Figure 1.-.

The Beach

Close to us was an open bit of the river which we called a “beach”. In fact it was just thick grey mud with a few gravelly bits near the road at the top. This was a great place to go as most of the River was closed in by walls and houses or factories on our side of the river (the North) so you couldn't get at it or even see it. On this beach would be washed up all sorts of things – mainly wood and plastic or polystyrene junk – but sometimes you would find something really interesting. I once found a child's plastic doll and it got my imagination going as to where it had come from and I wrote a story for school about that that everyone liked. We also used to write messages in bottles (they were glass bottles then but they still floated) and imagine them being carried off to anywhere in the world. The best thing about this place, though, was that there was an island just a few yards from the shore. At low tide you could wade over through the mud onto the island and really have some good adventures. It never happened to me but a couple of times kids did get trapped on it at high tide and have to be taken off by police launch and then there'd be all sorts of dire warnings from parents not to play down there and calls to fence it off. There was also an old rotting wooden boat down there which we'd have loved to get onto. It never floated as it was stuck on the bottom but you couldn't get to it even at low tide as it was off to the side away from the beach next to the high embankment wall of an old brewery and the mud between the beach and it was too deep even for us. It did however have a great thick mooring chain that anchored it too the beach and we'd often dream of climing up that and getting on to the boat. The trouble is the chain was so thick you couldn't even get your hands around the links – I doubt if even an adult could – so no-one to my knowledge ever did. The main thing though was the island. I'll tell you of one incident which is sort of about clothing and how it affects what you do and how what seems the “correct clothing” for certain activities to an adult is not so for kids.

Shopping in the Morning

Anyway – this was one of those occaisions. It was a Saturday and I'd been out shopping with my mum and little brother. As I said – we always did shopping or other things in the house Saturday mornings and then we could play out in the afternoon. It suited me anyway as Michael went Irish dancing on Saturday mornings and it was very rare that either of our mums wouldn't let us out for the afternoon (though his dad did him sometimes which made me really resent him – probably more than Michael did and made me feel glad for once that I didn't have a Dad!).

Clothing

Anyway – it was one of those showery Spring days – bright sunshine one minute – rain the next and this led to me wearing two of the most hated items of clothing for me as a kid. I've already said that my mum was pretty strict about our school uniforms (but so was the school anyway) and dressing up for visiting relatives but otherwise she was pretty easy. One thing she wouldn't have was us wearing jeans when out with her or on a Sunday and we sort of accepted that. I never really liked jeans anyway and she'd normally let me wear a pair of my favourite cord shorts (at this time my older brother wasn't around to argue the toss as he played cub football on Saturday mornings and had to his jobs in the afternoon – he hated cords as much as I liked them and I liked them anyway but even more as I knew he hated them!We had some real arguments over this when mum wanted us dressed the same). Anyway there was no problem this time with that – I had on my favourite green cord shorts. The problem was with the rain. Because of that my mum insisted on us wearing our wellington boots. I'd tried to argue with her before about these – but it was no good – she had a thing about keeping feet dry and she didn't want our shoes ruined. The thing is with wellies they are useless when you're a kid – you can't run about properly in them, even walking around they are a pain as once your socks fall down inside them you can't get at them to pull them up and they end up bunched up under your feet and they are useless for playing football in or climbing trees. Mums just don't understand that though so I had to wear them. The other thing was that in the warmer weather we had plastic fold-up macs rather than our school ones and I always hated these as they rustled when you walked along, you got really hot in them and, to me,they always had a horrible smell about them.

Michael's Mum

Anyway I was wearing these and we'd done the shopping and were on our way home when we bumped into Michael with his mum and sisters. They must have been on the way back from the dancing. He was wearing his school mac (which was dark blue by the way not the standard black like ours although some schools did have dark green ones) and I secretly hoped he'd be wearing his kilt under it – although I knew he wouldn't be – he used to change at the hall and he'd never show it to me. Anyway – because of the rain Michael's mum invited us back to their house which was nearby. I think it was the first time my mum had been in Michael's mums kitchen – and I really resented my little brother being in there as it was a part of “my life” outside of the family which I felt they were intruding on. Anyway this was soon forgotten as it cleared up while our mums were chatting away and Michael's sisters were fussing over my little brother and Michael asked his mum if we could go out and play.

Play Clothes

I was glad as my mum agreed I could too – even though normally I was meant to help pack away the shopping at home and eat something proper before I could get out. We'd already had some of Michael's mums homemade bread with peanut butter while they were talking and some milk while they were knocking back cup after cup of tea so she was happy enough. Michael hared off upstairs to get changed. [HBC noted: For our American readers less familiar with Britspeak, Bill explains "Hared off" is to rush off really fast - like a hare as opposed to a rabbit. I suppose it may come from the hare in "Alice In Wonderland" who's always rushing about I suppose - but maybe I'm being a bit fanciful there - a lot of our sayings do come from the books we (or our mums) read as kids - and not just the Bible and Shakespeare.] Michael didn't wear his dancing outfit to his lessons but he was quite smartly dressed – school shorts and shirt and such. My mum considered what I was wearing – the cord shorts and reasonable shirt and jumper as fairly smart but not proper smart clothes – but at the same time they were not playclothes – which were similar but were the older more worn out versions. We knew to change into these for play without her telling us and, normally, I would have done so when I got home. That's why I was pleased that she let me go off with Michael - just telling me to “be careful”.Michael got into his normal playclothes of jeans and an old t-shirt and jumper and his plimpsoles and his mum only sent him back upstairs to change into an older pair of socks as he'd left on his school ones – which were quite expensive – and I saw him getting frustrated and hoped that he wouldn't start an argument so his mum would change her mind. Anyway it worked out – just a bit more of an argument as his mum insisted on him wearing his windcheater – which was just a short jacket and something I'd wished I'd had as a kid as it didn't get in the way like long heavy macs did. It had stopped raining – you sort of sensed as a kid that you knew when the rain had finished for the day (and were often wrong!) - but my mum made me take my plastic mac too. The only good thing about the plastic mac was that by screwing it up really tight you could make it small enough to get into your pocket and that's what I did with Michael's help once we got clear of the house.

Door Key and Drain Pipe

The one remaining problem was my wellies. At that time I didn't have a doorkey of my own. My older brother did and was supposed to let me in after school. When he went to secondary school and so got home later I got a key – which was a pain as I lost it twice and my mum went mad – they were quite expensive to have cut. I didn't need a key as I'd worked out a way to climb up a drainpipe at the back of our flat and then get into the house through the bathroom window which mum always let a bit open. I didn't grow up to be a burglar but I suppose I could have. If my mum sent me out to play in something I didn't like – short socks in the Summer for instance – I often waited until she'd gone to work and then climbed back in and changed. I normally then had to get back in and change back before she got home – but I often forgot. Sometimes she never noticed but sometimes she did and wanted to know what was going on. Normally – eventually - my mum could get anything out of me – but I never told her about the drainpipe. That was my secret - even from,or especially from,my brothers and only Michael amongst my friends knew about it.I secretly liked to see my mum looking puzzled – wondering if she really had sent me out in short socks rather than allowed long that morning but she never did find out my secret. Or if she did she never let on. Anyway – I toyed with the idea of getting rid of the wellies – but such a drastic change in my appearance from wellies to plimpsoles would have let her know definitely that I'd been in the house and given the game away for the future.I also wasn't sure if I could climb the drainpipe in wellies.Michael swung it by suggesting we go down to the river.

Clothing at the Beach

You'd think that wellies were ideal for paddling about down by the river – but it's not so. When we got there the tide was low so we naturally headed straight for the island. Michael did what we always did – took off his plimpsoles and socks and rolled up his jeans. I was normally wearing shorts so I didn't have to bother with the last – another reason why I didn't really like jeans. We'd leave our plimpsoles and socks at the top near the road and pick them up when we came back.I n the Summer there'd be whole rows of plimsoles with socks in them up there up there and no-one ever stole them. The only way you could tell whose plimpsoles were whose was by the socks. The black plimsols were still very common as trendy trainers had not yet become a big thing. Our socks had labels with our names on if they were school socks although some mums put elastoplast with our names written on it in the plimpsoles insides but we normally unpeeled these and threw them away as they were uncomfortable. If I had my sandals on when I went down to the river I always unbuckled them and rebuckled them up through the belt loops of my shorts before going across to the island. I sort of sensed that if they were stolen – which was unlikely – that would cost my mum a lot more to replace than the cheap plimpsoles - which didn't have laces so you couldn't tie them round your neck anyway - they were elasticated. Once – and once only – I took off my socks and put my sandals back on to wade across to the island. They were only an old pair not my best school ones but the salt dried on them and my mum went mad. When we returned from the island we'd have the thick grey mud on our legs – but there were always a few plastic washing dertergent bottles lying around on the beach and you could fill them with water and squirt it at each other's legs to clean them before putting your socks back on. In the hot Summers you had to do this straight away before the mud dried as then you'd have to pick it off which really hurt.

Our Afternoon Adventure

Anyway – this time there was no problem it seemed as I had my wellies. I followed Michael into the mud. Normally it was a great feeling – the mud between your toes – and I was already missing that when I realised another disadvantage to wellies. The mud just sucked them down and I couldn't get my foot up. Michael came to steady me but the mud just sucked the boot right off and I was left balanced on one foot with the other stuck in the mud. I was most scared of falling backwards into the mud – and me wearing my semi-best shorts too. I had to put my foot down and pull out the lost boot by hand – which took quite and effort and it came out with a great popping sound. We retreated to the land and decided to abandon the attempt on the island – the tide seemed to be coming in anyway. While I was sitting there waiting for my muddy sock to dry out and wondering whether to try and wash it a bit I realised something else was wrong. When you stuffed the plastic macs into your shorts pockets it was a bit uncomfortable for a while and then you got used to it. I suddenly realised that mine was no longer there as things felt different. I looked out onto the mud and sure enough there was my rolled up mac lying around the place where my boot had come off. Worse still it was unrolling itself naturally and there were already eddies of water bobbling it about. I tried to get my other boot and sock off but Michael had already realised what I'd seen and he was straight off into the mud and got the mac for me before the water took it away. He'd rolled his jeans down as I'd already squirted him clean with the detergent bottle we'd found and they were covered in mud at the bottoms.

Unhappy Mums

We both got into trouble from our mums when we finally got to our respective homes – him for the jeans and me for the sock and the mac being covered in the stinking grey Thames mud – but like I say they never banned us from playing down there – even if they had we'd have taken the risk.

Mudlarks

Some of these memories were brought back to me when I read the HBC page on the Mudlarks of the East End during the Battle of Britain. I don't think I saw this film when it came out but I do know that the friend I had whose father was Polish (who went to Polish dancing/language classes like Michael went Irish dancing on Saturday mornings) was interested as his father had fought in the Battle of Britain.Apparently there were quite a few Poles who did so as well as a lot of Czechs and Canadians too but I'm not sure of the details.

Bill