The Magic of Sunnybanks - by Harry Davies
Mine was an idyllic childhood; I was born in one of the Sunnybanks houses in 1915. I was the youngest of four children - all boys, except my lovely sister Elsie. My father was a furnace man in the Melingriffith Tin Works. He worked shifts, and it was hard, hot work; he drank a flagon of amber ale as soon as he came home. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat - I used to pull it off him.
My mother was Mary Ann Thomas from Tongwynlais - well known, and loved by all who knew her. Our parents were happy with each other, and with all of us. Our neighbours in the other six houses in the terrace were like an extended family. We were all equal, and everyone rallied to help each other.
The houses had six rooms - two at ground level, two upstairs, and two below. The pantry and only tap was across the "Bailey", built into the hospital boundary wall. The toilets were built there too - one toilet for every two houses. Water was carried in buckets into the house for washing, bathing, cooking, etc.
Friday night was bath night; water was heated on the coal fire, the tin bath was half filled and I, being the youngest, had my bath first. Then I was sent to bed, and the rest of the family had their baths.
About a dozen of the children in Sunnybanks trooped to school together; there was no parents escorting us in those days. We had no fear of attack, and we were always quite safe on our journeys, and we played in the Longwoods and the canal; when we were good enough, we swam into the feeder and the river. One morning, some of us boys went picking mushrooms early. On our way back there was "Steam" oozing from the Feeder. "Oh great!" we thought, "Lovely warm water!" We stripped off and jumped in. But it wasn't steam; it was morning mist, and the water was nearly freezing.
When we went swimming we had no towels; we just put our clothes back on our wet bodies, and we never caught a cold. This was just as well because, if we were playing ball on the bottom "Bailey", and the ball fell over into the canal, we would climb down a chain into the water to retrieve it.
Our mother was nearly always at home. She would walk to Llandaff North to shop in Doddingtons. A Mr Evans would come around weekly with his horse and cart, and sell vegetables. Mr Atkins would come weekly from Splott with vinegar and salt.
Our medical care was covered by my father's weekly contributions at the works. We weren't ill often; life was too busy and happy. Some children in the New Houses had diphtheria and were taken to isolation hospital. None of us caught it.
We attended the Methodist church - Mam and us children on Sundays. Sunday School was a "must" for the children. Mam went to the sisterhood meeting on Thursday. Dad was too tired on Sunday to do ought but rest.
We always had plenty to eat - plenty of home cooking, pies and cakes cooked by Mam. Our clothes were bought from a "Packi" (not a Pakistani), who called for weekly payments.
We all had new outfits for Whitsun, and we all went to church "Whitsun Treat" in a field near Radyr. It meant a ride on a lorry - a treat in itself! There was also a camp holiday organised by the Tin works for the children of those employed. Our fathers fathers paid weekly toward the holiday, which was in Cornwall, if I remember correctly. It was a great holiday.
Our reading matter was mainly "Chips" and "Funny Wonder" comics, and reading the adventures of "Tarzan and the Apes".
The Rialto cinema had Saturday matinees at two pence a time; we were regularly left in suspense with the "Pearl White Serial" films. Talkies didn't reach us until 1927 or so. The Charlie Chaplin films were silent, and the resident pianist supplied the background music.
When I was fourteen I was grown-up; I went to work at Bell & Nicholson Warehouse in North Edward Street, close to Queen Street station. At first I used to cycle to work.
So, as children our playgrounds were the Longwoods, the Canal Feeder, and the sports ground near Forest Farm. What more could a child want? The days were full; we ate "like Trojans", and we slept "like logs". We had nor worries, no rows or quarrels at home; a happy home we accepted as normal.
We enjoyed our lives, and we never realised that we were a truly blessed community living in "God's Acre", Sunnybanks.
A Bit More of Melin - by Les Gibbon
I was talking to my good friend Mr Harry Davies a while ago, and he told me of a piece of ground just before you come to the houses of Sunny Banks, which was quaintly called the Dungle. This was where the people put their household refuse, and covered it with ashes; it was then cleared up by the Council every few weeks. The rents were three shillings and sixpence in the 1930's.
In the photograph that's me standing at the back of Mr Evans' house, No. 7; the pantry can clearly be seen bricked up in the hospital wall, which was known as "the white wall" at that time.
Photograph to be placed here!
Coming down to New Houses, there was a shop at No. 11 owned by Mr Alf Robins; in this shop the people paid a penny a week towards the annual outing to Barry Island. There was also a shop at No. 17 which was rum by two sisters - Aunt Mary and Aunt Cassie Richards.
When we lived at No. 7 there was family tragedy; my elder brother Gordon, who was two years old, ran out into the snow with nothing on his feet. He caught Pneumonia, and died on Christmas Day.
Going up the road there was a Weighbridge just this side of the entrance to C.H.O.B. It was called Cox's cabin - after the man who worked there. I don't remember him very well, but the man I do remember was Mr Bill Warrington, who lived in Pantmawr Road; he would always give us a wave as we passed by.
A little further on there was a large house called forest hall, where the Manager of the works lived; his name was Mr Shively Gazard. It is now a picnic area.
Across the road stands Forest Farm, which was run by Mr Sam Perry. I still remember the Sunday morning he caught a bunch of us groping apples in his orchard; he was a small man, but what a temper!
Going up to the Weir, there was a man known as "Harry the Herbalist"; he lived down the salmon trap in the late 1930's - a brave man! He made a living collecting herbs around the Melin Griffith and selling them, mainly to Dranes the Chemist on Queen Street. Some of the residents of Velindre Road would remember him, as he was sometimes asked in for a cup of tea and a bite to eat.