An Exile Looks Back

Perhaps it is only in later life that we can look back and appreciate just how fortunate we were to be born and bred in such a wonderful corner of this island.

I spent my growing-up years in the nineteen thirties and forties living with my parents and younger sister, Janet in Kings road, Mumbles. We both attended Oystermouth School where Miss Oriel reigned behind a large raised desk in, what would now be called the Reception Class. I seem to remember that the teacher then was Miss Brightman and it couldn’t have been easy being responsible for a class of five-year-olds with the head teacher looking on all day. Grafton Maggs refreshed my memory of Mr. Davies, the head master in the ‘Big School’ and Mr. Evan Davies was another very popular teacher there in my time.

I was nine when war broke out. Our house had a basement, which was reinforced with railway sleepers to provide an air-raid shelter. As we were living within three minutes walk of the school, we ran home when the siren sounded, and in the early days, went straight to the basement, where we stayed until we heard the ‘all clear’. But as nothing much happened during these day-time scares, we soon got very brave and would spend the time playing until we had to return to school.

Swansea High School was responsible for our secondary education. We travelled on the train, which kept going whatever the weather — when it snowed we had no excuse to stay at home!

My Mother’s maiden name was Libby and the family home at Southend was next door to the Bristol Channel Yacht Club. It was our second home where we spent hours with granny and Uncle Harry — when he was not out on business! We did not have a car in those days, so often walked between King’s Road and Southend or travelled part way on the train. Later, when the train passed the house on its way to the Pier, it was time to put on coats and walk in to Southend Station to catch it on its way back and travel the one stage to Oystermouth.

During the war, a small committee was formed to keep in touch with the lads who were in the forces, sending them some Mumbles news once a month. The members including the Vicar, Rev. Wilkinson, George Ace and Harry Libby took it in turns to write for the fist few months and then it seemed to be Uncle Harry who collected the local news together and produced the monthly letter. Most of the boys replied when they could and Betty Howard joined the team to send news to the girls. The copies were available for the local families to post on with their letters.

Uncle Harry would write the letters in the kitchen-cum-living room, which had an old-fashioned black grate with an oven. There, dressed in dressing gown and slippers, often in the early morning or late at night, he would tap out the letters with two fingers on his small typewriter. After my Mother’s death in 1969, we found a complete collection of them, which made for very interesting reading. We felt that this ‘potted history’ of Mumbles during the war years should be kept for posterity, so we presented them to the Swansea Archives for safe keeping and a bound copy was put in each library.

Jan and I were taken to the Methodist Church Sunday School at an early age and we attended regularly, joining in the week day activities for our age group. Mr. Dyke was the Sunday school Superintendent for many years and his wife, the primary Department leader. They ran the youth club together, organised Christian Youth weekends at Llanmadoc and regularly entertained young people in their home at West Cross — often over night. We had some wonderful times with Mr. and Mrs. Dyke—no Christian names in those days! We both became Sunday school teachers and members of the Mumbles Church until we left home.

After training to become a Norland Nurse and working in this country and abroad for a number of years, I returned home to take over ‘The Baby Shop’ in Newton Road. I knew nothing about the retail trade, but a lot about children and their requirements, so I built up a very personal service there, making friends with many of my customers. There I remained, living at home with my parents, who moved to Newton, until I married and came to Devon.

I am often asked what part of Wales I come from, so I am pleased to say that I haven’t lost my Welsh accent. Now, two children and three grandchildren later, I keep in touch with friends and return from time to time. I shall always be proud of my roots and I have very happy memories.