Paddling Pools in the 1950s - Gallons of Fun!

Water has always been a fascination to our whole family.  Myself and my two sisters have never been afraid of it. That’s not to say we like the marine wildlife - the sight of a jelly fish could see us scramble for the beach at a rate of knots. I had no swimming lessons at school but have swum regularly throughout life.  My style may not textbook, but I like to think it could get me out of trouble.

I was eight years of age when we first went to Great Yarmouth in a caravan for two weeks. Dad took us all into the sea, rain or shine, there were no swimming pools. We would throw a ball and were happy to rely on our buoyancy or doggy paddle if we ventured out of our depth.

At home, Western Park was local and our daily playground.  We lived a hundred yards from the ‘First Field’ where we would sit with neighbourhood friends making daisy chains. On hot sunny Sundays, the whole family would de-camp to Western Park. A ten- minute walk took us to the playground. A blanket was spread on the grass. Mam had prepared the sweaty cheese and tomato sandwiches (there were no fridges) packed in a greaseproof ‘Frears & Blacks’ bread wrapper. We children drank from the stainless-steel water fountain, around which the lips of every other child on the park had been wrapped, whilst mam and dad had a flask of tea. There was no sun-tan lotion, nothing fancy, perhaps just a ball and a bucket and spade recovered from the shed, the remnant of a previous holiday. Squeals of delight came from the pool all day long as we played with our neighbours’ children who were also enjoying the free day out. We ran between the swings, the witch’s hat, the slide that had a solid concrete base to land upon and the rocking horse that was loaded with six to eight children doing their utmost to jolt it from its rocker mechanism. The only cost of the day may be a cornet from the visiting ice-cream van - one scoop of ice-cream with ‘ras’, no option for a chocolate flake, double cone or chopped nuts in those days. The driver resorted to playing his ‘Greensleeves’ jingle whenever the queue dissipated and his sales dropped.

At the end of the afternoon we made our way home, all carrying something - either the blanket, empty food bag, flask or wet towels and swimsuits, the youngest took the ball or bucket and spade. A whole day out, no travel cost, no entry fee, just a thru’penny ice-cream each and a good day was had by all.

We were lucky that Forest Lodge Infant School had a sandpit and a large concrete paddling pool. Each class would be allocated a morning when it was their turn to spend the morning in the pool. Aged five, Miss Christian forewarned us that tomorrow would be our turn to go into the pool. I was up early and dressed wearing my swimsuit underneath my red gingham dress. A towel was rolled up and carried to school in great anticipation of a morning of fun. It was not until I was getting dry that I realised I had bought no underwear with me. I confessed to the teacher, who told me to walk home to get some knickers on. Luckily, mam was at home and I was able to remedy the problem. By then it was dinner time, I had missed my school dinner, so mam gave me a sandwich and I returned to school a couple of hours later with the security of a pair of pants.

Wicksteed Park had by far the best of paddling pools. Not just grey concrete, but a luminous turquoise blue tiled surround.  There were two pools, one for infants and toddlers, the other about four feet deep for older children. I was around seven when I graduated to the deeper pool and the water came up to my neck. We had no flotation aids and never witnessed any mishaps - or perhaps just the one? Dad invited our neighbours to come with us, they had no car. It was a tight squeeze in the car with nine passengers, but our Citreon had two extra seats that pulled up out of the floor. It was the same model as the one the Von-Trappe family escaped in on the Sound of Music. We headed straight for the paddling pools and our parents sat around the edge of the pools on the benches provided. The neighbour’s daughter whispered to her mum that she wanted to go to the toilet. These were situated quite some distance from the pool area and her mother whispered back for her to “go in the water”. Unfortunately, she did not want to pee, and the pool cleared very quickly.

Our swimsuits progressed from mum’s woollen knitted ones to the then fashionable bubble ones. Being the eldest, I got them new, and they were passed down until Gill got them third hand. The reaction in the water of both was similar. The wool soaked up the water, got heavy and stretched. The bubbles stored the water in the pockets that stretched down to your knees as you emerged.

So much fun was had in the paddling pools during the long summer holidays. The infant school pool and sandpit are now long gone. The paddling pool on Western Park was filled in during my teenage years when vandals thought if funny to throw broken glass into it. I often pass the pool in Abbey Park, another pool we frequented and enjoyed greatly; it lies desolate and empty for the same reason. Braunstone Park had a wonderful pool, a recurring story of a resource lost. Perhaps the people who thought this was funny are now sorry that their own children have no access to the same fun and games enjoyed by thousands of children over a summer?

Carolyn Wheatley