Born 1946 after the Second World War, in Brighton Sussex my parents had to pay to receive me. The National Health Service came along in time to cater for my brother, who was born in 1949. My Mother could not remember the time of my birth. She often reminded me over the years about her hours in labour and that I arrived after the operation socks were on. She pushed me out terrified of having a caesarean. Blue in the face from lack of oxygen and destined to be one of the new bottle fed babies, mother told me her milk wasn’t good enough.
My first memories were of a first birthday party at my grandad and grandmother’s smallholding near Lewis in Sussex. Sally a girl of my age was invited from the next farm. I think there is a photo somewhere. So may be this was not a true memory.
We moved to Wiston, a few cottages grouped in a country lane, under the shadow of Chanctonbury Ring, a circle of trees rumoured to be the meeting place of witches. It was probably around 1948 after my Dad had been demobbed. I do remember running across the fields to meet my father on his way home from work, he was out of the army and back to being a “Timber Feller” and part-time poacher. In those days sausages were a rare treat swopped at the local butches shop for game birds, we lived on Rabbit, Duck and pheasant courtesy of the local land owner. We had a vegetable garden which provided for us. Dad tried to teach me about growing things from an early age and I had my own patch of garden to dig in. He told me of the time that he was bending over feet astride; thinning out the row of carrots, unfortunately I copied him, walking behind him pulling up the few carrots that were remaining!
There was the disastrous time when I took no notice of my father; I must have been about 2 yrs.’ old. I can clearly remember not liking my clothes on and many times taking them off in the garden but keeping my little sturdy red shoes on. We had some day old baby chicks (North Holland Blues) that Dad was raising in an apple box outside. He took some feed and water out to them, showing me the little black chicks running around like bumble Bees. I was excited and dancing around, several times he told me to stop or I would tread on one ……. And of course I did, killing it. I cried so much, my first lesson in what’s done cannot be undone. From then on I kept my clothes on and took off my shoes.
During a Sunday afternoon walk I remember Mum lowering me over the fence to pick a bunch of Daffodils, she loved them, not sure if they were growing wild or not. Of once, having to sit in the pram when I could and wanted to walk, our Labrador dog Trixie on the leash, the gun was under the pram mattress, to be taken out when suitable game was spotted. The Rabbit nets were also there ready to be pinned over the holes and dog would take off after them without making a sound.
I enjoyed sitting on my Dads shoulders and being taken through the woods; he told me the names of the flowers and trees that we passed. I loved the Oak, Ash, Beech and Birch trees. The spring daffodils, cuckoo pint, ragged Robin and, in May, the carpet of bluebells that seem to go on for ever. Once when taking a short cut home through the woods, Dad and I crouched behind the bushes while two Red deer stags were fighting, not daring to move or make a sound. The clack of their horns locking seemed deafening and frightening but magic at the same time.
Walking alongside the pram with my Mum going to the local village Steyning. Her asking me if I wanted to sit on the pram, my wrapped up baby brother in it. He had arrived in 1949 unnoticed by me. Miles of walking from a very young age, I would never give in to be carried. 60 years later I was to think about my titanium hip replacements and wondered if I should have accepted those rides. The hour of impatient standing in a queue for a re-issue of ration books then the long walk back home.
The Irish family lived across the road from our home, lots of noisy children running around the house, brick floors and lines of washing hanging out to dry. Their little girl Violet was about my age, a treat for her was a raw potato, I remember once being given one and spitting it out behind the cottage under the Poplar trees.
Our cottages were joined together and the “Siggy” family lived next door, Mrs Siggy was about as round as she was tall, great excitement one day when she fell through the stairs must have been a rotten stair board and had to be rescued. Jim Siggy came around to ask my Dad for help. We must have all gone around, I had been there before as I used to enjoy playing with Diana (Dina) their daughter who was 12 yrs.’ old but “a bit simple” they used to say. Our family joke was about being invited for a cup of tea with the “Siggys” one Sunday afternoon. Mrs Siggy called out to her daughter: “Dina get me the cup with the handle”, I think it would probably have been for my Dad. Thinking back now it must have been really hard for my mother settling in, her not being a country girl and used to having a proper bath. At first she insisted on having a bath every day, boiling water and filling the tin bath in the tiny kitchen come living room. She once told me how embarrassed she was as the postman came around and walked in on her, they had no letterbox outside or in the door so he just used to call out and put the mail on the kitchen table.
Nights in the country were dark except for the Moon which shone through our curtainless lead-light windows, unless Mum had put up the blackout cloth. We had oil lamps in the living area for lighting, a wood stove for cooking and took candles to light our way to bed. I slept on an army camp bed; I don’t remember being scared of the dark, but the screech of an owl and the sound of the vixen cry used to make me glad to snuggle down in the feather bed and to know I was safe and secure. Mum used to read me poetry, a bed-time story and sing nursery Rhymes
Most times it was Dad who sung as he was the better singer; my favourite was Jesus Bids Us Shine.
Hymn
Jesus bids us shine, with a pure, clear light, like a little candle burning in the night. In this world of darkness, So let us shine You in your small corner, and I in mine.
Jesus bids us shine, First of all for Him; Well He sees and knows it, if our light grows dim. He looks down from Heaven to see us shine, you in your small corner, And I in mine.
Jesus bids us shine, then, for all around; many kinds of darkness, in the world are found, Sin and want and sorrow; so we must shine,you in your small corner, And I in mine.
Not sure what Dad thought of that as he wasn’t a Christian, also I used to make him read
“O Young Lochinvar” over and over again, a poem which I still love.
Lochinvar
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall,
Among bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”
“I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied; —
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide —
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”
The bride kiss’d the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, —
“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a gailiard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “’twere better by far
To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting ‘mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
1808 by Sir Walter Scott.
Moving from the country and into town at four years old, in 1950, was a big change for me and for my parents. We lived in a two-up-two-down Terraced house in Fielding Street Faversham. We had Gas lighting and a Coal fire. No back garden just a small patch of soil and a shed and outdoor toilet. Poor old Trixie the dog had no countryside to run in. The front door of the house opened directly onto the street. The old copper was in the scullery as we called it. Big wash day was Monday; it took up most of the day. Everything was steamy and damp, on rainy days it smelled of soap as the washed clothing was put through the mangle and hung to dry above the fire. We boiled the water for our baths in the copper too, Friday night was bath night and the tin bath that hung in the scullery was put down in front of the Fire.
I must have had my fourth birthday at this house and the doctor’s check-up before going to school. My Mum was really embarrassed by my trip to the doctors as I totally refused to talk or respond to him in any way, I didn’t like him and my sixth sense told me he was a bad man A few years later he committed suicide I was too young to understand the reasons for this but remember the adults talking about it.
Sweets, sugar, meat and a whole lot of other things were still on rationing. A corner shop was not far away; as I remember finding some pennies and going into the shop to buy a stick of barley sugar and being told I couldn’t have it without coupons. My parents were told about this not sure how as we had no phones in those days. I was given the third degree about where I got the money from.
Dad had joined the police force in 1950, and in 1951 they moved us to a better house – 12, Belmont Road, at last we had the new-fangled electricity! We still walked miles getting past the parks and into the open fields again. Times had changed for post-war Britain, but the bomb sites were still evident in the towns and we children used these dangerous surroundings as playgrounds. There were a lot of homeless men around who slept in shop doorways or on the streets ‘Tramps’ or ‘Beggars’ we called them. I realise now that a lot of them were men who had come home from war with mental and physical problems perhaps having no job, family or home to go to. We were told not to speak to them but I often did. My Mum, who was a soft touch, gave them sandwiches so they often knocked on our door asking for food. Not sure if my Dad knew about this.
The biggest change for me was going to school. At four and half I was sent to Ethelbert Road primary school in Faversham. It was a new school in every way, not only were the buildings new, the Modern teaching methods were also introduced. Play was the order of the day, with sand, toys, blocks, music and movement. I do remember counting to ten, dancing to the Radio and having school milk in the mornings. I don’t remember school dinners, perhaps I came home for lunch, and in the three years I was there I learnt very little and could barely read or add up.
My Mum walked me to school in the beginning and then I would sometimes play with a neighbour’s daughter after school. I made friends and I remember going on my scooter quite a bit. My brother was often in a pushchair and I remember he had to wear his shoes on the wrong feet as he had knock knees or something. Health Care for Children after the war was a big issue; we were made to have a spoonful of Cod Liver Oil every day and the concentrated orange juice which we loved. My brother and I got all the usual ailments Whooping cough, Measles and German Measles (Rubella). My brother always seemed to get it worse than me. The only health problem that plagued me and not my brother were trips to the dentist, I had my first tooth out at 4 it was done at the Lewis dental practice at which my lovely Auntie Rita worked as a receptionist s(he later married Paul Leigh the dental technician that worked there). Over the years I continually had fillings and work done on my teeth and Richard (Bo) seldom had to have any work done on his.
Bonfire nights 5th November were always special, one of these nights my brother and I were allowed to watch the fireworks being lit in our garden from an open window. We were both wrapped in blankets (we had Chicken Pox) while our uncle Peter and Father dodged around the garden like big kids, lighting rockets and Catherine Wheels. Mum disliked bangers but they sneaked a few in like a couple of schoolboys. Bonfire night for us was steaming Cocoa, baked potatoes in their jackets, cold noses and the smell of gunpowder even if we were sick.
1953 was the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth, the outbreak of Myxomatosis and, in Faversham and parts of Kent, they had really bad floods. Watching the next door neighbours Television and seeing the Queen crowned was unbelievable to us. It took 15mins or so for the TV to warm up, was a huge wooden set with maybe a 9” screen, black and white of course. We had to be on our best behaviour and dressed in our Sunday clothes. There was a Coronation street party, everything was red white and blue and nobody wanted it to rain! Cup-cakes, orange drink and sandwiches and the union Jack hung on every lamppost. At School we were all given a coronation Mug or Beaker. Mugs with handles for the boys and girls got a Beaker without a handle I am not sure if this was a rule for the whole country or just our school. We must have made a good impression on Mr and Mrs Dawson our next door neighbours, as on special occasions we were allowed to watch the Children’s programmes on TV for half an hour. I remember Andy Pandy, Bill & Ben the flowerpot men. and Rag Tag & bobtail.
My dad was part of the Police Flood Rescue Team in Faversham, I remember him coming home exhausted. His allotment was also flooded, which he was not impressed about, so very little produce and green vegetables that year. Walking out to the country was not pleasant that year either. Myxomatosis was introduced into Britain. Dead and dying rabbits were everywhere, as a child it horrified me; I can still see those poor deformed, some blinded, animals. Meat was still rationed so for some adults it was hard to see the logic of this disease. I can remember Dad skinning Rabbits even when we lived in town so he must have gone out hunting. He tried tanning the skins to make our own gloves. They were in big jars in the cellar in some kind of preservative I believe it wasn’t successful though as the skins were too hard. That Cellar held all sorts of secrets especially before Christmas. It was out of bounds to my brother and I as Dad made a wooden Fort and a crane for my brother and a dolls cot and house for me for Christmas presents. Most of our presents were handmade; Mum knitted us gloves Hats and jumpers. We had a swing boat down in the Cellar for a while made out of an old pram strung up to the Ceiling rafters which we had fun on until we got too big for it.
Until I was five and a half, I used to love astral traveling, that state before sleep and dreaming. When I would cast off my body and visit my Mum and Dad downstairs, they were often listening to the radio or I would go and watch the bats outside, circling the end street light. My adventures were short and never too far away from home. The day I stopped, was the day my Dad told me to” stop being silly you are a big girl and going to school”. I called it flying and I think he thought I might try flying down stairs in the physical and feared for my safety. I stopped until I was about 22yrs old. My father then told me about his own astral traveling and Levitation, he too had been doing it all his life. It’s amazing, that once he had owned up to it, I then slipped back into it easily but had to have my parents’ permission.
(Bo I never knew about you or dad, but I too used to levitate up until I was about nine and still dream that I can do it. I distinctly remember going downstairs whilst sitting with my legs crossed like a Swami, sans the turban.)
I am not sure when I began talking to spirits, as a child you don’t pay much attention to it. It’s natural and you have no concept of them not being ‘real’; it’s later when you are told it’s fantasy and unacceptable, or your fear of being different from others, that we doubt the voices and push them away. I believe we are all born with this contact and ability to see and hear spirit around us they protect and guide us. We learn to leave it behind, we trust in what we have proof of. I know that they protected me from harm, gave me that sixth sense whenever I was in danger, like an animal instinct a voice would tell me how to deal with situations that were far beyond my understanding. I still rely on them today to keep me safe and I don’t really understand the people who do everything alone without divine guidance. By the same token “the devil made me do it”, excuse doesn’t go down to well with me either; I believe we hold the power and responsibility for our own actions. Forces of good and evil, that’s a whole different discussion. The Forces just are neither good nor bad it’s the way in which we use them. Just as how we deal with the circumstances around us, we choose positive or negative, happy or sad. We are all unique and no two of us deal with life in the physical, spiritual or emotional in the same way.
The next big move was to a small village in Kent. My Dad used to have dreams about the places he was about to get posted to. One day he said to my Mum: “we are moving to a place near Ryarsh that has an airfield, it’s out in the country, I was sitting on a hillside watching an aerial display”. Three weeks later we moved to West Malling a village with a long history and an Airfield. The house was joined onto the police station itself and it was all haunted. The Station was built over the wine cellars of a long gone priory. I quite often heard the chant of monks, mostly evening and early morning. My father told me that policemen on night duty heard footsteps on stone floors or felt unexpectedly cold on a hot evening. A Street away an Abby of Benedictine Nuns, heads covered and dressed in black and white down to the ankles. They were fascinating to us, they did not take a vow of silence but hours of strict silences are set. The Abby grounds were full of mystery and so quiet, apart from the birds and squirrels that were so tame. We children used to walk in the stream that went under the road then duck under the archway into the grounds. We built camps in amongst the trees and played freely there knowing the nuns would not speak and tell us off. My first experience of seeing a “Ghost” was at the Abby.
St Mary’s Abbey with the Cascade
A water colour by no lesser artist than by JMW Turner c.1791