A Squatter's Write - Part 8 of Dick Sturch's life at 'The Camp' in Millwey Rise

By Dick Sturch

Last time I wrote of Reg and Elsie Newbery and their daughter Elaine, our immediate neighbours, but obviously we were surrounded by many more families who had made their homes in the vacated hospital buildings.

Immediately above us, in a similar dwelling, lived Bill and Mary Jordan with sons Gerald and Brian and daughter Pat. In the other side of the same building were Perce Loud, his wife and son Cyril.

Some other families I remember living close by were Joan and Fred Day and daughter Joan; Evelyn Salter, her father and son Willy; the Kings and their daughter Beryl (one of my early childhood sweethearts!); The Mckirks; Spragues; and of course the Hutchings who lived on the opposite side of the road to 14/1.

The first shops on The Camp

This was very convenient as they were the proprietors of the first, and then, the only shop on The Camp. Their dwelling was situated on the ground now occupied by Huntley Close. The shop premises occupied one half of the building and the family lived in the other.

Mr Hutchings, not the world's happiest man, tall, sparse and hunched under his grey overall. Never without a cigarette jumping up and down on his lip as he talked. His wife, much shorter, plumpish, always smart, made-up and definitely the driving force.

They had three children, Yvonne, Sheila and Trevor (Sheila was another of my early sweethearts though she had to vie with my affection for Beryl, whose attraction was strengthened by her ability to occasionally provide me with free gribbles and chips from her parents' fish and chip van!).

Tesco it wasn't, but Hutchings' shop for us kids was a veritable cavern of wonder that provoked great temptations which, I am sorry to admit, were sometimes unlawfully fulfilled. The shop sold such a variety of products, groceries, beverages, household goods, toys and numerous knick-knacks. All this displayed in glass cabinets under the counter and on shelves around the walls. To the fore were always the large glass jars, full of various 'goodies'.

I spent ages choosing the treasure my pennies would buy. A chew, a gobstopper, a liquorice stick, a lollipop, a sherbet dip, bubblegum. So much choice. Then, after the purchase, the pleasure of unwrapping it, the irresistible sweet taste, so full of sugar (great for the dental practise) but, all too quickly consumed.

The next shop to open a year or so later provided Millwey Rise with its first Post Office. A welcome addition as, apart from the postbox and phone kiosk stood at the main gate, the nearest Post Office was in Axminster town centre.

The owners were the Pembrey family who also sold a range of every day products including newspapers and stationery. Their premises utilised part of a single storey block of buildings which also housed either council or Ministry offices and was situated just above the junction where 1st. Avenue and Millwey Avenue meet.

An oak tree and 'The Tank'

A couple of asides while I remember. This building stood in the shade of the biggest and tallest oak tree on The Camp where I spent many happy hours of childhood adventure hidden by its leaves. I could watch the world from above without anyone knowing. The ultimate voyeur!

Once I climbed so high into its topmost, swaying branches that when I attempted to climb down again I was so scared I couldn't move. It seemed a lifetime before I eventually plucked up enough courage to find my way to safety I never did attempt to climb so high again.

Around 45 metres square, originally built to supply water for any fire-fighting emergencies that may have occurred in the hospital buildings. To us it was known as 'The Tank'. Even by this time it had become a dump for various items of rubbish, although it still offered a wide expanse of water on which to float our home made, model ships.

The galleons sailed by the Perhams were really magnificent with authentic rigging and sails. They cruised with an incongruous majesty through the debris surrounding them.

My own ship was of far simpler construction, carved from a block of two by three, masts cut from the hedge, each one had two or three paper sails slipped onto it. The keel was a nailed on, bent tin can lid but when my galleon was in full sail I still remember how proud I felt, though unfortunately it normally keeled over as soon as the breeze increased.

Problems always occurred when a boat became entangled with the debris in 'The Tank.' The water was too deep for Wellington boots so the question then was "who would retrieve it?" The 'big boys' very seldom did, relying on bribes or threats to get their boat. Sometimes then throwing stones, soaking whoever had gone to the rescue. This was not great in the middle of winter and to make matters worse, we then had to face the wrath of our parents when we arrived home soaking wet.

Not a shop but equally as welcome was 'King's Flying Fish and Chips' owned by the parents of my early flame Beryl. The aromas from their silver van as they prepared the first fry up wafted round our nearby dwelling.

I can still hear my request as I got to the front of the queue that accompanied them wherever they went: "Thre'penny bag of chips and bits (gribbles) please, Mrs King." "Salt and vinegar Derek?" "Vinegar please." Then the combined tang of vinegar and hot fat rising from the greasy bag sharpening my appetite. Blowing on a chip before popping it into my mouth then huffing and puffing when it was still to hot to be eaten comfortably, but the taste. Delicious.

Happy days.