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Gil and I were treated quite regularly to free toffee apples by Mrs Binnings who lived almost opposite us in a house with a long(ish) drive adjacent to Eschol Villas. On one occasion I travelled into "town" on the bus with my Grandmother, and Mrs Binnings got on the bus too. She sat next to us and I asked her how she made toffee apples, and she said "there are only four ingredients, salt, sugar, vinegar and water", then proceeded to tell me how to make the toffee and how to coat the apples. At the end of the half hour journey, I was well versed in the manufacture of toffee apples. I never took this up as a career (perhaps that's where I went wrong) but I am still to put this lesson into practice, - maybe one day. (Her son Cy has contacted me and thanked me for this reference to his mother).

On odd occasions I accompanied my Grandad to purchase corn to feed the chickens. Our journey would take us to Dewstow Street, to Millards where we would make our purchase. The Millard family lived in Lliswerry Road, and they had a daughter, who was my Sunday School teacher at the Chapel. I believe she later qualified as a teacher and taught at Hartridge School. I'm a little hazy on her first name, but I think it might have been Hazel (I'm ready to be corrected on that one).

On the corner of Parfitt Street lived the local cobbler, Mr Luckett, who had a shop in Cromwell Road. He did a marvellous job of repairing our worn out footwear, and was a real craftsman. His prices were always very reasonable too. I also remember that he had a rather pretty daughter, Jacqueline I think her name was.

There was a fish and chip shop in Lliswerry Road, which was taken over by the Huish family, who later expanded the shop into a general store, and at one time it became quite large. They even started up a milk round and sold milk in competition to Ted Page, but they used a Black Bedford Van for that purpose. They had vending machines outside the shop too. They were, it seems, related to Mandy Rice Davies of the Profumo scandal fame, and it was claimed that she had been seen in Lliswerry Road when the scandal broke. The shop no longer exists and there is no trace of it nowadays. The other shop in Lliswerry Road, was the Richards' shop where Gil and I had our paper rounds. Old Sam was friendly chap, but Mrs Richards was a very hard woman. They had a son Edward, who I believe became a teacher. There was also a shop in Greenmeadow Road run by the Hillmans family. (All trace of both shops has long gone).

Mrs Smith's sister, Mrs Foy, was a piano teacher and as I had ambitions to play the piano accordion when I was about eight years old, I was sent to Mrs Foy, to her house in Chepstow Road. The house name was"Regina" and was opposite the public toilets (now gone) at Somerton. I spent many hours being taught by her how to read music, and learned to play a few tunes- one of which was Verdi's Rigoletto (Le Donna e Mobile) and became, (sort of) fairly proficient. One evening however, I was pounced upon by a gang of about six yobs in Somerton, and my music case grabbed and my sheet music scattered. The case was all but destroyed, I was beaten up, and it took me ages to gather up all the sheet music. I was also robbed of the five shillings that was to pay for my lesson. I turned up late for the lesson in a rather dishevelled state and was remonstrated for my tardiness despite my protestations, and was told that I must bring ten shillings the next week to cover the two lessons. That was the last time I turned up, and I never became the concert pianist, or accordionist to which I had aspired.

One spring day, Lliswerry Junior School put on a production of "The Owl and the Pussycat". As the weather was fine, it was "staged" in the school playground. I had to introduce it, so I had the onerous task of remembering the immortal lines - "Welcome to Lliswerry Junior School's production of The Owl and the Pussycat, by Edward Lear". I practised long and hard, and it just rolled off the tongue. On the day however, yes - I got totally and utterly tongue-tied. I finally managed to stammer my way through it though, and everything went well until the little green boat fell apart. I can't recall who played the other parts in this play, but if they read this, please contact me and I'll gladly include you. The headmaster was Mr Bale and he was a rather genial type of man. It was whilst in this school that I was chosen to assist the slower learners in my class how to read. It caused a certain amount of resentment among some of my classmates that I had been singled out in this way, purely as a result of my reading skills being more advanced than that of most of the others, and led to my being picked on by some of the denser of our number. A particularly slow individual was Loretta Taylor, she lived near Mrs Preece's house in Lliswerry Road, and she had a real bad mouth. Her language at that young age was extremely unladylike to say the very least. All the boys avoided her like the plague, me included.

Mrs Preece (Rose), was my mother's best friend, having grown up as neighbours, and going to school together. This friendship persisted until my mother's death in 1986, when she attended her funeral. Thank you Mrs Preece.

The sound of a vehicle horn or a handbell being repeatedly sounded, heralded the arrival of the local ice cream man in his van. He was an Italian who made really delicious "gelati". His name was Signor Nociavelli, although we always called him "knocker belly" and he loved being called it too. We would look forward to his arrival. He introduced us to the first of the chocolate covered lollipops among other tasty delights. He introduced chimes on his van, then the first of the musical tunes more familiar in recent years. Walls bought him out in the latter half of the fifties, and the ice cream was terrible, the lollipops were totally tasteless if not completely foul tasting. They introduced tricycles with a cool-box on the front and the slogan "Stop me and buy one" (we turned that slogan round later on when we bought contraceptives to "Buy me and stop one"). Most of the time if you bought anything from them you risked severe stomach upsets. It was something of an improvement when they ditched that idea, and gradually improved the quality of their wares. But nothing could beat old "Knocker" Velli. He knew his target well. There were a fair mix of both sexes in the area, so he had a very good market, and it saddened us all when he no longer appeared. I've never tasted ice cream the like of his since!

Next door to us at number 14 lived Mr and Mrs Vaughan. We would regularly hear her calling out "Louee" (Louis) when it was time for his dinner. He was something of a handyman, and was a wizard at sharpening saws. Grandad often asked him to sharpen his saws and carry out some light engineering job for him. Louis died in the mid-fifties, and Mrs Vaughan lived for many years after. She was very much involved with Civil Defence and regularly went to their meetings. She was certainly a no-nonsense sort of person, but she had a heart of gold hidden by her formidable front.

Gil lived at number 18, and as we are only a few months apart in age (he's the older one) we are almost like brothers. I rate him higher than my own brother as we have been closer over the years, sister and half-brother, the latter two of the three I actually despise but with very good reason. I might actually spell out why at a later stage. Gil and I are still in touch with each other, and I occasionally 'phone him to see if he can remember any people or anecdotes, and he is therefore helping in the writing in this story. Gil's family were of Scottish origin, as his surname MacLeod suggests, from Stornoway in the Western Isles. He used the surname Clark throughout school, this being the name of his father who was an American Airman. His mother brought him up with the help of his Auntie and Uncle, until her untimely death in June 1961, a few days after my Grandad died, which was 8 days after my fifteenth birthday. His Uncle died a few years later followed some time after that by his Auntie. When Gil was younger there was an older gentleman who lodged with them, who was something of a "grandfather like figure". He taught Gil how to make model airplanes, and how to look after the large aquarium of goldfish, which was a prominent feature of their backyard. Gil called this chap"Bampy", his real name being Ernie Rogers. He left in the mid-fifties to live with his son Frank. In the garden where we used to play, there were gooseberry and blackberry bushes, and we feasted on these every year. There was also the remains of an air-raid shelter in the garden, which we regularly dug out (it had been buried after the war). Gil was always digging tunnels, he should have been born a rabbit. We had easy access to the "reen" (the ditch) as it was called locally. We sometimes floated paper "boats" down it, and watched them disappear under the bridge beneath Nash Road.

©Len Jones 2002