tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2009-11-08:/MokoFeed2009-11-08T13:05:51+01:00tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-06-01:/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846817/morescribbles2006-06-01T17:36:13+02:002006-06-01T17:36:13+02:00 <p>On the 25th February 1963 I got up early for an exciting event, exciting to me anyway, it meant nothing to Edna. Overnight there had been a big boxing match in Miami, America. Cassius Clay as he was then known was challenging Sonny Liston for the world heavyweight championship. The BBC was going to screen it at 7am on TV. I didn’t turn the radio on and watched the sensation that unfolded with Clay winning in the 6th round. After the fight Clay announced he had changed his name to Muhammad Ali.</p> <p>In spring we set off for a holiday to Newquay in Wales. I remember having seat belts fitted to the car before we set out. They had only recently been made available and were not yet compulsory. They were like a parachute harness in which you slid both your arms. We chugged along, my maximum speed was no more than 40 mph so the journey took ages and finally we arrived there late afternoon. That would have been our first trip through Shrewsbury, I can remember now going round the island near Meole Brace and driving up past the Brooklands Hotel to go up the Roman Road. We liked Newquay and had a good time; we stayed in a small-whitewashed cottage on a hill just outside the town. By this time Edna was harbouring a thought that she hadn’t yet discussed with me. The first night we got there we started to get ready for bed. She suddenly brought out of her suitcase a brand new white nightdress. I think it was appropriately called a baby doll dress. She said, “ I thought I might tempt you, it’s time we started another.” What a waste of money, I didn’t need any tempting! </p> <p>One big event occurred for me in 1963, I went to Wembley for the first time. A coach was filled from County Hall one Wednesday afternoon in October. England against a team called the “Rest of the World” to celebrate the centenary of the Football Association. A crowd of 100,000 turned up to watch an England side pit their skills against the best in the world, including Puskas, Di Stefano and many others. It was a football feast and I for one thought it was brilliant, hardly a surprise. </p> <p>A terrible event occurred on the 23rd November when a gunman in Dallas, Texas assassinated the American President John Kennedy. Such great hopes worldwide were pinned on that one man at a time of the “Cold War.” I have read that time stood still when people heard the news and the exact moment was never forgotten. That was certainly the case with me. I would probably have never remembered that on that evening I would be attending an evening course on car maintenance run by a Mr. Judson at a local school and we had been discussing the clutch and it’s problems. Why all that has stuck in my memory I don’t know. When I got back home Edna had heard the news and told me immediately and I sank into a chair in disbelief. The world suddenly seemed a more dangerous place. Vice President Lyndon Johnson was later sworn in as the new president.</p> <p>After Emma we never seemed to have a problem once the decision was taken to try for another baby. I suppose we were lucky in that respect, it didn’t seem to take very long either before a bull’s eye was scored. Sure enough Edna was able to confirm that number two was on its way a few weeks later. We were both very pleased, Emma would have a friend, that’s what we hoped and thankfully after a shaky start that’s what happened. A very young Deborah Ann came into the world on the 14th February 1964. This time the birth was very easy, she was so eager to get out. I remember sitting in the dining room eating cornflakes reading the paper while Edna did the business, again around 10pm. At this time I still didn’t have the nerve to be present, reading the paper appealed rather more. Once Edna had started in labour we arranged for our friends John and Margaret Hague to pick Emma up and take her to their house. In the end, she ended up staying the night with them, which must have come as a shock to her. They brought her home the next morning. It was a very cross little madam who walked into the bedroom to find mummy holding a little baby, that didn’t help things one bit! In hindsight she should have stayed at home and it took a few days for her to accept the new situation. It was soon obvious that Debbie was a calm smiler, that was really good news, less trouble all round.</p> <p>In the following February a problem began that was to last a very long time and have an impact on my life. I had had a pretty strenuous weekend, playing football on the Saturday and some heavy digging in the garden the following day. On the Monday morning I woke up to find my back had seized up and literally I couldn’t move. That was the beginning of many years of disc problems and was also the end of playing football regularly. Edna told me later she got worried visualising having to look after me as well as two kids. It wore off after a few days and I simply had to learn to live with it.</p> <p>We met a new member of the family around this time. Eric, Edna’s younger brother rang to say he would be calling in to enable us to meet his girlfriend. They had been on a camping holiday in Scotland and would stop on the way back home. They arrived late one afternoon and we were introduced to Celia Lane who two years later became Celia Barrett. Celia had been at Leamington College for Girls at the same time as Edna but two years below. Celia told me recently that Edna was a very studious girl at school, apparently she was known as “The Professor.” When we first met Celia said she felt a wreck with her hair an absolute mess after the camping. I can’t say I have never noticed Celia looking like a wreck at all and thought she looked fine. Eric had done well!</p> <p>During the first week of June in 1964 several of us got into a spot of trouble in the office. I mentioned earlier that you could see the wicket on the Trent Bridge Cricket ground from the drawing office. It was a sunny day and England was playing Australia in a Test match. It was a bit distracting, I had the choice of concentrating on Ted Dexter batting or that particularly difficult drainage layout I was struggling with. There wasn’t any competition really. We had a long balcony outside our windows with access to it from some French windows. It was very hot in the office and somebody suggested having ten minutes on the balcony to watch a bit of the cricket, a few of us trooped out, cup of tea in hand. A few moments later unknown to us the TV cameras at the cricket ground panned around picking up County Hall. Richie Benaud was commentating and he muttered something about “the workers up there must be having a late lunch.” The next day there was a mention of this in the Nottingham Evening Post. Oh dear! An inquest was held in the office, and the suspects were hauled up in front of Dan for a telling off. At least he didn’t have a cane like Mr. Gibson.</p> <p>In the early summer of 1964 I was considering moving on from Nottingham. I now had some experience behind me and the theory at the time was to try different offices. A second consortium of local authorities had recently been formed and was producing buildings using the SCOLA system. Guess where the initials came from? I decided to apply to Shropshire County Architects department who had been instrumental in setting it up. I wrote a letter outlining my experience and asking had they any vacancies. I was invited for an interview towards the end of June. The office was based in Shrewsbury and on arrival I liked the look of the town immediately. Built around a loop in the river Severn it had a pleasant scale compared with the cities of Nottingham and Sheffield. The County Architects Department was close to Lord Hill’s Column, a major landmark in the town on the London Road. A new Shire Hall building was under construction on the other side of the road. The office turned out to be a small Victorian building called “Column House” with rows of temporary huts behind. Ralph Crowe the County architect and Geoff Hamlyn his deputy interviewed me. It seemed to go well and they offered me a post subject to clearing it with a committee. It seemed the approved establishment was full and they had to get approval to increase it by one, presumably they wanted me because of my CLASP experience. The agreed salary would be £1,565 per annum, which was double what I started on at Notts four years earlier. I was quite happy when I drove back home. I intended to give it another three or four years in Shropshire and then move on. I didn’t realise on that journey back, we would put roots down and my stay there would be for the next thirty-three years.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846817/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-06-01:/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846815/morescribbles2006-06-01T17:35:35+02:002006-06-01T17:35:35+02:00 <p>In August 1961 we travelled over to stay with Mother and Dad in the shop for a couple of days. The news came through over the weekend that Berlin was now a divided City; troops from East Germany had sealed the border between East and West Berlin shutting off the escape route for thousands of refugees from the east. During the night six-foot fences topped by barbed wire was erected preventing access. Within days the fence was replaced by a concrete block wall, which became a permanent structure and a symbol of the political divide between the western nations and the Communist states. You couldn’t help wondering at the time where all this would eventually end, all out nuclear war? </p> <p>Edna gave up teaching in early1962. She had been having a few problems and once fainted in the corner shop near to our house. Nevertheless this was a wonderful time for us both and she was very much looking forward to the birth scheduled for March. At Christmas we used to alternate between visiting the farm and going up to Lancashire, this time we stayed at home. I didn’t want to risk her perched on the back of a swaying scooter. Emma Jane Clarke entered the world in the evening on March 22nd. It wasn’t an easy birth. The midwife at one point asked me to go over the road and get the Doctor, the only useful thing I did all night. Emma was being awkward and couldn’t find the launch pad. Dr. Stevenson our Scottish doctor had to pull her out with forceps and thankfully everything was fine. We were delighted; I think I could safely say Edna was deliriously happy. I don’t think we got much sleep that night, Emma was pretty disturbed and no wonder. I have a copy of a telegram I sent over to my parents at 8-36am, the next morning. It read, “ Emma Jane born Thursday 10-15pm Grandads birthday (stop) weight 7lbs both well.” Yes, she had been born on my Dad’s birthday, which must have pleased him. Neither of us had a phone, so in those days a telegram was the only means of instant communication. The next day I was mowing the lawn when a neighbour walked by, “ Congratulations” he said, and then came out with that old saying, “You’re life will never be the same again.” How true it is!</p> <p>Although we did not know it then Emma had been born at a very dangerous time and the facts were not made public for a few years. A drug called “ Thalidomide” had been available in the UK since 1958; it was used as a sedative and to alleviate morning sickness and it was estimated that worldwide some 8,000 women had taken the medication. It was taken off the market at the end of 1961 when the medical profession were becoming aware of the tragedy that was developing. The drug disrupted foetal development; babies were being born with terrible abnormalities and limbs missing. </p> <p>Edna’s life had certainly changed; She was always making lists and schedules. How about this for a planned day, written in a notebook dated April 1962.</p> <p>DAILY TIME TABLE.<br> 7. 00 am. Feed and change Emma.<br> 7. 45 am. Cook Bill’s breakfast.<br> 8. 15 am. Wash and dress.<br> 8. 45 am Wash and boil nappies.<br> 10. 00 am Wash, iron, clean house.<br> 11. 00 am. Wash, feed, change Emma.<br> 11. 45 am Prepare dinner.<br> 12. 15 pm. Iron nappies and air.<br> 12. 45 pm. Arrange dinner.<br> 1. 00 pm. Dinner and rest.<br> 2. 00 pm. Walk to shop with Emma and Aggie<br> 2. 30 pm. Relax and exercises.<br> 3. 00 pm. Feed and change Emma.<br> 3. 45 pm. Sleep.<br> 4. 45 pm. Prepare tea.<br> 6. 00 pm Bath, feed and change Emma.<br> 6. 45 pm. Free.<br> 11.00 pm. To bed.</p> <p>What a merry time she was having. I bet she was glad when 11.00pm came and it appears Bill wasn’t even capable of getting his own breakfast. Edna did everything for Emma and that included all the changing of nappies during the night. Over the six kids we eventually had, I can’t remember once having to get up in the night, in fact I don’t think I ever changed a single nappy. Edna simply loved all aspects of her task; boy was I lucky!</p> <p>During our Nottingham days we saw a lot of one of my old University friends, Stewart Doncaster and his wife Anne. Stewart got a job working for a firm of private architects, Bartlett and Gray. Their office was just round the corner from County Hall. They used to come round to Tollerton every Saturday evening to watch the new satire programme on our tiny little TV called, “That was the week that was,” with a newcomer called David Frost. We also tried to learn Bridge together, a game I never really got on with.</p> <p>In the summer of 1962 we went on holiday with Keith and Janet Grantham to Hunstanton on the North Norfolk coast. We travelled over by coach to Kings Lynn and then caught a bus to Hunstanton. We stayed in a small timber chalet on the beach, the weather wasn’t too good and it was very cold at night. Emma was only five months old, I bet Edna was piling the blankets on her. We didn’t go very far, I recall endless games of cricket on the beach with Keith. Sadly after the holiday we saw very little of Janet and Keith again. I think they came over once to Shrewsbury a few years later with their two small sons and that was about it. I have had no contact with them for nearly forty years; it’s odd the way things work out. Two of my closest friends Frank and Keith I completely lost contact with for so many years. Only recently I have found out through Abdul that Janet and Keith later got divorced. At the moment I have no idea what happened to Keith. The last news I had he was working in Hong Kong in the early 1980’s.</p> <p>Life was good at this time. Edna was happily settling down to life as a mother and I was getting to grips with learning the practicalities of being an architect. I had started to handle major contracts on my own. Ironically my first two jobs were fire stations, at Beeston and another at West Bridgeford. I really should have done that Fire Station for my thesis, there weren’t too many Reform Club clubs being designed by County Councils. Visits to both our families were regular events. Since having Emma we had to use public transport, Edna didn’t fancy holding onto Emma, sitting on the back of the scooter and clinging to me with her knees. We needed a car so I began to take lessons again; I remember the man giving the lessons wasn’t much older than me. He persisted in calling me “Chief.” I’ve been called many things but never that; he must have been a John Wayne fan! Whatever, he got me through at the first attempt. Edna asked her sister June if her boyfriend Les could get us a car. A few weeks later Les rang to say he had got one for us. It was a Ford Anglia. I can’t remember how old it was, but it cost £60. It proved to be a brilliant bargain, three years later I sold it for £35. Not bad, depreciation cost per year just over £8. One sad thing is I can’t remember at all what I did with the scooter. For four years it gave us both the ability to travel at minimum cost and we had some great times on it despite the constant mechanical problems. Unfortunately there was a big black cloud looming and our happy days were soon to be under threat from a most unexpected source, far away on an island off the American coast. </p> <p>There was a major crisis in world affairs in October 1962. It is hard looking back now to those few weeks to remember how frightening it was at the time. The Cuban Missile Crisis was without doubt the most serious episode in the cold war and was probably its turning point. For two weeks from the 16th to 28th of October, the world was closer to nuclear war than it had ever been. The Americans had discovered that Russia had placed long-range nuclear rockets on Cuba aimed at cities in America. Kennedy the American President had given an ultimatum to Khrushchev to remove them; In the meantime a fleet of Russian ships were already at sea heading for Cuba with more material. The world held its breathe to see what would happen when the Russian ships met the American forces. We were listening anxiously to every news bulletin. If this all went wrong the consequences were unimaginable. I can close my eyes now and see the scene in our small dining room late one evening. Edna was doing some ironing; we had the radio on and in the next few hours the Russian ships were due to be intercepted. Emma was in a carrycot on the floor, I remember looking at them both wondering whether we would all be alive to see Emma’s first Christmas, the situation was that dangerous. The next morning when we heard the overnight news that the Russians had backed down their ships had turned round and were heading back home, the relief was enormous. By facing down the Russians without resorting to force first, there is no doubt John Kennedy had saved the world from a catastrophe. This life story would never have been written for a start. It was not known at the time that a secret deal had been worked out with Russia that in return for their withdrawal America withdrew all its Jupiter missiles from Turkey. This was only revealed years later.</p> <p>Thankfully we did see that Christmas. I have only one photograph and it shows a chubby Emma sitting up on the floor by a laden tree with a big paper hat on. In her hand she is holding a Gollywog (a very politically incorrect name these days!) that Edna had knitted. Emma still has it, although the neck is very floppy after forty-three years. On Christmas Eve we had a few flakes of snow, little did we know what was in store. We were on the brink of what became known as, “The Big Freeze.” I have never experienced anything like it here and don’t suppose I ever will again. I have read that a winter that severe has a 250-year return rate and many records were broken. From the 28th December to 4th March temperatures never rose above freezing with repeated heavy snowfalls, the only time that happened in the 20th century. Records showed that the winter was the worst since 1740. You may gather from these statistics life was very difficult. Temperatures of -15 to –20 degrees were commonplace and roads and pavements were permanently covered in ice. At Eastbourne the sea was reported frozen to an extent of 100 yards offshore for a length of two miles. Getting to work was not easy and for Edna pushing Emma in our big pram walking along to the shop along Melton Road was a regular hazard. All professional sport was virtually abandoned during January and February. Eventually during the first week of March a slow thaw set in. We were glad of the warmth; our heating system had been totally inadequate to cope with those conditions. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846815/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-06-01:/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846812/morescribbles2006-06-01T17:34:26+02:002006-06-01T17:34:26+02:00 <p>We moved into 1 Bentinck Avenue, Tollerton, in February 1961. After the months in Hampden Street it was wonderful to have our own place. It was tiny really, and an awful lot of space went into a long corridor that went virtually down the middle. We had two bedrooms a dining room, lounge and kitchen and a freezing cold bathroom at the end of the corridor. The heating was a bit of a mess; a mix of fixed electric fires, a coke burner and an open coal fire. We coped and Edna I am sure was looking at it in a different light to me. She was looking at a nest! She had been teaching at the Luttrell School for nearly eighteen months but with the purchase of the bungalow other things were now on her mind, and in the autumn she told me with a delighted look that she was pregnant. Apparently we were not so quick at producing Emma as subsequent babies, she told Louise later that several times when she was hopeful, the period came and she cried.</p> <p>Our neighbours were an elderly couple Mr and Mrs Fellowes in an adjoining bungalow and Mr and Mrs Potter in a semi on the other side. Mrs. Potter, who we called “ Pansy,” was well intentioned but liked to give advice very regularly which Edna hated. Another problem there was yet another yapping poodle, Mitzi reincarnated. I got on well with old man Fellowes, a genial character with a twinkle in his eye and a sharp sense of humour. When Edna stopped working later that year she made several good friends in the road. One of them still sends a Christmas card every year The Doctors surgery was virtually directly opposite our house on the corner with the main road. When the time for the birth came, he wouldn’t have far to walk, perhaps as well considering what happened. That summer we bought a dog, a Scottish terrier puppy called “Aggie”. Edna thought the world of her, although it was a bit mad. The postman was very wary having had the odd nip. There are several photos of Edna hugging the dog, good practice for all the hugging she was to give to babies over the next twenty years. </p> <p>Edna was still in touch with her old friend from school Lorna. She was by now a Mrs Edwards having married Bob who was a policeman. We used to have occasional nights out together in Nottingham. I have this memory of going to a packed “Stork Club.” Clubbing was not normally our scene but it was a great night out.</p> <p>During the summer I had to go back to Sheffield for my professional practice exam. This was always held one year after passing finals and until passing the practice exam. I could not be regarded as fully qualified. I can remember going into the main hall of the University at Western Bank to see a long table with about half a dozen elderly gentlemen, presumably the great and good of the Architectural world. I was asked questions on the experience I had gained over the year. It seemed to go well and I duly passed. I was now eligible to join the Royal Institute of British Architects and put the letters after my name. W.A.Clarke BA (Hons.Arch) ARIBA. I liked the sound of that. It seemed a long time since I had been sat on the roof with Dad at the age of fifteen when that man got out of his car carrying a roll of drawings. </p> <p>I had always been interested in science fiction and tales of space travel. Flash Gordon had ignited that. In 1950 there was a series in the Sunday Express about a journey to the moon by rocket. I carefully cut the articles out and kept them in Dad’s books. In the early 1960’s when President Kennedy promised to have a man on the moon before 1970, I closely followed all the various stages of the developments. This included the Russian successes with Sputnik the first man-made satellite in 1957 and the Yuri Gagarin flight who was the first man in space. The American’s responded with the initial Redstone rocket flights followed by the manned Mercury and Gemini programmes. News of Gagarin’s flight came through on the 12th April 1961. I had just left work around 5-30pm and was walking across Trent Bridge towards the town centre when I heard a newsboy shouting, “Man in space.” I rushed over to by a newspaper and read all about it. That incident is worth a comment in itself, you don’t see lads selling newspapers on the streets nowadays. In the early 1960’s newspapers and radio were the main means of news communication. Television news was brief and the schedules rigid. There was none of the endless non-stop twenty-four hours news channels that fill the TV screens today. There were what was called “News theatres” this was a cinema totally dedicated to newsreel programmes like Pathe News. Every major city would have them they do not exist today. Three weeks later Al Shepard became the first American in space when he made a fifteen-minute flight perched on top of a Redstone rocket. We had a radio in the drawing office and stopped work to listen. </p> <p>I made one bad decision that summer. We had booked a holiday in Cornwall; it was at Newquay and looked an idyllic spot. It was in a small pub down by the harbour, overlooking the sea. I rang them and sent off a letter enclosing a deposit, to secure the booking. At that time we also wanted to buy a Television, we hadn’t had one up to that point. After a few weeks agonising we pulled out of the holiday and spent the money on a small green, plastic faced 14inch TV. That was the last opportunity we would have for a holiday on our own for the next twenty-five years!</p> <p>For most of her life Edna had pen friends. It started when she was nine and joined a club that provided names to write to. She started to write to a girl of the same age called Brenda from Skegness. This correspondence carried on until 2003 when Brenda sadly died. Over all those fifty-six years of correspondence they never met once. I remember one day we on the scooter near Skegness and I suggested we call in to see Brenda but Edna didn’t want to, it was almost as though an illusion would be shattered. They spoke on the telephone for the first time in 2000 after Edna had come out from a long stay in hospital. She also had several pen friends from abroad. In 1961 she invited a French girl to come and stay with us for a couple of weeks. I went down to London to meet her and bring her back to Nottingham on the train. It turned out that Mademoiselle was a very swish dish indeed. Heads were turning as we walked to the station in London. When I got back to the office I mentioned the fact she was staying with us. I suddenly became very popular and several of the lads were queuing up to be invited home. Dick Patterson made the most progress and took her out several times. I wasn’t sure what Edna made of all this, and she must have been glad when the time came for her to return home. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846812/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-06-01:/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846794/morescribbles2006-06-01T17:29:50+02:002006-06-01T17:29:50+02:00 <p>Around spring of 1960 Edna gave her notice in at school and began to apply for teaching jobs in the Nottingham area. A reference written by her Head teacher Mr. Wade was again using the adjectives “conscientious” and “very responsible.” I had already been offered the post at County Hall, so we were almost certainly going to live there. She was offered a job at the Luttrall School in Nottingham, another mixed comprehensive. Edna finally left the Bentinck School in July after two years as a teacher there. In later life she always looked back on those years with great fondness and pleasure. Inevitably there had been difficult times but she had learned so much and always remembered the staff and the children she had known. </p> <p>In the summer of 1960, Keith and Janet were finally married and I was his best man. June and Les were also married that year at Priors Marston. Edna was a bridesmaid together with Josephine and Anne Carvell who was a good friend to both Edna and June. Anne remained in contact with Edna for the rest of her life. In 1961 we travelled over to Blackpool for the wedding of my old school pal Frank Coucill to Ruth. They had met in 1955 when Frank had a summer job working as a conductor on the trams on Blackpool sea front with my old school friends Alan Cockshaw, John Darlington and Jimmy Davies. Frank had been to Liverpool University to study Chemistry but had not completed the course and at that time he was trying to find a new career. Amazingly after the wedding I never saw Frank and Ruth again until we were reunited in 2003, I scratch my head now and wonder how that could have happened, bearing in mind they had continued to live in Bolton over all those years. Stewart and Anne Doncaster were also married and we attended. It seemed to be wedding bells all round for a couple of years.</p> <p>6. 1960 to 1964 - Nottingham</p> <p>Once I had qualified at Sheffield I wrote to Dan Lacey at County Hall, Nottingham and was formally offered a post starting in early August. The next problem was to find accommodation. I wrote to several estate agents and received lists of flats to rent. We couldn’t afford much, Edna was between jobs and I hadn’t started. We finally found a flat in Hampden Street, close to the City centre and next door to the School of Art. It was the usual large three-story Victorian house split up into flats. It was not brilliant; we had two rooms, a very large lounge with a sink and basic cooking facilities and a small bedroom off. Toilet and bathroom facilities were shared with other flats on the same level. In the first few days I saw some of the other tenants and my eyes opened slightly wider. I had my suspicions straight away. I know it was summer and the weather was hot but there were several middle aged ladies living there, who seemed to be competing for the shortest skirt and the thickest make up. I think there were four of them, plying their trade in the City. To think we were sharing toilet facilities with that lot, I was worried we might catch something. To be fair they never bothered us and were always very quiet when they came in. We considered moving on, but after a few weeks the two who were on our floor left, which solved the toilet concern. The two “girls” remaining upstairs we had little contact with. I bet Edna was glad about that, it must have been a situation that worried her. </p> <p>I started at County Hall in the first week of August. I caught a bus in the centre to Trent Bridge. The Architects Department was on the top floor. It was quite a large office; there were five architects groups with about ten in each group. Other sections included, Quantity Surveyors, Services Engineers, Landscape Architects, Clerk of Works, Maintenance and a very large Administration pool. There must have been at least one hundred and fifty worked there. I was introduced to other members of my group. The leader was Eric Turner, tall and balding, always smiling he hid away in a glass cubicle. The two senior men were Dick Patterson and Alan Meikle, very different characters. Dick was smart and smooth, Alan, rough and tough. Both men became County Architects elsewhere in later years. The group’s main project was responsibility for the extensions to County Hall and I was to work on this for the next year. That first morning I got off to a crackling start. At that time I smoked a pipe, and after a couple of hours decided to light up. I filled it, lit it and then couldn’t see an ashtray, so I blew the match out and stuffed it back in the box. My blowing wasn’t that good, in no time the box had ignited with a bang and I was hopping around I could see the others looking at each other thinking what sort of idiot have we got here! </p> <p>Very soon they gave me a small contract to do myself. It was some alterations in the basement of County Hall; I didn’t have far to go for a site meeting! At first those meetings were an ordeal, the Architect would chair the meeting and there were sometimes as many as twenty there, Contractors, Sub Contractors, engineers, Quantity surveyors etc. It was a bit nerve wracking but being pitched in at the deep end it soon became second nature. Over my working life I always said I was happiest being on a building site rather than in the office. Nottinghamshire County Council operated in a building system called “CLASP.” This was the abbreviation for, “Consortium of Local Authorities Special Programme.” Many other local authorities used the same system. I was not to know it in the early days but I eventually was to spend over twenty years designing system buildings. This was a mixed blessing, I became very proficient at managing and running several major contracts at once but decidedly weak on a knowledge of building construction. You didn’t have to think, all the details and assembly drawings were done for you in a large bound manual. </p> <p>In November 1960 John F. Kennedy became the new President of the United States beating Vice-President Richard Nixon by a slim margin. Kennedy was only forty–three a Harvard graduate and war hero. He became the youngest elected president in US history and the first Roman Catholic. What has all that got to do with me you may ask? At the time I probably felt exactly the same and probably took little notice of this event. Two years later I was very glad of this man’s judgement during the Cuban missile crisis.</p> <p>I frequently went on the site of the County Hall extension. I got to know the Clerk of Works well, a grey haired, wiry character called Frank Mee. In his site hut he had a large collection of girlie pictures, the really dubious ones were kept in the bottom drawer. The site foreman, Joe was the image of Arthur Askey, he and Frank together were like a comedy act. Dick Patterson was one of the main supervising Architects for the contract but Joe and Frank were always complaining they could never get hold of him to ask questions. One morning I went in very early to find Frank and several workmen bustling around in the Drawing office. They were moving Dick’s Drawing board, table, drawers, files, everything and reassembling it all on the first floor slab of the incomplete extension before he came in. “ Now we’ll be able to get hold of the bugger,” said Joe. When Dick finally arrived in the office, his jaw dropped when he saw all his stuff had disappeared. To his credit, he grinned and played along with it, spending the rest of the day working at his board on the open first floor slab with labourers working around him, they had even rigged up a phone for him. There were no windows in at that stage either.</p> <p>The office had a thriving cricket team with regular fixtures; I was soon involved in that. The dashing Rex Goodwin, burly Alan Willis, dour Alan Goodman and jovial John Hague are a few of the players I can recall. All the games were played in the evening over twenty overs, and then the serious drinking began. The sports facilities were excellent, we had a large sports ground down Wilford Lane with cricket, football and tennis catered for. In the winter I turned out for the NALGO football team, playing in the local Nottingham league, surprisingly not all the players registered were County Council employees, nobody seemed to mind. Bearded Clive Trigg from the office was a tough tackling full back. We became good friends with Clive and his wife Chris and also with John and Margaret Hague. John lived at Keyworth not far from Tollerton, both Edna and I forged our baby-sitting skills at their house. John was a lively character who had a good line in impersonations of Tony Hancock. He claimed to be a demon bowler and rushed in with a slingy action, his few wisps of hair straggling across his perspiring brow, always looking suitably offended if he didn’t get a wicket every ball!</p> <p>It was noisy living in Hampden Street; there was always some dispute, screaming and shouting going on outside throughout the night. Towards the end of 1960 we started looking around to see if we could afford a house and move. Lizzie came up with the generous offer that she would pay the deposit on a property for us, so we began to look seriously. We saw a small two bed-roomed bungalow at Tollerton, about six miles from County hall on the Melton Mowbray road. Bentinck Avenue was on a small estate, but the properties were not uniform and it was quite pleasant. The asking price was £2,200, which was a little more than our budget but we wanted it. Our offer was accepted and I put an application in for a mortgage. In the meantime I asked Bernard Sherwin from our Maintenance section to check it over for me. Bernard was quite an elderly man and had a very lugubrious manner. He rarely smiled and the world for him was a dark, dangerous place infested by death-watch beetle, dry rot, wet rot, broken drains, leaking roofs and subsidence. As we walked down the path he looked worried as usual. I could hear deep sighs as he stared at the shaky garden wall, the bad pointing on the garage and the rust appearing on the metal windows. The thing that made him happiest was when he could produce his pointed knife. This had to be done discreetly with the owner of the house around. He would sink it into floorboards and skirting boards, the easier it sank in the more pleasure it seemed to give him as he sucked in through his teeth. We walked away, and he said, “ I wouldn’t buy that.” We did of course, when the mortgage survey report came I knew what to expect. Luckily I had made a friend Gerry, who I played football with. He was a plumber but could turn his hand to many other trades and was very competent at everything he tackled. He did all the work required at a very reasonable price with the exception of the rebuilding of the front garden wall, that I decided to tackle myself.</p> <p>Frank Mee taught bricklaying at an evening class at a local technical college. His trade before becoming a Clerk of Works was a bricklayer. When I told him I was going to try and rebuild the garden wall myself he suggested I came along to his class. I did this for several months, all the other lads on the course were apprentice bricklayers and they thought it was a huge joke that an Architect was joining in. There was a lot of ribbing, but it was all in good humour I think they respected the fact I was there with them and trying to learn. They were all doing fancy arches and corbelling and there was I struggling with my plain straight wall. I got there in the end and the wall was rebuilt and approved by the mortgage surveyor </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/06/01/dad_s_life_story~846794/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843093/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:15:09+02:002006-05-31T12:15:09+02:00 <p>I liked living at Carlton Road, Worksop. We had a decent sized lounge with a kitchen off and a bedroom and bathroom upstairs. We shared the house with Mrs White, the elderly lady who owned it. She was a real treasure and left us completely to ourselves. Nothing was ever too much trouble for her if we needed anything. Mrs. White had the front room, another bedroom upstairs, and went round to her son nearby for meals. This would be the first time we had actually lived together; it was a wonderful time for us. I set up a large drawing board in the lounge and most of my thesis project was drawn here. We settled into a routine, Edna would walk to Bentinck School, and I would give her a kiss, wave her off and settle down to several hours of work. A couple of mornings a week I had to go on the scooter into Sheffield for lectures and to see my course tutor. There were no rules that you had to stay in the Department and work each day, as long as you turned up with the drawings when they had to be submitted that was fine. A question has just crossed my mind, how did they know it was my hand using the drawing pen, particularly after what happened at the end of third year? It was and they trusted me.</p> <p>We used to go down to the school on summer’s evenings and play tennis with other members of staff. One day Jeff Jennings approached me and asked if I would be interested in turning out for the football team he played for. He said it was for Bakestone Moor where he lived. I went along for a practice and was surprised at the standard; they were good, very good in fact. The league they played in incorporated the junior teams of local professional teams like Mansfield Town and nearby Colliery teams. When I turned out for my first game, I noticed with surprise there was a large hoarding around the ground and I seem to think spectators were charged admission That may be my imagination running wild but I certainly know I found it tough, I hadn’t played regularly for a couple of seasons and the pace of the matches was quick and they didn’t hold back when tackling. I played for about half a season and then gave up; I didn’t think I could spare the time with my finals approaching. It was an interesting experience and made me realise how good you had to be to make a full time career in football when we played the Mansfield Town Junior side.</p> <p>In February 1958 I became twenty-one and under the rules at that time, eligible to vote. My first opportunity to put my cross on a ballot paper did not come until the 9th October 1959. Harold McMillan was prime minister and went to the country on the back of that famous slogan; “You’ve never had it so good!” We were living in Worksop but I was registered to vote at Little Hulton, not to be deterred I set off early one morning on the scooter. The weather was bad and there was fog around. It was a difficult trip over the Pennines but I was there to record my one and only vote ever for the Conservative party. I stayed overnight at Tynesbank. Dad didn’t come in until very late; he had been acting as the returning officer at a polling station in nearby Swinton. McMillan’s slogan must have worked he won by a huge majority; this must have pleased Dad, as he was a staunch Conservative all his life.</p> <p>During the summer term in final year I went to an evening lecture in the Department. It was by Henry Swain who was the Deputy County Architect of Nottinghamshire County Council. He was talking about the work his office were doing at that time in the development of prefabricated system building. In the late fifties this was becoming very fashionable and local authorities were combining resources to fund huge building programmes. Notts had recently hit the headlines by winning a Gold Medal at the international Milan Architectural Exhibition for a school design. Henry was a striking figure, he reminded me of Spike Milligan, hair all over the place, wild eyed and gabbling as the words poured out of him. You couldn’t help but be impressed with his enthusiasm, the slides of the work made a big impression on me also and I decided to apply for a position there. A few months later I sent off an application form and one day set off for an interview. It was my first visit to Nottingham. My initial reaction was certainly more positive than when I had first seen Sheffield. The county Hall buildings designed by Vincent Harris were rather imposing, sited alongside the river Trent. I was also very pleased to see the Trent Bridge Cricket ground on the opposite side of the road. I had an interview with Henry Swain and the County Architect Dan Lacey. Dan was quite the opposite of Henry, a bluff, taciturn man but very shrewd. They showed me around the office and I made a careful note that you could see the wicket of the cricket ground from the drawing office window. The interview went well and I was offered a job, subject to my passing the degree course on a starting salary of £789 per year. How salaries have changed!</p> <p>I worked steadily through final year on my thesis. The basic design was agreed with my tutor and then it was the long grind of preparing the detailed drawings. Everything was drawn up in the lounge at Carlton Road, usually to the accompaniment of my jazz records, the odd burst of Beethoven’s “Pastoral” and Mitzi the yapping poodle next door. I harboured some very dark thoughts about her. I asked a couple of old Farnworth Grammar school friends for help; Harry Baggs was a heating and ventilating engineer and Alan Cockshaw who had qualified as a civil engineer at Leeds. Alan and his wife Brenda came over to Worksop to visit us. Both men kindly helped out by providing me with detailed calculations, it all helped enormously to improve the final presentation and help me to qualify. I can’t remember if I paid for their valuable services, Harry and I are still talking so he can’t be feeling any resentment and I was delighted to make contact with Alan again only about three years ago. I had actually forgotten he had helped me out until he reminded me. Time and time again during the process of writing this I have been reminded of things, which had gone from my mind. I decided to have all my drawings stretched and mounted on hardboard professionally. I’m not sure it made any difference but at least in years to come it gave me a useful supply of hardboard; they were cut up for all sorts of jobs. There were about twenty-five sheets and they were heavy to transport. On finals hanging day they did look very sharp though. It was a very tense occasion; the external adjudicator was Sir Hubert Bennett, chief architect to London County Council. We all had to stand by our work in the main hall of the University to answer any questions from the examining team. Later that day we were told the results. I had made it and got a 2/1 -degree. This was the classification just below a first and I was delighted with that. I can’t remember how Edna and I celebrated. I probably drove back to Worksop on the scooter and we went out to the cinema, which was our usual relaxation A great day for us and the end of a long winding road of ups and downs that began in 1942 when I started at St. Paul’s Peel Infants school. </p> <p>The degree-day ceremony was held at the City Hall on the 2nd July 1960. I had to hire robes for the presentation. The hall was packed and a very proud Mary and Wilf were sitting with Edna. I don’t know how many presentations were made; across all the Departments of the University there were an awful lot. The name and qualification of each person was read out and then they walked across the stage to receive the certificate and the applause. It seemed to go on and on, I was glad to be named “Clarke” and not “Young” as we went on in alphabetical order. I can’t say I enjoyed it and was relieved when it was over, I didn’t like wearing all the fancy kit. One thing of interest, I wrote earlier that a five-year course was like a marathon, of all the students, around twenty +, who started that first year in October 1955 only seven of us walked across the stage that day. In the box of letters I found the programme for the ceremony when I looked at the names of those who had passed on the programme I could not see Abdul’s name. This was explained in a letter I wrote to Edna on the 9th June, Abdul had decided he had no chance of qualifying and went to see the Professor and asked to be referred back a year. That must have been agonising for him having come so close. Before I sent the robes back I had a studio portrait done for my parents at a photographer’s in Worksop. You have never seen such an embarrassed look on my face; I couldn’t wait to return them and get back to normality. So ended five momentous years for me. I started as a rather naïve shy lad when I had arrived in Sheffield and ended up married with a degree. Along the way I had my traumas, panics and difficulties but there were enormous benefits in the independence and growing maturity I acquired. I met so many people, made so many close friends and above all had the luckiest day of my life when I cast eyes on the young Miss Barrett at just the right time.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843093/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843085/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:13:08+02:002006-05-31T12:13:08+02:00 <p>A week before the wedding and the tension was mounting. Letters were flying backwards and forwards on a daily basis. It’s hard to realise in today’s world of instant communications that letters were the only way I could make contact with Edna; there was no telephone at Northfields farm. A letter I posted on the 28th July caused a rumpus and the bride to be got very upset. That summer one of my student friends John Whisson had got married to Kay, I had in fact been a groomsman. I went round to have a chat with John to try to learn exactly what the sequence of events was at the ceremony. I wrote all this down in the letter saying to Edna, “so you can see if it differs in any way from the way you expect things.” I then listed seventeen items, number 1 - “ Bride arrives at church, I am standing with Keith, as you come down the aisle you come alongside me.” Talk about trying to teach your Grannie to suck eggs. I carried on painfully in this vein. Item 16- “We then turn round, you link my arm and we jog into the vestry, the order being, Bride and Groom, Keith and June, two Bridesmaids, your parents, my parents.” Being rather stupid I had no idea how she would receive this, I thought I was being helpful. I haven’t got a copy of the angry reply that came back by return. The message was in effect, “tell John Whisson to sod off, we will organise our own wedding thank you, do you think I am stupid, and by the way what do you mean we will jog into the vestry, you’re not taking this seriously.” There was no luvvy duvvy ending this time, it finished off, “Look after yourself.” I was replying back on the 30th, creeping and crawling, desperately trying to pour oil on the troubled waters of Priors Marston. “ Oh my love you did sound cross in your letter today, allow me to explain, I put all that down so you would know how much I had gleaned of the wedding ceremony, so that this weekend we can talk things over and decide with the vicar exactly what we are going to do. I didn’t mean that we have to jog into the vestry, very sorry if I seemed flippant.” What a laugh, and all this just a few days before the real thing. We must have had a better postal service in those days to exchange insults that quickly. The arrival of the wedding of course meant the end of letter writing altogether. Edna’s final letter to me dated July 30th 1959 closed with the following lines, “Oh! Roll on tomorrow. Thank goodness we won’t be on this letter writing business any more- I hope.” Life would be very different from now and I couldn’t wait!</p> <p>A few days before the wedding I received a letter from Mother. The opening sentences are typical of her with wings beating, I had been having problems with stomach ulcers.</p> <p> “We received your letter today and we hope you will follow the advice of your Doctor, It has always been my one worry since you left home that something like this would happen sooner or later due to wrong feeding. Now it is up to yourself to see that you do eat the right food and get your stomach right again. Your Dad and I thank you for the kind words you sent to us. We have always looked on you as the greatest thing God has given us in our life together, and it has always been our aim to see you get a good start in life. We are also pleased that you have found such a girl as Edna and we shall be proud to call her our daughter. Bill you must never be afraid to come to us if you are in need, we shall always help if it is possible to do so. God Bless you always, Mum and Dad.” </p> <p>The stomach problem soon resolved itself once I began to live in Worksop. The cure was obviously Edna’s cooking and the twenty miles or so between Greasy Annies shop and Carlton Road.</p> <p>August 2nd dawned and I travelled down to Rugby by train. Edna’s father met me. That evening, the night before the wedding, Keith, Janet and I stayed at “The Hollybush.” the pub in the village. Most people were travelling on the day, so the wedding was held in the afternoon. I can’t remember what we did in the morning, pacing round and round I expect, I certainly was not allowed to see the bride. St. Leonards is a lovely small parish Church; Edna’s father was a bell ringer here. There is a photograph of Keith and a very nervous young man walking towards the church before the wedding. We took our places on the front row and the congregation slowly filled up behind us as the organ played. My Mother and Father came with Lizzie, Albert and Doris. All Edna’s family were there, her parents, Reg, Marjorie and a tiny Pauline, June and Les, Eric and Josephine. The bridesmaids were June, Josephine and a friend of Edna’s called Ann Ludlam. Ironically after that day she never saw Ann again, Edna often wondered what she had done to upset her. Edna’s friend from school Lorna came also several of my close friends from Sheffield, John Whisson and Kay, Frank Helm and Margot his girlfriend. Finally Edna appeared looking gorgeous, what a good choice I said to myself. After the ceremony there was the usual chaos of photographs, then over to the reception at the village hall. It all passed in a bit of a blur, I don’t know what sort of hash I made of the speech; I assume I did one. After the reception we hastily got changed ready to escape; we were off for an exotic four days in Weston Super Mare. Reg drove us to the station at Leamington closely chased by Keith and Janet, fellow students John Whisson, Frank Helm and their respective ladies. The lanes around Priors Marston are very narrow and high-speed car races are not to be recommended, thankfully we all eventually safely congregated on Leamington station platform. We finally got on the train; a few “Just Married” signs were daubed in lipstick across the carriage window before it slowly pulled away. What a relief we were on our own at last! </p> <p>It was very late when we finally arrived in Weston Super Mare. We were staying at a boarding house on the sea front near the centre of the town. When we got there, the landlady was like an old mother hen, fussing round offering us this and that. We just wanted to get to bed immediately. No you’re wrong! We were absolutely exhausted and sleep was what we both wanted, in our case the second night was the first night. The weather was good and we spent most of it lazing on the beach. One evening we passed the local dance hall, there were loads of young people milling around waiting to go in. Edna went noticeably quiet for a period, I asked her what was wrong but she wouldn’t say. She told me much later she had been worrying that she was now a married women, getting old and the carefree days of dances and being chased had gone! I thought as much, luckily she soon snapped out of that mood. Incidentally she told me that those few days in Weston Super Mare became the first holiday she ever had. They passed quickly and the following Saturday we were on the train again, this time heading for Carlton Road Worksop and married life.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843085/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843083/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:12:25+02:002006-05-31T12:12:25+02:00 <p>Early in 1959 I had changed my mind about waiting until summer 1960 before getting married. I had decided that I wanted to get married before I started the final year that October. I proposed to Edna, when we were over on a visit to Little Hulton. On the Saturday evening we went out to a dance hall in Bolton that went by the exotic name of “Palais de Dance.” Well, sort of proposed! We were sitting in the upper gallery looking down on the floor. At that precise moment they were appropriately playing the Michael Holliday song “The Story of My Life.” Edna always complained later that it was never done properly, there was no formal “question popped,” she was simply told we would be getting married that autumn. No comment. It made sense to me; I was spending half my time travelling backwards and forwards to Worksop. I didn’t want to be doing that in my final year. Naturally when my parents were told they were worried about it and thought I should qualify before getting married. They didn’t have the problem of driving that scooter back to Sheffield in the early hours of the morning, I was adamant we should get married before fifth year; I was convinced it gave me the best hope of passing, and had no doubts that the marriage would work Luckily I was proved right on both counts. The wedding was provisionally arranged for August 3rd, Bank Holiday Monday, the main reason for the date was the shop would be closed allowing my Mother and Dad to come. Edna wasn’t entirely happy with that, it cut our honeymoon time down to only four days. Before all this could be finally settled I had to go through the formality of asking the permission of her father. Then, it was considered essential to obtain that approval, two weeks later we went down to the farm. We travelled on our faithful scooter, arriving late on a Friday evening. The next morning I got up and asked where her Dad was, he had already been up several hours and was milking the cows. I went round to the cowshed; he was crouched down on a small stool, tugging away. There was no machinery; it was all done by hand. He glanced up when I walked in and carried on. I rather nervously, opened the conversation. “ Um Er, would it be all right if I, er, got, um, married to Edna?” He paused for a fraction, glanced at me, grinned and said, “ Yes, of course” and immediately resumed milking. That was it, I went back into the farm, and the “ordeal” hadn’t lasted long.</p> <p>On the 23rd March Edna was writing to say she had received a letter from the vicar of Priors Marston, Laurie Parsons confirming that the banns would be published there and that I would require them to be published at St Pauls Peel, Little Hulton. So we had definitely set the date by then. </p> <p>At Easter a family gathering took place at Priors Marston. I drove down with my parents so that they could meet Edna’s parents. It makes me realise how selective memory is, I had completely forgotten about this and without the letters I would never have remembered. We went for four days, I don’t know where we stayed but Wilf and Mary enjoyed it all very much. Apparently before we set off back Annie had filled the boot of Dad’s car with eggs, he was a careful driver thankfully. Even Dad said how much he enjoyed meeting everybody and he usually didn’t say much. I wonder how Annie coped with all that? Edna had told me her mother had said she wouldn’t even be going to the wedding so I suppose Wilf and Mary were wondering what to expect? She must have made a big effort, Dad described her as, “Very nice and didn’t seem shy at all.”</p> <p>In April whilst on holiday Edna was beavering away sorting things out for the big day, which was coming up fast, just under four months to go. She was arranging the catering with a lady in the village who offered the meals at around seven shillings and sixpence each. (37p) We were catering for around 50 guests. She was agreeing the hymns and went to Coventry with Ann Ludlam and June the bridesmaid’s looking for dresses. There was so much to do.</p> <p>During late spring there was a lot more correspondence about wedding arrangements, I began at one point to wonder whether my parents were right after all, perhaps I should have waited until I had qualified. One big problem was solved when Mrs White, Edna’s landlady agreed that I could simply move in with Edna after we were married. I can’t remember if we paid additional rent, I assume we must have done. Other interesting letters from 1959, first from the 14th April, “I had to queue up for ages in the Union to get a polio injection, there were crowds there” that polio epidemic in the early 50’s was still causing concern. From the 27th May, “ I read in the paper of a girl here at the University who has hung herself. She went to the same Grammar School I did and was on finals. She was in digs in Crooksmoor road just round the corner, horrible.” The pressures on students could be enormous and the fact she was from Farnworth Grammar hit me hard. Finally from 1st June, “ I had three fillings at the dentist, it cost £1 Brr. My new speedo cable for the bike cost 9 shillings. The costs of life are mounting.” </p> <p>Near the end of her first term as a teacher, “ Tomorrow draws nearer. Parents and Miss Barrett meet. I shall be very calm, superior and enlightening- what a hope!” </p> <p>During the summer term in fourth year we had to make a big decision. What project were we going to do for our thesis? The final year was completely geared around a single design scheme considered in depth. For the previous four years we had all worked on the same schemes dictated by the course, now we would all be doing a different project that we selected. I discussed various options with my course tutor, but reaching agreement was proving difficult. I wanted to do a Central Fire Station for Manchester, but the Professor didn’t like that idea. Apparently somebody had done one similar the year before and he wanted something, “different and original.” I really cannot remember how I came up with this, but one day I suggested how about a new Reform Club for Manchester. The tutor’s eyes gleamed, “What a brilliant idea Bill,” and that was agreed. Oh dear me; what had I done. Gentlemen’s Clubs in London date back over two hundred and fifty years. The London Reform Club was founded during the period 1830 to 1832, by Liberal members of Parliament at the time the Reform Bill was being canvassed and passed. The equivalent in Manchester was founded in 1867 as a gentlemen’s club for liberal politicians and supporters. Many other clubs were founded, Atheneum, Travellers, United Services, Whites, Boodles, Brooks to name a few. They all have a unique history. The problem I now faced was how easy would it be to gain access and information on establishments that, by their very nature were a closed society? The answer to that was very difficult, I am sure the Chief Fire Officer of Manchester would have welcomed me with open arms. I wrote to several clubs, some did not even bother to reply some said very interesting, but no. In the end I managed to get an interview with two, the secretary’s of the London and Manchester Reform Clubs. The Manchester club wasn’t an attractive place, slightly down at heel I thought. The secretary was different, he was immaculately dressed with a long double-barrelled name and turned out to be a pompous twit. Seeing the type of accommodation was however useful. Later in Easter holidays Edna and I went down to Edenbridge, Kent to stay with Edith and Stan Nightingale for a couple of nights. The next day after arrival I took the train up to London to visit the Reform Club while Edna remained with Edith. The Secretary seemed anxious and made it very plain he didn’t want to waste too much time on me. He rushed me round the place, constantly looking at his watch. I had hoped to spend a morning there, but within an hour I was being shown the door. Again it was of some value to see the fittings and feel the atmosphere of the place. That was it for the research, all I had to do now was put a scheme together and get that degree.</p> <p>A few random stories Edna wrote to me concerning school. “One of the student teachers was passing the Music room in between lessons. One boy was trying to get in but the other children inside were holding the door. Apparently the boy said, “Quick open the door, Here’s Miss Barrett and you know what she’s like.” Then according to the tale the door opened like wildfire and two scared faces peered round. Edna in her new role as a dragoness.” The next one shows she had admirers, “One bright spot in today’s happenings. Dunstan turned up at dinnertime with a bunch of bluebells for me, the poor lad was laughed at and later I discovered another boy sneaking some flowers into a pot during break.” For once at the end of March she was very upset with things, “I’m utterly fed up at school.” Her irritation was directed at the Headmaster Mr. Wade and some senior staff who seem to have made a mess of organising an evening of competitions at school for choral singing and poetry reading to be attended by parents. Things seemed to have gone wrong and unusually for her she wrote in an angry mood, “That is the last time I spend so much time on Ansell’s crazes. I feel all the children deserve an apology, poor kids. I hate the way they are treated like animals devoid of all feeling.” It was absolutely typical of her to show concern for the children. One day the Director of Education for Nottinghamshire, Edward Mason arrived for an inspection. I remember the man when I later worked at County Hall, “He asked could he see my record book and scheme of work? My record book was at home and I didn’t dare show him the scheme of work it was practically non-existent. Oh love I’ve never felt so wretched. The lesson before one of the kids piped up, “ Miss they say you’ve got love bites on your neck.” I wonder if Mason saw them!” </p> <p>One day during 1959 John Whisson who was in our year was driving me back to Worksop. I can’t remember why he was taking me in his car but the memory of what we saw is still clear in my memory. It was a bright sunny day and we were driving along past Lindrick Golf Course. John was a quick driver and we were making good time. I was staring idly at the players walking along the course, when suddenly Johnny shouted.” What the bloody hell is that!” He was staring in his driving mirror and suddenly this tiny car shot past us and disappeared quickly into the distance. We probably felt, as though we had seen a flying saucer, in fact it was our first view of the Mini car. Designed by Alex Issigonis for the nationalized British Motor Corporation and made in Birmingham it had only just been released. It was a huge success and soon they were everywhere.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843083/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843078/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:11:38+02:002006-05-31T12:11:38+02:00 <p>How about this for a prophecy, “Someday when we are married and have our own house and kids we will be able to look back and think of these times when we were separated so often. It is an old joke that when people have been married a few years they dig up their old love letters and have a good laugh. Without any fear of doubt in my mind at all I say we will be happily married and be able to live together happy and contented. The date now is September 7th 1958. Perhaps on September 7th 1968 we could look at this letter again and see just how right I was, and believe me Edna I know I am right.”</p> <p>Over the next few weeks letters from Edna were getting less frequent and very short. She was finding her new job stimulating but very tiring. She had to work most evenings on marking and preparation of the next day’s lessons. Her first impressions of the staff at the school were correct and she very quickly settled in. She used to tell me about the characters there, Jeff Jennings was the joker and according to Edna was, “ an awful tease.” He was always having fun with her and Lorna. Ken Honeybone was usually Jeff’s partner in crime. Nick Chamberlain the art teacher and others whose names have now gone from my mind but she enjoyed the atmosphere of the staff room and the kids were not that bad. I remember she had a soft spot for one naughty lad in her form called Wilfred and a girl called Kathleen Chambers. One day Wilfred brought his book up to be marked, “I took one look at it and told him to do it again. I heard a mutter from Wilfred, thinking I could not have heard correctly I asked him what he had said. The answer came back, “Bloody Eck Miss!” My mouth dropped open.” It was a great time for Edna and she was happy in her work and new friends. One of her early letters at that time said, “ Mr Jennings gave me a little lecture today on working too much, I think I will take his advice.” She used to mention him a lot; “I was talking to Jeff today about work when he suddenly asked when we were getting married. He then got talking about himself and his relationship and how horribly frustrating it was waiting for the day. He said he was finding it a great strain etc.” She then wrote, “so you see we are not abnormal and he sees his fiancee every day!” Jeff eventually got married in April 1959 when Edna wrote to say he had brought some wedding cake into the school. Lucky Jeff, he was getting his oats four months before me!</p> <p>In one of her letters I found a scrubby piece of paper obviously written by one of the kid’s, which she had kept. “ We have had Music today with Miss Barrett. She made some of us stay behind at 4 o’ clock to do some work and I was one of the unlucky ones who had to stay behind for laughing at a boy called Fisher. Then the teacher made me stay long for talking when I arrived at her room.” What a toughie she was! She wrote to tell me of a mother who had gone into school complaining about this Miss Barrett who was keeping her little angel in after school. She was full of herself one day when she felt she had had some success in the classroom. “ You know the atrocious work of Form 2. As a shot in the dark I attempted some grammar thinking they needed to start sometime. I was quite amazed at the results- mind it took about an hour to drum in what a sentence was. It was obvious they had never been told from the ridiculous answers I received. I think I may have grabbed at the right straw here, fingers crossed. It was something new so after a look of boredom they listened it was wonderful to see the interest when they realised they could do something.” Another typical one concerning Jeff and Ken, “ I walked jauntily into school today and Jeff said, “You’ve had a crafty weekend. I went red.” He went on to say that he and Ken had walked past her house the previous night and heard unmentionable noises and furthermore the curtains were about a foot apart. I told him you were very tired and had been asleep when you had been over here. Jeff said, “There’s only one reason a man falls asleep and I should know, it completely shatters you!”</p> <p>We were seeing each other every weekend and with the scooter I was able to get over at least once during the week in the evening. The late night ride back from Worksop to Sheffield was becoming a regular feature of my life. It was also easier for me to take her back home from Sheffield. She was getting used to clinging on the back of the scooter, it certainly was £85 well spent. About two weeks into her fledgling teaching career there was an amusing incident. In her own words, “Today I was on duty and after locking my form room I went to supervise second sitting. After dinner a child came to me wanting to say his tables so I unlocked my door, I was shocked to see another child standing there; I asked “What are you doing here?” the child cried, “You locked me in,” Boo hoo, Squalls of tears etc. I was horrified, the time was 1pm and school restarted in another 15 minutes and he hadn’t had any dinner. Luckily I managed to find the kitchen staff to find him something.”</p> <p>Back to University for the start of 4th year and immediately plunged into a one day Sketch Design. There were constant references throughout the correspondence along the lines of, “Oh no another SD to face.” It was pressured work; we would walk in to be given a brief and schedule of accommodation for a project to be designed and drawn up in 24 hours. The types of project ranged widely from a Motel, Sports club, Youth Hostel, a museum for Greek antiquities to a Riding School. People often worked through the night. A panel would assess the schemes comprising the year tutors and sometimes the Professor involved. A few days later a mark would be given and these would all be taken into account at the end of the year. I am not sure Edna was too impressed when soon after term began I wrote to tell her I was captain of the Department football team and I had to organise a trial game for the following Sunday. Hmm “Would you like to come over and watch?” </p> <p>Rag weekend was an important date in the University calendar. The object was to raise money for local charities and also to have a lot of fun in the process. In my first year I didn’t know what to expect. There was a large procession through the streets of Sheffield on decorated lorries known as “floats.” Each Department would adopt a theme and create a structure to represent that. We were always expected to do well. Each float would be laden with students jangling collecting buckets for the money. There was always a fancy dress Rag Ball, a big event held at City Hall. On the 29th October 1958 it nearly brought about the end of my relationship with Edna, or so she said later! I had the balmy idea we would exchange clothes, I wore one of her dresses, the pink one she had been wearing when we first met, lots of powder and lipstick plus a couple of large balloons strategically located. Very reluctantly she got togged up in my shoes, suit and tie. We got ready at Highnam Crescent and took the bus into the city centre; we must have had a few odd looks. Cross-dressing obviously didn’t go down too well in Priors Marston and it was a very stony faced lady who waltzed around the floor that night. She told me that she had quite gone off me! Relations were strained for days; eventually she came back to normal. I never made that mistake again!</p> <p>On the first anniversary of our meeting we got officially engaged on the 7th December 1958. We travelled over to the shop in Tynesbank on the Friday the 5th December. Josephine, Reg, Marjorie and their first child Pauline aged about 18 months came up also for the weekend. Edna and Josie stayed with Lizzie and Albert at Beechfield Avenue. Josie remembers that she liked Albert but couldn’t understand a word he said with that strong, “ Eh bah gum” accent. She remembered he kept a hen in his back garden that must have made her feel at home. She also recalled that my mother gave Reg and Marjorie an electric blanket the first night, they hadn’t used one before and left it switched on all night, it must have been a bit warm. On the Saturday we all travelled over to Blackpool to see the illuminations. I can remember pushing Pauline in her pram along the darkened promenade, flashing lights glittering everywhere. Her little eyes were open wide in amazement! Edna’s diary entry for that day said, “ Bill and I got engaged today Whoopee!!!” The intention at that stage was we would get married when I had finished at Sheffield in the summer of 1960. In the back of the diary also, there is a hilarious entry that referred to a conversation over that weekend she had with my mother. It read – “Mary’s Doctor talk, safe period normal cycle 28 days.1-8 days menstruation, 12-15 days, Ovary ready to be fertilised. 15-18 days, Time at which ovary could be fertilised.” My mother clearly had never heard of contraceptives!</p> <p>Some time in summer 1958 Keith had ended his engagement to Sue and later found a new girl friend called Janet, by coincidence she had her engagement broken the same day that Keith did. She had just started teaching at a local Grammar School, he met her in October soon after term had started, and that was the reason I changed flats again in the spring of 1959. I left Highnam Crescent and moved in with Abdul Hitam for the rest of the fourth year term. Abdul had a room quite close to the Department in Wilkinson Street. I have this memory of lying in that room listening to endless Nat King Cole records. I cannot remember why I moved I certainly hadn’t had a row with Keith; he was to be my best man that August. I assume he may well have moved in with Janet or, she moved in with him. Josie told me a nice story about Abdul. Apparently I took him down to the farm once and Annie was a bit worried about what to give him to eat. He was a Muslim and she knew they didn’t eat meat so she cooked him pork sausages, not realising they contained meat. Strange considering she was a farmer’s wife. It was very embarrassing when he had to explain sorry he couldn’t eat that.</p> <p>Reading all these letters of mine again, I am struck by the amount I would write and the frequency. There were at least three a week and sometimes daily. I was even putting letters in the post on the days I was travelling over to see her. My writing then was far better than today’s scrawl. It must have taken me a long time to write as I was almost printing each individual letter. I suppose that is the method I used then to letter up drawings; all the letter writing was good practice. Edna if anything wrote more than me sometimes ten pages. It was also not unusual for her to post a letter then write another on the same day and get that in the post as well. One of my letters to her began, “Thank you ever so much for your four letters received this morning.” Once Edna had left Retford and started in Worksop my visits were not restricted to weekends only and I was chugging over on the scooter in midweek. It’s easy to forget now the pressure and intensity of the work I had to do at University. Carrying on a close relationship at distance did sometimes cause problems in getting schemes in on time and the anguish this caused was often mentioned in the letters.</p> <p> I mentioned earlier I used to attend jazz concerts at City hall. I didn’t realise until reading the letters how frequent they were. A typical example in October 1958 I saw, Humphrey Lyttleton, Jimmy Rushing, The Dutch Swing College Band, Chris Barber and there was a University jazz festival as well.</p> <p>I spent the Christmas holiday being a temporary postman in Walkden, for which I earned the grand total of £14. One day I bumped into my old girlfriend Sheila who had given me the sack three years earlier, she was also working on the post and we had a chat. I laid it on very thick in a letter to Edna saying how much nicer she was compared to Sheila. Well I would say that wouldn’t I! I finished work on the post on the 21st December and the next day caught the train to Rugby to spend Christmas at the farm.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843078/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843076/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:10:49+02:002006-05-31T12:10:49+02:00 <p>On the 13th July 1958 I wrote to Edna about an interesting conversation with Abdul which showed the problems faced by foreign students, “Abdul came round to see me last night, he stayed until 1am that’s why I was nearly late for work this morning. We had a very serious discussion about girls and life in general. I’m afraid Abdul is a very worried young man; it’s his engagement he’s worrying about. After all it isn’t a very nice position to be in he hasn’t seen her for three years and will not for another two years. He is worried stiff about how things will turn out. He isn’t sure of his feelings now and obviously a person can change a lot in three years. As he said, “ she may weigh a ton now!”</p> <p>Having typed the above I stared at it for a few minutes thinking, “Whatever happened to Abdul?” I last saw him in Birmingham in 1971. On an impulse I typed his name into Google. To my amazement up popped a website with his email address on, the link was to some message boards; only two months ago he was asking for contact with several of his old University friends and my name was there. I banged off an email immediately to Kuala Lumpur. I was absolutely delighted when a reply came back within a couple of days. We are now in touch again after all these years and that has made writing these memories worthwhile to me for that reason alone. He emailed me with an amusing story, “Before I forget, you mentioned about Bob Cross. Do you remember the night I chased him and some others including Keith (as they were returning to the digs after our dinner at the Rickshaw and I was returning to Crewe Hall) up across Weston Park with the lake. They had planned to let loose the boats but I pretended not to hear about their plan. I quickly took another route and ran after them, shouting and pretending to be the park warden. They all ran and I saw for sure Bob sprinted like a 100m runner as well as a hurdler as he jumped at full stretch over the wrought iron fencing. The iron uprights tore his pants and cut his balls! It was my turn to run away from the scene. Were you there, too? Honestly, I was very worried that night and couldn't sleep. I kept thinking Bob might have been killed. I was in the studio very early the next morning, anxiously waiting for the outcome of the night's adventure. Do you know what? Bob walked in with a fag in his mouth, breathed out smoke as if nothing had happened! Ask him if he remembers this episode Bill. It happened in 1957, our 2nd year.” I cannot remember this episode but as Keith, Abdul and I did every thing together it’s almost certain I was there. I spoke to Bob on the phone and he remembered the Weston Park incident vividly and added some further details. When he had disentangled himself from the railings he immediately realized he was injured. The next morning he set off to walk to Hospital, which was quite a way. It was on Eccleshall road past the Rickshaw heading into the City. He said he was staggering along like a bow legged jockey! When he got there a young nurse took him into a cubicle for inspection. He dropped his trousers and at the sight of all the blood and gore she promptly fainted on the spot, with Bob groaning on the bed. They stitched him up but apparently never cleaned him up and kicked him out. He had to go back several times for check ups and was very relieved when the finally discharged him. It didn’t do him any terminal harm; he has produced a couple of kids since!</p> <p>Around this time Edna had written to me expressing concern over her moods, writing, “I am worse than most women.” I replied wearing my amateur psychologists hat, “How difficult I had found it soon after moving into flats with my old school friends over two years previously. One of them had been really moody and I had got very irritated, “but of course I couldn’t possibly get irritated with you. Keith sometimes could get grumpy when he was fed up but as he was a naturally friendly person I could accept that.” I carried on serenely with the flow, “I don’t profess to be perfect at all times by any means.” Now there’s a surprise. The letter carried on to talk about an engagement later that year and marriage when I had finished at Sheffield possibly in late 1960 after I had found a job.</p> <p>I was still trying to play sport as much as I could. There were regular references to going to a gym to play indoor football. I have no memory at all now where that gym was. Abdul was a keen badminton and tennis player and we had some games. There were also some cricket nets and in August that year I noted Keith, Abdul and I were going down to practice. Abdul had good hand eye co-ordination. I don’t think cricket is big in Malaya but he soon picked it up.</p> <p> In the middle of August I finished the job in Sheffield with great relief and Edna came over to Little Hulton for a ten-day holiday. We had a trip over to Blackpool. She liked it, there was certainly plenty to see and do. Whilst she was over we went to the wedding of my cousin Sheila to Charlie Horton. They were married at St. Charles church, Swinton and the reception was held at the Robin Hood pub in Pendlebury. Edna returned home to get ready for her new life in Worksop starting in early September. I started another job in the parcels Department at London Road Station, Manchester earning the princely sum of £7 per week. I was delighted to get it and wrote, “We are as good as engaged by Christmas now.” I did that for about six weeks and obviously was still trying to save up for that ring. I was feeling low on the 29th September saying I only had saved £15 towards the ring. Apparently my pay per week at the parcels office was only £4-50 shillings. There was one odd lad who seemed to attach himself to me. Perhaps because he knew I was a student, he kept telling me he read Freud and spoke about psychoanalysis. One afternoon he cornered me and said, “I’m a very dangerous man, I’m a paranoic.” He got the medical description wrong but I kept out of his way after that. One afternoon I was given the task of sweeping all the station platforms. Only a few years before I had been standing on the same platforms train spotting, I looked at the spotters there with envy. Whilst I was at home during this period Mother kept inviting people home for tea, Mrs Cartwright and Anne, Frank and Ruth his girlfriend, May and Johnny all came at different times. Lots of letters to Edna during this period describing my boring job humping parcels around, there was still time to tell her about a particularly exciting match at Burnden Park between Bolton and Arsenal, I bet she was thrilled. (Bolton won 2-1, so there!)</p> <p>During the holidays her father had taken her up to Worksop to find accommodation and a room was found living with a family Mr and Mrs Mallender at 56 Potter Street. Driving back home he said what a nice family and how friendly the man had been. His assessment wasn’t too good as Edna was to find out. She moved into the house on the 7th September and wrote to me that evening. They had three children aged two, four and six and they were rather a pain, it wasn’t the best of starts. There was a servant girl who had been there a week and had already given her notice in. She had a chat with Edna and said she didn’t enjoy the sound of Mr Mallender beating up his wife! The prospects were looking bad on the first day. At least the next day her first at school went well and she soon made a good friend in Lorna Ogley the new PE. Teacher. Lorna was to remain a friend for the rest of her life. First impressions of all the staff were very good; they were a mainly young lively bunch, pity about the flat!</p> <p>She lasted around three weeks in Potter Street. There were increasing difficulties with the kids who she described as “brats” and even worse with Mr Mallender. At the end of the first week she put an advert in the local Post office seeking accommodation elsewhere. Early the second week things were getting nasty, she had whacked one of the kids and Mr M. was threatening to hit her. He stood outside her room screaming, “You can get out tomorrow.” There were furious rows between him and his wife going on well into the night and Edna wasn’t sleeping. By the 23rd Sept she had made contact with an old lady called Mrs White who was offering accommodation at 303 Carlton Road. Edna liked her immediately and accepted. The cost was 35 shillings per week, excluding any food and included a bedroom upstairs and a lounge downstairs with small kitchen off. There was an outside toilet but no bathroom. Mrs White spent most of the day at her son’s house about two minutes away; she said Edna could go there anytime she wanted a bath. Edna asked about her boyfriend visiting, Mrs White said she wouldn’t object to a “man” but would to “men.” Two nights before she left Potter Street there was a particularly violent row going on and she heard Mr Mallender say, “Right I’m not sleeping with you tonight, I’m going upstairs to sleep with Edna.” Big panic, he didn’t attempt it thankfully She finally with great relief left the Mallenders on the 27th September and moved over to the lovely Mrs White. What a contrast, she turned out to be an absolute treasure. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843076/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843074/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:10:06+02:002006-05-31T12:10:06+02:00 <p>I was beginning to take Edna over to Tynesbank for weekends quite often. Usually we would drive over to Blackpool or Southport with Mother and Dad for an afternoon out. She always enjoyed those trips as she had hardly ever been to the seaside. On one visit to Blackpool I can remember we met Frank Coucill and his girlfriend Ruth who lived there. One afternoon on a trip to Southport we had a real fright. For the one and only time in our lives we went on the Big Dipper. The ride was virtually empty when we got on, we sat in a car with a big iron bar that we pulled up to lock ourselves in. There was no proper seat harness you simply had to hang on to the iron bar across your tummy. Talk about scary. The cars slowly clanked their way up the steep incline ready for the fast descent. As it reached the top the sea was visible way down below as it began to accelerate. Suddenly the metal bar we were hanging onto fell forward, we were lifted up and came within a whisker of toppling out head over heels and it was terrifying. When we got off I really should have complained how dangerous it was but we staggered away. Never again did we ever try anything like that.</p> <p>In early July Edna visited the school in Worksop for the first time. She was delighted with what she found. All staff had to take one maths lesson per day, which made me smile and she was to specialize in English. She was to take the first two years and the good news also there were to be five newly qualified young teachers starting at the same time. Term began on September the 9th. The last week at College was a happy time lots of socialising, dinners and parties. They all had a formal dinner in the main hall Edna and her friends were sitting with Mr Mellor a member of staff. He started to talk about marriage and said the teachers on average take at least seven years to start a family due to the tension and stress of the job. Edna wrote to tell me this tale and said she would definitely drop that average. They had riotous nights out in the local pub getting drunk on lemonade. A few days later she was beginning to pack her bags and finally leave Retford. She wrote to say that she was just off to say her good-byes to dear Miss Warren who apparently said, “ You will still be close to us living in Worksop Miss Barrett do call in and let me know how you are getting on.” No chance of that happening.</p> <p>I had forgotten that my Mother used to regularly send cards and good wishes to Edna. She was always so pleased to receive them. There was one waiting for her at Northfields farm when she returned home, a musical one that they all laughed at. She had a holiday job working at Marks and Spencer in Leamington. She had to cycle every day to Southam to get the bus. She claimed that the sixteen miles per day she was cycling was doing her no good at all. It was a long day she left home at 7am and did not return until 7-15pm.</p> <p>In the summer of 1958 I desperately wanted a scooter, at that time they were everywhere. In letters around late spring there were many references to me looking around for one. I was looking ahead to the time a few months hence when Edna started her new job teaching in Worksop. The late night train and walking home if I missed the last bus didn’t appeal. There were two types available, Vespa or Lambretta. They were developed in Italy in the 1940’s and became an essential part of daily life. By the mid 50’s they were very fashionable here and films of the period always seemed to show the stars whizzing around on one. The key to the success of the scooter was it brought transport available to those who couldn’t afford a motorcar. Like yours truly! One day I was idly staring at the notice board in the Student Union building, when I saw an advert for a Vespa. “Good condition, £85.”In those days that was a considerable sum of money, hang it I thought let’s go for it. I cashed in some savings certificates I had which went some way towards it, possibly Lizzie lent me the rest, she always was very generous to me and a deal was struck. One good by product I gave up smoking for a time to save some money. I couldn’t have the scooter for three weeks so there was time to sort a few things out. I had a cycle and offered it to Edna writing, “I went down into the cellar yesterday to have a look at it. It’s a bit rusty but I will clean it up and get it back in running order. If you want it love, it’s all yours. When you’ve done with it we can save it for our first little boy.” Emma won’t think much of that sentence! I was unhappy over the high cost of insuring the scooter, £7-10 shillings for a year but delighted to get a bargain on a crash helmet, half price at £1.</p> <p> On the 7th July I handed over a £10 deposit to the owner of the scooter and a week later I was standing outside the flat in Highnam Crescent waiting for it to be delivered, clutching my L-plates and £75 in cash. In the first few weeks there were lots of minor problems that caused a bit of grief. I made my first long trip down to Priors Marston on August 3rd. I was worried stiff I would break down and the day before I set off the speedometer cable broke just to cheer me up. The first driving test I took was in mid September in Bolton, it was a near disaster. I knew the brakes were not absolutely in top condition but I had practised an emergency stop and was confident they would be good enough. What I had overlooked was that the test would be carried out in pouring rain and the examiner would jump out in front of me half way down a cobbled steep hill. “STOP” he screamed with his arm raised. I banged the brakes on, nothing happened, I slewed the bike; just missing him as I fell off, the bike went clattering down the hill with me groaning on the floor. Guess what, I failed, but at least the examiner was still alive! After that I was careful to have it regularly maintained and duly passed at the second attempt. I had it for about four years and we must have done thousand of miles on it. Trips with Edna and I from Sheffield or Worksop to Priors Marston or Little Hulton; became a regular part of our lives. Looking at the letters a trip from Priors Marston to Sheffield took just under four hours. It could occasionally be a bit temperamental and I would resort to a well-placed kick, which sometimes got it going again. The letters over the next eighteen months constantly refer to problems with it. I once made a journey from Priors Marston to Sheffield without a clutch, I bet that was fun. Nice to see that scooters appear to be making a comeback, Hmm, I wonder what a Vespa costs today, I’d love another ride?</p> <p>On the 8th August she received the letter formally confirming that she had passed all the exams. She would have a probation year to do in Worksop and could then call herself a qualified teacher. On the day in question she had set off to work in Leamington before the post arrived, her Dad opened the letter when it came and read the good news. When she arrived home late at night her Mother never said anything and Dad was still down the fields. Edna asked had there been any post and was given the letter. Dad then came in and said nothing, she was very upset and no wonder. I always said they were a strange couple. I was delighted for her at least. She always seemed to have an uneasy relationship with her mother and always felt she favoured the boys, Reg and Eric. One day she said to Edna, “I hope when you have children you’ll help the boys get on more than the girls won’t you, after all it’s the boy’s career?” She would clearly have approved of the Good Housekeeping article from 1955.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843074/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843071/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:09:39+02:002006-05-31T12:09:39+02:00 <p>I was beginning to take Edna over to Tynesbank for weekends quite often. Usually we would drive over to Blackpool or Southport with Mother and Dad for an afternoon out. She always enjoyed those trips as she had hardly ever been to the seaside. On one visit to Blackpool I can remember we met Frank Coucill and his girlfriend Ruth who lived there. One afternoon on a trip to Southport we had a real fright. For the one and only time in our lives we went on the Big Dipper. The ride was virtually empty when we got on, we sat in a car with a big iron bar that we pulled up to lock ourselves in. There was no proper seat harness you simply had to hang on to the iron bar across your tummy. Talk about scary. The cars slowly clanked their way up the steep incline ready for the fast descent. As it reached the top the sea was visible way down below as it began to accelerate. Suddenly the metal bar we were hanging onto fell forward, we were lifted up and came within a whisker of toppling out head over heels and it was terrifying. When we got off I really should have complained how dangerous it was but we staggered away. Never again did we ever try anything like that.</p> <p>In early July Edna visited the school in Worksop for the first time. She was delighted with what she found. All staff had to take one maths lesson per day, which made me smile and she was to specialize in English. She was to take the first two years and the good news also there were to be five newly qualified young teachers starting at the same time. Term began on September the 9th. The last week at College was a happy time lots of socialising, dinners and parties. They all had a formal dinner in the main hall Edna and her friends were sitting with Mr Mellor a member of staff. He started to talk about marriage and said the teachers on average take at least seven years to start a family due to the tension and stress of the job. Edna wrote to tell me this tale and said she would definitely drop that average. They had riotous nights out in the local pub getting drunk on lemonade. A few days later she was beginning to pack her bags and finally leave Retford. She wrote to say that she was just off to say her good-byes to dear Miss Warren who apparently said, “ You will still be close to us living in Worksop Miss Barrett do call in and let me know how you are getting on.” No chance of that happening.</p> <p>I had forgotten that my Mother used to regularly send cards and good wishes to Edna. She was always so pleased to receive them. There was one waiting for her at Northfields farm when she returned home, a musical one that they all laughed at. She had a holiday job working at Marks and Spencer in Leamington. She had to cycle every day to Southam to get the bus. She claimed that the sixteen miles per day she was cycling was doing her no good at all. It was a long day she left home at 7am and did not return until 7-15pm.</p> <p>In the summer of 1958 I desperately wanted a scooter, at that time they were everywhere. In letters around late spring there were many references to me looking around for one. I was looking ahead to the time a few months hence when Edna started her new job teaching in Worksop. The late night train and walking home if I missed the last bus didn’t appeal. There were two types available, Vespa or Lambretta. They were developed in Italy in the 1940’s and became an essential part of daily life. By the mid 50’s they were very fashionable here and films of the period always seemed to show the stars whizzing around on one. The key to the success of the scooter was it brought transport available to those who couldn’t afford a motorcar. Like yours truly! One day I was idly staring at the notice board in the Student Union building, when I saw an advert for a Vespa. “Good condition, £85.”In those days that was a considerable sum of money, hang it I thought let’s go for it. I cashed in some savings certificates I had which went some way towards it, possibly Lizzie lent me the rest, she always was very generous to me and a deal was struck. One good by product I gave up smoking for a time to save some money. I couldn’t have the scooter for three weeks so there was time to sort a few things out. I had a cycle and offered it to Edna writing, “I went down into the cellar yesterday to have a look at it. It’s a bit rusty but I will clean it up and get it back in running order. If you want it love, it’s all yours. When you’ve done with it we can save it for our first little boy.” Emma won’t think much of that sentence! I was unhappy over the high cost of insuring the scooter, £7-10 shillings for a year but delighted to get a bargain on a crash helmet, half price at £1.</p> <p> On the 7th July I handed over a £10 deposit to the owner of the scooter and a week later I was standing outside the flat in Highnam Crescent waiting for it to be delivered, clutching my L-plates and £75 in cash. In the first few weeks there were lots of minor problems that caused a bit of grief. I made my first long trip down to Priors Marston on August 3rd. I was worried stiff I would break down and the day before I set off the speedometer cable broke just to cheer me up. The first driving test I took was in mid September in Bolton, it was a near disaster. I knew the brakes were not absolutely in top condition but I had practised an emergency stop and was confident they would be good enough. What I had overlooked was that the test would be carried out in pouring rain and the examiner would jump out in front of me half way down a cobbled steep hill. “STOP” he screamed with his arm raised. I banged the brakes on, nothing happened, I slewed the bike; just missing him as I fell off, the bike went clattering down the hill with me groaning on the floor. Guess what, I failed, but at least the examiner was still alive! After that I was careful to have it regularly maintained and duly passed at the second attempt. I had it for about four years and we must have done thousand of miles on it. Trips with Edna and I from Sheffield or Worksop to Priors Marston or Little Hulton; became a regular part of our lives. Looking at the letters a trip from Priors Marston to Sheffield took just under four hours. It could occasionally be a bit temperamental and I would resort to a well-placed kick, which sometimes got it going again. The letters over the next eighteen months constantly refer to problems with it. I once made a journey from Priors Marston to Sheffield without a clutch, I bet that was fun. Nice to see that scooters appear to be making a comeback, Hmm, I wonder what a Vespa costs today, I’d love another ride?</p> <p>On the 8th August she received the letter formally confirming that she had passed all the exams. She would have a probation year to do in Worksop and could then call herself a qualified teacher. On the day in question she had set off to work in Leamington before the post arrived, her Dad opened the letter when it came and read the good news. When she arrived home late at night her Mother never said anything and Dad was still down the fields. Edna asked had there been any post and was given the letter. Dad then came in and said nothing, she was very upset and no wonder. I always said they were a strange couple. I was delighted for her at least. She always seemed to have an uneasy relationship with her mother and always felt she favoured the boys, Reg and Eric. One day she said to Edna, “I hope when you have children you’ll help the boys get on more than the girls won’t you, after all it’s the boy’s career?” She would clearly have approved of the Good Housekeeping article from 1955.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843071/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843066/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:08:37+02:002006-05-31T12:08:37+02:00 <p>By June 11th the pressure of work was telling on me. Most of my letters at this time were being written in the middle of the night. “ Have just knocked off at the comparatively early hour of 12-45am. Design Exam goes in on Friday morning, working drawings finally on Saturday morning. Some of the lads who haven’t finished are staying up all night. It will be 24 hours a day at it for the next few days.” It was a tough business but why leave everything to the last minute, a common student problem. I can still visualise those middle of the night walks back from the studio up the hill back to Highnam Crescent with the dim yellow glow from the streetlights and the lake in Weston Park often shimmering in the moonlight.</p> <p>I used to smoke a pipe in those days; luckily I eventually gave it up. A letter outlined the addiction. “Yesterday I got my best pipe back so I treated myself to the luxury of my favourite tobacco. I can’t normally afford it as it costs nearly six shillings an ounce as opposed to the normal four shillings. The trouble is I can never stop smoking when I get this stuff. I’ve hardly had the pipe out of my mouth over the past two days.” Wouldn’t it have been more sensible to have packed up smoking and spent the money on much needed food! I obviously hadn’t got much sense then.</p> <p>The final examinations at the end of third year in summer were important. If you passed you were granted what was called a “ Certificate in Architecture.” This was a recognised qualification and work could be found on the strength of it. A major part of the exam was producing the measured drawings of the buildings we had surveyed during summer of 1956 in Edinburgh. As ever, things were left too late, we had been given two years to prepare the final drawings but with only two months to go, neither Keith nor I had started. Totally our own fault but a bit of panic was setting in. One day Keith came into the flat saying that a previous student had offered him some drawings of the building we had measured and for a small fee we could have them. This would speed the process, as we would not constantly have to be referring to our measurements. After a chat we decided to go for it, definitely a bad decision. On the day the drawings were judged they were all hung in the main Hall of the University. They were carefully scrutinised and from the odd comments being passed, Keith and I soon realised we were in a spot of bother. Unfortunately Pete Wright and Dave Johnson had also measured and surveyed the same building, and there were obvious glaring discrepancies between the two versions. They weren’t subtle differences either, doors and windows on one and not the other! Pete and Dave just happened to be two of the best students in the year and they both ultimately got a first class honours degree. Pretty obviously something odd had been going on and Keith and I were prime suspects. The tutor had a word with us seeking an explanation; we had no choice but to come clean. It took a few days for decisions to be reached, I was worried stiff we would be referred back a year or even worse. Luckily we got away with it and were allowed to pass through to fourth year. We had passed all the course work and associated exams plus the draughtsmanship on the suspect drawings was fine, all of this thank goodness swayed the balance in our favour. Some words of advice were proffered, they went something along the lines of, “ and don’t you ever be so bloody stupid again.”</p> <p>The final results came out on the 22nd June 1958. On that morning I had other things on my mind. My lady was cross and I didn’t know why. I picked the pen up yet again. “Following your refrigerator phone call yesterday and the absence of a letter this morning I assume something is wrong. At present I feel puzzled and upset over the curt and disinterested way you sounded.” What had I done? The explanation came in a letter from her received the next day. She had had two exams on one day earlier that week and for some reason hadn’t received any letter from me on the day wishing her well, hence the mood! Considering I seemed to spend all my time writing letters that was a bit rich but was probably an indication of the extreme stress that the pressure of exams can bring. I was a bit worried myself that week as well. One man in our year at that time just before the exams collapsed after a nervous breakdown and could not complete the course, it could be tough there was no doubt. To celebrate getting through the year Keith and I went out to watch some professional wrestling which we found funny and then onto a meal at our local Chinese restaurant “The Rickshaw.” </p> <p>Immediately after we got the results I went to spend a few days with Keith and his family in Hull. I had never been to that part of the world before. His parents owned a pub called “The Duke of York.” We had an enjoyable time, played a bit of golf and went fishing at Bridlington. That brought back memories of being there with Frank six years earlier. I wrote a letter to her, “From the land of cod.” There was nothing about what we were doing it was all about money worries. I wanted to buy a scooter but with an engagement hopefully by the end of the year didn’t think I could afford it. I liked the line; “Someday we will have a car when we are old and sixty.” That must have seemed a very long way away then.</p> <p>When we got back from Hull we went straight round to the job centre and got a job for a few weeks working in Sheffield railway goods yard. I started on the 1st July. The job entailed loading up the wagons, we worked in pairs, pushing our heavily laden trolleys along the platform. It was long hard work; I wrote in one letter that from 2pm until 9pm I was loading steel sections. One afternoon I was eating my sandwiches with another lad, sitting in one of the wagons. He suddenly produced a large bottle he had obviously nicked from one of the boxes, “Try a bit of this,” he grinned and I liked it. It had quite an effect and my head was soon spinning. There was some very wobbly walking down the platform for the rest of the afternoon and I can’t remember how I got back to the flat, I’ve never touched a drop of rum since. I made friends with another student working there; he was a Hungarian who had come over two years earlier after the uprising. He had just failed all his exams and had to retake the lot in September. It didn’t seem to worry him, he told me, “Its no use I like English girls too much, they put me off work.” Part of the time I had to work nights, which was not pleasant. I made a comment in a letter that for working through the night I only earned just under £2 each time. One night a policeman stopped me as I was walking home at 3-30am. Obviously he was suspicious of the unshaven bleary-eyed character staggering along. At least I was eating better at this time, Johnny Whisson and his girl Kay lived in the flat below and we used to jointly share a meal, which Kay cooked. From letters written at the time I see I was paid the grand total of £8 per week for all the hard work in the goods yard. In early August I was doing some financial calculations on how I could afford to buy a ring around Christmas time. We were obviously discussing an engagement; clearly the wages I was earning were vital. I was hoping to spend about £25 on the ring. If my memory is accurate I think I eventually spent nearly £30, which was a lot of money then to me.</p> <p>“No sex please we’re British,” was the title of a successful West End farce in the 1970’s and sums up nicely the repressive attitudes of the 1950’s. When I was growing up sex didn’t exist. It was never mentioned by my parents, never at school and only very discreetly in the media. Whenever I had asked my Mother where babies came from the answer was always, “From under a gooseberry bush.” That was the extent of my sex education. I am sure Edna had exactly the same upbringing. Society at that time expected you to abide by various unwritten conventions. Women were subservient to men, no way should you live together before marriage and the ultimate crime sex before marriage was taboo. An extract from “Housekeeping Monthly” dated 13th May 1955 under the heading “The Good Wives Guide” stated, “Encourage your husband to pursue his hobbies and interests and be supporting without seeming to encroach. If you have hobbies yourself try not to bore him speaking of these, as women’s interests are often rather trivial compared to men’s. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes; do not pressure him in any way to stimulate intimacy. Should your husband suggest congress then accept humbly, all the time being mindful that a man’s satisfaction is more important than a woman’s.” How about that! There are a few references to this delicate subject in the correspondence. In a letter on the 2nd July 1958 I raised the dreaded subject of sex head on, I am sure I found it much easier that way rather than speaking to her face to face. The letter had a high moral tone, I was never that religious and didn’t go to church throughout my University years but the Archbishop of Canterbury himself would have nodded approvingly at some of the phrasing, “ Wickedness is in my opinion when it is not love but lust” and warming to the subject, “Fate decrees that we must wait a few years before marriage to fulfil our desires naturally.” What a hoot I could have got a job writing for Mills and Boon. I continued with these high-minded sentiments for a few more pages but there must have been a gleam in my eye as I wrote a hopeful get out clause at the end. In essence I was saying, “ Well I will if you will, but if you don’t want to I won’t!” I didn’t exactly use that language but the result was we never did and agreed to wait until marriage eventually on August 3rd 1959, only another thirteen months to go. What self control! Incredible when you look at it through the eyes of the elderly twenty-first century man.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843066/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843059/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:07:52+02:002006-05-31T12:07:52+02:00 <p>Towards the end of April the letters took rather more serious tone, I had obviously opened a debate about the possibility of getting engaged later in the year and the importance of “commitment.” Edna clearly was still carrying a few scars from her previous relationship and wrote, “I still think the majority of presentable men find it difficult to be faithful unless they are completely mamby pamby little lap-dogs - I would hate that!” I don’t know what my immediate reaction was when I read that but I bashed out a very long reply, nine sides of paper was more than usual, she had written thirteen by the way. I started off thanking her for her “most wonderful letter,” excellent tactics Billy. The broad gist was I would never let her down engagement or not, and had no doubts one day we would get married and live happily ever after. We did!</p> <p>Quote from Edna’s letter dated 22nd April, “When I am 54 I would like to have sixteen children.” If she should have seen the warning signs over my obsession with football, that particular sentence should have given me a clue about her in other directions!</p> <p>Edna never had the slightest interest in football, She liked cricket having been taken to village matches by Reg her elder brother. During the winter of 1958 I was still playing for the Architects team and she would dutifully come along to games and stand shivering on the line, the tribulations of true love. In May, Bolton Wanderers were through to the FA.Cup Final against Manchester United. Following the Munich crash three months earlier Manchester United had got to the final on a great wave of public sympathy and support. They were showing the match live at a cinema in the centre of Sheffield. She must have groaned but came with me nevertheless. The cinema was quite crowded and when Bolton scored I was alone in leaping out of my seat yelling out in triumph. “Shut up and sit down,” she hissed. Later that year she stretched devotion to the limit by going to her one and only Bolton Wanderers game. We were over for a weekend and went to the match. We sat on the back row of the Burnden stand; I think Bolton won easily scoring five. With each goal everybody leapt off their seat apart from a young lady in a red duffle coat who seemed to be staring at her shoes, her mind elsewhere. Quote from letter 25th May 1958, “I’m a bit wary about how this football passion will affect us, still time will tell.” Two weeks later, “Likewise Bill about football-of course I want you to play with the team if you want. It will be nice if I could come and watch you but if not it’s just too bad. Anyway don’t let me affect your choice too much, I say “too much” as I shall expect to see as much of you as the football does.” There was more than a hint of concern in all this. Luckily I had given up playing for the University before we met. That could really have caused big problems.</p> <p>I had forgotten I used to do her maths homework. She used to send the questions through the post with a request for answers returned by the following Friday… please. Rather odd that sometimes my “love” letters consisted of pages of algebra calculations. I couldn’t sit the final exam for her mind or teach the subject after she qualified.</p> <p>Within the next nine months there were two deaths in the family. Grandmother died on April 9th 1958 aged 89 and Uncle Sam on the 15th January 1959. I went over to Grandmothers funeral, which was on the 12th April. On the morning of the funeral I went up to Tonge Moor Road with Mother and Dad to “pay last respects.” I don’t know if this is a custom that was peculiar to Lancashire but “peculiar” is the word I would use to describe it. I had been through this six years earlier with my other Grandmother. We arrived at the house and went in. It was still a chip shop and the front room was the frying and serving area. It seemed decidedly odd to walk in and see her lying in a coffin, cold face staring upwards with the chip shop counter with all the menus displayed above alongside her. I can’t say I enjoyed that. The funeral service and burial was held at Walkden Church later that day. After that the “wake” was celebrated in an upper room at Walkden Co-op building, there was almost a happy party atmosphere as people tucked into lots of food.</p> <p>It’s no wonder I ended up with stomach problems the way Keith and I lived. We never ate properly and continued the regular diet of mainly greasy, fatty food. In early May 1958 I was writing, “Golly I’m hungry, you would think I was on a diet, today I’ve had three fishpaste sandwiches, three jam sandwiches and a glass of milk. At least chips were not mentioned but I seem to have them for supper every night. I suppose it was all about time, lack of effort to cook properly and probably even more important lack of money. Continuing this theme a week later I wrote, “Just got back from the Rickshaw. Having had hardly anything to eat today we decided to whip down and get a good meal. Mine cost 5shillings and three pence. I had fried rice, lychees and coffee. It was lovely.” Not much nutrients in that either! Even Edna was beginning to tell me off, “I do wish you would think more about food. Elementary biology tells you that food is necessary for energy and mental energy is just as important as any other.” Wise words!</p> <p>Prior to my second visit Reg rang to ask if I would play cricket for Priors Marston against Flecknoe on the Saturday. I readily agreed and looked forward to it. On the Saturday morning Reg said we would be travelling by coach. I was impressed until I saw the battered old bus. Albert Budd the Captain was a bit battered and old as well. Flecknoe’s small pitch was in a wonderful setting, we won the toss and I walked out to open the batting. I managed about nineteen runs and stayed in a long time, which gave me a few more brownie points with Reg. Their opening bowler was pretty quick, a lithe dark haired lad called Atkins. I think he was an old boyfriend of Edna’s that’s perhaps why he kept banging it short at me. I can’t remember the result; it was all very enjoyable. Over the next few years we used to regularly go down so that I could play for the team. Eric also was very keen and played alongside Reg. Sometimes we played factory teams from Rugby or Leamington on immaculate grounds. Other games were played against small villages where the grass was a foot high and you had to be careful where the cows had been. Derby matches against Priors Hardwick were always fiercely contested, usually on a dicey pitch. I loved going down to the farm to see them all, I felt I was part of a large family and that was a nice feeling for me.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843059/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843056/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:07:09+02:002006-05-31T12:07:09+02:00 <p> Letters over this period to each other were full of references to studies, forthcoming exams and all the “swotting” still to be done. The constant fear of failure was a common theme. Edna was coming up to her finals to qualify as a teacher and I was facing the end of third year. There appeared to be a lot of gloom and doom on both sides and the pressure was obviously telling. I was writing, “It’s 11pm, I’m very tired but I have to swot Acoustics for another hour.” Perhaps I should have spent less time on the letter writing! Another painful cry from me on the 22nd April, “I feel so miserable, I’ve got three weeks to complete these working drawings for my Bank scheme and to be honest with you I’m in trouble right up to my neck.” At least there was still a head to go! Part of my panic was obviously the possibility of having to repeat the year if I failed and all the problems that would create. I didn’t realise when I was writing that letter I nearly failed for another reason. Letters over the next few weeks were full of talk of getting to bed at 2am, 3am etc. On the 16th May I was writing that the crisis was over and preliminary assessments by the course tutor were favourable, the final mark for the construction drawings was B1, which showed the effort I must have made. </p> <p>Not surprisingly as students neither of us had much money, I was writing, “ I don’t know what we are going to do on Saturday, I’m afraid my money position is so drastic that I can’t possibly pay for the pictures and also come back to Retford!” Another example from May 1958, “ I took the chance to go down town and pay some bills and have a haircut. The bills were for paper, ink, pencils etc, it all came to £8 which has just about broke me.” Similar sentiments in early July, “ I haven’t got a halfpenny to my name.” What’s a halfpenny today’s generation would ask? I don’t know how much grant I got and I cannot remember if my parents sent me anything, I don’t think they did. </p> <p>There are frequent references in the letters to late night card sessions. I wonder how I managed to fit everything in. “It was our turn to host the Sunday night meeting of the United Nations card club. Tonight there were 3 from Aden, a West Indian, 2 Italians and Keith and I.” Apparently my nickname amongst this lot was “Manchester.” Because they knew I liked football and they all regarded Manchester as the home of football, that’s rather strangely how it came about. As I wrote to Edna, “It still seems funny to me to get up and be confronted by a grinning Arab saying, good morning Mr Manchester, still they are all great people to know.” True to form in mid March Edna was coming over the following Saturday and I made a tentative query if she would like to go to watch Sheffield Wednesday play some team from up north, I think it was Bolton. The reply was in the negative. Edna was a keen stamp collector and one advantage of the multi-national student population was I could beg stamps for her from letters coming in from abroad. There are constant references in my letters to enclosing two Egyptian stamps or wherever for her.</p> <p>On the 19th March I was writing to tell Edna we had moved again. Not very far this time only a couple of houses into number 8. Angelo owned several properties in the road and I assume a better room had come up. No 8 is the one that sticks in my memory now, I have no recollection at all of number 4. I certainly seemed pleased by it and was drawing a plan of the layout. It looks pretty cramped and it was!</p> <p>My first visit to Priors Marston was looming and on the 12th April Edna was writing to tell me all the preparations that were going on. I would be sleeping at her eldest brother Reg’s house who lived a mile or so away from the farm. Apparently when they had visitors Edna’s mother was more concerned about the cleanliness of cowshed and the hen pen rather than the house. Sure enough Edna was told to clean the cowshed, “Because he’s sure to want to look in there.” She refused and said I could see them in their natural dirty state! I was advised to bring an old pair of shoes and something warm to wear as “the house is colder inside than it is out.” and by the way, “Rather a delicate subject. Have you ever been out in the wilds away from modern conveniences before? If not just come prepared for cave man existence and you will be OK. Seriously though I advise you to have a bath before you come-thoroughly! You see there are no bathrooms and toilets - no hot water supply etc. Anyway just come prepared for anything and you will be fine.” I was intrigued.</p> <p>The big day arrived; I got the train from Manchester to Leamington and then a bus to Southam where Edna and her father Ray met me in their car. As we drove along I couldn’t help but admire the scenery. The expression “England’s green and pleasant land” aptly described Warwickshire. I was used to living in an urban environment, but this scenery was very different. Priors Marston is situated on the lower slopes of Marston Hill, near the Warwickshire, Northamptonshire border about five miles south east of Southam. We drove through the lovely village and finally arrived at Northfields farm. Meeting your girl friends relatives is always a difficult moment. It is for them as well, and I bet Edna’s mother, Annie was in a bit of a flap. I was soon to learn she didn’t enjoy having visitors but she had a nice smile and chuckled a lot. As a young woman she had been in domestic service in a large house near Southam. Her Dad, Ray was very friendly and sociable, he had been educated at Leamington College and was a lay reader. Edna always said he always wanted to be a vicar and not a farmer but Annie wouldn’t hear of it. She could never have been a vicar’s wife with all the duties that would have entailed. Ray was an accomplished writer and had a regular column in the Leamington Chronicle on rural affairs. Many years later he wrote an autobiography that was finally published under the title of “Peasants and Parsons” in 1991, he was in his late eighties by then. Edna came from a large family and there were lots to meet, her brothers, Reg and Eric and sisters June and Josephine. They all seemed fine and must have been very curious to meet me. When I mentioned I liked playing cricket a big smile crossed Reg’s face, I had obviously said the right thing there. Photos of that visit show me wearing my University blazer standing in various self-conscious poses with a cow, pig, goat, cat and dog. I was trying hard to create a good impression! Edna was wearing that red duffle coat she wore a lot at that time. After a few days it was time to return. I wondered what the family’s verdict was? </p> <p>Here’s a nice one, “When I got back in Sheffield I was very thirsty so I went to the nearest pub for a drink, The man wouldn’t serve me as he wouldn’t believe I was 18. Eventually I managed to persuade him I was at least eighteen but he nearly killed himself laughing when I said I was actually 21! </p> <p>On April 1st Edna had her interview in Nottingham and added a brief note at the end of a letter to say she had got a job at a new school with 500 pupils called the Bentinck School in Worksop. She was pleased it was not an inner city school in Nottingham itself. I never realised until I re-read the letters that Edna never took A levels at school. She went to Leamington College for girls and left after one year in the sixth form to go to Teacher training college. This meant she was the youngest in her year at College, I wonder why she never took “A” levels? Since the age of eleven she had always been in an all girls establishments. She used to tell me she never liked that and would have preferred a mixed School or College. Her only period in a mixed environment had been at Napton Junior School; where, according to her she had been “very naughty.” She said she developed a liking for fighting and was quite good at throwing a quick punch and also enjoyed the odd spot of bullying. I find all that hard to believe! I found all her school reports at the same time as finding her diaries and without exception they are consistently good. They paint a picture of a conscientious girl who was working absolutely to the best of her ability. There was no mention on the Napton school report for summer 1949 of any misbehaviour; it was praise all the way. Her letters from Retford to me were constantly relating tales of the backbiting and bitchiness of the other girls. It always seemed to be about how their relationship was going with their current unfaithful boy friend and how they were taking their anger out on everybody else around them. “ As for that cat Maureen I shall go mad if I see her again within the next week. What with Miss Warren and this lot around me I’m living for the day I leave this place.” Miss Warren was the College Principal, a dictator who ran the place with a rod of iron. Edna could not stand her however when she required a reference Miss Warren was effusive in praise of her. </p> <p>I got a telling off after writing to tell her I was “certain to pass a forthcoming exam.” She replied with several pages about the dangers of being bigheaded. She went on and on all neatly tabulated point 1, point 2 etc. She surprised me by writing, “I should hate you to grow like Dad. I am very fond of him but he does get on my nerves at times. I believe he has gone like that because he has not been able to do the work he wanted to. You have no such excuse- your family think you are wonderful, I think you are wonderful and I’m sure many other people do, so to be bigheaded would ruin everything.” I resolved to tell her I was certain to fail everything from then on. On her side her course results were consistently good and if anybody was a certainty to pass the exams it was Edna. There was no doubt she would soon be a fully qualified teacher. At that stage I wasn’t absolutely sure if I would make it.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843056/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843049/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:06:26+02:002006-05-31T12:06:26+02:00 <p>In January1958, I got itchy feet again and moved accommodation. I moved round the corner into 4 Highnam Crescent to share a room with Keith Grantham, in yet another tall Victorian Semi-detached house. The room rent was £2 per week. The landlord was an extraordinary character. In his fifties Angelo and his wife came from Spain and lived in the same road. He had a swarthy complexion; black curly hair, a drooping moustache and only seemed to shave once a month. He looked for the entire world like a Mexican bandit and often acted like one. His wife Lola, a lady of considerable girth seemed to spend all her time in a cluttered kitchen cooking exotic spicy food for her ravenous hubby. If anything went wrong, it was round to see Angelo to complain. His hooded eyes would close slightly, “ I will see to it immediately.” he used to say. He never did! One implication of moving to Highnam Crescent was I lost my cooked evening meal, which had been included in the rent for my two previous tenancies. Keith and I started to frequent a fish and chip shop regularly on the Attercliffe Road which we christened, “Greasy Annie’s.” Mother wouldn’t have slept at night if she knew.</p> <p>Edna’s letters that January were full of tales from her teaching practice, which she was doing at Cumberlands Secondary School, Mansfield. Her tutor from College Miss Clarkson would sit in on the lessons and then at the end of the day there would be a discussion over how things had gone. The tutor would say, “Do try to avoid using threats to keep the children quiet,” and even better, “Miss Barrett I do believe you have a temper.” </p> <p>At the end of January 1958 I wrote a letter that seemed to indicate Edna had bowled me over to such an extent it was having an effect on my work. “I have some bad news today, I failed the sketch design. I’m going through rather a bad patch at the moment. Ah well not to worry. The past three schemes now I have failed two and the other on the borderline. Don’t think any of these failures are in any connected with you. They aren’t, I really should be doing better since I am happier in my own mind than I have been for ages.” The last sentence was a desperate attempt to get out of the hole I had just dug. Why did I mention it at all? By the middle of March things had improved after a string of passes. I was settling down!</p> <p>I had a shock on the 6th February that year. I wandered into the studios late in the afternoon to see a bunch of students and a few members of staff crowding around a radio listening with solemn looks on their faces. They were listening to the news that there had been a serious plane crash near Munich with the Manchester United football team on board. There were many casualties and fifteen people had been killed including seven players. Others were to die in the following days and the media was full of it. One of my friends a man called Brian Roberts was from Manchester and he was completely distraught.</p> <p>Half term at Retford and Edna was writing daily to me. It’s a wonder how she managed to fill up the pages there wasn’t a lot going on at Northfields farm. There was a report that Reg’s pig had a litter of nineteen lovely piglets. Annie her mother one day asked her one afternoon if she had any arguments with me yet. When she said no Annie said, “Well it’s about time you did.” She was busy at the time filling in application forms for a teaching post with Nottinghamshire County Council. She even made a comment that Bolton Wanderers had won a match much to her surprise. Isn’t true love a wonderful thing! </p> <p>The time had come to take Edna up to Little Hulton to meet Mother and Dad. I had written home to ask if I could take her over. The reply was “she would be very welcome provided her parents agree.” This was the 1950’s after all. I started making noises to her about a possible visit in a letter dated 3rd February. We went up on the train for a weekend, near to my birthday. Edna was a bit worried, as you would expect. In some ways she was a bit like her mother and was not confident with people she didn’t know. My mother was equally twitchy, Dad just smiled benignly. We went for a night at Bolton Palais, I had arranged for us to meet Frank and Ruth but couldn’t see them. He wrote to me later explaining what had gone wrong. I remember one night we were watching TV late in the lounge, Mother and Dad in the bedroom above. It must have been around midnight when there was an enormous bang. We both shot up. Mother was hammering on the bedroom floor with a brush yelling, “It’s time to go to bed you two.” Possibly we had the TV on too loud. Looking back now it was hilarious, at the time I was a bit cross. Hardly the way to make friends and influence people!</p> <p>I was 21 on February 22nd 1958. The day before I wrote to Edna telling her of the party we were organising at the flat. I catalogued all the goodies I had bought, coffee, cake, bread rolls etc and said it had cost me a lot, £4-10 shillings to be precise. Fifteen of “the lads” had been invited. I bet it was noisy; I wonder what we got up to, played cards and drank probably.</p> <p>In March Edna was agonising if she should apply to Barnsley for a teaching job. She already had the application in to Nottingham but some of her College friends had applied to Barnsley and of course it was nearer to Sheffield. I was all for that, but I did point out Nottingham was probably a far nicer place. She said she would see what happened with the Nottingham application. Within a few days she was notified of two interviews in Nottingham so any thoughts of Barnsley were put on hold.</p> <p>Edna was always short sighted but usually refused to wear glasses as she held the view they damaged the eyes rather than helped. I had been niggling at her telling her exactly the opposite and saying if you need them you should wear them. She wrote a long letter page after page giving her complete ophthalmic record and her justification why she refused to wear them. She had been discussing what I had said with her friend Maureen who said, “It’s about time you sacked him, he’s beginning act more like a husband the more you tell me about him!” </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843049/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843046/morescribbles2006-05-31T12:05:32+02:002006-05-31T12:05:32+02:00 <p>December 7th 1957 dawned and at 6-30pm about twenty of us clambered into a hired mini-coach. We all piled into the hall when we arrived, it was already pretty crowded. The RAF Cranwell boys had become well aware of the attractions of the place long ago and they were well represented. I was really a hopeless dancer. At school dances I always used to resent that lads who knew the ritual steps always got the girls. They never seemed impressed by my tales of scoring three goals, but if you could quickstep and foxtrot, you were well away. I had a few dances but the evening wasn’t going too well. It was getting late when I suddenly noticed this very attractive little girl, in a floral pink number on the other side of the hall, looking bored. As soon as the dance finished, I sped across the hall to request the next dance. She looked at me wearily and said,” No thank you.” How very disappointing. I kept a weather eye on her and later I tried again, this time I was accepted. Her name was Edna Barrett and she came from Priors Marston in Warwickshire. During that first dance she asked me if I was that boy who had been with Sheila the week before and a disapproving look crossed her face when I said yes. I would like to write that we gracefully perambulated around the floor staring into each other’s eyes. It was nothing like that at all; I was constantly saying, “Woops, sorry,” by the time we had finished she probably had bruised toes. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to mind the kicking she had been getting and explained to me she had refused the earlier dance because she had already turned somebody else down, an old boyfriend who was pestering her. Finally it was time to go, I shook hands at the door and arranged to meet again the following Sunday at the College, we were on our way. One sequel to all this, a few months later Keith and Sue split up. It was very lucky for me they were still seeing each other when that dance was arranged. Some would call it fate, I wouldn’t, it was just chance that’s the way life is.</p> <p>A digression. Following Edna’s death in December 2004, I was rummaging through some drawers when I came across her diaries for 1957 and 1958. I had never seen them before and had no idea they were there. It was interesting to read her entry for that day; vital statistics obviously mattered to some people. I wonder what was the significance of the underlining? </p> <p>December 7th 1957 -- “ Formal dance at College, met BILL CLARKE from Sheffield and we said Goodnight at the door. He is very nice, 5ft-6inches tall, 9 stones. Blond hair, slim, wants to see me again.”</p> <p>Four days later the first of many letters arrived that I was to receive over the next twenty months. It was a brief, slightly formal note confirming that “the annual carol service would be held the following Sunday and if I arrived early to go up to her room and wait.” It finished with, “ Bye for now, Edna.” My first letter was equally brief posted on the 12th December and simply confirmed I would be a bit late arriving Sunday as my parents were coming over to Sheffield early in the afternoon to pick up my trunk. I must have got rid of them quickly as I intended to catch the 3-10pm train. At least I finished off “love Bill.” No hints of xx in either of these two letters, soon they would be covered in them and by April 1958 I counted 100 on one of my letters! She wrote to me a few weeks later saying that on the first night she liked the way I had said goodnight at the door then walked away and didn’t immediately “try and slobber all over her like the RAF men from Cranwell.” </p> <p>On the following Sunday I could be seen waiting eagerly on the platform at Sheffield station to catch that 3-10pm train to Retford. We passed a very pleasant afternoon in her room and on the way back, I was already beginning to think this could be the start of something big, as the old song goes. Since I had arrived in Sheffield two years earlier I hadn’t had a regular girlfriend. I suppose I wasn’t really looking for one, there had been the odd night out but that was about it. On the day we met, I was twenty and Edna, nineteen. We eventually married in August 1959 whilst I was still a student and for the previous twenty months the relationship was mainly at long range. Edna qualified at Retford in the summer of 1958 and began to teach at Worksop the following September. During this period, for much of the time I was studying at Sheffield and we both wrote many letters to each other. Edna was a great hoarder, she didn’t believe in throwing anything away and finding the diaries was typical. She wrote to me once saying that she had kept every single letter written to her since she was nine years old. I can believe that. When we got married I found out she had boxes packed with virtually every letter I had written. They are all in their original envelopes and most have the stamps torn off, also in the boxes were even more letters she had written to me that I must have kept. In total there is a collection of nearly three hundred letters that had passed between us. These letters form a complete diary of the period between December 1957 and August 1959. There were also other interesting letters that Reg her eldest brother had written to her from Germany in 1954 when he was doing his national service. One letter caught my eye from Warwickshire County Council written on the 10th August 1956 confirming that her grant for the academic year 1956-1957 would be £19 pounds-17 shillings I suppose nowadays people living apart would keep a relationship going by telephone. In many ways I am glad our courtship was in an age when letter writing was more common, it leaves a wonderful permanent record of those years for our children.</p> <p>That first Christmas holiday letters were flying backwards and forwards between Priors Marston and Little Hulton. I was trying hard and sent a big box of chocolates with her Christmas card. I pushed the boat out in a letter sent on the 16th December, “I’m already beginning to think more about you than I’ve thought about any girl for a long time.” All true folks. She was clearly being wary in a letter dated the 22nd December when she wrote; “I managed to get out of going to our village dance on Friday-it cost five shillings! I suppose I shall be going on New Years Eve but I wish you were here to go with me. That is not such a big compliment as it might sound; if you realised what turned up to our dances you would understand.” I felt slightly miffed at that. At the time she wrote that letter she was upset, she hadn’t heard from her previous boyfriend for about six months since he had abruptly ended the relationship. Suddenly a Christmas card had appeared the day before from a certain Mr and Mrs Halford; that was his cruel way of telling her. No wonder she was suspicious of all men after that for some time. She would have been suspicious of me if she had realised the lies I was telling in a letter written on Christmas Eve. I was explaining why my previous girlfriend who I had been going with since I was fourteen (not true!) had finished with me, “It was Valentines day 1956 I had sent her a lovely big card and guess what I got in return, a short note explaining there wasn’t much future in waiting five years whilst I was at University.” Clearly I was after sympathy; there was no mention of me not going over to see her because I preferred to play football.</p> <p>I must have had more stamina in those days. In one letter I described how on Christmas Eve I went to a dance at the local town hall. I followed this by going to midnight mass that finished around 1-30am and then onto an all night party before returning home around 6-30am. Abdul came over to spend Christmas with us. I remember him passing a comment about the way my mother fussed over me; that obviously didn’t happen in Malaya. He was very amused at my enthusiasm for my new young lady and asked how long would it last. “ She’s the one” I replied confidently. During the first week in January we went to London together for a week’s holiday staying at Malaya Hall, Bryanston Square. We seemed to spend all our time going to the cinema, all the films we saw were listed for Edna’s benefit, I also went on at some length about the Tottenham v Leicester game we had been to. She should have spotted the warning signs of my obsession on that subject, as the next few months rolled by it must have become glaringly obvious with the frequent references to football. </p> <p>Her early letters to me frequently referred to her love of dancing, her desire to learn “jive” and rather worryingly her wish to teach me to dance better. She emphasised that she liked to do the quickstep at normal pace but I seemed a little slow. Dead right there lady. She diplomatically wrote that she didn’t mind a few kicks provided there was an improvement to a favourable result. She professed a willingness to learn more about modern jazz from me, which I find funny knowing how she always hated it. She wrote to tell me one amusing story; she had many pen friends and a man from Germany had written to say he was coming over to the farm on January 16th with a view to marrying her. Annie her mother thought this a huge joke, Edna didn’t. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~843046/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842816/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:25:36+02:002006-05-31T10:25:36+02:00 <p>I was becoming a great jazz fan around this time. I suppose it all started a few years before, in the early 50’s when I used to listen to Steve Race on the Radio with his Saturday evening programme, “Jazz Club.” I was beginning to build a record collection, wax 78’s and vinyl LP’s. In those days the City Hall, Sheffield was on the circuit for top artists to play and over the next few years I saw many big names, several from America. Dave Brubeck, Dizzy Gillespie, The Modern Jazz Quartet to name a few. The late night work sessions in the Department were regularly accompanied by a record player belting it out. Recreational drugs were never an issue to my knowledge when I was a student but some people would take Benzedrine to keep them awake during the night. Sometimes in the last frantic hours before a scheme had to be submitted you could see somebody fast asleep, slumped across his drawing board at 6am.</p> <p>In November 1956 I was still playing football for the University second team. What I did not realise was that it was all coming to an end. During the forthcoming Christmas holiday, a squad of players were going on a short tour of Jersey and I was very keen to be selected. I turned out in a match against Birmingham University, although I was not feeling well, little knowing this would be my last ever University game. That night I felt really ill; the landlady called the Doctor; I had flu. Unfortunately this was the time of the Asian flu epidemic, a particularly virulent strain. Several thousand people were eventually to die from the virus. I was in bed for a couple of weeks and it didn’t seem to be getting better. The Doctor came again, I was sent off for a chest X- Ray and pneumonia was diagnosed. Dad drove over and took me home. It wasn’t the best Christmas holiday I have ever spent. Eventually I returned to Sheffield and the Doctor’s advice was to give up football for the rest of the season.</p> <p>In spring 1957 I tried to get a place in Crewe Hall. This was one of the University Halls of Residence and Abdul was living there. I used to go round to visit him and rather fancied my own room like he had. Conditions seemed so much better than the digs I was living in and I wasn’t getting on too well with one of the lads there. He was a bit too moody for my liking. I filled in an application form and went for an interview with the principal. It didn’t last long. He asked me to talk about my interests and myself. After a short time the interview was terminated and I was informed I would not be offered a place, as I appeared to have a very limited range of interests. I presume I spoke non-stop about football and Bolton’s chances in the first division. This time I was not sitting opposite Prof. Welch so it didn’t work!</p> <p>At the end of the summer term Professor Welsh retired. He had been Professor of Architecture at Sheffield since 1928. Perhaps it was no wonder by that stage he seemed more interested in football. He was always very good to me and I held him in the utmost regard. John Needham took over; a very different rather reserved character with not the slightest interest in football.</p> <p>On returning for the autumn term I decided to pack up playing football for the University. The months I had missed due to illness the previous winter made me realise how much of my time it had been taking. Perhaps I was growing up at last. I was at least getting the odd game with the Department team. Keith Grantham had a girlfriend Sue, who was at Eaton Hall, Retford, a teacher training college for girls, this was in Nottinghamshire about thirty miles away. One day in mid November he asked if I would like to go the College the following Sunday with him. The appealing message was that Sue would, “fix me up for the afternoon.” I rather liked the sound of that. We went over by train. The buildings were quite impressive, set in fields on the outskirts of the town. A suspicious looking lady teacher checked us in; strangely enough she looked like a man. Later I was to discover that several of them did, worrying! We were shown up to Sue’s room and I was introduced to Sheila my partner for the afternoon. We had a very nice time, “getting to know each other,” then it was time to leave just as I was getting warmed up. As we walked into the hall Sue uttered the fateful words,” By the way Keith we are having a dance in a couple of weeks, how about bringing a coach full of men with you.” Keith grinned and nodded. I had no idea how this was going to change my life. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842816/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842811/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:24:55+02:002006-05-31T10:24:55+02:00 <p>I found my feet pretty quickly and Sheffield was a lively City. There were several cinemas, a concert hall, endless coffee bars and many pubs; they also had two professional football teams. There was an excellent social life at the University with dances every weekend in the student union building. I seemed to be coping with the work except for the French, the lecturers were very laid back and friendly; it was all very different from school life without the petty rules. When the football matches began I was selected regularly for the second eleven. I found out that the lad, who played in my position for the firsts Arthur Peel, played for the England amateur team, so I had no hope of replacing him. I was pleased to make the second team in my first year. We had games every Wednesday against another University and every Saturday played in the Sheffield Hatchard League. Here we were up against teams from factories, collieries and many other toughies. Many is the time I ran out on the pitch, looked at their left back and noticed he looked like Desperate Dan from the Beano. The inevitable consequence of all these Saturday matches was that I got the sack from Sheila. A curt letter arrived saying several weeks had gone by and despite what I had promised I was showing no signs of going back to see her. I was a bit sad but had to admit she was right, life in Sheffield was proving too big an attraction for me.</p> <p>I wasn’t very happy with life at the flat though. Peter was becoming a bit of a pain, he would wake us up at all hours as he blundered around; often the worse for wear. He often wanted to tell us all about his latest fling, even if it was 3am. I was also finding the conditions too cramped. We were competing with Mrs Booker’s sons for the dining table and there was nowhere satisfactory to work. Two of my old school friends from Farnworth had also started at Sheffield, Alan Hutchinson and Alan Birtles. They had accommodation in a large house not far away at 55 Springhill Road. I found out they had a vacancy and decided to move over to live with them. Mrs. Booker put on her best Queen Victoria look and was not amused, but off I skipped. I was happier there and the living conditions were much better. I still shared a room, but only with one other student, Donald was studying Chemistry from Birmingham and had the broadest Brummie accent you could ever wish to hear. He was totally unlike Peter, fast asleep by 10-30pm and quiet as a mouse. </p> <p>In December 1955, Mother and Dad left Beechfield Avenue after twenty years living there. Dad had finally decided at the age of fifty-one it was time to call a halt to clambering up and down roofs. They bought a grocers shop in Tynesbank very close to the centre of Walkden. I went to see the place when I returned for my first Christmas holiday. It was situated on a small estate just off Manchester Road; Dad was very pleased to get it. This was in the days before the emergence of the big supermarkets and the corner shops dealt with all the trade of the surrounding area. He settled down well behind the counter, he always was a sociable man and the daily chatting to housewives came easily to him. Tynesbank was approached off Manchester Road, opposite was a row of old cottages called “Treacle Row.” The name came from a story that some barrels of treacle fell from a passing cart and the inhabitants of the cottages salvaged some of the spillage hence the nickname. This was a real piece of Little Hulton history originally built in 1784 a few years before the French Revolution. The cottages were demolished a few years later after my parents moved to Tynesbank.</p> <p>There was a good atmosphere in the Department; we all seemed to get on, help and advice was freely given to each other when we were working on our various projects. There were some real characters around, Pete Wright and Dave Johnson were both from Sheffield and tended to stick together. They were a right pair of comedians, Dave reminded me of a bird always chattering away. He subsequently had a distinguished career in local Government and became a County Architect. I tended to associate with Keith Grantham and Abdul Hitam from Malaya. Keith was a lanky lad from Hull who spoke with a strange accent. Abdul was short like me; he was always cheerful with a permanent grin on his face. I used to get my leg pulled regularly over my Lancashire accent; whenever I came out with the words, lorry, book or cook, everybody fell about laughing. Bob Cross who came in second year and Stewart Doncaster became good friends and we are still in touch today.</p> <p>What was daily life like at the University? The coursework was done on two fronts, lectures and practical work. The lectures would be held in various other Departments of the University as the Architects building housed mainly studio areas laid out with large drawing boards. The practical consisted of regular project work, which varied in type. We were frequently given a one-day sketch design; detailed brief requirements were handed out, for say a bus shelter or a small youth club. The work would have to designed and drawn out during the day. The more difficult ones were the two and three day schemes of much greater complexity; that had to be handed in early in the morning. It was not unusual to be working overnight in a desperate attempt to complete. Many times over the next few years, I found myself walking home at all hours of the night and in all weathers. When projects had been completed we had what was known as “the Crit.” All the schemes were pinned up on a wall and the lecturer would explain the good and bad points of each design. Everybody could chip in and have a say, it never altered the mark though, which were taken into account in your final year assessment. During the last term a major design project would be set and there were final written examinations on the various subjects we had been taught. Sadly it could be a brutal business, a five-year course is like a marathon; there were regular fallers and they left at the end of the year. I was particularly sorry to see Raj and Prince Archie leave after one year. They were gentlemen in every sense of the word but found the technical subjects, structures and surveying beyond them. They were not alone.</p> <p>At the end of the first year I had to face up to the problem of that French exam. Over three terms I had dutifully attended lectures with students who would nearly all have achieved high grades at A level. Often in the discussion sessions spoken in French, I would feel a bit of a Charlie. Nobody seemed to mind, they all knew the stupid rules. When end of term results came in I had passed all the Architectural side and predictably failed the French. What I had not bargained for was my mark. Like GCSE exams the pass mark was 40%, my mark was 39%! I thought I had done well. I was called in to see my old friend, Prof Welsh. He explained in certain cases it was possible to request a re-sit in September and he was going to do that in my case. I was pleased in one sense, in another not, it meant I would now have to spend my summer holidays studying French. When I got back home I rang an old friend from Farnworth Grammar days, Donald Holmes. Donald and I had started in 3b together back in 1948, and he was now on a French degree course. He kindly agreed to give me some coaching; it made a change from the football coaching the previous summer! I know which I preferred. The summer holidays passed by with regular trips to Donald’s house in Walkden. I re-took the exam in mid September and returned to Sheffield in October to learn my fate. I had got 40%! It was another skin of the teeth job. A few days later Crawfie told me I had actually been given 39% again and Prof Welsh had gone over to the French Department for a “discussion.” Mysteriously I was granted an extra mark and I was now to remain on the degree course. A big bonus was from now on; there would be no more French lectures, I couldn’t wait to see the back of those.</p> <p>In the summer of 1956 a week’s trip to Edinburgh was arranged for the students who had passed first year. We were given the task of surveying and measuring up a major building in the City, with a view to producing a set of drawings by the end of third year. We all had to find our own way, Stewart Doncaster and I decided to hitch it. He arrived at the shop in Tynesbank late afternoon having already hitched from Sutton in Ashfield in Nottinghamshire, where he lived. Our plan was to hitch overnight to Scotland. I cannot recall now what time we arrived next morning but we made it. It proved easier than I had expected, never having hitched before. The lorry drivers were very helpful and we made good progress. I can remember the steamy, smoky, atmosphere of the transport café’s. Edinburgh was a fine City and Princess Street was very impressive. We had to work together for the measuring up; I was paired with Keith Grantham. Our task was to measure the School of Art, a very large classical structure with a great portico at the entrance. The building was situated on a hill overlooking the City. Years later it became home to the Scottish Parliament until they finally moved into purpose built premises. I enjoyed the week, not realising at the time that in two years I would come close to failing when the drawings were finally submitted. More later! One great memory of that week occurred when a few of us took a plane from Edinburgh to Glasgow and back. That was the first time I ever flew and I can still remember the spectacular sight of the Forth Bridge as the plane banked over it. I didn’t realise it at the time but it was to be another thirty-five years before my next flight. When the week was over Stewart hitched back home again but I chickened out and caught the train.</p> <p>On the 15th August 1956 my Grandmother and Grandfather still living with Doris and Sam in Bolton celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, known as a Diamond wedding. I went to a small celebration with mother and Dad up to Tonge Moor road. It must have seemed a long time to them since 1896. They were a lovely old couple and I always thought the world of them. Grandfather had always been blind since I had known him and I have no idea for how long he had been suffering that. I could see where Dad got his calm temperament from when I looked at his parents. I have a photograph of them on that day holding a letter, presumably a letter of congratulations. From whom I wonder?</p> <p>Second year began with a surprise; some more additional students joined our year, Bob Cross, Noel Mcphun and several others. Bob told me recently that on the day he came for his interview he bumped into me to ask directions to the Department. I asked him was he coming for interview and he said yes and by the way had I any tips on how to impress Prof. Welch. “ Just talk about football,” I said. He actually played Rugby but did his best to talk about Scunthorpe United and was accepted. Apparently people with office experience and the right academic qualifications could join after first year. Looking back that was good for all of us, as we could share in some of that experience. A few more came in third year, in one sense they were replacing the ones rejected who had left. A few weeks into term a political storm blew up. Earlier that summer Egypt’s President Colonel Nasser had announced the nationalisation of the Suez Canal. This was greeted with dismay by many nations. The Canal was a key waterway for world trade and an important source of revenue for Britain. At the end of October Britain and France invaded Suez. It was very controversial and caused great anger and passion in the Students Union who were opposed to it. Various MP’s were invited to speak; I found it all fascinating; I had never heard serious heckling before. Of course pressure was brought to bear eventually and we had to withdraw. It was the end of Eden as a political force.</p> <p>The world seemed to be in turmoil at this time. On the 23rd October the Hungarians rose up against Soviet rule. Tens of thousands of people took to the streets to demand freedom there were many casualties. Soviet troops began pulling out of the capital a week later and Imry Nagy formed a government, which was dedicated to lifting the shackles of Soviet communism. It didn’t last long in the first week of November the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev sent in the tanks in a ruthless crackdown in which thousands died and another 200,000 fled the country. We felt the implications of all this in Sheffield at the end of November when two architectural students joined us from Budapest University. They were great characters, spoke in faltering English and had some terrible stories to relate. One aspect of all this must have pleased Professor Welch; one of them was a superb footballer and at that time Hungary had the finest team in the world. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842811/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842809/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:24:16+02:002006-05-31T10:24:16+02:00 <p>That summer a group of us returned to Butlins at Pwllheli for a second year running. I went with Frank, Edwin and Roy Grimshaw also from school and two friends of Edwin, called Wilf and Ernie. One thing I can remember from that holiday, I saw a group one afternoon having a kick about on the football pitch. Like a moth, I flew to the flame and immediately joined in. At the end I was having a talk with a few of them. It turned out they were from Sheffield and one of them was due to start at the University in October. We eventually ended up playing for the same football team there. When the holiday finished we were all going our various ways in the autumn. Frank had been accepted by Liverpool University to study Chemistry; poor old Roy hadn’t done well in the exams and had decided to do an extra year at school and Edwin became an apprentice at De Haviland followed by a career in the steel industry. The remaining weeks of that summer melted away, I was still seeing Sheila who seemed a bit disappointed I would soon be away. I tried to reassure her by saying Sheffield wasn’t that far and I would be coming back by train regularly to see her. I should never have promised that!</p> <p>Just before I set off for Sheffield the monopoly of the BBC to transmit television was ended. Britain’s first independent television station went on the air bringing advertisements to the small screen for the first time. The first advert came a little more than an hour into the schedule during a variety show. We saw a tube of Gibbs SR toothpaste in a block of ice with a voiceover pronouncing it “tingling fresh toothpaste” for teeth and gums. It all seemed original and exciting at the time as I watched now of course I get sick to death of them and it seems programmes are incidental to the adverts.</p> <p>5. 1955 to 1960 Sheffield University - Marriage and Worksop.</p> <p>In early September we received a letter from the University confirming my place and enclosing a list of student accommodation, it recommended we found a place quickly as rooms were in short supply. A week later we all set off in the car to Sheffield to find a flat. When we arrived the sun was shining and I thought it didn’t look such a bad place after all. We eventually found a room in a large Victorian semi-detached property. I write “room,” two other students shared it. There were three single beds packed in, two by the windows were taken already, the one in the rather gloomy corner was now destined for me. I was soon to learn over the next few years that Sheffield landladies liked to maximise their income by cramming students in. Typically we had to share toilet facilities with the family. The house was situated in the Walkley district only about half a mile from the University. The landlady Mrs. Booker lived with her husband and two teenage boys. She was a motherly figure with a bright red nose, that made me wonder as to her drinking habits. As we left she said to my mother “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.” Mother smiled approvingly. A few weeks later came the big day; we set out with the car packed ready to take me for the beginning of term. I had a slightly difficult time with Sheila the night before, but my protestations of undying love calmed her down a bit. Finally Dad turned the key, the engine burst into life and I waved good-bye to Beechfield Avenue. Although I did not know it as we drove slowly down Cleggs Lane, over the next five years I was about to spend some of the happiest times of my life. One postscript, a few days later May and Hazel went round to our house for tea. On arrival she found Mother in tears. “He’ll never come back to live with us,” she groaned. She was right, the problems of having an only child.</p> <p>That evening after my parents had returned home I met my new roommates. They were not there when I arrived and had obviously been out drinking. They were both medical students, Peter from South Wales was a tall gawky lad with a permanent grin on his face. Johnny was a much quieter character, had a deep voice and came from Stockport. After the initial introductions, Peter said in his singsong voice, “Now then Bill boy, tell me the truth, how many women have you slept with?” I stared at him blankly, “ Er, none actually.” He looked at me in amazement, “What,” he roared, “Haven’t you got the URGE!” I was soon to learn Peter had the urge twenty-four hours a day. He was a bit like a cat, creeping back in the middle of the night after his nocturnal activities, claiming he had been doing medical research. Mrs Booker must have had big problems looking after him.</p> <p>The first morning at University involved registration. It was chaotic in the main hall at Western Bank. Each faculty was represented at a small table; the problem was battling across the hall to find the Architects table. After that it was down to the Department to meet my fellow students and some of the lecturers. As ever on any first day it was trying to work out who was who, and what was where. Crawfie was bustling around looking important and barking out advice and instructions, she had done it all before. It soon became apparent there were quite a few overseas students in our year. There was Abdul Hitam from Malaya, Peter Middtum from Norway, a couple from Iraq, Raj from somewhere in Africa, Hassan Al Samari also from Iraq, a great womaniser and to cap it all Prince Archie Parngool from Thailand. This was going to be interesting. We were handed a long list of all the stuff we had to buy, drawing board, T square, pens, pencils, ink etc and given the name of “Pinders,” a shop in the City centre, this was the place to buy everything. Incidentally my battered T square is still in the garage, covered in spider webs. A few days later we were given our first project, to carefully draw out the letters of the alphabet, serifs and all. I got a B+.</p> <p> A few days later I spotted a notice on the board in the Union building. “Football Trials, next Wednesday at Graves Park the University playing fields.” Surprise, Surprise I went along. It was a bit like our games in Beechfield, we all lined up and the two captains went along picking alternately at random. This time there were no six year olds with sprained ankles. The game started and I soon realised I was fitter, faster and better than most of them. I had been training regularly since the middle of July and had already played several matches in the Lancashire Amateur league. At half time the referee a tall bearded man, who I found out later was the first team goalie, came to me, pointed into the distance to another pitch and said, “Go and join that match just starting over there” It turned out this was the first team against the possibles. This was much tougher, I had already played for about forty minutes and it was a hot day. I was pretty tired at the end but felt I had done OK. I found out that the first team Captain, Peter Hall was an Architect so I would be seeing a lot of him.</p> <p>It was a wonderful time everything was new and exciting. I was making loads of friends, getting to know the City of Sheffield and beginning the long process of becoming an Architect. As ever there was one fly in the ointment. At that period in the mid fifties the University offered two qualifications in Architecture, one was a Bachelor of Arts, (Hons. Arch) the other a Diploma in Architecture. The problem was the University rules stated that anybody taking an Arts degree had to pass a foreign language to scholarship level standard. This was higher than an A level qualification. As regards Architecture the course was identical; really it was crazy. It was years before the system was changed and the course granted a specific Degree in Architecture. The impact on me was considerable; I was on the degree course, which meant I needed this language qualification. In addition to all the new subjects, Structures, Surveying, Drawing, History of Architecture, Services, I had to find time to do a French course, with a difficult exam to be passed at the end of the year. If I failed the French exam, which was likely but passed all my architecture exams I would simply go on the Diploma course in second year, which most of the students were on anyway. The problem was I was determined to get a degree and this was one more hurdle to climb.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842809/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842797/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:18:17+02:002006-05-31T10:18:17+02:00 <p>Here we go again, another critical year coming up, 1955 was looming. This really was the final fence of my school career. Unfortunately to me it looked as high as Beechers Brook. The September term of 1954 began as the previous one had finished, with me struggling with the Science subjects. In order to help my intended career as an Architect they allowed me to have a few periods of Art with Mr Ormrod, not with any exam in mind merely to help my drawing skills. In hindsight perhaps that time would have been better spent on Physics or Chemistry, which was the real priority.</p> <p>In April 1955 my Mother and Dad celebrated their silver wedding with a big party held in the hall at St. Pauls Peel junior school. It was quite a big event, around fifty guests and speeches. It must have been a very happy occasion for them both. May recalls that all the games were organised by Ernie Cartwright who also made a speech. She remembers Johnny her husband loved eating trifles, the word got round and people were passing theirs to him; he ended up eating about ten! I was there but cannot remember a great deal about it apart from the room being crowded and Dad making a speech.</p> <p>During my final year in the upper 6th I became a prefect and could walk around school flaunting my badge of authority. I cannot remember too many perks attached to the job I had to stand on the landing during break times to keep order as they all rushed back into school. Several of the fifth formers were bigger than me and took a delight in poking me in the ribs as they pushed past. As a prefect you were expected to take your turn reading the lesson at morning assembly. This terrified me; I have always been hopeless at speaking in public. It was a case of head down, gabble through it and run back down the aisle to my place at the back of the hall. There were a few smiles around at my effort. I had great hopes of winning the annual cross-country run; I was pretty fit in those far off days. It was a big event and the whole school was allowed to go down to the playing fields to see the finish. As I neared the entrance to the playing fields on the way back I was in second place, gasping for breath and exhausted. There was no question of overtaking the leader, it was more a case of would I reach the finish line. To the sound of clapping I entered the final lap and put on a dramatic performance for the assembled throng. I fell down at least three times, got up and staggered a few more paces, Captain Scott couldn’t have done it better in the Antarctic. Eventually I reached the line, fell across and lay panting, flat out on the floor. I was rather hoping that Miss Lowe would gallantly come running over and clutch me to her bosom, all that happened was that Mr Ormesher standing by the line, grunted, “Get up Clarke, you’ll get run over soon.” They bred them tough in the fifties. I opened the batting for the school against the Staff; again the school was allowed out to watch this event. I was taking guard to face the first ball when I realised with some concern I had forgotten to put my protective box on. A golden rule of cricket is never end up in this situation! I was too embarrassed to walk off and put it on, so carried on as though nothing was amiss. The Staff opening bowler was Mr. Rigby of choir audition fame. Sure enough after a few balls he scored a direct hit on the unmentionables, revenge for my cheating at the audition. I collapsed on the floor in a heap. I can still hear the shrieks of laughter from all around as I was helped off. </p> <p>In April 1955 Winston Churchill resigned as Prime Minister and was replaced at last by the long-suffering Anthony Eden. Churchill had celebrated his eightieth birthday the previous November. I cannot visualise anybody of that age ever being Prime Minister again. A general election was held the next month and Eden was duly returned. All these stirring national political events passed over my head under the rules at that time I wasn’t eligible to vote for another three years. Anyway I was far more interested in another election held at the same time, for the constituency of Farnworth Grammar School. I cannot remember who were candidates for the Conservative and Liberal parties but I do know that the Labour Candidate was Alan Cockshaw. Alan was a friend and we had been in the same form since second year in 1949, so I became his publicity agent. I remember doing this big poster with the slogan on it of “Stop Mr. Rising Price.” I drew three men similar to the little man in the bowler hat on the Mcdougalls flour adverts, naturally they went from very small to very large. Such imagination, it must have taken hours to think of that! Each candidate had to speak to the assembled school in the hall; it was something different, enjoyed by all and Labour won. I would like to think my poster helped but I suspect Alan’s speech had a little more to do with it! All that public speaking must have been good practice for him; he eventually became chairman of AMEC plc the giant international construction company in 1988, a President of the Institution of Civil Engineers and was knighted for services to industry.</p> <p>I began to consider which Universities to apply for. Liverpool was generally considered the best for Architecture and Sheffield had a good reputation. My mother suggested Manchester so I could live at home, but I was sensible enough to realise it would be better to move away. In the end I wrote to Liverpool and Sheffield. The Liverpool answer was not very encouraging, with their status, they could be very choosy and they didn’t seem to want young master Clarke. Sheffield offered me an interview and on a cold rainy day I caught the train to Sheffield from Manchester, clutching a book with some sketches I had done for O level Art. I walked into the City centre from the Station. I wasn’t too impressed, all the buildings looked black and grimy. I caught a bus up to the University and was directed round to the Architecture Department. This turned out to be a converted church at the end of Shearwood Road a cul-de-sac. I went to see the secretary, a small, thin, woman with a curt manner, Miss Crawford, who was known by all as simply “Crawfie.” I was directed up a narrow flight of wooden steps into a small office with a large table, everything in the room was an absolute jumble. A big bear of a man rose to greet me, in his mid sixties I would guess, with a big paunch. He spoke in a Scottish accent. “Hallo, Mr.Clarke, I’m Professor Welsh.” I was very nervous; this was my one and only opportunity. He asked me a few questions about my background, took a cursory look at my sketches and then came round to what was on his mind. “ I see from your application form that you play football” (He pronounced it futbaw) I didn’t know where this was leading, “Yes Sir “ came the cautious reply, “Hmm” he said, staring at me thoughtfully, “ Are ye any gud?” I told him I was in the school team “ What position do ye play?” I told him, Right Wing. A big grin crossed his face, “Gud am lukin fer a reet winger in ma Department team.” My confidence was growing by the minute. What I didn’t know before I set off, was that Prof. Welsh fitted perfectly that old Scottish song that Jimmy Logan used to sing, “ For he’s futbaw crazy, he’s futbaw mad, the futbaw it has taken away, the little bit of sense he had.” He was a director of the Sheffield United Football club and in his own youth had represented Scotland at amateur level. His ambition every winter was that the Architects team came top in the inter-Department league and was always looking for prospective players. I thought this was all too good to be true, he stared at me again and said, “Theer is just one more thing I need ta know” I felt a bit worried suddenly, what now? He said; “Do yee like The Goon Show?” We spent the next half an hour discussing Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers, and Harry Secombe. After that he said, “ OK, we’ll have yee, just get two A levels, off yee go, see yee in October.”</p> <p>I returned home on the train later that day a little subdued. I was delighted I had been accepted, but nobody knew better than I did, that there was a real chance I would never return. It was obvious he didn’t care what A levels I took or that I knew nothing about Architecture. Prof. Welch clearly felt that a five-year course was long enough to turn you into an Architect, provided you met the basic entrance education requirements and played football! I was even more certain now that I was doing the wrong A levels. A year before Dad had written to the RIBA with the best of intentions, trying to help me. If I had now been taking, English, History, Art or Geography I knew I would easily have achieved the grades required. It was far too late now, there was nothing for it but to plod on and remember that report, “must try harder.”</p> <p>After that I really tried to make up for lost time. My social life didn’t help; I was seeing young Miss Williams on a regular basis. Surprisingly her great hobby was watching speedway. We went to watch Belle Vue in Manchester; there was quite a big crowd as speedway was a very popular sport in the 1950’s. I can’t say I was that enthralled. By now the relationship had even reached visiting the respective homes stage. That was an ordeal, her horrible elder brother taking the xxxx. When I took Sheila home, Mother was obviously on edge, there wasn’t too much conversation, just an air of tension and silence. On the sporting scene life was good, I played for the first team in both football and cricket. Pity about the forthcoming exams, it put a bit of a cloud over everything.</p> <p>At last it was time for the exams. I must have been very nervous; I desperately wanted to get to Sheffield. In many ways, this created additional pressure that didn’t help. I really had no idea how I had done when I had finished, I knew it would be tight and it was! I spent the early part of the summer holidays training with the Old Farnworthians football team. This was a team of old boys who played in the Lancashire Amateur League and I got really fit. We were coached by a professional footballer, a man called Harry Boyle who played for Rochdale. I needed to be fit to cope with the strain of opening that envelope with the results in. This time I didn’t go chasing after the postman; I sat on our garden wall looking down the road for him, I must have been there an hour before he rounded the corner, finally he arrived and handed it to me, Mother anxiously stood at the door. This time I opened the envelope slowly and carefully and stared at the results in disbelief. </p> <p>1. Chemistry. – 30% (groan)<br> 2. Physics – 40% (phew)<br> 3. Maths – 45% (Yeah)</p> <p>It took a few minutes for the significance of those marks to sink in. My life had changed due to one mark, 39% in Physics would have meant no Sheffield and then what? As it was, I had made it by the skin of my teeth. Mother naturally was delighted and we had a celebration drink, a nice cup of tea using her best china. I wonder if she was thinking about that junior schoolteacher who had said I would never make it. Later that night when Dad came home he equally was thrilled. Most kids never realise or think about the sacrifices made by their parents and I was no exception. They had made so many sacrifices for me already and were now to make even more, to send me through University. In many ways I was getting the chance my father and mother never had, now it was up to me to make the most of it.</p> <p>One other implication of that extra magic mark in physics was I would now miss National Service. At the end of the war in 1945 the Government had instigated a programme of call up to the armed forces for everybody aged eighteen and over. You were expected to serve for two years. There were exemptions and attending a University meant that you did not have to do your two years service, until the course was finished. If I had not made that extra mark in physics, I would have been in the army later that year. That was now delayed until 1960. Thankfully for me National Service was abolished before my course finished and I never had to go.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842797/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842794/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:17:47+02:002006-05-31T10:17:47+02:00 <p>One very odd thing happened in 1953, on February 22nd my birthday, to be precise. I am sure the evening before my parents would, as normal have said “ Goodnight Billy,” nothing unusual in that. The next morning I got up to get ready for school. Mother was getting my breakfast and said “ Happy Birthday Bill.” I paused a little, not sure if I had heard correctly. “Eh?” I mumbled. She repeated the same words. I asked why I had suddenly been renamed. “ It’s because you are sixteen.” came the unanswerable logic. I remain baffled to this day. There are very few people who still call me Billy, Harry Baggs and Frank Coucill. I like to hear it and can pretend I’m fifteen again. </p> <p>During a school career some years are critical for the future. I had leapt the eleven plus hurdle and was now in 1953 was facing my GCSE O level exams at the end of the summer term. This was very important and we all knew it. Dad even promised me a cycle if I did well. I had already decided I wanted to try and be an Architect, which meant going onto 6th form, passing my A level examinations then getting into University. As I approached the O level exams, that bright future was far from my mind, I was more worried about what would happen if I didn’t do well. In those days you took various subjects, I took ten. There were no grades, the pass mark was 40% and you either passed or failed. This was probably easier than exams years later, when specific grades were required in individual subjects. I took all the exams and then waited with trepidation for the results in August. Before they came out Dad had made enquiries with Seddons a local building firm and arranged for me to become a trainee Quantity Surveyor, if I had to leave school. The big day dawned when the results were out. I couldn’t wait and set off to waylay the postman. I roughly knew his route and tracked him down about a mile from home; luckily he knew me and gave me the envelope with a grin. The envelope was shredded in seconds and I stared at the paper, I had passed the lot, I nearly kissed the postman but his stubble quite put me off. I must have run that mile home in under four minutes; that was a year before Roger Bannister did it. Mother and Dad were delighted and so was I; I did want that bike. The following week Dad and I went to a cycle stall on Bolton Market and a green racer called a “ Raleigh Lenton” became my pride and joy. That summer the bike was put to good use with trips to Southport and Blackpool. Edwin came on the Blackpool trip and recalls at one point on the way back I was so tired I got off and lay down in the middle of the road. There couldn’t have been much traffic in those far off days.</p> <p>That year Rock and Roll became popular with the Bill Haley hit “Rock around the Clock.” I liked it and began a collection of rock records, that meant wax 78rpm or vinyl LP’s. Around this time I was into big band music, which was very fashionable. Ted Heath was my favourite and I went to several of his concerts at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester. There was a standard format to it, every band of the day would have a male and a female singer and in the Heath band it was Dennis Lotus and Lita Roza. I couldn’t wait for the singers to get off I just wanted to hear those swinging saxophones. There was a lad at school in the year behind me who played the saxophone called Miller. How I envied him, I envied him even more when he joined the band at Bolton Palais. To my eternal regret I have never been able to play any musical instrument, the only thing I ever played was football and cricket.</p> <p>Having ensured I was now eligible to enter 6th form, some more crucial decisions were required. What subjects should I take at A level? Dad wrote to the Royal Institute of British Architects in London to seek advice. The reply that came back worried me. To gain admission to University one had to take a minimum of three subjects at A level. Again the requirement was to pass, you had to get 40%, below that you failed. University requirements as to the number of passes required varied, some wanted three, some two. The letter from the RIBA recommended that as Architecture was becoming more technically based I should take Maths, Physics and Chemistry. My heart sank when I read this. I was now faced with two very tough years with the probability it could end in failure. </p> <p>One good thing about going into the Sixth form was firstly I was reunited with Frank and Edwin who were also in the Science Sixth and the fact I got into the school second eleven football team. We played school matches on both Wednesday and Saturday, which I always looked forward to. As expected I found the work a struggle. Mr. Bate the Chemistry master made me squirm at times with the odd sarcastic comment. The Physics teacher Mr. Horrocks had just joined the school and realising my difficulties went out of his way to help me. Maths was taught by the very efficient Miss Ince and Mr.Petty; I got on well with both of them. At the end of the first year my report was pretty gloomy, words like “Fair” peppered the page and that classic “ Must try harder” was on display. I was trying my hardest already dammit. The prospects did not look good at that stage.</p> <p>Around this time I remember going with my mother to see a friend of hers who lived near Piggot Street in Farnworth. The lady’s elderly father was living with them; he must have been around eighty. I was introduced to him and he said, “ Nah then lad, wot job art theer goin t’ be doin?” I told him I wanted to go to University. He said, “ Nay lad that’s nay a proper job, tha want’s get darn t’pit.”</p> <p>Sometime in early 1954 I started to go out with a young lady from school. I can’t really remember how it started, but it certainly did. She was in the year below me, a little blonde by the name of Jean Whitelegg. Little did I know then, she would come back to haunt me fifty years later. We used to travel on the same bus to school, so I suppose a bit of eyeballing had been going on. We started going out to the cinema every Saturday night, in particular ones that had a double seat on the back row. Usually there was only one so we had to be first in the queue. I suppose we must have gone out for at least six months and it could have been longer. We never went to each other’s house, I am sure Mother was very curious about what my young lady was like but never said much. I just trotted off every Saturday night for months. Eventually it came to an end as the delectable Sheila Williams, from Westminster Road, Walkden had appeared in my view. </p> <p>When I was seventeen, Dad started to teach me to drive the car. We used to go out on a piece of disused ground near Swinton and he tried to get the basics into me. Ironically he never took a driving test in his life. When he acquired the Austin seven car, but he must have had a driving licence before 1934, after this date anybody applying for a licence had to take a test. When I was eighteen I was able to drive on the road with him with L-plates. I took a test in Bolton in spring 1955 and failed. I never was much good at reversing. </p> <p>There were two major athletics events shown on television that year and both attracted huge publicity. On the 6th May Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile at the Iffley Road track Oxford. His pacemakers included Chris Chataway and Chris Brasher. Film of the race was shown on the BBC news later that evening. At the time it seemed to me a staggering achievement, now any athlete can do it. Later in the year in October Chris Chataway beat Vladamir Kuts by a whisker to take the world record for the 5,000 metres at the White City Stadium in West London. This event was watched by 40,000 spectators and transmitted live on TV. I remember screaming my head off sitting with Dad as they approached the line. </p> <p>During the summer holiday of 1954 a group of us from the school, including Frank and John Darlington went to Butlins Holiday camp at Pwllheli in North Wales for a week. I had never been to a Holiday Camp before and I thought it was brilliant. It had everything a young man desired! Lots of available sport, there was a big hall with about thirty table tennis tables, tennis courts, football pitches, an open - air pool and even better lots of available girls. Whatever happened to Miss Ann Mathias of Narberth, South Wales? I never did see her again.</p> <p>Later that autumn I had a new experience in my life. I can’t remember how it was organised or why but a group of us from School were taken down a pit in Kearsley. It had quite an impact on me. We went down in this rattling small cage and entered a dark world of dimly lit underground tunnels. We were taken to the coalface to see the men boring the coal from its seam. The working conditions were dreadful, dark, dusty and clearly dangerous. Having seen that, the advice I had been given a few months ago to “ get darn t’pit lad” didn’t seem such an attractive proposition.</p> <p>When I came back from the holiday I had two weddings to attend. A pal of mine Derek Bryan who lived just round the corner from Beechfield Avenue was getting married to his girlfriend Barbara. He was seventeen, my age, and it was a case of having to! They did it properly, had a full church wedding and I was a groomsman. One never knows with weddings under those circumstances when they were so young. The good news is they have now been married over fifty years and still going strong. Derek and I made contact again just a couple of years ago. The other wedding was Tom and Edith Partington’s son Eric, who was married in Swinton and I was a groomsman again. Eric and Jean came to my wedding five years later and I am struggling to think if I ever saw them again after that. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842794/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842792/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:17:08+02:002006-05-31T10:17:08+02:00 <p>In 1950 I became aware that a house on the estate had got a television set. This funny aerial in the shape of a letter H had appeared on the roof. This was the very early days of TV and the BBC had begun transmitting a limited range of programmes. Sets were tiny only twelve inches square, black and white pictures of course. The sets were usually mounted in enormous wooden cabinets to make them look more imposing than they really were. In early May I read in the paper that the forthcoming FA. Cup Final between Arsenal and Liverpool was to be shown live on TV. The week before the game I agonised about whether to knock on the door and ask if I could watch it. I hadn’t a clue who lived there; it was on an adjoining road. On the morning of the game I thought, what the hell, and went round. A small elderly lady peeped around the door and stared at me. Here we go. “Um, er, Could I watch the Cup Final on your TV …PLEASE.” To my enormous relief she gave me a kind smile and said, “Of course thee can lad, cum back at quarter to three.” Whoopee. I went back and sat there agog, it was magic. As ever nothing can ever match the first time you experience something new. At that time the Cup Final was the only game you could see live on television and for the next two years I watched the match on the TV of some friends of Lizzies who lived on the corner of Cleggs Lane. </p> <p>During 1951 the Robinson family opposite got a TV. One day I was out on the road when Shirley Robinson who was about my age said, “We’ve got a TV now.” I knew that already so wasn’t really interested, then she said, “It’s a coloured one.” I stared at her in amazement, “ Oh yeah?” she looked a bit cross, “Come and have a look.” We went in to their house, there sat the usual small black and white set in a big wooden cabinet. The difference was it had a frame mounted across the screen with a thick green plastic sheet stretched across. It was coloured all right, the only problem was all you could see was a green haze and not much more! On the 27th August the BBC broadcast the first ever-live pictures sent across the channel with a two-hour programme from Calais. Richard Dimbleby who was a massive star in the 1950’s presented it. Dad bought our first TV set in 1953 in time for the Cup Final as Bolton Wanderers were playing. </p> <p>1951 was a good year for holidays. We went to Scarborough again to our usual boarding house in Trafalger Square. Frank came again and Dads old friend Tom Partington and his wife Edith also accompanied us. Tom was a big friendly excitable man, very enthusiastic about everything with a great bellow of a laugh. Edith was quite the opposite, very calm and lots of smiles. They were a good couple and had two boys Eric and Roy, who did not come with us. I have a lot of happy photos of that week.</p> <p>As a kid I used to spend a lot of time playing in Little Hulton Park, which was situated off Manchester road just up from Peel Church. The Park was always well maintained and had slides, swings, a bowling green and tennis courts. I spent hours playing tennis on those courts. Years later in the early 1990’s when I was visiting Dad in Walkden one day I drove up and walked around the Park and was very disappointed in it’s condition. Much of it was not as I remembered. The old pavilion had gone and the tennis courts were a wreck. The steps down to the old courts were there but not much else. I also used to spend a lot of time playing football on a pitch up Cleggs Lane behind The Antelope pub also called “ Poor Dick’s.” It backed onto the estate we always called “the flat tops” being two story houses with flat roofs, they weren’t very attractive. One of my friends Trevor Savage used to live there and we all had a terrible shock one day when his elder brother Jack aged nineteen was killed in a motorcycle accident sometime in the early fifties.</p> <p>Later that year came another big trip, off to Kent by train with Mother to stay with Edith and Stan Nightingale in Edenbridge. The reason for the visit was to see the major exhibition the “ Festival of Britain” in London. This was organised by the Government as a celebration of Britain and its people and to show the latest developments in Industry, Architecture, Art and the culture of the British people. It was also intended to lift the country from the post war doldrums with rationing and shortages. The main exhibits were on the South Bank with a festival funfair in Battersea Park. King George opened the festival on the 3rd May. I thought it was fantastic; possibly it was this trip that awakened my interest in Architecture. I had never seen buildings like them before, light framed with enormous areas of glass. The Festival Concert Hall is the only building still remaining from the original layout. The “Skylon” dominated the exhibition, a tall, metal, pointed structure reaching for the sky, all good symbolic stuff for Clem Attlee’s Labour Government. It didn’t help them; they lost the election in October 1951 and back came an elderly Winston Churchill who had strenuously opposed the idea of the festival all along. Shades of another political football the Dome some forty-nine years later. The festival was widely regarded as a big success although there had been much criticism initially of the £11 million cost at a time of meat rationing and petrol shortages.</p> <p>I have always been interested in watching boxing possibly Roland Grimshaw had something to do with that. Mind the only time I tried it properly in the school gym Donald Holmes hit me on the nose and I immediately lost interest in the practical side. I used to be allowed to stay up late and listen with Dad to radio commentaries on Bruce Woodcock’s fights in the late 1940’s. Bruce was British Champion between 1945 and 1950 and fought some top Americans at Earls Court in London. In July 1951 there was a big fight to be shown live on TV. This was Randolph Turpin against the legendary American Sugar Ray Robinson for the World Middleweight Championship. The match received enormous publicity and the papers were full of it. Lizzie’s friends allowed me to watch it and I stared entranced for fifteen rounds before Turpin was declared the winner. Such jubilation. It didn’t last long they had a rematch in America in September and Robinson wiped the floor with him.</p> <p>My train spotting was still going strong. There was another lad from school, Colin Vernon who lived in Kirkham Street off Cleggs Lane, he was just as mad as Frank and I. We used to take our packed sandwiches and go away together for day trips to Wigan, Crewe or cycling to Golbourne on the East Lancs Road, a sure guarantee of seeing lots of “namers”. For a spotter names were everything! Crewe was the Mecca and the ends of the platforms were packed with lads all clutching their Ian Allen annuals. There was a great thrill in seeing a steaming train approaching in the distance roaring through the station while you strained your eyes for the name and number. A cop was greeted with huge cheers. One day Frank and I set off on the bus from Little Hulton for a day at Manchester Piccadilly station. We paid the usual penny to get our platform ticket and promptly got on the next train to Crewe. We got away with it and had a good day. We also tried sneaking into the engine sheds adjoining the station and got thrown out. On the way back a deal was struck, “ Don’t tell your mother what we’ve done today and I won’t tell mine!” I wonder how many times we did that little trick? By the time diesels came in, my spotting days were over. I was glad I was there in the age of steam, I am sure it was the noise, smell and hiss of steam, that made it a unique experience for anoraks like us. Surprisingly Mother never seemed to object to me going. Clearly there were some dangers with a group of lads standing on the edge of a platform all day watching trains speeding a few feet away from them. I survived and thoroughly enjoyed it all for several years, and I still love riding on trains.</p> <p>I wasn’t doing very well in German; at this stage I was finding learning two foreign languages difficult. French was a little easier, possibly because during German lessons I was clearly distracted by the young teacher’s figure. Miss Lowe, the proud possessor of the most enormous bust suggested I start to correspond with a German boy and said she would provide me with an address. A few days later she handed me a slip of paper and on it was written “Dieter Koch, Harzer Strasse 91, Neukolln, Berlin.” I took it home and promptly wrote my first letter. Goodness knows what he made of all those ramblings about train spotting and watching Bolton Wanderers. Anyway we started to correspond. I couldn’t read a word when he replied so I took the letter round to a German lady who lived in Coniston Avenue and she translated it for me. I was beginning to enjoy this. I knew that a friend at school had his pen friend over to stay and began to sniff the possibility of a trip to Berlin. I sent him a photograph and asked for one in return. A week or so later a letter arrived enclosing his photograph, it showed a tall thin young lad, with a gaunt face wearing rimless glasses. He was wearing a long black morning coat with tails, a silk cravat and top hat, holding a pair of white gloves. I wasn’t sure whether he was a trainee undertaker or had been to Eton. I showed the picture to Mother and said brightly, “Doesn’t he look smart and can he come and stay here with us? A worried frown crossed her face. “ Er, we’ll have to think about that.” They never did, nothing more was said and I still haven’t been to Berlin<br> .<br> Summer 1951 saw my debut as a poet in the School magazine. I thought it was rather good and felt proud, the subtlety of the rhyming couplets was clearly exceptional for a lad of such tender years. The first verse was as follows…</p> <p>“Over there, beneath the clouds,<br> I saw a swallow fly,<br> High into the heavens, up into the sky<br> He flew so very high.</p> <p>I will spare you the remaining two verses.</p> <p>By the time I was in third year I was beginning to improve my class position and was now around 16th nearly half way up. I struggled a bit with Chemistry and Physics but otherwise it was clear I was making an effort. Even Mr. Winstanley had seen the light and my grade for PE and Games was now “Good.” He wasn’t so stupid after all.</p> <p> Frank and I began to get involved with Little Hulton Cricket Club. We used to go and watch matches together and attend the junior practice. They were just starting a third team at the time. Frank became the scorer for the second eleven and I went along as scorer’s assistant, my job was to put the tins up on the scoreboard. The standard in the Bolton Association League was good, most clubs employed a paid professional and the public had to pay admission to watch matches. We did this for a couple of summers. I remember we both took a shine to the young lady who was the scorer for Tootles Sports Club, but her boy friend was the big opening bowler. Frank used to come round to Beechfield Avenue and we would play football in the road. I used to regularly kick a ball up the side of the house using the garage doors as goals. Frank remembers if ever the ball went into Uncle Albert’s garden next door I got in a panic. I was a bit scared of him he could be very grumpy at times.</p> <p>Funny how you can remember where you were when a dramatic event occurs. On the 6th February 1952 I was hanging my coat up in the cloakroom at school when another lad came running up to me shouting, “ The King’s dead.” It had just been announced on the radio that King George the sixth had died. He had been found dead early that morning, he of course was the father of our present Queen. She was on holiday in Kenya when she was told the news and was proclaimed Queen two days later on the 8th February. The BBC closed down all programmes for the rest of the day.</p> <p>Granny died suddenly aged eighty-seven in 1952. The previous two years had been very difficult for her. She liked to sit in the lounge but her bedroom was upstairs. Getting up and down the stairs became increasingly difficult and there were repeated falls. She suffered the most terrible bruises and often had horrible great lumps on her head. There was a tradition that the undertaker would lay the body out in the house the day before the funeral. This meant the coffin was brought in and the body placed into it with a sheet up to the neck, ready for people to see her and pay last respects. I was very uncertain about all this and didn’t want to go and look, it frightened me a bit. May came up to see her with little Hazel who was then aged six. I stayed in the kitchen with mother and Hazel, while May went in. Then Hazel decided she wanted a look, when she came back she didn’t seem very upset, so the big brave fifteen year old lad decided to give it a go. I didn’t stay long and went back in the kitchen and said, “I wasn’t expecting that, she looks just like my Granny.” May laughed and asked me what I had been expecting, I told her I thought I would see a skeleton! I didn’t realise I was that daft.</p> <p>On Christmas day 1952 the Queen made her first live radio broadcast. It was considered a major event at the time; nobody had ever heard her speak live on the radio before. My mother always was a great royalist unlike her son and sat there listening entranced by it all. Dad just smoked his annual cigar.</p> <p>There was an enormous amount of new building construction in the early 50’s as Britain rebuilt after the war. Dad’s business was thriving and he never seemed to stop working. Our back garden had become his store and was covered in roof tiles. At the age of fifteen I started to spend days with him on the building sites during my holidays. I had to get up early which I didn’t like and the days were long. There is no doubt this all had an impact on my future. There were a lot of men usually working on the site; Dad, Joe and Tiger would be up on the roof assisted by three labourers who they employed to carry tiles up onto the roof. This was hard work, I had to do it as well, but I was carrying a lot less tiles than the men. There was a good camaraderie amongst all the men, lots of chat and banter, years later in my professional life I learned this was normal on most sites. I was up on the roof one day, having a rest having humped up a load of tiles when I noticed a car pulling up. A man in a suit got out carrying a load of drawings. He walked around for a while and then started waving his arms around instructing the site foreman to do things. Dad was nearby and I asked him who was the man in the suit, “ He’s the architect,” was the reply. I decided there and then I preferred that job to being a roof tile labourer, I didn’t realise then it would all come to pass.</p> <p>We finally got a Television set in 1953. I went with Mother and Dad to Bulloughs Radio and TV. Shop at Farnworth to select it. I was thrilled to bits after several years of grovelling to friends and neighbours, pleading to watch. There were two big events that year we wanted to see, the Cup Final in May that involved Bolton and Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation on the 2nd June. Bolton had got through to Wembly winning 4-3 after a thrilling semi-final against Everton at Maine Road Manchester. I went to that match. It was another 80,000 gate and I took a brick with me to stand on so that I could see. If I did that today I would end up in a police cell. For both events, the Cup Final and the Coronation our lounge was packed with neighbours, needless to say the football interested me far more than Royal affairs and it still does. Great pity we lost the Final, which became immortalised as “The Stanley Matthews Final.” Around this time little Anne Cartwright began to come over to watch children’s television. Anne was the born in 1949 to Wyn and Ernie who lived opposite. If I remember she was particularly fond of “Muffin the Mule” and “Andy Pandy.” Over fifty years later Anne was to make contact with me again and I hope to visit her and her family in Japan later this year.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842792/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842789/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:16:26+02:002006-05-31T10:16:26+02:00 <p>During the spring of 1949 Lizzie was in contact with the parents of the young girl who had stayed with her at the height of the London Blitz. She came to stay for a week, and we took her out on some trips to the seaside. She seemed to enjoy her holiday and a few weeks after she returned Lizzie received a letter inviting us all to go for a holiday to London. A month or so later Mother and I set off from London Road Station, Manchester. Lizzie had decided not to go, she had been unwell recently. This was my second train ride to London but this time I was a fully- fledged train spotter with notebook in hand. I was in seventh heaven. Passing Camden sheds with all those Coronation class engines steaming outside was very exciting. We arrived at Euston and took the tube to Shepherds Bush. We eventually found their house, located in a very small terrace in a pretty run down area. The battering that London had taken in the war could be seen everywhere. They made us very welcome and the evening passed by chatting and reminiscing about the war. Eventually around 10pm we went to bed as we were feeling tired after the long journey. Mother and I were in a small room with two single beds with barely any space between. A small table was in the corner with a lighted candle on it. I fell asleep quickly only to be awakened around midnight by Mother shaking me. “ Wake up Billy, we’re going home.” I thought I was dreaming and asked why? “Bugs” she said with a shiver. Apparently she had spent the last two hours squashing them. We got up and dressed, she woke up the people and not very convincingly explained we had to return to Lancashire immediately. She said she was psychic and had a premonition that Wilf had just had a nasty accident; it was essential we set off immediately. What they thought of this unlikely tale, I have no idea, but out into the night we blundered. We landed at Euston Station in the early hours to find the next Manchester train did not leave until around 7am. I never slept a wink, happily running from platform to platform with my notebook. A main line station at night is a spectacular sight, the lights causing dramatic deep shadows from the engines with dense pillars of steam swirling to the glass canopy above. What an experience all that was, the night on Euston Station made it worthwhile for me. At least we did have one decent holiday that year; I went to the Isle of Man with Mother and Dad. </p> <p>September 1949 saw me enter the second year at school. I had settled down reasonably well but had found the work a bit difficult. My report at the end of the first year saw me finish 23rd out of 30. Most of the subjects were classed as “ fairly good,” my best subject was History and continued to be so throughout the next four years. All that reading of “Wonderland of Knowledge” must have had something to do with it. This moderate report did not bother me at all, apart from the assessment of the most important subject of all. “Physical Exercises and Games -- Very Fair.” I was mortified; Mr Winstanley the Games teacher went down in my estimation immediately. Could the man not recognise obvious talent? We were graded into four streams; that would remain for the next four years. I was put in the second group form B, which I suppose wasn’t bad considering my average report. Unfortunately Frank and Edwin moved into the top stream. New friends in this class included Alan Cockshaw, Alan Birtles, Brian Hulme and Neil Orrell.</p> <p> During this year there was a major epidemic of poliomyelitis across England. People were asked not to congregate together in enclosed spaces, and advised not to attend cinemas. It was a frightening time as the disease could be fatal. Tragically a boy from Walkden called Brian Fellowes in the year above me at school died, that was a terrible shock to us all. It was a very sober school that heard the announcement. One problem I did suffer from in the first year was bullying, one of the problems of being very small. A big lad called Carl Smith used to take great delight in the odd punch and I wasn’t exactly overjoyed to find him in my form in second year. Thankfully it settled down when we got to know each other better.</p> <p>Frank Coucill was my best friend throughout my school years. During 1948 his parents took over the “Dun Mare” pub near Roscoe’s foundry on the edge of Little Hulton. We got on well and had a similar background; he was also an only child and sports mad, he still is come to think! We joined a table tennis club together held at Little Hulton Cricket pavilion, went to watch football matches and to Old Trafford Cricket ground to watch Lancashire play county cricket. Lancashire had a very good team with the redoubtable Cyril Washbrook opening the batting and a young Brian Statham just beginning to make his mark. Frank was also a keen member of the train-spotting fraternity. I used to go up to visit the pub and remember helping Frank to clean the bottles. We spent the time playing table tennis in a big room upstairs or darts when the pub was closed. I would either catch the number 12 bus to get there or cycle.</p> <p> In 1950 Frank came on holiday with us to Scarborough, and he was to do this for three years. We had two holidays in Scarborough and one in Bridlington I can also remember going on holiday to Blackpool with him and his parents. One afternoon in Bridlington we had a real scare. We hired a rowing boat and some fishing tackle and went out to sea. It got a bit rough but we carried on, dangling the lines over the side, We were quite a way out and the waves were getting higher, the tide was going out also which was worrying, it was late in the afternoon and a bit worried as the sky became dark and rain began to fall. We got in a greater panic when we realised the anchor we had thrown overboard was stuck. Eventually we managed to free it but due to the rocking there was now a lot of water in the bottom of the boat. We tried to row back to shore but it was difficult with the tide against us. We just about made it back, the boat owner putting his hands over his eyes when he saw the amount of water in the boat. It was two very exhausted and relieved lads who returned to Mrs Gibson’s boarding house.</p> <p>Some other memories of holidays in the early fifties; Dad was a keen swimmer and we always went to the outdoors swimming baths in Scarborough. One year Frank had forgotten to bring his trunks with him and hired some, they were a navy blue knitted mesh material, too large and they were constantly round his ankles. In Peasholme Park, Scarborough they had a display on the lake with model ships representing the battle of the River Plate and the sinking of the German battleship the “Graf Spee.” We enjoyed that, lots of bangs and flashes as the guns roared. Thirty-five years later when Edna and I visited Scarborough the same model ships were still banging and flashing! Frank recalls that car trips going on holiday were always a bit chaotic with mother shouting at us to be quiet so Dad could concentrate on driving, Frank was constantly singing daft songs in his high- pitched voice. One year when we went to Blackpool with his parents, Frank and I went to the Isle of Man for a day trip on the ferry. Going out the crossing was very rough and I was violently sick, apparently I was refusing to get on the ferry for the return journey later that day. That same holiday his parents took us to the Grand Theatre to see the Max Bygraves show. I can’t remember much about Max Bygraves but the statuesque chorus girls holding large fans discreetly covering bare boobs were most interesting. The strict censorship rules of the day allowed them to do this provided they stood there and didn’t move a muscle. It couldn’t have been easy for them as wobbling was seriously frowned on. We both enjoyed it nevertheless. </p> <p>On an impulse I joined the St. Pauls Peel church choir, the reason was simple you got paid. I saw a notice in the local post office asking for volunteers and giving the rate of pay. Mother was of course delighted; I didn’t dare tell her it was because of the six pence per week. Frank was already a member but strongly denies he joined for the money. Mary was running the Mother’s Union at that time and when she had a meeting; our house was overflowing with earnest young women. Joining the choir meant attending practice one night in the week and church on Sunday, for morning and evening service. Looking back I am amazed I did it, but I suppose I had a reasonable voice and actually liked singing. The choirmaster was Mr.Jackson, a rather fussy balding man. The choir stalls were either side of the chancel and the organ was behind a screen immediately behind one of the choir stalls. He had a large mirror above the organ that meant he could keep an eye on at least half the choir. All the potential troublemakers were placed on the other side so he could watch them. Naturally Frank and I were included in this bunch also his son Dennis. Every time I looked up I could see his eyes in the mirror boring into me. I used to wonder how he could play the organ when he never seemed to look at the keyboard.</p> <p> Soon after this I had to have an audition for the school choir. This was compulsory, no choice. Mr. Rigby a small ebullient man with a big moustache trying to hide his cleft upper lip; conducted the audition. He had actually attended the school as a boy and returned as a French and Music teacher. He sat at the piano and instructed, “Right Clarke, sing this.” This was one interview I was determined to fail, no way did I want to be in the school choir, it meant standing on the stage every morning at assembly and they didn’t pay for a start! I gave a passable impression of a frog with a sore throat and stood there. Dear old Mr. Rigby, he had seen it all before. A slight weary smile crossed his face and he said, “ OK, I get the message, off you go.” I didn’t completely succeed, a few days later a notice went up with the names of all those selected for the choir, my name was not there, I grinned. I suddenly noticed another list alongside, this was for the school chorus, and there was my name. Foiled again! At least the chorus only performed once a year at Speech Day. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842789/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842784/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:15:36+02:002006-05-31T10:15:36+02:00 <p>4. 1948 to 1955. Farnworth Grammar School.</p> <p>Early in 1948 Wilf decided to change his car for an old Hillman and it was decided in spring we would take a holiday in Kent. His old pal Stan Nightingale and wife Edith had moved south the year before. Stan had been in the Navy during the war and wanted to resume his career as a Pharmacist. He had been given the opportunity to work in a chemist shop in Edenbridge. Travelling so far by car to me seemed like a journey to the other side of the moon. Little did I know then that fifty years later I would also be living in Kent. One bright sunny morning we all set off, car loaded, Mother and Dad in the front, me on the back seat, remember there were no motorways, he didn’t know the way and the car was pretty unreliable. We got lost several times and I remember we ended up going round and round in circles on the outskirts of Birmingham. About fourteen hours later we turned the corner into Hilders Lane, Edenbridge to be met by a very worried Stan and Edith wondering where we were. We had a lovely holiday, travelling around various seaside resorts on the south coast. I particularly remember lying down looking at the lighthouse from the top of Beachy Head, with Dad holding my legs. Only a few weeks ago I was passing through Edenbridge and called to look at Hilders Lane. It is still exactly as I remembered it in 1948. </p> <p>At the age of eleven I moved up to the Scouts, we met in the stable block alongside the vicarage on Manchester Road. A small energetic man called Billy Haslam was Akela or leader; he had a daughter with pigtails by the way. During my first summer with the scouts we went to a camp near Whitchurch in Shropshire for a week. We set off, all the lads standing in the back of open top lorries. We were based at Gredington Park owned by Lord Kenyon; he also owned a lot of land around Peel Church in Little Hulton. Our four large tents were pitched in a clearing in a wood. For me it was all very exciting, it was the first time I had ever stayed away from home. My only recollection of that week is of Dennis Jackson getting badly stung by wasps and sitting under a large tree watching a cricket match between the older scouts and some of the estate workers. Little did I realise I would eventually spend thirty three years of my life living in Shropshire and would end up designing major extensions to Whitchurch Grammar school one day.</p> <p>In July 1948 the Olympic games were held at Wembley in London. This was a huge national event but had little impact on me. It was actually the first Olympics to be televised but there were few sets available. Compared with today the event was simple and spartan. We didn’t perform very well and it was the first time the host nation had not finished in the top ten in the medals table. I remember seeing highlights on the cinema newsreels and listening on the radio to events. The star of the games was the Dutch sprinter Fanny Blankers-Koen who won four Gold medals. I am adding this paragraph in on the day it has just been announced London is to stage the Games in 2012. Hopefully I will still be around to attend next time. </p> <p>In September 1948 I began life at Farnworth Grammar School. I was to attend here for the next seven years. The first day anywhere is always a bit nerve wracking and this was no exception. I was kitted out in new clothes, from the bright green cap, blazer, tie and shiny black shoes. Farnworth is around five miles from Little Hulton, which meant a trolley bus ride and then a walk down Market Street to the large, quite imposing, red brick building. As soon as I entered the school gates the fun began. There was a gang of older lads waiting to pounce on newcomers. They were all shouting “ Monkey Run” whatever that meant, I soon found out. Alongside the playground one of the classrooms was at a lower level, a retaining wall had been built which in effect created a pit alongside the classroom wall. Naturally all first years were flung into the pit to be jeered at, what a rabble I thought. A year later I was one of the rabble doing the jeering. I was placed in Form 3b, where there were thirty pupils, of which thirteen were boys. I was delighted to find Frank Coucill also in the same class so I had a friend immediately, which always helps. The Headmaster, Mr Wilson was a haggard looking man who was in his thirty-fifth year teaching at the school. I wondered if he was related to my hero in the “Wizard” comic. No wonder he was haggard he had started teaching at the school in 1912 and was eventually to retire in 1950. Our form teacher Mr Wotton; was also starting that day, although he missed being thrown into the pit. He created a sensation about five years later by marrying a girl who had left sixth form the year before. </p> <p>I have a photograph of my first form taken in 1948 by Mr. Wotton. Every boy wears short trousers, which was normal for that time. Try putting an eleven-year-old boy in short trousers today and see the reaction. Going into long trousers was considered a significant step and usually occurred then around the age of thirteen. I remember my first long pair had a shilling in the pocket, which pleased me enormously. </p> <p>The early days were spent getting to know everybody and the basic geography of the place. It seemed huge after my Junior School, the 6th form lads looked equally huge. Everything was very formal, teachers wore gowns all the time and when they entered a classroom all pupils had to stand to attention. A few of the rules I found strange, outside school during the week it was necessary to wear full uniform, caps, ties etc. Failure to do so meant detention if you were spotted, eating ice cream outside was also a punishable offence. I soon made more friends. Nice to say mainly thanks to the Internet I am still in touch with some of them, Frank Coucill, Edwin Knight, Alan Cockshaw, Les Rothwell, Alan Potts, Audrey Barlow, Keith Seddon and Alan Birtles. My half cousin Harry Baggs also started with me on the same day but was placed in a different form, Harry and I are also still in contact. There was a morning assembly at which hymns were sung and a lesson read with announcements by the Headmaster. It all seemed very strange. What didn’t seem strange were the chaotic games of football at break times. The goals were the entrances to the outside toilets and I felt quite at home scurrying round after the ball, lots of elbows flying and shoving! I certainly didn’t like the homework, which was a new experience. I needed a bit of pushing by Mother often to get things done. The best thing about School for me as you would expect were the games periods, I couldn’t wait to wear that green and black football shirt. We also had a Gymnasium, which I enjoyed although I was a bit of a chicken when it came to vaulting over the high horse; my lack of height didn’t help me with that. Around the back of the Gymnasium were some large flank walls sticking out. Apparently they had been built as fives courts but the game was never played. They were now used as smoking dens and the odd assignation with willing young ladies. Not with me I hasten to add.</p> <p>I had only been there a few weeks when I heard some lads in a corridor muttering something about “Cops.” This sounded exciting, particularly if the police were involved. I was curious and listened carefully to what they were talking about. I had misunderstood, but overhearing that conversation started me on a new hobby that kept me happy for the next four or five years. Train Spotting. The lads were discussing the new trains they had seen that weekend. A “cop” was a new entry in the book. Even better these lads every night went down to the railway line near the school playing fields, to see the Manchester to Glasgow express, that passed by around 4-30 pm. I asked if I could go with them and they agreed. We went to stand on a bridge, looking back towards Bolton. There was a series of bridges crossing over in the distance so you could only see a relatively short length of track. There was a signal poking above the bridges, excitement mounted as it clanked down. I could see great clouds of steam in the distance and hear the roar as the train passed under the bridges. We ran quickly round to the wooden fence alongside the track. It was an incredible sight to see the great iron monster racing by, belching great plumes of steam. I had never seen a main line express so close at high speed. It was an amazing sight. The old hands with me seemed very blasé about it all; to them it was a disappointment as the engine was a regular on the run. That was it, the next weekend my pocket money went on an “ Ian Allen LMS Spotters Book” My world had changed.</p> <p>My world was changing in other directions as well. Opposite to us in Beechfield Avenue lived Wyn and Ernie Cartwright, they had moved into the Avenue in 1947. Wyn came from West Hartlepool in the North East and she became good friends with mother and Lizzie. Ernie came from Astley near Leigh, before the war he had been a spinner. Afterwards he was a colliery weigh-man at Brackley pit where Albert also worked. Ernie was a keen football fan and regularly went to watch Bolton Wanderers. I cannot remember how it was arranged but one day I was informed that Mr.Cartwright was willing to take me to Burnden Park on the following Saturday to watch a match. Dad was also very keen on Bolton Wanderers but he was working every Saturday and could not attend. If that train had excited me, I was positively quivering when Mr, Cartwright came to knock on our door to pick me up. We took the trolly bus to Farnworth and then another one to the ground near Bolton centre. The first thing that struck me was the amount of people going to the match. Football attendances in the late 40’s were huge. There was probably not so much competition and admission was cheap. Bolton’s average gate at that time must have been around 35,000. We stood in the Paddock on the side below the Burnden stand, I was on the fence so had a good view. They played Sunderland and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. After that I went regularly to all home games with Mr. Cartwright for the next few years until I was old enough to go on my own. I owe him a lot; he helped to start an obsession that continues to this day. I remember in 1950 he also took me to Maine Road Manchester to watch the Rugby League Cup Final. There was a crowd of over 80,000 that day to see Warrington win the cup. I didn’t understand the rules of the game but the atmosphere was thrilling.</p> <p>To a passer by Beechfield Avenue would appear to be a perfectly ordinary street. It was much more than that to me, it was Wembley football stadium and Lords cricket ground rolled into one. Serious competitive matches were played all year round. The number of players could vary from one to twenty. If it was one, it was bound to be me. Football was played down the Avenue. The number of players dictated the length of the pitch, and the goals were two bricks stood on end at each side. The selection of the teams was an interesting exercise in democracy. The players would line up and the captains would go down the line selecting in turn. A six year old with a bad cold and a sprained ankle obviously was last. Matches were of indeterminate length and could last for several hours, often into the gathering gloom. We were playing floodlit football long before the Football League tried it in the early 1950’s. Games would be interrupted for various reasons; the odd car was a nuisance. Far more frequent was typically the cry of “ Cum in Roger, thee tea’s ready” Sometimes Roger was reluctant to leave and that caused mayhem when his mother entered the fray to grab him. Cricket was played across the Avenue with the batsmen and bowler standing on opposite pavements. The wicket was a gatepost and we had a particularly fine brick one. Stroke making had to suit the conditions, shots tended to be pulls to midwicket or square cuts. Many years later playing village cricket, I never could play a straight drive. This was obviously down to my formative years in the game at Beechfield Stadium. A straight drive would have gone through the lounge window of Mr.and Mrs Cartwright’s house. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842784/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842780/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:14:53+02:002006-05-31T10:14:53+02:00 <p>I always was a great reader. We had a glass-fronted bookcase in the lounge where Dad kept all his encyclopaedias. My favourites were “ The Wonderland of Knowledge.” volumes. I devoured them, I thought they were marvellous and still do for that matter and they are on my shelves today. Comics were very important to me also. There was a great range available in the late 40’s, “Beano,” “Dandy,” “Film Fun,” “Radio Fun.” These were all comic strips in cartoon form and I read the lot. I used to be regularly running to the Newsagent on the corner of Cleggs Lane getting them. A regular chore was also buying “Woodbines” cigarettes for Albert and “St. Bruno” tobacco for Dad who smoked a pipe. As I got older I graduated to reading “Rover,” “Hotspur,” “Wizard,” “Adventure” and “Champion.” These had solid text and stories were always about sport or adventure and frequently the war. I particularly used to enjoy reading in the Wizard about “Wilson” the athlete who lived in a cave up in the mountains, he would appear every few years and win some gold medals for Britain at the Olympic games. Strangely he always wore a black leotard. Louise my daughter laughed at this when she read it and rang to ask if I had made it up. She checked on the Internet and the facts (or more accurately the fiction) were even funnier. The Wizard comic ran from 1922 to 1963 and Wilson over all these years was it’s sports superstar. The description of him was as follows, “He was born in 1795 and ran away from home aged 14 determined to improve his physique far beyond human levels. He lived rough on Ambleside Moor and there he met a hermit who told him the secret of long life. By 1939 Wilson’s all round sports achievements wearing his black woollen body suit had amazed the world. He served in the RAF during the war as a fighter pilot and scored 25 kills. He then worked to rehabilitate disabled servicemen before training athletes for the 1948 Olympic games in London. After stirring adventures in Africa, Wilson conquered Everest alone in 1951, two years before Hilary and Tensing. He also ran a mile in three minutes though this was across country without official timing.” What a man! I loved it when Mother took me on the bus to Bolton shopping. There was a large indoor market and I always made a beeline for a stall that sold American comics. Big glossy things with fantastic coloured illustrations, I thought they were amazing. About this time I registered at Little Hulton Library by the side of Peel School. This was paradise, all those books, for free, and so began a life long love affair with libraries.</p> <p>After the war, my Auntie Doris and Sam moved up to Tonge Moor on the outskirts of Bolton to run a Fish and Chip shop. The premises were at the end of a long stone built terrace, situated on Tonge Moor Road near the Starkie Arms pub. The shop had clearly been converted from a house, the front room now being the cooking and serving area. In the back garden under a glazed canopy was a large potato- peeling machine, which made a thunderous noise when in use. On a visit recently I was very pleased to see the terrace still survives although the old shop is back to a private house again. I always enjoyed going to visit; the fish and chips were good. To get there we would take a trolley bus to Farnworth, a tram to Bolton, then another tram from Bolton to Tonge Moor. One day in 1947 I was travelling with my mother just leaving Bolton heading for Tonge Moor. We were ascending an incline on Folds road when a tram coming down the hill in the opposite direction came off the tracks and hit us broadside on. We were very lucky; our tram was thrown off the rails, straddled the tracks at an angle but remained upright. The other tram crashed over on its side and was completely wrecked. Thirty-one people including some children were injured many being taken to Hospital. There is a newspaper cutting with a picture of the accident in the photo albums. We were both a bit shook up but clearly had got off lightly. </p> <p>I cannot remember the date but James, my grandfather passed away around this time. I had got used to living with them and was sad when it happened. He used to spend most of the day living in the bedroom upstairs; he was not well for some time before he died. I still have a brass German shell case with the date on the bottom of “Mai 1916”. He actually picked that up on the battlefield.</p> <p>I joined the cubs soon after the war and thought it was great; we met in Peel Junior School. The man who ran the cubs was Tom Boydell, a tall fair-haired man with a ruddy complexion who had a farm at the top of Cleggs Lane. I also started to attend Church and Sunday school every week. The Sunday school was held in my junior school; it felt a bit odd going in on Sunday as well as during the week. I became friends at this time with a lad from Hulton West Council School called Frank Coucill. Frank was also in the cubs and we were in the same Sunday school class, he lived at 36 Oakfield Drive close to the school and Little Hulton Cricket ground. I started to go round to his house doubtless to play football. In my final year at Junior School I remember we played a football match against Hulton West on their pitch. Frank was playing for the opposition and they had a lad called Alan Lindop in goal, he also ended up at Farnworth Grammar School. We won 1-0 and if I close my eyes now I can still see my shot curling into the top corner of the goal. One of the more important moments of my life!</p> <p> Like my parents before me I ended up on the annual Whitsun church walk around the parish boundaries. The traditional “Procession of Witness” has long been celebrated throughout the North West. The earliest known walks can be traced back to Manchester around 1800 and they sprang from the Sunday School movement first pioneered in 1784. I have a couple of photographs taken in 1947; one shows a group of cubs in our back garden holding the cub flag prior to setting out on the walk. They were all pals of mine who lived in Beechfield Avenue, Terry Robinson, Roger Shufflebottom, and Terry Ogden. Another picture shows us on the walk the same day, the guides were just in front of us and Freda Shufflebottom can be seen, Beechfield Avenue was well represented.</p> <p>1948 was a critical year for my life. It didn’t make sense to me then, and it makes even less sense now, that one examination could have had such an effect. It seemed to be a stark choice, pass the eleven plus and you were on the way up, fail and you really were heading fast in the opposite direction. In those days once you were allocated your place it was very difficult to cross the line at a later stage. Everything hinged on one day. It was obvious Mother and Dad were both very worried about it, as the build up to the examinations drew near. There were several Grammar schools in the area, the nearest being at Farnworth, the one I wanted to attend. Not every child was given the opportunity to sit the exam, so in one sense by actually getting in the room and looking at the exam paper, you had overcome the first hurdle. It was decided I would go into three examinations, Bolton School, Canon Slade Grammar School in Bolton and Farnworth Grammar School. That was the order I took the exams, which gave me some practice before taking the one I wanted to pass. I had no hope at all of passing at Bolton School. It was a fee-paying school, and they allowed a few places on scholarship. Going to the impressive buildings at the posh end of town was very intimidating for me and I was pleased to get away. I duly failed. The next attempt was Canon Slade. This was a Lancashire Education Committee school exactly like Farnworth; the buildings were on a busy main street in the centre of the town. I still didn’t make it and was rejected again. It was all down to the final one. Was I nervous? I can’t really remember, but one day the results were announced in School and I had passed. What a relief! I remember one girl who had been regarded as a certainty to pass had failed and she was in floods of tears. May told me one amusing story. Apparently soon after the news came that I had passed, my mother met one of my junior schoolteachers, Mrs Crompton who said, “It’s a waste of time sending your Billy to the Grammar school, he’ll never make it.” Mother was a bit upset! Years later when I got my degree at Sheffield she bumped into the same teacher and gleefully told her the news. She said to May, “ I did enjoy that”</p> <p>The late forties was the heyday of the cinema. Television was still a few years away and cinemas were regularly packed out. Going with my parents every Saturday night was a weekly ritual. The newspaper would be carefully scrutinised before the choice was made. There were an enormous number of cinemas in striking range. Walkden had two, Farnworth five and there were many more in Bolton. Generally they seemed to favour the Ritz in Peel Street, Farnworth. We went on the trolly bus and always had to go early to get near the front of the queue. It was not uncommon to arrive to find the queue down to the end of the street, and sometimes we never even got in. There was usually the main film together with a newsreel and a smaller supporting film often a comedy, Laurel and Hardy, The Three Stooges etc. It was all then such a part of daily life, I never dreamt it could change. Twenty years later you would not find cinema queues the length of the street. Saturday really was Cinema day for me, for in the morning I went to Walkden Palace to the children’s Cinema Club. That was magic, there were some cartoons but the real attraction was the “serial,” a film in parts when you were left in suspense as to what was going to happen next. I couldn’t wait for Saturday morning to come round! My favourite was always “Flash Gordon” played by Buster Crabbe and his enemy “Ming the Merciless” of Mongo. The Flash Gordon films had such wonderful titles “ The planet of Peril,” “ The Tunnel of Terror” or “Captured by Shark Men.” Deep sigh; even typing this is making me go all-wistful. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842780/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842778/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:14:22+02:002006-05-31T10:14:22+02:00 <p>3. 1945 to 1948. End of the War and Junior School.</p> <p>In July 1945 a General election was held. Many assumed after his triumph during the war that Churchill would naturally be re-elected. There were no sophisticated advanced polls in those days to give an indication of the national mood. When the results were announced Labour under Clement Attlee had won by a landslide and Churchill was consigned to the opposition benches. There was no doubt that the people did not want a return to the politics of the 1930’s and there was a powerful feeling for change. Churchill was devastated by the result. I was eight at the time and have no memory at all of it. I bet Dad was one of the few to vote Conservative.</p> <p>When Dad eventually returned from London he promptly began work on restoring the air raid shelter back to a garage. I don’t think they worried about planning permission too much. He contacted Joe and Tiger and the roof tiling business was soon back on track. The one thing I can recall with great excitement was when we went over to Swinton to finally open up Tom Partington’s garage and view “our” car. I had never seen it before. It looked magnificent to me and amazingly it started the first time the key was turned. I suspect Tom had been keeping an eye on it. Whenever I see an old Austin 7 chugging along today I remember that moment, funnily enough I saw one parked in Ash recently.</p> <p>My own world was also changing around this same time. I am not sure of exact dates here but both events must be around the end of the war. Firstly mother’s parents, James and Elizabeth moved over from Sandwich Street to live with us and I moved up from the infant’s school to the junior. I can remember clearly the day my grandparents moved. I went over with Mother and Dad to Sandwich Street to help them pack and clean up. There was no large removal vehicle, all their belongings were placed onto a small horse and cart; clearly they didn’t bring any furniture with them. This was a huge change in our household, they moved into the back bedroom and I was put into the box room. What did I think about all this? Children of eight are very self-centred, and I suppose I wasn’t too happy about it at all. My Grandparents were both eighty and it wasn’t easy for them also and I suppose an uneasy truce was maintained. The one thing I definitely did not like was their dammed parrot called Laura. She must have squawked her little green head off on the horse and cart trip. I wish she had, I found her a pain, literally. At first it was a great novelty until my little fingers went near the cage, SNAP went the beak and I screamed. Laura was quite a chatterbox and we soon found out she had a good line in swearing. I looked at my Grandmother and Grandfather with new interest after I heard that.</p> <p>Moving up to the junior school was a very easy transition, I was used to walking daily down Cleggs Lane to the building anyway. The Headmaster was called Mr.Gibson, a big burly man and I took a fancy to his daughter Judith who was at the school. One great thing for me, I was now involved in organised sport. We had several afternoons each week on a nearby playing field and one of the teachers supervised our football and cricket sessions. This was my first experience of proper organised team sport; it was not to be the last. I didn’t object to any of the staff as I recall, thankfully there was nobody quite like Miss Brady. I soon got into trouble though, which was unfortunate as the cane was used liberally. The school like most old Victorian buildings had outside toilets. For some strange reason one day, I was accused with another lad of removing the outside door to the girl’s toilet from its hinges. It was quite a short interview with Mr. Gibson before the cane was produced. I did notice with some apprehension he appeared to have quite strong forearms; Swish, Swish. He was a practiced performer and we finally trudged out with tears in our eyes. Did I do it? I can’t remember, honest M’Lud. One thing I definitely did like doing was pulling Dorothy Haslam’s pigtails, She used to sit just in front of me and it was simply too tempting. Nearly fifty years later in 1994 I was standing in St Paul’s Churchyard during the ashes ceremony after Dad had died. We had had the service in church and were standing around the grave chatting after his ashes had been spread. A grey haired elderly lady came up to me and said, “You used to pull my pigtails at school” It was Dorothy and I hadn’t seen her since 1948.</p> <p>Life at junior school cannot have been all trouble and strife. I must have made some progress as I eventually managed to pass the 11+ exams. Of the daily routine, or how I coped with the work I cannot remember a great deal. I never stayed for school dinners and always went home. This pattern continued even when I was at Grammar school. What I can still remember, are silly things like the toilet paper rules; if you were taken short during a lesson, up went your hand. “ Yes Billy, what is it?” ……. “ Want to go to the toilet Miss.” ……. Next came the delicately phrased question, “ Do you require toilet paper Billy?”………. “ Yes please Miss.” Miss would then halt the lesson, unlock a cupboard door and carefully take out a toilet roll. Slowly she tore off one piece and gravely handed it over. Asking for two pieces was a treasonable offence, punishable by the cane. Hard times, as Charles Dickens once wrote. </p> <p>One sight you would never see today, frequently I would go to school wearing clogs. They were made of very stiff leather and very uncomfortable. They had strips of iron underneath so you could hardly creep up on someone unawares. If you pulled your shoe sharply across the floor, the metal bars could create a spark. Inevitably there were always competitions to see who could make the biggest spark, which helped considerably to wear them out.</p> <p>One big event of my junior school days was my one and only fight. I have no idea what triggered this. Roland Grimshaw clearly didn’t like me and made that pretty plain. After months of niggling I was challenged to a fight. I accepted so I obviously didn’t like him either. This was not any sudden punch up; the time and place were arranged in advance. The details were whispered around the school with much anticipation. It must have been summer, because the event took place after school finished. A crowd of us walked across the main road, up past some housing to a field behind, and soon the action began. I adopted a classical boxing stance that I had seen in my comics. Right fist up by my jaw, left fist extended for the jab. Roland was a small skinny lad, even smaller than me but very hyperactive and aggressive. He rushed in like a madman arms whirling, all the kids watching were screaming. He ran straight into my extended fist and collapsed in a heap. He was a bit more wary now and I got more confident. I cannot remember how long it lasted but I soon got the hang of leaping on him when he was down and giving him the odd bash. Eventually he gave up and skulked off. Much cheering for me, I felt like a hero! There were two sequels to this. The next day the school “cock” challenged me. He was the unbeaten school heavyweight champion. I refused the offer this time and explained I was retiring forever, also unbeaten. The other result was that Roland wasn’t satisfied and used to hang around the end of our street threatening retribution. I stayed in for a time, hiding, which mother couldn’t understand, eventually he gave up and that was the end of my fighting career. “Billy’s a basher, yes he is, only joking.” </p> <p>Events recalled in 1946. May was married at St. Mathew’s church, Ardwick to Johnny Smith. Mother and Dad went to the wedding, also Albert and Lizzie. May cannot remember if I was there or not. Everybody liked Johnny, a happy go lucky man who spoke in a high-pitched voice. He was a great favourite of my mother as he always insisted on getting tea ready when they came to visit Beechfield Avenue. Later that year their first child Hazel was born, much to the great delight of Mother and Lizzie, who had looked after May in 1927 when she was a baby. Mother offered May my pram and cot, which were gratefully accepted, she asked May to, “look after them.” Many years later in 1962 when our eldest daughter Emma was born, May asked Mother if we would like the cot back, she still had it carefully stored. The cot came back to me and over the next nineteen years we had another six children use it. I don’t know what they paid for it in 1937, but we certainly had our moneys worth. Also in 1946 a party was held at Beechfield Avenue for the Golden Wedding celebration of Dad’s parents Arthur and Elizabeth with all the family present. Sadly his father Arthur who had a lovely disposition had gone blind some years before and they were now living with Doris and Sam at Tonge Moor.</p> <p>Around this time also I was to experience one of those earth- shattering moments that you never forget. I can remember the exact spot, walking down the side of the junior school building with another lad. He suddenly pulled something from his pocket and said, “Have you ever seen one of these?” I stared in amazement; it was bright yellow and a funny shape. This was my first sight of a banana. He peeled it and gave me a piece; I liked it. I saw an advert on TV the other day showing an old lady climbing into a helicopter, followed by the caption, “When did you do something for the first time?” I thought of eating that banana. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842778/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842776/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:13:36+02:002006-05-31T10:13:36+02:00 <p>What was 11, Beechfield Avenue like? A big improvement on Sandwich Street I am sure. For a start there was a garden at the front and the back and wonder of wonders, a bathroom. We lived at the end of the terrace of four dwellings. This was an enormous advantage as we had a drive up the side, enabling Dad to erect a garage set back into the rear garden. The two properties in the centre of the block were hard done by in this respect. There was a narrow passage in the centre to give access for pedestrians to go through and get to the rear door, no access for vehicles at all. The properties at the end had the rear door on the side. Internally there was a large well-lit lounge, the full depth of the house with windows at each end, a small kitchen and pantry off. The hall contained the staircase with a small cupboard under. Mother used to tell me that was where she would hide me if the German’s came. She wasn’t joking either, that possibility was on everyone’s mind. Upstairs there was the bathroom incorporating a bath, washbasin and toilet, with three bedrooms. One was very small and they always called it the “box room.” In our block, the Ogden’s lived at the opposite end; they had two boys, Terry who was my age and a younger brother. Terry was one of “our gang” and a good little goalkeeper to boot. Next door to them, came the Shufflebottoms. What a wonderful name! Mrs.Shufflebottom lived with her four children, Freda the eldest, Brenda about my age, Roger and Raymond. Roger became a good friend and was a regular in the football kickabouts. Some years later Mrs Shufflebottom remarried and their names changed to Dickox. That lady should have met a Mr. Smith! Next door to us came a rarity, an elderly couple, Mr.and Mrs. Hampson who were well into there seventies. Most occupants of the avenue were young with small children and the Hampson’s must have found it noisy and difficult. Sometimes they could be awkward and the regular cry of “Please could we have our ball back” was not answered too kindly. It sounded a bit like “Bugger off.” to me, all good fun. Around this time just before Christmas my mother got very annoyed with young Terry Robinson who lived opposite. He had gleefully informed me, “ Don’t be so daft, Billy lad, theer’s nivver a Father Christmas, it’s thee Dad!” She wasn’t best pleased.</p> <p>1942, was an important year for me, I started school. I attended St. Paul’s infant’s school; adjoining the junior school. Both of the buildings were next door to St. Paul’s Peel church located on Manchester Road. The infant school was a low brick building, built much later than the junior school and adjoined Seddons yard. Memories of life at the infant school are rather vague. I can remember walking down Cleggs Lane that very first morning with mother. If I made a fuss and cried when she left, I cannot remember, I hope I didn’t. I knew quite a few children there and several of my pals from Beechfield Avenue were starting at the same time. That must have helped me. Looking at pictures of the time I was a sweet looking lad (although I say it myself!) with very blonde hair and more than a suspicion of being knock-kneed. Pictures taken at school over the next two or three years show me with a big grin on my face, so I couldn’t have been that unhappy. I can recall a few odd memories of my two years there. Dear old Miss Brady, I can still remember her. She was a small thin woman of uncertain age, who liked nothing better than swishing the cane in front of terrified six year olds. Woe betide if you couldn’t remember your two times table! One day I had a nasty accident; I was pushed or fell into the school railings alongside the playground, badly knocking my cheekbone. I remember being rushed off to see the Doctor; luckily there wasn’t any lasting damage although mother always said that was how dimples appeared on my cheeks. When I was seven there was a school Christmas concert in which I had a starring role. At least my mother, bursting with pride thought I was a star. I had to sing a solo. Parry’s “Jerusalem” I can remember the wonderful words by William Blake still, “ And did those feet in ancient times; walk upon England’s mountain green, and did the Holy Lamb of God…etc” She applauded vigorously anyway. </p> <p>During 1942 Wilf was sent away on a course with the Fire Service. That must have been interesting for him. He travelled down to Saltdean, Sussex in July. The course was designed to improve the men’s efficiency in the use of Breathing Apparatus. This equipment was essential in the poisonous atmosphere of a smoke filled room. Photographs from the course show about fifty smartly dressed firemen with tunic buttons gleaming and shiny shoes, a smiling Wilf amongst them. He sent a couple of postcards. On the first one he wrote ----</p> <p>Dear Mary and Billy,<br> “I got your second letter this morning and Billy’s too. I have not had time to write a letter today, we have had seven or eight lectures in the past two days in addition to drills. This is a photo of one of our drill grounds with the college in the background.”<br> So long Wilf x and one for Billy x </p> <p>I like the “ so long “ bit. The second one was proof that I had a rabbit in July 1942.</p> <p> Dear Mary and Billy,<br> “Just another week to go, and if the weather keeps like this I’ll be just a greasy spot. How’s the rabbit Billy I’m just dying to see it.” So long Wilf xx</p> <p>In April 1943, Arthur, Wilf’s brother and his wife Edna had a little boy, George. With Sheila their first child I now had two cousins. They lived at Grayson Road in Little Hulton. It wasn’t too far away from Beechfield Avenue and over the next few years I used to walk over the fields to go and play with them.</p> <p>During the summer of 1944, the Germans, produced their new terror weapons, rocket attacks on London. The V1, known as the doodle- bug appeared in June 1944. Over 9,000 were fired but only a quarter of these landed but still caused extensive damage. Later in September a still more terrifying rocket was launched, the V2. There was no defence against this and over 1,000 landed in a last ditch attack on London. As a result of the new situation, a national appeal was made in October for anyone with building experience to come to London, to help in a building repair programme. Because of his roof tiling background Wilf was released from the Fire Service and instructed to report to London immediately. This was a hazardous time with the V2 rockets still coming down on a regular basis. He was involved in at least one near miss when several people were killed in a nearby building. He told me years later he had never been so frightened in all his life, more so than on Liverpool docks. It was the speed and surprise of the V2 attacks that worried people. In March 1945, mother and I set off to London to visit him. This was my first visit to London at the age of eight and I found the train journey very exciting. The war had still not finished but only the odd rocket was still appearing. By this stage the allies were over-running the mobile launch sites in Northern Europe and the danger was greatly reduced. It was wonderful to see Dad again. I can remember staying in a bed and breakfast place; that was a novelty for us. I was constantly looking upwards for rockets in the sky luckily I never saw one. What I did see clearly though was the extensive damage to the Capital. Dad remained working in London until the summer before he was released to return home.</p> <p>On the 8th May 1945 Winston Churchill announced the end of the war with Germany. In a broadcast from the cabinet room at number 10 he said that the ceasefire had been signed at the American advanced Headquarters in Rheims. Huge crowds many of them dressed in red, white, and blue gathered outside Buckingham Palace and cheered as the King, Queen, the two princesses and eventually Winston Churchill came out onto the balcony. A victory parade was later held through the streets of London on the 10th August 1945 when once again huge crowds of cheering, flag-waving crowds took to the streets. Strangely I have no recall of the final days of the war; there were no street parties in Beechfield Avenue as there were elsewhere. One thing I can be sure about we were all very pleased and couldn’t wait to get Dad back home. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842776/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842773/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:12:55+02:002006-05-31T10:12:55+02:00 <p>Looking back over sixty years it is hard to appreciate how difficult things were during the war. There was an enormous amount of bureaucracy for the most basic things. A National Registration of the whole population was held in September 1939. This served many purposes, including the dreaded call-up to the services. Anyone not registered did not get two of the essentials of wartime life - an Identity Card and a Ration Book. In order to buy food mother would have to go to a shop clutching her Ration book and register with that retailer. Each commodity, meat, bacon, butter etc had a counterfoil determining the quantity she could buy each week. Having bought some goods, the counterfoil was removed for that item and taken by the retailer, which would be it for the week. The actual quantities available per person per week varied from time to time but was typically 2oz of butter, 1oz of cheese, 1 egg, 2pints of milk and so on. It was pretty frugal stuff. It seemed to me the scope for fiddling was enormous and it went on! Rationing clearly must have caused dietary deficiencies; there was also a shortage of fresh fruit and vegetables.</p> <p> During the war I had constant problems with boils. I never hear now of anyone suffering from that condition. I dreaded Mother saying, “Sorry Billy, it needs a poultice.” A poultice was a sticky compound scraped from a tin, heated in a pan, and put on a piece of lint. This was the applied immediately onto the boil, in theory to draw out the septic. I always howled in pain at the heat, it was a bit like branding cattle! I remember once Mother saying, we were going round to see a lady who had a cure for boils. Oh yes! We set off walking and arrived at a small old terraced house. It didn’t look like the surgery of an eminent physician. We went inside and waited in the lounge while the witch went to her cauldron in the kitchen. I could hear lots of scraping and stirring noises before she finally emerged carrying a tall glass filled with a foaming yellow substance. I could see bits of eggshells floating on the surface. “ Cum on then lad, drink up” I was instructed. Ugh. I drank it and was promptly sick. That was that, it was back to the poultices. I still wonder if that cost mother any money.</p> <p>Growing up in Beechfield Avenue during the war, for me had many advantages. The road was an ideal playground, it was perfectly safe and there were no vehicles. The only danger was the regular visit by the “rag and bone” man with his horse and cart. He announced his arrival by ringing a big bell anyway so the chances of being hit by him were pretty small. He would take away any clothes or old junk, in exchange for a “Donkey stone.” This was a small slab of a soft stone used for rubbing over the doorstep to clean it. Lancashire housewives at that time seem to have had a phobia about the cleanliness of the doorstep. The other great attraction of living there for me was an endless supply of friends to play with. I certainly never felt like an only child, I must have been one of at least fifty. I am sure half the time mother didn’t know where I was. Apart from playing outside there were endless houses to disappear into. This did not just apply to Beechfield Avenue but to the adjoining streets of Dearden Avenue, Thirlmere Drive and Coniston Avenue. “Have you seen my Billy?” became a familiar refrain! Mother was a worrier, you rarely saw her relax and she was always on the go. My first “girlfriend” was Mary Higson, known as “Molly” who lived opposite. We ended up going to infants school on the same day in 1942 and later in 1948 the same Grammar school, however the childhood romance didn’t blossom, as they rarely do.</p> <p>After the bombing of London commenced in late 1940, the Government took the decision to evacuate as many children as possible from the capital. There was an appeal on the radio for volunteers to provide homes. Lizzie and Albert decided to take an evacuee into their home and a young girl aged around six duly appeared. She was from Shepherds Bush. I cannot remember a great deal about her or how long she stayed, I was only three at that time. I don’t think it was much more than a year. Doubtless when she appeared she would have been clutching her gas mask in its cardboard box. They were standard issue to all schoolchildren at the beginning of the war. When the bombing eased off, she went back home. She was to return however in 1949 for a holiday and there was to be an odd sequel later.</p> <p>May recalled one dreadful experience in 1940 she was thirteen at the time. She had been visiting Beechfield Avenue with Annie her mother just before Christmas on Sunday December 22nd and they left to catch the 6pm bus back to Manchester at the bottom of Cleggs Lane. What they did not realise was the Manchester Blitz was about to begin that evening. As they were waiting, the wail of the air raid siren could be heard. They got on the bus with an RAF man and his girlfriend wearing a green coat who had been visiting next door to our house. Mother told May later she knew them both, the RAF man was related to Mr and Mrs Hampson and the girl was called Doreen Gill who came from Manchester. When the bus arrived the driver said that due to the air raid he was driving straight to Manchester and not stopping again, why they carried on is quite beyond me. As they approached central Manchester it was like an inferno, everywhere buildings ablaze and the constant crashing sound of falling masonry. May remembers the bus driver constantly swerving to avoid rubble in the road. The bus eventually made it to the stop under Greengates arches below the Exchange and Victoria stations. They all got off the bus and walked out to find all the nearby buildings on fire. They went to shelter under an arch but the RAF man and his girl decided to go back and sit on the bus until the all clear sounded. A few moments later a bomb crashed onto the railway, the arch collapsed onto the bus below killing the two people. Not surprisingly there was no connection to Ardwick and May and Annie had to walk home. This meant walking through the city centre and must have resembled a scene from “Dante’s Inferno” with flames everywhere. They were worried if their house would be standing when they finally arrived, luckily it was. Some months after typing this I sent a copy to an old friend, Keith Seddon who I had been at Farnworth Grammar School with. To my amazement he later sent me a dramatic photograph of the flattened bus that May had been on showing clearly the gaping hole above through the arch structure. I sent a copy to her and she could hardly believe what she was looking at! </p> <p>My Mother was horrified to hear this story and invited May to come and live with us for a couple of weeks immediately after Christmas to give her a break from the bombing. May remembers two things from this period. Dad was out fighting fires on New Years Eve and Mother wouldn’t let anyone open the front door the next day until he returned. They had this odd custom that the head of the house should “Let the New Year in.” The other thing she recalled was I kept asking her to read a book over and over again, presumably one I had for Christmas. It was called, “Prince Sticky Fingers.” I can’t remember that at all but it has stuck in May’s mind. I bet I was a real pain at the age of four!</p> <p>One memory during the early part of the war, I was out as usual playing on the road when I saw two lads running down the avenue looking very excited. What’s going on I wondered? I ran after them to be told some very exciting news; a fighter plane had crashed nearby. We ran across some fields and the memory of my first sight of that plane is vivid. It had nose-dived into a grassy bank straight across the Ashton field Colliery railway line with its tail sticking in the air. The plane looked much bigger than I expected, I had seen Spitfires and Hurricanes flying over but they seemed small. By the time we arrived there was no sign of the pilot. I had written this paragraph when several weeks later I came across a report of the plane crash on the Internet. The incident occurred on the 13th February 1941 just before my fourth birthday. The plane was Hawker Hurricane No P3588 flown by Pilot Officer John F. Finnis. He was from unit 229 squadron based at Speke and was on a routine air patrol over the Manchester area. The cause of the crash was given as engine failure caused by an air lock when the pilot failed to change tanks soon enough. He was possibly giving fighter cover to King George V1 and Queen Elizabeth who were visiting Manchester that day. After the crash RAF armourers arrived to remove the guns and belts of ammunition. The Pilot was classified as badly injured but he survived and eventually commanded a squadron in the Western Desert in 1942. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842773/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842770/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:12:10+02:002006-05-31T10:12:10+02:00 <p>2. 1937 to 1945. Early years and the war.</p> <p>I was christened William Austin Clarke, why William Austin? The “Austin” part of my Christian name is easy to explain. I am glad to say it had nothing to do with the Austin 7 car Dad bought two years later. I was named after a friend of Dad’s called Austin Barnes who was a relative of Ivy Barnes, Mother’s best friend as a girl. Strange to say I never recall meeting him, apparently he moved to Kidderminster during the war. The “William” is more difficult to explain. I often joke Dad named me after the famous white horse called “Billy” who rescued the very first cup final at Wembley stadium in 1923 when Bolton Wanderers beat West Ham United. I would like to think that is true but I never did ask him! They certainly called me Billy though.</p> <p>What other important events were going on in the world in 1937 apart from my arrival? The Spanish Civil War was still taking its toll giving the German Luftwaffe useful bombing practice before more serious matters two years later. In May, King George 6th was crowned; this incidentally became the first outside television broadcast of the BBC. Also the same month the German airship Hindenberg exploded in flames when mooring to a mast at Lakehurst in America. Possibly more important to my future the “Dandy” the world’s longest running comic was first published. Other “well-known” people born the same year included Anthony Hopkins, David Hockney, Shirley Bassey and Bobby Charlton, also whisper it quietly Saddam Hussein.</p> <p>Later the same year there was another wedding in the family when Wilf’s brother, Arthur was married to Edna Hollinshead on the 17th July. Edna came from Swinton and had met Arthur one day when they were travelling on a train to Manchester. Again the service was held at Walkden church, with the reception held at their house on Manchester Road. Wilf was best man as Arthur had been his best man eight years earlier. What smart dapper, chappies they look on the wedding photograph, wearing light coloured suits, a flower in the button hole, carrying white gloves and a trilby hat. Edna regally sat in the centre with a huge bunch of flowers, to her left her bridesmaid Phyllis her sister and her father George. There was quite a crowd photographed in the gardens, including one particularly bonny five-month old baby boy sat on his Grandmother’s knee. I can’t claim to remember the moment. Arthur and Edna’s first child Sheila was born on the 12th August 1938.</p> <p>I used to be taken around clutching my teddy in a large pram, more like a chariot actually. Mother used to push me down Beechfield Avenue onto West way and through a ginnel (Lancashire expression for small passage) to the track around the fields behind the estate. I can’t think where they stored the pram in the house; it would have filled the hall. Sadly in the late 1950’s when the Salford overspill development took place all the adjoining fields disappeared under new housing and my old football and cricket pitches disappeared.</p> <p> In 1938 Wilf decided to leave his job with the roofing firm and branch out on his own, a big step. He employed two men he already knew and could trust. He was very wary after the poultry fiasco of the early 30’s. They were a tall upright man from Walkden called Joe Moss and a small wiry character from Salford who I seem to remember went by the unlikely name of “Tiger.” Wilf must have set out in business full of high hopes. Unfortunately he was just getting established when everything was knocked sideways by the onset of war. He didn’t seem to have much luck. Having said that, he was lucky in that all three of them survived the war and re-surfaced in 1945. The business was restarted, they got together again and obviously there was plenty of work to be done. Many years later after Mother had died Dad came to stay with us at Bayston Hill, near Shrewsbury. We went for a drive in the car down to Ludlow. We were passing through Craven Arms when he pointed to a housing development alongside the main road. He said “ I put the tiles on those in 1938.” I had no idea he travelled so far to work.</p> <p>Wilf at last got his own transport; this became a necessity when he started his own business. He purchased a small motorbike and sidecar. May recalled us turning up in Ardwick, Manchester, where she was then living with her mother and step-father; Mary in the sidecar with a young Billy on her knee. A year later he also bought his first car a small Austin 7. </p> <p>New Years eve was always the occasion of a big family celebration at Lizzie’s house; this tradition went on well into the 1960’s. Lizzie was tiny and had a high-pitched cackle when she laughed, any party she was involved with, was bound to go with a swing. However I wonder how they all viewed the future when this celebration was held at the end of December 1938. I suspect with some trepidation. It was only just over twenty years since the end of the Great War (1914 -1918). Most families had suffered due to it and there was a genuine horror at the prospect of history repeating itself. That partly explained the euphoria when Chamberlain returned from Munich in May 1938 waving his worthless piece of paper. In August 1939 the usual family holiday in North Wales was held. Mary, Lizzie, Wilf, Albert together with a spoilt little boy, set off. Given my family situation it is obvious why I was spoilt, I was doted on by Lizzie as well as my mother. In some ways it was unhealthy, I learned very early if I couldn’t get what I wanted out of one mother I just nipped next door to try the other one. Years later mother told me their intention had always been to have two children. The war put paid to that and by 1945 she had gone through an early menopause, so an only child I remained. As I made my first sand pie on Barmouth beach, surrounded by my appreciative audience, cameras clicking, we were all unaware that it was just three short months to the abyss of conflict.</p> <p>In September 1939 the hammer blow fell with the declaration of war on Germany. Wilf immediately volunteered, he was thirty-five. He tried the army but was turned down due to his leg disability. He went round to the RAF. Recruiting office and offered his services as an air gunner. He was turned down a second time, I am not sure why, possibly his age. It was years later when I was told this story. He had a narrow escape, his survival chances in Bomber Command would have been very low and they were clearly being very selective. His next try was to go round to the local Fire Station and see if they needed manpower. They did, and he remained a fireman for the duration of the war. During 1941 and 1942 he was tested to the limit during the Blitz and the enormous fires that raged in both Manchester and Liverpool, particularly the devastating raid on Liverpool docks in May 1941. Liverpool was the most heavily bombed British city outside London. The city was a prime target for attack, because with Birkenhead, its twin across the Mersey it was the country’s biggest west coast port. The German Luftwaffe made about eighty raids on Merseyside between August 1940 and January 1942. These reached their peak in the seven-night blitz in May 1941. “Blitz” incidentally was the word used by the Germans to describe their bombing campaign; the literal translation is “Lightning.” Dad described it to me as “ a ghastly experience.” If you think about it, fighting a fire is bad enough, but doing it under heavy bombardment with buildings crashing down around you must have been sheer hell. For a lot of the time he would be living at home and reporting to his local fire station to check if he was needed. We never had a telephone at home so he had to be at the station in case of emergency. Sometimes he would be instructed to report immediately to Salford, Manchester or Liverpool. He could be there for a week or two depending on the situation.</p> <p>Albert, Lizzies husband, was too old to enlist, so he joined the Home Guard. He was then a platelayer on the colliery railway. In May 1940 the Government broadcast a message asking for volunteers for the LDV (Local Defence Volunteers). In August 1940 Winston Churchill changed the name of the LDV to the Home Guard. This was formed when there was a real risk of invasion. I remember him around 1942 wearing his thick brown uniform holding his ancient rifle. It probably saw service in the Boer war! At least he did have some experience of shooting. I have a tarnished silver cake stand with the inscription on of -- “ Presented by the P.R.H.A. for shooting, Xmas 1924, to Albert Williamson”</p> <p>At this stage I was blissfully unaware what was happening in the early stages of the war. An obvious question would be “What is your earliest memory?” I cannot be sure exactly. When Dad acquired his car in early 1939 he erected a garage alongside the house. Sometime during late 1940 he decided to change the garage into an air raid shelter. The bombing had commenced in London. He didn’t trust the Anderson shelters the Government were issuing, these were interlocking corrugated metal sections in a half circular shape. Tom Partington who lived in Swinton on the road to Manchester agreed to store our car in his garage. The car wasn’t much use anyway; petrol was rationed and only issued to essential users, Doctors, armed services etc. The car was to remain there for six years. How long Dad took to build the air raid shelter I don’t know, but that would be my first memory I think. He obtained some huge baulks of timber for the roof, which were supported on concrete blocks. Inside he built some cupboards and a bench round three sides wide enough to lie on. I am not sure it would have stood up to a 500lb bomb, but at least it gave us a sense of security and it certainly gave Dad something to do. Inside it felt quite cosy, I liked going there and was usually given some new comics, which was a big attraction. I can remember being woken in the night after the air raid siren had gone off and being rushed downstairs clutching my pillow, to get into the shelter quickly. It was very dim inside, with the flickering shadows from the oil lamp and the menacing drone overhead from the German Bombers on their way to Manchester or Liverpool. You could hear our guns in the distance blasting up into the sky; I don’t suppose they ever hit anything. It wasn’t easy sleeping on the hard bench with a few blankets thrown over and it was very cold in winter. Lizzie and Albert also came into our shelter. The other thing they did every night was to turn the two chairs and sofa we had in the lounge on their side and push them together, which formed a little cave. This was in the event of not having time to get to the shelter; it would at least have given some protection from flying glass. I suppose I must have been frightened but it became something you got used to, often night after night. Thankfully Beechfield Avenue escaped the bombing, but the damage in nearby Salford and Manchester was extensive and many people were killed. The glow of fires in the sky from Manchester could clearly be seen after major air raids.</p> <p>We had to be careful over any chink of light escaping from the house at night. A strict blackout curfew was imposed. When the curtains were drawn, mother would always go outside to check. ARP men patrolled the streets (Air Raid Patrol) they would wander around in the total blackness checking for any signs of light escaping. People became neurotic about this. The fear was that the light from a 40-watt light bulb might act as a magnet to the hordes of Junkers Bombers overhead. Pretty unlikely, but it caused great concern nevertheless. If there was a knock on the door late at night and a shout you knew immediately you were in for a telling off. Driving a vehicle at night under blackout conditions must have been a nightmare; there were probably many accidents. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842770/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:morescribbles.blog.co.uk,2006-05-31:/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842768/morescribbles2006-05-31T10:11:14+02:002006-05-31T10:11:14+02:00 <p> Mary and Wilf were married at Walkden Church on the 19th April 1930. The best man was Wilf’s brother Arthur; bridesmaids were Lizzie and Ivy Barnes. May Squirrel was there, aged three in a white dress and bonnet. A young Joyce Williamson also attended, Joyce was a niece of Albert, Lizzie’s husband. The wedding certificate gives both Wilf and his father’s occupation as “Cotton Spinner.” The vicar conducting the service was the Revd. Mower Smith. He had previously been the Headmaster of Farnworth Grammar School appointed in 1892. A reception was held afterwards at Sandwich Street, May remembers the children sitting at a separate table to eat, Joyce and two others who she cannot recall. Her mother did not go as she was working. There is a photograph of both parents outside the house after the wedding, Arthur and James wearing a flower to go with their smart suits and ties, with both Elizabeth’s and little May and Joyce at the front. I must say nobody looks very overjoyed, the adults in particular looking very serious! Grim, is the word that comes to mind, I am sure that is not how they really felt. Wilf and Mary lived with her parents in Sandwich Street for a short time after the wedding before renting another house in the same road. Strangely enough Lizzie and Albert had done the same thing two years earlier, also renting a house in Sandwich Street. It brings to mind the old saying, “ There’s no place like home.” </p> <p>Public transport locally from the time my parents were born until they were married would have been by the electric tram. There were tracks inlaid in the road and overhead power lines, which connected to the trams by a single metal rod. The first tram from Walkden ran the year my Mother was born in 1906 and services were eventually available to Bolton and Manchester. The early trams were on two decks but the upper deck was open with no roof over. By 1930 some tram routes were being taken over by the trolley bus. They were slightly more flexible than the tram in that they did not need tracks in the road but still required an overhead power supply. Trolley buses connected Walkden through to Little Hulton and onto Farnworth until 1958.</p> <p>Around the time of the wedding disaster struck Wilf’s working life. For the previous fourteen years he had worked in the same mill, but circumstances out of his control suddenly cost him his job. By 1930 times were getting hard and the years of the depression were looming following the crash on the American Wall Street financial markets in 1929. The Lancashire cotton industry was now in decline, and world markets were being taken over by more mechanised industries in America and the Far East. One day the steam boiler providing power to the mill exploded and there were some casualties. A lasting impact of this was that the mill owners could not afford the costly repair and so it was closed. This must have been a very bad time for the newly weds. Britain faced up to the depression and unemployment peaked at just below three million in 1932. The previous August the Labour Government had resigned and been replaced by a Conservative dominated National Government. The economy stabilised under the National Government and unemployment began a steady decline after 1935 as a period of re-armament began.</p> <p> Wilf tried a new venture; he went into partnership with another man in the poultry business. They hired a piece of land, bought a shed and began to keep hens to sell the eggs. He was involved with this for about eighteen months and things seemed to be going well. One day he found out his partner had cleared off with most of the profits. Generally Wilf was calm and philosophical, a characteristic he retained all his life but even he must have sworn at that moment. Determined as ever, he tried his hand at roof tiling and got a job with a firm in the Manchester area. He discovered he had a real aptitude for this work and had a good head for heights. </p> <p>In the early 1930’s Wilf’s parents moved to a new house at 27 Manchester Road Walkden. This was a terraced house on the main road passing through Walkden. It was much larger than the houses in Sandwich Street. At ground level there were three rooms and there was a corridor inside the front door so you did not step into the parlour directly. I cannot remember the front room ever being used; they used to live in the second room off the kitchen. Like Sandwich Street this room contained the large cast iron range used for cooking. I assume there must have been three bedrooms but I cannot ever remember going upstairs to look. Again there was no bathroom. It had a large walled garden to the rear with a lawn and the usual outside toilet. As a young child in the 1940’s I can remember visiting this house and it seemed very dark inside. I can remember the flickering light from the hissing gas mantle and Grandad who was blind by that time sitting in his rocking chair humming to himself. Grandma was always very friendly and cheerful.</p> <p> They always had a holiday every year, usually to North Wales or Blackpool. At that time in Lancashire, holidays were all taken over a two-week period, at the same period every year. It was known as “Wakes week,” as a visiting fair would always coincide with the holiday period. This tradition was still there in the 1950’s and I always looked forward to the excitement of Silcock Bros Fair. The shops would close and Walkden became semi-deserted. In July 1933, Wilf, Mary, Lizzie and Albert took a holiday together near Snowden, which they duly climbed. They travelled by “charabanc,” a long open sided vehicle with rows of transverse benches. It is obvious they all got on well together. Considering how close the two sisters always were, they were lucky their respective husbands accepted this situation. Albert was a rather dour character usually with a “woodbine” cigarette in his mouth. Holidays were also taken in Scotland during the 1930’s this time with the addition also of Donald, Albert’s brother and his wife Jesse plus young Joyce and her friend. The general pattern at this time seemed to be holidays away together with other family members and friends.</p> <p>Wilf and Mary were to live in their rented house in Sandwich Street until 1935. The success of his new job as a roof tiler had enabled them to save enough money for a deposit on a new house. They moved to live at 11 Beechfield Avenue, Little Hulton, about five miles away. This was on a housing estate just completed, the development incorporated blocks of four dwellings in a terrace. The layout was pretty unimaginative, three parallel roads, blocks of terraces each side with a road at right angles at each end. It was located at the top end of Cleggs Lane and a row of shops was also built at the entrance off the main road. One good thing about the estate it was surrounded by fields, which was a huge improvement on Sandwich Street. Wilf and Mary bought the end of a block and soon after Lizzie and Albert bought the end of the adjoining block. The two sisters were to live next door to each other for the next twenty years. Come to think of it, they lived together or in the same road for nearly fifty years, until Mary and Wilf subsequently moved to Tynesbank, Little Hulton in 1955 to take over the grocer’s shop there.</p> <p>When I look back at my parents early years I find it staggering to see the changes in society and technology between the birth of my father in 1904 and myself in 1937. Electric power transformed homes and factories throughout England at this time and led to the Central Electricity Board. Great strides were made in transport facilities with further development of the tram, bus, motorcar and aeroplanes. The shipping industry gave up steam power for oil. The use of synthetic resins led to the expansion of the plastics industry. In 1912 the Royal Flying Corps came into existence to serve both the army and the navy and after the war in 1918 ex-bombers were used for the first commercial services from London to the Continent. Add to all this came the developments of the telephone, radio, television and the formation of the BBC in 1922. In medicine came the discovery of penicillin in 1928. All that over the short span of 33 years and a world war thrown in as well! Certainly by the time my father died in 1994 he had seen the most amazing changes over the course of his lifetime, which of course are all now taken for granted.</p> <p>The late 1930’s of course were troubled times. I am sure they would have been aware of the slow build up to the inevitable conflict in 1939. The newspapers, wireless and cinema newsreels must have been full of the possible threat from Germany. This however must have been a very happy time for Wilf and Mary. He was fully employed enjoying his life as a roof tiler and beginning to think of starting his own business. They were settling down in their new house and Mary was delighted to have Lizzie living next door. In 1936, Wilf was 32 and Mary 30, they decided the time was right to try and have children. Luckily for me I won the most important race of my life and finally appeared, no doubt squealing and kicking in February 1937. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://morescribbles.blog.co.uk/2006/05/31/dad_s_life_story~842768/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>