Autumns started earlier in England than they do in Poland; to put it another way, summers would end sooner (and in any case were cooler and wetter). School would start at the beginning of September and all thoughts of summer would soon fade amid the wood-varnish and Magic Marker smells of the new school year.
By the time of my birthday in October, gloom would have descended; wet pavements, darkness just after tea-time and the early evening news in black and white, electric fires and, outside, the all-pervasive dampness.
I remember my tenth birthday; 1967. My present, well-remembered, was a Dinky Toys Rolls-Royce Phantom V. My father bought it at Confiserie Francaise, the best toyshop in Ealing Broadway (on the Mall). We walked down the Uxbridge Road to Ealing Common, where I took the car out of its box (but not off the stand; as well as all four doors opening, the boot opened as did the bonnet (on two sides). It cost 10/6d. That's 52.5p expressed in today's money, though the equivalent value today would be more like £7.00.
On Ealing Common we collected conkers (horse chestnuts) under the large, wet, reddish-brown leaves until the drizzle became more like rain and we retreated to the car, returning home to Croft Gardens so I could play with my new toy.
Showing posts with label Ealing Broadway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ealing Broadway. Show all posts
Monday, 12 October 2009
Friday, 25 July 2008
Ealing Baths
Back in the days when not every house had its own bath, the local authorities provided public baths. These were in the same building as the swimming pool, which, once in Junior School, I would visit with my class once a week. These were in the Longfield building behind Ealing's rather splendid Victorian Town Hall.
The class would travel by coach (a Bedford Duple, if I recall) down the Uxbridge Road, and we'd troop off to the changing rooms. The swimming pool was to the right of the baths, a row of cubicles, a white enamelled bath in each. It was here that the working classes could sit and soak in warm, soapy water, and get clean for sixpence.
Those were the baths (which, having a bathroom at home, we didn't have to use). Then there was the pool.
Now... was there such as thing as First Class and Second Class pool? I can vaguely remember... or was this at Acton? One with a balcony? No trace on the Net...
The adjacent pool was white tiled, Victorian, smelling strongly of chlorine (if I close my eyes I can imagine the smell), with changing cubicles on either side (male to the left, female to the right). There was a pile of wooden (later expanded polystyrene) floats for learners to grasp as they propelled themselves with their legs, a lifebelt or two, some nets on sticks to remove debris. All was well-run, but showing signs of age. This swimming pool was a far cry from the modern, Olympic-length pools that the council would build in Northolt and Perivale. But at the time, in the early 1960s, pools like this were the norm (I also swam at the Brentford and Acton pools, both of similar vintage and style).
As well as the chlorine smell, the other characteristic of pools of this age were the pool attendants - chaps called Reg or Vic, wearing white slacks, white vests, white plimsolls - trim of physique, in their forties or fifties (probably ex-Army PT instructors). Their chief attribute was their tuneful whistling. They would use the unique acoustic properties of the swimming pool to optimal use whistling popular melodies from the 1930s and '40s.
Apart from school trips to the Ealing Baths, I'd also go from time to time with my father and brother, especially in summer. I'd be dressed in shorts (over my swimming trunks), sandals and t-shirt, so I'd be into the nearest empty cubicle to get undressed, and in the water in seconds.
Note: This was an age of social trust. No one nicked things from cubicles. You'd just find an empty one, leave your clothes (and watch,wallet and keys if you were grown up), go for a swim, and, having remembered your cubicle number, you'd return to find it all there where you left it.
Things obviously got worse by the time Northolt and Perivale swimming pools were opened; these had lockers, with keys, that you safety-pinned to your trunks.
Below: Ealing Town Hall, 1900. The baths were directly behind, entrance from Longfield Avenue, the road to the left of the Town Hall.
The class would travel by coach (a Bedford Duple, if I recall) down the Uxbridge Road, and we'd troop off to the changing rooms. The swimming pool was to the right of the baths, a row of cubicles, a white enamelled bath in each. It was here that the working classes could sit and soak in warm, soapy water, and get clean for sixpence.
Those were the baths (which, having a bathroom at home, we didn't have to use). Then there was the pool.
Now... was there such as thing as First Class and Second Class pool? I can vaguely remember... or was this at Acton? One with a balcony? No trace on the Net...
The adjacent pool was white tiled, Victorian, smelling strongly of chlorine (if I close my eyes I can imagine the smell), with changing cubicles on either side (male to the left, female to the right). There was a pile of wooden (later expanded polystyrene) floats for learners to grasp as they propelled themselves with their legs, a lifebelt or two, some nets on sticks to remove debris. All was well-run, but showing signs of age. This swimming pool was a far cry from the modern, Olympic-length pools that the council would build in Northolt and Perivale. But at the time, in the early 1960s, pools like this were the norm (I also swam at the Brentford and Acton pools, both of similar vintage and style).
As well as the chlorine smell, the other characteristic of pools of this age were the pool attendants - chaps called Reg or Vic, wearing white slacks, white vests, white plimsolls - trim of physique, in their forties or fifties (probably ex-Army PT instructors). Their chief attribute was their tuneful whistling. They would use the unique acoustic properties of the swimming pool to optimal use whistling popular melodies from the 1930s and '40s.
Apart from school trips to the Ealing Baths, I'd also go from time to time with my father and brother, especially in summer. I'd be dressed in shorts (over my swimming trunks), sandals and t-shirt, so I'd be into the nearest empty cubicle to get undressed, and in the water in seconds.
Note: This was an age of social trust. No one nicked things from cubicles. You'd just find an empty one, leave your clothes (and watch,wallet and keys if you were grown up), go for a swim, and, having remembered your cubicle number, you'd return to find it all there where you left it.
Things obviously got worse by the time Northolt and Perivale swimming pools were opened; these had lockers, with keys, that you safety-pinned to your trunks.
Below: Ealing Town Hall, 1900. The baths were directly behind, entrance from Longfield Avenue, the road to the left of the Town Hall.
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