A Mumbles Girl in the 1960s - here by fate not heritage by Sarah Monks

I was born in 1954 probably in Stout Hall Nursing Home, Reynoldston, Gower and my childhood was spent in the wonderful location that is Mumbles and Langland.  However, it is fate rather than heritage that allowed me to have such a fantastic start to my life. The reason for my early life in Mumbles was down to Albert Ridgway, my maternal grandfather, who was born in Watchet Devon. His family worked in the paper mill there and as farm labourers.

A few years later, my mother was born in Manchester, they then moved to Cardiff to join the rest of The Ridgway siblings and Albert was employed by Turners, the building company. Soon, Albert was sent to Swansea to take charge of the building of Cefn Coed Hospital.  Along with his wife and now three children, they lived initially in one of the houses constructed, for the builders, on the plot before the hospital was built. Hence the family had arrived in Swansea.

The next project for Albert was the building of The Guildhall, mum remembers sitting in the boats at the top of the tower during its construction.

The Ridgways had moved to Sketty and later to 56 Queens Road Mumbles and it is in the Mumbles area that they stayed.  The family consisted of Albert and his wife Monica, daughter Jacqueline, my mother, and her brothers, Arthur and George.  Mum attended The Bible College and her closest friend was Joan Ely, whose family lived in Dunns Lane. The war broke out and Albert was sent to build a hospital in West Wales.  

The land army girls took him under their wing, romance blossomed between Jacqueline and Ivor and after the war, Ivor decided his future was to be with Jacqueline and he moved to Swansea, taking up digs, working in Burgess and Company and getting The Mumbles Train to ‘court’ my mother.

It was up those 39 steps that I ran in my lunch hour from Year 4 in Mumbles Junior to tell my mother and Grandma that I had passed my 11+ in 1965.

Occasionally, I spent some time playing in the park at Southend, in those days it was two roundabouts and slide up the other end, opposite the Carlton Hotel. On some occasions I was joined by the children of my parents’ friends. The adults had a drink in The Antelope whilst we played. At least it was more interesting than hanging around the back of The Rock and Fountain in Newton.

From High Nook, I loved to watch the water skiers in the bay when the tide was in, jumping over the ramp. One memorable event was when Southend was flooded, the black and white shelter on Promenade Terrace was in a few feet of water. Sadly, I cannot find pictures of this, but I remember looking at the view out of the window of High Nook whilst seeing it on The News.  I walked past the shelter today and could not resist taking a photo of Grandma’s old house and the shelter, the latter looking like it needs some tender loving care.

Mr Anderson and his mate would carry the heavy sacks of coal from the lorry and tip it into the bunker.  A separate door at the bottom would allow us to fill the coal scuttle. I cannot imagine who carried the coal up the 39 steps at High Nook. Keeping the fire lit was crucial to the warmth of the family.  Each day the cinders from last night’s fire would be removed and placed on newspaper. The ashes went into the metal ashbin, my dad continued to call our rubbish bin the ashbin years after they became plastic and not suitable for ashes.  

Spills, [other people would use kindling, small pieces of wood], in place on top of the scrunched paper, next the cinders, the better ones, then new anthracite coal.  Once lit, by lighting the paper at the bottom, the whole fire would be helped on its way by the use of newspaper to help it draw. This always sounded quite fierce, the fire roaring behind the paper, once removed calm fire would be behind.  We did have a metal sheet with a handle that was safer. The kitchen at the front, north, of the house became the main focal point of the home as it was warmest and we would huddle round the fire on cold days. 

We may venture into the lounge at the back, south facing, in the afternoon, usually making do with the electric fire for the evening.  If having visitors, or at weekends, the fire was lit in there too. In the afternoon the paraffin heater would have been lit to take the chill of the lounge.  Paraffin was bought from Cash Hardware, then delivered on a regular basis. This heater could be placed anywhere in the house and looking back the act of carrying it to a different room when lit was an extremely unsafe practice. It was in hall in the morning and placed in the bathroom on the days when a member of the family was to have a bath, mine was Saturday.

My mum made most of the clothes I wore in the 1960s using her trusty Singer Sewing machine, she learnt these skills from her mother Monica.  Back in the 1910s Monica’s family had had to move to Keighley to work in the mills, Monica escaped that fate as she had skills as a seamstress, and was subsequently able to impart those skills to my mother.  Mum would eye up items in Marks and Spencer, find similar material and create the garment herself, my delight one Christmas at receiving two M&S nighties I had seen in the shop, was not deflated when I saw no labels and realized mum had created identical ones. 

On another occasion, as a teenager, my mother was furious that a friend of mine had bought the same jacket as me.  I was not allowed to wear it out one day, I was not happy, but on returning a jacket had been created in the same style.  Around the room was newspaper, used to make the templates of each piece. I was lucky too, my dad had worked in ‘Liberty’ in London, in the silk department before the war.  His best man still worked there, and every year fabric was given to my mum to create clothes, usually for me. I still love Liberty print, but cannot afford it. This jacket, Mum made, was floral Liberty print, and the remnants made a good skirt, mini in 1972 needing little material.  Kemps was therefore a regular haunt and even better, the remnants from Nelsons in Swansea.

In 1970 High Nook was sold as the steps were becoming too much for my Grandma.  She came to live with us in Higher Lane until the death of my mother in 1982. At the beginning of that year, 1982, the snow, seen from the kitchen window out to the road was particularly heavy.

My little world was about to change dramatically in 1972 when I moved to Manchester and began training as a teacher. In the summer of 1973, I was placed in a school in a challenging part of Oldham trying to teach Biology to 11 to 13 year olds, many Asian, whose names I could not pronounce. This was not like my life in Mumbles.