Thanks to the generosity of Dad’s sister Rose and her husband Harry and their son at a time when Ken and I had developed an interest in the game of cricket we were very fortunate to become the proud owners of six stumps, four bails, two bats and balls and were, therefore, able to play whenever the desire hit us, which was very frequently.
But from whence came this love for the game? From Dad, where else? Apparently in his teens he had developed into a decent player and had been spotted by someone connected to the Surrey County Cricket Club who had considered him worthy of a trial by the County. In due course, he was invited to attend one on a Saturday morning, however, his Mother would not let him go until he had finished his household chores and the consequence was that he arrived too late and was not considered.
At some later time, when he was already a man, but I don’t know whether that was before or after he married, he and Len joined the Castle Sports Club; this was a peripatetic club having no home ground of their own. Dad was a left-handed batsman but a right-handed bowler and pretty successful at both. Without access to the scorebooks it is now impossible to know the extent of his ability, however, I have a newspaper cutting from the mid-1930s showing Dad’s achievement on one particular day. Their sister Lill acting as their official scorer, a job that she carried out with complete dedication, extended the family connection further. Much later another link was added when Ron joined their ranks.
Because of the 'shift' system associated with Dad's job on the trams he was limited in the number of games he was able to play each year. Whenever possible both Dad and Len’s family would accompany the players and a great time was had by all. If the cricket happened to be played near any fruit trees bearing ripe, or often not so ripe, fruit then we would soon home in on them and eat as much as we could possibly obtain; I think at times the owners must have thought that a plague of locusts had descended upon them. Later punishment would sometimes visit us in the shape of stomach aches or if Dad learned about our activities other more immediate aches at a rather lower elevation would be our lot.
Sometimes Castle Sports would play at Downham, close to where the family Titchmarsh lived; the photo of the group of family children which is included in this forum was taken in their back garden on one of those occasions. That photo is, from my recollection, unique since it is the only one that contains a medley of Titchmarshes plus 2 varieties of Jones.
Beryl has a fairly vivid recollection of that particular day because her Mum, Auntie Kit, had cooked a ham for the family lunch. However, we never had the opportunity to taste this delight because someone failed to keep Radar, the Titchmarsh family English Bull Terrier, out of the kitchen and he found himself the very grateful recipient of that precious meat. Whoever was guilty of letting the dog into the kitchen from the garden could be excused in my mind because any young person with bare legs, and it was probably one such who was guilty, would have had to contend with being whipped by a very playful, happy dog which, unlike so many of the breed, did not have a docked tail, and which had obviously smelt the treat which awaited it in the kitchen.
From time to time Dad also played cricket for the New Cross team of London Transport and for these games we would usually go to either their Langley Park ground, which was near Elmers End, Kent, or much closer to home at the grounds at Firhill Road, Bellingham. This latter location, lying alongside the railway line running between Catford Bridge and Lower Sydenham stations, was not remotely as pretty as that at Langley Park, neither did it have the facilities for scrumping that the other had. However, it did have one major advantage, it was only a 10-15 minutes walk from home rather than the journey of possibly one hour or more by bus into Kent. That simple fact ensured that we would be allowed to play much later than would otherwise have been possible.
During the Second World War this location had been used to tether a barrage balloon and, possibly an anti aircraft gun, however, when we ventured there the only evidence remaining was a largish area of concrete to which the balloon had been tethered.
The Sports Ground comprised a long rectangular field which, as far as I remember, was completely devoid of trees, which was of course beneficial in the playing area but otherwise tended to make the site appear rather more utilitarian than pleasant.
To the side of the pavilion and surrounded by a high privet hedge was the bowling green, an area Dad was to grace a little later in his sporting life.
The pavilion was a large wooden building which had been constructed sometime before the War and contained, besides the changing rooms, a licensed bar and a large reception hall for social functions. After the cricket the adults would repair to here for a very slowly supped drink and a long ‘chin wag’, as they might have termed their talks.
There were few if any privately owned cars belonging to bus or tram staff, therefore, the path which led from the road to the coach and bus park and extending around the pavilion was covered in cinders rather than the more expensive Tarmac. We children would not be allowed to rush around in the pavilion, therefore, we would play outside. There was plenty of grass on the pitches, therefore, the only danger was from the risk of grass stains on the clothes, but it provided a soft place to land when the inevitable fall occurred. However, only a tiny portion of this area was illuminated by the pavilion lights and who knew what might be lingering in the shadows. Therefore, our games, which usually would involve either plenty of rushing around or would be based upon hide and seek, would take place on the cinder track which would have been partially lit by the lights from the pavilion windows. By the time we were ready to return home ours shoes were badly scuffed and every portion of uncovered flesh was black from the dust of the cinders but not uniformly so because the sweat from our exertions used to produce little runnels which meandered through the grime. If we were unfortunate, and we oft times were, the heels of our hands, and our knees would be seeping blood from the inevitable tumble.
Oh happy, carefree days.
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