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Growing Up In Feltwell in the 1950s & 60s – Part – 11. Getting About
The bicycle was probably the most common form of transport in the village during the 1950s. Any proposal for a one-way system would have been laughed at. My family moved from Munson’s Place to Cambridge House in the High Street in 1961 and whilst cars were certainly more noticeable there, a quick mental count-up suggests there were just 15 cars in the whole of Munson’s Place. My father’s job involved a lot of travelling and was based near St Ives in Cambridgeshire – he had a 40 mile commute most days on winding fenland roads. But his was the exception. Most people worked locally: the land, the school and local services such as insurance, pubs and shops. If they worked outside the village then the bicycle, moped or motorcycle was at least an economical form of transport.
It is easy to forget the bicycle’s importance in our social history. A lady I knew who was born in 1910 insisted the bicycle had saved rural England. Until it became respectable for young ladies to cycle in groups to neighbouring villages in late Victorian times, they stood little chance of meeting menfolk from outside their village. She had a point: I have lost count of the Feltwell names to whom I have a blood connection! Bicycles could be purchased new from Basil Vincent’s Elm Tree shop in Short Beck and were almost exclusively British made. Big brands included: Raleigh, Hercules, BSA, Royal Enfield and Phillips.
Mothers had cycles with little toddler carriers over the rear wheel: before they could talk, children learned to sit still in their little seats and nonchalantly watch the world go by as mum pedalled hard against wind and rain. Plastic covers or strings tied over rear mudguards prevented skirts being caught in the spokes. All cycles had a bell or horn: it was the law. Food not grown in the garden was mainly bought in village shops and a basket on the front was better than a shopping bag which might bang laterally and literally to and fro into the front forks or worse. (I recall cycling with a bag over my handlebars with its contents – a large light ale – swinging persistently until the revolving bicycle spokes removed the crown top clean off! I had a bag full of beer and a very cross mother when I got home). Mothers also had prams and before car ownership really took off, they were an essential means of baby transport in the village and a common sight. In fact ownership may have even slowed ownership of cars because until demountable bodies were introduced they could not be placed in car boots, although carry cots could be stowed while mum held baby in the front seat, with no seat belts of course.
The two main makes of scooter were the stylish Italian Vespa and the Lambretta but their handling was inferior to that of a motorbike. I made the mistake (only once!) of touching the footbrake on my 1959 model Lambretta Li150 just as I was turning into our driveway. There were loose chippings on the road and in a split second my scooter was lying on its side and so was I! The scooter’s smaller wheels magnified any road imperfections and could not always cope if travelling too fast. Bike beginners favoured the Triumph Tiger Cub and the BSA Bantam but by the early 1960s the Japanese Honda, Suzuki and Yamaha were ousting the British bikes. For a few years in the mid to late 1960s, there were the scooter riding “Mods” (all neatly dressed in fancy shirts and Parka jackets with well groomed hair) at war with the motorbike riding “Rockers” (in studded leathers and looking “tough”). But in Feltwell, elderly farmhands might ride to work on a scooter (not so far to fall…) and Paul the perfect “mod” from Weeting would ride over to the Youth Club on a Friday night in his pink tab shirt and blue knitted tie, on his new Suzuki 79cc motorcycle. Admittedly it was a very pretty little motorcycle.
The growth in car ownership was driven less by parents and more by their offspring. Men who had not learned to drive during the War or later National Service appreciated the economy of the bicycle or motor cycle, and even a walk to the local pub was no hardship. But as post-war children became old enough to drive, not just one but 3 cars might eventually be parked outside some Munson Place homes. From 1959 there was a revolution in car design. Cars like the stylish Mini, the “Harry Potter” Ford Anglia, the “big car” Ford Cortina, the Jaguar E-Type and the Mini. Originally marketed as the Austin 7 and the Morris Mini Minor (in a nod to the famous Morris Minor); the “Mini” nick-name was later adopted by the British Motor Corporation in line with common parlance and of course, its name still lives on today.
Cars were almost exclusively British: Austin, Ford, Hillman, Jaguar, MG, Morris, Riley, Sunbeam, Triumph, Vauxhall, Wolseley – to name a few – and each could be distinguished from a distance. The odd VW “Beetle” might show its face during the 1960s and I recall seeing a left-hand drive BMW “just visiting” Munson’s Place in about 1960. That was long before the clever “Ultimate Driving Machine” marketing - for it was a complete rust bucket! But French or Italian cars were almost unheard of until the 1960s, when the Renault Dauphine and Fiat 500 began to appear. The little German Heinkel and Isetta “bubble” cars were conspicuous by their design and if seen were probably from the RAF camp. (Incidentally, the RAF base was always referred to as “the camp” - at least until the USAAF arrived).
The “Sunday Afternoon Drive” was popular in the late 1950s and I hated it. We did not stop anywhere; mum and dad just drove around the neighbouring villages. It was so boring for a child. And by the early sixties car owners were justifying a shopping trip to Norwich supermarkets by the substantial savings that could be made on village shop prices. The difference between local and supermarket prices for the new large jars of Maxwell House coffee was often cited. Towlers of Brandon operated a Saturday shopping bus from Feltwell to Bury and twice weekly to Lynn. I have happy memories as a teenager of buying a half pint of brown shrimps on Lynn market for the bus journey home. And though relatively expensive, trains were a fine way of travelling away on holiday once a year for those with no cars. Or leaving for the honeymoon. There were at least two taxi operators in the village for the ride to Lakenheath station: Russell’s at the north end of Short Beck and Lovell’s at the Elm Tree end. And manned with a stationmaster, a booking clerk and a porter; no-one complained when confetti was thrown at the happy couple departing.
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