How we used to live

   Browsing Ampthill for the first time on the Frith website, I came across this photo. The shop blind on the left used to protect the meat in the window display from sunshine (when it appeared) - it was the bane of my life in 1952/3/4 when I was a so-called "butcher's boy". It never ran correctly on its tracks, and I caused many a car to swerve my long pole manipulations putting it up and down. Funny when I think about it. The bicycle outside was used for deliveries. The carrier full of orders for Maulden and surrounds was a steering hazard particulary in the snow. One Saturday morning I came to grief down Maulden hill and spent an hour scraping dirt and stones from meat with my pen knife before going on my way. The complaints arrived back at Ampthill well before yours truly. Oh the humiliation and all for 2/6p a week. Humiliation was for being caught out, not for stony meat. On the positive side the grumpy woman that lived down I think it was called "Duck Lane" never ordered meat again.  

From a memory by Paul Guyton. Click here to read the full memory.

   My father, Edward Wyatt, spent every spare moment he could flying his glider at Denham airfield. We lived in Higher Denham and used to get taken to the airfield many a Sunday. I was 6 in 1953, and I recall the taste of the soup that was served in the canteen, and of course, the flights themselves. My brother, sister, and I were strapped into the backseat of the glider and off we would go, my father often insisting we take the controls. I remember the winch letting go as we would soar up to what seemed like the heavens. My dad also had a small plane, and would take us flying to high altitudes to help alleviate whooping cough (I think). We looped the loop and felt sure we would fall out of the open cockpit.....fond memories!!!! We are in Canada now, (since 1955), but my Dad passed away in 1983 and requested that he was to be buried back in Denham churchyard. This was where his heart was always, particularly the airfield.  

From a memory by Jennifer Schinkel. Click here to read the full memory.

   Ahh.. What a rush of memories return to my mind as I ponder the view of the vale of Almondsbury laid out before me. I grew up in the lower village (then known as Marshwell Crescent). My father's family hailed from the deepest depths of Patchway Common, where my grandfather was the local cobbler (always making ready the boots of the local gypsies as they prepared to make their yearly trek to Kent for the hop-picking season, and paying my grandfather on their return from picking). I have wonderful memories of running, hiding, and enjoying family picnics on the tumps, and enjoying a glass of cool lemonade from the local pub (Swan on the Hill), while my parents inbibed a glass of a more portly brew. Every weekend, we local lads would wind our way down to the marshes, to catch our share of elvers who were always there in abundance, living in the myriad of reeds that inhabit that marsh area. I can truly say from the bottom of my heart, I was, and am blessed to be called an Almondsbury lad!  

From a memory by Alan Jarman. Click here to read the full memory.

   When my brother and I were old enough to go to Linmear Middle School (Kings Houghton now), we would walk via a huge field next to Sundon Road - this field was then sold and Parkside estate began to grow. One of my old school friends called Shirley moved from Tithe Farm to the new townhouses on Parkside, we were all so jealous because her house had three floors. Whist attending Linmear the Upper School was built, which had a small swimming pool in it. This was opened to the public during the breaks and at weekends so we didn't have to walk all the way to Dunstable, which was a nice change. ... My mother was a traffic warden in Dunstable for many years, along with Maggie and Joan, they were quite formidable but in the early days they were allowed to use discretion and so be a lot fairer than today's traffic wardens.  

From a memory by Daniel Cronin. Click here to read the full memory.