Riding down Heytsbury Road on our soap carts onto Hunnyhill and down to the arches by the Red Cross old soldiers home (somehow we always kept quiet by this place) and on to the millstream, (how we did not get killed I don’t know, not many cars in those days I suppose). Playing on and under the arches, embankments and sidings of the railway. The bridge to Freshwater line had gone by the then. My father coming back home in 1960 saying that he could not get to work because of the floods. And me and my friends rushing down to see the water, climbing the railway embankments to watch the older boys shouting to the soldiers assigned to guard the brewery to give them some beer (silly mistake that), to which bottles of beer flew over the wall for all to pick up and drink.

Then there was the “The Grange” Climbing over the twelve foot wall (or so it seemed) in Heytsbury Road, playing in those dark woods on the way to and from Saturday morning pictures at the Odeon Cinema, playing chase through the trails made through the bushes, no doubt made by past countless generations, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t get caught. Crossing the driveway and scumping apples in the autumn, filling and stretching our jumpers much the annoyance of our mothers, but oh! Those apple pies.

Crossing the Stream by the sewer pipe that ran alongside the road, on the way to Saturday morning pictures and catching tiddlers in the pond on the way home. Newport railway station where you paid a penny for a platform ticket and watch the trains to Cowes and Ryde arrive and depart, the Sandown line had gone by then. The corner shop on Worseley Road and the main road was Coopers, which was also a post office; you could buy anything by the “pound”. I used to watch in amazement as old man Cooper cut the cheese with that thin wire. On the other side of the road was the tollhouse, with its narrow passages between the old cottages (bet the council regret pulling this national heritage site down) it is now the road entrance to the estate that covers the fields that belonged to the Stark family. Next to that was Jolliffs the bakers, you could buy a bag of one day old cakes for one penny. I can still taste those cream buns. Also Downers the newsagents, buying Corona dandelion and burdock or American cream soda, to which you added a dollop of ice cream. Daishes the barbers, sitting in that chair (how would you like it sir he would say) and no matter what you said, short back and sides was all you got, with loads of Brylcream.

Parkhurst Infants School, in Albany road or was it Whitesmith Road? My first teacher Miss Plum, as I remember a very lovely old grey-haired lady always smiling and pleased to see you. In the juniors Jock Ferguson was the Headmaster, there was Mr Heath, one of the best teachers I ever had in my entire life. Miss Belcher (helped me get over my ssssstutter). Miss Drudge, on reflection the best teacher I ever had, and the only woman I know who could play the piano with her back to you and still shout “shut up Sloper” when I was whispering. We used to check her piano for mirrors but couldn’t find any; she must have had mystical powers.

There was a very nice school dinner lady (I cant remember her name) but apparently she went to school with my mother, so me and my friends got extra helpings (boy was I popular). On the way to school in Albany road was “Ernie’s” a red tin shack that had all sorts of wondrous sweets, (eight blackjacks for a penny) after he died and it closed we used to go to Ma Freemans café, on the main road, the café contained two long bench tables and was always full of full of hungry workmen. She was a rather large lady who could not have made any profit from her sweets as she always gave us extra. Later my mother worked there, as a waitress, and I had to go there for my lunch. Later it was owned by Bill Mountain and his wife, Throwing stones at the bell on the Red tin chapel in Albany road. The bell was later covered by chicken wire, can’t think why. At the end of Worsley road (Tin Pit Lane as it used to be called) was the lane that led to the slaughterhouse, the lorries loaded with cows and sheep constantly going past our house. Also playing in the backfields and farmer Groundsel shouting up from his farm (get out of that “!#*#!*# field). My father’s allotment, playing with the remains of his bonfire and burning my fingers.

The street party in 1952 to celebrate the Coronation of the queen, myself and Ethelene Logan going as Jack and Jill. Sunday school was held in the Wesleyan Chapel next to Reeds the greengrocers, and afterwards we would go down Dodnor lane to the river Medina to play on the logs, those square cut trees tethered to the shore by thick steel cables, Crossing the railway, stopping to place halfpennies on the line, waiting for the train to pass and hopefully making a penny out of them. Coming home in our Sunday best, soaking wet and covered in mud somehow just knowing that we would get a telling off. Playing on the army assault coarse at Albany Barracks on Forest road, and catching tadpoles in the water pits. The milkman Mr Moody dispensing milk from churns on the back of his horse and cart, how did that horse know when to start and stop without any prompting?

Catching the Piggy Bus from Forest Road to Priory boys school at Gunville. Listening to the Journey into space on the radio (there wasn’t any television then). And later when we were older the pubs, Ah! Those pubs, at the bottom of Hunnyhill was the Trooper with its flagstone floors. And at the top was the Britannia; we used to go to the side door to buy smiths crisps from a large square tin (that seemed to be the only choice in those days). There was also a snug bar and there were three old ladies that used to drink stout, possibly the forerunner of Coronation Street. Next was the halfway house that Fred Pink owned, his son Leslie was, as far as we were concerned was the fastest person on two legs, until he was run down by a car on his way to school and broke his leg. Then there was the Castle and Banner, which was very popular with us lads, as the landlord never questioned how old we were...