I have been reminded of a lot more games children played in the fifties but here are a few of the toys children had back then too.

A typical fifties doll, of which we had many.  My great aunt & uncle had a ‘Doll’s Hospital’ shop.  People would bring all their broken dolls, and dolls that were no longer wanted.  My auntie & uncle would fix them up and sell them on.  Sometimes they would bring some over for us girls, which was always a special treat for us.

The Lone Ranger that I’m sure you’re all familiar with, was a typical book for little boys.  There were lots of books like this along with hard back comic books like – Beano, Dandy, Minnie the Minx, Desperate Dan, Beryl the Peril, Dennis the Menace….. the list goes on.

Comics were a lot larger then too – about the size of a newspaper.  I remember when they changed the format and made them smaller, just as I was growing out of comics.

A friend of mine had one of these little cookers when she was a child.  She said that you placed little candles below the burners and could actually cook on it.  Apparently she cooked an egg on hers.

Lets not forget the famous ‘Matchbox’ toys for boys.  here are a couple showing the rag and Bone man and the milk man I spoke of in my other post.

This little musical box made of tin was another favourite.

Mum painted hundreds if little tin soldiers as homework once.  It must have been boring work. I don’t know when she found the time while looking after a home and such a large family.

Most toys would be considered dangerous now days – painted with lead paint, made of sharp tin or other metal. Not many (if any) would pass the safety standards of today.  We lived to tell our tales though :O)

As always I expect a lot of you can remember even more toys.

These photos were taken in a museum, by special permission.
PLEASE RESPECT THE COPY WRITE LICENSE.  THEY ARE NOT FOR GENERAL USE.  Thank you

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Ahh, the memories…..

Those lovely aroma’s, which were not chemical in any way, that wafted around daily. The smell of Tar as they resurfaced the roads. Lovely squishy tar that melted in the hot summer sun so you could make patterns in it that would stay when it set hard again.

That beautiful smell of the coal being delivered. Real coal, not the smokeless stuff made into clean, boring nuggets, but big pieces of chunky, oily coal with all the dust that followed it down into the ‘Coal Hole’ which was situated in front of most houses (at least in London they were).  Us kids would rush out in order to watch as it tumbled down into the cellar below the house.  Mum or dad making sure we stayed out of the way – just in case a sack of coal should get dropped and one of us get hurt. The coal man’s clothes, all black and shiny from carrying sacks all day, smelt strong of coal.  The smell lingered in the air for hours on delivery day.

Man carrying a sack of coal

The clip clop of horses as the delivery men went about their business, delivering all sorts of goodies.  The Milk Man, the Peas Pudding man, the Cockle man and many more.  I mustn’t forget the ‘Rag ‘n’ Bone’ man with his loud shouts of “Iron, old iron!” as he travelled slowly up and down the roads on his horse drawn cart waiting for people to bring out their broken, old items.

The Milkman

The old Rag & Bone Man

The steam train with the chug chug of the engine, whistle blowing and plumes of smoke rising from the moving train. The engine, with that delicious smell of coal, as the engine man stoked it, bringing it up to speed. My brother worked on them for a while and couldn’t wait to be the ‘stoker’ he said it was the most exhilarating experience ever!

Steam train as I remember them

The shops that had large wooden barrels full of broken biscuits and all sorts of food stuffs that would be shovelled out, weighed and poured into brown paper bags.  The mixture of aromas made your mouth water.  Every shop with it’s own unique smell.  Butter came in large blocks and a piece would be cut off and patted into shape with ‘Butter Pats’ and weighed, then wrapped in grease proof paper.  Not a plastic wrap in sight.

I really miss all the lovely smells and sounds of yesteryear which have, sadly, been replaced by the smell of chemicals and car fumes and the sound of mobile phones and traffic.

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Balls bouncing everywhere!  Two balls, three balls, rounders and just plain old bat & ball.  Kids would be everywhere playing ball.  Often playing bat & ball in the road – and I’m talking about roads in London!  You would stand one side of the road with the bat and across the road would be someone throwing the ball.  Never any worry about cars, there were so few on the roads then.  If one did come along it would stop for you to retrieve the ball, once the car had passed, the game would recommence.  Cars didn’t own the roads in those days, kids did, and the odd horse and cart.

Skipping, Hoola Hoop, conkers, marbles and cigarette cards.  They were really cigarette packets, of which you discarded the innards and flattened the outside.  They were flicked against the wall to see who could get closest to the wall.  Whoever did, won all the cards from that game.

I found this picture on the web and couldn’t resist posting it.  Probably the most smoked cigarette back then and I collected many of these packets.  This one is flattened ready for the game ;O)

Kids who made their own go-carts from old bits of wood and went whizzing down the road on them, with no brakes!  Every railing had kids swinging from them, hanging upside down by their knees and doing somersaults.  Dozens of fun games and dozens of kids out playing them.  Out in the fresh air and interacting with each other.  Not a Game Boy or PS2 (or is it 3) in sight!

Scrumping was another great outdoor event.  Climbing over garden walls, sneaking around the gardens and pinching apples that had fallen from trees.  Somebody might shout from within the house to scare you off but It was all part of the fun.  Nobody really minded, after all we were just kids and there was always more than enough apples on a tree anyway. We were no threat to them and they knew it.

We went out ‘Conkering’ every year with our mum and dad.  We’d collect as many conkers as we could, the bigger the better.  Enough to last all year long.  We’d get the biggest, shiniest one we could find, pierce a hole through it and thread our lace or string with a big knot to stop it falling off and we were ready to smash other kids conkers to pieces.  Depending on how many conkers yours smashed, it became a one-er or a two-er etc.  We were really proud if our conker made a three-er or even a four-er.

Gangs of kids playing on the streets were no threat to anybody!  Violence on the streets hadn’t been invented yet, except for the odd scrap between kids!

I miss the innocence of childhood and kids being able to be kids for as long as they should be.

The game of Conkers has been played for centuries and I was gutted to find out that it has now been banned in schools across the UK as a dangerous game.  Well … we wouldn’t want a child to get a knock on their knuckle from a vicious conker now, would we?

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“Where has all my sugar gone?  The packet is empty, I had almost a full packet yesterday”…. “Sugar duck?” ‘Duck’ was one of a few pet names my dad had for my mum.  “Yes it has all gone!” said mum, staring in disbelief at the empty packet that had been put back in the cupboard.

Sandie, one of my sisters, sat fidgeting and looking rather sheepish – such a giveaway.  “Sandra! have you been at my sugar?”  The fidgeting got worse.  “Sa-a-ndra, what have you done with it?” mum said.  “Upstairs” Sandra (Sandie) said so quietly you could barely hear her.  “Show me where you’ve put my sugar” mum said.  It’s important to remember, as I said in my first 50’s post, that food, along with other things, was rationed.  This meant that a full packet of sugar was like gold dust to a large family.

She led mum up to the bedroom that we four younger sisters shared, and she went over to her bed.  Sandie, who may well have been crying by this time in order to gain sympathy, and make her punishment more lenient, slowly pulled the blankets back.  There, in the middle of Sandie’s bed was my brothers toy truck, with the remains of mum’s sugar.  The whole bed was sprinkled with sugar.  She had somehow managed to creep into my brothers room and sneak his toy truck out.  Then she had crept down in the middle of the night, toy truck in tow, filled the truck with sugar, crept back to bed and sat under her blankets and tucked in.  When she had had her fill she went to sleep in a sticky mess, with a truck to keep her company.  She had managed to do this without waking any of us girls up.  After all, if she had, she may well have had to share it.  Bill, who the truck belonged to, was none too happy that Sandie had taken his truck, and made all the appropriate noises.

Sandie

I don’t know if Sandie was punished but I bet mum and dad must have seen the humour in it, and had a chuckle later, in private.

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Houses in the early fifties were certainly not safe havens – far from it!

The windows worked with a rope ’sash cord’ as it was called, like a pulley inside the window frame.  You pushed the bottom window up, or the top one down in order to open them.   As it was made from rope, it would gradually stretch and windows could often slowly fall down, and close with no help from you.  My sister Tina was playing close to the window one day and it suddenly dropped down with a bang.  The glass shattered and a piece landed straight in the top of her head.

There was no A & E in those days, no cars, no telephones, not much of anything really.  My Dad picked her up in his arms and rushed her down the stairs and out.  He ran with her, all the way to the nearest chemist, which was quite a distance.  No ‘Drug Stores’ in those days either, just a tiny little chemist shop.  It was a great place to go if you needed emergency treatment of any kind, and we certainly frequented it.  The chemist man was just like a family doctor, only you didn’t need an appointment, and there was no queue either.  His name was Mr Symms.  He was a kind man and we always felt safe in his hands.  He removed the glass from Tina’s head and fixed her up in no time.  No jabs, no follow-up appointment, we just got on with things in those days.

Tina a few years later

I have fond memories of dear old Mr Symms, like the day that large red spots appeared all over my arms when playing in the park.  My sister Sandie, being the oldest there at the time, took charge of the situation and promptly led us all out of the park and up to Mr Sims shop.  He wasted no time in discovering that I had been picking dandelions ‘wet-the-beds’ as we called them, and I’d had an allergic reaction to them.  He rubbed some cream into my arms and in no time the spots had gone.  He probably wasn’t so old really, but to a little girl, anyone older than a teenager seemed old.

I bet he would not believe, while spreading that cream on my arms, that I would remember him, let alone be writing about him more than fifty years later.  We never know how we touch peoples lives, or our real worth to others.

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It started out as a normal day in our house but It didn’t end that way.  There was a knock on our door and mum or dad answered it.  Us kids ignored it, as we always did, after all, that was adult stuff.  We had much better things to do to amuse ourselves, at least we did until the stranger entered our home.

I don’t remember what he looked like just that he wanted us kids for something.  We were ushered over to a large window in our front room.  We were all given party hats to put on, and little union jack flags to hold.  He then told us all to look out of the window and wave our flags looking excited.  Lots of photos were taken, by him and by a chap out in the street.  The stranger thanked my parents and then left.

Us kids continued with what we were doing before the stranger arrived and very soon forgot the incident.  It seemed that, somehow, they knew we were a large family and that was of particular interest to them.  They could get their newspaper article (along with photos) written well in advance of the biggest story since D Day.  On 2 June, 1953 Queen Elizabeth was to be ‘crowned’ Queen Elizabeth II and we got our photo on the front page of the local newspaper!

As the old adage says, never believe was you read in the newspapers ;O)

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Having read the stories of Swubird and found them so interesting and heartwarming, It inspired me to write about some of my childhood experiences, growing up in the 50’s in London.  It will be a series of blogs that will last for as long my memory allows :O)  I will include photos wherever I can.

This is a photo of my family in the early 50’s.  I had six siblings – four sister and two brothers.  The tall chap at the back is my eldest sister’s fiancé.  Me? I’m the little one on the left of the photo and second to youngest.

Mum & Dad in the late 50’s

As WW2 had only been over a relatively short while, we were still recovering as a country, and things were scarce.  Various items were still rationed and we used books of coupons that you tore out and handed in before you could buy certain items of food.  As we were a large family, mum would swap the ‘luxury item’ coupons with friends, for the more basic food coupons so there was enough to go around.  They were tough times for most people.

Part 1
Christmas in our house in the early 50’s

The smell was unique, it hung around the house for many days leading up to this exciting and magical time. Each day would be filled with more anticipation than the previous day until we were almost bursting.  It was Christmas in our house.  The smell!  I couldn’t say what made Christmas smell so different, but it did.

We had all sent our letters off to Father Christmas.  We wrote them out on pieces of paper, folded them up and mum helped us to send them up the chimney.  The sparks that flew up the chimney when the fire was disturbed were the fairies that carried our letters up to father Christmas.  What had we asked for?  Not a lot.  We didn’t have a lot and we didn’t ask for a lot either.  Maybe a doll, some coloured pencils, a car for the boys.  Small things were enough.  The magical time was what was important, not so much what we got.

Christmas Eve upon us, us youngest five were ushered to bed, buzzing with excitement and anticipation for what the morning would bring.  Once we had reached that ‘Not quite asleep but almost’ stage, dad would creep up into our bedroom dressed as Santa to say hello and ask if we’d been good.  We never guessed it was dad!  By 6am (the latest) we would all be clambering down the stairs knowing that something really magical had taken place whist we had been sleeping.

On entering the room we would see a row of stockings all weirdly out of shape due to the various presents stuffed inside – books, coloured pencils, sweets, dolls, cars, spinning tops, colouring books and all sorts of little gifts.  The familiar fruit that always stuffed the toe of each stocking, nuts, an apple and an orange.  That smell, even stronger now, filled the room!  Us girls bubbling over with anticipation, eyes skimming around the room, looking for our very special present that came every year.  There they were, all hanging in a row.  Pretty party dresses, each different, with our names pinned on to our very own dress!  I can’t remember what the boys got in place of the dresses.  Our glee as we all took our dress and examined it, holding it up to our bodies and twirling in excitement at what we were to wear later.

Then the frenzied attack at our stockings! Mum and dad looked on with such love and who knows what else in there hearts, as we shrieked with pleasure at everything we got.  Each one of us rushing to them with every item saying “Look what I got!”   Mum and dad looking very interested as if each gift was a surprise to them too.

Mum and dad, who had only been in bed for about one hour when we rushed into their bedroom, waking them up to come and join in our excitement.  Mum, who had sat night after night making those pretty dresses for us and dad who had worked and worried so hard to get all the little presents for us.  We believed everything was from Father Christmas, therefore mum and dad never got our thanks, just immeasurable satisfaction from watching us and knowing that all their hard work had been worth it!

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Whilst we were out this afternoon, we decided to go for a walk.  I wish I’d had my camera with me but thank goodness for mobile phones.  These shots are from my iPhone – not bad considering.

Now the photos below are what I am really pleased with, particularly as I was taking them ‘blind’ so to speak.  The sun was shining straight into my eyes so I just had to aim and snap and hope I was getting it.

Not bad for a mobile phone eh?

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Do more than exist – live.
Do more than touch – feel.
Do more than look – observe.
Do more than read – absorb.
Do more than hear – listen.
Do more than think – ponder.
Do more than talk – say something.

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There I was, sitting at my computer, minding my own business.  Mo was in bed and the cats were all tucked up in their room.

Suddenly somebody grabbed my chair, pushing it against my back and shook it vigorously!  I turned to see who or what it was – nobody of course!  “What the?”…… it shook again, only this time so did the floor!  There was a very loud roaring sound, like thunder, and I knew…… this was an earthquake!

Fear gripped me.  “Oh my goodness, what do you do in an earthquake?”  The shaking stopped and I rushed upstairs to where Mo was asleep…….only she wasn’t asleep any more.  “What was that?” I heard her say as she scrambled out of bed?   We met on the stairs “I think it was an earthquake” I said, with adrenalin rushing round my body like a tornado.

We rushed downstairs and mo went straight to the front door and outside.  I said “Don’t go out there” ….after all the ground could have opened up and swallowed her…. all down the road lights were going on.  I was shaking and telephoned Sandie to see if they had felt it.   Sandie, who had apparently been rushing around like a headless chicken not knowing what to do …..aside from rush to the toilet, had, in fact felt it.

I immediately put the radio on and low and behold it was everywhere!  I don’t know why but that made me feel a bit better……it hadn’t just singled me out!
The adrenalin was still pumping round my body so I made a cup of tea…. well you do don’t you?  We listened to the radio and people were calling in and telling their stories.  After an hour Mo went back to bed and I stayed up. I still hadn’t totally relaxed and couldn’t have slept.

Finally I calmed down enough to go to bed and sleep.  It was the most scared I have ever been and I can’t imagine how they cope in the parts of the world where they have really big earthquakes.

The next day Mo said that the cats room looked like a bomb had gone off!  They must have been very scared, as they had gone berserk – even the trim on our units was on the floor.  Poor babies, we didn’t think to check them.  On reflection it was probably Sukie as she is frightened of everything.

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