James (Jimmy) O'Shea was my uncle, born on 24th December, 1926 in Lambeth to Philip and Elizabeth O'Shea (nee Rapley). A few years before Jimmy died on 25th August, 2004, he emphatically stressed to me the importance of writing our memories down for future generations. "People MUST write their memories down, otherwise it will all be forgotten" he said.
As I am getting older, I am realising that soon there will be no-one left to ask about Lambeth in the Fifties - about the poverty - the unwavering spirit of the people - the way the women of that era ALWAYS managed to put a good meal on the table, made from the cheapest cuts of meat they could find and there was always "afters" - usually tinned fruit and evaporated milk if we were lucky. They were memorable times and I would like to dedicate this site to Jimmy by writing my own memories and inviting people to post their memories on this blog. I am particularly interested in the area around Lambeth Walk. I was born at number 12 Tracey Street, off the Kennington Road. This area was sadly demolished, I believe, around 1963 to make way for the new Borough Beaufoy school. They were three-storey houses, commonly shared between three families. These houses would be worth a fortune now - probably marketed as three-storey town houses with courtyard gardens - only a stone's throw from Westminster! What would they be worth today?
As a child, my four brothers and I played on the Lollard Adventure Playground - which was effectively a children's play scheme on a bomb site. It was wonderful - dirty, dusty and wonderful. I can still smell the clay from the underground tunnels which we used to crawl around in. The boys used to make huts out of old bits of wood and corrugated iron and the girls used to make models and other crafts in an old train carriage. There was a hut, as I remember, where they had a record player and I used to watch my oldest brother John, jiving with the older girls. I must have been a real pain.
There was a fish and chip shop just off the bottom of Tracey Street, I can't remember the name, but our mum would send us down for fourpence of chips and a pennyworth o' crackling. The crackling was the best bit. The chips were piled into little greaseproof bags and then wrapped in newspaper. Scrumptious! Especially if we put loads of salt and vinegar on in the shop - no-one cared about having too much salt in those days!
As I am getting older, I am realising that soon there will be no-one left to ask about Lambeth in the Fifties - about the poverty - the unwavering spirit of the people - the way the women of that era ALWAYS managed to put a good meal on the table, made from the cheapest cuts of meat they could find and there was always "afters" - usually tinned fruit and evaporated milk if we were lucky. They were memorable times and I would like to dedicate this site to Jimmy by writing my own memories and inviting people to post their memories on this blog. I am particularly interested in the area around Lambeth Walk. I was born at number 12 Tracey Street, off the Kennington Road. This area was sadly demolished, I believe, around 1963 to make way for the new Borough Beaufoy school. They were three-storey houses, commonly shared between three families. These houses would be worth a fortune now - probably marketed as three-storey town houses with courtyard gardens - only a stone's throw from Westminster! What would they be worth today?
As a child, my four brothers and I played on the Lollard Adventure Playground - which was effectively a children's play scheme on a bomb site. It was wonderful - dirty, dusty and wonderful. I can still smell the clay from the underground tunnels which we used to crawl around in. The boys used to make huts out of old bits of wood and corrugated iron and the girls used to make models and other crafts in an old train carriage. There was a hut, as I remember, where they had a record player and I used to watch my oldest brother John, jiving with the older girls. I must have been a real pain.
There was a fish and chip shop just off the bottom of Tracey Street, I can't remember the name, but our mum would send us down for fourpence of chips and a pennyworth o' crackling. The crackling was the best bit. The chips were piled into little greaseproof bags and then wrapped in newspaper. Scrumptious! Especially if we put loads of salt and vinegar on in the shop - no-one cared about having too much salt in those days!
