Heytesbury, the Church from River Walk c1955

Living in Newtown, Heytesbury

Having lived in Little London, Heytesbury for the first 2 years of my life in 1955 we moved to a brand new bungalow in Newtow, Heytesbury (on opposite side of road to houses shown). The houses shown in this picture were all built by the Heytesbury Estate and were sold off over a number of years. At the time this picture was taken they had no bathrooms or inside toilets.

Born in Little London

I was born in Salisbury Hospital in August 1953, my parents lived in Little London, Heytesbury until 1955 when we moved to a new bungalow in Newtown, Heytesbury. The house we lived in is on the left looking at the photo pass the wall to the Vicarage.

Race you to the water

I am ordering a copy of this picture to send to my dear childhood friend, Peta Fenner. Peta celebrates her 50th birthday soon and it is quite possible that both her and I are in the photo. We would spend many days of our summer holidays playing in the paddling pool. The big pool was always cold and swamped with older children and we would have to build up courage to venture there. Our childhood was filled with laughter. We would giggle at anything and everything. From peering through the holes in the wood partitions separating the cubicles at the end of the pool. To laughing at how courting teenagers behaved. I remember us nearly wetting ourselves laughing at dog ends and kinky boots. We once dared each other to wear our swimming hats through the town on our homeward journey from the park. Not a good idea as we both had long hair and removing the rubber hats later was very painful but oh so hilarious. Even now all these years later I think of Peta when I walk down Weymouth Street and I can still hear the noise coming through the hedge where the pool used to be. The pool has been turned into a sunken garden and is a delightful place to have a picnic surrounded by plants and waterfalls and so peaceful until you let your memories reappear. The paddling pool has been revamped and is surrounded by rubber matting and there is a huge blue dolphin that fills the pool. Children of my generation would queue up to sit astride the water jet that use to trickle into the pool. The bottom of the pool was concrete and worn in places so slipping over was a doddle and many bottoms got bruised sliding on the slabs surrounding the pool. We even had one of our friends fall from the top of the slide onto concrete. Thankfully she survived unharmed apart from a broken arm. The park had a resident park keeper with many full time staff back then. Flower borders were planted up twice or three time a year. On either side of the lake there were borders all beautifully kept. Not any more. Most have been grassed over which is a great shame.

Warminster is Home!

I was born in Warminster, in 1972, in what was known at the time as The Strawberry House! My Dad had painted it quite a deep pink, when he bought it.
44 Boreham Rd, that's where I was actually born, my lovely family home.
My Dad was a well known painter and decorator, Bob 'The Brush' Woollard, and my Mum, Peg, worked in Luxfords Fruit & Veg shop. I went to St. John's School, where my teacher when I started, was Sybil Fuller who lived next door to me in no. 46.
One of my favourite places was Warminster Park, where in the winter, when it snowed, my friends and I would sledge down the hill, on black bin liners, and go home soaked and frozen!
I remember Paynes, the newsagent, where I used to get the Twinkle magazine, and some sweets from my Mum, on Saturdays.
I remember Pleasures toy shop, where I loved to walk around and pick out what Santa could bring me if I was good! Talking of Santa, does anyone remember Santa coming through Warminster, on his sledge (one of Gibbs lorries!) and he would throw sweets into the street for any children coming out. My Dad would take me out, in pyjamas and slippers, and he'd go into the road to collect as many sweets as he could!
Since leaving Warminster, I've lived in Leicester and now in Bournemouth, but my heart will always belong back in Warminster...

The town park

As a child in the late 1950's and early 1960's, I and a whole bunch of mates used to go to the Regal cinema on Saturday mornings. We went through the town park as the most direct route and would often stop off on the way back to fish for minnows and sticklebacks in the lake.

During the winter of the big freeze (1963 I think) the lake froze over and the sight of all that frozen water acted like a magnet. Before long we were out in the middle, completely ignoring the ominous creaking noises all around us. When the creaking started to sound more like cracking we finally started to take notice. It's strange how ice only seems to become slippery when you are frantically trying to get off it. Fortunately we all made it to the other side unscathed and dry.