I Am Not A Beach Boy

A Memory of Severn Beach.

I am not a beach boy, even though we share a name. (I have not worked out how to create paragraphs,so bear with me.) My parents moved to the Beach when I was about 11 years old (around 1953) to Beach Road. We lived in the last house before the boating lake and I went to Patchway Secondary Modern by coach every weekday. I never sat next to Robin Stockham, he was too noisy!(sorry Rob). I also used the cinema, and I remember when it rained the drumming on the roof drowned out the soundtrack! RS is quite correct about the summer holidays, they were magic, all day every day down the Pool lying on the roof of the ice cream getting covered in tar and watching 70 year old Mr Cooper doing endless lengths in an immaculate and laid back style, brown as a berry and not a sign of Melanoma! Ah halcyon days, watching sandwiches, banana skins and condoms floating past. I lost my virginity in the dirty space behind the shooting gallery at the dodgems and suffered the embarrasment of a noisy round of applause when we emerged from the filthy space! Done the business! I went in measuring 5'6 and came out 10 ft tall! My thanks to the Jones bros and Reuben Giles. I am surprised Robin didn't mention the Severn Beach Hotel, wow, every weekend punch ups with the coach loads that came for the bands. Frank Sellicks chip shop, Terry Hodges garage, Elliots ironmongers, I can't remember the name of the amusement arcade on the sea wall, but renovated a house in Hampton Park years later and the lady who ran it lived in the house next door so she must have done OK. I'm fed up now so will sign off, Robin, get in touch!