CAMP SONGS OF 'NOISY BIBULOUS WARRIORS' SCARED THE VISITORS

If such a disaster occurred during school hours, teachers might feel obliged to give their pupils the rest of the day off. They had lost their attention anyway, and the youngsters were anxious to be on the scene.

Some boys found every day at school hard going and were glad to go the minute they reached the legal minimum leaving age, if not earlier. Bertie Etherton decamped more than a year too soon when he heard of a vacancy for a farm boy. The farmer doubted Bertie was old enough, but gave him the job when the lad explained that he 'had always been small for his age'. A while later Bertie was employed as a caddy-boy at the golf club, where he had some run-ins with the club's professional and with Reuben Russell, the shepherd. It did him little harm. In later life he was elected to Seaford Urban District Council and is remembered today in the name of a road near Sutton Corner.

The arrival of Volunteer army units at Seaford for their summer manoeuvres was awaited each year with trepidation by some residents, who complained about the 'noisy and bibulous warriors who stalk about the village as if they had bought Sussex, scaring quiet visitors with camp songs'. For the children, though, the visit of these colourful strangers was eagerly anticipated, as can be seen by the number of boys and girls among the spectators at the railway station so many years ago. Notice particularly the group of boys on the wall at the end of Station Cottages' gardens, where the new development Claremont Quays is now.

When, not without objections from those who foresaw disruption and damage to their property, plans were made to instal mains drainage and other facilities in the town centre, a visit by surveyors drew not only the local photographer but spectators young and old. They posed here at the junction of High Street and South Street, and followed the hard-pressed team of experts to Broad Street, where another photograph was taken.

In the face of those new-fangled ideas, old habits died hard. Should a heaving silvery mass be sighted in the bay '“ that most welcome sign of a shoal of mackerel approaching '“ word spread and the beach was soon crowded. Descriptions have survived of women and children knee-deep in the sea, gathering the fish with their bare hands.

'Funny old times,' as one very senior citizen remarked in telling me of his early days. More next week.