Paignton Was My Crucible 1947

A Memory of Paignton.

My mother gave life to me in Paignton hospital (now a hospice I believe) in July of this year (1947) and I spent much of my early years in and around this lovely little town. Not so lovely or little now but still grand to me. My memories of Paignton are too many and various to account for them all but one or two will do for now.
We lived at various times in Conway Road, in Headland Park Road, Preston, in a house called Poldhu, and up at Marldon in a lovely detatched house called Hilcot.
My sister and I were pupils at the Sacred Heart convent school in Cecil Road and as we often attended the church there, in later life I became for a while an altar boy, a duty for which I dont think I was well suited. My enduring memory of that school, apart that is from the 'orrible school meals, is writing an essay called "Lost in the Snow", which my teacher liked so much she (the teachers were all nuns) wanted me to read it to the class the next day. Why the next day I don't remember, but that as they say is another story. Anyway the next morning I arrived at school and discovered I had left the essay at home and was so upset that I ran crying all the way there. What happened then I dont remember. Perhaps it put the mockers on a budding literary career.
Paignton was wonderful for me. It had parks, steam trains, a Woolworths, three - or was it four? - cinemas (do you remember in the westerns how the cowboys use to leap over the top of the screen on their horses? I always thought they were jumping over the cinema and would be found milling around outside after the film. Never did see any though. Wonder why?).
And not forgetting of course the seaside with its pier and lovely greens on which every year the fair would come and let us all fritter our hard won pennies away on rides and sideshows of every sort. My favorite was always the dodgems, probably why I love driving now, especially into things.
Our family doctor was a Dr Kenny if my memory serves me well and he, or was it she, had rooms down near the harbour, that other wonderful attraction for a small boy, especially since we had our own small boat there.
I got to know that whole coastline very well, from Preston gasworks to Brixham Head, we used to take the boat and go camping on the grassy, rocky foreshore below what is now a lovely golf course.
Goodrington park was a favorite place too with its boating pond and the lovely cliff walks.
Where the Brixham road at Goodrington village goes up past Sugar Loaf hill and the holiday park, used to be a quarry, and as a little boy out for adventure I remember going on to the premises, not as well guarded as it would be nowadays, and finding a tap which I experimentally turned on and could not turn off again. I bolted in a great fright thinking the quarry would be flooded and I would be hunted down and made to pay for my 'criminal' act.
Journeys of any kind were always a welcome adventure then and especially train trips to Dartmouth or all points north. Many of the old carriages were non corridor and my speciality was to ensure we had our own compartment by standing at the window and making horrible faces and gestures at intending passengers to persuade them to choose another one.
Paignton truly was a place of magic and mystery and adventure to me and I have always regreted that when I was twelve my parents chose to emmigrate to New Zealand. It was such a lot to give up for what was meant to be a better life, which I suppose if I am honest, it was in some ways.