Memories of Life at Oystermouth Vicarage by Anne Ardouin
My father, Archdeacon George Wilkinson, was appointed as Vicar of Oystermouth at the beginning of the year in which World War II broke out. I was four years old, my sister, Ruth, six and my brother Paul, two, in this photo taken at Langland Bay around this time. All my formative years, adolescence and early adulthood were spent in the parish. Read my article 'So What Did We Do For Kicks'. Our first schooling was at the Church school in Dunns Lane, followed by either the High School for Girls or Swansea Grammar School, as gender demanded. I well remember our fear of Miss Woolacott at the primary school, but the softness of Jack Sanders and Dai Price, as we called them affectionately made life more tolerable. Among many others at the school at the time were Derek Scott (a big boy!) and his sisters, Michael Llewellyn, Texas and John Llewellyn, Colin Maggs, the Macfarlanes, John and David Webborn, the Joinsons, Philip Ace, Beryl Kippin, Joyce Mock, the Copplestones and all the Gammons. We got used to running home when the air raid warning sounded or traipsing into the school shelter if we couldn’t run fast enough. On Tuesdays and Fridays my father and his curate would arrive to instruct the top classes in ‘Religion’.
During my time at the school, the curates ranged from ‘Father Jinks’ (Illtyd Jenkins), Alan Evans and Douglas Davies, to my own Uncle David Wilkinson (my father’s youngest brother). Other friends went to the ‘top’ or ‘Board School, and among those was Alan Williams who was ultimately to succeed his father there as Headmaster and Roger and Geoff Phillips.
At home, at the Vicarage, the ‘phone never stopped ringing and the doorbell jangling. As quite small children we learned to take messages from Pressdees about impending funeral arrangements or tell engaged couples when my father would be back from visiting or church services to interview them. My mother was herself, invariably absorbed with Mothers’ Union or Young Wives or visiting sick parishioners.
From these early days, a loathing of Mothers’ Union embedded itself in my mind as particularly on Winter days when returning on the Mumbles train from Swansea High School, there would be no tea ready and the five fires in the huge eighteen roomed Vicarage would be insufficient to heat the vast rooms as they flickered, unattended.
The war itself made many demands on my parents. My father (photo) would be called to High Street Station to greet and say prayers with a dead soldier, sailor or airman from the parish who had lost his life in action.
Particularly, I recall my father’s distress at escorting the body of Alan Millichip (photo) who had been one of his faithful servers. Every Sunday morning, between church services, he would celebrate Holy Eucharist at the army camp of Thistleboon on the Mumbles Hill. On these occasions, he would wear a purple armband on top of his clerical robes. It was emblazoned with O.C.F. (Officiating Chaplain to the Forces) and would gain ready admittance for the Padre to the guarded camp. If we were especially lucky and time permitted, he would let us accompany him and we would enjoy breakfast of bacon and eggs in the mess which were so heavily rationed at home but seemed to be in plentiful supply for serving soldiers! (Mumbles at War 1939-1945)
John MILLICHIP > Sergeant Wireless Operator/Air Gunner,
1252034, served with 149 Squadron, Royal Air Force.
Died 11 March 1942, aged 21, on Active Service in an air accident at Mildenhall, Suffolk.
Buried at OYSTERMOUTH CEMETERY, Swansea.
Son of Mathew and Gladys Millichip of Bellevue Road, West Cross, Swansea.
Eventually the war ended, and on V.E. day, Harry Libby (photo) invited the Vicaragefamily to a street tea at George Bank. I well remember the joyous occasion when sandwiches, jelly and fizzy pop were served. Afterwards, Harry Libby, megaphone to his mouth shouted ‘make way for the vicar and his party’ as the Mumbles lifeboat was launched. It was a mortifying experience to troop behind Harry Libby, my parents and local dignitaries to get a good view! Perhaps, retrospectively, it was poignant too, as the lifeboat crew may have included those gallant eight who lost their lives attempting the ‘Samtampa’ rescue in 1947.Again, that memory lives in my mind. My father accompanied Mr Kluge, the lifeboat secretary to break the news to the widows and comfort them in their distress – and all of us who attended the funeral service at All Saints (Recollections of the 1947 Lifeboat Disaster) well remember strong men weeping and the choir mournfully trying to give ‘Eternal Father’ the emotional rendering so significant of the day. When the new William Gammon lifeboat was launched by Mrs Harold Williams, it was I who presented the bouquet to her on behalf of the RNLI as the new boat slipped into the water from the Pier.
Mumbles was such a friendly village as we grew up. P.C. Southall, although a huge man, was no threat and he would obligingly call at the Vicarage with lost school berets or fountain pens with our names on.
Summer evenings would be spent watching bowls matches or yacht races or playing rounders or watching cricket in Underhill Park. Then, there was the Youth Club, held variously at the Church School or Church Hall (as Ostreme then was). Our first romances were played out at ‘Socials’ or Church outings, so innocent when we consider and see the pressures of youthful relationship these days.
My sister and I with Olga Thomas and Valerie Orrin, were the first choir girls at All Saints: no cassocks and surplices for us, we were relegated to the back choir stalls and observed with eagle eyes by my father from his vicar’s stall and Dai Price from the organ loft. Nativity and Passion Plays were performances to be looked forward to. Alethea and Margaret Reynolds, Roy Webborn and Edgar Bryant were contemporary players among many I have mentioned before, while Joe Crawford sang ‘Ave Maria’ in dulcet tones.
Always, All Saints was the pivot of our lives and I still find that it is my spiritual home. I return to it with joy and love and am grateful for its continuing strength and I feel at home with those who still worship there and remember ‘the Vicarage kids.
Anne Ardouin – M.Ed. (Wales) Daughter of the late Archdeacon W. D. George Wilkinson and his wife, Mabel.