The Unlocked
Door
In the 1950’s and well into
the 1960’s it was common practice for people to
leave both the front and back door unlocked, or
on the latch, whilst you quickly went across the
road to the corner shop or were just ‘potching’
about in the back garden. These were the days
when neighbours used to wander in and out of each
other’s houses to have a chat or to borrow something.
I can remember my Grancha having his bath in the
tin bath in the back kitchen and the lady from
next door just waltzing through to speak to my
Nanna about something or other. And even if the
front door was locked, there was always the key,
hanging on a bit of string, behind the door –
all you had to do was put your hand inside the
letterbox and pull it out.
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Titch Coppollo
Titch Coppollo was the happiest
man you would ever want to meet. He was an Italian,
who lived in Ystrad and who made the most gorgeous
ice cream you have ever tasted. He used to travel
around the street in an ice cream van and when
he stopped he would go to the back of the van,
lean out was shake a very large school hand bell
and shout on the top of ice voice “I___C___E”.
It was at that time that every mother used
to get pestered for money for one of Titch’s ice
cream cones. But if you were really lucky she'd
get a bowl of ice cream for the family.
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The Gelligaled
The Gelligaled is an infamous
public house in Ystrad which was, and still is
as far as I know, well known for its ‘Scrumpy’
or rough cider. When I was in Secondary School
our home rugby ground was in Gelligaled Park,
about half a mile from this establishment. After
a home game it was our practice to see not only
who get the first pint in but who had the most
pips floating in it.
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First
Pair of Long Trousers
Do
you remember your first pair of long trousers?
I do, it was like yesterday. It was when I left
Gelli Junior School to go to Porth County, at
the age of 11. Up until then we had all worn short
trousers. Remember the chapped knees….???
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Grand
Cinema
The
Grand Cinema was situated on Ystrad Road, just
up from Bridgend Square and Ystrad Railway Station.
It was the local cinema that always showed the
slightly risqué film, like James Bond…!!!! It
was a widely held belief that you would never
be alone in the Grand as it was infested with
rats. In fact, you never went to the toilets by
yourself. The other thing about the Grand was
that it was very easy for 1 to get in and let
the rest of the gang in.
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Church
Outings
The
annual Church Outing was a time of the year which
everyone looked forward to. It was the one day
when you would get together with your mates and
go to the seaside for the day. Our Church Outings
used to alternate between Porthcawl and Barry
Island. The one thing you always hoped for was
that the club that your Dad belonged to was going
to the ‘other’ resort.
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Broken
Biscuits
I
can well remember going to Thomas & Evans
or Home & Colonial with my mother and seeing
all the biscuits in metal tins with glass fronted
lids. It always paid to ‘be a good boy’ as the
shopkeeper would more often than not give you
a bag of broken biscuits.
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School
Dances
Porth
County School Dances were something else..!! it
was the only event that I can recall where the
Boys’ and the Girl’s school did anything together.
The first Dance I was allowed to go to was in
the Library in Llwynypia and I can remember a
good friend, who shall remain nameless due to
possible embarrassment, trying to climb the statue
of Archibald Hood. In later years, for some reason
unknown to myself, the Dance was moved to Judges
Hall in Trealaw
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Loose
Butter, Cheese and Lard
I
can still remember going into the Co-op in Gelli
and watching in fascination as the guy behind
the counter managed to measure within an ounce
or two loose butter, lard and cheese. These all
came in large cardboard boxes, which I think,
weighed about 28 pounds each. I was with great
precision that he was able to get a pound of butter
from the large 'lump' onto your piece of paper.
Equally he could judge a pound of sugar, which
was placed in blue bags, exactly.
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Going
to the Big School
I
remember by first day in Porth County as if it
were yesterday. Months before I had gone to Hodges
the outfitters in Ystrad, with my parents for
blazer, cap and long trousers in preparation for
the ‘Big Day’. When it finally arrived it was
terrifying. I was going from being the biggest
in the Primary school to you youngest in the Secondary
school. When I finally got there life was very
different. We had to stand every time a teacher
entered the classroom. The first week we were
like yo-yo’s as most of the members of the Upper
Sixth form were as big, if not bigger than the
teachers.
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Marbles
in the Gulley
In
the halcyon days of Gelli Junior school, before
computers and television in our house, I spent
many an hour in the Gulley, or back lane, between
Dover Street, Gelli Road and Raven Hill with Richard,
Paul, Chris, Vernon, Dennis and other playing
marbles. The surface had not yet be covered with
tarmac and 3 shallow holes had been dug in the
ground to aid in the game. I think I must have
constantly had ingrained dirt in my knees due
to the constantly kneeling in the dirt.
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Sugar
in Blue Bags
The
other thing I can remember about Gelli Co-op was
that unlike today’s sugar it was sold loose and
always packaged in a blue paper bag.
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Delivering
Goods
When
I was 14 years old I was allowed to have my first
part-time job – delivering groceries for Barker’s
in Church Road, Ton Pentre. This was done with
a pedal cycle, which had a large basket in front
of the handlebars, which could accommodate a very
large cardboard box. It was great in the summer
but could be very cold and wet in the winter.
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Nativity
Plays with Snake Belts
Christmas
time mean the Nativity play. The costumes never
changed. All the boys, no matter what their role,
wore dressing gowns and on their head they would
have a striped tea towel that was held in place
with an elasticated snake belt.
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Day
Trips in the 1950’s
Remember
the days when, once a year buses stretched from
one end of the street to the other, waiting to
take us youngsters to either Barry or Porthcawl.
Our annual trip to the seaside. Each bus, the
old Rhondda Transport as it was then, had a small
label in the front window with the number of the
bus, as there were so many, sometimes so many
Rhondda buses were in use, they brought extra
buses from Pontypridd, those dark blue buses stood
out from the crimson red of the Rhondda buses.
It was great sometimes to go on one of those blue
buses, as we had probably never been on a Ponty
bus. Everyone had to remember the number of their
own bus, as when you got to your destination,
it seemed like every bus in the country had descended
on the car parking area. If you got on the wrong
bus coming home you could end up in Maerdy or
Treherbert or even Maesteg not from the starting
point from which you left.
You used to get 2s 6p
(half a dollar) (for those who can't
remember pounds-shillings and pence - twelve
& a half pence) off the church and 5 shillings
(five bob) (twenty five pence) from
the club, they used to come around giving out
small brown envelopes to each child, hell, you
were rich on that day.
There
were no motorways to go on in those days; the
double decker buses would weave their way through
the narrow lanes, where the branches of trees
would bang against the windows. Bus after bus
like a huge snake in the countryside, speeding
through the lanes at breakneck speed, or it seemed
like that at the time. Singing "Ten green
bottles", and "She'll be coming round
the mountain". By the time we were almost
at the end of the journey, those ten green bottles
had turned into ten thousand.
Then would come the
mighty cry from those on the top deck of the bus
"I Can See the Sea" necks would be craned,
where? someone would ask, 'over there between
the sky and the land', would come a harmonious
reply. This is the time you knew the journey was
almost over - or so you thought! There were so
many buses trying to get into Barry Island, the
roads were chock a block. Once your bus had parked
up, usually a good 10-minute walk away from the
beach - then your day at the seaside began.
Once
at the beach, the grown-ups would form a circle
of deckchairs, once they figured how to get them
to stay up, there was always one father who could
never get the hang of the physics of assembling
a deckchair, and it would be one of the children
who would fathom it out. Once erected and the
swearing had stopped, the circle was formed, it
was like 'Custer's last stand'. Of course, us
little ones didn't have a deckchair; we had to
sit on a towel, if we were lucky. We were always
next to a posh family who a had a windbreak, 'why
can't we have one of those' you'd ask Mam, 'they
are too expensive, now sit down and be quiet'
would be the retort. We had only been there a
few minutes when the cry would go out, "can
we go on the fair now". 'the fairs closed',
you were told, but the rides are moving and there
are people on them you would observantly point
out, they are testing them for later, was the
reply. Forget it, we had to wait until half-hour
before the buses were due to leave before we could
go on the dodgems.
One
of the rituals of the seaside trip was the grown-ups
would go to get a pot of tea, they would trudge
through the sand and crowds of revellers to get
to the shop that sold the tea, they would carry
it back on a tray through the masses of coloured
deckchairs, the tea would probably have been cold
by the time they got back, we never found out,
as it was only the grown-ups who had the pleasure
of sampling the Earl Grey. Then out would come
the culinary delights for the day - tomato and
cucumber sandwiches, they new how to throw a bash
in those days. By the time you had eaten half
your sandwich, a gust of wind would blow and our
soggy sandwich would be covered in sand. 'Not
to worry' your mother would say, and she would
brush off as much sand as she could, then hand
the sandwich back to you. You would then get that
crunching feeling each time you chewed on your
soggy and sand laden sandwich. But they tasted
great, because we were at the seaside.
It was then time to
change into your woolly bathers, who ever invented
these was a total sadist. Great when they were
dry as they kept your extremities reasonably warm
in the normally cold wind. But once you hit the
sea and they got wet, it was a different story,
they would sag down to your ankles almost, and
you had to have the strength of Charles Atlas
to hold them up. And to get sand in them was a
nightmare, it was like walking around with a dozen
Brillo Pads stuffed inside them - talk about chaffed!
But the worst wasn't over, next your mother would
dry you - now that is some experience sand being
rubbed onto tender young skin which had not seen
the light of day for almost six months, the pain
was unbearable. It surely couldn't get any worse
- yes it could.
When
the tide was out, you would have to trek down
the beach, through the masses of brightly coloured
deckchairs, posh families with windbreaks, and
fathers who had been buried in the sand, just
to keep us kids happy, and to give Mam a break
from all the grizzling. Dodging beach balls, footballs
and the odd cricket ball, it was like making your
way through a minefield. You then reached the
edge of the sea, your next mission was to actually
put your foot into the water, something, a penguin
would have found traumatic. You could see the
other kids along the shore, taking one-step forward
and running ten back. You would stand there for
some time deciding whether to brave the elements,
eventually, insanity got the better of you, and
you would slowly move forward until the water
was up to your knees, as the waves lap perilously
close to your extremities, you try to make yourself
taller by standing on your toes, but being young
and naive, you thought all the waves were the
same size - wrong - the next wave would catch,
right up to your waist, your screams were drown
out by the screams of all the other unlucky or
insane kids who had gone in a little to far and
were engulfed by a tidal wave. I remember my mother
saying as I left for the sea, 'don't go in too
far' obviously she had never encountered these
Arctic conditions before. If the water reached
your chest breathing became almost impossible,
and by this time hypothermia had set in. All that
could be seen running back to their encampment,
were kids coloured a lovely shade of blue and
purple. When you arrived back at the encampment,
a towel was wrapped around you, and Mam would
perform the drying ritual, rub as hard a possible,
particularly between your legs, as stated above,
sand and skin do not form a good partnership when
rubbed together. By now, sunburn had also set
in making the pain that much more unbearable -
we didn't factor this and factor that in those
days, we had to wear our white 'Sloppy Joe'
(a T-Shirt for our younger readers) to
keep the sun off.
You
had to go on the donkey's, an exhilarating experience,
what with the sand trapped inside your Neolithic
speedos, enough to build a small wall, and still
sore from the rubbing dry your mother had so vigorously
performed, some minutes earlier. You were now
exposed to a leather saddle, and a creature which
doesn't take into consideration, you are not a
show jumper. Off we would go like the Charge of
the Light Brigade, galloping down the beach, all
could be seen were us poor kids bobbing up and
down, holding onto the metal hand bit, knuckles
white, the same colour as your legs. But that
wasn't the worst part - sand, skin and saddles
do not mix, by the time we arrived back at the
donkey pound, it felt as though someone had used
your thighs to sandpaper a wardrobe.
The sea at Barry Island
was certainly not the Med; the Med had fish swimming
around you and water so clear you could see anything
around you. Now the sea at Barry was another kettle
of fish, there were items in that water that even
Greenpeace would find hard to believe. There were
all kinds of waste that would float past you,
the sea was so polluted it's a wonder we never
had the Black Death on our hands again. The clarity
of the water was zero visibility, if there was
anything that wanted to bite you or sting you,
you never had a chance, because you couldn't see
it coming, and it would have probably bitten or
stung you and quietly made its way to the next
poor victim, knowing it would never be detected.
The water was so cold that your manhood would
try to hide somewhere inside your body, it would
retract to such an extent, I thought I was turning
into a girl!
By
mid-afternoon, all the fathers would get up together
and state they were just popping off for a while,
I always wondered where they went, there must
have been something that only the fathers could
do, also all the mothers would have faces that
would kill at thirty yards. By about 2:30 the
fathers would return to the encampment looking
red in the face and talking funny. Apparently
the pop they were drinking had caused some strange
effect on them all. They would slump into the
deckchair and within minutes would be snoring
and breaking wind in harmony. I came to understand
some years later that they used to go to the local
club and drink as much as they could in two hours,
12 till 2, the opening and closing times at that
time.
At last it's time for
the fair, that half a dollar had been burning
a hole in your shorts all day. Which ride shall
we go on, there loads of kids queuing to get on
the rides, obviously their parents had the same
idea, go to the fair half hour before the buses
left. You had two or three rides then those dreaded
words, 'come or we'll miss the bus, it's a good
ten minute walk back'. 'Come on Mam, only one
more go' you would try to persuade her by throwing
a tantrum, worse thing you could do, as on top
of the thighs rubbed raw by the sand, and your
skin blistered from the midday sun, you would
get a slap across the back of the legs from your
mother, who would state in a voice which would
scare a werewolf, 'that's enough of your nonsense
my boy'. So you then give up the tantrum and try
the charm - it never worked, and we made our way
back to the bus, with pain from three different
parts of my body.
It
was then time to leave the golden sands and deep
blue sea!! and head for home. We had to be back
by 7 p.m. so the fathers would be in time for
opening time at the local pub or club. You would
see families who looked like lobsters, the same
colour as the Rhondda Transport buses that had
brought us, and screaming when someone touched
them or got within six inches of their glowing
skin. The trip home was a nightmare, kids were
crying because they were tired, hungry or burned
to a crisp, fathers and mothers were arguing about
something or other. Apart all that, it was a great
day out at the seaside, and we now looked forward
to next year, hope it's the club trip, you get
5 Bob on that one.
(
©Rob
Lewis Rhondda
on the Web )
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Train
to Cardiff
Catching
the train at Treherbert Railway Station of a Saturday
morning to go to Cardiff. By the time the train
got to Ystrad it was packed, with standing room
only. Those who were going as far as Cardiff were
extremely lucky as the train would be three-quarters
empty on pulling out of Pontypridd Station as
the majority of people would be going to 'Ponty'
for the market.
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Do
these evoke any memories of Valley Life for you..??
If they do and you would like to share them with
others then please drop me a line so that yours
can be included.
