Childhood memories

I hang my head in shame :lou_sad: I will ban myself for a week and force myself to read my old Enid Blytons from my childhood. I still have my originals with their rather gender stereotypical roles and saucy names - Magic faraway tree has more Dick and Fanny than Paps video collection

Shadow the sheepdog - from about 1954 (have an original copy from my dads childhood collection) features a story on ‘Gipsies’ stealing the sheepdog…

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I grew up in Bishopstoke, where my parents live to this day (in the same house that we moved into in August 1960, when I was a mere eight months old). Then, as now, the top end of Church Road, from the top of the hill down past the Foresters, was semi-rural in character.There’s been relatively little new building there in my lifetime - three bungalows replaced an old timber yard (I can only vaguely remember the yard being there) and the garden of the big house up the road was built on and is now Bishop’s Court. There was a gravel pit on the west side of the hill, overlooking Allbrook - that’s been filled in and grassed over and is now a field, but I can remember seeing hundreds of sand martins’ nest holes in the back wall of the pit.

Across the road from parents’ house is a small rec and a couple of fields, with a footpath that leads past the fields to a (very) steep wooded hill that takes you down to the water meadows of the Itchen, with a small stream (called Bow Lake for some reason) dividing woods and meadows. This was our playground. We’d play in the woods and stream and, in the summer, swim in the river - which was, as chalk rivers are, fucking cold. Now and again we’d be chased away by fishermen, who paid large sums to the local farmer to fish the river - they stil do, come to that. There were also a few patches of unused land, all now built on - next to the Foresters, at the top of the hill near the old allotments (Dartington Road these days). The latter had an old underground water tank that perhaps should have been locked shut, but wasn’t. Inside was just a giant cistern, with a commensurately enormous ballcock - but no water. Presumably it once would have provided water to the village, supplied by the pumping station at Twyford (well worth a visit in itself if you like things such as huge steam engines and Victorian industrial architecture).

We road bikes all over the place - I remember cycling up some way past WInchester on more than one occasion, which wasn’t bad going on the single-speed bikes we all had. There was a dirt motorbike track on the edge of Stoke Park wood, along the road that leads to the cemetery from Stoke Common Road - we’d ride our bikes round that as best we could, wishing they had engines (a piece of stiff card stuck to the forks gave a decent enough motorbike sound for us, though).

One TV show I remember better than most others is Batman - the proper one with Adam West. We would watch it religiously; it was always shown on consecutive evenings, with the Caped Crusader and Boy Wonder apparently doomed at the end of the first episode, only to escape and eventually triumph in the second. We’d watch transfixed, and get very indignant at our parents, who would roar with laughter throughout the show. It was only years later, when I watched the same programmes as a teenager, that I realised why they’d laughed - those shows were brilliantly written, and worked superbly on more than one level. To a child they were gripping and serious, to an adult they were camp and hilarious, with any number of fantastically funny lines, invariably delivered totally deadpan.

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Originally posted by @TheCholulaKid

Eh? My jeans are lucky if they see the washing machine once a week. It’s why they smell so good.

Pfft i go months srs washing jeans fucks them up

Originally posted by pap

Nice thread, Jack Schitt. An opportunity to crystallise a few memories.

Cheers Pap. I thought so too at first (well obviously, or I wouldn’t have started it ) – but then I was just going to let it drown quietly in the deafening silence. :lou_wink_2:

I was quite surprised to get in tonight and see someone had breathed life into it, and dragged it back up to the surface.

Thanks for your post too, it was a good read.

Originally posted by pap

I remember us buying the first ever edition of Now That’s What I Call Music on vinyl.

Ha, I remember the second but not the first. You were one step ahead of me.

Originally posted by pap

50p was your pocket money, and it bought you a fucking big mix-up from the shop on Aldermoor Green

Was that the old Circle K? Think it might have been a Sperrings before that. If so, I remember walking to and from that shop myself.

Originally posted by pap

Finally, I remember gigantic British Bulldog games on Aldermoor school’s fields

Ahh, yes. I have fond memories of those, although not in the same place as you. Some of the older kids in our little kind of cul-de-sac used to organise games for all of us, centred around the main meeting place of a huge old oak tree on the green. British Bulldog, 9-9-in, and the most exhilarating one (which you’ll most likely not know by the name we gave it) – “escaping the were-wolf”.

There used to be an ice-cream man came 'round our way, big hairy beast of a turkish man called Tony. It all started when he short-changed my little bro, and my brother being the lovely loud-mouthed little tearaway that he was, his reposnse was – “Oi - Tony! You’re a rip off!”

Tony somehow misheard this as “Oi - Tony! You’re a were-wolf!” Which for some reason that still puzzles me to this day, managed to annoy him sufficiently that he lept out of his ice-cream van, and chased us down the cutway between some of our houses, yelling “don’t you call me a fucking were-wolf you little cunt!”

Well that was that. From that point onwards, to us at least – a were-wolf he most definitely was. And we enjoyed letting him know it on a regular basis. Hence, “escaping the were-wolf” became a popular pass-time for many of the local kids. We’d hide, and spy on him, then “wolf him” when he least expected it. One of the best ones ever, we encountered him stuck in traffic, behind a police car at a set of red lights. He got the full treatment that afternoon, from very close range - as we knew there was not much he could do about it. In this day and age, the thought of a grown man getting away with driving around in an ice-cream van, and chasing kids around seems absurd. Ohh, but those were different times.

I used to love most of all, our massive games of nine-nine-in (large-scale hide-and-seek for the uninitiated). There’d sometimes be up to 25-30 or so of us playing. Whoever was “it” had to count to 99, and we’d all scamper and lose ourselves far and wide. Sometimes we’d run for ages, quite far away. The “it” group would enlarge with captured hiders as the game progressed. With the object for those hiding to get back to base (the large oaktree) touching it and shouting “9-9-in” - before the defenders/seekers got there before you to end your game with a “9-9-out”. The larger the group of seekers, the further away they would risk a long race back and venture a long way from base to find us. So we had to put in the effort to get a fair trek away.

One time, me and my best friend had ended up hiding about a 20 minute run away. We must have stayed hidden in our place for well over an hour. When we finally, gradually, gingerly began to edge our way back to base, and found a place much closer to see if the ‘coast was clear’. We could see no-one. We assumed we were the last to be found, and everyone was out looking for us. We figured the closest ones must’ve been hiding themselves to catch us out when we tried to make it back.

It turned out everyone had gone home, and we were both quite late for dinner.

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Originally posted by @Fowllyd

One TV show I remember better than most others is Batman - the proper one with Adam West. We would watch it religiously; it was always shown on consecutive evenings, with the Caped Crusader and Boy Wonder apparently doomed at the end of the first episode, only to escape and eventually triumph in the second. We’d watch transfixed, and get very indignant at our parents, who would roar with laughter throughout the show.

Haha, same mate. I remember the one with Adam West in, and also that I could never understand why my dad thought it was so funny. It was usually Robin’s “Holy Contributing to the Delinquency of Minors Batman!” moments, and some of Batman’s ‘deductions’ that would set him off.

Cheers for your post Fowlly, that was a nice read. I love reading people’s memories, especially when they’re happy ones. It puts you back into that state of mind by default, as you recall the times, and the way they made you feel. I certainly am one for living in the present moment – but I do enjoy a good reminisce over fond memories.

If the topic might actually end up taking off, I’m sure I’ll add more of my own as they arise. But not much point if I’m just talking to myself. I do enough of that already. Or so my alters tell me anyway.

School was good fun, i remember. There were a few of us n’er-do-well’s that used to knock about, but in hindsight we had a bit of entreprenurial spirit running through us. There was a short craze for the parents to brew their own beer or ferment their own wine with home brew kits, that appeared to be a bit short lived. One of the Dad’s was throwing out his wine kit, so we salvaged it from the bin and made our own that we intended to sell at school. All went well with the brewing process (i was lucky enough to have a small shed that my folks didn’t go into) until the day of sale. Taking 18 bottles of wine into school is no easy feat for a group of 4 lads, but we got there and sold them to anyone who would buy them. Unfortunately, 12 year old kids didn’t take heed of our “drink sensibly” motto and the school playground was bedecked with chunder and broken glass. Our (ahead of its time) recycling policy on the bottles, in tatters, we had to abandon the business, although we’d learned some valuable lessons.

The second ruse involved computer games. In the old days cassette tapes were screwed together, so it was a piece of piss to buy a game, buy a blank C15 computer cassete for next to nothing, unscrew the cassettes, swap the reels and take back the game to Smiths to get the middle aged women to exchange it. Flog the original and pocket the money for a free game. It could be done about 2 or 3 times before suspicion arose. But it did enable us to buy a tape-to-tape cassette recorder which made copying games much easier.

The most lucrative schoolyard business was undoubtedly the top shelfers. Back in the day, those of a less academic bent were grouped in the expectation supressing “Remedial Class”. Armed with a low self esteem and a desire to gain mates, these chaps were more than willing to nick a top shelf magazine for 25p each, which we then sold onto younger lads for quite a bit more. Being in an all boys school, the number of potenial punters was never in question. We must have peddled a good hundred or so mags before, unfortunately, getting caught when one of our less shy customers decided to spank the monkey in class and our growing enterprise was shut down immediately, following a grassing up.

It made school quite fun. Eventually, I left with a pathetic number of exam passes, but could have been the next Branson if “Toggles Thompson” hadn’t decided to get his piece out in French, the shitbag.

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It’s odd how 60’s Batman gets treated. I still have fond memories of it, especially the film which was just an utter piss-take. I’m not sure what I like best, the Batcopter being shot down and miraculously landing at a foam convention, or the Bat-Anti-Shark repellent they just happened to have onboard.

Tim Burton’s films changed a lot of perceptions, and I seem to remember the 60’s show being roundly mocked at the time. We wanted a dark, brooding Batman. In retrospect, the Burton films were still great fun by the standards of the films that came after, even if they did take massive liberties with the source material.

This’ll be news to few, but Adam West is in Family Guy, starring as Mayor Adam West. Does the whole thing in his dazed Batman persona. He’s excellent in it.

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Good thread. Unfortunately I left most of my childhood memories in various fields in the late 80’s/early 90’s.

I will sit in a darkened room with a few josticks later and see if I can brave the looming fear and cement a few recollections.

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Same applies to cocks

Originally posted by @pap

It’s odd how 60’s Batman gets treated. I still have fond memories of it, especially the film which was just an utter piss-take. I’m not sure what I like best, the Batcopter being shot down and miraculously landing at a foam convention, or the Bat-Anti-Shark repellent they just happened to have onboard.

Haha, yeah - loved the sheer convenience of some of their ‘lucky’ escapes.

“Quick – Robin – hand me the shark repellent bat-spray” (that we just happen to have handily lying around in case of such dire emergencies).

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I have very fond memories of the original Batman as well.

I distinctly remember having lots of dreams about this young lady

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For Pap with love … as I continue my rehabilitation

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And for the rest of you… Cat woman’s behind

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Although Batman and Robin seem to be ‘sharing the rope’ on this occasion…

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Born on the first day of the 1970’s, my childhood was a riot of oranges and browns, brittle woodchip, extravagantly swirled artex and vesta curries on Dad’s ‘cooking’ night.

Home was a small semi in Fair Oak which we struggled to afford.

Before I was born, Dad had built a pigeon loft at the bottom of the garden, a simple wooden shed on breezeblock pillars. It was always ‘the loft’ but the birds were long gone before I could climb the three steep steps to explore inside.

First there was a printing press, noisily spewing headed paper and shaking the loft on it’s stumpy legs. My brother and I would collect the still wet sheets and run them into the house. There we’d earn our penny per hundred, collating the five candy colours for Dad’s customer. Then, just as suddenly as it seemed to appear, the press was gone and the loft was given over to storage of paint tins, their rubbery rims displaying all the shades of magnolia. A work bench was fashioned from begged timber and hand tools rusted and seized as Dad drowned in DIY.

Under the loft we would snake a Corgi traffic jam around the pillars, bury plastic soldiers in the dust and dirt and dig up hollow bones.

The loft was then transformed by rabbits.

First came Midge. White with pink eyes. Dad built a hutch into the loft, cutting a hole in the front and fitting a chicken wire door, we could stand outside and watch Midge settle cosily into her two room home under the work bench. Soon, second and third rabbits were scrounged and the hutches multiplied, growing like tumours inside the loft.

They do indeed breed like rabbits. Soon there were seventeen scratching around in the piss stink.

Midge was the last one to go.

The first death was a little black baby. Dad carried her into the kitchen in a shoebox where she shivered and panted. Handy at DIY but no vet, Dad tried to feed her brandy soaked bread.

I think it was probably the disease rather than the brandy which caused the seizure as she stretched out her front paws and tilted her head back until there was a buck toothed snap.

A happy house but a garden full of bones and matchbox cars.

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** “Holy Mother of Compromising Positions batman!!!”**

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Thanks Goatboy, that was a great insight into your formative years, and very well written too.

Sorry to hear about the rabbits. The amount of much loved family pets we’ve said goodbye to over the years, I couldn’t count anymore. From (relatively) small, peaceful and fascinating Tarantulas – to much larger and loyal dogs, they were always a part of the family, and even the losses of the smallest and least emotionally aware of these animals were still mourned with sadness in our various homes over the years.

Like Goaty, I was born at the turn of a decade…but just in the dying embers of the 60s hippy dream…November '69. Man may have been to the moon that year, but we still had Black and white TV apparently… I dont recall.

The early 70s to '76 are vague naturally, but I do recall the long hot summer of 76… playing out doors from 7am to 8pm without a care in the world… certainly not worried by Savilles, who where there, but seemed well … less there without the media streaming every detail of every case - news just seemed more local.

I do actually remember running around the garden wearing a yellow t shirt and cut off denim shorts in May that year following cup final glory - would have been in army quarters in Gillingham by then,having moved from Andover the previous year. kitchen back door adorned with:

as every house had…

Then in 77 dad was posted to Sardina… a Nato base… so began a 3 year holiday… and a strange hedonistic period for the parents now in their late 20s/early 30s… seemed like they were partying with neighbbours and friends, Italians, Germans and Brits 2-3 nights a week… with us kids (and others) left alone to get up to mischief … in the neighboring appartments… photos of these parties remain closely guarded… :lou_surprised:

We entertained ourselves with:

and I was lucky enough to have one of these…

The 80s was for teenage years - and it was a bad as you think it was - shit mainstream music and the tight skinny jeans were as shit then as they are now, but made worse by pastel shades in everything else… unless you had an older sibling in a post punk/new wave/ Smiths/Joydivison mode. you were left with fucking new romantic shite and a pop scene that … well its too grim to recall.

Not much luck with girls as was too sensitive for my own good and kept falling for the unobtainable… late 80s and saw pubs and decent music as I found back catelogues of Dylan and Young et al… and prep for the hedonism that was my 89-93 uni days…

In a nutsheel-childhood was good.

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Cheers Gay, another great post for the topic. Thanks for your insights.

Yep – I remember the back door streamers – my Nan had a lovely colourful set of her own, adorning an otherwise typically grey shingle-covered Sparsholt Road semi in Weston.

Agree, the 80’s was mostly shite for music. Except our house was mostly accustomed to my Dad’s Zeplin, Duran Duran, and Dire Straits during those times, with Mark Knopfler’s dulcet husky tones a memorable accompaniment to many a Summer of Love. With Mum’s Beatles love-in for added effect, music was mostly at least more than bearable, so I escaped a lot of the newer crap that was playing on the radio of those times. Though Joy Divsion / New Order etc was not so bad.

I loved the later 80’s and on into the 90’s for music. The Arrival of the Stone Roses and latterly Oasis characterised my own teens, with anything Paul Weller, from Style Council days, and Dad’s older The Jam collection. I was pretty lucky really, and musically well catered for. :lou_sunglasses:

Just watching One Show and discover Giles Brandreth owns the original Paddington Bear and Fozzy Bear fromantic the shows. They’re now ruined. Cannot stand that man. Oh and his own teddy bear was called Growler. David Walliams managed to keep a straight face.