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The message was, "I'm coming home Mam, the ship will dock at Southampton". Aunty Gwynneth was coming home from America with her two daughters. She had gone there after marrying her American Air Force boyfriend Bob Donovan after the War. They had lived in Rapid City, South Dakota for several years, and she had wanted to come home to Lliswerry to see her family. She was coming back from 'The Black Hills of Dakota'.

We all piled into my uncle Vic Morse's car and he drove us all the way to Southampton and back. I forget the make of car, but I recall that it was one of the type that had a 'running-board' on both sides, and the doors opened 'backwards' to the way that they do on modern cars. It was black, and the engine compartment was reached through the old - fashioned way, from the sides. The direction indicators were the old semaphore type, which you banged on the side every time they stuck, which was frequently, to aid their deployment.

Our journey seemed to take forever, but when we finally got there headed straight for the Cunard wharf where the liner was docking. This was early autumn in 1953, and we waited whilst the gangplanks were set up, and the ship secured. The passengers started to alight, and we waited patiently until she was sighted with her daughters in tow. Emotional scenes followed, and I was introduced to my cousins, Beverley and Sheila. I was fascinated by they way they talked, rolling their 'R's' in particular was something of a focus. Until that time, I had not been particularly conscious of American accents, we did not yet have a television. We only had the old 'wireless' on which we listened to the 'Home Service' and 'Mrs Dale's Diary', 'The Archers', 'Journey into Space', and other old greats. (They don't make 'em like they used to, although 'The Archers' is still going - but without Walter Gabriel).

The return journey was spent with everyone telling each other their news, and me getting to know my cousins, who were just as awestruck as I was. At one point we all had a bit of a fright, as a large bird, probably an Owl, flew right past the windscreen, causing Vic to brake sharply. The rest of the night I must have slept through as I only remember arriving back in Lliswerry just as dawn was breaking. The journey to and from Southampton was only possible on the old 'A' roads, the motorways were to come later, and we had to go all the way around through Gloucester, the Severn Bridge(s) being at least eleven years away.

Over the months their accents slowly altered from the American drawl to the Newport accent, and I was told of their time living amongst the Sioux nation, and life on 'the base'. Beverley, the eldest, was a gawky child with dark hair, but Sheila was a little bit chubby, and had red hair - just as her mother had had a few years previously. They lived with us at Lliswerry Road for a few years, later moving to Playford Crescent, Ringland Estate, when that was built. Both had been pupils at Lliswerry Juniors, and later went to Hartridge Comprehensive School.

One day as I arrived home from Stow Hill School on the bus, I jumped off opposite our house as it slowed down for the bus stop a hundred yards further on. Just as my feet landed I heard a voice call out, "If you can do it, so can I", in a strange voice. That strange voice turned out to belong to Bob Donovan - Aunty Gwynneth's, by this time, ex-husband. He was on a visit to see his daughters. He often brought me brochures of the latest American cars, and I particularly remember the 1959 versions of the 'Chevy Impala' with the famous sweeping 'V' shaped rear wings, and many others including the 'Edsel', the distinctive lines of that year's Cadillac with it's enormous upright wings. Gas guzzlers have never been the same since those days. I kept a collection of these brochures, but lost track of them many years ago. I would imagine that they would be worth a couple of bob now.

Late one night I was awoken by a knock on the front door, and when the door was opened, heard the familiar sound of an American accent. I thought, Bob's come here again, but then the voice said "Goodnight" and the door closed. I thought that was strange, but learned why the next morning. It had been a visit from the Padre from Bob's base in France. He had flown over to deliver the awful news that Bob had been killed in a car accident in France. By this time, Aunty Gwynneth had married another man, Arthur Morgan, and they had a son Gareth, but she had left him with the intention of returning to Bob. This was now never to be, and she settled back to her married life with Arthur, and had a second son, (Wayne? or was it Michael?).

Beverley and Sheila had made a journey to see their father's parents, who lived in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and they were full of it when they returned. Beverley in fact went to America in 1967, got married and had a family over there, but one sad day there was a tragic accident. The trailer they had been living in caught fire, and she lost her (three?) children. She returned to Newport, where she now lives.

Vic Morse was my Aunty Betty's first husband, and the father of my cousins Robert and Lynette. (He was also Stan Morse's brother, the father of Bernard Morse). They lived in Cowper Close on the Gaer, then Trethomas for many years, Coronation Street to be precise. I remember when a soap opera of the same name started all those years ago, and it became a family joke. I often called Aunt Betty 'Ena Sharples' who was an early character in the show. Some Sundays I would get on my old Triumph Palm Beach Tourer bike, and ride up to Trethomas passing the Gaer through Bassaleg, Rhiwderin, Lower Machen, Machen and then Trethomas. I didn't have to worry about coming back, as Vic would invariably bring me back in his car. On one occasion, Robert and one of his friends and I went strolling through some woods, and for some unknown reason, I was attacked by a swarm of bees. I was badly stung, and I recall the pain to this day, but I can't remember much after that, except seeing my granny looking all concerned. I was told I had been lucky. This didn't deter me however, I still enjoyed the ride up there. We would go around Bedwas and into Caerphilly, it was an interesting journey of discovery on every trip. I remember seeing for the first time the leaning tower of Caerphilly Castle.

Bike riding was one of my favourite pastimes, and I really enjoyed exploring the area around Newport. On one occasion, I accompanied Mrs Smith on a journey down Nash Road to Goldcliff, around to Redwick, and then back through Llanwern Village past the Milton Hotel and back up to the Royal Oak. This was before Ringland was built, and it's ring road Ringland Way. The road came up from the Milton over the hill, and instead of going straight as it does now, bent to the right and followed the hill towards the Royal Oak, but was still a country road winding until it reached the area in front of where the Friendship Pub now stands, and continued up to Chepstow Road, with another road accessing Treberth Estate on the left. Most of the houses were built in the late fifties around here, as well as Ringland Estate itself.

Mike Johnson (Bernard Morse's mate) and I went on one bike ride (Bernard backed out) to Abergavenny. Our route took us through Caerleon to Newbridge on Usk, then to Usk, where we bought some bangers and let them off under the river bridge. Then our journey took us up alongside the Usk and the spectacular scenery up to Raglan. We turned left towards Abergavenny, and realised we had run out of water to drink. We knocked on the door of this house on the right, and after explaining our needs, we were told that we could have some water. " It's well water though", explained the lady of the house, and we tasted it. That was one of the best samples of water I have ever tasted. We filled our flasks, thanked the lady and went on our way. We got to Abergavenny, had a snack then set off on our return journey. We travelled down the A4042 through Goetre, Penperlleni, Little Mill, New Inn, Pontypool, Croesyceiliog, Llantarnam, Malpas and through Shaftesbury Street, passing the Castle, over Newport Bridge, and along Chepstow Road and home. We were tired, but made our minds up to do the same again. Mike and I never did get to do that again, but I did ride all the way from Newport to Porthcawl with a couple of other friends a few months later. However, Llantarnam was a regular destination for me for about three years, as my then girlfriend had moved there from Alway.

© Len Jones 2004