Memories of Childhood
by John Appleby

~ 1 ~

Imagine this; the beach in the winter, dark and desolate, the air misted by the frigid spray of the sea waves pounding on the rock-skirted headlands of the little crescent bay. The beach, that in summer was a festive scene of sea-sparkle and sun-bathing families, and the colourful paraphernalia of childrens' playthings, is on this day a melancholy stage, given over to the chorus of wind-hovering gulls. High above the beach stands a long frieze of grey stone houses, terraces which follow the curve of the bay, silhouetted against the sky, the chimney smoke tossing in the wind. Sheltering behind these ramparts lies the little village of Newbiggin by the sea. It was there in a little red brick terrace house, in an upstairs room, on a day such as this, that I made my appearance into this world.

The year was 1921, and my earliiest memories were of a glowing fireplace, a shining oven door and the swinging of a brass pendulum. I then recall playing with my father's watch chain as he dangled me on his knee. I had two older sisters and a younger brother. My younger sister Win was my minder, and being 4 years older must have begun her schooling. My older sister attended the Colliery school in Woodhorn road. In summer my brother and I would sit together on cushions on the front step of our Melrose Terrace house, watching the house martens swooping up from the burn, and fluttering up under the eves to build their clay nests in the golden warmth of the lowering sun, amidst the perfumes of my mother's little garden.

My father worked at Woodhorn colliery, cycling up the "narrow path" in all weathers and at all hours and we would not see him, except briefly, for days. We were therefore in closer contact with our mother. The absences of shiftworking fathers were the same amongst hundreds of mining families in the distrct when I come to think of it. Women, by modern standards, were slaves in the home - the men were slaves in the bowells of the earth too. In the depths of winter they would seldom see daylight for weeks, except at weekends. One day I recall my dad arriving home when driving snow had coated him from top to toe on only one side - a study in black and white!!

When we looked out of our front window our view was uninterrupted by other buildings. Behind and below the fence across the street lay the allotments sloping down to the edge of the burn, and tilted up on the other side was a similar area. The whole area was dotted with toolsheds, hen crees and pigeon dookets (dovecotes) Here grew the big leeks, the chrysanthemums and dahlias in search of prizes or offerings to the harvest festival. A summer evening would see miners calling their birds, sitting puffing on their pipes and bringing water up from the burn. In the distance stood a copse of trees concealing the little village and North Seaton Hall, a stately home behind high stone walls. On the other side of the road to the hall stood the stone buildings of Spittal Farm and surrounding meadows, where as children, I remember, we would would walk together with cans to buy the warm milk.

© 2003 John Appleby, New Zealand

All enquiries for editorial and content should be directed to the webmaster, Jason Thompson on enquiry@newbigginbythesea.co.uk