|
|
Growing Up In Feltwell in the 1950s & 60s – Part – 14. The Teenage Years
Reaching the age of 13 in 1963 was a milestone. It meant that my mates and I could join the village Youth Club which met then in the old infants school which still stands on the south side of the Beck. Old and cold with high ceilings and just a coal fire and two grey paraffin stoves for heating, it opened on Tuesday and Saturday nights. And there were no toilets! The main activity was table tennis and a little dancing to the low-volume Dansette record player or more usually, chatting to those of both sexes while sipping from a bottle of Cola or Fanta. My birthday was on a Wednesday that year and my older sister assured me that I could not attend a day early so I deferred until the following Saturday which also happened to be my friend Terry’s birthday. We felt very young in the company of 18 yr olds and over! The Beatles had just entered the The Hit Parade (The Charts) with “Please Please Me”. We did not know it but pop music was about to undergo a massive change. Competent artistes like Frank Ifield, Susan Maughan, Lonnie Donegan and Brenda Lee who had followed on from the post-war Big Band Sound and had rubbed shoulders with the skiffle and rock ‘n’ roll music of the 1950s, would soon be eclipsed by younger (and very British) bands from all our major industrial cities. For young village teenagers just beginning to take more than a passing interest in the opposite sex, these would be exciting and memorable times. A host of good Liverpool bands followed the rise of the Beatles but other cities spawned bands like the Rolling Stones, The Who, Manfred Mann and The Hollies. Folk music provided a springboard for the likes of Donovan and Dylan and solo artists like Cliff Richard and Dusty Springfield achieved huge success. There was little pop music on BBC Radio then but the music became known and accessible when “Top of the Pops” was broadcast on TV in 1964 with The Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” at No 1. The acts just mimed to their records – but we loved it all.
In 1964 a Youth Club was established on the Camp: first in a very solid and warm building adjacent to the Astra cinema; then in a very rickety and sweaty wooden shed which we all loved and finally in one of the main hangars which then housed an athletics track, tennis and badminton courts – all of which were available to us. There was little security on the camp in those days (the Thor rockets had gone) and no attempt to bar village children. Quite the reverse in fact: parents from Mundford, Weeting and Brandon brought over their daughters for the evening, driving round the perimeter track in their Ford Zodiacs and Triumph Heralds, returning to collect their daughters – some of whom were without doubt, among the prettiest girls in the world – soon after 9.30pm while youths from Methwold and Hockwold would come on their BSA Bantams and Vespas, rain or shine. For us, Friday night was the night of the week. Usually there was just one adult present but it was always well run and managed.
The village club continued to operate 2 nights a week but was in a different league, attracting a tiny fraction of the camp’s attendance. We lacked support from willing adults though David Howes dropped by to keep a helpful eye on us. By the age of 15 we were ordering the monthly supplies of Cola, Fanta and Crisps from Hunter & Oliver in Thetford (we left the door unlocked all day so the delivery could be made and the empties could be collected) and even organising and hiring a Towler’s coach from Brandon for a trip to Yarmouth where we saw the Nashville Teens, The Mojos and Billy Fury. We were out-trumped by the RAF club when their excursion enabled a large contingent a once in a lifetime opportunity to see the Beatles live in concert! I missed that one being in bed with the 2nd of my 3 bouts of influenza. The village club was however affiliated to the National Association of Youth Clubs and in 1966 a 5 a-side football competition took place at the Norwich Lads Club, then based in King Street. Our team - Charlie, Doggy, Jim, Barry, Peter, Colin & Chuck picked and organised themselves. With no kit available they decided to play in white which was the easiest colour to procure - though some items having been worn recently were no advertisement for a “washes whiter” Persil advert. In 5 a-side matches you need to be a good footballer but also to think quickly and be prepared to slam the ball onto the wooden sides so that it rebounds into play like a snooker ball off the cush. I think most folk in the hall that Saturday afternoon had no idea where Feltwell was but after winning three matches without conceding a goal we were suddenly through to the semi- finals and the immaculately turned out home Princes St side looked like the team to beat. But those teams no longer in the competition and their supporters were suddenly cheering for “The Dirty Whites” and Feltwell defeated yet another Norfolk town with a 2-0 win! The noise inside the old building was now very loud and the organisers could hardly make themselves heard over the PA system. Halfway through the final the Princes St side were a little rattled; 0-0 in a match against a place they had never heard of and over which they had expected to cruise to victory. But they were very fit and their mature goalie was one of the tournament’s organisers: Feltwell were playing two matches in succession. We conceded just minutes from the end – the only goal we conceded in the entire tournament!
We tried to repeat the show in 1967 but this time were knocked out in the semi-final. I remember even less of that day except for walking outside onto King Street for some fresh air, to be asked by a stranger if I had heard that Foinavon had won the Grand National at 100-1?
In late autumn 1966 we raised funds for the Youth Club by holding a jumble sale. We had leafleted Munson’s Place asking for unwanted items and Terry and I went round the estate one dark evening with a wheelbarrow collecting. As we crossed the road at the bottom of Munson’s Lane, the black uniformed figure of PC Gotts stepped out from behind one of the trees lining the road there, shone his torch and began a stern lecture about wheelbarrows being vehicles and as such requiring lights. A torch I had but alas, no red rear light. Then he recognised me as my father’s son. Father was not only a parish but also a local district councillor and it soon transpired our wheelbarrow didn’t need lights after all. To this day, we have never been sure how close to a summons before Methwold Magistrates (for pushing a wheelbarrow without lights) we were that night….
Back to Times Remembered