Growing up in Poole, Dorset, in the 1960s and 70s wasn't just about living by the coast; it was about existing in a world that felt both industrious and infinitely magical. From the cobbled narrowness of Old Poole to the suburban buzz of The Broadway in Broadstone, the town was a playground of sensory landmarks that remain etched in my memory like the ink on an arithmetic table.
The Heart of the Neighborhood: Hamworthy and Beyond
Every week had its rituals, and none was more sacred than the trip for Nanny in Hamworthy. We’d head to J. Bright & Son, the "Gold Medallists" of the baking world. Standing before that art deco storefront, the smell of fresh-baked bread and cakes was a "Parfum de Caractère" that no bottle of Brut could ever hope to match.
Returning home, we’d huddle by the gas fire, watching the orange radiants glow as we tucked into a tin of Huntley & Palmers Family Circle biscuits or a plate of yummy pink wafers. It was the perfect time to open a new Beano Book or catch the latest hits by The Sweet or Slade on the Philips portable radio.
Saturday Adventures: Parks and Projects
Saturday mornings meant the Poole Park Model Railway. Watching the S.M.R. locomotive 1001 chug along the track was a local rite of passage, fueling dreams of travel that often led us out toward the Purbecks to see the Swanage Railway steam past the ruins of Corfe Castle.
Back at the kitchen table, the creativity continued. We weren't just consumers; we were builders:
- The Engineers: Wrestling with the nuts and bolts of a Meccano 5 set to create a functioning crane.
- The Modelers: Carefully painting the plastic hull of an Airfix SR.N4 Hovercraft.
- The Artists: Moving iron filings with a "Magic Wand" on a Wooly Willy card or swapping slides in a Give-A-Show Projector.
Evenings on the Quay: The King Charles
As the sun set over the harbor, the focus shifted to the Quay. While many flocked to the front, the real treasure was tucked slightly away on Thames Street: The King Charles. This Tudor gem, with its ancient beams and tales of ghosts, felt like stepping back into the time of privateers. Whether we were enjoying a pint topped with the Guinness harp or just soaking in the history, it felt like the very anchor of the town.
A Timeless Reflection
Poole was a place of high-energy fun—like a raucous "Boom! Boom!" from Basil Brush—and quiet, delicate beauty, like a Red Robin on a winter branch or the suburban drama of Butterflies.
In my memory, it’s always a Saturday afternoon. There’s a bag of licorice Allsorts from the corner shop, a 1966 Christmas stamp on a letter to a friend, and the whimsical sounds of The Clangers playing on the telly. It was my Poole—and it was perfect.
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