Open Writing

Guy Fawkes night on 5th November was an excuse for some exciting times. During the war, bonfires were banned and fireworks were not available, so the return to Guy Fawkes celebrations in 1946 was completely new to youngsters like me. We had learnt the historical aspect at school but remembered little; the practical element of bonfires and fireworks were much more interesting. There were no large organised displays, but every respectable back lane had at least one bonfire with Egerton Square hosting perhaps, the largest in the area.

Sundays were special days during the late forties and early fifties. The country was still in mourning from the war and religion played a major part in the life of many families. Churches were well attended and Sunday schools were popular with children of various ages. No theatres, cinemas or shops were open and the Football Association did not recognize the Sunday morning football leagues. During the day, the radio was the main source of entertainment. After church in the summer, if the weather was fine, the parks and pier would be packed with evening strollers wearing their best clothes. My Sunday consisted of a lie-in, then collect a Sunday paper, read about yesterday's sporting activities while listening to the light programme, lunch at 1.0 pm prompt, off to Sunday School, home for tea about 5.0 pm, then to church for the evening service. Compared to modern times, perhaps not a very exciting day for a young teenager?

During the austere post-war years, about 60,000 war-brides left Britain for the 'promised land' at the other side of the Atlantic. Many other families, attracted by the assisted passage to Australia for £10, went to the other side of the globe. One such tribe was the Burns family who lived in Gordon Road. They had two boys about my own age and we spent some time together. They seemed to be waiting for years for 'the boat to Australia'. It must have arrived because they suddenly left and we never saw them again.

At the end of the war, in addition to redundant warships, planes and tanks, there was also a great surplus of clothes and equipment. A lot of these were sold to the public via numerous Army and Navy Stores. (Whatever happened to R.A.F. surplus, I don't know.) During a time when money was scarce, these shops were extremely popular. Perhaps one of their most famous products was the wartime haversack. These came in two main sizes. The ex-gas mask size was ideal for the working man's flask and sandwiches. The larger haversack, which was worn on the back, had a wider range of uses. I bought one in 1946 and I didn't go many places without it during the next ten years. It carried anything needed for school - my football and cricket gear wherever I was playing, my lunch time needs after I started work and in later years, books and equipment for evening classes. It was perhaps the best 4s 11d (about 25p) I ever spent.

Different aspects of health played a major part in our family's life during the post-war years. At a national level, the new National Health Service was born on 5th July, 1948. Nye Bevan - the fiery Welsh Health Minister introduced this service where the public could obtain free medicines, glasses and dentures. Many older people thought it was too good to be true and said that it would not last. It didn't. Within three years modest fees were introduced for prescriptions and dentures.

At an individual level, I was still frequently troubled by sore throats and was taken to see our new doctor shortly after we returned to Shields. He was a Dr Harrison who ran an old-fashioned, single doctor surgery from a large house in Hudson Street, Tyne Dock. The downstairs hall of the house was used as a waiting room and periodically, a receptionist came out of the adjacent doctor's room to collect names of those waiting. When my mother and I were called in we found a tall, mature, heavily-built gentleman sitting behind a table and partly hidden by high bookcases and shelves full of bottles. We told him my case history, and after examining me he confirmed my tonsils should be removed as soon as possible. I must have looked shocked because I recall him saying, "Don't worry son, it's only a small operation, two nights in hospital and two weeks off school!" As we left, I heard him say to my mother, "You will be hearing from the hospital but it will be several months."

It was in fact, about eighteen months before an official-looking letter came though our letter box at Reed Street. The hospital wanted me to go in for the operation in early December, the week before the Christmas examinations. This meant being absent from school during exam week. I was not pleased. This was because the school policy was that if anyone was absent during exam week, either by accident or design, they sat at the bottom of the class for the duration of the next academic year. I had no intention of doing that, but equally, my mother had no intention of asking the hospital for another date. My tears refused to change her mind. After a lot of haggling, we did reach a sort of agreement. This was that, if I was well enough after the operation, I would return to school after one week's absence instead of two. As the operation was on the Tuesday with a return home on the Wednesday, I thought this was a reasonable outcome.

Although I masked it very well, I was extremely apprehensive about the operation and staying overnight in the hospital. I need not have worried. There were about twelve other youngsters in the same ward but I was by far the oldest. The night before the operation was like a kindergarten with noise, laughter and little sleep. The night after was a complete contrast; it was like church - quiet, peaceful and not a sound.

I recall very little about the actual operation except somebody asking me to count to ten and then putting a mask over my nose. When I regained consciousness I was back in the ward. The operations must have been done on piece-work because all the surgery was complete by lunchtime. Apart from having a tender throat for the next few days, I recovered quickly and returned to school six days after the operation. The end of term examinations were not too difficult, and surprisingly, I finished third top out of a class of forty. It was also the end of my frequent very sore throats!

During the next ten years with the growth of the new National Health Service, Dr Harrison's surgery was to change and expand. The small ante-rooms off the lower hall at the Hudson Street premises were converted into two new consulting rooms and a larger waiting room. When the older Dr Harrison retired, his look-alike son took over the practice and was later joined by a Dr Graham and a Dr Emslie.

In my final year at Stanhope Road School, we had separate visits from the School Nurse and School Dentist. The nurse just recorded our height and weight and tested our eyesight but the dentist found major problems. Most people's teeth required attention - in my case, several fillings.

This was not surprising considering that I had never owned a toothbrush in my life. Like most parents of that generation, my mother was more concerned with providing me with sufficient food to eat, clothes to wear, coal to keep warm and fighting off possible fatal illnesses such as scarlet fever, diphtheria and tuberculosis than, in her words, 'the luxury of having your teeth inspected.' Most people by middle age had false teeth anyway, so it was not surprising that my teeth needed attention. What was surprising to me was the fact that, if they were as bad as the dentist had made out, why were they not troubling me? I had heard terrible stories about people who had had treatment at the school Dental Clinic, so I tried to persuade my mother to allow me to seek treatment after school by a dentist under the new National Health Service. As soon as she found out it would cost nothing, she agreed.

After school, I researched the location of a dentist and found several in nearby Laygate Lane. Building up courage, I knocked on one of the doors and was admitted straight away. The dentist was a grand old Scottish gentleman with a name like McCauley. He inspected my teeth and like his colleague, confirmed that they needed much attention. I was a regular customer of his during the next few weeks and fifty years later, I believe I still have some of his fillings. He even sold me a toothbrush and showed me how to use it.

This was the first dentist I had ever attended. I remember having an injection and that he used a foot-operated, treadle-type drill which I later found out was a relic even then! My family were amazed that I had nothing to pay for all the treatment I had received and my mother said it was due to the new Labour Government. Perhaps she was right?

Mr McCauley also advised me not to eat too many sweets. I nearly laughed in his face. Like any normal youngster, I loved sweets but they had been rationed to about 4 oz per person per week, since 1942. True, this ration was slowly increased after the end of the war, until April 1949, when somebody in the Ministry of Food got their demand and supply calculations mixed up. Sweets were taken off the ration and chaos reigned. Some shops ran out of stock and closed; other imposed their own unofficial rationing scheme and some local shops only served regular customers. It was much worse than rationing, so with much 'egg on their face' the government hurriedly put sweets back on official rationing in August 1949. It remained that way until 1953, when adequate supplies this time ensured that sweets could be de-rationed without disappearing from the shops.

During this decade of sweet rationing, many families sought to find a substitute. In our house this was home-made toffee. Sugar, although rationed, was saved and any surplus was used to make an occasional pan of toffee. I recall the gorgeous smell as the mixture sizzled in the container on the open fire. In reality however, the finished product was much too 'claggy' for my liking. It used to stick to my teeth like glue and was perhaps responsible for my many fillings in later life.