Sam Gammon, my Great-grandfather and my Mumbles of the 1930s by Ralph Wood

Fountain Cottages, Southend

Sam Gammon

Living as I did by the fountain on the Mumbles road at the bottom end of Myrtle Terrace, [A] I was never completely sure if I was inalong or outalong, but I never felt the slightest bit deprived being somewhere in between. I was born in Tichbourne Street [B] backalong in 1931.

My earliest recollections are of visiting my grandparents at 8, Clifton Terrace, Southend [C] and playing as a child among the boats in front of the Canopic building [D]. Also living with them was my bachelor uncle Richard Gammon (Dick to his friends) a gifted amateur violinist who, when our pier boasted a pavilion, played in the orchestra there. He also performed at various charities throughout the area.

My great grandfather Sam Gammon (a survivor of the 1903 lifeboat disaster) had a boat on the Promenade (or the concrete as they used to call it) with which he used to take visitors on trips around the bay. Occasionally he took me fishing, after buying a ground line from Peregrine's shop, at the bottom of Dicksladd [E]. I don’t remember catching anything very interesting, but it was always exciting when the mackerel shoals arrived, pulling them in sometimes two or three at a time.

Sam was a great exponent of the Old Mumbles dialect and here are a few words I remember-- garnsey [guernsey] for jumper, young women he would refer to as maids.” Thee cas’ nt wack it” was a regular expression, thee and thou were words frequently used in his vocabulary .When the weather was dismal he would describe it as a bit ‘weist’. The dialect isn’t used much now to my knowledge, except for the occasional “How art boy” occasionally overheard in the village.

I remember Sam bringing home a large bucket of whelks, which I have since discovered were a pest and can cause damage to the oyster beds. Presumably he’d gathered them from the Perches, where oysters were kept to enable them to grow to the desired size. Oysters were also kept in padlocked boxes attached to the groynes at Southend. The groins are in a poor state at present and fast disappearing.

Sam was fairly accurate as an amateur weather forecaster and often people would stop and ask him “what’s the weather doing today?” given the vagaries of coastal weather he was usually near enough. On occasions he would give advice on other nautical matters even if they didn’t ask for it! Boats were often being repaired and painted on the prom and the expert in this field was Stanley Clements the shipwright. You could usually find him in all weathers working away on the boats, he was very deaf as I remember and hummed away to himself as he worked. Some of the old men in and around the boats used to speak in the old Mumbles dialect, and some of them often wore a navy blue ‘garnsey’ [Guernsey] and a Breton cap.

My grandfather Fred was friendly with Mr. Bert Russell, a well-known man in the boating fraternity, a man who was very generous with his time and taught many people to sail and acquire boating skills. Fred was wounded in the leg in the First World War, and was a regular visitor to the Pilot Inn, I remember as a lad finding it very amusing to see grandfather cautiously making his way up the rough ‘drang’ [lane] between the cottages in Clifton Terrace after a few swift halves in the Pilot Inn.

The George Hotel, Southend

A map of Mumbles, with additions

Landmarks of the story

At the bottom end of George Bank adjacent to the George Hotel was the residence of Dr Curtis [F] who, whatever the weather used to swim in the sea opposite his house, he was an old man as I remember, but when most of us were wearing woollens he was splashing about in the tide, a tough old man for sure. My friends and acquaintances at this time were Bill and Maureen Noel (who were to lose their father in the 1947 Lifeboat disaster) John Draper, Ken Hullen, and John Sampson. Harking back to Mr. Harry Wards’ graphic description of the whale washed up near the Knab rock, I remember it clearly. Myself and a group of friends came across the dead whale and were duly stunned by its size, a party of visitors arrived on the scene with a camera. They persuaded us to stand on the whale resting on our trustee staves. If you are wondering about the staves, Robin Hood was on at the Tivoli Cinema, known to us as the Tiv. [G].

They took a series of photographs from various angles (we felt very important, Errol Flynn in short trousers). I wish I could get my hands on those photographs.

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