Memories
This is our collection of memories contributed by local residents. Please browse through and enjoy the memories.
Each memory has its own comments which you can add your own to. Or you can add your own memories.
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By Barrie Smith on January 23, 2011
This is a poem from Barrie Smith encapsulating memories of the workers leaving the GWR factory down Rodbourne Road. If you want to get an impression of how it looked click on and scroll down to ID Number 472
“Factories Out”
Whining Hooter, thud of feet,
Men stream out to the quiet street.
Hustling bustling on their way,
Work is done for another day.
Tinkling bells as others ride,
Filling the road from side to side.
Like ants they swarm all around,
Puffing , panting, homeward bound.
Queues for buses quickly form,
Beating breasts keeps men warm.
Cries of “Adver” fill the air,
Drivers shouting in despair.
Flat capped workers old and young,
Cousins, brothers, Fathers, sons.
Frame erectors, boiler makers,
Fitters, turners, Vacuum breakers.
Foundry workers, millers, grinders,
Trimmers, painters, storeroom minders.
Collars raised against the cold,
Make their way down Rodbourne Road.
They filter into narrow streets,
Of terraced house trim and neat.
As one by one they reach their door,
Peace returns to the street once more.
News stands empty, crowds dispersed,
Daylight fades, no sound is heard.
By Marcia Dancer nee Hulbert on
My parents Sid & Doris Hulbert lived in two houses in Rodbourne in the 1920’s / 1930’s but I’m afraid I can’t remember the streets or house numbers.
My sister Joyce attended Jennings Street School and had a friend named Elsie Herbert who lived with her Grandmother.
My Dad worked for a firm named Robinsons, he drove a van selling fish, poultry and would skin a rabbit at the customer’s request.
Mum was told not long after she moved that she had a double, living a few streets away. When she joined a skittle club the lady was also there, named Mrs. Hacker. I believe her family consisted of several children and in later years they moved to an off license in the Henry Street area.
Mum was also friendly with Charlie and Nance Froud. They ran a Working Men’s Club in Rodbourne for many years.
Dad’s Sister married Frank Webb. He lived with his parents at 40, Morris Street and later at 96, Rodbourne Road until he married.. Vera and Frank lived in Bruce Street until the 1970’s.
Gerald my husband also had relatives in Rodbourne; his Aunt Flo married Peter Broderstad’ they ran a Grocers shop in Groves Street. Peter came from Norway. They had five daughters, one of which was Meg now living at Purton and one son. Two of the girls joined the land army in the Second World War.
By John Carter on January 18, 2011
I was born in Charles Street In 15th of June 1931, the youngest son of William and Florence Carter, Brother to Olive and Ivor. We moved to a house in Rodbourne Road, The community spirit was very good, every body knew each other, and you could leave your front door open all day at that time.
The next door neighbour in Rodbourne Road was a man called Happy, because of his red face and he was always smiling, It was nothing to see him coming home from rabbiting with all the rabbits tied together with string slung around his neck. A few doors away there would be Mrs. Jones, a lovely lady who always seems to be standing outside her front door, and Iris Jones pushing a pram up and down Rodbourne Road. At the top of Charles Street there was a yard called the Loco Board’s which belonged I think, to the Council, we used to play in there. We moved to Summers Street, which still had gas mantles, which was better than the paraffin lamps and candles we were use to, later we had electricity installed, If you had seen our faces then, it was like magic, amazing.
During the war years coal was in short supply and wood was hard to come by, but as Dad worked in the Railway he was issued with a docket, to fetch wood from the wood wharf, just past St. Mark’s Church, so we borrowed a wheel barrow and mostly us kids would go under the bridge, along the back of the park to the Wharf, to queue for the wood, which was mostly an assortment of long planks, which Dad had to saw up when we got back home. Sometimes the gas oven was lit and the door was opened, that was the only heat we had.
In the evenings we listen to the Radio Relay, our favourite programmes were, The Man in Black, Dick Barton Special Agent, with Snowy and Jock, In Town Tonight, Vera Lynn, (Dad’s favourite), Boxing, Tommy Farr and Bruce Woodcock, Itma, Workers playtime and many more.
Shops in Rodbourne Road that I can remember, one that sticks in my mind is Nash’s sweet shop, I would buy sweets in there with the money that I had earnt from running errands, and then jump on a bus and have a ride to Gorse Hill and back.
Once a week, I was sent down Rodbourne Road with a large basin to fetch faggots and peas for dinner. Then every Friday there were Fish and Chips from Higgs, always a queue. Sunday queuing at Pullens for Dad’s cigarettes And chocolate. Going to “don’t you knows “for a hair cut.
My sister had a bicycle which was too big for me at that time, but that was not going to stop me having a ride on it, so, when she was out, I took it in the street and with one foot on the pedal and just about reaching the handle bars I scooted along, grazing myself a few times doing it, and she would go mad when I came back.
May Day was a time I can remember, when I am sure the girls wore daises around their necks or pinned them to their dresses, and if the boys saw that they did not have any, they would get some stinging nettles and run after the girls to sting their legs. I believe it was an old custom.
I think I was about nine or ten when the Americans came to Swindon. They may have been stationed at Ogbourne or further out, anyway
Dad would bring two or three home from the pub after drinking time. One of them would come back and visit us now and again I was talking to dad about how I would like a bicycle when the American said he would get me one from the camp and take me to see the planes as well, Dakotas they where called. The Americans had to come to Swindon to collect the bread for the camp, from the East Street Co-op Bakery with the lorries, so he picked me up, got the bread and drove back to the camp, this was a real treat for me. When we arrived at the camp, I had to wait at the guard house while he went to check in, then he came back to me and said sorry I cannot leave the camp because of security reasons, but you will be taken back home. A big disappointment
AND I NEVER GOT MY BICYCLE
You will see Radio Relay referred to in John Carters memories and I’ve included a passage below from an account by Donald Edward Lea of Gorse Hill from Mandy & Duncan’s website to help describe this cable radio system.
” I well remember sitting on a leather settee or wooden chair (father’s) that was by the window to listen to the ‘radio relay’. This was a wooden box fixed to the wall that had two switches, one for the volume and the other gave a choice of two programmes, “the home service,” or the “light programme.” Two broadcasts that were eagerly looked forward to each week were ‘Dick Barton’ a hero who could do no wrong and the ‘Billy Cotton Band Show.’ This service came via a wire that would run from the Radio Relay Company in Swindon to any house that wished to have it as a rental. I believe this was a shilling a week. It seems we were easily pleased in those days.” The cable system was eventually used by the community cable television company Swindon Viewpoint
Just click on Mandy & Duncan’s website and Swindon Viewpoint for further information.
By Angelena Minhas on
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By Bill Ferris on January 9, 2011
Bill was the Chair of our Group but sadly succumbed to the dreadful “Swindon Disease” Mesothelioma in November of 2009. As one of many ex GWR employees he contracted this by breathing in the fibres of Asbestos which lay around certain parts of the works like snow. He was greatly admired in the group and has been sadly missed. Thank goodness we have some of his memories to remember him by.
I was a pupil at Even Swindon School due to the Rab Butler Education Act in 1946. I moved from Jennings Street School (where I had attended from the age of 3) to Even Swindon and can remember being there during the bad winter of 1947.
The Headmaster Jack Maisy who was quite a sporty chap and thankfully I didn’t have to go and see him too many times.
I can remember Ray Nash who was also a very pleasant teacher and I subsequently had more dealings with him when I was older with the Swindon Amateur Dramatics Society.
My main memory of one of the teachers there was Miss Hill. She had long hair which was done up in plaits in a bun over each ear somewhat like Princess Leea in Star Wars. I can always remember she collected each week any pennies or odd coins we had for her favourite charity B.E.L.R.A. which was the British Empire Leprosy Relief Association (we had an Empire then) and after all these years I recently read a book called “The Island” in which I discovered that my pennies and halfpennies helped to find a cure for Leprosy in 1954, so at least I had the knowledge that mine and many other pupil’s small subscriptions helped towards a cure for this terrible disease.
I also remember Miss Fursland who had a wonderful main of hair but again my memories are just of the nice teachers.
Now to Jennings Street School. The Headmaster during my return after the 11 plus when I went back was Mr Davies whose nickname was Jammy Davies and I’ve no idea why. Perhaps it was because he had very red cheeks.
Miss Griffiths was my form teacher for most of the time there and I can remember doing tables every day for five minutes so that even to this day I can recite the tables in an instant.
Then there was Mr Phillips whose nickname was Pop who if you were not paying attention could flick a piece of chalk at you with deadly accuracy. He was always the teacher who gave you the cane for whatever reason on a Friday. The most popular reason being going up the stairs two at a time, the stair monitors would report you and you had to appear before Pop Phillips on a Friday afternoon. As children it was always the object to go two at a time without getting caught but I can assure you this double whack with the cane became something you remembered quite vividly.
Mr Whetham nicknamed Fred (I think this may have been his real Christian name) took us for Maths and other classes and was an extremely good teacher.
We also had a new teacher whos’s name was Mr M.M.Hill and his nickname soon became Man Mountain Hill. He took us for Sports and when I see a picture of him now he seemed very young and was obviously a fairly new teacher.
Mr Smith who’s nickname was Froggy used to take us for Science and was very fond of bringing girls to the front of the class to demonstrate body parts on which I am sure would have earned him the sack at least these days.
Miss Jean Harvey was the object of many young boy’s desires as one of the young teachers at the school along with Pat Holmes who I can remember as she had just finished teacher training when I arrived at Jennings Street.
All in all the teachers were extremely good at Jennings Street School. There was a lot of discipline which was the order of the day, nobody seemed to mind this.
I can’t say the standard of teaching was exceptional because it wasn’t until I went to night school after leaving school, that I realized how little we knew compared to some other schools, and so I finally ended up going to night school for another 16 years until I was 32.
By Gordon Lawton on
Sadly just after Gordon posted these memories to us he died of cancer so we will be always in his debt for taking the time to pass them on when it must have been difficult for him.
In about 1972 I’d bought the lease of a shop in Rodbourne next door to what was Bob Units, the Butcher next door to the Dolphin. The previous tenant had converted the shop to a fruit and vegetable shop, but it hadn’t been too successful, he had it up for sale, and I decided to give it a try. I had a few contacts and bought a half share in a lorry, so along with Don Saunders from Wootton Bassett, we used to go to Southampton wholesale market at 5 am every Wednesday morning. Buying this way, and cutting out the local wholesalers i.e. Hughes, Collier’s etc we were able to sell much more competitively than the other local shops, of which to the best of my memory there were four others just in Rodbourne Lane.
The shop became quite successful, and being next to Bob Unit, who was the most popular butcher around it was all going very well. In fact I employed three local girls on a Saturday to cope with the queue.
It transpired that Bob owned both buildings, so I only paid him a small rent as at the time he was only interested in the place being kept clean and tidy. After about eighteen months Bob decided to retire, and hand over the business to Glyn Hunt, the present occupier. Bob used to call for the rent once a month. After about six months retirement became a bit boring for Bob, and as he was unable to open another butchers in the area ( lease agreement ) he started making me offers to sell him the business. I could see a good profit in it, and the chance to open a new shop in Cricklade, so the deal was done.
Bob soon found that fruit and vegetables from local wholesalers was not an easy game he thought it was, so after a few months, he sold it to Ray Girling who had it until very recently. By now enough time had elapsed for Bob to go back into butchery and he took over a shop on the other side of the road just below the mini market on the corner of ? Street. That’s all I can tell you, I really enjoyed my time in Rodbourne, ( I lived in Lydiard at the time ) and still keep in touch with some old friends from there.
By John Dean on January 8, 2011
Most of the members of the Rodbourne Community History Group will have seen the metal bollards that have been installed in front of the Post Office and other shops on Rodbourne Road but some years ago there were wooden ones. It transpires that my Uncle Frank (who lived in Morris Street) and his mate (who lived in Hawkins Street), having spent the evening in the Dolphin partaking in drinking Arkell’s falling down brown liquid(beer) were staggering home along Rodbourne Road and in the dark managed to walk into the last remaining wooden post. After picking themselves up they went home and getting a saw from the shed they proceeded to saw the post down and carried it home, where it stayed for several weeks under the stairs.
Afterwards, Gran was so worried and expected a visit from the boys in blue, until Gramp removed the evidence by chopping it up for firewood. Gran related this tale to Mrs. Gealer who owned the Greengrocers. She had heard the commotion but had not bothered to look out of her window.
As a boy I attended Ferndale School but on Fridays our class would walk to Even Swindon school for wood working classes with Ken Kitchen in the old hut in the school playground. Mr Kitchen had his own dance band and after a late night playing he would arrive late for classes in the morning , peddling furiously down Rodbourne Road on his bike.
I remember him as a good shot with a piece of chalk which he would throw at you for the slightest inattention on your part. He was also very hand with the cane for which he would select a piece of dowel from the wood rack and give you two whacks on the hand.
I still have the teapot stand that was made for our first project and is still useable after 60 years so I suppose he must have taught us something!
By Maurice Jones on
My name is Maurice Jones and I have just received, from my sister Christine Gunning who lives in Morris St, a copy of your wonderful publication, Walk Down The Lane. It brought back so many happy memories that it was like living there again. My only disappointment, if you can call it that, was to see so little written about some of the oldest houses and some of the oldest families to live down the lane. I am of course referring to the numbers 20 to 32. I know they are gone now but they should in no way be forgotten. I was born in number 25 in 1935 and in 1946 moved with my family to my grandmothers house at number 28. My grandmother, Alice Mathews, and my grandfather, Ernest Mathews, had lived there since the late 1800s. My Mother, Florence Jones, nee, Mathews, having been born there in 1898. Next door at number 27 was my grandmothers sister Maggie Meader. She also had another sister, Mary Jane Winkless living in Charles St. When I left to live in New Zealand my mother still lived at number 28, her sister, Alice Frogatt lived in Charles St another sister, Olive Clements lived in Hawkins St and her brother, Cyril Mathews, lived in the council houses opposite the parish hall.
I thank you very much for reminding me of many of the wonderful people that I was privileged to have lived with down the lane. To name but a few who I can say I knew well. Pete Witts. John Ing. Doris Hall. Doris Nash. Mr Higgs. Mr Jackson. Sheila Pullen. old Ben Higgs and so many others. As the old saying goes, You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. I shall always be a Rodbournite. Thanks for the Memories. Kindest regards Maurice Jones.
By Val Cullum on
I live in Marden, a tiny village 6 miles from Hereford.
My brother Chris (Compton) was born at 49 Redcliffe Street in 1938 and I was born there in 1947 (the year of the big snow so I’m told) and we moved to 34 Montague Street in 1952. The end house next to the vicarage. (I was often in trouble for climbing the vicarage walls – oh memories). Spent many a happy hour down Mannington Rec. during the school holidays with my old mongrel, Spot.
Wonderful to see some of my old teacher’s pictures. Remember Mr Davies, headmaster of Jennings Street school. He seemed such a huge man to me and I was quite in awe of him as I was also with Miss Griffiths who was equivalent to head school mistress. She was very strict but nice. I got on well with her because of my love of reading (creep). Also see there is a picture of Mr Archer. He taught maths at which I was (and still am, hopeless). I clearly remember him trying to explain to me some math problem. I never did ‘get it’ and still don’t till this day. Also there is a mention of Miss Sprittles. She taught my brother to play the piano for many years. He will be fascinated. Also the picture of Miss Dilnott. She informed me one day that I had ‘not bothered to wash your ears this morning’. Oh the humiliation.
I still remember the Jennings Street school song or some of it, anyway. It went :-
40 years on and afar and asunder
parted are those who are singing today
When we look back and forgetfully wonder
what we were like in our work and our play
To be honest it was the most depressing song I had ever heard, and still is especially as the 40 years are well past.
It did and still does fill me with a profound sense of gloom. Dreary isn’t the word for it.
If I remember rightly Miss Fursland welcomed me to Even Swindon Infants School. I presume about 1952. I did nothing but cry all day. Later in the day everyone had a little bed to lie on to rest for an hour. I refused. For several days I sat next to Miss Fursland as she patiently explained that the minute the big hand of her watch was on such and such number and the little hand was on such and such my mummy would come for me. One day I once again started bawling my eyes out. When she asked me why I said it was ‘because everyone had a little bed to lie on except me’. From then on I became resigned to school life.
I remember Mr and Mrs. Vivash. They were very nice. Mr Vivash once gave me 50 lines to write out saying ‘I must not peep through the windows whilst teacher is marking the exam papers’.
I too remember ‘Mary’ from the cake shop who used to bring the cakes over to the railings at at Jennings St at ‘play time’. I don’t think any cakes tasted as good. No one could make lardy cakes like that bakery. Twice a week my mother used to send me there to pick up a fresh loaf. It never got home in one piece as I could not resist taking a couple of chunks out of the end as it smelt so good, warm and fresh.
There was a fish and chip shop at the bottom of Grove St? Those fish and chips were lovely. We used to go and ask for the ‘scrumps’ which were the crispy bits that came off the fish he had cooked.
In Montague Street there was a shop on the corner of the road leading down to the Rec. It was run by Mr and Mrs. Gane. It was referred to as Ganes (obviously). They had penny trays and halfpenny trays of sweets to choose from. I think there was also a two penny tray for those who were really well off.
Going down to the rec was a speedway track. I remember it well. There was a big tree there which I used to climb. It had three forks at the top and it was great to sit there especially as it would sway in the wind. I was 13 when they built the houses on the speedway track. My friend Eileen Davies, of Redcliffe Street, and me would go down there and torment the workmen building the houses (hussies). At the rec. itself was the River Ray. We used to fish for ‘reddies’. Also there was the cinder track that came out at the bottom of Redcliffe Street (I think) and there was the Echo Bridge. It was a tunnel leading into the hillside. It was really creepy as we couldn’t see very far in but could hear water dripping. I tried to walk in there once for a dare. I got a couple of yards when an animal jumped into the water. (probably a rat). I came out of there a lot faster than I went in. We kids always used to swear that one could see skeletons coming out of it.
I remember my first visit to the Palladium on my own. I can still see myself setting off up the backsies with my little red handbag with a sixpenny bit in it and a handkerchief. I was so proud.
I was confirmed at St Augustine. Sometimes I read the lesson at the evening service. My brother was in the choir.
I also went to Sunday school. I hated that so to liven up proceedings I took my pet mouse with me. Well, it certainly did that. I can still hear the screams.
When I was about 10 the factory where my father worked (G Shop I think) decided to have a cull of the pigeons there. My father rescued these two and bought them home for me. I called them Dot and Carry. One day the vicar asked my brother if he knew who owned the pigeons as they used to perch on the vicarage windowsills and make a mess. My brother, thinking on his feet, said no he had no idea. Vicar said he thought that was odd as they also spent a lot of time perched on our windowsills as well. Oh dear. We had to re-home them. I took them across the rec. and set them free. They were back at my house before I was. In the end we went with my father to Reading and let them out at the station there. We never saw them again.
I was playing cricket in Montague Street one evening. A neighbour came by and told me that if I wasn’t careful I would break a window. I’ll be careful I said. Next minute a terrible crash as ball went through a neighbours window (she happened to be one of the most miserable people we had ever known). I slunk home. Mum asked what was the matter as I was ever so white. I was going to lie but then realized someone would ‘tell on me’ so I confessed. Dad went across and sorted it. What really annoyed him though was the fact that although we paid for the window she charged double for her own son to fit it. Dad never forgot that.
I remember only too well the bitter cold. No central heating of course just a coal fire. My brother Chris had the larger room at the back of the house. The ice used to form on the inside it was so cold. To make matters worse when he was old enough to have girlfriends I used to sneak into his room and make him an apple pie bed, or sew up the arms and legs of his pajamas, or both. He would come home at midnight or 1pm freezing cold and discover what I had done. He used to be furious. Also when he used to be saying goodnight to his girlfriend (s) outside the front door I used to lean out of my bedroom window (which was over the front door) and make silly remarks. He used to get so angry. We had a living room and a front room. To have a fire in the front room was a special occasion. We usually lived in the living room. Sometimes as a surprise my mum used to do a fire in the front room on a Sunday. I loved that as it was much more comfortable there. Trouble was often the chimney hadn’t been swept we used to sit there and billows of smoke used to come into the room along with smuts of soot. We used to cough like anything and could hardly see each other across the room. One Christmas we were all sat there and we had put chestnuts in the ash pan to roast while we watched TV. Suddenly there were terrible explosions and nuts flew everywhere as they cracked in the heat. Frightened all of us and the dog wouldn’t come in the front room for ages after that.
My first boyfriend’s mother came to visit us once. She said how horrified she was as it was obvious we were ‘posh’ as we had ‘bay windows’.
In Rodbourne Road at the top end near Redcliffe Street was a general sort of grocery store which we kids used to refer to as ‘Dirty Dicks’. Think more to do with shop being shabby than owner himself. Was an open secret that we could buy 5 woodbines for a shilling or 2 for 6d. My first port of call especially when my pocket money went up to 2/6d.
When old enough often used the Dolphin Pub. Was in the lounge there when it came over the radio that President Kennedy had been assassinated. How stunned we all were and upset.
The worst day of all was the Sunday. Morning not too bad but the afternoons (after sunday school) were dismal. Everything shut down. Not allowed out unless I played ‘nicely’ (how does a tomboy play nicely?). Most of the time had to put on a nice dress and go for a sedate walk. No playing on the swings or roundabouts in the rec. In the evening the radio would be put on playing the programme ‘Sing Something Simple’. Oh dismal. As bad as ’40 years On.’
I used to be really cross as my brother could stay out till all hours whereas I could only stay out til 10.30 on a Saturday provided Mum knew where I was and who with. If a minute late Mum would be waiting at the front gate and would ask ‘what time of night do you call this young lady’. (Usually about 10.40 pm). Used to query why Chris could stay out late the reply was ‘because he is male’.
I remember the faggot shop in Rodbourne. Think it was quite close to the Dolphin. I used to love the faggots sold except for the ones that had streaks of fat across them.
I also used to play Jack o’ Lantern round the backsies. This consisted of the person who was ‘it’ had the torch and the rest of us had to hide from the beam. Once caught in the torch beam that person became ‘it’. We used to climb over the fences and hide in the gardens especially in Redcliffe Street. Could only play this when it got dark early as all had to be indoors for tea.
I used to play being a doctor by bandaging up my dogs legs and tail. Then he would get fed up and go out (via a hole in the fence). Goodness knows what people thought when they saw him.
We only had expensive things like chicken on special occasions like Christmas. One day friends of my parents asked them if they would look after their poodle for a week as they had to go away. My parents agreed. On the due day the couple arrived with their poodle plus a huge bag of chicken as they said that was all their dog would eat. We ate like kings that week whereas the poodle seemed to thoroughly enjoy eating the same kind of dog food as our dog did. Needless to say we were sworn to secrecy.
I went to work for a couple of years at Rentaset/Radio Rentals in Percy Street. I worked in an office there and enjoyed it. Then I left Swindon to join the WRAF as a dental nurse.
By Eunice Arrowsmith on
In the early 1960’s my husband and I and our four children lived in Morrison Street. We had a son aged eight, twin daughters aged thirteen and a son eighteen in the Merchant Navy.
He came home on leave late one night. We were talking to him and suddenly a little face peered out of his shirt. It was a small lemur which he’d brought back from Madagascar. I was horrified but as time went on he became part of the family. We had him for several years. The children called him Julius Caesar because of the fringe he had across his forehead.
All the time I was doing my housework he sat on my shoulder with his long 23 inch striped tail around my neck. He should have just been fed on fruit but he loved sitting on a stool in front of the open fire eating a chip. The children adored him and he loved them.
We had a bay window and when all the children passed on their way home from school he’d do tricks and they all sat on the front wall watching him.
After a few years I worried as he became aggressive to strangers probably because he needed a mate but then he was taken ill and died. It was like losing a small person belonging to the family. We buried him in the garden along with various cats and rabbits etc. that the children had had as pets. He had a little grave and the children have always remembered him with great affection.
