Richard Holdsworth, one time local man who has been writing articles in this magazine for years, has moved to Australia but can’t get out of the habit of producing words and pictures he thinks would interest our readers. Here Richard takes a trip to a town that has adopted a name we know only too well in… Continue reading A Fresh Look At Rye
This wonderful photograph from the Malcolm Turk Collection, is a potted history. There is so much information contained.
The first question is Where is It? That’s easy. Pearson’s Cycle Works later became The Central Garage in Cinque Ports he building that was demolished in 2002 “In readiness for a library to be built.” Continue reading The Last Rye MP-Notepad
England won the World Cup in 1966 and this event sparked a ‘soccer boom’ in the country. So many youngsters took up the game, overfilling places in local teams many times over. Established teams created 2nd. and 3rd, elevens and new teams were born in towns and villages around the country. Continue reading Local Soccer in the 60s
Jacob was born in 1865 in Rye, his father and four brothers were all from Rye and were all fishermen as he was to become at the age of 11. From 1888-1890 he served as mate under skipper W. Bourne on the trawler S.S.Pionerre and from 1893-1897 he was the third hand under Master J.M. Breeds on the S.S.Crusader. Continue reading Old Fisherman of Rye
There was a time, way back before the Second World War, that the cycling Ashdown family of New Romney, were fierce rivals with members of the Rye Wheelers at grass track events around the area. Continue reading The Ashdowns of New Romney
Recapture Moments from the Past, Worthy of Preservation.
Sixty years ago in 1945 the Second World War had just reached it’s terrible conclusion with the discovery of the death camps in Europe and the dropping of two atom bombs on Japan. Continue reading Rye Bonfires of the Past
“Timber boats” as they were known locally, were a common sight at The Strand in the years between the Wars. By 1934 Hitler had sole charge of Germany and a programme of re-armament began. This effort required vast amounts of raw materials and soon the German coasters that brought in the timber were re-loaded with scrap metal from the Gasson’s scrap pile close to Brede Sluice. Continue reading Else Kuhlke At Rye 1933
Over the years in conversation with friends and acquaintances some had been surprised to learn that I was born in Rye. How come then Eric? Was the usual comment, I thought you were a Winchelsea man. Well it’s like this, it was Hitler’s fault. During the Second World War my Mother, Father, and Sister Pauline’s home was in Winchelsea, at No 4 Salutation Cottages in Castle Street. On the 13th of January 1943 a German plane passed over the town and dropped two bombs. One for some reason allegedly bounced and finished up in the Tan yard, but the other one exploded on the cross roads of Mill Road and Castle Street. The blast sent a cloud of debris along the rest of Castle Street, andSt Thomas Street shaking plaster from the School ceiling, and just reaching Friars Road. One youngster picked up a lump of shrapnel for a souvenir, and then received a reprimand for taking it to school with him. Another family living in North Street had their breakfast ruined when glass was blown through the kitchen window while porridge was still on the stove. The time was approximately 8.50 am. Castle Cottage, The Post Office. Five Chimneys, Boundary House and the Salutation Cottages were the worst affected. Number 4 Salutation Cottage, was no more. On the casualty list of that day was my Mother and my Sister Pauline. My Sister was just about six weeks past her second birthday; both were buried in the rubble. The reason they were able to find them with comparative ease was my Sisters screams could be heard for miles. According to one old lady, my mother was toasted Hero of the day for her selflessness when she was heard to say to their rescuers, don’t worry about me, please save my child. (This would have been typical of Mother) Mother was taken to Rye Hospital with her injuries but I have no documented evidence of this, but I do have a first hand account of Mother being in Hospital. A chance meeting and conversation one day with a local Rye woman bought another tale to light. As a five year old she was machine gunned by a German plane as she was crossing the school play ground in Ferry Road, on the 15th of January and taken to Rye Hospital. She told me how the older women had looked after her, and that it was my Mother who had taught her to play whist. I do know that Mother was re admitted to Hospital again in November, I still have in my possession her release papers from that spell in Hospital. Father was still over seas in the Army and powerless to help. Mother and Pauline moved into temporary accommodation above the Queens Head in the Landgate and from there down to number two Western Place over the Sluice with Grandma Streeton. Very soon they were on the move again, this time to Ferry Road, at number eight, in a flat over the Butchers Shop, and it was while living there that I was born.
Up until my Mothers death in 1964, it was not uncommon for her to pick shards of glass from off her body; it was quite common place to see Mother with her leg up on a chair in front of her self picking glass from it. Many times I watched my Father picking glass from her scalp.
I have always felt that with so much glass in her body for all this time it must have contributed to the Cancer that finally ended her life aged just fifty four.
Earlier on last year I was looking at a B. B. C. Web Site which contained people’s reminiscences of World War Two. Here I found another woman’s account of this day in Winchelsea. She was around the same age as my Sister at this time, and also lived in the Salutation Cottages. (She also had a very interesting story to tell.) So with the help of a local Winchelsea family who had contact with this woman I was able to arrange contact between her and my Sister. If it had not been for that bomb, on that day, it would have been quite probable that they would have become acquainted. So now after sixty four years they have at last become acquainted. (Check her story out on the B.B.C Web site it’s well worth a read. The story can be found by using the following link.
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