1950 July - The 1950s came in like a breath of fresh air. A new decade, new resolutions, new hopes after the war-scarred Forties. Plans for the following year's futuristic Festival of Britain on London's South Bank were setting the pace for a country fed up to the back teeth with the rationing, shortages and make-and-mend years of post-war austerity.

We'd won the war five years before and in Bristol, like the rest of the country, people had had enough of the sight of damaged or unpainted buildings, a tatty city centre and an overall dowdiness. The Fifties had arrived and it was time to get Bristol and Britain moving again.

And it looked as if things were happening at last. There were firm plans to create a new space-age shopping centre in Broadmead. Above all there was the prospect of a new Council House befitting a city as famous as Bristol.

This was Bristol's biggest, boldest development with a magnificently imposing building taking shape alongside one of the city centre's grandest open spaces, College Green. It was to replace the old Council House on the corner of Broad Street and Corn Street, for years far too small for such a large city and growing city bureaucracy. Work on the grandiose, crescent-shaped headquarters began in the 1930s but the project had to be mothballed for the six years of the war. Now it was a- building again, and Bristol wanted a perfect setting for its new architectural gem.

College Green as it was in 1950 wouldn't do, said Bristol's leaders on July 26th when they announced that they planned to spend £10,000 lowering the level of the green to give future generations of Bristolians a civic centre to be proud of. The suggestion caused an outcry from some quarters who campaigned to Save Old College Green.

The Post reported: 'Alderman Frank Sheppard, chairman of the Municipal Buildings Committee, said College Green was the property of the Dean and Chapter of the Cathedral who were 'delighted' at the proposal to restore the Green to its original level. It would present a much better vista from the Cathedral. 'The whole question of the new Council House was raised as long ago as 1929 when expert architects were appointed to go into the proposals and the Council agreed in 1938 to the lowering.

'The Green was originally at the same level as the Cathedral and had only been raised after some rubbish from works near the river had been dumped there. ' 'It is not a case of vandalism of ancient ground, as has been suggested by some people; we are only putting the Green into its original position'. 'He would not comment on whether the committee intended going ahead with the bulldozing work immediately or 'holding its hand' and preparing another report for the Council in view of the 'shower of protest'.'

Within a year came approval for the lay-out of the lowered College Green complete with a pool to front the Council House and broad paths across the Green.

The Gloucestershire Regiment became the Glorious Glosters in the battle which began that night. . . the Battle of the Imjin River. The confrontation involved courage and tenacity of such an extraordinary nature that the American troops nearby could hardly believe the epic that was unfolding before their eyes. Just 600 men from Gloucestershire and Bristol took on an attacking force of 25,000—and held them at bay for four days.

It was a turning point in the Korean War. 'The magnificent battle fought by the 1st Bn. Gloucestershire Regiment against the Chinese Communists on the south bank of the Imjin River was probably the most epic and gallant fought in this war. 'It was a determined stand against overwhelming odds which undoubtedly took the sting out of the enemy's initial thrusts against the United Nations forces. 'Early on the night of April 22nd, the Glosters, dug in on positions on a hill overlooking the bend in the river, made first contact with enemy forces. 'A patrol of the Glosters was sent down to the ferry but, after making contact, was forced to withdraw through the battalion lines owing to heavy crossfire.

'Tightening their defences, the battalion, after a night being machine-gunned from all angles, was attacked in great strength on St George's Day by hundreds of fanatical Chinese troops, tearing up the hillside with cover fire from all surrounding hills for their advance. 'From then on, the battalion was constantly under enemy fire. 'A company on the left flank was soon overrun and B company was forced to withdraw into other defensive positions but D company was ordered to hold its forward positions with only the minimum supply of ammunition, no food or water.

This remaining company with the battalion command post, machine gun platoon and mortar platoon, held out against terrible odds in a position com- pletely exposed to enemy fire and where no help could be given. 'The commanding officer, Lt. Col. J.P. Carne, who has been highly praised by the few men of the regiment who fought their way back to the Brigade areas, was in continual radio contact with Brigade until the wireless batteries failed. 'Only when the situation became more desperate and casualties mounted did he give the order for the small force left to withdraw, remaining behind himself to assist the medical officer with the wounded.

'Many attempts were made by British and American tanks to relieve the hard-pressed Glosters, but the difficult ground and narrow roads made their task imposs- ible. 'An airdrop was requested but it was unable to supply the besieged troops on account of enemy positions. 'The only meagre supply made to the unit during the four days' encirclement was made by one of the Glosters' officers who dropped Bren guns and ammunition wrapped in blankets from an American scout plane.

'Fred Came, as he was affectionately known, was awarded the VC. Veterans of the Imjin won not only the right to wear the Battle Honour Imjin but also the United States presidential citation on their sleeve. Carne and his men were captured and endured two brutal years as POWs. Their return to the West Country in the autumn of 1953 almost overshadowed the Coronation as Bristol and Gloucestershire saluted its heroes.

The Bristol Post was packed with ads for television sets. . .'The superb Cossor. . . 64 guineas, tax paid'. And for other essential equipment . . 'The Aerialite Aeradoor at 32-shillings ..attach to the skirting board' or the rooftop 'Aerialite Aeraitch' aerial with its then novel H shape, at £7 19s.

It was the day the 'goggle box' came to Bristol with the opening of the Wenvoe transmitter to beam programmes to an estimated 20,000 viewers in the West. 'One family in 25 in Bristol now own a TV set' the Post said. The next day the paper reported: 'Crackling thunder and vicious lightning over both South Wales and Bristol could not mar the opening ceremony of the world's most powerful TV transmitter at Wenvoe. Reception throughout the West was almost perfect.

'When the new station began its first programme, viewers could see the black clouds hovering overhead, and as Earl De La Warr, the Postmaster General, made his official speech, the rain came down in torrents. 'But the ceremony went through and the Earl, getting thoroughly drenched in his suit in the open without a mackintosh, finished his piece and pulled aside the flag of the BBC and the Union Jack to reveal a Corporation coat of arms.

'First of the 'distinguished company' of over 300 gathered at Wenvoe to be introduced to the viewers by commentator Wynford Vaughan Thomas was Aid. Percy Cann, Deputy Lord Mayor of Bristol. 'Then the two cameras at the station panned around the rest of the crowd and those in the West homes who were seeing TV for the first time, as several thousand of them were, were given some idea of its potentialities. 'Into the crowd went the cameras to pick out individuals and bring them into the viewers' homes.

'There was the lady in the flowered hat who smiled, laughed and then quickly waved her hand. There was the self- conscious gentleman who wore glasses. There was another who abandoned all restraint and roared with laughter. 'Announcers Sylvia Peters and Mary Malcolm had donned the new dresses they had chosen at a special fashion show earlier in the week and both made neat little speeches wishing a 'specially good evening and many happy hours of viewing to you in the West and Wales'.

'In two hours viewers saw pictures taken in places from Washington to Greenland and at the same time a good proportion of that two hours was devoted to publicising some of the virtues and talents of the West itself. The Post chose that day to announce its latest 'scoop'. TV's favourite puppet, Muffin The Mule, was to have his very own comic strip—starting in your favourite evening paper on Monday!

1953 Tuesday June 2nd

The New Elizabethan Age was beginning . . . and Bristol celebrated its arrival in style. For weeks the forthcoming Coronation of the young Queen Elizabeth had captured everyone's imagination as the most exciting national celebration since the Festival of Britain two years before.

And when Coronation Day came at last, Bristol made sure that it was truly memorable with street parties, sports and dancing on the Downs, firework displays, a river pageant on the City Docks and city- wide Coronation illuminations. The real fun was on the streets of Bristol and in London.

Tens of thousands of Bristolians made the pilgrimage to the capital by car, coach and train. Pat Price was the Post's girl among the rain-soaked crowds in central London, tracking down local folk who were up for the Coronation Day spectacular. She reported: 'One young man told me: 'This is something like the old spirit that brought us together at a less happy time. If for that alone, the Coronation has done a great job.' 'They were a happy, good-natured crowd who rigged home-made canopies and tents between the steel crush bars and shop-window hoardings.

'They shared not only their blankets but their sandwiches, the soup they had brought in Thermos flasks, the magazines, the jokes and news of things they talk about back home. 'Miss Gladys Scott of Berrydale Avenue, Bridgwater put straw into her shoes and made a pillow from newspapers for a 12- year-old schoolgirl.'I've promised to look after her because her mother, a nurse, was on duty all night at hospital.' 'Miss Deborah Wright (19) of Clifton Park Road, Clifton was dressed in a tracksuit like her fellow students of Bedford College of Physical Education.

During their wait a passing motorist had handed them a flask of rum 'to keep out the cold, dears'—and they did folk dancing during the night'. Another Post reporter, Peter Woon travelled by coach: 'Like the pussy cat, we went to London to see the Queen. There were a thousand of us when we left Bristol in our handsome motor-coaches. 'At the back was our oldest hand in Coronation-going, Miss L. Brock, fruit shop manageress of Kingston Buildings, Kingsdown. Her clothes were festooned (there was no other word for it) with red, white and blue ribbon and she understand- ably looked more than a little proud as she told us: ' 'I went up to London for the Coronation in 1937.

Got a wonderful view in Oxford Street. Some people say it's a waste of time to travel all this way for a glimpse of things, but they don't know what it's like. I wouldn't have missed the Coronation for the world.' 'Next to Miss Brock sat Mrs V.M. Stowell, a cheerful, grey-haired widow of Hampton Park, Redland. On her head was her own crowning masterpiece of red velvet on the back of which was a simple little brooch of the Queen. Another brooch was on her lapel and both ornaments were beribboned. 'Said Mrs Stowell: 'This hat was made from the remnants of a frock I wore at the Coronation ball in Bristol in 1937'.

'Yes, we were a mixed bunch, our jobs different, our clothes different and we had never met before. 'But today we were united in our destination and, more, in our thoughts.'

1954 February

It must have been the most expensive belly-flop in the history of Bristol's aviation industry, the day the second prototype of the Britannia airliner landed ignominiously in the Severnside mud.

She was to become famous and well- loved as the Whispering Giant and a workhorse of some of the world's great air routes. But the day that faults in the test plane's engines forced famous test pilot Bill Pegg to dump Britannia in the Gloucestershire mud, sealed Britannia's fate.

She would never make the first division in the league table of successful civil airliners. 'The Britannia, on a routine flight, was crash-landed by BAC's chief test pilot Mr Bill Pegg with one of the engines on fire after he had searched the area in the hope of finding a suitable landing strip.

'One fuel tank exploded as the plane came down, but the resulting fire was quickly extinguished and the fire appliances sent to the scene from a wide area were needed only for standby purposes. 'Mr R.A. Bright, a clerk at the Aust- Beachley ferry, told the Evening Post how the plane pancaked into the mud at Littleton, about a mile and a quarter from the ferry. ''We watched it through binoculars. As the plane landed there was a small explosion. There was a small fire which was promptly extinguished.

' 'We watched the crew clamber out. All of them seemed to be unhurt. We immediately rang Filton with the message that the plane had crashed'. 'After seeing that his crew were safe and that everything was being done to secure his aircraft, Mr Pegg himself drove a BAC staff car back to Filton. 'Mrs E.M. Nott, licensee's wife of the White Hart Inn, which is only half a mile away from the scene of the crash, told the Evening Post that the plane had come to rest on the banks of the Severn near the Littleton brickworks. 'Mr M. Charles, a foreman brickworker, who, with others, ran to the scene, said that everyone was amazingly calm.

'Before they could reach the plane, they had 150 yards of mud to negotiate. 'While efforts were being made to secure the Britannia this afternoon, BAC technicians were going aboard to remove valuable instruments and equipment. 'The first hint that Britannia was in trouble was a short radio message from Mr Pegg. 'A second message said: 'Going to try to land at Filton'. 'Then came the third and last message to Filton control tower; 'Going to crash land at Littleton'. 'When the engine trouble developed, he steered and coaxed the machine over the only possible place where it could land without extensive damage—mud on the Severn.

'Gradually he brought her down parallel to the shore line. The machine landed on its belly, just missing a line of posts which would have ripped it open. 'It skidded for more than 200 yards across the mud, shedding an engine on its way and churning up sprays of mud and water like a snow plough before it came to rest facing the ebbing tide.' The mishap scuppered the Britannia. It caused long delays in her development and by the time she did go into service the Boeing 707 jet airliner would be available within a couple of years, and the world's airlines knew it.

A super plane, a triumph of Bristol aviation skill but a plane too late in a changing world . . . thanks to that muddy baptism.

1955 Wednesday June 22nd

One chapter in the history of Bristol aviation came to its close . . . another started. On June 22nd 1955 the Post reported triumphantly that 'after 10 years of negotiation Bristol Corporation has been offered Lulsgate airport for sale or lease by the Minister of Transport'.

Readers were told that it would cost £55,000 to buy the derelict wartime air station with its 335 acres of land just off the A38 near Bristol. It was estimated that it would cost £42,794 a year to run the airport and that income would be £6,500 a year for the time being. It spelt the death-knell for the 500-acre civic airport which had been opened two years before the Post began, in 1930, by Prince George, Duke of York (later King George VI) at Whitchurch.

Whitchurch's greatest moments of glory had come during the war when, in 1941, a daily service was begun to Lisbon, capital of neutral Portugal. It made little Whitchurch the only civil air gateway from Britain to the Americas, Africa and the Far East. 'The airport was daily thronged with VIPs helping the war effort. Royalty, heads of governments, ambassadors, stage and film stars and officers of all ranks of all services were daily coming and going.' Imperial Airways and British Airways had even moved their fleets to Whitchurch for the war.

But Whitchurch, within the city boundary, couldn't be developed further as the town grew around it and post-war Bristol argued over whether to turn the existing Filton airfield into the civic aerodrome or to develop Lulsgate, a few miles south of the city. Bristol wanted to turn itself into an international air centre and in April 1954, Mr John Profumo, Parliamentary Secretary to the Ministry of Transport and Civil Aviation confirmed that 'he is prepared to lease Lulsgate Aerodrome to the Corporation for development as their airport'.

Bristol also wanted Lulsgate to be sponsored by the Government or at least given some financial help. Nothing doing. ' 'There is no question of the Government taking over and running Lulsgate or any other West of England airfield as an international airport,'' Mr Boyd Carpenter, the transport minister, told the Post. So Bristol went ahead with Lulsgate by itself.

On September 13th, 1955 the Post reported that 'Aid. V.J. Ross, chairman of the Airport Committee, told the City Council: 'I hope we shall be able to operate Lulsgate in June of next year.' ' He didn't make his deadline. Lulsgate was officially opened on May 1st, 1957 by the Duchess of Kent who emphasised that the new airport would establish 'Bristol's place as one of the country's leading air centres.'

1956 Wednesday June 27th

The re-opening of a restored bar in St Nicholas Market in the heart of old Bristol hardly looked like a moment of British post-war history. But it was. No-one afterwards could blame the Post's man sent to cover the story of Night One in the refurbished bar at the ancient Rummer tavern which had been taken over by the Bristol company Hort's, which was run by Frank and Aldo Berni and Paul Rosse. How was he to know that he was witnessing the opening salvo in a revolution that was to change the eating out habits of the British for the next two decades? But he was.

He was among the first to hear news of a 'Berni', as a meal at one of the scores of Berni restaurants up and down the country would soon be known. The company was named after Hort's restaurant which the Berni brothers had bought in 1943. After the ending of meat rationing in 1954, the Bemis hoped to import American-style, controlled portion steak and chips catering, served in as authentic an Olde English atmosphere as possible.

The Rummer, sometimes claimed as one of the oldest inns in the country, was to be their prototype. They heard that the Bristol Corporation-owned pub was available and moved quickly. They won the tenancy and called in a designer who exploited all the period details.

Opening night on June 27th, 1956 brought plenty of interest. 'In three short weeks a complete transformation has been effected. Thirteen coats of old paint, nearly half an inch thick, had to be removed before the redecoration could begin. 'As customers moved into the new bar, work on dismantling the old one began. Some of the pipes bringing beer from the cellar have been found to be at least 100 years old.

'Looking through the window on to the Market, one's eyes are caught by a notice recalling the presence of Morrison's old restaurant. 'Lunches at 1s 6d and 1s 9d.' 'These prices, I am told, prevailed until just before the war—an unpleasant reminder of the tremendous rise in the cost of catering and the difficulties now facing all restaurateurs. 'When the ground floor is finished the new occupiers hope to open a grill room on the first floor, but that will be some time in the future'.

The grill room with its soon-to-be- famous limited menu was open within months. Any difficulties facing the Berni restaurant were over weeks after that. The Berni revolution had begun.

'So Jones's will have the biggest store in the city again—their pre 1940 one was the largest in the West. And standing beside their new building will be another giant, Lewis's. Work, it is hoped, will begin before Christmas and be complete in two years.' It took longer than that but the public didn't really mind. Now, at last, Bristol was making an effort to re-establish itself as the shopping centre of the West.

The Post carried regular reports as the two huge buildings rose and rose. By May 16th 1957, everyone was excited. 'The first of the two giant stores being built in The Horsefair—that of Jones and Co—opens a fortnight today. 'Nearly 300 workers are now engaged on the big task of getting the store—which covers a bigger area than any other in the West Country—ready on time. 'The opening marks a triumph for all those concerned with the project. It was intended when work was started three years ago that the store should be ready by May 8th, but since then 'many, many difficulties' have been experienced with the supply of materials and labour.

'A staff of 750 has been recruited, the greater proportion of them from Bristol. 'Since Jones and Co. lost its old headquarters in High Street it has carried on in eight small premises in various parts of the city. All these are being closed with the exception of the one in Regent Street, Kingswood'. The store opened in style on May 29th with a celebratory dinner at 8 p.m. Guests worked their way through a menu which read, the Post reported: Melon Cocktail Lobster Newburg Roast Fillet of Beef 'Bristol' with noisette potatoes, new potatoes, French beans, garden peas, green salad and endive salad. Jones' Progress or Souffle En Surprise Various Cheeses and Biscuits Fruit Baskets Coffee Petit Fours.

Lewis's took a little longer to arrive.

It opened on September 26th that year. Broadmead, Bristol's new shopping centre, was well under way.

The Post ran a Royal edition that day: 'The Queen in Bristol this afternoon made the country's first two-penny trunk call, thus opening a new telephone service for 18,000 homes on the Bristol Central Exchange. 'Standing on a dais at the exchange, the Queen dialled 031 CAL 3636. And 365 miles away, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh picked up the phone to receive her call. 'The Queen made her call, at the invitation of the Postmaster-General Mr Ernest Marples on a streamlined, light blue telephone connected directly to Grace, the electronic robot which controls S.T.D. only a few feet behind her.

'As she dialled, each numeral and letter of the Lord Provost's number flashed up on a special indicator at the back of the dais. The 150 specially invited guests in the first floor room at the exchange where Grace is housed could watch each stage as her call went through.

'She said: 'This is the Queen speaking from Bristol. Good afternoon. Lord Provost'. 'The Lord Provost replied: 'Good afternoon, your Majesty. May I with humble duty offer you the loyal greetings of the City of Edinburgh'. 'The Queen then said: 'Would you please convey my greetings to them. I am always interested in any development that brings my people closer together.

In a few moments Bristol subscribers will be able to make trunk calls, by merely dialling the right number in a radius of 300 miles. In time, the whole United Kingdom will enjoy the advantage of this new service that the Post Office has introduced'.

'The Lord Provost concluded: 'May I express my gratitude to your Majesty for the honour that you have done to me and to Scotland by making the first call in this service to me'. 'One of the most interested spectators was the Duke of Edinburgh who had earlier accompanied the Queen on a tour of the exchange and of the Two-penny Telephone exhibition in the Equity and Law Building in Baldwin Street. 'In the exhibition Mr Marples, a lively little figure full of enthusiasm, had demonstrated to the Queen the advantage to her when, eventually, Windsor Castle is connected to London by S.T.D.

'Then he told the Queen she will be able to dial Buckingham Palace direct from Windsor Castle without having to enlist the aid of an operator. It will be at least 1960 before this happens. 'On the special stand which has been set up to make demonstrations of S.T.D. possible, he invited the Queen to make a trial call before going to the exchange for the real thing. 'After the Queen had made the call, the Postmaster-General presented to the Queen the instrument with which she had made it.'

1959 Thursday October 1st

The Brabazon in the 40s... the Britannia in the 50s ... so what new model would Bristol's planemakers come up with for the 1960s to tackle the new over-whelming commercial superiority of their American rivals? Planes were big, big news in the 1950s and this was the heyday of the Air Correspondent.

Developing new aircraft was risky, both financially and physically. The Brab had proved a financial flop and Britannia had suffered two crashes before she became a modest success. The test pilots who tried out the new models were heroes of their day and the dangers of pioneering had been there for all to see; first in the battering taken by the little jets which at last cracked the sound barrier, and then by the horrors of metal fatigue, revealed when Comet pioneered the jetliner age with tragic consequences.

So where would Bristol go after Britannia? The answer came in an Evening Post scoop which confirmed rumours that had been circulating both at Filton and in political circles. 'Bristol Aircraft Ltd have produced startling designs for two new aircraft-one a revolutionary supersonic airliner and the other a slow, cheap-to-run ferry aircraft. 'No details of the supersonic project have been released by the company but the Post can reveal that it is known as the Type 198 and that top men in the British aircraft industry recently met at Filton to discuss its potential.

'The design of the Type 198 arises from the report of the Supersonic Transport Aircraft Committee set up by the Govern- ment in 1956. They recommended the building of a 150-seat 1,350 miles per hour aircraft and a 100-seater 810 miles per hour aircraft of shorter range. 'A few weeks ago it became known that Bristol Aircraft Ltd and the Hawker Siddeley group might become contenders on a joint approach for the supersonic project.

'The magnitude of the task—develop- ment costs would be about £ 150 million— means that it would have to be a combined effort with probably most of our aircraft companies participating.' The Anglo-French Concorde agreement would come later. But the Concorde project, which went on to cost a real figure of £1,000 million in its development, had found its home in Bristol.

Site Index: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z