Mrs Tremain lived at Number 51. She was a good friend of Mum and Dad as she was a member of the Labour Party so they met up quite often. She ran the Ironmongers and hardware shop on the corner of Fleet St opposite the barbers shop. The shop was owned, I think by George Walters who ran a building firm out the back of the premises. I remember a Wilf and Jack who were tradesmen working for him and a couple of others who played football for Oak Villa at North Down Recreation Ground on a Saturday afternoon. My Dad would take me up there and we would stand under one of the trees on the bank if it rained.
At 53 lived a retired couple Mr and Mrs Gloyn. They were lovely people and mum was always in conversations with them over the back wall when hanging out or taking in the washing. I remember playing with a prized christmas present, namely a water pistol. I was practising in the back garden, when Mr Gloyn declared it was definitely raining. He then decided to bring all the washing in, much to Mrs Gloyns concern. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. When Mum realised what had happened it was my first experience of my mum’s anger. She was something to behold when angry. Needless to say it would the first of many of these experiences for the remainder of my life.
At 57 lived George and Elsie Rowe, of later Barbican fame as a signwriter. George had just left the Navy and was establishing himself and his business. This was shortly after he moved to Dumfries Ave in Crownhill. They had a son, Michael who was a little younger than me. It was George who later in life declared that it was me who taught Michael swearwords. I genuinely don’t remember consciously doing that, but I think I knew a few swearwords by then, so it’s just possible.
At 59 lived the MacAvoy’s. Mr Mac was in the Navy and retired as Lt Commander so he did very well. They turned out to be another Catholic family we would mix with at Church. Their son, Tony was a few years older than me but we spent a lot of time camping in the back lane. We used old sheets held off the walls with old bricks, until the coalmen’lorry delivering ran over the edge of the bricks. It shot them like bullets through the tent and hitting the wall with such force, it narrowly missed us both. We moved to Alexandra Park at the top of the street for us to pitch tents against the railings. They had an older daughter called Sheila. She became a very well known publican and charity fundraiser at the Royal Oak at Hooe. They also had a younger sister called Kathleen I think. Tony and I grew up in a very happy period but as he went off to St Boniface’s our times together died out.
At 61 lived a lady called Mrs Paull. She was a widow I think and was a very prominent member of St Thomas’s Church. Father Wood was then and for a long time afterwards the very active vicar.
These were our immediate neighbours. Some linked beyond just neighbours by virtue of Church or Labour Party but all were highly regarded in the community. My recollection of these times were happy, hard and poor but making our own fun.
