Remembering part of my childhood
I well remember the old red brick building and the huge organ that dominated one end of the great hall. I had been visiting Hove for probably the last time before leaving for Canada, trying to recall all the places that had been part of my childhood and stopped outside for a final look. I was devastated next day to read about the fire and the fact that it had burned down. I wonder if it could not have been re-built within the original shell, or was it that we had less regard for the old, in the rush to replace it with ‘something modern’?
Visiting the baby clinic
In WWII I used to walk to the old Hove Town Hall building with my grandmother, to pick up the wartime ration of Government orange juice for young children; also to visit the baby clinic with the young cousin who stayed with us while his Mom worked in a munitions factory. I also remember the police lock-up. An uncle was once held in the police lock-up which of course to us was shame and disgrace. After celebrating a little too well, he managed to drive into a bomb-site in Palmeira Square, and was arrested and taken to the lock-up to sober up. His wife was so ashamed she refused to bail him out. and Grandma had to come to his rescue or he would probably have been kept in a long time.
Do you remember?
Did you visit the old Hove Town Hall? What did you go there for? If you can share your memories with us, please leave a comment below.
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I so remember the old town hall and often walked passed it, and I can remember it burning down – such a shame.
The bomb site on the south side of Palmeira Square is still identifiable today, a 1950s tower block is wedged beside the terracotta building on the corner of Holland Road. I have a photo of the bomb damaged building!
I remember the town hall from when I visited my aunt who had a greengrocers, and flower shop just about where the photo was taken from. It loomed over the area, and I was shocked to hear of its demise–as I imagine the fire insurance company would also have been at the time! My aunt used to do flower arranging for various people in Hove, including a wealthy member of the Cunard family who lived in a large house near the front. This aged lady was something of a recluse, and the only contact my aunt had with her was via some early entry phone mechanism at the front door. The window in the front room was arranged like the bridge of a liner with a view of the sea. An envelope with money in it was always left on the large table for payment. Having picked it up, my aunt left without further words being spoken until the next visit.
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