"What's for dinner Dad?"

"Shit and Sugar!"

In loving Memory of John Crow

03.05.1943 - 25.11.2016

Three years ago today we said goodbye to the funniest, bravest, big-hearted and popular man you could ever wish to meet.  Family was everything to him and in truth, none of us can believe he is gone even now.  He had the greatest sense of humour, most of which would be considered non PC these days but he could keep a roomful of people in stitches until their faces ached!   Having seen them recently, I am glad to say his children have definitely inherited his humour - he would be so proud!

Last night I had the weirdest dream - it felt like more than a dream and I know it came from him.   We were all at a Memorial Service for him but it was complete and utter chaos!   I was standing in a pew, shoulders heaving with sobs but cringing with embarrassment because I was only half-dressed!!  I had a suit jacket on but had forgotten to put on the skirt.  I was mortified so put on a fur coat to keep myself covered so no-one could see my knickers.  Someone said "You can't wear that coat these days - don't you know that it's not PC to wear fur anymore,  take it off!"   Of course, I couldn't and as I turned around to tell them to mind their own business, I noticed a group of Gospel singers at the back of the church dressed in purple satin robes with funny wigs on and those big 'Kenny Everett' hands that he used to wear in his sketches. Turned out it was my sister-in-law and my nieces and nephew who had decided to lighten up the proceedings with a bit of Crow humour.   I awoke with a wet face from crying, a full heart and his voice in my head saying 'not to take life too seriously'.  He's doing OK my big brother, alive on some other dimension, and still making people laugh.  He is missed so very badly but I know we'll meet again some day.  There's a song about that isn't there?

John remembered far more than I about the old days in London.  To honour him,  I'm sharing today some of those memories, written by him many years ago to keep Lambeth history alive for his family:-

"We had parks such as Kennington Park, near the Oval Cricket Ground and Bishops Park near Westminster Bridge.  The park at Kennington was the site of an air raid shelter during the blitz and received a direct hit by either a bomb or a doodlebug which basically was a flying bomb launched from the coast of France.

There were fifty people killed that night in that shelter.  They couldn't get them all out and the shelter was filled in.  A Memorial stands in the park to those who died.  

The park also had a swimming pool, which even in the height of summer was always freezing.

Another place Dave and I often went to was the Imperial War Museum.  The museum was then full of all types of tanks, aircraft and even a mini submarine.  There was a Lancaster bomber cockpit you could sit in and machines you could actually use, sit on, look in and climb over.  Now, it's not the same but it's still well worth a visit - rules have been applied and the place has been revamped.

There were park keepers in those days, men and sometimes women in light brown suits and hats. They displayed a badge on their lapel and were very proud of their duties.  Their job was to simply keep you off the grass, stop you lighting fires and make you pick your litter up.  All of these were often accompanied by a clip around the head, which we would never tell our parents about, for fear of getting another one from them.  How times have changed.

Each park had a play area usually with a set of swings, a slide and a big umbrella roundabout which, if it was going too fast, could make you sick.

Tracey Street was only about 2 miles from both Lambeth Bridge and Westminster Bridge.  In fact you could see Big Ben from Mum's bedroom window, ignoring all the chimney pots.  There were times when that was the only way we told the time.

With some of the mates from school, we would go up to the Thames Embankment and get up to all sorts of mischief, a bit of nicking when we could from the back of the food shops in the Walk and we had a picnic up and running!

We used to have 'dares' - one of which was running along the wall of the embankment that runs alongside the Thames.  It was only about two feet wide and you had to do it when the tide was high and fast flowing.  I recall both Dave and I did it several times without falling into the river but I don't know how.  I remember once walking across Westminster Bridge on the parapet from one side to the other but just before I reached the Houses of Parliament, the Old Bill dragged me off and I got a warning, a bollocking and a clump all rolled into one.  The early years at Tracey Street are remembered with great fondness.  Despite the cramped conditions we loved the house and its location.  We were minutes from the West End.  We had two underground stations within easy reach and trams and then buses went along Kennington Road.  We had a big Granada cinema we called the Flicks, where every Saturday morning we would join hundreds of other kids to watch Roy Rogers, Rin Tin Tin, Zorro, Flash Gordon, Laurel and Hardy and Charlie Chaplin.  It had a massive pipe organ that rose out of the stall orchestra pit with the organist sat on the stool playing it like a man possessed.  It was all lit up and rose slowly from the pit like a Time Machine.  You could also have a sing along on a  Friday night where you had to follow the bouncing ball  as it bounced above the words in turn. The very early form of Karaoke!  I think it cost about tuppence to go there in those days.

When Dave and I were in the 8-11 year age bracket, we all used to walk to the Elephant & Castle on a Saturday night, all the way down Kennington Lane and then catch a bus to Aunt Ede & Uncle Ted's pub in Bermondsey.  Dad would have a few, play the piano for the pub and us kids had to be content with playing upstairs and looking after my kid sister Janice.  To be fair, we always got a bottle of Vimto and some water biscuits and crisps!  On closing, we'd walk back to the bus stop to catch the last bus back to the Elephant & Castle then face the long walk home.  I'm probably wrong but Mum & Dad always had a row on the walk home from the Elephant.  I have this vision of Dad carrying my sister on his shoulders and me and Dave walking alongside them while they were shouting at each other.  (Note from kid sister:  He wasn't wrong - I remember it well!)

We had everything to hand in Tracey Street.  There was The Greengate Fish and Chip Shop a hundred yards away that sold a pennyworth of crackling, Shannon's was a sweet shop just a bit further up in Ethelred Street with old mother Shannon running it.  Mrs Shannon had several sons, one was named Johnny who was a street bookie carrying out his trade from the entrance to the flats where Ted Rogers lived.  Johnny later became an actor after getting a role as a villain in the film "Performance" with Mick Jagger.  He later also played a part of a salesman in Fawlty Towers who gave Basil the name of a race horse to back. (It was Dragonfly, as I remember.)  

My Aunt Mary lived in Wake Street, which was a cul-de-sac off the Lambeth Walk.  Granny Rapley also lived there, as did Aunt Polly who was my Nan's younger sister.  These days she would be described as having learning difficulties but she was a lovely old Auntie and like all of the Rapley family, never failed to give us kids a few coppers when we saw her.  She passed away in 2005 in her nineties whilst living in a home - God Bless her."  

I'm so grateful that John took the time to write down his memories of which these are just a few - they are especially important in these days when so many people unfortunately suffer from dementia as we live longer.  This is the reason Jimmy's Lambeth came about -  my Uncle Jim used to say 'a photo is not enough, we need words written down on paper, this is our history!'  

I hope these memories that John wrote down so long ago, encourage other people to do the same with their family history.  He would be pleased to have been instrumental in that.  And remember his message in my dream - to not take life too seriously.  We need more laughter in this world.

If you are too young to remember the Kenny Everett hands - you can find them here!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-E39htndsmA

More Lambeth Memories from Daniel Beecham

I was born into the Beecham family on the 29th December 1948.  
I was born in what was then a 2 up 2 down with the staircase in the middle of the house.  You entered the house by stepping down one step in to the passage which ran the full length of the house down to the scullery which would now be called the kitchen.  

The first room on the right was the parlour, a room that was little used during the week but on a Sunday evening the tin bath was brought in from the yard and a family bath time was the order of the day. As you progressed towards the scullery you passed the staircase, and then my grandfather’s bedroom next, then on to the scullery.

From the scullery which held an enamel gas cooker and sink, you could pass through the rear door into the yard and on to the outside lavi.  At the rear of the yard was an Anderson shelter left over from the war which in later years was put to great use a a playroom for us children.

One lasting memory of that house was a crack in one wall which according to my father was a legacy of the bomb that was dropped on Lollard Street during the war.  But more on that later.

Number 34 Lollard St. is the one right next to the telegraph pole, this photo was taken in the sixties.

Upstairs were the bedrooms. The back bedroom belonged to my parents and the front bedroom was for all the children.  My cousins, the Kelly’s once told me a story about them which now seems impossible:-

Apparently during the war their father who was of Irish descent, took his family back to Ireland.  When the war was over he brought them all back, but they obviously had nowhere to live so they moved in with my family. So at that time there was my grandfather, father, mother, two sisters and brother. Them moving in added another father, mother and five sisters.  Where did they all sleep?

At that time the close family consisted of Grandfather (Joseph in his 80s then), Dad (Michael 46), Mum (Edith 36), Step Sister (June Tibbles 12), Sister (Rose 8) and Brother (Michael 4).

In this picture which was taken in about the early 60’s,  he is sitting on his bed in the back bedroom using the light from the window to pick horses for a bet.  It had to be a horse ridden by Lester Piggot. It was always an each way bet that when I got older I had to take to the bookies runner and place the bet.

Dan, Micky, June, Rose and Mum.

So at the great age of 4½ in the summer of 1953, I had to start getting ready for school, up until this point I had never had a haircut, and I took great pains to explain to my mother that I did not want one. I even had the cheek to pick a nice blue ribbon for my hair.  Mother being mother, took no notice of my pleadings and with the help of a close friend, (to me my aunt Grace) they dragged me kicking and screaming to what I now am informed was Palladino’s to have my first haircut.  I have never liked having my hair touched ever since.  Although with reluctance I will have my haircut now.

The day arrived and I was duly taken to Walnut Tree Walk school, out of our house across the road, turning right at the Rose and Crown pub into Gundulf Street, then left into Fitzalan Street. (I eventually made friends with a lad I called Foxy who lived at 20 Fitzalan Street). Then on to the school on the right hand side before you got to the Lambeth Walk, through a big green gate and up a passage that led through to the Primary school playground.

When I progressed on to the Junior School I would walk the same way but when arriving at the Primary School playground, would go through another passage on the right hand side of the school that cut through to Walnut Tree Walk Street and then into the school.

To give you some idea of my friends and people I knew at that time, Billy Court and his brother lived in the prefabs at 104 Lollard Street, a friend named Lesley Presley lived at about 33 Gundulf Street, The James family lived at 38 Gundulf Street, the Sullivans lived at 18 Gundulf Street, A lad whose second name I have forgotten lived over the road from the Sullivans, I think number 19 Gundulf Street, Teddy Cave, I think, at 31 Lollard Street, Mary Richardson at 33 Lollard Street, and Roger Winston whose number I can't remember.

Some Lambeth Memories from Les Crow

I was No. 4 in the Crow dynasty, John was the oldest born in 1943, then David in 1945, Janice in 1950, me in 1954 and Paul, the youngest came along in 1958.

Because of the age difference between us, my memories are a little different from Johns, so I thought I’d like to add some of my memories to our Uncle Jim’s blog site.

As John said, we lived on the top floor of No12 Tracey Street, Mum, Dad and five kids in three rooms so there wasn’t much room at all.  Our kitchen, like so many in those post-war days, was basically the top floor landing where Mum had a Gas cooker and a "Kitchenette" – No fridge, no washing machine or sink! We had a small sink and a cold tap one flight down, on the turn of the stairs. How Mum cooked at all must have been a miracle but she managed a cooked meal everyday (sometimes twice a day because when we were at Walnut Tree Walk school, we all went home for a cooked lunch).  We always had a full Roast dinner every Sunday then our Mum would spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing the cooker.  She did it in record time if she was annoyed with our Dad for getting drunk up the pub at lunchtime!  It was a frequent occurrence! 

We spent most of our time in the "Living Room" at the back of the house.  There was a fitted cupboard in this room with two fantastic paintings of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse on.  Apparently, a previous lodger had painted them and that’s where they stayed for years.  We had a coal fire and our Mum used to hold a big sheet of newspaper over the front to create a draft to get it going.  This was also the room where we were all scrubbed to within an inch of our lives in the tin bath on a Friday night.  I think when John and Dave were older they were given money to go to the Public Baths for their weekly scrub. After our bath, the nit comb would come out so Mum could inspect our heads.  She wasn’t going to let “Nitty Norah” find nits on any of her kids!  Our Bedroom was in the front where  Mum & Dad, Janice, me and later Paul slept – all very cosy especially after Dad had been down the pub on the Guinness & Bitter!  Mum used to spend ages leaning out of the top floor window chatting to all the other women in the road, who were all doing the same thing.

Our Nanny O’Shea had the whole of the ground floor but she spent most of her time in her back room where there was a kitchen/scullery, as far as I remember the front room was NEVER used although Jan remembers it being used after family funerals. There was also a piano in that room which Dad would play from time to time according to Jan.  Nan’s bedroom was on the first floor alongside John and David's room.  Our Dad, who was a plumber in those days, fitted a bathroom but I can't ever remember ever using it. There is talk of it “falling off the back of a lorry” but I’m not sure that was true.  Our Grandad, Philip O’Shea who died in 1952 went mad apparently, because he said if the landlord found out, he would put the rent up.  The bathroom stayed where it was though!

We had a back yard with an outside toilet which we called the Lavvie, complete with either IZAL toilet paper or squares of the Evening Standard hanging on a piece of string. For some reason there was a rusty old Lee-Enfield rifle tucked away in the corner!  That khazi or carsey had a smell of its own, not nasty, just of cold & damp distemper!

Like all the others I went to Walnut Tree Walk School. Sadly I can't remember much about this time. I think my first class room had a roaring fire, and I can still taste the rubber hose we used in the water tank to blow bubbles. Playtime was spent playing Cowboys in the playground, galloping up and down spanking our hides in time to sound like horses then having a tumble with the baddies. I remember the Reading Cards and the Janet & John books, but hope this may jog a few memories for others. 

One thing sticks in my mind, I seem to remember that the Walls Ice Cream factory was located close to the school and every so often they would come around and give us all a choc ice!

Mum had a huge family of Aunts and Uncles living close by. Their surname was Rapley.   Her Aunt Mary (nee Rapley)  Uncle Fred Powell and their son Kenny, lived in Wake Street at the bottom end by Lollard Adventure Playground. Aunt Emm (Tatnell)  & Aunt Polly Rapley I think, lived off China Walk.  “Charlie’s  Mary" lived opposite us in Tracey Street and Aunt Sarah lived in Fitzalan Street.  Our Mum loved all her aunties, they were strong women with vocabularies to match!  Many of them worked for the Royal Doulton factory as Char Ladies. You’ve never seen so many Royal Doulton “seconds” as her Aunt Mary had.  They must have been worth a fortune, even though they were imperfect.  My sister Jan remembers them all getting together round Aunt Em’s flat and making lampshades to make some extra money.  I’d like to have been a fly on the wall during one of those sessions! 

The Rapley Sisters and friends on a Beano to Margate

From left:  Unknown; Aunt Mary; Aunt Polly; Aunt Emmy; our Nan (Betty O'Shea) at the back; and Aunt Sarah, also at the back. No idea who the other ladies are - sorry.

At one stage our Uncle Jim, who this site is dedicated to, lived in the middle of the house in Tracey Street with his wife Gladys.  When they moved, I think they moved near to the Elephant and Castle and later on to Stockwell.  Jim and Glad as they were known, were absolutely lovely.  From Stockwell, Jim, Glad and their daughter Gillian moved into a lovely flat off the Portland Road.  They had to move out of Stockwell because poor Gill got mugged a couple of times on the way home from work!  

Nanny O'Shea, Jimmy, Gladys and Cousin Maureen at the front door

of 12 Tracey Street. Coronation Day 1953.

Aunt Glad is now in her 80s and still lives in London with Gill and is enjoying life.  She worked for M & S for donkeys years and when she retired she became one of the M & S pensioners.  They used to really look after their staff in those days.  They had a visiting dentist, chiropodist, hairdresser and days trips out were organised regularly for their staff.  I think it’s a lot different now!

Jim and Glad always treated us well.  Every Christmas they would buy me a box of "Britain's Solders." These would range from Cowboys and Indians, British Army from WW2, Guards & Knights in Armour….. they were absolute magic! I would play in the Coal Scuttle for hours. As I got older they upped the ante and gave me Victor Boys Annuals – some of which I still have today.

Jimmy, Gladys & Gillian 1962

Cousin Kenny would always stick a few coppers or a tanner, even a shilling in your hand when he could and Aunt Mary would always make you welcome with a cup of tea and cake. She made the best coffee in the world - Camp coffee made with full fat hot milk.  If you were lucky, she may have made a batch of Mince Meat Pies (proper lamb I think too) they were gorgeous. If for some reason you said you didn’t want a drink or something to eat she’d say “What the f***ing ‘ells wrong with my food then?” Uncle Fred was as deaf a as post so the telly was always on high and it was always Horse Racing!  The men all loved a flutter.  We were always aware of the colourful language they used, in fact, our brother John used to warn his children about them before he took them to visit.  They must have been terrified but that’s how the Rapley girls were - true Lambeth Walkers from the old days – they had hearts of gold but Lord help anyone who crossed them or anyone they cared about.   I just wish I could remember all of them, I believe there were about 10 originally. 

   

Our Dad’s family all lived down in Kent as like a lot of people, they were bombed out during the Blitz. Other Nanny (as we called her) was bombed out of Fountain Gardens off the Lambeth Walk and moved to Westgate-on-Sea on the Kent coast.  Her daughter and husband, Aunt Ede & Uncle Ted ran the Britannia Pub in Margate in the days when Beanos were popular.   Dad's brother, Uncle Joe & Aunt Pat lived in Garlinge, as did Uncle Ed and his wife Betty.  We had some great times down there on the beach, crabbing, picking winkles and cockles – we were really lucky as a lot of kids in our street didn’t even see the sea back then.  Our holidays were always spent with Other Nanny and Pop – looking back it was idyllic for us as kids.  They had a two-bedroomed house in Westgate with an outside loo and no bathroom.  Can you imagine what it must have been like when seven of us descended on them for two weeks!!  I think Pop may have objected but Other Nanny loved it.

Looking back, Tracey Street was a wonderful place;  just imagine a street about a mile from Westminster – with virtually no cars (well apart from Dad’s and one or two others). God knows how many kids lived on the street, but we all played out till dark playing Cannon, Tin Can Tommy and generally getting up to mischief.

We would tie lengths of cotton to the knocker of one house,  shift ourselves down the street and give it a tug, Older boys would tie rope to the door knob of one house and tie the other end to the house opposite – then knock on the door, we must have drove the neighbours bonkers!

Lollard Street playground was at the end of the Street, behind the Barrow yard as I remember. This is where we learnt things they didn't teach at school - like how to start and respect a fire! I don’t remember anyone getting burnt, but having a fire was a daily occurrence even for us youngsters – the big kids made sure of that. We would cook apples and bake potatoes till they were black! The ground was mainly very clay so we would make figures which either ended up on the fire or shot at with catapults. I remember one night in the summer the grass was covered in Ladybirds, 1000s & 1000s of them.

Mum, as all mums did in those days, did her shopping daily.  The Walk was our Shopping Centre, we had a Sainsburys, complete with sawdust on the floor, where we got our cold meats and dairy products – the staff used to make-up the butter into packs using the wooden paddles. I seem to remember potatoes came from the chap on the potato stall. Pecrys supplied all sorts of cotton stuff, tea towels, bath towels, sheets bedding & stuff – it was packed to the hilt with merchandise. Ernie Noad’s (one of Dad’s mates) is where we all got our shoes – as well as the normal brown sandals and Plimsolls; I remember I got my pair of Tuff Pathfinders and Puma Football Boots from there.

Can anyone remember getting their hair cut in Palladino's?

Other favourites were Meiklejohns  Toy shop - anyone who remembers this place check out the short film made by the owner,  it might be on YouTube or try Bring Back Lambeth Walk page on Facebook - pure gold.

Marcantonio's Ice Cream Parlour, where we could get wigwams/ cornets/wafers/ Ice Cream Floats – nothing could touch them. I've struggled to find anything that comes close to the Ice Cream they had – I'm still looking!  And of course Boroughs Pie n Mash Shop on Saturday Lunchtime after Saturday Morning flix – the best meal in the world – even now.

 

Sunday was always different in those days. Shops were all closed but markets weren't! We would often be taken to East Lane or The Cut early on a Sunday- for whatever reason. We were sometimes treated to a hot glass of Sarsaparilla. On the way home Dad would call into his local for his Sunday pint (or four) and then make a detour to Bob Whites which meant we had Winkles/ Cockles, Whelks Mussels Crab, Prawns and brown Shrimps - complemented by bread and butter and a salad mum would knock up from somewhere. This would be just a few hours AFTER she had done the traditional Sunday Roast and scrubbed the oven!

On most Sunday afternoons, us kids were expected to be out of the way either at Sunday School or over the Imperial War Museum – we spent hours and hours over there, running around the corridors turning knobs and wheels on various cabinets. 

 Apparently, the day after I was born we got a television. What I do remember later is they didn’t broadcast all the time as they do now, it would start midway through the afternoon and go off at 10.30. Popular TV shows were Tug Boat Annie, Ivanhoe, Take you Pick, Double your Money, Popeye, Sunday night at the London Palladium, All Our Yesterdays, Trailers of TV Commercials on a Monday morning were always .......interesting!

There are so many things that come to mind of that era which I haven’t covered yet.  Bedlam Pool, the disabled guy on his tricycle who used his arms to peddle it around, the coalman, the milkman, Dog-end Charlie, the Rag and Bone Man, the French Onion Seller on his bicycle, the big Chip shop fire in Ethelred Street – can anyone remember that?  

May be I will put another piece together - or if anyone else would like add their "two-penneth" send your memories to my sister Jan at lambethkids@googlemail.com

 Like Jimmy said “Photos are not enough – if people don’t write things down, memories will be lost forever.”

Contributed by Les Crow October 2017

It is with the deepest sadness that I have to report that my brother John Crow died suddenly after a short illness in late November last year.  John was a contributor to this page and also contributed to pages like Bring Back The Lambeth Walk on Facebook.  His memories of old Lambeth kept us all in stitches on many occasions.  He was a huge presence wherever he went - a great family man and just a few months before, had celebrated his 50th Wedding Anniversary surrounded by the wife he adored, his adult children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, siblings and friends.   He was loved of course by all his family but also loved by his colleagues, one of whom said that he was one of the most popular policemen in the Hampshire Police Force. After his retirement, he remained friends with many of his colleagues and often met up with them for a pint and a pie.  They came out in droves to his funeral to support his wife and family and pay their respects and at the end of the service they joined in the clapping as John's favourite band, Status Quo played Rocking All Over the World.  His family did him proud!

It would have been John's 74th Birthday today and we are all still grieving his loss.  He was my oldest brother, seven years older in fact, and the one who stood up for me whenever I was in trouble with our Mum.  He has always been there for me throughout my life, as a brother but like a father too after our Dad died.  I miss him immensely but I hear his voice often in my head, cracking jokes or taking the mickey out of someone (he was excellent at that, but never maliciously).  Yesterday I was looking at his photo and I heard him say "It's alright here love, Mum and Dad are fine and it's OK".  So I guess I don't have to pick up the phone to talk to him anymore - I can talk to him anytime and he's ALWAYS got something to say in return!!

So, as a tribute to him on his birthday, I am sharing some of his Memoirs here on Jimmy's Lambeth.  He sent them to me years ago and I believe he added more to them over the years.  He believed, the same as our Uncle Jim,  in the importance of writing memories down before they are lost forever.  These are random snippets which I hope will jog your memory and make you smile or even belly-laugh - that's what John did best.  It was an honour to be his little sister.............

"The trouble with writing something like this is because so much happened to us as children, I find I keep switching backwards and forwards in time and from place to place.  It's difficult to edit, so I won't bother and just tell it as I remember it"  John

"At that time in London, we were still suffering the aftermath of the Second World War as far as bombsites were concerned.  Large areas close to our home were bombsites and these were our only playgrounds when the neighbours got fed up with us in the streets.  We were told to piss off up the "debris" as it was called.

Our favourite place was the Lollard Street School bombsite, which was situated between Lollard Street and Ethelred Street at the end of Wake Street.  This was the site of my mum's school, which was firebombed during a particularly heavy air raid and totally destroyed.

As kids we would light fires on it, burning anything we could find.  There were still some interior and exterior walls remaining and these were the subject of climbing and efforts to knock them down with our bare hands failed miserably.  The whole area later became the first ever adventure playground in the UK, known as The Lollard Adventure Playground.  It still exists in a different form today and celebrated its 50th birthday on the 27th August 2005.  Back then it was run and organised by a couple named Mr & Mrs Turner.  Lady Allen of Hurtwood, who visited the site on a regular basis, supported the idea - I still don't know who she was.

They transported an old massive army hut onto the Adventure Playground site, which was used as the main meeting place for the local kids.  A second smaller hut housed the craft workshop where kids could paint and draw, make pots and figures from clay and have them fired.

Those involved even moved a railway carriage onto the site via Wake Street - a task that took hours due to the narrow end of Wake Street at the Lambeth Walk end.  This, I recall, caused awful problems for the local Lambeth Walk market, having an entire railway carriage going through it on a huge low-loader.

What the playground did do, was this; it kept kids out of trouble and off the streets.  It allowed you to have hammers, nails, pick-axes and other tools for making dens and huts etc.  You could take up boxing there if you wanted to.  Kids were allowed to light fires providing they were reasonable and cook potatoes in the ashes.  If you were lucky you could nick some beans or tinned fruit from the stalls in the Walk and have a picnic!  Parents knew where their children were and they knew they were safe.  We didn't know of child molesters that I could recall..............."

"Tracey Street was only about 2 miles from both Lambeth Bridge and Westminster Bridge.  In fact, you could see Big Ben from Mum's bedroom window if you ignored all the chimney pots.  There were times when that was the only way we told the time, by looking out of the bedroom window!

"Mum was a hoarder, the place was full of piles of clothes, curtain material, bedding, towels, you name it, Mum collected it.  She was like that all her life - she never chucked anything in case it comes in handy. I have picked this up from her, as I believe has Jan and my brothers.  I think we were the only family in the street not to get a goldfish off the rag and bone man who called round weekly for old clothes in return for a goldfish in a jam jar.  No old clothes - no fish!  The only thing Mum used to throw out of the window was the odd penny to the street singers who walked the streets singing on Sunday mornings.  I can remember her throwing the coin out and telling the poor sod to piss off up the street and annoy someone else.

The Salvation Army used to come around on Sunday mornings as well.  The entire brass band would stop outside our house and after spouting off for a few minutes would burst into song or play a rousing hymn.  This would go on for about 15 minutes or so then they would move on.  The one we liked calling was the Hokey Pokey Man.  He sold ice-cream from a three-wheeled bike with a large container on the front. His cry would be: "Hokey Pokey, tuppence a lick"!  Another visitor to the street in those days was a bloke with a horse and cart that had a roundabout on the back.  We would get on the various wooden animals and he would wind a handle to turn the roundabout.

"I was once reliably informed that horses were only allowed to piss on a certain side of the street.  Guess whose side that was?  Yes - OURS!  A huge stream of yellow urine flooding down the gutter into the nearest drain right outside our house.  I wouldn't have minded but this was where we played marbles.

One of the things that went with the horse drawn deliveries was that, after they had gone, a bloke would appear from nowhere with a shovel and bucket and scoop up the horses manure left behind.  It was almost as if he knew when they had done it, as he was on it so quick.  I understand it was for putting on rhubarb.  Well, we used to have custard on ours....................

"Several gangs roamed the streets in those days. 'The Tinworth Mob' from an infamous block of flats named Tinworth House in Vauxhall and The Lollard Boys, which I suppose we were in.  Finally although we did not get involved with them, there were The Elephant Boys from the Elephant and Castle area.  This lot were the worst - they always armed themselves with cudgels with nails in the end and were never afraid to use them. They used to turn up suddenly on our ground, armed to the teeth and beat up anyone they saw and they would search them and steal whatever money they had.  We would get the other gangs together, visit their ground and do the same to them.  I often wonder how I never got either badly beaten or ended up locked away in Borstal.  Many of my school friends did end up there.

"Local families were assorted oddballs as well.  I remember one lot who lived a few streets away in a small end of terrace opposite a bombsite.  One day, I found an old lorry tyre on the site and rolled it down a slope into their road.  It rolled straight across the road and through the open front door, down the hallway amid sounds of smashing crockery and it came to a rest in the back kitchen, having knocked everything over in its path.  Somebody saw me do it and told the lady of the house (who shall remain nameless due to possible repercussions!) who promptly called round to have a go.  She turned up on the doorstep and started carrying on - Mum looked out of the top window to find out what all the fuss was about, only to be berated by this woman from three floors down.  She wouldn't listen or let Mum get a word in, so Mum told her to piss off and shut the window.  It didn't end there............. she continued to 'eff and blind' whilst banging on the door so Mum being Mum, tipped a washing up bowl of dishwater out of the top window right over the old cow's head.  She was soaked through and hurried off in a rage swearing about calling the Police but she never did.  Later Mum gave me a wallop for causing the trouble, even though I swore it was an accident!

Copyright:  The Crow family

More snippets from John to come................

Happy Birthday John

We will raise a large Gin & Tonic to you tonight!

xxxxxxx

Memories of Lambeth from Down Under

These are great snippets sent to me by Alan Cole, who was a friend of my oldest brother John. Alan now lives in Australia but is enjoying putting together his memories of Lambeth and Kennington. I remember being a Grenadier too, except he got 1/6d on a Saturday morning but I only got 1/3d. (6d for the pictures and 9d for pies and mash - or perhaps it was the other way round.) I had forgotten about going up onto the stage if it was your birthday - we all looked forward to that! My favourite films were the ones with Alfalfa, Spanky and Buckwheat - were they called the Crazy Gang or Spanky and our Gang or something like that? Anyway, here's Alan's memories:-

Alan Cole:- Born 11th August 1943 at 29 Ethelred St. Lambeth. Then around 2yrs old moved to the Nissen Huts at the corner of Kennington Lane & Vauxhall Street, about 100 yards from the Gasometers at the Oval. Depending on the wind you either smelled gas or Marmite from the factory up toward Vauxhall station. (See photo below)

I attended Vauxhall St. Primary School then at 5-6yrs old, we moved back to 29 Ethelred St. with Nan and Grandad again, Wally & Maud Wooller (nee Swash). I still went to Vauxhall Primary, and then on to West Square Secondary Modern near the British War Museum. We lived in Ethelred Street until the big move which we all took to Brixton and far flung places. I moved to Australia in May 1961 and I have lived here some 47yrs. Unfortunately I never got back to Lambeth although from what I hear the old place is not what it used to be - thank god for memories. 29 Ethelred Street was right opposite Palladino’s Barber’s and Tock’s Vegetable shops. To the right on the corner, Edie Ashby and her husband (see photo below) ran the corner shop and across on the opposite corner was the Prince Regent pub.

Edie was a sister to Mrs. Shannon who had the shop on the corner, next to the bombed school (Lollard Street School). My sister Babs worked in Edie’s shop after school and my sister Pat worked at Mrs. Shannon’s. (I can still remember the Pinball machine as you walked in and her white Stuffed German Shepherd dog on the wall. It was named Silver or Prince, I think!

On the corner, to our left was the Green Gate Printers and the Fish & Chip shop “The meeting place for us Lads” and where we played cricket up against the white brick wall of the fish shop. Tracey St. was the outfield. We played Rounders on the same corner in Ethelred Street so we could stay out longer using the light from the lamp post - not a bloody car in sight back then!! Also I remember the “NEW PLASTIC” soccer balls we all chipped in for and spent hours in a circle trying to keep it in the air without letting it touch the ground “or you’re out”

Then there was the Kennington Grenadiers, Saturday morning up the Pictures - queue’s a mile long and fights if you were keeping someone’s place because they were accused of pushing in. During the interval, if you were a Grenadier and it was your birthday, you were called up on stage and got an ice cream and a free pass for the next week and thousands of screaming kids sang happy birthday accompanied by the Organ which rose out of the pits. We watched Cartoons, Superman, Rocket-man, Rin-Tin-Tin the wonder dog, Roy Rogers and Tonto and the serials where the hero falls over a thousand foot cliff but manages to survive for next week’s episode. Don’t remember any blood & guts in the shows back then. As you got older you were allowed to go upstairs (the snogging seats) and if you were lucky you were given 1/6d to get you into the pictures and buy an ice-cream, and then up to the Pie & Mash shop in the Walk for lunch, but you had to be quick, otherwise you had to queue for a seat or had to sit next to someone you didn’t know. I was never keen on the Jellied Eels. How far does 1/6d go now?

Looking back as kids, we never seemed to stray far from our little patch and mum always knew if you had got into trouble somewhere before you had even got home (via the neighbours). Everyone seemed to look out for each other back then. Some of the neighbours on my street were the Davey Bros (next door to the left) Liz O’Keefe, (Aunty Liz) she used to take us Cole Kids hop picking, then there were the Tilliers’, the Cadbys’ (homemade wreaths & wax flowers) then the McCathys’ then more Cadbys to the right. There were the Bishops across the road, the Tocks, the Bonnyfaces and Palladino’s in no particular order and a lot more who I can’t remember unfortunately (see Photo). If you read this “GET IN TOUCH”

Ethelred Street about 1954

I seem to be getting carried away as the memories come back, so just a few more snippets:-Remember the disabled bag-wash man in his 3 wheel hand operated chair? He lived in Doris St. He took your dirty washing up to the laundry and brought it back clean a few days later, he also sold little bundles of fire wood and did many other odd jobs.

Then there was the bloke we called “Dog-end Charlie”. He walked around picking up fag ends and putting them in his pocket to re-roll later, and if he found a half-smoked one, he lit it up on the spot. Then there was the dust-bin man - if you weren’t home he’d pull the string through the letterbox to open the door, walk through the house to the yard, empty the bin and put it back sprinkled with pink smelly powder (Do that today - he’d probably get shot!)

Mum used to tell of the times sitting out the front in summer during the war, watching the Spitfires chase the Doodlebugs - trying to tip their wings and turn them, praying their motors wouldn’t cut out and if they did everyone went for the backyard “Anderson Shelter”

My mum hated the Anderson Shelters, one night the sirens went off and she dived under the kitchen table as usual with me in her arms. Quite a few bombs fell around the area (possibly Doris St). After the all clear sounded, she came out of her hidey hole and saw her reflection in the cracked mirror above the fireplace and started screaming, Nan found her on the floor thinking she was injured.

It turned out half the kitchen ceiling had come down covering me and mum with a white dust cloud of ceiling chalk and whitewash and when she saw her reflection she thought we were dead and had gone to heaven!

“LEST WE FORGET”

For all you younger people on the “My Kennington” site who find this feed to Jan’s blog site, Kennington and its surroundings was a poor area, but a wonderful, safe place to live and bring your kids up. You don’t know what you missed!!

Memories of Walworth 1950-1953

Whilst in my local Sainsburys recently, I bumped in to an old friend who I hadn't seen for over 40 years who has since moved out to Kent. He was brought up in London, near the East Street market - which we called "East Lane". I asked him if he had any memories of the area which he might like to contribute to this site and although at first he said he wasn't one for looking back, he has come up with a wealth of memories, the reading of which both made me laugh and made me cry. His descriptions of the rooms in his home brought back so many memories of how most of us lived at that time and the description of his hard-working parents has led me to thinking hard about the difference between then and now. In those days, parents were more concerned about their responsibilities than their rights - they accepted without question the fact that it was their responsibility to put a good dinner on the table for the family and clothes on their children's backs and if that meant they had to work two or three jobs, then that's what they would do.

Since John started looking back at his family history, he has been in touch with other members of his family who are now doing the same and they are all comparing their memories. Likewise, I have heard from an old school chum of my brothers, Alan Cole, who has lived in Australia for 48 years - he is really enjoying reading peoples' memories on this site and has submitted some of his own, which I will be posting shortly. His family are all looking forward to compiling some more memories over Christmas - that gives me a really warm glow - our Uncle Jim would be so pleased.

Writing this piece about his history has led the author, John Webber, to consider writing a book. I think he should. As Jimmy told us "Photographs are not enough - it's the words ordinary people put on paper which makes our history."

John has done that beautifully!

Nursery Row, Walworth 1950–1953 by John Webber.

1950. My first day at St. John’s Walworth Primary school in Larcom Street off the Walworth Road. I remember getting dressed in my uniform of a royal blue jacket and cap and grey shorts. The emblem on the breast pocket was an eagle with outstretched wings embroidered in gold thread. Even at the age of 5, I couldn’t believe I was wearing all these fine clothes because mum and dad had 5 sons, and we were always short of cash and I wondered where the money came from. I got ready far too early for school so I went out in the street to show off my finery.

Our street was Nursery Row and it was one of 4 streets near East Street Market in Walworth, each street was of equal length one next to the other starting with Eltham Street, then Nursery Row, followed by Stead Street and finally Wadding Street - which is the only one still there. These streets were off Brandon Street at one end and Orb Street at the other. Except for bomb blast, our street was the only one with all its houses still intact after the war, unlike Eltham Street where about 6 houses were flattened and the same in Stead and Wadding Streets. Pre-fabs were built on the bombsites and I was so jealous of these sweet little white houses with their front gardens and bathrooms.

When it dawned on me that I was about to be sent to school for the first time – I threw one of the worst tantrums ever. I cried and kicked my poor mum and begged her not to leave me there. But she did and watching her own tear-stained face didn’t help matters – but the strong and determined hand of my teacher Miss Parker soon had me sitting in this tiny little chair in Class 1, with its big fireplace and a coal fire burning, surrounded by a fire-guard where Miss Parker used to dry our wet pants or knickers wherever one of us had a little accident. The smell of those steaming undergarments is still with me to this day. St Johns was a Church of England school and most of our early morning assemblies were held in the Church right next to the school – except on days when there was a funeral or mid-week wedding and then we’d use the tiny school hall. To this day, I still remember all the words to most of the popular hymns and carols. Dad wasn’t religious, but he made us join the church choir to get us out of the way for a few hours.

Practically every house in Nursery Row had families with children – and a lot of the kids were my age. There were about 40 houses in the street and I knew who lived in every house. The houses on each side of the street differed in style. Mine was a typical late Victorian terrace with a ground floor bay window and the houses on the other side were larger double fronted houses but still terraced. One side of the house had a bay window and the other side was flat fronted. All the houses had little areas in front which had iron railings separating us from the pavement. The railings had long since gone to make armaments in the war by the time I arrived.

By the time I was born, my family had moved from several different houses in the area because of bomb damage to their homes. I never liked my house. It typically had no bathroom, no hot water and an outside toilet. Winter was the worst time. Ice used to collect on the inside of my bedroom windows and we had piss-pots under the bed, the contents of which used to freeze. As you came in through the front door, there was a long passage. The first door on the right was the front room (the parlour). As in most houses in those days, this was kept for best and was locked to keep it that way. The passage continued and next came the stair case with another room to the right. This was a bedroom with a fireplace and gas mantels on the chimney breast. Gas was the only form of lighting at that time in our house. The next room along the passage was our ‘kitchen’ which had a ‘range’ which was a huge black oven-type thing heated by coal. This was how mum did the cooking. She would start a fire in the range and put the pots on top and the oven was next to the fire. Mum also used the top of the range to ‘heat’ her flat-irons. She had 2 irons on the go at same time. While one was ‘heating’ on the range, she’d do the ironing with the other. This room had a bay window which faced onto the back yard and although we called it the ‘kitchen’, it was our ‘living room’. It had a wireless (radio), a dining table and 4 chairs, an easy chair and a sideboard. The big oval mirror over the fireplace was where dad used to shave – his shaving mug on the mantel piece. This room led you straight into the scullery. Here you had a deep sink and a cold water tap and no draining board. In the middle was a wooden table where mum did all her food preparation and it was scrubbed and bleached almost white. This is where we washed ourselves each morning and on Fridays, the big tin bath was brought in from the yard, filled with pans of hot water heated on the range, and one by one, we each used the same water – mum topping it up when the water cooled and skimmed off the surface scum - YUK. The floor of the scullery would be quite fashionable now because it was laid with flagstones and boy was it cold to walk on. In the corner was a ‘copper’ or ‘boiler’ where clothes were washed. Again, this was powered by coal, but mum gave up on this method in favour of the ‘bag-wash’ where you bagged all your dirty laundry up in a sack and took it to the laundry where your sack of washing went in with everyone else’s and was boiled white. Outside was a back yard with a brick wall dividing us from the neighbours to the side and back which was covered with creeper. Also outside was the toilet which had been burned down by an incendiary bomb and was hastily repaired very badly. The door to the toilet was made of wooden planks, which were so poorly put together, that I could sit there and look through the gaps in the door planks and over the wall to see Mrs Davis next door in her toilet doing her own business at the same time. The ground floor rooms were very damp and dad was forever trying to re-paper the walls using all kinds of anti-damp methods. We had one bedroom upstairs. The middle room! The other 2 rooms were occupied by my aunt Ivy, (my mum’s younger sister) uncle Percy (a p.o.w. escapee) and their young son David. They had a kitchen/living room at the back which had a sink and a cooker in an alcove on the landing. Opposite the cooker was an indoor toilet (oh, the luxury of it). Past our bedroom was their bedroom – the biggest room in the house which was the width of OUR front room downstairs PLUS the passage, where all 3 of them slept.

I had 3 older brothers, Richard (Dick), Derek and Tony, then me John and my youngest brother Bob. When we got older, we no longer used the old tin bath. We paid sixpence each for a ‘proper’ bath in Manor Place Baths off the Walworth Road. The water supply was controlled from outside the bath cubicle. If the water was too cold, you would shout out ‘more hot in number 12 please’, and a man would come along and from the outside of your cubicle would turn the tap to supply you with more hot water. We only used Manor Place once a week and, if we needed it, we would have a ‘strip-down wash’ in the scullery which meant not only did we wash our face and hands, but also our armpits, lower regions etc while standing at the sink. No wonder our house always stank of sweaty feet.

Mum did any part-time work she could and one of the worse places was a rag-sorting shop in Brandon Street opposite the Guinness Trust buildings (all demolished). I was always a bit ashamed of the way my mum looked. I didn’t think she was pretty nor young but on the rare occasions like on a holiday to Ramsgate, she made an effort to have her hair shampooed and set and she looked reasonably nice. It always seemed to me that all the other kids had younger, prettier mums than mine. Of course, I realise now, how ill she was and how she’d struggled to feed us and keep the roof over our heads when dad had to be hospitalised for many months for some unknown illness and there was no money coming into the house. I would run errands for her either to Youldens the butchers on the corner of Rodney Road and Orb Street to buy cuts of meat you don’t even hear of these days. Scrag end and best end of neck made delicious stews together with a pound of pot-herbs from the greengrocers opposite. All of our general food items came from Jones’s Dairy on the corner of Stead Street which was run by Mr and Mrs Jones. We used to buy wonderful broken biscuits and bacon which was alive with maggots which Mr Jones used to pick off and say ‘these wont do you any harm’ and we’d cook it and eat it with no ill effects. There was another general store similar to Jones’s on the corner of Eltham Street called Northwoods and for some reason mum never used it much – mainly I believe because they wouldn’t allow her credit. I could always run into Jones’s and say “Can mum have 3 eggs and she’ll pay you later” and he always obliged. Otherwise, our food came from East Street market where mum bought her eels, live and wriggly. Even after the fishmonger cut off the head and gutted the eel, the damn thing still moved and one day, one particular headless monster, wrapped in newspaper, wriggled out of mum’s basket and dropped at my feet. You never heard a kid scream so loud in all your life. BUT, stewed eels with mash and parsley gravy was the most delicious meal – particularly conger eel. We used our sweet coupons in Teds sweet shop at the other end of Eltham Street where we would choose our 3 pennyworth (2oz) of sweets which Ted or Daisy his wife, would scoop out of large glass jars into small paper bags. Sherbet lemons were my favourite and if money was short, I’d have a penny gob-stopper, a HUGE ball of hard sweet stuff which changed colour and it lasted for hours. How we never choked on those lethal sweets, beats me. Its strange – the sweets weren’t wrapped and Ted would used his hands to scoop the sweets out of the jars and you’d think we’d all go down with some nasty tummy bug – but we never did.

Dad was tall and well-muscled and he was a painter and decorator at this time. I was scared of him and I don’t know why because I don’t ever remember him hitting us but when he was angry with us he could really shout. Every Sunday morning without fail, mum would get me and Bob in our Sunday best clothes and dad would take us out somewhere on a bus while mum got dinner ready. He’d take us to places like Greenwich Park or see the changing of the guard and have us back home in time for dinner. Sunday tea usually consisted of a vase of celery and winkles with bread and butter with a home made cake. I used to love picking the winkle out of its shell with a pin. Dad couldn’t be bothered with all of that and usually had shrimps instead. In the evenings, I used to like it when we’d all sit around the fire talking and toasting crumpets on an old toasting fork. They’d remind each other of neighbours who were killed in air-raid shelters and school friends my brothers never saw again. The crumpets and the shell fish were sold by men with barrows walking round the streets and they’d ring a bell to attract your attention.

What I couldn’t forget was the fact that both my parents smoked. By the time I was 8, I realised something was wrong at home. Mum was in hospital. Children weren’t allowed to visit in those days and it seemed as though she was away for months. She was allowed home at Christmas and it was a shock to see her again. She’d lost a lot of weight and was very weak. Dad cooked the Christmas dinner that year. The parlour was opened up for the holidays and we put a Christmas tree in the bay window and Bob and I made paper chains with flour paste and paper. We never got very much for Christmas presents but to us it was magical. We’d usually get one main present and a stocking filled with sweets, tangerines and nuts. Mum went back into Guys hospital soon afterwards and then she was transferred to another place run by nuns at Clapham Common. Again, Bob and I were not allowed in to see her but when dad came out – he said that mum wanted to see us, so he took us round the back of the building and stood me on his shoulders to reach up to a window. He told me to look in where mum would be in bed waiting for me to show. I looked in and saw this ward full of women in beds and they all saw me and they were all waving furiously. Dad said, ‘can you see her’? I said yes – but they all looked the same and even though I tried desperately to find her face – I couldn’t. When I got older, I was told this was a home for the incurables. Mum had lung cancer. I never saw her again. One day I was surprised when I saw my dad at my school and he said he’d spoken to the head master and it was alright for Bob and me to take the rest of the day off. We went to a shop in the Walworth Road and dad bought us both a new set of clothes – but these were mourning clothes. A grey suit each and a black overcoat. Even then, it didn’t dawn on me until that night when he sent us to bed early with some comics and he came up later, sat on the bed and told us that mum had died. Bob cried – I didn’t. I was scared. A stream of visitors came to see my mum lying in her coffin in the parlour although I didn’t realise it at the time. Dad said they were just visitors who came to talk about mum. Neighbours were more respectful in those days. Every front room window of every house had the blinds drawn until the funeral and mums friends and neighbours crowded round our front door and openly cried as we left our house for Nunhead Cemetery where she was buried in a pauper’s grave. This is where 4 or more bodies are buried in the same grave. She had a small headstone and the grave always looked nice and for some time afterwards, dad would take us there for a visit.

So, dad was left with 5 boys to bring up and a job to hold down. I really thought he’d put us into a home but he told us that mum had asked him to keep us all together – and he did.

Recently I found a 1920’s photo of my dad’s brother (my uncle) and my mum’s sister (my aunt) getting married to each other. My dad was best man and my mum was bridesmaid and they were both about 19. You never saw such a handsome man or more beautiful woman with the most stunning legs in her flapper dress. My only surviving aunt Olive (mum’s youngest sister) still lives off the Walworth Road near the dreaded Aylesbury estate and when I visit her, I love to hear stories of her own life down Nursery Row and to see her faded photos of family members long since dead. When I told her of my thoughts about my mum – she soon put me in my place by telling me my mum was the most beautiful of all her sisters and the most loved. My mum taught all her sisters how to cook and keep house and always gave the best advice on bringing up and caring for kids. Their own mother also died young so my mum took on the task of looking after the whole family until her marriage to my dad. I guess having 7 pregnancies and 5 surviving sons took its toll on her good looks. Even though I was 8 years old when she died, I still remember her very well and dad continued to look after us all until he himself died of stomach cancer when I was 16.

Christmas in Lambeth Walk

Somewhere in that place between sleep and wakefulness in the middle of last night, I found myself in Lambeth Walk at Christmastime. It was just wonderful. I remember so well, the light bulbs strung up along the stalls - the tinsel, the reams of cheap Christmas wrapping paper, the smell of satsumas, the plump figs and dates which we only ever had at Christmas and the Cox's apples which we used to rattle to hear the pips inside. Our mum and dad didn't have much money with five of us to feed, but we always had masses to eat and at Christmas we were allowed into our Nan's front room where Dad played the piano. We loved sitting with mum licking the paper chains which we strung up from corner to corner.


We always had an abundance of shellfish from Bob Whites in the Newington Butts. My favourite was the white crabmeat which was so cheap in those days. The shellfish had a rather adverse effect on our dad though - to put it politely, it gave him gas and we all had to cover our noses when we saw him lifting a cheek off the piano stool!! Sorry, I digress!

Another treat was walking across to Waterloo Road to David Griegs, the grocery store. I thought it was heavenly. The huge Christmas tree (well, to me it was huge) was decorated with empty boxes made to look like Christmas presents. Mum always took the pram with her so she didn't have to carry the shopping and we would walk through the Cut, looking at all the market stalls. There was quite a large shop in the middle of Lower Marsh and I can't remember whether it was a Boots or a Woollies. We were very fortunate to have a car and dad would drive us all up West to see the Christmas lights.

We all had new clothes for Christmas, courtesy of Provident cheques but I think sometimes we all had to be quiet when the Provident man knocked for his money.

Our mum didn't drink at all but our Dad made sure he had her share. One Christmas he walked to his local as usual. It was a pub which he called "Blows" in Chester Way. I can't remember what it was actually called. He got back so late and so drunk, we'd all had our Christmas dinner and mum refused to open the Christmas present he had bought her. When our mum made her mind up about something, there was no going back and the parcel sat there for three months. In March, when she finally opened it, it was a pale blue Morphy Richards hairdryer - I can still see it now! Whenever they had a row, mum would give dad the silent treatment and after he died she told me that she would give anything to have every one of those silent moments back to spend with him. There's a lesson for all of us in that!


Despite their little spats, they were absolutely devoted to each other and remained together for the whole of their lives. This was their wedding day on October 18th, 1941 in St Mary's Church Lambeth. Sadly, the photo has been damaged but they were a really handsome couple when they were younger. I am full of gratitude to them both for the sacrifices they made for us and the values they instilled in us - I know my brothers will feel the same. I like to think our mum and dad will be doing the Lambeth Walk together and enjoying Christmas wherever they are - minus the shellfish of course...............