During the summer of 1997 my wife and I enjoyed a ten-week holiday in England. It was good to catch up with relatives and friends we hadn’t seen for many years as we travelled about visiting places and reviving memories.

We were staying with our niece and her husband when they asked if we’d like to spend a day at Southend. “Sarfend – could a duck swim?” I thought. The last time we’d visited the resort must have been around 1959, when we went down to see the lights, and we wondered what changes would be in store.

Well, the pier was still there – we couldn’t miss that! – and so was the Palace Hotel. We suggested going to the Kursaal, only to be told that it was no longer there. No Kursaal? It was like fish without the chips! We walked along the front – at least the mud was still there, and somewhere out there was also the sea. There were nice gardens, the usual stalls and a poor excuse in the way of a mini-Kursaal by the pier.

We came to the chair lift, went up and walked back to the High Street. This was now a shopping mall which seemed to go on for ages past the railway station. I still have my souvenir of the day – but more of that later.

My mind had gone back to earlier days. Southend – the Londoners’ mecca. I guess it must have had that certain something. I must have been about seven years old when I was taken on my first visit around 1933. We went by boat, the Crested Eagle, I believe, and I recall being with my mother and an aunt.

A few years later we went by train on an excursion. It must have been cheap for us to have gone at all! My younger sister and I played on the ‘beach’ while mum had a deck chair. She must have paid for it, as she didn’t go for a walk like so many others when the man came round checking tickets. Later we boarded the train with our jam jar of little crabs which got
knocked over when we were half-way home. The other passengers were not amused as my sister and I tried to retrieve them.

When I started work at the age of 14 I bought myself a bike on the never-never. It made economic sense as my bus fare was four shillings and the bike cost me half a crown a week. My two older mates and I decided to pedal to Southend. We left at six in the morning and the pier made a welcome sight as we rode down the High Street. We hadn’t reckoned on the headwind all the way home and were about all in when we arrived, after clocking 108 miles.

Then came the war and my best mate didn’t come back. Southend became part of Britain’s front line -no walks along the front then!

Things slowly got better with the coming of peace, and Southend was soon back in vogue, for our first firm’s outing where better was there to go? It was to be the first of many such visits, not just with the firm but also as the local pub’s ‘beano’ and invitations on to other coach trips to make up the numbers.

The routine was always the same – sandwiches and crates of beer in the back of the coach for ‘morning refreshments’, then we’d be on our way again. When we arrived the party would break up into small groups, some to the pubs, others for a feed of cockles, whelks, jellied eels and so on, and then it was off to the Kursaal. Trying to ‘Knock the Lady out of Bed’ or ride on the Big Dipper wasn’t easy after a few beers and jellied eels! It was all good fun, even in the Fun Mouse itself. Someone in front of me made a pass at a girl in the dark. She swung round with her handbag, but the bloke in front ducked and I copped it, but it was all part of the fun!

Coaches had to leave by 6.30pm, so it was off up the Southend Road, first stop the ‘Fortune of War’ or ‘Half-Way House’ according to the driver’s liking. Some of the lads certainly managed to put it away, so it was just as well we always went on a Saturday, with Sunday to sleep it off.

Like father, like son, I took my boy on his first boat ride when he was seven – and where else but Southend? It must have been the ‘Ford’ sign at Dagenham that did it, for round about that time I bought a little Thames van and we were able to do our own trips.

The firm I worked for had a good social club, and we did several boat trips. I think I enjoyed those more as we had the freedom to move about the boat. The voyage home could be quite long if we were against the tide, but there was always entertainment – even if home-made! – and something to lubricate the tonsils, and before you knew it the boat would be back at Tower Pier. Great times to remember!

About my souvenir mentioned earlier, I’d intended to buy a blazer in ‘Marks & Sparks’ but they were only slightly cheaper than here. My nephew took me into the Red Cross shop in Southend High Street. There was one on the rack, and it fitted as if tailor-made. It cost me a pound, and was like new. I felt guilty and put an extra pound in the box.

When I returned to New Zealand I sewed on my Normandy Veterans badge that had cost me $17

(about £6). We were to parade in flannels and blazers with medals shining to receive our Diplomes d’Honneur from the French Ambassador. I dressed up, putting on a white shirt I’d bought in the bargain bin at a local store and my Tank Corps beret with my ‘Buffs’ cap badge.

As I stood in front of the mirror for a final check I started to laugh, and my wife wanted to know what the joke was. I told her the blazer cost £1 and the shirt $1, while my trousers and shoes cost over $200!

I felt like Granville in Open All hours, wondering which half of me was Hungarian!

E. L Cox (Tauranga, New Zealand)