Bournmouth In The 50's

A Memory of Bournemouth.

When Dad had the motorbike and sidecar it was okay for day trips, but when we went for the fortnight summer holiday the bike could not carry us and the suitcases, so we had to go by other means. To get to Bournemouth we had to get the local bus to, I think, Paddington Station, then the train to Bournemouth. Apparently my Dad had an Aunt and Uncle who had a Bed and Breakfast lodging house. We were picked up by another uncle in his car and taken to the house. It was very a small car and was very uncomfortable as it had three adults and two children plus luggage. Luckily it was only a short trip. When we saw the house it looked enormous. It had three floors of guest bedrooms and an attic, plus the dining room and lounge. Mum and Dad had a room on the third floor and my brother and I were in the attic room. You were not allowed to run around and had to keep quiet as much as possible. After breakfast we got ready to go out for the day as the front door was locked after a certain time in the morning and not opened till late afternoon for dinner. We were called to meals by the sound of the gong. It was very tempting to hit it every time we passed by, but knew we would get into trouble. My Great Aunt, although very Victorian and stern let my brother and myself hit the dinner gong a few times. We thought it was just like Christmas. When we went out, hail or shine, we had to walk everywhere. That also meant taking all the things we needed for the day, swimming costumes, towels, bucket and spades and sandwiches for lunch supplied by my Great Aunt. Bournemouth had many places to explore, and of course the beach was a favourite. We got to the beach by using a zig-zag path down the cliffs to the beach. We often raced down the path and waited impatiently for our parents to arrive before heading off to the golden sands, with bucket and spade in hand. Mum and Dad found a spot to sit, towels laid on the sand, we in our swimming costumes, racing to get into the water. Sometimes Dad would put on some trunks and join us, but not very often. Mum would hitch up her dress a bit and paddle in the water. We would spend all day on the beach, digging holes and making sandcastles, waiting for the tide to come in and fill our castle moat with water. We didn’t want to go back to the lodgings at the end of the day as we had to walk all the way UP the zig-zag path, then trudge through the streets to the house. Sometimes Mum and Dad would let us get the lift up the cliff. It seemed huge and was always full at the end of the day, and we got to see the beach all the way up to the piers. One of our favourite times at night was in the gardens near the seafront on the flatter part of Bournemouth. The park had the old type honey pots hanging in different areas, grouped together to form a shape. The visitors, us, were allowed to light the wax that was inside the pots. The park workers let them burn for a while before putting them out to let the next lot of visitors coming along to light them. The also has animal shapes that lit up in the trees and bushes, like squirrels and owls. It was all very exciting. I remember we got on a bus to the pier one time. It was a double decker, yellow I think, with no roof. We sat on the top of the bus, at the front, so we could see everything as we went along before reaching the pier. Other days it was not very nice especially when it rained. We had to trudge around the town trying to keep dry. We only went to Bournemouth for the fortnight holidays once, as we did most places we went to, when it was not a day trip. I still do that now and have done since I was seventeen, going on my own holidays or travelling around the world. Keeping the memories, and not ruin them with disappointment, if you visit the same place again and it is not as you remembered it the first time.

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