Mike Felton

We moved from Horden to 4 Johnson Close Peterlee in 1952. Peterlee as we know it today was just farmland. The area was basically a building site when we moved in. Houses over the road were still being built. It was a ready-made, albeit a dangerous playground for children. There was a large green space in the middle of Johnson Close where we played. Our favourite games were Kingie, Queenie, Hot Rice, Blind Mans Bluff, and Cricket, using a metal dustbin lid for wickets. Of course it was reasonably safe to play in the streets due to the lack of motor cars.

There was a fair proportion of miners lived in our street, but we also had a police officer (Sergeant Dixon), and a fireman. Our street was a cul-de-sac. Through the cut at the top you could walk through to Fairbairn Road. A doctor lived in one of the houses there.

It seemed that every other house had a new baby and on dry days prams would be parked outside the front doors. The local midwife, Mrs Smithson (who was the sister of Mr Wright the butcher) was kept very busy! Broken or discarded prams were eagerly sourced. The wheels were used for making bogies. I still bear the scars of crashes caused by faulty brakes on Jude Place.

Near where Crawford Avenue meets Essington Way there was a piece of waste land which later became Bruce Place. Back then we kids called it “The Long Grass”. Our imaginations went into overdrive here. It became a jungle for war games and a prairie for our take on Western adventures. The early TV schedules featured lots of westerns. We were obsessed with The Lone Ranger and Champion the Wonder Horse.

St. Cuthberts Church Youth Club was originally based at Robson Avenue Junior School on a Friday evening. It became a really important element of life from my early teens onwards, providing an opportunity to meet people from other schools in the area. The vicar, the Reverend Keith Woodhouse was a great believer in taking us to Youth Hostels around County Durham and Northumberland. An adult volunteer, Mr Hewitson, had an old ambulance which was converted to carry us all to pastures new! A favourite was The Phoenix Youth Hostel at Middleton in Teasdale. We spent many happy carefree weekends there. There was also a Church hostel in a little village called North Sunderland, which was up near Seahouses. Rumour had it that it was constructed by American servicemen during the Second World War.

In 1968 we were very adventurous and organised a holiday to North Wales. Again, staying in Youth Hostels. Most of us were seventeen and eighteen. We travelled to Colwyn Bay by train and stayed in the local Youth Hostel. On our first full day we walked to the Welsh Mountain Zoo and then down to the Lido in Rhos-on-Sea. I dived into the swimming pool and banged my head on the bottom. I tried to treat the pain by having a coffee and a burger! We walked back to the hostel where I promptly passed out as the local doctor was examining me. I was then taken by ambulance with police escorts up to Liverpool’s Walton Hospital, which housed the regions Neurological Department. I had an operation to remove
a blood clot from my brain. I returned home with my flowing hippy locks shaved off, my sideboards left on and red eyes. What a sight I must have been!

This photo was taken after we had been scolded for playing in the “workies hut” over the road. It goes some way to explaining the look of sheer terror and apprehension on our faces.

I must be about 9 years old in this photo, which is taken by the back step. Rhett, our dog, who is sat by my side was named after Rhett Butler. I think it had something to do with our mam.

This photo was taken on a day trip to Whitby with St Cuthberts Church Youth Club. On the journey back the bus stopped by the side of the road so that we could all stretch our legs. Tommy Harris, who lived in Fairburn Road, went to the back of the bus to take a pee, and was hit by a car. He broke his femur, which was sticking out through his thigh