I was born in 1946 and I grew up as a boy in the 1950s and as a teenager from the late 50s to the early 60s. Last year my very best friend from those boyhood days passed away. Although we’d lost contact with each other for some of our adult life, we found each other again on Friends Reunited around about the year 2000 and we kept in touch and met each other frequently since then. I have very many happy memories of our time together and this story is both a tribute to him and what I hope is an interesting and amusing record of our boyhood adventures. Enjoy!
We lived close to the western Surrey Hills south of Aldershot and Farnham. This area became our playground. Much of the story which follows is set amongst these beautiful Hills.
My very best friend throughout my childhood, right from early days, was Graham Brooks.
We had great fun together. Once we were old enough, we started to venture out, and this little story describes some of our adventures. Those were wonderful days, carefree, happy, fascinating, and full of discovery. We were true adventurers!
I have already covered one adventure, which was when we were older, in a podcast. The trip across Europe and our stay in Italy was great fun and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This is the link: The lads on a 1960s road trip to the Italian Riviera!
Adventures!
Now turning to some of the earlier adventures in our childhood. Here I set out some of the most memorable episodes. I hope you enjoy these.
Crooksbury Hill!
I remember saying to Graham one day, when we were about eight years, I said, “When I was very young, my brother George took me to a place called ‘Crooksbury Hill’. It was a magical place and you could see for miles from the top of that hill”. We decided to try and rediscover it. No Google maps in those days!
So Graham and I soon set off to discover the hill. We lived not far from the western Surrey Hills, a beautiful range of hills, woodland and heathland. They are set to the south of the ‘Hogs Back’ North Downs hills. The landscape consists of sandy heathland, fir deciduous and birch trees, sandy pathways, ferns and blackberry bushes. It is a beautiful area.
On the way, we called in at Runfold petrol station. There you could buy a bottle of Tizer or ginger beer in a stone bottle and if you drank it while you were there, you could get a penny back on the bottle! This petrol station was right next door to the Runfold Arms. It was always our setting off point for discoveries. Setting off again, we soon disappeared into the lanes and woodlands to the south. We actually didn’t know where the hill was. On the way Graham remembered that his dad was building a house in this area. So we stopped by and sat on the side of the road on a sandy bank looking at the house. All was quiet that day but we could admire the beautiful brickwork which Graham’s dad was expert in. On we trudged. In those days, you could walk along the lanes without any problem. Cars weren’t travelling very fast and, and there weren’t very many of them. So we wandered around until we found a footpath – we thought we’d follow that. Eventually, after a few mistakes, we found a pathway which led us up to the top of the hill. Indeed it was as magical as I remembered it when I went there with my brother George. It was topped by a number of beautiful Scots pines, which don’t have straight tree trunks, they have branches with beautiful shapes, and a very red tree trunk, set against the blue sky and their very green ferns.
At the top of this hill the land gently fell away to the south covered in vivid ferns You could see for miles …. all the way across to the Devil’s Punch Bowl across this ancient wooded landscape, probably not much changed since medieval times. Once we had discovered this place, we returned there quite often, making camps in the woodland, out of ferns and branches. We often sat there at the top of the hill for hours at a time chatting about our plans and wondering about the places further afield. What were they like? Should we go to discover them? Who lived there? Where was that smoke coming from? It was a great vantage point to watch the airborne troops practicing their parachute jumps. We watched big, wide bodied aircraft come slowly across the sky and then disgorge the parachutists, their white parachutes silhouetted in the blue sky. We could sit there for hours, and indeed we did on many occasions in the wonderful warm sunlight of those beautiful summers long since passed now.
Waverley Abbey!
When I was a boy, probably eight or nine, my dad gave me an old linen dogeared cloth WWII military Ordnance Survey map. I loved maps right from the beginning.
I showed the map to my very good friend, Graham Brooks. We studied it together, seeking out interesting places. We found on the map a place called ‘Waverley Abbey (ruins of)’. Having conquered Crooksbury Hill, we were up for another adventure further afield, but still in that same area south of the Hogs Back in the heavily wooded area of the south western Surrey Hills. So, one summer’s day we set off.
First of all, we walked towards Crooksbury Hill via our favourite place at Runfold, where we bought our Tizer. Lanes were beautiful in those days; with very few cars. We could walk many miles in the dappled sunlight and enjoy the peace and tranquillity of the countryside. No cars rushing around to bother us much. The woodland was especially beautiful with pine, silver birch and oak trees. We could occasionally sit on a grassy bank and take in the beauty of the area. We didn’t take the map for fear of losing it, so everything was done from memory. Finally, we tracked down from Crooksbury Hill to where we knew the River Wye was. It skirted a large open field which we believed was near the site of the ancient Waverley Abbey. We arrived at the river where it tumbled noisily through a weir and under the road near to the gates of a big estate. We were confronted by a big sign saying ‘PRIVATE – no entry’. However, we were not to be thwarted. Instead of going straight across the field southwest and risking the wrath of a gamekeeper or groundsman, we followed a lane off to the southeast. Eventually, we found a footpath which would take us southwest which we hoped would eventually bring us back to the road. After scrambling through undergrowth, and through woodland on what was clearly not a footpath, we found we were on the edge of the River Wye – but on the wrong side!
We tracked along the fast flowing clear waters of the River Wye where the clear water flowed over well washed rocks and stones on the bed of the river, including iron stone which was very prevalent in that area. It was hard work, but eventually we came opposite to the ruins of the abbey itself. I didn’t have smart clothes and so I volunteered to carry Graham on my back across the stoney river. We were like Robin Hood and Little John. We reached the other side quite quickly, and scrambled up the bank. We then were able to explore the ruins of this ancient Abbey with its beautiful arches still showing above piles of grassed-over rubble lying around. The field was wide and flat and the river curved round almost in an Oxbow fashion. We thought it was an ideal place for the monks to live where they could farm their cattle on the field and grow crops. Further over, on the other side of the field was the big house. Probably it was the reason for the sign, ‘private keep out’. Cattle were grazing in the gentle sunlight in the large open field. We kept an eye on the big house in the distance, knowing that we were the trespassers, and thinking we might be chased off the land at any time.
We sat down on some of the old stonework relishing our victory of discovery. Our return journey was back across the river. What a wonderful day out …………lost in our thoughts and enjoying the peaceful countryside. This was our England. This was our secret!
The Toolbox!
Graham and I were great friends as boys, teenagers and young men. Graham was my best man for my first wedding in the late 60s. However, right now, I would like to remember the time we spent together making things. Graham was an absolute expert at making anything from metal, wood or whatever. I used to go up to his house in Lower Farnham Road, Aldershot, so we could make things in his workshop. This picture shows the toolbox which Graham and I made. I should say it was his design, measurements and supervision. This was some 65 years ago! I’ve kept the box all these years. And as you can see, it has had good use over the years! We made it from scraps of wood. It’s a tribute to him and his skills. I shan’t get rid of it until I pop off this planet. Every time I look at it, I remember the days we spent together.
Christmas story
One Christmas morning, Graham and I were making things in his workshop. As the time drew towards lunchtime, his mother called out that Christmas dinner was ready. His mum was a lovely person. She said Vicki (most people called me Vicki in those days), would you like to stay for dinner? Smelling the wonderful food, I said “yes please!” So we sat down to a delicious dinner with turkey and all of the trimmings, including chestnuts and brussel sprouts. As we were finishing there was a phone call. My mum was on the phone asking where I was. I was expected at home for my Christmas dinner! So that Christmas, I had two Christmas dinners!! …. Thanks to Mrs. Brooks!
Cycling
Earlier this year I did some cycling around the Surrey hills which Graham and I had explored many years ago.
By the time we were 14 or 15, we had quite good bikes. Of course, Graham had the best bike with derailleur gears and drop handlebars. It looked absolutely super in its bright red colour. Mine was great, but it wasn’t quite so smart. It had Sturmey-Archer gears, and the difference between these two bikes was that mine was heavier and only had three gears. Graham’s was lighter and had five gears.
Even though it was some years later from our boyhood journeys the roads were still fairly clear with unhurried traffic so we could still be carefree. The roads were not choked with cars speeding along and we could enjoy the pleasure of riding through the countryside with the wind in our hair with places to discover!
We were able to venture further afield with our bicycles. So having discovered Crooksbury Hill, Waverley Abbey, and Frensham Ponds on foot, we decided to venture off……….
Cut Mill
Our first great expedition, I think, was to Cut Mill, tucked away in the Surrey Hills. To us boys, it felt much farther from home than it really was. Once we were on our bikes and heading out into the countryside, we might just as well have been setting off for the wilds of Africa.
Cut Mill Pond was a magical place. It lay beneath low, fern-covered ridges dotted with Scots pines, oaks and silver birches. Pale sandy tracks wound across the heath in every direction, and naturally we felt obliged to explore them.
Leaving our bike near in the bushes beside the pond, we explored the sandy ridge. There were no mobile phones, no GPS and certainly no anxious messages asking where we were. We simply went exploring and somehow managed to find our way home again.
The countryside quickly became whatever our imaginations wanted it to be. The narrow sandy paths were no longer ordinary tracks but the routes of highwaymen. We could almost hear horses galloping over the ridge and imagined masked riders suddenly appearing at the crest of the ridge.
Near the top of one ridge stood the bare skeleton of an old oak tree, dramatically silhouetted against the summer sky. It had almost certainly been struck by lightning, but that explanation was far too dull for us. We decided it must have been the hangman’s tree, where unfortunate highwaymen had met their grisly end.
Our adventures eventually took us farther afield to the Pilgrims’ Way. Even the name sounded wonderfully romantic. We imagined medieval pilgrims trudging happily towards Canterbury, carrying their belongings, swapping stories and perhaps stopping at a convenient inn or two along the way.
Looking back, these were wonderfully simple adventures. A bicycle, a few sandwiches, a bottle of something to drink and an entire summer’s day ahead of us were all we needed. The Surrey countryside became our playground and our world of imagination.
Frencham Little Pond
With our bicycles, we were able to travel further afield, and one of the places we cycled out to was Frensham Little Pond, which is a beautiful tranquil 37-acre man made medieval lake with the large area of Frensham Common — with its fern clad sandy hills with pine trees and silver birches. It’s a beautiful area. Over the distant Ridge one confined Frensham Great Pond.
I had remembered Frensham Little Pond from the days when my brothers took me on walks out there. It’s about six miles from our home so it’s quite a long walk in a day, there and back. One day, Graham and I decided to cycle out there.
When we arrived, we found what I, as a little boy, and my brothers had experienced before: boats for hire! I’m not sure if you can go boating on the Pond anymore, but you could in those days. It was great fun being out on the boat together. I don’t think either Graham or I were great rowers, but on a beautiful day, it was wonderful to be out on the water surrounded by such beautiful countryside.
We soon found ourselves haphazardly coming into some tall great reeds on the side of the pond, and we got stuck. It was up to me to try and get us out, so I had to go over the side of the boat and try to push the boat out. I was the one who ended up with mud up to my waist, but it was a great day, and I shall always remember it.
Graham and I were great buddies. He always kept himself nice and clean and tidy, and often I ended up as the person who was a bit muddy or dirty but who cares!
Cycling to Portsmouth and Southsea.
I don’t know how it came about, but one of our adventurous ideas was to cycle from our homes at Aldershot down to Portsmouth and the seafront at Southsea. It is an 80-mile round trip. I think we were about 14 years old. It was a great ride.
So one summer’s day, we took off on our bikes. The journey was fairly straightforward, insofar as you could almost draw a straight line between Aldershot and Portsmouth, but it’s quite a long way. Firstly, we cycled through Farnham and out on the Bordon Road. Bordon is a large army camp. There is a straight road which goes all the way through it. Finally, we met the A3 just north of Liss, which was no more than a village at the time.
In those days, there were no major dual carriageways or big roundabouts. There was just a fork in the road. Our road was south on the A3 to Petersfield and ultimately to Portsmouth.
At Petersfield, I remember on our first trip when we stopped for a bottle of Tizer, which was the equivalent of Coca-Cola in those days, at a little shop just as you enter Petersfield itself.
In those days, the big hill to surmount just south of Petersfield was called Butser Hill. It was nearly 900 feet high! Today you wouldn’t recognize it. There’s a big road cutting through the hill, and you can hardly see where the original road was. But in those days, it was a fairly narrow single carriageway road up to the top of the hill, then down the other side to Waterlooville.
The hill up from Petersfield is extremely steep, and it was tough going, but we made it. Then you enjoy the glide for miles all the way down to Waterlooville, passing Horndean, where I remember seeing for the first time the tall red brick building that belonged to Horndean Brewery on the left-hand side. Quite noticeable. And then onward down from Waterlooville to Havant, and then finally across a bridge to Portsea Island.
The route onto Portsea Island is to the east. There were no motorways, as I say. It was quite easy for us to make the journey down there. Traffic was barely noticeable, not like today. We finally made it down to the seafront and the fairground at Southsea. I’m not sure what we ate. It was probably a bag of fish and chips or even just chips.
We then had to turn around and make our way back because there was another 40 miles to go to get home. Wow! That was tough going, and the big climb was up to Butser Hill again. This time not so steep but long and steady.
On one of the rides, we decided not to go via Bordon and Farnham home, but we decided to go up to Hindhead and then turn left towards home. Well, this was a big mistake. It was lovely countryside, but the route up to Hindhead was a massive climb all the way, and I never thought we were going to arrive home. On that occasion, we got to Hindhead, and we were so grateful to coast down towards Tilford, one of our favorite stopping places off Tilford Green and its pub and shop, and then onward home, and with a few hills like Crooksbury Hill on the way.
I remember crashing into bed the night of that ride, and I thought my legs were still cycling. I think I cycled through the night, but it was a great achievement. I don’t know how many rides we made down to Portsmouth and Southsea. It was great stuff !!
