The Fourth Man by Ian Giles – the final part of Ian’s description of life in and around Darmouth, Kingswear, Dartmoor, Totnes and Torquary in the Mid 1950s

Posted in Ian Giles 6 – The Fourth Man, tagged dartmouth kingswear, Ian giles, river dart, Alan Vicary, royal dart hotel, ship inn, Steam Packet, Reg Memory, snooker, Mr Melville, Harry Battershall, Alf Andrews, Sid Hall, George Hall, Ivor Moist, Dennis King, John Vallance, Maurice Langworthy, Dartmoor, haytor, devon history, historic dartmouth on November 21, 2011| 1 Comment »

The Fourth Man

By the mid nineteen fifties Vics and I had graduated to the local pub scene and snooker club. Our pub, the Royal Dart Hotel, was down by the ferry, referred to as the ‘The Dart’ this was also the pub frequented by the railway staff between trains. Another pub was the Ship Inn, which was in a narrow street behind the village hall. ‘The Ship’ was altogether a more intimate pub than ‘The Dart’, and also had more character. There was a third pub called the Steam Packet, I cannot remember ever going in there for a drink; all three pubs were within a stones throw of each other, it’s strange how people gravitate to one pub in preference to another.

The focal point of the village could be said to be the village hall, where most, if not all, local functions would be held. Like most buildings in the village, this one was built on separate levels, which enabled the basement to be used as a snooker hall. It had a long room with a low ceiling, the windows permanently blacked out, giving a gloomy look even during daylight. There were two full sized tables, with cowl-like hoods; suspended from the ceiling, from which, powerful lights fought to penetrate the all-enveloping fog of cigarette smoke. Along the walls were bench seats for spectators and at the end of the room were pub-like tables and chairs, at which we played interminable games of three-card brag. On the wall hung mahogany score boards, embellished with brass fittings and lettering. At the far end of the room, hung an under used dartboard, neglected and alone. The club seemed to be thriving, but the first team were getting on in years, and felt that young blood should be welcomed and encouraged. Among the young players was a promising lad named Reg Memory.

Snooker Club Members – Mr Melville, Harry Battershall, Alf Andrews, Frank ? Sid Hall, George Hall, Ivor Moist, Dennis King, John Vallance, Maurice Langworthy.

Reg Memory was built like a bean pole, six feet three’ ish and handsome with it. He was one of two sons born to Mr and Mrs Memory, who lived in the narrow street behind the village hall (Higher Street or Back Street), he had a younger brother John; Dad worked on the railway as a member of the permanent way gang. Vics and me went to the snooker hall most nights, especially in winter; there we would chat, play cards and snooker. I was never much good at the game. In all sports I played, I would soon reach an acceptable standard, but from then on I would not improve much. Reg seemed to be a natural player and it wasn’t long before he was blooded in the first team.

One day he shocked us when he showed us a car that he had just bought; if I remember rightly it was a 1939 Hillman, the striking thing about it was that it had been chopped in half at some stage of its life and from the driver’s seat back, a break van body had been attached; perhaps it had been a van and converted into a car. This was light years away from MOTs and looking back; by today’s standards it would have been immediately condemned. Car ownership was by no means widespread, and to those who did own cars their horizons were naturally widened.

Weekends would see Reg, Vics and me going somewhere in Reg’s car. One particular trip I remember; was the time we went to Dartmoor and ended up at Hay Tor. It was a bitterly cold winters day and we parked a little distance away, and decided to climb the hill. Although very cold, it was a lovely sunny day and as we neared the summit we saw the winter’s sun setting in a golden sky, a truly beautiful sight. With the light rapidly fading we resumed our journey and continued in the direction of Torquay

Somewhere along the way we decided to have a drink and a bite to eat, I think we were in the Totnes area. I don’t know if Reg or Vics new the area and had been before, but soon we were entering this old fashioned pub. Reg’s car had no such refinement as a heater, so we were all freezing cold; we entered this low ceiling room, with blackened beams, from which, old lanterns hung. The floor was flagstone, and there at the other side of the room was the biggest fireplace imaginable, from which an immense heat radiated from burning logs. The chairs were made from old barrels, something I had never seen before. The few customers present were straight from Widecombe Fair. We ordered loaf and cheese with our pints, retired to a table not too near the fire and thawed out. I can still see that fire and taste that meal.

Torquay was our destination, as it was most weekends. We were going to a place called the 400 Club, near the harbour. It was the practice at this time to have a talent competition among the audience. We would get there for about eight o’clock and enjoy the nights’ entertainment. I must confess the standard of would be stars, was pretty lamentable, but we enjoyed it. We would wend our way back home along the deserted roads, recounting the days’ events in a merry way; no such thing as, don’t drink and drive in those days.

One year we went on a boat trip to Guernsey from Torquay, a whole day cruising the channel, we visited Guernsey for a couple of hours, stocked up with duty free cigarettes and whiskey, the whole shooting match costing only a few pounds! In the summer we would drive down to places like Start Point or Beesands, park up the car and have a walk in the area; a very agreeable way to spend a sunny day.

By Ian Giles