On the corner of Broad Street and Townsend Road, opposite the old Police Station, was Davis’ chemist’s shop, which processed many local family photos. Rather curiously, they also periodically sold Dinky Toys. Those ‘in the know’ would be alerted when a delivery was expected, usually around Christmas time and were able to peruse a catalogue in advance, prior to ordering.

This would have been just after the War. Purchases were strictly rationed to one or two models per person and you had to be there at doors open time to guarantee getting your choice. In retrospect, it seems very strange that a chemist’s shop should be involved in toy sales.

Across the other side of Townsend Road was L J Stronnell’s cycle shop. As youngsters we were rarely without our bikes, which gave us a wonderful freedom to wander far and wide. Les Stronnell was a popular character and was a great source of help in maintaining our ‘steeds’.  The shop was really no more than the lower floor of a terraced house, with a store out the back for his equipment.

Rather like the Dinky toys, new bikes had to be ordered from a catalogue, no large stock being held, and the subsequent delivery was awaited with mounting excitement. Most youngsters did not acquire a new bike until well into their teens, having to make do with second-hand ones or family hand-me-downs.

Consequently, Les Stronnell was much in demand for recovered spare parts to keep these ageing machines in roadworthy condition. His workshop was always a cosy haven in cold weather and one could generally be sure of a cup of tea there as well.

The picture of the bus on the ‘flyer’ about the transport film also brought back lots of childhood memories.   I believe those buses were built by a company called ‘Dennis’ and carried a chrome model of a Red Indian’s head, in full feathered head-dress on the radiator cap (as children, we were not troubled by the current politically correct trends which would require the term ‘Native American!)

We used to catch the ‘Bellingdon bus’ in the Broadway outside the Lamb and Flag pub.   I recall that, if we had some time to wait and the weather was inclement, we would repair to the warmth of ‘Peggy’s’, a little cafe in Blucher Street, somewhere between Billy Sills’ shoe shop and Hearn’s the hairdresser.

Hearn’s was regarded as quite ‘up-market’ and I never passed through its portals, being dispatched by my thrifty parents and clutching the necessary thruppence, to the previously mentioned ‘Batchy’ (‘No Boys on Saturdays’) and later the jovial Walt Atkins.

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