Jeffrey Albert Davies
My best friend from the time I was six until I entered my twenties was Jeffrey Davies. Jeff lived just over the railway bridge, on Bloy St. He was five when we became friends.
Jeff’s mother was from Lowestoft, Suffolk, also my mum’s home town. Mum’s story was that she had been waiting for a ‘bus on Whitehall Road and began to chat with a stranger. Mum said “I know where you are from”. The stranger said “I am sure that you don’t”. Mum replied, “you are from Lowestoft”. It was so. Mum had recognised the unique East Anglian accent.
Mrs. Davies was a bit older than Mum. She remembered German pilots machine gunning civilians in World War I. (Lowestoft is the most easterly town in Great Britain).
Mum and Mrs. Davies adored Lowestoft. So far as they were concerned it was the gateway to heaven. So Jeff and I spent many holidays there. We loved the north beach with its Dunes (pronounced “Doons” in Lowestoft), and the stream which we could dam with sand. We liked to be on the sea wall at Lowestoft Ness - the most easterly point. One day we were soaked to the skin by a giant wave which came crashing over the wall.
Near the south beach there were some grand houses. One had parapets glad in metal, with decorative metal spikes. Mrs. Davies told us that when she was young she was told that were (World War I) German soldiers’ helmets, and that if she was naughty, Kaiser Bill would come and get them.
(That reminds me of my dear friend Geraldine Humpidge who would be about 120 years old if she were still alive. She told me that when she was a very little girl, her own grandmother related that she had once seen Napoleon Bonaparte, held captive on a ship in Portsmouth, England. Geraldine related that when she had been young the warning was “Old Boney” [Bonaparte] will come and get you).
Jeff and I had another thing in common. We each had an Uncle who was a cobbler: my Uncle Harold and his Uncle Fred.
Jeff’’s paternal grandmother was a sweet old woman. The worst she could say when she was vexed was “Oh my, Oh my”. She was a Lancaster from the Devizes, Wilts area where later I made many friends.
Jeffrey had a great imagination, and would make up names for people he knew. So I became “Monger” derived from something I said about blancmange. He also attended our Gospel Hall. There were two wonderful women there, a Mrs. Bostock and her daughter Miss. Bostock. They were large women and Miss. Bostock bought a tiny Fiat car into which they were shoe-horned. For reasons I do not remember, Jeff named them “Granny Lumumba” and “Auntie Lumumba”. (Remember Patrice Lumumba , an early President of the independent Congo?).
Jeff’s parents were the first in our neighbourhood to but a T.V., in 1953, for the Coronation of Elizabeth II.
They were also amongst the first to buy a car. It was a pre-war model, maybe a “Standard” with a number plate which included the letters CEL. So the car was nicknamed “Lottie”, and Jeff’s family would take us for some Saturday excursions.
Neither Jeff nor I were athletes. So we would often set out for bike rides to fill the time.
We would cycle a mile or so from our homes, and then play a game we called “Right/Left”. We would take the first right hand turning, the next left hand turning, and so on. Because our starting point varied each time, we would take many wonderful journeys, and in the process we explored much of our home City.
We’d also take ‘bus company “rover” tickets, which allowed us to take any route in the City or Country in any one day. Thus we visited many towns and cities within a sixty mile radius of Bristol.
Jeff and I sang together in the “Bristol Gospel Quartette” for four years. I left to become an evangelist - a dream which thankfully was never fulfilled, Jeff left to marry Mary (Bees).
We’ve lost touch over the years, and I last saw Jeff about 25 years ago.
Jeff’s mother was from Lowestoft, Suffolk, also my mum’s home town. Mum’s story was that she had been waiting for a ‘bus on Whitehall Road and began to chat with a stranger. Mum said “I know where you are from”. The stranger said “I am sure that you don’t”. Mum replied, “you are from Lowestoft”. It was so. Mum had recognised the unique East Anglian accent.
Mrs. Davies was a bit older than Mum. She remembered German pilots machine gunning civilians in World War I. (Lowestoft is the most easterly town in Great Britain).
Mum and Mrs. Davies adored Lowestoft. So far as they were concerned it was the gateway to heaven. So Jeff and I spent many holidays there. We loved the north beach with its Dunes (pronounced “Doons” in Lowestoft), and the stream which we could dam with sand. We liked to be on the sea wall at Lowestoft Ness - the most easterly point. One day we were soaked to the skin by a giant wave which came crashing over the wall.
Near the south beach there were some grand houses. One had parapets glad in metal, with decorative metal spikes. Mrs. Davies told us that when she was young she was told that were (World War I) German soldiers’ helmets, and that if she was naughty, Kaiser Bill would come and get them.
(That reminds me of my dear friend Geraldine Humpidge who would be about 120 years old if she were still alive. She told me that when she was a very little girl, her own grandmother related that she had once seen Napoleon Bonaparte, held captive on a ship in Portsmouth, England. Geraldine related that when she had been young the warning was “Old Boney” [Bonaparte] will come and get you).
Jeff and I had another thing in common. We each had an Uncle who was a cobbler: my Uncle Harold and his Uncle Fred.
Jeff’’s paternal grandmother was a sweet old woman. The worst she could say when she was vexed was “Oh my, Oh my”. She was a Lancaster from the Devizes, Wilts area where later I made many friends.
Jeffrey had a great imagination, and would make up names for people he knew. So I became “Monger” derived from something I said about blancmange. He also attended our Gospel Hall. There were two wonderful women there, a Mrs. Bostock and her daughter Miss. Bostock. They were large women and Miss. Bostock bought a tiny Fiat car into which they were shoe-horned. For reasons I do not remember, Jeff named them “Granny Lumumba” and “Auntie Lumumba”. (Remember Patrice Lumumba , an early President of the independent Congo?).
Jeff’s parents were the first in our neighbourhood to but a T.V., in 1953, for the Coronation of Elizabeth II.
They were also amongst the first to buy a car. It was a pre-war model, maybe a “Standard” with a number plate which included the letters CEL. So the car was nicknamed “Lottie”, and Jeff’s family would take us for some Saturday excursions.
Neither Jeff nor I were athletes. So we would often set out for bike rides to fill the time.
We would cycle a mile or so from our homes, and then play a game we called “Right/Left”. We would take the first right hand turning, the next left hand turning, and so on. Because our starting point varied each time, we would take many wonderful journeys, and in the process we explored much of our home City.
We’d also take ‘bus company “rover” tickets, which allowed us to take any route in the City or Country in any one day. Thus we visited many towns and cities within a sixty mile radius of Bristol.
Jeff and I sang together in the “Bristol Gospel Quartette” for four years. I left to become an evangelist - a dream which thankfully was never fulfilled, Jeff left to marry Mary (Bees).
We’ve lost touch over the years, and I last saw Jeff about 25 years ago.
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