Being a dead-end [now known as a “close”] and having the Brook and fields at the end of the road made it possible for children of all ages, even very young, to use the street as a playground. Another advantage was the width of the road; being an unused dual carriageway, space was not at a premium. It was lit by gaslights down the centre and had rows of trees both sides and a double line of trees down the centre to aid as goal posts, home bases and cricket stumps for the boys; for the girls, skipping ropes were tied to them to act as high jumps and the centre island acted as a good tennis court middle. All the families that lived there at that time were approximately the same age with children of around the same age as myself up to the age of my sister.
The semi-detached house stood back from the road; a fence on the right hand side and a fence at the far end of the back garden separated us from the fields. Directly facing the back door was a high wooden fence for privacy, not that great store was placed on privacy—neighbours were frequent visitors to each others’ doors in search of wandering children, and messages were relayed to other children by this means. Even when quite small the street was as much a playground as the garden, although it was around about 1930 that Humberstone park was opened.
One of the first things that had an impression on a young mind when moving into the Portwey was the felling of a large tree that stood at the top of our garden. It was felled to fall straight down the line of our back garden. It lay there for a few weeks and was the joy of every child in the neighbourhoood, acting as a climbing frame.
The children separated themselves into well defined age groups. All were guarded communally and certain neighbours acted as locum parentis whenever it was necessary. I can still recite all the names “on our side of the street” starting with next door: Harrison, Cooper, Charles, Myring, Birbeck, Soars, Frost, Me (Everitt), Litelmede, Hunt, Obern.
Shortly before starting school I found that the other children in the street were either friends or enemies. Reg Cooper was one of the first I knew, as my mother was a great friend of Mrs. Cooper who was older and wiser than her and, after the scalding of my shoulder, they became quite close friends and consequently we knew the children: Mabel, Reg and later on Tommy who died of meningitis while still a child. Reg was older than me so I was always slightly frightened of him. Further up the street lived Fred Soars and Ken Frost. They were more my age so a natural affinity developed between us.
My great friend was Fred Soars and, up to the time he was called up for the second world war, serving in Italy where he was wounded. We were absolutely inseparable—even to the point of us both being apprenticed to the same trade and spending our lives in the printing industry. It was Fred who had a serious accident coming home one Saturday night. He and Reg Cooper were racing down the Humberstone Hill and collided with a car. He was in the infirmary for a while but came out a hero in our eyes, with broken bones and a large gash on his chin, a scar he carried for the rest of his life. Fred was always the instigator of what we did, but was always prone to something happening to him. I doubt if even he could tell you the number of times he broke his arm. He always seemed to be in plaster for some reason or another. It must have had an effect on his health as he was sent to the open air school at Western Park to be “built up” (as it was phrased then). After the war he married one of the group of girls we knew, and I am sad to say we lost contact.
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