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Post by paduard on Feb 18, 2017 15:20:15 GMT 1
Hi You've probably all seen this but at around 24minutes in there is some footage of the Public Baths in Beckenham in 1935. player.bfi.org.uk/film/watch-greater-beckenham-1935-1935/Apparently these were on the same site as the current Beckenham Spa. Shame they couldn't find a way of keeping some of the old building. I found this film very interesting; especially the earlier part where mothers were having their babies attended to. In 1935 I was just a year old, and without sounding daft I was looking to see whether I could recognize my mother - no such luck because as a young lady I would not recognize her anyway. Just put this on primarily to thank toml for posting the film on here. paduard
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Post by paduard on Feb 5, 2017 13:40:15 GMT 1
I agree with your description oldbiker. Not so sure it will help anyone to go into details any further; for me it was all a question really of "class" attached to ability; "class" holding the casting vote as you might say - probably exactly the same principle as operates in today's world.
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2017
Dec 26, 2016 15:46:56 GMT 1
Post by paduard on Dec 26, 2016 15:46:56 GMT 1
Happy New Year to one and all. paduard
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Post by paduard on Dec 7, 2016 17:36:43 GMT 1
This is another venue I visited with my family [1940's]. Quite common practice for school children in those days. paduard.
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Post by paduard on Dec 7, 2016 17:31:24 GMT 1
I remember as a child at junior school - visiting the Museum. In those days it seemed part of school practice to encourage small groups to go, with at least one of the parents or perhaps one of the teachers.
paduard
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Post by paduard on Aug 16, 2016 15:57:52 GMT 1
Judging from the sentiments expressed in the various dance halls etc Does Anyone remember this venue during 1950's - 1960's - Joe Loss etc.? Thanks, paduard
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Post by paduard on Aug 15, 2016 17:30:40 GMT 1
RIP Peggy paduard
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Post by paduard on May 21, 2016 14:31:17 GMT 1
This is a really great nostalgic thread. I went to the Mistrale / Tites club, many times between 1967/ 1968. A really great night out, saw lots of good bands. The last Friday night I went there, was hopefully to meet up with a girl, that I had met briefly the week before, which again was either 1967 or 1968. i was walking down Beckenham Hill road, after leaving the club that night, I was with a couple of friends. As we got quite a way down the road, there was a girl in front of us, that was about to go along the access road into the flats, which are on the left hand side going down Beckenham Hill road, I think the block of flats nearest the road is called TYRALL HOUSE, anyway, the girl looked at me, I looked at her, I asked her to wait, I caught her up, we walked down to the flats, we spoke for wait seemed like hours, I cannot remember all the conversation, as it is nearly fifty years ago, but I am sure we arranged to meet at the club, the following week. Unfortunately, I was so excited at meeting her, I did not get her name or phone number, or even which block of flats or the number she lived at, we kissed goodnight and I left, but unfortunately, I never saw her again, I was absolutely distraught, we had got on so well , that I really thought that we would be together. Even after all this time, I think about her all the time and wish I had known her name and which flat she lived at, I will never forget the magic of that night, it will be with me forever, I only wish I could meet her again. I know it's a long shot, after all these years, if anyone might know of a girl ( obviously now a woman ) who lived in those flats on Beckenham Hill road and went to the Mistrale club and who may remember that night, please let me know.I am nearly 66 now, so I would love to be able to see her again, before it's to late. Many thanks I had to smile when I read your nostalgic piece above. Not that in my opinion your disappointment was unusual - in fact probably quote normal. Many missed opportunities in life were missed. For example, taking an earlier period than yours [by about 16-17 year gap], when national service was compulsory at 18yrs of age what you describe was very common. Since disappearing for 2 years from your mates/girlfriends had its obvious drawbacks [I think jokingly that that was when the song 'dear john' was popular. However that is not the only thing that made me smile (doesn't apply to you though - you are too young - nevertheless it is this. That one of my friends at School was nick-named "Woody" - and his closest friend's surname was "Miller". Just put this on to perhaps make you laugh. Wish you all the best regarding your 'search' for the lost girl. paduard
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Post by paduard on Apr 6, 2016 13:28:59 GMT 1
Oldbiker - great name, wish I'd thought of that! I wonder if we ever met? We used to use the cafe on Clock House bridge, run by 'old Morris' (Maurice?). It used to be known as The Fiesta but I think the name had changed by the mid 60s. I had a beat-up old BSA Gold Flash (A10) with a Steib chair - my mates were Charlie, Lenny and a guy known as Lofty (I think his name mat have been Ken). My band The Unattached played at The Mistral in 1966 or '67... I wonder if you remember any of this? Just a thought anyway. Pete Blimey Pete. I remember that cafe on the Clock House bridge! The windows always seemed to be steamed up. Must have been about '67 or '68 I used to go there with Jim on a scooter and Chris who had an Ariel Arrow 250. I used to share an HJH Super Dragon(!) with a 200cc Villiers engine with my mate Mac, then I got an Ariel Arrow and after that a Velocette 500. There were some other lads there too of course but I can't recall any names. Who knows - we might have met up. There was a real bikers caff called the Salt Box next to Biggin Hill but we were too scared to go there! I had a Velocette - 250 I think - just about that time. Lived in Ealing about then and used to go to the Ace Cafe on the North Circular Road. All the bikers went there - wonderful nosh-ups. paduard
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Post by paduard on Feb 17, 2016 16:32:11 GMT 1
I went to the Eden Park Hotel, but in the early fifties. Quite different I suppose from the sixties. Then it was ballroom dancing. Was on my train coming back from London Bridge to Anerley (worked at Liverpool St. in London), and my friend Eric and I were approached by a couple of young girls travelling in the same compartment (this was quite normal then for girl/boys to occupy the same compartments and was quite a social exercise) - and anyway they suggested we went there - instead of Royston - so we did. I have forgotten the name of the girl who I primarily danced with - so only remember her as 'the girl at the Eden Park Hotel'. Not much interest for you I suppose oldbker - but thought I would just contribute as your posting struck a chord so to speak. paduard.
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Post by paduard on Jan 12, 2016 15:12:12 GMT 1
R.I.P. David.
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Post by paduard on Dec 13, 2015 16:11:21 GMT 1
My sister (who is five years junior to me) now tells me that her class never had to go to Melvin Road School for dinners because a dinner canteen was installed at Genoa Road School. Thus the change over from my time to hers would have been sometime in approx. mid 1940's [if my maths is correct].
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Post by paduard on Nov 29, 2015 11:20:27 GMT 1
As a result of reading some of the articles in the 'BBC Peoples War', I wonder if anyone might be interested in relating some of their experiences. For example I was marched mid-day (pupil-like) down from the Padua Road to have our class dinner at the Melvin Road School. Very good they were; and so were the 'seconds' - which the teachers also liked to have and often first up for. paduard Sorry I should have typed Genoa Rad, not Padua.
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Post by paduard on Nov 28, 2015 20:39:18 GMT 1
As a result of reading some of the articles in the 'BBC Peoples War', I wonder if anyone might be interested in relating some of their experiences. For example I was marched mid-day (pupil-like) down from the Padua Road to have our class dinner at the Melvin Road School. Very good they were; and so were the 'seconds' - which the teachers also liked to have and often first up for. paduard
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Post by paduard on Nov 20, 2015 16:57:03 GMT 1
The first four references I listed in this topic, gave you the refs. only. I failed to copy the text because I could not copy any photos on here. However perhaps this was a mistake as when I re-visited the articles I did not find them very easily. So to correct things you can read the text of the first four items of this topic. Sorry to be a pest. Here they are:- paduard
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FIRST STORY
You are browsing in: Archive List > V-1s and V-2s Archive List > Anderson Shelters Archive List > Childhood and Evacuation Archive List > United Kingdom > London
Contributed by Canterbury Libraries People in story: Shelagh Worsell (nee Percival) Location of story: Penge, London SE20 (formerly Kent) Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A3253259 Contributed on: 10 November 2004 This story has been submitted to the People's War site by Chris Hall for Kent Libraries and Archives and Canterbury City Council Museums on behalf of Shelagh Worsell and added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. I was just 12 years old when war was declared. It was a depressing time for months prior to the declaration. I felt bewildered and numb and had difficulty understanding why mum and dad were looking so sad. One of my brothers was already in the Merchant Navy and my other brother was signing up in the RAF .My father was politically interested and had the news on all the time. We all had to keep quiet because the sound from our wireless would fade away and then come back again. Within a week or so of the declaration of war the schools arranged evacuation and my parents asked me whether I would like to go (1 think it was to Devon or South Wales). I said I wanted to stay. Dad came up and squeezed my shoulder, I knew he was pleased. Then the Vicar asked if l would join his daughter who was going to a private house in the country somewhere. I wouldn't go. My school days became one week mornings only and one week afternoons. This way we were able to have as many lessons as could be fitted in due to the shortage of teaching staff ; a lot of them went into the forces. A number of elderly retired teachers were called in to replace them. When the air raid sirens sounded we had to crawl under our single desks. At times we were on the top floor of the building and there was no time to get downstairs. I remember shaking with fear but at the same time giggling. We could see each other under the desks and our navy blue knickers were on display; we couldn't sit under the desks but had to kneel as low as we could. At the end of the school day I felt more secure walking home because mum or dad would usually meet me. Lunchtimes, if the all-clear had sounded, the teachers allowed us home and that was a ten minute run for me. There was fear in the air about you and I ran like the clappers, mum usually meeting me halfway. My dad decided to have an Anderson shelter. A lot of the neighbours thought he was crazy, they mostly chose the Morrison shelters which went indoors. Dad dug a great big pit in the back garden, larger than what was required for the shelter, but dad had ideas! He concreted the base and up the sides. Once the shelter was in place, about four feet in the ground, he covered it with some tarpaulin and then some earth and to crown it he replaced his wonderful marrow plant he had removed to make way for the hole! His next job was a stirrup pump. This was situated in part of the extra piece he had dug out. It was plumbed in and we had to do 500 pumps in the morning and 500 pumps in the afternoon to keep the shelter dry inside. This task was, on occasions, used as a punishment when I did anything wrong. We had an old carpet laid down inside the shelter, dad built four narrow bunks, the top bunks letting down to enable us to sit on the lower ones. It was a tight squeeze in there and I think that is where my claustrophobia started. We had light and a radio! Also our two cats had a home. The remainder of the extra piece dad had dug was made into two bunks for the cats! And they knew it was for them. At times the puss on top would lean over and put his paw down to see if the other one was there. Our dog had to be chained up outside the back door but he was under an extremely strong workman's bench with blanket and basket, water and a few bones. When I had homework to do I would go into the shelter to do it and then have tea, either in the house or in the shelter, depending on whether the sirens had sounded. At night, anytime after eight o'clock, I soon got into the habit of going to sleep directly the sirens sounded. We all slept in the shelter every night regardless of whether a siren went. To keep warm we had hot water bottles. Looking back I realise it was not easy for mum and dad, they were only in their mid forties and had no privacy together. To this day when I have worries -I sleep. Dad was out most night’s fire spotting or doing whatever was needed. Mum had to arrange meals to fit in with what was happening. I recall one night dad didn't come home at all. The incendiaries had been falling all night and there were thousands and thousands dropped in our area. Then came the bombs. It was such a bad night. PENGE was the most bombed area for its size during the war. It was early morning when dad arrived home. You can imagine how anxious mum and I were. He told us there was no point in trying to get to school -the main road had been bombed and there was no way across to the other side. He had arrived home filthy, tired and oh! So sad. I remember crying for him. He had seen so much destruction and had lost a number of friends and their families. He often went in a cafe in Clock House, Beckenham, but early this morning the cafe had been full of workmen having breakfast when a bomb wiped them all out. Surprise, surprise in 1941, I won a scholarship to a school in Bromley. I was so excited; but dad and mum were constantly worried about the journey, however, they accepted the place I had won. Occasionally the number 227 bus to Bromley had to delay its journey due to either unexploded bombs or the sirens sounding. One of the most fearful things which gave me nightmares for many years were the floating landmines. I was more frightened of them than anything else. The girls and I had a short walk from the bus stop along Wharton Road in Bromley to the school. Just as we were going through the school gate to cross the playground a German plane flew in low and then made another sweep just as we crossed the playground and deliberately strafed the school with bursts of fi0re. I don't think anyone was hurt but the Germans knew exactly what they were firing on, their height made the school and us so visible to th0em. When things got pretty0 hairy with raids, my dad opened up the fence between our immediate neighbours and ourselves so that they could join us in our shelter if they w0ished. They had opted for a Morrison. Another person who joined us in our shelter was a cousin. I recall the strange situation of four fe0males sitting 'in the garden' past midnight, looking at jewellery and laughing our heads off at photographs. Dad and the Mr neighbour were busy0 elsewhere. Whilst we were in the shelter the heavy thump of bombers were continuously passing overhead on their way to the London Docks. Some0how or other we knew where they were heading. Midway through the war the days seemed to be long and sunny. We watched the dog fights against br0ight blue cloudless skies and would give great cheers when we saw a German plane smoking and descending fast to earth and then shouts would go 0up as we saw a parachute. I am writing this as though we took it all in our stride. I suppose in a way we did. The early fear seemed to have 0subsided and it proves the point that familiarity breeds contempt. In 1943, I had0 left school and was working in an engineering office, when the girl I was working with was told to go home. She only lived a street away f0rom me and I went with her. Her mum had been at their front gate saying goodbye to the son who was returning from leave to his RAF station. He 0was up the road when a V2 exploded. Mum was killed but the boy was o.k. I suppose we became rather blasé about the war; being in the wrong place0 at the wrong time was something we could not do anything about. Dreadful, 0dreadful days when the Doodlebugs arrived. It had be0en quiet for a few weeks and mum allowed me to go to the cinema at the end of the road for a matinee showing "Love Story". As I was walking 0home, still in daylight, I heard sweet melodic whistling coming from behind. The tune was "Cornish Rhapsody" from the film. Quite unconce0rned and enjoying the music, I was suddenly pushed in the back and fell to the ground in the gutter with a body on top of me! It was only a few 0seconds but seemed to be ages and ages before I could move. Then I was gently lifted to my feet and a voice was apologising. It was a young0 man, a neighbour of ours. He had heard the engine cut out of a Doodlebug (which in my dreamy state) I had not heard. He apologised if he had 0hurt me but all I felt was tenderness towards him for we both knew the dreadful weapon had landed just a street away. I'll never forget him. I n0ever ever regretted not being evacuated. I was, in a way, proud to have gone through the war with mum and dad (my sister had joined the WRNS ea0rly 1941 ). I know mentally for a while I was scarred; today I can not look up into the night sky at the moon, stars or any phenomena which m0ay be there. My nightmares have often brought those dreadful years back, but I know that I grew up to be a stronger person. I have not been able to cry easily. I stopped myself crying, particularly when my brothers and sister had to return from leave to their bases. I didn't cry because I didn't want to upset mum and dad anymore than they were already. 0Reminiscences of SHELAGH (PERCIVAL) WORSELL.
SECOND STORY
THE LOSS OF A BEST FRIEND by Julie Allen You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by Julie Allen People in story: Julie and Dorothy Allen and the Carter Family Location of story: Penge and Exmouth in Devon Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A6238433 Contributed on: 20 October 2005 Mrs Carter who was killed with the rest of her family in July 1944 by a direct hit by a Flying Bomb on their Air Raid Dug Out. THE LOSS OF A BEST FRIEND I was only 4 years old when the War started and my brother was 10 years old. When they started to evacuate the children to various parts of the country, my mother decided to let my brother go but thought I was too young, so I stayed with her in Penge, South London. My brother was sent to Exmouth in Devon and he quite enjoyed it there. We went to visit him a couple of times. I continued to go to school in Penge with my best friend Betty Carter, but after a year or two the air raids got so bad that Dad became worried about Mum and I being in London so he wrote to the lady where my brother was billeted and asked if she would also have Mum and I to live with them. She agreed, and after saying goodbye to our friends and family we were sent off to Devon. It was a lovely area to live in and quite near the beach. I went to school there, but we only had to go in the mornings. I believe this was because there were so many children evacuated there that some went to school in the mornings and some in the afternoons. I have some lovely memories of those school days. Firstly, there used to be a Bakers Shop opposite the school where they used to bake beautiful bread and rolls, which were always really hot and crunchy when we bought them first thing in the morning before going into school, and they were still quite warm when we ate them in our morning break. Secondly, Mum used to meet me from school at lunch time and we would go straight down to the beach for the afternoon. Mum had always been a close friend of my best friend’s mum (Mrs Carter), who we had left back in Penge, and she used to write to her regularly to let her know how we were getting on. However, on the 26th July 1944 when Mum and I woke up, the lady whose house we were staying in came up to our room and handed Mum a letter, which the postman had just delivered. Mum opened it, read it, and then read it to me. It was a letter from my best friend’s Uncle telling us that they had found a letter from my Mum on the doorstep of my best friends’ house. Unfortunately their Air Raid Dug Out had received a direct hit from a Flying Bomb which had killed the whole family; my friend Betty, her Mum and Dad, and her Grandparents. That was a terrible day for us, and I still have the letter to this day, and also a photo of Mrs Carter taken just before the War So Mum lost her friend and I lost mine, and these are some of the memories we had to live with in those days.
THIRD STORY This story has been placed in the following categories. Recommended story What's this? Story with photo
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THIRD STORY
OFF to Exeter by frontpage1 You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by frontpage1 People in story: Enid,Mary and John Williamson Location of story: Penge Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A6182606 Contributed on: 17 October 2005 Off to Exeter 1940 This Picture was taken of My Sister Mary and I ready to take Train to Exeter We lived in Penge S. London not far from Crystal Palace. Born in 1933 I was 7. My Sister 5 and brother John 4 He was also sent to Exeter but our Mother stayed in London. We two girls stayed with one family for about 2 years. Later we returned but when the buzz bombs came I went to Yorkshire Kirk Burton.
FOURTH STORY
Penge Memorial by medwaylibraries You are browsing in: Archive List > Family Life
Contributed by medwaylibraries People in story: Albert (Chummy) Skegg aged 14, Lilian (Biddy) Skegg, (sister) aged 12, and Shirley Skegg (sister,) aged 2; Lillian Skegg (mother,) and neighbours Eileen Giannini, Ellen Jarvis, and Rose Wells. Location of story: Oak Grove Road, Penge, London Background to story: Civilian Article ID: A7077279 Contributed on: 18 November 2005 Father Leon Cranberry, Shirley James and Albert Skegg together with the Penge Memorial in the Waterfall Ribbon Garden, 30th June 2004 (Photo curtesy of News Shopper and Beckenham Crematorium) Memories of a wartime bombing on Penge (based on an interview with Mr Albert Skegg by Medway Library staff held in Gillingham Library on 7th. July 2005.) Bomb in Oak Grove Road, Penge. At 11 o’clock on 30th June 1944, a Flying Bomb came over and landed on Oak Grove Road, Penge. Our mother, Lillian Skegg, and the said neighbours, Eileen Ginny, Eileen Jarvis and Rose Wells died as a result of this. I was working in the Anerley area at the time. I came home for lunch only to find that half the houses in the road had been hit. I was told to report to the Wardens’ Post that was set up at the corner of the road. They sent me to a house in Chesham Road, and it was here I was told that my mother had been killed and that my father was in Beckenham Cottage Hospital. It was very sad to see him. After the bomb All of our mother’s family lived in the Maple Road area of Penge. She had three sisters, so I went to live with Aunt Queen and Uncle George, my sister Lilian went to Aunt Maude and Uncle Jim and my other sister Shirley went to stay with Aunt Ivy. We have a lot to thank our aunts and uncles for in a time of need. My two sisters went to live with our father when he set up a new home at a later date. The Memorial Sixty years after the Second World War I decided that a memorial was needed to commemorate all the people of Penge who had died in the Flying Bomb Raids of 1944. I was given permission by Beckenham Crematorium and Cemetery to place one in the Waterfall Ribbon Garden. I purchased a granite stone, which was dedicated to them and especially to our mother. It was blessed by Father Leon Carberry of St. James Church, Elmers End, Beckenham, at 11 o’clock on the 30th June 2004. My sister Shirley and I were there. Eighteen Flying Bombs fell on Penge during 1944.
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