By Beryl Dale
As a child I lived in the village of Playden, near Rye in East Sussex, close to the boundary with Kent. It is a village where the centre housed the church, village hall and The Peace and Plenty pub. Not far from there was the school which my brother and I attended until we were eleven years old. We lived on the far reaches of the village near The River Rother and close to the lock gates and the Star Inn pub.
I was seven years old when the Second World War ended and until then we had been restricted in our movements. Having to show identity cards wherever we went. Suddenly we could roam free. Dad had a small arable farm on the far side of the river to where we lived. Also a market garden, a grain drying unit and he reared pigs and kept hens. We knew all the local farmers and felt free to play in the fields around us. Continue reading The Joys of Owning a Bike
By Beryl Dale
I went down to Rye with my daughter to discover more about the exceptional circumstances which had led to my parents’ house being flooded in November 1960.
I had been living in London at the time and had just completed the preliminary exams which took place half way through my Physiotherapy training. I was desperate to go home to unwind and relax. On the morning of that day I woke with a start to the strident ringing of the telephone. I had glanced at my watch as I stumbled out of bed 6.30am! My brain froze – who would be ringing at that hour Continue reading Going Home to Rye
By Arthur Woodgate
At 6.30 am. off we went along Wish Street where we met up with a friend of my mother, a Mrs Milton. We then met up with mother’s sister, Aunt Martha (I wonder why they called me Arthur!) and a crowd of Ryers. At the bottom of Leasam Hill – we all went up the grassed hill – how they got me up there, I don’t Continue reading What’s in a Name