Childhood In Hoo

A Memory of Hoo.

This view is instantly familiar! There was a sweet shop right there which was a favourite destination on walks into the village. I lived with my family in Hoo for two or three years in the late 1950s. My father was Eric Cox; my mother, Mary Jane ('Jean') Cox, and my sister, Penelope. My name is Susan. I believe we left in late 1959. We were the first family to live in a small row of newly-built houses on the main road into the village, a short walk and on the opposite side of the road to what we called the 'Rec', or playing field. There were swings and a self-propelled round-about where we often played. Cricketers used the grassy space as well - perhaps they still do. Our next-door neighbour was a doctor, Dr Tilley, who seemed to have a thriving village practice and who, in the fashion of the day, had his surgery at the front of his home. The village proper had two sweet shops, a newspaper agents' where we all picked up our papers and magazines, a pub called (if memory serves) the Five Bells (I think that's it, to the left of this picture), and latterly a shop which sold knitting wool and various sundries including things like rug-making craft items. A short walk from our home, on the other side of Dr. Tilley's surgery, was a tiny 'Esso' petrol station. On the opposite side of the road was a large fruit orchard - growing pears, I think. Running behind our row of semi-detached houses was a small brook which was a magnet to me and my sister and our young friends in the summertime. We could walk along the back of houses quite a long way, and felt quite intrepid. I belonged to the Hoo Brownie Troop 1, which was based at St Werburgh Church. We met at a small community hall in the village with our Brown Owl and Tawny Owl, whose real names I have forgotten (if I ever knew them!), but who were wonderful, interesting women. The bus service to the village seemed very good and frequent. My sister and I would take the double-decker bus to school in Strood, where we attended Ravenswood Priory. There was a bus stop only a few houses away from ours. My mother's housekeeper was a lady by the name of Mrs Munn, who shared a home with her Uncle Joe in a row of Victorian terraced houses about half way between our house and the village proper. She would take me and my sister to the church graveyard while she took care of a family grave, pulling grass from the grave and leaving flowers on occasion. I remember the small children's graves, little rounded diamond-shapes, as if, said my mother, quoting Dickens, the children had been buried with their hands in their pockets.