This story happened to me during the thirties on the South Tyne when I was aged between nine and twelve. It was a time in my life when a year was divided into the football season and the cricket season and they both lasted a full lifetime.
For me it was a time of pure magic when the Hall Road Boys accepted me in their gang even though I did not live in Hall Road.
Below the Hebburn lakes an unused patch of land near an electric pylon was used by the boys as a cricket pitch in summer, and a football ground in winter. On this bumpy pitch many a wicket was claimed to the cries of "googly" and at football many a goal was scored rebounding from a bump in the ground. From being a star player on this pitch at my next school only one year later my services were seldom sought for at football or cricket.
When we were ten years old, the Hall Road Boys decided, en masse to learn to swim. Walker Baths were chosen because they had clean circulating water whereas the nearest baths at Jarrow only changed their water once-a-week. So, one Saturday morning, we all gathered at Hall Road and walked about one mile to the Hebburn ferry landing stage. We did not proceed to the ferry landing stage itself but walked down a staircase to another landing stage for a large rowing boat called Charlie's sculler. We opted for Charlie's sculler because it was cheaper than the ferry. We climbed down the moss covered steps and, for a few minutes, watched the water rats in the murky waters below.
Soon Charlie and his sculler returned from delivering the first working shift at Wallsend Shipyard so now we could clamber aboard for our voyage across the Tyne. Charlie crossed the Tyne by a devious route. He dipped his oars deeply into the water against the current and at a certain point turned the boat, and allowed the current to carry us back to the Wallsend landing stage. Thus River Tyne had been crossed in a large arc and the price for this trip was I a halfpenny I believe.
The next part was to pass the glue factory which emitted the most awful smell. It was common knowledge amongst us that the glue was made from dead dogs' bones - certainly the smell was horrific. We therefore, took our rolled towels and bathing trunks which we stuffed to our noses and ran up the hill as quickly as possible-out of smells way. Eventually we reached Walker Baths and, after three visits teaching each other, we all swam in dog paddle style; it did not take many more visits before we progressed to more recognisable strokes.
On leaving the Baths we went to a nearby pie shop and bought pies which we ate as we strolled back to the landing stage. A quick run down the hill past the glue factory with our improvised now damp gas masks stuffed to our noses and we were back to Charlie’s sculler and soon returned to our homes.
When the summer holidays began our mothers' were glad when we said we wanted to go down to the coast for the day. A group of six to eight of us with lunch bags called 'bait' and our swimming costumes and towels all packed in together. We set off like a group of small soldiers "marching" the six miles to Marsden near South Shields. On arrival we quickly stripped off our clothes and put on our swimming costumes. We ran down to the waves rolling onto the beach, our feet graunched into the sand before we at last reached the water and swam to the Marsden Rock cavern and back again to the shore. After the swim there was always the chattering of teeth and the simultaneous vigorous towelling of our thin bodies and legs. Afterwards we experienced that exhilaration of tingling bodies which North Sea swimming does for you better than anywhere else.
There were certain pastimes which some of us participated like following the wedding cab of newly weds as they came out of church just after being married. If we were lucky the groom would open a window of the cab and scatter pennies and halfpennies on the ground. Then there would be a great scramble by us to collect them. For some reason our parents did not like us being involved in this ceremony - it seemed like begging to them I suppose, so we did not tell them.
Another event was to gather at railway crossings and place halfpennies and pennies to be crushed as a train passed over them. When the train came, it passed over our coins and the result was a pressing into oversize coins which were eagerly picked up from the track by their owners. I do not remember what happened to any coins belonging to me, perhaps I buried them being afraid of my father's disapproval if he found out that I was doing dangerous things like that.
We also kept to ourselves other things like fishing in the Hebburn lakes for sticklebacks which we called "tiddlers". The lakes were dangerous and children sometimes got drowned but we could swim now anyway!
However, when we returned home with our jam jars full of tiddlers we all said that we had caught them in Lawson's stream. Lawson was the local farmer, but for us the lakes were the big attraction because there were more and bigger fish there than in Lawson's stream. We enjoyed our fishing but unfortunately the fish themselves did not live long, seldom lasting more than a few days.
When summer changed to autumn on Saturday afternoons the Hall road Boys would walk down to the cinema in Hebburn old town. On arrival at the cinema we bought twopenny tickets for the upstairs seats, downstair seats cost a penny. Noise prevailed everywhere. We never saw adults in that auditorium, except one attendant and the long suffering manager. Our Boys always sat on an elevated pocket of seats above the circle and in the left hand pocket, not the right hand one.
If ever the mistake was made by the management of putting on a Love film the normal pandemonium was raised to cries of outrage. Feet were stamped all around the hall and from our group came the chant, "We want Hoot". The "Hoot" we cried for was Hoot Gibson our favourite cowboy hero.
At last Mr Dawe, the manager, would come out onto the stage in front of the screen still showing the Romance film. He then lifted both hands above his head and implored us for silence. But this was the moment we had been waiting for and with one accord we took from our pockets handfuls of spearmint bouncers and hurled them at Mr Dawe on the stage. Spearmint bouncers were small round white sweets which when eaten tasted of spearmint. The small white balls landed in an avalanche on the stage. Mr Dawe would then turn, lower his head and walk quickly off the stage. Soon afterwards the Romance film came to an abrupt ending and the title of a film starring Hoot Gibson was flashed on the screen. The bedlam now changed to cheers, then within seconds order was restored as Hoot could be seen leaping from an upstairs window onto the back of his horse. Those Saturday afternoon matinees meant a lot to us all.
Winter time was the time for "Jack shine your muggy".
Muggies were cleaned out jam jars with string wrapped around their lipped-necks and then arranged with a long loop to become a handle. The next step was to take a candle, a lighted match was then placed below the opposite end to the candle wick, and as soon as the wax flowed a swift reversal of the candle was made and the candle placed into the centre of the jam jar. As soon as the wax hardened the candle was correctly fixed in its muggy. Thin strips of black paper were stuck onto the sides of the jam jar to give a lantern effect when the candle was lit.
On November evenings our gang gathered and the dark nights glowed with a number of lanterns of light. For some time, running-about and shouting "Jack shine your muggy" kept us all happy. Then, as every year, we saw in the distance the lighted muggies of our rivals the Glen Street boys. When we saw them we gathered as many stones as we could from the cobble stoned lane, and if we were right handed we placed them in our right hand pockets and grasped the muggies in our left hands.
We charged at the opposite army of muggy lights and then, threw our missiles at them, and the Glen, Street boys threw their stones at us.
Immediately afterwards we ran away in opposite directions. Over the years to the best of my knowledge no stone hit any muggy or person, it was a safe war fought at a distance with many shouts and threats, but no-one got hurt. Whether we had to prove our near coming of manhood as we did with "Darers", which is another story, I do not know but I think we were all a little scared and we were just like some air crews during the last war who got rid of their bombs as-soon-as possible so they could go home.
Kite flying had its own fascinations. We flew them both in the park, and also at the bend of the River Tyne where the saying goes that four winds meet.
We made the kites ourselves after some help from our fathers on the first kites. We discovered that there were many tricks involved in the craft of good kite making if you had any aspirations of flying the highest kite at the river bend, and becoming King Kite for one day.
First of all the thin strong canes for lightness were bound together by string. The paper I favoured for the kite was thin and strong, green in colour and could only be obtained from the Co-operative Store who used it to wrap-up boxes of boots and shoes. I was fortunate there because the manageress of the department happened to be a friend of the family and she gave me the paper I needed. Correct adjustment of the belly-band underneath the kite and the exact number of paper bows tied on the kites tail all added up to quite a development programme. But it was all worthwhile when you saw your kite soaring up into the sky with all the others, to attempt to become King Kite for the day.
Although I flew high kites and enjoyed the sport it was never my good fortune to be the King Kite but it was better to have tried and failed than never to play at all!
Today I sometimes wonder if the youngsters on the Tyneside can tear themselves from their computer games and radio controlled aeroplanes and boats, and on windy days once again fly kites at the bend of the river on the South Tyne, pitting their skill against the elements and the competition.
I end this story by saying that these are some of my memories of a Tyneside boyhood which helped us all to grow up into men.
Derrick Nicod
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