Snapshot: A seaside holiday in a railway carriage
The location is Chapel St Leonards in Lincolnshire, the year is 1951 and there is fine rain coming down. However, that’s not stopping the girls having fun.
The girls are my mother, Eileen Pearson (Eileen Martin as she was then), with the big teethy smile at the front, her younger sister, Hilary, to the right, with their grandma, Emma Martin, their dad’s mother, in the middle.
The other three ladies are, centre, my gran, May Martin, my mother’s mother, and to the left, Monica, my grandad’s sister and, to the right, Mary, my grandad’s brother’s wife. Mum says they were always fun to be around, particularly Monica, who they all loved and days they were altogether were the best.
Grandma Emma Martin had booked an old railway carriage as holiday accommodation, which was on the beach, to stay in for the week, and all were invited to travel from Nottingham to spend a day.
Mum is now 81 and we found these pictures along with many others a few years ago in a box of old family photos. We’ve now scanned and put them into photo books. As Mum’s unable to get out much, and with Dad in hospital recovering from a fractured leg, she can now reminisce with her regular visitors, her four grandchildren (and my nieces), Deborah, Lisa, Charlotte and Adele, who love a story from times gone by, and my sister Anne, brother Christopher and I also love to dip into these books with Mum, ensuring relatives long gone are still remembered.
I’ve also included a second photo from the trip, with Mum’s dad, my grandad, Bernard Martin, joining some of the girls in the photo.
Caroline Wright
Playlist: Back to Peartree Green, 1972
Children of the Revolution by T Rex
“But you won’t fool the children of the revolution / No, you won’t fool the children of the revolution”
The summer of 1972 had flown by. My father had spent three months at home after a heart attack (with the Ashes and Olympics on, he could not have timed it better) and it was now the beginning of September. The leaves were starting to turn and fall and the grass was losing its vibrancy. We were starting our fourth year at Woolston secondary school, apprehensive at the thought of our penultimate year and the exam-loaded final fifth year and wondering what would happen to our futures. But, for the time being, we had football and music on our minds. I supported Arsenal like my parents, and I had inherited my love of music from them after they took me to see the Beatles twice when I was six.
The weather was warm for early September and, for Southampton, surprisingly dry. I had told my mother where I would be after school. She knew Kirk’s mum, Mrs Murray, well, so she wasn’t worried. I just had to be home by 9pm. Hatchy, Kirk and I arranged to meet up on Peartree Green after school for a kick around while the evenings were still light. We had mentioned it to others, but nobody else was interested. Peartree Avenue was as busy as ever, with workers making their way home for the weekend. I wandered down the avenue with Kirk towards the green.
From a distance, we could hear music. As we got nearer, we saw Mark Hatch had already arrived and was sitting on a bench, his battery-operated, very small record player next to him. He sat there grinning at us.
“What’s this then?’
“You mean you haven’t heard it?” he said. “It’s the new single from T Rex. I went down to Woolworths after school and bought it.”
“What’s it called?” Kirk shouted.
“Children of the Revolution – do you want to hear it from the start?”
“Of course we do,” we both blurted out together.
Thirteen continuous plays later, dancing manically around like Marc Bolan, shaking our hair like he did with his thick black curls, the batteries were getting low and the light was starting to fade. We finally got to play three and in, talking about this new Bolan masterpiece while we kicked a football. Was it as good as Metal Guru, the last single? In the end, we agreed it was good but not in the Get it On and Jeepster class.
I recently heard it again as a background to a television ad, after which I dug out my T Rex albums, including Bolan Boogie (a particular favourite in 1972) and a recent “best of” compilation. They still sounded good and brought back many memories. My parents continued to love music until they died.
Woolston secondary is no longer there and I’ve long lost touch with Kirk and Mark. But I wonder if they remember when we were the Children of the Revolution.
Les Moriarty
We love to eat: Chickballs à la Burghley Road
Ingredients
Pasta or rice
Onions
Vegetable oil
Frozen mixed vegetables
Canned chickpeas
Passata
Cheese
Fry the onions and add the passata. In another pan, heat the mixed veg and chickpeas. Strain. Stir in the onions and passata. Cook the rice or pasta. Serve together with a generous sprinkling of grated cheddar.
Burghley Road is a lovely, volunteer-run under-fives centre in Turnpike Lane, north London. Every day, up to 40 parents, carers and children sit down to a vegetarian meal made by a couple of volunteers from the rota.
When my children were little and it was my turn to cook, I did something simple and filling like this. If there was any left over, we carried it home on the buggy, in a plastic tub with a lid on. My daughter, Shona, referred to anything veggie with rice and pasta as a Burghley Road, eg, “What’s for tea? Oh, it’s a Burghley Road.” She was always happier to eat the “chickballs” (as she called chickpeas) at Burghley Road than at home!
Sarah Richardson
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