Living by the sea, in the 1960's

Before 1962 we lived in a flat above my grans shop, which was about 150 yards from Freshwater Bay.

My Gran didn't have a lot of money but the garden was big enough to make two plots of land, so she gave one to my mother and one to my aunt.

Dad being in the building trade, (well obviously he was, had he been a high court judge he would not be out there every night and weekend, slapping down blocks and plastering) built the house we live in by himself.

He started it in 1957 and finished it in 1962 the year of the snow, and it was top range. central heating from a boiler filed by coke ( no not the power that washes up now on the shoreline) the black stuff that the coal man used to deliver every week.

Well I say finished, he started a loft conversion in 1967 then things changed so he left it. I inherited the house ten years ago and finished it off. You can't hurry a good job.

Anyhow... Back then money was tight, very tight, but one night Dad went down the bay with his torch and flashed it in the water, the light from the torch that is.

Behold, there were shoals of Mullet and Bass. So Father had an idea. He bought a pair of wader boots and a new Pifco Torch and got his friend Kev Newnham, who was a welder to make him a spear, which looked like a garden fork with six prongs.

Then once a fortnight as the tide was coming in he used to go down, in his waders and spearfish.

Now back then, before the fish stocks were decimated, they were in abundance, so he let his chum Dave Byers in on this way of putting food on the table.

What they used to do was go to the Bay and one would go either side, and if the fish were shoaling they would flash the torch and either would come over and get a few.

This dark night Dave went left dad went right. Soon Dave saw Dad's light flashing so went as fast as he could to cash in.

But when he got there the truth was apparent.

The water was a bit murky and Dad had seen something moving so had speared it.

Unfortunately, it was a 74-pound-six foot-long, very pissed-off Conger eel who was dragging Dad into deeper water. Dad being dad would not let go and the flashing torch was floating in the water before it sank below the waves. Between them, they got the eel ashore, both soaked and I remember seeing it the next day hanging from the spear at the bottom of the outside steps.

The eel was skinned etc and they had half each and we had eel fried, poached, and pie for the following week. As I said we had no freezer.

Finally, I was old enough to get some welly boots, and a small spear and go on these fishing trips.

I never got bugger all but it was good fun being out with dad.

Now, back then, before container ships, all sorts used to wash up on the beach.

One freezing cold night we went out spearing. Pitch black. We went to the right of the bay nothing, so we went to the left. Now to get to where the rocks are where you can spear fish is about two hundred yards of shingle. Then there are two small bays separated then by a big arch ( now gone) so we trudge over the shingle to the first bay.

Bingo. The shoreline is covered on big unmarked tins, obviously from a shipwreck.

Loads of them.

They were not heavy and had floated ashore.

' Bloody hell Nipper' said the old man 'This could be good, it could be coffee, tobacco anything' so we started to walk our find back to the promenade where Dad could get the car ( we had a car by then a Ford Angela, ) and take our find home.

Back and forth we went with these cans until the tide beat us.

Dad went home and got the car and we loaded it up.

Finally, in the kitchen, we opened a can.

Dried sliced carrots, every bloody tin was dried carrots.

Mother cooked some the next day they were awful.

Obviously, some cook had chucked the lot overboard, can't say I blame him.

Even the chickens wouldn't eat them.

Anyhow hope you enjoyed that, so much more to tell.

Spread the word if you did.