An extract from this memory was published in the West
Sussex Gazette on 24th October 2002.
In the late 50's and early 60's there were few cars on
the roads in Worthing, said Sue White (nee Moss) who was
born in the town in 1953. Most people walked on foot. Milk
was delivered by horse and cart and there was little money
to spare, but we had so much love and laughter in our lives,
lives that were full and free.
As children, my two brothers and I were allowed to wander,
to explore and to discover our heritage. The beauty of nature
surrounded us and our days of freedom were spent exploring
the coast or the South Downs.
In the summer I would walk from home in Lyndhurst Road
to the stables at Lancing. I would climb a rough track upwards,
towards the Downs and riding stable under the secure and
deep dappled tree shadows. At the end of my riding lesson,
I would head down lanes and hollow ways towards the coast.
The journey took something like two hours. I loved the
walk under the elms and oak trees and between the hedgerows
of hazel, hornbeam, and spindle where I would occasionally
pick a bluebell or primrose, a wood anemone or yellow archangel
to press between the pages of a book.
Wrens, hedge sparrows and whitethroats could be seen flittering
amongst the depths. Song thrushes and blackbirds hopped
at the hedge bottoms, eating earthworms, slugs and snails
and during the autumn months berry crops would be food for
yellowhammers, bullfinches and chaffinches.
In winter, fieldfares and redwings could be spotted. The
hedgerows were alive with song and the movement of flittering
butterflies, moths and birds as I dawdled my way homewards.
Occasionally, my two brothers would accompany me during
the summer vacation with packed lunches in hand. They would
spend the morning playing on the Downs whilst I rode.
When the three of us met up after my ride, rather than
walk back along the beach we'd make our way home through
the woods and across the Downs: Highdown, Salvington and
Cissbury Ring.
We walked the dark cool depths of the ancient deciduous
woods, dominated by oak where midges danced in the beams
of sunlight. Sometimes we'd spot a lone rabbit or fox and
above our heads grey squirrels would jump from branch to
branch.
As we moved further down well-trodden trails, we would
occasionally espy an adder sunning itself in a sun-drenched
spot, and as we drew near it would slide silently to disappear
into the undergrowth. Tits foraged in the trees, constantly
calling to each other and we would often stop and listen
for the drumming of great spotted woodpeckers.
The woods were a magical place, with trees to climb, glades
of inordinate beauty to be investigated and streams to explore.
As we walked through the deepest depths we would tell one
another dark frightening stories. We were never afraid for
we were the 'Three Musketeers'.
But soon the trails would lead us through and into the
sunlight where we'd frolic in the fields, collect stones
and flints, find Roman arrowheads, and pick wildflowers.
We'd dawdle along the bridleways in the warm late afternoon
air, chasing butterflies, chasing one another, playing out
our dreams, the three of us discussing our future.
We'd climb ancient stiles and make our way through cornfields,
across paddocks and follow the ancient tracks made centuries
before by the footsteps of our ancestors. We would stop
and rest and survey the view, which was far ranging across
meandering rivers, the rolling Weald and the coast.
We'd watch the deep sun, blushing rose, disappear beneath
the sea from the top escarpment of Cissbury Ring, an ancient
hill fort, before making our way in the opalescent light
towards home. Footsore and weary, but happy, we would arrive
home just as the night drew in.
In bed, after a quick supper of bread and cheese, we would
listen to the slow rhythmic smash of the waves upon the
seashore, which would lull our tired legs and bodies into
sleep.
Sue White (nee Moss) with her two brothers at Cissbury Ring,
on the South Downs near Worthing, c 1961.
My father who now lives in Florida told me that when he
was a boy the Channel was clear, the air was fresh, and
the green fields stretched from the South Downs to the sea.
He enlightened me that there were also fields between Worthing
and Broadwater and that his Grandfather worked in greenhouses
growing grapes close to Ham Road.
Our large families were very close, he told me, and his
parents would rent a coach when visiting my uncle in Maidstone.
His Christmas’s were wonderful: Aunts, Uncles. Cousins
and Grandparents were all together. Xmas puds had been stored
for months and he would hope to get a slice which contained
a silver theepenny bit.
With no television then, he played games: horse racing
games, cards, etc., and the family would gather around the
piano singing songs of the day. Xmas supper was always a
great event with a tremendous array of pickles to go with
the cold Ham, Turkey, Beef, and Tongue, followed by hot
mince pies and other deserts.
At the end of this family gathering his parents would borrow
his Aunt’s pram and on the way home he would fall asleep;
and to this day he can smell the leather still. So much
has changed since my father's time.
My father tells me that militarily our family goes back
many generations, according to my late grandparents and
other relatives. The earliest recorded enlistment is in
the old family bible, which was presented to his great great
uncle John William Moss.
John joined one of the last sailing ships of the line in
1885, HMSS (HIS MAJESTY'S SAILING SHIP) St Vincent at Portsmouth.
This ship might have had an interesting trip or two, as
it is mentioned in "The Shipping Wonders of the World".
In the 1914-18 war, my great uncle (his mother’s side)
was killed and his name is etched on the Worthing war memorial
by the Town Hall (Last name = Heather).
My great grandfather served with the Royal Sussex regiment
of infantry. He won the George Medal for going over the
top of his trench to bring back a wounded comrade. He was
shot through the throat while doing so and survived the
wound, and I can remember sitting on his lap when I was
three or four years old.
My great grandparents lived then at 104 Lyndhurst Road.
My great Grandmother Brown lived until I was thirteen years
old.
Auntie Clare's (my Grandfather’s sister) husband (uncle
Ernie) survived the sinking of the great battleship HMS
Warspite during one of the big naval battles of the 39-45
war.
My grandfather served with the Royal Artillery and was
at the battle of Allemain on North Africa serving under
Montgomery. Occasionally the battle is shown on TV and somewhere
behind one of those flashing guns is my grandfather.
My grandfather said that the night of the defeat of the
German desert army under Rommel witnessed the largest big
gun battle of the war. My Grandfather went on through the
victory in North Africa and landed with the American and
Australian troops at Anzio in Italy where there was another
great battle.
His brigade fought all the way to Rome when the Italians
capitulated. He was walking around Rome one day and bumped
into my Uncle Ken (Brown). Uncle Ken was in the airborne
division and fought in Italy against the Germans and in
India against the Japanese.
My father joined the RAF Police in 1947 and was posted
to the army of occupation in Germany, where cities were
still piles of rubble and there were thousands of displaced
persons wandering the streets. The Nuremberg war trials
were still in progress.
There were still pockets of German soldiers fighting in
small groups, referred to as wolf packs. One of my father’s
friends was killed in the city of Hamburg whilst on patrol,
and this was 18 months after the end of the war.
During his time in Germany the Cold War started in earnest
and all demobilisation was cancelled. Tanks, troops and
heavy guns were coming back in through the port of Hamburg
where he was on duty. The Berlin airlift began and they
were all put on war footing until the Russians backed away.
My father tells me that he does not think the General public
were made aware of just how close to war we seemed to be,
but there was a serious build up of the British forces in
Germany, and being in the military police he was put through
further combat training in case of war.
He was then posted to RAF Wahn (now Dusseldorf airport)
where it was his duty to protect the squadrons of Mosquito
fighter-bombers, some having participated in the raids on
the secret heavy water plants where the Germans were attempting
to collate the materials to manufacture an atomic bomb during
the war.
It was during the war that he first joined the Navy cadets
(not exciting enough) then the Royal Sussex Regiment Company
B (cadets). They were fully trained including courses given
by the commando regiment, and this included courses on street
fighting where he would do training in bombed out streets
amongst the rubble.
He would also either attack or defend areas on the Downs
against the Canadian regiments which were stationed in the
Worthing area. Of course much of the battle of Britain was
fought over Sussex and he used to watch the frequent planes
fall out of the sky.
He and his friends would rush to crash areas to collect
souvenirs, especially bullets and aircraft parts. After
a bombing raid on Worthing where a plane crashed near Lyndhurst
Road he told me that a friend of his had collected a piece
of scalp which he had placed in a jar!
When he was younger, he would also join his mother on fireguard
duty, and it was on one of those duties when he looked into
the sky he saw hundreds of planes heading for France. It
was the beginning of the invasion. On that day more than
8000 planes were in the air, yes 8000! Can you imagine that!
The war had started when my father was eleven. If the sirens
went before 8 a m you did not have to go to school, if the
sirens went during dinnertime you did not go in the afternoon,
and if you had spent a disturbed night because of sirens
and raids you didn’t go anyway.
Of course the south coast was a main route for aircraft
going in both directions so he virtually received no schooling
after the age of eleven. He just stayed home and would sometimes
help his mother in the shop when not playing soldier. At
the age of thirteen he was sent around to units in Sussex
to train other cadets in the taking apart, cleaning, and
use of machine guns.
My Father married Jean Marion Young in 1950 and I was born
at 15 Lennox Road in 1953, the second child after my brother
Paul. My brother Carl was born in 1955.
I can recall that as a child our house backed onto a sawmill.
It was a big terraced house but it didn’t have a bathroom,
only an outside toilet and we were bathed in a huge porcelain
sink in the kitchen.
When we were four, my elder brother and I would sit on
the wall overlooking the sawmill and chase the huge spiders
with brooms to stop them coming over the wall. I was quite
sick as a child having managed to get most of the childhood
diseases before I was five.
I did attend St George’s primary school just next
to the gas works but my only memory is of trying to paint
--- I was given white paint to paint on a white paper and
the teacher told me not to be so silly ‘cause I started
crying.
Shortly after, we moved to 106 Lyndhurst Road (and lived
next door to my Great Grandparents and my Uncle and Aunt).
Apparently, my mother couldn’t stand the huge spiders
and rats and mice that made their way into our house in
Lennox road from the sawmill.
I then went to Lyndhurst Road Primary School with my brothers
Paul and Carl. I started off in Miss Pembleton’s Class.
Paul was two classes above me and Carl a class below me.
Mr Clark was the headmaster.
It was a happy school and I have many fond memories of
my time spent at the school. In the winter we used to put
the frozen milk on the radiators to thaw and warm. We made
huge slides in the playgrounds during the winter months
and had many a fall and bruised knee.
In the summer months we played tag and marbles and did
handstands against the walls and played on the monkey bars.
We often sat and watched the Davison School girls doing
sport on their sport oval.
Because we lived over the road from the school we use to
go home for lunch everyday and I envied the children who
use to eat in the canteen. The school use to hold a big
jumble sale every year and Mum use to look after the lucky
dip and we would help her wrap the presents and place them
in sawdust.
During our holidays, on stormy days, Paul, Carl and I would
run down to the beach and play ‘beating the wave’.
As the wave hit the groin (breakwater) with a roar, it would
rear up high into the air before dropping to smash onto
the pebbled beach below.
Our game was ‘chicken’. When the turbulent water
receded we would run down the pebbles, stand as close as
the groin as we could and wait for another wave to sweep
in. When it swept in hitting the groyne and reared up over
us we would make a dash back up the beach, slipping and
sliding on the wet pebbles with the wave arching over our
heads, trying to beat it before it crashed down onto us.
We were frequently drenched and I can remember Mum not
being too happy when her three “musketeers” arrived
home sodden. One time, Dad took a black and white photograph
of the three of us caught under a wave as it reared up,
the sea receding from around our feet.
He didn’t capture the look of fear and anticipation
on our faces as we were about to make a dash up the beach
but we were poised ready to run as the wave swept in over
us with Paul in the middle, Carl and I on either side, clinging
to his arms.
Dad later won a national photographic competition with
his photo (below) and it started him off on yet another
of his hobbies – photography.
Playing ‘chicken’ with a large wave breaking on
the beach near Windsor Road, east Worthing. Together with
her two brothers, Paul and Carl, is Sue White (nee Moss).
On another day, I recall Worthing having a terrific storm.
Dad bundled the three of us up into raincoats and Wellington
boots, and to mum’s disgust we dashed down to the beach.
With the wind and rain stinging our faces, we fought to
walk against the gale. I can remember the Channel was a
dark, foaming grey and the seafront was covered in a thick
sea spray. The sea had come up over the beach and had begun
to flood the roadway and lapped around our boots.
The noise was unbelievable, the roar of the water in our
ears, the thunder and lightening above, and the fear in
our chests as we watched the lightening hit the water with
a massive crack and dance across its blackness before disappearing.
Sea and sky became one, a heaving wild fury. We had to
hold onto one another to keep standing and we could not
hear ourselves speak above the tremendous cacophony. For
an hour or more we remained watching, listening, becoming
a part of the frenzy of nature.
Drenched and cold, I can recall Dad’s sparkling green
eyes and laughter as he held the three of us close together
in his arms. He told us that the Vikings and their gods
stalked the heavens above and were battling their foes,
and we’d shiver in anticipation of the further cracks
of thunder and forks of lightening.
Arriving home sodden, a burning coal fire in the grate,
I can still hear Mum complaining that he was utterly crazy.
The three of us were plonked into a hot bath, which was
followed by toasted buttered crumpets and dainty fairy cakes.
We ate silently, sitting in our pyjamas in front of the
fire, the sound and sights of what we had just witnessed
still fresh in our minds.
There were many long winter evenings sitting with Dad telling
us stories of the Toby jugs Mum collected. Each jug had
its own story. The jugs would come alive in our imagination.
He read Charles Dickens and I can remember sitting in front
of the fire listening to his words as he made the story
come alive and the images dance in our minds.
On other evenings he would teach us chess. The three of
us could play by the age of six and we’d have our own
championship games. On long winter evenings, we would sit
and watch him clean his rifles and pistols, for he was a
championship shot.
Occasionally, we would be allowed to handle the guns when
he taught us their operation and safety features. They were
never locked away. We knew where they were kept and he had
given the three of us a healthy respect for them.
We’d fall asleep with the sound of music in the air
or the sound of scales being practiced repeatedly. He could
play literally any instrument but his favourites were the
trumpet and trombone. We were reared on the famous jazz
players of the time: Duke Ellington and Harry James.
There was so much love and laughter in our lives when we
were children, there was hardly any money but somehow that
didn’t seem to matter. It was an idyllic childhood
of freedom and exploration.
I can remember when I was maybe ten or eleven years old
I was looking forward to a forthcoming birthday. My father
asked me what I wanted and having just read ‘Black
Beauty’ I said “riding lessons”.
From somewhere the money was found and I was able to ride
all through that long hot summer during the weekends and
school vacation. Dad found a Colonel of the Queen’s
Guard who had retired years before and who ran a stable
on the South Downs at Lancing (Hill Barn) to teach me.
The stable was an ancient ramshackle place, hundreds of
years old, which smelled of horses and hay. The horses were
well kept and the training was superb. The lessons cost
2/6d a day or one pound ten shillings for ten lessons which
not only included riding but also being taught how to care
for the horses and how to clean out the stables and polish
the leather!
Every Saturday, Dad would drive me to the Downs on the
back of his moped, drop me off at the end of the lane and
I would walk for fifteen minutes or so, climbing a rough
track towards the Downs and Stable. At the end of the day,
I would find my way home by walking along the sea front.
The journey took something like two hours but I didn’t
care, I loved the walk, and loved spending the day with
the horses. On my return journey, if the tide was out, I’d
walk along the sands with the tang of the sea in the air,
and on a clear day, in the distance, I would be able to
spot the white cliffs of Beachy Head and the twin piers
of Brighton.
Occasionally, my two brothers, Paul and Carl, would accompany
me during the school vacations with packed lunches in hand.
They would spend the day playing on the Downs whilst I rode.
When the three of us met up after my day’s riding,
rather than walk back along the beach we’d make our
way home across the Downs, Highdown, Salvington and Cissbury
Ring.
We would frolic in the fields on our way, collect stones,
find Roman arrowheads, and pick wildflowers and gorge ourselves
silly on wild blackberries and strawberries. We’d dawdle
along in the warm late afternoon air, chasing butterflies,
chasing one another, playing out our dreams, the three of
us discussing our future.
We’d climb ancient stiles and make our way through
cornfields, across paddocks and follow the ancient tracks
made centuries before by other footsteps. We’d watch
the sun disappear beneath the sea from the top escarpment
of Cissbury Ring then make our way in the opalescent light
towards home.
Foot sore and weary, but happy, we’d arrive home just
as the night drew in. In bed, after a quick supper of bread,
cheese, fruit and creamy milk, we would listen to the slow
rhythmic smash of the waves upon the seashore, which would
lull our tired legs and bodies into sleep.
I learned to ride, but not without mishap. The first week
I sat upon a Shetland pony, my feet virtually touching the
ground. The second week I was placed upon a huge white stallion
(the reason being that by the time you were on a pony in
the third week, you’d feel quite at home), the largest
horse I have ever seen.
During my first walk around the paddock, someone fired
a shot close by. My horse took fright and galloped off,
jumped a fence, over another fence, charged through the
stable-yard, jumped the gate and galloped off up the walking
rack. Horse and I disappeared into the far distance!
I can remember everyone yelling at me to pull on the reins
but it was too late, I was too scared to do anything but
hang on for dear life. I knew if I fell off it would hurt
and decided the best thing I could do was to somehow stay
on.
They found me two hours later in the woods, still on the
horse, sobbing my heart out. The Colonel was furious. Why
had I not started walking back, leading the horse, but he
could see how upset I was -- all I wanted to do was to get
off the horse and never ride again.
He made me ride back to the stables, leading me on a rein.
I was kept on that horse for hours, made to jump, gallop
and trot. I had a whole summer’s lessons in one afternoon.
I lost my fear and the following Saturday when I arrived
for my third lesson I was sat upon a pony, Penelope, who
remained my horse for the rest of the season. A frisky little
character, she was gentle and not easily startled.
As a child I loved playing in Peter Pan's Playground and
especially loved the swinging boats and the castle slide.
I also recall playing hide and seek in Beach House Park
within the bird sanctuary rockery mound with the stone plaque
"to all our feathered friends"…
Peter Pan’s playground (my postcard)
Bird Sanctuary and memorial to warrior birds at Beach House
Park
Homefield Park off Chesswood Road was yet another place
I played with my brothers. There were many trees to climb
and in winter piles of autumn leaves to dive into. I use
to play on the witch’s hat and swings. I can also remember
the huge Annual Fair held there annually where I won many
a goldfish by throwing a ping pong ball into little goldfish
bowls, and watched the parade of floats as they entered
the park.
I can also remember playing games of tennis on the grass
tennis courts with my parents and brothers in the summer
months. I also remember the paddling pool in Homefield Park.
It was filled in when I was still a child as apparently
a few Worthing children caught polio from it!
As children we were never allowed to play in the paddling
pools around Worthing, especially the one near the seafront.
We were only allowed to swim in the sea.
In the summer we used to spend most of our summer holidays
on the beach. I can remember eating gritty egg sandwiches
from a tin, wrapped in a towel shivering after being called
in from the sea or sand for lunch. It would be freezing
cold, but we'd STILL have cucumber sandwiches sitting on
the pebbles, with the smell of au de seaweed wafting 'round
our noses as the wind whipped up and blew sand in our sandwiches.
Afterwards we’d be swimming again or jumping off the
groynes into the sea, building mud dams with my brothers,
Paul and Carl, and checking for crabs in the rock pools.
Later we’d change behind the towel our Mum held up
around us as our teeth chattered away ten to the dozen.
We also played hopscotch on the seafront with GREAT big
bits of chalk from amongst the pebbles, or we’d go
and watch the Punch and Judy show.
Often as children we’d walk along the seafront to
the Town to call in and see our grandparents or go shopping
with our parents. Sometimes we walked via Lyndhurst Road
and then cut through Beach House Park and Steyne Gardens
and then along Brighton Road into Montague Street. At other
times we walked straight along the seafront into town.
Beach House Park
My Grandparents had a Hairdressing Shop called "Evelyn’s"
in the High Street, opposite Wilson’s (second hand
dealers). Now that has all been pulled down. It was amazing
as they had separate cubicles in the shop so that people
could be "private" when having their hair done.
Out the back of the shop they had an open area but people
(especially the elderly) used to book in to have their hair
done in the private cubicles – now you wouldn't find
that today!
I was eight when I first sat in a cubicle to have my curly
hair tamed for the Miss Junior Miss Contest which was held
at the Lido. I came first in the contest and won the princely
sum of three pounds. My father gave my grandparents a pound
as they had bought my dress and hat, and I was given a pound,
which I promptly spent at Gamelys toy shop which was then
in Montague street.
My Grandparents lived above their shop and above that were
four or five other floors. The stairs were really crooked
and I hated going up to the third floor to the bathroom
as one had to hold onto the wall as they sloped so badly!
It was also really scary as the house was really old and
you could hear it creak and groan and sometimes you could
hear what sounded as laughter echoing through its old stairways.
Of course my brothers used to tease me about ghosts so I
avoided going up the stairs if I could.
My father told me that he used to sleep on the upper floors
as a child and it was a great place to play in all the nooks
and crannies and often played over the roofs of all the
houses in the High Street.
In the house next door to their shop they had a basement
entrance to the cave system which runs under Worthing. Another
entrance was apparently in the basement of the Thieves’
Kitchen (a pub now renamed the Vintners Parrot).
The sea comes in under Worthing and sometimes in the Dome
Cinema you could hear it splashing around underneath the
flooring, especially on stormy days!
My grandmother told us that there was a ghost who was known
as the White Lady whom she had seen wandering in the High
Street many a time who often gave her a fright. My grandmother
would never stay in the shop/home alone.
On certain nights, she said, you could hear drunken singing
and the chinking of glasses. (No I'm not kidding) These
noises were eventually investigated and it was found that
on windy days the wind would blow up the smugglers’
tunnels under Worthing (and under her shop) and move the
stones around and it sounded as if there was a wild party
going on!
The shop (and surrounding properties) has since been pulled
down and a multi-story shopping complex and car park has
been built in its stead.
As children we looked forward to Guy Fawkes day, when we
would beg for old clothes which we would fill with newspaper;
and threepence saved up would be spent on the mask. We assembled
and displayed our Guy and collected coins for the fireworks.
We sat our guy outside the newsagent in Ham Road in an
old pram for days on end after school and at weekends. Some
people would drop a firework or two into our tin. On Guy
Fawkes Night which I can recall as often being very cold
and starlit we’d have a huge crackling bonfire burning
in the back passage of Lyndhurst Road.
I can recall the sparks flying into the night sky, the
aromas of smoke, baked potatoes and the smell of gunpowder
that drifted through the night. The evening was celebrated
with a tin of fireworks. The air was filled with numerous
brilliant bursts of lights, whistles, crackles, and the
bombettes of crackerjacks and loud reports from bangers,
which echoed throughout the early evening and late into
the night.
Later we would take a walk along the promenade to watch
the many fires burning and to see the fireworks reflected
upon the rippling water. Only once did we have to make a
dash to Worthing hospital after a crackerjack jumped down
my brother’s foot and burnt his foot whilst we were
watching fireworks on the seafront.
One year, we went up to Cissbury Ring where local employer
Beecham’s Laboratory were hosting a bonfire night for
its staff. Dad stopped at the Gun Inn to meet some friends,
and I can recall staring into the lounge where a burning
fire roared, and it looked so cosy that I wished I could
be sitting there.
As children, December seemed to draw in with its deeper
hoar frosts and to our eyes gardens and trees dripped like
diamonds. If only they were real. Rugged up for the day
in a thick woollen vest and knickers, a thick white shirt,
tie, woollen jumper and skirt and thick woollen socks, we
would sit to a breakfast of thick milky hot porridge and
buttered toast covered in Marmite or honey followed by strong
cups of milky hot tea.
Duffle coat, scarf, gloves, thick shoes or boots and we
are ready to face the day outside. We headed to school through
cold whirling sleet or choppy winds that pierced the flesh.
The play-ground would become a place of slippery slides,
frozen puddles, and running children with scarves and hats
adrift and glowing faces.
After school, the shops seemed to be filled with a golden
light, an Aladdin’s cave of treasures as we peered
into windows along Ham Road.
The countdown to our Christmas began as twenty five pieces
of white paper were stuck to the mantle shelf and one by
one they’d disappear until only one remained. Wreaths
appeared on doors and Christmas lights in shop windows.
Our excitement increased as Christmas drew nearer, and
during the first week of December our tree was lovingly
decorated with little houses that lit up, shiny balls and
tinsel – always to our eyes the best in the Street.
We rugged up to go Carol Singing with trumpet and recorder
in hand. Three joyful voices raised in celebration and anticipation
as we collected pennies and sixpences and sometimes if we
sing and play well, half a crown.
At the end of the evening the proceeds were split and stored
in money boxes to be spent on Christmas gifts and sweets.
We'd make a fortune and were often invited into houses to
sing for people. I wouldn't let my children do that today
but it was all so innocent. We'd be given cakes and money
and had loads of goodies to eat.
Finally, the day arrived and we awake in the dark early
morning. I’d hear my brothers’ screams of delight
as they open a present which was always placed at the end
of our beds. We run downstairs excitedly to the kitchen
where we find our stockings hanging from the mantelpiece.
Our eyes are aghast at the balloons hanging from the corners
of the room, the holly over the doors and streamers draped
from corner to corner. Over breakfast we explore our stockings
carefully and spread its contents around us on the table,
eyeing each-others gifts.
Once the table was cleared, the washing up done, we moved
to the parlour where a fire burnt merrily and we were finally
allowed to open our sackful of presents that sat beneath
the tree. A new brown leather satchel, a thick woolly jumper,
dolls and games and numerous toys – a child's dream
fulfilled!
The smell of roasting turkey pervaded the house, and we
were surrounded by a quiet happiness and natural good cheer
as the dulcet voices of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby sang
out their Christmas wishes.
Later in the morning our Grandparents would arrive and
we would sit at a decorated paper tablecloth-covered table
where alongside each setting sat a cracker. We would eat
a plateful of turkey with sage and onion stuffing, roast
potatoes, and vegetables followed by Christmas pudding,
custard and ice-cream.
We would pull the Christmas crackers, read out the jokes
to one another with merriment and sit with our party hats
on. Later in the afternoon after the adults had cleared
up the table and kitchen they would sit and sleep, while
we children played with our new toys.
For tea we’d join our Great Grandmother and Uncle
and Aunt next door and numerous other family members where
more presents would be given and received. We’d play
roulette and cards, gambling with pennies and later we’d
have a buffet of cold turkey and ham, followed by mince
pies, trifle and Christmas cake. A wonderful day in childhood
eyes.
One day in the early sixties, when we set off for school,
snow was on its way. The day got darker and as I looked
through classroom window one thick snow flake appeared followed
by another and another, silently slipping from the sky until
a white curtain fell and draped the view.
As the first flakes lined the playground, within minutes
it became fluffy white. Excitement filled the classroom
and we were urged to settle but our eyes wandered from the
blackboard as the snow still drifted silently from the sky.
We knew we would be leaving early.
Wrapped up and released we were told to head for home quickly.
My brothers wait for me and then the three of us agree that
we head for the beach and start walking up Windsor Road.
All sounds were muffled, nothing moved.
Above us we heard the creak of tree boughs as the snow
built up. There was no one around and very little traffic.
The cars that passed us slipped and slid and disappeared
into the ever-falling and increasing snow. We were ‘entombed’
in a silent snow-clad world.
We passed many lit windows, our feet making deep tracks
in the snow. We caught snowflakes with our tongues. The
beach was deserted. The sea lapped with a muffled sound.
There was nothing but whiteness above and whiteness below.
The snow covered the pebbles.
We built a huge snowman. Pebbles became his eyes, nose
and mouth and we laughed and played snow fights as the afternoon
drifted onwards but still the snow continued to fall. Tired
of the snow we headed for home, it was hard to move through
the snow and it was waist high on our little brother.
Paul carried him piggyback style while I struggled with
two satchels. Our walk home was long and tiring and Carl
was crying with the cold. As we neared our house we spotted
our mother, rugged up like a round fat Santa.
She berated and hugged us and told us how mad she was but
we knew she loved us and was just concerned in her anger
and worry. We entered the house, with its blazing fires
and warmth, our boots and coats were removed and were hung
on pegs where they steamed and dripped in the warmth of
the kitchen range.
Our hands were rubbed and we sat down to a warm soup and
hot bread. Silence abounded inside and out. There would
be no school for days as the snow continued to fall throughout
the night and we became marooned in a land of white.
When I was eleven I went to Davison’s School in Selbourne
Road. I remember getting three reports, which gave me detention
in my first week, for playing hide and seek in Miss Cunliffe’s
kitchen area on the third floor.
Miss Cunliffe had taught my Mother when the old school
was in Chapel Road and told me I was trouble just like her
as my Mother was always getting into trouble for dropping
dusters onto people’s heads as they walked past the
school.
I remember the hot chocolate at the swimming baths –
I can still smell and taste it in my memory. I could also
smell the baths themselves. Davison's School use to hold
their House swimming competitions at the Baths and I can
recall sitting on the wooden balcony above the pool cheering-on
my House, Salvington!
We were able to buy buns during morning break and these
were always so fresh and cost threepence. You’d have
to get to the queue early or you’d spend most of your
break queuing.
When I turned 13 years old I had a Saturday job in Fortes
(a family business) in Chapel Road and I occasionally worked
in the Fortes Cafe opposite the pier if they were short
staffed on a Sunday.
In the Chapel Road Fortes we had great fun on Saturdays
when it went quiet in the late afternoons, for we used to
fill the huge sauce bottles with bubbles and have bubble
fights in the kitchen (when the door was closed and the
boss couldn’t see us).
We got caught out once as he walked into the kitchen. Apparently
he heard our screams and found us and the kitchen covered
head to foot in soap suds. He was not amused but he couldn’t
say too much as his son was also involved in the fight!
After that, we had to keep the door open so he could see
what was happening.
I also had a paper round at 13 years of age and delivered
the two local papers twice a week in the evenings, and later
when I was fourteen I moved onto a full morning paper round.
My run was from the corner of Ham Road all along Brougham
Road (and into the retirement village) to the seafront.
I delivered an enormous load of newspapers, and to this
day I suffer a back problem because of carrying the paper
bag on my shoulder and trudging miles. For many a year I
have had one shoulder higher than the other!
I delivered in all weathers and can remember in the winter,
when it was really cold, going to bed fully clothed (no
my parents didn't know) so that I wouldn't freeze when I
arose in the dark early frosty mornings in the winter. Wrapped
up in a duffle coat, numerous jumpers and Wellington boots
I trudged through sun, rain and snow for an hour or more
delivering the daily papers through many a letterbox.
I use to love the walk in the summer months as I would
often return back to the shop via the Seafront in the early
dawn of morning.
There was little to do in Worthing as a teenager in the
late sixties. Between the ages of fourteen and sixteen I
used to go with friends to the Assembly Hall to dance to
my father’s band “The Peter Moss Orchestra”.
I spent many an evening drinking coffee with friends at
the Viking coffee bar or we would go to the Odeon Cinema
to see a film. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen
I attended many pop concerts at the Pier Pavilion and the
Assembly Hall, and can recall clambering on stage to dance
with Otis Reading and his band.
Other old haunts were the Thieves’ kitchen and The
Gun Inn.
It's funny but the more you think back on childhood memories
the more you can remember ... perhaps we should record our
impressions – times were very different then.
My sons look amazed when I tell them that I was eight when
we first had a TV (which was black and white), twelve when
my father bought his first car and that a horse used to
deliver our milk until I was nine or ten!
Growing up in the late fifties and early sixties was safe
and easy. We were allowed to run free during those long
warm summer holidays. Packed lunches in hand we would set
off sometimes alone, sometimes the three of us together
for the day. Head either to the beach, on to the South Downs
or to the numerous parks and gardens.
If money was available, we were given a shilling each to
spend the day at Peter Pan's Playground (in Beach House
Grounds). I hope my sons have memories like I have of a
childhood full of happiness, sunshine, love and laughter.
It was an idyllic childhood, full of discovery and learning.
Never any worries beset us as children. There was very little
money but that did not worry us, money was not important.
Who needed money with the freedom that abounded and life,
as we soon discovered as children, was what you made of
it.
In 2001 I returned to Worthing, 20 years after I had left,
and walked the streets of my childhood. Unfortunately, I
couldn’t walk the tracks on the South Downs because
of Foot and Mouth disease restrictions at the time.
People say that there is no going back and that is true.
Much has changed in the 20 years since I left Worthing,
so many old trees have disappeared, blown down in the dreadful
gales. The ring of trees at Chanctonbury Ring has also gone
from the skyline, houses now fill the fields that I played
in as a child, and much has been knocked down and rebuilt.
Peter Pan’s Playground in the 1950’s looking north
west towards Beach House, which can be seen clearly above
the top of the castle.
Peter Pan’s playground and Homefield Park have been
diminished. But I could still see the Worthing of my childhood.
I could still espy the South Downs as I walked along Lyndhurst
Road. Woolworth’s still had the wooden floors I recalled
as a child, Smiths bookshop was still on the corner (where
I bought my first Beatles Monthly), and Bentalls still stood
tall and proud and the Arcade remained – it seemed
enormous when I was younger.
The beach was still the same – though the water mark
seemed higher than I recalled and boulders had been set
near the sea walls which I had skipped along as a child.
The pier was being refurbished but the boats were still
sitting on the beach near Windsor and Ham Roads as they
had done all those years ago when I was a child.
I stood across the road from 106 Lyndhurst Road, the house
of my childhood, which now sported a new roof and new windows
and looked very sprightly and well turned out. It even had
a front gate, something it never had in my childhood. The
back passage still remained and was as wet and muddy as
it had been in my childhood so some things don’t change!
Yes I have moved on – at eighteen I moved to London
to work in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and at nineteen
I was married and at twenty three I moved overseas to work
in Iran and Seychelles. Nearly 50 years later, finds me
living and working in Melbourne, Australia, now a grandmother
myself.
My sons are grown and attending university and I am sure
their feet will take them far as my feet have taken me far
from the Worthing shores, where I played as a child, to
the opposite end of the earth but I remain forever in my
heart and soul a Worthing lass.
Susan White (nee Moss), Victoria, Australia, 2002
An extract from this memory was published in the West
Sussex Gazette on 24th October 2002.
| 
