大象传媒

During my teens, while having a conversation with my father about the Fulwell Club, I mentioned that I could remember climbing down the side of a bomb crater where the club at once stood, before the war. 鈥淵ou could not remember that,鈥� he said staring at me and shaking his head, 鈥測ou were only three years old 鈥� much too young to remember.鈥�
鈥淚 remember the allotment and the greenhouses too鈥� I went on.
鈥淵es you should remember them鈥� cut in my father. 鈥淭hey helped feed us well during the war.

My earliest recollection was some time before that incident. I was in the greenhouse of my father鈥檚 allotment and can remember looking up in awe at the sun shining and glinting through the glass panes, the blinding light streaming down through the forest of greenery. I can also remember looking down into a pit, a huge pit, and then having to peer over a wall alongside the greenhouse path. Walking along the path seemed to go on and on. This episode captivated me in wonder.

Every year Fulwell Club used to hold a sport and recreation day for the members children. It took place in the clubs field opposite our house. We used to look forward to this event because there were prizes and everyone had a good time. A couple of weeks before the event I came down with mumps. My brother was laughing and joking, 鈥淵ou won't be able to go to the fair ha, ha, ha. You won鈥檛 be able to go to the fair.鈥� My mother was wrapping hot poultice around my throat to ease the swelling. I then developed Quinsy and was touch and go whether or not I survived. The doctor came and gave some medicine to my mother. I was hardly able to open my mouth to swallow the potion. The swelling was preventing me from breathing, and I was going down and down, weaker and weaker. Then one morning I woke up and the swelling had subsided, and breathing returned to normal. After a couple of days I was back on my feet - just in time to go to the clubs recreation day. My brother was not as happy as the day before the treat he got the mumps and had to stay in the house and look out of the window. The rest of us enjoyed ourselves and had a great day. We brought back sweets and presents for which he was grateful.

Christmas festivities during wartime had to take place according to the availability of food, goods, and materials. Waking up on Christmas morning we would look to our stockings hung up on the bed end the night before. Inside we were lucky to find an apple and orange and some homemade sweets. If we were very lucky there might be a drawing and painting book. One year I was very, very lucky and found a model tank at the bottom of the bed. It had been made and painted by a friend of my parents.

The Marina, our local cinema, was out of bounds to us because we could not afford the prices. One way of getting round this was to sneak along in the queue and pass below out of sight of the cashier, hide behind the curtains and then follow some adults to their seats. We had to keep very low and out of sight of the commissionaire. One such night put me off because of the film shown. It was called The Beast with Five Fingers. It was a horrifying thriller based in an old castle about a group of people who all had to die in mysterious circumstances. There were many frightening episodes in the film with thunder and lightning, lights that turned themselves on-off, the ghost like apparitions, the noise and bangs of objects that move themselves. The BEAST with five fingers turned out to be the severed hand of a murderer. It would roam about the castle walking on its fingers, killing people with poison. One of its favourite methods to kill was by strangulation. It would climb into someone's bed and make for the windpipe, grasping it in a vice like grip. The victim would wake up with eyes popping trying to, but unable to, wrench the hand off. They would dramatically cease to be.

I was absolutely terrified, so much so, that I was unable to sleep at night. This lasted for weeks and weeks and was not helped by my brother who kept putting his hand on my chest imitating the BEAST with five fingers.

Another pastime, and a way of making some money, was Winkle Picking. We would walk from Fulwell to Whitburn Steels when the tide was out. Splodging in the cold water and climbing over the slippery rocks in our bare feet was all part of the job. After a couple of hours we had collected a full tin of winkles and would make for the shore. On one occasion we were so engrossed in picking the winkles, having to discern between the edible and the dog whelk that we did not see the tide coming in behind us. Some men in a fishing cobble were heading towards the beach and they shouted at us to make for the shore. It was a good job the sea was calm as we were able to wade up to our armpits back to the shore. We got home wet and bedraggled. My brother got most of the blame for ruining our clothes. We used to pick the winkles on Friday so that we could wash and boil them ready for Saturday. On Saturday afternoon when Sunderland was playing football at home, we would sit on the front step and sell our winkles at a penny a mug full to the supporters as they flocked past. There was always the odd one that would not pay and just walk on. Snails where another item to collect we could earn a few pennies for them to be cooked and eaten by some people.

Looking back on some of the exploits we got up to were beyond belief and dangerous. One trick was to stuff the down comer pipe of someone鈥檚 house with newspaper and then set the paper alight. The result was a loud siren type noise caused by the air rushing up the pipe to feed the flames. We would hide behind a wall and watch as the frantic owners would run outside to investigate thinking another air raid was signalled.

Percy, one of our gang, came out with a box of live 2-2 bullets he had somehow got hold of. Finding what to do with them was another question. Ideas came and went. We settled on one that might work. A brick wall was sought with a small hole of a size similar to the bullet. The bullet was pushed into the hole with the cap facing outwards. Stones where then pelted at the bullet for some time but nothing happened. More drastic methods where tried. The next one worked with frightening results. Paper was rapped around and around the bullet then placed in a larger hole in the wall of someone鈥檚 house. Setting fire to the paper set the bullet off with a flash and a deafening crack! People came running from all over and we did a hasty retreat. That trick was not tried again. The next one was even more foolish. The trams ran up our road and we had often put small objects on the lines for the trams to run over and flatten. We had squashed nails, money, tin lids, and all sorts of metal things. This time we decided to try it with the bullets. It was dark with no lights so we could do almost anything without being observed. A row of bullets where placed on the tramline and we hid behind a small wall to await the next tram. Before long it came running over the bullets crack-crack-crack-like a machine gun, the flashes of light clearly visible. We kept our heads down in the shadows frightened and terrified as people came flocking around.

We used to pinch the apples and pears from Ebdons farm. On one such endeavour the local fat policeman was watching us. Arthur, my older brother, stood against the wall below the apple tree with me on his shoulders trying to reach them. The 鈥榩olis鈥� pounced, 鈥淕ot you!鈥� We were both roughly grabbed hold of and given an ultimatum. 鈥淵ou can have your punishment now, from me, or later off your father. Take your pick.鈥� My brother Arthur quickly said, 鈥淣ow.鈥� Clip, slap, a rough shaking and we where off.

In those days children could go in to other peoples houses and play around the streets without fear or danger to their innocence. The back lane was an ideal place for kids to play unmolested. Playing games like 鈥楰ick the tin鈥� and 鈥楬ide and seek鈥� were very popular with the boys while skipping and hopscotch was favoured by the girls. Olive was the exception; she preferred the hustle and tussle of the boys. She had black, shiny, short hair with a bronze like skin tone that augmented her name. Cat like in her physical ability and movements made her an ideal member of the gang who could retrieve the ball that went over the walls in no time. If the backdoor was bolted she would run up the wall and over, and back, as quick as a flash.

Relations lived fairly close to each other and formed an extended family. During the summer they would organise one trip out to the countryside for a get together for one and all. We always travelled by train to our destination. We had trips to, Bolton recreation park, Heddon on the Wall recreation park, the farm next to the Cox Green station, Seaton Carew and Crimdon Dene. While we were all enjoying ourselves in the Park or the woods the father's would always be in the pub, arriving back late arguing and very nearly missing our train. We kids really enjoyed those days out - especially during Blackberry Week.

Teddy Matthews used to wonder about the streets dressed in his dirty old clothes. He was not very intelligent nonetheless he was harmless. His scruffy unshaven appearance used to frighten us kids. We would shout at him "Teddy Bear biscuit", "Teddy Bear biscuit", 鈥淭eddy Bear biscuit." He would turn and growl and run after us. One day I came out of the shop, head down, peering in to my lucky bag, totally engrossed with it contents, and walked straight into Teddy Matthews! Startled, I jumped back, dropping my penny change. Quick as a flash, Teddy Matthews put his foot over it. "I want my penny," "I want my penny." "What penny?鈥� Teddy snarled. I ran home 鈥榟ell for leather鈥� and told my brother. "He has a hole in his sole and can pick it up with he is the toes,鈥� he kidded me.

I used to love exploring around and playing with the old gadgets and looking through the books of yesteryear. The old handmade radios, in particular, attracted me and I spent hours putting on headphones, connecting batteries and twiddling the knobs (This startled me off with a lifelong interest in electronics). Mary Lyons gave me one of the old radios and I took it home to show my mother who let me keep it in the washing house. The Many hours were spent by me playing with the radio and trying to contact imaginary people. Sometimes I believed I was in an aeroplane, flying over some strange land encountering various situations and adventures found only in the land of dreams. The best part of it was that it kept me off the streets for a few days.

The countryside, being only twenty minutes away, was ideal. In the summer many a picnic was organised by friends and relations for Cut Throat Dene. The family would set off pushing the large pram, laden with necessities, to walk down Dene Lane along past the allotments, on along the path and over the wooden bridge that crossed the River Don. The river, in reality, being only a stream meandering its way lazily on its journey to the sea. On the other side meadows rolled down to the stream where a herd of contented cows grazed undisturbed. Buttercups, Cowslips and Daisies grew through the meadows grass everywhere. Foxgloves lined the sides of the path alongside the stream and many a hedge or wall were festooned with rambling white lilies. This was indeed a beautiful place to have a picnic. The day was not long enough to fulfil our young ambitions, exploring the winding paths to see where they led, climbing trees, fishing and ploddging in the stream, watching the great variety of birds and animal wildlife.

When called by our parents to return, back we came wet, splashed with mud, covered in sticky burrs and seed pods through wading through the undergrowth, to flop down exhausted onto the clean white sheet that was laid on the grass by my mother for the picnic. Out would come the homemade lemonade to drink with our newly made stottey cake sandwiches. Margarine spread and real spam filling. They really were delicious, especially as all our efforts had made us very hungry. Most of the parents knew from bitter experience not to take jam and bread into the country. Why? Because one family did just that and had jam and bread for lunch as they where very poor. When they opened the bag to eat them, swarms of wasps milled around, trying to get to the jam. Cousin Sheila was badly stung trying to shoo them away. Her screams were unforgettable. After eating we would lie in the sun making daisy chains, whilst trying to fend off the hordes of buzzing flies swarming around our heads. Later we would play organised games of cricket, rounders or many another game, running around and taking great care to avoid a fall or a slip on to one off the abundant fresh cowpats that littered the field. The inevitable always happened with cries of yuuk! accompanied by giggles and laughter from the others.

Derek played a right trick on his Aunties. On finding bees coming and going to their nest, within a hole below a hedge, he ran to tell his aunts that where near by. 鈥淟ook at this, look at this, have a look,鈥� he said pointing to the nest. As they stood around watching a few feet away, Derek crept up behind and threw a large, round stone into the hole. There were almighty screams as the tormented bees flew in swarms around the heads of the frantic women, who tried to fend them off with waving arms while they ran away. You little B鈥︹�� I鈥檒l鈥︹�︹��. when I get hold of you. Derek was nowhere to be seen.

As the sun made its way home we so did we. A lot slower than we had got there. The nettle stings where really beginning to hurt now so the large leaves of the doc plants were looked out for as we walked. They were rubbed onto the blisters and somehow the sap from the Doc leaf lessened the pain. At home the tin bathtub was placed in front of the fire and we where given a good scrub. The stinging Iodine rubbed onto our scratches made us protest in the only way we knew, yoooooooow.

After supper it was listen to Dick Barton on the radio, if we were good, then of to bed and asleep in no time.

The official ending of ww2 was not the end of the battle it took years and years to rebuild the country and get back on our feet.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.