STREETLY
(STAFFORDSHIRE)
AND DEVON
MEMORIES
(1936 - 1961)
...
FROM A
SMALL
BOY'S "DIARY"
...
SUNDAY, 5th
AUGUST 1945
HOLIDAYS!
by Chris Myers
|
Sunday,
August 5th 1945 -
Holidays!
Well,
we're here. In South Devon.
We've left home behind, and
the war, and everything
else. I told you last time that I
was going on holiday on
August
4th. That was yesterday. A
Saturday. We spent the whole
day travelling from our
house in
Streetly, South
Staffordshire, just north of
Brum. We're in the wrong
place, really, to come to
South Devon because we live
on the wrong side of
Birmingham. Coming from
anywhere in the Midlands to
get to Devon we have to go
through the
middle
of almost every single town on the
way. And so, because of exactly
where we live, we also have to
get through Birmingham, on
top of all that.
We
did it in our Ford Prefect.
It's black of course, with
shiny red seats, 10 h.p.,
three gears,
.jpg) with windscreen
wipers which slow right down
if you are climbing a hill
and a boot lid which hinges
down to make a sort of shelf
so that you can pile
suitcases on top of it.
Dad covers them with an old
Home Guard waterproof
groundsheet.
Dad bought the car in 1940. He
used to have a Ford V8
before that but he thought
he ought to get rid of it
because it was thirsty and
he knew that petrol was
getting very short. I can
just about remember it and I
think Dad still misses it.
The picture is of the Prefect, in our
drive back at home. It looks
as though it's been in the
wars. Well, of course, it
has! But it wasn't Hitler
who gave it the dents in the
boot lid and sent the bumper
a bit cock-eyed. No, that
was a couple of young women
behind us in an old Austin 7
who weren't paying attention
and so didn't stop quickly
enough. I was in the back of
the car when it happened. It
was an awful bang. Dad was
fairly polite but not very
happy about it. You can see
as well that he hasn't
bothered to get the white
paint off the bumper yet,
now that we don't have the
blackout any more. The masks
on the headlamps were taken
off months ago, though.
I could tell you
a lot about the journey but
I won't because that would
be boring for you, even
though I found it very
interesting. So just a bit. I've done it
several times before but not
for four years and before
that it was all pre-war and
I was very little. So I can
hardly remember anything
about it all from those days
and yesterday was a new
adventure for me.
 I'll just tell you that we
started off early so that we
could get through the middle
of
Birmingham
(left)
before it got
too busy. And after that we
had to go down the
A38 main
road - all the way down,
right into Devon. Bang
through the middle of towns
like
Bromsgrove, Droitwich,
Worcester, Tewkesbury,
Gloucester, Bristol,
Bridgwater and
Taunton. The
traffic wasn't too bad but
the middle of all the towns
was slow going and I had
time to look into the shop
windows as we crawled past.
Not that there was much in
them, of course, just like
at home. We stopped from
time to time. We had one
longish stop for lunch when
we turned off the main road
into a little lane. There we
had our sandwiches which Mum
had got up really early to
make. It was a quiet place
and
when we stopped
munching you would hear the
silence. All I could hear
was Mum's faint wheezing.
Mum's breathing is always a
bit wheezy. It's because of
the Players. But at least
she doesn't normally smoke
in the car which I'm glad
about. Dad lights his pipe
occasionally but I don't
mind the smell of that.
All the time I was
sitting in the back seat, of
course, with Rex our dog who
has kept us company all
through the war and has been
with the family longer than
I have. Now and then
Dad would get out to stretch
his legs, or perhaps put
some petrol in the car. And
we would walk Rex a few
yards so that he could have
a jimmy if he needed one.
And then, "All ready?" and
off we would go again.
Sometimes, when I felt we
were going fast, I would peer
over Dad's shoulder from
time to time and look
at the speedometer. When I
saw the needle swinging
backwards and forwards
between 40 and 50 m.p.h I
knew we were really humming
along at about 45. But that
was only between towns, of
course.
 On and on,
through the rest of the day.
Around
Exeter on the bypass,
then the middle of
smaller towns like Newton
Abbot, Totnes
(right)
and
Kingsbridge. The final few
miles of the journey were a
bit difficult. We were going
to a slightly different
place from before the war
which Dad didn't know so
well and not all the
signposts have been put back
yet. (They were taken down
years ago, in case the
Germans came). So it was a
bit of a struggle and I
expect he was tired - or had
even forgotten which narrow
little lane went where. But
then, finally, he worked it
out from his pre-war map and
followed his nose and we
found the village we were
looking for. We pulled up on
a little triangle of grass
right in the centre,
breathed a sigh of relief,
switched off and looked
around. Silence. The shadows
were just starting to lengthen. A
bit of wood smoke was coming from
the chimney of one of the
cottages near to us. It was
a tiny shop and Post Office.
Nothing was stirring
anywhere and there was no
one to be seen although we
had probably been noticed.
We sat there just for a few
moments, enjoying the
complete silence. So this
was
Beeson and we were
having our very first sight
of it, at about 6
o'clock on
Saturday evening,
August 4th 1945.
We
found that our cottage was
only a few yards down the
lane. We went through the
front gate with Dad
struggling with the
suitcases, knocked on the
door and received ever such
a warm welcome from our
hostess who is called
Mrs.
Honeywill. She was waiting
for us and had supper ready
on the table. Our holiday
had started.
But
poor Dad. What he ended up
with after all his hard work was a raging thirst in
a village which was too tiny
to have its own pub. And a
sore neck as well - he
always dresses properly to
travel and that includes a
tie and starched collar which rubs
on the back of his neck when
he's driving for a long time. But I
think he slept well last
night and he has been very
cheerful ever since. I think
he is enjoying his holiday
already and he's doing his
best to make sure Mum and I
are enjoying ours as well.
As he always does.
After a lovely breakfast
this morning, brought in on
a tray from the kitchen by Mrs. Honeywill, I started to
have a look around.
I'll tell you much more
about it all over the next few
days. This is a photo of
the cottage we are staying
in. I think it's called
"Beeson Cottage".
The car is parked a few
yards further up the lane,
beyond it. The cottage is the
home of Mr. and Mrs.
Honeywill and their little
boy, Simon. We have the room
behind the window on the
right hand side. You pass it
as soon as you go
in through the gate from the
lane. It's our sitting room
and there's a dining table
there as well, in the
window. And out of that room
the stairs go up to our
bedroom which is the window
above. I sleep there
on a camp bed by the side of
Mum and Dad's bed.
It's ever so comfy. We all
slept like logs last night,
after the journey. That
includes Rex. He seems to
like where he is as well.
He's here in this picture if
you look carefully.
Sniffing. And really
enjoying all the new smells.
The cottage is super. It
has electricity and a proper
bathroom. I don't think Mum
and Dad expected that.
Keynedon Mill, where
we stayed for years before
the war, didn't. Nor another
country place much nearer to
home where we have been to
since. Chamber pots, and a
bowl and a jug full of cold
water on a little table,
seem to be the normal thing.
But not here! In front
of the cottage is a nice
garden, the other side of a
low wall. It's full of
flowers and lots and lots of
vegetables. Fruit as well, like
raspberries and
gooseberries. And there's a
strange fruit bush there
that I've never seen before.
It is called a loganberry.
Dad says that it's halfway
between a raspberry and a
blackberry. The berries are
huge but I haven't found out
yet how sweet they are.
There's also a row of sweet
peas, growing up sticks just
as though they're pretending
to be runner beans. It's
covered in flowers, of pink
and white and blue and
purple. They are so pretty,
they almost take your breath
away. I think Mrs.
Honeywill must go out every
morning to pick them
and put a bunch in a vase on
our dining table. I don't
remember seeing flowers like
this ever before and I
really love the smell of
them. (I do a bit of
sniffing, now and then, just like Rex!)
If you go down
the front of the cottage,
past the gap in the wall
where you get into the
garden, there's a little gate
at the end of the path.
This leads to the back of
Beeson Farm. I
haven't explored any of that
yet, but I certainly shall.
Mr. Honeywill is the son of
the farmer there and I
expect he goes through that
gate every morning to get to
work.
There's so much
to see and explore and I'll
try and tell you about some
of it over the next few
days.
I DO love holidays,
don't you?!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Please see INDEX page for
general acknowledgements.
Grateful
acknowledgement is also made
to:
- the several owners of the
Myers Family Archive of which all
the images shown on this page are a
part
- the unknown original
sources of the town street images
This family
and local history
page is hosted by
- The History of the Home Guard in Great Britain, 1940-1944
-
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
All
text and images are, unless otherwise stated, © The
Myers Family 2025
|
