We used to play and cruise on these 
                  grand old paddleboats and remember them with much fondness.
                 As a young kid I would pack some sandwiches 
                  and an apple and take off for a great day full of promise and 
                  adventure.
                  I could decide to go on the tram, cost 1d, or walk and buy some 
                  sweets with the penny. 
                The ferry trip was always full of interest. 
                  The sight and sound and smell of the large coal-fired steam 
                  engines that drove the two large side paddle wheels. The constant 
                  ringing of the telegraph bells that signalled the many changes 
                  in the speed and paddle direction as these busy ferry boats 
                  negotiated this very active stretch of the Thames river. 
                On the other side, in North Woolwich, 
                  we would get off and head along to the docks. The first docks 
                  had the two drawbridges that would hold up the traffic as they 
                  were raised to let the large ships pass into the King George 
                  V dock, or into the lock gates on its way out of them. The second 
                  bridge, about ¼ mile further on, was the swing bridge. 
                  This would swing sideways to let the ships in and out of the 
                  Royal Albert Dock and lock gates. These particular docks had 
                  the famous 'Samson', a floating crane, moored in the dock next 
                  to the road. It was the largest floating crane in the world 
                  in those days. 
                  The two docks were also the largest docks in the world 
                  at that time. Many famous old ships passed through and 
                  used these docks and were very busy and often packed full of 
                  interesting ships from every corner of the world.
                As kids we would watch these ships as 
                  they passed through the lock gates. These gates regulated the ever- 
                  changing tidal water levels of the Thames, thus keeping the 
                  docks at a constant water level. Huge ocean-going passenger 
                  cargo ships to smaller cargo steamers would be towed skilfully 
                  through these busy and narrow lock gates by tough, sleek 
                  little shiny black tugs that were dwarfed by some 
                  of the huge ships that they had to control. They would push 
                  them with their bows, that had massive spliced rope fenders 
                  strung around them, or they would pull and hold back the 
                  ships' foreword momentum with great, thick, woven lines. I remember 
                  when some steel cables were being used for this task when suddenly 
                  one snapped under the huge load. It cracked with the sound 
                  of a cannon and whipped back viciously and would have cut a 
                  person in two like butter if they had been in its way. (I saw 
                  two cables snap like this in the lock gates over the years.)
                We would call up to any seamen we spotted 
                  on the ships whilst their ship was in the lock gates and ask 
                  them for any matchboxes, to add to our collections of foreign 
                  matchbox labels, along with different foreign brands of cigarette 
                  packets. Sometimes it was difficult to convey to the foreign 
                  seamen what we were requesting. We would mime striking matches 
                  and smoking and would sometimes get tossed down a fag, or even 
                  a foreign coin from their particular country.
                 
At 
                  the entrance to the lock gates were wooden piers with steps 
                  leading down to the Thames River, where we would play, dodging 
                  the waves and, if the tide was out, we would search along the 
                  muddy beach for any treasures. We would slowly get caked in 
                  stinky smelly Thames mud and truly look like happy little London 
                  mud larks, proper flipping urchins, with our splotched muddy 
                  hands, legs and clothes.
                On the way home the choice was either 
                  go back via the tunnel or on the ferry. If the tunnel was chosen 
                  it was then either go down to the tunnel by the lift, or to 
                  race the lift down by running down, spiralling round and around 
                  the stairs, that wound their way around the descending lift to 
                  the bottom and the start of the long ¼ mile paved 
                  foot tunnel. It was good fun walking along, in childish awe, 
                  in the knowledge that I was actually walking under the 
                  cold dark water and mud of the Thames. We loved running 
                  and racing each other along this white glazed brick tube, lit 
                  up with lights that disappeared into the narrowing distance, that 
                  would echo back at you when we shouted and screamed with 
                  our young childhood exuberance and playful happiness. 
                 Then we would race the lift up, at 
                  the other end, back to the bright daylight world that existed 
                  above ground. We could do all this activity without getting 
                  out of breath; flipping amazing!
                 Yes, and with only a flipping penny, 
                  a good long and very cheap day out for us young Common 
                  folk.
                  
                  Colin Weightman ......A Common Kid .