My Mumbles in the 1920s
by Joan Jones
More by Joan Jones (née Marshall) Great War Veteran: Will John
Schooldays, Shopping and Seashore
Arthur and 'Dolly' Marshall, my mother and father, on the Downs, at Brighton
I wish I could boast that I was born in Mumbles, but I can’t— I was born in Hove, East Sussex. However, it was a near thing! My parents, Arthur and Dolly Marshall, had visited Mumbles in 1919—and were immediately entranced by the village and the beautiful coastline, particularly ‘Little Langland’ (known as Rotherslade today) and Caswell. They must have decided then and there that this was the place to live. They had been married fifteen years and, although Londoners by birth, had lived in Westcliffe and Hove. My father had played soccer for Brighton and Hove Albion, when the club was still an amateur side and also belonged to the Deep Sea Swimming Club in Brighton where he swam, dived and played water-polo.
That was 1919, and I went and upset the apple cart by being born in 1920, which must have been a terrible shock! In spite of this, the decision to move to Mumbles still stood and in 1921 the three of us lodged in Park Street while our bungalow, 'The Nook', in Newton Road (in front of Brooklyn Terrace) was being built.
Joan aged 3, at 'The Nook'
The Nook, Underhill, Mumbles
This was when the park at Underhill was just two fields, complete with cows! Before the wall surrounding our garden was built, the cows used to wander up under the back door (being on a slope, the back door ended up about 6 feet above the ground and steps built on afterwards—builders’ error!). Our friend, Will John, who had introduced my parents to Mumbles and who had been badly wounded in the Great War, eventually came to live with us at ‘The Nook’ and through him we met many Mumbles people who became our friends too. Across the road lived the Gold family who had a fascinating fish-pond with water lilies, plus many goldfish which as a child I loved to be taken to look at, under supervision, of course. Further down the road lived the two Miss Peels, who also owned the field next to the cemetery lane. They were direct descendants of Sir Robert Peel, the founder of the London Police Force (known as Peelers). They had two tennis courts (grass, I think) to the left of the entrance to the cemetery, where there are now two houses behind a high hedge. They held tennis parties and I always hoped that when I was older, I might be invited to join them. By that time, of course, the parties had ceased but in later years, I often visited them and had Earl Grey tea in the long drawing room which extended across the width of the house. They kept chickens until just before the remaining sister died, but often the foxes would reduce the numbers of hens, until only one remained.
The next big house was ‘Yniswern’ always referred to as ‘Miss Pinkham’s’ school and when I was six, I started school there—that was September 1926. As it was only about 2-300 yards from the house, it was an easy walk to school and handy to walk home for lunch. Boys and Girls made up the different classes, but only until the boys were about 11 years old, when they went on to other senior schools. The girls could finish their education at ‘Yniswern’ if the parents so wished. It was a good, Christian school where we learned good manners, self-control as well as academic subjects. French was taught at quite an early age, as was Shakespeare, Greek Mythology and General Knowledge. Sports included tennis, hockey and gym—the latter most unusually being in the hands of a ‘man’, Mr. Standish from the Y.M.C.A.. All the other teachers were women.
Tennis was played at Langland and we walked down in crocodile with our teacher at the head and repeated this for the return journey—we were pretty tired on hot days too! I was lucky that I lived near the school! We played hockey in the park opposite—very often the grass was so long that after bullying-off one was lucky to hit the ball more than six feet.
It toughened us, however. Miss Pinkham’s (article 'Hiraethu: to long for') was a happy school and although she was a strict headmistress, she was always fair and children appreciate that.
Arthur & Joan, with 'Uncle Will', at Langland, 1923/4
Arthur, Joan and 'Dolly', at Caswell, 1928
One of Miss Pinkham’s Classes, 1920s
I have an old friend, Lily Johnson, now 91, and living in Hove, who always maintains that the teaching she had there was so good that the all-round knowledge that she absorbed helped her to solve crosswords that defeated many. Unfortunately about 1934, the school was in its last year and Miss Pinkham was about to retire and I finished my education at the Bible College School.
Being an only child, I went everywhere with my parents. We had no car, but occasionally we would embark on a day out by charabanc to the Brecon Beacons or West Wales. However, I had a tendency to be car-sick, so on several occasions I would be left with Mr. and Mrs. Young at Roseland Gardens in Norton—almost opposite where the clinic is now. ‘Uncle’ Young, as I called him, had a small-holding there and grew tomatoes, chrysanthemums and dahlias and had several apple trees. The apples were stored in the loft of a big barn opposite his house, and would last well into the winter. I can remember the lovely smell of those apples as if it was yesterday. On Saturdays, he and his wife would sell their produce in Swansea Market on what was called a ‘squatter’s’ stall—one put up temporarily every Saturday.
Several times over the years, I had to walk through floodwater, which came over the pavement and road and extended into the park opposite, from the Misses Peel’s drive to the bottom of the cemetery lane. All very exciting and even more so when one freezing winter, the water froze and the flood became a sheet of ice. Inevitably, in spite of warnings that the ice wasn’t thick enough to slide on, somebody did and fell through.
Broadway Radio Service supplies the new technology, as revealed in this advert, dated 1931.
The first advertised live Public Radio Broadcast in Britain was on 15, June 1920.
The BBCs first radio programme, was transmitted in 1922, marking a new era for listeners at home.
By 1930 there were five milion radio sets in Britain, but listeners had little alternative but to tune into the BBC.
By the end of 1939 there were nearly 9 million licence-holders—and many more listeners—in Britain.
Today - People of different ages and interests can choose from a plethora of radio and TV programmes broadcast across multiple media platforms, including the Internet.
When I look back, Mumbles was such a peaceful village. If one car an hour came up or down Newton Road, it was an event. Our Milkman, Mr. Gronow and our Baker, Mr. Beynon, both delivered by horse and cart, and the milk (straight from the cow) was poured into our jug—a jug I still use! I used to enjoy shopping with my mother in the 1920s when the premises (now the Hair Centre) was a grocer’s shop run by two brothers, Charlie and Jimmy George. The floor of the shop was covered with sawdust swept every day and fresh put down for the next day. At one end of the shop was a bacon counter and at the other end, through a doorway, was the sweet shop—well patronised as a tuck shop by the children from the Council school. Jimmy George was a smoker and often had a cigarette between his lips while slicing the bacon. I was fascinated by the length of the ash on his cigarette, and wondered where it was going to land! Of course, in those days there was no refrigeration for the bacon and nothing to stop the occasional bluebottle depositing its eggs on the meat and no one seemed to object to these being scraped off with a knife! I think our systems were immune to ‘tummy’ upsets then—very few people washed their fruit and I think we were pretty tough then!
I also went shopping to Mr. Treharne’s, the butcher and to Jones, the baker (Covelli’s) where Mrs. Jones not only sold lovely bread and cakes but also fine china, which was displayed in a big glass case.
'Kemp’s was a fascinating shop, which sold everything one needed from soft furnishing to ladies’ stockings.'
Thomas’s, where the Co-op is now, had a wonderful staircase, which branched out into two to reach the first floor. Looking back it reminds me of the TV series, Are you being served? Mr. Brick kept a hardware store, where Cash Hardware is now and Miss John had a paper shop further down. I think it was her brother, Monty John, who was our plumber. Varley’s, run by John Varley’s father was a wonderful shop and Mr. Lowther’s, where Boots, the chemist is now, was as good as any doctor for everyday remedies. As a very young child, I remember being taken for a treat to Wren Harris’s café in Southend, which to a toddler, looked like a Palm Court. My mother used to go to a shoe-repairer, who had his business in the back room of a house in Queen’s Road. Mr. Harris reminded me of a picture in my bible class of Moses, with a lovely white beard. He knew his Bible, too, inside out. When I was given quotations to find from the Bible in scripture lessons at Miss Pinkham’s, guess who gave me the answers—Mr. Harris!
At home, in what was thought of as a very modern bungalow, our only hot water came from a gas geyser over the bath. All other hot water was boiled in a kettle on the gas-stove in the kitchen, as there was no electricity in our part of Newton Road. Outside each door, there was a wooden ‘switch’ which, when pushed in, caused the by-pass to light up the mantle. We had a scullery with a wooden plate-rack over the sink and a mangle of which I volunteered to turn the handle sometimes and which squeaked and groaned as the water was squeezed out of the laundry. The pantry, lined with shelves, had a slate slab to keep cooked food cool and various covers of wire mesh and woven cotton (with beads dangling to give them weight) to put over the milk jugs. The bedrooms could be very cold in icy weather. If I did my homework in bed, I would wear a jumper over my pyjamas and put gloves on while I was reading (plus a water bottle at my feet). Getting out of bed onto cold linoleum was a shock to the system!
For the latest entertainment, we had a crystal set and my job was to find the correct spot on the crystal with a ‘cat’s whisker.’ We would listen to 2LO and Luxembourg stations, the latter of which actually had advertisements, such as a jingle ‘We are the Ovaltinies, little boys and girls.’ Later, when wireless sets became more sophisticated, Children’s Hour was my regular listening every day, with ‘Uncle Mac’ who would tell children where to find birthday presents (parents having written in previously with the information). Then Cinema came to Mumbles—first the ‘Tivoli’ and then the ‘Regent’, which became known as the ‘old’ and ‘new’ cinemas. Each showed two programmes a week —Monday to Wednesday and Thursday to Saturday, consisting of an ‘A’ film, a ‘B’ film and the Pathe News. So if we wanted, we could see four programmes in a week, sometimes followed by fish and chips from Johnnie’s to eat when we got home.
Caswell and a day at the beach, August 1931
I remember sitting on the stones at Rotherslade with a full tide—big waves crashing in and my father, who loved conditions like this, diving in and swimming out beyond the waves. He usually swam for an hour between the points, so my mother and I would sit in the sun, talk with friends and have a picnic tea when Dad decided he’d had enough swimming. We saw a bit of activity—Barney, who used to look after the deck-chairs and had a rowing-boat handy in case of anyone getting into difficulties, had launched the boat and was rowing out to sea.
Before long, he came back, swearing and very angry at having rowed out for nothing. We learned later that my father, who was unusually buoyant, had been doing what he used to call ‘the submarine’—lying on his back in the water, with one leg up in the air and Barney had mistaken him for somebody calling for help. We felt so guilty and pretended we didn’t know Dad when he eventually emerged! Dad, himself, saved at least four people in Langland and Caswell over the years.
I feel very privileged to have spent my childhood, and in fact except for three years in Perth, Western Australia, all my life in Mumbles. I still love it and even after holidays abroad, the sight of the Lighthouse and the Pier make me feel glad to be ‘home’ once more.
More by Joan Jones (née Marshall) Great War Veteran: Will John >