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Barbara Greenshields (nee Jupp), born in 1924, recalls her early childhood days whilst living in Britannia Cottage, by the Britannia Inn in Littlehampton.
'Like most people some of the incidents in my early life I recall vividly, others are hazy. I remember my baby brother, David being at Britannia Cottage but have no recollection at all of his actual arrival in December 1925.
Hardly surprising I suppose as I was only twenty one months old myself and, I am sure, was kept out of the way and well cared for by my aunt and grandmother. No doubt my mother was thankful for this, though I know by what she told me in later years that she thought my aunt overindulged me, and blamed sweets she gave me at bedtime for the dental troubles I later suffered.
I clearly remember her giving me sweets when I was in my iron cot before I settled down to sleep so perhaps my mother's criticism was justified.
At about two years old I somehow managed to get hold of a glass jam jar and played contentedly in the garden filling it with earth. Alas it broke and cut my little finger quite badly - I still have the scar. My yells brought my mother and my aunt to the rescue with first aid and comfort.
Another very early memory is of waking up to find I was in my pram, being pushed by Grandma along Maltravers Road. I also have a clear recollection of her sitting on a log by Swanbourne Lake in Arundel Park; my aunt was there too. Apart from going to meet her from the cinema when I was older these are the only times I remember being out with her.
Aunt Hilda Jupp was my Godmother. Being unable or unwilling to say Auntie Hilda, I insisted on calling her Nana. This was eventually shortened to Nan, a name by which she was known by the younger members of her immediate family, including my parents for the rest of her life, though my father addressed her as 'Sis' when in conversation with her.
Her parents always called her Hilda. A kinder, more loving and generous auntie would be difficult to find, even if she was a little misguided at times.
At Christmas before I was three I became the owner of a doll's pram. Perhaps Father Christmas brought it. It was a Victorian model, the sort you see in museums nowadays. I pushed it around for a while but even at that young age I had a distinct feeling that it was old fashioned by the standards of that time. I wonder that happened to it?
Talking of prams reminds me that Mother had one and also a pushchair after David arrived. How on earth did she get these off the premises to push us out? Outside our home a long low wall extended from the end of our cottage to the bar steps. The only way on to the road was to climb over it. Did someone help to lift the pram or pushchair over every time she took us out? Or were they kept in my grandparents' living accommodation from where they could be pushed out at a higher level? (The 'Brit' (Britannia) being built on a slight rise). I shall never know and wish I had thought to ask my father during his lifetime.
My father kept his motorbikes in one of the 'Brit's' outhouses. I can't remember ever seeing him ride them, but sometimes kept him company when he attended to their mechanics. According to him I would tell him, 'Aren't you a lucky man Daddy to have two motor bikes!'
A tortoise lived at the 'Brit' and also a dog called Prin. When I was three my parents were allocated a council house and we moved to 24 Council Cottages, Flansham Lane, and now 96 Flansham Lane. I don't know how my parents and David travelled there, probably in the removal van. I was seated in the pushchair and Nan walked with me to our new home.
Shortly before arriving she gathered some flowers for me from a field in Worms Lane. Many years later we were discussing this event and she asked me, 'Do you remember the poppies I picked for you?' How glad I am that this conversation took place for, although I recalled this incident very clearly, I hadn't remembered exactly what the flowers were. Thanks Nan.
My parents were pleased and probably relieved to move into their new home. Dad, because I don't think he approved of young marrieds living so close to their parents, and I know Mother was only too pleased to 'get away' from her in-laws! When I was grown up Dad told me he was 'Glad to get in it and glad to get out of it'. He hinted that some of the neighbours didn't meet with his approval, but due to his discretion my brothers and I were blissfully unaware of any unpleasantness at the time.
Our new home had very few 'mod cons'. By today's standards it didn't have any at all! The kitchen had a sink and draining board and a cold-water tap and there was a copper in the corner. On the opposite wall a door led into a small bathroom, just a bath and also with only a cold-water tap. What dreadful planning.
No one had given the slightest consideration to the hazards of carrying near boiling water from the copper across the centre of the kitchen to the bath, yet these homes were occupied by families with young children. I bet the architect was a man - most of them were in those days - or was the council to blame?
In spite of my parents' precautions there was an occasion when David got too close to Mother and his arm was scalded. I don't think it was serious but I remember the blister that appeared afterwards.
We had no gas or electricity, so oil lamps and candles remained in use. Both living rooms had a black cooking range. I understand the houses were built for two families to live in if necessary -- the kitchen and bathroom to be shared, and each with their own living room and range for cooking. We had ours all to ourselves.
The bucket 'lav' in a little building down the garden was a 'come down' for us. The ones we shared at the 'Brit' had a wall-to-wall seat with a hole in the middle, but at least they could be flushed. I refer to 'the ones' (plural) because the one by the brick steps was used by the women and children, but the men went across the yard and round the path to the one in the garden, as did the boys when they considered themselves old enough.
I've never known the reason for the segregation within the same family, particularly as, when lady customers needed this facility they used the one in the garden normally used by the men in the family. The 'Gents' was just across the road from the public bar and much easier to find.
Next door's family shared their house with a married couple. The lady was black. There were pictures of the 'Ten Little Nigger Boys' in my nursery rhyme book, but apart from that this was the first black face I'd ever seen and I was terrified of her. One day I fell down in the front garden and she hurried to pick me up. I shrieked at her, 'Go away you nasty old black lady, I don't like you.'
Poor, kind lady! How hurt she must have felt, but I was physically hurt and afraid of her, purely because of her colour. How could a four year old be expected to understand racial prejudice? I don't remember this incident myself but my father told me of it not so many years ago. Eventually I became used to the lady's presence and lost my fear of her. I hope she forgave me my unkind outburst.'
I'm sure this lady forgave Barbara - we all know how hurtful four year olds can be.
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