The Co-op Treats

The Kent Co-operative Societies had branches in Rainham, Chatham, Rochester and Gillingham and held their annual ‘Treat’, or ‘Fete’ for the local population in local parks in each of the towns. The late Alan Major recalled the Rainham Co-op ‘Treat’ or ‘Fete’. He lived locally and his father was employed as a shop assistant and roundsman at the local Co-op Branch in Rainham. He recalled tales in the December 1986 issue of Bygone Kent, some of which are shared here. ‘At least as far back as 1910/11 up to 1915 a Coop ‘Treat’ had been held in Rainham Recreation ground, with ordinary sports, races etc. Mr Henry Samson the Co-op’s baker from 1896 to 1915, made bread, swiss rolls and 15 inch long slab cakes at Rainham’s Co-op bakehouse for these ‘Treats’.

Photo above showing W.Samson, E.Packer, K.Jones, W.Costen, B.Reeves at a Co-op treat in the 1920s.

In the 1920s the ‘Treat’ was also preceded by a Carnival Procession through Rainham. Rainham’s Co-op Carnival Procession started at Longley Road, up Station Road, along the High Street and Broad Walk to the ‘Men of Kent’ and back again but continuing down Station Road to the Recreation Ground. Children of Co-op members would gather in Station Road and climb aboard the horsedrawn carts and Motor vehicles to take part in the Carnival. Local farmers and other Rainham businessmen loaned their horses and carts and lorries for the purpose. These vehicles were suitably gaily adorned with streamers and similar. In addition there were floats advertising C.W.S. (Co-op brand) goods. Prizes were received for the best floats and best fancy dress costumes in a variety of classes and the vehicles gradually dispersed for the fun to continue on the Recreation ground. The Co-op used to provide the coloured crepe paper etc for anyone intending to enter in fancy dress as either Co-op or non Co-op subjects or characters. The last ‘Treat’ that had a preceding carnival was held about 1931 after which the police refused permission for it to be held on the High Street route. After that he Co-op ‘Treat’ continued with the help and support of those who had previously been involved from the the Co-op employees and families. Floats and Fancy Dress on the Rec and the ‘Treats’ teatime party for the children continued. Only the children of co-op employees and members were entitled to the tea-time treat.

The children with ‘tickets’ would sit in long rows across the grass at the Rec and volunteer lady members of the Rainham Co-op Women’s Guild would walk along with large wicker clothes baskets filled with sandwiches, bread and butter, buns and slices of various different cakes. They would be followed by other lady helpers carrying long white enamel jugs of tea to be poured into the dozens of outward thrust cups and mugs. When the children had finished eating, members’ children could also have free rides on the swings, roundabout, coconut shies, hoopla and other sideshows. The children of the non-members had to pay for the privilege of sitting down to eat and enjoy the swing rides etc. The ‘Treat’ was aimed at being a perk for Co-op membership.

Penfold’s Fair, with a magnificent roundabout and all the rides, was an attraction along with the sideshows at the ‘Treat’ and set up on the Rec. There were running races, egg and spoon and sack races for boys and girls whose parents had obtained tickets from the Co-op previously for them to enter. Races for adults were held after Tea or in the early evening, the winners receiving ‘useful prizes’.

What would seem nowadays to be a somewhat amusing contest on ‘Treat’ day in the 1930s was to clean a silver spoon which had been made really black and tarnished. Alan recalls, ‘The spoon, along with a yellow cloth and a tin of C.W.S. Silvo polish was laid out for each competitor and on the word ‘go’ the children started to clean vigorously. A time limit was set after which the judges judged for cleanliness and brightness. The prize? A big package of C.W.S. products - brass polish, silver polish, polishing cloths, blacking etc.!

Maypole dancing was another attraction in the 1920s with beribboned, white-dressed local girls trained by a Mrs Brunning whose father, Mr Bardon, was President of the Rainham Co-op at the time. It was such an exciting day and so enjoyed by the local population of Rainham and those living in Upchurch and Lower Halstow. Sadly Co-op involvement with the ‘Treats’ ended before the 1939 War but it was a fun day with crowds of lively people enjoying themselves.

An extra perk enjoyed by the local children of the Council School in Solomon Road, was on the Monday after the ‘Treat’. As soon as they left their classes for dinner they raced to the corner of the Rec and on their hands and knees turned over every blade of grass, in the hope of finding dropped coins. Sometimes they were rewarded with pennies and halfpennies but just occasionally a shiny silver sixpence was found half trodden into the turf!

As told to Maggie Francis by the late Alan Major

Of Shipwrights and Bargemen

You may have seen a recent programme in the ‘Chronicle’  series on BBC2 entitled ‘Where There’s Muck ....’ The  theme was the increasing interest in industrial archaeology throughout the country, and during the programme  prizes were presented for the three most outstanding  projects of the year. 

The first prize went to a London group, but the  second prize was awarded to a group at Sittingbourne,  The Dolphin Sailing Barge Museum Trust, whose project  is the restoration of a small shipyard, the opening of a  maritime folk museum with particular reference to the  Thames Sailing Barge, and the conservation of a waterside  amenity area. However, the real purpose behind the group  is to ensure that the old skills and crafts associated with  the building of these 100-ton sailing barges — and sailing  them double-handed — is not lost when the few old salts  who have such skills and crafts unfortunately pass away. 

The Dolphin Yard is situated on a small inlet off  Milton Creek and was formerly Charles Burley’s old  barge yard. It consists of a set of barge repair blocks,  sail loft, carpenter’s shop, forge and a small area of saltings. The site was in a derelict condition, the buildings  in urgent need of repair and the inlet required dredging.  Much work has been done to date but volunteers for  working parties are still very welcome.  Mr. O’Shea, the curator, is living aboard his own barge  the ‘Nellie Parker’, and it is hoped to obtain another  barge for instructional purposes. Moorings will be  provided for fully rigged spritsail barges and there will be  full facilities for their maintenance at the Yard.

Photo: On The evening tide by J.R. Price

Visitors,  as well as members, are welcome, and eventually it will be  possible to watch or participate in such crafts as  sailmaking, spar-making and ship repair work.  Details can be obtained from The Curator, S/B  ‘Nellie Parker’, Crown Quay Lane, Sittingbourne.  Personally I find the ideas behind the Dolphin scheme  very interesting, and, if like me you find the sight of those  dark red sails beating up the Estuary a stirring one, or if  you just like ‘the fun of seeing something handsome  emerging from the rust of time’ to quote Magnus  Magnusson, a visit to Milton Creek could be a rewarding  experience.  

By Ted Timberlake 

From Action Forum, May 1971

(posted May 2021 so I have no idea if the barge is still present and if the address is still valid)

 Memories of Rainham Past by John Austin

To my way of thinking Rainham has never been the same since the old C. of E. School with its flint walls, outside staircase and turret bell-tower at the top of Station Road (once White Horse Lane) was pulled down. Fortunately the Church still dominates the skyline. During 2020 Action Forum featured memories of growing up in Rainham from several widely-spread correspondents. I was born in a cottage still standing at the lower end of Maidstone Road, for many years known as Bredhurst Lane. My birth certificate records the district as ‘Gillingham’ but six years earlier it would have been stamped ‘Milton Regis’. Regis means royal: Milton had been owned by Kentish Kings as far back as William the Conqueror. Why the change? Prior to 1929 Rainham had its own Water Board, and a Fire Service dating back to 1901 — but no main drainage.

In that time the population of Rainham had almost doubled, and as growth continued it was feared that current methods of emptying privies were contaminating the subsoil in some areas. Milton Rural Council considered that extending their own drainage system as far as Rainham would cost over £20,000, far too expensive for Rainham to afford. There had already been suggestions from Rainham’s Parish Council that the small town should amalgamate with the neighbouring Borough of Gillingham, which had a population of 57,000. Gillingham Council agreed. Although this would mean an increase in rates for Rainham’s citizens, the proposal also offered other advantages including Widening the High Street and building a Town Hall, so the deal was settled. 

Photo showing the school at the top of Station Road

In 1939 my parents had just completed the purchase of a house at what was then the lower end of Hawthorne Avenue; there were then only fields of cabbages and potatoes beyond. So when I started school at the beginning of 1940 it was at Twydall lnfants. Frank, a couple of years older, attended Byron Road School. Though it was only about half a mile from our home as the crow flies, there was no direct path; I had to walk up to the A2, turn right as far as Twydall Lane, then north down to Romany Road - about 1‘/1 miles. Frank’s joumey was even longer, and we had to make the journey four times a day. A campaign begun by my mother and her neighbour for a more direct route eventually led to a proper footpath across the allotments to Romany Road.

The period between September 1939 and May 1940 became known as the ‘phony war’. No bombs fell, but gas masks were issued, ration books introduced, air raid shelters were erected and sandbags piled up round important buildings. Early in 1940 Andersen shelters, in the form of corrugated iron sheets, were delivered by the council to Hawthorne Avenue. There was no charge for families where the husband or father, like ours, was in the Forces. But how was Mum to dig the hole, which needed to be three feet deep? Fortunately the two teenage sons of the Howland family from Pump Lane came to the rescue. Mum herself, after a brief lesson in brick-laying from Mr Howland, built the blast wall in front of the entrance. 

The phony war ended abruptly at the end of May with the mass evacuation of troops from Dunkirk. l can just remember standing near the viaduct in Pump Lane watching the Red Cross trains go by,
but of course did not appreciate their significance. As the Battle of Britain raged over East Kent in late summer most people were not expecting air raids on London or beyond — they still thought the war
would be over by Christmas. With Dad away, Mother and the two of us were left on our own in Hawthorne Avenue. Her sister Ethel, who lived in Ealing, thought we might feel lonely, so invited us
to join her family there. The house in Hawthorne Avenue could be let. Aunt Ethel’s house, one of a pair of semi-detached houses, was already fairly full. As well as her husband, who was something in the city, going
off each morning with a rolled-up umbrella and a bowler hat, but medically unfit for active service, there were also their daughter Joy (14), Cousin Renée (18) and Grandad, in his mid-70s. Mum
was fitted in somewhere, but Frank and I slept next door. This half of the pair was occupied by Mrs Gardiner and her son Derek: her husband too was away in the Forces.

Frank and I had just a short spell at school in Ealing. We were sometimes escorted by Joy and her friend Honor Blackman, who would later become famous for her roles as Cathy Gale in ‘The Avengers’ and as Pussy Galore in ‘Goldfinger’. Soon we were taking shelter under the stairs as raids reached Ealing, and it was during one raid that the doorbell rang, and Aunt Ethel opened it , expecting an ARP Warden saying we were showing a chink of light. But it was my father, in his Chief Petty Officer’s uniform, on a very brief leave. The four of us were able to have a photograph taken in a local park, but what I really remember about his visit was the clockwork train set he had brought with him from Hamleys. Not long afterwards a landmine blew the roof off the two houses, though none of the residents were hurt. Mum temporarily rented a nearby house — but then the school was also hit.

Before he left Dad had told Mum to ensure our safety by taking advantage of the evacuation plans for school children which came into action in October 1940. Frank and I were sent to
Cornwall where we were billeted at a farm. The place had hardly changed since the end of the previous century — no piped water, electricity or main drainage. The privy was at the bottom of
the garden. Very occasionally my mother was able to manage a visit, for she was now working at home back in Hawthorne Avenue (she had been Warned by a neighbour in Kent that the
tenants there had done a moonlight flit, leaving it in rather a mess) for the Royal Navy. Her job was attaching collars to naval uniforms, delivering them to the Dockyard when a batch was complete. But
following a visit in Spring 1942 she realised that we were not being adequately fed or schooled, and immediately took us back to Hawthorne Avenue. But now Twydall schools were full, and we were
allotted places at the Council School [later Meredale] in Solomon Road. Those of us who went there remember affectionately our caretaker, Mr Barratt, who would ladle our morning milk
ration from a churn into our tin mugs. His wife was the redoubtable Ma Barratt.

We boys were able to have our dinner at the only school canteen in the area which was actually sited in our playground. Dinners cost 3d each, but were well worth the price because it meant more rations
for mums struggling to feed children at home. At that time it was not overwhelmed by numbers, but as more and more children sought places restrictions had to be brought in. Only pupils living
more than a mile away from the canteen were eligible for the meals, and those from the senior school who lived in Upchurch or Lower Halstow had priority. Because our mother was working, and
the length of our daily trek the two of us were still allowed to have our mid-day meal there when we moved to the Senior School in Orchard Street at about the age of ten. Here our morning milk came in one-third pint bottles, issued by the caretaker Mr Dunn. At the end of morning and afiemoon school he would exchange his boiler suit for his police uniform and become Special Constable P.C.Dunn. Stationed at the junction with the High Street, he made sure children crossed the main road safely. 

En route to the canteen we straggled down past the blacksmith where we might catch sight of a shire horse being shooed or a red hot metal rim being fitted on to a cart wheel, then crossed the main road
to Station Road. (The barbers at No. 47 charged only 4d. for a boy’s haircut as opposed to 9d. in the High Street.) Opposite Webster Road, by the terminus of the No. 2 buses of the Chatham and District Motor Company in their brown and cream livery, we passed the ironmonger’s shop where pots and pans dangled in the doorway. As we turned into Solomon Road the whiff of our dinner became gradually more pungent as we approached the canteen. This was a long wooden hut in the playground, very close to the railway, and it shook with every passing train. The smoke from the engines, mixed with steam from the kitchen, could make the room quite foggy. In charge of the band of cooks, all ladies who had served there since it had opened, was Mrs. Barratt, more often known as ‘Sergeant Major’ or ‘Ma’ Barratt. She was not very tall, but had a voice that could be heard across the playground when telling us to get into our two lines, boys and girls separately. When I wrote about her in Action Forum in May 2001 (AF 356) I had many phone calls and personal visits from others who remembered her with mixed feelings.

At the door we had to extend our hands, which had to be clean enough to pass her inspection, before being allowed inside. If they showed signs of ink or paint, we were sent to scrub them before rejoining the queue at the back. (It was rumoured that even teachers had to show theirs.) Once into the hall her voice level dropped dramatically as she commanded us ‘Now say your grace, dears’ and we dutifully mumbled ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful’. But then it was back to her usual pitch - ‘Elbows off the table’. ‘Sit up straight’. ‘No talking’. We sat on forms, twelve to a table, and a boy at the end might be deposited on the floor if all his neighbours stood up at once while he was still seated. Teachers sat at a separate table which was covered by a white tablecloth.]

The operation was run like clockwork. We were allotted only half an hour to eat, and of course had to finish everything on our plates. The food was filling if not exciting. We might have shepherds
pie made with mince, stew, well-boiled cabbage and swede, followed by milk pudding with a dob of jam, chocolate pudding or, our favourite, jam roly-poly and custard. These were boiled in long cloths. The meat in the stew wasn’t top quality, and one cheeky pupil offered to Mrs Barratt a dead cat he’d seen on his way to school. This earned him a telling off and a cuff round the ear. There were two varieties of milk pudding, semolina or tapioca. Supplies of the latter, made from cassava root imported from South America, were apparently limitless even after the war ended. I have avoided milk puddings ever since.