which announces that the Westoe to Whitburn Railway is now open to passengers other than miners. As I recall the Rattler passenger stock were cast offs from earlier days of the likes of the North Eastern Railway and had three axel coaches, which would give a rough ride. I never took the opportunity to get a ride on it to my eternal regret. At Chichester, and also at Fowler Street/King Street junction, SSCT employed point boys. Their job was to set the points, using a point bar (akin to a jemmy) at these busy junctions and pull the overhead switches. This allowed the trams almost unimpeded passage. These lads would be school leavers, which meant they were just turned fourteen years of age. There was no obesity in those days and the sprinting around these lads did would have shaved off stones had there been. This mode of employment continued for a few years after the end of tram operations, for the trolley buses, until sophisticated electronic devices did the job. The trolley bus driver would either free wheel, power off, over the device to leave the switch alone, or apply power over the device, which would turn the switch for him. It automatically restored itself to the default position after passage of the bus. Drivers also needed to know where to free wheel, power off, when an insulator was involved at a point, or at a section breaker. We children used to love the sheets of sparks and the noise, much like a loud raspberry would be a polite description, when he forgot. Transport was, over the years, either tram or trolley bus, but as a special treat we would walk down to Tyne Dock and hopefully catch a Northern six wheeler bus. These were called sunshine coaches I believe. They developed a four-wheel version also and these were mostly the number 18 service South Shields to Gateshead via Primrose. They were well ahead of their times in having a concertina door which was manually closed by the conductor, and forward mounting platform just as the buses of the 21st century (The 16 went to Newcastle via York Avenue in Jarrow. To stretch your memory further the 42 and 6 provided the Newcastle service, the 6 being direct through Spuggy Bridge on the way to Whitemare Pool. Spuggy Bridge carried the Sunderland - Newcastle railway line and it was not possible to see through it as it was on an angle to the road direction. Don't think a Northern driver ever slowed for Spuggy Bridge.) (Anyone who has a deeper interest in matters of public transport would enjoy a well-researched article by Geoff Burrows, a former High School pupil, in an Ian Allan publication 'Buses Extra 28 - Municipal Retrospect'. This came out dated January-March 1984. There is reference to a Newcastle motorbus transferred in the wartime, which was nicknamed 'Popping Billy'. This took the fleet number 116 if it is the smelly, petrol fired and leaky exhaust bus I remember covering the Readheads to Watson Avenue workmen's run. I found the publication when browsing through W H Smiths shelves and noticed the South Shields connection. (Geoff Burrows is mentioned later in this evocation.) One of the wartime savings in diesel fuel was the introduction of gas powered buses. Only two of the SSCT were so fitted, single deckers 106 and 109. They had large wooden racks on the roof to contain a balloon of sorts, which contained the gas. One of these would come down Ashley Road on a short cut back to Chichester depot after a lunchtime workmen duplicate. The balloon flapped wildly as the airflow played with it. I have recently learned that Weymannn, who built the bodywork, made up the racks for these buses.
In the long summer holidays (all of four weeks) we had marathon games, lasting days, of Monopoly in the back of the Butterley's house. There were numerous disputes as to who had pinched the hotel from Park Lane etc. In the back lane depending on the season, the football or cricket activities took place. For football it was either a well-worn tennis ball on a good day, or an old sock someone had sneaked out, stuffed with paper then tied with string. The back yard doors were the goals, everyone defending their own door. The game was not too original in it's naming, it was doors. Cricket made use of the gas lamppost for wickets, at the t-junction with Brownlow Road / Gordon Road back lane, But NEVER on washing day. This was always Monday. The washhouse fire was lit early to heat the boiler; water when hot enough was scooped from the boiler to the poss tub and the action started. Possing and wringing, hanging out in the back lane where lines were strung between the two walls, clothes pegged out and raised into the breeze on a good day with props. On a bad day it had to come inside to the kitchen to hang and the whole place was damp.
At the bottom of Brownlow Road proper, were wide pavements. On one side there was a gable end without windows but opposite to this was the other gable end, which had one window on the ground floor and another at first floor level. Hence if cricket was played there, the wicket was always on the window side to avoid any of the participants 'paying for their own china'. The full gable was also used for various throwing games, the only one I now remember was Alairio, which I believe involved throwing the ball against the wall, calling a number, and that person had to catch it. If they failed we all fled to the back wall and the boy or girl concerned got the ball and threw it at someone else. A hit meant that person could then start the game again. Hope I got that right. Another game involved getting the ball over the telephone wire that stretched over Brownlow Road This invariably deteriorated into how many times you could hit the wire! The telephone pole in our back lane carried eight lines, one of them going to the house in Brownlow. The occupant's names are lost to me but they must have been well off to have a telephone. You soon learned to recognise the sounds of aircraft engines, 'one of ours' or 'one of theirs'. The Merlin engines of Spitfire and Hurricane from RAF USWORTH were quite distinctive and thrills even today if one is lucky enough to hear the Battle of Britain Flight pass by. The Luftwaffe pilots were obviously keen to get the job done and get out of it ASAP and hence their throttles jammed to the wall. This meant the twin engines of the bombers were out of synchronisation and you picked up on the distinctive sound. It is strange how associated sounds from that period stick in the mind. I still feel a shiver when a TV programme has the air raid siren featured. My Dad worked as a Keeker at Harton Colliery and as a Harton employee had free coal delivered each month. His job description in 1849 would have been as follows; "A man employed at the surface to attend to the cleaning and skreening of the coals. His wages are usually 3s. per day, or 18s. per weeks, with his house and firing free." He was responsible for the running of the screening operation, which involved the removal of stone from the mined coal, plus any other bits and pieces, which found their way to the surface. It was an unpleasant working environment, being constantly in a fog of coal dust. The screeners were young lads fresh out of school at 14 years of age, too young to go below, this was their apprenticeship! The hewn coal was drawn up the old shaft, but the men rode the New Pit shaft. When you stood there seeing them coming out of the cage, they were a race apart. Pit Hoggers on their knees (leather pads) and absolutely black from the dust. Helmets and lamps, the deputies with their Davy lamps and sticks. The Davy Safety Lamp was sealed so that it did not ignite any gasses in the underground working, but it did show, by its flame I believe, if unwelcome gas was about. One such deputy, Hec Musgrave, asked me if I'd like to ride down, but at 13 years of age I declined. The pit had to be ventilated and the up flow was at the New Pit. Just beyond the shaft with its cages was a huge fan sucking air out and it was the smell of the air coming out of the workings which caused me to refuse to ride below. Further still beyond that lay the engine winding room, which was kept spotlessly clean. They even recycled the oil used to lubricate the massive cable drum bearings, it being filtered through multiple layers of wadding to remove any foreign bodies The winding engine was electric, and it was a highly skilled winding man who could stop the cages spot on, using coded marks on the edge of the drum at any of the levels. I gathered that if the cage came too far up at bank it would go into 'The Keps'. This I assumed was a device to catch and hold the cage in such an event. Same word as catching a ball - kep this'n. There were about four levels worked, two I remember were the Hutton and the Harvey while another I'm uncertain of may have been the Bensham. Dad was keen on Brass Band music and frequently took me to the rehearsal room at Harton, where the Harton Colliery Brass Band were blowing their heads off under the baton of Jack Atherton. Jack Atherton lived opposite to us in Emlyn Road. We also attended a couple of radio broadcast concerts, which were transmitted live from, I think, Gateshead Town Hall. Many years later a colleague in the math's department persuaded me to take up the cornet and play with the school band. On moving to another school I was asked to play flugel horn. The teacher running the band there, Alan Hope, (who is now a national adjudicator) was also involved with a band at Washington as conductor, and Jack Atherton's name came up in conversation. It turns out he was very well known and thought of in the BB world and had moved on to one of the big names. Alan later forced me into learning trombone as we had lost all but one trombonist through fifth year school leavers. It was not my scene and I finished up on tenor horn or baritone as required. A further BB connection looks down at me as I type this, a photo of Hilda Colliery Silver Band. But more of this later. In later years, all of 12 or 13 years old, I used to find an excuse to go to the colliery and spend time in the weigh cabin, winding engine room at the New Pit, or best of all on the electric locos. There was one small shunter, two axels with four running wheels and then the large heavy-duty twin bogy models. I eventually drove both, shunting in the colliery yard or hauling trains of coal wagons to Westoe. The latter jobs were the tricky ones as the wagons of that period were not fitted, which means not fitted with continuous brakes from the loco, so the loco had to bring the full weight of wagons and coal to a safe stop which entailed judicious use of the loco brakes. We were not extravagant with the free coal so there was always some to spare for the neighbours and my grandparents. A friend of Dad, Jim Laidler, had his own business delivering meat to the towns butchers and each month he fitted in a run to 14, Eastbourne Grove and 88, Quarry Lane with maybe five or six bags of coal to each house. It was on the Saturday after the October raid on the Market Place that one such run took place. A sad sight it was, to see burnt out trolley buses being towed up Fowler Street. One, which was just recognisable, was a favourite of mine. Number 234, which was a Daimler demonstrator that arrived in 1938 and painted red. It used to cover the Marsden Grotto to Market route only and I made sure I had an occasional ride in it, as it was so much smoother than the others. When it came out rebuilt, it was painted battleship grey like all the other rebuilds and subsequent wartime buys of utility wooden seated, diesel buses. The magic of 234 was lost that fateful night. One amusing feature of that raid was with trolley bus 110. This vehicle, while having the same Weymann coachwork as the others, had been prepared for a transport exhibition in 1937 by Weymann. It sported smarter grab handles at the aisle side of the seats than the others, which had a flat piece of chrome steel with a raised grip. Poor 110, when it came out of the shops it was covered in pan menders where bullets or pieces of shrapnel had punctured the bodywork. Holidays for my Dad did not seem to extend beyond seven days, but we could be sure to have a trip to Whitley Bay or an even bigger treat, the bus ride all the way to Blyth to see the Chain Ferry. Anywhere would have been OK so long as it involved a ride over the Tyne. Head stuck through the ferry engine room window to smell the heat, and see the gleaming control levers. It may have been coal fired, but where the engineer sat, on his large wooden armchair, it was nothing less than a palace. Shoppers in King Street would be aware of the energy source of the ferry. It always seemed to build up the furnace while at the South Shields ferry landing, and the wind always blew the smoke along King Street. We had a proper holiday in 1948, travelling to Edinburgh by train and staying there for a week. This journey was an education in itself as there had been the heavy snow fall and rains that had knocked out bridges on the east coast line through Berwick. Instead we travelled via Carlisle and Hawick or there about. Edinburgh still had an extensive tram service at that time and it was a day or two before I could get to sleep before midnight just listening to the squeal of the wheels on a bend near our lodgings and the sound of the motors as it accelerated away. My paternal grandfather died in 1931 so I obviously never met him. He brought his family to South Shields from Bebside in 1912 and bought the house in Eastbourne Grove, which leads me to believe they had a bit behind them as we say. This fact never seemed to feature in his son, my Dad, but we never were scratchin' for a ha'penny. Grandfather Gray worked at Hilda Colliery, where he finished up as a Deputy I believe. Hanging on the wall in front of me, is a photograph of him, an inset into a larger print of 'The Famous St. Hilda Colliery Band'. This must have been taken around 1922 or 23 as the inscription mentions Winners of the Thousand Guineas Trophy. Champions of England 1912, & 1913, 1920 & 1921, Crystal Palace Contest. It also states Honoured by Royal Command Performance on the 9th February 1921, at Buckingham Palace, before T.M. The King and Queen. Dr. Shepherd who practised in Beach Road was Honorary President. His partner was Dr. Raffles, who was very straight laced.
The maternal side of the house were railway orientated. Granda Smith was a Mineral Guard while his father, my Great Grandfather, is described on Granda's birth certificate as a Railway Stoker and Uncle Alf a Ganger. Granda's brother Sep was an engine driver. From 1942 onwards there did seem to be a lessening of air raids, or we had become accustomed to them. At school 1942 took our class to the third year of Juniors and Miss Lawrence became our teacher. Some of us would later meet her brother when attending the South Shields High School for Boys, where he taught English. The Friday 'technology' class ceased but Miss Lawrence was a great one for the singing and she persuaded me to sing solo in front of the class. Most embarrassing, but I did take in some of the music sheets of the time from home. The only way I could manage these stints was to look at a point on the back wall high above the heads of my fellow pupils, who were probably relieved that it was some other mutt stood out there. The late winter of '42 brought a heavy snowfall. This gave an opportunity for the young engineers to build a huge submarine in the back lane, complete with conning tower and a forward compartment from which to fire torpedoes. No one was allowed to walk on deck incase it caved in, but that submarine worked well for several days until it sagged badly during one warmer night. At the time of the submarine build, there being more than a little snow around, we put our sledges to good use at Todd's Farm. There were still fields around the farm running towards Harton Lane, in which horses were kept, but I believe the farm was more of a transport operation as I remember brown coloured Bedfords, maybe two or three tonners, going in and out. Toddies Farm was at the bottom of Ashley Road where, I understand, there is a Salvation Army Citadel now. The derelict ground sloped gently from Ashley Road towards Stanhope and Prince Edward Roads. This allowed an easy sledge for the less adventurous. Then there existed a smallish bank of earth up to the farmhouse wall, which was more than sufficient to be used as a launching pad. The scheme was to see how far down Prince Edward Road (now named West Way) you could get. Remember there was virtually no traffic around in those days, only the trolley busses on Stanhope Road, and the hourly 62 Northern buses, which travelled to Boldon Colliery and an exotic sounding place called Esh Whinning, via Whiteleas. They weren't going overly fast anyway because no one bothered too much with snow ploughs and grit then. Entertainment was playing out, indoor board games, reading or the radio. Monday Night At Eight. "In Town Tonight - once again the mighty roar of London traffic is stilled while we….". The Tommy Handley Show, (ITMA - It's That Man Again), on Thursday nights 8:30pm. This show ran for half an hour with popular characters, Mrs. Mop "Can I do you now Sir?"; Colonel Chinstrap (Jack Train) who was always seven sheets to the wind who turned the slightest hint of a drink to "I don't mind if I do"; the spy Funf "Diss is Funf shpeeking" or Sam "Don't forget the diver sir, don't forget the diver". This show was the beginning of putting letters together TTFN 'ta ta for now'; GUTS 'get up them stairs' and more which I forget. On Saturday night a variety show. Sunday evening was when we heard the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, speak to the nation. Rallying calls when things were a bit shaky no doubt. I used to enjoy listening to all the national anthems of the allied nations being played before the speeches. Monday Night at Eight was a regular listen. The introduction went something like "It's Monday night at eight o'clock oh can't you hear the chimes….." Unsure whether it was this or the Saturday evening music hall, which "Stopped the roar of London traffic". Saturday night featured Ted and Barbara Andrews, a singing duet, who introduced their daughter into the act. Her name was Julie Andrews. Sweet rationing and food rationing was something mothers got to grips with and frequently put their share to others in the family. We were never hungry, vegetables were not in short supply and we also had the odd chicken, and more than a few eggs, from Grandma Gray, or rather Aunty 'Liza, as they kept chickens in the large back yard of Eastbourne Grove. My Dad used to deal with the gory side of this. Grandma Gray was always old. She must have been born as an old woman and at this distance of time I see her in the corner of the kitchen, dressed in dark or black clothing. She died in 1944.Their cat used to like sleeping on the shelf of the kitchen range and I have seen it sneak inside the oven on occasion. How it never cooked to death I'll never know. Grandma Gray had a lodger, Tommy, who worked at one of the shipyards during the war. Where he went after that I know not. The neighbours were one of the remnants of the better off people who had, pre-war, populated Eastbourne Grove. The gentleman of the house had a bent back I recall, but this did not prevent his driving a beautiful motorcar. Around this period I became aware of a neighbour who ran a motorcycle. He had a petrol ration for it as he was working for J & E Hall a firm that serviced refrigerators in ships. I gradually began to 'help' him, passing spanners and the like. It did wonders for my understanding of fractions. 'Pass me that ¾" BSF would you'. It was also a beginning to my interest and education in motorcycles generally. In the fourth year class we had Mrs.Taylor as our tutor. Mrs Taylor was one of those who came back to teaching as a result of the war. Prior to that period, married ladies were, allegedly, not expected to continue in the profession. It was not a year that stands out for anything remarkable, although I was a milk and staircase monitor. The milk monitor was useful as if there had been a shortfall in the delivery it meant a walk to White's Dairy with my partner to collect an additional crate. The milk was in one third pint bottles and cost a ha'penny but I cannot recall whether this was daily or per week, but probably the latter. You were allowed to take a biscuit to eat with the morning milk. The other notably event in that year was sitting The Scholarship. It was not the 11+ but a scholarship because the 1944 Education Act was not yet ratified, and the High School was fee paying based on some sort of means test. We had a very good pass rate from Stanhope Road, but not as high as those from Mortimore Road! The passing of the scholarship meant that we would have seven weeks summer holiday. This year of course that would be shorter because by the time the results were out, the High School had already broken up and we would enjoy six weeks only. But next year…..the full seven. It did not work out quite that way. The High School lost a week and the junior schools gained two weeks. What a let down and all that ribbing from those who did not make it; "High School bloater, Rusty motor" It was at this time when I discovered girls were not always sugar and rice and all things nice. Playing football with Irene (pronounced Renee) Champion she went over the ball big time and I have the scars today to prove it. They were an extended family living at 7 Gordon Road and she was a classic tomboy and up for anything the boys were playing. Rationing, of edibles in particular, which has been mentioned previously did not include fish. We had a weekly visit in Ashley Road from the Cullercoats Fishwives. They transported their wares in old prams, usually operating in pairs. The High School was an imposing building. Opposite the main entrance, only used by the staff and sixth form, was an island in the roadway, then a fishpond full of goldfish. At the front of the building on both sides of the road were lawns and flowerbeds. The school had its own grounds man and an apprentice who between them looked after the lawns, the playing fields and the grass tennis courts behind the bike sheds. These were the province of Scratcher Atchison one of the Physics masters, who was also involved with Westoe Tennis Club which had its courts at the Hedworth Hall side of the Westoe Rugby and Cricket ground in Woods Terrace. In the upper fifth I got to play on the school courts and Scratcher wanted me to join Westoe. My Mam thought it was a bit too posh and said no. Because of rationing, and this included clothes, I did not have the full uniform of pre-war scholars, but we were required to have a navy blue cap with the school badge either embroidered or stitched on, a tie, and the blazer badge stitched to the breast pocket of my jacket. In my case it was a sports jacket. Come winter, when wearing a scarf it would be in the school colours. All these necessary items could be purchased at Wood's the Tailors in Ocean Road. One of the introductory ceremonies to be avoided was 'the bumps'. This initiation was given by the new fifth year, or upper fifth, as it was known. It got a little out of hand in 1944 and a boy was injured. The resultant inquiry declared that excessive bullying had ensued. Each morning the whole school attended assembly after registration, when notices were read out by Mr. Lucas (The Boss) and followed by hymns and psalms accompanied at the organ (a full pipe organ) by Tanker Hall, the head of music. One morning after the bumps investigation the senior staff suddenly left the stage and six of the upper fifth were escorted onto the stage. You could have heard a pin drop. Obviously a remarkable change to the routine. Boss Lucas read the riot act and made it clear that the practice of bumps would cease forthwith. He then delivered six of the best to these lads. When I say you could hear a pin drop, you certainly could hear the swish of the stick. I expect the lower fifth, which would have dished out the bumps next year, had a very swift review of the situation. I found myself in Mr. Wesencraft's form who was also head of PE. Lesson number 1. It was a form not a class. Lesson number 2. Mr. Wesencraft was your Form Master not your class teacher. Lesson number 3. You were to be taught by subject specialist masters and mistresses and go to their rooms for these lessons. It was not too difficult to find your way around the two floors. It was a four-form entry; each form of 30 pupils, but remembering the many teachers was a challenge to start with. Many of them had nicknames. Spuggy Wesencraft - he would consult with his little bird to see whether or not games could go ahead on a Wednesday afternoon for our year. Chinless, one of the maths teachers and a lovely chap. Joss Josephs the Geography master who had been a top class association football referee. He always proudly told his classes that Lord Hawhaw had said, "You even let Jews referee your Cup Final" (For younger viewers Lord Hawhaw was an Englishman called William Joyce who went to Berlin, joining the Nazi party and broadcasted propaganda for them. He was hung for treason after the war ended.). He would open his weekly broadcasts with "Garmeny Caaling". That is the best I can manage for the phonetics. Boko Brooks - head of Maths. Taught mainly the sixth form and a man to keep clear of when he was on corridor duty. Calls of Boko's coming cleared the corridor, by the changing room, on the coldest winters day. It was like an apparition storming down the corridor, his gown flowing out to the width of it, cane held at the high port. He died while I was at the school. Tarzan Ellis who instilled a love of maths in me. He was Deputy Head I think. Squeaky Brown - head of Geography . Miss Malpus - Art and Biology and her live in friend Miss Maddison; French. She had the same birthday as Ronnie Nattrass and myself. I had a close call with Miss Malpus, who had a distinctive walk that I, one day copied behind her and then she turned round to see what was going on. I met Nattrass in the RAF. He was one course behind me in Ground School at RAF KIRTON-IN-LINDSEY. Basher Gray - PE. Used to be a useful amateur boxer. Great guy. The Rat - another Mr. Brown, head of Biology . Harry Stephenson - Art. My Dad knew him. Probably started his working life at the pit. Tanker Hall who has already been mentioned, head of Music. Super guy, rotund, which probably was the source of his name. He wrote the School Song, which would be learned for those special occasions. As close as I can remember verse 1 went; Alma Mata we revere thee Standing guard on northern shores. Never will our conduct sear thee, But extol thee more and more. Outpost England touched by Romans, Storied by our Father Bede. Nation made of fearless yeomen, Lion hearted, true to breed. Piggy Wade, history. He would pace up and down the front of the class dictating notes at a rate too quick for my pen. I could not read them and each week 'the test' was failed - with dire results. Bill Mason and Charlie Jefferson taught metal and woodwork Bill was primarily Metalwork while Jeffers also covered GED (Geometrical Engineering Drawing), which was one of my School Certificate examinations. In our first year we had Bill Mason for woodwork and I'll never forget a lad called 'Chick'; he lived in Oxford Street and was prone to chatting until a half-inch chisel struck his workbench like a throwing knife. Don't know which quivered the most chisel or Chick. Bill M stood no nonsense from any urchin (as Charlie Constable would refer to us. "And which gutter were you dragged up in boy?" was a favourite of Mr. Constable.) Pop Hedley taught English but I did not have him as a teacher. He played cricket for Westoe and had a stylish leg drive, which involved his dropping down onto his knee and sweeping the bat round. Loved to see it. Jim Emerson also played for Westoe I recall, as a wicket keeper and Johnny Ward was a fast bowler. I was a waster at this establishment. I'd never had to work before, everything just sunk in and stayed there. But here, this was a different level altogether. You were expected to study! In the upper third (the first year) I used to go to my Grandparents at 88 Quarry Lane for my midday meal - that is my dinner. One of the upper forth walked the same route and we found a common interest in transport. He, Geoff Burrows, was really heavily into this and had already stored up a great deal of information in his head, which he obviously put to good use later in the article referred to above. After dinner we used to walk his dog Laddie, up The Lonnen, along past the Open Air School, and down through Cleadon Park then back to Quarry Lane. In the early part of 1944, the school year before starting High School the Quarry was taken up with American Army transport of all descriptions. This of course was part of the build up to D-Day. The Quarry was the place where the Council bin wagons discharged the collected rubbish, so what happened to the towns ashes while the Yanks were in there? There would be little but ashes, as most stuff got thrown on the fire. My Mam used to put tin cans to burn before transferring them to the dustbin - to stop the flies! No lemonade bottle went that route, as there was a penny on the bottle to collect. It was the same with beer bottles. The Off Licence at the top of Talbot Road used to stamp the bottles they sold and would not accept any back, which did not have their stamp on it. Children kept an eye open for the unlikely event of finding a discarded bottle as it was worth money. The upper third had the choice of doing First Aid or going to the Derby Street swimming baths for the last period of Thursday morning school, walking down to the Harton Lane stop on King George Road to catch the tram to Derby Street. I choose to go swimming, as it was not one of my skills. This being 1944, coal was not used for the likes of heating swimming baths in September or October. Having changed into my sewn up and dyed black underpants I saw others jumping in at the 3 foot end so nothing ventured I did likewise. On TV recently I saw a programme based in the arctic showing the relationship between hunted and hunter - the penguins being the hunted, and how they evaded the enemy shooting out of the water like trident missiles. They must have learned that technique from me. The water was so cold I could not breathe. I found on re-entering the water it was not quite as bad and my lungs were able to function. However there was no formal teaching of how to stay on the surface and after about four weeks of it I went to First Aid. It was a pity really as we all went down town in the tram from the Harton Lane stop to Derby Street. Again the smell of the hot motor and wheel bearings sticks with you. The trams at Beamish Museum or The National Tramway Museum at Crich, Derbyshire, are not worked hard enough to reproduce this. The other reasoning for packing in was getting the trolley bus back up to Ashley Road at about 12:30, still damp, and having to get turned round double quick to return to the High School for the afternoon lessons.
Photograph of SSCT no. 204 by permission of www.sandtoft.org This bus is maintained and run at Sandtoft Transport Centre, the home of Britain's largest collection of working trolleybuses. It is, I've discovered, about 15 miles north east of Doncaster, at Sandtoft in the Isle of Axholme. Recent research shows that it was built for SSCT and was delivered along with 205 to 207 in 1937 . The beaches must have reopened about this time, as earlier in 1944 Donald Gosling from my Junior School class, was lost to the sea when swimming off the south end of the long sands. Access to the Pier was open and a walk along to the lighthouse, underneath the crane, was a treat. "Rub the dolly for luck". The dolly was embedded in the screed of cement on the lighthouse. A destroyer broke loose from its tow and ended up on the south side of our pier, becoming a novel sightseeing attraction. I believe it was American coming in to be scrapped. My first and only pedal cycle was bought, after much pestering, from Halfords in King Street. It was their own product, a Halford Apollo with a 19 inch frame and 26 inch wheels, which had a chrome finish while, because of war time shortages the handle bars were painted black It subsequently was fitted with a Sturmey-Archer three speed hub (at Conway's cycle shop off King Street, with a jewellers shop on the corner and down a narrow lane) and subjected it to some pretty heavy workloads on Cleadon Hills where a classmate, Arthur Prince and myself would take the parts of top motorcycle Trials Riders of the day. It also had a work out behind the Blacks Regal cinema where some of the down town lads had set out a cycle speedway track. The Blacks Regal became the Odeon in King Street. The cycle speedway track was marked out with bricks salvaged from the rubble, which still lay around from the bombing. The Ash, which lay somewhere off Templetown Road or Commercial Road and near Taylors Foundry; I used to get to it through narrow railway bridge. This was an area covered in black ash which is I suppose how it got its local name, and was superb for sliding the bike about. It was cheaper to do it on a surface like that than in Brownlow Road and then plead your tyres had worn out and needed replacement! The front forks eventually collapsed on Boldon Colliery station when I was stood on the cross bar, to light the down platform gaslights, on my way home from work there in 1950.
Cycles, model aircraft, tennis and motorcycles were becoming the main interests, but not necessarily in that order. Petrol rationing was still a problem in 1947 and the South Shields and District Motor Club were restricted to the distance they could go on their Sunday outings. Consequently motorcycle Reliability Trials had to be run as close to Shields as possible. This allowed for a cycle run to Wallsend or Waldridge Fell to see these events. Later I used to go pillion with the motorcycle owner Vince Harris, whom I had 'helped' at an earlier age, and that extended my knowledge of our countryside greatly. Imagine these days, a grass track meeting at Newcastle Airport! It was still known as Woolsington then. Tennis and West Park where there were grass courts in addition to the hard courts. The surface was certainly not Wimbledon standard and served as a good training ground, as there was no way you could expect the ball to react or bounce. If you had sufficient money saved to buy two new balls from Rippons Sports shop at the bottom of Fowler Street you were assured of getting a game. Of course it was essential that your initials were marked in biro before taking them to the park. I graduated to the Readhead Park and the crowd there were almost Mafia. Saturdays would see the courts booked for hours and the same eight to twelve people playing continuously. You finished a game and asked the ticket man to book a court and your initials went down on the board in chalk. My first racquet I bought from a fellow pupil, Peter Purnell possibly, and it cost me fifteen bob. The hand grip was plain wood and it raised blisters pretty quickly, so I brought it up to date by using a couple of layers of cycle inner tube! Not only did it look more recent but the blisters were conquered. Rippons Sports shop was used to restring it with fresh gut. Cycling to Newcastle to The Model Shop in College Road to buy balsa wood and other necessities, as Rippons did not always have just what you wanted. Also to Newcastle Speedway meeting on a Monday evening, over the free ferry from Jarrow to Howden, the Newcastle Diamonds pennant fluttering on my front mudguard. Distance did not awe us, as Brian Harbit, Eric Lancaster and myself armed with a round of sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade set off for Rothbury one hot summer's day late in the school holiday. It took longer than we thought likely but fortunately we had some lighting between us and got back to Shields having covered 72 miles according to my click mileometer. No maps - just an idea that Rothbury was past Morpeth and a complete faith in sign posts! Great satisfaction until we got home when it was "And where do you think you've been 'til this time of night" .
Having a bike certainly widens your horizons, even to where you could easily access in Shields. The Mill Dam was a regular visit to look at the tugboats moored up either on the jetty or just off in the river. There were still paddle driven tugs around then. Over the water were the Tyne Commissioners Quay and The Albert Edward Dock from where the Norwegian services sailed. The collier under the Staiths loading coal while others waited their turn at the buoys. In the Middle Docks there was always something to gaze at even though you could not get near. I did have a guided tour of the Southern Harvester one year when she was in for a refit at Middle Docks. The stink of whale stuck to my clothes, but I was reminded that we had some whale meat during the war. What it tasted like I have long forgotten. During the non tennis seasons the same gang of youngsters would meet on Saturday mornings in Binns for a coffee or on Sunday to go for a walk. It was fairly normal, I'm sure, to meander to Trow Rocks and along the cliff top to Marsden then back to Sunderland Road. Trow Rocks where at sometime during the war years my parents took me to the cliffs see a ship which was foundering after striking a mine. The dock gate was still in evidence off Trow. Pre war there was a tiny wood built, shop on the cliff path selling sweets and ice cream. There was still evidence of the quarry at Trow then. The Harbour Commissioners had a railway system which ran along the pier, and also in the direction of Trow running behind the promenade. In the other direction it ran to the Commissioners' Staiths by the Pilot Jetty. I have a recollection that the engine shed was somewhere near the Watch House.
Cinemas were abundant in Shields, and the nearest to us in Ashley Road was the Impy or to give it its proper name The Imperial Picture House in Farnham Road The Impy was never glamorous, but it looked a sight better than in the photograph taken in 2000. It is, or rather was, the other side of the colliery railway embankment to White's Dairy, while down by Tyne Dock railway station The Crown functioned in Hudson Street. It was originally called the Crown Electric Theatre but I don't remember it having a theatrical connection. The Lid (Palladium) at the Nook where, if you were on the pull, you paid a little extra to take the girl into the Circle rather than the Stalls. The Circle was up all of three or four steps above the Stalls. Working your way to Westoe we had The Regent; in Frederick Street, Laygate, was The Palace where I first saw Dangerous Moonlight, which featured the superb music Warsaw Concerto. Eventually saw this film about six times in as many years. Going downtown we had the Blacks Regal in King Street; The Scala in Ocean Road, next to Minchellas Ice-cream Parlour, then The Savoy half way to the Pier Head. Almost opposite to the Savoy was an old cinema, quite small, but I am uncertain of its name, it might have been The Picture House. Another, which I almost forgot, was The Chi, in Chichester Road. I was only in there once but those who frequented it regularly told I it had double seats at the back!. The Blacks Regal had one of those electric organs, which rose up from a pit, illuminated with coloured lighting and a great range of sound effects. As part of wartime entertainment Reginald Forte came to play a concert on it, He and Sandy McPherson, both of whom were celebratories on the BBC, also played organ recitals at the Glebe Methodist Church in Westoe Road. We were now well into the hormonal years and a great deal of the events are best glossed over - the heartbreaks etc.. There were several of course, but one girl in particular I learned many years later, died on holiday with her children as a result of a rock fall onto the beach of their resort. If only……. Childhood was fast coming to an end, and I feel that the taking of the Durham University School Certificate is a suitable marker to determine its finish. The regrets in later times at not working hard enough, the so called swotting on Marsden Beach or Cleadon Hills. While these sessions were sufficient to get the Maths and English and so many other subjects necessary to permit the awarding of the School Cert, it subsequently meant evening classes over a number of years, which could have easily been avoided. I have retained most of the examination papers, and looking at them now I wonder how on earth I managed to succeed at all in those tests.
Copyright - Ron Gray 2006 |
