After The War Was Over

A Memory of St Blazey.

Just after the war during our summer holidays I was sent from Rochester (where we lived at that time, Dad having been demobbed and then working at Short Bros on the airport), together with my trusty Hercules cycle to spend the full summer school holidays with my Dad's Aunt and Uncle and their little fox terrier here in St Blazey. At that time they lived in Sea View Terrace and seeing Kittows shop brought back memories of my daily morning walk down the steep hill to them armed with an enamel jug to collect the day's milk, and woe betide me if any was spilt on my way back up the hill (only joking, they were two of the kindest people I have ever met).  Auntie Beat was almost as round as she was tall and what a marvellous cook she was, cake was on the table at every meal and Cod liver oil and malt was dished out after breakfast, a lovely gooey mess.
Our family, all being of Cornish origin, used to pride themselves on their pasties, but I can honestly say that none could hold a candle to hers. Maybe it was Kittows skirt that did it, now we'll never know. Life then seemed ideal.  Just nearby was Kittows field where twice a day the cows were brought to and from for milking in their milking parlour behind the shop. We didn't need a clock as we could tell the time from their comings and goings. Part of the field was fenced off, containing, I was told, an old mine shaft and this was our rubbish patch. No dustbin men for us. Just stand near the fence and throw as far as you could. Keeping a wary eye open for any cow that had its calf there and ready to run for the field gate if she decided we'd come too close. The fields were our playground and the hedgerows were full of blackberries so we would always be sure of blackberry and apple pie, the apples scrumped from Ada Legg's garden when we were sure she was out. Having our bikes meant we could easily go to our local beaches. Par sands, where the tide seemed to go out for miles even making Par harbour a dry dock, which reminds me that everything seemed to be covered in China clay dust when the boats were being loaded. Uncle Ralph worked on the docks here and always came home covered in clay dust, I think that that ended up finishing him off, who knows.
Anyway to get back to the main subject we had great times on Par sands looking for mines etc.  We were told the beach had been mined during the war and no-one knew whether they had all been cleared. They must have been as we never found any. Our own private beach was Spit, where only the locals knew how to get there, "Foreigners", anyone not a local, weren't told of its whereabouts. It took some getting to but it was a lovely rocky beach where we would clamber about on the rocks making sure we took home a saddlebag of limpets which Auntie would cook up for supper. I'm told now that Spit beach is no more after cliff falls have now cut it completely off. Was it the late forties or the early fifties that we visited an open air "theatre" on Par sands where the players acted on a stage surrounded by tiers of seating rising up? I can't remember it as a youngster but do remember going there in my early teens. I do seem to remember that there were a lot of caravans around there then.
I don't know whether anyone will ever read these ramblings or whether the people now living in number 8 find the area as happy for them as it was for me. I hope so. I went back to look around the area in the 1980's and saw the changes that the coming of the motor car has made to it. Gone were the high granite garden walls to make space for their cars, though no.8 still looked as I remembered it as luckily it had a garage store to the rear, the bottom wall still had the same two stones I used to sit on pretending I was on a motorbike.  Gosh, the memories were flooding back.