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George Spenceley recalls his childhood memories of Middlesbrough and how his large family coped with life in World War II and with the happy and sad events of family life.
As we got older we formed into gangs. We had running battles with the gang from South Bank, or 'Slaggy Island' as it was commonly known because of the slag heaps on two sides of the town and the steel works to the north.
We'd fill our pockets with stones then run across the fields to Skippers Lane, once there we could see the opposing gang running along the lane to meet us.
When they reached a certain point we'd start throwing stones at them. Very few ever reached their target but we'd shout charge, and run towards them scattering them on to the allotments. They soon regrouped and counter charged us, it was then our turn to run with them chasing us into the fields.
Keeping a fair distance between the gangs there'd be a lot of verbal abuse shouted from both sides but very rarely did we come to blows, it always ended in a draw and an arrangement to meet the following night.
We then made friends with the South Bank lads.
As kids most of us smoked or had a crafty drag. There was some foul smelling Turkish cigarettes we took a drag of and tried to inhale the smoke like the film stars did, only to land up in a fit of coughing and baulking our insides out.
It was funny really, we were always frightened of being told off about smoking but it was the manly thing to do. Or was it!
I remember one funny incident when Harold and Kenny Graham and myself were walking along the road sharing a little piece of cigarette. We saw a women and child approaching us some distance away. 'Give me the ciggy' Harold said 'I am the biggest she wont say anything to me'.
He held the cigarette in his pocket or so he thought. The women got closer and closer. We were scared stiff in case she had seen us puffing on the cigarette. Passing us she said something about a pocket.
We thought she had seen us and had said 'I seen you put that cigarette in your pocket'. We kept turning around to see if she had gone but she kept shouting something to us. In the end she turned and started to walk towards us.
We wondered what all the shouting was about. Did she know us and was telling us she was going to tell our parents? It was only when we got close to her she was pointing at Harold saying 'You silly beggars, his coat pocket is on fire!' It was too late, the cigarette had burnt a hole in his coat pocket.
On return home there was the usual lecture from one of my elders when they started to sniff the air, catching hold of me saying 'Have you been smoking?' and with all the innocence I could muster said 'No, who me, no not me'.
This was followed by 'Well I know you have been smoking, I can smell it on you. I am going to tell dad when he comes in'.
George Spenceley, 2002
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