Brownie Golden Days
Fifty years ago the young girls of Ryhope had no special place where they could spend their leisure time.
Then, thanks to members of the guide movement, help was at hand.
A delightful story was told about the little people who thought of others first and were kind and helpful. They were called Brownies.
Many girls wanted to be like them and they joined together to form BROWNIE PACKS. Each had a grown–up leader called a Brown Owl.
The meetings were full of activities with lots of fun and games, outings, picnics and parties.
TODAY “BROWNIES” is a WORLD-WIDE activity and in May 2003, RYHOPE's 1st St Paul’s Brownies had a Special Party to celebrate
50
HAPPY
YEARS
OF
BROWNIE ACTIVITY
The above letter was sent in by a senior citizen of Ryhope who wishes to remain anonymous.
The following extract and photo was sent in by Marjorie Llewellyn
Bertie Smith Ingram
A local Hero
My uncle Bertie was born December 1st 1921 in Nicholson Street Ryhope. His father a miner, died when Bertie and his brothers, Arthur and Jack were still at school, leaving his mother to bring them up on parish relief, times were hard. This ordinary lad, from ordinary beginnings went on to be very well known in the North East for his skills in the boxing ring. I can remember in the late forties early fifties being taken to a boxing match in the open air at the then boys club in the village. I have no idea who won or who he was fighting, in fact I was more interested in what was going on around me. The people cheering, the shouts of encouragement, the excitement, it was like being at the “Grand” picture house Live. Uncle Bertie followed in his fathers footsteps, and went to work at the pit, as did most of the men in those days. Often after finishing his shift he would go training at a local gym or sometimes off to a fight. During his time involved with boxing, he would often help train young lads who were keen to become future champions. He was a true professional, dedicated to the sport; he once told me that discipline was everything, once you lost control, you lost. When I asked him why he stopped boxing professionally, he laughed and said "The only man you can’t beat is the referee".
What I remember most about my uncle Bertie was his kindness, his happy friendly nature and while he loved boxing and followed the sport avidly, he was first and foremost a family man. His wife Joyce and two sons Allan and Geoff were his love and his life everything was always for them.
The testament to his popularity and standing came at his funeral, St. Matthews’s church at Silksworth was full to overflowing and I’m sure it’s true to say that people were standing at the back. It was the same at the crematorium ex boxers and people who had known him travelled from far and wide to pay their last respects to an honourable and noteworthy friend. A local hero.
Bertie Smith Ingram fought his last round 20th May 1997.
Beaten by the bell.
This letter was sent in by Bob Brown from Australia
Ryhope Memories
My name is Bob Brown, I
was born in 1937 at 3 Moir Terrace, Ryhope Village, just between
the Railway Inn and Ryhope West Railway Station
My family, dad‘s name was
Bob, my mam was named Christina though known as Chrissie, and 3
boys, I am the eldest, next came Brian then Colin.
.All of my memories of living in Moir Terrace are of the 2nd World War years.
Moir Terrace seemed to consist of dwellings having families living one above the other, sharing a common backyard and toilet , a wash house, a tap for drinking water (no taps in the homes), a brick Air Raid shelter with a concrete roof and two coal houses with hatches onto the back street.
Our home was on the
ground floor, we had two liveable rooms and a very small box
room.
The main room in the
house was the kitchen come living room, where Mam cooked all the
meals on the coal fire with an oven to one side, all water for
bathing was also heated on the fire. All meals were eaten here.
There was a small pantry with a stone slab to keep things cool
(no refrigeration then), under the slab was an enamel bucket in
which we kept our drinking water, which was refilled at the
communal tap at the bottom of the yard.
No electricity only gas
lamps, if you lived through this time you will remember the sound
a gas mantle makes (snoring) when it has a hole in it.
The other room was our
bedroom, two beds, one for Mam & Dad the other for Brian and I,
Colin was in a cot.
No internal toilet,
remember the pot under the bed.
No TV, just battery/accumulator radio, remember programmes like ITMA, with all its characters, each comedy act had its own catchphrase , like Mrs Mop saying “Can I do you now Sir”.
We shared this humble abode with some not so welcome visitors, like the odd mouse, the house fly (remember those sticky spirals called Fly Papers) and the ever present cockroach or as we called them blackclocks, these latter we despatched with the heel of a shoe.
Its funny how things stick in your mind, the landlord of the Railway Inn was called “Lovett“.
On the northern corner of our Street was a corner shop just like Open all Hours, it was owned by a Mr Bill Lawrence he only had one arm. He was sight to be seen when using the bacon slicer, (remember all those jars of paste, one sticks in my mind Bloater Paste). The family lived next to the shop, I seem to remember he had two daughters.
Next door lived an old lady (I think she was Irish) called Mrs Flynn, I know she was Catholic because she had the biggest picture of a bleeding heart I have ever seen.
The Benson family lived above us, Mum & Dad and 3 kids at the time, Billy the eldest maybe a year older than me, Mary and Robert. At one time one of their grandfathers also lived there, as I remember he died in the backyard toilet and they had to take the door off to get him out.
Next door south, ground floor was the Donnelly’s , they had a son about my age named Joseph.
Upstairs were a family called Etherington.
Let me apologise to all those people in the street I failed to remember or whose name I misspelt .
At the southern end of the Street just before the railway station was Oate’s Fish and Chip shop, their fish and chips were excellent and I remember happy times standing in the queue listening to the banter between staff and patrons.
Out in the back street we
played the usual games, Hidey, Hop Scotch or Itchy Dabba as we
called it, there were two forms of this, one we slid a shoe
polish tin into the desired squares that were chalked on the
ground and hopped through on one leg, the other we used a broom
handle like a pole vaulter and jumped into the square the tin
landed on.
Skipping was a big thing
especially amongst the girls, all using those skipping rhymes
such as: " I call in
my very best friend, my very best friend is B E T T Y etc."
"All In By
January February March etc "
" Pitch
Patch Pepper"
My Mam was a good skipper and often joined in with the girls playing those juggling games, bouncing a number of balls off the wall, along with the rhyming sounds of: " One Melera, Two Melera etc (help me here ladies) ."
At other times we made a swing by looping a piece of rope over one of the arms of the old gas street lamps (remember the lamp had two outstretched arms for the lamp lighter to rest his ladder against while doing maintenance).
I remember the horses and carts, everything came by these, home removals, green groceries, the CO-OP butcher, the rag & bone man. Once the butchers horse fell to its knees while in the shafts in our street because of the winter ice. I can still see the fear in the horses eyes as they tried a number of times to get him on his feet.
What did we call those men who gathered coal on Dawdon’s Blast Beach, carried it in bags up the cliff via a path called the Nanny Goat’s Path, loaded two bags on an old bicycle an pushed it all the way to Sunderland to sell. For years they passed through Ryhope Village first in the mornings heading south to Dawdon and again in the late afternoons loaded up heading north to Sunderland .
Remember this was war time so we had the extra excitement of it being very dark in the autumn and winter months when we were out at night in the Black Out (didn‘t seem any worries about kids being molested either).
When the Air Raid Siren went, Mam and Dad used to bundle us up in our Siren Suits and take us to the underground shelters on the Village Green, least that was until Mam decided we wouldn’t go any more because it smelled of urine, after that we went into the cupboard under the stairs at home, to us kids it was warmer anyway. The Shelter in the backyard was full of rubbish.
In the Black Out, Ryhope West Station took on a surreal/mystical air when Red Cross Hospital Trains came and unloaded the wounded servicemen who were bound for the Military Hospital which later became Ryhope General Hospital. We kids would sit on the foot bridge looking down on all the comings and goings, imagine, its black dark, the noise of the engines, the steam, patches of light with Doctors, Nurses, Stretcher Bearers, Ambulance Crews and lots of wounded .
Going to school especially for the first time was different and daunting, I went to Ryhope Village School, walking from home carrying my Gas Mask (mine was grownups type, my brother Brian had the Mickey Mouse type and Colin the baby had a capsule, did you ever see a horse in a gas mask, no kidding they had them), along past the Railway Inn towards the Village Green bearing left at Ryhope Hall (the government had removed all the iron railings for the war effort by this time, later I was to join the Cubs here), up past the Gospel Hall, the Farmers Club, the CO-OP Dairy, the Dentists (Clark’s I think), some Terraced Houses, Davidson’s Farm, Smith’s Farm, Derwenthurst Club another Farm (was it Snowdons), then across the road to school.
What do I remember of those first days, my memories are a bit scrambled but I remember some of my first school mates, Dicky Money he lived at the bottom end of Goundry Avenue, Harry Jasper he lived in one of the homes bordering the Green, Billy Smith he lived with his Grandma up towards Doctor Gillans.
We were horrible little kids who played highest up the wall in the toilets.
I must apologise to a girl called Mary Curley, I can’t remember if we went to school together, but around about this time I did promise to marry her when I grew up, maybe she had a lucky escape.
On the Green itself was a horse trough , the war memorial ,an underground air raid shelter and a phone box.
Coming back down towards the Green, next to the school was narrow lane pedestrians only this led to Church Ward, then a Farm House (anybody know whose), Barclay’s Bank, a narrow lane leading to homes set further back, the Post Office, the Vets (what was the Vets name, I remember going to his daughters birthday party), Harry Jaspers home, a small shop then a string of homes going down opposite the Green and bearing around towards Sunderland.
Across the road was the local Blacksmiths Forge (I can still recall the smell of hot iron on the horses hooves and the glow of his fire as he pumped the bellows) and next door the Forge Garage.
Next to this were about 3 whitewashed Terraced homes (old Bill Lawrence the father of the shop owner in Moir Terrace lived in one), then the Albion Inn (Trumans Ales), a small sweet shop, another farm (whose farm, Dad took me there regularly to see the animals).
Then a large home surrounded by a brick wall (some old ladies lived there, we kids thought they were witches), this walled home bounded onto the beach road, (can anyone shed any light on who these ladies were), and now I’m back full circle ,up the stone steps to home.
Thanks for taking the time to read this, I’ve been away from Ryhope a while so some of my memories of locations around the Green might be a bit off.
The Following letters were also sent in by Bob Brown
Memories of Ryhope Beach
The following time period I remember is a little mixed up but around about 1945 to 1949.
I had never been to the beach, because it was off limits during the war, but one day a mate of mine Billy Smith, called around and said come with me Brownie, I’ve got something to show you but don’t tell anyone.
Off we went down the
beach road , as we got nearer I could hear this noise surging, but at the time I
didn’t
know what it was.
We got down on our hands and knees and crawled through the coils of barbed wire
to the edge of the cliff to see this awe inspiring sight of waves crashing on
the shore. We lay there quite some time watching the waters surge back
and forth, talking about the concrete block house/ pill box whatever its called,
that was there. Should we try and get down to the actual beach was the question
we talked over, but this decision was taken out of our hands, when we saw a
couple of men coming down the road, so we scarp’ed off.
One Easter the day was fine, so Mam & Dad took us kids and a couple of mates down the beach field for a picnic, first time ever.
We rolled our hard boiled eggs (we called them paste eggs at the time, we had either hand painted or dyed them) down the slope and later had a jarping competition.
Next came our playing Roly Poly down the slope till we were either sick or dizzy.
When we were rested and recovered Dad took us down to Old Bill’s hut for a glass of Bill’s home made ginger beer. It tasted fantastic, it was a new taste to us and remember these were the days of rationing, so no chocolate eggs either.
Old Bill was the father of Bill Lawrence who had the shop on the corner of Moir Terrace, Old Bill lived in a two storey cottage next to the Albion Inn.
Has anyone got other stories about Old Bill’s Hut, how long was it there etc.
The War is over and the beach is open to the public
John Stewart & Dickie Burdon were school mates of mine, they lived on the southern side of Ryhope West railway station, I can’t remember the name of the street somewhere near the White House. Together we explored the beach field area, we occupied ourselves jumping backwards and forwards across the Black Water ( the name at the time given to the stream that flowed down from the pit to the sea). Didn’t we get in trouble at home when we fell or slipped into that black slimey mud, it knocked hell out of your shoes and socks. But it was there and we were only lads.
The tunnel where the Black water flowed beneath the railway lines, was another place for a dare, with stories of people falling into manholes etc to scare you.
We ranged back and forth along the beach from Hill Sixty in the north to the Little Dene in the south, it was much later before we ventured to the Toll Bar beach or Seaham.
We gathered winkles (though we called them willicks) and lit a fire and boiled them in old cans found on the beach, then flicked off the caps and extracted the meat with a pin, we thought we were great.
Occasionally we caught a big eating crab on the manhole rocks and took it home, good feelings, the hunter returns.
Bird nesting was a great favourite, we climbed cliffs to dig out sand martins, climbed big trees to get to crows, crawled through bushes after thrushes, blackbirds, scribbly jacks etc.
The Little Dene and its access to the beach was boys own fun. The loop was a trip down the to beach, along to the Little Dene and back along Seaham Road to home, passing the Convent we always commented on the sign on the gate which stated in big letters “Convent of Mercy”, along each side ran high brick walls topped with broken glass and another sign which said “Trespassers will be Prosecuted”…..no sign of mercy there.
Bob Brown
Grand Memories 1945-1950
When we were young kids, our family, like a lot of others were always scratching for a bob, so the Tanner End of the Grand was for us. For those of you who cannot remember those days, the Tanner End was the back door of the Grand and the seats were just rows of benches. Right in front of the screen, just behind where the piano player had sat for the silent movies. I’m not sure but probably only about ten rows. This did not stop the pleasure we had, there was:
Roy Rogers and his horse Trigger, his wife Dale Evans was also in the films, along with Gabby Hayes and his singing friends the Son’s of the West.
Gene Autry the singing cowboy, with Smiley Burnett also had a good following.
The Lone Ranger and his trusty red indian friend Tonto.
Remember Hopalong Cassidy.
My favourite cowboy was the Durango Kid.
For comedy we had:
The Three Stooges, Abbott & Costello, Bob Hope & Bing Crosby in the Road Show series with Dorothy Lamour for glamour, and lots of Cartoons.
They scared the pants off us with Boris Karloff in Frankenstein.
We wrestled crocodiles with Johnny Weismuller in the adventures of Tarzan and as he grew older he continued as Jungle Jim.
Our detectives were Charlie Chan remember how he talked, “number one son“, and someone called Boston Blackie.
We cheered and stamped our feet when the projector failed, and looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths when the usher Jack Money shone his light in our direction.
Two ounces of sweets or some liquorice root and a seat in the tanner end was more than a trip to the pictures , it was a passport to heaven.
The evenings entertainment was always two movies, first was a “B” grade movie or a short comedy, followed by the Big Picture. There were two showings or houses as we called them, so if you went to second house you only had to watch the kids coming out of the first house to know what was on. Kids yowling like Tarzan, or slapping imaginary horses and shooting imaginary guns at each other, these images said it all.
We had grand nights at the Grand.
Bob Brown