A Squatter's Write - Part 7 of Dick Sturch's life at 'The Camp' in Millwey Rise

I finished my last reminisce describing our return from our Easter visit to Wellington and Dad waiting to meet us at the bus stop.

This was a surprise as usually he was far too busy. He accompanied us through the main entrance into what is now 1st. Avenue. Then, instead of forking left in the direction of our Nissen hut he walked straight up the road and stopped outside a building that occupied the ground where today's Millwey Rise Shops stand, our new home, 14/1 Millwey Rise.

It was getting quite dark as he led us into a large brick-built porch on the front of a single-storey building. He unlocked and opened one of the double doors and as he went inside he flicked a switch and the room lit up. We were so surprised and full of excitement, at last we had, not only a new home, but the luxury of electricity. 

While we were away, he had transferred all our furniture and belongings (few as they were) from the Nissen hut so that we could move in right away. How Dad managed to secure the dwelling I never knew, but we were just so very pleased he did. It made so much difference to our lives and at a stroke, eliminated my daily encounters with Suzanne's aggressive geese. 

I learnt many years later the building had once housed the administration centre for the Army hospital. It was now divided into two dwellings with ourselves living in one half and the Newbery family next door. Its construction was of brick with iron framed windows. The roof was asbestos sheets suspended on metal trusses and there was no insulation whatsoever. 

When we moved into our side of the building it comprised of three office rooms divided by brick walls. We somehow managed to live in this until Dad put his advanced 'bodging' skills to work and built further walls from asbestos sheets he had 'found on The Camp. He cleverly arranged these partitions so there was a window in each room. The brick and asbestos walls were then painted in various colours depending on his ability to 'source!' them at least cost (no cost was far better.) 

We now had, a living room, kitchen and three bedrooms. He made all the internal doors. Each one consisted of a wooden frame over which he cut, stretched and tacked thick, brown tarpaulin sheeting with GWR printed on it. (This tell-tale incrimination disappeared once they were painted!!) The method of their construction had one consolation; it was impossible to slam a door noisily. 

He knew very little about the technicalities of electric circuitry but installed extra lighting and plug points by extending the existing supply. In the process he almost set the house on fire - twice! He received an electric shock which knocked him off the ladder he was stood on and survived many tirades from my mother. He eventually managed to complete it all without killing himself or destroying the dwelling with his endeavours. 

In what became our new kitchen stood a black, solid fuel range with an oven and a large heated area on top to accommodate the various cooking utensils. Beside it was a sink with running cold water All of this was a great improvement for my mother in comparison to the previous facilities in the Nissen hut. 

So cold the windows would freeze over

During the winter months the dwelling's lack of insulation could be keenly felt. Any heat generated by the range or living room fire quickly disappeared through the roof rather than circulating round the rooms. Our bedrooms would get so cold during the winter that we piled coats on top of the blankets on the beds in an attempt to keep warm. The windows would freeze over on the inside and a glass of water left beside my bed would become a solid block of ice by morning. 

Bath nights still utilised the galvanised bath we had used in the Nissen hut. It was placed in front of the red painted open brick fireplace built diagonally across a corner of the living room. The water was heated up in pans on top of the range and the contents topped up the bath as each time one of us got out to dry ourselves. It was then pyjamas on and a mad dash to a bitterly cold bedroom. One luxury was a hot water bottle. Ah bliss! 

Although we now had the luxury of electricity, indoor water supply, kitchen sink and a cooking range, we still had no lavatory. To provide one Dad built a lean-to shed adjoining the rear of the building in which he installed a cubicle and the original Elsan toilet from the Nissen hut. Even with all its shortcomings, 14/1 was luxurious in comparison to our recently vacated hut. 

The dwelling's single wall construction also applied to the division between us and our adjoining neighbours, the Newberys. This meant at times conversational privacy was a little compromised. I never remember it ever becoming a problem. In fact, for little ears, we found some of the happenings and language very interesting! 

Woken up by smoke in my bedroom

I once woke up in the early hours of the morning to find what I thought was a blanket of fog in my bedroom. Luckily I was worried enough to wake my parents whose room was also enveloped. Although, as I have described before, my father had lost his sense of smell he soon realised it was not fog but smoke from a fire. A quick search revealed nothing was alight in our dwelling.

Further exploration found smoke seeping under our roof from the neighbour's side. Dad quickly roused them and they discovered a smouldering settee. Luckily it had not burst into flames. Although if it had there was little other furnishing or any covering on the bare concrete floor to ignite. The ever-present lack of wealth meant most dwellings were sparsely furnished. 

Our family grew to five while we were at 14/1 when my sister Jane was born in the early hours of June 14th 1948. I can still remember the comings and goings of the doctor, Dad pacing around, the quiet whisperings and eventually the very loud yells as Jane made her noisy entry into our lives. (This hasn`t changed much ever since.) My mother had been advised not to have any more children after the problems she had at my birth but had obviously ignored the advice, and thank goodness, suffered no ill effects. 

Typical of Dad's opportunistic tendencies, as well as cultivating the garden adjoining the end of our dwelling he commandeered a sizeable patch of ground for the same purpose on the opposite side of the road. It was beside a building that would soon become the Social Hall and covered part of today's Stewart Court.

Another new chapter in our life had begun. We would remain at 14/1 for another four years and see and experience the birth of today's Millwey Rise.