"Wales and North West England 1957" Personal Page by zschachwitz

This was a trip undertaken just with my father; I have no idea why my mother stayed at home, but, thinking back over 50 years later, I suspect that she wanted to look after her mother who was showing occasional signs of illness.

The journeys that we took seemed interminable at the time, but they were, of course, with the benefit of a seriously under-powered car, by today’s standards; we also had to suffer ordinary main roads.

The first day, therefore was a long, long run from Ealing to Hereford, along the Western Avenue, and then through High Wycombe, and probably past Oxford; there didn’t strike me as there being anything special in Hereford, although I am sure we did look at the cathedral – I did have a photo of that: a blurred, not very straight black and white shot, taken with a Brownie 127; not even “basic”. From there we pressed on into Wales, stopping to look at the Elan Valley and the dams behind Rhyader. Most impressive they were then, and even so now, when I see pictures of them I think that must have been when I had my first camera, a Kodak Brownie 127. It didn't take anything other than black and white pictures, and even though a few of those results survive, they're nothing to write home about, if I'm totally honest.

Rhyader was only a stopping off point for some sight-seeing, and soon we pressed on further westward, still we arrived at Devil's Bridge; this was the upper terminus of the Vale of Rheidol Railway, at that time stll owend by British Railways: http://www.rheidolrailway.co.uk/ A few more photos there before we descended to Aberystwyth for the next night.

Following on from Aberwystwyth, on the next day we made our way northwards for the short journey to Barmouth: no direct route, so we ambled inland by Machynlleth and Dolgelly (now Dolgellau); all very pleasant quiet Welsh countryside, but with the lack of main roads in those days, it seemed to take the best part of the whole day.

I have only been back to Barmouth once since then, only a few years later, and as far as I can remember, it was pretty well much the same on the second visit – small, peaceful, and happy to let the world go by. The following day, (or it may even have been two day, for with a couple of exceptions, I really can't remember how long I stayed anywhere), saw a slightly longer trip as we made our way along the coast via Harlech and Porthmadog, and up through Snowdonia to Llandudno. Here we stayed in a big old hotel in the Promenade – The Marine – we were there as my father had previously worked for the British hotel chain known as Trust Houses, (actually, he started there straight from school in the 1930s), so as that was one of the local places, it was obvious that that should be where we'd end up. Like Barmouth, we returned a few years later, so memories may have become mixed as to what we saw, where we went and what we did. One place that I DO know that we went to is Llanfair PG, on the Isle of Anglesey – the longest place name in Britain. I couldn't pronounce it then, and can't now. We probably went on the pier, as you do/did, and almost certainly went up the Great Orme, a rocky outcrop to the west of the town – and you can still go up there by cable drawn tramway

A day or so here, and then we went to Liverpool, where my father's company, Guinness (the brewery) had an office that he wanted to visit. Don't forget, at this time we weren't all that far gone since the end of the war, so there was still a lot of dereliction around.

There were several aspect s of that visit that I particularly remember. The first was that the old Liverpool Overhead Railway structures were still in place. And old railway that ran the length of the docks, that hadn't been closed for very long at all. Certainly the necessary demolition hadn't started yet, and there were still steam goods trains making their slow way along the docks, among the general detritus found on waterfronts the world over. And then there were the green trams still making their way around, and navigating their tracks we got to dad's office. Small and dark and a bit untidy was all that I could think of – but perhaps that was just how I thought all offices were – too many films seems to have been based in such places in the 1950s.

We eventually found our way out to Blundellsands, so a rather swish hotel, by the station; it was quite possibly the grandest place I'd been in. Sadly, it's now a retirement home, or nursing home, but as an hotel it was a very posh establishment.

On our way through the inner and then outer suburbs we passed through Bootle, where we saw a group of men on a street corner, evidently doing nothing other than standing and passing the time of day; afterwards my father told me that they were more than likely playing “penny toss” or some similar name – in other words street corner gaming which was almost certainly illegal, I've seen it depicted since in films set in various periods both pre- and post-war, but that was the only time I saw it “in the flesh”, as it were.

Having reached that part of the country, there was only one place to go – and that was Blackpool – then, as now, it had a reputation for fun, fun, fun, and then even more fun. Even though I was coming up to 12, there was plenty to occupy me and grab attention. OK, so the new super rides weren't even a dream; their inventors probably weren't even a dream, but there was still “plenty of stuff to do”. Before we went into the Pleasure Beach, we did the tram ride along the front, and then sampled a number of rides. Blackpool was, as I had already realised was not unknown to my parents; my mother, during the war, had been working in one of the Government offices in the town, following evacuation from London, and my father's parents were also in the area, at Lytham, just along the coast. In fact it was only that the war ended when it did, in May 1945, that I was born in Crayford, on the outskirts of London, for mother retuned to her home there when she could. Father, serving in the Royal Air Force stayed away till he was demobilised, of course.

And before we went back, we stopped off at Southport, (or perhaps it was on our way to Blackpool – one or the other, but no matter), and visited a friend of my father. What an amazing beach there is at Southport; so wide and firm and sandy – father was one of many who drove along the sands, they being firm enough to take the weight of cars in common production in the 1930s. He didn't learn to drive there, but many did.

And after Liverpool, we had the relative anti-climax of our return to West London. We had two more overnight stays; the second was in Warwick, but I am not sure about the first – possibly Stafford, or, alternatively Stoke. During the way back we made a brief detour via Stratford-on-Avon, from where a couple of railway photos survive.