Life As A Young Boy In Saltdean

A Memory of Saltdean.

THE LIFE & TIMES OF DONALD CHARLES WILLIAMS
Personal recollections from Don Williams from Hailsham who lived in Saltdean from 1937 to 1952 - Many thanks for these wonderful stories & photo's of Saltdean in the Past.
Mum had answered an advert for a butcher's bookkeeper at Rottingdean, working for a Mr W.R. Dean who had three shops, Barcombe, Rottingdean and Saltdean. He apparently required a Manager for the Saltdean branch and suggested to Mum, would Dad be interested. He was, so we duly moved to 14 Westfield Avenue on the Mount Estate at the back of Saltdean, Sussex, about 7 miles East of Brighton. This was a new estate of small bungalows (still there) originally erected for the purpose of holiday homes. We rented one from Saltdean Estate Agency. They cost about £350 in those days and can still be seen in 2002.
I think it was in the summer of 1937 that we moved here, as I know it was lovely to run across the road into the lush long grass and to be able to play in the nearby small wood with no fear of molestation from anyone. I soon got to know other small boys of my age and remember for the first time seeing, in Summer, the Walls ice cream man on his 3 wheeled tricycle coming down the road ringing his bell and the words 'STOP ME AND BUY ONE' painted on the side of the ice cream container. It was designed with a freezer compartment and contained all sorts of ices for just 1 penny (old money).
The Mount estate continued to expand and it was a small boy's paradise, watching all the road maintenance machinery (very old fashioned) at work and one day in my exuberance, somehow got round behind a excavator digging out the chalk, and, as it swung round, trapped me against the wall of chalk, but fortunately the driver stopped at that precise moment and went back the other way, so I escaped being crushed!
Dad used to walk about 2 miles every day to work across the grassy slopes and cornfields, (Something that can't be done now, as all the land that he used to walk across has been built on, and the landscape has changed forever) so decided to move closer to his shop. He found a flat over the then Westminster Bank at 21 Longridge Avenue where we stayed for a couple of years 'til moving to a house named 'Founthill' in Founthill Avenue. Here we remained until about 1945/46 when our final move was to a bungalow named 'Upway' in Saltdean Drive. Unfortunately all these properties were rented and therefore we did not know how long we should be staying at each.
The Butcher's shop was quite a big and consisted of an office where mum used to help out as the Bookkeeper. In those days, the shopmen used to call out the weight and type of meat and Mum was able to calculate mentally in her head, what the price was to the customer. I used to help out, delivering meat etc. On a Saturday I would set off with a carrier bike, that had a large basket fitted to the front, full of meat/poultry etc, each piece with a small ticket attached with the customer's name and address. I was given 10/- float to enable me to give change. The round used to take best part of the morning covering about 3 square miles. Longridge Avenue runs up from the South Coast Road and in those days was only chalk rutted. There were a few shops, and even today there are not many more.
The Ocean Hotel was built half way up Longridge Avenue and was occupied by various categories, including the Army, and later as a recuperation centre for all the firemen throughout the country, who had been in the 'Blitz' around the country's cities. They were able to take a breather and at the same time improve their skills at fire fighting. There used to be hoses all over the place, whilst they pumped water from the Ocean Hotel swimming pool to the Lido on the seafront. I used to go with Dad to the Hotel because he had the contract to supply the meat etc. After the war when it returned to private ownership, my friends and I spent many hours making use of the lovely dance hall and the swimming pool. It was as a result of the Fire Brigade being there, that Dad suffered damage to his lovely Rover 12 saloon. It was parked outside the shop facing downhill, and one of the Fire Brigade's lorries rolled off on it's own, down the hill and crashed into the back of the car. In those days there were very few car repairers about and arrangements had to be made for it to be shipped all the way up to London, where Rover cars had a repair depot in Lillie Road Fulham. I think it was away for months but finally we got it back. It had quite a memorable number C.M.E. 849 (See me at eight forty-nine!).
Other times I used to wait for the milkman to come round and I'd have a ride on his cart which was horse drawn with all the crates and churns of milk on board. He used to come from 'Filkins' dairy in Rottingdean and the old horse knew exactly where to start and stop but one day I grabbed the reins and gee'd him up and he took off at a gallop - I panicked and jumped off in the opposite direction and went 'base over apex'. I learnt very quickly to always jump off the way the cart was travelling and have never forgotten that advice.
I don't remember how we came to get a dog, but he was a black & white collie called 'Caesar' He followed me everywhere and had the freedom of the downs and became a great companion, but sadly in December 1941 he had to be put to sleep for some reason I can't recall now. He was replaced with another faithful friend, a bull terrier called 'Son', but I wasn't to keep him long, before he too had problems and I lost him in November 1942. That was the last of my doggy days. They were both buried at a kennels, which still exits in Westfield Avenue at its far end.
There was huge amounts of open downland, over which I roamed in complete safety in those days (1937-1939) watching the local road men at work building the roads, which were barely more than mud tracks. They used the old heavy steam-rollers, which were stored at the old barn in Saltdean Vale to break up the ground with two long iron spikes dragged through the ground and then the laborious tasks of rolling hard-core and covering it with macadam - a very time consuming and labour intensified task - but they had endless time to complete in those unhurried days of pre-war Britain. The war started in 1939, and, on its outbreak co-incidentally enough I was in Terminus Road Eastbourne with my Mum & Dad, on a daytrip from Saltdean, when the first air raid siren was set off, and can remember a policeman running down the middle of the road with a gas mask on, waving a rattle, shouting to every one to take cover, because of the eminent prospect of a German raid with the likelihood of some sort of gas. It was all a non-starter, because nothing happening, and, as history related it was the start of the 'phoney war' - the all clear sounded and everyone carried on normally, but that was a turning point in my young life. Restrictions were placed on where the public could go, street lighting was extinguished, all private transport was banned, every window in the house had to be blacked out at dusk and woe-betide anyone who showed the glimmer of light from their windows. There was mass evacuation of the coastal towns and villages and all parents were advised to arrange for children to leave and go to addresses miles away in Wales and Scotland. It was fortunately not compulsory and I did not want to go, so happily, I stayed with Mum & Dad, and on looking back it turned out ok.
Life for small boys became quite exciting in a funny sort of way because we did not realise the true significance of warfare and found all the Army and Air force quite fascinating. Many soldiers of all nationalities passed through Saltdean and large numbers of tank and armoured regiments were billeted in and around us. The seashore was off limits and there were anti-aircraft guns all along the cliffs. These of course was like a magnet - we soon got to know the soldiers and enjoyed many hours riding on the lorries and tanks and watched them firing their guns in practice - climbing up and down the cliffs and shooting at the German planes which flew over Saltdean regularly. Along the Vale there was a searchlight and gun battery where I used to go and visit and on several occasions had to lay flat on the grass whilst the soldier let fly with his twin machine guns at German aircraft overhead. When German planes came down it was a time of excitement for the entire neighbourhood and there were two occasions when this happened. A Messcherschmidt 109 fighter came down on Telscombe Tye and a Dornier 217 bomber crashed and exploded on open ground beyond Holmbush Avenue (it is recalled by photo and writings in history books of the time). Dad and I were at the cinema in Brighton and it was flashed up on the screen that there was a 'raid alert' and we decided to make our way home to Mum. It was very foggy and when we got home, we were told that the plane had crashed on the downs. I was curious and went to see. I found a German airman's boot and his foot was still in it.
There is a book published called 'The Saltdean Story' and this book relates to the above Messerchmidt 109. The young pilot was a 19 year old Austrian, Karl Raisinger, who was marched away under escort. He was part of Unit 1 of Jagdgeschwader (Fighter Group 77) 3 Staffel, (No 3 Squadron) (whew! what a title) based at St.Omer France and I can recall the yellow cowling with the number 13 on the fuselage just as it states in the book. When I found out where it had come down I went to the site and it was being guarded by soldiers, but In due course I asked if I could sit in it. Apparently after the war he was a successful Banker and in 1979, returned to Brighton and was entertained by a local P.C. who arranged for him to visit the 'lock-up' where he was held in 1940. There is an entry in the Book named THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN THEN AND NOW on page 696 column 3 and is written as follows: Messerschmitt Bf 109E-4 (5104) Radiator damaged in combat with RAF fighters and forced-landed on downs at Harveys Cross, Telscombe north of Saltdean, Sussex 1.30pm Gefr Raisinger captured unhurt Aircraft 13+ a write off.
Again the old barn (still standing) in Saltdean Vale, which housed what was known as the East Sussex War Agricultural Estate with dozens of tractors and masses of Landgirls (alright to do a bit of flirting with)! I soon made myself known and perhaps a nuisance, but became very much a part of the agricultural scene, driving every and all shapes and sizes of tractor on my own at the tender ages of 10-13yrs. I was out all day helping stack the corn sheaves and making Hayricks where it was stored until the time came for it to be threshed and bagged up to go off to the flour mills.I was out from dawn to dusk ploughing, disking, harvesting, looking after the sheep and was convinced my life was going to be that of a farmer. I used to come home stinking of paraffin and Mum always moaned at the smell.
Although it was wartime there was plenty of open space over the downs and we often went out looking for lethal unexpired shells and ammunition, which could be found laying about after the troops had finished manoeuvres and in fact, brought bullets, piat bombs and bits of old phorous shells home. The clocks were put forward two hours, so we had double British Summer time and it stayed light beyond 11pm. Troops came and went and we had regiments of the tank Corp and artillery units with all their ancillary equipment, which as a young boy was very intriguing and I spent all my free times clambering over these vehicles and having meals with the soldiers in their cookhouse. In fact this particular cookhouse was the scene of two boys getting caught by the local 'bobby'! One was I and the other was a friend call Gerald. At the time this cookhouse was built in the back garden of one of the shops in Longridge Avenue. It was later a chemist's named 'Shimmins'. (It was later the venue of a land mine explosion which was being demonstrated to soldiers, causing many injuries) It had fallen into dereliction as the army had moved out and so it attracted us at the time to be 'vandals'! Gerald got onto the corrugated roof and commenced to bale water through the open roof to my delight. (We were 10 years of age at the time) I suddenly looked round and found the local bobby, P.C. Westlake looking at me. We were both marched off down to Dad's shop and given a dressing down!
Life carried on without much interruption from the Germans although in 1940 there were continuous dogfights overhead with our fighters harassing the German raiders, fighting the much-talked about Battle of Britain. We did have German and Italian prisoners of war working on the land, but didn't have much to do with them. Bombs were dropped off the shoreline and on the Downs behind Saltdean, but one air raid sticks in my memory, when I was in school at Rottingdean. It was my job to open up the shelters built under the playground at the sounding of what were known as the 'pips'. These were heard from a loudspeaker in the classroom and were an advanced warning that the sirens would soon be sounding off. I think the local observer corps operated them. As soon as I heard these 'pips' I had to run over to the shelters and switch on all the lights. On this particular occasion it turned out to be a reality and a Junkers 88 bomber flew over Rottingdean dropping about half a dozen bombs. Mum at the time had left her office in the High Street and had gone to a dairy near the crossroads Called 'Filkins'. She was about to come out of the shop, but luck was on her side because she had forgotten to pick up her shopping, and went back to the counter for something. As the bombs fell she flattened herself to the floor - if she had not done this, there was a strong chance she could have been killed by the blast. One of my school friend's dad (named Stone) was a war time policeman, and was at the crossroads when a bomb hit the block of flats on the seafront. He was unfortunately caught by the blast and died. The vicarage received a direct hit and other properties were damaged but we escaped to live another day.
There were nights when the air raids were on, and we spent hours in the large meat fridge in the shop and on one occasion there was the incessant droning of what we thought were enemy aircraft overhead, but when morning came found it was the motor rescue launch operating out to sea picking up shot down aircrew, so we could have stayed in our beds!
Having changed to a school in Brighton in 1943, it was another episode in my life having to travel on the buses, which were manned by the conductresses known as 'clippers'. Some were very 'Glam' and I got to know most of them on our routes and they allowed me to oversee the passengers and 'ring' the bell, which at 12 years of age I thought, was the bees knees! I would often get on and off the buses several times on my journey to school to make sure I didn't miss my favourite 'clippie'! When the buses didn't come along I often got a lift home in an Army lorry and on one occasion rode from Brighton to Saltdean on top of a tank!
As I've said it was a great and exciting time for small boys who loved to get mixed up with all the paraphernalia of war, cadging buttons and badges off the soldiers and wearing army forage caps and steel helmets and acting out being soldiers with our imitation 'Tommy guns' made of wood and rat a tat tatting at each other! I became quite adept at handling armoured lorries and Bren gun carriers and never missed out on an opportunity to have a drive.
Another bit of reminiscing comes to mind. Whilst running down the pavement outside the shops in Longridge Avenue was bowled over by a dog which came out from Cliffords sweet shop. I went 'flying' and was knocked unconscious for quite some time. Well I think Dad's lease on the flat ran out in 1943 so we moved again to a house in Founthill Avenue (still there) named Founthill, on the corner of Chichester Drive. Our little gang of boys & girls used to play in the Lustrells gorse bushes along the Vale (now gone and built on), and from time to time got into empty houses, which had been evacuated by the owners and on one occasion we were all playing in one, when I caught site of the top of a policeman's helmet - I was off up to the top of the garden like a rocket and hid behind the hedge, but after a while somebody came up and said the policeman wanted to see us all in the house. He took our names and then threatened us with dire consequences if he caught us again. We all ran off in different directions frightened out of our wits that our parents would find out. We never heard another thing so life resumed its thrill. There were lots of open space in those days and my time as a young schoolboy was spent out enjoying this environment - playing in the various Gorse bracken that housed our camps and climbing trees taking pot shots at rabbits and birds with our catapults (not the restriction on their use in those days) Of all the escapades that we all got up to in those days one sticks in my gullet, literally. One day whilst playing in the Gorse I tripped and fell on a twig which had shaped into a loop - my foot went under I fell and took a lump out of my neck resulting in a trip one Saturday morning to Brighton Hospital. At the time it gave Dad a scare because it was a busy day for him in the shop and I walked in clutching my neck with blood stained handkerchief. I think his first reaction was I'd cut my throat. Nevertheless the hospital stitched it up leaving pieces of wood bark in the wound and I had to make several trips to the hospital to have it dressed.
Whilst living in Founthill Avenue I did my bit for D-Day. With obviously all the secrecy going on about the imminent invasion of France, the whole of the area was flooded with army equipment and as a 12yr old I remember being given a large lump of green gunge by the soldiers and told to slap it into all the cracks of the lorries etc. I could find, and later realised this was the water proofing needed, when they were off loaded on to the beaches.
Well, May 1945 duly arrived and we all celebrated VE day with a big bonfire and fireworks (no restrictions then - I had pockets full of bangers and we would let them off all over the place - they only made a 'bang' - quite harmless). It was like having a blindfold taken off, there were still many restrictions although it was nice to be able to switch on a light at night without worrying about the blackout. After some time the mines and barbed wire defences were removed from the beaches and it was a great time when we were all allowed to go down on the beaches again. The late Stanley Lupino, a well-known actor of the time, had given me a lovely model yacht. I would insist on taking this down on the beach without Dad and one day I set the sails incorrectly and a gust of wind sent it seaward. I waded out in the water up to my chest, but had to give up only to see the yacht in all it's glory heading out towards France. With tail between my legs I had to report to Dad that I had lost this lovely yacht - he was not pleased! We were later informed that for the princely sum of £5, a boat from Newhaven could have been hired to recover it. I soon learnt to swim by falling in the water one day in an attempt to recover a jelly fish - lost my balance and plunged in fully clothed - that was another event which didn't go down too well when I got home, soaked right through. But from then on I could swim so it had its compensation.
Again for reasons I was not told, we moved yet again in 1946 to a bungalow in Saltdean Drive named 'Upway' (still there). There were times when it fell to me to organise cricket games among all the local lads and it was always easy to muster 10 or 12 of us to play.