I recalled earlier how the 'big boys' kept themselves aloof from the younger kids but on Sunday mornings all ages gathered in front of what had been the old hospital's Fire Engine garage. This stood near the present Cawley and Millwey Avenues' intersection. Here there was an island of grass encircled by a concrete road and frontage to the garage. This was where, those old enough, and able to afford one, brought their motorbikes on a Sunday morning to show them off and discusss the merits of their machines.

Some of whose famous names I still recall - Royal Enfield, Matchless, BSA, AJS. They were a magnetic attraction for everyone, the youngsters in particular. Their owners' sat astride them, occasionally revving the engines or taking a quick turn around the road surrounding the green. If you were lucky, one would beckon you over to ride on his pillion seat. If this happened to you, he was your hero and his motorbike definitely the best. You boasted about it for the rest of the week, especially the speed you achieved (which you elevated every time you retold the story). In actual fact, they could never go more than 20 miles an hour around the tight corners, but no one else was to know that. "Were they?"

For those that did not own a motorbike but had a bicycle, Sunday mornings had another challenge. How far they and their bike could fly! Cawley Avenue was then a long, open corridor, giving access to the flats occupied by The Camp's residents. The flats ran off either side of the corridor which sloped from top to bottom and opened out onto the road surrounding the green.

Flying motor bikes

On the opposite side of the road was a hump over a hedge beside a large oak tree. A rider would take his bike to the very top of the corridor, then pedalling furiously would hurtle down, crossing the road and over the hump which launched him and his bike into the air. The winner was the rider who cleared the greatest distance. It was quite exciting to watch, no more so than when Eddy Perry (who was to be my future brother-in-law when he married my sister Molly) decided he was going to out-jump everyone. Eddy and his bike hit the hedge at high speed but that was as far as the bike went as Eddy, was thrown over the handlebars, flew through the air and certainly recorded the longest jump. He hit the ground yards in front of any other rider. Unfortunately, to rub salt into his wounds, it was decided that, because he was not on his bike, it didn't count!

Garage doors

One last memory of this piece of ground was the large wooden doors of the Fire Station building on which we chalked goalposts and played football on the concrete frontage to them. Two sides would be chosen (us youngsters always the last to be picked.) Then a lengthy discussion about which team was to be Arsenal or Spurs or Wolverhampton Wanderers and ongoing arguments as to who was going to be Billy Wright or Tom Finney or Stanley Matthews or any of our footballing heroes of the day, before the game would eventually get under way.

During the summer months these same doors would have wickets chalked on them and became the "Millwey Oval" littered with budding Comptons, Truemans and Huttons. Most evenings cricket was played until it was too dark to see the bowler let alone the ball. One feature of these games I recall was the sheer numbers who joined in. Fathers as well.

Our own car

Like the surprise my father presented us with when we moved to our new dwelling at 14/1. His next one was possibly even more exciting. A car - not a new one, in fact quite old, an Austin 7. I can't remember the full registration number but I can remember the pre-fix was YD which meant it originated in Somerset between 1930 - 34.

There were not too many vehicle owners on The Camp at the time (1949) and I think my father must have felt well-pleased with his acquisition. It certainly opened up new horizons for all of us. For him, no more cycling to work or to any of the extra work he took on in his spare time. For us, trips to Charmouth, Mutters Moor, Lambert's Castle, Lyme Regis and Wellington (Shropshire) my mother's home. Each of these destinations have stories attached to them.

Sunday afternoons in the summer were keenly anticipated as, after lunch, we climbed into the car not knowing where we would end up. Cricket bat and ball, towels, costumes, buckets and spades and a box with the food and drink for our picnic were all packed into the back of the car.

My father had to swing the starting handle to get the engine running. Then, spluttering and smoking, we'd trundle out to Chard Road with Molly and myself in the back trying to guess where we were going. We usually knew when we reached Hunters Lodge. Left Lamberts Castle, right Lyme Regis and straight on Charmouth beach or Mutter's Moor.

These latter two were our favourites. On the way to them we would always ask dad to sound the car's horn as we drove through Charmouth tunnel where the original road ran. But there was a drawback associated with these two destinations. On the return journey Molly and myself had to get out of the car at the bottom of the hill in Charmouth and walk to the top before climbing back into the car. Sometimes we even gave the car a push to help its labouring engine climb the steepest part of the gradient. When we reached the downhill journey from above Hunters Lodge to Axminster, Dad would switch off the ignition and let the Austin free-wheel all the way back before engaging the engine again as we turned into Stoney Lane. Anything to save money.

Also in the summer, my mother's relations from Wellington would arrive, for their holiday. Always the last week in July and the first in August, (the standard dates for factory holidays) This was always an exciting time for us kids as, with my father having to work, we would travel to Lyme Regis or Seaton on the bus or Lyme's 'Puffin' Billy'. The latter always added more excitement to the journey (especially the Cannington viaduct) but also a tiring walk up the hill from the beach. This never passed without a few grumbles about the weight of the items we had to carry back. They always seemed much lighter when we were walking down the hill earlier.