Me – From About 7 to About 11.

So when my sister EJC was born I was seven and a bit years old. Shortly after her arrival we moved from our flat in Stopford Road to a pretty swish (by our standards) 3 bedroom flat in Everett House, East St (#25). This was the first time my family had our own bedrooms, we even had a bathroom!

One of my best mates Alison lived at number 28. She was from a Maltese family and was a couple of years older than me. She went to Bacon Secondary School so would have had to of been a couple of years older than me at least. We did everything together. Swimming was one of our favourite things. I remember I was about 10 when I told her I was going swimming, she got real shitty, chased me around the grass, tackled me to the ground, straddled me and pinned my arms back. “I can’t go swimming – I have my period” she yelled at me. I had no f**king idea what she was on about, went and got my towel and casually asked Mum what it meant. Boy that was an interesting conversation – needless to say I didn’t go swimming as one part of the conversation led to another and “hey presto” I’d had the “birds and the bees” chat. I kept in contact with Alison for a few years when we moved to Oz and even arranged to catch up with her on one of our return visits, but it never happened. Her step sister contacted me via FB a few years ago to update me on Alison, but we’ve never reconnected.

I was a self taught swimmer – and interestingly got to be quite good. During an inter school swimming carnival (representing Grange Primary School) I won two and came second in another two events – backstroke being my forte (still hold the ASHS 50 m backstroke record – set in 1982). A coach from one of the more prestigious swimming clubs in the district approached my parents to get me to join – with an eye to preparation for Olympic trials in a few years. Went a few times after joining them soon moved to Oz (swimming career over!).

Another good friend Patrick lived at number 30. He was one of 6 kids. He went to English Martyrs RC School (we used to call in St Tomatoes). He was my “Bombsite Buddy”. Alongside our estate there was a bombsite – the result of aerial bombing during the Second World War. The whole street (about 30 – 40 houses had been destroyed in a raid in 1943). We would run amok in the bombsite, always finding weird and wonderful hiding spots, building HQ’s and smashing s**t up. We’d also help build and play on the adventure playgrounds that would appear in Nursery Row Park – opposite our estate.

But my best friend was George. He was a couple of years older than me and was of West Indian heritage. We did cubs, church and football together. He lived near Guy’s Hospital. Our cub pack was 24th Bermondsey and Rotherhithe (doesn’t exist anymore). I remember one of my proudest moments was winning the district cross country one year (for cubs) – even beating George (who had been in training and fancied his luck). We both attended the Hadden Hall Baptist Church Youth Club (yep – a holy roller). We also played Football for a local club – never very successful, used to wear the old Birmingham City FC top (no wonder we were useless). I still have contact with George and visit whenever I go back to the UK, given the chance.

George and I used SE London as our playground. We would catch the Number 1 bus and travel to the last stop (somewhere in Kent) and return – each trip costing 5 pence each. We would venture up Tower Bridge Road and stand in the middle of Tower Bridge – a foot either side of the gap in the bridge, looking down into the River Thames. During hot summer days we would venture to the fountain with “The Girl with a Dolphin” statue in it for a swim. We’d drive the doorman of the nearby hotel nuts with our antics and would play a game with him – he’d chase us off, we’d sneak back (hours of fun for us – not so much for him). We’d catch the ferry to Greenwich to visit the Cutty Sark clipper. Go to the Tower of London, St Paul’s Cathedral, Houses of Parliament. The Elephant & Castle Odeon and ABC cinemas were frequented often – catching the latest flick. I remember watching Jaws – s**t bricks!

My cousin Carole (a frequent visitor to Everett House) and I reckoned the woman who lived at number 5 on the ground floor was a witch. We would take such joy at playing “Knock Down Ginger” – targeting her flat mercilessly. Playing football on the grass both in front of and behind her flat (not allowed – apparently!). She would fly out of her flat with a flurry of “f’ing and blinding” – not realising she was giving us exactly what we wanted! Every time Carole and I are together – “The Witch” story gets revisited.

But the very best thing about where we lived was that it was on East St and each Tuesday, Thursday Saturday and Sunday The Lane Street Market was open. The street has hosted the market since 1880. The stall holders offering nearly anything the heart could desire – between them! Food, clothing, jewellery, household goods, furniture, toys, books, music, hardware you name it – you could get it! It was such a cool place to hang out – every shade of humanity, every age group all mixed up into an amazing cocktail whose energy was palpable and addictive. I used to love just walking up and down The Lane – not buying anything, just taking in the sights and sound of Londoners going about business.

As mentioned in a previous post I went to school at Grange Primary School. I really enjoyed going there. My cousins Nigel and Paul also went there – Nigel was a couple of years older, Paul was in the same year as me. I remember most the last few years I was at the school.

The toilets were external to the main school building and were open air. There was a “half roof” covering the urinal and sit town toilets, but basically they were open to the elements. During winter in London, you would often have to trudge through snow to get to the toilets – using the urinals sending clouds of steam into the air. As you got older in the school, the challenge was to piss up the wall between the boys and girls toilets – with the aim of getting over the wall, gaining immense kudos when you were finally witness doing it (and the associated screams from the girls side of the wall). I only managed it once – I remember Tony H being the king of this, consistently managing it.

School dinners were another highlight. Grange Primary School was a distributor kitchen for other schools in the area – for school lunches. This meant mass producing hundreds of lunches daily. Every day we would have a hot lunch, ALWAYS served with a pile of “packet” mashed potato (Deb – I think is its trademark name). The savoury part of the lunch were always disgusting. Dessert however – yummo. Chunky custard, semolina pudding, occasionally ice cream. But to get dessert you had to show the dinner ladies a clean plate – as a Nervous Nelly I always ate all my lunch. But not everyone did – infamously, William M would stuff his pockets with the potato, innocently show the dinner ladies his clean plate and then tuck into dessert, all while the rest of us suffered through our main course. He’d “mostly” empty his pockets out in the playground. My mum would have killed me if I’d come home with potato in my pocket (I know this because she often reminded me that if I ever followed William’s example, she would do exactly that!).

School journeys were another highlight. You got to do these in you last year at the school. Visiting Coombe Martin in Devon for a week. If you were lucky, some students in their second last year at the school would also go. I was lucky and got to go twice. Took my wife and daughter there – hadn’t changed much in the time between visits. A gorgeous part of the UK.

I remember in my last year at the school we had a very tasty school football team. We played in The Bermondsey and Rotherhithe Schools Football competition in Division 2. We went through the whole season undefeated. We even made it to the Cup Final, a competition open to all divisions, so on the way to the final we knocked off a number of Division 1 Schools – meeting the undefeated Division 1 Champions in the final. Only losing 1-0, to a contentious penalty.

My other occasional playground was in and around Andover, Hampshirite – where my Grandparents lived. We would visit them regularly for weekends, family celebrations and most importantly Christmas.

My Nan and Grandad lived in a semi-detached house that was near a really cool park. I remember going to the park all the time. There were huge beech trees, a cool playground – but best of all a small stream that I would wade in, try my luck fishing (epic fail – every time), skim rocks on or just sit by.

My Aunt, Uncle and cousin also lived in Andover, on a housing estate. I remember I had a “girlfriend” called Susan who lived a few doors up from my family. She was a bit older than me and at the ripe old age of 11 I had my first kiss with her. Kept in touch with her when I left for Oz. Lost contact until FB reconnected us. My daughter and I caught up with her and had lunch in 2013. We would roam the estates together, go on walks along Ladies Walk, just hang – oh and kiss.

But the very best bits about Andover were our family adventures. We would always go for expeditions to Harewood Forest. Foraging for hazelnuts and blackberries, building shelters, playing hide and seek, just enjoying the ancient forest! My Dad, Uncle Nev, Helen, Nick and I. Great fun. Just before we left England we made a shelter in the forest – on visits over the next few years on returning to the UK we were pleased to say it had lasted the rest of time, not sure the exact last time Dad checked it out, I often wonder if it’s still there.

Camping in Wherwell was brilliant. We’d set up the tent along the river at the Chilbolton Cow Paddock. I remember one of the funniest things – we were all camping in this tent. Dad, Nick, Helen and I had all got up and were getting breakfast ready! Uncle Nev was snoring his head off in the tent. It started raining and Dad being the prankster, convinced us to help him move the tent – which we did, leaving the still asleep and snoring Uncle Nev fully exposed to the elements. We all sheltered inside the tent as the rain got heavier and heavier. It took quite a prolonged exposure to the downpour to finally wake him from his slumber. Much swearing ensued, but we all thought it was funny – well most of us anyway!

An epic fail moment however was when we all went down to with the intention of building, floating and “setting sail” on our own raft. Armed with some large barrels, planks, rope we journey down. After much planning, teamwork, consultation (as only Cornocks and Frosts can do!🤣😂) we are ready to launch. And ….. as soon as the raft hit the water bits went flying everywhere, the ropes loosened, barrels went one way, planks went another and we had soon managed to produce a deconstructed raft, rather than one able to hold one of us – let alone a crew of us. Swallows and Amazons we were not!

When I was 11 1/2 years old I left all this behind. Ending up in a country on the other side of the plant. I’ll tell you about that another time …..