| Before I continue with my life at
school let me tell you something of South Ockendon village. |
| Before the prefabs were
built it was a typical English village. The village green was (and still is) a
picturesque sight, with a large Norman Church, St Nicholas', one of the five
village pubs and a couple of houses built around the horse shoe shaped green
with its war memorial. I recall dancing around the Maypole, on the village
green. A maypole was (and still is) a post about six or eight feet tall with
coloured ribbons attached. Each dancer would hold a ribbon and weave in and out
around the pole until the ribbons were entwined. |
| The shops were like most in
the Forties, a grocers, bakers, Post Office, cobblers, fish shop (fish and
three'penorth, please) etc on one side and a corn chandlers, sweet shop and the
like on the other. Everything was served by the assistant, no self- service in
those days. Shopkeepers would make a funnel shaped bag out of paper and fold
the end up. Sugar came in blue paper bags that made marvellous paper mache. The
government rationed sweets; the few we were allowed cost as little as 5d a
quarter. (4ozs) |
| On one side there was a
rise in the pavement where the houses led straight onto the street. (Very
convenient for "knock down ginger" (knocking & running away). Some of the
paving stones were cracked and we children never stood on one of those - it was
unlucky. A path next to the church led through the graveyard and into a rec',
with the usual swings and roundabouts. |
| The village was built on
sand: there were about 5 sand pits either in the village or near by. They were
unprotected and very deep, but no one seemed to worry. I used to slide down the
bank of one pit onto a very small piece that jutted out; I would fish there for
hours. All that was needed was a stick, a piece of string, a bent pin and
worms. I remember catching sticklebacks galore. One day a neighbour of ours
kindly put some of my catch into her goldfish tank - the sticklebacks killed
all of the goldfish. |
| Whilst on the subject of
goldfish, I had one that my dad bought me when I was five, its name was
Clemantine. I came home from school one day to find that Dad had cleaned out
the bowl, grabbing hold of Clemantine in the process, who jumped out of his
hand onto the hot, flat electric cooking ring. Half of the scales were burnt
away but she lived quite happily for another four years - half gold and half
shaggy, white skin. |
| In the centre of
the village there was a large mental hospital. This was a very spacious site
with blocks for the patients, many of whom had no mental problems but this was
still the days of "putting away" unmarried mothers. Some of the patients worked
in village gardens, quite unattended by staff, which shows how " normal" they
were. Others walked around the lanes, in groups, with a member of the hospital
staff. As many of the women from the village worked in the hospital we got to
know that there were patients who were constantly locked away. I do not know of
anyone who lived in South Ockendon who grew up to be "frightened" of mental
illness. Some of us used to go to the hospital to see a film show; we would sit
at the back of the hall and the patients would be at the front. |
| Opposite the mental
hospital lived the vicar, a very appropriate site in the case of the Reverend
Somerville Caldwell. The Vicarage was a large, dark, foreboding house set in
the middle of a small, even darker wood. A high fence surrounded this - enter
at your peril! We children would sneak through the gate, down into a large
ditch and collect conkers. The Reverend Caldwell, in my memory, seems like a
figure straight from fiction; he was thin and angular, floating about in his
clerical garb. I went on two Sunday school outings to Maldon and on both
occasions he was at the back of the bus - DRUNK. My Dad had something
approaching religious mania after he came home from the war. He didn't keep up
any religion but insisted that I went to the C of E Sunday school. (Most
children went to Church in those days). I never liked this and, when I was old
enough, I would hang around the village whilst the Sunday school was on, held
during the morning, and go to the non- conformist Sunday school in the
afternoon. This was at the congregational church hall, which also housed the
library and various other things. |
| Dad's mania also took the
form of making me swear on the Bible that I was telling the truth about
something. This was very frightening to a seven-year-old child. (Especially as
I wasn't always being truthful). We were no different to all of the families
living by us; we were all very hard up. My Dad spent some time in hospital
after which he worked in Briggs factory, Dagenham, but could not stand being
shut in. He then went to work as a bus conductor for London Transport. He
worked from Barking garage, the hours were long and the pay was short. It was
not unusual for my mum to have no more than one old penny in her purse by
Monday morning. (one penny today = almost 2 and a half old pennies) |
| To earn some extra cash we
would go pea picking. There were many farms in the area; I recall being
collected from the village, with my mum and brother, piling onto a farm lorry
with other mums and children and being driven to the pea fields. Once there my
mum would put her cut-down stool at the head of the row and I would pull up the
vines to take to her. She would then tear the pea pods off and throw them into
a bucket; once full, the bucket would be emptied into a sack. At the end of the
day the pickers would be paid so much a sack, something like 5 shillings (25
pence) Mums started work around 6.30 a.m and, if there was no school, the
children would often play in the farmyard. |
| When I was eight years old
I fell off a bike onto the cobbles and broke my arm. Rather than disturb my
mum, I sat in the ditch until lunchtime and, as mum and a neighbour walked
towards me, I stood up, my arm swung back in the wrong direction and Mrs Hyde
collapsed into a heap on the field. Her husband took me to the nearest
hospital, which was about 16 miles away, where they told me it wasn't broken
badly enough to warrant a plaster cast. I was SO disappointed - every child
deserves at least one plaster during its childhood. |
| Mr Hyde was the
owner of the only car around our neighbourhood. It was an Austin Seven that was
at least eleven years old then. One day Mr and Mrs Hyde, their two children, my
mum, my brother and me all crowded into this tiny little vehicle and went to
Southend. This was a really big treat for all of us. How that car managed it I
shall never know: Mrs Hyde weighed 15 stones on her own. When I was a little
older, I worked on the fields during the school holiday; I must confess that I
didn't stick at it for very long. I did beetroot pulling, weeding and other odd
jobs for the princely sum of 13/4d a week (approximately 66p) |
| One very traumatic time, I
must record, was the day I went conkering with a friend, taking 18 months old
Laurie with me. There were three big conker trees within a dry stone wall in
the centre of the village. I gaily threw stones at the conkers; my baby brother
thought he'd do the same. Unfortunately, he chose to do it with a large lump of
rock from the wall; he threw it up (about two inches) and it came down on his
face - splitting his flesh from under his nose right down to his lip. I was
terrified, Laurie had had breathing problems since birth and there he was,
covered in blood, with his nose and mouth in a sorry state. As luck would have
it, we were directly outside the village doctor's house. I rushed him in there,
the doctor patched him up and the doctor's wife gave me a bag of apples for
being a good girl. |
| I pushed him home,
terrified that he would stop breathing before I got there. He survived. My mum,
bless her, cuddled both of us and said that it was just an accident. My brother
bears the scar to this day, 53 years later. |
| Life, according to my
reminiscences so far, must seem as if it was perfect, it was, up to a point: I
will relate some of the other side later. |
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