Gateway to the Island
I am a Red Funnel man, the old British rail fortresses of
Yarmouth, Fishbourne and Ryde Pier head do not even come close. I
freely admit to bias. I am accidentally a Geordie by birth but
most of the natural affiliations are to the South Coast and
Southampton and the Wight in particular. As my maternal
grandparents lived in Newport, so one or two holidays a year were
spent on the Island and living in Southampton it had to be Red
Funnel. The last year in Southampton (1965/6) was a bonus. My
father was promoted and sent on detached duty with the Customs to
Manchester airport and was rarely at home. So some weekends direct
from school, my mother would gather up my sister and I, and march
down to the Triangle in Bitterne Park. There we would catch the
bus for the Royal Pier and stay over for the weekend, to rise
early on Monday morning in time for the first boat from Cowes to
go directly into school. I am too young to have ever travelled on
the converted landing craft the Norris Castle, though I did see it
once. Likewise I cannot recall ever sailing on the last paddle
steamer, the Princess Elizabeth, though I can remember going down
onto the Royal Pier to meet someone off this craft. I can
recollect being impressed by the speed of its arrival.
Until the arrival of the first serious car ferry, the
Carisbrooke Castle , the service was in the hands of three smaller
ferries who also occasionally worked as tenders to liners which
called at Cowes. There were three externally similar craft, the
Medina, the Vecta and the Balmoral. My favourite was the racy and
dashing Balmoral, a true galloper, able to sprint and cavort where
the other two seemed only able to walk sedately. If you boarded
the Balmoral, the Island was that much closer, and what was also
true was that the ride was always that much more lively, riding
(and drinking) the waves like a surfer. Nowadays I would be
concerned in case the ship was unstable. I saw the Balmoral last
year when she breezed up the Solent and Southampton Water in her
latest livery, whilst I sat in the car-park at Calshot - it
brought back memories. For those on board, it still looked as much
of an adventure as it did when I was an under ten on the top deck,
training my binoculars on the passing liners and tankers. The only
ride across the Solent/Spithead that ever compared to the Balmoral
were the ones after we moved away from Southampton and used to
come to the Island for a day by way of a roller-coaster Hovercraft
ride from Clarence Pier to Ryde.
Past the old docks, on the western shore, Hythe, where the Ton
class minesweepers were held in reserve for the Russian magnetic
mine blockade that never came, past the Hythe ferry and pier.
Netley Hospital tower, Hamble refinery, just time to change sides
to admire the Esso tankers and the chimney at Fawley. In the early
days the moored and sleeping flying boats at Calshot waiting for
their becalmed sister ashore and stranded at East Cowes. The
Calshot lightship and that swooping light-footed dance across the
Solent to the Cowes Pontoon…. none of that purpose built slipway
at East Cowes, but the drunken uncertainty of West Cowes Pier. It
even stole the heel of my mother's shoe on one occasion. The
daring drivers, trying to escape the side entrance of the ferry on
the insecurity of the makeshift wooden gangplanks.
We were normally foot passengers, and Southern Vectis was
smiling, the green and cream waiting on our shillings and pence.
The choice was ours. Normally outside the booking office was a
number 2 (Newport - Cowes Pontoon) in the early sixties at least
one of the last preserves of the single deck Bristol fleet. I
always used to wonder how the driver ever got the bus from the
slender street and under that narrow arch into its allotted space.
The bus always seemed too long. The advantage of this service was
that it was off the boat and on the bus. The problem was a
connection at Newport Bus Station for Shide. There were other
options, the rapid walk to West Hill Road, where the other buses
stopped . The choices were the 1 and 1A for Ryde via Newport which
might connect better at the other end but still entailed another
change at Newport, or sometimes in the summer the service 14 was
extended to Cowes from Newport which meant that the return journey
to Sandown would call at our local bus stop outside the Barley Mow
. If that ran, the uphill walk was worthwhile, otherwise give me
the bounce of the single-deck pontoon bus any day.
I do not recall that we ever patronised the railway from Cowes
to Newport in those days, if for no other reason than that the
station at Newport was a tidy step from the bus station especially
with cases. This might have been different if the line to Sandown
had been still open in which case alighting at Shide station with
merely a change of platform which would have been perfect.
On one occasion I do remember going to Cowes on the train to
catch the boat home, and the train was oh so late because it was
the night of Ryde carnival. The boat had to be held for us, and I
recall running all the way from the station down to the pier to
catch the boat whilst inquisitive and impatient eyes watched us
from the decks and saloon of the ferry!
TRAVELOGUE
Little boys travel upstairs, if there is an upstairs, and
grandfathers have to follow suit. This is the unwritten law and
grandfathers understand that. There were times when this was not
possible, but by and large you knew in advance. The Cowes Pontoon
bus [number 2] had to be single deck to get onto the pier, in
which case the compensation was to be on first and sit right at
the back to enjoy the full advantage of the uneven roads and
bounce like india rubber.
The other certainty was the number 9, Newport to Ventnor, but
this also had its attraction, to sit behind the driver and pretend
to be him… change that gear and swing the wheel!
However, I digress. As I have said in a previous piece the
precious green timetable was always folded in his inside mac
pocket, the trilby was on and we were away for the afternoon.
Those of you of my age or older will recall that Newport did not
always have its bus station, so instead up till the early 60s it
was the green ebb and flow of the tide that was St James Square,
alive with the vibrancy of Southern Vectis. In truth I do not
remember much about where the buses left from except I think Cowes
was by the traffic lights and Sandown/Shanklin was under the
arches on the other side, but I may be in error.
Then came the bus station. For the purposes of this memoire, it
is Easter and there is a week's holiday. My Grandfather is in his
early 60s and for most of the year not working. He has not yet
received the call that will take him down to Little Canada or one
of the other holiday camps at Wootton for a summer's labouring. I
do not think that the summer timetable and the raised prices will
have arrived either. So there are 6 days to ride aloft like kings
and let the Island dreamscape flow by.
Firstly the choice, which bus to take, though in reality the
decision was already made and the itinerary was set. We will start
on the island platform and await the arrival of the Ryde bus,
large, new and with automatic doors at the front. Please let it be
the 1A and not the 1…. A far more interesting ride, it always
seemed to me than the straightforward gallop down the racecourse
to Wootton Bridge and Binstead. If we are lucky then its upstairs
at the front with the Island panorama before you, especially the
view from Staplers, to see the ribbon of the purposeful Medina
make its way to Cowes and then the waters of the Solent and
Spithead, and if you are especially fortuitous the chance to see
an ocean liner silently seeking the open seas. All too soon back
on the main road at Wootton, that brief stop at the Sloop to see
whether the yachts and dinghies are skipping on the water or lie
dreaming on the mud. A further brief glimpse of the sea by Ryde
Church, then down the hill to disembark on the Esplanade and a
quick look at the bus routes I don't usually see 4 for East Cowes
6 for Haylands ,8 for Shanklin, 16 for Ventnor. Not today though.
Grandfather is a walker, the weather is good, and the tide is in.
We will walk the pier and if the gods smile there may be a ride
back for me on the tram. A third of a mile long, when you are 8 or
9 it seems to stretch away for the rest of the afternoon, but in
reality a stroll 15-20 minutes. The fishless anglers in the
shelters, but plenty of maggots in tins to admire, other
promenaders, the keep-fit few who walk with their suitcases down
to the Portsmouth boat, while the old tram marches up and down the
pier bearing the lazy and the tired. There should also be at least
one steam train bearing or bringing its cargo of bucket-and-spaders
to their holidays end or dream's beginning. At the Pierhead will
be the ferry ready to unload a surge of holidaymakers for the
Islands southern resorts. A spectacle to stand and watch.
Back on the Esplanade, a wander amongst the elderly adrift on
deckchairs in the Esplanade gardens, a look at the Fountains and
Shotters coaches in the coach park out to seduce trippers into
that mystery late afternoon coach tour [with tea]. Come and be
beguiled by the destination boards. Perhaps we will get as far as
the boating lake and back. Maybe an Eldorado or Nelson ice cream
or perchance some Frys chocolate cream to which granddad was
rather partial. And then the afternoon is gone and we need a bus
swift and functional to be home at Shide in time to slice the
small brown loaf for tea. Time for the 1 and not the 1A or the
small occasional [3?] that leisurely parades through Haylands and
Havenstreet, before remembering that it has an appointment in
Newport.