Sledging

Located on the side of a hill, Swalwell was a natural place for sledging during wintertime. I didn't know anyone who didn't have a sledge. Some kids had the swish store bought kind but many were just home made and having fathers who worked in the local engineering factories, runners were easy to come by. There were many odd looking constructions but they all went.

How we were never killed is anyone's guess. Then there was the 'DEATH TRACK!'. A 30-foot almost vertical drop located in a field at the top of Plantation Avenue. Never quite saw the fun in this after smashing into a rock and nearly setting my neck!! Popular with those who lived in the Pre-fabs though!

The Coiner

The ‘coiner’ so named because you ‘coined aroond thi corners like’, was the summer-time equivalent of the sledge. Most kids had one, and all that was need to make it was an old plank of wood, an orange box, a couple of sets of pram wheels, a bolt and a bag of nails. They were great fun and tearing down Ruskin Road or Whickham bank on one could be hilarious. You braked by sticking your feet out in front of you. Terrible on the shoe leather and the ‘softies’ would usually add a makeshift brake which would lock onto the back wheel

They were also very handy for lugging the shopping or the odd bag of coal.
I have never seen one of these in nearly 30 years yet they were one of our ways of having great fun.

Spud Bashing

Spud Bashing was not the preparation of mashing potatoes for the Sunday Dinner; but the cold, wet, back-breaking work of picking potatoes for the local farmer. I did it once in 1963 for the princely sum of 10 shillings a week. It was the worst job I had ever done in my life and was glad when the week was over!

Every morning, at 7.00 armed with enamel buckets and a couple of jam sandwiches. We would be taken up the Lonnen to one of the potato fields on Smith's farm where we spent all day bent over collecting the potatoes churned up by whatever the appliance was called which did the job. Half an hour for a jam sandwich and a cup of tea and we were back at it until 5.30 in the evening. The 10 bob was spent at the Blaydon Pavilion at the end of the week and I realised the true meaning of slave labour. Apparently, and incredibly, similar work still exists in the UK!!!

Best Butter

As kids in 50s Swalwell the best you could ever expect to get on your bread was margarine except, that is, on Sundays, when out would come the 'Best Butter'. I can remember buying this for my mother the day before. It was stored in the grocery stores in large wooden barrels and the shopkeeper would cut it with a wire and wrap it for you in greaseproof paper. No pre-packing then! The 'Best Butter' would be served up with bread for our Sunday Tea and it was FORBIDDEN to put anything else on your bread when the 'Best Butter' was used. I remember the beautiful creamy taste and rich yellow colour much different from the butter sold today. It was a treat and Sunday was the only day we were allowed to have it. Where did it go???

The Meat Safe

Our family never got a refrigerator until sometime in the late 60s. As most of our food was always bought fresh anyway, there was never much call for the fridge. We did however, have a meat safe. This was basically a wooden cupboard with fine wire mesh front and sides and was designed more to keep the flies of meat rather than to keep it cool. It was kept in the bottom of the pantry, which was probably the coolest spot in our house anyway. All of our meat; the joint, sausages, bacon etc was stored in here. In all the years that it was used, I can't ever remember our meat going off in this contraption. I think it eventually became a rabbit hutch.

The Club Trip

I don't think they are held any more but the annual Club Trip was one of the most awaited events in Swalwell - up until the mid 60s anyway. Most kids never really got out of the village much. Even a shopping trip to Newcastle 4 miles away was an adventure, so the Club Trip was something special. The village would empty on the day of the trip and whole families would converge on Swalwell station to take the special train to Tynemouth, Cullercoats or Whitley Bay, whichever was the chosen destination for the day. Going to the beach may seem like nothing these days but that ONE day would be talked about for weeks.

Our mothers would spend the previous evening preparing sandwiches and other nibbles which would be complimented by Fish n' Chips at the Beach. (I don't know why but they always tasted better there)
Our clothes would be prepared - nearly always new t-shirt and shorts - and our sandshoes would be painted white. We were spick and span when we turned out for the event.

The steam train would normally take about an hour and a half to reach the coast (about 13 miles away) and the ride was an exciting part of the day. Once at the beach, fathers and elder brothers would disappear to the nearest pub, mothers would rent the deck chairs and tents (for changing clothes) and then spend the rest of the day sunbathing and nattering with the group they were in. The kids would head straight for the sea or to the rocks to collect shells and crabs. Later we would get money from our parents to go to the Spanish City in Whitley Bay or the Tynemouth amusement arcade.

A great day would be had by all and we would return home with our candy rock and souvenirs; tired, sunburned but still excited from the great day out we had had.

A few years ago I spent 3 months touring the US and a further 3 months touring Europe - they couldn't compare to the feeling I had when I went on the Club Trip.