The Fishmonger's Ice, a Drifting Dredger, and the Longing to Be Named Tim
The Port Tennant of the early 1960s lives in my mind not as a story, but as a collection of scattered, vivid snapshots. Not all memories arrive in neat little chapters. Some just float back in odd moments â half-finished stories, strange snapshots, unexplained outbursts. These are the things that didnât quite fit anywhere else, but still live rent-free in my head after all these years.
The Naked Dash and Cindyâs Reprieve
One day, a neighbour came running in to tell Mam that Violet, who was about two or three, was running up the road stark naked. I have no idea why. Maybe she was protesting the washing powder. Maybe she just felt like it.
Then there was the time I sat crying on the stairs, listening to a conversation between my parents and some friends about giving Cindy away. I was heartbroken. But the next day, I was told she was staying, it would have been too expensive to take her on the train. I donât remember feeling relieved so much as vindicated. Justice had been done.
Royal Sightings and Church Change
I once told my infant school teacher I wouldnât be in that afternoon because âMam was taking me to London to see the Queenâ, a bold lie, even by my standards. In reality at some point we did catch a glimpse of the Queen as she drove by at what seemed like 100 miles an hour on Fabian Way. We had waited for hours. I think we saw her elbow.
We used to stand outside churches on Saturdays, waiting for weddings. The groom would often throw a handful of pennies onto the street for the local kids to fight over. It was brutal and brilliant.
Industrial Sabotage and Bingo Windfalls
One time, me and Christopher Pike (my fellow frog roaster) untied the moorings of a mud-dredger down at the docks and watched fascinated by our work as it drifted away from the quayside out into the middle of the dock. I canât remember what we thought we were doing, I think we just wanted to see what happened.
Another time, Mam and Dad appeared in the doorway of our bedroom slightly drunk and glowing â theyâd won ÂŁ100 at Bingo. I still remember the strange mix of excitement and confusion. It was like theyâd been to a party we werenât invited to.
Family Fallouts and Floating Ice
I once witnessed a huge argument between my grandfather and father shortly before we moved to Blaenymaes. I never found out what it was about, it wasnât discussed, but I can still feel the tension in the memory.
And I remember the fishmongerâs horse and cart coming down the street on Fridays. Weâd hang off the back and steal chunks of ice from the fish boxes. It wasnât the most hygienic of habits, but it felt like treasure.
Names That Still Echo
Some of the people I remember from that time:
- Alan Russ,
- Mr and Mrs Vincent,
- Barbara Vincent, and her deaf-and-dumb sister,
- Clive Jones,
- Tony North (a certified bad boy),
- Harry B, a 14 year old pervert, who would ask little kids to âfiddle with himâ.
- David and Anthony Davies (the sons of the Chemist),
- Zena Thomas,
- Susan Morris,
- Miss Watt,
- And an Italian family down the road who sometimes argued, loudly and passionately.
And Finally: I Wanted to Be Tim
Not a fireman. Not a spaceman. Not a rock star.
Just Tim.
Iâve no idea why. I just thought it was a better name. Maybe all the Tims I knew had more exciting lives. Maybe it just sounded braver. More likely, I was just tired of explaining that Paul had no exciting nicknames and didnât rhyme with anything useful.