A Portslade Memoir by Bernard Langrish

Introduction

The following pages offer a rare and intimate window into the life of a family in Portslade throughout the twentieth century. Written in 1995 by Bernard Langrish, this memoir is a vital piece of local social history that spans the Victorian roots of his grandparents' arrival in the 1880s to the dawn of the digital age.

Born at 55 Church Road, in the South Portslade area near Copperas Gap, Bernard’s account captures a world defined by the rhythm of the gas works hooter and the heavy draft horses of the timber yards. However, his story also ventures far beyond the borders of Sussex. He details the harrowing personal toll of the Second World War—from the tragic bombing of his family home in Brambledean Road to his own military service as an Army cook in Italy and the "undeclared war" in Palestine.

Through Bernard’s eyes, we witness the transformation of everyday life: the arrival of the first electric street lights, the liberation brought by the washing machine, and the shifting political landscape of the modern world.

Portslade Memoir

By Bernard Langrish

The following text was written back in 1995 by a long-time resident of Portslade. He was born at 55 Church Road, Portslade, in the early 1920s and was the youngest son of the family. He had three older brothers and three sisters. He lived at this address until he married at 25 and then another 60 years in the Old Village, Portslade area.

His father’s parents moved to Portslade in the 1880s from Chichester. His grandfather worked at the gas works on the south side of the canal, and his father was born in Albion Street, close to Church Road. The following is a personal account of family life growing up during this time and reflections on the changes that his generation has seen.

Domestic Service and Mother’s Influence

My Mum, Florence, spent several years before getting married in domestic service, quite the common thing for young girls in those days. No factory work or office jobs in that period. The wealthy people with large grand houses employed dozens of the poorer classes to work for them, mainly in return for their food and accommodation; the wage would have been quite low.

It was a pretty hard life and long hours, but as Mum told us, it had its lighter moments. At Christmas time, they had a chance to see all the guests arriving in their posh party clothes and, with luck, get a taste of the extra food around. The cooks no doubt put a bit to one side for the staff. Probably not the job modern girls would put up with, but they knew no better then.

A good servant was to be ‘neither seen nor heard’, is what they were told. Lots of Mum’s ways came down from her days working in a big house: daily polishing the door brass, sweeping the front pavement, cleaning and polishing the kitchen range, whitening the hearth, and scrubbing the wooden table. We talked her out of a few of these things as years went by, but old habits die hard.

Family Origins

I’ve no idea how or when Mum and Dad met, but I understand that they married in St Andrew’s Church, Portslade. My sister Ivy says that my Grandparents, Alfred and Jane, also married there and may have been the first couple to do so.

My mother was born in Norfolk and at the time of her marriage was in service in Hove. Dad was born in Portslade. Both coming from different parts of the country, they teased each other at times about their accents. Dad called Mum a ‘Norfolk dumpling’, and Mum called Dad a ‘Sussex swede’.

Memories of The Great War

Dad had medals for rowing and shooting. I think he was in some sort of youth movement, maybe Sea Cadets. Mum had three children when Dad went into the navy in 1914 at the start of World War I (The Great War, it was called until WWII). So Mum had Alf, Ivy and George as young children while Dad served four years away until 1918.

His Royal Naval Division fought in the trenches in France in army uniforms; maybe they had too many sailors and not enough soldiers. Wounded twice and taken prisoner at one time, he survived the trenches and a landing at the Dardanelles, Turkey, which was a complete failure—but not Dad's fault!

Mum told us about the time he came home on leave from the trenches, and his clothes were so lousy with lice that she burnt the lot in the garden to keep them from the children. I’m not sure if he reported back naked or wore one of Mum’s dresses; we didn’t dare ask! Horrors of war are not a thing people talk about much; Mum told us off if we asked Dad about the war when we were kids.

Early Childhood and School Days

Now comes a gap of several years until my own memories start to come along, during which time the family had enlarged with the addition of Joyce, Gordon, myself and Evelyn. My early years at St Peter's Infant School can be summed up in three items: drawing in sand-trays, pulling the school bell rope and the outside toilets in the far corner of the playground.

My next school was St Andrews Junior mixed, on the seafront road. I recall a ginger-haired teacher there who was a bad-tempered so-and-so; he used to throw the blackboard eraser at anyone who displeased him. We sat at desks for two, usually a boy and a girl—a crafty move to split up the boys, probably. I do remember a Natalie Stanard and Anita Cranfield, both blondes; they must have been nice for me to remember their names.

On our walk to school, we had to pass the flour mill at the bottom of Church Road. I remember the steam lorry drivers raking out their fire boxes and us warming our hands by the hot glowing ashes on cold days. The old gas works across the harbour had a loud steam hooter which sounded at five to nine; if you were not on your way to school by then, it was panic stations.

Life at Number 55 Church Road

Eldest brother Alf was in the Royal Navy, and Sister Ivy was a live-in maid in Hove. This left Mum, Dad and five of us still at home. Dad worked for John Ede Butt, timber importer, stacking timber off the boats. At first, the transport was all horse-drawn. A load of timber for a place like Ovingdean was an all-day trip, and they needed at least a two-horse team for the hilly sections.

Working in the timber yard, Dad often got splinters in his hands and sometimes allowed one of us kids to dig them out with a needle; he was brave as well as kind. If we played up after going to bed Mum would say ‘Father will come up with his belt.’ Dad would come up, threaten us loudly for Mum's sake, slap the empty part of the bed with his belt and go back down again.

Leisure and The Great Outdoors

During the summer months, we would go up to Mile Oak. Mum and Dad would catch the single-decker bus from the Battle of Trafalgar Pub, while the rest of us walked to save the bus fare. The high spot was the arrival of the ice cream tricycle. Ices cost a halfpenny or a penny. It sounds cheap, but then 10 shillings (50p) would pay Mum’s grocery bill for the week.

We also had a craze for four-wheeled barrows made from old pram wheels. One de-luxe model belonging to Charlie Jenner crashed out on the Mile Oak Road after he hit a tree. After that, my Dad made our barrow for us. Probably thought it safer if we at least had a well-made one to break our necks on!

I spent a good deal of my school holiday playing down by the canal, crabbing with a piece of string and a fish head. We also spent time at Hove Lagoon. Dad made a fair-sized sailing boat and took us down a few times, though I think we lost interest if it got becalmed too often.

Household Quirks and Superstitions

One of my early memories was of an elderly gentleman, Mr Spregget, who lived in our front room. He liked fishing for shrimps and catching crabs, and he showed us how to pick them up without getting our fingers nipped. He eventually left after Mum told him she needed the room for her growing family.

Sunday mornings were a strict routine. We had to be out of the house while the roast was cooking. A man with a handbarrow called with ready-cooked winkles, which Mum bought regularly. We’d soak them until tea time, and everyone had to have a pin or needle ready for "winkle picking."

Mum had her superstitions, too. During thunderstorms, she would rush around hiding all the knives and covering mirrors. Strange really, as she was not a timid woman normally—she could boil lobsters and skin rabbits without turning a hair.

Fireworks and Christmas Magic

Bonfire nights were special. Dad got sawdust for the guy and scrap wood from the timber yard. Gordon and I went really mad one year and spent every penny we had on fireworks; we had so many we got bored lighting them one at a time and started setting off three at once.

I don’t remember Christmas trees, but we did all the other decorating. Mum made three Christmas puddings and two large cakes, which were taken across to the local bakery to be baked in the bread oven for 2d each. We kids did our share by cutting up peel and stoning the fruit. Nothing is quite like finding your toys on Christmas morning or being allowed your first sip of the "forbidden" grown-up drink.

The Three Ladies from Henfield

My Gran's sister, Aunt Pay, lived with two retired school teachers known as the two Miss Mills. They would visit in a taxi, wearing long black dresses and broad-brimmed hats decorated with artificial cherries. They were years out of date, but they didn’t care.

They would present each of us children with a "silver sixpence" after a little ceremony. Mum and Dad would visit them in Henfield in return, often joking about their outdoor toilet and sampling their home-made wines. It might be where Dad got his wine-making tips, though his method involved baker’s yeast and corks that frequently blew out with a loud "pop" in the front room.

The Outbreak of World War II

While in my last year at school, the first rumblings of war were growing. I left school at 14 to work for a plumber, and within a year, war had begun. At the time, a slim young lady named Rosemary was staying with us for a holiday. She was whisked back to Shoreham immediately. You could say the start of the war separated me and my future wife in very short order!

George and my older brother and Ivy’s husband, Ted were among the first called up. My sister Joyce married Charles, who was by then in the army. My plumbing work dried up, so I went to work at a polish factory in Victoria Road. Dad and his brother George became full-time fire-watchers, guarding the dock area from incendiary attacks.

Tragedy and Service

In 1942, the tactic changed to low-level attacks along the coast. One such raid robbed us of my sister and her two-year-old son, Roger. Their house in Brambledean Road took a direct hit. Dad had the sad task of identification. My Mum was so upset she went to stay in Weybridge, leaving Dad and me at home alone.

My call-up came in March 1943. I reported to Maidstone for basic training, then Harrogate for a driving course. Eventually, I boarded a ship at Liverpool for a fifteen-day trip through the Mediterranean. I eventually put in for a cook’s course—learning to burn toast and make tea—passing out as a BII cook. I was then posted to a huge reserve camp near Salerno, Italy.

Service in Italy and the End of the War

My transfer to the Army Catering Corp meant I was posted to a huge training and reserve camp near Salerno. There were about a dozen cook-houses, each feeding a thousand odd. It was here when the war in Europe ended, and we heard the bells ringing from the village up on the hillside. They got the news before we did.

The camp cooks held a massive party for the village children—cakes by the hundred, ice cream, the lot. There was so much left over that kids were taking home whole 6" and 8" round cakes. It was a great day all round. The village made the ice cream, but the camp gave the ingredients for it.

I was then posted to a new unit being formed to go to the Far East, as the war with Japan was still going on. Luckily for us, after a few weeks of getting sorted out to fly, they dropped the atom bombs and Japan surrendered.

Postings in Palestine

My unit split up again, and I was posted across the Mediterranean to Palestine. We moved around to several places, including a camp just outside Gaza, where there has been lots of trouble between Arab and Jew since. We had a few weeks with an RAF unit in Jerusalem; they didn't need a cook, so I had an easy few weeks in the stores.

Finally, I found a more static posting with a Military Police Detention barracks on the outskirts of Jerusalem. All staff there were sergeants, so it was a sergeant’s mess cookhouse. Our quarters were in a large villa with three floors—cooks in the basement and the kitchen on the ground floor.

The Miracle of the Lucky Coin

Because of the terrorist activity, everyone had to take turns to be on guard. There was quite a panic one day when one of our cooks on guard was talking to a sergeant and, while fiddling with his sten gun, fired off a shot. The sergeant dropped to the ground shouting he'd been shot, but on looking him over, there was no blood.

The bullet had struck a coin in his trouser pocket which stopped it dead. All he suffered was a painful bruise on his thigh and a loss of dignity. I bet he's still got that coin and tells the story quite often! After that, sten guns were not loaded on guard.

Coming Home and De-mobilisation

I spent nearly a year there, during which time Romy and I exchanged letters weekly. I met Romy at Shoreham Station on my first visit home. No, we did not fall into each other’s arms like a Hollywood film; we were both too shy for that.

I eventually went to the de-mob centre, exchanged my army stuff for civie clothes, and left the army behind. Gordon and George were already home and back at work. I have always thought how sad and ironic that we in the forces came through the war and that Joyce and Roger, who in a sense took no part in it, paid the full price.

Life After the War

I found a job at C.V.A. in Portland Road in the heat treatment department. At the time, my family—Mum, Dad, George, Gordon, Evelyn and myself—were all still at number 55.

Gordon was the first to wed, then Eve in 1950. I married Rosemary in the Autumn of 1950 and we rented rooms in Southwick. In 1953, we heard the council were building houses for sale close to the Old Village. The total cost was £1550. We were allocated one in Drove Crescent with a 30-year mortgage at a fixed 4 1/4%. We moved in on December 12th 1953 and have been here ever since.

Reflections on a Vanished World

Motor traffic slowly took over from horses, though there was still plenty of horse manure around in our school days—good for the rhubarb and roses! Cooking was done on a kitchen range using coal; boiling a kettle took half an hour.

It was a great day for Mums when gas cookers came on the scene. Before that, washing day was an ordeal involving a "copper" (a large metal water heater) and a coal fire. The washing lasted for days: washing on Monday, drying on Tuesday, and ironing on Wednesday.

North Street was our main shopping area with a wide variety of shops. Cake shops did all their own baking, and the butcher’s meat was always fresh, never frozen.

The Coming of the Electric Age

It was a great day when they switched on our first electric street lights in Church Road. Everyone had to go outside and admire them. Mum was not happy about electricity at first; it took a while to show her that an electric iron was safe and she could throw her old flat irons away.

Later came the "goggle box" (the television). At first, it hit the cinemas hard, and we almost became a nation of square-eyed zombies! But the real blessings were fridges and freezers. No more sour milk or jellies that won't set. Our Mums would have loved it.

Social and Technological Shifts

The 1960s brought the birth control pill, which Romy says was a big change that liberated women. We also saw the loss of our old shillings and pence in favour of decimal coinage, and our weights going metric.

In fashion, man-made fibres like nylon and rayon took the market by storm. It was cheap and hard-wearing, but the old cotton and wool mills suffered. Travel speeded up too; the six-day trip to America on a liner was replaced by Concord in just a few hours.

Final Thoughts

We have seen the build-up and break-up of the Soviet Union and the rise of Britain’s first woman Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher—a "right bossy boots" in my opinion.

We have seen two coronations: King George VI and our present Queen Elizabeth II. As I look back, I don't know how we survived the old days; we must have been hardier. But the swing towards a greener, cleaner world is a good thing—provided we can stop people killing each other.

Conclusion

Bernard’s journey from the classrooms of St Nicholas to the military barracks of Jerusalem marks the transition from the old ways of South Portslade to the modern town we know today. His reflections serve as a poignant reminder that history is not merely found in textbooks, but in the resilience, humour, and humility of those who lived through it.

While Bernard concludes his writing with a characteristic shrug of modesty, his record of the "lucky coin," the "bossy boots" politics of the era, and the shift from horse-drawn carts to the jet age provides an invaluable legacy. He captures the essence of a generation that saw the world change more rapidly than any before it.

By recording these memories, Bernard has ensured that the voices of the Langrish family and the vanished sights of the old harbour side will continue to be heard. It is a fitting tribute to a lifetime spent in the heart of Portslade—from his early days near Copperas Gap to his many years in Drove Crescent, where he and Rosemary settled just as the new estate was beginning to take shape.


Notable Neighbours and Relatives

Alfred & Jane: Bernard’s paternal grandparents who moved to Portslade in the 1880s.

Mr Spregget: An elderly lodger at 55 Church Road who taught the children how to catch crabs.

The Miss Mills & Aunt Pay: The "three ladies from Henfield" known for their Victorian attire and silver sixpences.

Reg Sleeman: A local Fire Brigade hero admired for his strength with the hoses.

Charlie Jenner: A childhood friend famous for his "de-luxe" but ill-fated pram-wheeled barrow.

Category	Location	Details & Context
Family Home	55 Church Road	Bernard’s birthplace and family home for 25 years.
Workplaces	The Gas Works	South side of the canal; where his grandfather and father worked.
	John Ede Butt	Timber importers by the canal where his father and Uncle George worked.
	The Star Laundry	Located on Church Road; where his sister Joyce worked.
	Rose Polishes Ltd	Located in Victoria Road; Bernard's workplace before his call-up.
Education	St Peter’s Infants	Where Bernard’s memories began (sand-trays and the school bell).
Education	St Andrew’s Junior	Seafront road; a "mixed" school with separate playgrounds.
Education	St Nicholas Senior	Located at Southern Cross; the building still stands today.
Leisure	The "Pits"	Now Vale Park; a favourite (though forbidden) play area.
Leisure	Hove Lagoon	Where the family enjoyed model boat racing and sailing.
Leisure	Mile Oak / Hills	Destination for Sunday picnics and flying model planes.
Landmarks	St Andrew’s Church	Where his parents and potentially grandparents were married.
Landmarks	Battle of Trafalgar	The pub where the family caught the bus to the Water Works.
Landmarks	The Old Brewery	Located in the Old Village; where Bernard did Home Guard duties.
Wartime	Brambledean Road	The site of the tragic direct hit that claimed his sister and nephew.

Name	Relation	Notes from the Memoir
Florence (Mum)	Mother	A former domestic servant from Norfolk; a "Norfolk dumpling" who kept a spotless house.
Dad	Father	A "Sussex swede" and WWI veteran; worked at the timber yard and was a skilled wine-maker and gardener.
Alf	Eldest Brother	Served 12 years in the Royal Navy.
Ivy	Sister	Worked as a live-in maid in Hove; married Ted (who served in the forces).
George	Brother	Worked with Dad at the timber yard before being called up for service in WWII.
Joyce	Sister	Worked at the Star Laundry; married Charles. Tragically lost during a 1942 air raid.
Gordon	Brother	Bernard’s companion for flying model planes and building barrows; served in the RAF.
Bernard	The Author	The youngest son; a former "shrimp" who became an Army cook during WWII.
Evelyn (Eve)	Youngest Sister	Moved to Weybridge during the war to work in the Vickers aircraft factory.
Roger	Nephew	Joyce’s two-year-old son who was lost alongside his mother in the Brambledean Road bombing.
Rosemary	Future Wife	A young lady from Shoreham who was visiting when WWII broke out; they were later reunited.

 Bernard Langrish passed away peacefully aged 92 in the spring of 2017