My Dad

There was quite an age difference between my mother and father, around 20 years, so my father would have been in his early 40's when they got married in 1945. He would always appear to me, as a  young child, as being quite gruff and somewhat distant as a parent. This might be put down in part to the fact that he was profoundly deaf. This was due to an incident which happened when a gas-gun he was carrying in the back of the Land Rover exploded whilst being driven at the time. I should explain that these gas-guns were used on the farm as a way of frightening off birds, particularly pigeons,  from crops and operated on a timing system. No doubt the one that exploded hadn't been put on safety when it was being transported. He did eventually wear a hearing aid, but only when he could remember to use it and then when it was working correctly and not making loud whistling noises which must have been very uncomfortable for him. Once I'd left home, and after my mother had died in 1981 and you'd visit him he'd be sitting watching television with the sound turned up almost full volume and it was obvious that he wasn't using his hearing aid, so you'd have to hunt around for the television's remote control in order to reduce the volume so you could begin a conversation with him.

He was very good with his hands. He was an excellent welder and this would have been handy with regards repairing equipment on the farm. When we were very young children he constructed an amazing four-wheeled contraption which allowed four of us older children to pedal the thing around the village. It had a steering wheel like a car and the same sort of pedal and chain mechanism you'd find on a bicycle to power it. We sat behind each other rather like a tandem. I'm not sure what became of this wondrous machine, but I have an idea it met with a serious incident, perhaps ending up in a ditch or something worse as as a result being beyond repair and ending it's life in one of the barns on the farm and never being used again when we grew too big to be able to fit in it, which was a real shame.

My Dad certainly seemed extremely accident-prone. The incident which caused his deafness, or at least contributed in large measure to what poor hearing he had before the accident, was just the beginning. At harvest-time there were always problems of some sort or other with the various bits of machinery breaking down and then needing repair. The weather was always an important factor when the corn was being harvested, so if there was a threat of rain then the combine harvester or baling machine would have to come to a standstill. If there was a breakdown, and there were many, my father would be on the spot attempting to repair whatever machine it was in order to keep the harvest going. It was whilst attempting to repair the baling machine that he managed to cut his hand. There is an extremely sharp knife inside the machine which cuts the twine which runs around the bales of straw so I presume it was this which caused his injury. He was constantly shoving his hands inside these machines without any thought of injuring himself. He had to return to the farmhouse with blood pouring everywhere and my mother's training as a nurse must have come in useful as she cleaned up the wound and bandaged his hand but this didn't prevent him from returning to the harvest field to continue with repairing the baler.

On another occasion he was doing some sort of repair on the horse-box my mother owned which was used to transport her horses around to various places. I think he might have been replacing a tyre or something and didn't have the thing lifted up on the proper sort of lift such as you would expect to use for the purpose and the horse box was balanced precariously on a pile of bricks. It was just when my mother was about to serve up Sunday lunch and he came flying into the house, again with blood pouring everywhere. The horse box had collapsed and crushed one of his fingers. He was rushed off to Accident and Emergency in Bedford and it turned out the top-most segment of the finger that was crushed when the horse box collapsed on it had to be removed. Which ever surgeon did the operation did an amazing job but it meant he never had any finger nail on that finger. It must have hurt considerably, but he never seemed to show any sort of pain as a result of the accident.

There could be times when you were with him in the car when he was driving and it could be quite hair-raising, particularly if he was driving past a field that had been ploughed or was being harvested. He would be staring at the field and making comments, particularly if it was a neighbouring  farmer's  as he was sure to make some comment such as 'Huh, that's  a poor field of wheat!" or "ploughing's not very straight!" or "It's full of weeds!" and you'd be holding on to your seat for dear life as the car wandered all over the road and you'd be worried sick that you didn't end up either in the ditch or being hit head-on by another vehicle.

He knew a great deal about cars and it was always useful when something went wrong with your car, as he was really good at sorting problems out, particularly if you couldn't get your car to start, as was often the case with cars I owned, and usually first-thing in the morning if I was driving off somewhere in the middle of winter and it was cold and frosty. Also, if you were looking for a new car he would come with you and check out any car you might be consider buying and make some comment, either good or bad about a possible purchase. He would always ask you, if you were going on a long journey, "have you checked the oil, the tyres, water?" etc etc. All good advice, but it could get a bit tiresome at times.

When I was at Rushmoor School we used to have school on Saturday morning and he was supposed to come and collect me to bring me home afterwards. On several occasions he totally forgot to come and collect me and I was left standing on the pavement outside waiting patiently. He would no doubt be somewhere talking with someone or other and then realise he'd forgotten me. I think he had on one occasion actually gone home and my mother had asked him where I was, and he had to go all the way back to Bedford to collect me. It was on one such occasion when it was raining and I got soaked through, standing and waiting. All this long before mobile phones and being able to ring up or text, of course. It's amazing how we take such technology for granted. I'd love to know how he'd have responded to all the modern technology we have now, such as the internet, mobile phones and multi-channel television such as Sky. I think he would be overwhelmed by it all.

Dad had a passion for cars. Infact, almost anything mechanical or with an engine in it. Which would explain his ability to weld and to build the pedalled contraption already mentioned in this post. He had a variety of cars over the years. As we grew older, the need to have a vehicle which was merely a taxi to ferry us around, either to school or other places, became less and less. So be bought cars that were a little more, how should I say? Sporty? Built for speed? Probably. He had a Triumph Herald 12/50. A little green car. Quite a nifty little beast. But my father wasn't one to leave a car alone. He had to tinker with it and had twin carbs put on it, and extra dials added to the dashboard inside to measure R.P.M. etc. These refinements only made things more difficult when the car broke down. I remember driving with my mother to Fronton-On-Sea in this vehicle (see earlier post for description of our summer holidays on the Essex coast, particularly Frinton and Brightlingsea.) and this car kept over-heating. I think it was during a period of very hot weather. We had to stop in a lay-by somewhere en route, I think probably the Avenue of Remembrance near Colchester, and having to fill the radiator with water as the car was boiling over. I think it was definitely as a result of the 'extras' that had been added by my father. We didn't get much further on, only a couple more miles or so, and having to stop again to top up the radiator. You can imagine how long the journey took, as we had to wait for the radiator to cool down before taking off the cap to put water in. I can't remember where we got the water from. Probably we had to stop and ask at a petrol station or even a private house and no doubt we had a water can with us kept in the boot of the car.

A little later he bought a Triumph 1300 TC. I remember it was gray. He seemed to love it. For it's size and engine it was quite nifty as far as I remember. This was well before I passed my driving test, so I never actually got a chance to drive it. He then decided that my mother should have a car and he bought a second Triumph. This time a maroon colour. Well, as you would expect, my mother kept her in an immaculate condition. Inside and out were kept spotless. Meanwhile, my father's car was dirty. Well, living on a farm you expect there to be a lot of mud and other unmentionables. My mother stuck to driving on the roads. My father not only drove on the public highway but also drove around the farm on farm-tracks. More mud and manure. Also, he drove across fields, through the worst conditions imaginable and probably not the sort of conditions a car such as a Triumph 1300 TC was designed for. So no only the exterior of the car, but also it's interior became very dirty and unloved. Also, because it was driven across very uneven ground it seemed to effect the suspension or something and slowy and shortly it began to develop an annoying squeak as it was being driven. I don't suppose my father could hear it due to his deafness. To cap it all, because he smoked a pipe, and often when he was driving, the car began to fill up with rancid smoke and the smell of tobacco and the remnants of burnt tobacco. Which added not inconsiderably to the very run-down appearance of this vehicle.

Cars I've Owned- Part 2

That little Ford Anglia lasted around three years. I drove all the way to Liverpool in it when I got the job as A.S.M. This was before the opening of what has been called 'Spaghetti Junction' which joined the various bits of motorway together so that when you drove north you went from the M1 and then onto the M6. But in those days the only way you could get from the M1 to the M6 was by driving through the middle of Birmingham.

One evening me and one of my brothers went to the cinema in Bedford. I have an idea it might have been to see '2001: A Space Odessy" so it gives you some sort of idea when it was, possibly about 1971. On taking one of my cousins home in my car, seeing how it was late and dark I couldn't see to reverse and put on a reversing light which turned on from a switch inside the car. Some previous owner of the car had installed it and, thinking about it now, it was quite a good idea to have an extra light to see by when you reverse. Unfortunately there was an almighty flash and 'pop' (not exactly a bang, but quite dramatic, nevertheless.) I think the car ran perfectly well for a while then it stopped dead. Apparently the 'flash bang' had burnt out something do with the car's electric circuits and it had to be repaired. I drove the car to several more of the places I worked, Colchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, until it died as all ancient cars do.

I bought a car from my brother James. A Triumph Herald. It was green, had a sort of leather-effect on it's roof. I drove it up and down the Motorway when I worked at the Phoenix Theatre in Leicester. When I went to work at Century Theatre in Keswick I had a problem with the driver's side door which wouldn't shut properly. I used a piece of string which I tied to the inside door handle and the other end to the steering wheel column. As I drived up the M1, the door kept swinging open and this got worse when I drove off the motorway and had to negotiate roundabouts, so the string-method of preventing it opening of it's own accord was come up with to keep it closed. I can't believe it did this and I got away with it. I could easily have fallen out onto the road, but fortunately I didn't. On another occasion I was on my way to work when one of the windscreen wipers flew off when it was raining. A rather strange occurrence, worthy of a few smiles, but probably not so amusing at the time, as it can be difficult to see where you are going if you can't keep the windscreen free of rain which is running down the glass and obscuring the view.

I worked for DaSilva's puppets during the early 1970's. I went on tour with them with their production of "Snowhite." We had a week of performances somewhere in the North of England. I think it was Burnley or Blackburn, but I'm not so sure as my memory isn't as good as it should have been. Most of the company went off in the Landcover, which towed the large trailer which had the entire show in, but I went off with someone else in my car. Unfortunately I took a wrong turning on the M1 and landed up almost in Yorkshire. I think I was supposed to take the left turn onto the M6 which meant we didn't catch up with the Land Rover as we were supposed to. We did get onto the M6 eventually, but then we hit a really thick bank of fog, so thick in fact you could barely see a few yards in front of you and the police had to use lighted beacons along the side of the Motorway and traffic had to leave because it was so bad. We must have come off the Motorway near Preston or Accrington or somewhere. We decided that we'd have to find somewhere at the side of the road and spend the night there. I pulled off the road and we settled down for the night and could see a vehicle in the lay-by ahead of us. Amazingly, it was the rest of the crew from DaSilva's and they had done what we had and were settling down to spend the night at the side of the road. It was not easy trying to sleep in the Triumph Herald and it was quite cold as the heater wasn't particularly efficient. I must say, I don't think I've seen such thick fog and I never have liked having to drive in fog.

My younger brother, Sandy, was always messing around with cars. He had several vehicles when he'd first got his driving licence. One he had was a Messerschmitt. I believe it was a kKR-175. It was very basic, to say the least. Actually no more than a sort of three-wheeled motorbike. It had a very small engine, not much more than a lawnmower engine in a sort of motor bike with a sidecar or some sort of bubble car. I was taken out in it for a ride, and you had to sit directly behind the driver, rather like riding pillion on a motor bike. It had a lid which lifted up so you could get in and when you were moving you were extremely low to the ground. So much so that, if you were following a large vehicle, such as a H.G.V (Heavy Goods Vehicle) you were so low to the ground, I swear the thing would fit underneath the lorry. Not a nice feeling, I can tell you. It tended to break down frequently and on one occasion it broke down on the road between Ampthill and Woburn. My mother or father had to go and collect him and the vehicle was manhandled into the horse box my mother had which was towed by the Land Rover. I suppose because it was so small it could be put inside the horse box. He later had a Morris Minor, and it was in something of a rough state. If you sat in the front passenger seat, which I did occasionally, and lifted the piece of matting from beneath your feet, there were a hole which meant you could see the road moving past as you drove along.

Family Summer Holidays- Part 3

As I have mention in the earlier post, my father's yacht was the central reason for the holiday in Frinton-On-Sea. I think the sailing must have been particularly good along that stretch of the Essex coast. The boat he had which was called 'Amaranda' was a Jewel class yacht. It was clinker built, meaning it was made of overlapping lengths of timber made in the traditional manner. He had another yacht built of fibreglass of about the same size and later still a far larger yacht called 'Flashpoint' which was moored in the estuary at Brightlingsea and which was fitted out with a galley and sleeping accommodation , although it was quite cramped. I wasn't so keen on sleeping in that tiny space afore, as I got seasick with the motion of the boat and also some amount of claustrophobia in such a tiny space. This had a tender, a small rowing boat attached which was used to ferry us out to the mooring.  I remember that my Uncle Michael (my mother's brother, now, alas, dead.) was a very good sailor and would take command of "Flashpoint" because I think as Dad got older he found it quite difficult to manage. Dad had bought a small wooden rowing boat from somewhere in Colchester I seem to remember and took some duty as tender and was called 'Midge.' This was quite a basic sailing boat and could be sailed quite well by one person. Mum was good at sailing that alone and I think my brother James sailed that a few times. This was also sailed on the River Ouse near Cardington Mill, as we had a hut there which was used as a base for sailing and summer picnics, but, unfortunately, all of that had been swept aside when the business park was built.

The yacht would be taken down to be parked at the beach on arrival in Frinton. We had to go to the estate agent to get the keys for the house we had rented as well as the beach hut. I know that now it's quite fashionable to rent or own a beach hut at places such as Southwold, Frinton, Bournemouth and other seaside resorts, but when we went it made a very good base on the sea front. Frinton has an excellent beach, very fine sand between breakwaters or 'groynes' and the sea comes in right up to the level of the promenade and so washes the sand clean and makes an  excellent safe place for families with young children to have a holiday. Inside the hut (we had a different one each year, but I believe that they are all basically the same inside) there is an inner and outer area, the back area being lockable with double doors and which makes a good place to change when you go swimming. In that part of the hut there would be a Calor gas ring for boiling water for tea, a set of around six deckchairs, a picnic table and probably one or two other tables. In the front section of the hut there would be a benched area, so you could set up your table here and sit for meals or set up on the promenade at the front of the hut. 

There was a parking space on what was called the Greensward, a long stretch of grass which runs the whole length of the Frinton seafront. There is a slipway which runs down to the promenade and a further one which allows boats to be manhandled onto the beach and then launched. It was quite a strenuous task to haul the boat up and down these slipways, but I think at one point the car was used for this purpose.
As I said in the earlier post, it can't have been much of a holiday for my mother, because we stayed in a rented house in Frinton and this would mean there would still be meals to cook and we children would need to be looked after. Also, my mother and father sailed most days and knowing my father, who wasn't the most patient of men, it must have been quite stressful being a crew member for him. I can remember on several occasions being on board one of his yachts on the River Ouse and he wasn't patient, particularly if you hauled on the wrong sheet (rope) or moved at the wrong moment, as you had to if the boat was tacking into the wind, for example. If you didn't move fast enough you were very likely to be hit on the head very hard by the boom, the wooden 'stay' which kept the bottom of the mainsail fixed to the mast and moved about quite freely if not taken under control with whatever rope you happened to have in your hand and if not you'd get a lot of abuse from my father such as 'get out of the way, you idiot!' or words to that effect.
Quite a few family friends would congregate at the beach hut at Frinton. Not just my uncle Michael and his wife Gemma, but also a couple called Tim and Betty Smith.  They were a really nice couple, but they would argue with one another and would sit and bicker endlessly.  Can't have been much fun for my mother, inviting someone to tea and have to listen to them constantly bickering.
My brother Andrew appeared in 1961. I think after four boys my mother was keen to have a daughter. So it was a bit of a surprise when child number five was yet another boy. The Smiths, on the other hand, had been married for years and no baby appeared, but around a year after Andrew was born their one and only child appeared, called Ian. Funny little kid, bald, not very good looking, to say the least. In fact, possibly the inspiration for Yoda in the 'Star Wars' movies! I shouldn't make such comment, but never mind. Then there were the Boddy family, Ashely and Alison. Again, lovely people, but very noisy. I think Ashley bought my father's first boat, 'Amaranda.' He was another very good sailor. But as I say, whenever this family visited you needed to keep at arms length or wear earplugs as Ashley had/has a very loud laugh and the whole family makes a great deal of noise.
My Great Aunt Liz stayed at the Grand Hotel  which is on the seafront at Frinton and quite an imposing building.  She was one of my father's Scottish relatives, never married and was ancient even when I was a teenager.  She died at the grand old age of 95, in 1965, so almost 50 years ago. She makes me think of Lady Bracknell in "The Importance of Being Ernest." Blind as a bat and just as deaf and with a huge nose, which, thank goodness, I didn't inherit. Imperious, to say the least, and although she wore a hearing aid she never seemed to have it tuned properly so it made that unfortunate whistling noise that hearing aids are prone to. You would find yourself repeating things endlessly if you had a conversation with her, which could make life very difficult. Anyway, she would come down to the beach several afternoons when we were there, but it would mean her being ferried around in cars and taken down to the beach as she couldn't walk far.
Andrew, as I've said, was the youngest of my parent's children. I can't imagine what looking after no less than five children would be like, not just feeding, clothing, birthdays, Christmas and so on. So it's no wonder that my mother needed some sort of help. So Andrew had someone to look after him when he was a baby up until be was around 9-10 I suppose. This lady was Miss Fuller. To this very day I'm not sure of her Christian name. It's odd, but it's true. She had been a seamstress and very good too, and had gone to our neighbour's at Cardington, the Porter's and used to do mending. Somehow or other she was sort of 'head-hunted' by my mother and came to work for us., doing virtually the same thing. I know, it's odd to us today, but people did mend clothes. It's not something that is done now, I should imagine, even with the 'recycling' generation and the need to be 'environmentally friendly.' I imagine this would be a left-over from the days of the Second World War and what followed with Austerity. Anyway, she had one afternoon of mending socks, darning etc and then when Andrew was born she used to take him for walks in his pram. Eventually she came more or less permanently as a sort of nanny, but I don't suppose she would have wanted to be called that. So she came with us when we went on holiday to Frinton. I don't know what the arrangement as regards payment. I suppose she was given something, but I don't know. But I suppose she was getting, in effect, a free holiday. At least it meant my mother got some sort of time to herself as Miss Fuller took virtually complete control of son number five. Things went very well with this arrangement until my grandmother  Ferriman came to Frinton. I'm not sure for certain whether she came for a day or two or whether she stayed with us, but she was another body for my mother to look after.
One afternoon there was something of a cat-fight between Miss Fuller and my grandmother. Don't ask me what it was about. It was in front of everyone on the promenade near the beach hut. My grandmother was going on  about something like who was looking after my brother, and Miss Fuller, who was an extremely strongwilled lady, put her foot down and said that SHE was looking after him. It was like something out of one of those comedies, almost fists flying, fur and feather. 'He's my grandson and I'm in charge of him!' from granny Ferriman and then 'He's my responsibility' from Miss Fuller (or words to that effect.) I'm not sure how it ended, but it must have been very embarassing for my mother. I think it may have been about who could take him for a walk along the promenade or something equally trivial. I know it must have caused no end of entertainment for all and sundry!

Family Summer Holidays- Part 1

My family always went to the same place for our summer holidays when I was a child. This was to Frinton-On-Sea in Essex. It's between Colchester and Walton-On-Naze, which is a few miles further along the coast.  Clacton-On-Sea is the next resort down the coast from Frinton. We'd go for two weeks at the beginning of September each year, so I would miss the first few weeks of school. The reason for this was that my father was a farmer and he would want to go once the harvest was over. I think it may have been still being bought in as sometimes he would return home at some point and come back to Frinton. 

We went to Frinton basically so that my father could sail. He had his own yacht, Amaranda, which was taken to Frinton, towed by the family car, and was usually stuffed with suitcases and all manner of items found necessary for the holiday. This yacht had been built at  James shipyard in Brightlingsea, a town on the River Colne estuary, further down the coast and not far from Colchester. A good many years later we did occasionally have holidays in Brightlingsea and staying at a hotel near the harbour. I can't remember the exact name, but somewhere near the harbour. I know my parents went to Brightlingsea on their own a few times, which was quite a rarity for my mother, not having us children with her. I do remember staying with my grandparents at Mill Farm near Cardington when I was a child when my parents went on their own to Brightlingsea. This, unfortunately, is no more, and is now a business park. Sad to see a farm which has so many childhood memories cleared away to make way for something so mundane as a business park, but I suppose that's progress, or what passes for progress. The Bedford by-pass crosses some of the land.

My parents rented a house in Frinton each year, so, in some ways, it wasn't much of a holiday for my mother, as she still had to run the house very much as she had the family home at Malting Farm in Cardington, just outside Bedford. Also, there would be a beach hut on the promenade where we would spend the entire two weeks of the holiday. She would be organising food, having to do shopping and cooking meals at the beach hut, as well as the house.

My two elder brothers, James and Robert, never came with us. They would stay behind and presumably be involved with the harvest. Robert, in particular, was not interested in the sea, swimming or boats and was more into horses and riding. We would go with my two younger brothers, Sandy (Alexander) and Andrew, my youngest brother by around eleven years. The journey to Frinton has deep memories for me, almost as exciting as actually getting to our holiday destination. I know that now the road there has been up-graded and you drive mostly on dual carriageways that by-pass most of the larger towns and villages, but when we drove there, which would have been in the early to mid 1960's, you would have to drive through the major towns such as Braintree. There were some really narrow bits of road along the way and you would often get stuck behind large H.G.V. lorries, particularly near Puckeridge, which was (and probably still is) a major Sainsbury's distribution centre.