SOME OF THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES

A Happy Sheerness Childhood

We arrived in Sheerness in the early summer / late spring of 1953 when I was 8 and when the country was starting to be gripped by Coronation fever. The papers were full of preparatory information and at school we seemed to spend time almost every day drawing and colouring the Royal regalia which would be used in the Coronation ceremony. I can still remember with clarity, the details of the Orb and Sceptre as well as the various State crowns and swords. It was this event which triggered more than any other national event a surge of national pride and a determination to look forward to the New Elizabethan age after the austerity of the post-war years which even the Festival of Britain had failed to dispel in 1951. I had attended the Festival on what is now the South Bank with Wal my brother-in-law and have vague memories of the Skylon and the Dome of Discovery. Evidently Wal also met there an old army chum Joe Parks, serving in one of the bars, who in later years became the licensee of The Ship on Shore pub near Cheyney Rock. Another of Wal's army mates was Geoff Love the band leader frequently seen on T.V. in the 60's, 70's and 80's, and father of Adrian Love, a BBC radio DJ in the late 80’s and 90’s

Upon arrival at Sheerness, Mum enrolled me at Delamark Road Junior Boys School which as the name implies, was single sex. The main school building was a tall, slightly Gothic-style one, with two or three classrooms on each floor separated by tall, wooden, glazed partitions. Blackboards were proper ones on easels behind which one had to go and stand in the event of misdemeanour. I was only humiliated once in this way and as they say "I was framed Guv'nor". During one of Mr. Spencer's lessons when he had told us to keep silent, I was sitting next to Patrick ******.. We both leaned forward to see the board better and bumped heads ******said "Watch it" or perhaps even "Sorry", whereupon Mr. Spencer turned from the board and demanded to know who had broken the silence. ****** (he not deserving of reference by first name) then said "Please Sir, it was Butler". I think my stunned outrage at the injustice of the accusation may have given the teacher pause for thought, but nevertheless, he had to demonstrate his authority and in the absence of anybody daring to contradict ****** for fear of his fourth form friends in the playground afterwards, I stood convicted and was sentenced to ten minutes behind the blackboard. As can be seen, I may have forgiven him,(unless the opportunity for belated revenge arises) but I have not forgotten!

Other classes and assembly were held in the separate school hall and there was one more classroom, which nowadays would be called a "mobile", but then was correctly called "The Hut", since it clearly was an old army hut brought to accommodate the overflow. The school had no field but only a fairly generously sized playground with myriad pitches marked out in yellow and white paint plus those mysterious bulls eye markings on some of the surrounding walls. One had to remember which markings related to the game one was playing at any time. One of my favourites was shinty, a primitive form of hockey. We also did exercises in the playground sitting on oval sisal mats which one had to get from the store, part of a small complex of above-ground air-raid shelters at the edge of the playground. Part of the shelter had been upgraded to form the staff room where one attended for the annual ritual visit and examination by the school Doctor. Our games on the mats included variations on the theme of throwing bean bags, hoops made of laminated wood and balls of varying size and hardness. To identify teams one wore a coloured sash slantwise across the chest or if one were a team leader, two sashes at opposite angles, like the current fashion for Morris Men or like some bandoliered Mexican bandit.

Apart from the annual medical, we also had regular visits from a nurse, for whom we would line up in class to have our hair and nails examined. Other generations undergoing the same ritual, called her Norah the nit nurse, or Nitty Norah, which of course was the purpose of her hair examination. She would dip the proverbial fine-tooth comb in disinfectant and run it up the back of one's hair, which I always found delightful. I don't know why she examined one's nails, but whenever she looked at my very bitten ones she would shake her head and tut tut a lot.

In one corner of the playground were the toilets, permanently odorous but thankfully, open to the sky. Occasionally from the outside one could see appearing above the brick surround walls, the results of the competition within, to see who could pee over the walls or to the greatest height. Such pleasures are only available in an all male environment. A short distance away in the playground were the drinking fountains at which, long queues would form during hot, summertime playtimes.

The hut was Mrs Clenaghan's domain, she being a grey-haired and a slightly slimmer version of "Mrs. Richards" in "Fawlty Towers". I recall it was some time before she allowed us to progress, with some pride, to the use of a real ink pen, dipped in the desk inkwell. Until one was mature enough for this, one had to use a pencil permanently. It was under her tutelage I became an expert in drawing the Crown Jewels. Her husband was a graduate of  Sheerness Technical School and his name is noted on the old boys’ honours board, salvaged from the “Tech” when it was demolished in the 1960’s. The honours board is now sited in the Minster Abbey Gatehouse Arch at Minster. The Gatehouse itself is a local history museum and includes a school photograph of the Technical School for 1960. At the end of one row is a grinning Michael Beer and at the other end our mutual friend Raymond Weeks. Also in the Museum is a Borden Grammar School boy’s cap. I wonder if it is the one I lost on top of Meehans’ shop fascia, where it was chucked by some rowdy girl on our homeward walk along Sheerness High Street in 1957/8?

At Delamark Road, I imagine that we had a whole day's holiday for the Coronation but before-hand, like every child in the land we were presented with a Coronation mug and some other memento at school. On the afternoon of the day, I went to a party at the Wheatsheaf Hall with Cousin Carole where we were given yet another mug and also a very attractive propelling pencil with a Royal crown on the end which one twisted to propel the lead. This crown had sparkling "jewels" in it and was treasured for many years. The day of the Coronation was also the day the announcement was made of the conquest of Mount Everest by a "British" expedition. The expedition was lead by Sir John Hunt but the final ascent was made by Edmund Hilary, a New Zealander and Sherpa Tensing a Nepalese sherpa. A few weeks later, all schools on the island attended a special free showing at the Rio cinema of  a double feature of the film of the Conquest of Everest and the Coronation, both in colour.

We of course had seen the Coronation "live" but in black and white on our newly acquired television set, a console model Bush set which Peg my sister, had bought. She moved to Sheerness with us and I think she may have contributed partly or wholly to the purchase of our house at 16 Trinity Road. The Coronation triggered the post-war boom in the ownership of T.V.'s. Like many others who, had similarly invested, we became the hosts to much of the rest of the family who also wanted to see it live. That day we were joined by my cousin Madge, her daughter, my second cousin Carole and Madge's Mum, Aunt Grace, Mum's oldest sister who I think was secretly pleased that her youngest sister had returned to the family home town.

Back at school Mrs.Clenaghan's class was the 2nd. form so, having enrolled near the end of the summer term, I was only there a short while. Surprisingly, I then went straight up into the 4th. form missing the 3rd. entirely. I was one of six so favoured and we became known as "The Six". Patrick ****** was not one of us but our apparent early elevation may have made him and the others in that year's 4th. form slightly resentful. I didn't think I was particularly clever but some of the others in "The Six" were fairly academically inclined, so perhaps I was then, brighter than average? Some of the others were John McCleod with whom I shared a double desk and whose parents were on the stage as Tex McCleod a cowboy rope spinning and shooting act and his separated mother, Vera Cody who had a performing dog act. John lived with the Martins, foster-parents who ran the Post Office at Halfway. Marcus Wackett was another of the six and his parents kept the shop referred to elsewhere and who were the leading Jehovah's Witnesses in Sheerness. Marcus did not get the chance to celebrate Christmas like the rest of us because of their beliefs and was often seen trailing his parents on their missions around the town for doorstep converts. His soft features and shock of wavy ginger hair made him a favourite for many of the female leads in school productions both at Delemark Road and subsequently at Borden Grammar School. However he was a good friend. Geoffrey Lezemore and Graham Towler were also in the "Six" but I can't recall the other one.

Our early advancement to the 4th form was possibly partly due to space problems since we appeared to have our own curriculum at times and presumably if we were all geniuses, we would have had the same lessons as the fourth form. However we joined in, with some difficulty in most of the lessons and of course the following year, when the rest of our old classmates came up to join us, we were then ahead and were slightly aloof at having to go through the same stuff again.

Apart from Mr. Spencer (nick-named “Spud”), who was snub-nosed, chubby-cheeked and wore wire-rimmed National Health spectacles, my teachers included Mr Pegg a slightly aloof man with a five o' clock shadow and Mr. Hutley who with his shock of hair swept across his forehead and his trim moustache was of military bearing. Mr Pegg I had thought (erroneously, it turned out), was related to Sir William Penney one of the scientists involved in the development of the atom bomb and an old boy of Sheerness Technical School in the Broadway, where I wanted to go when I passed the 11-plus. However, Mum heeded the advice of Mr. Ponton our headmaster who thought I was more academic than technical and consequently I was entered for Borden Grammar School at Sittingbourne. Mr Hutley had achieved some distinction in matters geographical when at University and was very interested in meteorology. Under his guidance at Delemark Road, we set up the school's first weather station. I was one of the official recorders which gave me the rare privilege of being allowed access to the roof of the air-raid shelter where our screened instruments were sited. Mr Hutley subsequently became a teacher at Sheerness Tech.

Before and for a while after, I left Delamark Road School, I returned there in the evenings when, having joined The Sheppey Silver Band, we used to practice in one of the upper classrooms once a week. The bandmaster was Len Nokes one of the Nokes' Garage family who had showrooms forming part of the Albion Place block of shops and houses where my Granny Young had lived and Mum also when she was young. Mr Nokes lived in a flat over the showroom and was somewhat displeased when to my shame, I returned the instrument to him there, in somewhat unpolished condition. I left giving the excuse of  too much homework at my new school when the truth was that I couldn't get to grips with reading music. When I started with the band it was considered that my lips were too full for a cornet or trumpet and I was started on a Baritone, an instrument like a very small Tuba. I then graduated to a slide trombone with which I mightily impressed the rest of the group, one evening before rehearsal, by playing the first few lines of "Unchained Melody", at that time, riding high in the newly important British pop charts with the vocal version by Jimmy Young. What I didn't reveal was that beforehand, I had painstakingly transcribed the notes into trombone slide positions which I had written on the music. Apart from my inability to read music, it was also somewhat difficult to practice at home and trying it once in the garden, didn't impress the neighbours.

Delamark Road School in the early 1980's before it was demolished. Mr. Spencer's room was the one this end on the first floor and I sat just under the window. The boy in blue is my son Adam, who was about 9 at the time, which makes it 1982. I think that it was not long after that the school was demolished. Originally the school had been much larger and an Ordnance Sheet of the 1930’s shows what we used as a playground almost fully occupied by another large building. On the map the establishment is described as “Schools”. It is probable therefore that it was originally a mixed school for boys and girls and may have had an Infants as well as Juniors stream. The old missing building can be dimly discerned in some pictures of the boating lake and Beach Field to be found on the Heritage Centre website. Its demolition probably occurred in conjunction with the construction of the  school air-raid shelters, which were located between the playground and Beach Terrace. That same Ordnance Sheet also shows the original layout of the Royal Hotel, before the building was reduced in size to accommodate the development of the architecturally stunning Rio cinema. How did Sheernesters ever vote in councillors who were so short-sighted and ignorant of its beauty and architectural merit as to allow the cinema’s demolition within 60 years?

When I passed the 11-plus, Mum was of course extremely proud and when I got a place at Borden Grammar School, it gave me the chance to show off  my new uniform which we bought in plenty of time for the new term in September 1955. At that time Dad was working either in the dockyard on the tugs which required occasional trips away to somewhere like Rosyth dockyard in Scotland or he may by then, have been working on the Estuary forts. These were multi-storey accommodation blocks standing on concrete legs sitting on the sea bed, a bit like North Sea drilling rigs, grouped in clusters across the entrance to the Thames and other important estuaries. They were built during the war as anti-aircraft gun platforms and were not finally de-commissioned until the mid-50's. The navigation beacons and lights on them had to be maintained and small crews of men manned each group, working I think, three weeks on and one week off. They of course, presented quite a navigational hazard, especially at night. Passage between the forts was by way of wire, enclosed walkways open to the elements and using them must have been very daunting at night in bad weather. One group was hit by a ship with one fort keeling over with some loss of life. Not the group, I'm pleased to say, where Dad was stationed. Upon his return ashore from either the tugs or the forts he was greeted as he left the Dockyard gate early one Sunday morning by this small mannequin, stiffly parading down Blue Town High Street with his obviously new and unused school uniform. I was certainly proud, I hope he was too.

Borden was a very traditional grammar school and required one to have a full P.E. kit from the outset. Money was short and Mum couldn't afford everything straight away so I suffered a very uncomfortable first week or so, in case I was taken to task for not having the full kit. I think sister Peg came to my rescue and bought the remaining items.

When we lived at Trinity Road I joined the 1st Sheppey Wolf Cubs which met in the Church Hall directly across the road from the back of our house in Winstanley Road. I still have my scarf and second cap star but lost my woggle many years ago. The Church Hall was attached to the adjoining Strode Crescent Baptist Church where we had our monthly Church parade. I rose through the ranks, first a seconder then a sixer and eventually I became pack leader, but for some reason I was never officially presented with my third stripe to mark this final status. To begin with, the pack was rather poorly run but then a new Cub Master took over and we had to abide by all the proper Kiplingesque Jungle Book lore and terminology. The Cub Master had to be referred to as Akela (leader of the wolf pack) and his, elderly and rotund chief assistant was Balu (the wise old bear in the “Jungle Book”), - very apt.

My rank gave me the chance to carry the pack flag when we processed up the aisle on Church parade. Very thrilling, especially doing a slow march properly. Occasionally we had to go to Akela's house for badge tuition and I was very impressed that he lived in a semi detached house which looked modern and I thought he must have been very rich. Actually it was just an inter-war, council house on the estate just off St. George's Avenue.

The photograph above shows the remains in the early 80's of the Baptist Church. It was a simple, elegant building, so why was it necessary to demolish most of it and leave this eyesore of a site? The total immersion Baptismal pool which was normally hidden under the altar and the elders' chairs were situated in front of the blue area of wall. Our processional flags would be displayed just in front of the low relief columns on the wall. A new church was built in replacement around 2002.

Other Wolf Cub events were inter-pack competitions. I remember one, where one of the sixer from another pack could barely bend his arms, so stiff were they with all the sewn-on badges he had earned. At most I don't think I ever had more than six or so and they  had been a struggle to earn.

I never did transfer to the scouts, partly due to school homework being quite demanding but even in the cubs I was becoming slightly embarrassed at my physical development and was reluctant to continue wearing shorts for any reason. As pack leader, I had to squat down in the cub salute leading the chant "Well Dib Dib Dib" to which the rest responded "We'll Dob Dob Dob". I think it translates as "Dib" actually being "Dyb" and being short for "Do your best" and "Dob" was "Do our best". By the time I left, my thighs were quite muscled, accentuated by squatting and at that age an embarrassment. With less sensitivity or perhaps fewer rippling muscles, I may have gone on to become a Queen's Scout.

At school at Delamark Road, I  had school dinners for a while which, as we had no kitchens at the school, were delivered each morning in large, insulated, aluminium containers. For most of my time at the school I went home for dinner. Subsequently at Borden I only had school dinners for the first year, taking sandwiches thereafter.

Playtime at Delemark Road School was usually somewhat restrained as Mr. Ponton's office was a wooden hut type of extension to the main school building from which he had a commanding view over the whole of the playground. Nevertheless one game which he never seemed to stop was the one where a gang of boys would sweep along holding hands and when they surrounded you, they asked if you were a roundhead or cavalier. Whichever reply you gave, miraculously they were all on the other side and consequently were required to give you a "bashing up". Sometimes we would play at aerial combat which involved running around the playground with arms outstretched making deep-throated engine noises and shooting each other down. It's strange to think that this was less than ten years after real dog-fights had taken place in the skies overhead during World War II. Presumably Mr. Ponton had become used to the strange antics of little boys running past his window thus engaged and occasionally saluting and reporting to imaginery, superior officers. Strangely, I now regularly dream that I can fly and without the aid of any aircraft, find myself running down the runway at Gatwick or any reasonably flat field and with the merest flap of my arms lifting up into the clouds. However, electric pylons present much more of a hazard than they did when I was ten.

In those days, the constraints on teachers were far fewer and it was not unknown for Mr. Ponton also to give you a "bashing up". He would take us for several lessons including Music which included listening to "Music for Schools" broadcast by the BBC. The ritual preparation included getting out the standard K.E.C. issue loudspeaker in a large polished case 2 feet square which we were still using some years later at Borden Grammar for music there. Mr. Ponton would then get us to sing from song sheets, ensemble. If through laziness or inability to hit the right notes, you mimed along with the rest, there was the danger that he would sneak up behind you and the first you would know of being discovered would be a smack around the head. The problem with the BBC programmes was that the makers assumed that all 10 year olds loved singing along with Kathleen Ferrier to "Blow The Wind Southerly" or "Who is Sylvia, What is She?" The poetry programme wasn't much better although the John Masefield poetry they seemed obsessed with was fairly enjoyable. I think he was Poet Laureate at the time and thus very fashionable. With this however, one risked a bashing if Mr. Ponton didn't think your vowels sufficiently rounded when reciting "Behold a giant am I, aloft here in my tower, with my granite jaws I devour the oats and the wheat and the rye". One programme I really liked was about prehistory when the usual adventurous pair of children, together with the usual kindly old professor managed to travel back in time. The journey back to the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods was very exciting because of their encounters with dinosaurs, decades before Spielberg's "Jurassic Park" but probably as thrilling then for us. When answering one of the teacher's questions one day I referred to them as "dinnersaurs" being unaware of the correct pronunciation, as they didn't figure a lot in our conversations at home. My gaff was greeted by teacher and class alike with howls of laughter and I still remember the embarrassment. Just as well also that my eagerly raised hand was ignored, on the day when we were asked where Icarus had got the wax from, to stick the feathers of his wings together. My reply would have been his ears, which seemed natural to me as Mum seemed obsessed with sticking large rolled up corners of towels into my ears to clear the wax she said that they were always full of. If that reply had been given I suspect the teacher may have suffered a seizure from laughing.

My last Christmas at Delamark Road, I was given permission to break up a day or two early as we were going up to my sister Grace’s and Wal’s for the holiday. This must have been the year of my fruitless quest for the presents. As part of the end of  term activity we were recreating a scene from Ye Olde Englande with stagecoach, toll house etc. We seemed to study the late 18th century quite a lot and I still remember the details of Macadam's innovative road construction methods. As I wasn't going to be there for the final unveiling of the tableau I was given the humble task of making travelling bags and trunks out of Plasticine. How I envied those on the important task of making the stagecoach or the figures in crinolines and top hats (not worn at the same time).

When we first arrived at Trinity Road, the first or second day I was out in the garden when the boy next door saw me. In the casual way of children, he asked my name and then said "Shall we be friends?" Thus a friendship was formed with Barry Fitzpatrick and subsequently with Alan Shaw the other side at No. 15 and at No. 20 Michael Beer with whom I formed the closest bond, he subsequently being my best man. We formed a gang and knew each other by our nicknames of Fitzy, Shawry, Beery and Bullers (as in butters). We thought long and hard to come up with such names. When subsequently we decided these needed spicing up by adding coarse epithets then Alan became S***box Shawry, I was B*****balls Butler, Michael was B*******bags Beery and Fitzpatrick was similarly alliterative.

The street was our main playground but we had the joyous expanses of the beaches, cliffs and the beach field at our disposal as well. A favourite game was "Shot  1-2-3". This was basically Hide and Seek where he who was "It" hid his eyes counting to say 500 at the "Home" spot whilst everyone else hid. The game was to return to the home post and touch it before being spotted. "It" had to espy you in hiding and get back home calling out "Shot 1-2-3, Beery " or whoever. The first one "Shot" was the next "It". If one called out the wrong name then that particular game was void and we started again. We used to play it in the street and alleyways around Trinity Road, including the council yard opposite our house. I recall racing for "Home" one summers evening in the dusk and only just missing being run over by a passing car.

The previous picture shows our territory with, in the middle, No. 16 Trinity Road. On the right, "Hope House", No.17 - Barry Fitzpatrick's and on the left, No.15 - Alan Shaw's.

The Council yard opposite our house which provided numerous hiding places and  other opportunities for adventure and getting dirty.      

We used to get ingrained with dirt from the streets, yet apart from a perfunctory wash of hands before bed, we did little to further improve our cleanliness. We had no bathroom at Trinity Road and washing was done at the Kitchen sink usually pretty well fully dressed. If Mum gave me a wash it was amidst much squirming at the thoroughness of it all, especially the assault on my ears. I had a wash down once a week in the galvanised bath brought in from the yard for the purpose. Mum did this usually and as I slipped into puberty it was with increasing embarrassment on my part with her ending up having to wash my nether regions blind, because I wouldn't turn round.

There was a brief period when one or other of us acquired a pair of roller skates which started a craze with all of us. I had some old ones which may have been some handed down by Peg or Grace. The pavements around Trinity Road were remarkably smooth, due I suppose to fewer vehicles mounting the pavements to park plus the public utilities didn't seem to need to dig them up so often then. We skated around the streets for months until the fateful day when one of my wheels came off and I went flying, to land up, sprawled out in the road, grazed, bleeding, winded and finished with skating for evermore. I wasn't even tempted to resume skating by the fact that at that time there was a small roller skating rink forming part of the attractions at Sheerness Fairground.

The fairground was a permanent establishment next to the Beach Field and was surrounded by stuccoed buildings containing sideshows and with two main entrances flanked by two tall towers with cantilevered decorative beams sticking out near the top, all in a fairly attractive Art Deco style. Little of the original remains now, most of the site being occupied by the new Tesco's built about 1995.

 The remains of the fair in the early 1990's, a pale shadow of its former self.

The fair included, apart from the roller skating rink, a big wheel, dive bombers, a whip, dodg'ems, an electric car race track, a ghost train, a hall of mirrors, chair o' planes, a galloping horses roundabout and innumerable side shows including a rifle range which used rifles firing .22 cartridges. The summer evening air was always full of the sound of the tinny loudspeaker music, the crack of the rifles, whistles and screams from the ghost train, screams from many other rides and the background throb of the heavy diesel generators powering it all. The atmosphere would be a mixture of the smell of the nearside sea and beach, hot dogs and onions (this was before beefburgers were at all common, let alone universal), Woodbines, cheap perfume and that peculiar but delightful smell of electrical ozone from the sparking of the shepherd's crook style pickups, on the back of the dodg'ems, which collected the power from the overhead mesh of wire strung across the dodg'ems track. The floor of the track was all metal sheets to provide the return path for the electricity. Aunt Sadie, Uncle Fred's wife often got summer work in the cash booth on the dodg'ems but was never able to give me a free go. One dull summer's day when there weren't many seasonal visitors, I was mooching around the fair with unusual riches in my pocket of half a crown. One of the stallholders persuaded me to keep having goes on his stall which ended up with him having my half a crown and me walking away with a nasty little plaster of Paris Scottie dog. I think that he was a local councillor and he probably needed my half crown much less than I did, so he now joins the ranks of the unforgiven.

Back in the streets, if we were playing in the vicinity of home then Mum's cry of "John, time for bed" would carry a long way and it was then a tough decision whether to prolong play and feign deafness with the attendant risk of a clip round the ear or to succumb to her call. It was and still is difficult to accept the necessity for going to bed when there is still some summer evening daylight remaining.

Me and cousin Carole

It was rare, if ever, that girls joined in our games. Occasionally, Alan's sister would tag along if Alan had been told to look after her. She was about as welcome as Violet Elizabeth Bott was to Just William’s Outlaws' ranks. (sorry Marilyn).Yet subsequently when we moved to Harris Road the close proximity of Cousin Carole seen with me on the left, meant that much of our play was together, even to playing mothers and fathers. When it was raining, Aunt Grace with whom Carole and her Mum lived at No.1 Harris Road, would let us play indoors and would sometimes provide old curtains to make indoor tents. She would also occasionally fill our play tea pot with real tea or milk. Carole did not get many comics but was bought the Enid Blyton magazine and Sunny Tales. I suppose that these were considered less subversive or dangerous than Beano and Dandy. In spite of them being a bit cissy for a tough boy from the streets, when she loaned them to me, I read them with enjoyment. All of Carole's toys and books were kept in the understairs cupboard and had to be put away tidily at the end of every play session. Such tidiness was anathema to me and many would say, still is. When Aunt Grace's husband Uncle Joe Brett was still alive, they also had a lodger, Old Bill, so there were four adults and one young girl living in a tiny house so perhaps the need for tidiness can be understood. The lodger seemed only to be in the house at night to sleep and for meals, the rest of his time being spent walking around town or sat in the garden shed smoking a wonderfully fragrant pipe. Uncle Joe also smoked a pipe which was also of delightful aroma. He spent most of his day out of Aunt Grace's way over on his allotment but would rush in on the dot of midday for his dinner which was always early and prompt in the Brett household.

When we had lived in Cranford and other places, it was difficult for Mum and Dad to take holidays together because of running the pubs, so my holidays usually involved going to Sheerness for a week with Mum to stay with Aunt Grace. Goodness knows how we all fitted in. One fateful year, Mum forgot to pack my pyjamas and amidst much hilarity from the adults I spent the week going to bed in a girl’s nightie borrowed from Carole. Luckily it wasn't a habit I got to like. The picture above of me and Carole on the Beach Field was from that period. Aunt Grace did most of her cooking and baking on a kitchener stove in their kitchen. The room was always beautifully warm and suffused with the lovely smell of baking. Like most houses in those days the rest of the house would be relatively cold in the winter with the Back Room fire not being lit until late afternoon at the earliest. Aunt Grace was always very frugal and would only have half a pint of milk delivered every day with one pint of sterilised milk per week in addition. She would go shopping every day and indeed would often go out more than once a day in order to buy the food for the next meal. Her favourite shop was the Co-operative or "Corp" as she called it, because they gave a "divi" on everything you spent. Its strange that this form of customer loyalty bonus has now returned with the major supermarket chains although then, of course, it reflected the original concept of the co-operative movement in sharing out its profits between owning members. The Sheerness Co-operative was probably the earliest, being formed in 1816, shortly before the Rochdale pioneers had launched their movement. The Rochdale one is however popularly credited with being the first. When we returned to Sheerness to live, Mum rejoined as a member and we were issued with the number 54 as our number, which had to be quoted for all purchases, for one's dividend to be added up each year. A very old member must have died with their number being reissued to us. I think the dividend was usually about sixpence in the pound (2.5%). The symbol.of the co-operative movement was the wheatsheaf, hence the name of the Wheatsheaf Hall where many local functions were held including Coronation  parties, shows and dances. Cousin Carole took part in one members concert there and was part of a chorus line of young girls dressed up as tin soldiers. I thoroughly enjoyed the show and thought Carole looked stunning, such is puppy love.

Adjoining Aunt Grace's house were the older houses forming part of Albion Place. They were three-storey houses of plain but not unnattractive style probably of mid-Victorian origin. The central block of Albion Place, now demolished, included the house where Mum had lived in the early part of the century as a young girl with Granny Young. My sister Grace assures me that the only tap in the house was in the basement scullery although I always thought Mum had said that there was only just a communal tap in the rear yard adjoining the shared toilets. Perhaps that was in the very early years before Grace or Peg visited. I have no memories to recall of Granny Young other than Mum's tale of her nephew Bob Bradford staying with Granny when he was quite young with his brother Steve. They were "Little Sods" to use Mum's description and when thwarted by Granny in something they wanted to do, sought revenge by going down the High Street, scooping up generous handfuls of horse droppings and throwing them up Granny's Entrance Hall!. Cousin Bob who for some peculiar reason was commonly called Ted after his father Uncle Ted, was the son of Aunt Lou, Mum's other sister apart from Aunt Grace.

The only remaining part of Albion Place with on the corner, what is here,

The Travel Centre formerly Tindall's sweet shop

and adjoining, what was part of Noake's Garage.

In spite of there being only thirty or so houses in Harris Road we only knew a few of the people. Next door to Aunt Grace who lived at No. 1 Harris Road, lived Mr and Mrs Scroxton at No.3. He I think had either had an established job in the dockyard or had had his own business and they seemed slightly better off than the rest of the road. In fact in the early 60s I found that they had taken over the off-licence and general stores in Granville Road. Next to us at No.24 lived Mr. and Mrs. Tenwick and it was they who gave me the old polished wood cabinet, wind-up gramophone which I have and still occasionally play, to this day. Harris Road was a cul-de-sac terminated by a large pair of green gates  through which little ever passed and a high brick wall marking the boundary of a large house fronting St. George's Avenue and owned by a Doctor. On the opposite side of Harris Road in the end house abutting the wall of the Doctor's garden lived my Uncle Ted. He was a twice divorced man who lived on his own and I think was Mum's oldest surviving brother. He had a number of jobs including as always for "Sheernesters" being a Dockyard matey. When he was young he was a slaughterman in a small butchers or abattoir in Bluetown. These were the days when to kill the poor creatures they used to literally pole-axe them and Mum used to relate her memory of a pig or cow escaping up Bluetown High Street and them having to send for Uncle Ted to dispatch it in the street to avoid further danger to the people and distress to the animal, though I doubt if the latter was high on the agenda. Uncle Ted's poor eye-sight required him to wear fairly thick glasses which always gave him a somewhat frighteningly intense look and he was to my mind, a humourless man. It was suggested quietly in the family that when they lived together, he was quite violent towards his wife Aunt Lil. His skills as a craftsman were however unsurpassed and he had many fully rigged models of sailing ships he had built, displayed around the house. He also had an enormous collection of pipes some of which he regularly smoked. When he died of cancer, I think, in January 1960, his models and pipes disappeared within days almost, as his family descended for the pickings. I don't think Mum got anything even though she had looked after him every day in his last few months. Before we had our own television at Harris Road and when Uncle Ted's daughter Dolly who had emigrated to Australia, was living with him for a few months, I was allowed to go over late on Saturday afternoons and watch "Amos 'n Andy", and "I Married Joan", the latter with Jim Backus, the voice of Mr. Magoo, playing the part of the hapless husband to Joan Davies' character. Both programmes were hilarious to me then but I wonder if they would stand the test of time?

In the fifties most people still relied on the cinema for their main visual entertainment and remarkably for a small town of less than 20,000 permanent inhabitants Sheerness still had three cinemas open. The seasonal influx of day-trippers and holidaymakers would swell the numbers as would inhabitants from the developing parts of the rest of the Isle of Sheppey, plus a transient but large population of soldiers and sailors based at the Garrison and Dockyard. Sheerness Dockyard was probably as nearly important in naval terms as Chatham or Portsmouth and of course had been the command port for the Nore Fleet. Sheerness Navy Days were a very big event with a very substantial portion of the post-war fleet in port and available for inspection. One year, when touring round a naval vessel with Michael Beer, we sat in the gunlayer's seat on an anti-aircraft gun and found much to our surprise and delight that the traversing and elevating mechanisms were still switched in and we spent many happy minutes swinging and elevating the gun, until discovered and chased off by a naval rating or officer.

There was also a proper theatre in the town in the Broadway near the end of Trinity Road, called the Hippodrome. Its tall scenery doors from the stage opened into Trinity Road. We went there once to see a show when staying in Sheerness on holiday in the very early 50's. We saw the Harmonica Gang with other, less well-remembered turns. This was knocked down and replaced by tacky modern shops and offices sometime in the 60's.

The cinemas were the Ritz in Wood Street quite posh but small, The Rio in the Broadway, large with a tea room/restaurant,and of very attractive Art Deco style and finally the Argosy, also of Art Deco style, just along the Broadway, somewhat rundown, but where we regularly attended on Saturday mornings to laugh our heads off at Laurel and Hardy or Tweetie Pie or be thrilled and scared in equal measure at  Dick Tracy or Flash Gordon. The latter two would always be the weekly serial with the "cliff-hanger" finish. We were also treated to a diet of  "B" movie Westerns and Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy films. Villains and heroes would be booed or cheered as appropriate and the not infrequent, projector breakdowns would be greeted by hundreds of stamping, juvenile feet which made the building reverberate. If we got too noisy during the performance they would stop the film and a member of staff would go on stage and threaten to stop the whole show if we did not quieten down. It was usually effective for no more than five minutes. I was one of a privileged few allowed to sit in the balcony away from the plebs in the stalls. Michael's Mum was the manageress or assistant manageress of both the Rio and the Argosy, quite an exalted position for a woman in the fifties and she not only admitted us free to the Saturday Matinees and some midweek showings, but also supplied us with a free Orange-Maid during the intermission. If only they were still 6d! I suspect she paid for these benefits herself.

3 D films had a brief fashion in the 50's where to get the effect, one had to wear polarised glasses. We only went once. Films were then classified as "U"-suitable for any audience, "A"-suitable only for adults i.e. those over 16 years or children accompanied by an adult and "X" -only able to be viewed by adults at all. It was not uncommon, if one wanted to see an "A" rated film to hang around outside the cinema and ask adults to take you in. Eventually one would agree and once inside one could go off to the front row which was the favourite haunt of kids. We never saw any danger in approaching adults in this way and perhaps then, there was none.

It’s strange that it has taken half a century for interest in 3D films to be revived and since they still seem to be using polarised viewing glasses, the technology appears much the same.

A film programme was always good value, comprising the main feature film, sometimes with an intermission, a supporting feature the "B" movie, some cartoons, advertising features, usually from Pearl and Dean, at least one cartoon and the newsreel either Pathe Pictorial or Gaumont British, depending upon which cinema chain the cinema belonged to. The Ritz was the first to get a wide screen where in Cinemascope we saw "The Robe". The final Crucifixion scene left me quite tearful. Norman Wisdom was then making his best comedies and one Christmas at Harris Road, Mum, Peg and I went off to see "Trouble in Store" leaving poor old Dad at home suffering from a very bad dose of flu and bronchitis.

The "Rio" was finally closed some time in the seventies and after a period of disuse it was used as a garment or valve factory and finally demolished in the late eighties for the site to be redeveloped as flats. Whilst Sheerness could no longer support three cinemas once television had become dominant, nevertheless the "Rio" should have been "Listed" and preserved as an excellent example of the Art Deco cinema style as the following photograph indicates.

The "Argosy" became one of those strange locations serving as a mixed cinema and bingo hall and now barely survives as only the latter. The "Ritz" I think became a multi screen for a while but eventually succumbed, opened for a while as a nightclub but now , of course, is just a memory

Above, the "Rio" in the early 80's after it had shut as both a cinema and a factory.

It was probably late 1953 or early 1954 that my sister Peg decided to go to Canada. I don't think she was planning a long term absence although no doubt had she established a new life out there, she would have stayed. It was not that long since she had lost her husband Tony and she needed to build some sort of new life. She went with Tony's sister Diana and I think Sheila a mutual friend and with whom she may have worked at Barclay's Bank in Gracechurch Street. We went to see Peg off at Southampton when it was still a major passenger port for the cross-Atlantic liners. I recall breaking my heart when the liner pulled out. They settled in Toronto and apart from a few excursions to other parts including the U.S.A., and some stays in the Canadian backwoods, they didn't stray far from Toronto. Regrettably I never had time to ask Peg to commit to writing any form of record of their time there. It was a time of considerable affluence in North America in contrast to the relatively hard times we were experiencing at home. She used to send home regular parcels of gifts including the occasional dollar bills for us all, the smell of which I remember most of all, I suppose because they were new. We rarely had need to visit the bank for money (we didn’t have any savings) and thus rarely saw brand new notes. She also used periodically to send us a bundle of weekly magazines called The Star Weekly and The Saturday Evening Post. I accumulated quite a stock of the latter, which one day I sold to the lady in the second hand shop in Hope Street for a penny each. Apart from the interest of the contents, I now know that the cover illustrations were usually by Norman Rockwell, an artist who has become much more widely known and appreciated in Britain in recent years. I have since purchased an old copy of the Saturday Evening Post and had to pay several pounds for one copy. One parcel Peg sent, contained a set of swimming flippers and a face mask which made me the envy of all my mates. In one issue of one of the magazines I saw a special offer of a tinplate railway set with loads of accessories all in American style. I immediately wrote to Peg offering to forego all future birthday and Christmas presents, if only she would buy me this set. Sensibly she did not give in to my pleadings probably recognising that it was a cheap and nasty set of toys being offered. However she did not let me down long term as within a year or so of returning to Britain, when she had accumulated enough savings, she bought me my first train set, a Triang set which I still have, albeit without the original box.

                     Peg in Canada with Terence, her brother-in-law  (Tony’s younger brother).

                      Terence has lived in Canada ever since and married Alice, a Canadian

                       woman of native American (formerly known as American Indian) descent. 

Peg was only in Canada about eighteen months although to me, longing for her return, it seemed a lot longer. When she came down the gangplank of her return liner she seemed to have matured into a very chic and glamourous young lady and I felt quite in awe and shy of her. Diana her sister-in-law stayed on and eventually married Alex Kuryllo one of the large circle of male acquaintances they had accumulated out there. Alex became an estate agent, as did Diana and after moving to California, they became very successful and Diana matured into a classic American matriarch. We were still living at Trinity Road when Peg returned and shortly after we moved to Harris Road.

Trinity Road had been a relatively grand house in Sheerness terms with three bedrooms plus an attic although we never used the latter other than as junk store. However it didn't have a bathroom and the toilet opened off the scullery, beyond which was a tumbledown conservatory/greenhouse which we never used for any useful purpose. Surprising really because Dad had always been a very keen gardener if not a jolly one.

                                                           Me with Nieces Margaret and Alison in front of the little used

                                                             Trinity Road greenhouse/conservatory, about 1954/55.

I must have started at Borden whilst we still lived at Trinity Road because one night in a storm, a ship using the  Swale had run into the old King's Ferry Bridge and had not only prevented it being lowered but had also damaged the island's main electricity supply cable, as it dragged its anchor. Consequently those boys from the island who went to Borden had "reluctantly" to stay at home for three days but also we had to rely on candles for lighting. It was a great adventure, at least for children enjoying an unexpected holiday and I recall sitting in the Dining Room at Trinity Road in the dim light of candles and the flickering fire trying to build a plastic Airfix model. This was one of a number of unexpected, brief school holidays courtesy of poor helmsmen on ships going to and from Ridham Dock. It may have been another occasion that in anticipation of the bridge being unusable for several days, they made a special effort to get us home. We were called in to a special assembly at Borden  Grammar School. We had been seeing sand-coloured army trucks and armanent running through Sheerness for weeks, on their way to the Dockyard for embarkation to the near East. Even schoolchildren were aware of the seriousness of the political situation over the Suez Canal crisis and I think we all thought war had broken out again. The Suez crisis climaxed in October 1956, when British, French and Israeli troops invaded the Canal Zone to stop Nasser, the president of Egypt, nationalising it. Our relief at the special assembly, when we were told that the bridge had been hit by a ship and damaged was immense. Our feelings then became delirious at the prospect of a bonus holiday. However only the "Island" boys benefitted. Those who lived on the mainland, still had to attend as usual although to avoid disruption to the curriculum, I suspect that they didn't do any serious work. We Island boys were then taken en masse to Sittingbourne station where we caught a scheduled train for either Gillingham or Chatham, I don't remember which. From there we were transported by hastily arranged buses and coaches into Chatham Dockyard where we boarded a Naval or Royal Fleet Auxiliary tug and then went down the Medway arriving an hour or so later at Sheerness Dockyard where we disembarked and made our way home on foot. I virtually arrived home at the usual time and so Mum noticed nothing amiss until I related the tale of this unique journey home from school. I wonder if this event has ever been recorded in any other social histories of life on Sheppey. Bit grand perhaps to call these memories a "social history"?

                                                       26, Harris Road as it was in the 1980’s, little changed

         from when we lived there.

I don't know what prompted the move to 26 Harris Road but being a smaller house it was probably cheaper, easier to heat and maintain and of course Aunt Grace lived at No.1 together with Madge and cousin Carole. Whatever the reason, the happiest days at Sheerness were spent at Harris Road. The house had only two bedrooms the original third one having been converted to a bathroom with an old enamel bath dominated by an old copper gas geyser which no doubt was pumping out lethal fumes every time it was used.  I always associate the smell of pine disinfectant with that bathroom as that always seemed to be the essential addition to the family bathwater and sometimes it was "family bathwater" as often I would follow Dad or Mum or they me in the use of the same water presumably in the interests of economy, certainly not of hygiene. We normally only bathed once a week whether we needed it or not (old joke) and I suspect our interim ablutions were fairly perfunctory. Dad's always seemed accompanied by lots of splashing and noise and often with the use of cold or at best, tepid water. Having a "sloosh" he called it, perhaps a naval term corrupted from "sluice". I certainly managed to have my daily wash with my shirt on (changed twice weekly) and Christian my French exchange student (of whom more elsewhere) managed to wash daily with his tie and coat on so it was not only the English who were the great unwashed. I slept in the back room and Mum and Dad had the front one. Peg had moved then up to London and was making a career at Barclay's D.C.O. Bank in Gracechurch Street in the City. One of the chaps that I subsequently worked with on the Spa Valley Railway, Mike Elkerton, who renovated the bar car “Kate”, also worked at Barclays D.C.O. about the same period and is likely to have been a contemporary of Peg’s. She also had a number of other jobs including one as  a house mother at a children's home at Crowborough in Sussex.

When Peg had gone to Canada, Mum and Dad couldn't afford to continue renting the television and it wasn't until about 1956/57 that we had one again. The Sobell set was delivered and installed by the Co-op about 10 o'clock one Saturday morning and I then sat and watched it until close-down late that night. During our television-less years we had to rely on our regular Saturday night trips to the Conservative Club to watch T.V. where they had a T.V. room for members. The viewing was always controlled by an old couple that settled themselves in front of the set from early evening until closing and nothing would budge them. They also exercised a similar proprietorship over one of the shelters on the sea front during most of the summer. At the Conservative Club they would take it in turns to get fresh supplies of Guinness, cheese and biscuits or Humphrey's meat pies. Their viewing tastes luckily coincided with mine and I thoroughly enjoyed many Saturday evenings watching the Charlie Chester Show, the Jimmy Wheeler Show, the Norman Evans Show, the Billy Cotton Band Show, Dixon of Dock Green and various others. Mum would sit in the Lounge bar with Dad although he would make occasional forays in to watch the games in the Snooker Hall.

The Club remained one of Dad's favourite haunts and when he and Mum returned to Sheerness to live in 1967, although he only enjoyed a few weeks there, I'm sure Dad would have felt no regrets at the manner of his passing, dying of a sudden heart attack, nursing a pint of beer in the Conservative Club. He had been suffering from angina for over a year and it was not an entirely unexpected event but no less grievous for all that. He was only 68 not a great age but greater than enjoyed by many. Then, I had little interest in family history or any of Dad’s memories of working on the buses or being in the Navy in World War One. I will always regret not showing an interest in his past, which I hope that these notes will avoid for my own children and grandchildren. 

I was 23 when Dad died and had still not come through those stupid adolescent and beyond years, when you see your father as a silly old duffer, a bit of an embarassment at times and certainly not someone to whom you can overtly express your love. Pat and I went down to visit Mum and Dad on a Sunday and the last I saw of him was as he waved us goodbye for the last time standing outside 45, Galway Road.  They were renting the house through Rogers and Chance the local practice offshoot of the firm I worked for in Chatham. I had arranged the letting in conjunction with Miss Johns our local manager and at least I have the comfort of having enabled them both to return to what was probably their favourite town. 

The only “studio” picture of Dad and Mum taken

sometime in the late 1950’s at Sheerness

Whilst we were living at Harris Road the Russians launched Sputnik  and this was all part of the new age which was dawning. Skiffle was being played on the radio as was the new phenomenon of Rock and Roll. I had been to see "Rock Around The Clock" when we were still living at Trinity Road. The effect of the film on the Teddy Boys, then the terror of the dance halls nationally, had been to get them into such a frenzy that they had torn up and slashed cinema seats and it, was with some trepidation that cinema managers like Mrs. Beer booked the film. Our worst fears were unfounded in this respect and we did not find it incongruous that Bill Haley, a fat, ageing, somewhat unattractive American with a kiss curl was leading the world into a new age of music. Saturday mornings at Harris Road were spent listening to "Saturday Club" introduced by Brian Matthew playing much the same records as he does on the current radio revival of the show called “Sounds of the Sixties”, forty or fifty years later.

Copyright John Butler 2009

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