THOSE WERE THE DAYS …
OR WERE THEY?
When I am usually asked to write a few words for this magazine I usually try very hard to
choose a topical subject with historical roots. I must admit I was slightly taken aback when
requested to write about the Ashington I knew when I moved here in 1965. Has it really
been that long I thought? Am I finally regarded as a resident and not a newcomer? I was
born in Worthing so I did not come too far north to start my new life; but things could
not have been more different from a seaside town to the country. The country was where
I always wanted to be, looking out on farmland seeing animals, a sort of freedom despite
the dreadful mud when it rained. Ashington was a small insignificant village, lodged just
two miles north of the downs and always on the way to and from somewhere probably
Horsham or Worthing, stuck with the A24 cutting through as its main street. When
mentioning to anyone outside of the village that you lived in Ashington certain remarks
were made “oh that’s the village where we queue up in the morning” or “the one with the
bottle neck”. Amazingly, when I think back, the village was quite self-sufficient, everything
could be had in the village or, best of all, delivered to your door. I soon learnt that a list
had to be made for your shopping if you forgot anything it was, for me, a very long walk to
get it.
A24 looking South
In 1965 there had been a bit of a building boom. Greenacres had just been finished; the
first half of Rectory Close was near completion and the whole of the Fairfield estate was
going up for sale. So as you can imagine, without those estates, Ashington had few
inhabitants. The Mill Estate came soon after and the newer inhabitants were trying their
best to mix in.
The shops we had: where the new chemist and floor coverings shops now are, was the
main store. In my day called Holloways. It had shrunk considerably, before I came, to only
being on the ground floor and divided into three parts. The whole of the second floor I
gather had sold clothing, school uniforms, horticultural implements and the like. We had
in Mr. Osborne, the manager, a neat helpful man stocky not very tall with iron-grey hair.
He was always dressed in his immaculate white coat, his hands sparkling clean and his eyes
twinkling through his horn rimmed spectacles. I would place my order and he would
deliver it to me. What bliss! He ran an excellent delicatessen counter, always advising on
some new line he had. The Cheeses were in big blocks and cut with a cheese wire – no
pre-packaged stuff. He kept some interesting wines. By the later part of the 1960’s wine
was coming into fashion for the ordinary mortal for drinking rather than just having with a
meal. A post office was situated in the middle of the front, always cheerful and helpful. The
Chemist was at the northern end of the shop. When you or your children were not too
well, a very helpful chemist would always recommend something.
Opposite, where Hoots House is now, was a restaurant named the Danish House. To the
north of this the building the old Post Horses was empty. It had been a garage of sorts but
it soon went on to become a hardware store, then a wine shop and lately an antiques
store. Which, our Northumbrian friends nicknamed “Auntie Wainwrights” after “Last of
the Summer Wine”.
On the left heading north of the village where Ashdene is now were two nurseries. The
southern one run by Mr. Morley, famous for his chrysanthemums and the northern one
run by Mr. Butcher, where you could purchase greengrocery and flowers. Heading further
north onto the right hand side was “Betty’s”, later to become a saddlers and then Nail
Tan. This little shop stocked ladies and baby clothing knitting wool and all sorts of
haberdashery. Being an avid knitter I spent a lot of time in there. Beyond this on the same
side we had a small scruffy grocery shop: Adams commonly known as Fans. I must admit I
never entered the portals of this place. However, I remember my mother and husband did,
to buy tomatoes and some biscuits. My mother thought that the “Lincoln creams” she
purchased were in a different coloured packet. She was assured that they were a new
sort! When she got them home we thought they must have been there for donkey’s
years. Soft was not the word for them! There are many stories I could tell of Fan’s, pure
hearsay I must admit, but I have not got the space here. Certainly lets say that stock
control was not her strong point!
Across the road we had Mr. Brookes the butchers just at the top of Rectory Lane. We all
remember the sawdust on the floor and the hurried cigarette stubbed out on the side of
the block and put behind his ear. His cashier sat in the tiniest of booths and he used to
shout to her to take the money for the purchase.
Following around back into the main street was The Corner Stores (now the Indian
restaurant), usually referred to as Top Shop. A very large tall gentleman ran it with his
very tiny wife. I used to refer to him as the Major. Everything could be had and they ran a
newspaper round service as well. I think the late Sylvia Batchelor knew all the addresses
and newspapers off by heart. We always knew when Sylvia was away as strange things
would happen. No newspapers or the wrong ones! The shop next door was closed. It
had been a small café. For a short time it was taken as an antiques emporium but soon
made way to what it is now, a hairdressing establishment.
The milk was delivered daily. Always at the same time of 10o’clock. Mrs. Allen used to
deliver it with her old brown felt hat on her head, and an out of date grey coat tied in the
middle. Come winter or summer she was always bare legged with her feet crammed into a
dreadful pair of brown leather shoes, which had really seen better days. She was quite a
character and a very kindly soul. Mr. Joe Page ran the dairy and used to live at Feathers in
the London Road. When he retired we went over to a Worthing firm Highfields and
Oaklands but after some time their service deteriorated. So when I discovered
supermarket shopping and Cravendale it was goodbye doorstop milk delivery.
The baker came three times a week from the Model Bakery in Steyning. Lovely crusty
bread and cakes were always to be had.
Mr. Perry the greengrocer came with his van on Friday afternoons. He introduced me to
several types of vegetables I had never heard off. My children when small loved his visits
when they could always get a carrot or an apple to munch.
Sport. I must admit not to being much of a sportsperson or even a spectator but we had a
good football team, cricket team and above all others Stoolball, as now, being kept alive
and well. Stoolball being peculiar to Sussex. The recreation ground was well used but
always had problems with drainage. It’s our wealden clay. We must not forget our table
tennis team who used to meet in the old Reading Room (where Baden House is now). No
toilets or washing facilities, they used to go down to the Red Lion for that. Shortly the
situation changed and they got a grant to put in new facilities at the back of the building.
After the demise of the club the scouts took it over but with concerns for the safety of the
youngsters and the A24 cutting through the village this was soon abandoned and the
building sold to help build the new Scout Hut where it now stands on the recreation
ground.
The pub The Red Lion was still under the Brickwoods label. I had been in there once
before I had moved to Ashington - very spit and sawdust. The landlord was not the
cheeriest of chaps and I remember the spittoons were still on the floor nearest the bar.
We had a small café at Blue Bird garage, which I was informed did the best egg and chips.
This dealt mostly with transport people.
Ashington was still agricultural and horticultural. The farms surrounded the village, now
long since gone, apart from Broadbridge. Some of the land is still worked by local people
and contractors but not like it was. It was a daily site to see crops growing, cows, pigs and
sheep in the fields. The nurseries in the village growing flowers and tomatoes.
There were garages of course as these served the traffic coming through the village with
petrol. Four to my recollection. Tospells at the bottom (now Monza). The Shell garage
(one of the oldest in Sussex, having had its franchise since the 1930’s) was where
Blacksmiths Close now is (there were also three cottages, called Blacksmiths Cottages,
which were demolished; on the end of these cottages was an open shack which had been a
blacksmiths but when I knew it the grumpy old man who worked there mended lawn
mowers and the like) Blue Bird (now Mackinnons) and Crows which is now Ashington
Autos. This all changed with the coming of the, much needed, by-pass in 1994.
Blacksmiths Cottages
I am sure that some of you reading this will remember a lot more but these are my
memories from 1965. I remember the primary school the one in Rectory Lane was
hankering after a swimming pool. Two churches. A very lively Methodist and not so lively
Church of England – how things have changed. Our medical facilities were still down to
visiting doctors. But in Church Lane stood “nurses bungalow” inhabited by the district
nurse and health visitor. Young Mums were always assured of being well looked after by
visits to you at home and the baby clinic held in the small triangular building between the
pub and the shop. Those were the days indeed. Would we go back to them? Perhaps if we
had more time to chat rather than dashing about in motorcars.
So we have moved from an agricultural village to a mostly dormitory one. From
insignificance to winning awards. We can buy fish and chips or an Indian meal, instead of
learning how to cook curries. We are not as self-sufficient as we were. Before we went
without if we could not get anything nowadays we insist of having it all. Lots of clubs and
societies to cater for all tastes. A new school and community centre. The peace and quiet
of the country shattered by large lorries speeding all over the place. Demonstrations to
keep away landfill. But no we do not want to go back. We still know most of our
neighbours and help is at hand with First Responders and the Wardens. We still have
cheering greetings from our friends and neighbours, which one does not always find in a
town or city. No! We look forward to see what is over the next fence and to the distant
horizon.