That Reminds Me: How Milford Haven youngsters kept fit

Western Telegraph

29-06-2025

Back then, all a boy needed was a long piece of string and a clump of plasticine in his pocket to to enable him to strut down the road with a jaunty swagger and no worries of note. Today one recurring news item is that obesity poses a major threat to the health and well being of far too many kids and if not curtailed, is likely to turn the less active school children into millions of Humpty Dumpties, with hardly enough puff to blow out the candles on their sixth birthday cake, never mind their 21st!
This week my TRM looks at the plumpness problem and compares it to the 1950's, when the delicious Doris Day was our 'Secret Love,' and Frank Sinatra kept himself fit by chucking "Three Coins in a Fountain."
It appears that different 'experts' blame childhood obesity on different reasons. There are those who insist that schools don't have enough PE and Sports on their curriculum to make sure that potential 'telly tubbies' get sufficient exercise to sweat off more calories than they put on.
Others blame the parents for not organising a healthier lifestyle allowing their offspring to 'binge' on all the chocolates, sweets and junk food glorified in the TV ads which nowadays seem to be longer than the programs themselves!
The steep side of the Gunkle leading down to Wards Yard (Image: Jeff Dunn)
I've been trying to remember how many of my old playing pals and schoolmates were flabulously fat and I can't think of one. I know for the first 20 years of my life I was like a stick insect, all arms and legs, long and wiry, as if my flesh was struggling to stretch itself to cover all my bones.
None of my street mates were chubbies either, nor were there any bouncingly big Billy Bunters "yah-booing" their way through my stream at school.
So what was the difference in those days? In school, we had regular sports lessons, soccer, cricket, swimming and PE. Although I excelled at none of these, I did once make the cricket 2nd XI, took part in the swimming gala, and nearly skewered "Totty" Thomas, our sports master, with a wayward
hurl of a javelin! Out-of-school exercises regularly included miles and miles of running (away from the wrath of irate orchard owners and long-suffering Ward's Yard watchmen!)
There was mountain climbing (up and down the steep sides of the Gunkle), Scotch Bay and Rath pool swimming, stone throwing contests, rocks scrambling and crab catching, and regularly annoying the many courting couples who were doing their own 'exercising' on the Back Line's Bull Ring!
Hylton Woods (Image: Jeff Dunn)
In my case I was also blessed with the daily diversions of scrummaging with my faithful old mutt Tiny, when we'd go rabbiting and ratting across the Pill Fish Meal on our way to play on Robin Hood's bank in Hylton Woods. I think the only time I was still for two minutes was when we played one of our
favourite nocturnal games Hide and Seek when I would lie in the bushes which lined the houses in Vicary Crescent, afraid to breathe for fear of being 'found!'
When it came to food, like most boys, I was happiest when my main meal was 'something with chips,' so I could drown it in tomato sauce. We weren't vegetarians (in those days, they hadn't been invented) and our Sunday roasts always included two or three veg. It was, of course, written in a boy's contract that he must grow up hating all 'greens', particularly cabbage, and it was only the final official parental warning of: "JEFFREY! If you don't eat up your cabbage, you're not going out to play" that succeeded in my
stuffing the green gunge into my ever so reluctant young mouth. Talking about dinners reminds me of my dear old dad's cooking days. To give him his due, my old man was always quite handy in the kitchen. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd picked up a lot from that time in the war when he was holed up in a French farmhouse for a while. The story goes that he'd been sent out by his starving unit on an "oeuf" poaching mission, but instead of returning to camp with a helmet filled with freshly laid eggs, he'd "moved-in" with a family of French peasants who, in return for his guarding them from the nastier, hungrier German invaders, had taught him how to pluck chickens and smother all edibles in garlic!
It was in the Fifties, when my mum, to enhance the family income, used to go out 'spud-bashing' for a few of the local farmers, that my dad's "Allo, Allo" catering experience came in handy. He made sure that there was
always a meal ready for her when she returned home after a hard day's slog on the land.
Scotch Bay (Image: Jeff Dunn)
Although she was obviously grateful, when she knew in advance that dad would be cooking a roast dinner, she'd leap out of the ramshackle van which had transported the pickers home, and on more than one occasion was heard to say: "Got to dash, Bill's cooking roast beef and I want to get home before he starts on the gravy!"
I must say that my dad's lump gravy never bothered me, I used it to camouflage the cabbage!"
As far as sweets went, I don't think I was much of a gannet, I certainly wasn't a chocaholic, although I'd always have the coffee creams in the box of chocolates my dad would buy mum, from me, on her birthdays.
I reckon kids, in those days, were definitely more active. Of course, we didn't have the incredible amount of indoor distractions and amenities there are now. It was the late 1950's before we got our first telly.
We might've been the same 'belly bulgers' if we'd had all of today's technological temptations and computerised recreations stacked up in our bedrooms. Who knows? Well, I don't seem to have come up with any innovative theories re the obesity problems, maybe it's just that there will always be some kids who are plumper than others, so I'll just leave you with these few snaps of places we war baby boomers would frequent to beat any possible "Battle of the Bulge."
Scotch Bay pointing towards the Bull Ring; the steep side of the Gunkle leading down to Wards Yard, and Hylton Woods.
That's enough from me, I'll leave you in peace with these few words from Oscar Wilde: "Experience is the name that everyone gives to their mistakes."
Take care, please stay safe.