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A wonderful attraction that drew lads from all corners of Chichester was the canal basin where great fun could be had at all times of the year, but springtime and early summer were of course the best.
Archie Greenshields takes us through his memory of how the Chichester Canal and Basin used to be, and of his antics there around the late 1920's/early 1930's:
You did not have to walk very far to get to it from our house in Tower Street, only just past the railway station. We would hurry past the huge gasometers on the way, for it certainly worried me, knowing that they were full of gas most of the time and might explode.
Turning down the slight incline at the corner of the gasworks, you were faced with the wide expanse of the canal basin with its black oily water. The brick faced basin was perhaps three hundred metres square with a road on three sides, and formed the termination of the canal, which had been constructed in the early 19th century, but fell into disuse after another fifty years.
The existing length extends from Chichester to Hunston and on to Birdham and Chichester Harbour. At Hunston a branch turns eastwards via Merston, Colworth, Shripney to the north of Bognor Regis, and still can be traced in places through Barnham and Yapton until it reaches the River Arun at Ford.
Us boys would take the chance of clambering onto the huge wooden cable drums, which were stored by the electricity board on wasted land, by the gasworks. We would jump from one to another and enjoyed a game of hide and seek or soldiers when, at that period, one side would be Germans and of course, the other English.
Whilst you were on top of one of these huge drums you might be lucky enough to watch red-hot coke being removed from one of the retorts; a by-product of the gas manufacture. The smell and the noise of escaping steam all added to the thrill and excitement.
I remember being sent by my father on one occasion, with a beer bottle, to ask the Foreman to fill it with a liquid called 'gas water', whatever that was. Father used it for killing bedbugs, which our poor tenement cottage was infested with. Remembering my apprehension of the threatening presence of the gasometers, it was not an errand I enjoyed.
Lying in a continuous mound on two sides of the basin were tree trunks, stored by David Cover's Timber and Tree Merchants, which were left in situ to season over the years. I cannot recall that any were ever removed, and may well have been left there for no other reason than having no where else to keep them. In between these logs and trunks, weeds and stinging nettles grew, and this was an ideal location for wildlife of many species.
More than one boy managed to find a prize in the form of a giant stag-beetle, which found its way to the school playground and the envy of all, with pleads to be told exactly where it had been found. The beetles looked too frightening and fierce for my liking and I had no ambition to possess one, although they were found often enough in the hollow trunks of the wych elms that lined the north walls at the end of Tower Street.
It was an open invitation for children to start at one end of the log piles and tightrope walk from one log length to another, showing off balancing skills to each other. With short trousers and knee length stockings trailing at the ankles, there was little protection for the many slips between the trunks. Once you had reached the end of the wood piles, it was time to continue on to the mile and a half stretch towards Hunston.
If you were quiet you would hear the sounds of bird life from the opposite bank, where the overhanging vegetation drooped low over the canal. Standing still for a moment or two you would see movement and a coot or moorhen might bring her brood out further from the bank, but any hostile movement would send them darting back instantly.
There might be a plopping sound indicating the presence of water voles or the rush of swallows in flight after food on the wing.
The further towards Hunston you walked, the nearer you came to the stretch of water claimed by the swans. Most years a nest could be seen on the opposite side with a swan sitting and its partner swimming up and down nearby. Once their family hatched it was a different tale, for children had been brought up to know that one flap of an enraged swan's wing could break a man's arm. It was with great respect, therefore, that the swans were left well alone, for the frightening hiss of warning was enough to put an end to the walk.
Halfway towards Hunston you passed a cherry tree and at the right time of the year you could be lucky enough to reach some fruit from the lower branches. I expect the tree grew from stones spat out by a labourer who had helped to construct the canal all those years ago.
Following the same direction southwards towards Hunston, but just out of sight from the towpath, was the Selsey Tramway track, which branches off further down to reach Siddlesham. The train/tramway did not run frequently, but on occasions you might hear it clattering past. It was said that children often put logs or sleepers across the lines and perhaps it did happen, but I for one can plead not guilty.
I was guilty, however, of sharing a packet of cigarettes along this stretch of waterway and pretended to like the experience. It probably made me ill, following the instructions given by older friends to inhale the smoke, and there were certainly other attempts to enjoy the horrible habit before I regretfully became a regular smoker. It amazed me how my Mum could accuse me of smoking when she had been no nearer than two miles away from where the incident occurred, and no amount of my protestations of innocence was accepted.
There must have been fish in this stretch of water, as occasionally you would see anglers trying their luck. It was believed that rainbow trout and pike had been seen and I am sure this is possibly true. It is a great pity that the area has fallen into disuse and as I write, I make a firm decision to take a walk along yet another path of my childhood.
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