Memories of Bournemouth

Charabanc trips

Reading through other people's memories is a great delight, it stirred my own memories of past times. Eastleigh Baptist church ran regular day trips to Bournemouth, a pleasure for those who would probably never have seen the beach. Our family neighbour, Mrs Elliot, in Factory Road was in her 80's when I remember her and although she only lived a modest 5-6 miles from the coast, she never saw the sea. But I digress. Alum Chine and Branksome Chine are names I have not heard for over 60 years, but remember collecting coloured sands (or was that the Isle of Wight?, mobile ice-cream vendors, it was rarely raining, it was often hot but there was never a complaint. In later years Dad would drive us there and he had built a caravan and sited it at Highcliffe. Thank you Bournemouth residents for so many pleasant memories. As an afterthought, my use of the word 'hot' is relative as I have lived the last 40 plus years in North Queensland in Australia where daily average is in the 30's Celsius for most of the year.

Warm Summer Nights

What happy days and nights, beach parties at Hengistbury Head, can it really be 44 years ago that this magical place came into my life, it was to have a life-long thread connecting to me. Oh, what can one say - the thrill of late-night fires on the beach, the smell of wood smoke from driftwood, a young girl's smile in the firelight  - these feelings, like the moment a silk scarf passes across your face, will never come again. Singin Bob Dylan and Muddy Waters and Jimmy Reed, strumming guitars and blowing harps... Where oh where are those young boys and girls now! This part of the south coast remains almost the same as it was 44 years ago, as I have revisited that part of the coastline many times and if I stand and listen as the sun is going down at the headland I can almost hear a buzz of the voices of the now old men and women who are just for a small moment in time young again.

The House Beautiful

Does anybody remember the big house on the corner of Derby Road, it was at the junction of a main road, the name of which I cannot remember now. We used to call it 'The House Beautiful' whether that was the proper name for it I never knew. This house was where children used to go to for a holiday, my holiday there was arranged by our church at that time (we lived in London), my parents could not afford holidays in those days so mine was arranged by our church. It was a big place large beautiful gardens and all the children were looked after by nurses. At meal times we all went to the big dining room and I remember the Matron there always used to have a parrot sitting alongside her table on a perch, when Matron wanted to keep the children quiet the parrot used to schreech out "QUIET" and everybody became silent to listen to what Matron had to say.
When it was time to go to the beach we all had to line up in twos and walk across the main road and down through a walkway to the top of the cliffs and then down a winding path to the beach. When it was time to go home we were given gifts, on my last visit just before WW2 broke out I was given a pull along railway engine which I could sit in, I had that engine for years afterwards, it was dark green in colour.
I hope somebody can remember 'The House Beautiful" and whatever happened to it, more than likely it became a hotel I suppose, but I shall always remember it as a marvelous place to be.

Family Holidays

My dad always ensured that we had a "fortnight's"  family holiday each year. A fortnight was 2 weeks - ie fourteen nights. These holidays started in 1949, when I was seven  and continued to up to 1958 when I was 16. In 1949 and 1950 we went to Bournemouth.

We stayed at the same guest house for each of the two years. It was in Portland Road, Bournemouth. The detached house was of 1930's design. The guest house was run by a Mr & Mrs Fox. Mrs Fox scared me. She was a stout woman in her fifties and had grey hair pulled back into a bun. Up close you could see hairs growing out of some large warts on her face which always wore a severe, unsmiling expression.

Inside, I remember only the dining room. It had dark furniture; and I recall a sideboard which Mrs Fox always kept locked. Remember, it was 1949 and 1950 when we stayed there and food rationing was still in existence. Dad had to give her the relevant coupons from our Ration Books when we arrived so that she could supply us with butter and eggs and meat during our stay.

Portland Road was quite a way inland from the sea. This meant having to take a bus each day. There were two ways of getting to the seafront, by motor-bus from a stop in nearby Pine Road which took you to The Lansdowne, or by trolleybus from Charminster Road which took you to The Square. I always preferred the motor-bus but Mum and Dad liked the trolleybus, as The Square was much more conveniently situated for the shops and the beach. So the trolleybus generally prevailed.

The Bournemouth beaches were, and still are, beautifully sandy, like a beach is supposed to be. As well as the main beach, it also boasts excellent beaches at the 3 nearby "chines"; Durley Chine, Alum Chine and Branksome Chine. We mostly went to Durley Chine as it was the nearest and could be walked to. Alum Chine was my favourite but we rarely went there. Branksome Chine was furthest and required a bus trip. I usually opted for this as my second favourite.

The bus was a green Hants and Dorset one which operated out of Bournemouth Bus Station which was a tremendous place, now sadly no more as it was destroyed in a fire in the 1970s. The real treat, however, was a trip to Shell Bay. Now this was a really great outing. Again the trip was by Hants and Dorset bus from the Bus Station, only the Shell Bay buses were special. They were single decker Bristol KG5's but because they had to use the ferry from Sandbanks in order to reach Shell Bay they had a very recognisable back end. In order not to scrape the ferry ramps when loading or unloading, the bodywork at the rear was "chamfered" at an acute angle. This made them instantly recognisable on the road.

Bournemouth holidays were always special because we regularly ate at the Forte's Restuarant. These resturants only opened after the war so were really new. They were chrome and formica affairs that sold not only fish and chips, egg and chips etc. but was also featured an ice cream parlour which  sold milkshakes! I tasted my first ever milkshake in the Bournemouth Forte's. We used to go there for lunch and Dad would treat me to something with chips and a milkshake. An added attraction was the fact that Forte's was adjacent to the Bus Station. This meant that while the others were finishing their meals, I could nip next door to the Bus Station. It was a two-tier affair. Local buses used the road level area whilst long-distance coach services used the basement. It was from here that classic Royal Blue coaches destined for London used to depart. Oh, the joy of witnessing one of those Royal Blue beauties roaring up out of the basement, with its distinctive cream decals and double rear window was indescribable! The throaty sound of its Bristol diesel engine, sheer bliss. One of my regrets is that I never got to ride on one these coaches but only have the memories of seeing them in action at Bournemeouth. Better that than nothing at all. Thank you Dad - and thank you Bournemouth for such lovely memories!

Summer of 64

In June 1964 a group of us Belfast grammar school boys crossed the sea to Liverpool and took the long coach journey south to spend the school summer vacation working in the Bournemouth beach cafes.
Three of us shared a bedroom at Pat and Alvin's, a short bus ride from the town centre. Our "digs" cost just £1.10s a week each, out of a wage of £5 at the beach cafes. The cafe provided lunch and in the evening we dined at the Golden Griddle in the Square. We all smoked in those days and were able to buy clothes out of our pay packets:the fashions that summer were bell-bottom jeans, pink shirts and grey crewnecks. We grew our school regulation short-back-and sides down to our shoulders.
In the two months we stayed in Bournemouth it rained one afternoon, that was all. Of course we were incarcerated in the dark steamy wash-ups of the cafe during the blazing daytime hours. But the evenings were mellow and divine; we seemed to float in the softness, between the pier and the gardens. Bournemouth had a continental feeling about it. We sang Irish folk songs, sitting on the grass, as the light slowly failed. We would visit the bowling alley and eat chips before getting back to bed by about half-past-ten.
Later there was llght-hearted flirtation and romance with a group of local girls. Whatever became of little blonde Carol, I wonder? It was one of those summers of youth to last forever as a glow of enchantment in the memory. I was 16 then and will be 60 next year.
When we got home to Belfast our long hair and pink shirts caused heads to turn along Royal Avenue. We came back feeling like a pop group.