Growing up in a village (on the edge of a small town between
Bath and Bristol) in the valley beneath the southern final sweep of the Cotswold Hills provides a rich ground for humour,
nostalgia, social commentary, social history, anecdote and much more.
Approximately half a century have passed
since those unspoilt, carefree, traditional days of childhood (1950-1960) and it seems a whole world away. I go back to my
native area every week for a day. Much has changed but some things endure- usually as snippets among a newer material and
mass produced landscape.
I have started around two dozen stories of various aspects of life then,
and add to each as and when memories pop up from deep in the recesses of my little grey cells. Not many have been completed.
These are:
1. Warmley House.
2. The Secret of the Middle Payground.
3. Half Day Holy Days.
4.
Old Tom and His Horse (just completed)
Subjects in progress are:
The Tump; Village Characters; Grimsbury Farm;
Neptunes Statue;
The Strange Stone; Fog and Moon;
Going Upstream; Hay Harvest;
The School Play;
Whitsun Parade; Our Road; Warmley House;
Mr. Wintle; Warmley Church;
Colliery Castle; Bonfire Night;
The Old Dram Road; Rodway Common;
The Coronation Street Party;
The Swimming
Baths; The Horizon; The Art Expedition. The Old Mine Shaft.
The Village Pubs.
It was a time before the advent of
the internet, or grprs, or colour television. There were hardly any motorcars- in our road there was one care and one motorcycle
and side car. There were no holidays abroad. No one had a telephone in the house. Televisions- well these were just
coming into our part of society. They were tiny things about a twelve inch screen- and monochrome of course. Lots of
things were still delivered to your home- milk, bread, coal, eggs, and the greengrocer with his horse and cart. The
farm was opposite and we helped with hay harvest and played in the fields and woods. There were streams to explore and ruined
cottages to dare go in. here were hiding places and dens.
The village bobby kept us all in check-
and he had his own police house and little police station. But the village itself was the real law and order. No one dared
step out of line, you grew up knowing what was expected of you as a member of the community. There was no mamby-pamby pc idiocy
if you got a clip round the ear from a stranger for misbehaviour: we accepted it, for we were brought up to know right from
wrong and if we dared go to the boundary and overstep the mark well we had to accept the result.
It was also a time
when there were Church of England village schools which had the advantage of having extra half day holidays (such as Ash Wednesday).
There was a community centre at the bottom of the road and a swimming bath filled from a spring higher up the valley.
In our road there were neat gardens front and back and all homes raised their own vegetables. Neighbours chatted over
the fence or out on the front wall. If you came home from school and your mother had had to go out then you were called
in to a neighbours house to ghave tea, children were not left in the ghouse omn their own. Strict care and supervision was
the order of the day unlike these days when feral children and scummy irresponsible parents seem to be acceptable.
There were few amenities and almost no luxuries. Food (except those items which came in a can) was what was in season.
Alcohol was usually only consumed at Christmas, except for a bottle of sherry kept for special occasions or guests. The menfolk
would occasionally walk across the field or down to the village for a beer together before Sunday lunch at home. There were
plenty of family walks and picnics. And the extended family met regularly- aunts, uncles cousins all got together on
birthdays and Easter and Christmas and at least each month in between.
Whatever you wanted you had to save
up and buy. No instant credit- and debt or buying things on tick was regarded as a cardinal sin.. School leaving age
was 14 (later raised to 15). There was no breathilyser. Pubs closed at 10.30pm. There was Wednesday afternoon closing of shops. And all shops were closed on a Sunday, except the off licence where a few items of tinned things could be obtained. The
'corner shop' was flourishing and supermarkets had not yet arrived. The only place open after 5pm was the off-license (which
opened at 7pm).
There was no January 1st. or May 1st. Bank holiday. People went back to work on December 27th.
or occasionally the 28th. And most people worked Saturday mornings. For a mother to go out to work was regarded as neglectful
of the children. A good ordered home with a parent at home for the children was more important than consumer goods or a fancy
holiday,or new furniture. The twin income home had not fully arrived.
Life was more ordered and reliable.
I'm not sure if they were necessarily happier, for each generation accepts its lot I suppose. But standards were higher.
Streets were safer. And the pace was more sedate and more human.
Before I lapse into the inevitable
grumpiness of the 'baby-boom' generation lamenting for the golden age, I'l stop! Read about the delights and dangers, magic
and mystery of life in 1950's South Gloucestershire in my books.
