A 'magical' time in life has been recalled by a delve into the archives to look at events in Kemsley, the community built for paper mill workers.

Here, memories writer Christine Rayner looks back at the excitement which erupted when the first baby was born there

Phyllis Apps unwittingly made history when she arrived in the world on 30 January, 1926 – the first baby to be born in Kemsley village, near Sittingbourne, the community built for the families of paper mill workers.

A cutting from the East Kent Gazette about Phyllis’s birth was discovered by Stephen Palmer, who posted it on the ME Sittingbourne Postcode Group Facebook page last week, asking if anyone knew any more.

Several people answered the appeal, including Melvyn Howe, who took the story a huge step further, not only adding a photograph of the silver christening cup referred to, but also revealing Phyllis was his grandmother.

Melvyn explained the cup was carefully preserved in its original box and that Phyllis later married Alfred Howe.

This is just the sort of link I have regularly discovered over more than 30 years writing a memories page for the Sittingbourne area, proving it’s still a community with deep family roots, despite huge expansion and subsequent influx of people.

I know Kemsley holds special memories for many and this story is a great prompt to look back at some of the stories I’ve carried about the village over the years. I’d be delighted to hear more from readers.

A woman reader who wrote anonymously to the Gazette memories page in 2007 told me she and her twin sister were born in Kemsley just after their parents and older sister moved there in 1928. Their father worked at the mill until he retired and was particularly proud of the amenities offered to residents: “The families of mill workers were very privileged to have use of the club house, bowling green, tennis courts and the cricket grounds, all for free,” she said.

One of my correspondent’s earliest memories was “walking up Ridham Avenue to the little wooden village school, which had two classrooms, divided by curtains, for boys and girls”.

Life was magical for younger Kemsley residents in those early years: “We were allowed to play anywhere, although we would often get told off for playing hide and seek around the shrubs planted around the bowling green,” the reader said.

“The Crescent was a favourite place. We would try to make kites out of canes and brown paper. We would stick, or sew, the edges to keep them in place and put on a tail of thick brown paper, with pieces of material tied to it. We even kept the kites flying when we were called in for meals, by tying a stick to the line and pushing it into the ground.”

A slightly more dangerous pastime involved sitting on the electricity box, counting the Bowater lorries going up and down Ridham Avenue, loaded with bales of paper.

As a girl, my correspondent used to wait with her friends for the sound of the ice cream man crying out “Walls” or “Eldorado” as they pushed their three-wheeled bicycle through the village. A man from Sheerness would sell shrimps and women from the travelling community would go door-to-door hawking wooden dolly pegs for the washing line.

But my writer’s favourite caller was the muffin man, who would walk through Kemsley with a long tray of muffins balanced on his head, ringing a large bell.

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