Lost era of gaiety and community in Southampton of the 1930s

Back in December 1965, a curious headline graced the newspaper's pages: “Was Southampton more gay and friendly 25 Years Ago?”

Of course, the word "gay" carried a different meaning then than it does today.

The year in question, 1940, wasn't exactly known for its lightheartedness. It was, in fact, a year of immense hardship, the year Southampton felt the full fury of the Blitz, a period of devastating air raids that marked the darkest hour of the Second World War for the town.

The Daily Echo carried reports of death and destruction while the air hung thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the echoes of explosions. Yet, through this chaos, a local resident, seemingly unfazed by the ongoing bombardment, penned a letter to the editor, lamenting not the bombs, but the "loss of gaiety" which, he insisted, had been so much more prevalent in pre-war Southampton.

From our 21st-century perspective, it might seem almost surreal that anyone, surrounded by the rubble and ruin of bombed-out buildings, would be preoccupied with the absence of "gaiety."

Surely, survival would be the primary concern?

But this anonymous correspondent felt strongly that rekindling the community spirit of the 1930s was crucial, a vital ingredient to help the people of Southampton navigate the horrors of the war.

Perhaps nostalgia painted a rosier picture of the past, but this man was convinced that Saturday evenings in pre-war Southampton had been something truly special, a time of "carefree, raucous, but essentially friendly" revelry.

He painted a vivid picture of a town brimming with life and energy.

"Everything, or nearly everything was different," he wrote, describing a smaller, more compact town. "There was no five-day week but almost everybody could be out and about on Saturday night."

He recalled the bustling thoroughfares of Above Bar and the High Street, packed with pubs, clubs, and various forms of entertainment, each establishment possessing a distinct character.

East Street, St Mary Street, and Kingsland Market were all vibrant hubs of activity.

Every tram rattling in from Shirley and Northam, every bus arriving from Bitterne Park and the outlying areas, brought Sotonians flocking to the town centre for a night of fun.

Queues snaked outside the music hall, the Palace in Above Bar, the Hippodrome on Ogle Road, and the Grand Theatre, which stood proudly opposite the newly built Civic Centre.

Even down in St Mary's, the butchers remained open late, catering to the throngs of people.

East Street transformed into a lively marketplace, with barrow boys and their naphtha flares illuminating the night.

Canal Walk, a narrow offshoot, offered a diverse range of goods, from live chickens and horseflesh to evening gowns and fishing tackle, even offering dress suit rentals and homemade sausages.

As the clock approached 11 pm, a "cheery scramble" ensued as people rushed to catch the last trams from the Junction or the last buses from New Road.

Finally, after the "prefer-to-walk brigade" had made their way home, Southampton would settle into the peaceful quiet of the Sabbath.

This evocative account offers a compelling glimpse into a Southampton that, even with the looming shadow of war, held onto the memory of happier times.