A member of this Parrish

A member of this

Parrish

Eric L Parrish Lord of Burghurst

James PARRISH

George GAYLARD

PARRISH

John PARRISH

John SAMPSON

(architect/surveyor) b. 1834 m. 8.2.1863 d. 16.5.1923

Mary PARRISH

b. 1831 m. 6.10.1859

Albert Edward PARRISH b. 10.3.1870 m. 21.11.1891 (1) m. 29.9.1923 (2) d. 25.11.1960

Lesley Percy PARRISH

Grace

Frederick Albert

m. George HAWKS

m. Lilian Ethel BEAMISH

b. 30.12.1893 d. 21.8.1987

Thomas Kent GAYLARD

Ann Elizbeth SAMPSON

Edgar John PARRISH

Edward Lough PARRISH

Eliza?

b. 22.6.1895 m. 25.12.1920 d. 29.6.1983

Edward

d. 18 mths

Cyril

d. 6 mths

John Cecil

b. 12.3.1901 m. 15.9.1935 d. 9.4.1994

m. Edith Ellen MORLEY

b. 24.3.1901 m. 25.12.1920 d. 16.9.1983

Joyce Lilian

Doris Valerie

John Frederick b. 17.9.1931 m. 2.6.1962 d. 1.6.1990

b. 08.02.1942 m. 1967 (1) m. 18.3.1972 (2)

m. Bernard ADAMS d. 11.10.2016

m. William WORRAL d. 09.01.2008

m. Colleen HOLT

m. John MOORE (2)

b. 26.10.1922 m. 20.10.1945 d. 1.12.1975

b. 23.5.1928 m. 14.4.1951

Barbara Jean

— The Parrish Family Tree —

Geoffrey Allan b. 10.7.1946 m. (1) m. (2)

John Milton FORREST

Martha Elizabeth FORREST

Hannah SIMPSON

Joseph FORREST

b. 15.11.1838

Alice Harriet GAYLARD

William George PARRISH

b. 07.11.1866 m. 21.11.1891 d. 8.11.1922

(Father No relation)

Harriet Sarah SHONE b. 20.5.1874 m. 29.9.1923

Robert Victor

Archibald Lionel

m. Josephine BRISCOE(1)

m. Mildred SALTER

b. 25.7.1902 m. 1928 (1) m. 17.6.1946 (2) d. 28.10.1964

b. 3.5.1904 m. 11.8.1928 d. 21.8.1987

b. 27.4.1905 d.

b. 5.8.1900 d. 9.6.2000

Diane Josephine b. 10.10.1933 m. 16.3.1956

Eric Lionel Parrish

Norman Archibald

b. 16.1.1931 m. 5.4.1954

b. 29.9.29 d. 15.11.29

m. Maureen Vera BURTON b. 4.12.1930 d. 8.1.2017

m. Graham MAYN d. 2014 m. Rita MAVRAKIS (2) b. 15.09.1917 d. 26.10.2010

Alan Robert PARRISH

b. 13.9.1947 m. Ann Stockwin 1971 (1) m. Janice Bickford 1997 (2)

Yvonne Catherine

Mervyn Neal

b. 29.1.1939 m. 28.8.1963 (1) m. 05.12.1980 (2)

b. 14.6.1961 m. 28.5.1988

m. Sandy LAMONT b. 30.5.1962

Liana Rita

b. 2.9.1952 m. Paul WRIGHT 1971(1) m. Adrian MINCHIN (2) m. Kevin MURPHY 1999

Georgina Louise b. 19.9.1989 m. 26.5.2018

m. Jack STALLARD b. 1.10.1991

Son: Hugo David Bernard b. 6.7.2019

Adam Neal

b. 12.11.1991

Victoria Catherine b. 4.4.1995

Daughter: Darcie Mya b. 26.2.2017

A member of this

Parrish

A member of this

Parrish

Eric L Parrish Lord of Burghurst

Acknowledgements I would like to thank my grandchildren: Georgina, Adam and Victoria, whose inquisitiveness rekindled my memories and formed the foundation of these reminiscences.

I wish to thank Yvonne Parrish Watson, my step-cousin and partner, for her dedication and support in the preparation and checking of the contents of this book.

My thanks are also due to Andrew Lawes for his expert editorial advice and guidance in the preparation of this book.

Eric Lionel Parrish

—Contents— 1. Introduction to the family..................................................................................................................................8 2. The Arrival and Early Years.............................................................................................................................28 3. Boyhood ......................................................................................................................................................39 4. Life at Home ................................................................................................................................................47 5. The War Years ..............................................................................................................................................51 6. The Battle Begins .........................................................................................................................................57 7. The Battle of Britain ......................................................................................................................................65 8. The Blitz.........................................................................................................................................................68 9. The Teenage Years.........................................................................................................................................73 10. The Dawn of Peace ......................................................................................................................................91 11. School – The Final Years.................................................................................................................................96 12. Entering the Career World...............................................................................................................................98 13. National Service Years: 1950—52.................................................................................................................108 14. Royal Air Force Booker.................................................................................................................................126 15. The End of a Dream.....................................................................................................................................135 16. A Case of Déjà Vu........................................................................................................................................139 17. Entering the Business World.........................................................................................................................144 18. Changes in Business....................................................................................................................................155 19. The New Challenge......................................................................................................................................157 20. My First Territory .........................................................................................................................................160 21. Selling Comes of Age...................................................................................................................................165 22. Developing the Essex Territory......................................................................................................................175 23. Living and Working in Essex.........................................................................................................................177 24. Essex Takes Off............................................................................................................................................186 25. Experiences of a Medical Representative in the 1950s..................................................................................191 26. The Company Moves On..............................................................................................................................200 27. I Become a Freemason.................................................................................................................................205 28. I Move On....................................................................................................................................................217 29. Living Our Lives............................................................................................................................................225 30. Starting a Family...........................................................................................................................................230 31. Trying Again.................................................................................................................................................233 32. A Change of Direction..................................................................................................................................238 33. Travelling in the Middle East..........................................................................................................................242 34. Back to the Routine and Professional Development.......................................................................................254 35. 1964 More Overseas Travel..........................................................................................................................257 36. 1965 South Africa and Nigeria......................................................................................................................269 37. Moving to a New Life....................................................................................................................................278 38. Reaching a Climax.......................................................................................................................................282 39. Ireland Holidays............................................................................................................................................285 40. The Demise of the Company........................................................................................................................289 41. Going it Alone..............................................................................................................................................292 42. Reckitt & Colman.........................................................................................................................................296 43. Marine Parade Post Office, Eastbourne.........................................................................................................304 44. Retirement Living..........................................................................................................................................318 45. The Manor of Burghurst ...............................................................................................................................340 46. The Manor of Burghurst – A history ..............................................................................................................343 47. Epilogue.......................................................................................................................................................345

—1— Introduction to the family The Salter Family

B

I should give some family background and establish some credentials. It would seem from the records that my maternal family came from Hampshire and Sussex whereas my paternal roots were in East London and Essex. A brief background to both is given as this can act as a good basis for further research, should any member of the family desire. efore proceeding

My mother, Mildred Lucy Salter, was born at Fir Croft Lodge, Patcham, near Brighton, on 5 August 1900.

She was the daughter of William Charles Salter, a coachman, born on 6 June 1869 in Shanklin who was, in turn, the son of Edwin Salter, general labourer and Elizabeth Salter, formerly Dash. My mother’s mother was also Elizabeth Salter who was born on 7 July 1870 at19 Bullar Street, Southampton. Her father was Henry Goodenough Blatch described as a dock labourer and her mother was Ellen Blatch, formerly Grist.

My maternal grandparents were married on 15 September 1898 in St. Luke’s Church, Southampton, and it is interesting to note that my grandmother’s father, Henry Goodenough Blatch was listed as a mariner (deceased). I do have an impressive memorial card “In Affectionate Remembrance of Henry G. Blatch, The Beloved Husband of Ellen Blatch Who was Drowned at Sea, March 3rd 1885, Age 42 Years”. This is followed by the verse:–

A light is from our household gone, A voice we loved is stilled, A place is vacant on our hearth, Which never can be filled

I do know that there were a lot of Blatches and my mother used to say that many of them were connected with the sea or shipbuilding. Some served in the Royal Navy and others on other ships. She spoke of one, Eddy, who was a captain but I have no details. Several were alive when I was young but I don’t remember meeting them. During the war (1939—45), we used to stay with one uncle and aunt who lived at Bitterne Park, Southampton. In fact, we were actually staying there when VJ Day was announced – this was the final stage of the victory over Japan.

My maternal grandfather, William Charles Salter, died when I was five months old, on 19 June 1931, aged 62 years. I believe he was in hospital for some time as my mother told me that only once did he hold his grandson. As was customary, a memorial card was produced (photo on next page).

I know that my mother was very close to her father and she missed him very much. His last job was in charge of all the horses at the United Dairies depot in High Road, Ilford. He was very fond of horses (photo on next page). I believe there were about 60 or so. They lived at 2, Sylvan Road, Ilford where they owned the Tyne Hall Dairy.

After his death, my maternal grandmother lived another 11 years, much of it with her bachelor son, my Uncle Will. We used to visit them at Rayner’s Lane, Harrow, where they had a flat above some shops almost opposite the Underground Station. The place was fairly sparse and there were tea chests packed with glass and china. They were always going to move! My Uncle Will owned two ukuleles which he played quite badly.

They also had white Sealyham dogs. I have no idea what he did for work, if anything, but around 1940 he 8

1931 my maternal grandfather – I was 5 months old

Coach driver is William Charles Salter, my maternal grandfather, driving his employers, the family Hoch

1942 my maternal grandmother 9

found a Welsh girlfriend, got married and in no time they had three children. They visited us on a couple of occasions and I remember carrying the firstborn, Graham, from our house to the bus stop when he was a month old. My grandmother never got over the shock of the marriage and obviously disapproved of his choice. My mother was never close to her brother and after he died we lost touch with the family.

I have few memories of my grandmother, but I do know that she always referred to me as “Ellis” – that is the spelling. I don’t know whether she didn’t like Eric or couldn’t pronounce it, but it was not only used verbally but written in Christmas and birthday cards. Grandmother used to pay unannounced visits. She would knock at the front door about 7.45 or 8.00 in the morning, having travelled on a Workman’s Ticket from Rayners Lane, Harrow, probably leaving before 7.00am. Workman’s Tickets were special cheap tickets designed for workmen and only available early in the day. Grandmother would have breakfast and spend the day with us. Whatever plans my mother may have had were overturned. If my father had not left for work and happened to open the door, he would call out to my mother, “The old dear’s arrived!”

Sometime after Uncle Will married, my grandmother moved back to Southampton where she remained until her death in the Royal South Hants Hospital on 6 June 1942. She had an advanced stomach cancer and was 71 when she died. My mother went to Southampton and grandmother was brought back to Ilford to be buried with her husband in St. Mary’s Churchyard, Ilford High Road. She was away over a weekend and I can remember that I cooked Sunday lunch for my father and me – roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes etc. This was the first time I had cooked a meal but I had watched my mother often so I found it easy.

One other member of mother’s family I should mention was Aunt Nell – Nellie Blatch. I am not sure of the actual relationship but feel she must have been an aunt of my mother. She became the chief cook (they didn’t have chefs in those days) at one of the large seafront hotels, The Bedford in Brighton. I don’t think she ever married. She was a roly-poly lady and always had a laugh. I didn’t see her that often but she did stay with us occasionally. Her one great asset was that she never forgot my birthday. For years she made, and iced, a large birthday cake. The icing was a work of art with roses, scrolls, figures and the correct number of candles. The fruit cake itself was gorgeous. The amazing thing was that she posted this in a box and it was always delivered undamaged – all those delicate pieces of icing remained intact. I hardly think that would happen today. The postage was 2/6d in old money – 12p in modern currency. When she retired, she returned to Southampton (strange how they returned to their roots) where she lived in a small room. I vaguely remember that she ended up cooking on a small paraffin stove and she developed dropsy (congestive heart failure). I remember my mother received a letter saying that she had passed away but I don’t know when. Ships that pass in the night!

10

Great grandfather John Parrish, 1834–1923 Architect b. 1834 m. 8.2.1863 d. 16.5.1923 (Walthamstow)

The Parrish Family My grandfather was Albert Edward Parrish (AEP) born on 10 March 1870 at 3, Dennison Place, Mile End, London E, and married Harriet Alice Gaylard on 21 November 1891. His father was John Parrish, a carpenter and later a builder, architect and surveyor.

Probably because of numbers and geographical reasons, I was always closer to my father’s side. I had grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins all within walking distance or a bus ride so the relationships were much closer. Before going back into the family tree, it might be worthwhile just giving an overview of my father’s generation. Aunt Grace was the eldest, born on 30 December 1893, she married George Hawks They had no family and she died on 21 August 1987.

Uncle Fred was the oldest son, born on 22 June 1895. He served in the first World War and married my Aunt Lily, who was a New Zealander, on Christmas Day, 1920. They had three children, Joyce Lillian, born 26 October 1922, who married Bernard Stanley Adams on 20 October 1945 at Chigwell Church, Essex.

They both served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War. After emigrating to New Zealand with the rest of the family, they went on to have four daughters, three of whom survive. They are Rosalie Joy, born 1 October 1948, married twice who has two sons, Peter Bernard and Mark David and a daughter, Rebecca Joyce.

11

The next child was Doris Valerie, born on 23 May 1926 in New York where Uncle Fred and Aunt Lily lived for a time. Doris married William Bruce Worrall, a farmer, on 14 April 1951. They had two children, David Bruce, born 30 September 1952 who married and had three children, Jason Bruce, Joanna Elizabeth and Daniel William. They also had a daughter, Denise Joy, born 1 October 1954 who married and had one daughter, Alexandra Rebeka.

The third child was John Frederick, born 17 August 1931, who married Colleen Holt on 2 June 1972. They had four children, Stephen, born 16 April 1963 who married and has a daughter, Emma, and a son, Matthew; Michael who lives in Australia, born 24 September 1965, married with a son Jack and a daughter, Ellie; Lisa, born on 4 November 1968 and Melinda, born 15 December 1972. Cousin John became a Bank Manager but sadly passed away on 1 June 1990.

The next son was John Cecil (Uncle Jack) born 12 March 1901, married Edith Ellen Morley on 15 September 1935 and he died on 9 April 1994. They had two children; the eldest Barbara Jean, married to Albert John Moore who had three children, Keith John, Peter Graham and Sally Jane. Geoffrey was Uncle Jack’s son who moved to Australia, married and has one daughter.

Next we have Uncle Bob (Robert Victor), born 25 July 1902 who married twice. Firstly to Josephine Laura Briscoe. They had a daughter, Diane Josephine, born 10 June 1933, who married Graham Mayn in New Zealand. They had three children, Lisa Joanne, Simon John and Joanna Louise.

Uncle Bob’s second marriage was to Rita Mavrakis in Greece on 17 June 1946. Rita had one daughter, Yvonne, from her previous marriage. They had a son together, Alan Robert, born 13 September 1947, who had three daughters by his first marriage, Julia Rita, Joanna Teresa and Lisa Jane.

He married for the second time to Janice Bickford on 14 June 1997. Uncle Bob and Rita also had a daughter, Liana Rita, born 2 September 1952 and she has a son Matthew Robert Wright and daughter Tracy Suzanne.

The youngest son was my father Archibald Lionel Parrish, born 3 May 1904, at 120 Sixth Avenue, Manor Park, London E12. He married my mother on 11 August 1928 (certificate and wedding photograph opposite).

My father died on 16 December 1993. My mother died on 9 June 2000. She missed her 100th birthday by less than two months. They both passed away in the Eastbourne District General Hospital and were cremated at the Eastbourne Crematorium, where their details are recorded in the Book of Remembrance. We also have had a Presentation Seat sited in a beautiful position on Eastbourne seafront. It is on the Middle Parade, adjacent to lamppost 19. The inscription reads, ‘IN MEMORY OF ARCHIE PARRISH 1904-1993 AND MILDRED PARRISH 1900-2000. They did enjoy the Eastbourne seafront so it is nice that there is a lasting tribute in such a delightful place.

Yvonne Catherine Watson (nee Mavrakis-Haralambous) Mascot of the 23rd Armoured Brigade “The Liver Birds” Loutraki, Greece, 1945 12

1928 wedding certificate of Archibald Lionel Parrish and Mildred Lucy Salter

1928 wedding of Archibald Lionel Parrish and Mildred Lucy Salter

Apart from me, my parents had an earlier son, Norman Archibald, who was born on 29 September 1929, at 36 Templeton Avenue, Chingford, Essex. Sadly, he died on 15 November 1929 and was buried in Woodgrange Park Cemetery in the family grave.

Having brought the family details towards the present day, it might be worthwhile looking back to earlier generations before we proceed with the autobiography proper. To pick up the story, we should go back to my paternal grandfather, Albert Edward Parrish. As we mentioned, he was born on 10 March 1870 at 3 Denison Place, Mile End, London. I don’t have full details but I know that my father said the he started life like others in the family, in the building trade. Apparently, he was an expert bricklayer and laid up to 1000 bricks per day regularly. If one thinks about it, this is a phenomenal output. In a 10 hour working day, he would be laying 100 bricks an hour non-stop – one brick every 36 seconds. Taking into account comfort 13

Security wartime pass issued to Albert Edward Parrish

14

breaks and time for drinking and food, the rate would be considerably faster. I gather that he was very good at his job and very ambitious. He worked for a company, Gibbons Bros, who were gas and retort engineers and, as far as I know, he spent his whole working life with them.

Perhaps I should explain as this is now historical, but originally lighting and heating was powered by coal gas. This was before the days of electricity. Apart from homes with their gas mantles – the equivalent of a light bulb for a gas light – you may have seen pictures of lamplighters going round the streets with their long poles with which they reached up to the street lights to turn on the gas and light the lamp. This was done every night, and every morning the lamplighter had to turn them off. In those days, labour was not expensive!

The coal gas was obtained by heating coal in a metal tube to the point where it released the gas and could be collected and stored. The storage ‘containers’ were called gasometers and are still used today for North Sea gas. The metal tubes were called retorts. The partially-burnt coal was called coke and was sold for use on furnaces, in boilers and even for domestic fires. It was cheaper than coal because the gas had been extracted. It is interesting that one of the most descriptive company names ever devised was the Gas, Light & Coke Company – a name which I clearly remember as they supplied our gas at home. Their product produced gas, provided light and fuel for burning, as the company name stated.

The connection between this apparent deviation and the family story is that my grandfather, starting as a humble bricklayer, worked his way up to become an acknowledged retort and gas engineer and finally became the senior representative of Gibbons Bros. His work was not only limited to this country. I have a postcard sent to him at the Bresso Tuscan Gas Works at Bari, Italy, in September 1909. It was sent by my grandmother and the postcard shows a classroom of children. My grandmother asks my grandfather to find which one is my father! More especially I have a silver pocket watch presented to him on 26 November 1916 by a company in Argentina where he had been sent to give advice. In the UK, he travelled the country in his chauffeur-driven car, visiting gas companies providing advice and selling gas extraction equipment. Such was the company’s need for his knowledge, that he was brought back from retirement at 70. I do have a pass (opposite) issued to him to allow him access to the Wandsworth & District Gas Company dated 21 May 1940 when he was in his 71st year. He died when he was 90 and right up until that time, his firm would send a car once a year to take him to have lunch with the directors.

I know nothing of his boyhood, but my first contact is with a rather interesting artefact given to me by my father. It is an envelope containing a pair of cufflinks. On the envelope is written the words, ‘Links Given to Me by Dear Alice Before our Marriage – My 21st Birthday’. His 21st birthday was on the 10 March 1891 and they were married on 21 November 1891. I have the marriage certificate and it is interesting to see that the address of both my grandfather and grandmother (Alice Harriett Gaylard) is given as 117, Broadwalk. They were married in Christ Church, Southwark in the County of London.

The marriage certificate is worthy of study as it shows my grandfather’s ‘Rank or Profession’ as bricklayer and through later certificates we can chart his progress. The certificate shows his father, John Parrish

Cufflinks given to my grandfather, Albert Edward Parrish “Links given to me by my dear Alice Before our Marriage My 21st Birthday” (9ct gold, hallmark Chester 1881) 15

Above and below: Silver pocket watch and chain presented to Albert Edward Parrish, 21 November 1916 in Argentina following technical visit.

16

Cloth-backed certificate of 1859 wedding between great grandfather Thomas Kent Gaylard and Martha Forrest.

Note: my great, great grandfather was a veterinary surgeon and a publican!

1891 wedding of Albert Edward Parrish and Alice Harriet Gaylard, my grandparents

17

as ‘Builder’. The marriage certificate shows Alice Harriett Gaylard’s father as Thomas Kent Gaylard (deceased). He was born in 1831 and married Martha Elizabeth Forrest on 6 October 1859. The witnesses were Joseph Forrest (uncle) and Martha Elizabeth Young. It would appear that after Thomas Kent Gaylard (Alice’s father died – he was under 60), her mother must have remarried. I happen to have the marriage certificate of Thomas Kent Gaylard and Martha Forrest. He was 28 and she was 21. They were married St. James Church, Clerkenwell, a lovely Wren-style church. He was a gardener and lived at 48, Pear Tree Court. His father was George Warren Gaylard, a veterinary surgeon. I have tried to trace him through the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons but there is no record. Apparently, this is not unusual as there were a number of professional bodies at the time and many just trained as apprentices like doctors. Martha Forrest lived at 30, Clerkenwell Close; her father, John Forrest, was a publican.

Five Forrests: Joseph, Tom, Nancy, Martha and Howerd – relatives of Alice Harriet Parrish, my paternal grandmother

Of one thing I am sure. My grandparents’ marriage was a very happy one. They were married in 1891 and between 1893 and 1904 they had 5 children. Even in my grandfather’s later years, after he had been married for the second time for a considerable period, he would always speak with great affection about ‘his Alice’. Likewise, my father had great love for his mother, which never diminished. I am fortunate to have a large, oval-framed and coloured photograph of Alice Harriett Parrish nee Gaylard. It is obvious that she was a very elegant and beautiful lady. How I would love to have met her. Even through the photograph, I feel we know each other and I feel she is here as I write. This may seem strange to you, but I assure you that it is true.

18

c 1920 Paternal grandparents Alice Harriet and Albert Edward Parrish

c 1926 My grandfather Albert Edward Parrish and Paddy

19

Sadly, this love story came to a tragic end on the 8 November 1922 when, at the age of 56 (she was born on 7 November 1866), one day after her birthday, she was killed in an accident in Ilford High Road. It is interesting to see that the death certificate gives his occupation as a Gas Engineer which indicates his progress. The cause of death is given as, ‘Accidental Injury to head caused by being knocked down by a motor car on 8.11.22’. Apparently, she walked out from behind a bus and was hit by a car. When one thinks how few cars there were in those days, it seems surprising that such accidents could occur.

1922 my paternal grandmother

She was interred in Woodgrange Park Cemetery on 15 November 1922. The service was held in the Strone Road Spiritualist Church, Forest Gate, London, E.7. and according to a cutting from the local paper, there was a very large attendance and a long list of mourners is given. This is the first indication that I had that there was any interest in spiritualism in the family, and yet the newspaper cutting states she was well known locally in the spiritualist movement. Strangely enough, among my father’s effects, I found that in 1921 he became a member of the Lyceum Guild and, in 1921 and 1922 he passed the Grades 1 and 2 examinations in the British Spiritualists’ Lyceum Union.

It does seem surprising that after 31 years of marriage, less than a year later, he remarried. A marriage certificate shows that on 29 September 1923, he married Harriett Sarah Shone at All Saints Church, Goodmayes, Essex (the same church where we were married some 31 years later). His occupation is given as ‘Traveller’ and they lived at 17, Arundel Gardens, Goodmayes. At the time he was 53 and his new wife was 49 and a widow. Her father’s name was William George Parrish, a builder, although there was no family connection. Strange she should have the same surname and her husband was a builder – there are still Parrish Builders in Essex and probably related. Harriett Shone came from Lancashire and never lost her accent. It was apparent that she had a very good background and was used to entertaining and acting as a hostess. Her food and presentation were excellent and she would lay on superb dinner parties, although I was too young to be involved. She had one son who was killed in the first world war, and another, Norman, who had been very well educated and was at a relatively high level in the Civil Service as a diplomat. As a pre-retirement post, he was made manager of the Camden Town Labour Exchange which was one of the largest in the country. I remember at family gatherings Norman was always in demand to recite from his extensive repertoire of Shakespeare which was beautifully rendered despite his Lancastrian accent! He was an impressive man with a military bearing and great presence.

One other witness on their marriage certificate was E.J.Parrish. There was great uncle Edgar, my grandfather’s brother. I met him on a number of occasions and he was present at grandfather’s 70th birthday party. He was a small man with a shock of white hair. Always the perfect gentleman, he would rise when you entered the room, shake you warmly by the hand and say, “Delighted to meet you” – and he meant it!

He lived in Hornchurch/Upminster with other members of that side of the family. I understand that in his day 20

Traditional memorial cards 21

he owned a prosperous wholesaling business in the drapery trade. It was in the East End of London and he would visit his customers in his horse and Brougham (a one-horse closed carriage). Ultimately, he went to live with his daughter near Lambourne End (Chigwell) and finally died in St. George’s Hospital, Hornchurch.

My grandfather spent many happy years with his second wife, Paddy, as she was known. There was no doubt in my mind that this cultured lady had a strong influence on my grandfather and I tend to think of her as the Grand Dame. She adored Pekinese dogs and at one time had two. Can you imagine this tall, upright and elegant lady walking along the promenade dressed in her luxurious fur coat, Pekinese under one arm and black, silver-knobbed cane in hand? I am not sure when she passed away but it must have been in 1957/8 so they had about 35 years together. She always kept a very good table and if we went to visit them (unannounced) on a Sunday afternoon, we were sometimes invited to stay for supper. On to the immaculate lace tablecloth would come cold meats – a loin of pork with crackling, a rib of beef and possibly some ham on the bone. There would also be potatoes, salad and pickles. Great meals!

Aunt Grace was the eldest and she looked after her younger brothers. It was said that if any of the brothers were set upon, Grace would sort them out. My father would tell me that if any boy hit him – remember he was the youngest – he would only have to tell Grace and she would find the culprit and deal with him. In fact, I was told that whether it be park or school playground, the call, “Watch out, Grace Parrish is coming”, would result in panic and pandemonium, boys and girls alike. She must have been quite something because she could terrorise bullies either singularly or in gangs.

My father went to Loxford School in Ilford. From my own recollections, it was not considered a good school.

It had the infants and junior school from where the children took the Scholarship (11+). If they passed they would go on to local grammar schools, but if they failed they would go into the senior school. You have to understand that in those days there were no comprehensive schools. If you did not pass the Scholarship you were regarded as below standard – I’m trying to be kind here – and were committed to a low standard of education until you left school at 14. Yes, the system in those days was to leave school at 14, get a job if you could and then work your way up the ladder. Most boys would start as tea boys, messengers or, if they were lucky, apprentices.

I don’t believe my father passed his Scholarship because he was sent to Clark’s College. This was a private school in Cranbrook Road, Ilford, which took pupils who, for whatever reason, had failed to get into a grammar or equivalent school. At 13, children who had failed the scholarship had another opportunity to re-sit for grammar school entrance. I think my father finished his education at Clark’s College.

He left school at 14 as was the norm and went to work at a men’s outfitters and tailors, H G Wackett, in Ilford High Road. He started sweeping the shop floor, cleaning the windows, making the tea etc. Bosses used to be very harsh and unkind in their demands on these young boys and girls and often would exploit their youth and ignorance. They would send them on stupid errands to make fun of them. To be sent to the garage to buy a pint of elbow grease was quite usual. The lad, being new, ignorant and probably fearful, would go, get laughed at by the garage man then get his leg pulled when he got back.

Of course, in those days there were many unemployed with men coming out of the Services after the Great War so if you got a job, you endeavoured to keep it whatever the cost. That is probably why my father stayed in the men’s clothing business all his life and would never consider changing firms – security was everything.

If you had a job, keep it. In later years he could never understand me if I wanted to change companies.

I can remember one funny story against himself which my father would recount with much laughter. He was about 18 and had been invited to a firm’s annual dinner which was held in Anderton’s Hotel in London. Our naive country lad (Ilford was country then) went to London on the train, got to the hotel where there was a free bar. Now apart from the odd beer, this was an opportunity so he set to with gusto. Soon he got woozy and the legs got weaker. He had some food – he thinks – then left the hotel and somehow got to Liverpool Street Station and reached Ilford.

22

There are no details concerning the journey. In fact, there are no details at all until his brother, Uncle Bob, found him fast asleep in a workman’s hole in Ilford High Road next morning. I feel that episode must have taught him a lesson because he never got into that state again.

One of the interesting things about this type of writing is that one can get distracted into various avenues.

The memory is a wonderful thing and when stimulated will lead one into all sorts of reminiscences which have been locked away for many a long year. So it is here. We have somehow moved from my grandparents to my aunt and uncles and then to my father. So let’s get back to my grandparents.

I suppose I really adored my grandfather although I can’t give any reason for it. Perhaps, because he was older and obviously the head of the family and treated with respect by his children. Nevertheless, he would still be quite outspoken if they did anything he didn’t agree with and there were times when an argument would ensue. My childhood was in the last stages of the Victorian era when children were expected “to be seen and not heard” (how many times did I hear that phrase). If my grandfather or grandmother told me to do something, I did it – no questions and no discussion and no reason why. As I grew older, however, the situation mellowed and towards the end of his life, my grandfather and I became friends. In short, I thought he was a great guy and I still think of him on his birthday, the 10th March.

When I was born, they lived in 58 Water Lane, Seven Kings. It was a bungalow with a large garden. Although I was taken there as a baby, I have no recollections. The first home I do remember was in Fencepiece Road, Barkingside. It is on the right just up from the junction with Tomswood Hill. The house was an end of terrace semi-detached and as you entered Fencepiece Road, there was (and I suppose is) a bay window in the side, halfway up the stairs. In that window stood a large china donkey which filled the bay so it was easy to recognise the house. That donkey still exists and now resides with the New Zealand branch of the family where it was sent after my grandfather’s death. I remember nothing else about the house although I must have been there on a number of occasions.

The house I do remember and for which I had great affection was in Romford. It was called ‘Heaton Moor’, no doubt Grandma Paddy’s Lancastrian influence here, and was at 133 Mawney Road. This was a large, semi-detached house of ample proportions. On entering the front door with its large window on the left, one was in a spacious hall. The staircase terminated in a square, banistered dais at the foot. Hanging on the wall in that area, as you went to mount the stairs, was a Vienna wall clock which seemed to greet visitors with its steady tick. That same clock now carries out the same function at the foot of our stairs. It is a precious memento. I don’t know where he acquired it or many other items in that treasure-trove of a house, but I know he used to frequent auctions and Paddy didn’t know what he would bring home next. Just after the war in 1945, my grandfather purchased a pony and trap (he was in his mid-seventies then) and my grandparents would trot over from Romford to see us – quite a few miles.

On one occasion, they brought the Vienna clock and gave it to my father. He, not being that interested, put it in the shed where it remained for some years until I offered to get it back in working order. The agreement was that we should share it. It went on my wall and my father often asked when he was going to get his share. I think he was secretly pleased, though, that the clock was with me and would be cherished.

Back to their home and proceeding onwards, there was a large drawing room on the right with a fireplace in the corner. Standing up and leaning against the fireplace was a poker – well it wasn’t actually a poker but obviously something else obtained from a job lot in an auction. I have to admit that the poker now stands upright in our fireplace and is no longer used for poking the fire as modern houses no longer have open fires – sadly. That poker always fascinated me as it is in the form of a short sword. On examination, it has an ivory hilt with a silver cross-guard and pommel. On the cross-guard is a very fine hallmark dated London, 1794.

The blade has markings along the length. My fascination resulted in me sending it to Wilkinson Sword for their opinion. One of the directors replied that it is a mid-shipman’s dirk made from a cut-down Spanish rapier blade of the 16th century. Apparently, mid-shipmen at that period used to have these dirks made specially for their use – presumably they were decorative!

23

1946 My grandfather and Paddy with their trap and Susie

My grandparents: Albert Edward Parrish and Harriet (Paddy) Parrish on our wedding day, 3 April 1954

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Apparently, they are quite collectable and in the ’60s, Wilkinson placed a valuation of £25 on it, not that it is for sale. It is another item of family memorabilia. One does have to wonder, however, what is it’s history. Did it sail the Seven Seas? Who owned it? Was it ever used in anger? How sad that it should end up as a poker!

My grandparents' drawing room was well endowed with Victorian and Edwardian furniture, pictures on the walls and decorative mirrors. There was a central table complete with chenille table cloth and a long mahogany sideboard on which stood various items of cut-glass including a three decanter Tantalus plus silver chafing dishes etc. The silver-topped, cut-glass claret jug is with us. Of course there was the usual jardinière complete with aspidistra as well as side tables covered with beautiful lace tablecloths. My grandparents had a button-back armchair either side of the fireplace and each had their own wine table. If one could walk into that room today, it would be a time warp for late Victorian England remembering that although we are talking about the ’30s, my grandparents were born in Victorian times so their style was applicable to then.

Carrying on with the tour of the house, by carrying on down the hall, we find that straight ahead is the lounge. A large room with French doors opening on to the garden beyond. This room again was in a similar style to the drawing room and had comfortable armchairs, side tables and plenty of other items plus, of course, pictures on the walls. In those days I had no interest in pictures so have no idea whether they were prints or originals. There is one item of furniture I should mention. It was a small, delicate three piece suite comprising an Edwardian two seater sofa with padded embroidered back and seats, matching armchair and corner chair. The legs, back and arms were so fine and the whole suite was quite elegant. When my grandfather died, it was offered to us but we had nowhere to store it so it went with everything else to be collected by a house clearer. Such a great shame.

There were other items which I should mention. On one table stood a silver stand, which held three bowls.

It had curved arms and can be described as extremely graceful. I have never seen one like it anywhere else.

The centre bowl is about 8" diameter and suitable for fruit, whereas the other two bowls are about 3" across and could be used for sweets. It makes a wonderful centre piece for a table and could, I suppose, be described as an epergne. We were delighted to obtain this and it has a place of honour in our home.

I promise I won’t go on, but I cannot leave without mentioning one other item of pleasure. It is a George III baluster coffee pot circa 1794. A most elegant pot. These are some of the items ‘rescued’ following the death of my grandfather. My father was an executor and, being totally honest as he was, everything had to be dealt with impeccably so I had to purchase anything I wanted although I was allowed one item. Monies for items purchased went back into the estate.

We’ve started wandering off track again so let’s get back to the house. At the end of the hall, one could turn right and straight ahead was the kitchen, which lead through to a pantry/store room and beyond that a large morning room which served also as a dining room for less formal occasions. The room contained an Aga cooker where most of the cooking was done. Grandmother Paddy’s roasts used to smell delightful and her roast potatoes were crisp and succulent. I spent quite a lot of time in this cosy room as it was the one most lived in. I can remember they had a green parrot named Polly. It was there from my earliest memories and was still there when I was a teenager but don’t remember when it died. I was always being warned not to put my fingers in the cage. At times there were occasional canaries kept which used to sing beautifully.

Also in this room were brass letter scales mounted on a mahogany base with weights which would keep me amused. I would also play for hours with their wooden solitaire board. It was circular, about 9 inches across, the top being able to swivel to reveal the clay marbles which were kept in the base below. This was a warm, sunny room (no doubt helped by the Aga) and one always felt cheerful here.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms with large beds and huge wardrobes. The finest bedroom was the one at the back. Not only was it large, but it had a balcony overlooking the rear garden. Such luxury. One could 25

open the bedroom French doors and walk onto a balcony. Frankly, I have few recollections of the upstairs as I didn’t go there often.

The garden was long and contained flower beds, herbaceous borders, a vegetable garden and a large greenhouse plus, of course, lawns back and front. Grandfather was a good gardener and enjoyed it. His tomatoes were excellent, as were his runner beans and salad crops.

Just down the road from their house, on the left, there was a terraced house with a large monkey tree in the garden. In that house lived grandfather’s chauffeur when he was employed by Gibbons Bros. It was interesting to note that he never stayed away from home at night and wherever he travelled, he always insisted on coming back. I was once told that this was because he once had a damp bed. One has to appreciate that in those days there were no washing machines and no dryers. Hotels would tend to wash sheets, pillow cases and towels on a daily basis (this applied to guest houses etc as well) and if it was difficult to dry the linen properly, they could be put on the beds before being fully aired. There was a fairly simple test which my grandfather passed on to me much later, namely, to put a mirror between the sheets. If the mirror misted up, it signified dampness.

Before we leave Romford, I should mention that if one went to the north part of Mawney Road – the other side of the Eastern Avenue – there were some shops and houses. Through a gap on the left, one could go into a field where there was a stable and small coach house in which my grandparents kept their pony and trap. Although he was well into his seventies my grandfather would go twice a day, every day, to look after this pony. Apart from that, he looked after the trap and the tackle. They would go out quite frequently around the Essex Lanes and visit us and other relatives. When one thinks back, it is quite amazing that an elderly man and his wife should adopt such a means of transport and look after the animal and equipment.

I cannot remember how long it was before they decided to sell the pony and trap, but they certainly had it for some years.

Time eventually took its toll and they felt that maintaining this large house in Mawney Road was becoming too much for their advancing years. The house had known many family events, one of which was their silver wedding and my grandfather’s 70th birthday. The latter I remember quite well in 1940 and there is a wonderful family photograph including, not only our side of the family but his brother, Great Uncle Edgar and his family.

The family photograph includes us all and the table, with its lace tablecloth, includes some of the silver which we now have.

After much searching, they found a bungalow at 5, Dorien Road, Hornchurch and it was here that they spent the remainder of their years. A good proportion of the furniture, went with them so the bungalow was quite crowded. We would visit them fairly often and after I met Maureen, we would both go to see them. We were with them to share the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953.

When we were married in All Saints, Goodmayes, on 3 April 1954, they were both present which was quite a privilege as it was the church in which they were married in 1923.

Grandfather and Paddy continued to live in Hornchurch, although she became frail with walking problems and for the last months of her life spent an increasing amount of time in bed. I do not remember when she died but it must have been around 1957/8. Her passing meant that my grandfather, in his late ’80s had to fend for himself and he was quite lonely. He decided to get himself a dog for company and security. As we had a car, we took him to Battersea Dogs Home one Saturday. He chose a small brown terrier named Tony.

It turned out to be a wild animal. Maureen and I can well remember the journey home. I felt this dog with its feet resting on the back of the front seats breathing down my neck uttering a low growl. I fully expected a bite but fortunately nothing happened. The dog was equally fierce at home and was not only likely to attack visitors, but did go for my grandfather on several occasions. It was decided that the dog would have to go and fortunately my grandfather found a lorry driver who needed a dog to travel with him to guard the lorry.

He was a big chap who could control the animal so presumably everything worked out well.

26

So my grandfather was back to his solitary life. He would go away in the winter to the Yelton Hotel in Hastings. Then he found himself a lady friend. She was allegedly quite well off, and came from Purley, where she had a large house and had a son who ran a successful catering business. We met her once when the son brought her and my grandfather to visit us at home. Coming up to 90, he decided to get engaged!

Unfortunately, the romance was not to blossom as my grandfather died on 25 November 1960, aged 90 years. He was found sitting in his chair by the fire holding his newspaper. It would appear that he had turned on the gas poker to light the fire and the gas poker had gone out. He being fairly deaf (unless you mentioned money!) could not hear it and probably could not smell the gas and so succumbed. The inquest showed carbon monoxide poisoning as the cause of death but mentioned that he had the arteries equivalent to a 40 year old. It is interesting to reflect that his life's work with coal gas should have been the cause of his death.

In his will, he left £300 to the lady friend and I was told that she was not at all happy, apparently expecting a large share of the estate. No one ever saw her again and, as far as I know, she didn’t attend the funeral.

Grandfather was laid to rest in the family grave together again with his beloved Alice and my brother.

As a final comment I must say that I enjoyed my grandparents’ company. I always found them kind and willing to share their knowledge and experience. One example occurred when my parents and I were having a meal at their home. Grandmother Paddy, that great hostess whose sharp eyes missed nothing, must have observed my somewhat inadequate handling of my cutlery. I can remember this so clearly. She quietly asked me to leave the room with her. I was intrigued and followed her into the kitchen. She took some plates and cutlery from the cupboard, laid them out, and gently showed me the correct way to use cutlery from the outside in; how to take soup; how to the place a knife and fork a) if one is still using them and b) if one has finished. In those days, waiters were aware of table etiquette and if one put their knife and fork down incorrectly, the plate could be whisked away! I was about 10 at the time and although this lesson only took a few moments, it has stood me in good stead for the rest of my life. Most importantly, when we returned to the dining room, she said not a word. It was our little secret!

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—2— The Arrival and Early Years

C

late one night in the middle of January 1931? A row of terraced houses with smoking chimney pots – there was no central heating, double-glazing or roof insulation in those days – and lights in the upstairs bedrooms as the occupants prepared for bed. It was cold. It was dark with the occasional street light, each of which held one bulb that gave a yellowish glow. an you picture

The street was empty, as cars were too expensive for most people. Only one person in Eton Road, Ilford, Essex owned a car and that was Mr Epps (Christian names were rarely used then) who lived at No.238.

The door of No.236 opened and a man was seen to hurry out and dash down the road buttoning his coat tightly as he went. He seemed anxious as he turned the corner into South Park Drive. A short time later he returned and hastened back to his house. The door closed and a light appeared in the front bedroom upstairs. What was going on in this sleepy street so late on a winter’s night?

A short while later another figure was seen to turn the corner and hurry down the road. It was a woman carrying a black bag. She’d hardly knocked at the door when it was opened and she disappeared inside. A few minutes later a car, yes a car, arrived and also stopped outside No.236. A man got out also clutching a black bag. He went to the door and was rapidly admitted.

After some time, in the early part of the following day, the sound of a cry was heard from that front bedroom.

Eric Lionel Parrish had arrived. It was 16 January 1931.

Soon afterwards the man and the lady emerged. The man was Dr. Garden, the family doctor from Goodmayes and the lady was the local midwife. They laughed and talked, obviously pleased with their night’s work, and the man who saw them off was excited and delighted. Not long after, that man, my father, Archibald Lionel

c 1926 Paternal grandparent Albert Edward Parrish – outside 58, Water Lane, Seven Kings 28

Parrish, was seen to leave the house yet again. Although it was the early hours of the morning, he was off to see his father (home telephones were virtually unknown apart from professional people) to tell him the good news. His father, Albert Edward Parrish, my grandfather, lived at 58, Water Lane, Seven Kings – about half a mile away. I am told he woke my grandparents and they toasted the birth with a large scotch. Soon he was on his way back to his wife and new-born son.

The house which my parents were buying was terraced and quite small. It was, however, their first house as previously they had, as their first home, a flat in Chingford. Although I cannot remember the inside of our house, our neighbour’s house was similar and as we used to visit them when I was older, I knew the size. Mr and Mrs Epps, who never had a family, were pleasant people and remained friends of my parents for the rest of both their lives. Mr Epps owned a manufacturing company in Barking. They had a car and obviously were much better off than probably anyone else in the road. Strangely they lived in that small house all their married years.

Now, back to the house. There were two bedrooms and a small box room upstairs and a bathroom. Downstairs there was to be found a sitting room, dining room and kitchen. All the rooms were quite tiny and the dining room had a floor to ceiling corner cupboard. There were fireplaces in the main rooms downstairs, as did the upstairs bedrooms. There was a small garden in the front and back of the house.

To meet the mortgage repayments, my parents rented out one upstairs room to another couple – a Mr and Mrs Claridge. His name was Fred and I always called her ‘Ogga’ – don’t ask me why for I have no idea. There was one story that filled my parents with horror. I had just started walking when one day I crawled up the stairs and, having reached the top step, I stood on it on my toes, balancing, with my back to the stairs. I was told that my parents stood at the bottom and the Claridges at the top – not daring to speak. Suddenly Fred Claridge reached over the banisters and grabbed the back of my clothes thus saving a potential disaster and ensuring that this book could be written! Fred Claridge also worked for the Co-op in the grocery department. Later they moved into their own house at 25, Morrab Gardens, opposite South Park School. He served in the Royal Navy during the war and they had a daughter. They always remained friends with my parents.

236 Eton Road, Ilford 29

I suppose my earliest memory was when I used to climb on our dustbin, lean over the fence and throw cabbage leaves from our dustbin to feed Rex, the dog next door! Mr and Mrs Epps were not amused and often reminded me of the story in later years.

My father became manager of a menswear tailors for the London Co-operative Society. He worked hard and was very ambitious. He was earning about £3 per week when my parents decided to move to a larger house being built in the next road. It seems hard to believe, but that next road was still fields in the early ’30s and I can remember a farm with a large barn on the land bordering Goodmayes Lane and Breamore Road, Seven Kings. When my grandfather bought his bungalow in Water Lane, there were fields opposite and it looked on open country.

My parents' new house, 372 Mortlake Road, was terraced but with larger rooms and, of course, the four fireplaces – in the lounge, dining room and the two main bedrooms upstairs. It was quite usual at that time to have such 372 Mortlake Road, Ilford fireplaces, as they provided the main source of heating. A fire in a bedroom was reserved in case of sickness and I can remember having such luxury on certain occasions when I was ill. It was quite something to go to sleep in the warm and by the flickering light of a fire. Opposite our new house was a small shrubbery where our road joined Henley Road.

I have the details of the purchase. A Heads of Agreement states that the house cost £695 and a deposit was paid on 18 March 1935. The purchase had to be completed on or before 29 May 1935. The builder was a local firm – Edward Glenny and Son Ltd of Barking. It is interesting to see that the mortgage was with The National Building Society (later to be linked with the Abbey Building Society to form the Abbey National). My parents made the first repayment on 18 July 1935 and the monthly repayments were £4.2s.10d (£4.29 in decimal currency). A passbook was held and all payments were acknowledged in pen and ink. The inside front cover stated that the insurance covering the property was to be paid each July. It amounted to 15/9d (80p) per year!

On the day of the move, I was taken to the Claridges. The house in Mortlake Road was to be my home until I got married some 19 years later. We soon settled in and my father got the garden in good order with patio, paths and flowerbeds. He built a greenhouse where he grew wonderful tomatoes. One disadvantage of a terraced house was that the coalmen had to carry heavy 1cwt (112lb) sacks of coal through the house to the coal bin in the back garden. Sometimes the sacks would knock and damage paintwork and if it was wet, their dirty boots would leave wet muddy coal dust on the hall runner. It was not unusual for coal to fall out on the way through. Quite a messy business! Coalmen would wear a heavy leather hood over their head and this was shaped into a leather square the width of their shoulders, reaching halfway down their back. The coalmen would stand with their back against the horse-drawn cart, lift their hands above their shoulders, get hold of the sack behind their head and pull it forward onto their back with the leather hood and back providing protection. They would then walk forward with bent back. Those who did not have the leather hood wore a padded cap to protect their heads.

Another disadvantage was the dustbin. Remember that in those days plastics did not exist. Just think – no plastic bags, no plastic bin liners, no plastic packaging, no plastic utensils, tools, furniture and the like. The only flexible packaging was paper or cardboard e.g. paper bags and brown paper carrier bags with string handles which would disintegrate when wet. Most shoppers carried a basket – carrier bags were a last resort. Many times I saw people carrying armfuls of shopping in a soggy, disintegrating carrier. Eggs were 30

difficult too as they were just put in a bag and placed with other shopping. A slight knock and there was a fine mess.

Metal dustbins: nothing to be thrown away was wrapped. Ashes from the fire, kitchen waste, fish bones, tainted meat, cans paper, and all rubbish was tossed directly into the dustbin. In the summer, flies and maggots were common place and the smelly dustbin had to be carried through the house on bin day. Can you imagine the unsavoury and smelly dustcarts? The dustcarts were not like those of today. They were smaller, open with curved covers along each side that slid down to close them. The dustmen, who were not given overalls, had to carry the dustbins on their backs and toss them over their shoulders into the dustcart to empty them. Can you picture the job of the dustman? Hardly a healthy occupation. They didn’t have gloves or masks but somehow they seemed to stay fit.

While talking about services in the ’30s, it is interesting to reflect that deliveries were often made daily, and usually by horse-drawn vehicles. As far as we were concerned, these included Filby (the baker), Suttons (the oil man and household goods), milk (United Dairies, Express Dairies, Co-op and others), greengrocer, fishmonger (on Fridays) plus miscellaneous, shellfish on Sundays (shrimps for Sunday tea was a real treat) and ice cream – only in summer, by the way – from Walls, Dicky Birds and local producers. Some small dairies brought milk in churns and householders would take out their jugs and it would be ladled in. As mentioned elsewhere, the United Dairies had a large depot in Ilford with about 60 horses and my maternal grandfather, William Salter looked after the horses.

Whereas the United Dairies had horse-drawn carts, less fortunate milkmen used three-wheeled handcarts.

These had one small wheel at the front and two large ones at the back, one either side of the cart. When loaded, these handcarts were very heavy and the milkmen had to physically push them on their delivery round covering several miles each day. It was quite usual to see a milkman stretched out trying to push his cart only to have to stop at the next house. Those who had hills on their rounds really had problems! It was very difficult in winter with snow and ice. It follows that these milkmen had to be very strong but no one seemed to complain. The country was coming out of a recession and at least they had a job. There were so many unemployed and if you had a job, however menial, you considered yourself lucky and didn’t complain.

I can remember men walking down the middle of our road singing in the hope that someone would spare a penny (there were 240 pennies to the pound). Men would knock on doors or stand on street corners selling boxes of matches. The Betterwear man and the Kleenezee man would call trying to sell brushes, dusters, polishes etc. Life was not easy.

There were no modern aids. Household fridges didn’t exist and freezers hadn’t even been invented. There were no washing machines, spin dryers, dishwashers, toasters and few people had a vacuum cleaner. My parents had an old Ewbank carpet sweeper. The case was made of wood and it was, of course, brown. The alternative was a dustpan and stiff brush. Most people seemed to have a routine for each week. Sunday incorporated the traditional roast lunch for the family with tea around 5pm. Dinner in the evening was virtually unknown.

Monday was wash day. It would take most of the morning so it was usual to have the cold meat left-overs from the day before. As clothes needed to be hung out to dry, the weather determined when the ironing could be done – hopefully on the Monday evening but often on the Tuesday. Rain showers meant rushing out to take in partially dry clothes, then pegging them out again when the rain stopped. My mother, and women generally, were very tired on a Monday evening. Clothes could never be washed or hung out on a Sunday – it just wasn’t done!

For doing the household wash, most homes had a copper – a cylindrical vessel about two feet across and two feet six inches deep, supported on legs. It had a lid and beneath it a circular gas ring which was used to heat the water. There was a tap at the bottom to draw off the dirty water after the washing was finished.

The copper would be filled with water by a bucket or bowl. It was then heated by the gas burner. The clothes were put in together with Lux soap flakes or Persil (detergents didn’t exist) and the whole agitated with a 31

copper stick – a wooden stick about 1 inch diameter and 2 feet 6 inches long. The copper stick would help lift the clothes out of the hot water and into the sink for rinsing.

Soiled clothes were rubbed vigorously on a washboard – a wooden or sometimes glass board with a wavy surface. My mother preferred to use her hands, rubbing the clothes between her knuckles. This hand washing was done with a large tablet of Sunlight or similar soap. After rinsing, the clothes were either wrung by hand (twisted and squeezed) or passed through a mangle. This was a device where two rollers were rotated against each other by turning a handle. Clothes, sheets or other items were passed through the rollers that squeezed the water out.

To create a finish (the term drip-dry was unknown) shirts, blouses, dresses and other clothes together with sheets pillow cases, table cloths etc were placed in a starch solution. Robin starch was one of the most popular. The items were hung on the line and ironed while damp. The result was a smooth finish with a slight stiffening so the item would hold its shape when worn or used. Apart from sports shirts, shirts had detachable collars so both items had to be starched – the collar in stronger starch so that it became really stiff. The collar was fixed to the shirt by two studs, one front and one back.

One of the worst items requiring washing was the handkerchief. There were no paper handkerchiefs in those days. Soiled and slimy handkerchiefs were boiled in a bucket and then had to be washed individually. I will leave you to reflect on this unsavoury process.

Even when the washing was finished, socks had to be darned and buttons sewn on together with other repairs. With the washing, hanging out, starching, ironing, repairing and airing plus the usual daily routine of cleaning the house and feeding the family; it is not surprising that the housewife was so tired. It still amazes me when I think how spotless our clothes were and how the whites sparkled. A product called Reckitts Blue was widely used to give a slightly blue tint to washing which had the effect of making it look whiter. It’s interesting to reflect that in the post-war period, with the advent of the washing machine and detergents, the manufacturers would use the phrase, ‘the new blue whitener’. My mother never used Reckitts Blue but relied on her ability for her sparkling results.

In the home of the ’30s, the usual colour for decoration was brown. Internal paintwork was brown, furniture was brown and often external paintwork was brown with front doors grained. Graining was a means of over imitating the grain on wood and a grainer was artistically quite skilled. A base paint called scumble was painted on the door and the grainer would use a tool not unlike a comb which he would stroke through the wet scumble making deft strokes on the way. The result would look like a natural grain in the wood. Grainers would also be able to create knot-like effects as well as imitate different types of wood like oak, beech etc. After drying, the door would be varnished to protect the graining and give it a gloss. A well-grained front door made quite an impact on a property and would be admired so it became almost a status symbol.

Fitted carpets were virtually unknown on the grounds of cost. It was usual to have lino (linoleum) covering the floor, usually patterned and, of course, brown! Carpets or rugs, as affordable, were placed on the lino leaving a border that had to be swept daily and polished with wax polish at least once a week. Carpets invariably incorporated brown and we had a brown leather three piece suite! Of course, the dining table, chairs and sideboard were also brown. Our fireplace surround and mantelpiece were brown, but in homes which had cast iron surrounds, it meant that they had to be black-leaded regularly. A product called Zebo was widely used for this purpose and we used it to blacklead our grate. Similarly, brass or copper fittings – doorknockers, keyhole fittings and brass doorsteps were cleaned daily with Brasso. No one would dream of having a non-shiny doorstep or knocker, and those with red quarry tiles would clean them with a special red polish.

My mother had a very busy life, as did most housewives. The culture of the time dictated that married women did not work and their job was to look after the home and children. Apart from traditional reasons, 32

many felt that a working married woman would be depriving an unemployed man of a livelihood. My father strongly supported this view all his life. The main change came during the 1939-45 war when the majority of men were conscripted into the armed forces and women had to take their places, particularly in factories producing armaments. On the land, the Women’s Land Army produced food for the nation.

After the war, the situation never reverted to the pre-war way of life. Women had enjoyed their emancipation and the freedom to accept challenges in the outside world as well as their ability to make a contribution to society in the form of a career. One has to wonder whether the pendulum has now swung too far and the modern career woman is suppressing her natural instincts in the pursuit of power and money. Already there is evidence that childless business women reaching middle age are realising that they are psychologically, emotionally and physically unfulfilled. With the introduction of part-time and/or working from home, maybe the compromise is being reached where women can attain their full potential without sacrificing an important aspect of their lives.

To return to daily living: my parents always laid the table for meals, even into their eighties and beyond. The breakfast table was always laid the night before. My mother’s daily routine involved getting breakfast (although later my father got his own before going to work), cleaning out the fireplace and relaying the fire, getting in coal, making the beds (no duvets then – only sheets and blankets), shopping, washing, ironing, darning and mending, preparing meals, washing up, sweeping carpets, polishing floors, brasses, knitting socks, gloves, sweaters, making curtains and dresses on her sewing machine. The list is virtually endless.

On reflection, my mother was, in her quiet way – for she was quiet – very placid and never lost her temper or raised her voice in anger. She was a remarkable lady. She had been a bookkeeper and could add up figures in her head faster than a calculator – a fact she proved on many an occasion. Even in her later years, she could tell an assistant on the supermarket checkout, the total of her bill before the items had been fully entered. When it came to figures she was fast and accurate.

This quality was most useful in the home where she assumed the financial role. She was thrifty and controlled the household finances so that we were never in debt, had all we needed and yet she still managed to save.

1933: Eric Lionel Parrish, aged two, at 236 Eton Road, Ilford 33

1933–4: The Parrish family: Archie, Eric and Mildred

Every year we had two weeks holiday and if my father asked where the money was coming from, she would say it was from her ‘overs’. He never ceased to be amazed. How did she achieve this budgeting? She had a small black cash box in which she had an envelope (used of course!) for each account. Each week, my father’s wages would be split up and so much put into each envelope, according to her calculations, so that when bills for electricity, gas, water, rates, mortgage and insurance arrived, the money was always available.

In the same way, she budgeted for food, clothes and other needs. Anything left over was her ‘overs’ and was used for holidays, Christmas and other items. The system was so simple and effective that when I first got married, we adopted the same scheme.

My mother was a superb cook and incredibly, did not own or use a timer. Neither did she use weighing scales, although there were some Salter’s weighing scales in the back of the cupboard (a wedding present!). To boil an egg, she would lower it into boiling water (they never cracked), leave it while cutting bread, come back, take it out and it was always just perfect. We never found how she did it. If she was making pastry or a cake, she would pour some flour, unmeasured, into a bowl, add eggs, milk and whatever, mix it up, pop it in the oven, leave it for a while and out it would come, perfect! How did she do this?

Whether it was puddings, tarts, buns, cakes or joints of meat, the results were always delicious. So tasty and more-ish.

The roast pork always had crispy crackling, the roast shoulder of lamb with suet pudding, onion sauce or mint sauce was succulent and the roast beef (always topside because she wouldn’t waste money on meat that contained bones!) with its Yorkshire pudding (made without recipe or oven timing) was a delight. Steak and kidney puddings cooked in a basin and tied with a pudding cloth were superb. Leftover beef was eaten with pickles or made into mince or rissoles. The latter were made of minced meat, onions, mixed herbs and mashed potatoes then fried in dripping until they were crisp on both sides. Lamb was made into shepherd’s pie, but pork was regularly eaten as cold meat with either apple sauce or pickles. We always had plenty of fresh vegetables depending on what was in season.

You must remember that there were no freezers or chillers so all vegetables and fruits were seasonal and 34

very little was imported as they were unable to transport them in a fresh condition. Fresh peas (in pods, of course) were available for 3-4 weeks around June, strawberries similar and so on. There were tins of peas or dried peas, but we didn’t normally have those. Puddings were yummy. Rhubarb pie was a favourite as were plum pies or apple pudding (cooked with cloves, of course), but a real favourite was her jam sponge pudding. Can you imagine the pudding cloth being untied, the basin being placed over the top and the whole being inverted? On the plate would be this wonderful sponge pudding with the jam running down the sides. Generous portions were helped down with lashings of thick, creamy custard. Wow! Our food was fresh, wholesome and very tasty. In retrospect, one feels that it was prepared with great love and that came through in the resulting meal.

In terms of present-day thinking though, her cooking was seriously flawed. Vegetables were so overcooked that cauliflower fell apart and cabbage was almost a soggy mass. My mother had a basin for dripping that was used in the frying pan as well as for roasts and roast potatoes. It was topped up with the fat from subsequent roasts and never emptied or cleaned out! It was a dripping stockpot. Her methods would make the modern healthy eating lobby despair and they would invoke dire outcomes on future health. Like so much modern thinking, the theory does not equate with the fact. With all the potential high cholesterol and high animal fat, the boiled out vitamins a minerals etc, my father lived until 90 and my mother was within 6 weeks of being 100. They enjoyed their food the way they liked it and my father couldn’t stand partially cooked vegetables and would send them back if restaurants presented them ‘al dente’. If he was advised they were better for you that way, he would say that it was not the way he would eat them. Frankly, I don’t like undercooked vegetables, but that’s probably because it was the way I was brought up.

Another problem with the lack of refrigeration was the limited shelf life of food, particularly milk during warm weather. With milk, one could use various forms of porous earthenware holders or covers for milk bottles.

These would stand in a dish filled with water, which would be drawn up, and as the water evaporated, the bottle would be cooled. An alternative would be to stand bottles in a sink or bucket containing cold water.

Of course, if milk did go sour ‘out of hours’, that was it. Shops did not open all hours and certainly not on Sundays.

When I visit supermarkets today and see people wheeling out trolleys laden with food, I am constantly amazed. I used to go shopping with my mother once a week for food. She carried a shopping basket and sometimes may have needed a carrier bag if it was a big shop. All shopping had to be carried home. To support my father’s firm (he was always totally loyal to his employer and even after 20 years’ retirement, we would always go first to the Co-op), we had to walk to the Co-op grocery store in High Road, Ilford – about a mile and a half each way. The store was at the top of Connaught Road. and on the next corner to the Co-op was Gilbey’s, the corn merchants. One has to remember that at this time, Ilford was still rural and Gilbey’s still supplied local farms! Of, course, both these stores were destroyed in the early Friday morning raid as described later. Neither was replaced.

Our shopping story, however, starts well before that time, when I was a small boy. The manager’s name was Harry Coe and, whereas the staff wore uniforms, he wore a suit and characteristic bow tie. He was a dapper man, slightly aloof and always well presented. Grocery shops were so different from present day stores and the pattern was the same, whatever the firm. The shop was long with two counters running the length on either side of the central aisle. One side was for provisions (ham, bacon, cheeses, butter, pork pies, etc). The other was for groceries (cans, packet goods, jams, dried fruits, etc). Behind the brown grocery counter were brown wooden fixtures containing the stock.

Assistants wore a dark blue, thick, long sleeved, button-up tunic over which they had a white apron. They wore white over-sleeves secured above the elbow by elastic inside the hem. The senior assistant was known as the First Hand and he was usually the deputy manager.

The provisions counter had marble tops, bacon slicers and china stands on which hams were placed. Ham was always carved from the bone. Butter was received in bulk and when a customer ordered a pound, the 35

assistant would use his butter pats (wooden flat blades that were ribbed and handled) to take off a chunk of butter from the large block that would weigh 20-30lbs. It would be placed on a piece of greaseproof paper and weighed. Then, with a few deft strokes, the assistant would beat it into a perfect block, wrap it and place it in the customer’s basket. Many items were received in bulk sacks. These included sugar, dried fruits (currants, sultanas etc) and it was the job of the shop boys to weigh out these items into thick blue or brown paper bags. Egg boxes didn’t exist. Eggs were displayed in large baskets and were ungraded. Customers would choose what they wanted and the eggs would be placed in an ordinary paper bag. Poor people would pay less for cracked eggs.

As with butcher’s shops, fresh sawdust was placed on the grocer’s floor each day by the shop boys who would sweep it up at night. The weighing scales were quite decorative. Tall with two brass pans suspended by brass rods, it was the job of the boys to polish all the brass including the brass weights.

These boys had to learn their trade thoroughly before they were allowed to serve customers. Strangely enough, butcher’s shops are similar to what they were 60-70 years ago. Other types of shop have virtually disappeared. For instance, oil shops that sold paraffin for heaters together with other hardware -–nails, screws, French-polishing liquids, loose turpentine, linseed oil, – have disappeared. Customers would bring their own bottles or containers for many liquids. There were no packaged goods as today. Nails, screws and tacks were sold by weight and other items like door hinges were sold individually. Bottles for poisonous or dangerous liquids were blue and, to warn blind people, were ribbed on the back.

Trades did not overlap as they do today and everyone kept to their particular business. Pubs sold beer and other types of drinks – and certainly not food, except for Inns who were obliged to provide sustenance. The current trend for pub meals developed only in the ’60s. The chemist (pharmacy) would make and dispense medicines, rolling pills and suppositories, mixing ointments on a tile. The doctor or pharmacist did not tell patients what they were being given. This probably dated from the time when prescriptions were written in Latin which the majority of patients did not understand. This practice has changed in recent years with the advent of proprietary medicines and the widening of medical knowledge through television and the press. In the past, medicines would be marked as ‘The Ointment’, ‘The Mixture’, ‘The Tablets’.

I can remember another unusual shop in Ilford High Road just along from the junction with Green Lane. A very old couple, Mr and Mrs Betteridge ran it. The shop was always dim with hardly anything on the shelves.

All they sold was their home-made pickles – pickled onions, pickled red cabbage and piccalilli. Outside, they had rough wooden tables on which they used to put some of their produce. They were one of my earliest recollections and only finished some time during or after the war – probably due to old age!

Another type of shop that has disappeared entirely were those that recharged accumulators. What were accumulators? You may well ask. In the early days of the ‘wireless’, accumulators were used to power radios. These were heavy glass jars containing sulphuric acid and two lead plates which acted as electrodes.

The accumulator generated an electric current sufficient to operate the wireless. They lost power after a time and needed to be recharged and this is where they had to be taken to a shop that had a charger.

I can remember my mother carrying our accumulators, which were quite heavy, to our local shop called Marments in Gordon Road. The owner was also the local cobbler who had a limp and wore a surgical boot.

He always had on a brown warehouse coat and apart from these two occupations, also mended bicycles.

Sometimes, he would have 20 or 30 accumulators on the floor, all linked to the same charger. As soon as electricity could be used to power radios, the writing was on the wall and accumulators were on the way out.

Having had this wander down memory lane, perhaps we should return to our new home in Mortlake Road.

Being new houses, all the residents moved in around the same time. We all got on well together. In those times, people were much more formal. Apart from children, christian names were not used. It was always Mr or Mrs. The advent of the war started to break down this formality as people developed a camaraderie through conflict. So at 374, we had Mr and Mrs Len Hawkes who had a daughter, Joan, who was a month 36

older than me. Mr Hawkes was the company secretary of Murex, a company based in Rainham, Essex. Their house, next to ours, was an end terrace and they had a garage. Before the war they bought a car, a Morris 8 which later was changed for a Morris 10. Such luxury! For a long time, theirs was the only car in the road.

Cars were not for the masses and occasionally they would take me out for the day.

Next to the Hawkes’ were Mr and Mrs Kettley (376) and at 378 were Mr and Mrs Plant. He worked at Fords at Dagenham. His daughter Margaret married and lived with her parents. Her husband worked for the local Abbey Building Society branch where he later became manager. In the other direction, Mr and Mrs Plummer lived at 370. They had a daughter, Rhoda, who was around eight years older than I was. Also, Mrs Plummer’s mother lived with them. She was a rather large elderly lady who always wore black. Wearing black was traditional for widows and had come down from Victorian times. One memory was that the Plummers used to wipe their floors with paraffin to kill ants and other insects. It was not a pleasant smell. The other interesting thing I remember was that they had a large snooker table that seemed to fill their dining room. It was used as a dining table but every so often the top would come off and it would be used for billiards and snooker.

Sometimes we were invited in to pay or watch.

Mr Plummer was a very thin, elderly man who worked in the Ilford Council depot in Ley Street. He would cycle to work daily, returning home for lunch. One should remember that, if the distance was feasible, it was usual for people to come home for lunch. Yet another job for the busy housewife who had to make sure that lunch was on the table at the appointed time! Mr and Mrs Plummer (she had been a schoolteacher) were committed Methodists and used to attend their church in Ilford Lane where he was also a lay preacher. We went to hear him once for an evening service. Mr Plummer was a very sincere man who would help anyone.

He was a wonderful neighbour.

Next to the Plummers were Mr and Mrs Coyle at 368. He was a retired ex-railway worker who went everywhere on his bike and seemed to be always wearing his cycle clips and boots. His wife was a nice lady and they had an ageing dog named Bob. They were at the opposite end of our terrace and their neighbours at 366 were Mr and Mrs Gray with a daughter, Jean, who was a little older than me. She later married a man from South Wales named Terry and they lived opposite in Henley Road. When Mr and Mrs Gray died, they moved into their parents’ home. Mr Gray was a car owner, having a Hillman Minx that had to be stored in his garage throughout the war. Like most drivers, he had no petrol ration as it was only available to doctors and emergency service workers.

At 364 were a Mr and Mrs Wynn, and at 362 were Mr and Mrs Millington who had a son, Peter, and was about three years older than me. I can remember that when I started school, I invited him home to tea, thinking it was the thing to do, much to my mother’s consternation. She had a few words in the right quarter and he didn’t come. I was advised that this was not to be repeated so I didn’t invite anyone else!

We moved into the house when I was four years of age. Apparently at that time I was a very poor eater so sometimes my mother would pack some sandwiches and take me to South Park where, watching the ducks, I would eat without realising it. Uncle Fred, Aunt Lily and cousins Joyce, Doris and John lived at 4, Frimley Road. Sometimes we would go to tea with them. It was always good to see them particularly as I was an only child; it was nice to have someone to play with. I always enjoyed John’s company and, on rare occasions, I would be invited to stay the night.

So what did I do as young boy? I had toys, of course, but never guns as my parents were opposed to killing.

Interestingly enough, my father had been a member of the 4th Ilford scouts, but later felt that the scouts were a military organisation so I was not allowed to join even after I had requested visits by scout masters to plead my case. When the Air Training Corps started I was not allowed to join that either.

I had a Meccano set and spent many hours constructing various models, some quite large. Sadly, my parents never thought to add to the basic set so that I could build bigger and better models. I would have loved a motor to make cranes or cars which worked. When the war started such toys were no longer 37

available. My father brought home old pattern books containing samples of men’s suiting materials and I used to spend time creating shop window displays.

My mother was quite a good pianist and sometimes we would spend a Sunday evening, in the front room, of course, when she would play various songs like, “Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop”, “Little Old Lady” and we would join in. I started to learn to play but wouldn’t practice although somehow I did pass a couple of exams. I feel that maybe, in some ways, my potential such as it may have been, was stunted as I was made to conform to unnecessary conventions. By this I mean that I was playing classical music and, having learned the piece, I would play it from memory. I was told that this was wrong.

Apparently one had to read the music and not play from memory. I could not understand why, even more so when I saw concert pianists play through a whole symphony without music! I found that I couldn’t put expression into the music if I had to be reading as I played. I was also interested in experimenting with chords and composing but this was also wrong. I should concentrate on scales and exercises but this was boring and I began to lose interest. There was music in the family as my three uncles, Fred, Bob and Jack all played and Uncle Jack belonged to a band at one time. Uncle Jack was quite a good composer but rarely played his compositions as he felt someone would steal them!

In my young days, I was rather chesty and apparently inclined to bronchitis. There were no antibiotics so conservative medicine was practised. I can remember that as a toddler I would have to go to bed with a kaoline poultice strapped to my chest. Hopefully it would not be too hot and, I presume that breathing in the vapours was beneficial. During the night it would tend to dry out and, as I moved, it would break up and the bed would be a mass of bits in the morning.

38

—3— Boyhood

W

e moved to the new house,

only a few months before my fifth birthday and I was due to start at South Park Infants School in Water Lane, Seven Kings. I was an only child and never been away from my parents. It is not surprising that I didn’t want to go. On the appointed day I was dressed in my new uniform – grey short trousers (normally boys did not wear long trousers until they were about 13) – grey shirt, blue and orange striped tie, navy blue blazer and cap both embroidered with an orange SP (South Park). As soon as I got near the school, I let it be known vocally that this was not such a good idea. In short, I yelled and yelled and yelled! My mother dragged me into the playground. The headmistress, a Miss Gill, heard the commotion and came out to try to quieten me but I was having none of it. I yelled even more. No efforts to pacify me made the slightest difference. Finally, Miss Gill told my mother to leave which she did, obviously very upset. I was dragged into the school still screaming, but I must have quietened down after my mother left. There were no school lunches in those days so my mother had to collect me at lunchtime and return me afterwards. The same performance happened again. This was repeated each day for probably a week until I had accepted the situation.

In retrospect, I suppose this behaviour was not surprising. I was an only child and not used to being with other children. I had always been with my mother and not with strangers. Neither was I accustomed to being with a group or being a team member. I was totally out of my depth sitting in a classroom at a desk next to another child I did not know, with an adult (teacher) who was telling me what to do. Well it was an impossible set of circumstances, wasn’t it?

Before going further, perhaps I should describe a school in 1936. South Park School had been built in the early 1900s and had large, high classrooms. There was no adequate central heating so each classroom had a coal fire. The caretaker was a Mr Cottis who lived in a house within the school grounds. He was an older man with grey hair, stooping shoulders and a ‘moochers’ moustache. I never remember seeing him smile.

He always wore a blue boiler suit and could be seen loping round the school with a bucket and mop to clean up after the children. It was his job to clean out all the fire places, lay the fires, light them before the children arrived and fill the coal scuttles – quite a task. He also had to clean the toilets which were in the open air across the other side of the playground. If it was raining, the children had to run across the playground and get wet. In addition, Mr Cottis was responsible for the general cleanliness of the school and playgrounds.

The walls of the school were tiled inside in brown and there was an assembly hall where we were summoned by the headmistress ringing a large brass hand bell.

Attached to the Infants was the Junior School, where pupils would attend from about the age of nine until they left, having taken the Scholarship examination. At the morning playtime, we would all have a bottle of milk (1/3 of a pint) and a straw. In the winter, it would be placed in front of the fire to warm as the milk could be very cold or even frozen. If frozen, the milk would expand out of the bottle and sometimes there would be column of frozen milk with the cap still on the top. It was again Mr Cottis’ job to carry the crates of milk to all the classrooms. The children sat, two at a desk in rows, with the teacher at a high desk in front, facing the class. The day would start with a general assembly of the school followed by the register being called in each classroom. If a child did not attend, the School Board man would call at their home to find the reason and ensure future attendance.

It was on my first day at school that I made my first faux pas. I remember it was in the afternoon and the teacher gave us a sheet of thick brown paper and some pastels. We were asked to draw a golliwog. Having filled my page, I picked it up and promptly wiped it round the face of the boy next to me. The teacher was not amused and I got a good telling off. I had made my mark – literally!

39

In trying to find my parameters in this new world, I decided to fight the other children, but they were tougher than I was, so I soon dropped that idea. One such boy was a Bill Gunary, a big strong lad, whose father was a farmer. Interesting to note that there was a farm sufficiently close to South Park School to enable a farmer’s son to attend, but then I remember a farm at the junction of Breamore Road and Goodmayes Lane. One would have to travel many miles from the school to find a farm now.

After a couple of weeks, I began to settle down and even enjoy the disciplining of the mind and the new challenges. School was not so bad after all. My mother had four journeys to and from the school each day which was about four miles to walk and must have made it difficult for her routine, particularly as she had to arrange for a lunch to be ready when she fetched me. It is interesting that all children walked to school and back twice a day. Mothers didn’t take and fetch them in cars (cars were rare) and I think the children were better for it.

The world was different then. Britain had an Empire and I still have an atlas of the period where one can see the extent of the pink (British Empire) covering the world. Not only did the British have a standing in the world, but in so many countries we laid down the standards for parliamentary government and the rule of law much of which still exists in the new Commonwealth. Schools were patriotic. We were taught how great our country was; to be proud of it; how to sing the National Anthem; how our flag was made up and once a year, on the 24 May, Empire Day was celebrated. The children took Union Jacks to school and we would march round the playground. The rest of the day would be a holiday. What a pity we have lost that patriotism.

It somehow gives a unifying factor to a country as witnessed by the war, Churchill’s funeral, the death of the Queen Mother etc. I am proud to be English and perhaps it is this background which led me to join The Royal Society of St George in which we support our patriotic duty to our sovereign and to our country.

As I have mentioned previously, there were few cars or lorries at this time and a lot of transport employed the horse. I have always had a healthy respect for horses. They are much bigger and stronger than us and my mother probably did not help. She would tell me to be careful and keep clear of horses as you may get kicked. I think her father had been kicked which is not surprising as he spent most of his life with horses.

When I was young, it was not that unusual to find horses bolting. Sometimes when pulling a cart, the horse would be frightened and would take off. It is quite unnerving to see a horse and cart careering out of control along a road with or without a driver. I can remember one incident quite clearly. In those days, two-wheel water carts were quite common. These carried fresh water round the town and the water cart was like a large cylinder on a special chassis. The cylinder was at right angles to the fore and aft axis of the cart e.g. the flat ends were parallel with the wheels. The cart with driver was pulled by a horse. I was about six, in South Park Drive where it meets Water Lane at a T-junction. A bolting horse pulling a water cart was charging down Water Lane careering madly from side to side in the road. We could see it coming but didn’t know how to get out of the way. When it reached the junction, it swerved right and fortunately didn’t overturn but, the change of direction, had the effect of slowing it virtually to a halt. Thank goodness there was no other traffic on the road at the time. A few moments later the driver appeared. He had been thrown off further up Water Lane. I had a few nightmares after that.

Having already made some mention of health, it is worth while stressing that in the 1930s, medicine was quite basic compared with today. Life expectancy was lower as treatments were not so far advanced.

Surgery and anaesthetics could almost be called crude by comparison – techniques were much less developed, and anaesthetics were still at the ether/chloroform pad stage with no heart or respiration monitoring equipment.

Even an appendectomy (appendix removal) was high risk. A friend, Keith Stoodley who lived in South Park Drive, had appendicitis when he was about 12 or 13. He was off from school for six weeks and it was touch and go whether he survived. These days it is regarded as a relatively simple operation with the patient recovering in a matter of days.

In terms of drugs, antibiotics did not exist so there was no real cover for infection and one tended to rely on 40

the body’s natural defences for recovery. In conditions like tuberculosis, patients were taken to sanatoria where they would spend their time in bed on open-air balconies and this would last for months on end, sometimes 1 or 2 years. Those who could afford it would go to Switzerland where the mountain air was held to be more beneficial.

Perhaps a personal example may give some reflection of those times. When I was very young, I developed an abscess on the back of my left leg in the muscle below the knee. My mother took me to our doctor, a Dr.Garden, whose surgery was on the corner of Goodmayes Road and Castleton Road, Goodmayes. Dr Garden had been an Indian Army doctor and these doctors were used to working in difficult circumstances and taking decisive measures. In this case, having examined my leg, he got my mother to hold me firmly, got out a scalpel and promptly stuck it in my leg and lanced it. I made an uneventful recovery but still have the scar. I was told that if he hadn’t taken such prompt action, my leg may have been in danger. One finds it difficult to imagine a G.P. today carrying out such a procedure.

Probably because there was no definitive treatments for many conditions, people used to try to maintain certain routines for health. One of these concerned their bowels! My parents would take a laxative every week to keep themselves regular and my father used to start the day with a glass of fizzy Andrews Liver Salts. When I was young, before I could join this regimen, I would receive, if even slightly constipated, the ‘soap treatment’. This consisted of my mother taking a thin sliver of soap and pushing it up my back passage. I suppose this may have been the fore-runner to the modern soapy enema. It had the effect but was hardly pleasant. When older, it was a case every Friday evening, just before bed, of sitting in my dressing gown and having to drink a glass of warm milk containing a teaspoonful of castor oil which formed globules on the top and smelt and tasted awful. Later, I graduated to Californian Syrup of Figs which was quite pleasant. My parents took Beecham’s Pills, which were little pills covered in a yellow powder, and four were supplied in a small twist of paper. These were very widely used.

One hears these days much discussion on the merits of vaccinations for measles, chickenpox, etc. When I was young these vaccinations did not exist and, like most children, I had the usual ailments. Mumps was treated by keeping the neck warm with a lint or scarf bandage; chicken pox by using calamine lotion on the spots to calm the irritation and measles by staying in bed. Measles was, as far as I was concerned, the worst as it affected my eyes badly. I could not stand light and my bedroom had to have the curtains drawn throughout the day. Every morning my eyes were so crusted that it was impossible to open them until my mother had bathed them in warm boracic solution (a sort of antiseptic and usually used for eyes) which softened the crust so that it could be removed. Even after the measles went, I retained the eye problem to a lesser degree as blepharitis until I was in my late teens working at the Maudsley Hospital when one of the doctors I knew well, noticed it and gave me some penicillin eye ointment. After having had this blepharitis for around 14 years, it was gone in a couple of days which shows how useful it would have been if we had had antibiotics when I was young.

Surgery at Home After we moved to Mortlake Road, we changed our doctor to a Dr Morton who lived at the corner of our road and South Park Drive. He had his surgery in a separate, purpose-built building at the bottom of his garden.

(After he left and following the war, the owners sold off the surgery and it became a small bungalow).

Anyway, I had a number of colds and, as it was apparently the fashion at that time, Dr. Morton felt that I should have my tonsils and adenoids removed. A few days in hospital? Not so simple. My parents decided that they didn’t want me to go into hospital – they didn’t like those places – so they agreed I should have them out at home and on our dining table! Of course, I was not privy to these decisions.

The first I knew was one morning when I got up and was told not to get dressed ‘yet’. The curtains in the house remained drawn so it was quite gloomy for May. My mother stayed in bed and my father was downstairs. I was told to stay upstairs and about 8.00am there was a knock at the door. My father opened it and admitted a woman. There was a brief conversation (I was peeping from the top of the stairs in my 41

pyjamas) and they disappeared into the kitchen. I heard saucepans being got out and it sounded as if they were being filled with water and put on the gas stove. All very mysterious. What was going on? Later, another knock at the door. My father opened it and two men came in and they all went into our dining room where there were sounds of movement and some talking between these people.

My father then called me to come downstairs and I recognised our doctor. The other man I didn’t know and the lady was a nurse (so I was later told as I had never seen a nurse before). I believe they said they wanted to examine me and I was hoisted on to our dining room table which had a sheet on it and a pillow. I began to smell a rat and decided that I didn’t want any part of this game particularly when Dr. Morton began to pour some liquid into some white lint which was fixed to a circular steel ring. This ring of sweet smelling liquid was brought to cover my nose and mouth. It was too big for my face and the steel ring pressed against my forehead and disappeared under my chin. They were all holding me and asking me to breathe in. No way.

This was frightening. Nothing like this had happened to me before. I didn’t like it so I put up a fight. I don’t know for how long but I was against impossible odds.

The next thing I remember was waking up in my bed with my mother sitting beside me. She must have got up after the operation started – I don’t think she could bear to witness the proceedings. She told me that I had had my tonsils and adenoids taken out by a Dr Beatty (an FRCS who practised as a GP in Ilford Lane).

Many years later I was to call on him when I was a medical representative. He was a lovely chap, Irish with a great sense of humour. He had been assisted by Dr Morton and a nurse. The nurse had arrived early so that she could boil up the instruments in our saucepans on our gas stove. Of course, none of this would be allowed today. The boiling of instruments would not be accepted as efficient sterilisation and chloroform (the anaesthetic) is banned but, of course, we are talking about the ’30s! Likewise I don’t think such a home procedure would be acceptable and I don’t think any of the modern “child do-gooders” would approve of the way I was manhandled, let alone the psychological trauma of the experience.

My mother having told me about the operation, I got quite upset and started to cry. This was not good news as I was still bleeding in my throat. She asked whether I had any pain. No. Well, could she get me anything?

Yes, I wanted to see my tonsils. I was told that they had been thrown away. Another scene! She said she would ask the nurse who, I later gathered, was still clearing up. A little while later, my mother appeared with my adenoids and tonsils wrapped in an old newspaper. I had a good look at this bloody, gristly-looking mess before my mother wrapped it up again and returned it to the dustbin.

The upside of this was the doctors had recommended that I be given ice cream as this would help to cool my throat and speed healing. Every time an ice-cream man came by ringing his bell, my mother dashed out (I think she had developed a guilt complex) to buy me another ice cream. I didn’t mind in the least! Perhaps I should mention that, as there were no domestic fridges, ice cream sellers came regularly on their tricycles – they had a large insulated box on two wheels – and they would pedal round the streets ringing their cycle bells and calling, “Walls Ices” or “Dicky Birds” or whatever. A Walls water ice (in different flavours) cost 1/2d, an ice cream cornet 1d and the ultimate in luxury was a Dicky Bird’s Choc Ice on a stick which cost 2d. In old money, 2.4d is equal to 1p so you can see a 2d ice cream is less than 1p today.

The outcome of all this was an uneventful recovery and I was soon back to my normal food. I don’t think I have any residual after effects although I was not keen on the idea of anaesthetics.

Dentistry Whilst talking of medical procedures and the like, all children were subject to teeth examinations and required to visit the school dentist. I believe that these visits were an annual event and the children were notified through the school. The dental surgery was attached to Mayfield School in Goodmayes Road, Goodmayes, which was quite a long walk from where we lived. Of course, in those days dentistry was nowhere as advanced as it is today. The dentist’s drill was comparatively crude being attached to a black cantilever frame. The drive was powered by an elasticated cord. The speed was variable but quite slow 42

compared to today’s equipment. This meant that drilling took considerably longer with quite a lot of vibration. Dental anaesthetics were basically ‘cocaine’ being rubbed on the gum and/or injection, and Nitrous Oxide gas (Laughing Gas). ‘Cocaine’ became quite a generic term associated with extractions – “I always have cocaine”.

Dental fillings were not that common and were not as sophisticated as we know them. Having fillings were painful as often anaesthetics were not used and the dentist could drill down and hit the nerve with the patient being picked off the ceiling! There was virtually no choice in types of fillings. Cappings and root fillings as we know them were unheard of. Probably because of the pain involved and the long term uncertainty of the procedures, most patients, and certainly my parents, did not believe in fillings. If one developed toothache, one would bear it as long as possible by using pain killers and applying oil of cloves or brandy locally, and then have the tooth out. With this attitude, it must have been difficult for the dental profession to develop and improve their techniques of tooth conservation.

It is not surprising that dentists got a bad reputation and even today the fear persists with some patients, probably as the result of parental influence. Another interesting comparison is that in those days, dentistry was not ‘bloodless’ as it is virtually today. It was quite usual, if going for an extraction, to take handkerchiefs or a piece of cloth and it was common to see patients leaving a dental surgery holding a bloody cloth to their face.

Having teeth out became quite a cult. In fact, people would have teeth out even if there was no need. It reached the ultimate where some actually had all their teeth out as a 21st birthday present! They then had to spend the rest of their lives struggling with the inconvenience of false teeth. I have always cared for my teeth with regular checks and, where necessary, treatment. As a result, I did not have my first extraction until I was 70, so it pays to take care.

Back to my schoolboy situation. No, I did not look forward to the visit to the dentist because of the bad publicity even though, like all the other children, I was taken by my mother. Dental chairs were hard, basic and did not tip back as they do today. Of course, as children we only had milk teeth so our problems were not so great, but children did eat more sweets so there were greater problems with decay. Fortunately, my teeth were fairly healthy and I can only remember having one extraction of a milk tooth. Following a routine inspection, an appointment was made for treatment.

The school surgery was about two miles from home so we walked as it was not easily accessible by bus.

My mother had promised me a toy as an incentive. On entering the surgery, a doctor checked my chest with his stethoscope and I sat in the chair. There was a nurse present and I can remember the dentist came from behind and placed something soft (a mask) over my face and I was told to breath in. Memories of the tonsillectomy experience flooded back so I tried not to breathe in, but lost the battle! I felt my head seeming to expand and just as it was about to burst, everything went black. I came to in an ante room leaning over a large sink in the middle of which was a red glass cube with its sides about 1 foot square and deep. Water flowed over it and it was red in colour so that one could not see the blood as one washed their mouth out.

Having rinsed my mouth, I was then taken back to the waiting room to an anxious mother, reunited and clutching that white handkerchief to my mouth, we left and walked back home. I can remember that I was a little ‘woozy’ at the beginning but it wore off and, by the time I reached home, the bleeding had stopped. My reward was no school that day and the promised toy which was a celluloid (a forerunner of plastics) wind-up roundabout.

Recreation Perhaps we should take this opportunity, after that somewhat gory episode, of speaking of more pleasant matters before returning to the schooling. How did people spend their spare time? Free time was spent at or near home. It was quite usual for people to work locally without having to travel long distances – well, 43

there weren’t many cars, so one went by bicycle, bus or train. There were few theatres and eating out was virtually non-existent. Restaurants were rare and ‘disposable income’ was unknown. Wives didn’t work so, where possible, the men folk would come home to lunch.

Evenings were spent gardening and some men had allotments where they would grow vegetables to assist the household budget. My father grew tomatoes in his greenhouse and also cucumbers, lettuces and spring onions. We (often me) used to collect horse manure which was easy to obtain in the roads as horses were used so much by trades people. My father would put it around plants and some in an old watering can. This would be filled with water and left for two or three months. For use, some of the liquid would be poured into another watering can which was then filled with water. This diluted feed would be fed to the tomatoes and we had wonderful crops of full-flavoured tomatoes as well as good-sized lettuces and other crops.

Home decorating was common although the materials were a lot different. Paints and varnishes were quite slow-drying. Emulsion paint didn’t exist as there were no plastics so one had Distemper which was a waterbased paint used principally for ceilings, as walls were papered. Unfortunately, Distemper was not that easy to use. It showed brush marks, did not cover particularly well and if it got marked, these marks couldn’t be eliminated by brushing over the top as they would show. Other than whitewash (whitening powder in water) which tended to peel off after a time.

Sport was not that common. There were golf courses, but they were not for the ordinary individual and used mostly by the professional classes and senior business people. There were tennis clubs and public courts in parks along with cricket clubs, bowling greens, football clubs and so on. My parents did not belong to any of these, and our main recreation and exercise was walking round the streets looking at other people’s homes and gardens or going to the local parks.

Much recreation took place in the home. I have previously mentioned that there were wireless(es) later known as radio(s) which became very popular as they became more widely owned. The news, plays, sport, music and entertainment with singers like Gracie Fields, Harry Hemsley with ‘Horace’, the Ink Spots etc, were listened to avidly. Many homes had a piano and evenings would be spent listening or singing popular songs. Hobbies were popular from jig-saw puzzles to stamp collecting. Reading was probably the most common pastime and the public library was always in great demand. The Ilford Public Library was in Oakfield Road and had a vast selection of books. In those days one spoke in a whisper in the library and even the staff spoke likewise. The staff were of a type: neat, tidy, well-educated, precise and conservatively dressed.

It was considered a ‘good’ job to have. Librarians were considered knowledgeable and, after all, knowledge is power!

The Library opened at 10am (another status symbol) and was closed on Wednesdays. If books were late back, one was charged 1d (less than 1p) per week. To join, one had to complete an application form and get someone to vouch for you. To keep the library looking standardised, the original covers (there were no soft covers, only hard) were removed and the books re-bound in brown, blue or dark green with the spines having a leather look. I think it was felt that a potential reader should not be influenced by the look of the cover. Once I could read, I was always borrowing books; all the William Books, Biggles, Sanders of the River, Edgar Wallace (detective/murder) and so on.

Apart from the public libraries, there were private libraries which, in effect, were shops which hired books.

The charge was a few pence per book per week. They had the advantage of stocking the popular ranges and, because of the fewer borrowers, it was often easier to obtain the book one wanted. Boots the Chemist used to have a lending library in all its main shops and was very popular. It ceased in or around the ’60s because it was not a very profitable venture.

Socialising was uncommon as people tended ‘to keep themselves to themselves’. Neighbours were on surname terms and the use of Christian names was rare and, if used at all, only because the privilege had been earned over a long period of time. Even after 30 years and the war, which was the great leveller, my 44

parents were invariably known as ‘Mr and Mrs Parrish’ except for the Plummers next door and Bernard and Ivy Coyle over the road.

Back to School It is interesting to consider one’s school days as the world was less developed compared with today. For example, there were no school radios, televisions, videos, computers, calculators or other visual or communication aids, so common today. Teaching was done by the use of blackboards and chalk, books and learning by sheer rote. The class would recite the alphabet and multiplication tables until, at least the majority, knew them. With reading, we had to learn the sounds and then make them into words.

It so happens that I still have four school reports for July 1938, July 1939, and July and December1941 (the war meant no regular school in 1940). The public get very concerned with class sizes of 30+ these days and yet three of my reports give two class sizes of 50 and one of 48 children. No one complained in those days and we all seemed to learn quite well. I believe that the July 1938 report was the first one issued when I was seven. Although I had 79 marks out of a possible 90, I was 14th in a class of 50 pupils so the teaching must have been to a high standard. I learned to read early and at that age scored 19 out of 20 for reading and 10 out of 10 for dictation with composition receiving 9 out of 10. A year later I came 23rd out of 48 even though my total marks were 85.5%. In my final report for December 1941 covered 12 subjects. I totalled 277 marks out of a possible 320 (86.5%) coming 5th out of 50 children.

The early reports show the subjects as Reading, Numbers, Writing & Composition, Spelling and General English, so it can be seen that the attention was on the three Rs (Reading, ’Riting, ’Rithmetic). The last two reports in the senior school covered 12 subjects as the pupils developed so the progression can be seen towards academic subjects.

One has to remember that with no calculators, mental and written arithmetic were the only options in those days. Apart from multiplication tables, children had to learn different types of measures, as metric was not known at general level. It may be interesting for future generations to look at some of these archaic systems which had to be committed to memory.

Long Measure: 12 inches made 1 foot; 3 feet made 1 yard; 5 yards made 1 rod, pole or perch; 40 poles made 1 furlong; 8 furlongs or 1,760 yards made 1 mile and 3 miles made 1 league. The term furlong still survives as a distance in horse racing.

Sea (Nautical) Measure: 6 feet made 1 fathom; 15 feet made 1 chain; 100 fathoms made 1 cable’s length and 10 cable’s length made 1 sea mile.

Dry Measure: 4 gills made 1 pint; 2 pints made 1 quart; 2 quarts made 1 pottle; 4 quarts made 1 gallon; 2 gallons made 1 peck; 4 pecks made 1 bushel; 8 bushels made 1 quarter; 2 bushels made 1 strike; 4 bushels made 1 coomb; 2 coombs made 1 quarter; 36 bushels made 1 chaldron; 5 quarters made 1 wey or loa and 2 weys made 1 last.

Land or Square Measure: 144 sq.inches made 1 sq.foot; 9 sq.feet made 1 sq.yard; 30 sq.yards made 1 rod, pole or perch; 40 rods, poles or perches made 1 rood; 4 roods or 4,340 sq.yards made 1 acre and 640 acres made 1 sq.mile.

Avoirdupois Weight: 16 drams made 1ounce(oz); 16 ounces made 1 pound(lb); 14 pounds made 1 stone; 28 pounds made 1 quarter(qtr); 4 quarters or 112 pounds made 1 hundredweight (cwt) and 20 hundredweights made 1 ton.

I have not included the above measures to bore you, the reader, but to include them for posterity. It was not just a matter of learning such measures but how to use them in practice that became difficult e.g. converting 45

30 gills into pints and quarts. If you think the above difficult, English currency was not only difficult for us but visitors to this country found it virtually impossible. Let us look at our pre-decimal money as follows with the lowest denomination being a farthing. 2 farthings (1/4d) made 1 halfpenny(1/2d); 2 halfpennies made one penny(1d); 3 pennies made 1 threepenny bit; 2 threepenny bits made 1 sixpence; 2 sixpences made 1 shilling (1s); 2 shillings made 1 florin; 2 shillings and sixpence made half a crown (2/6d); 2 half crowns made 1 crown; 2 crowns or 4 half crowns made one 10 shilling note; 2x10 shilling notes made 1 pound (£1), and finally one pound and one shilling made a guinea (still used in horse racing today).

To use this system, we had three columns of figures – Pounds (£), Shillings (s) and Pence (d) shown as £.s.d.

When adding money, one started with the pence column and having added them up they had to be divided by 12 to convert the pence to shillings which were carried forward to the shillings column. The shillings column was added and divided by 20 to convert to pounds. The pounds were carried forward and the spare shilling retained. The pounds were then added. One could end with, for example, £234.19s.73/4 (2 hundred and 34 pounds, 19 shillings and seven pence and three farthings). If you think addition is complicated imagine trying to subtract one sum from another or even dividing the above example by 4! Another mind stretcher would be to work out the VAT (value added tax) of 17.5% on the above example. (To help with the latter, books of tables were used). I am sure that the reader will be delighted that we changed to decimal currency in 1971.

Some of the other items which were considered as general knowledge which children were expected to learn were notable dates applicable mainly to our country. These were principally the better known dates in history covering the reigns of kings and queens along with battles and the births and deaths of famous people, e.g. Shakespeare.

Another rather unusual item was abbreviations. These included military decorations (V.C. – Victoria Cross etc), academic qualifications (M.A. – Master of Arts etc), civil honours (M.B.E. – Member of the Order of the British Empire) together with many miscellaneous abbreviations from A.A. (Automobile Association) to V.R. (Victoria Regina-Queen Victoria). Although these may seem totally irrelevant in everyday living, it is surprising how useful they have been. If one comes across a name followed by C.M.G. one doesn’t have to look it up (where?) or wonder what it stands for. One knows that the person is a Companion of St Michael and St George. Maybe the modern attitude would be that this is useless information or irrelevant in today’s world.

Perhaps they are right but it was a good learning excercise and certainly helped to train the memory.

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—4— Life at Home

I

n retrospect,

my early life had certain ‘natural’ divisions. The first was infancy and moving to Mortlake Road prior to starting school, the second was school until evacuation in 1939, the third was evacuation and the war years with the fourth being my remaining school years until I left to start my adult life in 1947.

We have already reviewed the start of the second phase at South Park School which should have covered the period from the age of five until eleven had it not been interrupted by the war, which started when I was eight. The span from five until eight covered the childhood illnesses and my early school days, but I should mention that this was a happy time. I could read books, play with Meccano and other toys, I started going to parties and having birthday parties at home. Mark you, I was not always good. My father had a cane and on occasions would chase me with it although I can’t really remember him ever catching me and giving me the threatened resounding whack. I did have a specific refuge though. It was under the dining room table when it was impossible for him to get a swing at me. I would stay there until it was safe to emerge – either his mood had softened or my mother had negotiated on my behalf.

Although we did not have a great deal of money – my father earned only about £4 a week, but my mother held the purse strings. Nothing was wasted, whether it was food, household goods or clothes to be mended.

Even old underclothes and shirts finished up as dusters and dishcloths. Because of this natural thrift, all bills were paid on time and each week she would put a calculated amount in various envelopes to cover gas, electricity, rates, water. The system worked well and I used it when we first got married. My mother always had a surplus to cover unexpected items and holidays. Sometimes, she would buy something and my father would ask where she got the money from. Her answer became almost a household joke as she would reply that it came out of her ‘overs’.

These ‘overs’ enabled us to have a holiday every year whereas most families couldn’t afford one and would perhaps only have the occasional day at the seaside. A forthcoming holiday was looked forward to with great excitement. We had a trunk which had to be packed with clothes that had been specially washed, aired and ironed along with towels ( we stayed in boarding houses and towels, soap etc were not supplied).

When the trunk was finally closed on the Friday, it would be collected by the railway company (cost 1/- or 5p in decimal currency) for delivery to our holiday address. We would invariably travel on the Sunday, as my father had to work on Saturdays, so sandwiches had to be packed for the journey along, with a Thermos of tea. It was the usual thing for everyone travelling to take whatever they needed for their journey The supreme excitement of travelling on a train with the banging of the carriage doors, the shrill blast of the guard’s whistle and the smell of the smoke, was only matched by the prospect of where we were going.

What would it be like? What would our accommodation be like? Would we have good food? What would the beach and sea be like? All these questions were eagerly discussed. I can always remember when we were travelling west, somewhere down the line there was an advertising sign in a field. There were two tall cut-outs of men dressed as decorators walking with a scaffold board between their shoulders. The board advertised Halls Distemper but most importantly, it said, “You are now approaching the West Country”. That meant we were really on our holiday journey and my excitement increased. I always looked for that sign with anticipation.

When we arrived at the station, we would have to find the way to our address, but the walk only added to the thrill and we didn’t have any hand baggage so that was not a problem. On arrival, our trunk would be in the hall or, if we were lucky, in our room. Such was the service in those days that trunks were collected one day and delivered the next. On our return the trunk would be collected on the Saturday and delivered to home on the Monday morning.

47

Our holiday destinations varied. I can vaguely remember probably my first holiday when I was perhaps two or three. We went to Great Yarmouth and I can still picture the bathing machines. Those Victorian devices like sheds on cart wheels which were pushed into the sea and enabled bathers to undress in privacy before entering directly into the water. My parents always used to recount one story which apparently took place on that train journey to Great Yarmouth. Apparently, the carriage was full and something was said about the seaside when I shouted out in a loud voice, “I want my bugger and spade”. My parents were horrified as people were a lot more staid in those days. I hasten to say that I was learning to talk and ‘bucket’ was a bit beyond me at that time.

One holiday which was a disaster was at Weston-super-Mare. The boarding house was sparse, the food was even sparser and it rained every day. Guests were expected to go out after breakfast and not return until the evening. Boarding houses didn’t have a lounge. One just had their bedroom and the dining room.

The other guests at this place were equally as upset as my parents and notes would be left on the mantelpiece in the dining room concerning the quantity and quality of the food. It didn’t make any difference. My mother and father had a discussion and we left after the first week having told the landlady that it wasn’t satisfactory.

We had to pack the trunk and return home.

This was a great disappointment and when we got back, my father contacted a Mrs Jones in Herne Bay where we had stayed before. We stayed before and fortunately she had a vacancy so we sent the trunk on as soon as it arrived home. We liked Herne Bay and Mrs Jones was very genuine. She and her husband moved out of their bedroom into a shed (yes, literally) in the garden in which they slept when they had guests.

She used to cook the most delightful eggs and bacon for breakfast. In fact, I can still smell that bacon now.

It was different to any that I have ever had. Their house was on the edge of the town with a field behind.

Mr Jones had quite a large garden and used to grow his own vegetables as well as masses of flowers.

Yours truly nearly met his end when staying there. I must have been very young because I had a cot in my parents’ room. I remember one night I was put to bed and it was still light. The curtains were drawn but the evening sun penetrating through them meant that the room was bright and I was not very sleepy so I decided to investigate my surroundings. I stood up in the cot and holding on the side, reached up to a ring that was on a chain. I pulled it but what I didn’t know was that this house did not have electricity but only gas lighting. By pulling the ring, I had turned on the gas which didn’t light as the gas mantle had to be lit manually. Fortunately, my parents came up a few minutes later just to see if I was alright when they smelt the gas and saw that the gas was on. The gas was turned off and the windows opened. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, I could have been in real trouble. Coal gas was dangerous and, in fact, was a common means of committing suicide by causing carbon monoxide poisoning.

One other major event occurred in this period which, in many ways, was to change and affect all our lives.

This was in 1938. One morning in September, my father, who was always incredibly healthy, became unwell.

He couldn’t get up, had a headache and a temperature. He had a pain in his right elbow which became inflamed and throbbed. The doctor was called and, remembering that there were no antibiotics in those days, the treatment would probably have been aspirin to lower the temperature and reduce the pain.

He didn’t improve and was admitted to Oldchurch Hospital, Romford on 18 September 1938. They diagnosed cellulitis an infection in the right elbow region and it was sufficiently acute for the surgeon to operate on 19 September with a further operation on 30 September. An X-ray had revealed a loss of bone in the elbow region. Further incisions were made on 4 November. The infection had spread resulting in some infection around the kidney. Fortunately this resolved itself but it did indicate his serious condition.

Of course my mother was very worried. We had never been left alone before. She had to visit him in hospital twice a week to see him weak and in pain.

An X-ray on 16 February 1939 showed that the condition had progressed to osteomyelitis invading the bones of the right arm including the elbow (osteomyelitis is an infection of the bone which gradually 48

disintegrates). The elbow joint became ankylosed (locked) in a position of around 110 degrees. He could attend to his personal needs, but had this for the rest of his life.

My father was discharged at this time having been in hospital for about 5 months. I had not seen him all that time as children were not allowed to visit. The nearest I got was to wave from outside the hospital railings and that was only once. My mother used to visit regularly and take him something tasty to alleviate the hospital food. I used to be asked to buy some freshly cut ham from a corner shop, Borehams, opposite Aunt Lily’s house in Frimley Road. Mr Boreham was a sick man and couldn’t always work. He had breathing problems having been gassed in the First World War. I now have to make an admission for the first time. Four ounces of ham cost 4d (2p in decimal currency) and the smell of ham off the bone was so inviting that I used to undo the bag and have some. I don’t know whether my mother ever guessed or wondered if she got short measure.

My father returned home with his arm in a sling and my mother had to dress the wound three times a day.

In the early days, this meant applying a kaolin poultice to draw out the infection. There were four sinuses (holes!) in the arm from the elbow to near the wrist and each time the poultice was removed, it had large amounts of pus from the sinuses. Apart from that, it was red and raw – not a pretty sight. My mother had to bathe his arm with Dettol antiseptic, replace the poultices and bandage the arm. This was done every day without fail and after a time fragments of bone started to appear and she had to use small forceps, enter the wound and manoeuvre the pieces of bone out of the sinuses. I supposed I got used to the procedure and at times was called on to help.

At the time my father was earning £4.15s.6d (£4.75) per week as manager of the Ilford branch of the London Co-op clothing and outfitting department which was next to the Regal cinema. He was paid in full for 3 months, then half-pay for one month. After that, the Co-op gave him a few shillings a week but my parents still had the mortgage to pay plus the usual bills and we needed to eat. Times were hard. My father did belong to an insurance organisation called the National Deposit Friendly Society which had a branch in Ilford Lane. This was a mile each way and we had to walk there each Thursday evening to collect his sick pay which would have been about £1.50. I can remember the place well. It was a converted shop, high with dark brown counter and fittings and brownish walls – probably hadn’t been decorated for 30 years or so. The whole place had an air of utter despondency and when you went in, the shop bell gave a loud ‘ding’. The office was empty and after a while there were footsteps from the rear as Mr. Thurston, the manager, appeared.

He was a thin man in a faded blue suit, a quiff of white hair in the grey, and a cigarette in his mouth. I don’t think I ever saw him without it. The whole place smelt of stale tobacco smoke. I am not sure about the lights but I believe they were gas from the yellowish glow. So this was the Thursday evening routine. Even if it was pouring with rain, we still had to go.

In short, my parents desperately needed the money. I am not sure, but I think my mother did have some savings probably from her ‘overs’, and I think they had to go to the Building Society regarding their mortgage repayments but I don’t know the details. Of course one has to remember at that time women did not go out to work and if they did, it was a reflection that the husband who could not provide for his family. But when needs must. My father approached the Co-op to see if he could get a job for my mother on a part-time basis. Whilst there was nothing permanent, she did later get a job at weekends at the Co-op Departmental Store at Romford. The store manager, a Mr Rothwell, accepted her but grudgingly. Later, when the war had started and the male shop assistants were being called up for military service, women started to infiltrate into the male preserves and, of course, during the war they did invaluable service in shops, factories, local government and so on. She later worked at the Co-op men’s outfitters in Cranbrook Road, Ilford.

My mother had another string to her bow. She was very good at sewing and I can remember from my early days that she would do the alterations brought home by my father from the shop. These included shortening or lengthening trouser turn-ups or coat sleeves, taking in or letting out waists and other items needing adjustment. Usually, my father would bring the ‘alterations’ home in the evening and she would do them and he would take them back next day. I don’t know what she was paid but it must have helped.

49

My father was home all day and every day. What did he do? Of course, in 1938 and the first six months or so of 1939, I was at school all day. He being an active individual must have been very frustrated in watching other people go off to work and carrying on a normal family life whilst he had to sit around all day with little income. He did take up stamp collecting – very much on a shoestring. In fact, I am not sure how he came by it. I remember on one occasion, we were both in Ilford Lane and he saw some stamps he particularly wanted. He bought the packet for 3d and I was told that on no account should I tell my mother.

All this time his arm was being dressed several times a day and pieces of bone were still being carefully removed by my mother. The muscles in his right upper arm began to atrophy as, with a rigid elbow, they could not be used. My father who was right handed had to learn to use his left hand and this was mastered although in later years, he began to use his right hand again.

Then something happened which made a great difference to his life and it made a great difference to mine although I didn’t realise it at the time. Very often one is gently nudged into experiences which seem insignificant at the time but, at some future time you realise that the experience didn’t happen by chance. So it was here.

In Ilford High Road, roughly opposite the Roman Catholic Church, was a shop called Trunktown, which sold trunks and suitcases. It was owned by a Mr and Mrs Branscombe. My father knew them as he managed the Co-op Outfitters further down on the other side by the Regal Cinema as they were local traders. My father talked to everyone, knew everyone and was liked by everyone.

One evening, there was a knock on our front door and when my father opened it, Mr and Mrs Branscombe were standing there. They looked a trifle embarrassed and asked if they could talk to him. Invited in, they said they hoped he wouldn’t mind or be offended but they had recently been to a spiritualist meeting in Goodmayes. The medium asked them if they knew a man with a bad arm. They could not place such an individual but after a few moments they thought of my father. The medium said that she had a message from the spirit healers that they should tell him to bathe his arm in warm olive oil. They had come with that message. My parents thanked them and they left. From elsewhere in this story, you may remember that my paternal grandmother had been a leading spiritualist and my father had certificates from the Spiritualist Lyceum. So that seed did not fall on stony ground – my father was receptive.

He went to see his surgeon, a Mr. Jelly, who felt that the olive oil could not do any harm. So they started using it and within days there was a distinct improvement and this continued week on week. My father called on the Branscombes to thank them and they suggested that he might benefit by having some spiritual healing. He agreed and started going to a church in Goodmayes once a week in the evening. His healer was a grey-haired man named Mr Lewis. My father attended for some time and I used to go with him so I had an early introduction of seeing contact healing. Later, he contacted the well known healer, Harry Edwards, and received absent healing from him for a considerable time. The deep seated infection was overcome and eventually the arm healed although it remained fixed.

The point I would wish to make is that it was a gentle introduction to me of things which would later become part of my life. There will be more ‘nudges’ later!

As we move into 1939 with the threat of war on the horizon, arrangements were being made for the conscription of men into the armed forces. Because of his condition, my father was declared medically unfit and exempt. There came the time when I was evacuated, war was declared and the details of that time are dealt with separately. My father was finally declared fit for work to enable him to return in May 1940. He had been off work for 20 months. The irony is that with modern antibiotics, his condition would have been cleared within a week and he would have probably retained the use of his arm. The cause of my father’s condition was put down to a fall at the shop when he fell down the cellar steps into the basement. Under the Workmen’s Compensation Act he was finally awarded £50 in settlement.

50

—5— The War Years Evacuation

T

of 19 3 9 were no different to us children than any other time but, for the country and our parents, the prospect of a future war against Nazi Germany was an ever growing threat. Signs became apparent. The government produced vast numbers of Anderson shelters for issue to the general public. Identity cards were produced. Gas masks were issued. Ration Books were being printed and the armed forces were being mobilised. The possibility of air attacks with high explosive bombs, incendiary bombs and gas was being taken seriously. h e e a r ly m o n t h s

The Civil Defence services were being organised. People were recruited as Air Raid Wardens and their steel helmets with ARP (Air Raid Precautions) on the front were commonplace. They operated from air raid shelters and were responsible for a specific area with telephones to contact the emergency services. These people were volunteers, generally of the older age group, male and female, so not liable for conscription. They helped to train local Fire Watchers, coordinate area activities and disseminate government information.

Stirrup pumps were issued to Fire Watchers. A popular ditty was, ‘Underneath the spreading chestnut tree, Mr. Chamberlain said to me, “If you want to get your gas mask free, join the blessed ARP”’. (Neville Chamberlain was the Prime Minister at the time).

Rescue Services were formed and these were split into heavy rescue and light rescue. The function of these services was to rescue people trapped in bombed buildings, often under masonry and in situations similar to those seen today after earthquakes. They were also involved in shoring up damaged buildings until they could be repaired or demolished. The work was invariably done by men. It was often dangerous and exhausting as they would work on if there was hope of finding someone alive under the rubble. The heavy rescue teams had heavier equipment but one has to remember that, in principle, there were only wheelbarrows, pickaxes and shovels – JCBs had yet to be invented! During the blitz, these rescue teams virtually had to work around the clock as there was no let-up in the air raids and, consequently, the bombing and its subsequent devastation.

The NFS (National Fire Service) was formed with volunteers who were trained in fire-fighting and, apart from drill nights, were on call as soon as the sirens sounded. These men were uniformed, had helmets and axes on their belts. Apart from fire-fighting they also became involved in rescue work as often this would stem from fires. At strategic places, large water tanks were built. These were invariably steel and could be any size depending on the space available. They were 20-30' diameter and be around 4' deep, usually black in colour with the large letters EWS on the sides (Emergency Water Supply). This water was intended for use in fighting fires.

The medical services were organised to deal with casualties and ambulances. Operating theatres and wards were on alert. Staff were trained to handle the effects of trauma and the blood transfusion service was increased. People were recruited to train as nurses and first-aid courses were given – often coordinated locally by the Air Raid Wardens. Another aspect was in treating the effects of gas from the initial treatment at local level, through to hospital treatment.

In older parts of towns now, one sees Victorian houses with low front walls. Prior to the war, all these houses had attractive cast iron railings on these walls, but these were taken by the government to be melted down for ‘the war effort’ as it was known. Even railings round public parks disappeared. The country went on to a war footing. We were an island and our shipping lanes were going to be subject to enemy attack so it was 51

necessary to conserve and recycle whatever we materials we could. The ‘salvage’ operation was accepted nationally as everyone knew it would help ‘the war effort’ – that phrase which everyone came to know.

Paper, cardboard, metal (tins became fewer as the war went on) and glass were recycled. Bottles were returned for re-use (a refund was usually made for drinks bottles). It is not surprising, therefore, that in this current age where re-cycling is environmentally correct, that the war-time generation find no difficulty in this concept – it is second nature.

In this pre-war period, the government was becoming concerned that the children, as the important next generation, were vulnerable and should be protected by removing them from the obvious centres of air attacks. These were London, main cities and areas sensitive to bombing like factory sites. They devised a system of evacuation which, although voluntary, was highly recommended (this scheme ultimately sent some children overseas to countries like Canada, South Africa and Australia which created problems of its own).

One can assume that in these early days of 1939, there was consultation between my parents and my school, South Park Junior School in Water Lane, Seven Kings. Undoubtedly, they would have discussed the situation with Uncle Fred and Aunt Lily who lived in nearby Frimley Road, particularly as two of my cousins, John and Doris, were still at the school. Naturally, I was not privy to these conversations but one can imagine the heart-searching that must have gone on, even more so in my case as an only child who had never been away from his parents. It would have been very difficult for them, but they must have been convinced that the decision was right and I should be evacuated.

I don’t remember actually having been told as such, although I feel might have been told that I was going away for a holiday with my cousins and the school. I don’t remember any tears, probably more wonderment and some degree of excitement when the day came which I remember well.

Each child was allowed to take one small suitcase containing clothes and washing kit with a car blanket strapped to the outside. I also had some sandwiches, but I can’t remember whether that applied to everyone or whether that was my mother ensuring that I didn’t starve. As it was, they came in useful later as we shall see. We all had a label tied to our lapel with our name and school on it. Over our shoulder we carried our gas mask in its cardboard box attached by string. That was the picture of an evacuee, copied thousands of times across the country. Many years later, Royal Doulton produced a limited edition of both the boy and girl evacuee which I bought and which hold memories of that day.

The day arrived, so armed with suitcase and gas mask, accompanied by my mother, we assembled in the playground of South Park School. We were formed into our classes and marched out of the school in pairs accompanied by many anxious, and no doubt tearful, Mums and Dads. Frankly, the children were too excited at this ‘adventure’ to notice the parents. We walked up Water Lane, crossed Green Lane and up Seven Kings Road to Seven Kings Station and on to the platform. We didn’t know where we were going, our parents didn’t know where we were going, and the teachers accompanying us didn’t know where we were going! One of the posters that had started appearing, and which everyone got to know was, “Careless Talk Costs Lives” and, although this was August 1939 and war had not been declared, no one was saying where the evacuees were going. This was security. The specially chartered train came in, we all got on and we were off – in an Easterly direction. As we emerged from the tunnel under the road, people above could look down on the rail track and see the train. There were many crying parents waving to that train, saying goodbye to their children and not knowing where they were going. Incredible when you think of it but what faith they must have had!

For the children it was different. It was like going on holiday with all our school friends. We chatted as the steam engine chuffed along not stopping anywhere. Where were we going? The secret got out – well, the engine driver needed to know, didn’t he? We were heading for Ipswich in Suffolk. This was not a good choice as it got a fair amount of bombing later in the war.

I can’t remember how long the journey took but those tomato sandwiches were good. We eventually arrived 52

sometime in the afternoon and were taken to a large hall where a number of people were waiting. This was the reception centre and these people were the proposed foster parents. In retrospect it would seem that none of us were allocated to specific families but these people would ‘pick’ their evacuees in the same way that slaves were picked in olden times. Gradually, the number of evacuees went down along with the number of foster parents until – yes, you’ve guessed – there were only two left, my cousin John and me!

There were some hasty discussions between the teachers and officials and a young couple came forward and took us both. There must have been some relief on the part of our Headmaster, Mr Charlton and the other teachers. So we departed with Fred and Ivy Head to 37, Whitby Road, Ipswich. The couple were newly married and had no experience of young children. The house was terraced with three bedrooms and a lounge and dining room downstairs. It was nicely furnished in a simple way. I can’t remember what his job was but it was regular hours and he was kindly, seeing us to bed at night.

We were quite well fed but not in the manner to which we were accustomed. For example, the Sunday roast started with Yorkshire Pudding in Edwards powdered tomato soup and we were told that if we ate it all we would get the meat. A trick as old as the hills but we were naive – and hungry. We were given a little pocket money to buy a comic and were given some sweets. Life was not bad – and there was no school. Every day we played and went to the local park to play even more and collect blackberries and later conkers. Once a week we went to a school on a Friday, were given a bottle of milk, asked if everything was all right and sent back.

Sometimes in the park we would meet some of our teachers and have some informal teaching sitting on the grass, like reading a book, but nothing academic. Miss Wiggins and Miss McCormack were teachers we knew along with Miss Blair. One of the male teachers was young Mr Brown (there was also an old Mr Brown too) and he was quite keen on one of the attractive female teachers, a Miss Llewellyn. We would see them hand in hand and even better some times, walking in the park or sitting on the seats. There was a happy ending as they got married, their family went to the school and young Mr Brown ultimately became headmaster of South Park School from which position he ultimately retired.

Back to the main story. My cousin Doris was nearby, their house being up-market as it was semi-detached.

She was with a Mr and Mrs Farthing at No. 41 so we were all quite close. Mr Head was very friendly with his neighbours at No.35, a Mr and Mrs Smith who had no family either. He worked in a shop and many years later when I revisited the area, I called to see him. My foster parents were strong Catholics so every Sunday we were taken to the catholic church. John quite liked it but to me it was quite dark inside, I didn’t appreciate the incense and I didn’t understand the service. In short, I didn’t like it. It was arranged, therefore, that I should attend the Baptist Church with Mr and Mrs Smith and I enjoyed going with them. It was light, open and I could enjoy singing the hymns.

Naturally, our parents had been informed of our whereabouts and my mother wrote frequently.

Telephones were rare and neither my parents nor Mr and Mrs Head had a phone so the post was the only means of contact. After a few weeks, we went for our usual Friday at the local school and during our assembly in the classroom, Mr. Charlton our headmaster, asked if any children had not had a bath since arriving in Ipswich. Would they put their hands up? Only two hands went up – yes – mine and my cousin John. This caused some consternation and resulted in Mr Charlton and local officials descending on 37, Whitby Road with Mr Charlton taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and giving both of us a bath. The authorities asked us if we wanted to leave and as a result, John left and went further down the road. I don’t think he fared as well as he was made to work in the house and sometimes when I went by he would be polishing the lino flooring with floor polish. I felt sorry for the Heads. They were newly married and she was shy of little boys and didn’t know how to deal with us.

In deciding to stay, I did quite well. The food improved, I had regular baths and more pocket money. I even had ‘advances’ in pocket money so I could buy toys. I was taken out to visit Mrs Head’s parents who had a bungalow outside Ipswich. It had a very large garden with an enormous crater probably someone had used 53

is as a sandpit but it was great for playing. Of course, having lost John, I had to go out on my own. Strangely enough, I used to enjoy going round the local cemetery and reading the epitaphs. I would spend hours in that place and was quite happy there. I also had a passion for collecting conkers – many from that cemetery – and these were stored in sacks in the garden shed. By the time I had finished, it was difficult to close the shed door. I often wondered what they did with them.

On 3 September 1939, Mr Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, spoke to the nation and used the words, “This country is at war with Germany”. John was still with me at the time and we heard the broadcast on the BBC. It didn’t really mean much to two nine year olds but by the reaction of the adults we knew it was significant.

Fred Head and Mr Smith next door were both in the National Fire Service (NFS) and I must say when they had their uniforms on (complete with Helmets, Axes and Boots) they really looked the part. They would go off for practices on their bikes (cars were rare and expensive for ordinary people) and return later. One evening, John and I were tucked up in bed fast asleep when the air raid warning siren sounded. We were gathered up with our blankets and brought downstairs and sat in front of the fire. In retrospect, that didn’t make much sense as an explosion would have covered us in hot coals and caused a fire – Fred was a fireman too. Anyway, as we sat there Fred got his uniform on and Mr Smith came in from next door. Fred solemnly and almost tearfully kissed Ivy goodbye and they left to do their duty. They were back in twenty minutes – it was a false alarm so we could all go back to bed after a cup of cocoa, of course.

My parents had paid occasional visits by coach. They were obviously upset at the family being separated and the ‘bath’ situation had not helped. They decided, therefore, to take me home and we would all take our chance, come what may. I had to get packed and there was a lot more to go back than arrived with me.

What with extra clothes plus toys and a few conkers there was quite a load, particularly as we were going back by coach. Finally I had to say my goodbyes to ‘Uncle’ Fred and ‘Aunty’ Ivy and they were sad. They had got quite used to having a family. My cousins stayed on to return later and then be re-evacuated to Monmouth.

I stayed in touch with the Heads for the rest of their lives. They had two children, a boy and a girl. We exchanged Christmas cards and letters and the Heads moved to Larchmont Close off Hadleigh Road, Ipswich until she passed away sometime in the ’70s. Fred moved to Stratford St.Mary on the Suffolk/Essex border and we remained in touch until he too passed away. This could have been the end of the story except that the daughter, Janet, found my name in Fred’s papers. She, and her brother Michael, had been told about the war-time evacuee and she wrote asking to meet me to see if I could add further stories and details about her parents before she was born. She had grown up, became a teacher, married a teacher named Robin and they spent most of their lives teaching abroad. Maureen and I went to meet them at their home (they had retired from teaching) near Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk. We spent a pleasant afternoon chatting over old times and her parents (her brother Michael was working abroad). Both of them were very much academics and into art being far more interested in discussing the finer points of the paintings of the Norwich set than what was really happening in the world. They had a computer disc containing all the pictures in the National Gallery which they spent hours studying. To be fair, we had little in common and as we drove away, we knew that there would be no further contact and this has proved to be the case. The generation has passed and we have moved on.

So I returned home to a very different Ilford. We had an Anderson shelter (named after the Minister of Air Raid Precautions). These were supplied by the government for £7 – twice the local weekly wage – but free to those who could not afford them. Each family was responsible for digging their hole and constructing their shelter although neighbours rallied round and worked together helping each other. As my father had his arm permanently in a sling at that time, our neighbours apparently did ours. It was later to become our ‘bedroom and home’ for months on end. For those who do not know, the Anderson shelter was composed of heavy, corrugated zinc treated steel and each of the six curved side pieces were bolted together in pairs to form a semi-circular roof with straight sides. The overall length was about 6 feet. The ends were formed in four sections: two vertical, rectangular side pieces which went from floor to ‘ceiling’ level and which overlapped the inverted ‘J’ body together with the centre which was in three parts. In the centre (front and back) the 54

bottom went from floor to waist high then there was a gap for access (about 2'6" high x 2'0" wide) and a top section which reached above the height of the shelter.

The rear was similar to the front except that there was a middle rear panel in place. This was bolted but left without too much covering for escape purposes. For that reason a spade was always kept in the ‘dug-out’ as it was usually called. The shelter was sunk about 4 foot or so into the ground so that one had to step down about 9" before being able to enter. In our case we had a paving slab to step onto and the vertical sides of this area were wooden to stop them collapsing. Also orange boxes were filled with soil and placed around the entrance to act as a blast wall. One had to enter parallel with the entrance then turn sharp left to get into the shelter. There was a protective roof to this area to keep out the weather and stop any shrapnel or other debris entering the shelter. To prevent rain beating into the well of the door area, a piece of sacking was held over the entrance by a brick on the roof.

The floor of the shelter was paved but because of the water which settled at floor level, we had to have a 12 inch deep sump so that it could be ladled into a bucket for removal. Another problem was condensation.

The steel walls were cold from their soil contact and when the shelter was occupied, the moisture from the breath condensed on the wall and ran down the walls, collecting on the floor and adding to the sump. We had four bunks in the shelter made of heavy wood with strong wire cross pieces to take a mattress so the bedding was inclined to get quite wet from the condensation both in the atmosphere and running down the walls. My father solved the wall problem by fixing Sisalcraft (a tar impregnated heavy paper) to vertical lathes so that the bedding did not touch the walls – the water ran down behind into the sump.

There were two other problems, light and cold. There was no electricity in the shelter so we had torches for emergency use and paraffin lamps and candles for lighting. These produced more condensation, were inclined to smoke and certainly had an unpleasant smell but it was that or nothing. There were no portable radios in those days so you either talked or read and reading was not so easy by a dim paraffin lamp! A “potty” used discreetly in the entrance provided the mod cons.

The other aspect was the cold, and damp cold is worse than dry cold. The only option was a paraffin stove which had the same problems as the lamp only more so. Again it was that or nothing so we were generally cold, damp and miserable. After a time, we got more ingenious we had a kettle for the stove so with cups we could make hot cocoa and even take some food down with us. Mark you there were compensations as the shelter was great for keeping milk, meat and butter cool in the summer – remember there were no fridges in those days!

It is amazing to look back and realize that we lived in these holes in the ground for months on end, night after night. The troglodytes of the 20th century! We were not alone. Thousands upon thousands had the same routine as us. Down to the shelter and spend the night there and coming back in the morning until the next air raid sent us back down again.

The other thing that I noticed coming home was the blackout (we had it in Ipswich, of course, but I had not experienced it at home). The government had produced blackout material which everyone had to buy to cover their windows. This was a curtaining, black in colour and densely woven so that no light could pass through. Everyone had to make curtains and, as soon as it was dusk the curtains had to be drawn and ensure no chinks of light could escape round the tops, bottoms and sides. Most people had some form of lathe sticks which could be jammed into the window reveals thus creating a light-proof seal. All this had to be put in place every night.

The theory was that enemy aircraft could get navigational help from lights below and they could drop their bombs where they saw a light. Anyone showing a light could be fined and the Wardens (Air Raid Precautions) would tour the streets on cycles. One could hear shouts of “Put that light out”. Neighbours also actively supported the blackout if they saw lights as everyone knew that a light could mean disaster locally if enemy bombers were about.

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Apart from houses, there were no street lights and vehicles had to have special hoods on their lights which did not allow the light to be seen from above. Equally the power was low so that pedestrians could see an approaching vehicle but I doubt whether the driver could see the pedestrian! Fortunately, there were few cars in those days and the petrol rationing reduced the number of vehicles on the roads even more.

Nevertheless, statistics showed that by Christmas 1939, over 4000 people had died in road accidents – double the usual number – due to blacked out roads, So one can imagine that if there wasn’t a moon, the streets were black and walking was almost impossible as one could not see pavements or kerbs. If you went to call on anyone, they would have to turn any hall lights off and close any open doors leading into the hall before opening the door. The rules were strict but for our own good.

Another aspect was that windows were covered, criss-cross fashion from reels of sticky brown paper about an inch or so wide. The purpose was to give some protection from flying glass in the event of a nearby explosion. The paper would help stop the glass splintering and hold it in place. This no doubt helped to prevent many cuts and lacerations. The art of application was to maintain as much daylight in the room as possible consistent with safety. The general pattern was to stick the paper around the edge of the glass and two pieces diagonally so that they crossed in the middle.

So this was the scene when I returned home sometime in late October/early November 1939. Everyone was ready, apprehensive but carrying on cheerfully with that stiff upper lip. Neighbours and people generally became more friendly and cooperative. Our house was terraced and in a block of four. Whilst I had been away, a part or everyone’s garden fence had had a section removed so that we could all have access in case of emergency.

Whilst covering these preparations, I feel that I should include the Morrison Shelter although we did not have one. These were mainly for people who had no garden but Aunt Grace and Uncle George had one at their house at 33 South Park Road, Ilford. The Morrison Shelter was like a large table, made of a heavy steel top with strong steel corners which were linked together by steel angle irons. A steel mesh turned it into a virtual cage which could give a good level of protection against anything but a direct hit. The shelter was long enough to accommodate the sleeping of a small family. Like the Anderson Shelters they were to save many lives although dust must have been a real problem if a house collapsed on it. Likewise, the Morrison Shelter was very heavy and could only be sited on a ground floor and not over a cellar in case bomb damage caused it to fall into the area below.

Left: “The Evacuee” by Royal Doulton Below: gas mask

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—6— The Battle Begins

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to an Ilford which had changed so much in the months that I had been away, I was also quite lonely – my cousins were still evacuated, as was my school. There was just the occasional day at school to ‘register’ and the rest of the time was spent at home. As the war progressed and when daytime air-raids were frequent, the education authorities arranged for children to go to local homes on one morning a week, my day was Friday, where with three other children whose ages ranged from my 9 to 13, we would have about an hour and a half teaching and be set an exercise to complete by the next week. This scheme was not very successful as it was the same lesson for all age groups – it was either too advanced for me or the older ones found it too juvenile! av i n g r e t u r n e d h o m e

The house to which I was assigned for schooling was about half a mile down Mortlake Road. All selected houses had to have an air raid shelter and the maximum number of children was four. This was to minimise possible child casualties in case of an air attack. At the end of the class, each of us was given a cup of cocoa after which we went home as quickly as possible in case of another air raid.

During this period in early 1940, everyone carried on as usual but it was with increasing trepidation. The local men were disappearing as they were called up to serve in the armed forces; food and other items were getting in short supply; the number of air raids were beginning to increase and the news from Europe was getting worse. Hitler’s forces were advancing towards the channel ports and France was being overrun along with Belgium, Holland and Denmark. If Hitler captured France then he had the bases to invade Britain.

Various machine gun posts were established. Many can still be seen in open country today as squat concrete bunkers set in the ground with firing slits around the emplacement. These were to hold back advancing forces but fortunately never had to be put to the test. Another security measure meant that all signposts had to be removed throughout the country. This was fine for ‘locals’ but difficult for strangers and anyone asking the way was immediately under suspicion as we were warned that Germans could be dropped by parachute to infiltrate the countryside and towns. Even the presentation of the Identity Card was no guarantee against the well-prepared interloper.

Before I proceed to the Battle of Britain, it would be worth looking at other aspects of life in war-time Britain.

Life was undoubtedly getting harder. There were the problems of food, clothing and general living conditions.

As the nation tightened its belt, everything began to get scarcer. My mother would unpick old sweaters and re-knit them and I can remember one of my father’s staff, Sid Reynolds, who was a tailor, actually took one of my father’s suits to pieces and made a suit for my mother. The nation was even making clothes from blackout material – recycling was very much the order of the day. In those times nothing was disposable – the term hadn’t been invented – but the increasing shortages meant that many items continued to be used way past their normal life. Make do and mend was the order of the day. Shoes were one example. They had to be repaired, repaired and repaired and, as everyone was in the same situation, it usually took around four weeks to have a pair of shoes soled and heeled. Our boot maker was a Mr. Game who had a half-shop in the High Road, Ilford. He was a large man with quite a ‘corporation’ who wore a brown warehouse coat which always got more marked and stained where his corporation’ rubbed his bench. He also had a ‘gammy’ leg; wore a surgical boot and walked with a pronounced limp. I can picture him now, standing behind his raised bench surrounded by heaps of shoes of all different shapes and sizes and working with his shoe ‘last’; sheets of thick leather (when he could get it); his sharp knife and a mouth full of tacks which he managed to spit out one at a time to nail on the heel or sole. In the corner was a sewing machine, the use of which enabled him to prolong the life of exhausted shoes. On more than one occasion, he would sew a patch on an upper of a shoe to stop a leak where the crease in the shoe had worn through. It wasn’t that we wouldn’t 57

buy a new pair, we couldn’t. Shoes were classed as clothing and subsequently required Clothing Coupons.

I don’t remember the actual issue but it was around 50 for 6 months. I do remember that a suit was 26 coupons so the problem becomes obvious!

Food As 1939 progressed, food began to get scarce and shopkeepers introduced their own form of rationing.

Instead of getting two cans of baked beans, your grocer would only give you one – if he had any.

Likewise, you may only get one pound of sugar and so on. On the 8th January 1940, official food rationing started. The Minister of Food was Lord Woolton and he would make frequent statements on the wireless – the only ready means of communication – covering such items as the Dig for Victory campaign which continually encouraged everyone to grow food in their gardens, digging up their lawns to do so. Parts of public parks were turned over to allotments and the government actively requested people to keep rabbits for food – offering a special allowance of rabbit food if they would do so. Most folks found it virtually impossible to keep rabbits as pets and then kill and eat them.

Ration books were issued to everyone and they could only be used for food products at the shop where they were registered. If you didn’t like your grocer or butcher you couldn’t change until a new book was issued.

For non-food items one had a choice where to shop although in practice it was a case of finding where there was any stock.

By having registered customers, regular quantities of supplies from warehouses etc could be made available.

Ration Books also contained sheets of ‘Points’ which were exchanged for miscellaneous items like canned products; for example condensed milk which was useful for cooking or emergency in the shelters. When shopping, the appropriate week in the Ration Book would either be crossed with a heavy pencil (Biros weren’t invented) or part of the book cut out. The retailer had to account for, and return, all cut out sections or Points for his stock to be replenished.

To encourage home production, extra sugar was allowed in the summer for jam making but, in return, the jam ration was lost! Fruit bottling was very common and people would preserve plums and other soft fruits, gooseberries, blackberries etc. We would preserve rhubarb as well and slice and bottle runner beans in brine. One must remember that in those days all fruits and vegetables were seasonal. Frozen food products had not been developed and refrigerators were extremely rare. The only person we knew who had one was Uncle Fred but he was an exception – he had his own successful business as a motor mechanic – and he even had a water softener in his house. Mark you, it was about 4'6" high and about 10" in diameter but it was a water softener! He probably picked up these ideas when he and Aunt Lily lived in New York. But I digress....back to food.

Examples of the seasonal nature of food can be seen in that strawberries and peas (always in pods, by the way) were available for about 4 weeks in the year; cherries lasted for about 3 weeks; apples arrived about mid August and could be kept going until Christmas. So if one wanted fruits out of season, one had to preserve them or buy tins of fruit, but the war soon put a stop to all that as peaches, apricots and pineapple had to be imported. I know that during the war, I would think back to my birthday parties pre-war and drool at the thought of a tin of mandarins. How I would have loved to see one, let alone eat it. The height of luxury.

Likewise in terms of fresh fruit, oranges, lemons, bananas, grapefruit, all disappeared. If one was fortunate there may be an allocation of, say one orange per child only and this could be once a year. Or one may get a banana. Many children had never seen an orange or a banana during the first two or three years of their lives.

There were two products that were available for babies and very young children. These were Rose Hip Syrup and Ribena. For the former, people would go into the countryside in autumn and pick wild rose hips from the 58

hedgerows. These were collected locally and sent away to be made into Rose Hip Syrup – a deep red, thick, sweet and pleasantly flavoured liquid rich in Vitamin C. Ribena was very different to that which is available today. It was produced by Chivers (the jam makers) and canned as a pure, thick, unadulterated, syrupy blackcurrant juice. Absolutely delicious! It could be diluted to make a wonderful drink but it was much nicer to drink it neat! It was still available for a time after the war and it was superb on ice cream. The only similarity with the present product is the name.

The permitted quantity of rationed products was variable and could go up or down depending on national supplies. The levels of rations and any changes applied to the whole population and, although a black market developed, the penalties if caught were heavy. The meat ration was usually quoted in pence per week. This got round the difference in the price of the various joints. It meant that the cheaper cuts were more popular as one got extra meat for their ration.

As some idea of the level of rations per person per week, the following is given: Butter................. 2oz Margarine............4oz Milk.................... 3 Pints Cheese...............2oz Tea..................... 2oz Eggs...................1 egg Jam.................... 1Ib every 2 months Sugar..................2oz Sweets............... 2oz Coffee hardly existed. There was one called Red White and Blue, available in a tin for the few who had a percolator. The main product was Camp Coffee sold in a tall square bottle. It was a black liquid called coffee with chicory. Not surprising that few people drank coffee – it was appalling! This did mean, however, that the majority of the population drank tea so the small tea ration became even more significant. I can remember that if one went out for afternoon tea, it was not unusual for the guests to take their own tea and other items with them. We did because one could not expect your hosts to give up their ration. The sugar shortage meant that we gave up taking sugar in tea and I have never taken it since.

Talking of sweets, confectionery retailers amongst others had a very a difficult time. If one went into a sweetshop, virtually all the shelves would be bare and, remembering that in those days brown paint was the order of the day, there were brown shelves, brown fixtures and brown paintwork so it is easy to imagine that empty shelves coupled with the blackout restrictions made shops very dingy places indeed. Our local sweetshop had, hopefully, a monthly delivery and, if you got there at the right time, you could use up your month’s ration (the points were cut out of the Ration Book) and get, say, 4 bars of chocolate (2oz each) or the equivalent. That is assuming that chocolate had been delivered. Many rationed goods were kept “under the counter” a phrase that became common in those days. The same applied to cigarettes and tobacco although that did not concern me. Frequently the retailer would tell you what he would let you have as he tried to be fair to all his customers. There was little choice and one took what they were offered – gratefully.

Retailers found it difficult to make a living as their turnover was limited to the stock they were allocated.

If there were non-rationed ‘extras’, the retailer had to be most careful. If customers saw, say, the butcher giving someone extra and they did not get any, there could be real problems in the shop and when the time came to re-register, they may go elsewhere which would lose the butcher customers and he would have a reduced meat allocation, all of which meant reduced turnover on an already restricted business. Life was not easy. So often, extras or other little delicacies would be kept under the counter and even ready-wrapped in newspaper – the only wrapping material available – so they could be slipped into the shopping basket along with other items. (Those who follow the Dad’s Army series on T.V. will remember Mr. Jones, the butcher, with his sausages wrapped in newspaper being passed to Mr. Mainwaring!).

Once America became involved in the war, two luxuries came from Uncle Sam. The first was dried eggs – something new to this country. They were supplied in a characteristic packet, a waxed, sealed carton – again something new – with a stars and stripes decoration covering a fair proportion of the space. The 59

contents were an orange powder which could be used for cooking, but which also made very good scrambled eggs or omelettes. Another advantage was that it could be kept in the cupboard without deteriorating – not that anyone was going to keep it, we needed the food.

The other product is still available today! When made available, it was an immediate success. Its name was SPAM – a meat product supplied in a corned-beef shaped tin. The name came from SPiced hAM and this was a new taste brought to a country starved of meat, particularly ham. The wartime ingenuity soon meant that Spam could be presented in many ways; cold and sliced with salad; baked or grilled as a hot dish; as a sandwich filling or, very popular, in batter as fritters. The latter was taken up later by fish and chip shops.

Whilst on the subject of new products, there was a further UK product introduced under the name of National Dried Milk. As the name suggests, this product was full cream milk, dried, and supplied in large tins for babies. All new mothers would be entitled to receive an allocation of dried milk which was reconstituted by beating with water. It did not mix very easily and unless one was careful, it would be lumpy. If it could be obtained, it was useful to store in case milk supplies ran short (which they did) but above all, if one mixed a teaspoonful of dried milk with a teaspoonful of cocoa and that rarity, sugar, it made a great warming drink.

With a little milk, it could be made into a paste and spread on bread. Of course, when mothers received their allocation of dried milk, they also received their Rose Hip Syrup and Ribena.

In addition to food products, most other items were in short supply or rationed. Furniture was virtually unobtainable and a thriving market developed in second hand furniture. People would buy almost anything.

An advert in The Ilford Recorder would produce immediate results reflected in the prices obtained! A similar thing happened with sports goods. There weren’t any – mark you, there weren’t many sports goods shops anyway, as the market was not that developed! I can remember seeing an advert in the local paper for a tennis racket and cycling as fast as I could from one side of Ilford to the other to buy it. I was fortunate and, in fact, still have the racket to this day. It was a three pronged affair introduced by that great Wimbledon and England Player, Bunny Austin. The remaining problem was balls. There weren’t any and we had to make do with old ones, using them until the covers had worn off or they punctured. Second hand tennis balls were expensive but highly desirable.

Cycles were in high demand too as, apart from buses and trains, they were the only means of transport. At one time both my parents and I had our own bikes and, because our house was terraced, two had to be kept in the hall and mother’s in the front room. We used the bikes for local shopping and also for pleasure.

We could all go cycling on a Sunday (there were virtually no cars) and cover quite long distances. Sometimes going out to Hainault Forest and Chigwell, and sometimes to Woodford and Buckhurst Hill. My father and I would go off on a Sunday morning and the two of us would go even further afield. One of our favourite ‘watering holes’ was a little village called Herongate which was beyond Upminster. Father would have a pint and I would have lemonade, then we would cycle home to see what mother had prepared for lunch. Looking back it is amazing how, in those restricted times, she could manage to feed us so well. We never left the table feeling hungry, in fact, it was just the opposite. She had the great ability of being able to make use of all the leftovers. If there was a spot of beef, it would be minced with onions and mixed with mashed potatoes and a pinch of mixed herbs. Made into rissoles and fried, they were delicious. This was the way we lived – a real case of waste not, want not.

Other items in very short supply were children’s toys. New toys were scarce so, once again, the secondhand market flourished particularly near Christmas. Parents would save toys so that they could advertise them in November or early December. In the latter part of the war, when we no longer had to sleep in air raid shelters, our neighbours, Mr and Mrs Plummer (people were very formal in those days) had an engineer staying with them as a lodger. He worked in a local munitions factory and had been ‘placed’ with them (the government could lean on people to take lodgers if it was part of the war effort). The Plummers had a re-enforced, above-ground shelter made of solid concrete and the lodger, whose name was Bert, put up a bench and made wooden toys. These were mainly cars and lorries on a rectangular 4" x 6" base. He cut out wheels which were screwed on and the whole toy was painted. I used to help him. Sometimes there 60

would be around 40-50 painted and waiting to dry. He must have done quite well but I don’t remember him paying me!

Coal was rationed and that was hard. One must not forget that there was no central heating in those days.

Similarly, there was no insulation although our house, being modern, had cavity-walls but in principle, the heat went out through the windows (no double glazing) and up through the roof. It was not unusual for the pipes to freeze and leaks to occur often dripping down through the ceiling. There was no lagging for tanks or pipes and the best one could do, would be to cover them with an old carpet and hope.

In the winter, homes could be cold, very cold, and during the day we wore extra jerseys or pullovers (they had sleeves and are now called sweaters) or slipovers (no sleeves and a V neck). We usually managed one fire a day, in the evening. We didn’t have the coal for more than one, so mother had to manage the best she could during the day and so did I when at home. So imagine the scene. A bitterly cold night, all huddled round the fire and either listening to the wireless, reading a book or, perhaps, playing a game of cards. There was also the wind-up gramophone with scratchy 78 records. On the wireless, we would always make a point of listening to Churchill’s speeches – he really kept the country together in our ‘darkest hours’ and had the ability to stimulate the population and improve morale. We may also have listened to Vera Lynn and the well known comedians like Tommy Handley, Max Miller (known as the ‘cheekie chappie’), Tommy Trinder and George Formby with his ukulele. The nine-o-clock news on the radio was a must, as it was the main means of communication in those days and everyone wanted to know how the war was going. Strangely enough, it was also a link for many people. Those who were parted, perhaps loved ones in the Forces, would be linked together for a short time each day by listening to the nine-o-clock news.

So that would be a typical evening huddled round a fire. Sometimes we would make toast; toast made on the open fire is so different to that made in a toaster (toasters were very rare in the ’40s and if the element went, you couldn’t get another anyway). We would also put potatoes under the grate. Potatoes in their jackets were so much tastier when cooked under a fire. The skins become blackened and get hard in the ashes but the flavour of the centres, wow! That’s the only way to cook a jacket potato. With salt, pepper and a touch of butter, they cannot be bettered.

The time would come when we would have to leave this warm room and as one opened the door to the hall and kitchen, the cold hit you, really hit you. It would be icy. Mother or father would brave the cold to make some cocoa and put on water for the hot water bottles – they were so necessary but wouldn’t stay hot for long. As soon as they were ready, one of us would run upstairs and put them in the beds and probably bring our pyjamas downstairs to warm in front of the fire. After the cocoa, we would go to our bedrooms. Some nights it was so cold that we would wear woolly hats (yes, truly,) in bed to keep our heads warm. It sounds crazy in this day and age, but it was essential then. Not as bad as waking up in the morning though. The inside of the windows would be covered with frost if it was not too cold, but more likely with thick ice (caused by condensation from the breathing in the bedroom) so much so that the curtains would be stuck to the windows until they thawed out. Of course, one of mother’s daily jobs was to mop up the window sills and the floor when the ice melted. Getting out of bed wasn’t easy – it took a great deal of courage born of necessity – as one’s teeth chattered whilst dressing. The bathroom was equally cold (there were no radiators) and washing was done as speedily as possible. Then it was downstairs to breakfast and a hot cup of tea to warm up. If possible, we would have something hot before venturing out plus bread, butter and marmalade (a thin smear as it was rationed, of course). There was no toast as there were no toasters.

Of course, one has to remember that throughout this war period, even the public utilities could be affected – and were. For example, in those days gas was made by heating coal in retorts (long tubes) and this produced coal gas, tar products and coke (coke was hard and porous and was used in stoves but was not very good on open fires but if there was nothing else...!!). Coal gas was poisonous and a common means of suicide – head in the oven and turn on the gas, unlit, of course!

In later years, my grandfather, then 90 died accidentally from coal gas poisoning. He lived alone at 5, Dorien 61

Road, Hornchurch and he was found dead in his chair where he had been reading his newspaper. The gas poker was on but unlit and it was assumed that he had lit the gas poker which had gone out and, as he was deaf, he could not hear the gas escaping.

We need to set the story in its context. War was declared on 3 September 1939 and Hitler was starting his march across Europe sweeping everything before him. His airpower was supreme and the defences of the various countries in his path just fell back usually in some disarray. As an example, Hitler’s forces overran The Netherlands, Belgium and France in just 37 days! The Allied Forces were pushed back further and further until they reached the French coast at Dunkirk. That was in May 1940 – only 8 months after our entry into the war.

Whilst I have no personal experiences, I can remember very clearly the accounts on the wireless and in the newspapers, that the British Expeditionary Force and the French were literally pinned on the beaches of Dunkirk being machine-gunned and bombed by the Luftwaffe with the German artillery shelling them from the land. They were trapped. It was necessary to get them off the beaches and the Royal Navy moved in and the RAF covered the air. Of course, the Navy could not get close enough as these poor, tired and exhausted troops would have to wade into the sea to be picked up. What a task! The government put out a call to all small boat owners whether private or little boats that took holidaymakers on pleasure trips round the bay, to go to France to help. (We knew our soldiers were trapped and, although everyone listened to all the news broadcasts on the wireless, little was said, until it was out of date, for security reasons – Careless Talk Costs Lives was on posters everywhere! This call showed how serious the situation was).

Although these little boats were not built for cross-channel journeys – they made trip after trip across to France where they got close into shore to pick up the troops, often ferrying them, particularly the injured, to the naval vessels moored offshore. One must remember that all this time, they were subject to continuous air and land attack and, sadly many did not survive. It does indicate the indominatable spirit of the country that civilians would risk their lives to save others. Incredibly, something like 340,000 British and French troops were on those beaches with little chance of survival but most of them got back to England. This rescue has often been called a miracle and many think it was.

This left the Germans looking at us through their binoculars and starting to assemble their troops on the coast whilst mopping up odd pockets of resistance on mainland Europe. What about us? We were now isolated. We had no allies in Europe. The only thing between us and invasion was the English Channel and the last invasion we had experienced was by William the Conqueror in 1066. We had to prepare to be attacked; to defend our country and democracy although the latter was down the list of priorities.

Even as boy of nine, I can remember the quiet hush that fell on everyone at that time. There was defeat, fear and dread. The British Army that had defended our shores since Norman times had been defeated and came back, battered and bruised. There was the fear of the German army beginning to gather on the other side of the English Channel. If they landed our country could be pillaged, women raped, people taken away and possibly shot (we had had reports of dreadful happenings on the continent) and everything that we stood for would be lost. We knew from the superior air-power of the Luftwaffe over Europe that we were for it! It was just a matter of time. Hitler knew that to achieve his objective he must have air superiority and, at the same time cut off our supplies by sea.

It was on just such occasions that Winston Churchill would broadcast on the wireless and the whole nation would stop what they were doing and listen. By his words and his delivery he had the ability to stir people, to create confidence and to motivate the nation. I can remember those times so well. Before a broadcast everyone would be saying, “Don’t forget, Churchill’s speaking tonight”, and so the word would go round. At the appointed hour, there would be very few people in the streets – they would be glued to their wireless sets, waiting. This was such an important period in English history that I am sure the reader will forgive me if I include Churchill’s speech at this time, given on 4 June 1940:

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‘What General Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free, and the life of the world may move forward into broad sunlit uplands.

But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour”.’

Whilst these words were evocative, the manner of his delivery was profound (I have copies of these speeches on tape which, even now, some 80 years later, are still as stimulating). The effect was remarkable and the Prime Minister’s call evoked its due response. A fierce determination sprang up throughout the nation, particularly those directly engaged in the war effort – the munitions industry, those manufacturing aircraft, tanks, vehicles etc. The Local Defence Volunteers was formed and, although they may have worked long hours in offices and factories, their evenings would be spent training with the LDV later to become affectionately known as ‘Dad’s Army’ or, officially, the Home Guard. The LDV attracted all ages (who were not already conscripted) and were frequently led by retired military personnel. All high points (church towers, hill tops, high buildings etc) were manned with all ears listening for aircraft and scanning the skies for the white flutter of enemy parachutes. Barbed wire sprang up along beaches together with concrete emplacements. All over the country but particularly in the South and East, concrete defence posts were built in fields and strategic places and many of these can still be seen today lying derelict in fields. Obstructions were built to block roads; recruits were drilled with pieces of wood shaped like rifles and people sought any form of weapon they could – from old shot guns to pitch forks. Useless against any army, but it indicated the determination of the population at that low hour.

In South Park Drive, by the top of our (Mortlake) road, there was a small field used by South Park School as a sports field (although I never played there due to the war). It was large enough for a couple of football pitches and there was a sports pavilion. This was requisitioned by the Royal Air Force who used it as a barrage balloon site with the crew living in the sports pavilion. The day came when our balloon was delivered.

It arrived on a large lorry, not blown-up but a great mound of silver fabric, plus a lot of gas to fill it. Barrage balloons were tethered to the ground and raised and lowered by a cable and winch on a lorry.

Around the underside hung long cables and the object of these large ungainly monsters was to deter low-flying aircraft particularly around industrial sites or sensitive areas. I never knew how effective they were – they seemed such sitting targets for enemy fighter aircraft.

Ours had a name but I can’t remember what it was – it was something quite friendly like Bertha – and we always knew when she was going up because there would be this terrific flapping sound as, presumably, the air pockets in the tail filled with air. Sometimes if there was a strong wind, it could be quite frightening as, apart from the noise, the wind could blow Bertha over the houses and we all felt there was a risk that she might come down on us. Fortunately, the crew were very good and it never happened. Maybe Bertha was placed there to help protect the anti-aircraft guns in Barking Park. Certainly, one could look out during the day and see these barrage balloons dotted across the sky.

This time also saw the establishment of the firewatchers. This was a group of local volunteers who operated on a rota basis during air raids. They would have a suitable lookout to watch for enemy aircraft and warn, by whistles usually, for incendiary bomb attacks, although there was a more dangerous form called an oil bomb. Owing to my father having osteomyelitis in his right arm, with an open wound requiring dressing by my mother three times a day, there was no way in which he could be called up for the forces. Equally, he

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was unable to work so he joined our local fire fighting group which covered Mortlake and Henley Roads between South Park Drive and South Park Road. He acted as treasurer and I used to go with him to collect the money. Each household paid 3d per week and he entered this in a note book. Father always enjoyed a chat so this was a wonderful opportunity to get to know the local residents and this money collecting became very time consuming. Not that he complained but mother did! Why did we collect the money? The area needed stirrup pumps and buckets for fire fighting and these were purchased and placed around the area. My father was always totally honest and accounted for every penny received and spent. I like to think that this virtue was passed on to me.

My father also developed a Newsletter which was circulated to the neighbourhood. Of course, there were no photocopiers and the usual method of making copies was to take carbon copies of a typed document.

A good typist could get 4 or 5 carbon copies provided she was using thin sheets of carbon paper and thin copy paper – she would also have to hit the typewriter keys fairly hard. The other method of copying was crude to say the least – but there wasn’t anything else. It consisted of a shallow tray rather like a baking tray.

Into this was placed some coloured gelatine. The gelatine was gently melted on the gas stove until it formed an even layer about 1/4" deep. Overheating would breakdown the qualities of the gelatine.

The document requiring to be reproduced was then typed using a piece of carbon paper to make a copy which was laid on the gelatine in the tray and gently rolled with a rubber roller to transfer the image. This could be seen on the gelatine. The art was to lay a piece of paper carefully on the tray and gently but firmly apply the roller to transfer the image on to the paper. As the image on the gelatine was reversed, the reproduction was the right way round. I can only assume that the gelatine absorbed the original image and this together with the colouring matter in the gelatine resulted in the usual purple-coloured reproductions.

One could hope to get around 10-20 reasonable copies but towards the end they tended to become somewhat blurred. The gelatine needed to be melted down after completing each sheet and you can appreciate the tedious procedure if one had a multi-page document to copy.

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—7— The Battle of Britain

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in July and August 1940, prepared in a somewhat amateurish sort of way but with a lot of determination, waiting for something to happen. We didn’t have long to wait. The Battle of Britain started on the 8th August and was continuous until 31st October 1940. This phase was principally massed air attacks in daylight but by the end of October, they were abandoned and the Luftwaffe began to rely on night raids. o here we were

The principal aircraft involved were, for the German Air Force, bombers: JU88s, Heinkels and Messerschmitt ME 109s and the ME 110s. For the Royal Air Force: Spitfires and Hurricanes with a sprinkling of Boulton Paul Defiants. How do I come to remember these? In those days there was little entertainment as already mentioned and with the advent of the war, there was a growth in war-related games. One of these was aircraft recognition and there were many charts, cards and games invariably showing black silhouettes of aircraft against blue backgrounds. I had charts all round my bedroom and would carve model aircraft from solid wood using a penknife and sandpaper. As a result, at my ‘peak’ I could recognise every German aircraft (bombers, fighter-bombers, fighters, seaplanes) and every British aircraft plus most French, Italian, American etc and even Japanese. What a claim to fame! This recognition was learned by games which could cover the front, top, side, rear, beneath and various angled views of the aeroplane. One had, approximately, 1inch x 1inch pieces of card bearing the silhouette and you would have, say, 3 seconds to look and identify. It may sound easy but 30 aircraft to identify in, say, 90 seconds requires instant recognition with little thinking time. Anyway, it was good fun, a topical learning tool and with the advent of the Battle of Britain, it could be very useful to know when one should disappear rapidly into the Anderson shelter.

To give some indication of what we were up against, I thought it worthwhile to check some official figures.

At the start of the Battle of Britain, Hitler had amassed some 3,500 aircraft including 250 dive-bombers (Ju 88s), 1,000 long range bombers and 1,000 fighters ready for the opening offensive. On 11 August 1940, the Royal Air Force had a total of 704 operationally serviceable aircraft of which 620 were Hurricanes and Spitfires. Those were the odds and the battleground was the sky above us! These were clear, warm summer days and Ilford was a ring-side seat for what I regard as the greatest drama this country has ever seen. I was so privileged to have been there.

Imagine a typical day. Sometime during the morning, the air-raid siren would sound. Even when I hear that sound today – it is sometimes used to call out fire-brigades – I still feel my heart miss a beat, such was the impact. Then we would hear the dull throb of the engines of the approaching bombers accompanied by their escorting fighters high in the sky, spreading vapour trails like little strings of cotton that gradually widened to become woolly strands. That sound of the masses of aircraft with the throb-throb of those engines which helped to identify the type of bomber was so distinctive and would become really ominous later when the night raids started. One of the most terrifying sounds was that of the two-seater Ju 87 dive bomber which, on entering its dive would make a frightening scream as its speed increased and as it pulled out of the dive, the sound changed and you knew the next sound would be the ‘ker-ump’ as its bombs exploded.

Looking into the sky, I would see lines of these aircraft either approaching from the South or, seemingly, from the East as they followed the route of the Thames towards London. Bertha, our barrage balloon, would be up there, as graceful as ever, giving a psychological boost but probably quite useless. With this back-drop of the engine noise, we would then hear the sharp bark of the anti-aircraft guns in Barking Park with the occasional thunder of the 4.5inch naval guns which would vibrate the ground. Looking into the sky, I could see the black and white puffs as the shells exploded. From the size of the sky and the infinitely small comparative size of the aircraft linked to calculations required to direct the guns, it would seem an impossible 65

task to score a hit. On the other hand, at times there were so many planes in the sky, one wondered whether they could possibly miss. I suppose that to hear the guns was good for our morale and we would cheer when “Barking opened up”.

Then came the exciting part for me. The Spitfires and Hurricanes would appear and would tear into the enemy fighters and bombers. Sharp rat-a-tat-tats would echo across the backcloth of the sky as our boys took on these incredible odds. Meanwhile, on the ground, with my helmet on, of course, I would stand at the entrance of our shelter to watch the scene unfold – the battle for the survival of our country and the rest of the free world. Little did I appreciate what I was watching but I would have loved to have been up there too.

My mother would be in the shelter although she would peer out if I saw an enemy aircraft with smoke pouring from it, diving to the earth. On occasions, one would see a parachute or parachutes opening and gently descend. There was no feeling of pity – this was purely a matter of survival and I remember one occasion when one of our fighters had been shot down with the pilot coming down by parachute. He was nearly lynched. He was from a Polish squadron and spoke very little English but was saved when they saw his RAF uniform under his flying suit. People thought he was German.

You must bear in mind that watching this incredible spectacle was not without its dangers. Apart from the aircraft noise, the anti-aircraft guns and the sounds of the battle, there was the smell. Yes, at times we could smell the fuel and the cordite from the cartridges being fired by the machine guns and aircraft canons. There was also a lot of metal in the air. Shrapnel from the exploded anti-aircraft shells could be fiercely jagged and sometimes red-hot when they hit the ground. When a piece of shrapnel hit a roof, it would smash tiles and make quite a hole. There were also the shell caps – the pointed end housing the timing mechanism. These weighed around 1-2lbs and would pierce a roof without any trouble. The base of the shells could also cause considerable damage. They were circular, about 4" across and ¼" thick. All this hot metal, including spent bullets, was raining down during the battles and we could hear it smashing on roofs and thudding into the earth or crashing through garden sheds. Heaven help the greenhouses, they didn’t stand a chance!

We must not forget the object of the Luftwaffe exercise. Up above there could be, and often were, well over 100 bombers, sometimes three times that number, laden with death and destruction – for us. Apart from the hot metal, bombs were being dropped. These were High Explosive (HE) or incendiary bombs. The latter were silver (aluminium) with green fins and about 2 feet long overall and about 3 inches in diameter. They contained magnesium and certainly could create a fire. Most of the incendiary bombs would be left to burn out if on open ground. But always there was an awful metallic smell which I can still remember. All homes had a supply of sandbags to smother incendiaries – water was no use, only for surrounding wood. If incendiary bombs smashed through a roof and set fire in the loft, there would be a real problem as it was virtually impossible to put it out and it would burn fiercely for about 20 minutes. Shovels with long handles were developed to pick up burning incendiaries and remove them from the source of the fire.

The High Explosive bombs would make a pronounced whine as they came down and when you heard this you knew it may be close but if it was destined for you, there wouldn’t be any sound! These bombs, depending on their size, could create havoc and frequently did.

A 500lb bomb would demolish several houses and the Heavy Rescue and Fire Services would be called to dig people out of their wrecked homes. Ambulances would stand by to take the injured to hospital. During this time the air-raid would still be going on. The people who manned these services were very devoted and very brave. My Uncle George (Aunt Grace’s husband) served in the Heavy Rescue and later the Ambulance Service and I believe he saw some awful sights from dismembered bodies etc but he never spoke of these times. Apart from demolished houses, many nearby homes would have roofs damaged and curtains hanging in shreds from shattered glass and blowing out of gaping windows. Making temporary repairs was not easy what with the shortage of both materials and labour. There were also the problems of dust and the characteristic smell that accompanied a bombed building. In addition, depending on where the bombs fell, 66

there could be fractured water and gas mains or damaged electricity cables, all of which created their own problems. When incendiaries were involved with a gas main, there could be an enormous fire which could burn for a day or more. When such a situation occurred at night, it would create a beacon for enemy bombers and be hazardous for those trying to deal with the fire.

I could give graphic accounts of bomb damage but this would take a great deal of space and time. There is a comparison and that is like the devastation caused by an earthquake. Both situations require the rescue of people, frequently injured, and the need for emergency shelters for the homeless. The owners of badlydamaged homes would try to rescue some of their precious belongings whereas those less-damaged may need tarpaulins to cover shattered roofs with first-aid repairs to windows and doors to make premises weatherproof and secure. One of the great assets at the time was the spirit of comradeship and cooperation which developed. The natural British ‘reserve’ was being broken down. If there was a problem, people would help each other – after all, the next time it could be them. Support would be forthcoming from neighbours and strangers alike. Even with the rationing, cups of tea would be produced.

So, day after day these attacks continued with ‘The Few’ as the Battle of Britain pilots became known, battling it out with enemy aircraft in the skies above. We had fewer aircraft by far but inflicted heavy losses on their numbers to the extent that, at the end of October, Goring called off the raids. To give some figures and substance to this account, I looked up some records.

In the first 10 days of the conflict, the Germans lost 697 aircraft. We lost 153 but 60 pilots were safe and we had the advantage that if our pilots had to bale out, we got them back to fight again. Between the 8th August and 31st October 1940, we claimed the destruction of 2,375 enemy aircraft against the loss of 915 of ours. The R.A.F. took a heavy toll of the enemy against all the odds. Above all the Luftwaffe had been taught a very salutary lesson and the invasion of our country could not proceed as planned. It was not unusual when our fighters arrived on the scene, to hear over the German intercom, “Achtung Spitfire!” and they would turn tail and try to disappear, dropping their bombs at random.

The effect of the raids had taken its toll on the population. During September and October 1940 13,000 civilians were killed in London and 20,000 were injured and by mid-November; 13,000 tons of high explosives and 1 million incendiary bombs had been dropped on London and over 12,000 sorties flown over Great Britain. These figures give some indication of how London was under attack but, in addition, there were concentrated assaults on many other towns and cities. Whilst mentioning items not directly related to this story, it should be mentioned at this time that Hitler was massing his invasion force and by mid-September there were more than 1000 barges along the channel ports with a further 600 waiting near Antwerp. Night after night, Royal Air Force Bomber Command sent Fairy Battles, Blenheims, Whitleys, Wellingtons and Hampdens to attack these targets and in two weeks had crippled 12 per cent of the invasion fleet. This gives another aspect of the war at this stage – showing the real threat to our shores at that time.

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—8— The Blitz

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B a t t l e o f B r i t a i n was still in progress, the Germans began nightly assaults on London as Hitler attempted to break the spirit of London and, hopefully, the country. The first great attack was on 7/8 September and this continued nightly until mid-November. So in the early stages, we were having air attacks during the day and the start of the Blitz at night – not that anyone had an inkling of what was to come. Air raids were being spread intermittently throughout the 24 hours. The day raids had a pattern but the night raids were different. Firstly, the shelter had to be ready for night occupation with candles and heating, plus some blankets and provision for a drink as it could get cold at night. Secondly, the siren could sound at, say, 9pm with the all-clear at 10pm. Some nights there could be several warnings of different lengths each with varying amounts of bombing activity. Then again, the siren could sound at 9.30pm and go through until 3 or 4am which gave a disturbed night. All this made the living pattern difficult – problems with working and shopping during the day and lack of sleep for workers at night. Actually, this night activity was, in fact, a useful learning exercise for what was to come – the Blitz proper! hile the

We were used to preparing and staying in the shelter so, in the Blitz, it became an extension to our home and I would go to bed in the Anderson while it was still light. We had two prolific apple trees in our garden – one within about 3 feet of the shelter entrance so it was not unusual for me to pop out and get 10 or 12 apples for a snack. A ‘regular’ occurrence that sometimes became a moving experience! The siren may or may not go before my parents were due to come down about 10pm. If there was a raid they would be down earlier, locking the house for the night. We learned that it became sensible to spend the night there rather than have to get up two or three times in the early hours.

Very often we would hear the sound of enemy planes approaching or guns in the distance – one even learned to sleep through the more distant air raids but not when they got close. As autumn moved into winter and it got colder and we had rain, the shelter became less inviting but more vital. It was not pleasant to have to run down the garden in the rain, making the shelter even more damp than usual or waking up in the morning to a thick frost outside, condensation inside and cold feet. There were occasions when the all-clear would not go until 8am so we were down there sometimes for 12 hours continuously. You may well ask how the time was spent. In short by reading, talking, playing cards or other games bearing in mind that the lighting was not good. Only candles or a small paraffin lamp were available. We had a paraffin Valor stove, but could not keep it on too long because of the condensation it produced plus the fumes and smell.

It was used to boil a kettle to make cocoa but that soon got covered in soot. Nevertheless, we were quite cheerful and all our neighbours were living in a similar way. There was one thing I forgot to mention. We tended to sleep in some clothes in case of emergency and also warmth, but we always had some outdoor clothes in the shelter just in case the house was bombed and we lost everything. Of course, mother had to regularly take out the blankets and clothes to be aired, often daily.

Apart from this troglodyte existence, there was a war going on and it was happening right above us. You now know the living conditions so let’s add some flesh to the bones. With the cessation of the day raids, the Germans threw everything into the night attacks. The siren sounded every night at virtually the same time, 7pm. It was so precise that you could almost set a watch by it. We knew we had up to half an hour to get to the shelter. One of us would go to the back door to listen out for the sounds of the first bombers. Each night we would wonder how bad it would be and “who would get it” that night. Would it be us? We would pray that we would be safe.

“Here comes Jerry” would be the call, so gathering up the remaining possessions, we would go to the shelter. The guns would be firing and the sounds would get ever nearer. Looking up, I would see the flashes 68

of exploding shells in the sky and the searchlights with their fingers of light criss-crossing as they tried to pick out an enemy bomber. Occasionally, they got one but it didn’t seem that the guns could follow through and shoot it down. The searchlights had a limited range, I believe not more than 12,000 feet, and were ineffective in clouds. A good enemy air gunner could fire down the beam and put it out of action and, possibly, kill the crew.

Huddled in the shelter, we would listen to the raid above and if things got close, we would hear the bombs coming down and then listen for the explosion. Depending on the loudness, we would know how close it was. If it was very loud and we heard breaking tiles and shattering glass, we would peep out to see if our roof and windows were still there. Of course, the Firewatchers were keeping watch and we would listen for whistles. There were nights with little local activity but others when there was a lot. I can remember a number of occasions. Once, following the whistles – there was still a fair amount going on with enemy aircraft around and guns firing – we emerged from the shelter to join with our neighbours who were doing the same. The word went round that there were incendiaries down the road towards South Park Drive. I had my helmet on, of course, so cut through Mr & Mrs Plummer’s garden next door, through Mr & Mrs Coyle’s next to them, through the sideway into Mortlake Road. I wasn’t alone, there were other neighbours going to help, but I was carrying a sandbag. Going towards the scene – it was about 11pm – it was apparent that there were several incendiary bombs burning in gardens and in the road with that characteristic smell pervading the neighbourhood. I used my sandbag on the first fire and decided to go for a walk to see what was going on.

When I got to South Park Drive and looked across the road, I saw that Bertha, our barrage balloon, was tethered on the ground and all round her was a ring of incendiaries. Other people were looking too. Was it chance that the incendiaries had landed all round Bertha? Could some have hit Bertha and, because of her shape been deflected off? We never did find the answer but the frightening thought was that the barrage balloon contained hydrogen and one of those incendiaries could have created a most enormous explosion – worse than a very powerful bomb! The crew very wisely let the bombs burn out. I had a bit of explaining to do, though, when I got home. No one knew where I had gone.

Another occasion about 1am one morning had a similar alarm. We had been dozing but immediately woke up – you never really slept soundly during the Blitz. Neighbours were calling out that incendiaries had fallen on us. People were checking their roofs for damage and going indoors to see if there were any fires in their lofts. The raid was still going on but you couldn’t let your house burn down, Jerry or no Jerry! I looked round and realised that there was one in the Plummer’s garden next door, grabbed a sandbag and went through the gap in the fence calling out at the same time. The incendiary had landed at the bottom of Mr Plummer’s garden by his shed door and was in danger of setting the shed alight. Others arrived and we threw our sandbags on top of it. The door was beginning to smoulder so one of the firewatchers had brought the stirrup pump and a bucket of water so that was dealt with. Fortunately, none of our houses had been hit and no damage had been done.

Some nights it would be ‘busy’ all night, others not so when the bombing would be directed to another part of London. Quite often, in fact at its peak, every night we would look towards London and hear the aircraft heading there in waves. The whole sky would take on a red glow as London burned, particularly so if there were low clouds. One would see flashes of yellow as more bombs exploded with their colour reflected in the red sky. The London docks were an obvious target but plenty of high explosives and fire bombs fell on homes in East London. On some occasions, the glow would appear in the South-West and we would know that Beckton Gas Works had been hit. The glow in the sky would often last the whole night and only begin to fade as the dawn came up. At other times, fires could last for days. In the meantime, the fire-fighters and rescue squads would be out doing their job while under attack. They were such brave people. All these sights were orchestrated by the noise of the aircraft, the crack of the anti-aircraft guns, the whine of bombs falling and the sound of explosions when we were under attack.

As the nights wore on, we would get colder in the shelter and if the all-clear sounded, we would rush up to the house to make a hot drink before the siren sounded for the next raid. There was one thing that we dreamed of – to have a night’s sleep in our own bed. What luxury that would have been. Some people got 69

so desperate that they took a chance and slept indoors. That was not only a risk for them but was unfair on the rescue services who may have had to risk their lives if the house was bombed.

To give some indication of the duration and ferocity of the Blitz, we had 57 nights consecutive bombing – just over eight weeks – and this was followed by some months ‘casual’ attacks when the air raids could come at any time. We could be in the shelter during the evening, have an all-clear, come in and go to bed to be awakened by the wail of the siren and have to get out of a warm bed to go into the damp, cold shelter; sometimes for half an hour, maybe one or two hours, when we would go back to bed only to be awoken again after a short while to repeat the process all over again. In many ways this period was the most draining.

The Blitz itself might have been more intensive and continuous, but at least we could settle for the night.

What has to be our worst experience was during this phase. I can’t remember the date but can never forget the night. The raids had been fairly heavy with frequent waves of bombers coming over and some bombs being dropped locally which shook the ground, but they were not too close to us. About two in the morning, there were some planes overhead and we heard a rustling sound – the sound of a land-mine on its parachute.

That was ominous but everything happened so quickly. There was an almighty flash that filled the shelter and a tremendous bang. We knew that it was close, very close and, along with neighbours, we emerged to see the house still standing. As the raid was heavy, there was no way that we could venture further so we settled down and tried to sleep as things got quieter.

It must have been about 3am when we heard footsteps on our garden path and then a tragic voice called in the entrance to the shelter. It was Aunt Lily from Frimley Road. I can still hear her voice now, just calling my mother, “Mildred, Mildred”.

The grief was so apparent in the way she called. She had come to tell us that the land-mine had made a direct hit on her father’s – Grandpa Beamish – and his wife Paddy’s – Anderson shelter. They lived at 135, South Park Drive. Of course, we did what we could but there was nothing really to do. Anderson shelters could withstand almost anything but not a direct hit. The next morning, I went round to help. There was nothing but masses of shattered houses, roads covered in glass, tiles, furniture and clothes. Where the shelter had been, there was an enormous crater. Of Grandpa Beamish and Paddy there was nothing although, I dread to say, pieces of them (I will spare you the details) were found scattered over a large area. The shelters in the gardens either side had protected their occupants and Aunt Lily and Uncle Fred’s shelter, not an Anderson but a larger, longer one built, would you believe, by Grandpa Beamish, had kept them safe. They had a very long garden which was at right-angles to Grandpa Beamish’s shelter and only about 100 feet from it.

There was little that could be salvaged from the Beamish’s house. It was totally devastated. Aunt Lily and Uncle Fred’s house was in a terrible state. We helped them collect what could be retrieved before the house, or what was left of it, had to be pulled down. This together with the death of Aunt Lilly’s father and Paddy was a terrible blow for the family. Of course, we found pieces of that green parachute and to give some idea of the size of the explosion, Grandpa Beamish’s heavy garden roller was recovered from the lake in South Park. The blast had carried it, from the garden, over the 70

Wartime issue: National Savings Stamps 6d (21/2p)

houses and trees in South Park Drive and into the lake which was about 100 yards from the road. I don’t know whether a funeral service was ever held but if one was, it must have been difficult in the circumstances as there were so little remains. A terrible effect of war on the civilian population.

All this resulted in Aunt Lily and Uncle Fred being homeless. In some ways, it was opportune that cousin Joyce was serving in the WRENS and, of course, Doris and John were evacuated in South Wales. Fortunately, a house was obtained in Grange Hill – a rather nice, country area between Barkingside and Chigwell. The area, as the name suggests, was on high ground and there were only about eight houses. From the road one looked down on Barkingside towards Ilford. They were about 50 yards from the main road and in the same 50 yards was an orchard, so later I was to enjoy happy days in their home and surroundings, visiting my cousin. In fact, they lived there until after the war was over when Uncle Fred, who had sold his business, took a job as manager of a large car showrooms and garage at Hindhead in Surrey. Although they offered him various inducements, Aunt Lily had a strong urge to return to the country of her birth, New Zealand. In 1947, half the family emigrated – Uncle Fred, Aunt Lily, Joyce and her new husband, Bernard, Doris and John along with Aunt Josie and cousin Diane.

One of the differences between the Battle of Britain and the Blitz was that in the former the R.A.F. played a prominent part on destroying so many German aircraft that it more or less halted the attacks. The Blitz was different in that the R.A.F. was at a disadvantage in night fighting. There were problems in engaging and attacking the enemy aircraft during darkness and this technique had to be learned. So, initially, we heard virtually nothing in terms of aerial combat during the Blitz. The defence was left to the anti-aircraft guns.

Although heavy air attacks had been made against major cities and centres of manufacture, by February 1941, the Germans realised that they had neither crippled British production nor shaken British morale. One interesting personal indication of the way in which everyone had shown such a great spirit during such difficult times is taken from my autograph book.

On 4 March 1941, my Uncle George wrote the following;

When the Blitz had started On good old London Town Hitler thought he’d beat us And make Churchill a clown.

He didn’t think of morale That the British people had Didn’t think of Cabinets, Only as Sugar Dads.

He doesn’t think there is a God, Or Sun or Stars or Moon He doesn’t know what’s coming to him But it’s coming mighty soon.

And when we beat the Nazi All Hitler and his gang We’ll clear the air of Europe Of the Musty Smell and Pang.

This may not be the best in terms of English or poetry – Uncle George did not have a great education, but he saw a lot of action in the Heavy Rescue and Ambulance Services. You must remember that this was written whilst the Blitz was still on and importantly it shows the spirit and determination of one member of the public that was reflected throughout the nation.

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Interestingly enough, he wrote another on the same date, but covering the Battle of Britain and I hope you will agree that it is worth including.

There was a Man of great Renown, Who tried to burn all London Town, He tried his hardest, this big Hun, To give his pilots some great fun.

Over they came in 100’s last year, Some full of hope, some shedding a tear.

It wasn’t them that was having the fun BUT THE R.A.F. – WHAT BOYS, WHAT CHUMS. P.S. Mr Hitler. you send ‘em up, we’ll knock ‘em down.

In looking at this rhyme some 80 years after it was written, it certainly brings back something of the sense of occasion of that time. I suppose if one likes to analyse those few lines, it encapsulates so much; the attempt to desecrate this country; the size of the onslaught; the cheerfulness and optimism which we had; a humane attitude towards the enemy aircrew and our gratefulness to ‘The Few’ who fought in the skies above to save our country. That verse really said it all. Yes, we did cheer when we saw a German plane coming down with smoke pouring from it, but we did think about the pilot too. We attempted to carry on with our ordinary lives although, if we were out, we had to rush into public shelters during raids but everyone was cheerful and friendly and we felt ‘safe’ and somehow protected by those brave R.A.F. pilots, many of whom sacrificed their lives or suffered terrible burns and injuries for us. We must never forget the debt we, or this country, owe to them.

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—9— The Teenage Years

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B a t t l e o f B r i t a i n and the Blitz had died down, we started going back to South Park School. It was not really proper schooling as there was the possibility of air raids but at least we were doing something. It was about this time that school dinners were introduced – probably to assist mothers who were working on ‘the war effort’. The first classroom on the ground floor on the right (Mr. Charlton, the headmaster’s office was on the left) was converted into a kitchen and school dinners commenced at a charge of 6d (2 1/2p decimal). As expected, my mother thought she could feed me better and did. I was old enough to go home on my own and lunch would be waiting for me. hen the

In the spring of 1942, we had to sit the Scholarship examination (later called the 11+) which sorted out those who would go to grammar (or equivalent) schools and those who would go to secondary moderns. The latter took the children who were not academically suited. Of course, some children developed later so there was a 13+ examination for them and, if successful, they could go to grammar school then. This was not easy for them as they would be joining children who already had two years grammar school background, so the newcomers would have a lot to catch up.

Prior to the Scholarship examination, parents could select three possible schools and my parents chose Barking Abbey, Ilford County High and Beal Modern. I was reasonably well placed in the ‘A’ stream and quite competent in the three ‘Rs’. On the appointed day, we all had to go to Mayfield School in Goodmayes Lane armed with a pen, ink, pencil, rubber and a ruler. I don’t remember the details of the exam but I know we had to write a composition and do arithmetic. By lunch time, we were on our way home with the rest of the afternoon off.

A few weeks later, the results came out and much to my surprise (and dismay), I had not got any of my choices but was invited to Leyton County High School for an interview. Leyton was a long way away and my parents were not keen on that amount of travel for an 11 year old so they went to the school and asked for advice. My teacher was adamant that I should attend. It was quite a long journey – half a mile to the bus stop in Green Lane, a 148 bus to the Green Man, Leytonstone then a 661 trolleybus (these were buses powered by electricity from overhead arms rather like modern trains) to Essex Road, Leyton. In the school hallway there were rows of seats where we had to sit. I was called in for my interview which lasted a few minutes. Not long after, my parents received a letter to say that I had been accepted. This included joining instructions and details of school uniform etc. The latter was not really enforceable as clothes were rationed.

One had clothing coupons which limited what one could buy.

At that time, education was not free and on the first day of the autumn term, the pupils had to queue outside the school library to pay their fees.

I am still not sure to this day, why I was selected to go to Leyton County High School (LCHS). Had I done badly in the scholarship or did the powers that be feel it was the better option for me? I do know that at the end of the summer term in 1942, there were a lot of sad goodbyes. Not only to our teachers but to our friends also. We were being sent to many different schools. After all, as 11 year olds, we had spent almost half our lives with these other children. We had been evacuated together, shared birthday parties and had developed personal friendships. One of my best friends, Trevor Brooks, had been accepted for Chigwell (Public) School and during those summer holidays, he often had to stay at home to receive Latin lessons from our teacher, Miss Wiggins. Trevor’s family moved to Chigwell so that he could be a day boy. I went to visit him for a day and can remember that it was a very frosty morning when I got off the bus at Chigwell Row. There was a public footpath to Chigwell. The air was so cold that it caught your breath, the path 73

crunched under your feet and the hedges and trees were covered in hoar frost. The morning, though, was bright and clear and as the sun shone, it sparkled on the frost that shone like diamonds. Somehow one remembers days like that. I was alone and it was really like walking through a wonder land.

Walking along the path, and rounding a bend, I saw a large fox blocking my path. I had never seen a live fox before and I didn’t know whether to turn back, carry on or try to scare it away. As it was, it stood, looked at me and then disappeared through the hedge on the side. I was thrilled. It was so magnificent with its reddish coat and bushy tail contrasting against the white, frosty path. I had a great day with Trevor and we swapped stories about our new schools. I was only 11 years old but, in those days, was quite happy to travel fair distances on the bus – I suppose my journey to school stood me in good stead to accept travel later in life.

After that, we lost touch and it was not until many years later that we happened to meet when I found him in a butcher’s shop near Leytonstone station. By that time he was married. His father-in-law owned a chain of butcher shops and he was taken into the business. I must say that I could never understand the logic of his parents paying to have him educated privately to end up as a butcher! I have nothing against butchers even though I was a strict vegetarian at the time. I am not trying to be pompous, but sometimes one does wonder when one sees people who start with very little ending up in senior positions, whilst other with potential do not seem to have exploited their natural abilities. But that is life. Apart from Richard Cross, who also went to LCHS with me, I lost contact with all my other friends from that period – ships that pass in the night! I often wonder how their lives panned out and what happened to them.

The summer school holiday of 1942 was edged with some excitement at the prospects of the new school.

Although there was the problem of getting clothes coupons for my uniform, my parents somehow managed to get me reasonably kitted out with a blazer, cap and tie. I needed gym shoes and football shorts, but the grey shirts and short grey trousers from South Park School could still be worn. The school colours were red and black, and the school badge was the crossed shields containing the Coats of Arms of Leyton and Essex.

The excitement grew as the day approached to start the new adventure. What I didn’t realise was that it would be a culture shock as you will see! All the new boys arrived and we were taken to various classrooms – I went to 1B. When I looked round the other boys with whom I would spend my formative years, I found they were quite a mixture. Most of them came from Leyton, Leytonstone and Walthamstow, with the rest from outlying areas (Woodford, Ilford, Barking, Goodmayes and as far as Dagenham). All were nice with some from not so well-off families. Some wore hob nailed boots, which I had not seen before. Some did not wear underpants – their parents I presume could not afford such a luxury! Some were plain scruffy and many of them swore nearly all the time. If there was anything or anybody they didn’t like, they bashed them.

I suppose that at South Park School, I had been somewhat protected. Virtually all the children were from the same sort of background, families where children were well-cared for, polite, friendly and well-spoken. Also, it was a mixed school whereas now I had entered a boys' school. It was apparent that I would have to grow up fast although I have to say that I didn’t relish mixing with some of my new acquaintances. On reflection, I suppose that apart from a few, I never did.

While they were involved in physical activities, I tended to be more interested in nature e.g. collecting butterflies. I had no rapport with these boys, although after a time we all settled down and relationships did improve during the next five years, so by the time we all came to leave, I had made some friends. I suppose that one of my main problems was the distance that I lived from the school. The journey was about an hour and a quarter each way so I never really entered into out of school activities because it meant getting home so late and then there would be homework to be done.

My interest in sport developed, as I grew older. My first real sporting interest was tennis. This was not a physical contact sport in which I had no experience, but a game where one could use one’s mind as well as 74

ability to outwit an opponent. With singles you were on your own and not relying on others. I suppose that as an only child I was not a natural team player. This had to be learned later. Coaching was virtually unknown so one learnt from watching others and reading the few books there were on the subject. The war meant that there was very little equipment available – virtually nothing new, only second hand, if it could be found.

Getting broken strings repaired was difficult. There was only catgut, which absorbed moisture so if you played on a wet surface or in the rain, the strings would soften. Likewise, tennis balls were a rarity and we had to use them until there was no nap left and/or they punctured.

Back to my new school. It was an oblong building, divided through the centre by the school hall and having a quadrangle on either side. It was on two floors with laboratories etc on the upper floors. There was a gymnasium (I had never seen one before), a music room and a workshop as well as classrooms on the ground floor. The workshop was out of commission until around 1945 owing to the war (no materials or teacher). There was a main corridor running round the entire building on each floor and on the ground floor there were tall anti-blast barriers. These extended from each wall and overlapped with a gap about two feet wide between them so one had to zigzag through them as you progressed down the corridor. They were made of strengthened boxes, filled with sand and placed on top of one another. Outside in the playgrounds there were sandbag barriers as blast walls.

Outside, the school had a very large playing field with a pavilion. There were some run-down tennis courts (as a result of the war) and along one side was a long air raid shelter with entrances from the school and the road outside. I never found out whether it was for the use of the school or for the public. It certainly wouldn’t have taken the whole school and, in any case, by the time the school was evacuated to the shelter – a good 150 yards away – the raid would have been over.

Other immediate differences were that the masters and mistresses wore academic gowns. None of us had seen this before. Instead of having one teacher for everything, each subject had its own specialist. Equally, our syllabus was expanded. We would learn a language (French initially, later a choice of Latin, German or Spanish); chemistry, physics and biology (three subjects which interested me greatly); sport – I had never played football and frankly didn’t really want to. My parents had to buy me a pair of football boots (required by the school) and it was the only pair they ever did buy, although I must say that they did get rather tight when I got older! Of course, football boots weren’t like they are today. They were made of thick coarse leather and had very thick soles with circular studs about ½" diameter and ¾" long. The studs had 4 long nails protruding from the bottom and the studs were hammered into the sole of the boot. Before the boots could be worn, they had to be treated with several applications of dubbin (a grease) to soften the leather (not the toe caps, though) so that the boots would be comfortable; they also extended over the ankle to give protection.

I also had gym kit and plimsolls although our gym mistress, Mrs McDowell, would not allow the latter to be used, as they would mark the gymnasium floor. Mrs McDowell was a slim blond who always wore a sweater and blue trousers. She was in her mid-thirties and was quite attractive. Her husband was also a gym teacher at the school. She tended to teach the younger boys and he taught the older pupils, particularly if they wished to specialise in gymnastics. It was a rule that after gym, we all had to have a shower so we had to take our own towels. Most of us had never undressed in front of other boys, so you can imagine the comments! It was also interesting to see the different reactions. Those who were shy and hid in the corner and those who couldn’t care less to those who were positively show-offs! What made it worse was that Mrs McDowell would come through the changing room and watch us. I can remember one occasion when we were learning to do handstands. For some reason, I was chosen to demonstrate the method. I had to do a handstand and Mrs McDowell would catch my legs. It was only after that the other boys said that she looked down my shorts!

Having gone through the enrolment procedure, we were allocated to Houses and I was in White House – there was also Red, Blue and Gold. Our Form Master was a Mr. Woolner-Bird and that was a surprise too.

This ‘ancient’ man came in dressed in old flannel trousers and a sports jacket – no gown for him. He had an 75

absolute mop of long, wiry, grey hair that stood out from his head and looked as if it had never been brushed or combed. His face was somewhat wizened and his nose was wrinkled with long hairs protruding from his nostrils and ears. He had a few bad teeth and small steel-rimmed spectacles. Like most masters, he had a nickname and his was, ‘Wazzo’ – taken from ‘oiseau’, the French for bird. The ingenuity of schoolboys is sometimes beyond belief! Wazzo was a maths master and Greek scholar who also took religion. He certainly had an encyclopaedic biblical knowledge. He introduced me to algebra so I must mark him as a failure in terms of personal achievement. One of his problems was that, after lunch, he would tend to drop off to sleep and, if we would keep sufficiently quiet, he would stay that way for the whole period. If he woke up he could be quite ill-tempered and the odd detention might result.

The older boys – 6th Formers – held him in high esteem and I have to admit that as I grew older, I did likewise. I used to enjoy meeting him at old boys dinners when he would splutter a greeting, ‘Hello, Parrish’.

(That was another shock when starting at LCHS. It was surnames only). I never knew how old Wazzo was but can only presume that he was one of the many teachers called back into service during the war. As a last memory, I am sure that all pupils will remember him arriving at school each day – how could one forget?

An old bicycle would appear entering the school with Wazzo riding it, seemingly unsteadily. His head would be covered in a woollen tea cosy and he would have an enormous scarf wrapped many times round his neck, a satchel over one shoulder and often an old sack over the handlebars to keep his hands warm. How could one not like such an eccentric? He was one of life’s great characters.

Travelling to Leyton every day meant that I was committed to school dinners. These were a survival situation too. With food being so strictly rationed, schools received an allocation of food and my experience would indicate that the butchers kept the best for their customers and sent the rest to us. But first, let’s set the scene. The teachers had their lunch at tables laid on the stage so that they could overlook the boys. In the front, at the foot of the stage and across the width were the prefects’ tables. The rest of the school hall was filled with tables and benches either side. There were eight boys on each table including a fifth former as the table captain in charge. Two boys acted as orderlies and had to fetch the food and take back the dirty plates to the kitchen which was in the corridor behind the stage.

Problems occurred if the table captain was unfair and this happened frequently.

Sometimes, he would help himself to as much as he wanted and then leave the boys to compete for the rest. On other occasions, he may serve the meal allocating it to those willing to do favours, or whether he liked you or not. The meat was often mainly fat and gristle (hence my comments about the suppliers), which had been cooked with some vegetables to make a stew. Although I couldn’t eat it, some boys did. All the food was brought in tureens.

To improve the palatability, some of us would club together and buy a bottle of sauce. One boy, named Heath, on my table had a father who owned a grocer’s shop and, although food was rationed, he managed to get a bottle of Daddie’s Sauce – all for the price of 1d per week each. Of course, as we got older, things improved – it was the 1st Formers who got the worst deal.

School milk was still supplied so we had a 1/3rd of a pint each morning. Also, we had a school ‘baker’ who called at the mid-morning break. He would have a basket of rolls and bun-rounds in a basket and would sell these at the junior entrance steps. The rolls were 1/2d and the bun-rounds (which sometimes contained the odd currant) were 4d (2p in decimal currency). One could have half a bun-round if required. The rolls were unfilled and without butter (rationing), but if you were hungry, that didn’t matter.

At the end of Essex Road where we alighted from the trolley bus in Lea Bridge Road, there was a sweet shop. Of course, sweets were rationed so the shop had virtually no stocks and, even if they had, they could only sell them if we had sweet coupons, which we didn’t. They did make up bottles of drink from very watered down cordial and this could be bought hot in winter. The bottles cost 1d (1/2p) and were drunk on the premises to make sure the shop didn’t lose their bottles.

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This tuck shop and the empty shop next door were the only premises left on a tri-angular site. The other properties had all been bombed and site cleared so when we got off the bus, we didn’t have to walk round the corner but just cut across the empty ground. I mention this because during the German V2 Rocket attacks, I got off the trolley bus one morning on the way to school and as I was crossing the bombsite, there was a massive explosion and I was blown onto my back. A V2 had dropped about ½ mile away. When I got to the school, there were windows blown out and we were sent home for the day while the mess was cleared up.

First formers were known as ‘fags’. This wasn’t the usual form of fagging, but merely an excuse by second and third formers to take it out on the newcomers. This could best be described as bullying and the new boys would be sought by the older ones and punched, kicked or jumped on. Just a part of the growing-up process which certainly shocked us out of our previously settled way of life in our primary schools. On reflection, it may appear that I had entered a really rough educational environment. It was not all bad and as one came to accept the rather drastic changes, it was quite enjoyable. Some of the boys were from good families and from professional parents. However, as often happens, natural segregation tends to occur and people gravitate to their own kind. I suppose I was somewhere in the middle.

Having considered my new school environment, let’s now review the school day. From walking half a mile to South Park School, I was now facing quite a journey for an 11-year-old. One must remember that the war was still on; we were still subject to air raids at any time of day or night even though Britain had mastery of the air. Most people were becoming complacent although this was tinged with caution. If the siren sounded, people would carry on unless they heard the sound of aircraft or anti-aircraft gunfire when they would seek cover in one of the public air-raid shelters.

Owing to petrol rationing, public transport was the way to travel. Petrol was limited to essential services and even then it was rationed severely. People who were fortunate enough to own cars would have them ‘mothballed’ in their garages. There were not many cars anyway, so roads were even less cluttered. Many people had cycles and, of course, the war lengthened the life span of horse traffic. Buses were the mainstay for most people. A driver, and a conductor (commonly known as ‘clippies’) whose equipment was a leather moneybag worn diagonally across one shoulder and a ticket punch worn diagonally across the other, manned them. The conductor carried a range of different priced bus tickets on a multiple clip and these were all printed with the various fare stages for that route. When a passenger tendered a fare, the appropriate ticket would be punched to indicate how far the fare would enable the passenger to travel.

As the war proceeded and male conductors were called up, their places were taken increasingly by lady conductors. It was a requirement for uniforms to be worn by bus crews – and this included a white shirt and black tie together with a peaked cap. Likewise, postmen wore a dark blue uniform with a red stripe down the side of their trousers. They also had a white shirt, black tie and peaked cap with hair neatly trimmed. If one wanted a career in the Post Office, everyone had to start as a Telegram Boy and work their way up.

Similar rules regarding dress applied to all the service industries – railways, gas, water, electricity.

Wartime buses were reasonably maintained, but when the seating upholstery wore out, it was replaced with wooden slats. To conform to blackout regulations (for the safety of the passengers), lighting inside buses was dimmed and shaded. New buses could not be produced because all vehicle production was geared to the armed forces, so old buses with outside stairs were still in use. They stayed on the No.10 route from Leytonstone to Abridge until after the war. While these were very pleasant in the summer, they were diabolical in the winter. The stairs could be covered in water, snow or even ice and, as the entrances to the top and bottom decks were exposed, the bus could be very cold. The conductor’s lot was not easy either as he normally stood at the foot of the stairs, so he too, was open to the elements.

Another hazard at this time was fog. As mentioned earlier, central heating was virtually unknown and the coal fire heated almost every house so, during the winter, pollution was rife. You could smell the sulphur fumes in the air. These fumes were mixed with carbon (soot) and, when you blew your nose, it was black mucus.

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When these fumes were mixed with dampness, the result was fog (the thick, yellow, sulphurous form was called smog). London was known for its ‘pea-soupers’, which could last for several days. People had to hold a handkerchief to their nose and mouth to reduce the inhalation of the quite choking fumes. As a result of this pollution, bronchitis and chest infections were widespread and, as there were no antibiotics, deaths were common.

Apart from domestic fires, much of industry was fired by coal. Factories, gas works and power stations were pumping out thick smoke and, of course, railway engines were coal-fired. One of the direct results of this pollution was that transport virtually ground to a halt. Trains and buses would travel at a walking pace and it was not uncommon, for example, to take two or three hours to reach Liverpool Street Station from Ilford.

Bus conductors frequently had to walk in front of buses to guide the driver.

This affected my journey to school. The buses would drive with headlights on and it could take well over an hour to get to Leytonstone alone. As the fog was suspended water vapour containing carbon and other particles, one got very wet and grimy. Not a pleasant period, and it did not show any improvement until the introduction of smokeless fuels in the 1960s. This introduction was made following complaints by Scandinavia which showed that sulphur-laden clouds, mainly from Britain, were descending as acid rain damaging and killing coniferous forests in Sweden.

My usual routine would involve getting up at 7.15am and leaving home by 7.50am after having a cooked breakfast which my father always left on a low gas as he left home about 7.30am. Bless him. He insisted that I should have a ‘proper’ start to the day so there was always something in the frying pan. My mother never got up that early unless there was some special reason.

I would walk, or if late, run up South Park Drive (about 1/2 mile) to the bus stop in Green Lane. The 148 bus was due about 2 minutes past 8.00am. Hopefully, it would stop but, if full, it would go straight by. The next bus would be in 15 minutes so time would become crucial. (As an alternative, one could get a 145 bus to Woodford Water Works and then a 581 trolley bus). Arriving at The Green Man, Leytonstone, I would cross the road and catch the 661 trolley bus to Essex Road, Leyton. School children received a bus pass which enabled them to travel at a special rate. In my case, it cost 4d (2p) to Leytonstone and 2d (1p) to Leyton. Of course, if I was early and the weather was reasonable, I could walk to the school from Leytonstone and save the 1p. That could mean the purchase of half a bun-round mid-morning!

The school day started with morning assembly at 9.00am. Fifth and sixth forms would be seated in the balcony of the school hall and the first to fourth forms would be on the ground floor, seated at the dinner tables. The staff would be on the stage in a semi-circle. In the front of the stage would be a central table for the use of the headmaster. The deputy head, a Mr. Whitehead, commonly known as ‘Pimple’ owing to his distinctive short, round shape, would survey the assembled gathering. He had one particular dislike – boys wearing scarves at assembly. If he spotted one, he would point and call in his somewhat high pitched voice, “Boy, take that moofler off” (not my bad spelling but his Lancashire accent).

When all was quiet, the doors at the rear of the hall would quickly open and the headmaster, Dr. Len Couch, would stride down the centre of the hall, the sleeves of his cerise-coloured gown flapping wildly. Occasioally, he would stop and chastise some poor unfortunate boy. Arriving on the stage, he would announce the first hymn at which point, ‘Billy’ Rushton, our music master who was seated at his piano at the foot of the stage, would commence playing with great gusto. Following the hymn, the headmaster would say prayers and give a reading from the bible. At this stage boys at the back of the hall or upstairs in the balcony would probably be reading books or comics. The headmaster would then make any announcements. These could include school football, cricket or other sport results; examination results for current or past pupils; County Major or other financial awards for pupils going to universities and news of past pupils who were serving in the armed forces.

One such announcement I shall never forget. It was apparent that Dr Couch was very upset and the feeling 78

of something of great moment was imminent. We had read in our newspapers and heard on the radio the news that some RAF aircrew who were prisoners of war in Germany, had planned an escape. Prisoners of war were always escaping and a number eventually got back to Britain, often helped by local resistance workers in Europe. This was different, however. This was a mass escape from a camp known as Stalag Luft III in March 1944. A tunnel had been dug and seventy six officers broke out. It is said that Hitler was involved in ordering fifty to be shot after they had been recaptured on the grounds that they were resisting arrest. Dr Couch really brought the horror of the war to us when he announced that one of our old boys by the name of Cockcroft was one of those who had been shot. The school was stunned. We had a two minutes silence and you could have heard a pin drop. Just to make the situation worse, he had a brother still at the school in the fifth form. I hasten to say that he was not at school that day – he was with his family.

Once assembly was over, at 9.15am, we would go to our form rooms and the day would commence. There were two 45 minute periods before break, followed by two before lunch at 12.30pm. There were three periods in the afternoon and we would finish by 4pm. Friday afternoons were devoted to clubs and societies of which we had a wide choice. These included a model railway club; stamp club; debating society; scientific society; model aero club; chess club; dramatic society; music society and so on. I was interested in the scientific society and as I grew older, I took an active part by giving talks and demonstrations to other members. I remember one talk was on hydrolysis and I was fascinated how an electric current could split water into its respective atoms of hydrogen and oxygen. I was also interested in how by mixing 2 parts hydrogen and 1 part oxygen they could be exploded to produce energy and a drop of water.

It struck me then that the energy could surely be used to drive some form of a machine. Little did I realise that some 55 or so years later, prototype cars would be produced using this principle as a pollution free means of propulsion.

I dabbled with various other clubs, but the only real one of interest was the art club and dramatic society.

‘Arty’ Young the art master was a nice chap. When we went to our first art class, we were shown how to draw a margin round a sheet of paper (without a ruler). Then we had to draw a double circle, section it off and paint in the primary colours of the spectrum. Our first real attempt at ‘art’ was to look out of the back of the art room, facing across the playing fields, and draw the roofs of the buildings we could see. Apart from the houses at the end of the school grounds, there were the roofs of Whipps Cross Hospital which were quite dominating. He taught us (well, me anyway) to appreciate that roof tiles and bricks were not all the same colour. Every brick and every tile is slightly different and one could get this effect by adding a touch more red, blue or yellow to each brick as you painted it. I did this and he was highly delighted and I got 16 out of 20 – an above average mark. Seventeen was excellent and 18 out of 20 was rarely given and the work had to be outstanding.

‘Arty’ Young had easels all round the edge of the art room with the space in the centre for objects or models.

His desk was at one end and behind that he had an office/studio. This room always had a peculiar smell and it wasn’t until some years later that I realised that it was a combination of stale cigarette smoke and peppermints. He was a fairly heavy smoker and as he couldn’t smoke in class, he would suck peppermints continuously. He was quite an accomplished artist and exhibited watercolours. To go to the art class was always relaxing. After all, it didn’t require mental exertion and one had a certain freedom of movement as one didn’t have to sit still on a seat for 45 minutes. ‘Arty’ lived in Woodford and like most masters, cycled to school. At that time, only the headmaster had a car – how times have changed.

When I got older, about fifteen, and had got to know ‘Arty’ better, another boy, Derek Rew, and I went over one Saturday to help him with his garden. We dug some potatoes and did various jobs for which we received orange squash and biscuits and our bus fare. It made a pleasant morning out.

‘Arty’ was quite a creative man and as a team leader could get boys to work together. He started to make papier mache puppets and these became popular. Firstly, the boys could be creative by actually making a 79

model, then painting it and finally connecting it by strings to the various hand-held controls. It was then a natural progression to move on to build a Stage. Scenery and back cloths were required and this was followed by lighting, other effects and sound. Of course, a story was essential, which had to be written. You can see how the idea took off. The art club decided to make, produce and put on Aladdin. The team of boys ranged from juniors to sixth formers and we were all committed. My job was to paint scenery and backcloths, which I found interesting and satisfying because I was dealing with comparatively large areas – up to 4 feet by 3 feet.

The overall size of the stage was about 7 feet tall by 8 feet wide. It was a solid area with a cut-out in the centre about 4 feet by 3 feet and had about 3 feet depth. Perhaps I should explain the reason for the structure as described. Because of the number of stagehands required, it was necessary to operate about waist high for the puppet stage with room round the sides for scenery and stage furniture. For this reason, we performed on the school stage with the curtains drawn up to the edge of the puppet stage structure.

Behind the operating stage, we had a long frame on which to hang the puppets which were not currently being used. Immediately behind the backcloth was built a platform the width of the puppet stage and about 3 feet deep. This was for the operators to stand on. Above the stage were supports on which to hang puppets when necessary during the show.

The scenes incorporated Widow Twankey’s parlour, the countryside, outside the Royal Palace, the Royal Quarters and the Emperor’s Throne Room etc. There were many characters, all of which were beautifully dressed in their respective costumes. Apart from making gestures and walking, the operators became highly skilled so the band had a trumpet, a trombone and a drum and they actually played them to accompanying records (tapes had not been invented then). The drummer played his big drum on one side of which was written, ‘SoLo and How Hi Musicians’ and on the other,’ Do not Spit – Penalty 5 Yen’. Aladdin would walk across the stage, pick up his lamp and rub it. There would be a flash and a puff of white smoke and the Genie would appear to ask Aladdin’s bidding.

I still have photographs of the stage sets. The show lasted almost 2 hours during which time everyone had to wear plimsolls to reduce noise and no-one was allowed to talk apart from the characters. Those speaking would stand at ground level at the side of the stage, because there was no room with the puppet operators on their platform. The show was a great success and was not only given to the rest of the school but to parents and other outside groups. I left the school before the era came to an end and I believe they won a number of awards. A lot of effort was put in by so many. It took the operators months to learn how to handle their puppets so that they could walk, lift their arms, sit down, bow, eat, drink and play instruments. I had speaking parts as well as painting scenery.

Apart from school, home life was restricted because of wartime shortages and by the end of the war, virtually everything was rationed. There were times when I used to wonder whether we would ever be able to buy food freely again. Remembering my pre-war parties, I used to long for a tin of tangerines. My mother used to send me to Green’s Stores in Gordon Road for them. They were 4d (2p) for a tin. Of course, there were no problems of children going out alone. People and children were quite safe.

There are other interesting differences too. We kept chickens during the war so that we had a supply of eggs and chickens to eat. Our chicken house was made of sheets of asbestos which, because of my father’s disability, I had to saw to size. Today, if asbestos is found, masked and specially protected contractors have to remove it. We were not aware of the danger.

Another interesting comparison is Christmas. Nowadays, Christmas seems to start in October or before. In those days it was at the beginning of December, mainly because it wasn’t so commercialised and partly due to the wartime restrictions. One of the memorable aspects was the Post Office at Christmas. Posting early was not necessary. In the week or so before Christmas, the Post Office would take on temporary staff for the sorting office and deliveries. The final delivery was always on Christmas morning and I can clearly remember the large van moving slowly along the road with probably six staff rushing from door to door 80

delivering the final letters and parcels. Somehow, they always got everything delivered. Many people didn’t post until a day or so before Christmas so that their cards could arrive as near to Christmas Day as possible.

There was something rather special about getting cards on Christmas morning.

As I mentioned earlier, in my youth, boys stayed in short trousers until they were about 14 years old. I had my first long trouser suit when I was 12 – and it was a three piece, trousers, waistcoat and jacket. It must seem hilarious now, but when I went out with my parents and wearing my suit, I had, and used, a walking stick. It was a special size and it was not that uncommon for boys to use them. I certainly felt quite grown up, particularly as my father frequently used his walking stick.

In those days, it was regarded as part of being a well-dressed man, along with hat, gloves and spats. Spats were a short gaiter, which covered the top part of the shoe and reached just above the ankle. Although I have never worn them, I believe they kept the feet very warm in winter.

Following my father’s background and the help given to him by Mr and Mrs Branscombe from the spiritualist movement, it was to the Ilford Spiritualist Church that my parents gravitated when they occasionally went to church. From about the age of 11 until about 15, I had to go with them. The church was in Clements Road and the Sunday service commenced at 6pm. I have to say that I tried every excuse not to go but my parents would not allow me to stay at home alone. So under duress, I went. I soon learned, and I still believe, that the reason why most people go to spiritualist services is to get ‘messages’. Whereas most people brush under the carpet the thought of what happens to them after death, those who go to the spiritualist church have an inkling that there ‘may be something’ but are looking for proof. Is that such a bad thing?

One Sunday evening at such a service, we were sitting at the back of the church and after the usual, hymns, prayers and address, the clairvoyant started to come to various people. Suddenly, she looked straight at me at the back of the hall. I was terrified but she did seem a nice person and probably understood my embarrassment. She just asked me whether I ever saw colours, particularly purple. I had to admit that on occasions I did. She just said that one day I would become a healer – that’s all! At that moment the seed was sown and although nothing happened for many years, I always knew inwardly that one day it would.

Later in my life it did, but that comes later.

This brings to mind a friend with whom my mother used to work at the United Dairies in Ilford. Her name was Miss Burns. She had never married and lived off Cranbrook Road in Ilford. She had a very Victorian flat which was as old fashioned as she was, and filled with her parents’ furniture. She wore very dated clothes along with a crocheted hat. It was when she was about 50 that she decided to train as a chiropodist. She qualified and travelled to people’s homes for many years after that. We would see her about four times a year when she would come for tea and perhaps spend the evening with us. She was an interesting lady but, above all, she had peculiar powers.

With my present knowledge, I would say that she was a very spiritual person and a natural healer (hence the chiropody interest). She could read tea leaves in a teacup and she could read playing cards. Sometimes this would be done with frightening realism. I feel she was very mediumistic and I have never decided whether her reading of tea leaves and playing cards was genuine or whether she was really being clairvoyant. Not that it matters. I know that my parents were always delighted if she asked whether they would like to get out the cards. She certainly was highly accurate on many of her statements and forecasts. Sometimes, she would give me a brief reading and these proved accurate later in life. For example, on one occasion she told me that when I grew up my work would take me overseas and I would travel extensively. I started travelling on business in 1961 when I was 30. She told me this when I was about 15. Yes, it could have been coincidence but not with the other things she said to us as a family. Again, in retrospect, I feel that all these happenings were somehow meant. Seeds were being sown which would start to grow when the time was right. In the meantime I had to go through the growing up, maturing and working period, until that time came.

As one who was later to be trained in medical science, I have been taught to observe and look for trends 81

and patterns. Of course, we all have perfect vision with hindsight and looking back from my present age, I can see definite trends in my life which started virtually pre-birth. I feel that, however one might appear to reject one’s path, in the same way that the tug will gradually nudge a ship into its correct mooring, one will be gently eased into the required direction for the purpose of one’s incarnation.

My religious education was part of the school curriculum and we had prayers at my schools. For a while, I went to Sunday School in Water Lane just by South Park School. My teacher there was a Mr. Axtell whose father seemed to run the little chapel. They lived in a rather nice chalet bungalow at the bottom end of Water Lane near to South Park Drive. True I was taught but there was no obvious impression. My parents took me to church but I did not go willingly. This pattern continued until considerably later in years. If we look back with that hindsight we will see a pattern evolving. My paternal grandmother was, according to her obituary in the paper, a leading light in the spiritualist movement, which must have meant that she was one of the very early members as she died in 1922.

My father had certificates from the Spiritualist Lyceum; I remember the Branscombes coming to our house to give him advice from Spirit on treating his arm; I used to walk to Goodmayes every Thursday evening and be present when he received healing. I was taken to the Ilford Spiritualist Church with my parents and on one occasion was told that one day I would be involved with spiritual healing. The visits of Miss Burns, my mother’s friend had a spiritual content and I was taken on one occasion to Ilford Town Hall to see a public demonstration of healing by the great Harry Edwards. Did all these things happen by chance? Was it by chance that I read Grays Anatomy as a boy, was interested in medicine and was later involved in it for the majority of my working life?

I suppose I was like so many people who do not follow any religious path. I have often thought about this and I think there are two basic reasons. Firstly, to be religious is a sign of weakness – one is unable to take care of one’s own affairs and must look to some nebulous God for help. Secondly, many people do not know that they are composed of three component parts – Body, Mind and Spirit. They can physically see the body and they know they have a mind but the spirit aspect is intangible. They can’t see it, touch it or prove it exists. So they ignore it. I always find it interesting to observe that when a real tragedy or crisis strikes, an individual’s immediate reaction is invariably “My God!”. In my case, I was in my early twenties when I began to notice (TV was available then) the Queen attending say, Christmas Service at Sandringham or the Prime Minister attending a church service. I began to ask myself why do such people need to go to church, surely they are strong and capable enough to survive without religion? Perhaps they knew something I didn’t. Was this another subtle nudge? We will see later.

My maternal grandmother died in 1942 and my mother had to rush off to Southampton to make arrangements for her coffin to be brought to Ilford for burial in the family grave in St. Mary’s Churchyard in Ilford High Road. I can remember on the Sunday morning I cooked lunch and jolly good it was too! We had roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and some vegetables. I know my father was amazed and we both enjoyed it. I also made a sweet. I was only 11 but I had watched my mother for so long that is was not difficult. It did start an interest in cooking which I have retained.

After the funeral was over (I didn’t go – as it was not thought right for children in those days) my mother had to attend to the estate. Virtually everything had been left to her but she shared it with Uncle Willy. Mother was that sort of person.

She was so generous and would always share whatever she had. My grandmother had a bank account with, I believe, the Westminster Bank – it was the bank in Ilford High Road next to the town hall. My parents did not have a bank account and not many people did, so for my mother to have to go to a bank was going to be quite an ordeal. She rehearsed what she would say by discussing it with my father and on the day she dressed in her best costume (now known as a suit) with blouse, best coat and hat. We went with her and waited outside having wished her luck. Banks were, in their way, quite intimidating places – vast areas with high ceilings, marble floors and highly polished mahogany or oak counters and fittings. The wide counters 82

made the clerks seem a long way from the customers. Everyone spoke in hushed voices and the main sound was the occasional stamping of paying-in books. After what seemed an age, my mother emerged smiling but obviously relieved. All had gone well and she had opened a bank account.

When I was about 13, I had made friends with a local boy who lived in South Park Drive. His name was Derek Mann. Probably because he had been evacuated to South Wales, his loss of schooling meant that he could only go to a secondary modern school. Derek, though, was quite artistic and keen on dramatics. He was interested in puppetry so between us we made and organised puppet shows with me building, designing and painting the sets and Derek making the puppets. My school knowledge came in handy here. Derek was a natural showman and everything had style and flair. When he was 14 he left school (the raised school leaving age had not come in) and got a job with a stockbroker. He had to start at the bottom but after 6 months you would have thought that he was running the stock exchange! He had that natural confidence, was very bright and had ‘great communication skills’ – in other words he had the gift of the gab. He always dressed immaculately with white shirt and striped suit. On any occasion other than a routine one, he would have a buttonhole, usually a red carnation. His keys were always on a silver key chain that was attached to the waistband of his trousers. He invariably wore highly polished black brogue shoes. Yes, he certainly had style and flair.

When we were about 14 he suggested that we went to dancing classes. I was not keen but, as I was getting interested in girls, I though it might be worthwhile. We joined the Ilford Dancing Club run by a chap named Wally La Thangue in Grosvenor Road, Ilford. He owned one of the large double fronted houses on the corner of Albert Road and had built a dance hall that must have filled his garden. It was a wooden building with the cloakroom and refreshment room in the main house. Music was by gramophone records (78s) and mostly Victor Sylvester which was the leading strict tempo dance band. The classes ran from 8 until 10pm with a break in between. The dance teacher was Doreen Smith and she had her boy-friend, Arthur Rainer, to assist her.

We made another friend, Bernard Read. Ultimately Bernard and I became great friends. We used to go round together and eventually met two girls, Maureen and Jean, who were also friends. We married the girls, each served as each other’s best man at our weddings and the girls as bridesmaids. The interesting point was that Jean was the sister of Arthur Rainer and as he married Doreen Smith, Bernard became related as brother-in-law to his dancing teacher!

Discos hadn’t been invented. We learned ballroom dancing and when you went to a dance, there was a real band. Unless you could dance, you couldn’t ask a girl for a dance. Your ability as a dancer would determine how you got on with that girl. If you couldn’t dance, you would spend the evening sitting out. Doreen was a good teacher and we soon mastered the basics of the waltz, foxtrot and quickstep. As girls were also learning, we could all make mistakes together. We then moved into Latin American dancing including the tango, rumba and samba as well as the old-fashioned waltz, St.Bernard’s waltz, Veleta, Gay Gordons, etc.

All these were very sociable and enjoyed by all.

Derek, with his natural flair and style, soon became proficient, particularly in Latin American. When he was about 18, his parents decided to emigrate to New Zealand. The last time I saw him was when I went to Tilbury to wave him off on his new life. I can remember seeing him waving from the upper deck of the ship as it moved away from the quay. I had a lump in my throat and I found later that so did he. His natural showmanship came into its own in New Zealand and he got involved with advertising and worked on the radio and television. No doubt his dancing ability helped because he became Latin American Champion of Australasia. He married an attractive air hostess. Unfortunately, they couldn’t have a family but later adopted a child. Sadly, Derek developed cancer and died about three months before I visited New Zealand on a business trip some years later. I was sorry not to have arrived in time. His parents, Lilian and Len Mann entertained me and we chatted over the past and his great potential in his new country.

Back to the dancing lessons. Our classes were both fun and gave us confidence to meet members of the 83

opposite sex knowing that we were competent on the dance floor, and this ability was useful in later life when attending formal dinners and dances whether for business or pleasure. Unfortunately, our present society is such that everything has to be instant. People are no longer prepared to take time to learn and this certainly applies to social events like dancing. Disco dancing involves moving in conjunction with recorded music, frequently played in semi-darkness with flashing lights. The volume is often so loud that it is impossible to have a conversation with your dancing partner even if you are close enough! Today, there are further possible complications with alcohol and drugs.

Compare this to our dances. Firstly, the fellows and girls would dress for the occasion. The men would invariably wear a suit and tie – sometimes a blazer or sports jacket on certain occasions. Invariably, they would shave for the event and hair, in those days, was worn short. The girls would wear attractive dresses or a blouse and skirt. Many boys and girls would take their dancing pumps (silver or gold dancing shoes for girls and black patent leather shoes with thin soles for the boys). Dancing was a boy-meets-girl situation and both parties made a real effort. So what was a public dance like? There were public dance halls. Ilford had the Palais in Ilford High Road (although this had a wonderful floor and ambience, it did tend to encourage a rough element) and there was the Manor Hall in Chigwell which was quite nice but a fair journey by bus. This was not really a problem as there were few cars and buses were frequent and ran until about midnight or 1am. In addition there were local authority facilities. The Ilford Town Hall and the Ilford Baths were popular venues.

Dances would start at 7.30pm. A public dance would cost 2/6d (12.5p). There would be a four or six-piece band with either a master of ceremonies or the bandleader would act as such – their function would be principally to announce the dances. The usual pattern would be up to three dances of a type, e.g. waltz, foxtrot or quickstep. A short break and then a different dance. At 9pm there would be an interval of 20-30 minutes when one could obtain refreshments. At the Ilford Town Hall and the Ilford Baths there was tea, coffee and soft drinks with cakes and sandwiches. The public dance halls sometimes had a bar, but it was usual if one wanted a beer, to go to a pub and gain re-admission with a pass-out. Although many more smoked, drunkenness was not a problem. The object was to have a good time and, hopefully, meet a nice girl or boy.

If you had seen someone attractive and you spent too long in the pub, you may lose your opportunity due to competition! Of course, dancing skills played an important part in meeting someone. Apart from a ladies invitation waltz (probably no more than one in the evening), it was the boys who would ask the girl to dance and if the boy was a good dancer, he stood a good chance of being accepted. So what was the attraction of dancing apart from the obvious that it was the most popular way of meeting the opposite sex? Ballroom dancing was a one-to-one experience. Two people had physical contact and had to move harmoniously during the dance. The better the dancers, the more harmonious and enjoyable the dance became. Obviously, there were sensual aspects due to the closeness and movements. There was also the opportunity to talk and enjoy or reject the close proximity of the partner. At the end of the dance, the girl would be escorted back to her seat and the boy may, or may not, linger to chat. The last waltz was always the crunch! The waltz was slow, the mirror-ball in the roof would cascade light round the hall and the boys would endeavour to dance with the girl of their choice. It was during this dance that they would ask if they could see them home. This could be the start of a romance if the girl accepted. Unless the girl lived locally, it would mean queuing at the local bus-stop with the other dancers. Dances finished at 11.00 or 11.30pm so one was back at home by midnight or before.

The War The war was progressing in the allied forces favour. The Americans were involved and thanks to General Montgomery in North Africa, our fortunes had changed. The Germans had been pushed out of Africa and the Allies were moving up through Italy. The talk on everyone’s lips was when would Europe be invaded and the Germans finally defeated.

The South East of England was the natural springboard for this operation as it was the nearest point to 84

France. We noticed the difference by the increase in the army traffic in and around us. Not only were there generally more soldiers and army vehicles, but it seemed that every piece of unoccupied land became an army camp. In fact, Loxford Lane which ran parallel and to the north of Barking Park, was taken over by the army. The lane was tree and shrub lined with no houses. Tents were set up along the sides of the lane and the whole length was packed with vehicles. Not ordinary vehicles though. The majority looked somewhat like Stephenson’s Rocket – a chimney mounted on a cylinder and the whole on a trailer. These peculiar objects were made to create smoke screens by burning tar-like substances, which produced thick,black smoke. On occasions they had practices and the smell alone was revolting. Although we lived several roads away, we could smell the burning tar and see the smoke rising in the air. Environmentalists didn’t exist or they would have had a field day – not that they would have been tolerated as the war effort was paramount.

Then one day they had all gone! All the troops had moved to the south coast ready for the invasion.

Surprisingly there was not a great deal of German air activity, no doubt because of the constant watchfulness of the RAF. On the 6 June 1944, the greatest sea and airborne invasion ever attempted had begun. The sea between England and the landing sites on the Cherbourg Peninsular were filled with landing craft of all types carrying soldiers, tanks, guns and all the support services. The Royal Navy pounded the enemy positions ashore. The RAF bombed targets on land and provided overhead cover against German aircraft. Such was the detailed planning that a completed concrete harbour was constructed in England, floated across the English Channel and sunk on the prescribed site. It was known as Mulberry Harbour and allowed larger ships to land much needed supplies for the advancing troops.

Of course the whole country, in fact the whole free world, was waiting for this news. Talk of invading Europe to make a second front with the forces advancing up through Italy had been on everyone’s lips for months. It meant that the war was progressing favourably and peace was beginning to appear on the horizon. For England, it meant that the air attacks we had been subjected to for 4 years would be coming to an end. With no television in 1944, the population relied on the BBC radio – particularly at 9pm – to be updated on events. The newspapers covered all the major theatres of war, but they were a little behind. If one wanted pictures one had to go to the cinema and see Pathe news. It was usually slightly out of date, but there was no alternative.

I have never been over keen on the cinema, but I do remember being enthralled with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs which my mother took me to see, along with Auntie Lily and my cousins, when I was about six. Probably early in 1939, the Saturday morning cinema clubs were set up for children. I went along to the Super Cinema, which was at the junction for Ley Street and Cranbrook Road (opposite Ilford Station), on the opening Saturday morning. There was a special programme of music and films. One must remember that those cinemas – we had three in Ilford, the Super Cinema, The Regal (by Ilford High Road and Green Lanes) and the Savoy at Gants Hill) – offered a complete show. There were superb curtain drapes on the stage and an organist who introduced the show. The organ would rise up playing from the orchestra pit and, along with the curtains and stage, would change colour. At the end of his performance, he would descend before the start of the film. There were always two films (the main and a secondary) with Pathe of GB News in between.

Back to our cinema club. As a special launch feature, Tommy Handley, the comedian, had been invited along to carry out the official opening after which he came into the cinema and I sat on his knee! He chatted to me and I obtained his autograph, which I still have. The cinema club had a theme song, which we all had to learn. I can still remember the words:

“We come along On Saturday mornings, Greeting everybody with a smile.

We come along On Saturday mornings, Knowing that it is worthwhile.

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As Members of the GB Club We all intend to be Good Citizens when we grow up Trala-trala – tralee. (this refrain was repeated)

I had some enjoyable Saturday mornings seeing films and meeting many other children. Sadly, however, I have to report that the Super Cinema is no more. It was the subject of a direct hit by a bomb during the Blitz and was destroyed. Close by, on the corner of Ilford High Road and Ilford Lane we had our theatre, the Ilford Hippodrome. I can remember going there once – I could not have been very old – to see a pantomime. My only memory is of a red plush and gold theatre that felt quite cosy. Unfortunately, that also received a direct hit so we lost our theatre.

In 1944 I was, of course, still travelling to Leyton every day to school. There were occasional air raid warnings when we had to leave our classrooms to go to the protected corridors downstairs. I can remember that some had to take their School Certificate Examination (now GCSEs) sitting under examination conditions in the sand-bagged corridors as they would not be able to leave their places if there was a warning. Academically, I was making progress but somehow I lacked the stimulation necessary to make real headway. My interest lay in the science subjects. In our second year, we had to choose our second language for study. The choice was between Latin and German. Although we were at war I chose German. Everyone said that Latin was a ‘dead’ language. With hindsight I wish I had taken Latin. It is the basis of so many languages and would have been much more useful in later life. I must admit, however, that on occasions, my German has been useful in my business career. I didn’t find German easy. The German master could not understand why we could not grasp the grammar easily with its verbs appearing at the ends of the sentence. We were all called idiots and detentions were handed out if we didn’t understand. I often wondered about him. His name was Mr A E Cox, he had fair wavy hair combed back and blue piercing eyes. Very teutonic – we thought that he may have been a German spy!

Although the invasion had commenced at the beginning of June 1944 and people were showing optimism that the end of the war was in sight, the 13 June brought a rude awakening. A sudden explosion at 4.18am in Chiswick followed minutes later by another in Cuckfield and a third in Bethnal Green heralded the advent of the German V1 which came to be known as the Doodlebug. The Doodlebug was, in effect, a pilotless flying bomb carrying around 1,800 lbs of high explosive in its nose cone. It had a wingspan of 22ft and was powered by an elementary jet engine and flew using gyroscopic controls.

There were some 55 launching sites along the French coast and the Doodlebugs were launched from ramps which faced the English coast. The Doodlebug speed was 400mph and they flew at an altitude of up to 4000ft. This made them difficult targets as they were too low for heavy guns and too high for light antiaircraft fire. The prime target was London and barrage balloons were used south of the capital. These did have some effect.

The first I knew about this form of attack was when one landed on the tennis courts in South Park where it borders South Park Road. There was a very loud explosion and everyone wondered why. There had been no air raid warning and no sound of enemy bombers. There had been an unusual sounding aircraft and people thought an airplane had crashed and they started looking for the pilot, but to no avail. It was announced that this new weapon was a pilotless flying bomb and we realised that Hitler was by no means finished. Again, the RAF came to the rescue by concentrated bombing of the launching sites in France and endeavouring to shoot down the Doodlebugs before they reached London or built-up areas. One of the difficulties was the speed at which they flew. It meant that the fighters had to fly higher so that they could dive at high speed to catch them. If they were shot at too close a range, the explosion could destroy the fighter. Some pilots developed the technique of flying alongside, getting their wingtip beneath that of the Doodlebug and tipping it. This toppled the giro system and it would go out of control and, hopefully, explode harmlessly in the sea or some field.

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This form of attack was a complete change and rather frightening. There could be no standard air raid warning system. One had to listen for the characteristic sound of the engine and if the visibility was good, you could see it. You would watch it carefully until it was overhead when you know you were safe because when the fuel ran out, it would glide until it lost airspeed then the nose would dip and it would dive to earth and explode. If, on the other hand, you watched it approach and heard the engine stop before it reached you, you would dive into the air raid shelter before the Doodlebug dived on you! At night they were easy to spot in clear conditions – there was an orange flame streaming from the rear of the engine. Same rules applied – if the engine stopped before it reached you, take cover fast. We also developed sharp ears so that even when cloudy, we could tell the Doodlebug’s position and whether we needed to take shelter. The problem was that one needed constant awareness 24 hours per day.

Although 3 Doodlebugs arrived on 13 June, on the night of the 15/16 June, 151 were launched of which 73 reached London. By the 29 June, 2000 had been despatched so you have some idea of the size of the bombardment. The last Doodlebug landed on 29 March 1945 so the South of England had been under attack for 9 months. During that the RAF and defence forces destroyed 3957 before reaching their destination in England. More than 6,000 civilians were killed and 11,000 injured.

Having just about got used to the Doodlebug, on the 8 September 1944, there was an explosion in London followed by a whooshing sound. The first V2 had arrived. This was a 46ft long rocket containing a ton of high explosive and having a range of 200 miles. Again launched from the continent, these were also targeted indiscriminately towards London. In many ways, the V2s were not quite as bad as the Doodlebugs because with the latter, you knew they were coming and you had to wait and listen to that engine. With the V2s, there was nothing you could do so people tended to become fatalistic. (You may remember that I was involved in a V2 explosion on my way to school). The last V2 landed on 27 March 1945 so the civilian population had 9 months of this form of attack. During that period, 1,115 V2s were launched and again more than 6,000 people were killed and about 12,000 injured. The casualties would have been a lot worse had it not been for the RAF attacking the launch sites as well as the sources of production. Similarly, the invasion forces were moving fast up the French coast to cut off these launch sites. We were, of course, still subject to air raids but they were getting fewer, thanks to the air superiority gained by the RAF over our skies coupled with the need for the Germans to try to support their own army which was under heavy attack in France.

I can remember one occasion when I was returning home from visiting a girl friend about 8pm one evening.

An air raid alert was on and at this stage of the war, people tended to carry on during warnings although remaining vigilant. I alighted from a bus at the top of South Park Drive when there was the sound of a German aircraft (one could always tell the throb of their engines), the sudden cacophony of anti-aircraft guns plus the thud of exploding bombs. This was the real thing. I was about 50 yards along the road so I dived into the front garden of the nearest house and lay close to the low garden wall for protection. I could hear a tinkling sound in the road and on rooftops. This was shrapnel from the exploding shells in the air. Not only could it smash roof tiles but it was jagged and hot so not to be trifled with. I stayed put until everything had died down and then continued my journey home.

With the continuing retreat of the German army in France, the Luftwaffe was needed to give them every support and, therefore, there was less likelihood of regular air attacks on us. We were mainly subjected to hit-and-run. One of the last air raids I can remember was a hit-and-run and it occurred on a Friday morning at 7.30am. There had been no warning. I was lying in bed and my father was downstairs having his breakfast.

There was a sudden rushing noise, an incredibly loud roaring and a shuddering of the house. I was out of bed instantaneously and, looking out of the window, was in time to see two German aircraft at almost rooftop height disappearing northwards. The shuddering was from a stick of bombs they released over Ilford. One can only presume that they had flown too low to be detected by radar. Apart from several houses hit, they destroyed the London Co-op grocery store and surrounding shops in High Road, Ilford and they missed the main railway line by about 100 yards.

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Although the war seemed to be progressing favourably with the Allied Forces moving up through France and the Russians moving towards Germany, the life of a civilian was not easy. Virtually everything was rationed – food, clothes, coal, heating oil and what wasn’t rationed, was virtually impossible to obtain. There was a market for clothing and sweet coupons but, food products like meat and butter, continued to be issued by marking ration books with an indelible pencil.

One of the great pleasures that we missed from the pre-war days was my father’s Christmas hamper. As a manager of a London Co-operative Society clothing and outfitting shop, he received from the CWS (Co-operative Wholesale Society) a Christmas hamper. This arrived in good time for Christmas and I can remember looking forward for it coming. It was in a wooden box and when my father came home, he opened it with great ceremony. The wood shavings were removed and out came all sorts of goodies, a Christmas pudding, mincemeat, jam in a jam pot that had a chromium plated lid, candied peel, chocolates, tins of meat and fish and so on. All this disappeared with the advent of the war and was never re-instated.

Because of the travelling distance, I was still not taking any real part in out-of-hours school activities. This meant that I did little sports training at school so didn’t get involved in the finals on the school sports day. In fact, I have to admit that with another pupil, Derek Rew, we used to go into the air raid shelter which was in the school grounds and was accessible from the adjoining road. From there we could leave and go home early. When I was older, I found that I had a talent for cross-country running and some evenings I would stay behind at school and go for a five mile run through the Whipps Cross area which was the edge of Epping Forest. There seemed to be a great freedom in running through the open countryside.

My keen interest was tennis and although the school had tennis courts, the shortage of staff plus the war conditions meant that they were overgrown and out of use. I used to play on the public courts in South Park with Derek Mann, Bernard Read and another chap, Basil Spencer. We were all self-taught and had some great matches, very often with a number of spectators. The cost was 1/6d (7 1/2p) per hour and such was the demand, one had to book on the morning of play at 7.30am when the park opened. That term was something of an anomaly as the park was technically open all the time. With the start of the war, all the cast iron railings surrounding the park had been removed to be melted down for munitions – only the gates remained to keep vehicles out.

I really grew up in that park, playing occasional football and certainly learning to play cricket there. The park was surrounded with raised borders probably 30ft or more wide and planted with well developed shrubs and trees. Although one was not supposed to go in these areas, they were great for playing. I found that I had a natural ability for tracking and could move round quickly and silently and used to fancy myself as an Indian stalking a prey, which could be another boy. I have often wondered about that!

This ability was put to good use when dealing with the park keepers. There was Ted, an elderly man who opened and closed the gates, wore a dark blue uniform and had a peaked cap. He was a nice man who would be happy to talk to us, particularly when we got older. The pavilion reopened after the war and we could have a cup of tea with him. And there was Charlie-Harry – the nickname of a rough gypsy type whose whole objective in life was to catch boys. He always dressed in old clothes wearing a battered trilby hat and carried a stick, which he would use if he caught you. He was cunning and if he thought he had someone cornered, he would call out to fictitious assistants to surround the luckless lad while he charged in with his stick. Many is the time that he chased me but he never caught me – I knew every inch of those ‘woods’ and could out-manoeuvre him with no problem. I have the consolation of knowing that he was much fitter for these encounters with the exercise I gave him.

An interest I developed in my early teens was natural history with a particular leaning towards butterflies and moths and, rather as with the aircraft spotting, I learned virtually every British butterfly and most of the British moths. I became an avid collector, complete with butterfly net and killing (couldn’t do that now!) bottle. The killing bottle contained carbon tetrachloride (Thawpit used for removing stains from clothing). I used to go to suppliers in The Strand, London, for special pins for mounting. I made holders for drying out 88

the specimens which were rectangular pieces of wood or plywood with a centre channel to take the body.

The wings were stretched in a flying position and held in place by bands of paper, pinned at each end without touching the wings. A mounting pin was placed through the thorax and the drying-out process lasted around three weeks.

I used to travel quite long distances in my search for butterflies. To Hainault and Epping forests, local parks and fields, and I even took my equipment on holiday. On one occasion when we went to Brighton, I got some wonderful ‘Blues’ on the chalk downs around the Devil’s Dyke. I remember we actually stayed in a large house just off the sea front at Hove. It was owned by a chiropodist who served the meals wearing his short, white surgery jacket. The place was spotless, the lino highly polished and the food good but the quantities minute.

I also preserved caterpillars by, what I now consider a quite revolting process. Having killed the caterpillar by the same method as above, it would be laid on a piece of blotting paper and a round pencil would be rolled firmly from the head to the back end. This would squeeze out the contents and leave the skin. The back end of the skin would be threaded onto a glass pipette and the back end would be held in situ by a home-made clip. This I made from a piece of tin held in place by wire wound round the pipette. By blowing down the pipette, the skin would be inflated. It was then held for a minute or so in a tin can which was heated on the gas cooker. This “oven” dried and preserved the caterpillar skin in its natural shape.

The various specimens were housed in a display case that I made. It had a sliding glass cover that allowed access and this case was kept at home until I got married when, as I didn’t take it, I presume it was destroyed.

About this time, the government started the Air Training Corps, the Sea Cadets and the Army Cadets. I was most keen to join the Air Training Corps to learn more about the RAF and have the possible opportunity to fly. Unfortunately, the idea was banned by my parents who did not wish me to become involved with military activities. This was the same argument that they applied to me joining the Boy Scouts. I never could quite understand their thinking as my father was in the 4th Ilford Scouts! Sadly for me, their minds were made up so there was no opportunity for me to join. Little did they realise that, following the end of the war, National Service conscription would be introduced and I would have to serve two years anyway.

So schooling went on. My academic results rose or fell depending, I suppose, on my interest and the stimulation I received from the teaching staff. Of course, there were no teaching aids as there are today. The whole approach was different – just text books, which were in short supply anyway. Teachers took their lessons and the pupils were expected to understand and learn. If I put my hand up to question something, the teacher may interpret it as a failing on my part and I may be blamed for inattention. Depending on the situation, it could even result in a detention so, generally speaking, if you were ignorant, it was better to stay that way!

My father left school at 14, got a job and then worked his way up the business ladder. He always said one should start at the bottom and it was his intention that I should do the same. Then the 1944 Education Act was passed. This did not allow children to leave school until the age of 16. He was not best pleased – particularly as he had to pay towards my education.

There were few universities and the so called redbrick universities didn’t exist. Parents had to support their children although there were grants through county major awards and scholarships which helped. It was only after the war that the education system began to expand and offer higher education places to many more students. It seems such a shame that so much talent was left untapped by the old system.

I know of one very good example. A friend of mine whom I shall call Mike so as not to disclose his real name, did not pass the scholarship examination so was sent to Mayfield Secondary Modern. Mike was brilliant at science, really brilliant, and soon became the science monitor at his new school. He had his own laboratory 89

at home in a small bedroom. He developed a compound which exploded, damaged the room, blew out windows and some tiles off the roof. He was injured and his hand needed surgery. It was permanently scarred. The incident did not go un-noticed and he was visited by government scientists who wanted full details of his experiments. His story has an interesting but sad sequel which I will disclose in a later chapter.

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—10— The Dawn of Peace

B

of 1945, the possibility of the war coming to an end was looming. The Allied forces were advancing through Germany and the Russians were approaching Berlin from the north. There was an air of optimism and on the 8 May 1945, Germany capitulated. It was over. Well, not quite. The European war had ended, but the war in the Far East was far from over. Japanese forces were still fighting in much of Asia and committing many atrocities which we didn’t get to hear about until much later. y the beginning

But ‘our’ war had finished. No more air raids, no more sleeping in the Anderson shelter. The air raid warden’s task was over. The Home Guard could stand down. It wouldn’t be long before husbands and boy friends would be returning home. Peace was restored and Nazi Germany had been defeated. Winston Churchill had carried our country through its darkest hour and brought us into the light.

There were celebrations everywhere. Crowds in London cheered outside Buckingham Palace and marched down the Mall, in Trafalgar Square, everywhere. There were celebrations in every town and village. It was as if a dark cloud had been lifted – it had! All over the country, street parties were planned and bonfires lit. Our house (372, Mortlake Road) was at the junction of Mortlake and Henley Roads and we built an enormous bonfire right there. I don’t know where all the wood and other materials came from but come they did. It must have been 8 feet high and 15 feet in diameter and it burned for four days taking another three days to extinguish. I was one of the stokers! With the bonfire came the street party. Tables and chairs in the street, beautifully laid and decorated with table cloths, cutlery and crockery. All the children had sandwiches, cakes, jellies and blancmanges, washed down with lemonade. Where did all that food come from with the rationing? Goodness knows but it did. I think most people raided their meagre stocks for the day we had all waited for. It was a very memorable time for all who shared it.

Life could start to return to normal and one of the first aspects, from my point of view, was schooling. The school could start to plan its curriculum knowing that it could be done with some degree of certainty. The barriers against bomb blast were taken down so that we could actually see the length of the school corridors.

Sandbags were removed from the outside of school buildings and the whole place began to look different.

Discipline increased as normality returned. As time progressed, some of the retired masters who had come back during the war could return to their retirement.

Still the problems of the war against Japan were with us. They had been driven out of Burma and the invasion of Malaya was planned. It would be a long and difficult task. It involved fighting in jungle territory with all the problems of the climate and tropical diseases. One must remember that the number of effective medicines was few compared with today and many troops went down with fevers, malaria and various parasites.

Then something happened. This was something that no member of the public knew about. The BBC News announced on 6 August 1945 that a large bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima in Japan, and this bomb had caused enormous devastation. In fact, virtually the whole of Hiroshima had been obliterated along with more than 160,000 of the population. The first atom bomb had been dropped! While everyone was talking about it, I don’t think people really understood the significance – after all, it was a long way away. It would have a profound effect on the whole of humanity in the future.

On the 9 August 1945, a second atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki with a similar effect. It was obvious that the Allies had developed an incredible weapon of destruction. This was no fluke. Japan realised this and on 14 August 1945, Japan accepted the Allied demand for unconditional surrender. The Second 91

World War was over. Everyone was amazed that only three months after the German surrender, Japan should also capitulate. It is not my job to moralise on the terrible effects of these two atomic bombs but, although they caused such terrible devastation and suffering, they brought an immediate stop to a war that could have dragged on for years causing countless casualties.

All this happened during my school holidays. We were away staying in Southampton with an uncle and aunt of my mother. Again, there were celebrations everywhere but this time not tinged with the same reservations as those affecting Victory Europe. This was really it. The war was over and Japan had been defeated. Even more festivities….. even more street parties.

Of course, there was great excitement in Southampton and the BBC news carried reports of events throughout the country (there was no TV). When we went into the streets everyone was laughing and talking; churches had services of thanks-giving and relatives, wives and sweethearts were looking forward to the return of their loved ones.

We were staying in that part of Southampton known as Bitterne Park. It was a pleasant area with a few shops locally and one could walk to a country area nearby where I remember a water mill. My mother’s uncle’s surname was Blatch and, like so many of her family, had been involved with the sea and ships. He was employed in the shipbuilding industry and had worked on the big liners including, the Queen Mary. His hobby was making and sailing model yachts and he gave me the hull of a yacht in a cradle. It needed rigging and would have stood about 6 feet high, but I did not have the knowledge or the wherewithal to complete it. It was in ‘dry dock’ for years in our garden shed.

They also had a daughter, Dorothy, my mother’s cousin who lived fairly close. She was most attractive and charming. Above all we got on well, so when she suggested that I go and spend a day or so with her, I couldn’t wait. I must mention that she was married and her husband had an undertaker’s business in Southampton, although he was away in the forces. To my eyes they had a dream home. A detached house with a drive and a garden surrounded with tall pine trees to give privacy. The lounge was close carpeted (unusual in those times as this was expensive and most people had rugs or carpet squares) and the French windows overlooked the large lawn. Also in the window area was a grand piano which she could play beautifully. I had never seen one before. I had had piano lessons so she let me play several pieces from memory. I had a couple of most enjoyable days with her before returning to the rest of the family.

While in that part of the world, we went to see another of my mother’s aunts, Aunt Mariah, who lived in Winchester. We were invited to tea. To me, Aunt Mariah was very old. She looked it, was extremely thin with wispy hair and dressed in ancient Victorian clothes. She lived in a Dickensian terraced house (probably worth a fortune now if it is still there – how I wish I knew the address) and one entered by going up some steps. Her sitting room was in the front so one could look down on the passers-by. The room was Victorian (I have to say that I didn’t understand that term then – to me it was plain old-fashioned) with its furniture, lace cloths, ornaments and silver.

Aunt Mariah was a spinster and I could easily visualise her going to church on Sunday mornings wearing her best bonnet and carrying her bible. She was friendly, but slightly remote, particularly when it came to little boys. Tea was formal, a cup of tea with a sandwich and a piece of cake – not the sort of diet for a growing lad who felt required to sit appreciatively throughout the proceedings. In those times, children did not enter into conversations unless invited. “Speak when you are spoken to” was the dictum. Aunt Mariah came to visit us on at least one occasion when we were all required to be on our best behaviour. That included my parents.

My spare time interests and hobbies were developing in certain areas. I had always been interested in ‘things mechanical’ right from the day I was given my first Meccano set, when I would build various models. In fact, I have always enjoyed taking machinery to pieces and replacing parts or repairing anything from cars to washing machines and clocks. I suppose these are family traits. Uncle Fred and Uncle Jack were both skilled engineers.

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You may remember that when we lived in Eton Road, Ilford, the Claridge family lived upstairs and they later moved to Morrab Gardens. Fred Claridge had been called-up to serve in the Royal Navy on cruisers during the war. Fortunately, he survived even though he had been escorting convoys to Russia. I can remember him telling me about the intense cold that the men had to endure on these trips and that if a German U-boat sank a ship, death was almost instantaneous for those thrown in to sea. The water temperature was just above zero and the air temperature could be around minus 25 degrees C. He also had photographs showing ice up to 4 feet thick on the superstructure of the ship. This was formed by freezing spray landing on the hull.

The weight of this ice must have seriously affected the performance of the convoys, particularly the manoeuvrability when trying to avoid enemy attacks.

All this rather took me back to South Park School when, in the early days of the war, all children were encouraged to knit for the forces. We were given wool by the government for this purpose. I can remember being given navy blue wool and knitting a scarf and then a pair of gloves. Some of the children’s efforts (well, the girls) were brilliant, but some were such that I often wondered what the sailors must have thought when they received them! The scarf I knitted was about 4 feet long but only around 7 inches wide but the gloves – well – they were colossal and I often wondered who would be the unfortunate recipient. All this does go to show how short the country was of equipment when they had to resort to school-children knitting for the forces. I hasten to add that the range included balaclavas and other items. Adults also knitted for them and they included such things as sweaters. All this indicates how everyone was prepared to help “in the war effort”.

Part of the demobilisation package was that each person leaving the forces was given an outfit of clothes including a suit, shirt, underclothes, shoes, a coat etc. The quality, cut, colours and style usually left a lot to be desired and the fit was often left to the imagination. Demob suits stood out and were something of a joke.

One has to remember, though, that the clothes of men and women, who may have been away for five or six years, would no longer fit them so replacements were necessary.

Let us get back to Fred Claridge. After his demob, we saw him and his wife occasionally and on one such occasion, he mentioned his bike. Bikes were scarce, very scarce. It was a principal means of transport (there were few cars, no new ones, only pre-war models) and very few bicycles were being made. I had an old bike, which I took to pieces, rebuilt and repainted. It did the job, but that was all. Fred, however, had a pre-war bike that had not been used for six years. It was immaculate and it was a Bown, light blue in colour. A Bown was a hand-built bike to drool over and my parents purchased it for me for £5. I was so proud and when I showed my friends, they stood round it in wonder and envy. The shining chrome wheels and blue frame with the name Bown on it was the talk of all who saw it. Later, I rode it on occasion all the way to school at Leyton where it met with similar adulation and I basked in the reflected glory. Of course, it didn’t have three-speed, but who cared, one just had to pedal a bit harder up hills!

So I would spend my spare time going off on my bike, sometimes on my own and sometimes with friends.

I used to ride to Hainault forest. It had a lake where I would fish for roach and perch, or just take some sandwiches and picnic. Usually, though, I would have my butterfly gear with me. One area of the forest had, unbeknown to me, been used as a training area by the army. Wandering round, I found a number of mortar bombs laying in the soil and covered by the long grass. I collected a number, put them in my saddle-bag and took them home not realising that they were unexploded. At home I tried to take them to pieces but couldn’t undo the caps. If I had, this book may not have been written! The strange thing is that I don’t know what happened to them. I lost interest and left them in the shed so I presume my parents may have put them in the dustbin.

Another interest was modelling. I suppose it was another part of my mechanical interest. I enjoyed carving and making things. In particular, model aircraft. I would spend my pocket money on aircraft kits (as well as on comics, from Arthur Mee’s Children’s Newspaper to Dandy, Beano, Film Fun, Rover). The most popular kits were made by Keil Kraft. They were either to make solid or flying models. These were very different from today’s kits. The former contained a simple block of balsa wood in an outline shape, together with sheet 93

balsa cut to the outline of wings and tail. There was a plan to follow and the rest was up to you using a razor blade and sandpaper. It was all fairly crude although, somewhat surprisingly, very creditable models were made.

I made a number of solid models but I became more interested in flying models. These again, were quite basic in that a kit contained thin sheets of balsa wood on which were printed various parts of the fuselage, wings, rudder and tail. These had to be carefully cut out (on a small model, the sheets may be only 1/16th inch thick), laid on the plan and glued together by the stringers (long thin strips of balsa wood). The whole assembly could be quite fragile. The wings, rudder and tail had to be glued to the body and the whole covered with a form of tissue paper fixed with a specific cement before being painted with dope that would shrink the covering to fit. It sounds easy, but it was quite a delicate operation.

If it was to be a powered model, it would be driven by an elastic motor. This was, in fact, similar to a long elastic band that stretched inside the fuselage from one end to the other. The elastic was fixed at the rear by a peg through the fuselage, and at the front by the propeller assembly. The undercarriage was often made of wire. By winding the propeller, the elastic was twisted. When released, the elastic would unwind, thus turning the propeller. One normally carried out gliding tests before using power to ensure that the aircraft would not dive into the ground and smash to pieces. Mark you, this still could, and did, happen on occasions.

After the war, petrol and diesel engines became available and this provided a new era in model flying.

I joined the Ilford Model Aero Club and made a number of elastic powered models. We used to fly our models at Hainault. I also made a number of gliders which could be hand launched off a hill. The alternative was to have a reel of thin string attached to a hand drill. A loop on the string was hooked on to the glider and the string pulled out to an appropriate distance. With the glider facing into wind, the operator would wind in the string by furiously turning the handle on the drill. The glider could rise 50-100 feet before releasing overhead. This is the same principle as used for winching up gliders today. The largest glider I ever made was a model of a Horsa (these were used for the invasion of Europe). It had a wingspan of 6 feet and I had to make a special box in which to keep and transport it.

As far as sport was concerned, I used to play cricket in South Park. I didn’t play for school teams as I lived too far away. I also enjoyed swimming, initially at the Ilford Baths where I learned while attending South Park School. The method was that a belt was placed under the arms with a rope attached. The instructor would heave on the other end of the rope and pull the pupil through the water at high speed, at the same time yelling how they should use their arms and legs. This had its problems as one could be pulled beneath the water rather than on top. For a learner, the lesson of partial drowning was not particularly helpful! I got on fairly well but I completed my learning by being pushed in the deep end when I discovered how to swim in an instant!

We had swimming periods at Leyton County High School. This took the form of a double lesson, but it required us to walk down to Leyton Baths (20 minutes each way) which left 40 minutes to get changed, have a swim, get dried and dressed. If we were late back for the next lesson, we would be in trouble. The swimming periods were really times for having fun and nothing constructive was done by way of training. At the end of my time at the school, our swimming master, Harry Hawkins who was also the chemistry master, supervised swimming for certificates. I decided that I would go for 100 yards, but feeling quite fit decided to carry on for 440 yards (1/4 mile). Still feeling well within myself I carried on for 880 yards (1/2 mile). I was still relaxed so carried on to complete 1,760 yards or one mile. I really couldn’t believe it and Harry Hawkins was quite delighted – so was I. I also completed, through him, training for the Royal Life Saving Society Bronze Medal. This was most worthwhile. Later in life, I was called on to use the training to rescue people in real life. One was witnessed, unbeknown to me, by my then hairdresser, a chap called Packford whose business was in Beehive Lane, Ilford. It was in the sea at Frinton when I was in my late twenties. I had swum out to a bathing raft moored in the sea. Having got on to the raft, I saw a child obviously in difficulties, so I dived in and carried out a 94

standard rescue, towing her to the shore. The off-putting thing was that her right arm had been amputated below the elbow so when I went to get hold of her, one arm was short! Anyway, having made sure she was all right and delivered her back to her parents, I forgot about the matter. When I next went for a haircut, however, Mr Packford promptly told the other customers that he had seen me carry out this life-saving rescue and that I had saved this little girl from drowning. I was not only highly embarrassed, but also surprised that he had been there. After that, it became something of a joke. Every time I went there, I was asked if I had carried out any more rescues. I didn’t tell him when I had! Nevertheless, it does show the value of learning things like life-saving. One never knows when such training will be needed and, once learned, it is there for life. Yours and possibly someone else’s!

From the King: a message to celebrate victory 95

—11— School – The Final Years

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t the ending of the war,

I had two years remaining before the end of my school days. GCSEs did not exist. We had the School Certificate. It was similar with fewer but more distinctive grades which were: Very Good, Credit or Pass. From that, one proceeded to the Matriculation Examination. To pass, it was necessary to obtain at least five credits with English, Maths and French as compulsory subjects. It was not possible to select subjects of choice. That meant those students who could not master the compulsory subjects were unable to matriculate. As this examination was essential for higher education, they were excluded from taking the Higher School Certificate, which was the university qualification. These days one can study the subjects of one’s choice.

It was early in 1947 that school outings to various places were restarted. These had been cancelled due to the war. There was one to Paris for a week by train and boat. The cost was £18 but my parents decided against it. An alternative was a week in North Wales staying at Lledr House, a youth hostel in Dolwyddelan.

I went on this visit. The cost was £5 for the week and this included the train fare. According to a post card I wrote to my parents on the train ‘Somewhere between Rugby and Crewe’ on 8 April 1947, I had travelled at half fare so saving £1, which meant the rail journey on the Euston to Holyhead Express to Llandudno must have cost £2! As an avid collector of train numbers at that time, I was using the occasion to my advantage.

Our party consisted of seven boys together with Harry Hawkins our chemistry master and Mr Cox, the German master, who turned out to be much better when on holiday than when in the classroom! His young son came with us. This was the first time I had been away from home (apart from when I was evacuated) and it was great fun. Another postcard said that we had stew for dinner and porridge, beans on toast with fried potatoes plus bread, butter and marmalade for breakfast. We had sprung beds and our bedroom window overlooked the snow-capped Snowdon range. During our stay, we visited Conway Castle, Betwsy-Coed, Capel Curig and had many daylong walks. On one day, we climbed Glyder-fach, which is more than 3,200 feet above sea level. We were wearing shorts and plimsolls and on our way down we met climbers on the way up who were wearing full climbing gear.

On another occasion, the mist came down and we were quite scared to see an enormous animal far bigger than anything we had met before. We later found out that it was a cow that had been magnified by the water droplets forming the mist! It was a super holiday with good company, spectacular scenery, lots of exercise and good, wholesome food. This was the first time that I had been away on my own and I loved it. I loved the space of the hills and the mountains, the freedom, the fresh air and, although I was with a small group, the solitude and majesty of the area. Our return meant that the final examinations beckoned.

To be honest, I didn’t really work hard during the run-up to the examinations. I always thought that cramming in the final weeks was just as good. That in itself was a worthwhile lesson because from then on in life I learned to pace myself. The last weeks before the examinations, I went flat out and it certainly paid off but I didn’t have the depth of learning that would have made a lot of difference to my grades. I passed in five subjects including credits in English and art.

After the examinations, we still had to attend school but it was recreational. We could play cricket, enjoy athletics or talk with our friends. Some were going back to the sixth form, but most of us were to be launched on an unsuspecting world! Of course, such things as career, advisers had not been thought of. There was no guidance on what one should do. The headmaster gave everyone a reference and then you were on your own. My interest was in medicine, but no one told me what academic qualifications were needed or even that I needed to go to university.

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In June 1947, I was in the school play. It was John Galsworthy’s, “Strife” set in a Welsh coal-mining area.

This was one of the rare occasions when my parents visited the school and I think they enjoyed the play. My father did have quite a shock though when I appeared on stage smoking one of his pipes. What made it worse was that I was smoking his tobacco! Still, he didn’t really mind and thought it rather a joke.

So the last day of school arrived. We handed in various textbooks and packed our pens and pencils in our satchels and collected our last term report for summer 1947. I had come second in the Form of 24 pupils.

On 24 July 1947, I said goodbye to my classmates and various masters and I walked out of the school for the last time. I suppose in some ways I was sad. The school had been my life for the last 5 years. I had made progress, but the loss of education during the war years had taken its toll. Not only in lost time but, more importantly, in loss of concentration and dedication to study. I had got used to not working and it was only in later life that I learned the enjoyment of academic work.

I had to think about what I was going to do with my life. I had to start a career and that meant getting a job.

But what? My headmaster, Dr. Len Couch had said in my testimonial that I had shown keenness, ability and diligence in my work and that I was honest, truthful, conscientious and trustworthy; well-mannered and anxious to give of my best. I was quite competent to begin as a junior in a clerical post or in one where my leaning towards science (especially chemistry) can find scope. So that was it. This was me after five years at Leyton County High School and about to start my future life.

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—12— Entering the Career World

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t h o m e w i t h m y pa r e n t s ,

I discussed what I should do. My father at that time had been promoted to a departmental store manager with the London Co-operative Society, and managed the store in Ilford.

Strangely enough, I had helped out there at busy times serving in the men’s department and earning some pocket money. I found that selling came quite naturally and I acquitted myself quite well, but at no time did I consider that a possible career. The husband of one of my father’s staff had a senior position within the London County Council at County Hall. He was a manager in the planning department and my father looked into the possibilities of me becoming a draughtsman in the architect’s department, but it came to nothing.

At that time, senior and official appointments were advertised on the front page of the Daily Telegraph. This was an upmarket newspaper costing 1 1/2d whereas all other papers, except The Times, were 1d. My parents had always read The Daily Mirror. I purchased a Telegraph to look for jobs but, was immediately impressed with the news and editorial standard. I have read that newspaper ever since.

I applied for a job at the South-East Essex Technical College in Longbridge Road, Barking. It was in the art department, and they wanted an assistant who would prepare the art room and clear up after students. In return, one could study art as well as receive a small wage. This was close to home and I enjoyed art, but this would not lead to a career, so I refused.

The second job I applied for was that of a student medical laboratory technician (now termed a medical scientific officer). This was at The Maudsley Hospital, Denmark Hill, Camberwell, London, SE5. Of course, the overwhelming attraction was that this was in the medical field. I obtained an interview and met the chief technician, Frank Partner. I told him about my interest in medicine and my studies in biology. I said that I owned a small microscope together with various biological stains etc. He asked me to wait and after a short while he returned and said the professor wanted to see me.

We went downstairs to Professor Sam Nevin’s office. It appeared that the advertisement was really aimed at someone for the Electro Encephalograph (EEG) Department rather than someone like me. My background and interests, however, fitted me for a vacancy in the Histological Department.

I should mention that The Maudsley Hospital was a leading research and teaching hospital in mental illness and was run by the London County Council (LCC) and was prior to the National Health Service. The LCC operated a considerable number of mental hospitals in and around London and the surrounding counties.

Many of these were very large and institutionalised. Some even had their own farms attached. In those days, many of these hospitals were asylums and patients were locked away for years and sometimes for life. They were not pleasant places. There was a feeling of ‘no hope’.

Professor Nevin and Mr. Partner asked my about my interests and background. I said that my interest was in medicine and would I be able to study medicine by working at the hospital? Mr. Partner said that they would expect me to attend evening classes at The London Hospital (a major London teaching hospital) in Whitechapel, East London. My pay would be £1.10shillings (£1.50) per week with increases each year according to my age. I was asked when I could start and was told that I would get a letter offering me the job. I was thrilled to bits. I was going to work in a hospital and study medicine in the evenings at a teaching hospital. Life was good. But I was naïve.

The letter duly arrived and I prepared for my first job. Travel had to be organised. In the same way that I had a long journey to school, so I was in for a long journey to work. Perhaps the school journey had 98

prepared me, I don’t know. Anyway, my travel necessitated me cycling from home to Barking station; catching the District Line underground to the Monument; walking over London Bridge and catching a train from London Bridge station to Denmark Hill. I later changed that and caught a bus from the Monument to Camberwell.

The journey took an hour and a quarter. The worst part was the cycling in all weathers. It could be pouring rain or pea-souper fogs. In winter, there could be ice and snow particularly in Loxford Lane, a country road – used by the army during the war prior to D-Day. There was no street lighting on this road either so one just had the bicycle lamp. It was a bit eerie riding along in pitch darkness, avoiding potholes and sometimes in blinding rain. Near Barking station was one of the local cottages. The owner was an old man who had converted his reasonably sized garden into a cycle storage area. The entrance was down his sideway where there were long, open-plan, purpose built sheds. He charged 2/6d per week. That was reasonable. He had capacity for several hundred cycles so he must have supplemented his pension rather well. It was nearly always full as many people travelling to London used it daily, particularly as it was only 100 yards from the station.

So, at the beginning of September 1947, I started work. In keeping with the times, dress was formal. Shirts had separate stiff collars and were fixed to the shirt by a stud at the back and a slightly larger one at the front. Ties were worn, as were business suits. There were no permanent creases for trousers so, usually on a Sunday evening, I would press my trousers, jacket and waistcoat, if worn. Often, I would use the opportunity to press other clothes as well. All this was done using a damp cloth and a hot iron so the whole room became quite humid and damp. My father always prepared everything the night before – from cleaning shoes, putting out milk bottles to laying the breakfast table – so I tended to follow his pattern.

Having traversed London in the rush hour for the first time, I arrived at The Maudsley just before 9am. I was taken to the neuro-histological laboratory and introduced to the Senior Technician, Gordon Cox, and the other two technicians, Hilda Warmington (who was engaged to Gordon Cox) and a Miss Phyllis Plumbridge (known as ‘Plum’). The chief technician was a rather fierce German lady, Mrs Beck, who had moved on to full-time research and had an office at the other end of the block. The senior neuro-pathologist was a Dr. Meyer, who was assisted by his wife, Mrs Meyer, also a research-worker. Both were German. There was another pathologist, a Dr. McLardy.

So what was the function of this laboratory? In essence, it was to examine brains macroscopically and microscopically to understand the normal and pathological pathways and cellular structure of the brain. As a leading research laboratory, we received post mortem brains and other tissues from all over the country.

These could include brains from patients who had suffered from various conditions ranging rom syphilis, epilepsy, Parkinson’s, Huntingdon’s Chorea etc, etc. The brains would be physically examined and parts removed for microscopical examination. The latter was where we became involved.

The method was to take tissue and cut it into very thin slices which were then stained and mounted onto slides. These would be examined under the microscope. The stains used would depend on what one wanted to examine. Stains, or combinations of stains, could show various features of tissues e.g. nerve cells, nerve pathways, fat, connective tissue, muscle etc. To move fresh tissue to stained tissue on a slide was a multi-stage process and I will not go into details here as there are many textbooks on the subject.

Apart from the routine stains, we had a number of highly specialised techniques.

I had to start at the bottom – something of which my father would approve. Yes, I had to do the washing-up (been good at it ever since!). The various dishes, bowls and containers used by the technicians were passed to me and each day I was expected to clean them. I revolted. It didn’t really do any good, but the others did tend to clean some of their equipment and not leave it all to me. One aspect that I didn’t like was to attend post-mortems. Fortunately, these were few and far between. Another was the smell of formaldehyde solution that was used for preserving tissue specimens. We had quite a few ‘brain’ jars – usually earthenware containers with lids – in which specimens were kept.

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After a week or so of watching the other technicians and taking notes, the day came when I was to stain a specimen. It was a paraffin wax section on a slide and I had to dissolve off the wax, then stain with two stains, Haematoxylin and Eosin, and mount with a slide cover. I did it under supervision and when Gordon Cox examined it under the microscope, he was amazed. It was superbly stained with all the cells and surrounding tissue well differentiated. He showed the others and then went to fetch Prof. Meyer to show him my first effort. He too was impressed to the extent that he wanted me to do another to see if it was a fluke!

It wasn’t. After that I was shown other staining techniques including some complicated silver staining methods. All were successful and within 6 months, I was working with special techniques for Mrs Meyer.

I seemed to get on well with all the other staff. We had a number of laboratories involved in different areas of research. For example, there was the EEG Department employing two boffins who were the forerunners of electronic experts. One was a Mr. Theobald (Theo) who was ex-navy and Peter, a rather strange, bohemian, character who smoked a curved Petersen pipe, lived with a woman (frowned upon in those days) but did not believe in marriage. He sometimes came to work with his Siamese cat who would sit on his shoulder. He had a shock of jet-black hair and a slight squint. Like all research functions, they were always short of money.

These two had a room full of ex-government surplus radios, aircraft equipment etc, which they took to pieces. From the parts, they designed and built machines to measure the electrical activity in the brain.

Electrodes were placed on the head and connected to the EEG (Electroencephalograph) machine from which pens traced the ‘brain waves’. This was the cutting edge of new technology in the late ’40s. Much work was done in epilepsy and other conditions. There was considerable interest in studying the brain waves in different types of people. We even had murderers brought in for EEGs. Haigh, the acid bath murderer was one. The place was teeming with police whenever we had such visitors.

We also had a biochemistry department headed by a Professor McIlwain – a quiet little man who hardly ever spoke. These people were involved in studying the structures of body fluids in certain mental conditions e.g. schizophrenia compared with normal persons. There were a number of technicians employed; most were studying for a science degree at evening classes.

Downstairs was the clinical laboratory. This dealt with patients in the hospital, carrying out various haematological, bacteriological and biochemical examinations. It also carried out certain physiological examinations – ECGs (Electrocardiographs –heart recordings) and BMRs (Basal Metabolic Rates). Percy Chappel with an assistant, Jean Goulding, ran this laboratory. Also downstairs was a lecture theatre. Here doctors studying for the DPM (Diploma in Psychological Medicine) would receive lectures from well-known and famous names in medicine and psychiatry.

I felt immediately at home in this environment. I obtained books on the anatomy of the brain; on psychology, on medicine, mental illness, treatments and so on. I have always been able to absorb medical information rather as a piece of blotting paper absorbs ink. This whole world was for me. Life was great. But for how long?

Apart from the work, we had a lot of fun too. Gordon Cox, my boss, had a good sense of humour and was quite innovative. To this end, he started making wine in the laboratory. Of course, the country was still on rationing, but as a laboratory we could obtain glucose. So using that, together with various fruits, raisins, potatoes, we had the basis of making wine. Many of the ‘brain’ jars were soon bubbling away and other lesser-used laboratories were soon colonised. It actually reached the stage when one could smell the wine on entering the front door of the building.

Gordon was also quite creative. There was a need to preserve specimens for the teaching hospital museum. The standard method was to buy thick glass jars; usually rectangular or square; place the specimen in with formaldehyde or other preservative and seal a piece of glass on the top. These were expensive and the jars could not be tailor-made. Gordon developed containers using Perspex, cut to size and the edges stuck with a solvent (we used chloroform). These were completely clear and could be viewed from any angle. We used a clear piece of Perspex to fit the container and mounted the specimen 100

which was stuck on with gelatine. These were highly successful although we did have a few ‘leakers’ until we got the technique right.

The range of specimens we received was wide. At that time, a popular treatment for mentally disturbed or violent patients was a surgical procedure called pre-frontal leucotomy. This involved making a small burrhole in the temple and passing a thin knife through, penetrating the brain and attempting to cut the pathways that were, hopefully, causing the problem. Results were varied. At worst, the surgeon would cut the basilar artery and the patient would die soon after. At best, the required results would be achieved and the patient would be less disturbed and, hopefully, have a reasonable survival rate. Neuro-surgery was in its infancy at that time. There was a wide range of results between these two ends of the spectrum. We would receive brains from all over the country with the objective of ultimately tracing the cut pathways microscopically and linking these to the patient’s clinical notes. This was the work of our pathologists and research workers.

Their results and studies formed the basis of lectures and presentations given both in our hospital and other centres. These lectures included visual presentations, but there was no photography available then to illustrate patients, specimens, or microscopic slides and certainly nothing in colour. Clinical photography had not yet been born.

Technician Miss Plumbridge was quite artistic and would draw specimens of tissues. She would also paint in watercolour, cells viewed under the microscope. It just so happened that I was interested in art as previously mentioned. So I tried my hand at this and, lo and behold, in no time I found myself peering down my microscope, painting my field of vision in colour. I also did pen and ink drawings of various specimens.

All these had to be technically very accurate as they were not only used for presentation purposes, but many were used as illustrations in medical journals. I received an acknowledgement on each occasion.

It was about this time that I became interested in the Maudsley Hospital Sports and Social Club. All hospitals had such facilities for the medical, nursing and lay (as we were known) staff. I started playing tennis and found myself secretary of the tennis club (later captain as well). I then added cricket, football, badminton and swimming. Within a year, I had become secretary of the Maudsley Hospital Sports and Social Club and designed and had made, blue blazers and a badge. At one time, I held eight offices within the different activities and participated in all of them. We also organised dances and social functions. It was all very interesting and I enjoyed the administration, which often included arranging fixtures and matches against other hospitals, clubs.

The teams included nursing staff and a number of the doctors. One doctor, a Dr. Prince, had played for the Poona Cricket Club in India and always wore the dark cerise cap with Poona C.C. on the front. He wasn’t particularly good but always looked the part. Another member of the cricket team was one of our kitchen porters and, if the team was short, he would bring his brother who was a dustman in South London. This chap had played for Cairo Cricket Club and was a fantastic batsman. He could hit the ball all round the ground against seemingly any bowler, and frequently did.

The tennis team was great and apart from various doctors and staff, who would play when their duties allowed, I was a regular together with Charlie Budgen, who was the hospital bricklayer. He was a big, strong man, always smart with a great sense of humour and a diminutive wife. They lived in Stockwell. Being one of the LCC hospitals, arranging inter-hospital matches was easy as it was policy for sport to be encouraged owing, in modern-day parlance, to the stress of working with mental patients. This applied to all sports. Due to the size of many of these hospitals, their facilities and grounds were superb. Wonderful cricket pitches surrounded by trees with superb pavilions where we enjoyed scrumptious teas! Frequently, patients were allowed to watch – a pleasant afternoon for them. Tennis and football were also popular.

Of course, all my problems of living so far away were the same as when I was at school. Sometimes, I wouldn’t finish a match until 7.30pm and I would perhaps have to travel home from Surrey or Kent which reduced my weekend somewhat – even worse when there were matches on both Saturday and Sunday.

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Fortunately, travelling at weekends was a lot easier as far as congestion was concerned, but there were fewer trains and buses. Weekday travel was appalling. I would stand on Barking station and the District Line train would come in from Upminster/Hornchurch and it would be almost full. So would our platform! The doors would open and there would be a scramble to get in. Getting a seat was out of the question although Saturdays could be easier (I had to work until midday on Saturday, getting one Saturday off in four – no five-day weeks then). As you entered the train, the cigarette smoke hit you. At most, there was only one non-smoking carriage. It seemed that everyone smoked (I was smoking a pipe occasionally) and the whole interior was a blue, choking haze. When entering, you would eye the passengers to see if any were likely to disembark soon, otherwise you would be strap hanging all the way to the Monument. In winter, the trains could be cold – there was little heating. In summer, the return journey could be stifling. The trains arriving at the Monument would be packed. Once the train emerged from the tunnel at Bow, the evening sun would create a hot house. Sometimes there would be hold-ups and the train could be stationary from a few minutes up to an hour on one occasion. There were times when strap hangers were overcome with the heat and were known to faint. Apart from the small top windows, it was not possible to open the doors of the modern trains. Fortunately, there were older type trains which had hand operated, sliding doors so these could be slightly opened to let in some air. It helped to dilute the smoke.

We used to have a morning and afternoon break in the ‘labs’ when the people from the various disciplines would meet. We would chat about our work, social activities or just items of common interest. It was on one of these occasions, after I had been at the hospital for some months, that I raised the matter of when I should be starting to attend The London Hospital for the next stage of my training. It would be in September, I was told. My next question brought a stunned silence from everyone present. I asked how long it would take to train as a doctor. A what? A doctor! They looked at me as though I had come from one of the wards.

You’re a technician and that’s what you will be – you can’t train here for a medical qualification.

I was then the stunned one. I said that Mr Partner had stated at my interview that I would be able to study medicine at The London Hospital in the evenings. Yes, they said, but only to the level that would enable you to become a qualified technician. No careers advisers in those days! I felt tricked and it was too late to go back to school. How naive I had been. I suppose I should have guessed but at 17 you are unfamiliar with the wide world. It was a devastating blow and took some time for me to come to terms with the reality of the situation. What should I do? Where was my future?

I was given a copy of the syllabus for The Institute of Medical Laboratory Technology. This stated that I had a number of subjects for my intermediate examination. These included histology, bacteriology, haematology and biochemistry, together with anatomy, physiology and other subjects. I realised that I was only learning one in my present role and that I needed to get experience in other fields.

It so happened that I had struck up a relationship with Percy Chappell who ran the clinical laboratory – a relationship that lasted for many years. We became firm friends and the friendship continued long after I had left the hospital, until his death many years later. We kept in touch for 50 years also with Rose, his wife, until the last Christmas card was not reciprocated.

Percy was born in South London in the days when few children had the opportunity of a good education.

He started at the bottom as a laboratory assistant and worked his way up to be senior technician. He was a brilliant scientist, very knowledgeable, and doctors sought his opinions throughout the hospital. He had a deep insight to medicine and I learned a lot from him. We used to have long chats and I would slip downstairs to talk to him whenever I could. We had so much in common. He and Rose lived in a flat in Muswell Hill, London, and she used to make most of Percy’s clothes. She made his sports jackets, shirts and even trousers. Not perhaps designer clothes, but he adored her and was quite happy.

They had no family then, although later they had two boys, Peter and Paul, whom we came to know and even looked after later when they were young. Both ultimately became highly qualified, one a scientist with a PhD and the other a senior partner in a firm of architects.

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On my visits to Percy’s lab, I became extremely interested in clinical laboratory work. Even more important to me, it dealt with real patients. I suppose that my interest in dead tissues was over to some extent and this was of much greater interest. The day came when his assistant decided that she wanted to work elsewhere and she put her notice in. When I heard this, I had a talk to Percy and he asked me whether I would like to work with him, thus widening my knowledge and gaining experience for my examination. After some negotiations (he was part of the hospital and I was employed by the research laboratories), it was agreed that I should transfer. This was a great change that had a lot of impact on my career.

Percy and I not only worked well together but became involved in many activities, not only related to our work. I nneded to learn about so many things; haematology; how to take blood samples and collect blood from veins by syringe. It is interesting to note here that disposable needles and syringes were unheard of. I had the task of recycling both. Syringes had to be washed out after use, lubricated with liquid paraffin, wrapped in a special brown craft paper and then sterilised in a hot air oven. Needles had to be cleaned and then sharpened. This was done by using a sharpening stone with the needle resting on a cork. If the needle was not really sharp, the patient would know. One of the ways of testing for a barb on the tip was to draw the needle gently across a piece of cotton wool. If the needle had a hook or barb, it would snag the cotton wool. The needles were then sterilised attached to the syringes or separately. All very different from today!

We didn’t wear masks or gloves when involved with bacteriology. The rule was always to have slow running tap into a sink, a lit Bunsen burner and a bowl containing a phenol disinfectant in which slides or infected materials could be placed. Petri dishes containing bacterial colonies were autoclaved at high temperature and pressures to kill the organisms. Of course, our work involved examining body fluids – sputum, urine and stools as well as blood.

Blood chemistry e.g. cholesterol levels etc, urine chemistry (sodium and chloride estimations), blood sugar levels and glucose tolerance tests and many other test were carried out by us. All the technical aspects had to be learned and Percy was a great teacher. I suppose I was a ready pupil because within a few months, I was left in charge of the laboratory when Percy was away. Within a year, I ran the laboratory when he went on holiday. I had people to call on if I needed help, but the responsibility for the day-to-day organisation, running and, more importantly, the interpretation of results, was mine. Much of the diagnosis and treatment of the patients rested on my reports.

One of Percy’s interests was photography. He was not only very good at it, but he taught the subject at evening classes and did wedding photography as well as D&P (Developing and Printing) for hospital staff. Of course, he got me interested and involved. In fact, he really taught me nearly all I know about photography; how to develop and print films; how to compose pictures; how to enlarge photographs and so on. I bought my first camera from him a Voigtlander Bergheil 9x12-plate camera.

Within a year I had a darkroom at home and all the equipment including an enlarger (which Percy had made and which used my camera as the lens), developing trays, developing tank, printing box, guillotine etc. At that time, 1948, the market was becoming flooded with government surplus items and photographic materials were no exception. Photographic paper (ex Air Ministry) was only 2/6d (12 1/2p) for 50 sheets and developer and fixer were sold in cans of powder which would make about 50 gallons. This, too, was very cheap. All this meant that we could undercut the photographic dealers and also offer a next day service.

With a captive market like the hospital, we had a great opportunity.

I must add here that my business ‘talent’ started to show through against Percy’s non-commercial attitude.

I would find out when sisters, nurses and other staff were going on holiday and, more importantly, the date of their return. On the morning of their return, I would be up on the ward as soon as I arrived at the hospital, collect all the films to develop and print that night. It was a case of the early bird catching the worm! I felt sometimes that Percy was a little peeved, but he never really showed it. Percy was involved in wedding photography and on occasions, I would assist him. This had to be on Saturday afternoons when we weren’t working. Again I learned a great deal.

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It was about this time that clinical photography began to evolve in hospitals. The medical profession realised the importance of being able to record medical details photographically for routine, therapeutic and research purposes. The advantage of being able to accurately record conditions e.g. varicose ulcers, before, during and after treatment was being realised as well as photomicroscopy. All this is now standard practice. The Maudsley Hospital had two keen photographers on site who even had their own equipment available free of charge! Although Percy was the senior by far, I also had a role to play. I was involved in taking photographs of patients undergoing occupational therapy. These included a patient using a spinning wheel and a patient using a lathe in a workshop. Both these were printed in the British Medical Bulletin in 1949. I was credited and received a copy. I used these photographs later in an exhibition of the Ilford Photographic Society of which I was a member.

Remember our photographic exploits? This reminds me of a rather profitable one involving the massive stocks of government surplus items that flooded the market. The government would dump masses of new equipment in old mine shafts and enterprising individuals would buy the contents for next to nothing. These contents would then be “mined” and sold on to various outlets. This was the means whereby our EEG lab obtained parts for building their equipment – from unwanted Service radios etc. These were often new and in their original packing.

I remember one lunch,time, I was walking around Camberwell Green and stopped to look in a government surplus shop. On the pavement was a cardboard box containing naval marine distance meters. They were a 1/6d each (15p). These were precision-made instruments, L-shaped with the long arm of the L being about 6 inches long and incorporated a calibrated scale, on the end of which was a knurled knob. The short arm incorporated an eyepiece. The idea was to look through the eyepiece and turn the knurled knob until the two images appearing in the viewfinder coincided. By reading the scale on the side, you could read the distance of the object.

I had never seen these anywhere before nor did I after. It immediately struck me that these would be invaluable for photographers as distance meters. I bought one and found that by making a slight adjustment, they could read accurately to within about 3 feet. I also found how to cut down the instrument to make it shorter.

Knowing the shortage of photographic equipment in post-war Britain, I reckoned I had a good market and so it transpired. I advertised in the Amateur Photographer; did a deal with the shop to buy in bulk for 1/-d each (5p) and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. The orders flooded in. I had orders from Fleet Street, New Scotland Yard, professional and amateur photographers and even from as far away as Malta. I bought the entire stock from the shop and spent my lunch times (and some working time if I am honest) wrapping and labelling parcels. These then had to be carried down to the Post Office in Camberwell for posting. Selling these for 15/- (75p) showed a good profit. What a pity the stocks were limited!

Another aspect of the work of the clinical laboratory was to be responsible for ECGs (electro-cardiographs).

These record the electrical activity of the heart and one obtains a photographic recording as a graph. We had a Cambridge machine that required a trolley to carry all the equipment – so different from today’s miniaturised machines which can be worn by the patient for continuous recordings.

With the old Cambridge machine, we had to apply a glass-containing paste to break down the skin surface, and fix the electrodes with rubber straps; peer through a dark viewing panel and when the tracing was steady, tell the patient to sit still while we pressed the switch to start the recording. There was a clockworkdriven drum inside of which was a piece of photographic film which had previously been loaded in the dark room. When the recording was complete, we had to remove the film and develop it before releasing the patient. If satisfactory, the patient could go; the negative allowed to dry and then printed on paper which meant another developing and printing procedure.

Percy and I shared the work and he was very fair. We would get requests from the wards for various tests to 104

be carried out. I used to be the one frequently to go to the wards to collect blood samples, either from a prick in the ear lobe or finger, or by syringe depending on the test required. I developed a good technique for obtaining venous blood, which could be difficult sometimes for patients with large, fat arms. In these cases, veins could not be seen. Sometimes, the test would go over a long period. For example, with a glucose tolerance test, blood would be taken, a glucose drink given, and blood taken every 30 minutes for the next 3 hours. I would then take the samples back to the laboratory and estimate the patient’s glucose levels. An abnormal curve could indicate a diabetic condition.

We used to receive various other specimens for examination. It is interesting to remember that with urine samples, for example, before carrying out any tests, a macroscopic examination was necessary. This meant reporting on the colour, turbidity and the smell! It is surprising what the latter could detect. A specimen containing bacteria could have a distinctive smell which could vary according to the type of bacteria present.

Cases of diabetes could smell of acetone. These days, laboratory staff wear masks so such tests cannot be made.

I enjoyed my work dealing with patients. I felt this was the ‘sharp-end’ of the work; probably it was that sub-conscious, latent-healing desire starting to show. I began to find that I would start to pick up patient’s conditions. I would ‘feel’ their medical condition. This was quite interesting and helpful in some ways. Often patients were sent in with a mental illness that may have been brought on by a physical condition. I was not the physician so I could not diagnose, but there were occasions when I could, perhaps, influence the medical thinking.

One example I remember was a patient referred from a well-known London teaching hospital. The patient was depressed and had been subject to various tests before he arrived with us. His doctor came to discuss his condition and what test we should carry out. A bank of initial blood and urine tests was agreed. I saw the patient and somehow felt a throat and chest tightness. His blood gave a clue and I suggested a sputum examination and culture. The patient had tuberculosis that had not been spotted.

All this did create certain problems in that I was dealing with mental patients. I also tended to pick up those conditions that could be much more serious. Often I would become depressed or have anxiety that would clear after a few days so I had to be careful. I tended to stay away from the wards for a few days, or make brief visits. In those days I didn’t know how to ‘seal’ myself.

Being a research hospital, there was always the need for ‘guinea pigs’ to assist with research projects. We were no exception. We had EEGs, ECGs, BMRs and frequent blood samples taken for examinations after injections of various drugs, etc. All part of a day’s work.

One of the most important research projects in which I became involved occurred during this period. At this time a popular treatment for anxiety and depressive patients was Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT). This involved laying the patient on a bed; applying an electrode to each temple and applying a powerful electrical shock via the electrodes. This created a convulsion which could be so violent as to break limbs. The problem was how to keep the so-called therapeutic effect without the physical reaction or damage.

Professor Sir Aubrey Lewis was the head of the Institute of Psychiatry and he came down to see us to discuss the research he wanted to undertake. The concept was to give the patients a drug which would partially paralyse the muscles to achieve the desired result without the violent reaction. Nothing like this had been undertaken before. Prof. Lewis wondered whether we could undertake the physiological aspects of the research by finding a means of measuring the effect of the drugs on the thoracic and abdominal muscles before, during and after the treatment. Yours truly got the job. I was not a physiologist and had no experience, but here was a challenge! I disappeared into the storeroom in which the ‘EEG people’ kept their store of ex-government surplus radios etc – with their permission, I would add. Looking round the mass of items, I found an aircraft altimeter. These operate rather like a barometer, which measure changes in pressure. I reckoned that by attaching the double disc of the altimeter to a flexible tube strapped round the patient’s 105

chest it would result in the surface of the disc expanding and contracting with the patient’s breathing as the pressure in the sealed disc increased and decreased. By placing a fulcrum in the centre of the disc, the arm of a pen could rest on the fulcrum and a recording could be achieved on paper on a revolving drum. The principle proved correct and experimentation resulted in an instrument that could record the thoracic muscle excursions (movements). A pen was made by bending a piece of tin, triangular in shape, sticking it to the arm of the pen with sealing wax! A duplicate instrument was made to cover the abdominal muscles.

The work was carried out twice a week on Ward 4 with Sister Guest and nursing staff. Dr D.L. Davies was in charge and a Dr Geoffrey Organe, a consultant anaesthetist from The Westminster Hospital was also in attendance. Muscle relaxants were used, C10 and d-Tuber. It was found that these distressed the patients as, prior to the treatment, they could not breathe. Pentothal was given to anaesthetise the patient before the muscle relaxant could take effect and this became the standard practice. Percy had given me the time to develop the equipment and was present at most of the therapeutic sessions which started at 9am and finished around 11am. Recovery was usually uneventful although, on one occasion,I went into the recovery room to find a ‘blue’ patient. Resuscitation was necessary. After each session – and these went on for some months – everyone would have a coffee and cigarette (smoking was in vogue at the time). Dr Organe would make notes on the back of his cigarette packet and we would all depart.

One morning, Prof. Lewis came down to the lab in quite a state. We were told that Dr. Organe was publishing the results of the studies (from the back of his cigarette packets, no doubt!) and Prof. Lewis had used his influence to get our paper published in The Lancet in the next couple of weeks. He wanted information from us immediately. The article appeared in The Lancet on 7 May 1949 and included the following mention; “We are indebted to Mr. P. Chappell and his assistant, Mr. E. L. Parrish for valuable technical help in making the records of respiration”. It was interesting that Dr. Organe’s article appeared in the same edition, but he did not mention The Maudsley Hospital. Some 30 years or so later, as a senior manager in the pharmaceutical industry, I was invited to lunch in the consultants’ dining room at The Westminster and who should be sitting at the next table, Sir Geoffrey Organe! I didn’t renew our acquaintance!

A big change was the introduction of the National Health Service in 1948. When I started at the hospital, it was run by a medical superintendent, the matron and a clerk. When the introduction of the National Health Service was imminent, we found a rapid expansion taking place. The night nurses quarters (a large old Victorian house next to the hospital) was taken over by administrators. A house governor, a deputy house governor, supplies officers and many other categories were appointed. The salaries bill must have increased dramatically. We also became linked to the Bethlem Royal Hospital at West Wickham, Kent – a lovely modern hospital with marvellous facilities both medical and recreational. I was still running the sports and social club and this was combined with that of the Bethlem Royal Hospital. I passed over the general secretary’s function to a chap from the Bethlem Royal but kept other aspects and became the Maudsley Hospital representative.

In 1949 I was 18 and should have been called up for National Service. The hospital had successfully applied for deferment so that I could sit my examination so I was continuing my evening classes at The London Hospital. Frankly, though, I knew that I would not be following a career in medical laboratory technology. The pay was not good and I could not see myself in this role for the rest of my life.

At times, I was asked to train mature medical students on laboratory methods and tests. Some were so ‘dim’ that I couldn’t believe they would ultimately become doctors. We also had certain representatives calling, selling scientific and laboratory equipment. One came from a small firm in Brixton. He was a pleasant man and, one day, when we were talking, he said that he felt I was wasted in my job and I would do a lot better as a representative using my knowledge and enthusiasm. Another seed was sown! What had I been told by my parents years before? To become a commercial traveller!

My personal life was one of photography, sport and social activities. I was a member of the Goodmayes Lawn Tennis Club and used to spend much of my weekends there. On Sunday mornings, I was there, 106

getting home for one of my mother’s massive Sunday lunches after which I would cycle back to Goodmayes and play all afternoon. Of course, I was also in the hospital’s cricket team.

It was about this time that my great friend, Derek Mann, and his parents decided to emigrate to New Zealand. Having sold their home, they spent their last few weeks with us before sailing. My father did not like having guests staying in his home. He tolerated the Manns, but only just. Lillian Mann was a friendly, bubbly person and something of a free spirit. In the evenings, she and Len would be off out to the cinema or similar, which my father found difficult to accept. He came home and sat around in the evenings. When the sailings came through, they had to split up. Len and Lillian Mann went first and Derek followed on another boat a few weeks later as I mentioned earlier.

My friend, Bernard Read and I used to go to local dances on a Saturday evening. On a Sunday evening we would go out for a drink. We liked The Papermakers Arms in Roden Street, Ilford. It was a Mann, Crossman and Paulin pub and our tipple was Mann’s Cream Label Stout. Bernard got called up for his National Service.

He joined the Royal Air Force and ended up in the pay section.

My activities at the hospital carried on and I prepared for my exams that came and went. I was not really concerned because my future lay elsewhere. I used to attend the hospital dances and usually managed to get myself a room in the nurses quarters as I could not get home after the dance. Romantically, there was nothing there for me. The hospital had a PTS (Preliminary Training School) and I used to give the new students some lectures and, as a result, I would get invited to their parties. I did have one nurse I was keen on. Her name was Theresa Comer and she came from Stanford-le-Hope in Essex. She was an attractive but shy girl and I often wondered why she wanted to enter mental nursing. She was the wrong type to be able to handle some of our difficult patients. The trouble was that when I was with her, I became totally tonguetied. Once I went out with a coach party of nurses. The sister tutor had fixed it that I should sit in the back seat next to Theresa. I hardly said a word to her on the whole journey. I had to admit that I was also shy with women unless they could keep a conversation going.

Next to our laboratory office was another unused office which had access from our room. It was used for storage and sometimes I would go in there and look around. There were a great number of paintings of cats by an artist, Louis Wain. I used to spend a long time looking at these amusing paintings. The situations, the expressions and the colours were incredible. The artist had spent many years in mental hospitals and, I believe, died there. Here was a lot if not most of his work. Unwanted and collecting dust. No-one would have minded if I had helped myself to the odd picture and now I wished I had. The works of Louis Wain are now highly collectable and sought after. His pictures fetch very high prices and I wonder what happened to them.

I do have one, purchased at auction, but it is not in the same league as the ones in that room in the hospital.

Albert Edward Parrish’s 80th birthday, 10 March 1950 Left to right: A E Parrish (grandfather), his wife Harriet (Paddy) Parrish, Mary (Edgar Parrish’s daughter), Mildred Lucy Parrish (my mother), me (Eric Lionel Parrish), Aunt Nell (Edgar’s wife), Edgar J Parrish (brother of A E Parrish) 107

—13— National Service Years: 1950—52

F

of the 1939-45 war, another threat appeared on the horizon. This time it was from Russia. In crushing the German areas of occupation, both the Allies and Russia were retaking countries across Europe. It soon became apparent that, unlike the Allies, whose object was to restore local government, the communist Russian troops were replacing the German army with their own forces. This was to become an oppressive regime and led to the Cold War. ollowing the end

Both sides continued to increase their fighting capability and an East-West confrontation became a real possibility. Many of the countries in Western Europe, needed to increase their forces and introduced a National Service whereby young men were recruited to serve for a fixed period and then transfer to the reserve. This resulted in an increasing number of trained and experienced servicemen who could be ready for any emergency.

National Service was introduced in the UK and young men were conscripted at 18 to serve for 18 months.

This was later increased to 2 years. The general public met the introduction of National Service with mixed feelings. It would interfere with careers and studies and many thought that these 18 year-olds were too young. One has to remember that, in many cases, their fathers had only recently returned themselves from the war and were not keen to see their sons being called up.

I lived and was looked after at home and, in general, had a very easy life. Going into the forces would be a major upset to my routines, but was one I was looking forward to. On the other hand, a little voice inside seemed to be saying that this was the opportunity to get into that wide, wide world outside; to meet new people; have new experiences and, perhaps most important of all, to learn to stand on my own two feet.

My work and studying, however, meant that I would be reserved until I had taken my Inter IMLT examination which would delay my conscription for 2 years. Of course, during that time, my friends went into the services and I was left behind knowing that I still had it all to do!

They didn’t forget me and on 18 October 1950, I was called to the recruiting centre in Eastern Avenue, Wanstead, for my medical and interview. Remembering my experiences watching the Battle of Britain and knowing that my parents couldn’t stop me (unlike when I wished to join the Air Training Corps), I volunteered for aircrew as a pilot. On 1 November 1950, the recruiting centre wrote to say that I had been provisionally accepted for aircrew. I was absolutely delighted.

Inwardly, I knew that my days in the health service were numbered and that I would not return. This break would give me the opportunity to look at the outside world and change my career. Not that I mentioned this to anyone in the hospital because they had a legal obligation to take me back at the end of my service. I wanted to keep my options open. It was a waiting time. Would I be called up before Christmas or would they be decent and call me up after?

They weren’t. I received my calling-up papers at the beginning of December together with a rail warrant and instructions as to what I could take in one small case, which would be sent home with my civilian clothes as soon as I had my uniform. I had to say goodbye to so many people I knew at the hospital from Professor Sir Aubrey Lewis, the house governor, doctors, sisters, nurses and all levels to the porters. All the people I had either worked with, or been involved with, in the sports and social club. It was quite a sad moment, but at least I had something to look forward to. I was going in the RAF for two years and I had been accepted for aircrew training.

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“Per Ardua Ad Astra”: the motto of the RAF roughly translates as: “Through adversity to the stars”

Joining the Royal Air Force – RAF Padgate On 11 December 1950 along with my attaché case, I said goodbye to my parents and the neighbours, walked up South Park Drive, got the bus to Ilford Station and made my way by train to Paddington Station.

From there, the train took me to Padgate and the RAF camp to which most RAF recruits were destined. If I remember correctly, there was a Spitfire by the guardroom and that was a good omen. The weather was damp and cold. I was taken to a barrack room (rather like a Nissen hut) where there were a number of beds, each with a hard-looking mattress. The head was against the wall and there was about 3 feet between them.

Between the beds and also against the wall were single wardrobes. In the centre of the room was a 6ft table with a bench either side. There were two circular cast iron stoves about 2 feet 6 inches high and about 10 inches in diameter. They were equidistant along the centre line of the room. It was cold and there was no heating. Some other recruits came in and we all wondered what we were letting ourselves in for.

A corporal came in and told us that we would have to get our bedding and ‘irons’, so we assembled outside – a motley crew in blazers, suits, overcoats and raincoats. The corporal told us to get ‘fell in’ in ranks of three and we would march to the bedding store. Probably none of us had marched before so we were an utter shambles with arms and legs all over the place. At the bedding store, we were each given three blankets, two sheets, a pillow and a pillowcase. We were then handed a heavy china mug and a knife, fork and spoon, following which we were marched back.

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The corporal then said that we were going to march to tea. Most of us were fairly ravenous so it seemed a good idea. We were soon disillusioned. We queued with our plate to receive some soggy tomatoes, a sausage and some potatoes. There was also some bread and jam. Also on the menu was lukewarm, weak tea in an urn and we could help ourselves. After this splendiferous meal, we made our way back to the billet for a cold and miserable evening. The corporal came back to tell us that we would be woken by reveille at 0600hrs. We were to carry out our ablutions and march to breakfast at 0645hrs. We were shown how to fold our blankets and sheets, which we would do in the morning.

So there we were. Cold, with no radio and everyone feeling pretty miserable. The corporal found us a little wood and a bucket of coal so we were able to get the fires going. We all sat round chatting to find out something about our colleagues. I was one of the oldest, being 20. Some had virtually just come from school and others had worked until they were 18. There was one thing in common. We had all been selected as potential aircrew. Sleep that night involved wearing socks and putting our coats on the beds. It seemed that we had hardly got to sleep when the Tannoy blasted out the reveille. It was 6am already. No sooner had it finished, than the corporal charged into the room to make sure we were up. Those that had turned over for another forty winks had a rude awakening as the corporal bellowed at them.

Gathering our shaving tackle, soap and towel, we made our way to the ablutions. We weren’t first. Other barrack rooms had got there first. Imagine a long shed with about 12 wash basins along one side and opposite there were toilet cubicles with urinals at each end. Here was another shock. Whereas at home I always rinsed the hand basin after use, here people just left it. Some did not even pull the plug out and as there were invariably no chains attached to the plugs, I had to plunge my hand into the filthy, greasy water to get hold of the plug. The whole ablution area was awash. Some came in and did a strip wash, spraying water everywhere. Others cleaned their teeth, spat out the toothpaste and walked off. When we got there, the water was only lukewarm and getting colder by the minute. There were few mirrors for shaving and the electric light bulbs were so dull it was hard to see anyway. On top of all this, people left the doors at each end of the washroom open, so the cold wind howled through.

We didn’t have time to waste though. If we wanted any breakfast, we had to be ready to march. Once more we were formed into three ranks and marched off. Again, we queued with our plates to get something like a semi-cold fried egg with some fatty bacon; a thick slice of bread and marmalade. The usual urn of tea awaited us. Coffee? No chance. The rest of the day was spent in administration – completing various forms.

We were marched to the station cinema to be addressed by an officer who informed us that, as potential aircrew, we would all be going to RAF Hornchurch for assessment.

The ASC (Aircrew Assessment Centre) would put us through a whole range of aptitude and written tests to find out whether we were suitable for aircrew and, if we were, which branch (pilot, navigator, engineer, air gunner). We also would have a thorough medical examination. All the chaps were keen and no-one wanted to fail.

Then came the day when we were to get our uniforms. We were marched over to the stores and were given a kit bag (in which to put everything). We were asked our sizes for various items and if we didn’t know, the NCO would make a guess!

So there we were! One pair of boots – never worn boots before! One pair of shoes; two pairs of thick socks; two pairs of woollen under pants; two shirts, four collars, a black tie; two vests, battle dress trousers and top; best blue trousers and tunic, greatcoat, beret, etc, etc. On top of these basics were various other ‘goodies’ like a button stick (which I still have), a mess tin, shoe brushes and, of course, the ‘housewife’. For those who don’t understand, the housewife was a cloth roll, which contained sock darning wool, cotton, needles, spare buttons. Then we received our webbing; belt, small pack, large pack, all of which we would learn to blanco in the air force blue so that it was immaculate.

Struggling back to our billet, we were met by our corporal who was to initiate us into all these items. As we 110

had a fire in our stoves, we were told to make the poker red-hot and burn our name and number onto our brushes. We were told that we would have to polish our brass buttons, cap badge and webbing brasses until they were transformed from the rough manufacturers finish to a surface that shone like burnished gold.

We all looked at each other thinking he’d be lucky, but somehow the square-bashing and drill instructors were right! We spent hours with our button sticks, Duraglit and dusters for, to fail, would have meant anything from extra duties like sweeping the parade ground; painting coal white; cook-house fatigues to being put on a charge. The latter would be very unpleasant.

It would involve reporting to the guardroom in full kit for inspection, say, every two hours when, if the turnout was not perfect, the military police would make life very difficult indeed. It was not unusual for those on ‘jankers’ to be made to run round the parade ground a number of times in full kit, which was exhausting. On top of this, a charge would go down on your record and for us, wanting to get into aircrew, would not help.

So you can see we were only at the beginning of what was going to be a difficult period. The learning curve was going to be steep!

We were also told that those coarse boots would have to shine – not only on the top but even underneath on the instep. The toecaps would have to shine like black mirrors, but when we looked at the ‘bubbly’ leather we had doubts, but we were wrong. To get this surface smooth there were various techniques.

‘Boning’ was common and this required rubbing down the toecap with the back of a tooth brush until it was smooth, using boot polish as lubricant. Some used a hot poker to smooth the surface while others used boot polish applied with a duster or piece of cloth. The method was to rub the polish in by making small circles with the duster or cloth and by mixing this action with spit – hence the term, spit and polish. This method gradually built up a surface until the toecap resembled glass.

My fellow recruits Joining the Royal Air Force was a totally new experience for me. It was like entering a new world. In all honesty, I like so many other young men, had led a sheltered life. As an only child, I had always lived at home with my parents who had looked after me. Now I was with an all male group which came from a wide cross section of life – from those who had come straight from school to those who had been to university; some had been in clerical posts in insurance or shipping to those who had already moved well up the career ladder; there were introverts and those who were out and out extroverts. So you can see, this was a learning experience and a shaking down time for us all.

And what a way to start! Just before Christmas; living together in a barrack room; cold, strange food and not very pleasant at that. Little money – the pay was, I believe, about 8 shillings, or 40p per week, and we received no money for some weeks. We were not allowed to leave camp. The only place we could go was the NAAFI for a cup of tea (or beans on toast if the diet really got to you and if you could afford it) or a beer.

The other option was the camp cinema, which showed old films.

As a result, we spent a lot of our time talking about our backgrounds and our experiences. I found myself in a group where we gave each other nicknames, which strangely enough were based on The Wind in the Willows. So we had Mole, Rat, Otter, Weasel, Stoat, etc, and of course, Toad. I was Toad! These names became used all the time – “What’s wrong Ratty?” or “How’s wonderful Toad today?”. Apart from the fun, these names really bound us together as a team and we all helped each other in these formative stages, whether it was trying to find some firewood, helping someone with their uniform, sharing their money at the NAAFI and so on.

One of the biggest surprises was meeting people from other parts of the UK. I’d never met anyone from Yorkshire, Lancashire, Newcastle, Liverpool, Birmingham or Dorset. Apart from the strange accents, they also had different customs and tended to eat different foods – or so they said, because we didn’t have any choice at that time. Some of these chaps were accomplished sportsmen having played rugby at county level. Apart from talking, we spent some of our evenings sitting round our stove, particularly if it was raining 111

and windy outside, singing and I learned regional songs like ‘Ilkley Moor bah Tat’. The Welsh lads were natural leaders here and I was also introduced to rugby songs and these were quite an eye-opener to a town lad like me!

It was also the first time that I had met ex-public schoolboys and we had a sprinkling of those. I remember when we were all excitedly trying on our uniforms when Ratty, alias John ffield (spelt with two small ffs) who had been to Ampleforth said in his very cultured voice, “Hey, Toad, could you give me a hand, old chap?”. He was requesting that I show him how to fix his collar onto his shirt. I couldn’t believe that someone of his age didn’t know how to put a collar on. Perhaps I should mention that at this time virtually the only shirts that had attached collars were cricket or tennis shirts. Normally shirts had no collar but a neckband, which had a pouch at the back in which one put a back collar stud. A front collar stud (slightly longer shank) joined the front of the shirt together where the top button is today. The separate collar was folded over to make it double and inside at the centre back was a vertical ‘buttonhole’ which hooked into the back collar stud. The two ends of the front the collar were held in place by the front stud. (The shank was longer to take the double thickness of the collar). Collars were invariably starched to make them stiff, so a tie was essential to be placed within the collar fold before fixing it in place, as it was not possible to turn down a collar when on the shirt. Shirts usually had two collars, which meant that you changed your collar daily but not your shirt!

So having tried on our uniforms – and I must admit when we looked in the mirror, it gave us quite a buzz – our corporal came in and said we looked a shambles. We were then told how to wear our uniforms. For example, the beret should be worn with the band parallel to the ground, one inch above the eyebrows with the badge above the left eye and the beret pulled down at 45 degrees over the right ear. If the greatcoat is worn (inclement weather only) it must be buttoned up to the neck and never worn open. Anything requiring to be carried must be carried in the left hand so that the right hand is free for saluting. (This is why I have a dropped left shoulder). We were also shown how to salute. The right arm should be brought up the longest way, e.g. with the right arm and hand out to the side; the right hand should be open, facing forward, parallel to the ground with the middle finger of the hand placed one inch behind the right eye. At the completion of the salute, which is done to the count of, ‘Up – pause – one – two – down’, the hand goes the shortest way down (forwards to the side of the body). Surprisingly, this took quite a lot of learning. It was nothing to the way we would be learning in the future.

This was a waiting time. We were all due to go for aircrew selection so we wrote letters home and talked about how we wanted to fly, whether pilot, navigator, and engineer or air gunner. The corporal, or corporals, would take us out to give us the basics of drill with much swearing and cursing,. We were made to spend time ‘bulling’ our boots and polishing our brass cap badge, buttons. We had to press our uniforms and clean and polish our billet. This included cleaning the toilets and washbasins. The brown lino floor of the billet had to be polished all over (beds had to be moved) as well as lockers. We were given polish and a ‘bumper’ which was a large, heavy gadget rather like a mop except the head was like a heavy block. The method was that one chap would use a piece of wood to scoop polish out of the tin and ‘dab’ it over the floor. The chap with the ‘bumper’ would place it on a heavy piece of cloth and then use it like a mop by making sweeps across the floor.

This would spread the polish fairly evenly. Another piece of cloth would be placed under the ‘bumper’ and the same procedure repeated to bring up the shine. Extremely shiny surfaces were obtained – and heaven help anyone who walked on the surface. It was usual for everyone to get two dusters and standing with one on each foot, slide or skate across the floor.

Of course, we all wanted to get on with the aircrew selection rather than hang around at RAF Padgate. Our corporal came in one day and told us, “Now you ‘orrible lot, yer all goin’ ter ‘Ornchurch ter see if any of yer are any good fer flyin’”. RAF Hornchurch (an ex Battle of Britain Station), which was close to where I lived in Ilford, housed the ASC (Aircrew Selection Centre). We were told that we would have to take all our kit with us and we would be there for three days.

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Air Crew Selection Centre – RAF Hornchurch After further instructions and lectures from NCOs and officers, the day finally arrived amidst considerable excitement and some reservations in case we didn’t pass! With all our equipment, we were taken in buses to the station to commence the journey to Hornchurch. From Paddington then across London to catch the District Line to Hornchurch Station. We were marched in flights – there were about 70 of us altogether – to the RAF station where we were put into a barrack block.

It was interesting to find that, approaching RAF Hornchurch, we were met by a rather overweight black Labrador who went ahead of us, barking all the way. His name was Binder and I later learned that he was the dog of a famous Battle of Britain pilot, Paddy Finucane. The story is that he would watch his master fly off for combat and wait on the flight lines for his return, when he would run to the aircraft to meet him. Sadly, one day his master did not return and Binder spent the rest of his life looking for him. He met all aircrew recruits on their arrival, perhaps hoping that his master may be there. That was in 1950, probably around 8 years after Paddy Finucane was killed. Binder was officially on the ration strength of the station. He lived in the guardroom where he had his own quarters. He was well known to all the service personnel stationed at Hornchurch and I was to meet him again later, as you will see.

There were only 300 vacancies for national service pilots per year of which 100 were reserved for those who had served in the Air Training Corps so it was highly competitive. We spent three days at the Aircrew Selection Centre undergoing many and various tests. These included a thorough physical and medical examination together with eyesight, colour blindness and hearing tests.

We had tests to measure our co-ordination by using eyes, hands and feet. There were educational tests and psychological tests. Tests to determine our reaction speeds. We had interviews to find whether we were suitable for aircrew and whether we were officer material. It was a very hectic time and all the while we knew that our future could depend on the result of any one of these tests.

After the tests, we had to wait while the results were assessed. This was the worst time. Would we pass?

Would we fail? If we passed, what would we be selected for? At last, we were all called together and the results announced. As the names were read out, some were delighted, some were relieved and some were terribly disappointed. We all knew that in many ways, this would be the parting of the ways. Those who failed would be going to spend eight weeks at a ‘square-bashing camp’ and the different aircrew grades would be off on their respective training at various RAF centres.

Of the failures, I was particularly sorry for one of our group, ‘Kipper’ Barrass, who came from North London.

He had been so looking forward to aircrew but was rejected. I was later to meet him when I was on flying training. Another, whose name I have forgotten, had been selected for air gunner. He must have been one of the last intakes for this grade as it was already obsolescent. My name was called and I had been selected for pilot – the highest grade – and I was thrilled! I was to be known as cadet pilot. Although I lived in Ilford, a short journey from Hornchurch, I had not been able to go home when there. Likewise, although the Christmas leave was starting in a couple of days, I couldn’t go home from Hornchurch. Oh, no! That would have been too easy. I had to go back to RAF Padgate, pick up my travel warrant and leave pass, and travel back to Ilford the following day.

The Christmas leave went all too quickly. Apart from Christmas itself, I was visiting friends and family.

Everyone wanted to know how I was getting on. It was nice to be home. Getting up at a reasonable hour,not having to go for ‘ablutions’ in a windy cold washhouse and, of course, not having RAF food.

The Christmas leave finished at 2359 hours on 29 December 1950 so I didn’t have New Year at home. I can remember arriving back at the camp on a dark, cold December evening. Into the cookhouse for a not very pleasant meal, then back to my billet where I was reunited with my colleagues. We were to spend around three weeks in most disagreeable conditions. There was thick ice and snow with below freezing temperatures.

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There was virtually no coal in the compound so we had nothing for the two stoves in our huts. It was too cold to go out and too cold to stay in! We would delegate some of our number to forage for wood for the fire and, in the meantime, the others would sit huddled in blankets. In some huts, they got so desperate that doors were chopped up for firewood.

The bitter winds continued and to keep ourselves occupied, we were given drill periods outside in the icy cold. The ice underfoot was sharp and actually cut through the soles of my shoes. After much complaining that the shoes were sub-standard, I got a replacement pair. The only warm place was the NAAFI and it would be full during opening hours. Duties were also handed out. Some chaps were assigned to the cookhouse; some to take the meagre coal ration (when available) to the various huts – this amounted to one bucket per day; others had to work in the station head quarters and so on. Of course, the early morning Tannoy at 0630hrs was not welcome! Often the washhouse toilets were frozen and could not be flushed. The ‘hot’ water was only tepid to start with so, by the time the wash basin was filled, it was virtually cold and washing and shaving became a nightmare. My face became raw from my razor scraping off the cold shaving soap and the cold wind outside made it worse. Apart from this, a number had to report to the sick quarters with colds, coughs and flu.

Somehow, we tried to remain cheerful. We would spend time sitting round our stove (even if it wasn’t alight) talking and singing rugby and other songs. This was a waiting period before we got posted and time certainly dragged. One of our number who had passed at Hornchurch as a pilot, had been flying in a university air squadron. He suddenly received a posting to a flying training school with the immediate rank of pilot officer.

He had to go to the equipment stores to collect his officer’s uniform and spent the evening sewing on his Pilot Officer rings. This gave us all quite a lift as we felt that something was happening at last. He left the following morning with our congratulations and good wishes. Not long after, our postings came through. We were destined for the ACTU (Aircrew Transit Unit) at RAF Driffield in Yorkshire. The day came and we were delighted to say goodbye to RAF Padgate. This was the start of the great adventure.

Aircrew Transit Unit – RAF Driffield This turned out to be another holding area while we waited to be moved to an Initial Training School. At least we were in brick-built barrack blocks which had central heating – not that it was that warm. The food was better and, although we had periods of drill and lectures, we were not over occupied. NCOs would appear to find ‘volunteers’ for various menial tasks. A basic rule in the services is never to volunteer and when an NCO appeared on the horizon, everyone either vanished or appeared very busy! Some got themselves ‘permanent’ jobs where they could go thus having a warm comfortable place for the day. I did not lose out on these initiatives either. I got myself into the station post office which, apart from anything else, ensured that my ‘gang’ always got their mail as a priority. This was obviously appreciated as they presented me with a certificate for services to mail delivery!

It was at Driffield that we attended our first pay parade. Our flight had to march into a hangar along with other flights. We halted in front of a table and did a left turn to face it and stood at ease. An officer and a pay clerk were seated at the table. When our name was called, we would come to attention, march to the table, halt and shout “Sir” and give our last three (this was the last three numbers of our service number, mine being 2500724 so I would shout ‘724’) at the same time saluting and holding out our left hand to receive our pay.

This was about 10/- or 50p per week.

I have already mentioned the different types of people one would meet in National Service. In this instance, the pay clerk seated at the table was an A.C. (Aircraftsman) Tinker. Nothing surprising about that except that A.C. Tinker was a young industrialist who ran three mills in Yorkshire. Obviously, his posting to Driffield was ‘convenient’. I was told that in his barrack room he had an extra cupboard in which he kept his business suits, shirts etc. Also parked round the back, he had a Bentley which he used when he left camp or attended business meetings. He was far more affluent and connected than the officers to whom he reported, and this indicates the levelling down which happened during the National Service years.

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At that time, RAF Driffield was also a flying training school where pilots were trained on Meteor VIIs. Naturally, we were all keen to get as close as possible to the flight lines and see the flying at first hand. I was at the forefront. By regular visits, I got to know some of the pilots and after much persistence, I talked my way into a flight. The Meteor VII was a dual control aircraft so I would sit behind the pilot. I was kitted out, went to the aircraft and was strapped in. The straps formed part of the ejector seat. Helmet and mask on, I was plugged into the intercom/radio, the pilot climbed in, the hatch was closed and we were ready for the off. I should add that I had never flown before so this was going to be quite an experience. As the Meteor was dualcontrolled, I had before me my own set of instruments and controls so I held the control column (joystick) and put my feet on the rudder pedals. It felt great. The pilot gave me an outline of what we would be doing.

We would take off and head out over Scarborough flying at around 15,000ft and do some simple aerobatics.

Wow! Not a bad start.

The twin jet engines were started and I heard the pilot asking for clearance to taxi. We started to move forward along the taxi track, stopping near the runway for the pre take-off checks. We received clearance for take-off and moved on to the runway. The pilot opened the gas taps (throttles) and something hit me in the back. The acceleration was phenomenal. I could feel the wheels tearing down the runway, faster and faster and, suddenly, the noise stopped. I looked out to find we were airborne. I was actually flying for the first time. The experience was breathtaking. As the earth got farther away, we appeared to be going slower – until I looked at the air speed indicator! Then we were climbing fast and I couldn’t believe we were up to 15,000 feet. At 20,000 feet we levelled off and the pilot asked how I felt. I said fine but I meant exhilarated.

He said we would do a loop so would I check my straps for tightness. All good. He also said if I felt a pain in my ears to let him know. He put the nose down and we screamed towards earth. Yes, my ears were really hurting but I didn’t say anything. Back came this stick, up came the nose and in no time I was hanging upside down looking at the earth above my head. We continued over until we were back to our normal flying position. Did I feel sick? No. Another couple of manoeuvres and we were returning to Driffield.

I was fascinated at the pilot’s conversation with the control tower. It was all gobbledegook to me but I realised that he was receiving instructions to join the circuit for landing. Round we came and then we were lined up with the runway. Flying seemingly very fast and getting lower and lower, I had doubts about the landing! I needn’t have worried. It was perfect and we taxied back to the flight lines. The Meteor came to a halt, the engines were switched off, the hood opened and after unstrapping myself, I climbed out followed by the pilot. Had I enjoyed it? You bet.

As I rather nonchalantly walked back to the aircrew room holding my helmet and talking to the pilot, I just happened to see two of my friends standing and staring open-mouthed. “Where’ve you been”, they said.

“Oh, just for a flight over Scarborough and some aerobatics”. Back in the billet, everyone gathered round as I was quizzed on every aspect. I should add that these flights were unofficial and we weren’t supposed to pester the aircrew for flights as we were inexperienced and the area was technically out of bounds. I believe only three of us had flights at Driffield.

Our intake was given drill periods and we had to attend lectures in the camp cinema covering flying and RAF life. Our senior officer was a Squadron Leader Brett – an elderly man whose beret was never pulled down over the left ear but seemed to ‘float’ horizontal to the ground. We used to have barrack room inspections and, of course, our kit had to be laid out in accordance with instructions. The weather was cold as it was only February but our block was heated and the washrooms were at least in the building.

Having learned how to correctly wear our uniforms (we had no civilian clothes) and how to salute, we were allowed out of camp for a few hours on a Saturday. As potential aircrew, we were also potential officers so were told that we should behave as such and if we misbehaved, it would be noted in our records. Of course, as we had virtually no money, we were limited where could go and what we could do. Bridlington and Beverley were the nearest towns and I can remember going with others on a bus to Bridlington. Being on the East Coast, there was a bitterly cold wind and it was quite icy. We had a drink in a pub and some fish 115

and chips. Boy did they taste good! Having been living on RAF food for weeks, those fish and chips were quite something.

We returned to camp around 10.30pm and after chatting, went to bed. There was little to do in our spare time. The NAFFI had a small black-and-white TV (in those days the largest TV had a 12 inch screen and colour didn’t exist); portable radios were rare and most records were still 78s, so barrack rooms had nothing.

That was why we tended to talk, sing, play cards and smoke. Most of our group smoked. Cigarettes were cheap, (Woodbines, which could be bought in paper packets of 5s, were cheapest). Smoking helped to alleviate the boredom. There was a cinema on the station, so for a few pence we could see a film. In those days, at the end of all theatre and cinema programmes throughout the country (not just in the Services), the lights came up and the national anthem was played. Most audiences stood although a few tended to walk out whilst it was being played. We were told that if we left the RAF cinema during the playing of the national anthem, we would be placed on a charge!

One has to remember that during my childhood, the British Empire covered about half the world. British people were respected throughout the globe and an Englishman’s word was his bond – something that I have maintained. I like to think that if I make a promise, I keep it. In 1951, King George VI was on the throne, and our empire was diminishing fast. It is interesting to look back on those times, and I know that many will not agree with me, but I feel that the British Empire was an influence for good. We established law and order throughout the empire. We set up parliaments, which have survived in many countries – Canada, Australia and New Zealand to name but three. At one time, people living in many African countries lived in peace under colonial rule (not only British but also French or German). One only has to look at African countries today to see the difference. Many are ruled by dictators who ill-treat or murder their subjects. The rule of law is flouted and anarchy reigns. The people may claim to have been exploited by the British, but at least they had stable lives. The same argument applies to many other parts of the world, which enjoyed independence. There was a price to be paid. However, I am saddened to see the loss of patriotism in this country. We should be proud of our heritage, which is probably why I am a member of The Royal Society of St. George! One who has lived through these changing times can see the difference and it makes one wonder!

No2 ITS – RAF Digby We all wanted to get on with our flying training so everyone kept asking when we were likely to get posted.

Rumours abounded as to where and when. Eventually the news came through. We were going to No2 Initial Training School at RAF Digby in Lincolnshire. There was great excitement. We were going to start the course that we all wanted so much. So when the day arrived, we marched from Driffield and caught the train on our journey to Digby. Little did we know what we were in for! On 28 February 1951 we arrived at No.2 Initial Training School, RAF Digby, near Lincoln. We were taken to our barrack block, which would be our home for the next 12 weeks. Life was going to be tough. We would combine square bashing, officer training, flying subjects and flying experience.

On 1 March 1951, the Tannoy sounded at 0630hrs. After ablutions it was breakfast at 0710 hrs (puffed wheat, sausages, potatoes and fried bread with a mug of tea), then back to our billet for a kit inspection at 0830 hrs, conducted by our Flight Commander, Flt.Lt. J. Costello. We were then marched to the cinema for a series of short lectures by officers and senior NCOs. Young people today have no idea of what it was like to be a National Serviceman. It so happens that during our course at RAF Digby, we were required to keep a detailed diary. This was part of our training to show a) our powers of observation, b) our powers of expression and c) instil a habit of orderliness. The diary was to be inspected by our Flight Commander (Flt.Lt. J.Costello) and our Squadron Commander (Sqn Ldr H Slade).

It would form part of our assessment. I still have this diary and it gives an interesting insight into the training methods used and the way in which the conscripts were “broken down” by the strict discipline, and gradually re-built into an obedient group of servicemen who would obey orders without question.

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While I will not attempt to give a detailed account of every day during the 12 weeks at RAF Digby, I have used the diary to give an indication of the course content and the discipline we endured. It really seemed like 12 weeks of hell! Every minute of the day was taken up. After working parade at 0800 or 0830hrs there would be an inspection most mornings. Every piece of one’s equipment, one’s locker and one’s bed space was checked. Every individual was checked – haircut, shaving, uniform including brasses, creases in trousers and jackets were examined in detail. If anything was at fault, not only would that individual suffer, but the whole flight would have to undergo an additional inspection, perhaps in the evening. This would require another ‘bull’ session after a long exhausting day when everyone was very tired. This had the effect of creating team spirit, as no one wanted to let down the other members of their flight.

The course was composed of two squadrons, each having three flights. I was in 2 Squadron, ‘F’ Flight and we were housed in block 47, room 3. There were 19 cadets in my flight. On 2 March 1951, we had a medical and FFI. The latter required everyone to be stripped naked in a line while the medical officer went along and checked everyone’s genitals to ensure that we were Free From Infection. Next, we had a flight photograph taken for record purposes. Later we were to have vaccinations for smallpox, typhoid which laid most people out. The RAF was not silly, however. These were given on a Friday so the effect was felt over the weekend in our own time, such as it was.

What our course involved Sqn Ldr Slade gave us a talk on the course, its content and the standards we were required to meet. For example hair was to be cut short back and sides and on the top of the head. No strands of hair were to appear below the rim of the beret. Our uniforms (battledress and best blue) had to be in spotless condition, pressed regularly with sharp creases in trouser legs and sleeves. Dirty or badly blancoed webbing was unacceptable. Brasses on the uniform and webbing must be spotless at all times. Soles of footwear had to be polished as well as uppers with toecaps to shine like mirrors. We were then instructed how uniforms were to be worn. These standards alone would take a great deal of effort, but then we were given a sheet explaining how our kit and the barrack block was to be maintained.

This is abbreviated below: Kit: To be laid on bed and in locker as specified on the photograph in our room Bedding: Blankets and sheets to be folded as specified and ‘squared’ off Brushes: If not painted, to be scrubbed Windows: To be cleaned and polished inside and out. Latches and handles to be polished Shelves: Shelves, ledges, tops of doors, beading on doors, locker tops and behind mirrors to be dusted and cleaned regularly. Floor spaces under beds and lockers to be kept clean and polished at all times Lampshades: To be dusted and washed regularly including those in storerooms and ablutions and landings Walls: To be kept clean and wiped down regularly with a damp cloth Floor: To be polished and felt pads to be used for walking after polishing. Spaces behind central heating pipes to be cleaned and kept free from dirt and fluff Tables: To be kept scrubbed and in spotless condition

Stairs: Staircases to be washed down and white edges to be kept free from stains and dirt 117

To read this may seem easy. To achieve it was difficult, very difficult. Every aspect had to be carried out to the ultimate. I can remember one occasion when Sqdn.Ldr. Slade was inspecting our billet. On a towel on the bed was laid out the cadet’s knife, fork, spoon and china mug. Sqdn.Ldr. Slade picked up the mug of a cadet pilot, looked at it and just said, “This is disgusting and unhygienic”. He then dropped it on the floor where it smashed into many pieces. That cadet had to buy another from his own money. He was fortunate not to be on a charge or extra duties. Incidentally, in looking at the pieces afterwards, there was the slightest tea stain near the rim. Inspections were aimed at perfection – everything was critically examined, fingers were run along surfaces for dust, toilets were inspected for the slightest stain and so on. Nothing was left unchecked during an inspection.

Apart from our barrack block, we had our personal uniform and equipment to look after and maintain on top line. During a billet inspection, we had to stand to attention by our beds and we were also inspected – from haircuts to boots. Anything less than perfect would be seized upon with the appropriate retribution to follow.

Usually, we would all work to get the billet to a state of perfection and then we would work on our bed spaces, getting our lockers perfect and lastly our uniforms, brasses, webbing and boots/shoes shining. We tended to do the latter when sitting on our beds just before sleep, often at midnight.

Some of our flight were driven to breaking point and I saw some men reduced to crying as they tried to cope with the pressures. As I said earlier, our intake was of mixed background – from ex-public schoolboys who, in some cases, had no appreciation of the outside world to down-to-earth individuals who had been exposed to everyday work and living. One such individual was Martin who had come straight from Eton and whose father was a director of a famous petroleum company whose name I should not mention but whose trademark was a seashell.

Martin was a nice guy. He had a wonderful voice and Etonian accent. He was, however, quite unattractive physically and I do not mean to be unkind. Firstly, he had very protruding teeth, top and bottom seemingly going all the way round. His nose was constantly running – and he didn’t wipe it. He was not used to shaving so his cheeks and throat always looked sore. All in all, he was a poor looking specimen. With us though, he was at a disadvantage. He didn’t know how to swear (which was our means of giving vent to the frustrations of our situation). So we set about teaching him and because of his frustrations he was a ready pupil!

Unfortunately, however, his accent did not allow the same degree of expression that we enjoyed! I can well remember one evening when, after an hour and a half, he still couldn’t get anything like a mirror-like shine on his boots. In tears, he suddenly yelled out, “Oh! Fark!”. We all collapsed with laughter. But Martin had made it. He had a vent for his frustration. Mark you, his nose kept running.

Yes, these were 12 weeks of sheer hell! To be prepared for inspections or parades, we would be up some days at 0515hrs after having gone to bed at midnight. If we weren’t up at 0630hrs when the Tannoy went, our corporal D.I. (Drill Instructor) would be there within one minute, fully dressed and yelling at the top of his voice. Anyone still in bed would be physically tipped out or the bed turned over. On Saturday afternoons, we had some time off when we could read through notes or relax. I remember on one occasion I went with others to Lincoln to enjoy the wonderful old buildings and visit the cathedral. There was a NAAFI restaurant in the town where we had a decent meal, the food at Digby being appalling most of the time.

I should mention that during this time my mother was sending me food parcels. Yes, food parcels! The food at the camp was not good. In fact, I have written in my diary that on one day, my meat was just yellow fat, which could not be eaten. So my mother, bless her, was baking sausage rolls and even apple pies and these were wonderful. In addition, I received sweets and her homemade rock cakes. I have to say that, although I shared some items, I kept most for myself. I can remember on one occasion, she sent a pineapple and I consumed the whole of it after lights out. The next day I suffered! I did not realise that the acid from the pineapple would burn my mouth so much. Perhaps I should have shared it.

On one of my trips to Lincoln with another cadet, Hugh Roberts, I bought a plaque showing Lincoln Cathedral for my parents. It was just a symbol of my gratitude for their support (and food parcels!) while I was at Digby.

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Sundays were technically a rest day although not so in practice. We would be cleaning equipment or maybe playing some sport. On some Sundays, we would have a church parade. Again dressed in uniform (inspected of course!) and marched to church. If you had an orthodox religion in your records, you had to go. The clever ones chose a religion which would not be represented on the camp, thereby escaping church parade. Mark you, on some occasions they might be required to explain and justify their religion and heaven help them if they were found out. At this time, I was not religious and on the 1 April 1951 at a church parade, the service was taken by the then Bishop of Croydon, the Rt.Rev. C.K.N. Bardsley. It was a wonderful service and he was so down to earth and direct that he made an impact on most of us. The service sheet forms part of my diary. I have to say that even after I left the RAF, I watched out for the Rt.Rev. Bardsley and if I heard him taking a service on the radio, I would always listen. Sometimes on a Sunday evening, if our ‘bulling’ was finished, we would take a walk into Scopwick. It was a pleasant village and was six miles return – there was no transport.

So far I have concentrated on the discipline. A most important part of our course was the flying/academic aspects linked with sport, which was to provide our competitive edge. To get some idea of our curriculum, I am giving some indication of this side of our training schedule in three areas: Academic Subjects: Aeronautical Studies (PAS), RAF and general history, Commonwealth Studies, General Duties (RAF Administration), Radio, Morse Code (still used then), Engines, Meteorology, Navigation (PNC) and Airmanship. Much time was spent in mathematics, trigonometry and physics, as many of us needed refreshing. Fortunately one of our group, Murdoch, had been an aerodynamicist with De Havilland so we had an expert who could help us.

RAF Subjects: Drill, Physical Training; GCT (Ground Combat Training) which included physical combat, rifle and Bren gun shooting (including stripping and re-building guns); dinghy drill; life-saving equipment and parachuting.

Sport: Boxing, cross-country running (in which I represented our squadron), swimming, football, hockey and rugby.

From the above, it can be seen that our course covered an enormous range of subjects and activities in a relatively short period of time. On 22 March 1951, we had five days’ leave covering Easter. Such excitement.

After lectures in the morning, we collected our passes at the guardroom and left the camp at 1210hrs, on a coach for Kings Cross – a journey that took just over four hours. From there I caught a train to Liverpool Street and another to Ilford. Between Ilford station and home, I met so many friends that it seemed a real homecoming. Of course, I arrived home at dinnertime and my mother had cooked the sort of meal I had been dreaming of. This was followed by a glass of port and a comfortable armchair in front of the fire. I was a civilian again!

The next few days were bliss. I played tennis, went shopping into Ilford, met friends and even received an income tax rebate from the Inland Revenue. I spent some time reading lecture notes and on the Saturday evening I went to the Ilford Town Hall to a dance.

On 27 March 1951 I was up at 0545hrs and left home at 0700hrs in order to be at Kings Cross at 0800hrs to catch the returning coach. During the afternoon, we played football but then had to set about a domestic evening as there was to be an inspection the next morning. We were quite annoyed that we were made to go to the cinema in the evening to see “Theirs is the Glory” – a film about Arnhem. This meant that we lost around two hours cleaning time in the billet, with the consequence that we had to be up at 0545hrs the next morning to be ready.

So we were soon back into the system. Our flight commander, Flt.Lt. Costello took us for a general duties period during which we got the results from our test in administration. I had received 88% whereas the average was 77%. Flt.Lt. Costello was an interesting man. Short, stocky and quite tough, he had been a 119

wartime aircrew Observer (replaced by Navigator) who had been shot down to spend time as a prisoner of war. He didn’t really ever speak about his experiences directly because cadets couldn’t mix with officers but, sometimes during his lectures, things would slip. For example, he told us that during his period of incarceration, he always had a rule that he would dress for dinner each night. This had the effect of maintaining his standards, his sanity and his morale over the years he was a prisoner.

I have often thought about that and although I have never had to undergo his experiences, it led me to always endeavour to maintain my own standards and a level of discipline. At a simple level, this can apply to dress, where I always wear a tie with a shirt unless on a sporting occasion. Likewise, I will always drink out of a glass and not a bottle. When eating a dessert, I prefer a spoon and fork and so on. I do not consider my ‘idiosyncrasies’ as being pompous in any way, but I feel everyone should have standards by which to live. There are too many examples today of people who have no discipline in their lives and this shows in their dress and attitudes. I always feel that a person going to work in a tee shirt, jeans and trainers indicates what sort of a worker he is! The excuse given is that it is the casual look. To me, for casual read scruffy.

Flying for real Apart from being No.2 Initial Training School, RAF Digby was also No.2 Grading School. This meant that all cadet pilots were required to carry out 12 hours flying experience to ascertain their suitability to progress to full flying training. In some cases, even though cadets had passed aircrew selection tests, their co-ordination may be at fault when it came to operating the aircraft controls. In some cases persistent air sickness, particularly during aerobatics, would mean that a candidate could not proceed.

At that time, there was still a certain amount of flying training being carried out in Canada – probably an overthrow from wartime when training was undertaken overseas, particularly in Canada and South Africa.

During grading, the most capable cadets were selected for Canada. While this was on general flying ability, any cadet able to achieve his solo flight was obviously a front runner for this chance of a lifetime.

At 0800hrs on 31 March 1951, we were marched to the south hangar to collect our flying kit. We were going to be flying Tiger Moths so this was almost a flash back to the days of Biggles. We received a heavy canvastype waterproof-flying suit, sheep-skin lined flying boots, a sheep-skin leather flying jacket, scarf, gloves, leather helmet and goggles. Oh! Those magnificent men in their flying machines! We couldn’t wait to get back to our billet to try on the gear. We really felt the part. We were going to fly!

While all this was going on and with all the inspections, drill, lectures, sport etc, our flight had decided to put on a variety show. It is surprising what talent can be found within a small group. Apart from those in the footlights, the back ground crew included Wizzo Smith who was the producer and compere, yours truly as the stage manager, cadet Parker as assistant stage manager, cadets Wilby, West and Frank Pinckard as electricians. One of our number, Ricky Tilling was a professional actor and I can remember so clearly that he took a solo spot of drama that was absolutely brilliant and the whole audience was stunned into silence. We also had a group called The Singing Bartenders.

Of course, we needed quite a few ‘props’ for the performance. It was my job and that of my assistant to obtain these and we went to various parts of the station and even to RAF Cranwell to obtain them. A programme was produced (by kind permission of Gp.Capt. D.Lumgair, commanding officer, RAF Digby) and I still have a copy. There were seven items in the first half and seven in the second. Our performance was given on 5 April 1951. I noted in my daily diary that the show was quite a good success. Sqdn.Ldr Slade, however, wrote when he read it, “It was – remarkable!” I suppose it must have been because of this we were invited to give the show at the RAF Hospital, Nocton Hall.

On 10 April 1951, I got permission to go to Nocton Hall to inspect the stage etc and I went with Frank Pinckard on a borrowed motor cycle. There were certain problems as the stage was small and the electrics (Frank) were limited. Nevertheless, the show was on and the whole team was taken by coach on 12 April 120

1951 for the performance. Again it was well received and we were all treated to a fish and chip supper with bread and butter and tea for our efforts. What luxury! We didn’t get to bed until 0100hrs but still had to be up by 0620hrs.

Back to the flying. The Grading School operated Tiger Moths which were manned by civilian pilots. Before we could fly, we had to have instruction regarding our parachutes and how to use them, practising on a mattress in the gym on the correct way to land. Then we had to have instruction on the controls of the plane.

The engine had to be started by hand swinging the propeller. There is a special technique for obvious safety.

My first flight as a cadet pilot was on 3 April 1951 with my instructor, a Mr Bale. I logged 2hrs 10min in basic flying. Wonderful! The next day I logged another 2hrs that included take-offs and landings. Grading continued depending on weather conditions which were variable. Our grading included spins and aerobatics. On 14 April 1951 following aerobatics, I was due for a solo check but the aircraft was short of fuel so we had to land, during which time a strong wind had sprung up and that ended flying for the day.

On 16 April 1951, I had my 11 1/2hr test. Everything was fine. My take-offs and landings were very good so it was the day for my solo. We taxied back only to be told that the wind was increasing so there would be no solo flights allowed that morning. That was it. This was my last grading flight and I had been foiled by the wind! Not having been able to go solo, obviously eliminated my chances of being selected for Canada.

Finishing at RAF Digby Lectures carried on, inspections carried on and drill intensified, as we had to start getting up to the standard for our passing-out parade. We also had to produce an essay from a selection of subjects. I chose The White Australia Policy. This was another ‘extra’ task. To research a subject and produce a paper would be a first for me. I had never been required to research a subject and produce a paper. It meant visiting the station library, and an outside reference library, producing copious notes and then writing the paper. As one who had never enjoyed English essays, I found this most stimulating. In my subsequent business career, I was often called on to write reports and they have never been a problem – and the RAF showed me the way!

My essay on The White Australia Policy occupied three sides of foolscap and, when it was marked, I received an ‘A’ so I was delighted.

I suppose it’s only reasonable to raise the subject of girlfriends. Frankly, the pace of the course at Digby was such that there was not much time to think of such delights! Nevertheless, it was an obvious topic when we did have a few moments. I rather liked films and Doris Day was in vogue. I got to like Doris Day and have been a fan since. Somehow, hearing her sing takes me back to those days at Digby! But… back to the girls.

I suppose I must have had a sheltered life or I was somewhat different. When we chatted in the billet – perhaps while blancoing or cleaning brasses or boots – some of the others would talk about their girlfriends at home. To me it was a revelation. Their physical relationships – explained in great detail – were incredible and, I might add, an education!

Perhaps I should explain. In the 1950s, living with someone without being married was considered as ‘living in sin’. A baby born of unmarried parents was a bastard and the mother of such a child would be an outcaste. In many cases, the child would be taken away and placed in an orphanage or adopted. Yet some of our group – not all by any means – seemed not to accept the standards of the day. My own views were that I regarded a physical relationship as being something special – not just physical but spiritual as well in that the two souls became linked as well as the bodies.

For this reason, I had my own standards in that my first relationship would be with the woman I would marry.

Sounds incredible in this day when anything seems to go. But that was my belief and I stuck to it.

So our links with the opposite sex were minimal. The occasional dance was arranged on the camp and sometimes we would go to a dance at Scopwick. Frankly, the bands were poor and the girls even worse.

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Even if we did meet someone, we could not get out during the week and we would be moving on so, there was no point.

As the end of the course approached, the pace didn’t slacken. On 19 April during a working parade, Flying Officer Dunsmore carried out a rifle inspection and two of our cadets were found to have dirty rifles and subsequently placed on a charge.

Our last major exercise was ‘Midnight Jaunt’. This took place overnight and commenced on Saturday, 5 May 1951. We had to wear denims, operate in pairs and be dropped in an unknown place with a map. We were allowed to carry 4d with us and this could only be used for a telephone call in emergency. Additional money would be confiscated. The object was to find our way back to a rendezvous by 0700hrs the following morning. Just to make life more interesting, Cranwell cadets were defending the area. The whole journey had to be made on foot and no lifts were allowed.

If we were captured we should state our number, rank and name only. Threats or other forms of persuasion could be used to elicit information from us. As evaders, we had to make every effort to avoid capture. If we were still at large at the end of the exercise, we had to contact the control tower for transport to collect us.

I went with cadet John Payne and, in case we got hungry, I had a supply of food from one of my mother’s food parcels. I remember it contained an apple tart about 7" diameter which got a bit squashy by the time we got to eat it.

A group of us were taken in a covered lorry so we could not see our whereabouts. It was a damp night although not exactly raining. We were all quite excited. We had to evade the Cranwell cadets and get back to our rendezvous. I suppose to some extent, I had memories of my tracking in South Park when I was young and this was the chance of putting it to the test! The lorry stopped at 1920hrs. A corporal appeared at the back and said, “Out you two – and good luck”. John and I climbed out, we waved to the others, the corporal got back in and the lorry drove off.

As we watched it disappear into the darkness, and the rear tail lights got smaller until they vanished, we suddenly realised how silent everything was. There wasn’t a sound. We were standing on a road somewhere in Lincolnshire but where? It was very eerie. In fact, it was quite frightening. We had some idea now how wartime aircrew must have felt when they had baled out over occupied Europe. Everything around us felt hostile.

We decided to walk along the road, quietly and without talking – just in case. We came to a signpost and found we were on the Great North Road near Foston. We made a plan using our map to head towards the rendezvous. After 2-3 miles across country, we encountered some of the defence travelling south so we had to lay-up in a ploughed field for about half an hour. Continuing in silence and care, we reached the River Witham and followed it until we reached the footbridge at Fallow Ford which we needed to cross. All crossing points were likely to be controlled by the defence so we had to be careful. We threw some stones in the water to see if they attracted attention. Nothing. So we carefully crossed and followed a track to a road, then across various fields.

By this time it was pitch dark so we had to proceed even more carefully. We had one scare when we were crossing a field. I happened to look round and saw a number of shapes fanning-out and approaching us quickly and silently. I gave a call to John and we set off at great speed until we reached a hawthorn hedge, which we scrambled over, regardless of thorns and some barbed wire. We turned round and saw an incredible sight – our chasers turned out to be about ten inquisitive cows that seemed to be eyeing us with obvious amazement! Puffed though we were, we had to see the joke.

Moving on, we reached a railway track and then a signal box, which showed that we were too far north so we turned south and followed the track until we reached the road to Branston. We could not get on to the bridge for more than an hour because it was controlled by the ‘enemy’.

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At 0230hrs, we struck off along the road talking loudly of the bad defensive system in leaving two ‘defenders’ behind and our bad luck in not catching a single evader. We heard a number of sounds in the undergrowth, which, if made by the defence, showed that our bluff had worked! We continued our trek and eventually arrived at Leadenham at 0600hrs where we met several other evaders who had evaded capture. We hadn’t reached the rendezvous but, at least, we hadn’t been captured. At 0725 hrs we were collected by an RAF lorry. After breakfast, I got to bed at 1000hrs and slept for 6 hours spending the rest of the day quietly – ‘de-mudding’ my denims, boots and hair as well as enjoying a hot bath.

The next five days were spent in lectures, drill, intensive study and exams. Our latest results showed I had attained 98% in airmanship, 54% in navigation and 84% in meteorology. In administration and RAF law I achieved 98% so the hard work was paying off. The talk in the billet at this time was the Whitsun grant and on the Friday we left for home. It was at this time that I took the plaque of Lincoln Cathedral as a ‘thank you’ for my parents – particularly for the food parcels. My mother was very pleased and the plaque hung in the dining room where it stayed for many years.

The Whitsun grant started on 10 May and we returned to camp on Tuesday, 14 May 1951. Most of my time was spent in study. One has to remember that on this course, there were no re-sits! If you failed once, you were off the course. It was as simple as that! There was one chance only. On the Wednesday we had our final examinations in airmanship/aviation medicine, meteorology, general duties and aerodynamics. The next day we had navigation and aero engines.

That evening I went to Scopwick with a couple of others for a well-deserved drink. On my return, I lay on my bed and promptly went through to the floor! Some kind persons had taken out the springs and replaced them with string. Of course there were hoots of laughter all round. There was a definite end- of-term feeling developing.

During this period our ‘officer’ development was proceeding. We were instructed on how to conduct ourselves both in the RAF and in public. Our dress should be impeccable from shoes to headwear. If we gave an order or had to put an airman on a charge, it had to be carried out otherwise it showed a weakness that could be exploited. We were told how to behave in the Officers Mess. It was usual for an officer to have a monthly mess account for such items as bar drinks. At dining-in nights and formal dining occasions, the correct procedure was to have one sherry before dinner and never to drink too much. We were told that we would be sharing a batman and there was no excuse for an officer to leave his room untidy and expect the batman to clear it up.

In a more practical sense, we were required to have a bank account, so our pay could be paid into it. Very few of us had one, so the RAF opened one up. My account was opened with Cox’s and Kings Branch of Lloyds Bank in Piccadilly, London (I have stayed with Lloyds for over 70 years). We had a visiting tailor from Gieves of Savile Row who measured us for our raincoat, cap and gloves, for which we had to pay. The rest of our uniform requirements including officer’s shirts, socks were issued at a clothing parade. Most of us had to take various items back because they didn’t fit!

This was all excitement and the cream. We still had to keep up with the inspections and maintain our kit in top form. A barrack room inspection took place at 0800 or 0830hrs. The lino floor of our room would be like glass, lockers would be open with every item laid on the shelves in a specific order. Shirts would reach from one side of the shelf to the other, squared off with no creases. Socks, underpants, vests and all other items would be carefully laid out according to the prescribed plan. Uniforms would be pressed with appropriate creases and hanging on hangers in the locker section. Blankets and sheets would be so folded as to reach from one side of the bed to the other. There would be blanket, sheet, blanket, and sheet with a further blanket wrapping round the whole so that it was almost a double-decker sandwich. The pillow would be at the back against the head rail. A towel would be placed on the bedsprings and touching the blanket pack.

On the towel would be laid the mug, knife, presented and if any should be different, there would be serious trouble.

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Then it came to us. We would be in working dress, e.g. pressed battle dress top and trousers, blancoed belt with gleaming brasses, polished boots with mirror-like toecaps, beret correctly worn with shining cap badge.

We would be standing at ease at the foot of our beds. The corporal would come in and, standing in the doorway would shout, “Room attention!” We would come smartly to attention looking straight ahead, chin up and not moving a muscle. The corporal followed by the inspecting officer would enter and the inspection would commence. Every bed space, locker and individual would be under the microscope. Firstly, the cadet. The uniform would be checked to make sure trousers and sleeves were pressed and there were no marks, hairs or scurf. The face would be examined to ensure that the cadet had shaved that morning, the hair was correctly trimmed and no lengths of stray hair were protruding from below the beret. How about the belt? Was the blanco evenly applied and not caked on? Were the brass fittings shining with no specks of blanco on them? And how about the boots? These were checked to ensure there was no earth or mud showing and they did not need repairing.

Having survived that ordeal, the locker would be inspected for layout (was it correct?) and cleanliness. A finger would be rubbed along some of the outside and inside edges to check for dust – and also adjacent windowsills, radiators etc. If the layout was at all scruffy, the offending shelf contents would usually be pulled out and dropped on the floor in a heap. Shoes not being worn were examined to make sure that the soles were polished and in good state of repair. The contents on the bed were examined and if the blankets and sheets were not perfect, they would be pulled apart. Cutlery would be scrutinised to make sure there was no food adhering to any item. The mug was checked for cleanliness and to confirm there were no chips or cracks. If you survived this you were told to stand easy. If there was any criticism you could be on fatigues or even a charge. Whatever it was would eat into the little time you had – it would not take the place of any current activity.

Occassionally, we were required to dress in our best blue, sometimes with our rifles, and that would also be part of the inspection. On other occasions, we would be required to wear full kit which would include the greatcoat buttoned up to the neck together with our large and small packs and webbing, all of which necessitated much blancoing and brass cleaning. The billet was checked overall and the inspection covered the floor, walls, windows, pipes, washroom, toilets, urinals, baths. So, apart from individual efforts, a group effort was needed for the whole billet. This encouraged the development of team spirit and we would all go to help one of our number when necessary. ‘F’ Flight was frequently the best and we ensured that it would stay that way.

Time was passing. Our flying was finished. Our final exams were over so we had to look forward to our passing out parade. In true RAF style this meant many rehearsals. On Saturday, 18 May 1951, we had a full rehearsal complete with the band from Cranwell. It was a disaster! Our worst performance was due to the fact that we could not hear the orders against the background of the music. I had a personal problem, too.

We were dressed in full uniform. Greatcoat, belt with frog and bayonet plus rifle. The order was given.

“Squadron will fix bayonets”. (At this order, the right hand would move behind the back and grasp the bayonet that was in the frog on the belt). The order was followed by, “Bayonets, fix”. The bayonet was removed from the frog, brought round smartly and placed on the rifle before the next stage. My problem was that when I went to grasp the bayonet, it wasn’t there! I had not put it in the frog before leaving our billet. I nearly died. This was a crime above all else.

What should I do? I decided that the only thing was to carry on as if nothing had happened. In other words, I carried out the actions as if I had it. Our corporal D.I. (Drill Instructor) who never missed a trick inspected us. As he looked at me, he gave a very knowing glance. On a full squadron parade, there was no way he could make an example of me and let down his flight, for which he was responsible, in front of all the others.

It was almost a form of blackmail. The parade carried on and was eventually dismissed. Mark you, our corporal had a few words to say to me later, but he realised it was a genuine mistake and as it was almost the end of term, he let it pass.

That afternoon, we paid our last visit to Lincoln, Hugh Roberts and I. Hugh was off to Canada, I wasn’t, but 124

we had become firm friends, although sadly I never heard from him again after we parted. Once more, we visited the Minster and then went rowing on the river. We had a couple of ‘jars’ of local beer in an inn that had curing bacons hanging from a blackened ceiling. After we paid a brief visit to a dance we returned to the camp at 2310hrs.

On the Sunday, we cleaned our equipment and had a period of squadron drill in the afternoon. Monday was the same. Rehearsal following rehearsal. Tuesday was the big day. Our passing out parade. It was a memorable occasion, conducted in the big hangar. The Cranwell band played, the inspection was carried out, and we all marched past and were eventually dismissed. We had passed our initial training and were on our way. The excitement in the billet was fantastic. All the frustration and pent up energy of the past weeks was suddenly released.

We took our corporal out for a drink and we discovered he was almost human! We thanked Flt.Lt. Costello who said we had been a great flight. We thanked Sqdn.Ldr Slade who said likewise and we felt that all these guys had really liked us ‘but had a job to do’ in getting us to the necessary standard. I went to the station post office and sent a telegram to my parents saying, ‘Have passed will phone tonight = Eric’. I also sent one to Percy Chappell and received the following reply on 22 May 1951. ‘2500724 C/P Parrish F Flight Block 47 Room 3 No2 Squadron No2 ITS RAF Camp Digby Nr Lincoln = Congratulations on passing out and our very best wishes for your future. Keep it up = Percy’. Percy Chappell was such a dear friend (as well as being my boss at the hospital) and our friendship remained so throughout his life.

Our next stage would be to commence our real flying training but, in the meantime, we were leaving RAF Digby as acting pilot officers for some well earned leave.

RAF Digby No.2 Grading School: Tiger Moth 125

—14— Royal Air Force Booker

I

to be leaving RAF Digby. Wonderful for many reasons. Digby had been our home for three months. It had been a place where we had experienced a metamorphosis – from raw recruits to a disciplined, bonded team. We had undergone discipline and hardship; our individuality and independence had been fashioned to fit the job for which we had volunteered. It had not been easy. In fact, at times we all had moments when our spirits were low and had reached the depths of despair. We were pleased to be leaving. t was wonderful

Strangely though, I had somehow become attached to Digby, and I don’t think I was alone. Towards the end of our course, we had developed an understanding, a relationship, with the officers and NCOs. They knew that we were prepared to do our best and that was the standard they required. We knew they had a job to do and they would be judged on our success. So towards the end of the course, they would sometimes relax. Our corporal DI (Drill Instructor) would come into the billet (while we were working, of course!) and have a chat. He was only 19 and was a carpenter in civilian life. Flt.Lt. Costello also became more talkative and we felt that underneath all that extreme discipline, they were really routing to get us through. Mark you, we still had to toe the line. Any slip and they would have been down on us. But it was a working relationship, accepted by both sides.

We were on a high, however. We had passed our course, a fact made even sweeter as we had only the one chance. We had done some flying. We were extremely fit after all the physical training, drill, assault courses and sport. We had bonded with the rest of our flight and had a great team spirit. We had been appointed acting pilot officers and were looking forward to the next stage of our training.

So it was a case of going home for some leave. I had decided to relax for the week, although I did go through some lecture notes, but it was nice to be able to meet my friends, go out for a drink, play some tennis and go to a dance at the Ilford Town Hall. In addition, I decided to go to the Maudsley Hospital to see the people I knew. It was a bit like going down Memory Lane! I went in uniform a) just to let them see that I really was in the RAF and b) because I was rather proud of being an officer, I suppose. Anyway, I had a marvellous reception and was able to talk to so many, including doctors and porters. Naturally, I spent a lot of time with Percy Chappell and saw how technology was beginning to change laboratory life. Biochemical analysis, which had taken me several hours, could now be carried out in minutes. Change was afoot! Everyone asked me to keep in touch; they wished me well and looked forward to my return. Little did they know that I would not be going back and somehow I knew that as I left, it would be for the last time. So it proved.

My leave was cut short. The RAF was indicating who was in charge! On 28 May 1951, I received a telegram from Sleaford (near Digby) to say that I had to report to RAF Booker on Wednesday, 30 May and not 31 May as detailed on my leave pass. One day early. Everything was hastily packed and on the Wednesday morning, I set off.

RAF Booker was a mixed RAF/civilian-run camp situated just outside High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire.

This was a very pleasant part of England where we would spend the next three months. What a change we were in for! Arriving at the camp, which had hutted accommodation, I was shown to my own room with bed, washbasin, wardrobe, chest of drawers and a half share of a batman who would make my bed and keep the room tidy. Such luxury!

After Digby, this was unbelievable. Interestingly, one of the first people I met was ‘Kipper’ Barrass, one of the chaps I joined up with at Padgate (he was ‘Ratty’ in our Wind in the Willows group). He was sadly 126

rejected for aircrew duties and now had an office job. I felt he was rather bitter as I and others arrived as officers and were on flying training. I chatted to him occasionally but somehow the spark had gone.

So here we were. No. 1 Basic Flying Training School, RAF Booker and we were Course No.5. Some of my colleagues from Digby were here, some had gone to Canada and some had gone elsewhere. Others had joined us from another grading school. We had a course photograph taken and were given a talk on the three months we would be spending here. We would be completing around 65 hours in Chipmunks, to include 30 hours solo flying. Our instructors were civilian ex-RAF pilots. The same classroom subjects as at Digby would continue, with the inevitable drill and parades.

Meals would be taken in the Officers Mess where there was a bar and, a new luxury, a mess account where we could sign for drinks and other items, and would need to be settled each month. We were told that uniforms were permitted in the Mess, with either a suit or blazer as an alternative. Collars and ties were to be worn at all times. This was the extent of casual dress.

Once a month, we would have a dining-in night where all officers were to be present. We were instructed that there were aperitifs beforehand, but we had to restrict these only to one sherry. Other information and instructions were given regarding the behaviour required as ‘officers and gentlemen’. The accommodation was good, as was the food, which was served to us at the table. Just to ensure that this would be no holiday camp, we were told very firmly that we would be worked very hard. And we were!

We were all anxious to get on with the flying and that wasn’t long coming. We were introduced to our instructors – all ex RAF but now working as civilians. They were all very pleasant with varying backgrounds including a couple of ex Battle of Britain pilots. I was assigned to a Mr MV Rose (there were no first names on either side). He was a big chap, probably in his mid to late 30s and interestingly came from Barking, Essex, close to my home. He established the basis of discipline at our first meeting. He was the boss and I was to do as I was told. And that was the way it was throughout the course.

We all received a copy of the pilot’s manual for the Chipmunk which we had to read and understand. Various aspects of the aircraft were explained (fuel system, cockpit drills, abandoning aircraft procedure, etc) and we had to sign the appropriate certificates which were placed in our flying log book. We were issued with our flying kit – a lot different from the Tiger Moth gear. These were a smart air-force blue flying suit, scarf, silk gloves, flying helmet, goggles and an expensive watch.

On 6 June 1951, I had my first flight in a Chipmunk with my instructor, Mr. Rose. This was basically aircraft familiarisation which involved going round the aircraft and checking the exterior, going through the pre-flight checks, pre take-off checks. We took off and I was introduced to the controls and general handling of the aircraft. It was so different from the Tiger Moth. A canopy, which reduced the wind and noise, enclosed us.

We had a radio and the pupil sat in the front. That flight was only 40 minutes but it was quite exhilarating.

After that we would sometimes fly twice a day depending on the weather and the needs of our course.

Following straight and level flight, I was introduced to climbing, descending, turning then stalling and spinning. I was shown how to take off and how to approach and land. Although I enjoyed this, I wasn’t quite so keen on Mr Rose! Whereas my colleagues seemed to have fun with their instructors, my instructor was always critical to the extent that he would shout and rave from the back. He would bang the cockpit behind my head and call me all sorts of unrepeatable names, informing me that, unless I improved, he would recommend that I leave the course. Flying an aircraft was a strange experience for anyone; a little helpful guidance and encouragement would have paid handsomely, but it was not to be. I found that his other pupils had the same experience so it wasn’t just me.

When we talked together, we decided that this was his technique. He would endeavour to break his pupils down so that he had total control over them. I later found that he thought quite a lot of us but couldn’t show it. We began to concentrate on take-offs and landings using a left-hand circuit. Take off, climb to 500ft, turn 127

to port still climbing, level out at 1000ft, turn on to the downwind leg (this would be parallel to the take-off runway), turn to port starting to descend until the turning finals when I would line up with the (grass) runway to land. Except ….we didn’t land. As our wheels touched the grass, we would overshoot by fully opening the throttle and go round again. Of course, I was no good. I would never learn to land properly and Mr Rose didn’t know why he was wasting his time with me!

Between 13 and 19 June, I had five sessions which included take-offs and landings and I really thought I was getting quite good, but not so Mr Rose. He still wanted more. It so happened that we were told that on 19 June, there would be some visitors coming the RAF Booker. We may or not be involved.

The day started normally. We were at the flight lines around 0900hrs and I was due to fly at 1000hrs. Mr Rose came in and told me to get my parachute. After the usual pre-flight checks, I was told to do some circuits. It was all left to me so I called the control tower for taxi clearance, then take-off clearance. I did one circuit, then another. After the second, Mr Rose told me to taxi back to the dispersal area. When we got there, he opened the hood and got out! Just as he was leaving the aircraft, he turned round and said, “Right it’s all yours. One circuit only and make sure you do it properly. I’ll be watching!” I remember saying something like, “Are you sure?” and he said, “Go!” So this was it. I wasn’t nervous. He had so drilled me that I went through the same procedures that I had been doing over the last few days. Everything went well until I turned downwind. When flying, it is vital to keep a good lookout – above, below and all round. Turning downwind, I turned round only to realise that Mr Rose wasn’t behind me! I was on my own. Momentarily I was scared but it didn’t last. Exhilaration took over.

I was flying on my own! The feeling went almost instantly, as I became hard-nosed on the task. There were other aircraft on the circuit and I had to complete my task. The landing was good and I taxied back.

As I came to a halt, I carried out my checks and shut the engine down. Then I became aware of a group of people approaching my aircraft. I recognised the station commanding officer, Sqdn.Ldr. F. Rothwell, DFC,

Just completed my first solo flight, being congratulated by Air vice Marshall T N McEvoy (centre), other senior RAF officers and civilian flying instructors. 19 June 1951.

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Eric Lionel Parrish and Dave O’Neil June 1951

the chief instructor and manager, Mr R M Hackney, the chief flying instructor, a Gp Capt Newbigging, DFC,and a very senior officer who was introduced as Air Vice Marshall T N McEvoy (who was responsible for all RAF flying training). Following them was a group of photographers. I climbed out of the Chipmunk and was greeted by the AVM who asked me how I enjoyed my first solo. The penny dropped. These were the anticipated visitors who had come from the Air Ministry to review pilot training in the RAF. That instructor of mine, who had shouted and called me every name under the sun, had obviously fixed it so that I should be the one pilot who did his solo flight on this important day and watched by all these VIPs. So I couldn’t be that bad! In fact, I found later that I had been carefully selected as being one of the best trainee pilots to demonstrate the training programme being employed. Me, the one Mr. Rose said he would throw off the course!

Lots of photographs were taken with me and the VIPs around my Chipmunk and later in other areas around the flight lines. The press photographers had a great time. There were photographs taken in flight; during drill; in the workshops; ‘scrambling’ with parachutes across the grass to our aircraft and so on. A headline in the Daily Mirror called us, “The Men With Thunder Under Their Gloves”, describing us as the first of the 129

‘new few’ pilots. The News of the World heading was, ‘Now He Flies With The Greatest of Ease’. Another photograph was taken with Ted Beare and Dave O’Neill leaning, with parachutes, against the wing of an aircraft and staring into the sky. This was used by the RAF as a recruiting poster.

Just for the record and posterity, I appeared, to my knowledge, in the following publications. Flight of 29 June 1951 (p 759); The Aeroplane of 6 July 1951 (p 12); The Times of 20 June 1951 (back page) and The Star of 19 June 1951 (p 6). All this was quite exciting for the whole course and many of our group who were involved in the day. After the fun was over and the VIPs had driven off, we were brought down to earth and back to the job in hand. My instructor (although I felt he was secretly pleased with my performance as it justified his role!) told me I had no grounds for complacency as I had a long way to go to meet his standards.

If I had any inflated ideas of my ability, he knew how to deflate them.

My other colleagues were great team people and we all got on well together and helped each other with our studies etc. After all, we were not in a competitive situation, we all wanted to pass. When we looked around, it became apparent that we had both ends of the spectrum. From those who were natural leaders with obvious potential to those who were not, frankly, officer material. I will not dwell on the latter but will mention two in the first category. One was Paddy Hine. A young chap who was full-of-life and enthusiastic, who got on well with everyone. A keen golfer, he would be seen chipping golf balls into a dustbin and sometimes going off for a round with our station commander. He was soon put in charge of our flight and took a major role on parades. He was in every sense, a natural. He was, of course, a very good and keen pilot. He decided to make the RAF his career and finished as Air Chief Marshall Sir Patrick Hine.

Another keen type who had worked in a bank before being called up for National Service was Bob Offord.

Much quieter than Paddy, he had a very determined streak and could be quite tough and even ruthless. Also a very good pilot who had, as an instructor, a man named Charnock who had been a Battle of Britain pilot.

His approach was so different from my instructor. Mr Charnock loved flying and his enthusiasm was passed on to his students. Flying was fun and was there to be enjoyed by him and his pupils. Bob used to come back from flying instruction absolutely bubbling with excitement. He also decided to sign on and become a regular and reached the rank of air commodore.

Apart from the flying and studies, we still had to do drill and combat training. This was in the hands of one Sgt. Jaques (RAF Regiment) who, although he might yell at us, would always finish his outburst with ‘Sir’ as befits an NCO speaking to an officer! He took us on the rifle range and I can always remember before our first visit, he told us always to remember one thing. You only point a gun at someone if you intend to kill them. These were words which I never forgot and used later when I was in a training role. We also had a lot of physical training and sport.

We had a certain amount of freedom and could go out in the evenings into High Wycombe and the surrounding area. I went to visit the church at West Wycombe which had a golden ball on its tower.

At this time, I felt that I needed to be mobile and decided to buy an old motor bike from one of the airmen on the camp. To finance the deal, I sold my stamp collection to Bob Offord for £15 (I later regretted this as I had a good collection). The bike never worked properly and I never drove it off the camp. I left it behind a shed and forgot about it. One of my friends, Frank Pinckard, was a motor cyclist and I would go out pillion with him.

Our dining-in nights were interesting and fun. Interesting as they taught us how to conduct ourselves on formal dining occasions – how to take wine and propose toasts. The fun came later when we would play mess games; everything from leapfrog to making a fool of oneself. Our station commander, Sqn Ldr Rothwell, had an immaculate vintage bull-nosed Morris and after one dining-in night, one of our more drunken members took his car and drove it to the other side of the airfield. Coming out of the mess, rather the worse for wear, our C.O. couldn’t see his car parked outside and was last seen wandering into the darkness calling, “Where’s my Emily?” Meantime, we were in hoots of laughter in the mess.

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It was at this time that we decided to have a competition to see who could grow the best moustache in the remaining time that we had left on the course. I should mention that it was customary among flying types during the war to grow handlebar moustaches and we were still within this wartime influence. So a number of us stopped shaving the upper lip. The results were, to say the least, mixed! Everything from a lightly coloured ‘mark’ on the upper lip to a heavy growth. When it came to the actual judging two of us had what could resemble a handlebar moustache – a chap called James and me. It was declared a draw but strangely I kept my moustache and have had it ever since. It is amazing how a joke could become a permanent feature.

But let’s get back to the flying. After my first 10-minute solo, I had a half-hour instruction period with Mr. Rose before being released on my own for almost an hour. This was to enable me to get used to flying alone.

It was a remarkable experience. Importantly, I didn’t have my instructor keeping up his constant instructions (and insults) even when I thought I was doing well! Apart from the noise of the engine, all was very peaceful and I enjoyed every minute. Surprisingly, the fact that my instructor was not behind me improved my flying – I kept a sharp lookout, watched all my instruments assiduously and carried out all movements with great precision, but then I was responsible for my own destiny!

The next few weeks were intensive, as we had to cover so many aspects of flying. Aerobatics, loops, rolls, spinning, rolls of the top, stalling, stall turns. We also had to cover short take-offs, short landings, forced landing procedures, visual flight rules (when you can see the ground), instrument flight rules (when you are in cloud and fly on instruments only) and map reading. After 25 hours we had a test with the assistant chief flying instructor. After the comments and attitude of Mr. Rose, I was somewhat taken aback when I was congratulated on all aspects of my flying. On reflection, I can only assume that my instructor didn’t want us to become overconfident; therefore, he adopted the approach of making his pupils feel they had continual room for improvement. Overconfidence can lead to potential problems and even disasters when flying.

The next stage was to undertake cross-country flights. Flying firstly ‘in and out’ which meant flying to a destination and flying back and secondly, triangular cross-country flights that involved two turning points before returning to base. These required using our knowledge of navigation to prepare a flight plan. It must be remembered that an aircraft moves in space and is subject to the direction and force of winds,which can vary with height. If the wind is coming from one side, it will blow the aircraft in the direction the wind is heading even though the aircraft is pointing forward. Therefore, to proceed in the necessary direction, the aircraft must fly at an angle to the wind so that the ground track is along the planned line. This requires using meteorological reports and accurately calculating the effects of the wind direction and speed along, with the speed of the aircraft to obtain an estimated time of arrival (ETA).

A flight plan was drawn up and we hoped that there would not be a sudden change in the wind characteristics – and there frequently was! Navigation aids were very basic, unlike today. We had an instrument called a ‘computer’ that bore no resemblance to the present name. It was a metal box approximately 7inches by 5 inches which had a circular perspex disc on top, housed in a bezel which could be rotated. The proposed flight details and calculations showing compass courses, drift etc, would be drawn on the disc in pencil and indicate the course to fly. The instrument also had other information that would show reductions in temperature with height.

The effect of lower temperatures with altitude was very important because icing could occur on the wings.

If this happened, control of the aircraft could be lost and a crash was a possibility, particularly as the Chipmunk did not have any de-icing equipment. Another consideration was that over 10,000ft, we were required to use oxygen. Radios were basic and had a limited number of frequencies and range.

The cross country exercises were not easy for any of us as success depended primarily on an accurately calculated flight plan, and no changes in wind speed and direction. My first cross country (in and out) was an interesting example. I set off quite happily flying my compass course but, when I looked down at the proposed turning point, it was nothing like I was expecting. Below me I could see large lakes. I checked my 131

map but there were no lakes shown where I was supposed to be. I called up on my radio, but the airfield was out of range so I decided to fly on a reciprocal bearing (the opposite to that which I had flown) in the hope that I would arrive back at Booker. Not so easy. If the wind and speed had changed I would not arrive back at my base as my reciprocal bearing would also incorporate errors. Having flown for the calculated time, Booker was nowhere to be seen. What was I to do? I was lost on my first cross country. Technically, though, one is never lost but within ‘an area of uncertainty’! I looked down to find some landmarks (railway lines, rivers, forests, villages) within a circle of my whereabouts. I set a course flying north and after 10 minutes, recognised some of the landmarks near our airfield. I can assure you that I was very relieved! Having returned, I wanted to know where these large lakes were. It turned out that they were the reservoirs at Staines, by Heathrow. As I had been blown off course and further than anticipated, I did not look that far on my map. An interesting lesson though. On all future flights I always kept an eye on the ground and the map!

Many of the training exercises were repetitious so sometimes I would do aerobatics or low flying, and then go and have a look at the countryside. After all, it was still flying practice and all good experience. I remember on one occasion, I flew to Henley, which was quite close. It so happened that it was the week of the Henley Regatta. The view from 1500ft was stunning. The boats racing, the marquees, the dresses and hats of the ladies were an incredible sight. I put the aircraft into a steep turn and just circled around watching the spectacle. As a number of people started to look up, I felt it was time to leave – after all the Chipmunk, was easily identifiable and I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Another cross country was memorable. Extremely memorable. This was to be a solo triangular cross country.

The day was sunny with some light cloud with variable winds. It was 24 July 1951. I can’t remember the exact course, but it involved flying into Oxfordshire, then on to Bedfordshire and back to base. The flight plan was prepared and checked by my instructor. I set off on my first compass course and reached my first turning point as planned. I then headed towards Bedfordshire and looking down and at my map, I realised that these variable winds were living up to their name. I was off course so recalculated my flight plan and set a new course. The winds must have become even more variable as I realised that I didn’t recognise anything below or on the map. Oh, dear! There are certain procedures in these situations. These involve flying in a certain direction for a fixed period of time then repeating in a different direction – the object being to pick up landmarks and so obtain a DR (Dead Reckoning) or exact position.

I tried this procedure without success. My fuel level was getting low. A decision had to be taken. Then I noticed in the distance an RAF airfield so I flew towards it and tried to make radio contact but with no luck.

The fuel situation was getting desperate. I had to land. I needed something else too because Chipmunks don’t have loos! I adopted the emergency procedure and flew over the airfield waggling my wings. I noticed that there was considerable air activity. Near to the control tower was the airfield identification – the letters WD. These did not mean a thing. I decided to join the circuit. I realised that this was a jet station flying Vampires.

They were doing ‘circuits and bumps’. There were other complications. At Booker we did left hand circuits, here they were right hand circuits. Vampires flew much faster than Chipmunks. I could not contact the control tower to get a landing slot. Here they had a runway that needed a different technique and I had only ever landed on grass. All these thoughts rushed through my head. But I needed to land urgently.

I joined the circuit (the air traffic controller must have been horrified) and managed to get between two Vampires. Downwind, crosswind and turning finals. This was it! I lined up with the runway and came in. I felt that the whole RAF station was watching. It had to be a good landing and a runway, too! It was a perfect three point landing. I looked behind to see a Vampire approaching behind so I cleared the runway, fast.

Following procedures (only theoretical until today) I taxied to the control tower, switched off the engine, opened the hood and climbed out, very relieved – mark you I was even more relieved when I got to the loo.

I had been a long time in the air!

I reported to the air traffic control and found that the WD stood for RAF Wymeswold which was in 132

Leicestershire. I’d never heard of it. Someone phoned RAF Booker to tell them the news and I was invited to the mess for lunch where I had a chat with some of the Vampire pilots. Obviously, Booker didn’t trust me to fly back on my own (not surprising!) and they were coming to fetch me. I dreaded to think what Mr.Rose would say. He arrived with our chief flying instructor in just over two hours. This was it. Was I to be disciplined or banned? To my utter amazement they were most pleasant. In fact, I think they were delighted that I had carried out the correct procedures, been able to land at a strange airfield, on a runway without any problems.

The CFI, Mr.Howard, flew one Chipmunk back and Mr.Rose flew back with me. He seemed genuinely pleased either due to the fact that I was intact, the Chipmunk was intact or because I had demonstrated that I had initiative and was capable of flying beyond the requirements of the course. I got a rousing reception when I got back too. All my colleagues wanted to know every detail of the adventure and we all had a few beers to round off the day.

There remained one other aspect of the course to be undertaken. Night flying. I have to say that this was met with anticipation and trepidation. The former as it offered a new challenge, and the latter because we used a grass airfield. The system was antiquated even by 1951 standards. There were no runways so there was no lighting system. Instead there were goose-neck flares. These resembled a small watering can, filled with paraffin, with a wick which protruded from the spout. These flares were placed across the airfield to give a landing guide to the pilot. There were problems, however. Firstly, they were not easily visible from the air.

Secondly, as the landing area was not lit, it was very difficult to judge the height of the aircraft above the ground when landing. Thirdly, they tended to blow out and there could be large gaps of darkness which compounded the first problem. Nevertheless, night flying was part of the programme, so we did it. It was a very different experience. We had to be careful when taking off so as not to hit the flares and landing which was even more difficult. We were in a darkened cockpit and it was not possible to recognise landmarks. On the plus side, it was like flying over fairyland with the lights twinkling below. I had only two sessions with Mr.Rose before he sent me on my first night solo. A bit daunting and I made sure that I kept the airfield always in view. Aerobatics were banned as it was not possible to see the horizon easily, and certain flying instruments would be toppled which could make recovery in the dark, difficult. Equally, it was more difficult to see the other aircraft at night, particularly when on the circuit. I felt a bit uncertain about landing but experienced no problems. Some of my colleagues found it difficult, and either hit the ground hard or floated above and couldn’t get down, and this meant an overshoot and they had to go round again.

There was one potentially disastrous incident but which was, on reflection, quite funny. I must remind you that our goose-neck flares produced an orange coloured light from the air. High Wycombe High Street was straight and had orange coloured sodium street lights. Got it! Yes, one of our group mistook High Wycombe High Street for the airfield! Whether it was the traffic lights changing colour or the close proximity of the roofs, I can’t remember, but he did a rapid overshoot and was quite pale when he landed. Amended night flying instructions were issued promptly!

Although concentrating on the flying aspects, more than half our time was devoted to class room studies on flying, navigation, meteorology, engines, airmanship, RAF law and administration, together with drill, physical training, sport and unarmed combat. We had the dreaded exams and we all passed. Just before the end of the course, we had a visit from a couple of RAF flying instructors for what was called ‘standardisation’. In effect, it was to ensure that the required training standards were being met. I was one of the pilots selected to fly. The test lasted an hour and covered all aspects of our flying training. Everything seemed to go well and the examiner said he enjoyed the experience. In retrospect, I had the feeling that Mr.Rose had put me forward as a candidate in the same way that he had ‘fixed’ my first solo. I had noticed that his attitude had softened with time. When I came to say goodbye, he wished me every success for the future.

Our last day of flying was 15 August 1951, although I did manage to get a trip from Booker to RAF Benson (Oxfordshire) and back in an old, twin-engined RAF Anson the following day.

After our passing out parade, we went on leave before reporting to No.1 Flying Training School, RAF Oakington, near Cambridge. We all left in high spirits.

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RAF Booker, June 1951, I am on the left.

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—15— The End of a Dream

A

f t e r a w e e k ’ s l e av e ,

which gave me the opportunity of some relaxation and meeting up with old friends from civilian life, I was packing to go to my next posting.

No1 Flying Training School, RAF Oakington. The prospect was exciting – this was a fully fledged RAF station and our instructors were going to be RAF pilots. I reported on 28 August 1952 and received an arrival procedure which outlined details and information regarding the course, including all the senior officers from the commanding officer to the officers in charge of the various wings (flying, admin, technical, the dress code for the mess, meal times and so on).

No1 FTS was founded in 1919; after 26 weeks on the course we would become qualified RAF pilots. The next day, we assembled for the introductory sessions receiving a welcome from CO Gp Capt KP Lewis, and OC Flying Wing, Wg Cdr EH Lynch-Blosse. I was allocated to No1 Squadron. Apart from the flying duties, we were to be involved with a great deal of study of flying subjects. The day would be composed of half day flying and half day lectures and other training.

We were to be flying Harvard 2Bs. These were dual-controlled aircraft that had been fighters in World War II. They looked rather ungainly, almost like a flying barrel with a large 550hp Pratt & Witney circular piston engine at the front. They were much bigger than the Chipmunk and more sophisticated. Things which were new included a retractable undercarriage and a variable pitch propeller. The latter could be best described as being similar to the gearbox on a car. The pilot could vary the pitch from fine to coarse and this would be used during, say, taking-off (fine) and normal flying (course). We also had brakes and runways with which to contend . All this was part of the excitement and anticipation of the course.

On 3 September 1951, I had my first flight with my instructor, Flt.Lt. Varley. This was 45 minutes of familiarisation. After the small cockpit of the Chipmunk, this felt enormous. My feet could not touch the floor and I had so much room on either side that I felt quite isolated. Everyone felt the same. The Harvard handled very well although I was told that it had one or two nasty habits. My instructor was the opposite of Mr. Rose in that he hardly ever spoke. On one occasion when we had a 48hr pass, he gave me a lift to London in his Morgan and we drove virtually in complete silence all the way.

Just about this time, the station hosted a Battle of Britain Ball in the officer’s mess. I invited a lady guest from home. She was the daughter of a friend of my father. This friend had been a manager in the Co-op and had left to start his own retail business in prams based in Becontree. The business was highly successful and sometimes when I was home they would take me on a Saturday evening to their country club near Brentwood.

Such places were a new experience and I was most impressed by their lavish lifestyle. The daughter was really quite something, too. Attractive in every sense and with that I rest my case! For the life of me, though, I can’t remember her name, but I did invite her to the Ball, as my guest.

Accommodation was available for the lady guests attending the Ball. When she came down the stairs to the ballroom, she looked stunning. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. When the dancing started, other officers (senior to me and not part of our course) tried to muscle in and certainly had some success. In truth, I found it difficult to get a dance and they were trying to date her. It was a good evening, though, with excellent food and wine. She certainly enjoyed it and I had to make sure she reached her room safely to avoid the predators!

Let me return to the flying. I found out that Flt.Lt. Varley had come from a squadron and had been posted to Oakington as an instructor. This was quite standard practice and acted as a rest period. The problem was 135

that he didn’t like it. He wanted to fly and was particularly interested in aerobatic flying. The net result was that he wasn’t interested in instructing or me. For my next 3 instruction periods, he found some excuse and I had to have other instructors. The chemistry was not right and I was feeling increasingly uneasy. It was a very different aircraft and the lack of instruction meant that I was not that confident but I persevered.

On my eighth flight in the Harvard, I did my first solo which was fine but……my intuition was starting to ring bells. Initially shown as apprehension, I found that I was not looking forward to flying. Later, I began almost to dread going to the flight lines even. What was happening? I loved flying and was keen to progress, so I put all these thoughts behind me and carried on. But my intuition didn’t give up. The concerns continued and got progressively worse and I was not getting support from my instructor which I needed to boost my confidence. Not that I told him or anyone else.

Once more I was selected as the pilot for a standardisation test. This time it was by a Capt. Sipkes from the Dutch Air Force. He was visiting the RAF on behalf of NATO to see how the training of RAF pilots compared with training on the continent. He was an older man and very pleasant. I performed all sorts of movements and aerobatics as requested including flying in cloud. I was concentrating on my instruments when he suddenly said, “Don’t worry about those. When I learned to fly, there weren’t any instruments. I had to fly using my senses”. He took over and gave me a demonstration – and he was spot on! It went well and I think I acquitted the RAF training methods well.

But that little voice inside was getting ever stronger. From simple apprehension, I was now being told that I had to stop flying. Ridiculous but it was getting impossible to stop these thoughts. What should I do?

I felt I needed to think about the situation and how I could overcome it. What if I did resign? I would lose my ambitions. I would lose face with the RAF, my family and my friends. Thoughts of staying on in the RAF or, the other option as an airline pilot, would be gone. I would have to leave all my friends on the course and we had developed a great spirit of mutual support between us. I would also have to give up my rank and probably become an aircraftsman again. What about my pride? The whole prospect was one of disaster, but I could not dismiss these thoughts because that call from my intuition was getting stronger. Can you appreciate the turmoil that I was in? My sleep was disrupted. I didn’t want to eat. I found it difficult to socialise.

Still the feelings persisted and I was, if you can understand, being told in simple terms that if I carried on, it would be the end of me. The screw tightened a bit more. One of our team crashed and was killed. That night you could have cut the atmosphere in the Mess with a knife. Everyone was shocked. Fred was a great chap and we had all been together from the start of our training. I somehow knew that this was yet another warning. It wasn’t fear that I suffered, but that inner nagging was relentless. Having considered my situation, I decided to carry on but my intuition decided to turn the screw one final time.

You may have some idea of the stress, concern and sheer strain that I was under. We all have free will, but sometimes, a higher force decides on our ultimate direction. So it was to be. My last solo flight was on 21 September 1951. I had spent one hour and fifteen minutes with my instructor. We had an unused airfield fairly close to Oakington which was used for circuits and bumps. The RAF had a fire tender on site together with an ambulance, a standard procedure for all airfields. I was told to go and practice landings and takeoffs.

I went through all the standard procedures, approach, touch the wheels down and take off, retracting the undercarriage and do another circuit. After several of these practices, I was on my final crosswind leg when, suddenly, the cockpit filled with smoke. I could see virtually nothing. I stopped the descent and carried on forward. You will now have to accept the following! When this happened, I felt that there was someone behind me and somewhere over my left shoulder. My ‘spiritual’ past told me that it was a spirit guide or my guardian angel. I hope you may understand. I knew that this presence was meant and not there by chance.

The smoke seemed to clear and I was somehow guided to carry on. Yes, I was scared but not frightened. I 136

knew everything would be alright. The aircraft appeared to behave normally and I decided that I should fly back to Oakington to have the aircraft checked over. I know now, even at this stage, the materialistic mind was trying to justify what had happened, but inside I knew otherwise. I returned to Oakington, landed and taxied to the hangar. All aircraft are signed as serviceable by the senior NCO responsible. In this case it was a Flt.Sgt. I explained the circumstances and he had the aircraft checked. There was no reason whatsoever for the occurrence. Every aspect was functioning correctly and there was no indication where the smoke had come from. How could I explain that?

As far as I was concerned, I knew. This was probably my final warning that I had to give up flying if I wanted to live and I somehow knew that I had other work to do. It was as stark as that! It so happened that I was due for a 48hr pass and I went home. I was in quite quandary. I was being torn in two directions. Carry on or resign? My parents recognised that something was wrong and slowly the story came out. My mother was in quite a state and I then understood she had been so for some time. Had she got some intuitive feed-back from my situation? My father was really worried and decided to write to the Air Ministry although I have no idea what he could say in the circumstances. I went back to Oakington with a heavy heart. I knew that the balloon would go up. It did. On the Monday morning. I was called out of a navigation lecture to see my flight commander. I had to explain my circumstances although I could not go into all the details because they would not understand. To my surprise, he, and later, my squadron commander seemed to accept the situation and said that I would cease flying duties with immediate effect. When my friends came out of the lecture for coffee and enquired they could not believe my story – abbreviated, of course.

Somehow, I knew deep inside that I had made the right decision and that, although there would be difficult times ahead, my path was now certain. The stresses disappeared almost immediately and I became quite relaxed. I had to fill in various forms and in the remaining time on the station, I still felt sadness when I saw my friends going off to fly. One of the last things I saw was my course flying record. I couldn’t believe it. It was exemplary. I was marked as an above average pilot with particular potential as a future instructor!

A day or so later I had to say my goodbyes as I received a posting to RAF Innsworth, the RAF Records Office near Gloucester. I joined the mess there while my papers were processed. It was a very difficult period. I could not change the decision and I felt very unhappy and depressed. I received a posting to Headquarters 64(N) Group at Hesslington Hall, York. This was a lovely medieval building in York and I had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with that beautiful city, as I had very little to do. I have loved York ever since. After a couple of weeks, I was posted to No.69 Reserve Centre, RAF Desford, near Leicester as assistant adjutant.

The adjutant was a young pilot officer named Tunstall who was a regular in the secretarial branch. We had a great time together both on and off the camp. During the time there, I was flying again in Prentices from their airfield. This was great fun and the cloud seemed to have lifted. However,I still knew my basic decision was right and even unavoidable.

I was called back to York to be told that I was being posted to RAF Innsworth. The journey was by train from York and it was fascinating. I did not know Yorkshire and one has to remember that, over 60 years ago, pollution was rife. The journey went through the heart of the industrial north and I shall never forget the train approaching Sheffield. The air was yellow with thick smoke from the foundries. The smell of sulphur pervaded the railway coach and made us all start to cough. How could people live and work in this environment?

Somehow they did but it took its toll and respiratory diseases were common. Visiting Sheffield many years later with some trepidation I was amazed at the change following the clean air campaign. Sheffield has changed beyond all recognition.

I was informed at Innsworth that I would be discharged from the RAF. And as I had more that one year to serve as a National Serviceman, I would be re-enlisted as an Aircraftsman 2nd class. That was it. I was being thrown out only to come back at the bottom of the heap. Those of you that have an interest in astrology will know that Capricorns tend to have a difficult incarnation. Like the goats they are, they can get thrown down the mountain, time after time, and have to start to climb again. Like the goat, I had every intention to climb back and achieve as much as possible in my remaining time. After all, I had a life beyond the air force and I 137

needed to gain experience for the future. I have to admit, however, that the whole experience was very painful and still is, even after this long period. Such was the trauma, this is the first time that I have told this story since it happened.

I was discharged and went home, as a civilian, but waiting for my second call-up. Not many people can claim that! While I was at home, my mother suggested that we go to an afternoon service at the Spiritualist Church in Forest Gate. I suppose that I was still in shock over the recent events so I agreed. I would do anything to get away from thinking over recent events. I had never been to this church before, although I gather my mother had gone on a few occasions with Aunt Lily. In retrospect, I knew that this was meant to be. As usual, the service included clairvoyance and I was sitting quietly watching the proceedings when the medium came straight to me. I was suddenly shaken out of my complacency. I could not believe what she was saying. I did not know her and had never seen her before or since. She said she felt there was a link between flying and a fire. Did I understand? Of course I did. Had I been in an aeroplane where there had been a fire? Before I could answer she asked whether I felt at that time there was someone else with me?

This was unbelievable. She was describing the situation in the Harvard. She went on to say that I had been guided into this situation and that my course of action (she didn’t know the circumstances) was right.

If ever I had needed support for my actions and proof of the spiritual world, this was it. I came away from that service feeling a weight had been lifted from my mind and I had a feeling of great relief. Somehow, I had been spiritually manipulated to attend that service (I hadn’t been to a spiritualist service since a teenager) because ‘upstairs’ wanted to let me know that my decision was right.

With hindsight we all have 20/20 vision and when I looked back, things became obvious. For some reason, perhaps to give me self confidence in my own ability, I was meant to fly. Equally, I was meant to stop and when I prevaricated, increasing pressure was put on until I did. If I had persisted – if I could – I suppose that this book would never have been written because I would not have been here. Our family would not be here either! This was another spiritual nudge with more to come in later life.

I maintained contact with some of my colleagues. No1 FTS was moved from RAF Oakington to RAF Moretonin-Marsh and one friend, Alan Wood, sent me a copy of their passing out programme. It brought a lump to my throat when I looked at the course photograph. Alan later flew Canberra bombers and after his RAF service, he joined the Ford Motor Company as a pilot and finished as captain of their fleet of aircraft.

To complete this part of the story, I would mention that throughout the months of 1952, newspapers carried an increasing number of accounts of aircraft crashes. Often the names of the aircrew were given and many of them had been my colleagues. On 21 August 1952, the Daily Telegraph stated that the Air Ministry was becoming increasingly concerned at the amount of crashes. During the first 20 days of August, there were 17 deaths and in the period from 1 January to 21 August, the Press reported that 77 jet aircraft had crashed with a loss of 78 lives. In that same month, I read in the paper that one of my closest friends, Frank Pinckard, had been killed when his Meteor NF11 (a night fighter) had crashed. I used to travel pillion on his motor bike and had met his parents. I wrote to his parents and they wrote a lovely letter in reply, but it was very sad.

All these events were really quite shattering and I had to ask the question as to why I had been (forcefully) spared? With my current hindsight, it was likely that, if I hadn’t left, I would have been another Air Ministry statistic.

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—16— A Case of Déjà Vu

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f t e r a f e w d ay s ’ l e av e ,

a brown envelope arrived. I knew what the contents would be. It was my second call-up papers. Once more I would be setting off for RAF Padgate – twice in one year!

Remembering my last experience there, I was not looking forward to it. This, though, was early November so the weather should not be so severe, and so it turned out. On arrival on 9 November 1951, I had to go through attestation again and this stated that I had 1 year and 31 days to serve. My discharge was to be 10 December 1952.

Now, I was back in the old routine. To the stores to collect bedding and then my uniform. Allocated to a barrack room with a bed space. Padgate was all very depressing but I had one advantage. Experience. I knew the procedure and could advise the new recruits who were my new companions. The NCOs had been informed of my background so I was made responsible for the flight and marched the newcomers to the cookhouse and the cinema for lectures.

I found that I had a certain amount of freedom, too. I was allowed to leave the station if not required, so would go into Warrington and get a decent meal in a restaurant. Interestingly enough, I still had my officer’s identity card and, in fact, retained it for several months. No one seemed to want to change it. I was told that I needed to choose a trade and having looked through the choices, felt that clerk organisation could fit into my future career. Then, to my surprise, I was asked if I had a choice for my posting. It seemed as if the RAF was trying to compensate for my change of circumstances. With tongue in cheek, I put down RAF Hornchurch as this was close to home.

Within a few days, it came through. I was being posted to RAF Hornchurch as a clerk organisation. Rumour had it that my type of situation usually resulted in a compassionate posting. I was delighted as it meant I could pick up my civilian life. Arriving at Hornchurch was a strange feeling. Less than 12 months earlier I had arrived, full of anticipation, for aircrew selection. How times had changed.

On arrival, I was allocated to a barrack block and informed that I would be working in the station headquarters as a clk.org. in the central registry. This unit held all the station files and received the daily incoming mail. The task of the registry was to allocate mail to the correct file, number it and cross reference to any previous correspondence. It meant that we had to read all incoming mail, sign files in and out and handle all phone requests for correspondence. It was a very busy unit as we were also responsible for sending out the mail each evening and there could be as many as 50 destinations a day.

In charge was Cpl. Bill Richards, a national serviceman who lived in Woodford and worked for an insurance company in civilian life. We got on well together but when he knew my background and my age (he was only 19 years old), he felt he had to exert his authority in the early days. There was one other clerk who came from the Colchester area. He was very slow, not particularly bright, but was a good musician. He played in a brass band at home and in the station band.

In overall charge of the SHQ administration was a Flt.Sgt. Higgins who was nearing retirement after a lifetime in the RAF. He was easy going, worked hard but wanted a quiet life. Occasionally, we would have an inspection of the offices either by the station accounting officer or by the C.O., Gp.Capt. Jefferson. Life there was reasonable and my training in RAF law and administration was very useful and I soon fitted in with the routine.

I had been remustered as an AC2 Recruit so I was literally at the bottom of the heap. Astrologically, I was 139

typical of the Capricorn goat but I was about to start climbing! Within 3 months I had passed my trade test and became an ACI (Aircraftsman 1st Class). LAC (Leading Aircraftsman) soon followed.

There were plenty of activities on the station and I started playing tennis, representing RAF Hornchurch and later 54 Group. Every Wednesday afternoon was devoted to sport and that was enjoyable. I was able to get home quite often and would sleep out. Later, I applied for a seven-day sleeping-out pass and it was granted.

I would travel in civilian clothes and wear the uniform on the station. It was like going to work. The most disagreeable aspect was that of camp patrol duty which came round every couple of months. Two airmen, working together, were required to patrol the station at night doing two hours on and two hours off – the two off were spent on a mattress in the rear of the guardroom. Patrolling a camp in the middle of the night could be quite frightening with the large hangars and dark buildings. Sometimes, the wind would be howling or the rain lashing down. When it was very cold and frosty, we would find a corner out of the wind and weather, and stay there as long as possible. The military police would send the camp patrols out regardless of the conditions. The next day, we were always tired.

You may remember that in an earlier chapter, covering my visit to the Aircrew Selection Centre, I mentioned the dog, Binder, who had been the pet of the Battle of Britain pilot, Paddy Finucane. Binder was still there and still welcomed aspiring aircrew as they arrived. He was extremely overweight, but did not die until after I had completed my service. He lived in the guardroom and everyone made a great fuss of him. I had quite a lot of background on Binder, and some years later an author writing the history on the wartime service of dogs contacted me for information.

One of the more interesting aspects of RAF Hornchurch was that it was No.17 Reserve Flying School. Pilots in the RAFVR used it for flying training, and it wasn’t long before I found my way to the flight lines. Soon after that I had made enough contacts to secure flights in Tiger Moths and Chipmunks. I was back flying. Later a notice appeared saying that the ATC (Air Training Corps) were looking for suitable individuals to train as glider pilots. They would give air experience to cadets and also teach them to fly gliders. I made application to the CO and it was approved. I spent many weekends on the airfield teaching the cadets the necessary groundwork in handling gliders. The gliders were winched off the ground by cable. A lorry containing the winch was at one side of the airfield and the cable was connected to the glider. The winch would haul in the cable at a speed controlled by the winch operator. This was a crucial phase to ensure a steady lift-off and rate of climb. Once overhead, the pilot would cast off the cable that would fall rapidly to the ground. For this reason, the winch lorry had a wire cage to protect the operator.

I began to feel that I was spending a lot of time on the ground and very little in the air. It became apparent that, although Air Ministry had issued the directive, the civilians who flew the gliders operated a closed shop. They didn’t want outsiders to dilute their flying. By sheer persistence and complaining to one of our officers who was on the course, I got some dual flying experience. Eventually, I flew solo and qualified as a glider pilot but I was never trained as an instructor for the reason given above. Flying a glider is very different from a powered aircraft. If the landing approach is too high, you cannot overshoot and go round again. Likewise, if the approach is short, you cannot apply a little extra power to get you over the airfield boundary fence! I did enjoy gliding – everything was so quiet and peaceful. Just the sound of the wind in the bracing wires attached to the wings.

I could hear people talking quite clearly on the ground and I could hold a conversation with them.

Living at home most of the time, I was able to resume something of a normal civilian life. This included Saturday dances. I used to go with Bernard Read and sometimes other friends would join us. It was in the spring of 1952 that it happened! We went to a dance at the Ilford Town Hall on a Saturday night. It was the usual crowd and we knew most of the chaps and girls. It was customary to see if there were any newcomers and there were. Two girls whom Bernard and I had not seen before – and we thought they were quite something – so we took the first opportunity to ask them for a dance. Usually, a first dance was fairly silent with the girl only responding to questions from her partner. But this was different. My partner was attractive, bubbly and didn’t stop talking.

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We found that we both had a lot in common. We were both interested in sport and both played tennis. The evening was a great success and I suggested that this girl – her name was Maureen but you will have guessed that by now – may like a game of tennis on the Sunday morning. Yes she would. So we met in Goodmayes Park and I was again amazed because she really could play. I am not being patronising, but experience had shown that girls were not willing to chase balls and they had very little power in their shots.

This girl was different. She chased everything, and hit hard. I can remember going home to lunch and telling my parents that I had met a very special girl! It was the start of our romance.

But I was still in the RAF. I knew that Bill Richards was due for demob around September 1952 (he kept a calendar and each day ticked another day off). I knew the job inside out and was in charge when he wasn’t around, so I felt I should take over when he left. I took my SAC (Senior Aircraftsman) exam and duly passed.

The goat was on the way up! When Bill was demobbed, I was promoted to corporal in charge of the central registry. My rank was SAC/Acting Corporal. National servicemen could only get acting ranks and SAC/A/Cpl was the highest rank normally attainable unless the individual had a degree or special qualifications. I had gone from AC2 Recruit to this rank in 10 months! The goat had reached the summit!

Earlier in the year, I had seen an Air Ministry Order stating that RAF units should assist local Air Training Corps Squadrons through specialist skills and knowledge (remember – I saw all incoming mail) and I thought I could help. I was most grateful to the RAF for giving me the opportunity to fly and I felt that I should try to repay them, particularly in view of what had happened. I contacted the CO of 4F Squadron in Ilford. His name was Flt.Lt. John Kelley. Later, we became good friends. I offered my services as a lecturer in law and administration, aerodynamics, airmanship and aircraft engines. He nearly bit my hand off. Although he had been a wartime pilot he really needed this expertise so I applied and he wrote a covering letter, which I attached to my application. It went through the usual channels and eventually I was called for interview by Gp.Capt.Jefferson the C.O. It was approved and this was the start of around 8 years’ service as a civilian instructor with 4F Squadron Air Training Corps.

Time was moving on and I noticed that the RAF was sponsoring courses in business administration at Hull University. I made application, which was approved, so in June 1952, I went on this course which I found very useful and interesting. This was part of my preparation for my new career. Likewise, I enjoyed university life and would have like to stay on for further study.

Back at home, I was seeing Maureen quite frequently and the day came when I had to meet her parents and brothers. I have to tell you that my transport, like most people at that time, was either bike or bus. I had a large 28" wheel roadster bike. I also smoked a pipe and wore a cap. Just picture the scene – arriving for such an important meeting on a bike and looking like that! I was told later her brothers thought I was hilarious. Her father said virtually nothing. Even when I got to know him, he was still the strong silent type.

Her mother was very chatty and welcoming. I had been invited to tea and initiated into the family procedures.

For example, in those days, a local baker, Bartons, produced a popular blackcurrant and cream sponge.

Nothing unusual in that, you say. It was the way it was dispensed that was different. Maureen’s father would look round the table, count the number present and divide the cake accordingly. This didn’t only happen with cakes either!

Maureen worked in Bow, London E2, as secretary to the director and the commercial manager of a factory which produced wallpaper. The company had the rather unfortunate name of Allan Cockshut. It was one of the manufacturing units of a large group, Crown Wallpapers. As I was stationed at Hornchurch, I could easily get into London on the underground (District Line). She could also get into London on the bus so we could meet in Town. In the Leicester Square area, there was a servicemen’s club with a bar and a restaurant. I had been told about this and it was very good. More importantly, from about 4.30pm onwards, they would receive unsold tickets from the London theatres. These tickets were for that night’s performance and they were free. We made good use of this facility and, at one stage, we had seen virtually every show in London including all the musicals!

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These were wonderful days; not only did we enjoy ourselves, but our relationship grew stronger. Dare I say it? We were in love. We saw each other several times a week and would go dancing on Saturday evenings and enjoy visits to the cinema and play plenty of tennis. Maureen was also a strong table tennis player who used the pen-holder grip – a technique that disguised the direction of the shot. She played for local teams, frequently against county players and even the Rowe twins who represented England. Often I saw her take on and beat a men’s team one after the other and I felt very proud of her. She was also interested in dramatics and belonged to a local group.

My interests were sport and I played tennis and cricket for RAF Hornchurch. I became more involved in the Air Training Corps and thoroughly enjoyed teaching the cadets who were so keen and enthusiastic. After parade nights, we would have a few beers in the officers’ mess and often adjourn to the Ilford and Woodford Branch of RAFA (Royal Air Force Association) for few more beers. Fortunately, it was also in Cranbrook Road and about 200 yards from our headquarters. I became a member and after a couple of years became a life member which cost £3. Good value as I have had that membership for over 60 years!

Naturally, I was still seeing Bernard and we were playing tennis, but he was as involved with spending time with Jean as I was with Maureen.

I took quite an active part in the station activities and it wasn’t long before I found myself serving on various committees. I became a member of the Station Institute Committee which mainly dealt with the functioning of the NAAFI – the airmen’s and Corporals’ Club – from the time I was an LAC. I served on the station entertainment’s committee and later on the committee of the Corporals’ Club. All this was most interesting.

I met people from other sections and widened both my contacts and knowledge.

The time was moving on and I was becoming increasingly frustrated being in a job (the RAF) which I couldn’t leave so, like most other national servicemen, I was counting the days to demob. At the same time I was thinking of my future. From my experience with the hospital sports and social club, and my ratings in law and administration in the RAF, I fancied myself as an ‘administrator’ although I didn’t know of what? I had always maintained contact with my step-uncle, Norman Shone (Grandma Paddy’s son) who was manager of the largest Labour Exchange (now called Job Centre) in London. He said that he would look around for a suitable career opening.

So the time passed until December when I received Sub Form 675 – a very significant document. Why? It listed all my uniform and equipment that had to be handed in at the end of my service. It was with the greatest of pleasure that I collected it together and took it to the stores. Mark you, I handed in a load of rubbish . On the appointed day, I laid out my uniform and equipment on my bed and invited everyone in to help themselves on condition that they replaced anything they took with their own worn-out item. After they had finished, my gear would have been an insult to a jumble sale! The toe-caps of my boots had a glass-like finish. The replacement pair had the soles parting from the uppers (the chap who took them, named Kembery, was later posted to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and he wrote to me saying how well my boots were doing!). I had socks with holes in, ripped vests, torn shirts, disgusting underpants, trousers going thin at the knees and so on. When I handed it in to stores, they took one look and dumped it all in the refuse bin. A refuse bin! What an ignominious end to my service! I received my Certificate of Service, in effect my reference, where I had the highest ratings obtainable during national service, handed over my department and, after saying goodbye to my colleagues, walked out a free man on 10 December 1952.

Although, like the majority of national servicemen I was glad to finish my time, I have to admit that it was a very worthwhile experience in many ways. It took me away from home; it taught me independence; I learned how to be tidy and look after my things. I underwent discipline which taught me how to present myself and how to respect my superiors. I learnt teamwork and how to mix with people from all different backgrounds. I had learned to have the courage to make a decision that would take me from the heights to the depths and to have the tenacity to fight my way back. I was taught how to fly and I served with the finest air force in the world.

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Quite an experience and one which would benefit many young people today by giving their lives the discipline and structure that is so lacking in our present society.

My last ration book. Food rationing continued long after the war ended in 1945.

Post-war petrol coupons

143

—17— Entering the Business World

H

the RAF , I was able to spend some time before Christmas settling back into civilian life.

It was quite strange having been subject to service discipline to be able to make my own decisions and not be bound by Air Ministry Regulations and Personnel Occurrence Reports. This settling-in period was very enjoyable, although at the back of my mind I was wondering what I would do for a career. av i n g l e f t

I visited The Maudsley Hospital on 12 December 1952 and had a long chat with Percy Chappell. I told him that I felt my career lay in business and he was sympathetic. As a result, I wrote to the hospital on 15 December 1952 saying that I would not be returning and wished to resign. I had a very nice reply on 22 December 1952 from the deputy house governor thanking me for my past services and a hand-written note saying they would miss me. Frankly, I had been away from it for two years and there were tremendous technical advances being made and I didn’t feel inclined to have to go back and face years of study for an inadequate salary, with little opportunity of advancement. I wanted an opportunity where my talents and energy could be developed into an interesting and lucrative career. There was a great big world out there and I wanted some of the action! The final link had been broken.

Maureen and I were seeing each other a great deal and our relationship just seemed to ‘evolve’. It is difficult to explain. We were obviously in love and the whole process was progressive. I can remember just after Christmas 1952 we went to London to a show or a meal or both (I can’t remember) and we were standing on the platform of an underground station quite logically discussing getting married! I still don’t know how we reached that point, it just seemed to happen. I can’t remember ever proposing, but I certainly had to ask her father’s permission which was readily granted.

We told my parents, who were pleased, and on 31 December 1953 we went to the London Co-operative store in High Street, Walthamstow where my father was the store manager. We sat in his office and he got his jewellery manager to bring us a selection of engagement rings. Maureen knew what she was looking for and chose a white gold ring that had a single diamond in a platinum mount. Simple but elegant. Incidentally, I still have the bill. It cost a massive £32.10s.00d (£32.05p) – a lot of money at that time, particularly for an out of work ex-serviceman! But I didn’t mind. I was thrilled and so was Maureen. We were engaged. Our relationship changed from then on – we started looking at homes, bottom drawers and saving hard.

I contacted Norman Shone, my step-uncle, and said that I was looking for a trainee management position and he offered to look around his many contacts. One opportunity was available at a foundry in north London, but before I could take it further, they had already filled the vacancy. Then he informed me of a company in Tottenham Court Road named Copestake, Crampton and Co who were interested in a trainee.

They were originally an old established lace and cloth manufacturers in Nottingham, established in 1826, but that business had gone and they now operated as wholesale textile merchants.

I went for an interview and met the chairman, a Mr. Barber, who offered me a career with the company. I would have to start in the packing department for a few weeks and then I would be moved into one of the departments to learn the business.

Eventually, I could become the head of a department and the buyer. Alternately, I could be offered a traveller’s job which was the cream and the most sought after. I thought of my father – he started packing parcels and had spoken to me about becoming a commercial traveller. In a similar way, when at the hospital, I got to know a chap who called to sell us glassware (he was the owner of the business) and said to me on several occasions that I was wasting my time in a laboratory and I should get into commerce. I suppose he was the 144

one who sowed the seed for my change of direction and I am grateful to him. It appeared that I was being nudged in a certain direction – it had happened before and has happened many times since.

I was offered a starting salary of £250 a year and a five-day week which I accepted. The salary was reasonable for that time and the five -day week was a luxury and still comparatively rare. Now my career was launched and I had become a commuter. The enthusiasm lasted about four weeks! I certainly learned how to pack parcels, hundreds of them! The goods from the various departments would be sent down in big skips on wheels or in boxes or parcels down the service lift. I was given a brown warehouse coat, a bench, brown paper, a large ball of thick string and a knife. A bit shattering for someone who considered himself a future executive, but I had to start somewhere!

Sometimes customers would come to the warehouse to buy and would take their purchases with them, rather like a cash and carry. Cars could park in Tottenham Court Road in those days so when their goods were packed, the packer delivered them to their car. I shall never forget, when having taken some goods to a car, I was given a shilling (5 pence). I really felt that I had hit the bottom! I have never been very good at touching my forelock!

After my fares, there wasn’t that much money left even at 1950 prices so, rather than go out and get a meal (sandwich shops didn’t exist then), my mother made me sandwiches. These were usually ham – that ghastly thin processed variety that you could see through and tasted of nothing. I would sit in the packing room with the other packers, a mug of tea and these awful sandwiches – day after day! After this repast, I would ascend from the depths to get a breath of fresh air. It felt great. On the next corner to the firm was a restaurant. It was one of the Quality Inns – a chain of reasonably priced but good standard restaurants. I would walk by and look at all those people inside tucking into steak and kidney pies or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and I would positively drool. Mine was a miserable lot! Stuck in artificial light, below ground all day, packing parcels.

After I had finished my ‘time’ in the packing department, there was no sign of me being moved into a department. I asked my colleagues when this was likely happen, but they didn’t know and implied that I could be there for years. One day the chairman came down to look around (more about him later) and I asked about my move. He said he would look into it but there seemed no urgency, so I enquired again.

Eventually, I was told that I would be going into ladies outerwear on the following Monday. Can you imagine me in ladies outerwear!

I want you to visualise a very large room about 50ft x 100ft with a high ceiling. There were racks, drawers and cupboards around the edge and large tables, on which stock was piled; coats, jackets, knitwear, occupied the centre. It looked rather like a larger version of a present day jumble sale. There was an elderly white-haired man in charge. He was the buyer and in his 70s. He set the tone of the place. In addition, there was an elderly lady assistant (in fact, all the staff were elderly – I was by far the youngest) and me.

The assistant and I had to look after the stock. When orders came in each day, they were sent to each department. Staff would pick the required items and send them down to the packing department. The order would then be sent to another department who would carry out the same procedure. The packing department would wait until the items from the various departments arrived and then pack the whole order.

My department was on the ground floor adjacent to the front door so I would see all customers and visitors on arrival. This was an interesting position from which to view the company activities. The whole place was Dickensian. Let me give you an example. At precisely 3 minutes past nine each morning, a line of elderly men of varying shapes and sizes, but all round shouldered, would come down the stairs at the far end. They would be in single file, in step and in the same order. Reaching the bottom, they would descend to the basement where the large company safe would be opened and their ledgers would be removed. A few minutes later, they would reappear, in the same order, of course, and climb the stairs, each with a large, heavy ledger on his shoulder. They were on their way back to the counting house – a Dickensian term for 145

accounts department. I was never allowed up there but could imagine them sitting on high stools and writing with scratchy quill pens. Could well be true.

On some occasions, one of the travellers would come in. I was not impressed. They too were elderly, not particularly pleasant, demanding and felt themselves to be quite superior. But then they had reached the top in the firm. The chairman had been a traveller. To be a traveller was the ultimate achievement and they had probably spent all their working life getting there. When a traveller arrived, the word would go round the warehouse that Mr So-and-So has arrived and everyone would hope that he would stop and speak to him or her. It really was rather quaint.

The most fascinating was the chairman, Mr Barber, but first I must describe the scene. Entering the front door, there was a wide, lino-covered path to the rear of the building. (The departments had wooden floors).

On the opposite side of this path to us was another department and at the front, by the door, was the chairman’s desk – truly an open plan set-up! Mr Barber was, of course, elderly. A short, dumpy man – one could say Pickwickian – he was bald with short, white hair round his shiny head.

Mr Barber never arrived before 10am and I was told that he was chauffeur driven. On arrival, he would hang his coat on his own coat rack and then look at his post which had been carefully laid out on his desk. This would take all of 5 minutes. He would then do his tour of the departments. Once finished he would return to his desk before commencing his daily task. This was to walk up and down the lino covered path, hands behind his back. At lunchtime he would disappear to a restaurant, returning about 2.15pm and resume his walk. At 3.30pm, his exercise for the day completed, he would be driven home. This routine was virtually unchanged each day although if customers came, he would chat to them and they would treat him like royalty. But then the customers were ancient drapers anyway!

I looked around. Although I had no experience, I knew this company was not going anywhere. There was no drive, no direction and, as far as I could see, no future.

Obviously, I was in a dead man’s shoes situation where I could wait for years to take charge of a department in a business in which I was not interested, and which had no future. I started to look around.

One day I saw an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph for trainee administrators with H.J.Heinz (57 Varieties).

It offered progressive training with prospects and was based in Waxlow Road, Harlesden, London NW10. I wrote, received an application form which I completed and returned. On 17 March 1953, I had an interview with the personnel manager, a Mr C.A. Binks. I was offered a job at the interview with a salary of £350 a year.

I was delighted.

On 20 March 1953 I wrote a letter of resignation to my boss at Copestakes and he told Mr. Barber who was not pleased. In fact, he was quite rude to me. He seemed to think that I had been given a great opportunity in a long-established firm. The latter was right, but the former was wrong. I am afraid I told Mr Barber that I felt his company was old fashioned, out of date, that the business was decreasing and would continue its downward slide. As a result of that conversation, I left immediately! I was glad to be out.

I had observed the company closely and my words were prophetic. Four years later, I read that Copestake Crampton had ceased trading in September 1958 and a Board of Trade Inspector had investigated their affairs. I obtained a copy of the report and was not surprised. I was glad I had not stayed.

I joined Heinz on Monday, 23 March 1953 as a management trainee at £7 per week in the London Branch office in Waxlow Road, Harlesden, London, N.W.10.

This office administered the eight London sales branches and I had to learn order processing, accountancy, customer and sales force liaison. Electronic aids did not exist and adding machines were large, heavy, noisy and cumbersome. Having pressed large keys and entered the transaction, a hefty lever had to be pulled to 146

print the result on a roll of paper. The noise in the office was quite deafening. I had to sit with various sales clerks to learn about the many procedures. It was interesting and I learned fast.

I must have impressed someone because on 14 April, I was summoned from head office (this was separate to the London Branch office) for an interview with Mr C A Binks, the personnel manager. Having asked me how I was getting on, he offered me a job in head office as assistant to the Merchandising Manager, a Mr. K S Bush (known as ‘Hank Bush). This was a temporary appointment for about 12 weeks. Would I be interested? You bet!

I started on 18 April 1954. I must explain that all the head office administrative functions were on one enormous floor. The individual offices of the directors and managers were around the edges and all the clerical administrative staff sat in the middle, fenced in by a four-foot high barrier. Each discipline formed a line from the front of the barrier with the most senior person sitting at the rear of their team (so they could be watched!).

Business in the 1950s was still based on age and experience (on one occasion H.J. Heinz ll presented 100 gold watches to staff for long service). Apart from secretaries, the administrative posts were occupied by people with at least 15 or so, years with the company. With less than a month’s experience, I was about to break the mould and a lot of the staff didn’t like it! I sat at the back even though I only had one member of staff – a secretary.

‘Hank’ Bush was an interesting man. Tall, thin with a handlebar moustache (like mine) and in his fifties; he was a noisy but likeable extrovert. His role was to create merchandising aids from counter stands to pickle racks. This meant liasing with advertising agencies and merchandising companies. He was also responsible for the sales promotional teams, including the baby foods, and sampling competitive products and our own products under development. Altogether an interesting package. I entered into this role with great enthusiasm and was involved in creating a number of new developments.

I enjoyed working at Heinz. It was a large factory and we had a good staff canteen where all members of staff ate, whether directors, managers, clerical or factory staff. At the end of a day’s production, any surplus food materials would be sold off. I often purchased mushrooms and other vegetables as Heinz only used the best. We could also obtain tinned products that may be surplus if dented. Apart from these, the whole range of their products was available in staff sales.

Heinz had an active sports club and it was not long before I was playing tennis. I gained a position in the first team and we played in the Middlesex Business League. There were many large companies in the area and they had good teams with many players at county level. There were many memorable and tough matches.

I can remember that on one occasion we were playing men’s doubles against Hoover. I was successfully playing at the net and one opponent was determined to stop my activities so he would drive the ball very hard straight at me. It was a needle match and his behaviour was not regarded as being very sportsmanlike.

A lob came up and I smashed it with full force and the ball hit him right on the head! He wasn’t hurt but he didn’t drive at me again. We won the match.

The principle problem with Heinz was the travelling, but this has always been my difficulty. You will remember that I had a long journey to school and an even longer journey to the hospital in South London. My travel to Harlesden involved a bus to Ilford station; a train to Liverpool Street station followed by a walk to Broad Street station and a further train to Harlesden station. The factory was about three-quarters of a mile from the station. The experience I gained was well worth the inconvenience of the journey, but it added quite a lot to my day.

I was still committed to the Air Training Corps. They had three parade nights per week on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays but I usually only could manage two – the Monday and Friday. Apart from that I was spending as much time as possible with Maureen. We had visited the Ideal Homes Exhibition at Olympia 147

and were doing a lot of window-shopping although we didn’t really have any money but were saving what we could.

Maureen was actively involved with her job with Crown Wallpapers and I had met her director, Mr. Sugden and the commercial manager, Mr Hacking. They used to have company outings to which I was invited. On 6 June 1953, I went with her and two of her friends there, Joyce and Angus to a day at Stroods Hotel which culminated with a dinner in the evening, and on the 20 June we went to the Royal Tournament which was very dramatic.

On 4 July 1953 we went on our first holiday together. Maureen had always been to holiday camps or camping. I had no real desire to go to a holiday camp, but if she wanted to go and I could be with her, then it was all right by me. In those days Maureen did a lot of knitting and she knitted us both royal blue, long sleeved matching sweaters with a cable stitch design. We were like twins as we set off for the Seacroft Holiday Camp at Hemsby in Norfolk. Of course, we had separate chalets and were models of good behaviour!

Well, everyone was in those days. Things went well until I arrived late in the dining hall for breakfast. It was only a couple of minutes but I got a chorus from the other ‘campers’ about forfeits. I was not a happy bunny!

We played a lot of tennis and there was football and cycling. We also visited various places including Potter Heigham. The camp had its own camp song that I still remember. It went like this;

Always eat when you are hungry, Always drink when you are dry, Always sleep when you are sleepy, Keep on breathing or you’ll die.

The camp had staff problems whilst we were there and we became involved with running various events. In fact, we spent most of our time organizing and arranging competitions and activities to the extent that on the last night, the owners invited us to the office and offered us a drink as a thank you for our efforts. A small reward for a lot of effort. I hasten to say that we have not been to a holiday camp since!

Following our return, it was back to work for both of us. We had enjoyed our time together and had a lot of fun. We had two important events to come. On 11 August 1953, my parents had their silver wedding, and we all went to the Strand Theatre to a show. On 18 August 1953, it was the turn of Maureen’s parents to have their silver wedding celebration. They took us, together with her two brothers , Brian and George, to Frascati’s Restaurant in Holborn. This was a well-known and quite famous London restaurant which sadly no longer exists. The four-course dinner was 10/6d (55p) per head and that was quite expensive when the average man was earning between £4--5 per week. The Harold Geller Broadcasting Orchestra accompanied the meal and the setting was gracious. At the end of the meal, the waiter asked whether anything else would be required. Maureen’s father looked at her mother and uttered those memorable words, “Cup of tea, May?” Being true professional waiters, the tea came without a murmur! Following the meal, we went to the London Palladium to see a variety show. Strangely enough, it included an exhibition of table tennis between Victor Barna and Stephen Boros – probably chosen by her father because of Maureen’s interest in the game.

My time in the merchandising department was ending and I had both enjoyed it and apparently done well as, following another interview with the personnel manager, I was promoted as Assistant to the Southern Regional Sales Manager, a James Henry Love Anderson. He was a Scotsman, very polite, immaculate in his dress, and he wore Savile Row suits that I could only admire. He was nearing retirement age and had to make a considerable effort to maintain his drive and enthusiasm.

I started 19 August 1953. This was one of the senior jobs in the company and one that normally was only obtained after years of experience coupled with a high level of performance. The Region consisted of three London branches and five country branches situated in Rochester, Southampton, Bristol, Plymouth and Cardiff. Each had a manager, chief clerk, head salesman and a sales force together with its own warehouse, 148

order processing and distribution, except the London branches which were pooled. I was responsible for all these branches including co-ordinating their sales and expense budgets, allocating stocks of products which were still on limited supply and, in addition, I was responsible for the Teddington warehouse which serviced many of the London branches. This included the staff and involved visiting and stocktaking every two weeks.

Apart from the general administration, I was responsible for organizing and running the monthly Branch Managers’ Meetings which were held at the Great Western Hotel at Paddington. I had never stayed in a hotel before – few people of my age had. My grandfather had wide experience so I asked his advice. Hotels were different then. It was expected to tip various staff, e.g. the chambermaid, waiters, porters and the ‘Boots’. It was customary when going to bed, to leave your shoes outside the door in the corridor so that they could be cleaned and polished by the ‘Boots’ during the night.

I had to prepare all the papers, statistics and presentations for the forthcoming campaign so that Jim Anderson had everything to hand. Similarly, I had to set up the meeting room, settle accounts and so on. It was quite a job for a 23-year-old with no background of the business world, but it was a great opportunity and good experience. Salaries were an interesting aspect. When I was recommending increases for approval, it was not unusual for 2/6d (12 1/2p) per week to be made and this was debated, sometimes at length!

When I joined Heinz in 1953, I earned £379 in the 1953/54 tax year. The next year it went up to £459.

As the business developed, branches would want to increase their sales force. I should mention that Heinz had some peculiar ideas regarding salesmen. The original Mr Heinz laid down that salesmen should be six feet tall and weigh at least 11 stone. Why? Because he said that a short salesman would spend 50% of his time speaking up to a tall buyer! That laid down the basic standard for sales recruitment even in 1953. Very few salesmen had cars. They walked with their bag that weighed 14 lbs. when packed. They were expected to make around 20 calls each day, so it was not an easy life.

To put forward a proposal for an extra salesman was quite complicated and required a detailed analysis of the current operation and a detailed list of potential calls for the new territory and the effect on the existing territories. This was done street by street on maps and required to show the expected business to be generated plus costs. I had to receive and vet these applications before submitting them to Jim Anderson for consideration. Approval was by no means guaranteed.

One thing I did learn was that I was in a limited job. If successful, I could have gone on to become assistant to the General Sales Manager and then assistant to the Sales Director. That was it. I could never become a manager because such positions were always recruited from the sales force. I made subtle enquiries about becoming a salesman, but it appeared that inside staff could never become salesmen on the basis that they knew too much about the inner workings of the company! I certainly flagged this information and realised that if I were to become a businessman, I would have to get experience at the sharp end, e.g. selling. I decided to take steps.

It may seem astounding but in the early ’50s, management training and sales training virtually did not exist.

Training was ‘on the job’ – you learned by experience over months and years which is why promotion was based on age and time with the company. Many people joined a company from school at 14 and stayed with that company until retirement. This particularly applied to the Quaker companies like Fry’s, Cadbury’s and Reckitt & Colman. These were frequently called ‘copper-bottomed’ jobs because of their security.

Such companies looked after their employees in so far as they would provide housing, schools, social clubs, etc. I know in the case of Reckitt & Colman, they would even pay for the funeral of employees and their families!

My situation was that if I could not progress to management without selling experience and Heinz would not let me sell for them, I would have to look elsewhere. I was fortunate to find an embryo training course being run as an evening class at the Ilford Literary Institute which used the Ilford County High School for Girls 149

premises in Cranbrook Road. It was sponsored by an organisation called the United Kingdom Commercial Travellers’ Association who provided a Diploma on successful completion of two parts of the course; Selling and Sales Organisation (basic Sales Management).

I signed up and went along every Thursday evening, thoroughly enjoying every minute. Our tutor, Norman MacGrath, was the Sales Manager of a soft drinks company. He was enthusiastic and obviously an accomplished salesman. In me, he had a very willing pupil. I told Jim Anderson what I was doing and had his support so when it came to selling practice, I would borrow a Heinz bag plus samples and price lists and use this to make realistic presentations. The following spring, I sat the examination (and an oral presentation) in London and passed. Then I started studying for Part 2.

Meanwhile, at the beginning of 1954, Heinz ran a National Conference for branch chief clerks and regional chief clerks. This gave me the opportunity of meeting all my Southern Region chief clerks to whom I had written and telephoned but never met. The usual group photograph was taken and we had a dinner at the Green Man, Wembley, followed by a show, Humpty Dumpty on Ice. On my birthday, 16 January, I went to see another show. This was performed by the Co-operative Drama Group in Leman Street, London E, and featured Maureen who enjoyed amateur dramatics.

Our Wedding The 29 January 1954 was an important date as at 8.30pm we had an appointment with the Rev R.R.Osbourne, the vicar of All Saints Church in Goodmayes Lane (where I was christened) to discuss our forthcoming wedding, planned for Saturday, 3 April 1954. I have to mention that this date was carefully chosen as the income tax year ended on 5 April!

For newly-weds, this meant a tax refund of all tax paid during that year so the closer you got to the 5 April, the greater the refund. This was not to be missed. It is also worth recording that among the wedding costs, there was a charge of £3.00 for the hire of the hall for the reception and £5.6s.9d (£5.39p) for the choir. All was agreed and we went to evening services for the next few weeks to hear the Banns called.

Time was starting to gather pace. We had our engagement celebration on 31 January 1954 and were actively looking for a flat, as we could certainly not afford a house. On 3 February, we phoned a Mrs Phippard of 18, Balfour Road, Ilford about a furnished flat and we visited her on Saturday, 6 March. It was the upstairs of her house and consisted of a front lounge, bedroom, bathroom and kitchen-diner. In the kitchen was a small cast-iron stove. I found a small hole in the floor by this stove and placed a bar of washing soap over it. When we returned, a mouse had chewed a hole in the soap!

In March, the pressure increased as the big day approached. On the 7 March, Jean and Bernard were invited to Maureen’s home to discuss arrangements – Bernard as best man and Jean as chief bridesmaid.

On 13 March, I ordered my suit from Burton’s (an aptly chosen name as I was marrying Maureen Burton). It was made to measure and cost around £8. On the same day, the cars were booked and we made another trip to my father’s store at Walthamstow to buy the wedding ring. It was 18ct white gold and cost £6.15s.0d (£6.07p). On 25 March, I went to Ciro’s in Regent Street and bought Maureen a wedding present of pearls which cost £3.12s.6d (£3.62p). The 27 and 28 March were spent decorating the flat. The rent was £6.6s.0d per month and I still have that rent book from what was our first home.

Jim Anderson sent a memo to all the branch managers suggesting a 10/- (50p) donation and that, together with the rest of the staff, provided us with a wedding gift although we can’t remember what it was! Maureen’s firm gave us a very attractive Aynesley bone china tea service and a delicate glass jug and water set. Our gift from Maureen’s parents was a canteen of cutlery and my parents provided a dining room suite with a cocktail cabinet that lit up, no less! In the fifties, this was so cool! We had many other presents and felt ourselves very fortunate.

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I cannot remember having a ‘stag’ night – I couldn’t afford to throw a party anyway – but I believe I went out for a drink with Bernard. In those times, ‘night life’ didn’t exist. During the week, pubs shut at 10.30pm and there were no nightclubs so most people were home and in bed by 11pm. That applied equally to us and I believe, having checked over the final details, I was home just after 10.30pm. Today, it would probably be called ‘pressure’, in my day it was called excitement and I don’t think I slept particularly well that night. I was thinking of the next day; of our life together and of our future. Maureen was everything to me and I wanted to be worthy of that challenge.

At this time, most people had a bath once a week, usually on a Friday, hence the term that Friday night was bath night. Showers were almost unheard of, apart from those at swimming pools. Weddings were an exception to the general rule and most brides and bridegrooms would have a bath on the day of their wedding – probably to feel clean physically and psychologically to mark their new beginning.

Having dressed in my new suit (another new beginning!), the car arrived at 11am. This was it! I can remember waving to neighbours as it drove off. Time to think. Time to contemplate. Time to look to the future. Bernard and I took our places and the guests began to assemble around us, talking in hushed whispers. My parents were sitting just behind together with my grandparents (they had been married in that church too) and on the other side of the aisle were Maureen’s mother and brothers.

The choir was in place and the vicar was waiting. Suddenly the church became silent – there was an air of expectancy and out of the silence, the sound of the organ filled the whole building. It was the wedding march. Maureen, together with her father and the bridesmaids, Jean, Maureen’s cousin Carol and my stepcousin, Yvonne, had arrived and were proceeding up the aisle. What were my feelings at that moment? They were mixed, I must admit. Joy, excitement and a sense of whether I was worthy of the occasion but, above all, although I would have found it difficult to have explained it at that time, I had a feeling that this was a spiritual experience. In the church there was a presence which I did not understand but which I could somehow feel. Of course, it seemed to disappear as the ceremony progressed although it returned when we knelt and the vicar said prayers over us.

I can remember walking back down the aisle with Maureen on my arm. We smiled at the guests and were obviously very happy. As we walked through the doors at the end, a guard of honour from the 4F Squadron, Air Training Corps – my squadron – met us. They were called smartly to attention and looked immaculate with their blancoed white belts. I felt humbled that these cadets, whom I was helping to train, should be willing to give up part of their Saturday to attend our wedding. It was a wonderful moment. Then we were deluged with confetti which seemed to get everywhere.

My friend from the hospital, Percy Chappell, was there to take the photographs. I felt so proud of the occasion, that Maureen, standing beside me, was now my wife and that I had a responsibility towards her and our future together. It was almost a combination of euphoria and fear. Would I be a good husband and able to meet the commitments I had just made? Time alone would tell.

After the usual photographs, the wedding party adjourned to the parish hall next door for the wedding breakfast. I have a feeling it was soup followed by ham salad and a desert. Bernard read out the telegrams and we cut the wonderful wedding cake. After the usual toasts and replies, it was all over. Maureen changed into her going away outfit and at 3.45pm the car arrived to take us to Goodmayes station. Our destination was the Downs Hotel in Babbacombe, near Torquay.

We had a seat booked in the restaurant car on the train. It was virtually full of newly-weds. We had a young couple sitting opposite us and he was obviously out to impress his bride, and us! Ordering tomato juice as a starter, the waiter asked whether he wanted Worcester Sauce. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded vigorously. The waiter asked how much and he kept nodding until his tomato juice looked more like Brown Windsor soup. Having been taken in so far, we looked in amazement as he raised the glass to his mouth.

Not for long! One sip and he choked, gasped and changed colour to bright red. The waiter looked amused 151

The wedding of Eric and Maureen Parrish 3 April 1954 Left to right: Grandma (Paddy) Parrish, Grandfather Albert Parrish, my mother Mildred Parrish,Bernard Read (best man), Jean Rayner (bridesmaid), my father Archibald Parrish, groom, bride, Brian Burton (brother-in-law), Yvonne Parrish (bridesmaid), George Burton (brother-in-law), Maureen’s cousin (bridesmaid), Albert Burton (father-in-law), May Burton (mother-in-law)

too! Needless to say, he only took that one sip! The rest of the journey was uneventful, and we spent the time chatting to other newly weds going on honeymoon.

We arrived at the hotel in the evening and found that other couples arriving had been on the same train as us. Altogether, there were five other couples which is not surprising as, for tax reasons, it was the most popular day for weddings in the whole year.

The hotel was small but comfortable and we had a pleasant week. We toured around and enjoyed some good tennis at the Palace Hotel, Torquay which had a large indoor court – the first time that we had played on one. The week in the Downs Hotel was £16.16s.0d full board for both of us.

During that week we visited various places including Totnes, Buckfastleigh and Ashburton. On the Friday we were invited to lunch at The Grand Hotel by the Plymouth Branch of Heinz. It was a great week and one where we enjoyed the novelty of our newly married status. Sadly, and all too soon, the time came to return to Ilford to start our married life. When we returned our total wealth was £5 in my Post Office Savings Bank account.

Our first home was the partly furnished flat at 18, Balfour Road, Ilford. Mrs D A Phippard, the owner, was an elderly and lonely lady and appeared slightly aloof. She had a son who was a captain in the army who, when he came to see her, was equally aloof. We were given a rent book and required to pay one month (4 weeks) in advance. The rent was £12.12s.0d. (£12.60p) per month which was quite a lot out of my salary at that time. Fortunately, Maureen was working so we were able to meet our expenses.

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The flat was on the first floor and consisted of a lounge in the front of the house, a bedroom in the middle and a kitchen in the rear plus a toilet and bathroom. The bathroom had to be shared with Mrs Phippard. We had bought a large highly polished walnut veneered bedroom suite which filled the rather small bedroom.

The kitchen was really a back room that had a stove and sink. There was also a table and two chairs. The centre piece was the small, ancient, cast-iron stove which, if lit, would billow forth clouds of smoke.

Of course, there was no central heating in those days, only electric or gas fires although coal fires were used by most people. Similarly, fridges and washing machines were almost unheard of. Washing was either done at home in the sink by hand or, as was becoming popular, it was taken to the launderette where for 2/6d (12 1/2p) one could wash an eight pounds (four kilo) load.

Our lounge was partly furnished with the dining room suite and Mrs Phippard lent us a couple of easy chairs, so we had a modicum of comfort.

As we were close to central Ilford, we had no problems with shopping. Ilford Market and Sainsbury’s were close by. One story which we have laughed about often concerns one of our first evening meals. Maureen, the new housewife, was practising (literally!) her culinary skills and was surprised to find that she didn’t have many potatoes after mashing them. Not surprising as she had mashed them in the colander!

Those early married days were great fun. We had little money as we were saving what we could, but we played tennis for the local RAF Association and had many friends. I was still active in the Air Training Corps and, on some evenings, Maureen would come after Parade and play table tennis with some of the cadets.

They never beat her but they kept trying. I had been keen on fencing and I started a fencing club and acted as their instructor. This became well known locally and was reported in the local paper, The Ilford Recorder.

I was still enjoying working at Heinz but something inside was telling me that I needed to leave. I knew that my progress at Heinz would be limited unless I became a salesman and there was little chance of that. I had started my classes in salesmanship so the next requirement would be to learn to drive. I signed on with the Romford Driving School and had to get a bus to Romford and back for each lesson. My first lesson was on Saturday, 25 September 1954 at mid-day. All my classes had to be either in the evenings or at week-ends.

I learned on a Morris 8 saloon with an elderly instructor who was quite patient – remember the only other machines I had handled were aircraft which had a lot more space around them. I had 11 hours instruction; took my test on 5 November 1954 and passed. On my return to the Test Centre (near Cranbrook Road, Ilford), my instructor was delighted but made me get out of the car and I was not allowed to drive back to Romford. Apparently, it was a rule of the Driving School. I believe that my entire course had cost £8.00. A lot of money to us but it was to prove a worthwhile investment.

I was now seeking a new job, hopefully nearer to home, when I saw an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph for a firm called Macarthys in Romford. I was called for an interview to meet a director, Ken Holland. The job was in their sales office covering their fast-growing pharmaceutical wholesale operation.

Ken Holland listened to my career background very patiently. When I had finished, he said, “I’m not going to offer you a job because you’d be wasted here”. I was amazed. What did he mean? He then passed a copy of the Pharmaceutical Journal (PJ) and said, “Find yourself a job in there as a medical representative. That will give you a real opportunity. Let me know how you get on.”. He then explained very briefly the role of a medical representative. Suddenly, I realised that this was the opportunity that I needed. My background in medicine, knowledge of doctors and my classes in salesmanship fitted together perfectly. Ken Holland offered to act as my mentor in my new career. He was as good as his word and we became firm friends until he died in the late ’90s. We even spent time with him and his wife, Elsie, in their cottage in Norfolk.

Looking through the PJ, I found a company, Sharp and Dohme Ltd looking for medical representatives. I applied and was offered an interview with the Sales Manager, a John H. Fingerhut, who quizzed me thoroughly on my background and how I would conduct myself in certain situations. I was asked about selling and sales 153

territories. The net result was that on 7 December 1954, a letter arrived offering me a job as a medical representative with Sharp and Dohme Ltd covering Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridge. The bad news was that it was on foot! I would be eligible for a car after 6 months with the company. On 14 December 1954, I received a letter giving details of the appointment. The salary would be ÂŁ500 per annum plus all reasonable expenses. I would commence a training class at the company in Hoddesdon on 3 January 1955 and accommodation had been reserved for me at the Broxbourne Country Club from Sunday 2 January until 28 January 1955. I handed in my notice to Heinz on 17 December and my last day was Christmas Eve 1954.

In some ways I was sad but life appeared promising and I was looking forward to an exciting New Year. We had a great Christmas!

Apart from the euphoria of the new career in a field which I enjoyed so much, namely medicine, there were practical considerations. I was going to be living away from home during training and then every week in my new job. This was the downside. We discussed it with our parents and it was agreed that we should put our home into store; Maureen would live with her parents during the week and we would both live with my parents when I was home at week-ends. So, on Saturday 1 January 1955 (New Year’s Day was not a holiday then) a removal van came and collected our chattels and took them into store. Our married life was being disrupted, but we knew it was the long term future that was important.

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—18— Changes in Business

I

of the changes in business practice from the on-the-job approach to the professionalism we have now. It is interesting to see how business has changed in relatively few years. was on the cusp

When I started in the early fifties, there was virtually no formal business training available. Diplomas and degrees in management, marketing and media studies and other professional subjects were unheard of and the MBA was light years away!

Some employers took advantage of young people in terms of their working conditions, pay and excessive hours. Politeness was essential and they never answered back – they did as they were told!

So how did people progress? By age and experience. When you could do the job, you had to wait until the one above got promoted, retired or died! People would often spend their entire working lives with one company and long service gold watches were common and, in return, companies would look after their employees. My grandfather spent virtually his whole working life with gas retort engineers, Gibbons Bros, and even when in his late 80s they would send a car for him once a year to have lunch with the directors.

Business practice was different in this sense. Companies were not so greedy. Provided a company maintained a reasonable profit, all was well. The need for a continual and highly progressive annual increase in sales and profits was not expected. More emphasis was placed on people and I can remember the first definition of the Purpose of a Business that I heard. It was to make a profit and provide employment. How that has changed!

Another aspect concerns the range of products or activities of a company. These were clearly defined. It was not considered right to encroach on other areas of business outside your own – everyone needed to make a living. Therefore, you would only buy postage stamps in a post office or food in a grocery store which, in turn, would not consider selling bread or, say, wines and spirits. The latter was the province of the off-licence. This had the advantage that individual shops would have specialist knowledge and a wider range of products. For example, a hardware shop would have an enormous range of screws, nuts, bolts, nails, hinges, whereas the modern store or supermarket only stocks the best selling lines. The staff had time and were prepared to spend time with the customer and give advice. This ‘encroachment’ argument applies to industry which can produce entirely different ranges of products or services.

Product pricing is an interesting one too. It is very different now from when I started. Today the price charged needn’t, and frequently doesn’t, bear any relationship to the intrinsic value of the product or service. In my time, the price charged was composed of materials cost, labour cost and overhead cost, to which an acceptable profit margin was added. Now, the primary consideration is what is the maximum the customer/ client will pay? From that starting point, one calculates the potential margin that can be obtained. It has been estimated that, spectacles from a high street optician can have a gross profit of 1000%. The same applies to professional organisations and consultancies who can charge very high fees which the client invariably accepts.

Competition helps to provide a certain balancing action as companies are prepared to sacrifice part of their margin to get business. Nowadays, customers have become highly resistant to paying the asking price whereas in the fifties, prices were fixed and there was no discount. Price fixing is now illegal.

The late ’40s and early ’50s saw the first movement towards training. I experienced this when I attended the business course at Hull University sponsored by the RAF. Apart from lectures on banking, personnel etc, 155

there was emphasis on TWI – Training Within Industry. This was the buzz phrase of the day and was probably the start of a revolution in company attitudes towards business.

I was interested in training because I needed it and felt it would be the key to my personal progress.

As mentioned earlier, I had been studying the UKCTA (United Kingdom Commercial Travellers’ Association) – now defunct – Diploma Course in Salesmanship and had scored 87%, the highest mark, at the Ilford Literary Institute December 1954 exams. In April 1955, I took the Salesmanship examination, both written and oral, in London and passed. The following year, I took the second part, Sales Organisation, and passed to obtain my Diploma. This was elementary sales management and it was unique. At the time, it was the only training course run by a non-commercial organisation. The only professional training was operated by a company named Tack which was an expensive, residential course. With my diploma and the company training, I was probably one of the most highly trained sales representatives in the country – and it showed as will be seen later!

So how did salesmen, frequently known as commercial travellers, get selected and operate? They needed to be of mature age, be presentable and be able to get on with people. This latter was often called having the ‘gift of the gab’. Apart from that, nothing! If they worked for a commercial company, they may be invited to become a ‘traveller’ because of their knowledge of the business, but could they sell? It may sound unbelievable today, but it was not unusual to recruit ‘travellers’, give them a price list, samples if applicable, a territory and, maybe, a tour of the factory or warehouse. After that they were sent ‘on the road’. When one considers the investment (salary, commission, car, hotels, and expenses) it was a highly risky business as these men (very rarely women) were responsible for the success or failure of the company. Products earn nothing sitting on a shelf, in fact they cost money. There was a true saying that in industry, nothing happens until something is sold. Still true today.

Sales management was probably worse. Not only were the salesmen not trained, but there was no training for managers. Frequently, the best salesman became the sales manager but, although an excellent salesman, and happy in that role, he may make an appalling manager – and often did. I met many. Good salesmen who became rude, demanding and unpleasant sales managers to their sales force. They had the effect of demotivating their team; sales figures dropped and staff left, so they whipped the remaining ones harder and the vicious circle continued. And all because they were a square peg in a round hole!

There was no professional association apart from the Incorporated Sales Managers Association (known as ISMA). It was founded in 1911. The qualification for membership was to be a member of sales management.

Members could put certain letters after their name depending on their job – area manager, sales manager or sales director. They became an Associate, Member or Fellow. In effect, I felt it was little more than a club or talking shop as well as a status symbol. I hasten to add that when the opportunity arose, I too became a member but ISMA became the shell organisation for what is now probably the best professional marketing body in the world. More of that later.

The UKCTA was changing too. From being more of a welfare association offering members various benefits such as their Unemployment Society, Benefit Society and the Commercial Travellers’ Schools (for the children of deceased commercial travellers), they decided that selling needed to become professionalized. I was in on the ground floor and helped to upgrade the professionalism of salesmen as will be seen later. In fact, I became an examiner for both parts of the UKCTA Diploma examination.

Every June over 100 examination papers would arrive and I had about a month in which to complete the marking. This was in addition to my ordinary work. The examination attracted many overseas students and the answers to some questions could be interesting. The terms ‘market’ and ‘marketing’ were only just starting to appear so were sometimes interpreted depending on which country the student came from. An answer to a question dealing with the fundamentals of marketing could start, “I set up my stall in the market place......” This could be followed by a description of the actual stall and what was being offered for sale!

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—19— The New Challenge

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from Liverpool Street Station on Monday, 3 January 1955, I arrived at Hoddesdon Station ready for the start of my training course which was to last for the whole month. During that period, I would be staying at The Broxbourne Country Club which sounded impressive, but it turned out to be a somewhat run-down and seedy establishment. In addition, the weather was very cold with heavy morning frosts and the place did not have effective central heating. r av e l l i n g b y t r a i n

I had joined a company named Sharp and Dohme Limited (S&D), a subsidiary of an American company which had been established in the UK for some years. The site included an office block linked to the production unit which was housed in what appeared to be two Nissan huts. All seemingly basic but the standards were high.

There were three of us on the course including one chap from the Irish Company. The introduction by John Fingerhut, the Sales Manager, laid the foundations for the next four weeks, gave us the background to the company and introduced us to various senior members of the company. Our course would cover three aspects namely, product knowledge, sales training including territory organisation and administration as follows:Product Knowledge – We were given the pharmacology, presentation, efficacy and clinical trial background of the products and where they fitted in with treatments for areas in which we were involved and much of this was undertaken by our medical director, Dr. Tapley. Throughout the course we had exams where the required pass rate was expected to be 90%+.

In 1954, there were relatively few antibiotics and the main two were penicillin and streptomycin. Streptomycin was principally used for treating tuberculosis. Penicillin was used for many other infections but it was not the drug of choice for many doctors. The sulphonamides were still widely used. These were developed from the first sulphonamide (M&B 693) which was discovered and used during the 1939-45 war. S&D had not only developed a range of these sulphonamides but produced pleasant tasting suspensions which were acceptable to adults and children alike. They had the preface ‘Cremo’ so we had such names as Cremodiazine, Cremotresamide, and Cremosuxidine. As these treated infections, my background in bacteriology was valuable.

Other products that were well known were Tyrozets and Sucrets which were widely prescribed and sold over the counter in pharmacies. We were also required to study the standard treatments for a range of conditions and competitive products. Once again, my hospital background proved very useful and even more so when I started contacting the medical profession. At that time, there were not many pharmaceutical companies employing medical representatives and most of them would only engage pharmacists. I felt this was a mistake as these people may be qualified as pharmaceutical chemists but, at that time, did not necessarily know much about clinical medicine or treating patients, whereas I had experience in both fields. If a particular bacterial infection was being discussed, I knew the bacteria as I had seen it and dealt with it; if a blood condition was mentioned, I had experience in practical haematology etc.

Sales Training – Doctors were busy people, often running busy practices from their homes; frequently single-handed without a receptionist. Sometimes their wives would fulfil that role. So different from today’s medical centres. Apart from the daytime, doctors could be called out, often more than once, during the night. All this meant that the medical representative’s visit needed to be structured so as not to waste the doctor’s time – he had to be concise and brief.

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Doctor interviews were known as medical detailing and this was what our sales training involved. How to introduce your product; how to answer questions about it; how it was presented; the dosage and the cost.

From the technical product information, we were taught how to convert it into a presentable format. We would practise these ‘interviews’ within the group to ensure that they were accurate.

Before we could make a call, it was necessary to find the location of the surgeries and the surgery hours.

We could only call during these times and we endeavoured to see six doctors each day.

In some areas, all the surgeries were held between 9 – 10am which made the target almost impossible as the representative had to wait his turn with the patients. Obviously, good territory planning was vital so one needed local maps and surgery hours. I found it useful to mark all surgeries on the maps so that a route could be devised. There was one essential to success. If one wanted to attain the target, a good daily start was essential. If the first call was 9am, I needed to be first in so that by 9.05am, I was on my way to the next call. This meant that I had to be at my first call by 8.30am and hope that the doctor would start on time.

After our GP calls, we were expected to visit hospitals to see the consultants and registrars. In some ways, this was similar as we would call at outpatient clinics where interviews were usually obtained at the end of the clinic.

With this type of promotion, the doctor would prescribe and the pharmacist (either hospital or retail) would dispense, usually from supplies obtained from the local wholesaler. An important part of our work was to make courtesy calls on pharmacies where we had been detailing to alert the pharmacists that they may be receiving prescriptions for our products. I was responsible for four wholesalers in my area.

The principles of sales training and territory organisation, I had covered while working for Heinz and at my evening classes, so these aspects did not present a problem.

Administration – We were told the company requirements concerning territory administration. We had to submit a Route List a week in advance giving our specific address for each day. We had a binder which contained a Routing Form for each doctor, marked with a diary so that we could record our visits, and a Daily Report to be sent to head office giving an account of our calls. There were other forms, the most important of which was the weekly Expense Account! The allowance was up to 5/-d (25p) per day for lunch which was surprisingly adequate in 1954. If staying away, there was an hotel allowance of £3 per night and 7/6d (37.5p) for dinner. Again adequate.

Where a car was supplied, the company paid the running costs but charged 2d (1p) per mile for private mileage. There was an allowance of 10/-d (50p) per week for a garage.

Daily Reports were required to be on the Sales Manager’s desk at 9am each day. The Post Office was different in those days. For example, the last collection in Norwich was at 9pm. On a number of occasions, when I got back late from ‘country’ visits, I had to catch the 9pm post and it apparently always arrived first post in Hoddesdon the next morning. There was no first or second class post either!

Our course was not easy. We started at 9.30am finishing at 5pm with ten minute breaks for morning coffee and afternoon tea and one hour for lunch. The day was divided into four sessions, principally taken by the Area Manager, Doug Colley, John Fingerhut and Dr. Tapley. Our evenings were spent studying although if we got ahead, we would take some time off.

On one such evening, we took our Irish colleague, Jim, to London and had a meal in a Soho restaurant, Genarro’s. This created a problem for Jim when he ordered creamed potatoes. In this Italian restaurant, the waiter did not understand but after Jim repeated it several times, he nodded and disappeared returning sometime later with our order. He served boiled potatoes on Jim’s plate then produced a cream jug and poured the contents on the potatoes! Fortunately, I cannot remember Jim’s comments, but they were choice!

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It didn’t put us off though as we paid another visit to Genarro’s. We combined each trip with a show. Once we saw “Wedding in Paris” and on another occasion, “The King and I”. These visits were enjoyable and provided much needed relaxation.

On our last Friday, 28 January 1955, we had the final exam covering the whole course which we all passed.

After lunch, I met the local Essex representative, Stan Knight, who had been called in to give me advice. I had been given what records there were for Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridge and Stan was most helpful.

When in Ilford at weekends, we used to meet for a coffee and a chat as he lived locally in Barkingside.

Stan kindly drove me home complete with my suitcase, stationery and various other items. When I reached my parents' home and they opened the front door, I couldn’t believe it. Their hall was piled high with boxes of samples and literature. What would I do with it all? They were non-plussed too! Needless to say, I spent the weekend sorting out the boxes and deciding what literature and samples I needed for the forthcoming week, as well as reviewing the three counties which composed my territory. It was interesting to note that Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridge had always been known as the salesman’s graveyard, so I had accepted a real challenge.

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—20— My First Territory

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o n d ay ,

3 1 J a n u a r y 1 9 5 5 saw me ready to leave with about eight large cardboard boxes, my company grip (a large brief case) packed with samples and literature and weighing 12-14 lbs, plus a large suitcase. A taxi to Ilford station and then porters (yes, railway stations had porters then!) to get the load on to the platform and then on to the train. Arriving at Liverpool Street station, more porters were needed to transfer this load to the Norwich train which left at 8.30am, arriving at 11.29am.

The journey to Norwich was uneventful and gave me time to reflect on events. My training was behind me and I had acquitted myself well. I had a job which I was excited about and in which I had experience and interest, but I was heading into the unknown! This aspect of the journey may seem surprising to you. From my background, I had been involved with treating the sick (probably this was the forerunner that led to my later involvement in healing) and as the train sped from Essex into Suffolk, I felt that I now had the responsibility for the health of the people of the three counties as far as S&D products were concerned. Does that sound pompous? It’s not meant to, but it was the way I felt, and it continued throughout my career in the health care industry. I took my job seriously and if a drug was used incorrectly following my discussion with a doctor, I regarded it as a reflection on me and I felt responsible.

If a doctor decided to prescribe a product for a specific patient, I would follow this up on my next visit to hear the result which we would discuss. From my hospital experience, I had a reasonable clinical background, and I was adding to this every day.

My approach worked so I must have come across as sincere and knowledgeable, and someone whom the doctor felt could contribute to his practice. I would like to think so. As time went on, I would be welcomed and over a cigarette (yes, smoking was acceptable then) and a cup of coffee, doctors and I would discuss medical conditions, patients and products. Often, I was in a position to pass on useful suggestions gleaned from other doctors (anonymously, of course) which had proved helpful in their practice.

I even reached the stage later in my career as a medical representative where the confidence was such that doctors would discuss individual patients and ask whether I would recommend a particular product and its dosage. I always took such situations responsibly and would only recommend if I really felt there could be a positive benefit for the patient. Naturally, I followed up, which was appreciated by the doctor and helped to build confidence even further. I even saw patients on a few occasions. To me, this was the pinnacle of success and gave me great job satisfaction. But we are getting too far ahead. Let’s get back to my arrival in Norwich.

The company had booked a hotel in Norwich for a couple of weeks after which I was on my own. More porters and another taxi saw me arrive at the hotel in Unthank Road. What an interesting hotel! A real time warp! It was a converted Victorian house and the whole place was sombre and just about warm. Brown paint and brown lino alleviated by fawn and brown runners and mats. I was taken to my room which had an iron bedstead, fawn curtains, brown lino (of course) and a thin, light brown mat about 2ft x 1ft by the side of the bed. There was no central heating but a small, one bar, electric fire in the fireplace which required 1/-d (5p) pieces in a slot meter to use it. There was a wash basin in the corner but no toilet. Like many hotels of this period, toilets and in many cases, wash basins were communal – down the corridor! It could be very frustrating if one wanted to shave and the bathroom was occupied and there was a queue.

I had some lunch and, with the aid of a street map started planning. I found that there was a local surgery that afternoon and only a short walk away. So, grip packed, I set off on my first call. How would I fare? Not 160

too badly. He was an elderly doctor, quite polite but of the old school who wasn’t that interested in modern drugs. Still, it was a good start considering this was my first call. Then I went on to see another doctor; made a hospital call; two chemists and I visited the two wholesalers in Norwich. Seven in all. Not bad for my first afternoon.

The weather was frosty and it later started to snow. I was on foot and either had to walk or use public transport. I amassed a collection of street maps, bus and railway timetables and all my territory planning had to be linked to them with walking distances between surgeries. When I left in the morning, I had to carry enough samples and literature – I could not go back during the day.

When fully packed my grip was heavy. My overcoat pockets were filled to capacity so the coat was heavy too. Breakfast was around 7am so that I could leave in time to get to my first call by 8.30am. The success of the day would depend on how many patients were waiting in front of me and how long each consultation took. For the first month, I had to send a written daily report on my activities. This was to give head office an indication of my progress and possible problems. One day, having walked round all day in snow with a biting east wind, I was really cold when I got back to the hotel which, itself, was not much warmer. At that time, the “Abominable Snowman” (based on the Himalayan Yeti) was popular, so I signed off my Daily Report as “The Abominable Salesman” which I heard later created a laugh in Hoddesdon – I’m glad they saw the joke from their warm offices! A sense of humour was an important asset.

One thing I always did throughout my time as a medical representative was to pack my grip each night and plan my calls for the next day even when I knew my territory like the back of my hand. The day’s effort was to concentrate on the job to be done and not to decide where to go in the morning! This principle was worth one and possibly two calls per day and as it was calls that were fundamental to selling products, that was where the priority must lie.

Added to this change of occupation and lifestyle of living away from home and Maureen, there was the pressing problem that I had to find somewhere to live in Norwich whilst we looked for a home. I decided that I would have to find ‘digs’. I got the name of a Mrs Archer who lived in a row of small terraced houses opposite the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital not that far from my hotel. The Monday after I arrived in Norwich I called to see her in the evening. It was a tiny house and very clean. She was a widow who used to run a mobile snack-bar with her husband, close to the castle. She had one other lodger who worked for Colman’s in their production department.

The only room available was in the attic. There was a brass double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers on top of which sat a wash basin complete with jug, candle stick, candle and matches. The slope of the steep roof reduced the room size. There was no electric fire. The bed and the room were spotless so this would be it!

We agreed weekly terms for dinner, bed and breakfast – I say ‘agreed’ – there wasn’t much agreeing – Mrs Archer laid down her terms in no uncertain fashion. She accepted a reduced rate to keep the room available when I was staying away.

Another taxi and all my gear was transferred. To get to my attic room, there was a slim door on the landing behind which was a flight of very steep stairs. At 7am precisely, she would open the door, leave a jug of hot water on the bottom step and give me a call. My room was cut off from what little heat there was in the house and it was freezing with ice on the windows. As much as I wanted to stay in bed, I knew that I had to get up because that jug of hot water would soon get cold and there wouldn’t be any more. As it was, it lost most of its heat being poured into the bowl. Dressing in my icy clothes, I would wash and shave as fast as possible to prevent my face becoming chapped.

Breakfast was at 7.30am and dinner at 6.00pm. It was put on the table and if you weren’t there, it was! That was the rule. I have to say, however, that Mrs Archer was a fabulous cook. All the food was fresh, fantastically cooked and served in massive portions. A cooked breakfast every morning and a superb meal at night. Her steak and kidney puddings were out of this world. So was everything else she produced along with her 161

desserts. I became very fond of Mrs Archer. Beneath her apparent hard exterior, she really had a heart of gold. One felt that she had not had an easy life and had developed her disciplined approach through necessity rather than choice.

After two weeks in Norwich, I went home for the week-end to stay at my parents’ home. Maureen left her parents to join me. It was pleasant enough, but we no longer had a home of our own. On the Saturday morning, we went into Ilford where I met Stan Knight (the Essex representative) in Lyons Teashop for a coffee. We discussed my first two weeks and sorted out a number of my problems. He was most helpful in my early days and even if we didn’t meet, we would chat on the phone.

The following week I visited other parts of Norfolk, spending a day in each of Diss, Wymondham, Attleborough, North Walsham and Dereham. The exciting part of the week was that Maureen was coming to spend the weekend in Norwich and we were going to look for properties. She arrived at Norwich Thorpe station at 8pm and we stayed at my lodgings. She loved Mrs Archer’s cooking but couldn’t believe the temperature of the bedroom! We looked at some new bungalows but were not impressed. In the evening, we went to see Peter Pan with actress/comedienne, Barbara Kelly.

Maureen had to go back on the Sunday. I went with her to the station and returned feeling quite dejected.

We weren’t having much of a married life. Our furniture was in store with some items being left with our parents. I was away all week; she was with her parents during the week, and then had to move to my parents at the week-end. On the walk back, I began to wonder how long it would be before we could get a home together.

The next week, I was booked into the Royal Hotel, Great Yarmouth whilst I covered Great Yarmouth and Gorleston and the following week I was at The Crown and Anchor in Ipswich. It was there that I heard from the company that I was to get a car and I should report to Hoddesdon to collect it at 2pm on Friday, 4 February 1955. This was fantastic news. I was delighted. It would make the job and my life so much easier.

There was another aspect too. I had only been on the road for a month out of the six required to qualify so the company must have been reasonably well satisfied with what I was doing. So, with great joy, I caught the 11.01am from Ipswich to Liverpool Street and arrived at Hoddesdon to be handed the keys to a green Hillman Minx. I was thrilled but at the same time had some trepidation because I had not driven since I took my driving test and this car was a lot more modern that the one I had learned on.

After the Area Manager and the Sales Manager discussed my progress, I suggested that someone might like to instruct me on the car but no such luck. So I had no option but to get in and drive to Ilford!

Getting out of the car park was the first challenge. There was a bend and a steep slope to the road which meant a hill start followed by a right turn. Slowly I made my way into Hoddesdon and then set course towards London – very gingerly at first as I got used to the instruments and controls.

As I gained confidence, I decided that I would collect Maureen from Crown Wallpapers, Allan Cockshut Branch, in Bow, where she worked as secretary to the Director and Commercial Manager. I parked in the yard and various people came out to see me and the car. All went well until we came to leave. The yard was small and it required a lot of manipulating to get out as I was facing the wrong way. To add to my problems, many of Maureen’s friends stood watching as the company chauffeur gave me instructions! Another slope; another hill start and we were away. Maureen was delighted and I was proud, particularly as we drew up and parked outside my parents’ home. We spent the weekend driving round and unashamedly showing off to friends and Maureen’s parents.

In those days cars were not left in the road at night. It was illegal to park a car without lights which would drain the battery if left on for too long. Fortunately, a neighbour had an empty garage and I could park it in there. The car was a comfortable saloon but totally different from modern cars. Car radios didn’t exist; built-in car heaters didn’t exist; windscreen washers didn’t exist and nor did heated windscreens. Can you 162

imagine a car without a heater? Using your imagination let me take you back to the fifties. Driving with frost was bad enough but snow was more difficult. It was necessary to drive with a window open otherwise one’s breath would condense as ice on the inside of the windscreens both back and front and the windows. When this happened, one would need to stop and scrape the ice off outside and inside. Already cold from driving in a non-heated car, one’s fingers would soon go numb removing the ice in the bitter wind. Snow would tend to blow in through the open window and settle on the driver and in the car. Sometimes it was necessary to stop every few miles to remove ice, stamp my feet and clap my hands to restore some circulation.

Early ‘demisters’, as they were known, were heating elements sealed in a plastic sheet that was secured to the windscreen by suckers. The demisters were powered from the battery. These were followed by heating elements within the glass windscreens which were an improvement. Without windscreen washers, it was sometimes necessary to get out frequently to clean the windscreens using a damp cloth or leather.

It can be seen, therefore, that driving in winter could be very unpleasant and even potentially dangerous as drivers wore thick coats, scarves, hats and thick gloves, all of which could impede their movements, particularly when the driver was cold. Car radios were virtually unheard of and when they started to appear, were very expensive. The advent of the portable battery radio was the beginning of mass radios in cars. It was necessary to have an aerial so motorists would hang a wire out of a window or, if more sophisticated, use a bent wire coat hanger! Reception was often lost when changing direction.

My car had an elementary heater fitted. It must have been one of the earliest and was situated beneath the dashboard between the two front seats. It can best be described as a circular metal box about nine inches across and five inches deep. The ‘lid’ could rotate and had two flaps opposite one another. It was possible, therefore, to direct and control the output. The heater was powered by the battery and contained a circular heating element and a fan. It was not very efficient but better than nothing.

The car made all the difference. I could carry everything I needed, and I didn’t have to walk or rely on public services. I shall never forget one of my last ‘foot’ days. I was going to a Friday afternoon surgery at 2pm at Brundall, which was a bus ride from Norwich. The return bus left at 2.30pm. It was snowing hard and I arrived by bus just after 1.30pm to find a patient waiting. We got talking and she agreed to let me go in first so that I could catch the return bus. The doctor was late starting and decided he wanted to talk. His clock on the wall showed the minutes ticking by and I was concerned about the bus and the patient waiting outside. I finally got out at 2.25pm and got to the bus stop. No bus came. I waited and waited. The snow was falling heavily and I was getting colder. It was building up on the shoulders of my overcoat and my hat (men wore hats in those days) had over an inch of snow on it. My hands, despite my gloves, were so cold that I had to stand my grip in the snow. And still I waited. The bus arrived an hour late at 3.30pm. I staggered on board covered in snow and really cold. On enquiring about the delay, the driver said in his broad Norfolk dialect that the 2.30pm bus did not run in the school holidays!

During the next few weeks, I was able cover a wider area surrounding Ipswich, Kings Lynn and Cambridge.

If one is puts in effort, it is nice to see results but at that time it was difficult to get feed back as our products were sold through wholesalers and multiples like Boots and Co-ops etc who purchased centrally.

Nevertheless, results were beginning to show in the sales figures through my four wholesalers after only one tour of the territory.

Unfortunately, our personal circumstances were not improving. Although Maureen had made several visits, we had not found a place to live. On one visit, we decided to take Mrs Archer out. She never went far and to go in a car was a real treat. We took her to Cromer and walked along the seafront. It was a beautiful day, and we bought some fresh Cromer crabs, took them back and Mrs Archer produced a superb crab salad.

Fantastic!

That weekend we discussed our situation and during the next week I received a letter from Cerebos, a food company to whom I had applied when with Heinz. They offered me a job as a sales representative in East 163

London with a car. What a quandary! I loved my job but here was an offer which would solve our personal problems. After much discussion, we decided that I should accept it. I therefore contacted S&D explaining the circumstances. The response was immediate. I had to report to Hoddesdon forthwith. I would be for it!

The company had invested a lot of money in me and now I wanted to leave.

As it was, the interview was not like that. They reviewed my progress and were happy with it. Did I like the job? Of course. Would I prefer to stay with the company? Of course. Would I like the Essex territory? I could hardly believe my ears. I adored Essex. We could find a flat and I could live at home with the occasional night away. Perfect. I accepted with alacrity and we parted smiling all round. It was only as I was driving home that I suddenly wondered about Stan Knight, the Essex representative who had been so helpful. Had he got a better territory or been promoted even? I gave Maureen the good news and she was delighted. Our problems were nearly solved. I then phoned Stan Knight and asked what was happening to him. He said that he had been fired. I was dumbstruck and felt terrible. It turned out that he had been falsifying calls and not working. I did not feel as bad then as ours was a job of trust. There was no easy way to check the honesty of representative staff.

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—21— Selling Comes of Age

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one of my qualities, if I dare to use that term, is that if I become convinced in the virtues of a cause or product, I will devote my full attention and energies to it. This was certainly the case regarding my work in the pharmaceutical industry. If I felt that a particular drug or product would be of value in treating certain conditions and would help suitable patients, I would have no compunction in doing whatever I could to convince the doctor that the patient should receive that treatment and obtain the resulting benefits. s u p p o s e t h at

Of course, such an approach could not be made without knowing the medical condition to be treated, an in-depth knowledge of the product/s available and an assessment and belief that the patient would benefit (isn’t this what a doctor does all the time?). I believe that is what doctors, who are used to judging people, picked up from my approach and sincerity. I was always interested in specific cases which a doctor may have, I would take details and check results on my next visit. Over a period of time, the outcome would be that doctors accepted my sincerity and would ask whether I recommended a particular product. If I did, it would give them confidence to prescribe it. This will become apparent elsewhere.

This approach evolved from my hospital background plus my pharmaceutical training and provided the height of job satisfaction for me. Everyone was happy; the doctor, the patient and me! It also supported my belief (often discussed with medical representatives who were pharmacists and considered themselves superior!) that they may have had a good knowledge and training in pharmacy, but they lacked the background in clinical medicine that I felt was so important.

The Need to Improve Standards The above is an introduction to what later became a driving ambition – the need to develop and improve the standard of selling throughout the country and later in export markets. I had been fortunate enough to join an industry, and indeed a company, that paid great attention to product training and presentation. When I met sales staff from other companies and industries I was amazed at their lack of knowledge and professionalism. As fleetingly mentioned earlier, there was one sales training organisation called Tack, which offered a logical sales training course based on American sales techniques, but it was the exception. Initially, their courses were for those prepared to pay reasonably high fees. Certain American sales training films by Borden and Bussey were becoming available, but they were quite expensive and usually hired by one or two progressive companies who were becoming interested in training their sales forces. In general, there was apathy. There were no books, magazines or articles on selling. There was only one book on sales management (Sales Management by Bolling) and that was elementary.

The word, Marketing, had not been invented and the way that industry operated was to dream up a product, make it, fill their warehouse then send out their sales force to sell it (without training!). If it sold, they were lucky. If it did not, they chastised or sacked the sales force! It was only later that some bright individual thought of finding out first what his customers might want before making the product! These people became successful. The rest eventually went to the wall. This was the area of business that I was about to enter – and possibly do my best to change.

You may remember that having made the decision to enter selling whilst with H J Heinz, I went to evening classes to study selling (theoretical and practical) and to obtain my Diploma. The lecturer was Norman McGrath, Sales Manager of Solo Squashes. The sponsor was the United Kingdom Commercial Travellers’ Association (UKCTA) which I considered was the professional selling organisation in the UK. Not so.

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The UKCTA The UKCTA had started as a benevolent organisation to help commercial travellers, many of whom only received commission on their sales, with no salary. In some cases, they even had to pay their own expenses for travel, hotels, etc. The UKCTA had a Commercial Travellers’ Unemployment Society where members could subscribe varying amounts in shares to cover themselves against the risk of unemployment. The fund was run by members for members. It was subject to interest and at the end of each year; paid benefits were deducted along with expenditure for running the Society. The balance was divided between the members and credited as an Apportionment for each share held. Each member’s account was subject to compound interest and drawn as a lump sum at the age of 65. It will be seen that this was a very effective savings scheme giving members assistance if unemployed whilst at the same time providing a ‘nest egg’ for their retirement at a time when many received no pension at the end of their working life (apart from the old age pension of 50/-d [equal to 25p] per week).

There was a similar scheme for Sick Benefit as many companies did not pay staff who became ill. This scheme also had another advantage which meant members could borrow from the fund, at advantageous rates, for purchasing their house. The rates were far better that those offered by building societies. Again, the scheme offered a lump sum payable on the member’s 65th birthday. Depending on the number of years’ membership, the final sum could be many times the subscriptions paid during which time the member was covered for sickness. It was said that if someone tried to sell you a similar insurance and you said you were in this scheme, they would walk away. It happened to me once and they did!

Although the UKCTA is no more, the scheme still operates as the British Benefit Society. They no longer insist that the scheme is ended at the age of 65 and one can become a commuted member. Although one is no longer covered for sickness after this age, the apportionment and compound interest still apply and the return is greater than obtainable elsewhere. This is a great scheme, and I am still a commuted member at the time of writing.

There was one other scheme of note and this concerned The Royal Commercial Travellers’ Schools. The Schools (boarding and public school standard) were established to provide board and education for children who became fatherless. This scheme was open to all members and existed on voluntary contributions raised by members through various Commercial Travellers’ Associations although the UKCTA was by far the largest with 34,000 members.

The UKCTA was by far the most forward looking through R T Meade (Reggie), Chairman of the Education Committee and John Maguire, the ebullient General Secretary. The organisation was based in Tottenham Court Road, London.

Joining the UKCTA This was the association I was about to join. I thought it was a professional selling organisation, but instead I was joining an association steeped in history which had for many years been serving the ‘Knights of the Road’ (as CTs were often called). It was composed of genuine, kind-hearted and helpful men – there weren’t any lady CTs in those days – who would always be willing to assist anyone who needed help. A great group of people whom Maureen and I grew to love, respect and spend many happy times with. The wives had a strong ladies’ section and assisted at functions and in fund raising for the charities. Nevertheless, the men didn’t know much about selling.

I was in for a shock. I wanted to join as soon as I was eligible so on Friday, 11 February 1955, I went to the Eagle Hotel, Snaresbrook, London, E11, to the monthly meeting of the East London Branch where I was presented with my membership card and made welcome. (The subscription was the equivalent of £1.75p per year). There were around 30 members present and I listened to the reports of the various officers who wore badges denoting their office, and the Chairman who wore an impressive chain of office. As a 24 year 166

old, I was by far the youngest there and didn’t understand much about the association matters discussed but noted that no one talked about selling!

The Members of East London Branch Afterwards in the bar downstairs, I received a great welcome and found that all sorts of businesses were represented. From coal to cigarettes and garden seeds to food and toys. Yes, and we even had members who ‘travelled’ in ladies’ underwear, and there were members whose main interest in life was mascara and lipstick – professional, that is! Asked about my job, my reply was met with some degree of silence. They had not met anyone calling on doctors before and I was regarded as a bit different – like something the cat had brought in!

Nevertheless, they were kind and bought me a beer. All went well until I started asking about their backgrounds.

Had they taken the UKCTA Diploma? None had. None had received any formal training in selling or salesmanship and what is more they didn’t agree with it! “You can’t learn selling. You learn by experience.

Certificates don’t mean a thing”. When they heard that I had passed the Diploma examination in Salesmanship, I really did feel like something the cat had brought in! This strange young man who had only been on the road for a few weeks, no experience, knows nothing and yet had the Association’s Diploma. What an odd creature I must have seemed.

The Need for Change On investigating further, I was horrified. It was quite usual at that time to engage a new ‘traveller’, give him a price list, order book, samples and a territory then send him on his way! If he was fortunate, he might be given a tour of the factory. In many cases, and even with some of the large well known companies, that was it. No product training, no sales training and the bare minimum of administration – how to fill in an order form and an expense account. On the positive side, a trained sales force would be able to clean-up against untrained competition. In retrospect this is what happened. Once a few enlightened companies started moving ahead through training, the rest had to follow. Those that didn’t paid the price – like Copestake Crampton, the first company I joined and where I left rather rapidly, having told the Chairman what I am really saying here.

I may have been shaken but I was unbowed. I felt that these chaps could be so much more successful and thus improve their lives if only they could become better at their jobs. If only they could sell more, they would earn more and get promotion (if that was what they wanted). Training would reduce their mistakes and improve their efficiency. Life could be so much better! But they weren’t interested.

They believed you learned by experience (much like in shops, offices and industry generally) and certainly not from a training course. That was the way. They were very kind to me, perhaps feeling a trifle sorry although at the same time, I did call on doctors and that made me different from the rest – almost like being put on a pedestal. All this seemed to instil in me was a sense of challenge. Mine was the way forward. Selling had to develop and I was determined to do something about it.

The First Opportunity The Association was on my side (perhaps I should say I was on theirs!). Against traditional opposition, the educational committee had established the Diploma courses. What is more, they wanted each Branch to appoint a Branch Education Liaison Officer (BELO) who would link with, and assist, local Diploma students.

Of course, the diehards didn’t want to know about such a scheme, but they needed to appoint someone.

Then it was realised that they had a member in the branch who held the Diploma and was always talking about training! I was approached and became the East London Branch BELO. I had only been a member for a short time but was now on the committee and was presented with one of those officer’s badges with BELO on it!

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Far from quietening me, this was the stimulus that I needed. It gave me access to the Education Committee and John Maguire, the General Secretary – and they needed all the assistance they could get. In 1956 I took, and passed, Part II of the examination and received my full Diploma. This part was entitled, Sales Organisation, and was the nearest one got in those days to sales management. Meanwhile, I was screening the media and reading every scrap of information available, not only for my own career, but for selling/salesmanship in general.

The Social Side I found myself becoming more involved with the branch and association activities. Maureen joined the ladies’ committee. There were many social events throughout the year culminating in the Annual Dinner and Dance.

On 25 November 1959, I gave the toast to the Ladies and Visitors. It was my first entry into public speaking and seemed to go down well.

Apart from jumble sales, one important event was the annual Christmas Fayre for our charities. Our members would donate from their sample stocks and we would have a wonderful display of products for sale from toys and Lindt chocolates from Bernard Newell to Harry Hawkes’ display of the Potter and Moore Old English Lavender range. The public were well aware of the annual and inexpensive Christmas gifts and would queue for hours before we opened on a Saturday afternoon in December.

We had a bright idea one year to improve the look of the stands. We would cover the tables in artificial grass.

Where would we get it? From our dear friends Lesley and Gladys who owned Woodgrange Park Cemetery.

The grass was used during burials to line the edge of graves. The only problem was that on the day of our Fayre, there was a late morning funeral so we had to wait for our grass to materialise.

We rushed it to the venue, East Ham Town Hall, only to find it was a bit muddy underneath – what else would one expect in December! Some quick cleaning and it was on the tables, but we did wonder what our customers would have said if they had known where it had come from! The day was a great success and we raised several hundred pounds for charity.

Spreading the Word The UKCTA had a monthly magazine, On the Road, which not only was the official voice of the association but carried members’ letters, advertised hotels and other travel information. It was at this time that I started writing letters to the magazine endeavouring to break down this anti-training approach. In December 1959, I wrote on the future of selling and included the following phrase…. ‘the narrow-minded domesticity that has pervaded the Association must be dropped….’ The debate was under way and so was change, albeit slowly.

In the same year I was asked by the education committee whether I would be prepared to attend the London Examination Centre at the School of Distributive Trades in Charing Cross Road to act as an Examination Supervisor in 1960. I was delighted and spent the Saturday morning, 9 April, invigilating Part I and the afternoon invigilating Part II. There were around 70 candidates and it was interesting to see a large number from overseas.

In the January, I wrote again to On the Road, this time suggesting that the association should take the lead and set up an Institute of Sales Technology to be on a par with the ISMA (Incorporated Sales Managers’ Association – the forerunner of the Chartered Institute of Marketing); the Advertising Association and the Institute of Purchasing and Supply. With 34,000 members engaged in selling we should be the lead body in our field.

On the social side, the branch used to have an annual car rally for the Jim Denny Cup (Jim was our branch secretary). This was based on a treasure hunt around the Essex villages. It was immensely popular with 168

around 20 cars participating. Everyone took a picnic and we would meet at a venue for lunch, continuing in the afternoon.

We always took Derek (an ATC instructor friend) and Pam Chatfield. I drove, Derek navigated and the girls in the back worked out the clues. It was a great team and we won in 1960, 1961 and 1962 after which we started organising the rallies. It was great fun and enjoyed by all. The event was always covered in the local paper, the Ilford Pictorial.

The Forest Gate, Ilford and United Districts Commercial Travellers’ Association Also in 1960, I joined the above association. It was very small with around 20 or so members. They were older (the secretary was almost 70 and still on the road). Change was definitely not for them and I accepted their views. Membership was 17/6d (87p) per year and this included a life insurance! They also supplied rail cards which would enable the traveller to get a cheap rail ticket home for week ends.

So why should I join such a small fraternal body? Sentiment was the answer. It so happened that my grandfather’s brother, great uncle Edgar Parrish, had been a member, driving his horse and Brougham (a one-horse closed carriage) to his customers around London.

I did have some problems during my early membership as some members thought I had been planted by the by the UKCTA to take them over! It was not true. They were a small but lovely group of sincere, dedicated and genuine people.

They held an annual Christmas Bazaar at the Holy Trinity Church, Hermon Hill, Wanstead, around 25 November each year. As most of the members seemed to be in the toy trade, the display was incredible.

Stands packed with toys and many eager buyers who had queued for this annual event. A large sum was always raised for CT charities.

On the 18 March 1967, I was installed as the Chairman of the Forest Gate, Ilford and Districts CTA. This was a great thrill and honour as it was 50 years since my Great Uncle Edgar was himself installed in the same office. I just wonder what it must have been like in 1917 when life was so different. He had his own business and drove to his customers in a Brougham. I met him on several occasions. He was such a polite gentleman and when introduced would reply, “Delighted to meet you”.

I had a good year with these ‘Knights of the Road’. They were all over 60, but they had loyal customers to whom they were loyal in return. The Association was reduced to about 16 members and they belonged to a bygone age, but they were the salt of the earth.

Their connections and influence, however, were demonstrated on my Ladies Night held on the 9th December 1967 at the Great Western Hotel, Paddington. I had Ken Holland of Macarthys as my Guest of Honour plus a few friends. That small band of CTA members brought the total to 100 guests and we had a memorable evening.

It was customary for the Chairman to be given a momento on these occasions and we had selected a Royal Doulton figure, The Jester, which we had found in an antique shop near Harlow. He has a happy face and we still have and treasure him.

From their jumble sales and their Christmas Fair, which always attracted people from miles around (many were in the toy trade and donated masses of samples!) my year raised £280 for charities – a very worthwhile sum for those days. I always felt privileged to have been their Chairman.

One of our members, Harry Packford, had been a CT and owned Packford’s Hotel in Woodford where we held our meetings. He acted as our MC at the Dinner and proposed the toast to me as Chairman. When it 169

came to the presentation, he had scribbled a verse on his menu which I still have. It reads; At my disposal is very little time May I say these few words to you in rhyme?

This presentation indeed is an Association must For it is to you from us.

It’s nice to be lavish To two charming people of the Parrish At short notice I’ve been ‘called on’ To present this very fine Doulton.

Mr Chairman, you would have been in a ‘mess sir’ Had you not chosen this magnificent model of the Doulton Jester

So with no more ado From this Association our sincere thanks to you and you.

Not good verse but typical of Harry. A natural showman, a gentleman and one of life’s larger than life characters.

During my year, I served as a steward for the Commercial Travellers’ Benevolent Institution (CTBI) and as a result, Maureen and I attended the Special Appeal Festival Dinner and Dance at Grosvenor House, London W.1. on Friday, 3 May 1968. A memorable evening attended by stewards and their ladies from all over the country.

The "Doulton Jester"

My stewardship had raised £310 for the CTBI and £30 for the CT Schools.

A good sum in those days.

Sadly, age and a decreasing membership took its toll and the final AGM was held on 31 October 1968, a year after I left the Chair. The association was wound up and the disposal of remaining funds took place at Packford’s Hotel, 16, Snake’s Lane, Woodford, on Friday, 6 August 1971 at 7.30pm. Thus, an association, founded in 1889 and with which I had an historical connection, passed into history. During its 79 years, it had helped many members; providing support and friendship in good and bad times from the age of the horse to the era of the motor car. An incredible period in the history of the business life of this country.

Professional Salesmanship Comes of Age 1961 was an interesting year. As the steward for the East London Branch supporting the Royal Commercial Travellers’ Schools, Maureen and I attended the Festival Dinner at the Savoy Hotel. It was a splendid occasion particularly as the appeal had raised thousands of pounds for the schools.

I was invited to attend a One Day Conference on Sales Technology held at the Royal Society of Arts in London and give a paper. This was well received and I felt things were on the move. Even my friends in the branch were slowly being won over – mainly as their companies were taking their first tentative steps in sales training for their sales forces.

My own business career was progressing and is reported elsewhere. I had moved into a management position and accepted as a member of the Incorporated Sales Managers Association – virtually a club for sales managers which certainly wasn’t very professional but was a shell for future change. Some of my friends in the branch thought that I had deserted their ranks and joined the enemy!

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Nevertheless, by now I was Vice Chairman of East London Branch. Our Annual Dinner was held at East Ham Town Hall on 28 October 1961 and it was my duty to propose the toast to The Association and the Chairman of the East London Branch. At that time, there was much talk about Britain joining the common market and I used this as my theme stressing that the salesmen of Britain would be glad to accept the challenge and sell into Europe. Of course, I did also say what a good chap our Chairman, Peter Williamson was – he was a tireless worker with a great sense of humour. The speech found favour in the local press and the Ilford Pictorial of 2 November 1961 carried the headline, “Common Market holds Challenge”.

The other interesting event of the year was the resolution accepted at the annual conference of the UKCTA to set up an Institute for the education and training of salesmen. My earlier letter to On the Road was showing results. We were moving.

Chairman of the East London Branch UKCTA On 9 February 1962 I was installed as Chairman of the branch at the Railway Bell Hotel, George Lane, South Woodford. I remember the night well. I had been involved in a company meeting that afternoon which dragged on and on. I couldn’t get away until after 6pm and drove like fury to the meeting. There was no time for a meal and I arrived after the meeting had started, bathed in perspiration and certainly not feeling like taking over and chairing a meeting. The installing chairman looked relieved as my absence would have upset the whole evening. I was installed with my chain of office and that was the start of a very happy and enjoyable year. What made it even better was that Maureen was also installed as Chairman of the Ladies’ Committee so it became a wonderful year for both of us.

In April 1962, I was made Administrative Officer for the London Examination Centre with 87 candidates for Part I and 76 for Part II. Effectively I ran the examination centre and had a team of invigilators in the hall.

In June, Maureen and I attended the annual UKCTA conference at Portsmouth where there were several hundred delegates. I was able to speak on retaining membership and the proposal for forming the Institute for Commercial and Technical Representatives was passed. We were almost there. Our secretary, Bert Smith and social secretary, Percy Austin attended with their wives so we had a pleasant social time.

In retrospect, we have often looked back in sheer disbelief because we happily drove off from home, leaving our son, Mervyn who was less than a year old, with Grace Frost downstairs! She was in her 60s and had never had any children! Mark you, she adored him and would rush home from her job in London to see him before he went to bed. Even so, that is a lot different to looking after a baby on your own for several days.

As it was, we got back to find that all was well – he was happy and she was delighted to have had the opportunity. Grace was a good friend and was delighted to have the chance to babysit whenever we wanted to go out.

The Annual Dinner Our Annual Dinner and Dance was held on 2 November 1962 at the Assembly Hall in Chingford at a cost of 30/-d (£1.50) a ticket!

I was in the Chair and Maureen shared the occasion in her capacity as Chairman of the Ladies’ Committee. We had 30 personal guests including Lesley and Gladys Baker, Ken and Elsie Holland, my boss Lesley Jenkins with his wife together with doctors,

UKCTA Offices held in the East London Branch 171

friends, some of my sales representatives together with their wives. The Dinner was attended by the National President, Mr. D.G. Carmichael, the sales director of Trebor. We were also pleased to have the Mayor of Chingford with us.

We had agreed to run a tombola and Maureen decided it was going to be the biggest ever! She must have written hundreds of personal letters to every company she could think of and many of them were happy to support our cause. Prizes started to tumble in and the flat began to fill up! Our members were also generous with their samples. But Maureen had a target. She wanted 1000 prizes and she got them. We almost had to move out. We had 24 x dozen packs of electric light bulbs; a sack of coal; cuddly toys; huge boxes of chocolates but no ladies’ underwear! There were cosmetics, though. All the prizes had to be numbered and every ticket would win a prize. Several members of the committee came to our home and we all set off for Chingford with cars full of prizes.

The Assembly Hall in Chingford is large and the stage is also large. The prizes stretched from side to side on the stage, were about three feet deep and took two hours to assemble. It was an incredible display and raised £300 for our charities. When winners – and everyone was – came to collect their prizes, it was chaos.

We could have done with 100 people rather than 10 to give out the 1000 prizes. We felt sure that not every prize went to its correct owner. People struggled out of the hall clutching arms full of prizes. The final sight of the evening was one of my guests, Dr Vic Storey, struggling out of the hall carrying the hundredweight of coal on his back muttering as he disappeared into the darkness, “I don’t know why I won this – I haven’t got a fireplace in the house or surgery!” I am sure no-one ever forgot that evening. Everyone won and everyone helped someone in need. It was regarded as a great success except Maureen had to write thank-you letters to all the prize contributors.

As Chairman, I was the steward for the 117th Appeal for the CT Schools and that year we raised £173.12s.11d (£173.60p) to which Maureen’s Ladies Committee added £100. We were also stewards for the 112th Appeal for the CTBI and gave over £36 – it doesn’t sound much today but nor was 30/-d (£1.50p) for a Dinner and Dance including a four course meal and an eight piece band. Beer was about 6p a pint! It was a great and memorable evening and enjoyed by all present.

Harlow Branch Formed On 15 December 1962, a new branch was formed in Harlow, sponsored by East London Branch and Chelmsford Branch. The inauguration was attended by our National Chairman, our General Secretary and the Chairman of the Harlow Development Corporation. I was asked to take the chair and officiate on the proceedings which had been carefully arranged by John Maguire our General Secretary. There was a large attendance with the press present. The branch was inaugurated and the first officers appointed. I was made an honorary member of the branch. We attended their first Annual Dinner and Dance on the basis that I had to reply to the toast to the Ladies and Visitors. Maureen had to reply to the same toast on their 4th Annual Dinner.

The Institute of Commercial and Technical Representatives That same year saw the formation of the Institute of Commercial and Technical Representatives (ICTR) and I was later invited to become a Founder Fellow. The objects were to further the professionalism, education, skills and competence of persons engaged as commercial and technical representatives; to organise professional examinations and grant diplomas. It was probably the money they wanted, but it was a nice thought and an important milestone in professionalizing selling which was the thing I had been working for!

The UKCTA Diploma Examination Until the ICTR became established, the diploma examinations were to continue. Such was the increasing popularity that in 1963 there were 855 candidates of which 165 were members and 690 non members with 172

many from overseas. We had 26 centres in the UK. The examination at that time had three parts; salesmanship, sales organisation and an oral sales presentation had to be undertaken with the examiner acting as the buyer.

Following a meeting with Reggie Meade, Chairman of the Education Committee, I was appointed an Examiner from April 1964 with a fee of 5guineas (£5.25p) and 2/6d (12.5p) for every script marked.

From 1965 the payment was changed to a fee of 10 guineas (£10.50p) and 6d (2 1/2p) for each paper marked. Some years we had almost 1000 candidates and this became quite a task. The papers would arrive around the end of April and I would be responsible for marking certain questions before passing them on to another examiner who would mark the remainder. He would have a similar number of papers, mark his questions and pass his papers to me.

We had about eight weeks to complete the assignment and it took many evenings and week ends. The writing could be appalling and with the overseas students, difficult to understand as their English left a lot to be desired. So did their knowledge of the subject. I carried on this role until 1974 when I really felt that I had had enough. The whole training situation was evolving fast with more companies introducing their own training schemes so the need for the UKCTA scheme was limited.

Moving On On 5 April 1963 Maureen and I attended the 117th Appeal for the Royal Commercial Travellers’ Schools Festival Dinner at. It was held at the Connaught Rooms and the sum raised by the Appeal was £44,898.11s.8d (£44,898.56p). These appeals were always successful and raised great sums to support their charities.

In 1985, I became an Honorary Vice President of the Royal Commercial Travellers’ Schools as did Maureen for her work on the ladies’ committee. In the same year, I was also made an Honorary Vice President of the Commercial Travellers’ Benevolent Institution.

Between 1968 and 1970, I found I was receiving a number of requests to be guest speaker at various Regional Sales Conferences and Seminars. At a Training for Selling Meeting in Hampstead it was: “Effective Sales Training in Industry and Commerce”; at the Watford College of Technology I was he principal speaker on “Training in Industry”; The Institute of Purchasing and Supply it was “The Salesman’s View of the Buyer” (that gave me a lot of scope to have some fun whilst being factual!) and I gave papers at Harlow Technical College in their Diploma in Management Studies Courses. These included “The Place of Advertising in Marketing” and “The Place of Marketing in Business”. Interestingly enough, these were the only lectures for which I got paid!

Representing the UKCTA Overseas During my career, I became involved in exporting and this is covered in the main body of this book, but I found that I had the opportunity of visiting and meeting the Presidents and General Secretaries of some CTAs overseas so are worth including as they were so different to the UK. In Australia, the CTAs had large clubs, many of which were residential for members – what a good idea. I visited these associations and clubs (they were all independent) in Perth, Adelaide, Melbourne, Launceston (Tasmania), Sydney and Brisbane. The one dominating memory is that of very large halls full of one-arm bandits with a queue waiting for the chance to play. I had heard that Australians were gamblers but this was staggering.

In New Zealand I visited the Associations in Christchurch, Wellington and Auckland. Whilst in Auckland, I took the opportunity to write a letter to the Auckland Star which resulted later in correspondence with a local sales training company.

In 1965, I went to South Africa and visited the South African CTA in Cape Town and the National Union of 173

CTs in Johannesburg. Although South Africa did not have a large population, each association had 1,000 members. I must say that on all these visits, I was very well received and looked after. It was a pleasure to meet and discuss matters of common interest with these overseas associations.

The End of the Road Later in 1965, I was appointed as a Vice President of the East London Branch which was an honour given to few members. Thus, in terms of those medals, I now had two including that of Past Chairman! They were not valuable but are a reminder of much hard work and a lot of pleasure with some wonderful people. I still have them.

Following our move to Old Harlow, I found it increasingly difficult to get to the monthly Friday evening branch meetings. My attendance began to drop off whilst at the same time the UKCTA was beginning to change. The head office was relocated to Knutsford which our General Secretary did not like and it was not long before he left. With that the fire had gone. Business was changing and the UKCTA was losing membership – in short it was becoming archaic and its days were numbered. At this time, a certain political element was endeavouring to move into the association and convert it into a trade union. This was resisted for a time but in 1976, the Executive Council recommended that we amalgamate with the ASTMS (Association of Scientific, Technical and Managerial Staffs). This was a trade union whose General Secretary was a somewhat controversial left-wing individual named Clive Jenkins and who had a home in Old Harlow less than 400 yards from us. Later, he purchased the local school in Churchgate Street and converted it into homes. Strangely enough, the ASTMS had evolved from an earlier trade union known as the AScW – the Association of Scientific Workers which was the official trade union at the hospital where I first worked, although I never joined.

It was with the greatest regret that I wrote to the secretary of the East London Branch on 20 June 1976 resigning from the branch and from the association. Maureen and I had experienced 20 years’ involvement.

I had seen selling emerge into the modern age where the term ‘commercial traveller’ had become consigned to history, and this great association that had contributed so much to so many, had followed the same path as the tiny Forest Gate, Ilford and United Districts CTA. So sad but one cannot turn back the tide.

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—22— Developing the Essex Territory

A

round this time,

many pharmaceutical companies, mostly American, were setting up subsidiaries in the UK. Before this, it was quite something to meet another medical representative and often resulted in having a coffee together or even lunch. Likewise, if one found another representative in a call, it was courteous to leave and go back later or the following day.

Competition Moves In and Its Effect This was about to change. The American companies felt that there could be rich pickings from the NHS where drugs were free to patients. UK subsidiaries were formed and representatives were recruited, trained and sent on the road. This explosion was to change the face of the job. Firstly, the standard of recruitment dropped – there were recruits with medical/pharmaceutical backgrounds available, but other types of salesmen were employed who understood little about ethical selling or how to approach the medical profession. The training was American with high pressure techniques – maybe alright in some outlets but not in a surgery. Literature was adapted from across the Atlantic along with sample packs. The most significant change was with advertising and mailings which increased dramatically. From getting the odd mail shot about something significant, doctors began to receive masses of literature daily. Not only was this invariably thrown away unread, but it created a lot of ill will against all companies. Added to that, doctors began to receive gifts, linked to products or companies, of course. Apart from pens, blotters (ink pens were predominant so blotting paper was used, carrying an appropriate message), calendars and diaries. I can certainly remember one, which proves the point of promotional material! Doctors were sent golf balls stamped with Penfold Pfizer – Penfold being a quality golf ball and Pfizer being an American pharmaceutical company entering the UK market. Doctors were not at all happy with this form of advertising but strangely they were willing to use the golf balls!

There was no doubt that this form of marketing did pay off and even though objecting, doctors were prescribing the products. I can remember it was Pfizer who, along with Lederle, launched the tetracyclines, which was the first broad spectrum antibiotic. Each day for a couple of weeks, they sent a mailing in the form of a postcard just saying prescribe for a particular cough syrup. The medical profession was furious. On a number of occasions, I was with doctors when they were looking at their mail. The postcard was thrown in the wastepaper basket with appropriate comments. Interestingly enough, when I visited the local chemists and enquired, I was told that the local doctors were prescribing this product!

These changes and increasing pressures on prescribing were having an effect on the NHS drug bill and it was not long before the government started to attack the pharmaceutical industry and try to curb the prescribing habits of doctors. Doctors had always been given a free hand in prescribing what they felt was best for the patient but this was going to change. Prescriptions were monitored and doctors began to receive letters from the Department of Health showing prescribing costs of certain drugs and cheaper alternatives. This was not well received, and later doctors began to receive visits from officials threatening to fine doctors if they did not reduce their prescribing costs. The pharmaceutical industry was under attack and medical representatives were in the firing line with some doctors refusing to see representatives from certain companies.

My Company My company, Sharp and Dohme Ltd, was also American but we had been in the UK for many years. We had established products which were prescribed and sold over the counter – I can remember my parents buying 175

Sucrets (for sore throats) when I was a teenager and they were very effective. Equally, we had a good standing with doctors and pharmacists and were accepted as a good ethical company. Our Managing Director, Tom Rayner, was a man of integrity and was held in high esteem in the industry as was John Fingerhut, our Sales Manager. Being respected was an asset and very useful in our work but we had to make sure that we did not abuse that trust.

My Activities As a background, I should give some details of my daily contacts. I called on doctors (GPs and hospital doctors), retail pharmacies, hospital pharmacists and pharmaceutical wholesalers. Later I added veterinary surgeons.

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—23— Living and Working in Essex

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of being given Territory 29 – Essex – was wonderful and I set about organising it with enthusiasm. I was on a twelve-weekly call cycle so the county had to be divided into twelve, bearing in mind the number of doctors in each area. This meant that from Ilford, I only normally needed to stay away when in Chelmsford, and the Colchester areas. he opportunity

Finding a home We needed to find ourselves a flat, so we adopted the policy of asking everyone we met whether they knew of anywhere. One person we asked was the newsagent close to our previous flat in Balfour Road. Yes, they did know of two ladies at 11, Christchurch Road, who were moving to Lancashire and would like to let the upstairs flat to a nice young couple – if they could find them! Of course they could – and our newsagent contacted them and gave us a good reference!

At 8pm on Friday, 3 June 1955 we arrived at 11, Christchurch Road to meet Mrs Gubbins and Miss Pring.

The house was terraced, Edwardian and had square bays to the front. The downstairs was occupied by a Mrs Grace Frost who was to become a good friend. She worked for an insurance company in the City. Her downstairs flat had the lounge in the front and behind was the scullery which housed a large mangle with big wooden rollers; further back was a tiny kitchen with the back door, and at the rear of the house was a large room which she used as her bedroom. It had French windows onto the garden. The one disadvantage was her outside toilet – an old-fashioned monstrosity with a wall-to-wall wooden seat having a hole in the middle and a large, high flushing cistern which made a ferocious noise when operated. A thunder box with a vengeance!

The available flat was upstairs and had the lounge across the entire front of the house; a double bedroom behind then three steps down on the landing to the bathroom/toilet; the kitchen behind this was followed by another small bedroom to the rear. Miss Pring was in her seventies and had lived in the house for some years and her sister, Mrs Gubbins, had come to take her back as she needed care.

The inside of the flat was fairly sparse and needed decorating. The lounge had a thin carpet square over the old, black, painted floorboards which had gaps between them that let in the draught. There was an open fireplace and, of course, no central heating. The bedroom was somewhat dingy as it had only one window at the side (all windows had sash cords), which was rear facing down the flank wall at the back of the house.

It had a fireplace. The bathroom was minute with the cast-iron bath (on legs) along one wall, a washbasin at one end and the toilet at the other. The width of the room was approximately twice the width of the bath.

The kitchen was basic. In the corner was a small, primitive sink with a cold water tap whose pipe ran up the wall and disappeared into the ceiling. There was no hot water. A gas connection for a cooker was opposite.

The kitchen was around 7ft x 6ft. The rear room had two sash windows overlooking the garden and an old cast-iron fireplace. It was a sunny room and the garden, reasonably maintained, had a large pear tree near to, and taller, than the house. In the spring of each year, it was covered with blossom and later had masses of pears – and wasps! Because of the height of the tree, the pears could not be harvested so fell to the ground with a ‘splop’ thus attracting even more wasps!

It was a large property and we felt that we could make it into a home. Terms were discussed and agreed and we purchased a few items that we could use. We retrieved our furniture from storage and moved in within a fortnight. With Maureen being in the wallpaper business, we were able to select wallpaper straight from the factory sometimes for as little as 1/-d (5p.) per roll. We had to use the coal fire which was 177

supplemented by paraffin and electric heaters. Coal was delivered through a circular trap in front of the front door and had to be carried up from the cellar. Likewise, all ashes had to be carried down. As you will appreciate, with a hallway running the length of the flat, it was not particularly warm and there were plenty of draughts. House insulation was non-existent. We kept a paraffin stove at the top of the stairs for some heating. However, at least, we had a home and as we began to afford carpets and more furniture, it began to take shape. We were delighted to get this two bedroomed flat for £9.4s.0d (£9.20p) per month (my salary worked out at £10.00 a week).

Just a few doors away was Christchurch School which ran evening classes. It was here that I learned how to make a corner cabinet hi-fi unit, plus two speaker units which were free standing. I also made a glass topped coffee table. All these were in light oak and made in the G-Plan style which was the fashion at that time. We also bought our first dining room suite for £124.10s.0d – on hire purchase, of course!

Back to the Air Training Corps Our life began to change. I resumed my work with the 4F Squadron, Air Training Corps, becoming equipment officer and drill instructor as well as my teaching role. We had many successes with cadets gaining flying scholarships and several joining the RAF to become aircrew. Much later, we heard that one of our cadets finished up as an Air Commodore in the New Zealand Air Force.

Parade nights were Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The squadron would take part in local civic functions so the standard of dress and drill had to be high and we would often have a drill parade on a Sunday morning. The upstairs front lounge of the HQ in Cranbrook Road served as our Officers Mess. After a parade night, we would assemble with our C.O. Flt.Lt. John Kelly and have a few beers whilst playing ‘liar dice’. The calls became more hilarious and more unbelievable, the more beer we drank.

On one occasion, we had a Wing Inspection which involved a cadets’ parade together with an inspection of the premises, records, etc. The Inspecting Officer was, to put it mildly, not very pleasant and quite officious. We had probably the best Squadron in the West Essex Wing and we achieved our results by the way we ran the unit. He succeeded in putting all our backs up so when we invited him to the Mess afterwards, one of our team, Plt.Off. Stetzel, offered him a beer. He removed the cap with the bottle opener, put his thumb over the top, shook it, and aimed at the inspecting officer spraying him with light ale! Apologies were made for the ‘lively’ bottle but he was not amused. Nevertheless, he got the message and seemed to relax after that.

Our C.O. John Kelly was a fantastic bloke. We had many laughs and, for a number of years, he organised an annual fete in Valentine’s Park. It was quite novel in its day with many stalls and a central arena. It always had an air display, parachutists and well-known bands and artists. John would get a celebrity to open the fete and, on a couple of occasions, we had Lady Katherine Boyle (‘Katy Boyle’), a popular TV personality from one of the quiz shows.

To put on a show like this, which attracted 20,000 people on the day, took a great amount of organisation.

We all helped along with the members of the Ilford and Woodford Branch of the Royal Air Force Association to which we all belonged. I became a Life Member in 1965, which cost its equivalent today of £2.75. These fetes obtained enormous coverage in all the local papers and we would make around £2,500 profit on the day which was donated to local causes.

John always had a fund of good stories. He was unmarried at the time, with his own house. One evening he arrived at the squadron with the following allegedly, true story. As he was getting ready, there was a knock at the door and when he opened it, there was a vacuum cleaner salesman who persuaded John to let him demonstrate the cleaner. John told him to carry on and disappeared upstairs to complete dressing. The chap called up the stairs explaining the incredible suction that the cleaner had. He told John that he could demonstrate that it would even stick on the ceiling. John, who was coming downstairs by then, queried it 178

so the salesman promptly put the cleaner up to the ceiling and let go. The next minute, there was a crash, dust everywhere and the ceiling was on the floor together with a rather crumpled cleaner. Somehow John thought it hilarious!

A Night to Remember One more story on which we both dined out on for years. This occurred before I was married and when I lived with my parents. Let me set the scene. None of us had cars so used to cycle to the squadron.

John, who lived in my direction but further away, had a motor called a Cycle-Master attached to his bike so he did not need to pedal. The last factor to remember was that this was before there were drinkdriving laws.

It was a Friday evening and, following the parade night, we had our liar dice session with some of the others during which time we had consumed a few beers. When they went home, John and I adjourned to RAFA where we joined in a party and had more beers until they shut the bar. We then returned to our HQ and had a few more beers. By this time, it was well after midnight. We were reasonably ‘happy’ and John offered to push me home with the aid of his motorised bike. We set off along Cranbrook Road, his hand in the middle of my back and our cycles quite close together.

We went over the hill at Ilford Station and fortunately, the traffic lights beyond were green – don’t think we would have worried if they weren’t! There being no people about at that time of night, we sailed across Ilford High Road into Ilford Lane, both of us laughing like a pair of idiots. Now about 50 yards into Ilford Lane, the kerb curved out and the road narrowed. In our inebriated state, we didn’t notice that and the next thing was that my front wheel hit the kerb which knocked me off my bike; my pedal caught in John’s rear wheel throwing him off and breaking his rear spokes and the wheel which contained the Cycle-Master.

Not unexpectedly, we both sat in the road and laughed until we realised that we still had to get home. John’s bike could not be ridden – in fact, it could not be pushed either, because of the rear wheel damage. My bike was ‘pushable’ but not ‘rideable’ so we resolved to half lift and half push them home. I suppose it must have been at least 2 miles to my house, which was the nearest, and we arrived about 1.30am. John did not feel like carrying his bike any further, so left it in our front garden. The following morning, my father woke me about 7 am to ask what those broken bikes were doing in his front garden!

Getting Organised My background with Heinz, evening classes and, more recently, in Norfolk made it a lot easier to develop a business plan for Essex. On the landing in Christchurch Road, we had a floor to ceiling cupboard about 9 inches deep. I built in shelves from top to bottom so that I could lay out all my literature and samples. Even so, I had boxes on the floor so the whole area resembled a warehouse. I later rented a garage close by so could store the bulk there.

I knew that if I was going to maximise my effectiveness both in quantity and quality of my calls, I had to plan to cut out wastage of time and effort so that I could concentrate purely on getting from one call to the next.

As previously mentioned, in order to achieve these objectives, I adopted certain principles which I maintained during the time that I was a medical representative. Each evening, whether at home or away, I would plan the next day and write the details, chronologically, in a shorthand notepad. I always included some ‘reserves’ so that if some calls could not be achieved, I had a back-up.

The next item was to pack my bag with sufficient literature and samples for the day whilst maintaining a further supply in the car boot ‘just in case’. It was not advisable to keep samples visible in the car as carrying drugs could be a temptation and I learned to lock my car whenever leaving it – even if only to post a letter – a practise which I follow to this day. The final aspect was my endeavour to be the first in to see the first GP 179

on my list. If I was working in, say, Colchester or Braintree, it meant an early start but I had set myself targets which I needed to achieve. The advantage of this policy was simple. If I wasn’t first, there would be patients ahead and I may not get out until 9.30am or later. So the principle was to know where I was going, be fully prepared and be first in my first call.

My County I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed covering Essex. My territory was the total geographical boundary of the county. I had always loved that county although the popular concept was that it was ‘boring and uninteresting’ and I set out to disprove that image. In fact, I used to give talks on that area to various groups (WI etc) and people seemed to be fascinated on the history and beauty of it – not the strip along the Thames I hasten to add! I also started my collection of Essex maps, prints and books as I had plenty of opportunities to visit antique shops and booksellers across the county.

Due to the nature of my work and its concentration in the early part of the morning, I could find I had spare time in the latter part of the day, particularly in country areas. This gave me the opportunity of seeing places of interest, not the least, Essex churches. In those days, churches were always open with their silver and brass on show. I suppose I visited virtually every church in Essex – certainly all the ones in the Essex countryside – during my time covering the area. I have to say, that on many occasions after a hectic morning, driving like fury between calls and trying to get to a surgery before the door closed, I would enter the peace and quiet of a beautiful country church and just sit. It was like a tonic and after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, I would emerge feeling refreshed.

There were so many wonderful aspects about Essex that would warrant a book in its own right, but then others have done that already. As I look back, however, I feel inspired to mention just a few. There is Copford church with its 800 year old, beautiful wall paintings, a rare legacy bequeathed by the Normans and on the heavy, old, oak door is nailed what looks like a piece of leather but reputably, it is the skin of a Danish invader who was skinned alive; nearby Colchester – Camulodunum, the first Roman city in Britain – is full of Roman remains and has its castle; the beautiful church in Dedham which has the most fantastic flower festival; the pretty village of Hempstead where Dick Turpin, the famous highwayman was born in the 17th century inn and William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, was buried in the church in 1657; Little Maplestead with its circular church built by the Knights Templar nearly 700 years ago; Layer Marney with its incredible 400 year old eight story high gatehouse towers for the house that was never finished; Chelmsford with its cathedral; Beeleigh Abbey near Maldon, famous for its salt; chocolate-box Finchingfield with nearby Great Bardfield.

I could go on and on but time does not permit. I photographed many of these places in the ’50s (black and white only then) but unfortunately the photos have been lost. It is a pity as they would have been a record of a fast disappearing part of England. At that time, Essex was the least desirable of any county surrounding London so places like Billericay (from where the Pilgrim Fathers set off), Wickford and Rayleigh were small market towns. Land could be bought from around £25 per acre.

Little did anyone realise how the county would develop. If I could have afforded to invest in land, I could have made a fortune particularly in the Basildon area which would develop into the enormous town it is today.

Even the Essex dialect hardly exists today but was widely used when I travelled in the county. Yes, I was proud of my heritage with its longest coastline of any county in the country, and feel I should include part of a poem entitled Essex and published in one of the early editions of The Essex Countryside; You can boast of your mountain passes And your cliffs that reach the sky, But give me the Essex marshes Where the wide winds lie.

You can keep your hills and valleys If I may stand at the dawn, Drenched in the gentle beauty Of the land where I was born.

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Car Rallies – a New Interest Our social life was improving all the time. We were representing the RAFA in tennis and playing matches most weekends. Maureen was playing table tennis at which she excelled. I had the Air Training Corps then I was introduced to a new interest – Car Rallying.

Ted Hayes’ step brother, Vic Wake, was a keen member of the West Essex Car Club and they ran night rallies – setting off around 9pm and finishing about 7am the next morning. It sounded great fun but I had a problem. Mine was a company car and there was no way that I could use it for rallying.

In my work, my territory included Ilford and in the next road to us was our GP, Dr. Ivor Coleman. We became good friends and enjoyed dinner parties together. I introduced Ivor, who had served in the RAF as a Medical Officer, to the Air Training Corps and he joined us as our Hon. Medical Officer.

I don’t believe he ever contributed very much, but he enjoyed playing liar dice in the Mess! The important point is that Ivor had a car – a fast Sunbeam Sports coupe – and he became interested in rallying! You’ve got it. We had a team. Ivor driving with me navigating.

It was only when we got involved that we realised that this was a serious business. Other teams had quite sophisticated gear from gadgets which gave continual read-outs of miles travelled against average speeds on the course, to complex mapping devices and stop watches. Some even had hand-held spot lights to pick up features on the route. We were a lot less complicated with our Ordinance Survey maps, a stop watch and lots of paper. Needless to say, we never won but had a lot of fun. Vic Wake on the other hand was in a successful team which frequently came first.

As a driver, Ivor had one problem. At about 1am he would go through a phase of tiredness characterised by much yawning – not to be encouraged when driving very fast in Essex lanes in the middle of the night! When I saw the symptoms I would not give last minute instructions (self preservation became paramount). During the night, there would be a timed rest stop where drinks and food could be obtained at a café which the organisers had pre-arranged.

One occasion is worthy of mention. Our navigation lecturer at the Air Training Corps was a Bill Binks who had been a navigator during the war flying Mosquitos – an incredible two seater aircraft made of plywood which had a distinguished war record.

Bill also had a great war record. He was involved in the famous Amiens gaol break when Mosquitos attacked the Amiens gaol in France at low level, with the object of releasing French resistance fighters by dropping bombs and blasting open the prison gates. Anyway, Bill was keen to go on a rally so he joined us, hopefully to use his navigation skills.

All went well until we reached Ivor’s tired patch and he started yawning. At that moment, we were coming up to a fork and I instructed him to take the right fork. Sleep was nagging and he started to go left. I would have let him and then made him stop and reverse but not Bill. “Right, right, right”, he shouted from the back of the car. Ivor swung the wheel but there was not enough time or room. We bisected the fork, through a hedge and ended up in a field! Fortunately, there was no serious damage apart from the bodywork. We heaved the car back onto the road, decided to call it a day, or rather a night, and cruised back to base. Bill decided to call it a day too and ended his rallying career that night.

Weddings 1955 saw some weddings too. On 17 July our best man and chief bridesmaid, Bernard Read and Jean Rayner were married. I had the privilege of acting as Bernard’s best man. It was a lovely wedding and we 181

knew some of Jean’s family. Maureen knew her parents and I knew her brother, Arthur, and sister-in-law, Doreen, who had taught me to dance at the Grosvenor Dancing School. It was a fitting conclusion for the two fellows who had been friends and the two girls who had been friends that they should marry and become two married couples.

The other important wedding was that of Ted Hayes and Pat, his fiancée. Ted had been a school friend from primary school days and our friendship developed even more after their marriage as events will show. They were married at 12.45pm on 3 September 1955 at St. Clement’s Church in Ilford.

Following the ceremony, we all adjourned to a famous restaurant in Cranbrook Road where they had reserved the entire first floor. Little did we realise at the time that this would be a very important and momentous day in our lives. Indeed, it would affect the rest of our lives and still does!

A meeting which was meant to be We found ourselves seated for the wedding breakfast opposite a couple who introduced themselves as Leslie and Gladys Baker. Delightful people, immaculately dressed and obviously well-heeled. We immediately had something in common (apart from the well-healed bit!). Leslie was the well-revered Chairman of our local RAFA branch where, I learned later, he had been instrumental in acquiring their property in Cranbrook Road and had built the bar virtually single handed. Gladys was heavily involved in their very active drama section. I had seen them there but never really spoken to them before.

It was very strange. It seemed that we had known each other always. We were polite to the other guests, but they could have been a million miles away! An immediate bond had been established that was to last for the rest of their lives and it continues still! We spent the rest of that day together thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. It was as if we had been brought together for a purpose and we believe that we had.

Sadly, the evening drew to a close. What had happened to Ted and Pat? There were vague recollections that they had left, changed, and returned to say goodbye before leaving on their honeymoon.

Leslie and Gladys suggested that we go back to their place for coffee. It was apparent that we all wanted to continue our chatting so we were delighted to accept. Where did they live? Just follow us said Leslie so we followed his Jaguar which took us through Manor Park until we stopped outside Woodgrange Park Cemetery!

Leslie got out, came to our car and said he would open the gates! What! Surely, they could not live in a cemetery. But they did.

We followed them in and Leslie locked the gates. We were locked in a cemetery at midnight! (Later we came to know that cemetery well. Maureen learned to drive there – when it was closed. I fitted out a boat there and we had many social occasions over the succeeding years. It also happened to be where the Parrish family grave is situated).

Their home, with office attached, was within the cemetery. It was an Edwardian house of good proportions, spacious rooms and comfortably furnished. The lounge had a pitched roof ceiling which gave added height.

Leslie asked what we would like to drink. “I keep most things but not beer”. I do not remember what the ladies had but he produced a bottle of VAT 69 whisky and two glasses which I believe we finished along with quite a few cigarettes (most people smoked then).

We started talking and we talked and talked and talked. It wasn’t aimless chatter. It was the chatter of four people who found that they had a great deal in common and who felt totally at ease with each other. Time seemed to stand still but it didn’t really. Suddenly, we all heard a noise outside. It was the milkman delivering the milk (milk was delivered on Sundays then). We had talked the night through without a break and without feeling tired.

Gladys retired with Maureen and they prepared breakfast which we enjoyed together. Leslie gave us some 182

cacti in little pots for our flat and we got home around 9.30am on the Sunday morning, having left home around mid-day on the day before. But this is not the end of this story. Gladys and Leslie had a great effect on our lives and I suspect that we had some effect on theirs too.

They were both from a comfortable middle class background, if you can accept that term today. Gladys’s family had made money in early South Africa, one of her uncles having been head of the South African Railways. Gladys visited the country when she was young, and we have photographs taken on board ship.

She was brought up in Forest Gate, East London, and the family lived in a large, elegant-in-those-days, house with servants. It was interesting to note that in their latter days, Gladys’s mother and her ‘auntie’ (it was her husband who was with the South African Railways) lived with them. In their 80s, they would do a little dusting in the morning – nothing strenuous, of course – but always stopping at 11am for sherry! Such a sweet, precious pair from a bygone age.

Leslie’s family had made money on the stock market and in property. In fact, they owned a number of large cemeteries around London including Woodgrange Park. Odd to relate, though, Leslie grew up in an off-licence in Ley Street, Ilford. He was educated at Chigwell Public School and later entered accountancy in the City. He never qualified as an accountant but used to audit accounts. Strangely enough, Gladys also became an auditor and travelled around the country, usually happening to be in Henley during the Henley Regatta week so, with her colleague, they would spend some time drinking champagne and watching the rowing. One wonders on the accuracy of the auditing!

It was Gladys who took a fancy to Leslie and we have her letters where she invited him to the Aldborough Tennis Club (the family was living in Aldborough Road, Seven Kings, Ilford at the time). Leslie accepted and, as they say, the rest is history! They were a very devoted couple but, even after three miscarriages, were unable to have a family.

Leslie was brought into the family business, given the house in Woodgrange Park Cemetery, and the task of running the Woodgrange Park Cemetery Company. This was a public limited company and quoted on the London stock exchange. Gladys assisted and they had the opportunity of meeting funeral directors, many of whom were quite affluent. Friendships and a circle of friends were formed and contacts in the business and in the property world followed. As the business was not really full-time, it gave Leslie the opportunity to develop other interests. Essentially, he was a man of independent means who enjoyed an above-average life style.

When we first knew them, they enjoyed entertaining their friends. Gladys was a wonderful cook and produced very sophisticated dishes. Leslie smoked and drank, keeping a well stocked bar at home. Everything was served on quality bone china, together with silver and cut glass. To us, at this time, they lived in a different world but they accepted us and came to our flat without any concerns.

Buying Property Our social life was one round of sport, the ATC and evenings spent enjoying dinner parties with friends, dining out together with theatre visits. We didn’t have a lot of money, but sufficient to make life pleasant with the opportunity of some saving. In those times, buying a house was rather different from today. Banks did not lend money for mortgages and building societies certainly did not advertise – only their interest rates to lenders! If one wanted to buy a house, one would go to a building society and enquire.

Invariably they would ask details about income, occupation and whether there was a record of saving, with whom and how much. Proof was required. If one had a savings account with the building society it was a distinct advantage although no guarantee of a mortgage.

Building societies only had a limited amount of money each month so obtaining a mortgage was quite competitive and they could afford to be very selective. Apart from the applicant’s track record, references 183

regarding their suitability were required. Once accepted, there were strings attached. The mortgage was not transferable, the interest rate was not negotiable, the building society arranged the survey (the results of which were not disclosed to the applicant) and the house insurance – both of which were charged to the purchaser who had no choice or options. Under normal circumstances, the mortgage had to run its course (unless it was transferred to a different property through moving) and could not be paid up early.

If the building society did agree, in special circumstances, the mortgagee would be charged a fee for early completion.

A payment book was issued, and it was common for cash payments (not many people had bank accounts) to be made weekly and these were entered in the payment book. Each year the property insurance had to be paid to the building society when requested. Naturally, the building society made a healthy profit on insurance as well as on surveys and the customer could do nothing about it. To improve our chances for the future, we opened two building society accounts, one with the Abbey Building Society (as it was called then) and the other with the Halifax Building Society.

House purchase was something for the future. Day to day living had its routines – like the weekly visit to the launderette in Cranbrook Road where one of us had to sit and wait for the washing cycle to be completed. The weekly shop was helped by the fact that one could park in Ilford High Road or any other place without restrictions. Maureen was enjoying her job in Bow at Crown Wallpapers’ and she was fortunate to get a lift each day by the buyer, a chap named Jimmy Rockall. Meanwhile, I was covering Essex and enjoying my work.

A Problem Life is never perfect and I had one problem – my boss, the Area Manager. An exuberant, rude man with the largest inferiority complex imaginable. A vain man – “How do I look, dear boy. Do you like this suit?” – or, my hair cut etc. He always wanted his reps to phone him, usually on a Friday or Saturday evening so he could have a report on their week. We did not have a phone (few people did at that time), so it meant me going to a local phone box. Fortunately, calls were unlimited with regard to time because he would sometimes keep me on for an hour – purely to be difficult. He sometimes asked what the weather was like (he lived in North London) and if I said cold, he would say, “Good” and keep me talking. If I said that there were people waiting outside to make a call, he would say make them wait and I would have to confront them as I left the phone box. Embarrassing, particularly if they had an urgent phone call to make.

He was worse when he came out with me on my territory. On one occasion he left a farthing (approximately 1/8th of 1p – this was before decimal currency) as a tip in a restaurant with the loud comment that the meal was not worth more. What an insult! On another occasion, the company had a stand at the Annual Pharmaceutical Exhibition at the New Horticultural Halls in London and he parked his car outside a house.

The owner came out and objected and was promptly told that his car would add value to their property – and promptly walked off.

It was most difficult when he was visiting my territory. I would give details of my first appointment at, say, 8.30am. If he had an easy journey and arrived first, he would want to know why I was late, even though it may only be 8.25am. On the other hand, if he had been held up, I would go into the waiting room to secure my place, hopefully as first in the queue. When he arrived, he would come into the waiting room and in front of all the patients say, in a loud voice, that he had been waiting outside in the rain, cold or whatever. Anything to embarrass me and, hopefully, put me off my forthcoming interview. He would come into the surgery, listen to my detail (as the interview was called in the business) then usually try to take over with loud laughs. The doctors could not stand area managers at the best of times and he was one of the worst of the breed!

Naturally, I would select my calls if he were coming so he didn’t get my best doctors but those I regarded as marginal. Strangely, though, it sometimes made the doctors sympathetic towards me and our relationship became worthwhile as a result. On my next visit, they would often refer to him and ask me never to bring him again. I had no intention.

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In some ways, however, I was fortunate. I had the territory well organised. My product knowledge was excellent along with my presentations. My selling skills to retail pharmacies, hospitals and wholesalers were above average and continually improving. This is not me boasting but a fact as will be seen later. It also formed part of my philosophy towards selling. One could only be successful when you were in front of a ‘customer’ whether it be a doctor, pharmacist or some other buyer. That meant planning to achieve as many calls as possible each day. Next, it was no use getting in the calls if you didn’t know your subject, so product knowledge was vital. Lastly, you had to be able to present your product in such a way that it would satisfy an inherent need of the customer. As far as the doctor was concerned, he had a sick person, so if he could prescribe a product that would help/cure his patient then they were happy and the doctor was especially happy, as he had a satisfied patient and he had more time to concentrate on other ones. This was where my background came in. I could highlight certain conditions and if the doctor had a particular patient, we would discuss their condition. Often, he would ask my opinion and if I considered that the patient would benefit, he would invariably prescribe the product. I would make a note and check the result on my next visit.

My doctors got to know this and a relationship of trust was built. It was not unusual for them to contact me at home with results, before my next visit.

On one occasion, a practice in Southend-on-Sea had a patient with an unresponsive chest infection. We had introduced a product containing an antibiotic, Cathomycin, and following a discussion, I felt that this was worth trying. I had some samples with me, so left sufficient for a course. About a week later, I received a hand-written letter at home from the doctor saying that the patient had responded and was now well. This was not only good for my relationship with the practice – I was always well received there and had coffee with them – but it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to know that I had helped someone.

All this meant that there was little that the area manager could contribute in the way of training, which was, or should have been, his primary function. The result was that, ‘the baby of the representatives’ did not see much of his area manager for which he was truly grateful!

One last incident that I should mention concerned a visit he made to the Ilford area during the winter. Having finished the day, we went to have a cup of tea and a discussion in a café in Newbury Park. This was around 4.15pm and it was obvious that he did not intend to let me go home early (I only lived 2 miles away) so we talked and talked. Now I had arranged to collect Maureen at Gants Hill where she was dropped off from work at 5.30pm. He decided that he would keep me, even though I explained the situation. The result was that I finally arrived just after 6pm. Maureen was furious and was literally shivering from the cold. Of course, it was my entire fault (!) and I was in the dog-house that night. It did not endear the area manager to me either and, after that, I only made contact when it was really essential.

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—24— Essex Takes Off

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very comfortable with life. My job was going well and I was enjoying the challenge.

Of course, there were problems. More and more companies were being launched in the U.K. which meant that there was an abundance of medical representatives seeking interviews and taking up more of the GPs’ and hospital doctors’ time. As companies sought to engage more representatives, the standards started to fall as the number of suitably qualified people was strictly limited. Fortunately, this did not affect me too badly as I was established on my territory and my company was well known. y now i was feeling

Macarthys On my territory, the wholesalers included Macarthys of Romford – an up and coming company originally based behind a pharmacy of the same name in Romford Market place. Macarthys were later to become a national company with depots over much of the country. They also developed a manufacturing capacity specialising in intravenous fluids which are still supplied today. They created another division supplying surgical instruments and later had a small medical representative force specialising in diabetic drugs.

The Sales Director was my treasured mentor, Ken Holland, who had introduced me to this industry and to whom I am most grateful. Together with the M.D. Alan Ritchie, a shrewd scientist and business man, they grew the company and, due to my links with Ken, I became part of the Macarthy family. I used to call in about every 4 weeks for a cup of tea and discuss developments within the company and the industry, as well as to find out what my competitors were doing which helped me to plan accordingly. Subsequently, Macarthys moved to new premises in Romford and grew until they were launched as a public company.

Shares were issued and the offer was over subscribed many times. I applied and received an allocation of 300 shares which proved a great investment. This bound me to the company even more and the Directors were delighted that I had become a shareholder – it just made our relationship that much tighter.

Naturally, when I picked up transfer orders from chemists, I would send them to Macarthys. They were fast, efficient and hungry for business (as I was). In addition, they were concentrated, in the early days, in Essex and as most pharmaceutical products were supplied through wholesalers, their sales reflected my work.

Perhaps I should explain that when a prescription was taken to a chemist, he would usually obtain his drugs from a wholesaler. Whilst Essex was served by London wholesalers, a local wholesaler could offer a quicker delivery to the benefit of the chemist and patient. This was the battle of the wholesalers which at one time reached fever pitch when some chemists could have twelve deliveries per day from various wholesalers serving their area.

Social Aspects A pleasant side of the work was that my area covered three Pharmaceutical Branch areas:- Southend, Romford and East London. Each of these branches had an annual dinner for their pharmacists, including local hospital pharmacists, to which local GPs were often invited. Certain pharmaceutical companies received invitations and mine was fortunate to be one of those. MSD would send a pair of tickets for Maureen and I and I was given an entertainment allowance of £2 to cover drinks for the evening!

These were always pleasant occasions which included dancing until midnight at least. It also gave me the opportunity to socialise with many of my pharmaceutical contacts as well as meeting a number of doctors in a different environment. The Southend branch used Garrod’s banqueting rooms in Southend and the East London branch held the dinner/dance in one of the well-known hotels in London.

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The Romford branch had various venues in their area. For us, this was the best as we were always invited to join the Macarthys’ table and have a great evening wining, dining and dancing. It was also the greatest concentration of pharmacists and doctors from my area so a bonus in every respect.

A Good Pharmacist Friend One afternoon, I called at a pharmacy named Heath’s Chemists in Broad Street, Dagenham. The pharmacist, Sid Heath, and I seemed to have an immediate rapport. Sid had been a manager with Boots Chemists and with the introduction of the National Health Service in 1948, decided to start his own business. Originally from Nottingham, he purchased the Broad Street pharmacy. He and Muriel moved in above the shop and worked extremely hard to get established. Sid was the business brain behind their ventures but one could never underestimate Muriel! Very attractive with her pronounced Nottingham accent, she was a dynamo in the retail side. She could sell anything and everything to anyone – and she did. She controlled and trained the staff in the shop and both they and the customers adored her. She had that sort of personality.

Their hard work paid off and Sid and Muriel expanded the business. Essex was growing with new housing estates being built. With these new estates, doctors would set up in practice and alongside would appear a pharmacy – frequently another branch of Heath Chemists. At one stage, to my knowledge, they had six branches.

One must bear in mind that Sid had not had an easy time. He had to have a colostomy when young. He was one of the first in the country to have this operation which carried a high degree of risk at that time. Although physically a small, dapper man, he was very determined and mentally strong. He not only survived the operation but lived with his colostomy for the rest of his life and died when in his 80s. In the early days, he had times when he was under the weather but he always kept going and, with Muriel’s support, they grew the business and had a lovely family.

With their success came a degree of affluence but Sid was a modest and quiet man – the opposite of Muriel who was such an extrovert. Sid was keen on sport and swam a lot, not easy with a colostomy bag! He and Muriel were also keen on tennis and that is where my story starts.

I called on Sid one day and somehow the conversation came round to tennis. I mentioned that we were keen players and Sid suggested a game. I said Maureen and I would be delighted and asked where his club was. Sid just said we play at home so a date and time was arranged and he gave us his address in Hornchurch.

From our little flat in Ilford, we set off and arrived at Hornchurch. Had we got the right address? I checked.

Yes, this was the place. To us, this was an enormous, imposing house with a large circular driveway. Clutching our tennis rackets, we rang the doorbell. It was answered by a uniformed housekeeper, no less. We really must have got the wrong place! I asked for Mr and Mrs Heath and the housekeeper said, “They are expecting you, go through to the garden”. So they did live here.

Maureen and I glanced at each other and, noting the great sweeping staircase, floral decorations and wonderful furniture, made our way into the garden. Wow! Immaculately tended gardens (by their gardener, of course), a tennis court and changing chalet (with shower) plus a large swimming pool – a rarity in those days.

Sid and Muriel were playing on the court and cheerfully called out to us to get changed. We did and we all enjoyed what was to be the first of many enjoyable times together. We had a break and the housekeeper brought out drinks for everyone. After the game we relaxed in their lounge and chatted before a light snack – their minimum was smoked salmon, a real luxury in those days.

This was the start of a long relationship lasting for many, many years. When we later owned a dinghy, we 187

took them sailing on the river Crouch which they thoroughly enjoyed. Returning, we picked some large horse mushrooms in a field and these were cooked at their home as part of a mixed grill. A great meal was enjoyed after a day in the fresh air.

Although a highly successful business partnership, their private life could be very “interesting”. This was mainly from Muriel as Sid was always the calming influence, although he could have his moments! Just inside their front door was a very adequate cloakroom and on the shelves, there was every kind of (expensive) perfume one could imagine. They were for the use of guests and were obviously samples left by various cosmetics representatives. I have to say that Maureen’s eyes were like organ stops when she first saw them….but back to this story. We were there one evening with some other guests, when they had a row, the pinnacle of which was Muriel at the top of the stairs and Sid in the cloakroom. Suddenly, one of Muriel’s really expensive hats skimmed out of the cloakroom followed by Sid who leapt in the air and jumped on it with both feet! These events did happen but didn’t last long; the air was cleared and they carried on their close, happy life together.

New Year Parties Sid and Muriel invited us to their New Year Party and this became an annual event for us. On the first occasion we were, to say the least, amazed. It was a black tie affair and their large house was packed with friends and a large contingent of professional people, principally local doctors and pharmacists. For me, it was a wonderful opportunity to meet many of the doctors on whom I called, on a social basis. This night was regarded as one of the social events of the year and invitations were eagerly sought after. Additional staff was engaged and the food and wine flowed. Sid and Muriel were most generous people and no expense was spared.

Sadly, however, professional jealousy raised its ugly head. One or two of the local doctors were obviously jealous of a pharmacist living in relative opulence from the prescriptions written by the medical profession.

On one occasion, Sid caught a local doctor pouring whisky down the sink with the comment that he could afford it! Sid was furious and it was his last visit.

Another doctor and his wife were of Middle Eastern origin. They were not so much jealous as wanted to ‘keep up’ with Sid and Muriel. His wife particularly so. She made her husband buy a bigger house with a tennis court which he couldn’t really afford and every time Sid and Muriel made any changes to their home, she would copy them. On one occasion, they decided to extend their lounge and this wife came round to measure Sid and Muriel’s so they could make their lounge ½ inch longer. Yes, ½ inch! Sid and Muriel found this quite amusing.

True Friendship From our point of view, we enjoyed their company and friendship. They were happy to visit our little flat (must have impressed the neighbours when he parked his superb Armstrong Sidley Sapphire outside our house) and they enjoyed our hospitality. They knew we couldn’t match the smoked salmon and caviar but they were not concerned. They never forgot their humble beginnings when they lived above the shop in Broad Street, Dagenham.

We used to get up to some mad schemes. On one occasion, we bought a kit to make a rug. The kit was composed of off-cuts of sheepskin together with a sheet of Hessian and some rubber solution. The idea was to stick the sheepskin pieces as a patchwork on to the Hessian. The kit was about £2 but being keen DIY people, we set to with gusto. Sid and Muriel thought this a great idea so they bought a kit too. Well, we both made these ‘luxury’ rugs (they had problems as they weren’t so handicraft minded) which looked fine. The only problem was that all the sheepskin pieces came unstuck and fell off after a couple of months! And to think, they could have bought as many real sheepskin rugs as they wanted!

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The Wedding Sid and Muriel had three children, two girls and a boy. Their son later became a pharmacist and eventually took over the business. One of their daughters studied medicine and qualified as a doctor. Her marriage to another doctor was imminent. We were invited to the wedding and I was asked to be an usher. This was a morning dress function and Sid arranged for every male who needed it to go to Moss Bros to be measured and fitted.

The ushers took the top hats when the guests entered the church and left them outside in the porch. After the service, as the male guests came out of the church, we ushers suddenly realised that these Moss Bros top hats had no names or other recognition. So, what did we do? We just handed out the hats in random order. Imagine the scene. Some noble crowns had a far too small hat rocking backwards and forwards while those with small heads had their hat over their ears and eyes. At least the guests enjoyed the situation and it made for a happy occasion. I was also asked if I would be the official cine photographer for the family and I am pleased to say that they were delighted with the film of the wedding.

The reception was back at the family home in Burntwood Avenue, Hornchurch, where a large marquee had been erected on the lawn. I must mention at this stage that we had our son Mervyn, who was a toddler, but even at his tender age, he had quite sophisticated tastes and knew what he liked. Whilst we were socialising before the wedding breakfast and thought he was playing with the other children, he had an eye to the main chance and was ingratiating himself with the waiters. The first we knew was when he came up and said, “Daddy, I’ve got wobbly legs”.

I went over to the obvious waiter who told me that he had been tucking into the smoked salmon and caviar canapés and washing them down with an estimated six glasses of champagne! No wonder he had ‘wobbly legs’.

The meal was wonderful, as was the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, one or two of the younger male guests had drunk too much and ended up jumping in the swimming pool in their morning dress. I don’t think Sid was too pleased and I often wonder how much Moss Bros charged for the soggy suits and shirts!

Later Sid and Muriel were to buy homes in the South of France near Cannes, where we visited them once while in the area and, later, in Fuertaventura where Mervyn and his family saw them when they were on holiday on the island. Whenever we met up, it was always a joy. Sid and Muriel had a following because they had money, but so many of their friendships were insincere. Sid always said that our friendship was genuine – we just enjoyed each others company; had lots of laughs and if either of us had a problem, the other would always be available to help. That was true friendship.

Sid and Muriel retired to a beautiful house in an exclusive part of Crockham Hill, Kent. He handed over the pharmacies to his son, although they kept a close eye on the overall running of the business. Sadly, Muriel needed a replacement hip and walking became a problem so when Sid passed away in 2001, Muriel sold the property and moved back to a residential home in Hornchurch. Two people who contributed a great deal to our lives.

Other Friendships At this time, we made friends with other members of the medical profession, one of whom was Vic Storey, a GP on the new Harold Hill estate near Chadwell Heath. Vic was one of those post-war doctors. He had served in the forces during the war and, like so many, was offered a free university place when he was demobbed after the war. These worthy men and women who had served their country deserved these opportunities although, for some years post 1945, they took up many of the few university places from the young people of my generation.

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Vic and his wife, Mary would come to us for dinner parties and vice versa. Sometimes we would go out and we had one memorable night in Southend. It was early October; the Southend Illuminations were on, so off we went. Having walked around seeing the lights, we decided we were hungry so bought fish and chips – in newspaper (there was no alternative in those days) – and sat on the seafront enjoying every mouthful! Vic was dreading that he might see any of his patients as the news would spread like wildfire through his estate.

Doctors at that time were not expected to eat fish and chips out of newspaper on Southend seafront or anywhere else come to that!

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—25— Experiences of a Medical Representative in the 1950s

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with people is certain to create memorable experiences and mine was no different. I often wish I had maintained a diary, but I didn’t so have to rely on memory to recall a few of the more memorable experiences. One must remember that in the ’50s, there were not many multiple surgeries. GPs would work from home and, as well as surgeries and visits, they would often be called out during the night. Many of the country doctors had patients who were in the local cottage hospital.

I thought it might be interesting to include some of my experiences around that time. n y j o b w h i c h i n v o lv e s i n t e r a c t i n g

Pitsea When I was young, it was common knowledge that Pitsea was a rather poor, run-down area of Essex.

Apparently, after the First World War, ex-soldiers could acquire land for a few pounds where they could build a home and run a small-holding. Often, these homes were little more than wooden huts and the occupants could only just scrape a living. The whole set-up was rather like a shanty town with muddy tracks linking the properties and eventually, the main road.

On my first visit to one Pitsea GP, I was the last to be sitting in the waiting room when a horse put his head through the open window. This was a first for me! He appeared to be friendly and seemed to be looking to see how many patients were left. When I went in, I asked the doctor about the horse only to be told that what I had surmised was correct! Because of the thick mud and scrub, a car was useless so the doctor did his calls on horseback and the horse usually checked how many patients were left in the surgery before he could start his rounds! That horse obviously needed to plan his day!

Rayleigh Rayleigh was a small market town, east of Southend. When I called on the local pharmacy, I was told that they dispensed vast quantities of Virvina – a tonic which had a sherry-type base. When I went to call on the doctor, I found a large somewhat run-down house with a dull, unpolished brass plate and a dull waiting room to match. The whole place seemed neglected. I was first and a few other patients came in to sit in this dim and depressing room. The surgery was due to start at 9am. At 9.15am there was no sign of the doctor, so I asked one of the elderly patients what time he started. He looked at me strangely and said it could be any time up to 10am. I decided to wait.

Around 9.30am, we heard sounds coming from the surgery next door and the other patients started to shuffle, hopefully. The surgery door opened a fraction and a voice said, “Come in” so in I went to find an elderly, somewhat bleary-eyed doctor in a room piled up with paper and rubbish. His roll-top desk was the same and there was a small light above it with very little daylight entering the room.

The interview was somewhat restrained until I mentioned Virvina when he suddenly sprang to life and asked if I had any with me. I had some 50ml (2oz) bottles. He asked for six which I happened to have with me.

When I gave them to him, he opened one and drank the entire contents! Sadly, this doctor was an alcoholic which I confirmed later.

Great Bardfield and the Salings I suppose some of my favourite days were spent in North Essex. I had details of one 9am surgery in Great Saling – a very pretty village. Leaving home early, I arrived just after 8.30am to find my destination was a 191

delightful thatched cottage approached by a bridge over a stream thence a long path through a cottage garden to the door. What a charming place! I had a feeling that I was being watched as I walked up the path.

There was the usual brass plate on the door, so I knocked.

The doctor opened the door eating toast! Apparently, his patients never arrived during breakfast! He was very pleasant and invited me to wait in his elegant, beamed lounge and I was offered coffee. He joined me later and we discussed various products before I left. There were still no patients and I had the feeling that his home address was not normally used as a surgery. He had surgeries in various villages on different days of the week, in village halls and the front rooms of cottages where the locals would gather for a chat. What a pleasant life this doctor enjoyed. Needless to say, I never called at his home again but saw him in one of his village surgeries!

Petrol Rationing In 1956 during the Suez Crisis, petrol rationing was introduced. This was potentially disastrous as far as I was concerned, particularly when I was working more than 10 miles from home. Some companies supplied their representatives with Lambrettas, but these were of little use when it rained! A wet, bedraggled, representative could not carry out a good presentation and he had little capacity for literature and samples.

At that time, petrol was about 10p per gallon (4 ½ litres) and I used a local garage where I had an account.

By some means, he was able to secure ‘extra petrol’ which did not need petrol coupons, so my local travelling was reasonably secure. The problem was when I was travelling greater distances from home and I had to resort to conservative driving to maintain minimum fuel consumption for my Hillman Minx. Although highly illegal, on one occasion I had been in Danbury, the highest point in Essex and I was returning to Chelmsford. From Danbury, I put the car into neutral and was able to coast all the way to Great Baddow on the edge of Chelmsford, thus saving quite a lot of petrol. Many of my competitors used this petrol rationing as an excuse to work less but I saw this as a great opportunity. With fewer competitors on the road making fewer calls, I was able to gain a great advantage and I believe I did.

I studied selling and tried to put into practice what I had learned. It has to be said that many salesmen only did the minimum necessary. If they have had a good day by, say, lunchtime, they finish. Equally, if they have had a good week or reached their target by Thursday, they take Friday off. I did not share those sentiments.

I always worked on the basis that if I was having a good day, I would make an extra effort and turn it into a super day. Likewise, at the end of a day, I would always try to make one extra call – if you made 10 calls in a day, one extra call was a 10% increase and could be productive. This proved itself on one occasion.

Coggeshall A good salesman is always prospecting. In other words, one must never become complacent and must always be looking out for new business opportunities. Even though I had Essex well covered, there was the odd place that had been off my standard path. Such a place was Coggeshall. My way through the county was the A12 linking Chelmsford with Colchester.

To get to Coggeshall meant a diversion on to the A120 towards Braintree but one afternoon I decided to get in that one extra call and look the place over. What a fascinating gem I had discovered. A small medieval town with its 13th Century church, Paycockes House (a beamed merchant’s house dating back to the 16th Century), the ancient Woolpack Inn etc. In all, there are about 90 monuments in this small town. I have made many visits since.

The pharmacy was in the centre and what an interesting character the pharmacist proved to be. He was not only very involved in local activities, but seemed to be quite a ‘wheeler and dealer’. Petrol was still rationed but, somehow, he had large drums of it in his yard! He was kind enough to let me have some for my car so I was grateful. Above all, he knew my company and I even got an order. My day was made.

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I must emphasize that direct orders were unusual (although prized) in the pharmaceutical industry as, owing to the urgency of prescriptions, local wholesalers were used. Nevertheless, that extra call had won again and I had a new account.

Colchester Colchester was a favourite place of mine along with the surrounding area. Colchester was the first Roman town in Britain and known as Camulodonum. One hotel where I used to stay in Lexden Road used to say that they could dig up Roman remains about 1-2 feet deep in their rear garden – and they did.

There were two good hotels in the town, The Red Lion and The Fleece. Both were Trust Houses Forte Hotels (THF) – a company that no longer exists. This company would tend to take historic hotels and maintain them, somewhat like a commercial National Trust.

The Red Lion had a Roman floor in the cellar and was a very old coaching inn with masses of oak beams and furniture to match. The old oak floors would creak as you walked on them and the windows had tiny leaded light panes. The long case clocks stood guard along the carpeted corridors and chimed the hours with great regularity. Magic. It was like arriving home, particularly on a winter’s night, to be greeted by the blazing log fires in the bar and lounge. I used to wonder how the passengers on the stage coaches felt when they were greeted by this scene. A great place but now changed. The last time I saw the Red Lion, it had become a fast food restaurant. How sad.

The Fleece, just round the corner, was old but not of the same style. It was comfortable but lacked the historic feel of the Red Lion. I had one memorable meal there. Having reached the dessert, I ordered fruit salad. Biting on a grape, I found it was a clove of garlic. Wow! Having called the waitress, I was suddenly surrounded by the Head Waiter, Head Chef, Duty Manager and various other members of staff. Everyone was so apologetic at this onslaught on my taste buds.

Not far from Colchester, on the Ipswich Road was Dedham, a beautiful village in the Vale of Dedham with beautiful and very expensive houses. It was here that Constable painted many of his famous works and was also the home of Sir Alfred Munnings, one of the greatest horse artists ever. To visit Dedham Church during their Annual Flower Festival was a fantastic experience. The whole church was full of wonderful arrangements and colour. The big houses sent flowers from their gardens (no doubt grown by their gardeners) and the ladies would create the displays.

There was, however, another place of interest. This was in the days when eating out was still quite novel. In Dedham, on the banks of the Stour, was a great restaurant named Le Talbooth. It was a small, beautiful, beamed house with a patio facing the river and swans gently gliding by. A perfect picture. The young chef/ restaurateur was a Gerald Milsom, later to become well known in the industry.

Having heard about this place, I decided one evening when staying in Colchester, to dine at Le Talbooth. It was a set menu at £3 – twice my allowance incidentally! I had never eaten in such an elegant place. The beamed restaurant, the table setting, the service and, above all, the food was outstanding. The only item on the menu that I can remember was stuffed vine leaves. I had never had them before and they were fantastic. It was a wonderful meal and I vowed to come again, but it was not be for some years. The only sad thing was that I had to dine alone. Maureen would have loved it and did, much later, when Le Talbooth was greatly enlarged.

Whilst in the area, another place I should mention was Mersea Island, south of Colchester. West Mersea was a very quiet place reached by crossing a causeway. On the mainland side of the crossing was a famous pub called the Peldon Rose. The pub was old and tiny with scrubbed tables inside and famous for the roses that surrounded the door, hence the name, Peldon Rose. Outside there was a pond, in the centre of which was a deep well.

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This area was famous for smuggling, and the smugglers would land on Mersea Island bringing the contraband across the causeway and drop the barrels of brandy etc in the pond where they would sink to the bottom of the well. When the customs officers dredged the pond, their nets would pass over the well thus concealing the contents. Barrels would be rolled to the local parson’s house for storage and onward transmission. He always maintained a good cellar! This whole area is well worth exploring and was captured by the Rev S Baring-Gould in his famous romantic story of the salt marshes entitled, Mehalah. He is also the writer of the famous hymn, Onward Christian Soldiers.

My reason for spending time on Mersea, apart for its beauty some 40 years ago, was that it had a gastronomic interest. The Romans introduced oysters to the area and Colchester Natives are, perhaps, the most famous of British oysters. They come from the oyster beds of West Mersea so that is where I headed. Yes, I had a call on Mersea Island so justified the visit! In those days, I could go to the oyster beds and buy a dozen Colchester Natives that had been through the purifying tank for half a crown equal to 12 1/2 p.

The fisherman would pack the oysters to keep them moist and put them in a bag made out of sacking which was closed by sewing the opening. The oysters would arrive home perfect. You can probably appreciate why I enjoyed my job and my territory!

Hotels I was fortunate in having a territory that was accessible by road and required minimum staying away during the week. Hotels were very different from those experienced today. En suite rooms were virtually unknown.

Some hotels had a communal bathroom/toilet where one needed to queue to shave. The better hotels had a washbasin in the bedroom which helped but a queue for the ‘loo’ was usually necessary. All this put pressure on those who wanted an early start, like me. Even then one became dependent on the speed on service for breakfast in the dining room.

Hotel rooms were often poorly lit and were furnished with old wooden beds, a small mat on linoleum floors and drab wallpaper. The paintwork was usually brown. Some, like the Red Lion, Colchester, had radiators which sometimes made the rooms unbearably hot, but that was not the general case. Many had small, lukewarm radiators and occasionally there was a one bar-electric fire which one had to feed with shillings (5p).

Although, during my career, I have stayed in many hotels in the UK and overseas, in Essex I only needed to stay away in northeast of the county. I have mentioned Colchester, but not the Clacton, Harwich/ Dovercourt areas.

Clacton-on-Sea There was no problem out of season, but very difficult in the summer for both parking, seeing doctors and chemists and obtaining hotel accommodation.

There was one memorable hotel called the Napier Hotel. It was owned by an ex-commercial traveller (CT) who had worked for the well-known stationers, John Dickinson. This man fully supported the ‘knights of the road’, as commercial travellers were often called, and would never turn one away – he was even known to give up his own bed on occasions.

Apart from the rooms in this large, converted house in Clacton, he had a number of sheds in the back garden, each around 8ftx6ft and equipped with a bed and locker. The sheds were horizontally planked and each plank was painted a different colour – bright colours too! Stripes of yellow, blue, red, green. Can you picture the scene?

This was the overflow accommodation for when the hotel was full. I slept in these sheds sometimes when there was no alternative and I was quite grateful.

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The breakfast scene was unbelievable. All these men (lady CTs were virtually unheard of) would go into a conservatory/dining room. The tables were packed together – small tables with chairs to match and a narrow gangway down the centre. He had made, a special trolley which fitted this gangway, just, and he would pass along distributing plates right and left to these men crammed into these minute eating spaces.

But that is not all.

Even in his retirement years, he couldn’t stop selling – it was in his blood. He would stand at the head of the dining room before commencing to push his trolley and announce, “We have some wonderful cornflakes today, the shredded wheat is freshly opened and the porridge is perfect. I can recommend the sizzling bacon and fried eggs with fried tomatoes and toast. Tell me what you would like, etc”.

The trolley would commence its run and he would take the orders. The experience was unique and I felt that all the CTs appreciated his sincerity, and knew there was always a bed and a welcome with a cup of tea and a piece of cake on arrival. I hasten to add that the usual practice was to book hotels ahead and not to arrive on the doorstop.

Dovercourt My furthermost point was Harwich/Dovercourt which had about a dozen doctors in the area and, if we had useful information for them, it was my job to make sure they received it. The problem was that there were too many doctors for one day’s calls plus, of course, the chemists and a small cottage hospital.

As I made this a Friday on my plan, I adopted the unheard of practice of Thursday evening calls on my way into the area from Colchester. The doctors did not seem to mind and were often less busy than in the mornings. It meant that by the time I reached my hotel around 7pm, I could have seen 4 doctors. Writing my daily reports etc made it a long day, particularly as I would have left my Colchester hotel around 8am.

Arriving at the Cliff Hotel (another THF hotel), I was tired and hungry. In the winter, it could be raining heavily or snowing with a strong, icy, gale force, easterly wind from Siberia, emphasised by the fact the hotel stood on the cliff facing the sea.

I remember that the spring on the front door was so strong as I struggled at the top of those steps trying to open it, whilst holding my grip and suitcase as well as fighting the weather. As soon as it opened, everything changed. I was hit by a torrent of hot air – this hotel was always over heated but in the winter, it was so welcome.

By that time, dinner was being served and, after checking in to my room and having a wash, I would make my way to the dining room. It had been a long day and I would always look forward to arriving at the Cliff with its warmth, welcome and good food. The long Thursday gave me a reasonable Friday as most of the remaining doctors were in multiple practices and the receptionists would fit me in.

As I could complete any other calls (including a direct order) by lunchtime, I was finished and could start my journey home, having sufficient time to make any extraneous or special calls on the way.

Harwich was an interesting place, old, historic and another smugglers haunt. The streets ran at right angles to the harbour and it is said that they were all connected by their lofts. The reason being that contraband could be off-loaded into the first house, which, if searched by the Customs, would be taken to the loft from where it could be moved from house to house, swiftly down the street.

I had one memorable experience. Staying at the Cliff Hotel on one occasion, I met a photographer who worked for Shell. He was there to photograph a new petroleum cracking plant which was to be landed the next morning from the Hook of Holland. This was a new piece of technical equipment about 40ft long and manufactured in the Netherlands.

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At that time, Shell had a reputation for making high quality films which they loaned to interested organisations. I was really keen on photography and to meet the man responsible for making Shell films, was quite a privilege.

The plant was due to be landed around 11am (after I had completed my calls) and he invited me to be present. An opportunity not to be missed! I was keen to see this famous man’s photographic equipment and perhaps pick up a few tips.

When I arrived, he was unpacking a few old wooden boxes out of which came the biggest collection of old photographic bits and pieces you could imagine. I could not believe it. I was expecting the latest in cameras and technical equipment. I asked him whether this was what he used for the Shell films and he affirmed that this was his usual kit.

Sensing what I was thinking, he added that Shell paid him to make quality films and that was where his skill lay, not in expensive equipment. It only emphasised what I had always believed – that it is the person behind the camera that counts, not just the value of the equipment.

Watching him work showed his knowledge, experience and creativity. The plant was on a long, low trailer and he ensured that everything was exactly as he wanted it before it slowly moved past his cameras. He was taking stills as well as cine. We parted good company and I was sorry that I never saw the results of this interesting experience.

Southend-on-Sea I once stayed in a hotel that was like moving back in time – not from the hotel point of view but from the guests. I only stayed once in Southend as it was easy commuting distance. Likewise, I cannot remember the name of the hotel or even where it was, but it was not far from the beach.

What made it so different? It must have been one of the last traditional commercial traveller hotels. I had obtained the details from the CT journal, ‘On The Road’, having tried other hotels in the area without any success as it was summer and the place was packed with holidaymakers.

On arrival, I was shown to my room which was adequate for one night. I was told that dinner was at 6.30pm.

This was odd as hotels would invariably offer a selection of times when one could eat, but not this one.

Having finished my daily reports, I went down to the bar where one or two other representatives were gathering. I had a beer and at 6.30pm precisely, the group started to make their way into the dining room. I followed and could not believe my eyes. There was a top table with two sprigs. The top table had chairs, but the sprigs had benches!

The tables were laid and some of the older guests went to the top table whereas the younger ones stood by the benches. No one sat down so I went to make a move and was promptly hauled back. Why were we standing, I asked? I was quietly told that we had to wait for the most senior CT who would act as President during the meal. Who was this individual who was about to control the proceedings? Apparently, a code operated when booking which decided on seniority for the evening.

Everyone spoke in hushed tones and after a couple of minutes, the door opened and in walked ‘the President’. As he made his way to his central place on the top table, there was some clapping from the assembled gathering. On reaching his seat, there was silence. Grace was said and we all sat down; the waitresses appeared and the meal got underway. Frankly, the atmosphere reminded me of school dinners.

The headmaster arrived; we all sat on benches and then received food which was not dissimilar to school dinners in that it filled a gap without being a gastronomic experience.

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I found my colleagues at the table came from a variety of companies and sold a wide range of products.

Most of them had never had any training and had ‘graduated’ through the time honoured principle of waiting for a vacancy when one of the ‘travellers’ retired or died. Many were in textiles and had spent years in the warehouse (shades of my beginning at Copestake, Crampton). They had never heard of a medical representative and I was viewed with something between comic interest and suspicion.

When I mentioned that I felt all salesmen should be trained in selling, their suspicions were justified and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was young; I had no knowledge of business and no experience so would in all probability fail! That was their verdict. I didn’t stand a chance! Time would show that while they were still carrying their bags and samples, I was moving up the management ladder with a success story behind me!

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of virtually spending time in a bygone age and it made me more determined than ever to develop the art of selling through training. I have often wondered for how long that Dickensian approach to ritual dining continued. I never went back. I didn’t need to and, in any case, it wasn’t my style.

Doctors Doctors are as varied as any cross section of humanity. I have often thought that if I had kept a diary on doctors and doctor situations that I have met, it would fill volumes and provide much laughter and food for thought. But I didn’t so I can but lift the corner on a fascinating aspect of human life.

Really doctors are no different to anybody else although, because they have enjoyed a certain status and privileges with, perhaps, an above average education, some have considered themselves a superior breed.

As a medical representative, I spent my working life with doctors from GPs to senior consultants and, as so often happens, the higher the consultant, the more polite and pleasant they were. At the other end of the scale, there were some very short-tempered GPs. Let us just take a look a few examples of the types I met.

The Know-It-All. This type knew everything. Even if I knew he didn’t, he would insist that he did.

The only way I could deal with this situation was to ask a question and if he hesitated, he couldn’t later claim he knew

The Sample Scrounger. If this doctor had his way, he would take all your samples on the basis that they would be given to patients. Strangely, they would often be seen later in the local pharmacy. The doctor had sold them to the pharmacist or exchanged them for cosmetics. Highly illegal for both parties but it did go on The ‘Prescribe Everything Type. Said he did but never did. It was just a method of not getting involved in a discussion for whatever reason

The ‘In and Out’ Type. An example in Dagenham where, as one entered the surgery, this doctor would stand, shake your hand whilst walking you to the exit door, he opened it and you were outside.

Time – 15 seconds. There was a way to handle this situation, too There were various other types but the above are a few examples. Most of ‘my’ doctors were very pleasant and saw my visit as a breather between patients. In many cases, I would call at the end of the surgery and share a cup of coffee (and a cigarette in those days).

Everyday, doctors would be interviewing patients and they became very skilled in analysing people. The same applied to medical reps. The doctor would soon know, by gentle questions, whether the medical rep was knowledgeable and his attitude to medicine and patients.

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A number of companies would only employ pharmacists who would tend to look down on other medical reps. It never worried me because I felt that pharmacists may have an advantage on the pharmaceutical aspects of a formulation, but they didn’t know much about patients and medicine. My background of working in a hospital environment directly with patients, my medical background and broad knowledge of subjects like haematology, bacteriology, body fluids, chemistry etc soon became appreciated by all levels of doctors.

They realised that I could make a contribution to a discussion concerning a particular patient/condition.

As a result, it was not unusual for them to discuss problem patients and, if it concerned a product of mine, they would ask my opinion on whether they should prescribe it. They knew that my answer would be based on whether it would benefit the patient.

This level of working was the highest accolade to which a medical rep could aspire and it gave great job satisfaction but carried great responsibility. I always felt that the function of a medical rep was to help the doctor treat his patients effectively thus giving him more time to treat those in greatest need.

I met different styles of doctors. One, in a country practice in Suffolk, was a Judo expert. I went in; he shook me by the hand and I landed on my back while he laughed like a drain! On another occasion, I called on a GP in Walton-on-the-Naze. He was new to the area and had a Diploma in Tropical Medicine having returned from overseas. He kept the surgery door open during the consultation and I was amazed at his choice language. The patient came out and I heard him pass wind – very loudly! I went in to be greeted by, “What the f*ck*ng h*ll do you want?” Somewhat shattered, I grinned and said something like, “I’ve come to f*ck*ng well see you” to which he said that I had better sit down then. We got on fine after that and I got to know him well although it was quite usual for him to pass wind while we talked. I have no idea what the patients thought but they seemed to like him.

I had another doctor who held her surgery in the bar of a pub just outside Witham. Quite off-putting as one felt that the drinkers would be keeping one eye on the doctor and patient – or me!

Our Social Life Between us, Maureen and I had busy social life. Apart from our home which required painting, decorating and looking after the front and rear gardens, we would have, or go to, dinner parties on most Saturdays. Our regular guests would include Derek and Pam Chatfield whom I met through the Air Training Corps (ATC); our teenage friends Bernard and Jean who were now married and Ted and Pat Hayes – my old school friend and his wife.

I would spend Monday and Friday evenings instructing at the ATC, with occasional Sunday mornings when I may take them on a drill parade. The Squadron was in demand for local functions, for example, Remembrance Day Services. It was usual on Friday evenings for Maureen and Grace Frost (later to become our downstairs tenant) to have baths – the only bathroom was in our flat – and then sit in their dressing gowns in Grace’s lounge and chat. When I arrived home we would round off the evening with a cup of coffee or tea. We got on very well with Grace who worked at the Prudential Head Office in London.

We spent quite a lot of time with the RAF Association (RAFA) and enjoyed their social events. Mostly, however, we were involved with the Tennis Section, playing singles and partnering each other in mixed doubles. We had good hard courts and a club house in Valentines Park and matches were arranged with other RAFA branches in the South East. These were usually at weekends, as considerable travel could be involved to places like Staines, Windsor or the south coast.

As time went on, we became increasingly committed to the UKCTA, not only because of my seminars on selling and salesmanship, but I seemed to be progressing up the ladder as an officer in the East London Branch. The members were a wonderful crowd; generous, fun-loving and would help anyone. The wives were lovely people too and they would organise fairs and jumble sales in support of the Commercial Travellers’ 198

Schools. These were seriously hard work for the two hours’ duration, but we had a lot of laughs. Maureen became a member of the Ladies Section and soon became one of the leading lights.

Every year, the East London Branch would organise a Car Rally for the Jim Denny Cup (Jim Denny was the secretary of the Branch when I joined). Technically, these were treasure hunts but, having been involved with the serious rallies in the West Essex Car Club, I relished the challenge. We teamed up with Derek and Pam Chatfield – I would drive, Derek would navigate and the girls in the back would work out the clues. I should explain.

At the start, one would be given a clue to be solved. The solution would lead one to a place where the answer lay. The answer would provide the next clue to be solved and so on. The winner would be the car returning in the fastest time and with the most correct answers. We had a superb team and with three wins out of three, won the cup outright. Some of the ‘treasures’ to find were made difficult. For example, a goose egg or the tail feather of a pheasant!

Needless to say, we had to take our turn in organising rallies. These were not easy as there must be no ambiguity in the answers and the course had to be carefully structured. Having decided the clues and the course, it was necessary to carefully check the details at home and then carry out a dummy run as a final check. It was surprising how often people would solve the clue, but give the wrong answer (organisers would sometimes supply clues which needed accuracy so as to reduce the number of correct answers).

I remember that we produced one particular clue which created havoc. The cars were directed to Theydon Bois (a village by Epping Forest) and the clue was, ‘The number of trees in the avenue, please?’ The avenue was a road that stretched through the village green and was planted with large mature trees on each side.

Just imagine, speed being essential, the cars drive along the road with the occupants counting the trees. “I made it 21”. “No, I made it 23”. So, they turn round and recount, still getting different results. In the end, they must leave their car and physically count the trees until the team agree. All this cost time and, apparently, quite a lot of aggravation between team members – and still a number got it wrong! This clue became the talk of the rally and for some time afterwards.

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—26— The Company Moves On

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of 1956, the medical reps received a memorandum from Head Office to say that Sharp and Dohme (S&D) was being amalgamated with another pharmaceutical company, E. Merck of Rahway, New Jersey and the company would be known as Merck Sharp & Dohme (MSD). n t h e l at t e r pa r t

S&D were an old established company with a limited product range. The advent of the sulphonamides (the first true anti-bacterial drugs) gave them a real opportunity and they became a significant force in the market.

They produced elegant liquid preparations which were acceptable to both adults and children and gained a good share of the market. With little competition, they did well. But time moves on. Penicillin was the first antibiotic which began to sweep the market and this was followed by in increasing number of other antibiotics.

Although the sulphonamides were still highly effective, without some of the problems of antibiotics, they were dropping out of fashion and doctors were moving on.

It seemed that S&D might have become vulnerable and needed new products. Merck could (and did) supply the answer. It may be worth mentioning here the two major areas where Merck was involved. In the 1950s, one of the scourges of mankind was poliomyelitis. This tragic condition affected millions of lives worldwide and there was no cure. A Merck scientist, Jonas Salk, developed the Salk vaccine, which is still used today, and has virtually eliminated the disease.

Another major development from the Merck Research Laboratories was that their scientists were the first to synthesize cortisone and hydrocortisone. At the time, cortisone was considered a ‘wonder’ drug. It was thought to be a major answer to arthritis, asthma and skin diseases. Of course, time has shown that this was not the case although the steroids have their place.

Steroids have powerful anti-inflammatory and anti-allergic properties. In the body, cortisone is excreted by the adrenal glands which sit on top of the kidneys. In times of stress, cortisone is released and helps an individual to cope with a situation or provides the ‘get up and go’. Cortisone, hydrocortisone and the later steroids, being powerful drugs, can have long term effects and systemic steroids must not be abruptly stopped.

Although available in the USA, cortisone and hydrocortisone could only be imported into the UK by senior consultants for specific clinical or research uses. The only information available to most consultants and certainly GPs was through reports in the medical journals. I would mention that all such steroids stated on the packaging, ‘Supplied under licence from E. Merck and Co.’ In 1957, it was announced that the steroids would be released in the UK. MSD took all the medical reps to the Selsdon Park Hotel in Sanderstead for a week’s course. It was rather like staying in a medieval hall – masses of oak beams with large comfortable armchairs and smoking wood fires in open grates. The service and food were impeccable and, in addition, they had their own private golf course.

We were not there for a holiday, though. The company had flown in experts from Merck (chemists, clinical trialists, doctors). We were told that we would be introducing a range of powerful steroid drugs to a medical profession that knew virtually nothing about them, or how to use them. Our role was to teach, yes teach, doctors all about the steroids with particular emphasis on uses, dosage and possible side effects.

Each day we started at 9am and with short breaks and continued to 5.30pm. Every evening, we spent our time revising as we had an exam each morning which we had to pass. Failure was not an option!

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I found all this very exciting and, on the following Monday, went out with great enthusiasm. My GPs were interested and wanted to learn, so I found that I was spending far more time than usual in each call. It even opened doors to doctors who would not normally see medical reps and thus I was able to lay foundations for the future. Most hospital consultants were equally interested and I found that I was asked many questions, some quite technical, which, thanks to my training, I was able to answer.

Of course, we were not the only company releasing steroids. Other companies, particularly some of the new American ones, were introducing their ranges but we knew we were the best trained. Our greatest competitor at the launch was Glaxo who promoted on the basis that they were the only British company. A bit below the belt but when a doctor made the comment and showed me a Glaxo pack, I could point out that on the label, it said that it was made under licence from Merck. For some reason, the Glaxo packaging soon changed!

The steroids fulfilled a great need, particularly the topical preparations. Some of the effects on skin conditions were dramatic. Doctors were delighted as were the patients. MSD introduced a combination of hydrocortisone with two topical antibiotics and this became widely used for infected skin conditions, including varicose ulcers. It certainly put MSD in the forefront of pharmaceutical companies in the UK. Hospital Sales Once released, hospitals started to use large quantities of steroids. They tended to order these from the wholesaler generically (without specifying any particular manufacturer). To get our share of the business, I decided to concentrate on hospitals. I got to know my hospital pharmacists really well and this certainly proved worthwhile.

As a means of communication, the company would issue Sales Bulletins and these arrived in the Saturday post together with other items. It was my usual practice to collect the mail and open it in bed with a cup of tea. On one such occasion, I opened the mail and read the Sales Bulletin. I read it again and then a third time. I couldn’t believe my eyes so I called Maureen and read it to her. It was quite short and said: “Congratulations to Eric Parrish, Territory 29, Essex, for obtaining the largest hospital order in the company’s history”. I was delighted not only because it showed that the youngest member of the sales force had proved himself, but my efforts at improving my performance was really beginning to show.

This probably stimulated some of the more senior members of the company who capped my result, but over the next few months, I was able to regain the title twice more.

Territorial Results In case you think that the above was a chance happening, I should, perhaps, indicate that Essex was beginning to develop at an ever-increasing rate. Each month, the company would send details of the previous month’s performance showing the number of calls of different types, together with the sales achieved. From my Heinz days, I kept details of my calls and, not infrequently, my figures did not agree with theirs so I would contest them – and usually won.

Back to the sales results and I quote from the comments by either John Fingerhut, the Sales Manager, or Gerry Crane, the Assistant Sales Manager: Mar ’56 …..total sales above average quota…..

May ’56 …..average sales exceeded by such a nice margin – some very excellent direct sales…..

Oct ’56 …..Hospital business…a great credit to you.

The sales for 1956 showed a 100% increase on 1955. My quota for 1957 was to be an increase of 61% over 1956, a very hefty target to achieve, but I felt that the way the territory was developing, it could be done.

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After six months, I was up on my quota and I received the following comment from John Fingerhut, “……we would like to put on record how pleased we are with the way you handle this area…..” Not surprising that my area manager hardly ever visited Essex!

My Colleagues Apart from company conferences, one hardly had any contact with the other MSD representatives. I knew Mike Finnegan reasonably well. He covered East London which bordered Essex. He had been with the company for many years and, I gather, did a reasonable job but was certainly not outstanding. There was another who covered Hertfordshire and he had years with the company. A quiet, older man who was always seen smoking a pipe. He spent his holidays sitting outside his tent in Devon – still smoking his pipe. A chap who had a lot of knowledge but little ‘get up and go’.

The highest status to which a medical representative could aspire would be to work Harley Street (one which I was to cover for a time in later years). Harley Street and the surrounds were, of course, where leading consultants had their rooms and where they saw patients from all over the world. To be a Harley Street rep, you had to be special. Your product knowledge had to be impeccable as had your dress. Harley Street reps always wore a hat, usually a bowler hat, and some wore morning suit. They also had to have the presence that made them acceptable to the highest levels of the medical profession.

George Canning was such a man. He had been with S&D for many years before we became MSD. George was always immaculately dressed and exuded a charm and confidence and was a good ambassador for the company. George lived in Middlesex and, due to the traffic congestion in central London, travelled in daily on the Underground. At that time, most Underground stations had public toilets and George usually visited one before starting his day. One particular morning, he went into a cubicle to commune with nature and, as was his usual custom, he sat and read the Daily Telegraph. Having finished his needs, and whilst still reading, he reached up and pulled the chain. All hell was let loose! Unbeknown to him, someone had removed the lead pipe from the cistern and George received two gallons of water on his head.

Just imagine the scene. Sitting on a loo in a bowler hat and saturated with cold water. Worse was to come.

Water flowed out under the door into the main area outside. What must others have thought? A toilet showing the engaged sign with water flowing from under the door. And then, the door opens and a bedraggled figure, dressed in a bowler hat, emerges clutching a soaking wet newspaper and a briefcase!

To add to George’s misery, he had to walk, squelching, on to the platform with many eyes wondering what a soaking wet man was doing in the Underground. There was only one thing for it. He had to go home.

Feeling quite chilled as well as very wet, he made his way to the train to take him home only to realise that he couldn’t sit down in the train. He had to stand in the doorway whilst other passengers gave him some strange looks before busying themselves in their newspapers.

George never did tell us what his wife said when he arrived home, but all his appointments for the day were cancelled! I gather he dined out on that story for years afterwards and he was not the only none!

Oedema or Dropsy This condition was one of the tragedies of medicine. Principally caused by congestive heart failure, kidney or liver conditions, oedema was difficult to treat and, in many cases, was progressive. One of the treatments, as a last resort, was by the injection of mercurial compounds. Their effect was limited and they could have toxic side effects – in fact today, mercurial preparations are banned.

As their condition progressed, these patients’ weight increased; their legs could be markedly swollen; would find it almost impossible to walk and they could develop difficulty in breathing, to the extent they could drown in their own body fluid.

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I have given the abbreviated description above to indicate the problem facing doctors and their despair in not being able to help these patients. Imagine, therefore, what an effective oral treatment would mean to doctor and patient alike. We were called to a conference at MSD to introduce a new product, chlorothiazide (Saluric). This drug would apparently treat oedema and there were plenty of clinical trial results to prove its efficacy.

I was really excited. I had something which could help my doctors and their patients. There was a desperate need for such a product so I went forth with enormous confidence. Although I was invariably restrained when discussing products with doctors, here was something that was different and I felt that I could take a positive approach. In fact, I was determined to be insistent that this drug should be tried because there were patients out there whose lives were a misery and even dying in a most frightening way – and I may well have something that could help them. This was a crusade! Does this sound ridiculous? Perhaps, but this was how I felt. It was not the sales. It was, in my small way, a means of helping to alleviate suffering.

I went forth to GPs and consultants alike, asking them whether they had a patient with oedema, who was difficult or impossible to treat. (Silly question because I knew they had). When they confirmed they had, I would produce a sample of Saluric and ask them to give it to the patient and let me know the result. I even got quite upbeat and told them they could throw away their syringe and use these tablets instead. Some of my doctors thought I had gone out of my mind, but they must have felt my total confidence because they tried Saluric – the first effective non-mercurial diuretic. I even gained entry to some doctors who would not normally see medical representatives.

The results were phenomenal! I received reports from all over Essex that Saluric was proving effective even in intractable cases. Some doctors were reporting that patients were losing up to eight pints of fluid in a day; were breathing easily; able to walk and start to live normal lives again. Let me hasten to add that I was not alone. There were similar results from all over the country.

Not only did I feel tremendous job satisfaction that I was being instrumental in helping many sick people, but it helped to cement my reputation within the medical and pharmaceutical professions throughout the county.

This not only assisted in opening many doors previously closed or difficult, but it had a positive effect on my sales results. The company were interested in getting an early indication of the acceptance of the product and as market research always lagged behind events by about eight weeks, a number of us were asked to carry out Saluric prescription counts on a number of company selected pharmacies.

These were done on a Friday afternoon and involved a fair amount of driving throughout the county.

Fortunately, I had good relations with most of my pharmacies and they were willing to cooperate. It meant them keeping the week’s prescriptions back until the Friday when I would go into the pharmacy and carry out the survey. Not only did this give me a positive indication of how much Saluric was being prescribed in that area, but I knew who was doing the prescribing. From the company point of view, they were getting, on the Monday morning, a real indication of actual sales during the previous week. This could be easily extrapolated to indicate a national sales picture – a valuable guide to future production planning.

I finished 1957 19% up on quota which was itself a 61% increase on 1956. Yes, the company really was moving on and Essex was amongst the leaders. Sadly, though, 1958 was to be another story. The company decided to increase the number of representatives by reducing the size of territories. Finally I heard that my territory would be divided into two and I could have the option of the western half or the eastern half from Romford. My travel cycle was twelve weekly and this would mean that my reduced territory would have a six weekly cycle. Doctors were seeing an increasing number of representatives and they were beginning to object to the frequency of visits and the ‘pressure’. I had no option but to accept this change.

When I considered, the situation I knew I had a great relationship with the medical and pharmaceutical professions, but this was likely to change with the increased frequency of calling. Equally, I enjoyed the blend of towns (Ilford, Romford etc) and the country calls throughout Essex where I could learn about my county.

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This would all change and I would be restricted to towns and the problems of too-frequent calling. In addition, I was studying sales management and getting hungry for promotion which did not seem to be forthcoming from MSD. I had to consider looking for another job.

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—27— I Become a Freemason

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n introducing this area of my life,

I can feel that there will be a few eyebrows being raised by some.

This is not surprising, as many people’s knowledge of freemasonry is based on hearsay and what they gain from the media. We all know that it is ‘bad news that sells newspapers’ and, in cases where journalists are asked to investigate matters that they do not understand, they can hardly be expected to produce a true and factual account, so they use the opportunity to write a story which is acceptable to their editor and will gain headlines. Such is the case with freemasonry.

The only way one can understand any organisation, club or society is by becoming a member. As one who gained his 60 year membership on 6 July 2017, I feel that I can speak with some sincerity and authority on this subject. I intend, hopefully, to throw some personal light on freemasonry and dispel some of the myths.

So what is freemasonry? It is part of the ancient wisdom and a spiritual science whose origin goes back into the mists of time, but obviously not in its present form. There is evidence which shows that there was a Masonic culture in ancient Egypt, although The United Grand Lodge of England only accepts that freemasonry started in the 18th century.

I do not accept this view, never have done and never will. There is too much evidence linking it to ancient times. I appreciate that when reviewing periods when there is little documentary evidence existing, one cannot be scientifically precise on events and times. In such cases, it is sometimes necessary to link areas to maintain a coherent story. This is the approach I adopt.

Again, I ask, what is freemasonry? The new candidate is told that it is based on Brotherly Love, Relief and Truth. Of course, the sceptic will immediately jump in with comments that all freemasons support each other, which to some extent is true, but no more than with members of any other organisation. So perhaps we should start with a few definitions.

Brotherly Love – On the basis that religion tells us that every man (and woman) has within them the spark of their creator, then every individual is either a brother (or sister) to every other man (or woman).

The same argument which applies to families. Thus, when the freemason speaks of brotherly love, it applies not only to members of the Craft (as we are known) but to all men and women.

Relief – In the Masonic sense, relief means charity. Masons are expected to be charitable and give according to their means. It is a little known fact that, after the National Lottery, freemasonry gives more to charity than any other body. The Grand Charity dispenses in excess of £5 million in most years to deserving causes and this does not include local charity from Provinces and Lodges.

When there is an international disaster, the major charities know that Freemasonry will be one of the first to offer relief – usually within 24 hours of the appeal – and this can be significant (as high as £50,000). In the same way, every hospice in the country receives annual support, along with many other deserving groups from youth clubs to hospitals. There is much work and support at local level.

Interestingly, the public never see an appeal or a collecting box. Why? Because donations come from the members who give generously. It is said that charity should be anonymous and that is the way we prefer, but recently some details of our charitable activities have been made public to show that we are not an introspective organisation only looking after own members.

Truth – Truth, honesty and moral integrity are virtues which are expected of any freemason, and any 205

candidate for initiation is asked in front of the Lodge whether he is influenced by any mercenary or other unworthy motive. If that were to be the case, he would not be admitted. Matters of this nature, however, are dealt with in the interviews and screening before he is accepted as a candidate, but it is right and proper that he has to answer the questions in front of the members in open Lodge. It brings home to every candidate, and is a reminder to all present, the importance that is placed on these matters.

Sadly, of course, occasions do occur when a freemason may get involved in possibly unfortunate or even criminal activities. If so, and if he is proved guilty, his case is considered by Grand Lodge and he may be expelled from the Craft, with virtually no chance of re-admission.

Whilst covering these areas, people do sometimes question whether freemasons have any influence in government circles, the police, the judiciary, business or other significant areas in society. Any such activity would be against Masonic principles and I have never found any evidence of its existence. Masonry accepts members from all walks of life; the nobility, judges, policemen, doctors, plumbers, teachers, actors, provided they accept our standards. I remember attending my grandfather’s lodge, Tredegar Lodge No.1625, with him in the early 1960s, when many of the brethren were detectives from Scotland Yard and whose names were household words. A more pleasant group of people you could not hope to meet, but then they didn’t have a bone to pick with me!

I know one senior mason who was a judge who told me that if any man came up before him and tried to indicate he was a mason so that it could influence the outcome of his trial, he would be more severe because such an action would be contrary to Masonic principles.

A most common misconception is one concerning jobs or promotions. No executive would jeopardise his own job by employing or promoting a man just because he was a freemason, particularly if there were better candidates. That would be plainly foolish. However, if presented with, say, two candidates who were equal in all respects, the final decision could rest on non-related factors; membership of a golf club; old boys of the same school; being a member of Rotary, the Lions or any other body, including being a freemason. If the latter, the employer would know the morals and standards of the candidate.

My Introduction This occurred through my friendship with Ted Hayes. It was during one of our many meetings that it somehow came up that he was a freemason. I was interested (particularly because of my grandfather) and over the succeeding months, it evolved that I would like to join. Joining a Lodge is not easy. Firstly, one requires to obtain a proposer and seconder, who must be members of the same Lodge. This is a serious commitment on their part as, if you subsequently join, they accept responsibility for your Masonic membership. They are also required to give a character reference and to state how long they have known you. It should be a substantial period of time.

As it was, Ted proposed and his stepfather seconded, me. I then had to have an interview with certain members of the Lodge who quizzed me on various aspects of my life; my approach to charity and whether I would support the Lodge and its activities. I subsequently heard that I had been accepted and would be initiated at some future date. I waited about a year. The dress code was strict to include a dark lounge suit or morning dress; a white shirt; black tie and white gloves. It is the same today except a military or Masonic tie can now be worn.

For the sake of continuity, I will cover my entire Masonic career to date in this one chapter.

My Initiation I remember the day so well. It was Saturday, 6th July 1957 and the Sirsum Corda Lodge No.6367 (Sirsum Corda means Lift up your Heart) was due to meet at 3.30pm at the Café Monico in Piccadilly, London.

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The Café Monico site was redeveloped many years ago and the Lodge transferred to the Café Royal in Regent Street.

Ted and I travelled on the Central Line to Piccadilly Circus. Not knowing what to expect, I was intrigued and felt that the occasion was significant, but did not know how. The day was very hot and, after reaching the Café Monico, we went to the Temple on the top floor in the lift. It was scorching and I found later that, for the first time, the Worshipful Master had ordered a shirt sleeve order.

Obviously, some of the details of my initiation are personal, but I feel that I must explain some aspects to help you understand. Most of this information is, of course, available to the public if they wish to enquire.

The initiation ceremony requires the candidate to be admitted ‘in a state of darkness’ i.e. blindfolded. Why? Because a spiritual aspect of the ceremony implies that this is a re-birth from darkness to light. In the same way that man enters this world from the darkness of the womb, so he enters from earthly darkness into Masonic light.

So I was appropriately clothed, blindfolded and my arm taken by a guide (deacon). I was guided into the temple and, although I could not see, I felt that there were a great many people present. Remember it was hot, very hot. I could not see. Together with the tension of the occasion, I was perspiring freely. What would happen? I was escorted around the lodge, stopped several times and words were exchanged but I did not understand their significance.

Eventually, I was told to kneel and place my hands on the Volume of the Sacred Law (the Bible) to take a solemn obligation. I felt quite apprehensive. Not for this reason but because the voice of the Worshipful Master, (W.Bro Percy Tate) was so strange. It sounded hoarse, rasping and somewhat hollow. For someone already hot, perspiring freely and blindfolded; it was quite scary. Afterwards, I discovered that this man, whom I came to admire, had had throat surgery, his larynx had been removed and he spoke by swallowing air and belching it back to create sounds.

Anyway, after the obligation, I ‘was restored to the blessing of material light’, in other words the blindfold was removed. I was looking at the Bible on top of which was a square and compasses. I was told that the ‘sacred writings’ were to govern my faith, the square to regulate my actions and the compasses to keep me in due bounds with all mankind and particularly my Brethren in Freemasonry. Not that I understood the significance at the time, but it sounded impressive! As I looked round, I realised that the room was packed with men, mopping the perspiration from their brows, wearing white shirts together with collars, cuffs and aprons, some more distinctive than others.

The ceremony proceeded and I was struck by the beautiful language contained in the ritual. I was most impressed by the individuals who delivered these words. They were so profound, and obviously full of deep meaning which I could not appreciate at the time. I was even more impressed later when I was told that all these officers had learned these words and speeches. Even worse that one day I would have to learn the words myself for each office as I progressed!

Following the conclusion of the ceremony, I was congratulated by the Master and took my seat in the Lodge – the start of a long, fascinating and worthwhile Masonic career including visiting lodges in many countries of the world. After the Lodge was closed, everyone who was there came up to congratulate me. Ted was one of the first and he took me to the bar for a much needed drink. Like everyone else, I had lost a lot of fluid during the afternoon. Interestingly, in 1958, a gin and tonic (1/9d or 9p) was much more expensive than a pint of beer (10d or 4p), whereas today the situation is the reverse.

At the Festive Board, I was seated at the top table on the right of the Worshipful Master and was told, in no uncertain terms, that the next time that I would sit on the top table would be when I was Master. The meal was elegant and accompanied by a pianist playing suitable music throughout. Wine was served with the meal after which, during the speeches, Ted, as my proposer had to propose the toast to The Initiate. I was 207

required to respond. During the evening, we had a duet which played and sang music from the shows. It sounds out of date now but it was appropriate at the time.

It may be worth recording that the initiation fee was 25 guineas (£26.25p) and the annual dues were 6 guineas (£6.30p). These dues covered 5 meetings per year and included the festive boards with wine and entertainment. Those were the days!

Was it worth joining?

So how can I summarise my entry into freemasonry? I had realised during that ceremony that, although I did not understand much of what was going on, I felt that I had joined an organisation that was ancient, possessed profound teachings and could possibly give a new meaning to life. As the ritual involved the Bible and dealt with the building of King Solomon’s Temple, it brought me back to religion very forcibly. I never regretted that afternoon; in fact, I am so grateful as I can honestly say that it changed my life.

As I said, it brought me back to religion by giving it a new meaning. That seeds sown earlier in my life were about to germinate. As I learned more of the meaning of Masonic ritual, I learned more about the purpose of life and that inspired me to investigate further, through my own researches, which continue to this day.

After all, the search for truth is one of the three grand principles of freemasonry.

There are other important advantages of a more material nature which help to mature an individual and thus improve his quality of life. I list some below, but these are not necessarily conclusive.

1. By learning ritual, it helps to organise the mind. On many occasions, useful phrases come to mind during everyday life, often when running meetings, giving talks or presentations

2. Learning ritual can train and develop the memory

3. It teaches one to be able to stand up and speak in front of people, helping to eliminate ‘stage fright’

4. All men are equal in a Lodge so one learns to mix and be at ease at all levels

5. Performing ritual is invaluable training for public speaking

6. Meeting and working in a Lodge gives confidence in handling people and dealing with others

7. Masonic meetings provide an intellectual opportunity through social intercourse

8. Becoming the Master of a Lodge, gives excellent confidence when chairing meetings of other organisations

I must admit that over the years I have seen on innumerable occasions, timid and weak men grow in confidence and ability once they have reached the chair. They have changed beyond all recognition and this has improved their lives in general and made them more rounded individuals.

In summary, and for the man who desires to progress, the rewards can be great in that he can set himself on a spiritual path, make new friends and develop his innate abilities.

Moving On The next stages, those of the second and third degrees, took 18 months before I became a full Master Mason. The latter ceremony was long and impressive and I was delighted to be able to have my grandfather as my guest. He was 90 at the time and I collected him from his home at 5, Dorien Way, Hornchurch and 208

drove him to Piccadilly – one could park there in those days! I felt it a great privilege to have him there and I know he was proud.

Once I was a Master Mason, I joined the Lodge of Instruction (LOI) where members learned and rehearsed the ritual. We met every Monday evening in a pub in Soho Square. It was quite a drive but it enabled me to get to know the members. Offices were progressive which meant one started at the bottom and each year moved onward. Progress was dependent on regular attendance at the LOI. The Mark Master Masons Degree After a couple of years, Ted suggested that I join the Mark Degree. He was a member of the Tudor Mark Lodge No.1092 at Upminster and John Kelley, the C.O. of 4F Squadron ATC, was the Master. How could I refuse? On 9 February 1960, I was advanced into the degree – something I never regretted as will be revealed later. It was much more informal than Craft, local and pleasant members. I settled in very quickly and soon started to climb the tree. One of the members was to become The Provincial Grand Mark Master for Essex. He was Leonard Enos Kirk, a weights and measures inspector in East Ham. Len had served in the Royal Flying Corps during the First World War so, through flying, we had an immediate rapport. He became a good friend, taught me a lot, and we had many good evenings together in the Lodge.

I had changed my job and in 1965, we moved to a new house at 98, Elmbridge, Old Harlow. I was permanently based at Harold Hill, Romford so whilst it was easy to get to Upminster for the Mark Lodge, it became increasingly difficult to get to LOI in Soho as it meant driving from Harlow to Romford to London to Harlow and arriving home at nearly 10pm. Not long after moving to Harlow, we joined the local Conservative Party where the Chairman was a Bruce Voller. He happened to be a member of Harlowbury Lodge. I visited as his guest, later joined and started at the bottom of their ladder.

Owing to the travelling involved, I could not progress in Sirsum Corda so I attended more infrequently.

Ultimately, I resigned. One never likes to resign from a mother lodge, but the atmosphere was changing and I no longer felt part of it. But I was much more at home in my beloved Essex. In a London lodge one would only meet members at meetings. In a provincial lodge, one would meet frequently in the town and on social occasions.

But back to the Mark Degree. I progressed through the offices and was installed as Worshipful Master in 1968 – my first Masonic chair. As I had learned my ritual, I could enjoy my year and I did. During this year, one of my candidates was a Dr. David Avery; a GP on whom I had called when I was a medical representative, and who turned out to be an old boy of my school. Within two years of completing my year as Master, I received provincial honours as Acting Provincial Grand Senior Overseer. I didn’t realise the significance of this office, but it was very senior for a first appointment. With hindsight, it was an indication that I was destined for greater things, but circumstances would not allow it.

Royal Ark Mariners Degree (RAM) This degree is linked (moored) to the Mark and during this time, it had been agreed that the Tudor Lodge should have an RAM. To become a founder, I joined the Fillebrook RAM Lodge in Loughton on 16 March 1966. The Tudor RAM Lodge was founded on 17 February 1967. I was a Founder, one of the first officers and became the Worshipful Commander in 1971.

Back to the Mark Following a Tudor meeting at Upminster, Len Kirk, who was now Deputy Prov. Grand Master, called me aside and said that the Province (County) had an area with a growing population where a new Mark Lodge was needed. That area was Harlow and as I lived there, I should found it. I spluttered into my drink, mumbled 209

that I would not know where to start and, in any case, did not know any likely people who would become founders. Len Kirk, though, knew all the answers. He produced from his pocket a list of 14 potential founders, gave it to me and suggested I start phoning!

I did and on 29 November 1972, the Potters Clay Lodge No.1399 was consecrated in the Potter Street Masonic Temple, Harlow, and I had the privilege of being the first Worshipful Master. The Masonic Temple had been the junior school in Potter Street. It was redundant now as a school and, when it came on the market it appeared ideal as, apart from the rooms and two halls, the playground could be used as a car park. I was a local Councillor on Harlow UDC at the time so was able to provide information, although I could not be involved in the negotiations. That Temple has grown and is now the home to many craft lodges and other Orders.

The name Potters Clay is interesting. Being keen on local history, I researched the area to find that Potter Street was a medieval village which housed a number of potters, hence the name. They produced a particular form of pottery known as Metropolitan Slipware which was cream/orange in colour with a particular pattern formed with lines, circles etc. This is quite rare. There were many small potteries in the area and it is said that there is one beneath the school playground. When the A11 was being constructed (close to the Temple), apparently many of these potteries were unearthed – and reburied!

This background formed the basis of the lodge name – Potters Clay Lodge of Mark Master Masons. From my contacts with the Harlow Museum, I was able to borrow a piece of Metropolitan Slipware and its design was incorporated in the lodge badge. The same piece had place of honour on the top table at the Consecration Banquet. In 1997, we celebrated our Silver Jubilee and I had the privilege of co-writing a history of our first twenty five years together with Chris Carter, our founding Junior Warden. We also commissioned a banner made by one of our members, Tom Owen and his wife. This was a magnificent item of craftsmanship which was dedicated at the anniversary meeting.

It was always the intention of the Founders of the Mark Lodge that when the time was right we would found a Royal Ark Mariner Lodge to be moored to Potters Clay. This happened in 1987 and I was asked to be the first Worshipful Commander. This was a great honour and meant that I had accomplished a rare ‘double’ being the first master in both the Mark and RAM degrees in the same Lodge. I was later made a Past Grand Junior Warden.

Rose Croix of Heredom On 13 January 1975, I joined the St. Hugh Chapter No.132 Princes Rose Croix in Harlow. This is a Christian order and one which I regard as quite special. On the York Rite (which lists degrees from 1 to 33), the Rose Croix is the 18th degree and if one proceeds through the chair as Most Wise Sovereign, promotion to the 30deg follows.

I received this honour in 1993 and in 2006 was appointed to the 31st deg as a member of the St Richards Chapter No. 675 in Bexhill where I have served as Treasurer for 15 years. There are a very limited number of masons who achieve this level – less than 30 in Sussex – so I feel very privileged.

I was made redundant in the mid ’70s and had to relocate to Hull when I joined Reckitt & Colman. Apart from the domestic upset, it created problems with my Masonic activities. All chance of active promotion in the Mark degree disappeared and in Harlowbury Lodge, I was about to become the Junior Warden – two years from Worshipful Master. The members of the Lodge were very kind and allowed me to continue even though I could not attend the weekly Lodge of Instruction. I did, however, attend all the meetings of the Lodge even though it meant driving 200 miles each way without the benefit of motorways.

I remember one night driving back around midnight when I had a frightening experience. I was by-passing Doncaster on a straight, open, country road when I saw in the distance what looked like four headlights.

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Thinking it must be tiredness, I blinked but still saw four much bigger headlights. I realised that someone was overtaking but couldn’t believe it as the cars were approaching very fast and the inner one was not giving way! This was serious.

These cars were racing. A quick flash on my lights made no difference. On they came, nearer and nearer and fast. There was rough ground and a ditch on my nearside and I pulled onto this just as they reached my car.

There was a bang and they were gone. I stopped and walked back to find two wing mirrors lying in the road – mine and another. The driver had hit me with his wing mirror. I must admit that I was shaken and shaking.

As I drove home, I realised they must have been driving at 70+mph and another 1 or 2 inches and the driver nearest me would have hit the front and offside of my car with, possibly, disastrous results.

I did progress through the two wardens chairs and in 1977 was installed as Worshipful Master of the Harlowbury Lodge No.7795. Although I had joined a Hull Craft Lodge – I had to learn all my ritual without the benefit of a Lodge of Instruction. Nevertheless, I carried out my duties as required although I did have to miss one meeting as we were snowed in and I could not get the car out of the garage.

Prior to my move north, it was suggested that I join The Holy Royal Arch as I would only need to become a joining member when I moved. On 5 June 1974, I became a member of the Harlow Chapter No.2734.

Freemasonry in Hull was an eye-opener. There were five temples with many old Lodges and much enthusiasm.

Apart from Hull, there were temples in Beverley and many small towns. Things were done differently too. In some Lodges, the senior steward had the task of buying and bringing in the food for the Festive Board.

A cook was employed and the stewards acted as waiters. During the speeches, the stewards would dine on their own in a separate room. The senior steward also had to buy all the drinks so would arrive with a car laden with food, beer, spirits and wine. After he would have to clear the ‘bar’ and take away empties and remainders. Quite a task.

Our first Ladies Night at the Lodge of St. Michael was an experience. Held in the hall adjoining the temple, the food was cooked on site and, to my surprise, after the speeches, the members got up and put their dinner jackets on the backs of their chairs. They went outside and came back with brooms and dustpans and swept the floors before the dancing. These evenings were inexpensive, unsophisticated but enjoyable.

Lodge visiting was unusual and interesting. A Lodge would invite the Master and a Warden from all the other Lodges to their Installation Meeting. In addition, each Lodge would invite the members of other Lodges to a specific meeting each year.

The whole Lodge was welcome and everyone could attend, but fortunately few took up the offer. Dining fees (around £3 then) were paid by the host Lodge. On one occasion, I visited the Withernsea Lodge.

The Temple was above a fish and chip shop. Guess what we had for our fish course? The steward would go downstairs, order so many portions of fish and it would be served straight from the pan – fresh, local fish. Wonderful.

One of the features of Yorkshire masonry was the Christmas Lodges which often included a local church choir which sang carols following the traditional Christmas festive board. Everyone joined in and the choir received mince pies and drinks suitable to their ages. They also had an enormous Christmas raffle for local charities. These raffles were quite a sight as they included turkeys, chickens, large joints of beef and pork, hams as well as champagne, wines, spirits and Christmas cakes. All prizes were donated by members – particularly the butchers!

Another difference I noticed was that, whereas in the South of England, provincial wardens hold a senior office, but it is mainly in name only, in North & East Yorkshire it is a working office. Provincial Wardens were required to wear short-tailed morning coats, carried out official visits to lodges and were accompanied by an 211

escort who would announce them. The brethren would be required to stand to order to receive the warden into their lodge.

Yorkshire masons are very proud of their rituals. Many date back over 200 years and are quite different from other parts of the country. I was privileged to be invited to the Bicentennial Meeting of the Humber Lodge No.57. This was a special occasion as not many lodges can boast that age and Humber Lodge had a ritual to match. Accordingly, Grand Lodge sent a very senior Grand Lodge Officer to attend the celebratory meeting.

The Festive Board was held in the Hull City Hall and was attended by 200 members and guests. It was a grand occasion with a menu to match.

Following the toast to Grand Lodge, this very senior mason from London replied. Having congratulated the Humber Lodge on their achievement, he then dropped a brick! He went on to say that whilst their ritual was interesting, it did not conform to that approved by Grand Lodge. Instead of applause, he sat down to silence.

Then one of the senior Past Masters rose, thanked him for his comments, and said that if the lodge decided to change their ancient ritual and customs, they would phone him! This was greeted with great applause. He must have returned to London very subdued.

I really got into the swing of Yorkshire Masonry and, as a result, found I was joining different Orders.

On 29 April 1976, I joined the St. John of Beverley College of the Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia. This was an interesting Order, but I have not joined in Sussex as I do not agree with attending meetings on a Saturday evening.

On 15 April 1980, I became a member of the De la Pole Conclave No. 132 of The Masonic and Military Order of the Red Cross of Constantine. Another Christian Order and one which I have grown to respect and enjoy.

There is a second part to this order, known as the Appendant Orders – a most impressive and spiritual experience. I completed this in Hull on 16 March 1982.

When we moved to Eastbourne, I joined the Rose of St. Mary Conclave No.274 and in 1993 became the Most Puissant Sovereign. I was appointed a Divisional Officer and in 1999 was appointed Past Grand Vice-Chamberlain. In 2005, I was appointed to the acting rank of Divisional Senior General for the Division of Sussex.

This was a very enjoyable year and involved visiting Conclaves with the head of the Order for Sussex, known as the Intendant-General. Sadly, our Intendant-General died during my year so I was asked to take on extra duties including official visits with an escort.

In the Rose of St. Mary Conclave, I have held the office for some years now as High Prelate. This is an office which I find satisfying and hope to continue as long as the members will have me. The Appendant Orders are held in Sussex at St. Leonard’s and I have been fortunate to have occupied most of the senior offices.

Humber Lodge of Mark Masters Just after arriving in Hull, I found that a senior colleague was a mason and a member of one of the Mark Lodges – The Humber Lodge of Mark Masters No.182. I was invited to a meeting and soon became a member in what was their Centenary Year. Although their ritual was different, my Essex experience was useful, and I soon became involved with their ceremonies. They also needed a new Treasurer which I took on and held until we moved back to the south. I was appointed to the same Provincial rank which I held in Essex, so I am a Past Provincial Junior Warden in Essex and North & East Yorkshire.

Our first Mark Ladies night was memorable. Similar to the Craft one although at a different venue, we were seated at tables for six. One of the vegetables on the menu – which we eventually got used to – was boiled onions. A lady opposite grabbed the dish as soon as it was put on the table and finished up with hot onions down the front of her dress. There’s always one, isn’t there!

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The Humber Mark meetings were held in a small, very old and beautiful temple in Dagger Lane, Hull. One of the interesting characteristics was the entrance door. The end of the temple was curved and so was the door. The door was around seven feet high and four feet wide made of oak specifically for the building by a craftsman over 150 years previously. Having large blacksmith-made hinges, it closed gently without a murmur.

Wonderful. One cannot help but wonder how many had passed through that doorway over the years, or how many times it had opened and closed!

Knights Templar Before leaving Hull to move back south, I was invited to join the Knights Templar. For some deep reason (I was told much later that in a previous incarnation, I had been one), I felt drawn to this particular Order and so on 18 March 1982, I was installed as a Knight of the Order. A very impressive ceremony. I attended one further meeting before moving to Eastbourne.

The problems of running our Post Office in Eastbourne, coupled with the fact that we did not close until 5.30pm, meant that it was not easy to get to meetings, and there was also the cost involved.

Staff had to be employed and one could not expect a locum to come in from, say, 4.30pm for one hour so it meant a complete afternoon.

As Provincial Prelate in the Knights Templar, following the KT Public Service in Hurstpierpoint College

The result was that a number of my masonic interests had to be shelved. The Knights Templar was one. It is a fact of life that if one does not attend meetings of any sort regularly, interest wanes. Thus it was with the KT. I never expected to attend another preceptory meeting until two local friends, Hugh Gipson and Denis Best, approached me one day and said that they were joining and, knowing I was a member, asked whether I could explain the regalia, which I did. Having joined, they invited me to join the William of Normandy Preceptory No.488 which met in Battle. I declined but they persisted and when my circumstances improved, I decided to attend as a visitor – just once, in 1997! That once was enough. I joined and started on the ladder of offices. The more I attended, the more I enjoyed it. In that same year, I went through the Malta Degree which I did not achieve in Yorkshire before I left.

I served the office of Second Constable which is two away from being Eminent Preceptor – the equivalent of Master – when the First Constable became ill and could not proceed at the time. I was asked whether I would become the Eminent Preceptor with only three weeks’ notice. Although the ceremony of installing a knight is quite long and involved, I agreed. I had been learning the work for some time so knew it reasonably well. The complication was that having been installed, immediately, I had to carry out a ceremony. Fortunately, all went well and I managed the whole ceremony. The meeting was attended by the Provincial Prior (the Head of the Order in Sussex) and his Officers and they seemed delighted.

My year was a busy one and we had so many candidates that we had to have an extra meeting in the year.

Sadly, one of my officers, the Rev. Phillip Wood who was Chaplain, became ill. I was very fond of Phillip and in subsequent years would meet him most weeks and take him out for a coffee. We would often come back home to our sanctuary and I would give Phillip healing before taking him home. This became a regular event and when we were out Phillip would ask, “Before we go back, Eric, will you give me your Blessing” (his words, not mine). Sadly, when we returned from our holiday, there was a letter from his wife to say that he had passed away. Maureen and I were shocked and deeply saddened. His wife, Debbie, said that they wanted to delay the funeral until our return, but we were away for several weeks. Phillip was one of the 213

kindest and loveliest souls one could meet. He was so popular with people from all walks of life. It was a great privilege to know him and to be his friend. We had so many interesting discussions on spiritual matters and I feel he was far in advance of the Orthodox Church.

As my year came to an end, I was asked whether I would take the office of Chaplain. I had already done this in the Mark and RAM Degrees, so I was delighted to accept particularly as the Chaplain has a much greater role in this Order. I discussed this with Phillip and told him it was on the basis that I would keep the seat warm for him until he came back. This was not to be and as soon as I had installed my successor, I became Chaplain. This was in 2003 and I have been since.

In 2005, I received Provincial rank as Provincial Captain of Guards. This required me to attend visits with the Provincial Prior and his Provincial Officers. I also had to take part in the Annual Provincial Meeting. Having completed my year in September 2006, I had been offered – and accepted – the office of Provincial Prelate for the Province of Sussex. Apart from visiting with the Provincial Prior and carrying out the chaplain’s role at the Annual Provincial Meeting, I have the responsibility of arranging and conducting the Bi-Annual Knights Templar Service in the Chapel of Hurstpierpoint College. This is in full regalia and attended by around 200 members, their wives, families and friends. I feel it is a great honour and privilege to be chosen to serve my Creator, the Order and the public in this way.

The Royal Order of Scotland This is another of the five Christian Masonic Orders. I joined the Provincial Grand Lodge of the South Eastern Counties in April 2003. Meetings are held five times a year in centres in Sussex and Surrey. An interesting degree but I have not progressed very far at present.

The Knight Templar Priests This is a Christian Order closely linked to the Knights Templar. As the name suggests, it is a priestly order and is also known as The Order of Holy Wisdom. The teachings incorporate the perfect and venerable number, seven – the world being created in seven days; the Lamb of God having seven eyes and seven horns and which opened the seven seals which were the seven spirits of God, etc (see Revelations). I was admitted, constituted and anointed into the St. Clement Tabernacle No.70 on 23 September 1999 and went into the chair in 2008.

In 2005, I invited two of my old masonic friends from Hull to visit our Sanctuary which was a great success.

This is not surprising as Peter Donnison was the Deputy Grand High Priest of the Order, and Tony Hayes was the Deputy Grand Recorder. This was quite an evening for the Sanctuary as Peter was number two in the Order. After the meeting, we had a long chat (and much malt whisky!) in the hotel.

Peter was made The Grand High Priest of the Order.

The Royal and Select Masters I really do not know why I joined this degree in October 2001! Probably because a friend happened to be the District Grand Master for Sussex. It is quite complicated, is composed of four degrees and covers the historical period between the end of the Craft and the time of the Royal Arch Chapter.

Although I had not been in very long, somehow I was rapidly promoted and went in the Chair as the Thrice Illustrious Master in 2006. I later served as District Grand Chaplain and Past Grand Sword Bearer.

Order of Athelstan This is a new Order in Sussex and I was invited to join for the Court of Aelle and become a Founder. The 214

Consecration took place on the 9 June 2007 at Herstmonceux when I was appointed the first Junior Warden. I became Master on 13 June 2009; was appointed Past Provincial Junior Warden in 2013 and Past Grand Burgh in 2017 Historically, Athelstan was the first King of All England; was born in 896AD and crowned in 925AD at Kingston-uponThames. He was the grandson of Alfred the Great and became a distinguished and courageous soldier. In 926AD, there was a General Assembly of Masons in York wherein the great traditions of symbolic and operative masonry were constituted, revised or organised, and a new code of laws for the governing of the Craft instituted.

Badge for service to Freemasonry for 50 years

Summary This was the story of my masonic career to 2021. How it will go in the future, one cannot tell. Much will depend on one’s health and circumstances. Although learning ritual is not so easy with advancing years, at least trying helps to keep the mind active.

I feel that becoming a freemason has been a real asset to my life. It has complemented my search for spiritual truth. It has taught me leadership and, hopefully, how to be a more ‘rounded’ person. I have learned interesting history, how to conduct myself in formal situations and the importance of charity. In masonry, one meets people from all walks of life – from the lower stations in life to the highest, including in my case HRH The Duke of Kent and HRH Prince Michael of Kent, as well as Lords and others holding various titles.

Masonry is a great leveller and, although one respects an individual’s office or rank, all men are equal and we enjoy each other’s company both within the Lodge and without. If all men accepted this principle, the world would be a much better place.

Presentation of the Certificate of Meritorious Service to Freemasonry for 60 years 215

Congratulations “Achieving a magnificent sixty years in Freemasonry�

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—28— I Move On

F

with MSD was limited and that I was not happy with the new arrangements, I started to keep an eye on the market. What I needed was an opportunity with a new company that would grow rapidly and where I could grow with it. Such a company would need good products and a positive approach to the market. e e l i n g t h at m y f u t u r e

In the Pharmaceutical Journal of 28 June 1958, a full page advertisement appeared stating that a new company, Merrell-National (Laboratories) Ltd, was starting up and was looking for 30 representatives for a ground-floor opportunity. The same advertisement also appeared in the Observer. I decided to apply and stated in my letter that ‘I have every reason to believe you will be interested in my application’ – nothing like the positive approach!

This had the desired result, and I was invited to an interview on 15 July 1958 at the Washington Hotel, Curzon Street, London, where I met the Sales Manager, Leslie Jenkins. The interview went well and I was invited for a second one on Saturday, 9 August 1958, at their offices at 20, Savile Row, London, W.1. It so happened that we were on holiday at Percy Chappell’s (ex Maudsley Hospital) house in Brightlingsea and having written accordingly, I got an immediate response asking me to forego a day of my holiday as they wanted to see me. As Leslie Jenkins (LAJ) and I got on so well, I felt that this could be the right opportunity so attended and also met the MD, Alan Talbot (AT) – both he and LAJ had been with May & Baker, a well known and respected chemical/pharmaceutical company in Dagenham.

We discussed territories and two local ones were available, East London and Essex. I wanted Essex but there was another candidate, Ken Goodall whom I knew and who worked for another company, Riker. Ken lived in Billericay, central Essex, and I lived in Ilford, which was adjacent to East London so common sense prevailed – he took Essex and I took East London although I did get Ilford and district included in my area.

It may seem strange in this day and age but in the 1950s, to have a salary of £1,000 per year (a ‘four figure salary’ no less) was the dream of most people and I was one of them! LAJ offered me an attractive package.

A salary of £950p.a. plus £50 increase after 6 months (there was the magical £1,000!); a bonus starting in June 1959; a pension scheme after the first year (4% of salary over the first £150); free Life Assurance; a daily lunch allowance of 6/6d (32 1/2 p) which was generous then; 10/-d (50p) weekly garage allowance; £20 petty cash for other expenses; a three-week training course and two weeks’ annual paid holiday. That was the deal, and I was required to attend a final interview and medical on 25 August 1958. The offer was made verbally, and in writing on 26 August 1958, and I would be required to join the company on Tuesday, 30 September 1958.

Next came the sad part. MSD gave me my first opportunity to get into work that I enjoyed. I admired John Fingerhut, the Sales Manager (who later became Chairman) and, in many ways, I did not enjoy sending in my resignation. On the surface John F. was a hard, but very shrewd man. He always said that if anyone thought the grass on the other side was greener they should go, but beneath that exterior, he was quite soft and kind as I found out when I met him in later years. I received a nice letter from him thanking me for all I had done and wishing me all the best in my future career.

In retrospect, during my three years I had really put MSD on the Essex map. The turnover had increased over 300%; the company had direct hospital business, and direct sales to pharmacies had grown from around three in the whole county to over a hundred. It was this success that had resulted in the MSD decision to divide the Essex territory, which resulted in my dissatisfaction and my desire to move on. In looking over my 217

career, I suppose that one of my greatest weaknesses has always been too much loyalty to a cause. If I support a cause or a company, it has to be 100%, which is wrong if one is interested in progression.

Successful individuals are prepared to put their careers first and their loyalty to their colleagues and/or companies always takes second place. This inborn loyalty certainly did not help my career in later life. I lost out on a number of opportunities as you will read further on, but I am not basically a ruthless individual who is prepared to tread on other people and move on in order to further my ambition. I have always progressed on the basis of my ability so in that sense I always have a clear conscience.

Joining Merrell-National The new representatives were instructed to book-in to the Green Park Hotel, Half Moon Street, London, W.1. on Tuesday, 30 September, for a continuous period of at least two weeks. This meant that no one was allowed home at week-ends or at any other time. During this period, my brother-in-law, George, was getting married and I had to get special permission to attend the wedding! This was to be a total immersion course and none of us had any idea of what we were letting ourselves in for. It was going to be hell!

There were two Divisional Managers, Paul Sinha (Southern) and John Jones (Northern). They were basically responsible for planning and running the course. There were about thirty of us from all parts of the UK, some were experienced medical representatives, others were not. The group included a dentist, an actor and others with various backgrounds. I regarded all these as my potential competition! I had changed companies so that I could move on. These other 29 had the same idea so obviously I had to establish myself as a leader on this course. Do well here and then prove myself on the job was my objective.

We would be covering product training, anatomy and physiology, sales training and administration. What we hadn’t bargained for was that this was going to be a high pressure course. We had to walk from the hotel to Savile Row for a prompt 9am start.

There were lectures where we had to take copious notes, learn in the evenings and have tests the next day.

The same with the sales training. Then we had to marry the two and develop presentations to imaginary doctors – known as medical detailing in the business. We had to write out ‘interviews’, carry out detailing on tape recorders and closed-circuit TV. Some spent half the night writing and learning, arriving tired out for the next day. A couple had nervous breakdowns after the first week and left. Others resigned. Overall, we finished up with 23 who completed the course.

With my hospital background and as one of the more experienced representatives, I had no problem with the medical aspects or the practice detailing, but it was still tough. The company laid on targets and incentives. I won several prizes which included a £50 Austin Reed voucher and some lesser ones, but they all contributed to my overall objective of establishing myself as a suitable candidate for the first wave of promotion whenever that should come.

As the course progressed, so did the pressure. We were all feeling the strain and some were looking positively haggard. We needed a break and the opportunity to unwind, but the pressure was relentless. At the end, each of us had to present mock details using literature and samples on randomly selected products to a Divisional Manager and/or the Sales Manager and the Medical Director from the U.S. They could act as GPs, Consultants or Pharmacists and they would quiz the candidates by asking technical or other questions. The name of the game was to get a commitment to prescribe or buy. Waiting one’s turn helped to build up the tension and some people’s legs seemed to turn to jelly. It seems silly but it got to us all.

With the conclusion of the course, the Company organised a special Dinner at the Washington Hotel at which a number of visitors from the USA were present. It was all very convivial, helped by a relaxed feeling now the pressure was off. There were also three prizes to be presented – two covering product presentations and one for the best overall performance on the course. I picked up a prize for the best product presentation and, to a hushed gathering, the MD announced the winner of the best overall performance. It was me and 218

I have to say that I was quite delighted as I had achieved my objective of making my mark on this new company.

The Next Stage The next morning, we packed our bags and made our way to Knightsbridge to collect our new cars. The company had arranged for us to have the colour of our choice which was appreciated. In the large Godfrey Davis garage, all the cars were lined up ready and our Sales Manager and the two Divisional Managers were there to see us off. Having said our goodbyes, my colleagues jumped in and started to drive off except that one suddenly appeared driving back in the entrance. He had hit the wall on the way out! I never did find out what Leslie Jenkins said to him, but I bet it was choice – Leslie’s face was quite flushed!

I was delighted to have completed the course and pleased with my achievements. I was more pleased to get home to Maureen and get life back to normal – except that it was Saturday and I had to start work on the Monday with a new territory to organise over the weekend. In some ways, I was looking forward to the new challenge as I would be covering the whole of East London, my furthest point west being London EC. My area included important hospitals including Barts and The London Hospital (where I had attended lectures from 1947-50).

One of the initial problems was introducing me and the new company which created the frequent response of “Not another new company”. I countered by explaining that another company had been handling our products, but we had taken them back and as they knew the products, there was no further problem. The next few months required total commitment to get things really humming but hum they did!

Visitors to my territory Paul Sinha, visited me occasionally, but said that as I was firing on all cylinders and my own hospital background was proving invaluable in making contacts, he could spend his time with other reps who needed help. I then found that my East London territory had certain unexpected advantages. A number of overseas visitors came to see how the new company was progressing and one thing they were interested in was the UK market and how we operated. Such visitors included doctors, scientists and sales people, principally from the USA. As I was the nearest rep and was regarded as competent, I would be asked to take the visitors on my calls.

Most of them were very pleasant and I could take them into doctors, pharmacists and hospitals without any problem. One had to be slightly careful as doctors could be cautious when two ‘reps’ called and some would ask whether we were hunting in pairs. One or two American companies would send in area managers with the rep and try to pressurise the doctor. I certainly would have objected if this had happened to me.

One visitor I had was Tom English, who was the Managing Director of Merrell in Australia. We got on well and some years later we met when I was in Australia on business.

On one occasion, Leslie Jenkins, my Sales Manager, decided to spend a morning with me – well it was convenient. He lived in Essex and it was on his way to the office! I must explain. Leslie was a big man, very efficient, knowledgeable and shrewd but at the same time very laid back. He had the ability to make people feel relaxed and at ease. We went into one surgery and, having introduced him as a colleague, the doctor immediately asked what he was there for. Spontaneously and without batting an eyelid, Leslie replied, “I am learning the job”. My mouth opened in amazement and I don’t know how I didn’t burst out laughing. When we got outside, I did suggest that any other comments like that could result in me not being able to restrain myself. He just gave a smile and asked whether anything was wrong? It did set the tone for the rest of the visit and he left later in the morning and congratulated me on my performance, and the results that were showing in my territory.

219

On another occasion I had a very different sort of visitor. I had a message to phone Alan Talbot, my MD, who told me that he had a rather special visitor from the USA who was in England and wanted to go out with a rep. Who was the person, I asked? Our parent company was Vick and this visitor was the son of the controlling family. He was a student with a few days in London. I arranged to meet him at 8.30am at Leytonstone Underground Station. Apparently, he could not get there before 9am, which didn’t please me as by 9am I would normally expect to have two calls under my belt.

I arrived at the meeting place and looked around for what I considered would be the potential heir to this multi-million dollar corporation. By the time various passengers had left the station, the only person left was a thin, scruffy lad with dirty shoes and holes in the heels of both socks. It couldn’t be! Oh, no! He came over and introduced himself. I could not believe it. This was an heir to the Vick millions and I had to take him to visit my doctors. How could I introduce him? I told him that I would say that he was an American student visiting the UK and gaining experience with a pharmaceutical company. After the first two calls, I realised he was no asset and the doctors were not impressed! I said that I had to phone Alan Talbot which I did, explaining that there was no way that I could continue to take this unkempt, overgrown schoolboy on professional calls. AT agreed and told me to put him on a train back to London. It was only then that the penny dropped. They didn’t want him and thought they would get rid of him for a day by sending him to me!

East London in the 1950s After Essex, I never thought I would take to working in East London, but I grew to like it. It was so different from what it is now. It was like a large multi-cultural village with a mix of nationalities who tended to live in prescribed areas. There were Cockneys, Jews, Indians, Chinese, Caribbeans etc. One could eat in fantastic restaurants with local foods.

There were quite a lot of Chinese restaurants fairly close to the Thames and I had heard of one that attracted the rich and famous. Apparently, in the evenings it was packed. The restaurant was in East India Dock Road, quite close to the entrance to the docks, which were fully functional then. So, I decided to try it although on entering, I began to have doubts! The floors were bare boards and there were oil cloth covers on the tables.

On top of that, I was the only one there. Was this really the place? An ancient Chinese lady came out with a small table d’hote menu. I think it was 7/6d (37 1/2p). Not having the courage to walk out, I made my selection and she disappeared. Enticing smells came from the kitchen and she returned with a bowl of delightful soup. This was followed by a larger bowl containing the complete course plus chop-sticks – there was no spoon and fork option. This was real Chinese food and it was delicious. No wonder it was full in the evening. Having had some jasmine tea, I left that restaurant satisfied and most impressed.

Don’t get the impression, however, that East London was a gastronomic delight. It could be a rough, seedy area and the haunt of many known gangs (the Kray twins were active) and criminals. Cable Street, Stepney, had a reputation and I would certainly not venture there after dark. I did have a couple of surgeries there and whenever I walked along the street dressed in my suit, I felt I was being watched by many pairs of eyes.

When I entered a waiting room, everything went quiet and I knew everyone was looking at me. Who was this stranger who obviously wasn’t a local? I would bury my head in the Daily Telegraph (which marked me out yet again!) so as to avoid eye contact with the patients who were often of various nationalities and could include alcoholics, drug addicts and prostitutes, as well as the local Eastenders. After a time, I got used to the area and found I became accepted, but I always treated these districts with caution. There were many doorways with heavily built bouncers, smoking and watching. I never knew whether these were drinking dens, opium dens or local brothels and I never passed by slowly enough to find out. The worst time was in the winter when it was nearly dark; the streets were wet and a yellowish East End fog descended so that the street lamps gave a fuzzy ball of weak light.

That was not the time to be in that part of London! Everywhere was not like Cable Street, however. There were many fascinating street markets with street traders to match. These places were always lively and I enjoyed their cockney humour. Even in the depths of East London, there was some interesting architecture 220

including a number of Wren churches. One of the aspects of these local people was that although they often had little money, they would always manage to put on a good show for a special occasion like weddings and funerals. The former were usually very elaborate but then so were the latter. If a member of a family died, there was a ritual not seen today. Firstly, the curtains of the family would be drawn until after the funeral.

Often neighbours would draw theirs as a sign of respect. The coffin would be placed in the front room and open so that visitors could view the deceased. Family and friends would wear either a black armband or have a black diamond sewn onto their sleeve and, depending on their relationship with the family, would dictate for how long it would be worn. For the funeral, black ties, white shirts and black clothes were traditional. Although funeral cars were becoming popular, it was still in the era when many East End funerals used the horse-drawn hearse with jet black horses. The hearse had glass windows showing the coffin with masses of flowers inside which also covered the roof. Another custom was that when a funeral passed slowly by, pedestrians would stand still as a sign of respect. Approaching cars would also stop until the cortege had passed. After the burial (cremations were virtually unknown) the family, friends and neighbours would return home for refreshments which usually became a party when the beer flowed – wine was not usually drunk in the East End. Other aspects of East London East London was linked to South London by two tunnels under the Thames. The Rotherhithe Tunnel was an early pedestrian one closer to London and the Blackwall Tunnel which was the first one to take traffic – long before cars. I can remember going through the latter when it was used by horses and carts which was not very easy for the horse or the driver. Naturally, each end of the tunnel has a downward slope so a laden cart would tend to gain speed. The horse would try to slow down whilst the driver would be pushing hard on the foot brake. At the bottom of the slope there is a bend. If the cart was travelling too fast, the front wheel could hit the kerb resulting in the cart going out of control. A skilful driver would use the kerbs to slow the cart by grinding his wheel against it. At the other end, the poor horse would have to drag the cart up the long incline, not easy if there was a heavy load. The tunnel was dimly lit which the horses didn’t like and car drivers were required to use their headlights. On one occasion, I can remember seeing a horse sliding down the slope as we approached along the bottom of the tunnel. It seemed that the cart would swerve across the road and collide with us but the driver somehow managed to keep control, but it was close.

Apart from the dense overcrowding and poverty that was apparent in parts of East London, there were pleasant areas as one moved out east and north. The Hackney Marshes was a great open space and seemed to divide this part of London. Epping Forest started at Leytonstone and was a recreational space for Londoners as it stretched to Chingford and Epping. The towns of Ilford, Wanstead, Woodford and Chingford were good residential areas on the edge of East London.

The Doctors of East London I suppose it is to be expected that the doctors in an area tend to reflect that area and East London was no exception. In the Stepney, Poplar, Bow and Canning Town areas some of the surgeries were appalling, but seemed to be accepted by the patients. Some were old shops with a bare wooden floor inside and benches against a wall – no table or magazines. There would be a single bulb in the ceiling with no shade.

I remember one surgery – again an old shop – where the floorboards at the entrance had worn so thin that there was a hole in them which patients had to avoid or possibly disappear into the cellar! When entering the consulting room at another surgery, the room was piled up with unopened BMJs’ (British Medical Journals) and Lancets. The doctor had probably not looked at one for years. At this time, refresher courses did not exist. Once a doctor had qualified, that was it. He could then practise until he retired – and many did! This was where the job of the medical representative was so useful. We could at least keep these doctors up to date even if they didn’t take any notice of us!

Some of the thinking and the medicines prescribed were unbelievable. There was one doctor in Dalston who 221

had an afternoon surgery, with many ‘street ladies’ on his list. Although a barren shop, it was clean but I did get some odd looks when I sat in his waiting room. He was quite polite and I noticed that he had a number of jars each holding different coloured tablets.

On one occasion, I asked what they were and was told that they were all aspirin. It appeared that nearly all patients, regardless of their condition, received a little bottle of these aspirin tablets. If the patient came back and said they were no better, he would simply change the colour! No wonder his prescribing costs were low.

On many occasions, I wondered how many of these doctors could work in their self-created conditions – poor lighting, examination couches covered with instruments, old papers and literature (when was a patient last examined on that couch?), unfiled patients’ records scattered over the desk etc. In one surgery, the doctor had a cat in a basket by his desk and the smell of urine was appalling, although he didn’t seem to notice but what must his patients have thought? I often wondered what these doctors’ homes were like.

One of my doctors was Vic Storey who had a practice in Chadwell Heath. We became great friends and had many enjoyable times together with his wife, Mary, and Maureen. Vic secured a place to study medicine when he came out of the army after the war. and we would have dinner parties which were good fun. Vic was something of a snob but in a somewhat superior way, would like to let his hair down.

One September evening we all decided to go down to Southend to see the lights. In those days, Southend was a bit like Blackpool but on a smaller scale. It was a great evening and Vic and Mary often referred to ‘the great night out’.

The Share Tipster Another interesting doctor was Jewish and practiced in Leabridge Road, Leyton (not far from my school).

His parents had a market stall in East London which he would tell me about. Nothing wrong with that but they had sired a brilliant doctor. This chap had the qualifications of a consultant but preferred to practice as an East London GP. His knowledge of pharmaceutical products was encyclopaedic as was his memory. If I told him something about a product, he would repeat the information back to me on my next visit three months later! He had a great sense of humour and had a fund of Jewish stories which I always enjoyed. He also shared an interest in the stock market and would pass on tips. There was one that I regretted not investing in ever since. On each visit, he asked whether I had bought London Grocers. No, I hadn’t but wish I had – they were only a few pence and are now known as Tesco!

The Mildmay Christian Mission One call I made was to a practice in Dalston. It was also a Christian Mission and was housed in a church-like building. The doctors were always there by 8.30am so this was a first call for me. I was a bit surprised on my first visit, as the doctors who were very polite, said they would be delighted to hear what I had to say but they always had morning prayers before surgery, and would I like to join them? What could I say other than yes? We went into their chapel and they conducted a short service which I quite enjoyed. It certainly was a new aspect to my job. Sometime later, I had a visit from Paul Sinha, my Divisional Manager so, unbeknown to him, I arranged the Christian Mission as our first call. As we left, he looked at me and said, “You b*gg*r, Eric. I’ve never been to church in a surgery before. Is that what you have to do to get calls in East London?”

It always amazed me that a flourishing medical practice could operate under a Christian umbrella in that part of London.

Our Local GP Our local GP was Ivor Coleman who lived in the next road to us in Ilford. Again, we got to know him and his 222

wife socially and we used to have dinner parties together. I introduced Ivor to the 4F Squadron, Air Training Corps. Ivor had served in the RAF as a National Serviceman and a Medical Officer so he became the Squadron M.O. Not that there was much to do, but he enjoyed the company and also joined the RAFA. Dr David Avery On one of my calls in East London, I called on a Dr Avery and, as it was the end of his surgery, we had a chat after I had finished discussing our products. During this discussion, we found that David and I had attended the same school – Leyton County High School and his three sons were also pupils there. This formed the basis of a friendship which lasted for many years.

His wife Sonja was German and great fun. We had many enjoyable times together. Sometimes, we would take each other out for dinner on a Saturday evening and the object was to find who could pay the least for the meal. One evening, Maureen and I took them to a famous German restaurant in Dalston, London E8, and the bill for the four of us came to £5. The next week David took us to a restaurant in Victoria and he paid £3!

They were good meals too. In the Victoria restaurant, we noticed that the waitress had a number tattooed on her arm – she had been in a Nazi concentration camp. Sonja kept quiet. If the waitress had realised she was German, there could have been a nasty scene even though Sonja was totallyinnocent.

The other thing about David was parking. His target was always to park as near to his destination as possible. It was amazing how often he could park outside the door of a restaurant. Even in Victoria, he managed to park just outside the door. Of course, parking was easier then and there were no restrictions.

There were many ways in which we shared our lives and David and Sonja were great friends. Some of those instances will come later. Although he was a sincere and dedicated doctor, it was not his real interest. He had always wanted to be an engineer and was naturally talented. He always said that he should have been an engineer and that I should have been the doctor.

Success in East London The territory was starting to take off which was in line with my plans. When the company expanded, I wanted to be the first for promotion, so I tended to be at the forefront of what was going on. I took a leading role at conferences and began to get special assignments when head office had needs. I became involved in the training of new representatives and helping those who required assistance. I hasten to say that most of the men who joined at the start had similar ambitions, so it was a competitive situation. But I wasn’t there just for the ride!

In April 1959, I received a salary increase of £50. I had arrived! My salary was now £1,000 – the dream of so many people. This magic figure acted as a spur to my efforts and I responded accordingly.

The London Hospital (now the Royal London) was part of my territory and I was fortunate to develop a special relationship with this important teaching establishment (remember that I had been a student there so knew the place well). We had a particular product, Parenzyme, which could be valuable in treating varicose ulcers and The London had a varicose ulcer clinic every Wednesday afternoon. Having seen the consultant and registrar, it was agreed that the product should go on a long-term trial and that I would oversee the project. I could select my patients, prescribe the treatment and record the results.

Having studied their case histories, I chose six patients, recorded their ulcers by drawings and measurements (medical photography was not available then), prescribed their medication (signed by the registrar, of course) and followed them up each week. I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this period which went on for, probably, a year. It was great to be dealing with patients and seeing their progress week by week. Sadly, it was not always the case as the patients cooperation was often suspect. The tablets needed to be dissolved under the tongue and I am sure some swallowed them! Again, all the patients were older females and all 223

were over weight which didn’t help their condition, so I discussed the need to diet with them and got a nurse to weigh them each week when arriving at the clinic.

Generally, there was little change but in two cases there was a definite increase. Both these ladies came from Dagenham by ambulance and were a cheerful pair. I decided to investigate each individually and quizzed them. Had they stuck to the diet? Yes. Had they eaten anything else during the week? Yes. They then told me unashamedly that they had eaten their suggested diet as well as their normal meal! When I explained that the diet was in place of their normal food, they said they couldn’t do that as they would be hungry!

Other patients were more cooperative and did lose weight. Many ulcers completely healed which was satisfying. Some, however, were very deep and infected. The smell was quite distinctive to say the least and the nurses had to take a lot of care when dressing their legs. At the end of the clinic, the consultant surgeon, Mr A.W. Parks (who later became the President of the Royal College of Surgeons but who, sadly, died in office), the registrars and I would have a cup of tea together when we discussed the afternoon’s work. I enjoyed this part as I learned so much from these meetings. I can always remember Mr Parks dictating letters to GPs at the end of his clinic. For each letter, he would say to his secretary, “The usual polite introduction” and then carry on. I wish I knew what that ‘polite introduction’ was, but I never did find out!

My unusual activity became noted by the company and I had to write and present a paper at our national conference, and became quite an expert on varicose ulcers. I also took questions from the floor. Our medical director (who trained at The London, incidentally) visited the clinic during one of my sessions which he found most interesting. In addition, I found that overseas visitors wanted to come to see this ‘unusual medical representative at work’. Apart from my basic medical interest, it did sell a lot of my product and it kept my name to the fore as it demonstrated both a technical and selling strength. In July 1959, Alan Talbot, our MD sent a Sales Bulletin to all the representatives saying that I had obtained the first direct hospital order and this was for 588 Parenzyme tablets. Later that year, he established targets and I won a £5 note – a lot on those days – and later a £100 which was 10% of my salary.

East London was developing well and would get better, but perhaps I will leave that for later.

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—29— Living Our Lives

W

Maureen was enjoying her work at Crown Wallpapers which gave us the opportunity of obtaining wallpaper for our home for around one shilling (5 pence) per roll and this could include expensive silk screen printed papers. We also enjoyed some good social outings. Maureen, together with Joyce, the telephonist, and her husband, Angus, who was the sales manager formed, the social committee (with me included, of course!). We would visit potential places for outings to ‘try them out’ with expenses paid. That made a good day out for the four of us. e

were

still

h av i n g

a

very

full

social

life.

One such visit was to Eastbourne and we went to the Queen’s Hotel for lunch. The food and service were excellent and we all ate far too much. Having enjoyed the afternoon on the seafront, we had a discussion and decided that if we could hang on a bit longer, we could go back to the Queens for dinner, which we did.

Once more, a superb meal but we really regretted it. We were uncomfortably full. It was a quiet drive back to Ilford.

Majorca In 1957, we took our first overseas holiday. We went to the Hotel Eden in Puerto Soller, Majorca. The holiday for two weeks, including flights, was just over £20! We flew at 1am so arrived and reached our hotel in the dark. The room seemed rather barren with plain wooden furniture and tiled floors, but we had a balcony. I suppose the excitement was such that we couldn’t really sleep in the remaining hours as we wanted to know what the place was like.

Dawn came eventually and we opened the doors on to the balcony. It was magic. The air was warm. The sun was rising. We looked out on to the bay where the sea was so blue and there was a smell in the air like nothing we had experienced in England. It was a mixture of pine, fruit, the early heat of the day, and yes, drains!

Breakfast was different. They could not cook bacon and eggs like we had at home and the tea was in little bags. That was new. Drinking the water was a risky business too. And they didn’t speak English. What an adventure this would be!

The temperature was beginning to climb so we put on our shorts and decided to explore. The bay was unbelievable. Such blue water, and it was crystal clear even when quite deep. The boats, painted in their bright colours, were bobbing with the gentle movement of the sea. This was going to be quite something – as I would find out later. In walking round the outskirts of the town, we caught our first glimpse of oranges growing on trees in gardens. Something else to marvel at. Another first.

As one who enjoyed swimming, I couldn’t wait to get into that warm, blue sea. It was bliss. I don’t think that snorkelling gear had been developed then, but it didn’t matter. I dived deep into the water and enjoyed looking at the marine life. This was our holiday of a lifetime and Maureen was enjoying the sun and the sea.

We went on a couple of outings and I found that I had developed a slight headache which got worse. I had taken a reasonable medical kit so swallowed some aspirin which helped, but not for long. We had a coach trip booked and, although my headache was throbbing, we went. It got worse and I was literally chewing codeine tables like sweets. I was also developing a temperature. I was not well at all.

Maureen was concerned and the coach was alerted. Fortunately, there was a doctor on board and he took 225

a look at me and said that I should get a doctor urgently when I got back to base. Although he had some penicillin at the hotel, he felt I really needed a broad-spectrum antibiotic. I took little interest in the trip and could not wait for us to get back to the hotel. On our return, I went to our room and lay down while Maureen asked reception to call a doctor. He diagnosed an acute sinusitis which was bordering on meningitis. Serious stuff. Tetracycline was prescribed and rapidly obtained.

I lay on the bed, curtains drawn, sweating with a blinding headache. I was unable to sit up, felt really ill and could not eat. In fact, I didn’t leave the room for almost a week. The hotel was fantastic. Every six hours, night and day, the phone in the room would ring and a voice would say “Time to take your tablet”. I was asked what I wanted to eat. Nothing.

After about 3 days, I was beginning to improve slowly and requested a peach with a little cream which was brought up for me. Gradually, I started to feel better and the doctor was delighted, as was I! Eventually, I took my first steps downstairs into the hotel. I was quite weak and unsteady which was alien to me.

The other guests were fairly shocked as I I had lost so much weight. I went to sit in the sun and Maureen took a photo of me sitting on a rock. I couldn’t believe it. Who was this figure with drawn face and thin spindly arms and legs?

How had I got this infection? The hotel said it was from the sea water – I had dived deep so the pressure forced infected sea water up into my sinuses, thus creating the problem. The squares of white paper I had seen floating in the sea began to make sense. The sewage from the hotels was released into the bay.

Further recovery was uneventful, my appetite improved and we enjoyed the rest of our holiday, but it was a near thing and taught me a lesson so I am very careful where I swim now.

The Sporting Scene I was still busy with the Air Training Corps and had started a Fencing Section for the cadets. The Ilford Recorder had a write-up with a photograph in January 1957.

In the same year, my friend from the hospital days was teaching photography at the Stepney Institute in East London. They wanted to start a table tennis section as part of the local youth club activities and he immediately thought of Maureen who had a track record of playing at county level and against England players. We made this happen.

She started coaching (and was paid) each Monday evening. I went along too and helped, although I am no table tennis player. The building was quite close to Maureen’s firm so, before going to the Institute, we would often get a meal at The Lady Franklin, the firm’s local pub which was well known.

These classes were quite a challenge. The teenagers were typical East Londoners. The boys arrived in ordinary outdoor clothes, smoking and thinking the whole thing was something of a joke. The girls arrived in high heels and short skirts and expected to carry on smoking while they played – which they were not really interested in.

We had been warned by the Principal of the Institute that they might be difficult and possibly disruptive, and we felt when we started that this could well be the case. Some of them thought they would come to try to play whereas others would ‘muck about.’ Just to make things worse, they found that ‘teacher’ was a woman!

They quickly discovered that this teacher was different. Maureen soon started to get them organised and within a short while they settled down and began to enjoy playing. The girls even stopped wearing their high heels and it became “Miss this” and “Miss that”. In fact, some of them became quite good players and we 226

were very fond of them. Yes, they were rough and ready but, when they got to know us and realised that we were on their side, we were accepted and they would do anything for us, particularly Maureen. We worked with these teenagers for two years and thoroughly enjoyed the time with them.

Sailing I had always had a desire to take up sailing and the opportunity arose for us to buy a boat and we were able to obtain a Heron Class car top dinghy. It was known as gaff-rigged which meant that the mast was in two parts, the main part attached to the hull with an extension which slid up the main mast. This allowed the two parts of the mast to stow inside the hull and the whole could be inverted and lashed on a car rack, hence the name. It was 11ft 3ins in length and 5ft 8ins beam with built-in buoyancy.

We joined the Up River Yacht Club at Hullbridge which was on the river Crouch. The river was tidal and one could sail two hours either side of high tide. We learned to race but never won anything. Others had learned to understand how to use the tides and it could be quite frustrating sitting becalmed in the middle of the river and watch someone close to the bank pass you and proceed to disappear into the distance.

One of the skills in sailing is achieving a good start and that means crossing the start line at full speed the moment the starting gun goes. Immediately before a start, the boats tack up and down the line using a stopwatch so they turn on to the line at precisely the right time. That’s the theory, anyway.

We had many hilarious instances, although Maureen used to say I got really aggressive when I was in a boat – she should know as she was the crew! She was probably right but I said it was the competitive urge coming out – that was my excuse. On one occasion, we were about to start racing; the gun went and we were off. It was a perfect start and we were leading – well until Maureen quietly said we were going in the opposite direction! Members in the club house thought it a huge joke, but I had a red face. I hadn’t checked the sailing course after we launched and there had been a wind change, so the race direction had been reversed.

Sometimes, we would take friends for the day and on one occasion we took Sid and Muriel Heath, our pharmacy friends. We had a great day together although Sid wasn’t, let us say, a natural sailor or a great enthusiast, although he was a good sport. Muriel likewise but she was keen to try. The memorable part came as we started for home having washed down the boat and put it to bed. At that time, Essex was quite rural and a little way down the road from the club was a house with mushrooms for sale. Did I say mushrooms?

These were incredible mushrooms, each one about 8-10inches across and very thick. Real horse mushrooms.

We took them back to their home in Hornchurch and we had a grill with mushroom steaks. The flavour of those mushrooms was unforgettable.

We had that boat for several years until we decided to buy a larger one with a cabin. That too is an interesting story, but I will save that for later.

Around that time, Maureen’s mother became unwell. She started to get forgetful and would ‘drift-off’. She went to her doctor who gave her some tablets which achieved nothing. I felt that she had a particular problem and insufficient blood was getting through to her brain. This was a specific condition which had not been picked up. I knew her doctor as I had been calling on him (and I didn’t rate him that highly) so I phoned him, explained my reasons and said that I thought she needed neuro-surgery (what a cheek!). Nevertheless, he accepted my thinking and referred her to Barts. She was accepted as an urgent case and was operated on by a consultant neuro-surgeon who had to repair a blood vessel at the base of the brain. That operation did, in fact, save her life and she fully recovered.

Battersea Dogs Home Following the death of my step-grandmother, my grandfather was living alone in his bungalow in Hornchurch.

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He was obviously lonely and felt that he would like a dog for company. He decided that he would like to go to Battersea Dogs Home and as I had a car, we agreed to take him one Saturday morning.

He didn’t want a big dog so chose a small brown terrier called Tony. All went well until we got in the car to take him home. He became aggressive.

Grandfather was sitting in the back seat with this dog. It was growling and snapping and had its paws on the back of my seat. I could feel its hot breath on the back of my neck and feared I might be bitten. An anxious journey home.

The dog should have been returned and, by keeping it, grandfather really suffered. He couldn’t trust it and it would sometimes attack him. It was not friendly and nearly went berserk when there were visitors. It had to go so grandfather gave it to a local lorry driver who wanted a guard dog for his lorry. I often wondered how the lorry driver managed with that dog in his cab. With most rescued animals they come with baggage and one never knows how they were treated in the past. Probably Tony had had a difficult time as a puppy.

Old Boys Association Being something of a sentimentalist, I joined the LCHS OBA in 1957. We used to have an Annual Dinner in September held in the school hall – the very hall where we had to endure school dinners all those years ago.

Many of the masters and mistresses would come and it was interesting to notice the different relationship.

Most of the staff had retired or passed away but those attending were interested to know how we were progressing in our lives.

I used to go with Ted Hayes and we always had a memorable evening. There were no drink/driving laws so everybody took their own beer/wine and it was a great party.

The school had suffered during the war and we noticed that the hole in the hall ceiling caused by an incendiary bomb had been repaired along with other damage. We always had an old boy as a guest of honour and one year it was Frank Muir (he mentions LHCS in his book, ‘A Kentish LAD’). Having been welcomed, he carried on for around half an hour non-stop telling stories and jokes. He had us all laughing until we cried. It was such a remarkable evening.

One of the other attractions was to see how our school friends had fared in the outside world – and there were some surprises. We had some scientists, bankers, a solicitor, doctors and even a Roman Catholic priest who I thought was a most unlikely candidate. One interesting one was Alan Lettin who had been the 1st eleven goalkeeper – what a choice of name! Alan’s initials were AWFL and he always attributed these to his parents who thought him so unattractive when he was born that his names were given accordingly.

However, they couldn’t think of a boy’s name beginning with ‘U’!

Alan had studied medicine and became a consultant orthopaedic surgeon at Barts and The National Orthopaedic Hospital. He was a leading consultant in the country and went on to become a Council Member of the Royal College of Surgeons and an Examiner in Surgery. I later met surgeons who had been examined by him for their final FRCS. They had found him fair but tough. Sadly, he never achieved the supreme accolade of becoming the President of the Royal College of Surgeons and receiving the knighthood which accompanied the office. But then, although highly qualified, he was no politician and that plays an important part in reaching the highest echelons in medicine – or anything else, come to that.

Later in my career when I was involved in surgery, he invited me to see him operate at the RNOH. Alan had always been a quiet and diligent individual and he hadn’t changed. One operation he performed was for a recurrent dislocation of the shoulder which required him to open up the shoulder and the capsule inside, carry out a repair and close. Having carried out the procedure, he was getting to the final stages when he turned to the theatre sister and said he wasn’t happy with the operation, so he would go in again and have 228

another look, which he did. Finally satisfied, he completed the operation, but it does indicate his careful and dedicated approach. As he said to me after, the patient could suffer a relapse at some later stage if the procedure was not perfect.

I suppose that one of his most interesting cases – and probably an emotional one – was when he had to carry out a hip replacement on our retired geography mistress, Mrs Cattell-Jones. Of course, it was successful, and she probably enjoyed many pain free years subsequently, but I have often wondered what he thought as he removed her diseased hip. Did his mind go back to when she taught him about flood plains or the Atlas Mountains? I wonder. Likewise, what were her thoughts before the operation knowing that a schoolboy she had known since eleven years of age was going to operate on her?

Sadly, the school became a comprehensive one and that put an end to these pleasant reunions. One of the old boys did try to keep it going but, without the opportunity of getting together, the whole venture became pointless.

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—30— Starting a Family

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that we would like to have a family and in 1959, both being 28 we felt that we should not wait much longer. We gave considerable thought to this and agreed that education would be important and that our child should have a better opportunity than we had experienced. I was conscious of my disturbed education and, in retrospect, I felt that I would have liked to have gone to a ‘good’ school with a university to follow. Maureen felt likewise so we agreed that considering our resources, if we were to raise a child to the highest standards we could afford, we could only have one. So that was agreed. e had long thought

During the year, I was working hard in East London, as was Maureen at Crown Wallpapers. We had the flat at 11, Christchurch Road, Ilford and we had made that as comfortable as possible, with the addition of a new bathroom and upgrading the kitchen, which now sported a refrigerator and a twin tub washing machine (no more trips on a Friday evening to the Launderette!).

What with dinner parties, tennis, sailing, the ATC, the Young Conservatives which we had joined etc, we had a busy and enjoyable time. I visited my grandfather’s Lodge, Masonic Tredegar, with him – he was 89 at the time – and life carried on at a hectic pace. He later visited my Lodge when he was 90 and had a great reception.

Following a holiday, Maureen became pregnant in the autumn. We were delighted and so were our parents.

They were going to become grandparents. Technically, one could say that the pregnancy was uneventful.

She did all the right things and stayed at her job until the final few weeks. Probably through my background and her working in Bow, her ante-natal care was carried out locally at Mile-End Hospital (which was part of The London Hospital).

It happened that the Obstetrician, Mr Perchard, whom I knew, was interested in self hypnosis during delivery and he had a group of patients being trained in the ante-natal clinic by the sister, Sister Davies – quite strict but loveable soul. So, Maureen went and learned how to breathe and relax. We converted our rear bedroom into a nursery; papered the walls with a children’s paper (Crown, of course); bought a super cot, an expensive pram plus clothes, bedding and so on. The whole works.

1960 dawned. We enjoyed life and were busy as usual. The Theatre Royal at Stratford was in the ascendant with shows such as ‘Fings Ain’t Wot They Used to Be’, ‘Sparrers Can’t Sing’ and ‘West Side Story’. These were great shows and I still have the LPs. I had been appointed as an Examiner for the UCTA’s examination in salesmanship/sales management and did this for about 8 years. I would receive around 100 papers to mark with a month to mark them, so it took a lot of my time.

There were two other important events that year. Firstly, my work had paid off and the company appointed me a Divisional Sales Manager. I had got my first promotion at 29. This may not sound significant today but in those days, promotions normally went with age and it was usually considered that individuals had to be 35+ to have the required knowledge, experience, and maturity to be a manager. So, having been the youngest medical representative with MSD (it was claimed that doctors only wanted to deal with mature representatives!) at 23, I had become a manager at 29.

I had 12 representatives in an area which extended from south of Bristol to The Wash with 5 of them covering the London area. It was not easy and for many weeks, I would leave home on a Monday morning early, and arrive home late Friday afternoon to be met with mail from head office requiring action plus reports to be written. My weekend would often only start Sunday afternoon just before I started packing to go off the next 230

morning. As I was in charge of all aspects of my team, I decided to read the Advanced Motorists’ driving test so that, if I had to, I could comment on their driving with some authority (I did have to on a few occasions).

I passed on my first attempt on 1 October 1960.

Another milestone was that I approached the owner of our house and, following negotiations, we bought 11, Christchurch Road as sitting tenants for £1,300. We purchased it through a With Profits Endowment Policy over a 10-year period and, when the policy matured, not only had we paid the mortgage but they sent us a nice cheque as well. Grace Frost, now our tenant downstairs, stayed and we had a happy relationship.

About this time, I felt that I really ought to have someone to ensure that my tax and expenses etc were to my advantage. Leslie Baker put me on to his accountant, a Stan Knight, a chartered accountant in Walthamstow, who was also ex RAF. Stan looked after me for many years and got me back far more than his fees cost. How strange life can be. Many years later I joined the Board of Leslie’s company and Stan was the company accountant and when I became managing director, he reported to me.

With my love of Essex and the knowledge I had acquired on my journeys throughout the county, I began to give talks to various groups including WIs etc. Essex had the tag of being ‘boring and uninteresting’ which was far from true. I had to accept that the area along the Thames with its industry was not that pleasant, but when one got to north Essex, it was delightful with the old churches and thatched cottages. Essex even has its own dialect, and I was able to purchase, along with many Essex books and maps, an Essex Dialect Dictionary which is quite rare.

Back to the pregnancy,even though I still find this difficult. Maureen came to full term and was admitted to Mile End Hospital. I was present and had a dual role a) to help her in the hypnosis and b) to take a cine film of the birth for Mr Perchard. All went well, she was relaxed and, to the joy of all, produced a fine boy. Of course, although she was tired, we were both absolutely elated. The little ‘fella’ was weighed, checked, wrapped and the staff departed, and we were left alone with the new member of the family. This is strange.

Looking round the delivery room, I noticed a large moth trying to get out. From my boyhood interest in butterflies and moths, I climbed up, opened a window, and let it out.

A little while later I noticed that the baby’s breathing was a bit uneven, so I called in a member of the staff who called a registrar. Our son was checked, and they agreed that something was wrong with his breathing.

The paediatrician was called and gave us some disastrous news. Our son had a massive diaphragmatic hernia which meant that all the contents of his lower abdomen were being drawn up into his chest thus restricting his breathing and affecting his heart. What could be done? Nothing. There was no treatment.

While this was going on, I was keeping these developments from Maureen, but the time came when I had to tell her. We were shattered and, whilst she was in bed, I had to watch our newborn’s life gradually die. I was staying at the hospital – they found me a room – and the worst moment was when they called me at dawn. A minister had been called to christen our son, Mark Nigel Parrish. Imagine the scene. Daybreak with four people standing around a cot; the Minister; a Sister; a Nurse and me. The christening service was simple but so stressful for everyone, particularly me. A little while later Mark Nigel died. He was born on 18 June and died on 20 June 1960. All our dreams and hopes were dashed. We were devastated. And I just wondered. When I let out that moth, had our son’s life gone too? Strangely, I have never been able to let a moth out since. I may open a window and if it finds its own way, that is fine, but that is all.

Whilst Maureen stayed in hospital, I had unpleasant tasks to complete. Following the post-mortem, I had to arrange for the burial. I was given the details and advised that there was no point in me attending. So, I didn’t. Having told family and friends the good news, I then had to impart the tragedy. The reactions were predictable. Shock and sadness from everyone. I phoned Leslie Jenkins at Merrell who asked what we had had. Silence greeted my reply and I have to say that I had tears when I told him. He was stunned and immediately said I must take time off and he would inform the rest of the company, particularly my representatives. For this I was grateful.

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I had to inform Maureen’s colleagues at Crown Wallpapers. There was disbelief. Our parents were devastated as were all our friends. At times like this, one suddenly finds who one’s true friends are. Of course, I phoned Leslie and Gladys Baker who were so sad particularly as Gladys had suffered several miscarriages and knew how we were feeling. Leslie asked what would happen about the nursery. I had not thought about that. What would Maureen think when she came home and saw it? Leslie told me to get everything assembled and he would arrange the rest. Bless him. I took the cot to pieces and the pram and got everything together and he arrived with one of his lorries and everything was loaded on board and taken to their home where it was stored in an empty room.

I spoke with David Avery, our GP friend and he said I should get Maureen away. He suggested the Scilly Isles as an ideal place for peace and tranquillity. I phoned and got a holiday organised.

Of course, I was visiting the hospital to see her and after a few days, which seemed like a lifetime, I brought her home. Grace Frost downstairs, although never having had a family, was upset and very caring. When we arrived home, Maureen went straight to the nursery and asked where everything was. I just said that it had gone. She did not know that Leslie has removed everything to his house. We were still left, however, with an empty nursery and its colourful wallpaper.

Slowly, so slowly, we pulled ourselves together. The sympathy and many letters were kind, but they didn’t really help. They just seemed to exacerbate the situation. We wanted to forget but could not. It was interesting, though; that my parents lost their first child and so did Maureen’s parents.

Our holiday to the Scilly Isles was a lifeline. We drove down to Penzance overnight to catch the Scillonian.

Arriving at dawn, we were the first on the quay and not long after joined by another car. Getting out stretching our legs, we chatted to the other couple who were going to the Scillies for a week. His name was Peter Badger and it turned out that he was a wartime fighter pilot who was posted to the Scillies and almost within minutes of landing, he had been ‘scrambled’, took off and shot down a German aircraft. He was a legend on the islands, and he asked us not to mention his name as it was embarrassing. He had been back before and given virtually the freedom of the islands – no hotel charges, free meals, and drinks wherever he and his wife went and so on. So, we were travelling with a local hero.

We really had a wonderful time on the Scillies, and it helped a lot. The fishermen ran boats to the other islands, and we would sometimes be left on a deserted island for a few hours and be fetched later. Other times we would stay on the boats when visitors were dropped, and go fishing for mackerel, the catch being left on the quay for locals to help themselves. These fishermen were also the lifeboat men who covered these dangerous waters. Sometimes, we would take the mail to the Bishop Rock Lighthouse keepers. This would entail sailing as close as possible (there was usually a strong swell) and getting a line to the lighthouse, so we could deliver the letters. This lighthouse along with all others are no longer manned.

Peter Badger was still recognised by some and got a great welcome, but he kept a low profile. The island had a small, dilapidated coach which was used to take visitors around the three miles of roads. We all went on the trip. About halfway round the driver stopped the coach and told the story of the young airman and said that the plane crashed ‘in that field there’. Peter and I exchanged glances but nothing was said. Peter and his wife went home after a week and on the following Monday, I met the coach driver in St. Mary’s and I recalled the trip on the previous Friday, and I asked him if he remembered the chap sitting with us. Yes, he did. I then told him that Peter was the pilot who had shot down the plane. He was amazed but I was told that on the next tour, the coach stopped in the same place and after the usual story, he turned to the visitors and said, “And last Friday, he sat there!” That story became part of the folklore. Although we never met again, we kept in touch with Peter and his wife thereafter. He died in 1996 and she had died some years before.

That holiday was greatly needed and helped a lot although we had been scarred by those tragic events.

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—31— Trying Again I returned to work and Maureen decided that she could not stay at home and wanted to get a job. She went to see her friends at Crown Wallpapers, and it was mentioned that another local firm was looking for a secretary/p.a. They were the national road builders, Fitzpatrick’s. She met the directors and got the job which was a lot more exciting than her previous one. The firm had their own private aircraft based at Abridge so there could be quick access to their various sites. She would fly with them on occasions visiting such places as the Doncaster Bypass which was under construction. The directors were very pleasant, and we were invited by one to a Christmas party at his home.

Realising that we were getting older, we decided that we would try again for another child. Maureen had been pronounced fit so again in the autumn, she became pregnant. Once more, she went to Mile End Hospital. She had a great welcome from the doctors and nursing staff, particularly Sister Davies. Because of her previous experience, they took even greater care and she was watched and checked every time she visited the ante-natal clinic. As before, she opted for the self hypnosis method and again I was involved. Mr Perchard, the obstetrician, asked me to film the delivery.

The early part of the year was busy. I was actively engaged in the Southern Division – visiting and training my team, issuing sales bulletins, and being involved with a number of head office initiatives including recruiting, new products, sales training courses and so forth. When the company started, there were two Divisional Sales Managers dividing the country. They had both been promoted and the country was split into three Divisions – Southern, Northern and Scottish. The other two divisional managers, Frank Rowlands (Northern) and Roger Edwards (Scottish) had also been promoted from the initial intake so there was a friendly rivalry between us although I think Southern Division had the edge – well I would, wouldn’t I? The thinking in the Division was lateral and we would do things which were outside the usual run of a sales force. Let me quote an example. Whilst I was a representative, the company released a product called Merocet. It was basically an antiseptic solution which was prescribable and used as a mouth wash and gargle. Unlike many similar products, it was pleasant tasting and effective. At the time, many doctors kept a thermometer in a small open container on their desk. Often it only contained water. I gave every doctor a bottle of Merocet so they could keep their thermometer in it. It was a lot more hygienic and the patients like the taste. Merocet began to be prescribed for all sorts of conditions, halitosis (bad breath), mouth ulcers, sore gums, a mouth wash after dentistry etc. It was highly effective, and I had the best sales in the country, so I got local pharmacies to recommend it to their customers.

This was not the national story though, and a meeting was called with the three divisional managers to decide whether the company should withdraw the product. I was furious and fought my corner knowing that the product had proved itself and suggested we should introduce a throat sweet/pastille, as the antiseptic was known and highly effective. Such a product was already sold in the USA. Alan Talbot and Leslie Jenkins both listened and then threw down the challenge! If I thought the product so good, then I must take my complete sales force off their territories and go, as a team, to one area for a week to ‘blitz’ all pharmacies, wholesalers etc to see what we could achieve. I accepted and the same challenge was given to the other divisional managers who had little option but to accept. Incentives were arranged for the best division and for the best individual results.

I felt that this was a great opportunity to get my men working together as a team. They usually only met at sales conferences, so this was the chance to get them to bond. I chose Norfolk (remember I had started there with MSD) and the whole division was booked into hotels, given towns to visit and targets to achieve.

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We had special bonus offers and I knew it would sort the wheat from the chaff. It did. Those that could sell soon showed their ability and I could concentrate on the rest – visiting pharmacies with them. I would go in with the representative and sell a deal. The next call, we would go in and he would have to sell a deal. This was a great opportunity to raise the standards of everyone. At night we would sit in the bar and have a de-brief and plan the next day. I treated this like a military exercise and would send ‘signals’ back to head office daily giving a (humorous) account of the day’s activities with individual successes.

Southern Division won the challenge which was great for the whole team and they all felt sharper for the exercise. What was more important, the product was not only saved, but it was agreed to introduce the throat lozenges. That was getting on for 60 years ago and they are still sold in pharmacies today!

I have left to last, the most important event of the year for us, namely the birth of our son, Mervyn Neil Parrish. Maureen’s pregnancy had progressed well, and she had been under regular observation at the hospital. When the time came for her to be admitted she went with good wishes from family, friends, and neighbours. The delivery room had extra people this time and it was apparent that medical staff were on stand-by. I helped her with the self-hypnosis and at the critical moment started filming the birth. That film was later used by Mr Perchard to support his lectures and presentations on this method of birthing.

As the baby was delivered, the midwife said that it was a boy and he gave a lusty cry. He was weighed, cleaned-up, checked thoroughly by the paediatrician and wrapped in a small sheet and laid in a cot beside Maureen. He was fine. We were over the moon. Having a baby is an incredible and unforgettable experience, but when one has previously lost one, words cannot express the absolute joy. Tears were plentiful and not surprising; Sister Davies came with her congratulations and brought a gift, a figurine, for the new member of our family. She was so kind.

I had to get away. With a pocket full of coins, I had phone calls to make – lots of them. Mobile phones did not exist, so it was down to using the public phone in the hospital. Parents, friends, my company etc were all waiting for news and there were so many congratulations. The four new grandparents were ecstatic. Of course, we had to decide on names and agreed on Mervyn Neil. Why? Mervyn Forbes was a friend of mine whom I admired (he also happened to be the sales manager of Royal Typewriters, a business contact of Ted Hayes, but that is incidental) and Neale Fraser was a leading Australian tennis player of the time. It is only while writing this that I have realised that both babies were given the same initials – MNP. How strange!

Maureen would be in hospital for 3 days, so I had to move fast. I had, of course, phoned Leslie and Gladys who were delighted with the news. The nursery furniture was brought back from their home, again on one of Leslie’s lorries, and the room prepared for the homecoming. It was a great and proud day when I drove to the hospital having taken one person in and bringing two home! ‘Congratulations’ cards arrived daily, and we had innumerable visitors and gifts. We were two incredibly happy but inexperienced parents. We had a lot to learn but took our duties seriously.

He was a good baby but developed a slight asthmatic condition. Just after he had started to learn to talk, he had an attack and was taken into the Children’s Hospital in Hackney for a few days. The only thing that kept him amused was looking at cookery books and the first words he uttered were “Mart, Mart” meaning tomato. He obviously knew his destiny and future career!

When I had to go away on business, it was always difficult if he had an attack. On one occasion, he did have an acute attack, and, in desperation, Maureen phoned David Avery for advice. He came straight over in the evening and sat up all night making sure that his condition did not worsen. That was true friendship.

Fortunately, as is frequently the case, he grew out of the condition as he grew older.

In 1962, we took Mervyn on his first holiday – to the Scilly Isles, where else! We drove down overnight to Penzance with Mervyn in a carrycot on the rear seat of our Mini. On Scillonian once more, and what a greeting when we arrived. The fishermen/lifeboat men on the quay all came up with their good wishes – they 234

had remembered our last visit in quite different circumstances. Whenever we went on the boats, they were there to carefully get him and the pushchair on board. The weather was fantastic, the people were wonderful and we had some superb photographs of junior. On the return, the sea was quite rough and, before we left St. Mary’s, the crew on the ferry were handing out plastic bowls! Many were ill but not Mervyn. He spent most of the journey eating. It was a great holiday.

Following this holiday, I was getting restless. At 31, I was a Divisional Sales Manager with a good sales team.

We all got on well together and when I had a problem, I had to grasp the nettle and deal with it. It is never pleasant to have to discipline people let alone fire them, but there are occasions when it must be done.

Medical representatives were in a position of trust. There were little means of checking whether they were carrying out the calls that they reported. Of course, over a period their efforts would be reflected in their results. If they were not working a full day, they would still expect to receive their salary, expenses and their car! Apart from their territory results, lack of effort would reflect on the rest of the Division. They would let down their colleagues and me and this could not be tolerated.

I did have some instances where drastic action had to be taken, but not until I had discussed it with the reps to see whether there were any mitigating circumstances. If there were, assistance would be given. If not, they would receive a warning and would be under observation. I can give two examples in each category.

The first was a very experienced representative who had joined the company when we started. He was a qualified male nurse with a lot of useful experience. He tried to give the impression that he knew everything and made himself popular at conferences. Being considerably older than me, there was some resentment when I was promoted, and he was somewhat reluctant to cooperate. I understood this and endeavoured to draw him into the team as a valued member. He used to complain of back pain and would take time off sick.

This was reasonable, but somehow I felt he had become work-shy. He lived in South London and one day when he was off sick, I happened to be in the area and genuinely thought I would call to see how he was.

Finding the house, I rang the bell and shortly afterwards he came to the door in old clothes and with a paint brush in his hand. He was decorating! The look on his face was matched by the look on mine! He left the company forthwith.

The second case concerned a young representative who had had an interesting background. He had been a missionary in Africa in sole charge of a medical station in a remote area. He had to diagnose and treat all patients who turned up and needed help. Whilst he did not carry out surgery, apart from minor conditions, his medical knowledge was wide, although his range of drugs etc was limited by lack of availability. He enjoyed his work but had to return to the UK to educate his family.

He had certain family problems which I tried to resolve. I also spent a lot of time on his territory trying to get him up to the general standard of the other representatives. It was not easy as he was not a ‘natural’. Now I have always had the odd ability to remember car numbers and one day I was driving in Surrey when I recognised his car, off his territory, when he should be calling on his doctors. That evening, I phoned him for an explanation and got some hard-luck story about a family crisis and he had to drive to meet a member of the family. He apologised and said it would not happen again. Although this was a dismissible offence, I let him off with a warning.

Would you believe, a few weeks later, I was driving to the office in Savile Row for a meeting on a Friday afternoon, when I recognised his car approaching – in London and way off his territory. He saw me and it was a race to the office to see if he could get there first to resign before I got there and dismissed him. I won.

Fortunately, such instances were rare, and most men developed and went on to worthwhile careers. One became managing director of a medical advertising agency. He had been selling Crisps before joining the company but was a keen and genuine learner who made rapid strides. Another in the West Country who 235

had been a cartographer with Ordnance Survey, also made great strides. Mark you, he had been a county rugby player and was known to many doctors which helped him get established. Nevertheless, he soaked up his training and could put it into practice. I always felt with him that a journey was never wasted as he wanted to learn and applying the knowledge came naturally. He later went on to set up a medical exhibitions company and he excelled.

I was beginning to reach the stage where I wanted to move on. I was successful in my chosen sphere and I had proved myself as a manager with impressive sales results. I now wanted to be in charge of a sales organisation using my experience. At the time, I was Chairman of the local Institute of Marketing Group. I always feel that it is good to be associated with professional organisations, as one can learn from others and, very importantly, make contacts which I did.

In the Group there were many trades and industries represented including the Sales Manager of a Petroleum Company and the Sales Manager of Crittal Windows – double glazing – with whom I would become better acquainted later. Another person I got to know well was the Sales Manager of a company called The London Hospital (Ligature Department) Limited. His name was Peter Norman and he was, by training, a Physiotherapist.

The company was located on the Harold Hill estate just outside Romford. It had a unique history in that it was part of The London Hospital. Prior to the 1914-18 war, catgut (an important suture material) had been imported mainly from Germany. With the outbreak of the war, it was realised that supplies would be under threat and, with the likely increased need from wounded troops as well as the domestic population, an alternative supply was vital.

A theatre assistant by the name of Mr H.P. Morley was given the task of producing catgut. Facilities were provided at The London. Without going into too many technical details, catgut is an absorbable material used to stitch surgical wounds. It dissolves in the body after a certain time. It was made by scraping off the unwanted parts of lamb intestines, splitting them lengthways, and then twisting a few lengths together to form a single thread. The number of lengths twisted can be varied depending on the thickness required.

These lengths are dried in special conditions and are called Plain Catgut. By treating in certain chemical baths, the catgut can be made to last longer in the body before being absorbed. This is known as Chromic Catgut. The manufacturer must sterilise the catgut so that it is ready for use.

The age, nature and source of the animal material used, meant that the final product could be variable and could reflect on the success of the surgery. Mr Morley was successful and produced an incredibly good, reliable product. As The London was a major teaching hospital, it follows that surgeons who trained there wanted to use the same, high quality catgut wherever they went. So, there is the start of the business.

One of the problems in surgery is that a threaded needle results in a double thickness of catgut or other suture material passing through the tissue thus creating increased trauma. One of the surgeons at The London, Henry Souttar, developed an eyeless needle. This was a needle with a minute tube welded on the end in place of the eye. A piece of catgut or other suture material is threaded into the tube which is cramped to secure it. By this means, only a single thickness of suture is passed through the tissue. The company continued to grow, and an export market developed following UK surgeons taking appointments in the then British Empire. Production increased and extra accommodation was obtained in the Whitechapel area. After the 1939-45 war, it was decided to create a purpose-built unit, and this was based at Harold Hill. The manufacturing process was highly skilled, and the trained staffs were brought from East London every day by coach. The daughter of the founder, Vi Walker joined the business from school and eventually took over as managing director.

Historically, it is interesting to note that the company was part of The London and profits were passed back to the hospital. Some of the benefactors were the Salmon family who controlled J.Lyons, a well-known hotel and catering company which owned the famous Corner Houses and The Regent Palace, Strand Palace and 236

other well known Hotels in London. Members of the Salmon family, the House Governor of The London, Capt. H. Brierley, and Vi Walker, formed the Board of Directors.

Peter Norman’s responsibilities as Sales Manager covered the whole sales and marketing operation. This included a sales force of 8 representatives, all advertising and sales promotion, new product development, pricing, and, most interesting, export sales throughout the world.

Perhaps you are wondering why I have gone into all this detail? The answer was that I saw this as the ideal company. Small, local, with full sales and marketing responsibilities plus the opportunity to extend my knowledge into new areas, namely surgery and exporting. Being naturally patriotic, it would be an opportunity to serve my country and that was appealing. But all this was in cloud cuckoo land as Peter was settled and enjoying his job.

Then one day, I saw Peter at a meeting, and he dropped a bombshell. He wanted to return to Berkshire and would be giving in his notice. I was amazed. Could this be my chance to get my own show? We shall see.

I took the opportunity of talking to Peter about his job and what he thought about my qualifications and chances. He felt that I had the basic qualifications although I had no export experience. I got some information on exporting from him then got books to give me background reading. Peter agreed to support my application and advised me when the advertisement would be appearing in the Daily Telegraph under a Box number.

On 7 April 1962, my application was posted. I had two interviews – Peter keeping me advised regarding the other applicants – and on 21 May 1962, I received the offer of the appointment as Sales Manager at a salary of £1,900 per annum. The terms of my employment make interesting reading. I would receive three weeks annual holiday and a company car which could be used for private use if I provided the petrol and paid an annual charge of £26pa. My expenses were as follows; a hotel allowance of £2.00 per night to include room, early morning tea (usual then) and breakfast + 10% gratuities; lunch 7/6d (37 1/2p) and dinner 10/- (50p) Needless to say I was thrilled. At 31 I was going to be the Sales Manager of a company and have world-wide responsibilities. Wow! Having signed the required Agreement over a 6d stamp, as was the legally requirement in those times, it was agreed that I would start my new job on Monday, 18 June 1962.

All I had to do was to resign from Merrell and this would be difficult. I had been with the company since it started; I had enjoyed a great career; been promoted to a Divisional Sales Manager and had developed a wonderfully loyal team of successful sales representatives. I had been earmarked for future development, but I wanted the management challenge NOW. My letter of resignation was received with shock by Alan Talbot, my MD, Leslie Jenkins, the Sales Manager, Paul Sinha, my ex Divisional Sales Manager and now Assistant Sales Manager and, when announced, by all my representatives. I was in alternative states of sadness and euphoria – sad at leaving all my friends and colleagues but excited at looking forward to the future challenges facing me. The company were kind and said they felt that this was a good move for me. I had a great send-off and left. Little did I realise that some paths would cross in later years.

On 27 June 1962, I received a personal letter from Alan Talbot. In it he said, “It was strange to have a National Conference without the cheerful presence of the Southern Divisional Manager……One special resolution was received with acclamation and carried unanimously – that “This conference sends hearty congratulations to Mr E.L. Parrish on his appointment as Sales Manager of a national company and wishes him success and happiness in his new sphere.” He went onto say that they would always be glad to receive news of my future success.

Although I had already started my new job, I felt very touched by his letter and met him on occasions over the succeeding years.

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—32— A Change of Direction

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carried a car, Mrs Walker had agreed to let Peter Norman retain his for a couple of weeks until he could finalise his move to Berkshire. Technically, this was now mine, but he lived in the country without transport and, equally, he had been instrumental in me getting the job, so there was no way I could object. lt h o u g h m y n e w j o b

The only problem was getting to work. I could drive there in about 25 minutes, but to go by public transport would require walking to Ilford Station, getting a train to Romford and then a bus to the Harold Hill Industrial Estate – probably an hour and a quarter or more. Of the many congratulations received on my appointment, were those from Gladys and Leslie, those dear friends of ours. On hearing of my transport problems, Leslie immediately offered to lend me his car saying that they could do without it for a couple of weeks! This was typical of his unselfishness and friendship. I was grateful to accept.

I was asked to arrive on my first morning at 10am. I did – behind the wheel of a magnificent Jaguar – this was Leslie’s car! What an impressive way for the new Sales Manager to take up his duties. Peering eyes awaiting the arrival of the new member of staff sent a word round the offices very quickly!

I had a tour of the building and met the other executives. Apart from Mrs Walker as MD, there was Mr C C Yates, General Manager, Mr R.G.Munyard, Accountant and Miss G.Morris, Factory & Personnel Manager.

There was a management dining room where we had coffee, lunch and afternoon tea. This always gave the opportunity for company items to be discussed.

I had to go on an intensive course on the product – its manufacture, sterilization, and packaging. I spent a number of days in The London Hospital Theatres watching various kinds of surgical procedures, with particular reference to the use of catgut and suturing techniques.

The Theatre Superintendent was Miss Ida Latham, a formidable figure who ruled those eight theatres in no uncertain manner. She allocated the theatres and, if the surgeons didn’t like it, tough! When one thinks that some of these consultant surgeons were internationally famous, they accepted her decisions with considerable meekness. With their own staff, however, they could be tyrants and their registrars often went in fear and trembling.

Let me give one example which I witnessed. A patient was to have thoracic surgery and following the anaesthetic, the registrar opened the chest ready for the surgeon to carry out the procedure. When ready, word was sent and, after a few moments, the theatre doors were opened and the great man strode in, gloved arms raised at right angles. Everyone moved aside. He took one look, chastised the poor registrar saying that the patient had not been prepared properly, told him to do a better job and strode out, gloved arms still in the air. This surgeon was a famous thoracic surgeon, but in those days they were almost brutal with their staff. I saw similar events with other surgeons and it always amazed me that, although they could shout at their staff and bring theatre staff to tears, none crossed Ida Latham! She controlled the theatres and the facilities which the surgeons needed – and they knew it.

I enjoyed my time at The London – it was the introduction to spend time in theatres throughout the UK and other parts of the world. Somehow, it all made sense to me and brought back my boyhood dreams of being a surgeon. I felt that I could have gone in and assisted at an operation. My training at the Maudsley Hospital helped in my understanding.

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Back at the factory, I had to get to grips with the sales operation, learning about the sales force, administration, advertising, distribution, order procedures and the export operation such as it was. In principle, the company did not sell direct but distributed through surgical instrument companies.

I needed to get to know my other management colleagues. Mrs Walker could be a little difficult as she had had no training in business or management, but I learned to handle her and we never had a real problem.

Bob Munyard was fine. He paid my salary and provided any information I needed! Miss Morris, if handled correctly, could adjust production if there were particular needs. Mr Yates, however, was a different matter.

Although he seemed to fancy himself in this medical sphere, he was an ARIC (Associate of the Royal Institute of Chemistry) and had previously worked at the canning factory of Batchelors Peas.

He never arrived before 10am, when he would don a white coat with collar turned up (as would befit a hospital consultant!) and walk round the production area watching the process through the glass inspection windows. He was quite a bully in that he would shout at staff if he felt like it. This particularly applied to his assistant, a Ken Lovewell, who shared our dining room and who acted like a general handyman. He tried to assert his authority by calling all men by their surnames and expecting them to respond by calling him Mr Yates. I could see that I was going to have trouble here – and I did. He regarded me as nothing more than a necessary nuisance – a senior sales clerk who looked after sales.

In reviewing the market, it was apparent that the major competitor was a company called Ethicon, a subsidiary of Johnson & Johnson. They were aggressive, had a large sales force and around 80% of the market. They were not particularly liked by surgeons and theatre staffs but they had a good product range. We were next with just over 10%; were well liked but old fashioned. A number of other small competitors made up the rest of the market.

In reviewing the situation, we had two problems. Firstly, our product range was limited. We mainly sold catgut together with a limited range of catgut with eyeless needles – although a London Hospital surgeon had invented them! Ethicon had a great range of catgut; catgut with eyeless needles plus a great assortment of sutures with non-absorbable materials, silk, linen thread, nylon, stainless steel etc. Our humble catalogue said we would make other items ‘to special order’ and, of course, we never received any special orders as Ethicon had them as standard!

Even worse, however, was our packaging. Our sterile products were supplied in sealed glass tubes. These had to be broken in theatre and it was not that unusual if the tube fractured, the Sister opening the tube would cut her fingers on the broken glass. This could create real problems as she would have to leave the theatre thus reducing the surgical team.

Ethicon, however, had developed a foil pack, sterilised by radiation which only required to be torn open and the suture removed. Simple. It worked and although many thought the catgut was not as good, it was convenient and there was no risk of broken glass in the theatre. It was obvious to me that we needed to change our pack and increase our range so that we could compete.

I raised this with Mrs Walker (VMW) and Mr Yates (CCY). She understood the problem, but he said that it was nothing to do with me – it was my job to sell what the factory produced. Where had I heard that before?

At that stage, marketing was starting to develop as an important business concept, so I typed out the then definition. In effect, this stated that for a business to be successful, it was necessary to supply what the customer wanted and at a price they were willing to pay. He returned the definition with a hand-written comment that it was ‘a load of rubbish and should be orated from a large size dung heap!’

It was apparent he was happy to accept the status quo as he did not have the scientific background for the required research and development. We had no research facility apart from a technician from The London who was allocated to us for four hours per month. Whatever suggestions were made, CCY produced a

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sheaf of reasons why they could not be done. Slowly, very slowly, however, the message began to sink in and he accepted that we must look at our packaging. Not that he ever really did anything as there were always ‘highly technical problems’. He didn’t like me because, I challenged his reasoning, but I persisted.

One of the sales promotions which I adopted was to have organised visits by Theatre Superintendents and Sisters and, to a lesser extent, surgeons. Through our representatives, we would invite senior theatre staff for a visit to the company where they could see the manufacture of the product. The night before the visit, they would stay at The Great Eastern Hotel, Liverpool Street, where I, and my assistant, would wine and dine them. A coach would bring them to Harold Hill where, after a quick coffee, they would have a tour of the production area. They would be split into two groups; I would take one and CCY would take the other. At the conclusion of the visit, we would take the whole party to The Kings Head at Chigwell, a lovely Dickensian Inn, which had one of the best reputations for food in the area. I should mention that our catgut was made from the intestines of milk-fed New Zealand lambs, so it was appropriate that lamb was on the menu! That always produced a good laugh from our guests. Following lunch, the coach would return them to London.

One of the advantages of these visits was that it gave us the opportunity to hear the views of our ‘customers’.

I made sure that I got VMW, GM and especially CCY to hear about the problems concerning our packaging and product range. Gradually, over a period of time, the ‘continual dripping water on the stone’ began to wear down the negative attitudes and, together with my prophesies of impending doom, the message began get through, although reluctantly. The main reason for the company surviving was the loyalty of surgeons and theatre staff.

I had a limited advertising budget, but sufficient to create a pictorial brochure showing the background to the product and its manufacture. The basic simple black and white price list was upgraded, and we took advertising space in nursing journals and some specialist surgical journals. Several surgical specialities e.g.

The British Orthopaedic Association, The British Urological Association, had Annual Meetings where papers were presented. These often had visiting surgeons from overseas. Through various contacts, I got to know the leading surgeons involved and suggested that we would like to have a small 6ft table space for an exhibition of our products. Such was our standing in the business, this was accepted and for the nominal sum of £15 we were able to speak with the important decision makers in a relaxed atmosphere rather that a hectic theatre.

It was interesting to note that within a short time other companies had got on the band wagon and our little exhibition became one of many. The surgeons were not slow (they never are when it comes to money!) and realised that the exhibitors could offset the cost of their meetings so not only did the number of exhibitors increase but so did the price of the stand.

My projections for our business showed a gradual but diminishing business. We needed to update our packaging and increase our product range. CCY stated that if we changed our method of sterilisation from our chemical (iodine) method, to radiation, it would affect the quality of the product which was our strong point. With regard to the product range, I argued strongly for us to enter the non-absorbable field with silk, polyester, nylon, linen thread and stainless steel materials attached to a range of eyeless needles. I used my representatives to carry a survey in their hospitals regarding the most popular sutures and this became our guide.

At that time, open-heart surgery was in its infancy and I visited a number of centres including The QE Birmingham and Newcastle General where much of this work was being pioneered. For example, a valve replacement could require a needle at each end of a length of braided polyester. The length and thickness would depend on the surgeon and the procedure. The number of sutures for a heart valve varied between 30 and 36. To offer 36 glass tubes each containing one suture was unacceptable. Studying the practical requirements and the short time available to complete the procedure, I experimented with providing unsterile sutures, individually packed in plastic envelopes. These could be supplied in bulk and the required number added to the instrument pack and sterilised on site. The result was easier handling in an often stressful 240

situation, plus lower cost. We had pioneered a new approach which was appreciated by cardiac surgeons.

As an example, I had one surgeon in Birmingham who claimed that he could remove a diseased heart valve and fit a plastic replacement in 12 minutes – and I watched him do it!

In reviewing our reducing market share, it was essential that we maintained a viable business until we could update our packaging and become competitive. Our product was superior, but the pack was obsolete. I looked, therefore, at overseas markets which were often less sophisticated and where we were more likely to develop our business. This proved to be the case.

Around that time a ‘Back Britain’ campaign had started and there was a great emphasis on exporting for Britain to survive. Being a natural patriot, I was determined that LH should be part of this movement. I spent time at the Board of Trade and various other government departments as well as trade associations to analyse various markets. Having got an indication of the health services, needs and economies of specific countries, I developed a strategy which included visiting many countries.

Strangely, I was suddenly reminded of my mother’s friend, Miss Burns who ‘read’ our ‘cards’ when I was a boy. Do you remember, she said that I would travel overseas when I grew older?

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—33— Travelling in the Middle East

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n l o o k i n g at p o s s i b l e g r o w t h m a r k e t s ,

I felt that the Middle East had potential. A lot of our business had come from countries that were, or had been, part of the British Empire. English-trained surgeons had gone to these countries and wanted the same materials and equipment that they had used at home. The Crown Agents for the Colonies was a government organisation established to purchase products for many of these countries. Frequently, purchasing was done by tender.

One of the LH agents with whom we had close connections was one of the best-known surgical instrument companies, Down Bros. Mayer and Phelps. It so happened that one of their directors, Len Nye, was going to the Middle East and it was agreed that I should go with him, so I could be introduced to government officials.

Len was an older man and highly experienced having worked in the Sudan Medical Service for about 30 years; he spoke fluent Arabic, knew important government ministers and officials, the purchasing methods and could ride a camel in the desert!

An itinerary was arranged and I would accompany Len to Egypt and Sudan and then we would part. I would carry on to Lebanon, Jordan, Iraq, Iran, Abadan, Kuwait and Bahrain. The visit would start on 22 February 1963 and I would return on 28 March 1963. Len insisted that we travel first class, so who was I to complain!

Apparently, companies were judged on such aspects as well as the hotels chosen. Flights had to be booked and I had to make arrangements with the local agents who promoted our products.

I should say that travelling nearly 60 years ago was nothing like it is today. Aircraft needed frequent stops for refuelling, during which passengers had to spend time in airport transit lounges. All this meant that it took a lot longer to reach one’s destination. There were still a lot of propeller-driven and prop-jet aircraft which meant slower travel and flying at lower altitudes resulting in more bumpy flights.

Countries were far less developed and conditions were often quite basic. Chlorine tablets had to be carried and added to water before drinking. The taste was not very pleasant and they didn’t always give protection.

During this visit, I was only fit for 10 out of 35 days. The rest of the time I had the usual upset tummy with headaches, diarrhoea and nausea. I had to spend time in bed and seek treatment at a hospital. I still had to conduct business meetings which was not easy.

Egypt As Len was to travel the day before me, I agreed to meet him at the hotel the next morning. I left for Heathrow with two large suitcases, dressed in a heavy suit and overcoat – well it was snowing hard and quite cold! I later regretted having to carry all this gear round the Middle East.

I was on a Qantas Boeing 707 and we had one refuelling stop for 25 minutes in Rome where the temperature had risen to 41deg F. The food was very good, but I was to learn that the airlines would serve a meal on every leg based on the time at the destination. So, between London and Cairo, I had two dinners!

Something else I was to learn was that seasoned travellers did not wear a suit and tie like me, they just wore casual dress. Sitting next to me was an American. He had an open-necked shirt and braces! We got talking and looking out at the engines and being as patriotic as ever, I said how comforting it was to see that ‘RR’ (Rolls Royce) label. He informed me that he was a Vice President of Pratt and Whitney (a main competitor of RR). Oh, dear!

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It turned out that he was not in the engines division but involved with small arms and spent more time away from the USA than there. He had left the USA the day before, arrived in London at 9am, had an appointment at 12 noon, and was on our plane for a meeting in Rome the next day, getting back to New York for dinner with his family on the Sunday evening. What was more, he did that trip once a fortnight and had been doing so since 1946 (17 years). The remainder of the time he was travelling the rest of the world. I was not keen on having to leave Maureen and Mervyn, but his schedule was unbelievable.

Before landing, I had to complete the usual immigration forms giving details of my visa etc. Apart from this, they also wanted to know what currency I was carrying; the exact amount of sterling (which had to be the same when I left); any jewellery or gold, watches etc.

We arrived in Cairo about 1.30 am and only two passengers disembarked. Len Nye had warned me about unscrupulous Egyptian taxi drivers and said I was to get the airport bus into the city. I was overwhelmed with porters and soon learned what ‘baksheesh’ meant even though I had been alerted. But I was firm. “Where was the airport bus?” I was told there was no airport bus. I insisted. The answer was the same. After some further requests, I was taken with my two cases and brief case to a darkened bus. I got in and sat down. By now I was perspiring. It was 50deg F at 2am and I was wearing my winter clothing. Porters came a couple of times to see if I was still there. Yes, I was waiting for the airport bus to go, although I must admit that I was beginning to lose confidence in my stand. It was evident that this bus wasn’t going anywhere – until at least the morning. I was hot and tired and I had to meet Len early the next day. A taxi driver came up and asked where I was going. I told him Shepheard’s Hotel. He said he knew it and would take me, so with some relief I accepted. By now it was almost dawn. He asked whether I had been to Cairo before. No. So he proceeded to point out some of the interesting features of the way.

We arrived at Shepheard’s Hotel – the best-known hotel in Cairo and famous throughout the world. Sadly, it is no longer there. Outside the entrance were two tall Nubian doormen in superb uniforms. My cases were taken, I checked in and was shown to my room, having given baksheesh to the doormen and more to the man who took me to my room. I asked where my cases were. They were following. They did. One at a time.

More baksheesh for each porter. I was on a fast learning curve!

The room was very comfortable, and I noticed in the corner near the door was a small, low cupboard about 2ft high. I opened it to find a similar door leading on to the corridor. This was where shoes were placed for cleaning (hotels cleaned guests’ shoes in those days) and, as the door could only be opened by the porter, it meant that shoes could not be stolen. But it did mean more baksheesh before the shoes were returned.

I met Len the next morning for breakfast and he told me that he had made an error in that it was Ramadan.

Hotels and businesses would not function during the day so our programme would be restricted. Not an auspicious start. Fortunately, Len’s contacts enabled him to get a meeting with the health minister, so I was able to get some useful information on the competition.

There was, however, one bombshell. I met a director from Smith & Nephew who was staying at the Nile Hilton. He told me that in the previous week, they had completed a take-over bid for us! I found it hard to believe, but he assured me it was true. I felt that my whole job and career was in jeopardy. Not the news one needs when starting a five-week overseas tour. I wrote immediately to VMW asking her to cable me in Khartoum confirming or otherwise.

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to go to Memphis and visit the Pyramids. I travelled by car and there was open country between the city and the site. (The last time we went, all the country had disappeared under houses and shops) I went into the Great Pyramid and galloped across the desert on a camel. This was recorded on both my still camera and a cine film. I took my cine camera wherever I went with the object of filming my journeys so they could be shown to the factory and other staff. I felt that it would be helpful if the staff could see where our products went. I would also be in a reasonable position to request ‘favours’ when I needed a special export order quickly!

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I did have the opportunity of getting some personal shopping. Outside the hotel was a jewellery stall and I bought a pair of half-domed, black onyx and silver cufflinks which I have treasured since. I got Maureen a hand made silver bracelet. From a souk, I also bought her a gold ring with a large Alexandrite stone.

Sudan Leaving Egypt was something of a relief owing to the political situation at the time. Letters, phone calls and conversations were censored and, as a precaution, I resorted to sending letters home via English business people who were returning to the UK. In addition, the Arabs tended to steam off postage stamps and throw away the letters! It was interesting that English newspapers were calling Baghdad ‘The Haven of Peace’ which was not what I was to find during my visit. Read on.

Len and I flew from Cairo by Sudanair in a Comet – the first jet airliner. It was a superb flight and I looked down on the Aswan Dam from 32,000ft. Our journey took 2hrs 20mins which was much faster than the prop-jet aircraft. Khartoum was hot, extremely hot. Every day saw cloudless skies with temperatures frequently over 100deg F. It would be dark around 7.00pm and the temperature would be in the 80s. I was warned not to go out without suitable headwear around mid-day, as a few minutes in the sun could result in sunstroke. The people of Sudan were so different from the Egyptians. They were taller and black-skinned, but very pleasant.

On arrival we were taken to our hotel. How different from Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo. The Grand Hotel was owned by Sudan Railways and stood on the banks of the Nile with ‘Mississippi-style’ paddle boats moored alongside. The forecourt of the hotel was the social centre with tables and chairs and waiters bringing countless drinks. I had never drunk so much Coca-Cola in my life, but one was losing so much fluid through perspiration, it was vital to keep up a high liquid intake. The local water was very risky.

In letters home, I described my hotel room as rather like (drat these flies!) a disused railway waiting room with tumble-down furniture, yellow walls, quarry tiled floor, an unpanelled bath, a 4ft fan in the ceiling and the whole room smelling strongly of disinfectant. Still, it was the best hotel in Khartoum, so they say! Cockroaches scuttled across the floor – so suitcases were kept on chairs.

It was almost impossible to sleep as there was no air-conditioning – just that fan which kept up a constant, but necessary, whirring throughout the night. In addition, the kitchen boys were just outside my door. They didn’t have beds but just sat on the floor all night and talked. That didn’t help.

The agent whom I appointed was Shakir Iskander, a lovely and genuine little man. He was enthusiastic. He was young and had a young wife and daughter. He was interested in developing his business, particularly with the UK. He was particularly keen to import children’s clothes and sought my help. As a result of our discussions, I registered a company, M.V. Parrish & Co. on my return. We only supplied one consignment owing to the currency restrictions with Sudan at that time. Nevertheless, Maureen and I met him and his wife and daughter when they visited the UK. Shakir Iskander took me to the Ministry of Health where I met the Minister. Details on tender prices were obtained and I was told that we would be able to tender next time. I was also taken to some of the hospitals to visit theatre staff and surgeons, some of whom were British.

One evening, after a scorching day, I was in the hotel bar and got talking to an English chap (I soon found that when overseas, there was a natural camaraderie between business men). Bert Garnham was the Assistant Export Manager of Crittall Windows, a well known Essex company. He told me that he was there to sell metal doors with fly screens to the government for a new housing development. He asked what appointments I had next day and when I said I was clear in the morning, he asked me if I could help him. He had requested a door to be air-freighted from the UK, and it was being built into a wooden frame locally for a demonstration to government ministers, officials and building companies.

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Being ever willing to help the export effort, I agreed and next morning when the sun was at its height, I was sitting on the back of an open trailer, holding this door with the frame upright as we bumped our way through the streets of Khartoum being towed by a tractor. It must have made a pretty sight and a long way from selling catgut! Even more so, as I was with him when he got the contract for £250,000 – a huge order in those days. A couple of hundred pounds would have made my day! We went back to the hotel and celebrated with a few whiskies. That chance meeting was to be significant some years later as you will see.

Whilst there, the agent gave me the use of a car and driver so that I could have a local tour. I visited Omdurman and the defences of General Gordon. He must have been a very brave man.

I also saw the meeting point of the Blue and White Nile, and visited markets and a bazaar both of which were fascinating, ‘smelly’ and primitive.

On 5 March 1963, I was off at 5.15am. heading for Beirut on another Sudanair Comet. We had to travel via Cairo and security was such that we were given a police escort.

Beirut (The Lebanon) Arriving in Beirut was so different. This was the playground of the Middle East. I was booked into the elegant Bristol Hotel which really was luxurious and so different from Khartoum. The hotel was air-conditioned throughout; it had a skating rink, live orchestras and excellent restaurants where the waiters wore white gloves. The climate was warm and sunny and one was struck by the fantastic quality of the fruit. My room was air-conditioned, with en-suite facilities and I had a fridge, telephone and radio. There were few hotels in 1963 which provided such standards.

Unfortunately, once outside the hotel, we were back in the Middle East. The gap between rich and poor was vast. For example, I noticed that next to a luxurious hotel on the sea front was a small black goat skin tent leaning against the wall. This was home to a family of nomadic arabs who lived in virtual poverty. Another aspect was the street noises, particularly from the taxis that seemed only capable of driving on their horns.

Throughout the Middle East most taxis were Mercedes – a car that was a luxury in the UK, but a reliable workhorse in these countries although most of them were well past their best. I had the odd tummy upset in Egypt and Sudan but it really got me in Beirut, so I was not able to enjoy the excellent food.

The local agent, a Mr. Farhi, arranged hospital appointments and I carried on, but it was not easy to have business meetings between waves of nausea and frequent trips to the loo. Again, one has to remember that there were negligible standards of hygiene at the time and most water was contaminated. Bottled water did not exist and the only protection I had were my chlorine tablets. Food was washed in local water and ice was made with it so there was a constant risk of getting an infection. Salads and ice in drinks had to be avoided which made life in these hot countries difficult. These factors together with living in a different culture, the language problems and isolation from family and friends – telephone calls could take a long time to connect and were expensive – meant that international travel and export selling soon began to lose its glamour.

Amman (Jordan) From Beirut, I was off to Amman on a one hour flight in a Viscount with Jordanian Airlines. I was booked into the Philadelphia Hotel. It was not good, but was in the centre of the town and overlooked the Roman amphitheatre. The local agent, Mr Halaby, was an elderly man, very polite and he lived in the hotel as a permanent guest. He and his partner were most kind and hospitable. In fact, if I asked about something, they immediately offered to buy it for me. When I was introduced to people, the response was usually, “You are welcome to our country. We hope you enjoy your stay. We are pleased to have you”. They seemed to adore the British but disliked the Americans. This was something that I found in many countries. Americans did not seem to have any empathy with other nationalities or cultures but tried to impose their own standards and desires in their dealings with local business people.

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Sadly, I was still not fit and, apart from the usual problems, I was getting occasional spasms which raised the possibility of dysentery. A local hospital doctor prescribed sulphaguanadine tablets followed by stool analysis with an eight-day course of tetracyclines from the Muashir Memorial Hopital in Amman.

My situation was not helped when I went down to breakfast just after 7am. Feeling queasy, I was invited to sit with Mr Halaby to see him having goat’s cheese balls sitting in a dish of olive oil! I ordered a fried egg which was hardly cooked when it arrived! I left the table hurriedly. I was confined to my room on one occasion and as I lay in bed, I could hear the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer (as it did five times a day).

Laying there and feeling quite ill, I began to wonder whether I would ever see the green fields of England again. Fortunately, the diagnosis of dysentery was not confirmed so I would be able to travel on to Iraq. My meals, however, tended to be consommé, toast and tea.

The difference in the culture became evident. Women had no social position or rights within the Arabic world. They seemed either to act as beasts of burden – collecting wood, water, food or carrying vegetables to the local market or having countless children. Even in the higher social levels, they would rarely be taken to cocktail parties and, if they were, they were segregated from the men. Women had no place in business whatsoever.

Workers’ houses were mainly one-storied and had no floor, just earth or sand. Deluxe houses were constructed of slab concrete or brick; normal houses of mud and camel dung and houses for the poor were made of whatever could be obtained, often old petrol cans opened out and beaten flat or sacks on a frame of sticks or wood. Life could be primitive.

Work usually started at 7am and continued until early afternoon when it finished for the day. My day started when I was collected in time for my first appointment at 8am. Following my letter to Mrs Walker concerning the possible take-over of London Hospital (LH) by Smith & Nephew, she had replied that it was not true which was quite a relief. Len Nye, however, had also written to his managing director as his company had recently signed an agreement with LH. Len received a reply that it was perfectly true! I felt very let down that my managing director was unwilling to tell the truth or trust her executives.

Knowing that I had never been to Jerusalem (or ever considered such a visit as a possibility) our agent had kindly arranged one 20 minute appointment so that I could have the opportunity of visiting all the principal Christian sites. The local representative would take me and, as he happened to be a Christian, he would act as my guide.

We left the hotel at 6am, drove out of Amman, across the River Jordan and had breakfast at the Dead Sea – a breakfast not to be forgotten! Being English they cooked me egg and bacon. The fried egg was tiny and almost raw. The little piece of bacon was totally overcooked. So breakfast was memorable but for all the wrong reasons.

On the way, we passed many nomadic Arabs who lived in crude tents made from squares of rough, goat’s hair cloth. In the dry desert I wondered how they survived.

There was no obvious source of water. They appeared to ‘farm’ this land as in biblical times and I saw two oxen pulling a single ploughshare across a dry barren field in the Judean hills. There were also shepherd boys sitting in the desert with a small flock of underfed sheep. One interesting fact which I noticed in other parts of the Middle East is that the sheep seemed to have large tails and I was told that these contained fat that enabled them to survive in this difficult landscape.

It is about 60 miles from Amman to Jerusalem and the Dead Sea is roughly half way. En route we visited Jericho, reaching Jerusalem about 9.45am. The tour was amazing and it seemed that the world had stood still, particularly in the old city. We started in the Garden of Gethsemane where there were olive trees dating from the time of Christ. The Roman Catholic church of Gethsemane contained the Stone of Agony. Higher 246

up on the Mount of Olives was the Russian Orthodox Church containing many priceless icons, and outside were paths where Christ walked and travelled by mule. We also visited the seventh gate through which he travelled on Palm Sunday.

The narrow streets of the old city bazaar were about 10’-12’ wide and like a maze. They were so steep that they were stepped and donkeys were the only means of carrying heavy loads. We visited the Wailing Wall and the site of Mount Moriah (144,000 sq. metres) where the Dome of the Rock was being reconstructed.

In the centre of this fabulous mosque is the large rock where Abraham allegedly offered his son, Isaac, as a sacrifice and where the prophet Mohammed is said to have risen to heaven. This mosque is second in importance to Mecca. We visited another mosque on the site which was beautiful. The pulpit was 900 years old and made from ivory and the Cedars of Lebanon. It contained no nail or screws and the ivory was in small pieces, fitted together to form ‘snowflake’ patterns.

The greatest moment was the visit to the Church of the Hole Sepulchre. It is the largest church in the world (or was then), enclosing the entire area of the crucifixion and resurrection. On entering, I saw Calvary on the right and immediately ahead, the Stone of Unction where Christ was anointed by Joseph after being taken down from the cross. I also saw where the three crosses stood, where St. Helena found the Cross and a picture of the Virgin Mary studded with precious stones and valued then at around £5 million. In the centre is the tomb of Jesus Christ which we entered and at the entrance was part of the boulder which covered the entrance itself. In some of the passageways there were thousands of crosses carved by the Crusaders.

We next visited the tomb of the Virgin Mary. It was underground and near the Garden of Gethsemane. It was lit by a few olive oil lamps and we had to carry a candle. I did take a flash photograph, but it was not until I got home and had the film developed that I could see the beauty and colour of the tomb.

On our return to Amman, we heard a siren and saw an army motor cyclist with a flashing blue light. All traffic pulled into the side of the road and stopped. Next came banks of motor cyclists and light armoured cars with bren guns. These were followed by King Hussein.

We met Mr Halaby’s nephew, who was an army doctor and had an English wife. They invited us for an English meal of roast lamb and mint sauce. What luxury and fortunately I could eat (and enjoy) it.

Attached to the Philadelphia Hotel was a Night Club where the residents dined. One night, Len and I decided to watch the show. We went to the bar for a drink. The cabaret girls were there – showing far too much and touting for men. Mr Halaby was with us and explained the plot! The girls would attract a man and the waiter would appear almost immediately to ask whether he would like to buy the lady a drink. She was instructed to ask for champagne at £6 per bottle. The glasses get switched and she drinks soda-water. After the cabaret, she returns to get the man to buy more champagne before sliding off quietly. Quite a racket!

Interestingly, before the Cabaret they had a Bingo session. The takings were approximately £75 and the prize money was £11. Another racket!

Our next stop would be Iraq. Little did we know what we were in for!

Baghdad (Iraq) The Middle East has a reputation for instability, and we were about to witness it firsthand. Following the overthrow of the Hashemite Monarchy by Brig. Qasim on 14 July 1958, King Faisal was executed and his body exhibited in Baghdad. The country was turbulent and in February 1963, Qasim was executed in another coup. We arrived in Baghdad just after, in early March!

At the airport, we were surrounded by military personnel, our visas and passports closely checked before we were allowed through immigration. I can remember our journey from the airport and noticed when 247

crossing the river Tigris, the number of donkeys almost completely hidden by mounds of green leaves/ vegetables with their attendant, often a small boy carrying a stick. This peaceful scene was in sharp contrast to the many green-uniformed, armed soldiers in the streets and the tanks, which seemed to be on every street corner. The whole atmosphere was one of fear and expectation. All mail was censored so it was difficult to write and no letters were received.

Our taxi was stopped and checked by army personnel. They peered at us in the back and after some discussion, allowed us to proceed. Len could understand the conversation and was not happy with our situation. We were booked into probably the best hotel in Baghdad but, on arrival, it was obvious that things were not going to be easy. Whilst the staff were trying to carry on as usual, the reception/lounge area had been taken over by the military. These seemed to be young boys from remote areas. Dressed in green uniforms they were heavily armed and somewhat nervous. We soon understood that any problem would result in shooting first and asking questions afterwards. These young soldiers were ‘living’ in the hotel lounge area; kit was scattered everywhere and they even urinated on the plants.

Our agent was married to an English lady who had lived in Iraq for 30 years. They were a nice couple and he was extremely well connected, and a specialist in the hospital and medical business. Our first meeting was very much to the point. We had to acquire our exit visas and under the new regime it could easily take several days. I was expecting to be taken to some reasonable government offices. No such luck! We went to a semi-dark room with unpainted walls, dirty, smelly and with one small light bulb in the ceiling.

There we had to sit and wait until someone behind the hatch decided to make a move. Of course, we were not alone.

There was a room full of people all requiring visas and we were told that at any time the office could close for the day and we would have to come back tomorrow. Bureaucracy was rife, as was bribery. It so happened that our agent knew the official. That, together with a bribe, was sufficient to get our exit visas following a wait of around three hours.

Life was difficult. The curtains in our rooms overlooking the Tigris were closed and we were not allowed to open them. The use of cameras was banned although I did sneak a shot of the Tigris by drawing my curtains a fraction. Guests were viewed with suspicion by the soldiers and were subject to questioning for no particular reason. Few, however, spoke any English so we were not confronted too often.

In the 1970s, even good hotels did not have en-suite facilities, although frequently there was a wash-basin in the room. On one occasion, I wanted to go to the toilet and, leaving my room to go to bathroom just down the corridor, one of these young soldiers came up with his gun pointed at me, saying, “Where you go?” I replied, “The toilet” and he answered, “I come” I have to admit that it is not easy to stand in a toilet when you know a sten gun is pointing at your back! When I returned to my room, he departed no doubt to harass some other unfortunate guest.

Even under these circumstances, our agent managed to circumvent road blocks and checkpoints so that we were able to visit hospitals and surgeons. I was able to present our products and obtain some useful market information regarding tenders and prices. One of the surprising aspects was the way the hospitals were run. From the discipline of British hospitals, I found things were totally different, not only in Iraq but in many areas I visited in the Middle East. When a patient was admitted to hospital it was common for the whole family to come and stay. Corridors were often packed with relatives who would be sitting or sleeping on the floors. On a number of occasions, I noticed they had food with them, so were obviously expecting a long stay.

If the patient was due to be operated on the family would gather outside the operating theatre. Owing to the high temperatures, the operating theatre doors and windows were usually open with large fans whirring in the ceiling. With the relatives, some from quite primitive villages and the inevitable flies, I wondered how infections were avoided – or were they?

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Our agent and his wife were members of the Aldwych Club in Baghdad. This British club tended to attract expatriates and there were good facilities which included 18 mud tennis courts. I was invited to play along with our agent and his wife (who had held the title of Woman Champion for something like 30 years). They found a fourth member and we had a good game which was great for me as it was the first real exercise that I had had since leaving the UK. We celebrated afterwards in the bar and later enjoyed a lovely English meal.

I was brought back down to earth when I had to return to the hotel with its military restrictions. In many ways I felt sorry for these genuine people who had been so hospitable. In all honesty, however, I was delighted when I had cleared immigration and customs and was moving down the runway for the next country, Iran.

Iran I was rather looking forward to my visit to Iran for personal reasons. The principle one being that a girl acquaintance of mine was married to an Iranian. Joan Wheeler was an attractive blond who lived quite near me in Ilford. Interestingly, she attended the same school as Maureen and they knew each other. Although we were on friendly terms, we never went out together as she seemed to have a different circle of friends.

Her father had a battery/accumulator charging business in Buckingham Road, Ilford, and we were on ‘nodding terms’ until, that is, I joined the Mark Mason’s Degree in Upminster when I found that he was the Treasurer of the Lodge. Of course, we chatted and it was then that I found she had married, was living in an attractive home in the mountains just outside Tehran and had a young family. Her husband, Kamal, was an agent for several overseas companies. His business was growing and I was told they were living a very comfortable life style. Her father told her I was visiting and it was arranged that we would meet.

Our newly appointed agent had booked me into the Hotel Sina on the Avenue Takht-Jamshid. The hotel was attractive to look at, but the food was atrocious. The bacon was tainted and fried eggs were hardly cooked.

My room was pleasant, but I had no drawers for clothes. Questioning it made no difference.

Joan and Kamel,contacted me and took me to their home – a beautiful house. It was very modern with a large lounge and wonderful Persian carpets – well it would, wouldn’t it? Joan had had four children but lost the first and last. Child mortality was high even for those with money. They did have a boy and girl who were lovely and intrigued with meeting someone from England. The house had a pleasant garden with a swimming pool and they had two resident servants. The cost of living was, by our standards, high, with food prices being around five times higher. As a guide, their monthly house-keeping bill was about the same as my gross monthly salary.

In the evening, they took me to a smart Chinese/Japanese restaurant where we were met by staff in kimonos.

The food was superb with each dish being served separately. I did have one surprise, though, when I went to the toilet. It was common to both sexes and was more like a beauty parlour. It was quite full of the most beautiful and attractive women who made it clear that they were available! They became quite persistent and I was pleased to get back to my hosts who dealt with them when they approached our table.

We had a pleasant evening and the company was convivial. They drove me back to the hotel, we said our goodbyes and they drove off. That’s when the problems started and I have never been so frightened in my life! The hotel entrance was right on the street and as I turned from the car, I saw it was in darkness. I found a bell and pressed it. There was no response. I also found that I had left my camera under the front seat of the car which was a nuisance, but it probably proved to be my salvation. I kept ringing the bell but no one came.

Suddenly, I noticed some people approaching. As they got nearer, I realised they were women – like old hags – dressed head to foot in black abayas – about 6 or 7 of them. I tried to ignore them by ringing the bell again. They spoke in Farsi which I didn’t understand but their motives were obvious. They formed a ring round me and were trying to drag me away. Occasionally, they would say in bad English, “Have a nice time”.

Things were getting desperate. The street was empty and it was late. For all I knew, one of them may have 249

had a knife or other weapon. Every now and again they would open their ‘cloaks’ suggestively. This was a frightening experience. Alone in a street with no assistance. What could I do? Suddenly, a car came round the corner. It was Kamel and Joan. They had found my camera and were returning it. As the car pulled up, the ‘old hags’ seemed to melt into the darkness and disappear. Kamel and Joan had seen my predicament as they turned the corner and realised what was happening. They said these situations could be serious.

Sometimes a dubious club would be involved, but on other occasions the individual would be dragged into the shadows and money demanded or threats made. I have always been grateful for leaving that camera in their car and Kamel and Joan for finding it! We kept our finger on the hotel door bell until a bleary-eyed night porter appeared to let me in. Kamel had some words with him and he was obviously shaken and apologised to Kamel who translated for me.

Whilst in Tehran, I had the opportunity of visiting the new Royal Tehran Hilton. This was a magnificent hotel and, in terms of cost, was very similar to mine but what a difference! The layout, the accommodation and the food were superior in every respect.

Regarding the business aspect, our agent was very cooperative and I had the opportunity of visiting surgeons, theatre staff and the Ministry of Health. Like most other places in the Middle East, supplies were obtained through tenders and we would now be placed on the list to receive new tenders when issued.

From Tehran, my next stop was Abadan on the Persian Gulf. The aircraft flew via Isfahan where we made a refuelling stop. This city had some amazing and beautiful mosques which I could see from the air. The locals were also displaying some wonderful Isfahan carpets in the transit area. Isfahan has a reputation for exquisite carpets. I was told that these were frequently made in small villages which had their own local patterns.

When finished they were laid in the dusty street for people and animals to walk on as a means of ‘sealing’ or ‘maturing’ the carpet. It was then cleaned, brushed and offered for sale.

Abadan Abadan was an oil town on the Gulf and was virtually composed of oil company staff and run by oil companies who provided homes, shops, hospitals and other facilities. Although they purchased through tenders, these were placed and supplied though the UK principally. Abadan was functional but not attractive. I stayed in the company hotel where a reception was held for me. I suppose 20 or 30 people were present and I noticed something I had never seen before. The men were at one end of the room and the women were at the other.

This segregation was part of the Muslim culture. It was suggested that I stay at the men’s end and not mix with the women – as if I would! My next stop would be Kuwait and I was looking forward to seeing this country created from oil.

Kuwait It was a short flight by Comet to Kuwait. I didn’t realise the significance until after I arrived, but our agent Abulmutalab Al-Rifai was of a very influential family, some of whom were government ministers. Among other agencies, they were agents for De Havilland aircraft which included the Comet! They were also involved with car franchises and other high value business connections.

I did wonder why they were interested in surgical suture materials, the market for which was only a few hundred pounds a year in Kuwait. Anyway, I am getting ahead of my story. Arriving in Kuwait, I was met by Adulmutaleb before I had cleared the usual formalities. He found me and introduced himself. A small dapper man in an olive-green Dishdasha the Arab dress. He was immaculate and very articulate.

Kuwait was a ‘dry’ Muslim country. Non-muslims, however, were allowed alcohol and one of the first questions from Abdulmutaleb was whether I had any whisky with me! When I said that I didn’t carry it in transit, he took me to the only shop (which happened to be at the airport) which was licensed to sell alcohol.

He asked me to buy Black Label Whisky – two bottles, if possible! The ‘shop’ was actually a hatch opening 250

on to the path. A head appeared and asked for my passport which was scrutinised. I asked for 2 bottles of Black Label and was told I could have one. Realising that the man on the other side of the hatch was English, we had a few words and he asked which firm I was with. When I mentioned ‘London Hospital’ he changed. Yes, he knew London Hospital well and had been there. The result was 2 bottles of Black Label and a delighted Abdulmutaleb.

A chauffeur appeared and took my cases which disappeared into the boot of a large American car. We got into the back and sank into luxury. This was some set-up. I then discovered that Abdulmutaleb always kept in the top pocket of his Dishdasha a fist-full of Upmann cigars in their aluminium tubes. These fine cigars were expensive and were the preserve of the wealthy, yet he seemed to have an unlimited supply.

As we drove from the airport, I could not believe the architecture of the houses. Great slabs of pink, yellow or blue concrete in incredible designs and marble trims for doorways. I arrived at the hotel just as it was getting dark and Abdulmutaleb said he would collect me in the morning. My room was marble floored and spotless and the shutters were closed. After a meal I went to bed and slept well. The next morning, I awoke early and opened the shutters to see the view. I was overlooking the Arab Gulf; the tide was out and the beach was littered with Arab dhows – the small trading ships. This was quite a sight and worthy of some photographs. I was even more intrigued, however, at the number of Arabs squatting on the beach. Having watched for some time, I suddenly realised the reason. It was the time for their morning ablutions and there I will rest my case!

Abdulmutaleb arrived, offered me an Upmann – at 8am he must have been joking but he lit up – and off we went in the chauffeur-driven car to visit some hospitals although I felt he was more used to operating at government level. Well, he would as his father was an Ambassador and brothers were Ministers! I was told that there would be a party that night in my honour with the Minister of Health, other Ministers, surgeons and many more.

I was collected and taken to his home which was opulent to say the least. Guests were arriving but no women – this was an Arab country. I was introduced and everyone was very friendly. Then the whisky appeared. Not just my two bottles but what seemed like cases of the stuff! The drinking got serious and the more they drank, the louder they talked in Arabic which meant that I got more isolated apart from the odd person who wanted to practice his English. By 9.30pm I was feeling a) the effects of virtually neat whisky and b) very hungry as I hadn’t eaten since lunch. There was to be no let-up until around 11.30pm when food arrived. This was an Arab meal. Great dishes about 2 feet in diameter laden with food I had never seen before, which I couldn’t describe because I hadn’t a clue what it was and because by that time I was quite ‘squiffy’. Plates were bountiful and the food was eaten with the right hand – no knives or forks. The one item that I enjoyed was a small, spicy, grilled fish which was very tasty although it had to be separated from the bones as it was cooked whole, which was even more difficult in my state!

I had noticed the food had been brought in by some quite elderly Arabs who seemed to hang around rather like servants. After the meal, they took away the remaining food. Abdulmutaleb told me that they were the Hadj – servants of the house who were beyond retiring age. It was the usual practice that when servants were too old to work, they would continue to live in the house and be looked after by the owners. They would eat the same food but not until the host and guests had finished. They had been waiting for us to finish so they could have their dinner. I have to say that this seemed an admirable way to treat staff who had devoted their working lives to a family. For my part, I was delighted to be taken back to my hotel where I could sleep off the evening’s festivities.

Abdulmutaleb was a very kind and generous host, and it was apparent that the family had got past the ‘break-even’ point of making money. Their business empire seemed vast and covered many fields from building to engineering. My company seemed trivial in comparison, but maybe they just wanted a foothold in the medical market. They were making a great deal of money – that was obvious. They handed out gifts freely and I brought home packs of playing cards, ash trays etc – all bearing the company name. I was 251

taken to a couple of hospitals to meet surgeons and theatre staff, but it soon became apparent that Abdulmutaleb operated at a much more senior level than hospital staff, which was why the Minister of Health was at his party!

Before I was due to leave, he decided that we should go on a picnic. Well, that would be different. The chauffeur drove us out to a pleasant place somewhere in Kuwait, a table and chairs together with a large picnic basket appeared from the boot. One thing which reminded me of home was the inclusion of a Birds Eye frozen sponge! Chilled champagne appeared which we enjoyed together with the ever present Upmann cigars. Even taking into account my physical discomforts of travelling in the Middle East (which were still a problem), I began to feel that I was going to enjoy exporting! My only concern was how much business would result!

The time came to leave and Abdulmutaleb took me to the airport and, having a few words with various people, I was ushered through the immigration and customs formalities. A last handshake accompanied by a handful of Upmann cigars and we said goodbye as I set off for Bahrain. I couldn’t hope to repay his hospitality, but at least I left on a Comet which must have given him some satisfaction!

Bahrain The flight down the gulf to Bahrain was not long, but it was memorable. Firstly, because it was mostly composed of Arabs who were smoking non-stop. Secondly, they rummaged in the seat pocket in front of them until they found the airsick bag. Whether they felt this was part of normal flight procedure I do not know, but many of them spent the rest of the flight trying to vomit into the bag! I felt sorry for the British stewardesses.

The third aspect was the most interesting. I was sitting next to an Australian and we got chatting. How was he doing? Fine. He was having a successful trip and selling plenty. His product was meat. He asked what I was selling and how I was faring. I was honest and said that I had not actually achieved the order, but was hopeful that I would be successful in forthcoming tenders as that was the way our market operated.

He asked about our pricing policy and he pointed out that whatever price we quoted should be uplifted by at least 10% which would used by our agent to get the business! What? This was ridiculous. This wasn’t the British way of doing business. It was bribery. He just smiled, “Do you want the business or don’t you?” I was informed that we could not impose our standards or business methods on other cultures. This was the way that Arabs did business and if we didn’t accept it, we could not compete. He went on to say that in certain governments, Ministers and senior officials were often only paid a nominal salary and it was expected that they would make this up to a reasonable income by their ability to obtain a percentage of the business (direct purchases and tenders etc) that they handled. The more I thought about this, the more I realised that if we wanted to get a share of this business, we would have to change our thinking and if I hadn’t made this trip we would never have known. My problem was how I could sell this concept to my Board when I got back.

Another interesting aspect concerned British Embassies overseas. The Board of Trade was keen that exporters should call on embassies and visit the commercial attachés. I found that most exporters saw this as a waste of time but, nevertheless, I decided to call. I visited a number of embassies and was courteously received. However, I was not there for a chat but to get business for my company and to help in my small way, the national export drive. So, my approach was to ask basic market research questions and I produced a questionnaire regarding the market information concerned. I was politely informed that they didn’t have such information and, of course, they couldn’t possibly give me information as it wouldn’t be fair to other companies! What rubbish! When I returned to the UK, I contacted my MP and various professional bodies as well as visiting the Board of Trade in London.

I wanted to know what commercial attachés were supposed to do. Surely, they should be in touch with the commercial activities in the country, finding out information which could be of benefit to the UK and its exporters. I don’t know what effect my little campaign had and what pressures were applied, but within a 252

year or so, I found that a visit to an Embassy could be quite productive in obtaining market information. In fact, on some occasions, they even made appointments for me.

My visit to Bahrain was interesting. I stayed in the BOAC Rest House which was similar to an English hotel.

Just what was needed for someone who was still suffering from the effects of the Middle East. At least I received English food – even if it had a Middle Eastern taint – and I could drink the water.

I found that Bahrain had a large Indian population which I hadn’t expected, and the country pleasant if hot and dusty. I was able to find a suitable agent and visit some surgeons who were mostly British trained. The important thing was – that I was going home! This was the last stop. I had learned a great deal, visited some strange places and had some interesting adventures. My crisp shirts were limp rags from the beating they received in the local laundries. I had lost weight and my digestive system had suffered from the different types of food and the poor hygienic conditions in many countries.

On 28 March 1963, I looked out of the window of the Comet to see the green fields of England and a few minutes late at 7.00am, we landed at Heathrow. I was met by Maureen and Mervyn who seemed to have grown so rapidly. It was good to be back and be with the family.

During the ensuing days, Mervyn would keep asking Maureen, “Why does Daddy keep going to the toilet?”. I had to go to my G.P. who sent me to the hospital. A suspect dysentery was diagnosed which took some weeks to clear. Some years later when I gave lectures on an Exporting Course for the ABPI (Association of British Pharmaceutical Industry), I used to include the Middle East and use the phrase, “I went through the Middle East and the Middle East went through me”. It always produced a laugh, but it wasn’t funny at the time!

The final task was to write my report. This was quite detailed, and I included the geography of each country, populations, economic structure, the suture market and my competition, methods of business. It totalled some 20 foolscap pages (bigger than A4). All contacts and agents needed to be followed up.

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—34— Back to the Routine and Professional Development

A

on Friday, 28 March 1963, I was back in the office on Monday, 1st April to an overflowing in-tray, and a de-briefing with the other executives. Fortunately, my assistant had maintained much of the activities of the department, but I still had the inevitable pile! The following day we had a visit from theatre superintendents and theatre sisters. This was one of our major promotional platforms. fter arriving home

Our representatives would invite interested theatre staff to visit the company to see the production facilities.

Accommodation was arranged at The Great Eastern Hotel, Liverpool Street, for the night before the visit and my assistant and I would attend to make sure the arrangements were trouble free and entertain them to dinner. The wine certainly flowed, and it was usually very late when I got home. Fortunately, there were no drink/driving laws then!

The following morning, a coach collected the guests to bring them to company at Harold Hill around 9.45am.

The party would be split into groups of about 10 people for a tour of the production unit. I would take a group and other senior managers would do likewise.

Following the tour, the coach would take the party to The King’s Head at Chigwell for an incredibly good lunch. I should mention that our catgut was made from the intestines of milk-fed New Zealand lamb so it was appropriate that we always had lamb for the main course! our guests were always quick to get the point!

I always had CCY at these functions in case I needed any technical support. There was also another reason.

Many hospitals preferred our catgut, but not the glass tube pack which could splinter when being snapped open. A glass splinter could pierce the sister’s rubber glove and cut a finger meaning that she would have to leave the theatre during an operation, much to the surgeon’s displeasure. Our main competitor had a foil pack which eliminated the problem so the theatre sisters would take the opportunity to get at CCY on when we would produce a non-glass pack. Of course, this supported my cause so I was delighted. It did not make much difference to his attitude, but at least he knew it was the feeling among the hospital staff and not just me.

Following the lunch, the coach would deliver the theatre staff back to London for their onward journeys. We would return to Harold Hill exhausted!

That same month we also had a visit by surgeons, and another by theatre superintendents and sisters; I had to spend nearly a week in Sheffield with my representative, Bill Bussey; there were visits from overseas agents – Messrs Michaelides from Cyprus, Iskander from Sudan, Farhi from Lebanon and Halaby from Jordan and I had a visit from one of our UK agents.

Socially, it was also a busy time. As charity stewards, we were invited to attend the Royal Commercial Travellers’ Schools Dinner in London; The Galen Lodge Ladies Night as a guest of Harry Stone, Chief Pharmacist of Harold Wood Hospital; my step-cousin Yvonne’s wedding in Cambridge and an Old Boys Dinner at my school and so on.

We were fortunate, if we wanted to go out, by having Grace Frost who lived in the flat below us. She always loved to have the opportunity of looking after Mervyn and we knew he was in good hands.

I was highly active in the United Commercial Travellers’ Association (UCTA) with my interest in training and developing sales representatives into a professional body. As an examiner for their Diploma, I was one of the 254

core people involved in developing ‘something’. I say ‘something’ as nothing existed in those days – apart from the American Borden and Bussey films which were not widely known or used; there were no books or professional bodies. Come to that, there was no management training either, but that too is another story.

The UCTA realised that they were the only national organisation for salesmen – still known as commercial travellers by many companies – and that the future lay in professionalizing selling. I was privileged to be involved in the creation of the Institute of Commercial and Technical Representatives, which came into being in 1963 when I was invited to become a Founder Fellow, which cost me a £10 founder’s fee! My membership number was 48. The object from then on was that membership would be by examination.

At the same time, sales management was also stirring. There was no training or professional body for sales managers/directors. There was a loose organisation known as the Incorporated Sales Managers’ Association (ISMA) founded in 1911. Anyone who was a sales manager was eligible to join and it seemed more a social organisation than professional. There was only one textbook – Sales Management by Bolling. How did people become sales managers? Often by internal promotion through being ‘in’ with the boss or some other networking. Often, one of the worst means was by promoting the best salesman. He may have been extremely good at selling, but could be out of his depth as a manager. Incidentally, the term marketing was unknown. This situation was almost déjà vu for me! From unprofessional salesmen and now to unprofessional sales managers!

But things were beginning to happen. I had joined my local ISMA branch in Barking. We met at the offices of a petroleum company for drinks and a chat. All very sociable, but I was beginning to learn how other sales managers/directors operated and much of it was by the seat of their pants. I soon began to realise how much better they could be with some training and I was a new boy.

From the Ilford Group, I became involved with the London Branch which was elementary but progressive.

They talked about marketing which was anathema to many sales managers. Why? Because sales management was no longer king pin but just one branch of marketing.

My interest meant that I became involved. It wasn’t long before ISMA became The Institute of Marketing and Sales Management (IMSM) – to placate those sales managers – and 1961 saw the Golden Jubilee of ISMA. In May 1961, it was commemorated by a gold covered magazine ‘Marketing – The Journal of Sales Management’ with a photograph of HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, on the front cover. He was our Patron.

By the time I became Chairman of the Ilford Group in 1967, we had become The Institute of Marketing. I developed a programme of six meetings throughout my year and all were linked to professional subjects, and included visits to Hoffman Manufacturing Co, Chelmsford; Ford Motor Company; a joint meeting with the local British Institute of Management (I was an Associate Member) at Ind Coope’s Brewery, Romford (very hospitable venue!); Pitney Bowes in Harlow; Ilford Limited and the AGM. My year included ‘A Grand Soiree’ held at The Heybridge Country Club, Ingatestone, which included dancing, entertainment, a first class buffet served at one’s table and a fashion show. The price – 70/-d (£3.50 for a double ticket). It was a great evening.

We found that our branch activities attracted members from other parts of Essex and as I was a member of the London Branch Executive, we made a case for our name to be changed to the Essex Group so that the Institute covered the whole county. This change was adopted later.

Meanwhile, the Institute developed; purchased a headquarters at Moor Hall, Cookham, in Surrey where they ran training courses which led to their Diploma in Marketing. This has become acknowledged as an accepted qualification in marketing both professionally and academically. The standards are high and even students with a marketing degree must undertake additional study before being awarded the Diploma in Marketing.

Even those with the diploma are required to carry out annual continuous professional development (CPD) if 255

they wish to maintain their qualification. The Institute has branches and conducts training courses in a number of overseas countries.

In 1989 the Institute was awarded a Royal Charter and became the Chartered Institute of Marketing – a fully fledged professional body and I have had the privilege of being a member in all its stages of evolution from ISMA to IMSM to IM and finally, CIM. I still retain membership for life as a retired Member. It has been an interesting journey having observed the changes over the past 60 years from totally untrained sales personnel and sales management to professionals in both categories and I trust my small input has helped this progress.

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—35— 1964 More Overseas Travel

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of 1963 involved the planning of the 1964 overseas travel programme. The origins of our main product, surgical catgut, being developed at The London Hospital, and that hospital being a leading teaching hospital, meant that surgeons, in many cases, preferred the catgut used by them during their training. Many of these surgeons went on to work overseas and this created the basis of our export activities. h e l at t e r pa r t

As much of the world was still under the influence of the days of the British Empire, it followed that our exports were strongest in colonial and ex-colonial countries. Supplies were often purchased through the Crown Agents to supply local governments and these purchases were frequently by tender.

Some of the best markets for The London Hospital (Ligature Dept) Ltd were in the Far East, Australia and New Zealand, so this was a natural choice for a visit to develop our existing business and create new opportunities. The plan was set. I would visit Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Jahore Bahru, all the Australian State capitals plus New Zealand (Christchurch, Wellington and Auckland) leaving on 18 February and returning on 30 March 1964.

With modern air travel, one tends to forget the advances of recent years, not only in comfort but, more importantly in speed. The journey from London Heathrow to Singapore took 2 days as we had to stop for refuelling in Frankfurt, Cairo, Karachi and Calcutta before arriving in Singapore. During that time, I went through two nights in 24 hours and as the airlines fed passengers according to local time, it was dinner on the way to Frankfurt, Athens, breakfast on the way to Cairo, lunch on the way to Karachi, dinner before Calcutta and breakfast before Singapore. Obviously, this was an impossible situation so after the first two meals, it was a cup of tea! Another factor involved disembarking at each place and being taken into the Transit Lounge during refuelling.

One other aspect was that the large aircraft did not have the advantage of flying above the weather so turbulence was quite common. The cabin crew also had to develop skills in pouring teas, coffees and drinks without covering the surrounding area! From the passenger’s view, one had to develop the art of drinking without spilling. Smoking on board was common and included cigars and pipes. All in all, a fairly unhealthy mix compared with today.

The Far East Landing at Singapore, I realised that I had never been in such heat and humidity. Within a couple of minutes my clothes were sticking to me and perspiration was pouring down my face. It was most uncomfortable, but I cheered up when I met our agent – Mr E Parrish (no relation) of E.I. Parrish & Co Ltd – who drove me in his air-conditioned car to my hotel, the Goodwood Park Hotel, where I would stay for two nights.

Like most agents, he intended to use me as much as possible which was fine on my part. He had appointments in hospitals with surgeons and supplies departments, together with Ministry of Health officials. The second day had me flying to Kuala Lumpur on the 7am flight for similar meetings. I can well remember that flight. It was a small aircraft which flew low and just above the jungle. I was impressed with the density and strong green colour of the canopy below; the hill/mountain tops seemed very close and there were large tracts of water or lakes. During my visit I was able to buy an original oil of such a scene for 7/6d (47.5p). Not a great work of art but one which means a lot to me.

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I also had a night in Jahore Bahru (Malaysia) where I stayed in a Government Rest House. This was an experience. A large single story wooden building with wide verandas and comfortable armchairs, where one could sit outside in the gentle breeze assisted by overhead fans and be served by the white-coated, gold buttoned waiters. The bedrooms were large with ceiling fans and fly screens covering the windows. The restaurant was spacious, the service excellent and the food was English, very English! Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding etc. These establishments were set up by expatriates to remind them of a taste of home.

After a hectic day of meetings, such places were an oasis of peace and relaxation. This was something I was to appreciate many years later in Africa.

Having had a useful experience in learning about the market in terms of structure, prices, competition, I was ready to move on to somewhere which always fascinated me – Australia.

Perth – Western Australia An overnight flight from Singapore arrived in Perth at 4.45am. It was warm (up to 85 deg F during the day) and the first sight that greeted me was black swans on the lake outside the airport. The black swan is the emblem of W.A. which I remembered from my stamp collecting days.

Much to my surprise, one of agents was there to meet me at that hour! It was just as well as hotels were closed at night and did not open until 7.30am. To spend the time before the hotel opened, he drove me to a high spot overlooking the Swan river. It was beautiful and I knew that I was going to like ‘Oz’. Mark you, I was in for a few surprises! As we drove into Perth around 7am, I saw all these men, dressed in shorts, going to work and all carrying Gladstone bags! I had not seen a Gladstone bag for years. My host told me that they were the equivalent of our brief cases – used for papers, tools and sandwiches.

I checked in to the Palace Hotel in St.George’s Terrace and after a shower, went down to breakfast. My second surprise. I could not believe what these Australians were eating for breakfast. After a starter, the main courses were mind boggling – big steaks, lamb chops, sausages, kidneys, bacon, eggs and all the trimmings. It was staggering and frankly, a little revolting. My repast was much more modest. One thing I did find out about Australian hotels very quickly was that, at meal times, a gong would sound and if you didn’t arrive, you didn’t eat!

We had three agents in Perth, Drug Houses of Australia; F.H.Faulding and Watson Victor. I had only one day in which to visit them all and cover some hospital appointments. It was quite common at that time for people to think that Australia was becoming ‘Americanised’ and local business advertising seemed to support that view. I raised this in the office of the managing director of my first agent. His response was my third surprise.

He suggested that I look behind the door that was open. I did, only to see a framed certificate of the Order of the British Empire which he had received from the Queen. He was very nice about it and treated it as something of a joke, but it taught me never to assume, which I have never forgotten. I met the other agents and we all got together for a few beers later. Another surprise – the beer was cold (this was not the case in the UK at that time) and a glass need not be a glass. In Australia, every State had its own laws (like the U.S.!) and beer measures were in ponies, glasses or schooners.

Another interesting factor I discovered was that the State capitals and larger towns had United Commercial Travellers Association Clubs. Not little social clubs, but big residential clubs where the members stayed when away from home – one has to remember the vast size of Australia. Because of my UCTA links in the UK, I made contacts and received an incredible welcome wherever I went.

Adelaide – South Australia My next stop was to be Adelaide. We took off from Perth at 8am and landed in Adelaide at 2.15pm. I was fortunately sitting on the port side so looked towards the land with the Great Australian Bight on my left.

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Apart from the very occasional farmstead and a railway track following the edge, there was nothing for hour after hour. Looking at the vast expanse, an Australian sitting next to me said, “Do you know what that is called?” No, I said. “Well, that’s the great bugger-all because there’s bugger-all there”. Australians somehow have the knack of coining words that can be quite descriptive!

Arriving, I checked in to the South Australia Hotel in North Terrace. I was impressed with Adelaide (named after Queen Adelaide) with its wide roads and nice homes. Temperatures were in the 80s and gardens grew grapes, peaches, apricots, figs, grapefruits, lemons and oranges. There was another CTA building on which they had spent £130,000 on renovations.

Arriving on 25 February 1964 I had until the 28 February for business and to visit hospitals. Still a tight schedule but at least I had three nights in the same hotel. On the 28 February, I was due to leave for Melbourne travelling on the internal airlines. At that time there were two – TAA (Trans Australian Airlines) and Ansett Ana (Australian National Airlines). It was here that one saw the Australian competitive edge in action because both airlines left for the same internal destination at the same time and then they raced each other so that the first to arrive would get more passengers for the next leg.

Melbourne – Victoria Arriving on the Friday, I was met by one of the four Agents and went to my hotel, the Southern Cross International, which seemed to be the domicile for American businessmen. This was the first time I had witnessed them at close quarters. I was not impressed. They were always in a rush and demanded service immediately they sat in the restaurant. For breakfast one morning, one sat on the next table ordered fried ham with boiled eggs. The result was surprising. The boiled eggs were served in a small bowl so that he could chop them up with a spoon and eat the pieces; the fried ham was on a separate plate so it could be eaten with a fork only and other plates held toast, jam and butter. Often between mouthfuls and certainly between courses, this individual smoked and puffed the smoke over me. It was apparent that the waiters did not appreciate the attitudes of these guests and preferred the English. I certainly got good service.

The hotel was very modern and comfortable. Equally, by English standards, it was quite expensive. The room alone (mine was on the 9th floor) was £4.75p per day which, in 1964, was expensive particularly as breakfast was around 75p (two fried eggs were 35p whereas in the UK eggs were about 20p per dozen) and dinner was at least £2.00 excluding drinks. At the time, one could dine in a reasonable hotel in the UK for less than £1.00.

I took the opportunity to visit the Commercial Travellers’ Club in Melbourne and meet the Chairman and Secretary. It was a magnificent building with residential facilities that could accommodate 180 people with rooms and suites. I received a wonderful welcome and they made me an honorary member. I dined there and had an excellent meal. These CTA Clubs were important centres in all the main cities of Australia. They were large buildings, centrally placed with conference and function facilities. And how did they survive and prosper? By their gaming machines! The clubs were full of these ‘one armed bandits’, sometimes with a hundred or more in the main lounge. They were all occupied with a queue waiting. We certainly had nothing like it in the UK, but I had another surprise coming.

We had four agents in Melbourne, so I had to have meetings with all of them as well as visiting the surgeons and hospitals. One of our agents was more interesting than the others. It was a small company owned by a group of doctors. The managing director was a consultant physician and, on the Saturday, he took me to his home. I had heard that Australians were great gamblers (the CTA Clubs demonstrated this) and that they loved horse racing, but what I was in for was a great surprise.

The consultant’s home was full of horse racing memorabilia. Saddles and bridles adorned the walls along with racing silks and hats. There were racing programmes and horse ornaments everywhere. It was apparent

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that I was with a real devotee of the sport. As it turned out, there was an important race on that Saturday at Caulfield and my host was taking me as a guest. I had never been to a race course before, but I was given a lapel badge which would admit me to the Members area.

I was told that I would meet a lot of surgeons and I did. My host was regarded as something of an expert.

He told me to invest no more than 10/- (at the time, they still used UK monetary denominations) and only bet on the tote and the horses he gave me). I noticed that he had a programme, a piece of paper and a pen.

Before a race, he would be carrying out calculations and having conferences with the doctors and surgeons, who kept arriving for advice. Anyway, my horse won so I was given a tip for the horse in the next race and so on. As the meeting progressed, the tempo of my host increased with more doctors in mini conferences and more advice given. The last race was the most memorable. It started with my horse at the back so as the race progressed, I mentioned to my host that there seemed no chance. He was looking through his binoculars and just said, “Wait until the last bend”. Sure enough, the horse was on the outside and he swept round the field and won! I couldn’t believe it. Even more fascinating was that my host’s calculations had been gradually building up until he had every horse on the last race covered for a double. I didn’t win on every race but finished the day with a profit of £11.16s.6d – almost four nights accommodation at the hotel! My host’s profit was around £170 which was apparently not a good day for him.

After this enlightening day, I was returned to my hotel to spend yet another lonely weekend. As was my usual practice when in foreign parts, I decided to go for a walk round the city. I have always found that one can learn so much about the culture of a country by looking at the buildings, the shops and the people. The weather in Melbourne can be changeable. It was hot and sticky at the racecourse, but the following day it poured with rain before the sun came out in the afternoon. So English! All the shops closed at lunchtime on Saturdays and, on the Sunday morning, one could hear church bells and the Salvation Army band marching in the streets.

As a consequence, my Saturday evening walk round Melbourne found deserted streets in the pleasant warm evening. I crossed the bridge over the Yarra River (often called the upside down river as the top appears muddy). I found an outdoor Art Exhibition and was sorely tempted by one for 10 guineas, but resisted as I could not carry it.

I was wondering where I should eat with my winnings when I came across a Playboy Club. I had never been in one before, but the menu looked interesting, so I went in. There were no other diners – well it was only around 6pm – and I was viewed with some surprise. There weren’t any Bunny Girls either as they didn’t come on duty until later. Anyway, I sat down all alone and looked at the menu. One of the things that attracted me when looking outside was a ‘Carpet Bag Steak’ as I had never had one. I would spend the day’s profit and dine in solitary state which I did. Australian steaks were unbelievable, not only in size but in thickness and mine looked enormous. It had been cut horizontally to make a bag which was then stuffed with oysters before being sewn up and cooked. I don’t remember what else made up the meal because that carpet bag steak dwarfed everything. Having finished the meal around 7pm I asked for the bill much to the manager’s surprise. “Won’t you stay for the cabaret?” “No thanks”. I wonder what he thought about this funny ‘Pom’ I had a pleasant stroll before returning to the hotel for a beer and bed.

There were other aspects of Australian life which I discovered and which have long since disappeared. One was that women were regarded almost as second class citizens. Men dominated the home and social occasions, with the womenfolk talking separately together. The wives were usually attractively dressed, but I felt this would be to demonstrate the affluence of the husband.

The other fascinating aspect was the six-o-clock swill. This was something purely Australian and was the result of the strict drinking regulations. All bars and pubs had to close at 6pm by law. This meant that workers would stream into bars and pubs as soon as they left work and drink furiously until the bell rang.

Perhaps 50 glasses would be lined up on the bar and filled with that ‘golden nectar’ with what resembled a petrol pump filler – it was the only way to fill them fast enough! As soon as glasses were filled, they were 260

emptied and refilled with the pump again. Naturally, as the beer was consumed, the sound of the conversation reached a crescendo. Then I noticed another interesting thing. The floors were always tiled. Why? So that once the drinkers had left, the floor was hosed out with water and the bar was ready for the next day. Such was Australian life.

Whilst in Melbourne I was met, and entertained by the managing director of Smith & Nephew, Australia, which included a tour of their new factory which was most impressive. The managing director’s suite was outstanding with a large office in a contemporary design with light wood panelling, window curtains from floor to ceiling and comfortable armchairs. The boardroom was attached with a dining room, kitchen, toilet and well stocked fridge and bar. The fitted carpets helped to give the whole place a feeling of comfort and luxury. We had lunch together which was served by his secretary. The MD was a youngish New Zealander, very pleasant but I was not too impressed.

Tasmania On 3 March 1964, I was off to Hobart in Tasmania. Hobart had a beautiful harbour with Mount Wellington as a backdrop. I was met by my agent and we carried out the various appointments which he had arranged.

The next day we were to drive the 120 miles to Launceston (pro. ‘Lawn-cest-on’ in Australia). It was a wonderful drive through mountains and across plains, but most surprising was the lack of people and the similarity of the place names. It was like driving through a condensed UK as we passed through Kempton, Melton Mowbray, Andover, Tunbridge, Perth and many more. Living in Old Harlow, I took a photograph of Epping Forest. Epping itself was nothing more than a house with a petrol station!

Obviously, these names were given by the early settlers and one had to wonder who these people were; when and how did they arrive, and what sort of lives did they lead in a new country with few, if any, home comforts. From the place names, it would seem that they came from all parts of Britain, every one with his hopes and fears. I didn’t have the chance of visiting any cemeteries, but they will have told their own story.

Many years later when visiting South Island, New Zealand, Maureen and I went to a small cemetery overlooking the sea. Walking round the grave stones it was sad to read the details of young children dying from simple diseases, and the number of adults in their late twenties and early thirties who had died in the mid-1800s. It was obviously a very hard life with few facilities (people had to build their own homes) and the lack of availability of medical care. It was a case of the survival of the fittest! Back to Tasmania.

Launceston was interesting and like stepping back in time with architecture dating back to the Victorian era.

Wonderful buildings but the place felt more like a museum. More business appointments, a night in the Launceston Hotel and on the 6 March, off to Sydney.

Sydney Arriving in Sydney, I was met and taken to the Castle-Rex Hotel which was to be my base. After some meetings, it was back to the hotel and I contacted the Commercial Travellers’ Association and was made an honorary member. I also found that there was a meeting of the Commercial Travellers Lodge (not related to the Association but an interesting coincidence) and I was invited as a visitor. My first visit to an overseas Lodge and I received a great welcome.

On the Sunday, I was given a tour by an agent’s representative who was English and had emigrated 12 months before. We visited the famous Bondi and Manley beaches along with a tour of the famous areas.

Sydney was very cosmopolitan; there were approximately 20 theatres, many skyscrapers and traffic chaos just like many other cities.

One rather strange feature I noticed in Sydney harbour, and on the beaches, were areas in the sea ‘fenced off’ with heavy wire nets. On enquiry my guide told me that they were shark nets to protect bathers.

Apparently, sharks could come right up to the beach in search of a meal – and they did. Every year there 261

were cases of people being killed or maimed by sharks and sometimes they even penetrated the shark nets.

It was amazing to hear that, despite the hazards, some people still swam in the open sea. After an interesting few days in Sydney, I was once more packing my bags and off to Brisbane on 12 March 1964.

Brisbane, Queensland Compared with the warm Sydney, Brisbane, was hot. It is semi-tropical there and as one goes further north – Queensland covers an incredibly large area – it becomes tropical with high temperatures and high humidity.

So, I arrived dressed in suit, collar, tie and overcoat. Quite out of place and freely perspiring compared to those around me in shorts and open-necked shirts. I soon felt uncomfortable and was!

Brisbane airport was relatively unsophisticated with a simple runway and surrounding dusty roads. The airport building was a large Nissan hut with the occasional whirring fan in the roof. It didn’t achieve much but the intention was there. The processing was simple – no visa, just show my UK Passport, receive a welcome greeting and that was it.

I was met outside by the representative of Ramsey, our local agent, and whisked straight off to the University Hospital. Within an hour of landing, I had made three calls – to the Professor of Surgery, a surgical registrar and a theatre sister. The meeting with the Professor was amazing, but I must first mention one of my UK representatives, Hugh Galloway, who covered Scotland. Hugh was widely known and greatly respected.

Whenever, I went out with him, we always had a great reception and he seemed able to see people who normally would not see most representatives. When the Ramsey agent took me in to see the Professor of Surgery in Brisbane and the first thing he said after being introduced was “How’s Hugh?” Having said he was fine, he then asked me to give him his regards and tell him that he will call in to see him when next in the UK! I had always thought highly of Hugh, but this was the icing on the cake.

We had a sandwich for lunch, more meetings in the afternoon and I finally reached the hotel after 6pm, very hot and very sticky. I spent the evening with the Ramsey manager and his family. It was still extremely hot and I was quite envious when he changed into shorts and walked bare foot. Such a contrast, and cooler, than my ‘city’ clothes. The next morning, he collected me for a sight-seeing tour before my flight. This included a visit to Lone Pine to see Koalas, Lyre Birds, Kangaroos, Emus, Dingo dogs, snakes etc. Naturally, I had to have a photo taken cuddling a Koala!

The food in Queensland was very good too. I ate fruits I had never seen before such as paw-paw, passion fruit, monstereo deliciata (fruit salad plant). Of course, one has to remember that in the ’60s the international transporting of fruits and other foods was in its infancy so many exotic products now available in supermarkets were virtually unknown in the UK. Pineapples grew freely in Queensland and were popular but different from ours in that they had smooth skins, were soft and very sweet. The seafood was also fantastic and so inexpensive. Oysters were served on chipped ice and served with lemon or a delicious sauce made from ketchup, Worcester sauce and lemon juice. Lobsters, crabs and crayfish were plentiful.

I really enjoyed Queensland and had no notion that Maureen and I would visit it many times in later years.

I had promised to buy Mervyn a Koala in Australia and I found a beauty in Brisbane. It was quite large and cuddly with a smaller one on its back. The only problem was that I had to carry it with me for the rest of my trip, together with the two heavy cases (good job there weren’t any weight restrictions in First Class), my grip which weighed about 20lbs plus that overcoat! Still, I knew he would be pleased with it and I had told him to look after his Mummy.

The next place was to be Canberra and as there were no direct flights, it meant I had to travel via Sydney.

As it was a weekend, I decided to stay outside Sydney and booked a hotel in Botany Bay (where Captain Cook first landed). It was the Brighton Hotel, Grand Parade, Brighton-Le-Sands.

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I contacted a Dr. Rickard Bell who had worked at Mile End Hospital, London, at the time when Mervyn was born there. He had given me an open invitation to call if ever I was in Australia so I made contact and was invited to dinner at his home with his wife and two daughters. It was a most pleasant evening with much talking, good food and rather too much wine but so much appreciated being away from a hotel.

ACT (Australia Capital Territory) Arriving in Canberra on 15 March 1964, I naturally had the usual round of business meetings to attend but also had a look at Canberra. It is an artificial city, containing the Australian Parliament and the major government buildings. It was like a new town – well I suppose it was, having been placed inland on a vast area of land known as Australia Capital Territory. It was spacious with much landscaping and water features.

Very attractive but everything was so far apart that a car was essential. The scale of the place was such that there didn’t seem to be many people around. In fact, it seemed to be almost empty. I visited the Museum and was the only one there apart from my agent who was showing me round. An interesting place which needed time for it to grow and mature.

I only needed one full day in Canberra and my next stop was going to be Christchurch, New Zealand –the one place I had always wanted to visit. I was quite excited, not only to get there but to meet those members of my family who had emigrated there 16 years earlier. My cousins had grown up and were married with families so I now had second cousins too. Great anticipation.

The flight had to be via Sydney, and I felt I was getting to know that airport. Having spent time in the Transit Lounge, the flight was called and I was on my way on the 17 March 1964.

Christchurch, South Island, New Zealand Looking out from the aircraft, I was waiting for my first glimpse of New Zealand, the Land of the Long White Cloud. We approached from the west and having crossed some mountains, I saw the Canterbury Plains.

Vast areas of vivid green fields with, of course, countless sheep. This was it. I was here, well almost, we still needed to land.

I was met by our agent, Norman Peryer, an older man who obviously had a successful business in the medical/surgical market. The first thing he did after the introductions was to hand me a telegram.

Immediately I wondered whether there were problems at home, so I tore open the envelope to find the following message, ‘Welcome to New Zealand. Uncle Fred and Aunt Lily’. They had sent it from Auckland.

What a kind thought.

Norman first took me to my hotel, The Clarendon, 78, Worcester Street, to check in and leave my cases then it was to the office where another letter awaited me. This was from Ken Baker who had been the sales manager where Maureen had worked, Crown Wallpapers. He had emigrated with his wife and family. Ken later phoned me to take me around Wellington when I reached there.

Christchurch was a beautiful city with the river Avon flowing quietly through its centre with willow trees lining the banks. In the distance one could see the snow-capped peaks of the Southern Alps. Trams rattled along the streets and it was like being in England 30 years before.

It was autumn when I was there, and I found a chestnut tree with fallen conkers. Talking to a couple of boys, I asked them whether they played conkers and they looked at me with amazement. “What is he talking about” I felt they were thinking.

So, I introduced them to the art of conker playing and left them thoroughly enjoying it. It appeared that playing conkers was unknown in NZ and I have often wondered whether I started something.

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Property by UK standards was inexpensive and, of course, like Australia, the standard size of a building plot was a quarter of an acre. The lifestyle was unbelievable. There were 90 miles of beaches close to Christchurch; people enjoyed barbecues, camping and walking, much of it long distance. This was called tramping. They had plenty of time to have this lifestyle as no shops opened on Saturdays or Sundays – New Zealand was shut!

Of course, I contacted the local Commercial Travellers Association. The secretary was away but the VicePresident came to my hotel so we could exchange views.

Norman Peryer had modern business premises with, uniquely, a pent house on the top which was available for doctors to have meetings. Having had discussions about the market, its future and Norman’s views on its potential, we adjourned to his home for a few drinks before returning me to the hotel.

The next day I was taken to some local hospitals where I met the usual range of surgeons, theatre staff and supplies officers. There was no problem regarding supplies as Norman had a good range of our products but one of the objects of my visit was to increase the number of products used. At 5.30pm that evening, he had arranged to entertain some gynaecologists in the pent house and I was to give a talk on our catgut and eyeless needles.

As already mentioned, our catgut was made from the small intestines of young New Zealand lambs. These were frozen and shipped in boxes to the UK for processing at our factory. The company with whom we dealt was a meat packer called Borthwicks and they were based in Christchurch. (I met the Borthwicks management while there).

The talk to the gynaecologists went well and it gave me the opportunity of talking to these people in a relaxed setting rather than a busy theatre. The following night Norman arranged for most of the leading Christchurch surgeons to come for the same treatment! From my point of view, it enabled me to see all the important people in a very short space of time. In fact, it could have taken a week to have accomplished what I achieved in four hours.

This additional evening meeting, although worth it, delayed my departure. Norman laid on a dinner party at his home. It was a large, beautiful house in an old English style and had every modern convenience. All this meant that I had to get the first plane to Wellington at 7.40am the next morning but at least it was a short flight of only one hour.

Wellington The day was busy and for once I did not have the benefit of an agent to ferry me. I had to find my own way and encountered one problem in that one couldn’t hail taxis – you had to phone for one. Still, I accomplished all my objectives.

I went to the Commercial Travellers’ Club and met the President and what a bonus! They were opening their new bar and it was free beer! Ken Baker, Crown Wallpapers, came and had dinner with me and then took me for a drive round Wellington. It is the capital of NZ with the usual faceless government offices which were uninspiring. Also being the port linking North and South Island, the area around it seemed rather dilapidated.

The next morning was going to be special. I got the train to Upper Hutt, climbed on to the track (it was rather basic there) and as I was crossing, I saw my boyhood friend and cousin, John, crossing the track to meet me. A joyous reunion. We went to his home and I met his wife, Colleen, and their 11 month old son, Stephen.

We had lunch and I could have stayed all day but Ken Baker and his wife, Joan, were collecting me at 3pm.

Ken was always on time and sure enough he was there on the dot! After such a few hours, I said my farewells and reluctantly departed. I didn’t know at the time that it was the last time that I would see John.

He had done very well and became a bank manager but sadly died some years later.

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Ken and Joan took me to their home in Raumati South and Paraparaumu on the Kapiti coast. They had a wonderful split-level house set on a steep slope with fantastic views. It was beautifully furnished and they had no fewer than three cars! One for Ken, one for Joan and one for their son, Douglas. Their daughter (12 on the day of my visit) had a pony.

They made me very welcome and we had so much to talk about with me updating them on the UK and they were telling me about their new life in NZ. They had settled in well and were enjoying living down under. We went out to dinner and I stayed the night with them. Lying in bed I could hear the sea and, looking out of my window, I looked across to Kapiti Island.

For someone who loves the sea, this place was a dream with the sea and sandy beaches. Little did I think that years later Maureen and I would visit Raumati South on two occasions, to stay with Colleen and her second husband, Ivan. A great couple and a lot of fun to be with.

John and Colleen later had two daughters, Lisa and Melinda. Stephen now has two children of his own.

We have visited him in NZ and he stayed with us in the UK. But back to the story. Rather than take the hour or so flight to Auckland, I had decided to travel by Land Liner, a luxury coach that travelled between Wellington and Auckland. The journey time was 14 hours, but it allowed me to see so much of the North Island scenery.

Ken and Joan drove me to Paraparaumu to meet the coach which was leaving at 7.30am. It was very modern and equipped with toilet, washroom and a kitchen, features that I had not heard of in the UK. The journey was one of continuous changing scenery – hills, fields, rivers, mountains, lakes, volcanoes, geysers, deserts.

Those 420 miles must be some of the most varied in the world. The largest lake was L.Taupo, 25 miles x 17 miles, with wonderful sailing and great quantities of large trout. There were several English emigrants on the coach and when they knew I was visiting, they all wanted to find out how things were in the UK and, of course, to tell me how much they loved living in NZ! We had several stops on the way so it was a worthwhile way to travel and see the countryside.

Auckland I arrived in Auckland to an incredible reception. There were two Smith & Nephew directors, the sales manager of our agent, Peryer, and four members of my family, Uncle Fred and Aunt Lily, my cousin Joyce and Bernard. Having dealt with the business side, I was left with my family and we talked, and we talked and we talked even more, to the extent that I forgot to get any dinner. I was told that I would need to visit my cousin Doris and her husband, Bill, on their 1200 acre farm, and also the parents of my great friend, Derek Mann, who had died just a few months before I arrived in NZ. That would be sad.

My hotel was The Royal International and it was exremely comfortable. I was also able to entertain the family there. But it was back to work. The Peryer manager was most helpful and had arranged a full programme of appointments.

I had hopes of spending Easter in NZ, but the company wouldn’t agree, so I needed to fill the time I had in order that I could achieve the maximum whilst I was there. One interesting story concerned my uncle Fred.

Before leaving England, I had arranged to attend a Masonic Lodge in Auckland. My grandfather was a mason but my father wasn’t. Uncle Fred, however, was, so I thought that it would be nice if we could go to a meeting together. I wrote and Uncle Fred said that in all the sixteen years he had been in NZ, he had never been to a meeting, but he would like to go with me. He lived in the area of Mount Eden and that happened to be the name of the Lodge we would visit.

The day arrived and we left his home and he drove us to the masonic hall. Entering the hall, the first person 265

he saw was his next door neighbour. The two couples had been friends for years and yet neither of the men knew each other was a mason. Uncle Fred said that it took me to travel 15,000 miles to introduce these two as Masonic brothers. They were both amazed as was I. Another visit was to – Doris – always affectionately known as ‘Shrimp’ when she was young as she was quite small then. She lived at Kumeu in a small house on the farm owned by Bill’s father. I only had about an hour there, but it was so nice to see her again. I felt that they were at the hard end of farming, having to toil long hours in the fields. Bill also had a brother and the two boys covered both the arable and dairy sides of the business. Doris took me for a walk about 2-3 hundred yards from their home and told me that was the spot where they hoped to build their house. They did and later Maureen and I stayed there, and in 2009, our whole family visited Doris when we all spent Christmas in NZ. The other visit was to Len and Lilian Mann, the parents of my great friend, Derek. As I said earlier, Derek was a born showman. Everything he did had style. New Zealand being a new country gave him scope. We used to go to dances in the UK and he was a ‘natural’ with Latin American, particularly the tango. Yes, he really had style so it was not surprising to hear that after a few years he had become the Australasian Latin American Champion. He had entered the advertising business (what else?), was on the radio and making a name for himself in show business. He had married a very attractive air hostess, but sadly they could not have any children but they did adopt one. Derek developed cancer and, as I said earlier, he died just a few months before I arrived and I really wish I could have got there in time.

Knowing of our friendship, Len and Lilian (remember they had stayed with us before emigrating to NZ) wanted to see me, so I went to their lovely home in Takapuna. They had prepared quite a spread for me which was so kind but far too much. Unfortunately, Derek’s widow was working (flying) so was not present, but we had a long chat. I did not see their adopted child. As Derek, like me, was an only child, they were desolate. He had been the light of their life. I spent time with them talking over past times as one does until we had to part with so many memories of what was and what could have been.

The time had come to leave New Zealand. It was sad but I was going home and really couldn’t wait to see Maureen and Mervyn (and divest myself of that Koala which had been tucked under my arm through part of Australia and all of NZ). But NZ still had one trick up its sleeve. The international airport was at Whenuapai, quite close to Doris at Kumeu. The whole family came to see me off. The aircraft was a Britannia, a fourengined prop-jet, and I was flying with Canadian Pacific Airlines. I got on board and waved to the family through the window. They were standing by the fence outside the departure lounge (airports were a lot less complicated in those days) and waving. We took off and had an engine failure. The captain said that we would have to circle over the sea to get rid of fuel before we could go back to Auckland. We must have circled for two hours before returning. I don’t know what happened but when we came into land, we hit the runway with an almighty bump which was violent enough to upset the whole inside of the cabin. Lockers burst open and crockery in the galley was smashed. It was quite scary. We taxied back and as there was no replacement aircraft, the engineers had to carry out repairs. Meantime, looking out of the window, the family were still there – and still waving.

The repairs took over an hour during which time the cabin crew served dinner and I was enjoying a good meal and wine…..the family were still there probably getting quite hungry but still waving. Unfortunately, we couldn’t disembark or I would have told them not to hang about any longer. At long last the aircraft was ready so after about 4 hours since boarding, we took off and my last view was to see them still waving and probably saying, “Thank goodness, he’s gone”.

Throughout this time, I had started a conversation with another passenger who was travelling back to the UK on the same flights, so we travelled to London together. The flight was long and quite tiring. From Auckland we had a refuelling stop at Nandi (Fiji), crossed the international dateline and had an overnight stopover at the Hilton Hawaiian Village Hotel, Honolulu. With the delay in Auckland and the flight, I had been up for around 15 hours and was exhausted.

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The hotel was on the beach and Honolulu was one of the glamour places of the world. After checking in and putting on some casual clothes, we made our way to the beach bar which had an incredible range of tropical drinks the like of which I had never seen or heard of before. The names included Wahine’s Delight; The Chimp in Orbit; Hawaiian Eye; Suffering Haole; Tub of Oke; Mai Tai etc. I chose Tropical Itch. I don’t know what was in it but it had a rum base. Apart from the fruit, it had a back scratcher (no doubt to deal with the itch!). It was the most expensive drink at $2.25 (around £1) which was horrendously expensive – beer in the UK was about 5p per pint – but it was the end of a long, hard six weeks and I was on my way home, with that Koala, so I splashed out and hang the expense. Actually, it tasted good too!

After the drink, my colleague and I sat on the beach. It was around mid-day and the bikini clad girls wandered up and down the beach. The sun was hot, we were tired and we both fell asleep and didn’t wake up until evening. The sun was sinking, the girls had gone and we were alone with one exception. We both had sunburn! Lying in the sun for around five hours had had its effect. So, one could say, the whole afternoon had been a disaster. We were in one of the most sought-after and glamorous places in the world and we had missed it!

After dinner and a good sleep, we were off next morning (it was Easter Sunday) on the next stage. With the need for regular refuelling stops, we flew to Vancouver, Calgary and Edmonton. The next leg was the most interesting as airlines had started flying over the North Pole so our flight went from Edmonton to Amsterdam.

I looked down on vast stretches of snow and a vast emptiness although very occasionally I saw a man and a dog sledge – who was he and where was he going in such a barren, cold and desolate part of the world?

The stewardess was very kind and tucked me up in a blanket. I dosed off for the long haul until we arrived in Amsterdam at 1525 hrs. At 1700 hrs, we took off for London Heathrow and I felt I was getting near home.

As we crossed the coastline the excitement grew. We touched down; went through immigration and the customs area. Although this was a closed area, the first thing I saw was little Mervyn coming under the barrier and streaking across this ‘forbidden’ area shouting, “Daddy”. The customs officers looked round; saw him (and probably that Koala under my arm!) and just smiled. We walked out of the customs area together – only he was clutching the Koala with a grin from ear to ear. It was only then that I could give Maureen a hug and a kiss. Having loaded the cases in the hire car, we sat back and enjoyed being together once more as a family. The Koala? He enjoyed top status for months to come. Well, not many children had seen a Koala, let alone owned one and with a baby on its back, so all that carrying through Australia, New Zealand and Honolulu and back to the UK was worthwhile. Mark you there were some gifts for Maureen, too. Apart from a silk jacket from Singapore, she had some of her favourite perfume. It was Easter Monday and I was just glad to be home.

The year, like all of them was busy but the first task, as always, was to write my report to the company management but as I maintained extensive notes on everything that occurred, the hard work was done so it was really a matter of presentation. Of course, I had my trusty cine camera so I also prepared the usual film for the production and office staff. The various activities making up the year included meetings with visitors from Malaysia, Australia, the Crown Agents in London and several of our UK distributors.

With the help of my assistant, Richard Murrant, we had to arrange a number of visits to the factory including three by senior theatre staff and three by surgeons. Through my contacts with senior surgeons, we had been offered the opportunity of exhibiting at specialist surgical conferences. During the year, we attended the meetings of the British Orthopaedic Association and the British Association of Urological Surgeons. I also had to visit my own representatives in the UK and I had a sales conference with them as well.

One momentous event did occur. The Governors of The London Hospital decided to sell the company to Smith & Nephew. I can’t say I was surprised as I had been warned following my meeting with an S&N director in Cairo. I was still badgering Chris Yates (CCY) to get the non-glass pack developed as time was running out and I felt S&N, with their size and research background, could put help, time, energy and investment behind the project. Unfortunately, CCY did not agree as it would mean that his empire would be 267

under threat. He was basically a very stubborn man and resistant to change of any kind, who addressed males by their surname only. I had difficulty in getting on with him, not from my side but from his as I wanted to grow the business which meant change.

On the non-business side, I was still involved in the Air Training Corps; sailing at weekends at Hullbridge and I had been appointed an examiner for the UCTA examinations in salesmanship and sales organisation – the first examinations by a professional body in the UK. This drew candidates from overseas as well as the UK. I was also involved in the Institute of Commercial and Technical Representatives as a Founder Fellow and the Institute of Marketing and Sales Management (now The Chartered Institute of Marketing); The British Institute of Management; Leyton County High School Old Boy’s Association etc.

Unfortunately, this plus the ‘day job’ took its toll. One day I was with Bill Bussey, my Midlands representative, and we were with the Theatre Superintendant of a large hospital in Birmingham when she was called away.

Left on our own Bill and I were talking when suddenly something went ‘click’ in my head. I felt weak and started to tremble and felt as if I was going to pass out. I was confused and became withdrawn. What had happened? Two minutes before, I had been laughing and joking and now I just wanted to get out. I told Bill that I felt unwell and we should leave.

As soon as the Theatre Superintendant returned, Bill concluded the conversation and we left. I even found it difficult to walk but we got to his car and I asked him to get me back to my hotel. Bill was quite concerned as I didn’t speak and felt in a daze. When we reached the hotel, I suggested that he carry on with his appointments (I just wanted him to go) so after he left I went to my room, sat in a chair and became totally withdrawn. I didn’t want to eat, drink, read or do anything other than sit and stare into space. What had happened? I felt I knew. I had walked slap bang into a nervous breakdown or depression. What would I do?

Bill returned at lunchtime to find how I was. Having said I felt terrible, I said that I would leave and return home. I have no recollection of that drive from Birmingham to Ilford but somehow I made it. Maureen took one look and said, “What’s happened to you?” I said I didn’t know but said I didn’t feel well and wanted to have a rest. Mervyn wanted to know what was wrong with Daddy and I just had to say that I didn’t feel well.

I lay on the bed and although I slept, when I awoke I felt no better. I didn’t want to eat or drink. I felt like a zombie! Somehow, next morning I got up and went to the company and made a beeline for my office where I sat and just looked at the papers in front of me but didn’t do anything with them. I couldn’t. It was usual for the director and senior managers to gather for morning coffee, lunch and afternoon tea in our dining room.

At 10.30am, I almost staggered along for coffee with my Daily Telegraph and after a brief “Good morning” buried my head in it. Fortunately, it was usual for everyone to do the same although officially it was the time for management to talk about matters of company interest.

As soon as possible I got back to my office, rustled some papers, looked at the mail and waited until lunch time. I won’t continue this story other than to say that this ‘breakdown’ lasted for two years although I gradually improved over the period. The worst period was Christmas. I had been to my GP, Dr Ivor Coleman (whom I inveigled into being our medical officer at the Air Training Corps) but he was not a lot of help – he just wanted to chat! He did prescribe an anti-depressant which made me feel even worse. I remember that Christmas period so well. I got up and sat in an armchair all day. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to play with Mervyn and his toys. I felt wretched but I had learned one thing. I knew what depression was all about and have been sympathetic with sufferers ever since. Nevertheless, I stopped the tablets and went back to how I felt before which was better in a negative sort of way. I actually went off sick after Christmas which was a rarity for me.

My biggest problem was that 1965 was going to be busy. Following a hectic January, I was departing for a strenuous tour of South Africa and Nigeria on 4 February. I really believed that I wouldn’t return and afterwards Maureen said that she believed that too!

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—36— 1965 South Africa and Nigeria

19 6 5

and I felt far from well. I had come off my anti-depressants, but every day was a struggle. I had a tour plan to finalise as well as the rest of the UK and international marketing to maintain. was going to be busy

At the beginning of January, we had our usual invitation to Sid and Muriel Heath’s New Year Party. This was a social high light of the year for the local medical and pharmaceutical professions in the Dagenham, Hornchurch and Upminster areas. Sid and Muriel opened their wonderful and spacious Hornchurch home to a selected group of GPs and pharmacists to join them for a lavish party. We were always invited and appreciated their kindness. They were a great couple and we valued their friendship.

This was followed soon after by the Romford Pharmaceutical Society Annual Dinner and although I was no longer in the industry we were regarded as permanent members of the Macarthys’ party (Macarthys was the local pharmaceutical wholesaler which had considerable influence throughout Essex and beyond). This was always a great evening. I knew all the directors well and grew up with the company and their expansion.

I was due to fly to Johannesburg on 4 February, but before this I had to fit in two VIP visits of theatre nurses to the company; interviewing potential representatives in Harold Hill and at the Queen’s Hotel, Leeds and meetings with our advertising agents. I still don’t know how I coped, but I somehow struggled on although all the time I felt that I was living under a grey cloud – the drive, the enthusiasm for my job and my sense of humour had gone.

At times I was desperate, and all the time I had the thoughts of four weeks in South Africa and 3 days in Nigeria hanging over me. How would I manage? Suppose I really became sick overseas. Would I get home before I really needed medical help? How would Maureen and Mervyn cope if I had to undergo treatment abroad? These and many other thoughts and fears preyed on my mind but somehow I kept going – just!

As the day of departure drew closer, I became more unsettled and I began to have real doubts as to whether I would return. I knew I had a massive programme ahead and thought it ominous that our agents had said they would let me have it when I arrived. The airline (BOAC) tickets arrived. That didn’t help. It only brought the deadline (why did I mention that word?) nearer. I couldn’t stop the clock and the day for departure arrived.

I said my fond farewells to the family and Maureen probably also felt that this could be a final goodbye.

Reaching Heathrow, I checked in. I should have felt elated. Here was I, an executive manager going on an export mission to secure business for my company and see something of the world, yet I felt wretched.

Looking at my airline ticket, I should have felt fortunate. I was travelling First Class on a VC10, a superb aircraft, and my flights were to Johannesburg, Durban, Cape Town, Johannesburg then Johannesburg, Lagos (Lufthanza) arriving back in Heathrow (Nigerian Airways) on 5 March 1965. Interestingly enough, the cost of all the flights totalled £524.10. 0d.

Looking back, this was regarded as state of the art in 1965 but, compared with today, it seems positively ancient! For the latest aircraft, the VC10, to fly from London to Johannesburg required refuelling stops in Rome, Nairobi and Salisbury. With a flying time of 13hrs 5mins plus around 1 hour at each stop for refuelling (and passengers spending time the in the Transit Lounge), the journey took around 16 hours. Today, flights go direct from London to Johannesburg in around 10 hours! It was interesting that on the last leg of the flight, we had a transit air crew travelling with us and the First Officer was a Mike Hargreaves, who was a pilot with me in the RAF. We had quite a lot to talk and reminisce about.

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Arriving at Jan Smuts Airport in the early afternoon, I was met by Lyn Davies, the General Manager of Petersen South Africa, our agent. Lyn was Welsh but had lived in South Africa for many years. Petersen was a large company in the pharmaceutical and surgical business and was responsible for a large share of our export business.

Lyn took me to the Hotel Quirinal in Kotze Street, Hillbrow, where I checked in and had half an hour’s sleep before he collected me at 5 pm and took me to his home for dinner. His wife was very kind, but I couldn’t eat much as I had been eating at local times since leaving London. It was interesting to learn that this area of Johannesburg was supposed to be one of the most populated areas in the world; most people lived in flats (as did Lyn and his wife); it seemed nothing but tall blocks of flats and was known as the concrete jungle.

Not being one to waste time, Lyn went through my programme and I couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t going to be a holiday! I would be visiting Johannesburg, Pietermaritzburg, Durban, Cape Town, Paarl, Stellenbosch, Cape Peninsular, Bloemfontein, Welkom, Kroonstad and a number of small places in between. Appointments with surgeons and senior theatre staff had been arranged and I had been booked to give 7 lectures in hospitals and Nurse Training Colleges, apart from in-company training. I would also be visiting the world famous hospitals such as the Groote Schuur and Baragwaneth to meet their professors of surgery. I would be flying between some cities and be driven between others with Sunday travel included. Seeing the look on my face, Lyn laughed (I didn’t think much of his sense of humour!) and he said that if I accomplished the mission, he would take me for a three day trip to the Kruger National Park. That was quite an incentive.

For the majority of my visits, I would be accompanied by Petersen’s representative who sold our products.

Her name was Gertrude van der Welt and the next day I would meet this lady. The evening went on pleasantly enough and we more or less drank all Lyn’s beer, but he had one further surprise in store. He would collect me at 8.30 next morning when I would be giving a two-hour lecture to the total company sales force. It’s Saturday I remonstrated, to which he replied that we had a big programme and all their sales force had been summoned especially for my presentation. What a start to a tour!

Saturday morning and I was collected from the hotel at 8.30am and taken to the conference room of Petersen where, apart from around 20 representatives, there were warehouse and office staff and various managers. I knew that we were an important part of their business, but I didn’t think it that significant to warrant all these people.

The first person I met was Gertrude van der Walt, the person who had built our business throughout S.A. To say the least I was surprised and shocked. Gertrude was slim, smartly dressed, had short gingerish hair, wore black nylons with beetles down the sides and fell on me as if I was a long lost relative. Above all she never stopped talking – “So good to meet you…..I have been waiting for this day…..I have so many things arranged while you’re here….. many surgeons want to meet you…..we have long journeys ahead…...you have lectures to give to important people etc” I noticed that, having introduced us, Lyn stood back with a smile on his face watching the look on mine. It must have been a picture! Finally, I found that Gertrude was in her 70s, was a grandmother and a great grandmother. She was a ball of energy and she never seemed to even pause for breath. I was to find this out during our travels when I dubbed her, ‘The most fantastic woman I have ever met’. I still believe it to this day but you can draw your own conclusions not only from when I was in S.A. but later when she came to the UK – the place has never been quite the same since!

The lecture covered around two hours and included the history of catgut and the origin of the company. The London Hospital decided to produce its own catgut and suture materials particularly as sutures were needed for troops wounded in France. Up to this time catgut had been supplied mainly from Germany and supplies were no longer available during the First World War. ‘The London’ product proved excellent and as surgeons were trained there, they wanted to take the catgut they could trust when they went to work overseas. This was the foundation of the export business. It was around 1920 when a ‘London’ surgeon, Sir Henry Souttar, invented the eyeless needle. The use of eyeless needles is now virtually standard practice. Following demonstrations of the product and questions, Lyn Davies said, and I quote, “You had everyone eating out 270

of your hand and I want you to commit the talk to paper and give it to theatre staff and surgeons throughout the country”. Meanwhile Gertrude had listened and absorbed every detail. Her enthusiasm was at bursting point and I couldn’t stop her continuous chatter throughout lunch which I had with her and an executive, Richard Mogg at the Wanderers Club – the senior sports club where Test Matches and Rugby Internationals are played. This was just the start with Gertrude, and I was there for four weeks!

In the afternoon I was rescued by Lyn and his wife who took me to the cinema which was quite a usual way to spend a Saturday afternoon. The queues for tickets were vast and I gathered that this was normal as there was no television in S.A. Apartheid was obvious and everything was separate for whites and blacks or coloureds and no group could enter the other’s domain whether it was hotels, toilets, buses, restaurants, beaches etc. Equally, I was told that on no account must I been seen to fraternise otherwise I could be arrested. Not a happy prospect but I have to say that many of the blacks and coloureds were well dressed and seemed nice people. On the Sunday, I was taken to the City Deep Mine at 9.30am to see tribal dancing.

This was done mostly by the miners on their day off. The ten participating tribes included the Batswas, Zulus, Bechuana, Bapedi, Mchopi. Many of the instruments were primitive and were made of tin cans and pieces of wood but the drumming, rhythm and colour of the tribal costumes were quite breathtaking. This was my first experience of seeing apartheid in action. The coloured people sat on one side (in the sun) and the whites sat on the other (in the shade)! Part way through we had refreshments and the money was donated to Bantu charities. I took a lot of cine and was able to buy an LP. The rest of the day was spent quietly back at the hotel relaxing and getting prepared for the start of my programme the next day with Gertrude. One thing I had noticed which I couldn’t believe. My ‘depression’ or whatever it was had gone, totally gone. I was back to my old self. Why? I had no idea but I knew I needed to be fit for what was to come.

Gertrude was to collect me and I would see just how she would perform in the field. I had my reservations whether this 70+ year old great grandmother had the selling skills and the staying power to keep going for each and every day. I was to find out and I have to say that I had great difficulty in keeping up with her. She said she would collect me from the hotel at 7.30am. Really? That early? I was told that we had lots of surgeons and doctors, theatre staff and pharmacists to see so there was no time to lose. Gertrude had a driver – a little coloured man named Herbert who was past middle age and had a family. They had been together for some time and understood one another but Gertrude was the boss. I would sit in the front seat and she sat in the back goading him on. It was like someone driving horses with a whip, but her whip was words. “You must hurry – we have to get to the hospital – there are surgeons/doctors/theatre nurses waiting for us – we mustn’t waste time” and so on and so on. When she wasn’t cajoling Herbert she was talking to me. She never stopped from morning to night. The only respite I could get was to sit in the front seat and feign sleep when after a time she would stop and start on poor Herbert.

When we reached a hospital, she was like a dynamo, speaking to everyone and making sure she got to those she wanted. I was the great introduction! She had spoken to almost every surgeon and theatre nurse in S.A. and booked appointments for the man from England. Everyone wanted to see me – at least that was what she said but I had other thoughts. At the end of the first day, we arrived back at the hotel around 6pm and I was exhausted. Had I to endure this for a month? Lyn came to see me in the evening to see how we had got on. When I explained he just smiled and said I would get used to her as she was always like that.

Mark you it wasn’t just talk, she knew what she was doing, and we got some good orders.

Next morning, we were up just after 5am for the 0745am flight to the Louis Botha Airport at Durban where we were booked into the Mayfair Hotel for four days. The temperature was above 100deg F and with the high humidity, my shirt and underclothes became saturated in under an hour. It was the usual round of hospital visits except that I was due to give a lecture at the Durban school of nursing in the afternoon. This was to be highly civilised in that, beforehand, we had an invitation to have tea with the matron. Of course, Gertrude was in full flight, but the matron did manage to quieten her enough for me to say a few words! Tea over and the matron conducted me to an ante room and Gertrude to a seat in the lecture theatre.

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After a few moments a sister came in and said everyone was ready. The matron opened the door and I almost died. I walked onto a small stage to see around 200 nursing staff and doctors seated in this curved lecture theatre where the seats were so stepped that the back row was way above my head. The place was packed with people even sitting on the floor between the rows. I had never seen a place like it. It was terrifying and I was told after, that invitations had been issued throughout the Durban and district hospitals for my lecture. What a pity I wasn’t being paid!

Of course I had no option but to proceed with a similar talk to the one I gave to the staff of Petersen’s except that I limited it to around 40 minutes which, after questions, was about an hour. It all seemed to go well, and the matron gave a nice little thank you speech and some of the surgeons came up and chatted afterwards.

Meanwhile, Gertrude was in her element and enjoyed every minute of the occasion.

Gertrude decided to give me a tour of Durban and she took me to the seafront where, apart from the wonderful beach, I noticed the separate bathing areas for the whites, blacks and coloureds. Then she said she wanted to show me some of the architecture. There was this large building with great pillars at the porch way or entrance. I was proudly told that this was the Post Office. Having made a polite comment, Gertrude seemed rather taken aback saying that I didn’t seem very impressed. Well I wasn’t really as I had seen many buildings like it in England. She then told me it was 60 years old. I didn’t like to say, “Is that all?” so I said that it was similar to buildings I had seen. Behind that, though, was the realisation that in a ‘new’ country like S.A. such buildings were rare. I said that if she came to England, I would show her some of our buildings. I did as you will read later.

Apart from my primary task, I had some other agendas. It had been suggested that I should make contact with the local Smith & Nephew company which had 950 employees and was based in Durban. The Chairman was Stan Dagger and what an amazing man he was. Probably in his mid 60s he had left the UK to sell S&N products in S.A. and that is what he did! Apparently, as a young man, he travelled all round S.A. with a suitcase full of S&N products like Elastoplast and sold them to passers-by in the hot, dusty open markets. He travelled by trains, buses and even horseback and often had to sleep rough. This was pioneering a business in every sense of the word. Slowly, his products became accepted and he could appoint a local store and so concentrate on other areas where the process was repeated until he had wide distribution across much of the country. The next phase was to establish a warehouse and office to handle the increasing volume of business. Salesmen were engaged and the business continued to grow, and this was followed by local manufacture and the impressive company that I had the privilege to be visiting. I had such admiration for this slight, unassuming man who regaled me with stories of those early days. Fancy stepping off a boat in a strange, relatively lawless country, knowing no one, with a suitcase full of products and having the task to sell them in conditions so different from his home country, England.

That takes real courage, grit, confidence and determination way beyond the vast majority of individuals. It has to be said that it was people like Stan Dagger who pioneered many countries and established British business overseas.

Having been given a personally conducted tour of the factory, I was invited to address the S&N Board on The London Hospital (Ligature Department) Ltd, our products and business, with particular reference to S.A. (I had a feeling that they might have designs on taking over our agency in S.A. but after I had spoken and answered many questions, they did not have the expertise in our specialised market. Petersen also had their suspicions, but I was able to allay their fears).

Following the meeting Stan Dagger took me to his home for lunch with his wife, Ostrika. He had obviously come a long way since those early days. The house was fantastic and set in four acres of beautiful gardens with monkeys in the trees! Like many South Africans, they had black staff that would look after the family and home. The staff was usually considered part of the family and frequently had a home provided in the grounds. This was often one room, but that was all they needed and expected. Above all, such work provided employment with their food, uniform and a salary to enable families to live to a reasonable standard.

I have to say that all the staff that I met seemed happy in their work and loyal to their employers.

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The two most exclusive clubs in Natal were the Durban Country Club and the Durban Business Men’s Club, and I was privileged to visit both of them. Stan and his wife took me to the former on the Saturday evening.

It was most impressive and we shared a very pleasant time together. On the Sunday evening, Stan took me to the latter. An obviously affluent club with its deep armchairs, bar and immaculate dining room. We enjoyed a splendid dinner with superb service and good wine. My last view of Stan Dagger was of him waving goodbye from the steps of the Club as his chauffeur drove me back to my hotel. I have such fond memories of this man who was so gentle, so kind yet someone of enormous statue who had really lived and developed with South Africa from its humble beginnings.

On the Sunday, I swam in the sea at 6.30am when the temperature was 75 deg F and was then collected by the local Petersen manager, Attie Vermaas, who took me to the Valley of the Thousand Hills with its incredible countryside. We had lunch at the Nagle Dam and had to rush back for the flight to Cape Town calling at East London and Port Elizabeth on the way. The scenery and colours around the Cape were fantastic. The next day, I had appointments in Paarl and Stellenbosch, two interesting provincial towns. The name Paarl is derived from two rock hills with rounded tops which can be seen from the town. After rain, these round tops glisten and look like two shining pearls. Stellenbosch with its wide flower-lined roads is a well-known wine growing area. I met some of the Sana (Petersen’s parent company) directors at Lanzarre, a beautiful Dutch style house/hotel. We had a memorable lunch in the elegant restaurant and one could easily envisage gracious and leisured living in this handsome building.

My visit to Cape Town also included the Groote Schuur Hospital made famous as the hospital where Prof.

Chris Barnard was to conduct the first heart transplant in the world in 1967. My three days in the Cape also covered the Cape Peninsula where there were more appointments and lectures to give. All too soon I was packing my case and heading back to Johannesburg. No sooner back, but I was off with Gertrude to Bloemfontein. She was in great form on that journey and got poor Herbert to drive the 271 miles in four hours – virtually an average speed of 70 mph! A good job the roads were clear. After our calls, we drove the 110 miles to Welkom in an hour and a half and all the time Gertrude was telling Herbert that we must get to the hospitals as soon as possible. At times, I felt she was impossible, but I did not wish to curb her enthusiasm.

On the Sunday, I was invited to the home of Francis Le Riche, the Chairman of Petersens. He lived in the fashionable area of northern Johannesburg and his home was fabulous complete with gardens and swimming pool. It was a ranch-style house which housed numerous items and paintings he had collected when travelling round the world. I was fascinated to see his many mementoes and I have to admit, that it started me off on the idea of collecting our own keepsakes from our travels which we have done since.

The day had been arranged as a tennis party and I was kitted out and taken to the home of a consultant gynaecologist. There were about ten people there and the house was also ranch style with the usual fabulous gardens, swimming pool and tennis court. Fortunately, I was playing well and even my service was on form.

Between sets, we had cool drinks and later refreshments.

We returned to Francis’ home for lunch and I had even more time to look round. The house had a thatched roof, the floors in the passageways were of coloured, polished stone and the kitchen was oak fitted with eye level ovens and a deep freeze. These were fittings which one would only see in lavish brochures in the UK at that time. After lunch, we went into the orchard and ate grapes, figs and other fruits before getting me back on the tennis court for an hour, followed by half an hour in the 10ft deep swimming pool. I was delivered back to the hotel in time for dinner after an enjoyable day, only to awake feeling very stiff next morning.

On the Monday and Tuesday, I made a total of seventeen calls, and in the afternoon gave a talk to fifteen nurses at Baragwaneth hospital. This was an enormous hospital for black and coloured people and it was maintained, and paid for, by the white population. I was given a tour and was most impressed by their standards. Apparently, the accident and emergency department was always very busy, particularly from fights and injuries inflicted between black people. Some were horrendous. As an example, I was told that it 273

was not unusual to find cases where a gang would get a victim, bend him over and, with a sharpened (often rusty) bicycle spoke cut his spinal cord, paralysing his lower body. It is difficult to imagine such cruelty.

I also took the opportunity to visit the South African National Union of Commercial Travellers and see their impressive premises, and meet their General Secretary to discuss matters of common interest with my UKCTA. In addition, I visited the South African CTA whose magazine had the same title as ours in the UK ‘On the Road’. The SACTA had obviously been based on the UK association and had various welfare benefits available to its members. Apart from the benevolent funds, it had one which intrigued me. It was the SACTA Mortuary Benefit Fund which made widows, or other dependants, an immediate payment on the death of a member. Very useful but on that note I will move on.

On Tuesday, 23 February 1965, I had lunch with Harry Bernstein, the Managing Director of Merrell Pharmaceuticals in South Africa. This was a pleasant interlude as the last time I met Harry was when I worked for Merrell as the medical representative in East London when he came to visit my territory. I took him to doctors, pharmacies and hospitals to demonstrate how I worked. He enjoyed his day, and his parting shot was that if I was ever in S.A. he would take me to lunch and he kept his word. I had the opportunity of looking at his operation and learning about the South African pharmaceutical market. It is interesting to note that later, Leslie Jenkins, my sales manager at Merrell took Harry’s place and became M.D. for Merrell in S.A. I was involved in more lectures. One at the G.B. Alexander Nursing Training College which lasted from 2.30 to 4pm. Also, I had to give a lecture to theatre sisters from various Johannesburg hospitals in the Harvein Lecture Theatre at the Medical College of Johannesburg University followed by refreshments. The following day I was off to Pretoria to discuss sutures with the S.A. Bureau of Standards.

At a meeting with Lyn Davis, he said that I had been working too hard – I didn’t disagree with him although secretly I had felt fit and enjoyed the experience which had been of benefit to the company and Petersens.

As a reward, Lyn had arranged to take me, with his wife, to the Kruger National Park, as promised. We would leave at 5.30am on the Friday returning on Sunday. This was a place that I had dreamed about and as I only had business clothes, I bought a safari suit, as I knew it would be very hot and shorts were essential.

We left in the cool of the early morning with a 420km drive ahead. As the sun got up so did the temperature, so we drove with open windows. Arriving at the Pretorius Kop gate, we checked in and were taken to the compound. I had a Rondaval which was a circular thatched hut, quite comfortable with a bed, furniture and toilet/shower. Lyn and his wife had a double. Never having been near wild animals (except London Zoo!) it was a bit disconcerting to find that my Rondaval adjoined the perimeter fence which was similar to a crude hedge. And the animals were on the other side! Having visited Kruger since, it is interesting to see the changes. In 1965, there were fewer tourists and camps with facilities. Alcohol was banned although Lyn had a healthy stock of cans of beer in a large cold box. Good job they didn’t search the car. Car windows had to be kept closed when in the park (can you imagine being closed in a car in that heat with no ventilation apart from the fan? One couldn’t get out of the car when in the park (now people can walk around with a warden). Meals were served in a large ‘hut’ and it was simple food. Only basic needs were available in the shop plus a few postcards and souvenirs. Things are very different today.

We had a day and a half touring the park and went to other areas including Skukuza and we were fortunate in seeing a number of animals including various buck and elephants. Sadly, the time passed all too quickly and we had to leave. Lyn had done all the driving and from the constant sun, his right arm was sunburnt and becoming blistered and painful, so I drove back to the outskirts of Johannesburg. The trip was over and all that remained was a final meeting with Petersens to review the programme. They were delighted and felt that my visit would help to strengthen their share of the market. I was sorry to say goodbye to Gertrude and said that I hoped to be able to welcome her to England. She was almost in tears and gave me an oil painting of an African scene with typical flat topped hills and rondavals. We still have and enjoy that picture which brings back so many memories.

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Nigeria Leaving Johannesburg on 3 March 1965 on the 2030hrs Lufthansa flight to Lagos, I arrived at 0110hrs and immediately felt the heat and humidity. It was stifling. For my two day visit I would be staying at the Federal Palace Hotel on Victoria Island. The hotel was 5 star with internal open quadrangles housing trees and tropical plants.

The rooms were large and air conditioned. The charge was £5.25 per night B&B! In the morning I went down to breakfast on the terrace. It was hot and humid at 7.30am and, within 20 minutes, my shirt was soaked and I had to go back to my room and change. This experience set the pattern for the next two days in Nigeria.

My task was to have a preliminary look at the market and evaluate possible distribution outlets. During the two days I visited the Ministry of Health, the Lagos Teaching Hospital; the Federal Medical Stores in Oshodi and the Medical Stores in Ikeja.

Having accomplished my objectives, I was delighted to escape from the heat and humidity of Nigeria, at the same time wondering how those earlier settlers managed to live there when they had various tropical diseases and no air conditioning. Boarding the Nigerian Airways flight at 1100hrs, it was 1920hrs when we arrived at Heathrow – no direct flights then! It took 1hr 20mins to Kano, 4hrs 15mins to Rome and another 2hrs 15mins to London. Naturally, I was thrilled to see Maureen and Mervyn who had come to meet me. I had been away just over a month and, although almost every minute of every day had been filled, I had missed them, particularly at weekends when I was alone. I had brought back some presents including the picture and a Zulu blanket which we had for many years.

After a couple of days’ break, it was back in the office to write my report and catch up with the month while I was away. Interestingly (now!), not only was I back but the depression had gone. I had enjoyed a wonderful month completely clear but, within days of my return, it was as if I had never been away. There was no logic to it then or since. I have never been able to understand how I could move from depression to being completely clear then back to depression again.

While I had been away, my assistant, Richard Murrant had been organising further visits to the company and in four weeks, we had one visit by surgeons and two by theatre superintendants and sisters. This, together with the routine activities and the Easter break, meant a busy time. During the year we had exhibitions to arrange and attend. These included the British Association of Urological Surgeons in London, the Gynaecological Exhibition in Glasgow, the European Association of Urological Surgeons in Newcastle and the National Association of Theatre Nurses Exhibition in Harrogate.

In my private life, I had professional meetings to attend including the UKCTA, the Forest Gate CTA and the Institute of Marketing and Sales Management (now the Chartered Institute of Marketing). I held offices in all these bodies and, particularly with the latter, as the objective was to develop the professionalism in marketing and sales management.

One of the more pleasurable occasions was the visit by Gertrude van der Walt from South Africa. To put it mildly, London Hospital catgut was her life and the chance to visit the company was her dream. She had done so well for us in South Africa that I arranged for her visit to be paid by the company. It was to be a momentous visit!

At 0820hrs on Sunday, 1 August 1965, I met her at Heathrow. Although it had been a long flight she was bubbling with excitement. Her first visit to London and to see the home of LH catgut. Such joy! She wanted to stay in London, so I took her to her hotel in Russell Square to rest and relax.

On the Monday, I collected her and took her to the Company. She arrived complete with her pronounced 275

guttural South African accent and, of course, those patterned black nylons. The quiet peace of the company was shattered as she charged in through the front doors. There was no stopping this 70+ year old. She had arrived at the home of her favourite product. I took her in to meet our managing director, Vi Walker, who was visibly shaken by her appearance and non-stop questions. She met other executives and had a tour of the production area with Mr Yates and Miss Morris, both of whom looked pale and drawn after the event. The questions were non-stop. Our usual peaceful dining room was shattered, and the other members disappeared sooner than usual. It was obvious that I could do no work that day, so I took her home to meet Maureen and Mervyn. It was all chat until the time for her to go back to her hotel. I took her to the station to put her on the train to Liverpool Street when she suddenly went very quiet and became hesitant. Although I noticed it, I said nothing and waved her goodbye arranging to meet her in the morning.

The next morning, I asked her about the previous evening and she admitted that she had been very frightened.

Why? Because in South Africa no woman would travel alone at night – it wasn’t safe. I explained that in England she would have no problem, but she was still doubtful. (N.B. At the time of writing that situation no longer applies!) During the rest of the week, I shipped her off to spend time with some of my reps even as far as Glasgow and Edinburgh, as this gave her the opportunity of seeing more of the UK. We decided that we would take her out at the week-end and show her something of the countryside and history of Essex. We had a long day and she thoroughly enjoyed it. One of our early stops was Greensted church, near Ongar. This early Saxon church has the oldest wooden walls in England and Gertrude was most impressed. I pointed out the walls of the nave made from halves of oak trees standing side by side and dated c.1013. She was amazed and I gently mentioned that this was why I was not over impressed with her 60 year old Post Office building in Durban! She said she quite understood, but found it difficult to appreciate the depth of history in England as South Africa was a relatively ‘new’ country.

We trekked across the county passing Paycocke’s (16th century) house in Coggeshall and visiting Colchester.

We also saw Colchester Castle which has an incredible history going back to King John. Bullet holes from the Civil War can be seen in the walls.

From there, we had the gentle beauty of the Vale of Dedham, scene of so many paintings by Constable. I had booked lunch at Le Talbooth, that wonderful restaurant on the banks of the Stour. Sitting in the sunshine and enjoying a drink overlooking the slowly moving water, with the swans idly moving on the river, all was peace – except Gertrude never really noticed it, she never stopped talking! A leisurely lunch and it was time to take a different route home passing other interesting places.

For the following Thursday, I had arranged a special visit to The London Hospital for Gertrude, through the House Governor, Captain Brierley. The London Hospital was the birthplace of London Hospital catgut. The Theatre Superintendant had laid on a tour of the theatres with the opportunity for Gertrude to meet some of the surgeons. Little did she know the impact that Gertrude would have? I should mention that in 1965, surgeons were still treated like God and some may have thought they were! Arrogant and often bad-tempered, they could reduce theatre staff to tears.

One also must consider that The London was the home of many famous surgeons and was an important teaching hospital with a world-wide reputation. Even outside the theatres, they were shown the greatest respect by everyone and if they deigned to speak to you, it was quite an honour. This then was the setting for Gertrude, but she didn’t care. She wanted to speak to them and waded in with notebook poised and firing questions. What catgut did he use for this; what needles did he use for that and so on.

The surgeons wondered what had hit them. I saw one surgeon whom I knew with his back to the wall and Gertrude firing questions like a machine gun. The chap looked terrified and the theatre staff couldn’t believe what they were seeing. How are the mighty fallen, sprang to mind! Some of the other surgeons took the opportunity of beating a hasty retreat from this woman from South Africa, but she was having a ball! I could visualise what she would tell her surgeons when she got home.

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Even the Theatre Superintendent, Ida Latham who ruled the theatres with a rod of iron – she controlled the surgeons who did what they were told – was quite subdued. She had never seen anyone come into her theatres like Gertrude. She had made quite an impact, but I am still not quite sure whether it was thought to be good or bad!

One story from The London that’s worth telling. Not all surgeons were tarred with the same brush. I knew one gynaecologist who was a perfect gentleman and had a dry sense of humour. The apocryphal story is that he was operating with his hands deep inside a patient searching for something and was obviously having a problem. After some minutes, the staff were beginning to become concerned when he turned to the theatre sister and said in a quiet voice, “Sister, have you a sterile ferret?” The tension evaporated immediately.

Gertrude’s visit came to an end and I returned her to London Heathrow for her journey home. There was no question that for her, this was the journey of a lifetime. She was so thrilled that we had brought her to England to enable her to fulfil her dream. I was told that when she got back, she was an even greater whirlwind than before and recounting her visit to every surgeon, theatre nurse, hospital pharmacist who would listen. I just wonder how Herbert, her little driver, coped. From my point of view, I just breathed a sigh of relief, which was shared by everyone else in the Company!

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—37— Moving to a New Life Following the takeover of The London Hospital (Ligature Department) by Smith & Nephew (S&N) in 1965, they suggested that it would be advisable for me to have a home which was accessible to both Harold Hill and Welwyn Garden City. For some time we had wanted to move. Grace Frost had moved to Polegate in Sussex, Mervyn was reaching school age, the house was looking ‘tired’ and needed a re-vamp and, above all, we wanted to leave Ilford and live in the country.

With S&N offering to assist with the moving expenses, we had the incentive to start to look seriously. Having drawn a line between Harold Hill and Welwyn Garden City, we selected the mid-point for the search and radiated out from there. After much driving, contacting estate agents and looking at local papers, we found a site at Old Harlow (adjacent to the new town) where 100 houses were planned. At the entrance to this estate on the left there were going to be five four-bedroomed detached houses, with garages and large gardens. They even had central heating and a downstairs cloakroom which was a luxury in those days.

Facing the end of the road was the Churchgate Hotel – the old chantry house with its oak beams and pleasant gardens. The village street was 100 yards away and it was complete with a butcher, a baker (with the oven behind the house), a Post Office and general store, the Queen’s Head public house opposite and next to it was the parish church. This was the quintessential English village and we were thrilled. Also, at the end of the five houses was a small recreation ground with some swings.

Naturally, these five houses were the show pieces of the estate and were priced accordingly, at £6,050 freehold – no small sum in those days but, together with the village and fields within 200 yards, they were all we could wish for. We selected the middle one – 98 Elmbridge – paid our deposit then made frequent visits to watch our house grow. I have always been keen on new technology and cavity wall insulation was the latest innovation, so I found a specialist firm to fill the cavity walls.

Another innovation we opted for was an external-emptying Baxi fire installed, so there were no ashes to carry through the house. We also designed a Cotswold stone fireplace with a triangular stone hood over the fire reaching to the ceiling, a stone hearth and a polished capped low stone wall extending both sides of the fireplace to the walls at each end of the lounge. There was a built-in log box and the low walls were used as book shelves and were ideal as seating when we had parties. It cost £18 to have this built by a local craftsman. It was attractive and was so successful that we repeated it in the house we bought some years later in Yorkshire.

We had paid £1,300 for 11 Christchurch Road with its four bedrooms and three reception rooms plus the usual offices, including the outside toilet, so this was to be quite a leap in the mortgage. Fortunately, a table tennis friend of Maureen was a solicitor, George Harris, and he had assisted us when we bought Christchurch Road. It was interesting that in those days there was little chance of getting a mortgage unless one had a regular savings account with a building society. To hedge our bets, we had saved with two! Our first house had been bought through a with-profits endowment policy – George had a contact with the local branch manager of Scottish Life so the deal was done. When it came to Old Harlow, we took an additional policy for the balance. It had cost extra in repayments but each matured at different times. The with-profits were more than the interest paid so we had only paid the basic price. Sadly, this sort of arrangement is a thing of the past.

At the time, it was difficult to sell houses and we were reaching the stage when the new house was approaching completion and we didn’t have a buyer for ours. It was a nail-biting time. Of course, it was a topic of conversation in the management dining room at LH and I gather that our managing director spoke 278

to Andrew Smith of S&N (no relation) and they offered to finance us and take over the Ilford property until it was sold. That was a relief and enabled us to move on schedule. It took over a year before a buyer could be found and the house was empty all that time.

On 11 March 1966, the removal van arrived and we were on our way. The house was fine, but the garden was a mound of earth, mud and builder’s rubble. One thing we decided to do was to give the house a name and – from our sailing background we called it ‘Halliards’. I made a dagger board from marine plywood, varnished it until it shone like glass and mounted the name which was made from yachting halyard rope and mounted in the front porch which we had added. On a visit 40 years later, the name was still there!

The owners of all the five houses moved in within days. Four had young families and we all got on well together. The men had different backgrounds so we could help each other – and we did. Me at 98, George at 99, and John at 100 worked together as a team and did each garden in turn including laying paths and patios. We would dig out an area, put in hardcore (there was plenty of that!) and shuttering, and arrange for ready-mixed concrete to be delivered on a Saturday morning when we would all fill the path. Our cooperation also extended to the ladies who also got on well together.

I knew what I wanted in terms of the garden, but didn’t have the time or knowledge to plan it so I wrote to John Waterer, Sons and Crisp (Nurserymen to the Queen) at Bagshot, sending a plan with details of the garden and asking for a design with appropriate plants. They offered a free design and detailed layout provided I purchased their plants. I received 98 plants (shrubs, roses etc) plus planting positions for £40!

Thus, I had spring, autumn and winter colour plus a vegetable patch which worked very well.

On the wider front, we were settling in well to village life. Within 200 yards of the house and through our adjoining recreation field was a small private preparatory school – St Nicholas – which Mervyn attended. The children came from interesting families and were mostly already scheduled for public schools. Of course, birthday parties were the norm with the entire class invited. Maureen would organise the entertainments which the children loved. A popular one was a country ramble (fields were adjacent) where each child was given a list of things to look for and collect. Those with the most, got a prize although in effect they all got prizes.

We started attending the local church where I became a sidesman and would read the lesson. Mervyn later joined the choir. Maureen would help arrange the flowers and meet other wives from the area. We were later confirmed in the church by the Bishop of Chelmsford. One does meet some interesting characters attending church and Old Harlow had its share – retired army colonels, company directors, bankers and a few of independent means. Some had live-in staff like the Swires (of Cathay Pacific etc).

One such colonel lived in a large, rambling draughty house on Harlow Common. His wife was a large ‘tweedy’ lady with a bellowing ‘county’ accent who, when sitting in church never faced the altar but always

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faced the congregation. On one occasion when Maureen was doing the flowers and lifting a heavy vase, this lady called out in her strident voice, “Mind your guts girl!” Truly, one of life’s great characters!

It didn’t take us very long to get involved with the local community. Maureen joined the WI, met a lot of people which led to further introductions. The WI also produced local shows for the elderly and, on one occasion after the supper break, a member of the audience, a man in the front row, laughed so much the he, quite literally, died laughing! It was a shock to the cast but what a way to go. Have an enjoyable evening, a good supper then ‘pop-off’ laughing.

Our bonds with our neighbours became quite strong and we had many good Christmases together, with each house being responsible for one day and the others all invited – including the parents. We had some great parties!

An example of the strong bond that developed between us and, indeed, between other neighbours occurred on an early summer afternoon when June, next door, was watching television with their youngest son, Nigel.

It was raining quite hard. Suddenly there was a crack of thunder and lightening struck the steeple of church about 300 yards away. It then bounced to June’s TV aerial to earth itself through her TV. There was a loud bang; her TV exploded and all the electricity points and wiring were blown out leaving black gouges on the walls. How June and Nigel survived unhurt is amazing. In addition, the roof was blown off, the rain poured in and, assisted by the damaged water tank in the roof, cascaded through the house bringing dirt and plaster with it.

The fire brigade placed tarpaulins over the roof, the police arrived and the building had to be inspected for structural damage. The only liveable room in the house was the kitchen. George, meanwhile, was at work and knew nothing of this. When he turned the corner on his return, he found his severely damaged house with crowds of workers, police and residents milling around. He saw June and made what became the most memorable comment of the occasion. With all the disaster around, he turned the June and simply said, “June! What have you done?”

Everybody came to their aid. I swept out the muddy sludge from their hallway with a yard broom; others worked in the other rooms; Maureen somehow managed to get about seven children in her Mini and took them to a circus that was performing in Harlow; some were removing valuables and others were making the house as secure as possible. About 8pm, everyone was exhausted and hungry, so we went to the local fish and chip shop and ordered 30 portions. The owner couldn’t believe his luck! Everyone ate in the one remaining room – the kitchen. The family (two adults and their four children) were divided up between neighbours and everyone provided bedrooms. Fortunately, the house was structurally sound, and everything was covered by insurance, but it was still many months before the house was ready for them to move back.

We also became involved with the local Conservative Party (Old Harlow was at that time, the only Conservative area in Harlow New Town). The Chairman, Bruce Voller, was a member of Harlowbury Masonic Lodge and was instrumental in introducing me. I joined and became the Worshipful Master in 1977.

I was still actively involved in the East London Branch of the United Commercial Travellers Association and, because of the growth of Harlow, it was decided to open a Harlow Branch with East London as the sponsoring branch. I was invited to the inaugural meeting when the National Chairman and the Executive opened the new branch and was made an honorary member of the Branch.

Involvement with the Forest Gate, Ilford and United Districts Commercial Traveller’s Association kept me busy and I enjoyed spending time with this small independent group of genuine old-time CTs with hearts of gold. Some were in the toy trade and we had an annual Christmas Bazaar which attracted people from miles around as the stands were full of fantastic toys (all samples) at ridiculous prices. All the takings, after expenses were given to the association’s charities. I have to say that when I joined there was great suspicion as I was 280

regarded as possibly placed there to take over their association by the UKCTA. This was not the case. My reason was sentimental in that Edgar Parrish, my grandfather’s brother, had been a Member and was Chairman in 1915.

Life in Old Harlow was good and we enjoyed living there. Maureen got a part-time job with the local Courage’s depot which gave her an interest while Mervyn was at school.

My journey to Harold Hill was considerably longer and involved small villages and country lanes but, loving Essex, I never tired of it although it could be difficult when there was ice and snow.

Whilst I was still endeavouring to push for the much-needed new suture pack against the continuing resistance of Chris Yates, the storm clouds were beginning to gather. I felt that with the research facilities of Smith & Nephew (S&N) being based at Gilston Park near Harlow, we would have the resources to create change, but the Yates rock wouldn’t move. Little did I realise that at a later date, I would be responsible for his departure.

Meanwhile, my representatives were doing their best to maintain sales and I was concentrating on exporting.

We did very well to the extent S&N supported my application to apply for the Queen’s Award to Industry for export achievements. Sadly, we were unsuccessful but the application brought us to the attention of the Board of S&N, which I hoped would result in more research and development.

During the year, we had more visits to the factory by theatre staff and surgeons and more specialist exhibitions.

Theatre nurses had formed the National Association of Theatre Nurses with an annual national conference and exhibition. We supported this, strengthening our existing links and creating new ones but, as much as we were preferred to our competition, the pack was still the problem.

I was still pushing the export markets and on 9 November 1966 was on a flight to Cyprus. Our agent was Michael Michaelides, of The Cyprus Drug House in Nicosia, a very influential and wealthy man who was later to be the President of the country. He took me round and entertained me at his club where he drank too much and scared me as he drove his Jaguar at breakneck speed through Nicosia and right over a roundabout at night.

Because of the fighting between the Greeks and the Turks over the control of Cyprus, the country was segregated with United Nations forces maintaining an uneasy peace. Nevertheless, on Sunday, 13 November 1966, he took me to Kyrenia in North Cyprus. This was not easy as we had to travel in a United Nations convoy with heavily armed vehicles in front and behind. There was always the real risk of attack. Following the business meetings, we had a lunch of barbequed fresh fish and returned to Nicosia in time for me to catch a plane to Cairo.

The Egyptian government had banned agents, so they now operated as Scientific Office and employed medical representatives (often doctors). Moussa Rustum was our representative and he employed nine assistants including surgeons, doctors and a Brigadier who happened to be the Officer Commanding the Army Medical Stores! Moussa Rustum also represented a number of pharmaceutical companies including S&N. Local production of catgut was underway in Egypt in conjunction with Braun (Germany) and I was able to visit the factory and obtain details of their production methods. On 18 November I flew back to London in a VC10 – a magnificent aircraft.

The last significant event for the year was the retirement of Mrs V M Walker, the Director of the company.

This was on 16th December 1966 and S&N arranged a farewell Dinner at the Savoy Hotel in London, and was attended by directors of S&N, Mrs Walker and the executives of LH with their wives. These included Chris Yates, Miss Morris (Production Manager), Bob Munyard (Accountant) and me. I had hopes that the retirement of Mrs Walker, who had a conservative attitude regarding the company, would result in changes.

It did, but not the way I had hoped.

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—38— Reaching a Climax

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(Ligature Department) Ltd, 1967 was a decisive year. The work on the new pack was progressing but painfully slowly due in no small measure, to the lack of enthusiasm by Chris Yates. It must be remembered that our uniqueness and quality was due to the method of manufacture and the method of sterilisation. We sterilised our catgut by a chemical (iodine) process whereas the trend was moving to radiation which Chris Yates said affected the quality of the product. To maintain our sterilisation process meant that we had to find a suitable plastic compatible with iodine which could be filled and sealed in a sterile area. n t e r m s o f t h e l o n d o n h o s p i ta l

With the support of S&N research, a plastic material was found but it had to be suitably adapted for our production process. The company had recruited an excellent design engineer who developed a machine that would produce a pack that could be used in our specialised process. All this took around 18 months during which time we were endeavouring to maintain the sales level.

At this point, you will recall that the original sterilised catgut was produced by a famous 19th century surgeon named Lord Lister. He used iodine to sterilise the catgut and the London Hospital method used a similar technique. In our ‘museum’ I had some of Lord Lister’s original catgut and in 1967, the Royal College of Surgeons were celebrating the Lister Centenary. An exhibition of Lord Lister’s life and work was being arranged at the RCS and, due to our links, I was invited to assist in preparing that part dealing with sutures.

This included our sample of the original catgut.

On 5 April 1967, the Royal College of Surgeons hosted a Centenary Dinner at the College in honour of this pioneer and famous surgeon whose statue stands in the entrance hall. Attendance was by invitation only and included well known and famous names, not only from the UK but from overseas. I was invited to attend this prestigious event as a guest of the College. It was a momentous occasion.

Endeavouring to open new export markets, I left on 20 April for a two week visit to Portugal to assess the suture market and appoint a local agent. During this visit I found an excellent agent, Messrs Federico Bonet headed by a Dr. Paniagua; I was able to meet surgeons and theatre staff and agree a marketing plan and visit Hospitals in Lisbon, Oporto and Coimbra.

Meanwhile, I felt that S&N were having doubts about the future of the company and on 6 July, I flew to Paris with one of the directors to carry out a presentation of the London Hospital operation to the Board of a substantial French pharmaceutical company. Nothing resulted but it was obvious that we were up for sale!

The company had certain attractions for S&N in that we had a sterile production area and they were marketing a range of single-use sterile eye drops. It was expanding fast and they needed an increased production capacity.

To increase our competitive edge, I had introduced a range of non-absorbable suture materials which included stainless steel, braided silk, braided polyester, monofilament nylon and linen thread. These sutures were of a more permanent nature rather than catgut which is absorbed by the body. The sole UK manufacturer of monofilament nylon was ICI and I used to have periodic meetings with them to discuss the market. To ICI, the product had a small turnover and was something of a nuisance value, but they felt they should produce it for altruistic reasons. Their market for monofilament nylon was for brooms and brushes! The monofilament nylon for surgery was supplied to a number of overseas markets and, in one of our meetings, I negotiated that we take over the world-wide distribution of the product. ICI accepted and an Agreement was signed.

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This gave us links with many overseas manufactures and provided useful market research on usage in various countries.

Between 31 October and 3 November 1967, I made an exploratory visit to Denmark to view the market potential. I had a contact from S&N and visited the company, Axel Madsen. The reception was excellent and the company was most cooperative.

Two things occurred to me. Firstly, the excellent command of English by everyone I met – in fact, I actually thought a number were English people working in Denmark. The other was even more striking. All the cars I travelled in were Volvos and when I got in the first, I was asked to put on my seat belt. At that time, they weren’t compulsory in the UK, so I politely thanked the driver and was prepared to ignore the offer. He equally informed me that seatbelts were worn in Denmark and if I didn’t wear it, we weren’t going anywhere!

I had an offer I couldn’t refuse!

On the 18 March 1967, I was installed as the Chairman of the Forest Gate, Ilford and Districts CTA. This was a great thrill and honour as it was 50 years since my Great Uncle Edgar was himself installed in the same office. I just wonder what it must have been like in 1917 when life was so different. I had a good year with these ‘Knights of the Road’. They were all over 60, but they had loyal customers to whom they were loyal in return. The Association was reduced to about 16 members and they belonged to a bygone age, but they were the salt of the earth.

1968 was a busy and interesting year. The new suture pack was in advanced stages of development and I was creating a marketing strategy. The packs needed to be housed in a dispensing unit, easy to handle and each type of suture instantly recognisable. To achieve this a free-standing/wall mountable wire stand was designed to hold two boxes each of six types of sutures. A removable tongue on the bottom of the box allowed the packs to slide out from below. The viewable colour label carried a code that stated the type and size of suture material and, if applicable, a diagram and type of eyeless needle attached. The pack itself was clear (unlike our main competitor who used a foil pack) so the contents could be seen, and the batch details were printed on the label within each pack. An advertising and market strategy was developed. The stands were free if supplied with the contents (of the hospital’s choice). It was agreed that the launch would be at the 1969 Conference of the National Association of Theatre Nurses. In the meantime, I would carry out market tests as soon as the first production runs were available.

Through our work with the UKCTA, Maureen and I had spent a year working as Stewards for the Commercial Travellers’ Benevolent Institution Appeal. She worked on behalf of the Ladies Committee as Chairman and I represented the East London Branch also as Chairman. The Festival Dinner was held at the Grosvenor House on 3 May and we were present as stewards. A very splendid occasion.

In Old Harlow, I was elected as the local Conservative candidate for the Old Harlow Ward at the Harlow UDC elections, so I spent many evenings working in the committee room and canvassing as many houses as possible, together with a great team of workers. The election was held on 11 May and I received the highest number of votes in the history of Old Harlow – due to a great team effort. There was a great celebration that night. I found myself on several council committees including a School Governor of a local comprehensive.

I was already a Governor of St. Nicholas School. At that time, Harlow was considered the most left-wing Council in Britain and the Sunday Times carried a photograph of the Chairman of the Council wearing his Chain of Office and marching in front of workers on strike. There was no love lost between Labour and Conservatives and every committee and council meeting was a battle!

At an earlier stage, I mentioned that George, my next door neighbour, and I took over an allotment near the house and that the previous occupant had cared for it and that it was well fertilised. We dug it over and planted various vegetables in the spring. In June we started gathering the crops which we shared. The results were quite staggering. Between June and the end of July, my share of three items alone were as

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follows; peas 44lbs, new potatoes 175lbs and shallots 8lbs. Apart from that we had cabbages, lettuces, spring onions etc. Sadly, this only lasted for one season as George’s work and mine meant that we didn’t have the time (or expertise) to repeat the preparation for the next season, so the yields were a lot lower.

The three neighbours, John, George and I were all keen tennis players as were our wives, so we became members of the local tennis club. The three of us were also keen on squash and every Friday evening we would book a double session at the Harlow Sports Centre so that we could play each other and then finish the evening with a few beers in the bar (there were no drink/driving laws then!). Sadly, on one evening, I ‘stopped’ a hard driven squash ball in my right eye. Not only was it very painful but I had to spend some days in a darkened room as I couldn’t stand the light. I was off work for a week and on top of that I developed an eye ulcer which could have affected my sight but I was fortunate, and it cleared after hospital treatment.

The year brought its usual Dinners, The Romford Pharmaceutical Society Annual Dinner (although I was no longer in the industry, we were always invited as guests). It was pleasant to renew friendships with various doctors and pharmacists. We had the Harlowbury Lodge Ladies Night and the last function was the Harlow Conservative Association Dinner on the 8th November, where I was asked to act as Toastmaster. It was a fun evening.

1969 was busy in Harlow UDC Council work and I served on various committees; Public Health, Parks and Recreation, Allotment Sub Committee, Area Health Sub Committee, Entertainments, the Town Show Sub Committee and the Museum Advisory Committee. One of the sub-committees I enjoyed most was the Victoria History for the County of Essex which was held in Chelmsford. This was always considered a minor, non political, committee of little value or interest and the ruling Labour Group were only too glad for someone to volunteer. With my love of Essex, I was delighted and met many interesting people and, hopefully, made a useful contribution. I also learned that every county in the country had a Victoria History committee. When I started to report to the Council the proceedings of the meetings, the ruling Labour Group became interested and wanted the action so I was promptly voted off! That’s politics!

I enjoyed my three years as a Councillor, but found that with committee meetings going on sometimes until the early hours of the morning, particularly the budget meetings, I really couldn’t spare the time as I had a busy job. It is also interesting to note that in those days, being a Councillor was voluntary with no payment or expenses.

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—39— Ireland Holidays

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that we started taking holidays in Ireland. Maureen had passed her driving test and I had bought her a Mini which proved to be a great car. We used it for holidays including Ireland.

We saw an advert in the Telegraph for a place called Inishbofin, an island off the west coast of Ireland. The next land was America! t w a s at a b o u t t h i s t i m e

We booked, made a bed for Mervyn in the back of the car, piled in our luggage and set off for Fishguard. I drove through the night and we caught the ferry to Rosslaire. We stayed at farms across Ireland until we reached Cleggan Harbour. There, we had to leave the car and board an ancient fishing boat for the crossing.

It was open water and there was little cover from the wind and waves. By the time we reached Inishbofin, we were wet and bedraggled. As we entered the little harbour, we were enchanted. This was going to be an adventure – and it proved to be just that! Our accommodation was the old Manor House. The owners had bought it and decided to clear everything out. We were told that the library which had contained many old books and manuscripts had been piled up in the courtyard and burnt along with Louis XV chairs, etc. These lovely people really had no idea of what they had done. They then had risked ‘everything’ by placing the advert in the Telegraph, and, to their surprise, had received bookings for virtually the entire season. Our room was acceptable, so we unpacked. The island was small with a population of less than 200 engaged in farming and fishing. There were about four women, although there was a tiny school and the usual priest.

The principal food was lobsters which were kept in a floating wooden crate in the harbour. The bar was a tumbledown brick and wooden shed, with a couple of curtained windows, which allowed the men inside to peep out and see any approaching wives. When one went in the bar kitchen, it was quite usual to find lobsters walking round the floor. For dessert we had seaweed jelly! The beer, of course, was Guinness served from a barrel on a bench. The seating was a few old beer crates (well, they’d burnt the chairs!) and there was a dim electric light powered from outside by a noisy and ancient generator.

The other aspect I must mention was the toilet. There was one only for everyone to use. If that was difficult enough, I must also inform you that it could only be flushed once a day – and with seawater! The rest I leave to your imagination but, I must say although there was no shower, in the week we were there, everyone remained fit and well.

You will enjoy one experience. It occurred on our first night. Having sampled the Guinness in the bar I retired to bed only to receive a call of nature around 11pm. I went down the corridor to the loo and whilst I was in there I thought the light was getting dimmer. Was this the Guinness? No. The suddenly the light went out. I was in total, and I mean total, darkness. I found the catch on the door and stepped out into the corridor.

Which way should I go to find our room? Yes, turn left. I stepped forward and hit something. What was it? It felt like a table. It was so dark. I gingerly moved forward feeling the walls for a door. There were going to be several, but which one was ours? I hadn’t counted them on the way out. I knew ours was on the left but which one. Then I felt a door and found a handle only to hear a voice say, “There’s someone out there”.

Panic set in. I daren’t rush as I might hit something and it might fall over, so I moved forward and with great relief came to an open door with a gentle light coming in from a pale moon. It was the lounge, and I knew that our room was next to it. I reached it and called out to Maureen who wondered why I had been so long.

I was relieved to be back and she thought it was a huge joke. I found next morning that the generator in the bar was the only source of electricity on the island and it was switched off at 11pm to save fuel.

We spent the days on the empty sandy beaches, swimming, walking and enjoying a relaxing holiday. We got to know some of the locals and Mervyn was always invited to stroke their donkeys. On one occasion, the 285

priest decided to get the ferry men to bring back some ice cream. There was high anticipation on the island for this treat. The boat went out in the morning and was due back around 4pm. A group gathered when it appeared. Upon landing, this long-awaited delicacy was handed to the priest.

It was in a large tin. Sadly, on opening, the ice cream had melted and all that was left was a yellow, gooey mess. Had the boatmen tried to keep it cool for the crossing? No. One evening there was to be a special event. A Ceili in the school hall. The music would be provided by a local with a squeeze box, sitting on a desk in the classroom. Oil lamps provided the light and the toilets were – well, the left field was for the ladies and the right field for the men. With so few women on the island and so many men, the odds were against the lady visitors. Some of the men looked as if they had walked in straight from the fields although some may have had a wash. The desks were pushed against the wall and the music began. The longer the evening went on, the faster the jigs and reels became until around 11pm everyone was exhausted (that certainly applied to the visiting ladies). It was then a walk back by moonlight to our pitch dark hotel. When we came to leave Inishbofin, we were quite sad. Whilst the conditions left a lot to be desired, we had had a fantastic time which we still remember with affection.

In fact, all our holidays in Ireland were special. We always stayed on farms; we were always well looked after; we loved the people; we had lots of fun and we could always rely on the unexpected! Like for example when we found that country filling stations served Guinness alongside the petrol – I’d never thought of drinking a pint of Guinness with one hand while filling the car with petrol with the other!

In the evenings we tended to visit the local pubs where we could meet the locals who were very friendly, although as the evening wore on the singing started which always led to republican songs. Discretion being the better part of valour, we felt it wise to join in as sometimes we would feel that eyes were upon us. Nothing was said but what was memorable was the closing time! At 10.30pm the landlord called ‘Time’ and we were instructed to take our part-filled glasses and follow everyone outside. Strange custom we thought but followed the others. The column walked round the side of the pub – all carrying their glasses – and back in the front door where we all sat and carried on as if nothing had happened. I presumed the bar had been emptied at the appropriate time so the law was satisfied. Strangely enough, a little while later the local Garda (Police) arrived, had a drink and then left! But then this was Ireland in the 50s. It must have been midnight before we finally got back to the farm.

Whilst on the subject of alcohol, this part of Ireland was noted for its ‘Potcheen’ and, apparently, there were illicit stills all round the area where we were staying. I was anxious to try it and, as we were staying on a farm at the time, I asked the farmer’s wife how I could get some. She gave me an old-fashioned look and said she would see what she could do. The next morning while we were having breakfast, the postman arrived, left the mail and a bottle wrapped in newspaper. The farmer’s wife brought it in – it was the Potcheen in a clear bottle with a cork rammed in the top. The contents were clear and colourless although it did contain small pieces of fern floating in it. Thanking her (it was £1), I asked her where the postman got it. The room nearly exploded with horror and I was informed that I hadn’t seen anything and didn’t know anything. I took the point. I often wondered whether they thought I was a Custom’s Officer in disguise, I carefully packed the bottle in our clothes and got it home. I did try it but it really was raw spirit so we decided to keep it and put it on our Christmas pudding – what a stupid idea! After Christmas lunch the pudding was brought in and placed in the centre of the table, a small amount of Potcheen was poured from the bottle and a match applied. The effect was akin to a small incendiary device. A flame shot up and left a circular black mark on the ceiling. Well, I did say it was like raw spirit. The pudding, however, had a fantastic flavour so we reserved the rest of the bottle for our annual Christmas puddings. It lasted about 10 years and Christmas puddings have never been quite the same since.

Our experiences in rural Ireland showed the local people to be very relaxed and hospitable. Often when out walking, we would meet a man leading a donkey and he would frequently ask, “Would the little boy like a 286

ride on the donkey?” The answer was invariably yes so Mervyn would be sat on the donkey’s back and taken for a walk. Hopefully, it would be in the direction that we wanted to go but often it would not. It was apparent that there was little sense of time with the people and they were happy to spend their day in a totally relaxed manner.

Driving in Ireland was interesting, but could be quite frustrating particularly as road signs were sometimes non-existent and, as we were often travelling on minor roads, this could be a problem as the maps weren’t particularly accurate either. When asking directions, we soon learned not to say, “Is this the way to *****?” because, if you suggested or pointed in a direction, they’d agree with you. They were trying to be helpful.

On a number of occasions, the correct route would be in the opposite direction!

Some of the Irish farmhouses were Georgian or early Victorian; charming from the outside but surprising when you went inside. Once, we arrived at this lovely house at the end of along drive and received a wonderful welcome from the farmer’s wife. When we entered, the staircase was straight ahead and we were advised that it had been freshly painted that morning – the sides of the stairs were newly painted white and were certainly not dry. That meant carrying our cases carefully up the stairs. At the top of the stairs facing us, with the door open, was the toilet and washbasin (en suites didn’t exist then) When we came to use the loo, we found that the toilet pan was on a plinth, so it was rather like sitting on a throne. In order to flush it, we had to take the top off the cistern and juggle the innards so it would fill with water first! Our room was comfortable although the furniture was somewhat ancient. One problem was that we had single sheets on the double bed. We did, however, have lovely views over the countryside!

The dining room was large with a very big table. Windows reached from floor to ceiling and there were old, heavy curtains which were looped over a curtain pole and held in place by large safety pins. The curtains couldn’t be drawn. The food, however, was wonderful. Soon after our arrival, Mervyn was taken out into the farmyard to meet the farmer and go round the farmyard. They had a herd of Friesians. One was called ‘Strawberry’ and Mervyn was promptly lifted on the cow’s back for a ride. He had his welly boots and was happy to spend his time on the farm.

The evening we spent with the farmer and his wife in the lounge. They loved talking to guests and said they loved playing cards. “Did we play cards?” The answer was not really but they talked us into playing Whist and to make it fun, we started playing for pennies. They were a lot worse than us so we finished the evening having almost won the equivalent of our accommodation money. They didn’t mind and said they had had a wonderful evening.

As we were leaving next day, Mervyn was up early, put on his wellies, and went to see the milking. We went out into the farmyard to see the farmer and were nearly drowned by one of the other guests who had had a bath. Why? Because someone had cut off the drain pipe as it left the house and the bathwater came straight into the yard and almost on to our heads! As we had to leave soon after, Maureen asked if we could have a bucket of water to wash the cow poo off the wellies. “Oh, that’s alright my dear, I’ll do those”. We were horrified to see her push the breakfast dishes in the sink to one side and wash the wellies under the tap!

On another occasion we were staying on a farm at harvest time. We thought it would be nice to see a harvest from close quarters, but we didn’t anticipate how close we would get! At that time, Irish farmers were not highly mechanised and, as harvesting was labour intensive, it was done on a cooperative basis with local farmers sharing the work. So in the morning the team arrived – about 20 men and 5 women. Jobs were allocated.

Mervyn, who was about nine was told he had to drive the tractor in the field. What? He could only ride a bike.

That’s alright said the farmer we’ll show him, and they did. His job was to drive the tractor slowly up and down the field towing a cart. The men would lift the half hundredweight bales of straw up onto the cart and two men on the cart would stack them. I was one of the team lifting the bales on to the cart. It was quite easy to start with but as the stacked bales on the cart got higher, one had to lift the pitchfork with its heavy 287

bale higher and higher until you were reaching at full stretch. It was exhausting work. Mervyn, meanwhile, had to drive his tractor in a straight line slowly between the bales which he did admirably.

I hadn’t thought anything about Maureen, but she was busy too. It was the job of the wives to prepare a massive lunch for all the men working in the fields. There was so much to do and so much to prepare that Maureen was equally quite exhausted. The lunch was fantastic and everyone mixed in together. The other farmers were very friendly and wanted to talk about England and where we lived. The outcome was that we had a new experience which we thoroughly enjoyed although we have avoided harvest times ever since!

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—40— The Demise of the Company

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to modernise the packaging of the company’s product range as a priority, and there were frequent Board Meetings with Andrew Smith and Alan Berton of S&N, and Bob Munyard, Chris Yates and myself from LH. Even though the resources of S&N Research were available, it was apparent that CCY had little enthusiasm to progress the project. With the retirement of Mrs Walker, the overall control of our operation was being transferred to Smith & Nephew Pharmaceuticals at Welwyn Garden City (WGC).

Whilst accounts and production had to stay at Harold Hill, I was allocated an office at WGC where I had to share space with the Marketing Manager. Neither of us liked the idea; it was a large room, but we lost our privacy. fforts were being made

My problem was that the action was at Harold Hill – contact with hospitals, export agents, advertising agents, my own representatives, distributors, but I was at WGC. Initially, I limited myself to a couple of days there each week and spent the other three days at Harold Hill. In effect, I had two days each week when I did nothing and three days at HH when I did five days’ work! The two directors to whom I reported at WGC were Fred Smith, Managing Director, and Jack Gallimore, Marketing Director. Both were very pleasant and realised my difficult situation in that I was not on their payroll, although they had responsibility for our company.

S&N were ‘kind’ employers in those days and allowed those approaching retirement to act in a support role rather than have a regular work routine. This meant that they attended the office, but had very little to do, so part of the day was spent on the golf course! I must admit that I joined them and bought my set of golf clubs there. The two who befriended me were both knowledgeable and charming. In fact, the daughter of one was married to Rolf Harris.

The marketing manager, whose office I shared, was a pharmacist and controlled the S&N sales representatives.

He was not the sort of person I would have selected as a colleague. He was boastful, a show-off, extremely arrogant and a bully to his salesmen. When chatting in the office, he would take every opportunity to try to make me feel inferior and tell me how brilliant he was at everything! On one occasion, he was telling me how good he was at playing tennis, so I suggested that we arranged a match on the S&N Research Courts at Gilston Park. He was delighted so I arranged a doubles game, which included Maureen. We couldn’t believe it. He arrived looking immaculate with new shoes, socks, shorts, tee shirt and jacket. The only thing was that his playing was rubbish. He soon realised his situation and after a few games retired with a painful calf muscle. Nevertheless, we tolerated each other at work and later became quite friendly when he realised that my management background and experience was wider than his.

I have since been grateful for one thing he taught me. We were talking one day about something I was thinking of buying and he said, “Remember, you never regret your extravagances”. I thought about that and it is absolutely true. Think about it! If you go to buy something and you choose the better/more expensive option, you do not usually regret it, but if you choose the inferior option you may always have doubts on your original choice. Would the better item have lasted longer, worked better, given greater personal satisfaction, retained its value, etc. That advice has guided me on many occasions since and I pass it on to the reader.

The new pack and product range was launched early in 1969 and editorials in the Nursing Mirror and Nursing Times indicated that the whole concept was correct, and sales of the product range started to take off. At this time, I wrote a paper for S&N on the suture market and possible future growth areas. The latter included products linked to surgery such as low cost, high volume and high profit disposable items and 289

secondly, high cost, high profit items such as surgical implants (replacement hips, knees, shoulders) developed in conjunction with surgeons where the LH connections could be used. This thinking was rejected

by S&N at the time, but it is interesting that the current S&N medical business is principally surgical implants and wound healing products!

During this period, I was still actively involved with my Council duties which were becoming onerous. Each Saturday morning, I would receive through the post a large envelope containing Minutes of recent meetings, agendas for the coming week, copies of letters, Council Officer’s Reports, specific requests requiring my involvement. I was also elected Chairman of the Ilford Group of the Institute of Marketing (soon to become the Essex Group).

Meanwhile, LH was getting problems with production and about that time S&N appointed a semi-retired accountant to take charge of the Company. On arrival, we had a meeting to review our operation and arrange to provide regular updates. It was not long before we realised that he had been put there to close down the company!

Slowly the production was reduced, and I was expected to maintain sales to lower the stock levels. We all tried to make the case to keep the company going, but the decision had been made by the S&N Board.

Gradually an air of despondency settled over the site. As staff left, they were not replaced. The offices were emptying; the production areas became depleted and there was silence in the corridors. The company was in its death throws. My assistant, Richard Murrant, was seeking another job and from 19 June 1969, I had to leave the site and was transferred to Welwyn Garden City permanently.

Bob Munyard, our accountant was to be transferred to Gilston Park and Chris Yates was offered an office and a job (unspecified) with the research company also at Gilston Park.

I was concerned about my representatives and, with S&N, we investigated a scheme to incorporate them into the S&N Pharmaceutical sales force, but my men were skilled and well connected surgical representatives and didn’t want to become medical representatives, so they sought jobs with other companies.

The story has a final twist. As already mentioned, Chris Yates had been the prime reason for the demise of LH through his continuing negativity and his antipathy towards change. He didn’t like me and wrote across the definition of Marketing, “Should be orated from a good-sized dung heap”. It is strange, therefore, that I should be the one who ended his career with S&N. Unbeknown to me, he wrote an individual letter to each of my representatives stating that because of his objections ‘over certain procedures’ (and he named specific directors), he either had to leave or go to the research company. He said he had chosen the latter as he could not afford the former. With my representatives’ uncertainties and fears, this letter was dynamite and as soon as they received it, my team were on the phone to me. I was furious that he should have contacted them without telling me. I managed to get the letters back and reported the matter. The result was that he was summoned to the company and dismissed. What a stupid thing to do! As a man of around 60 years of age, he had been given the opportunity of spending his remaining years with S&N Research, having a comfortable office and little to do, but had thrown the opportunity away because of his vicious and arrogant nature. I don’t know what happened to him and I don’t take any pride in being the instrument of his downfall.

If, however, his attitude had been different and he had cooperated, we could have all enjoyed a progressive and satisfying career with a product that many regarded as the finest on the market. As it was, I was about to enter a very difficult period which was to affect the rest of my career and working life.

I was now, in effect, employed by S&N Pharmaceuticals with no real job! I relied on assignments. For example, I carried out a world-wide survey of tuberculosis and treatment. On another occasion, I was designing production and marketing procedures for new pharmaceutical products – all interesting but not providing continuity or a career.

This uncertainty carried on and I realised that I could not expect to keep receiving a salary and company car 290

indefinitely. We negotiated and eventually, S&N stated that as they could not find a suitable position at my level, I would be made redundant from 31 December 1970.

I negotiated a separation payment of ÂŁ2,000 plus the use of my company car for 3 months, with an option to purchase. So that was it. Eight years as the Marketing Manager with international experience in a company that was forced to close owing to the intransigence and obtrusiveness of a key employee, and I was unemployed!

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—41— Going it Alone

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there was no real job for me within Smith & Nephew, I had decided that I would go it alone and set up as a Marketing Consultant. I felt that there were gaps in the market where small, developing companies needed marketing support but could not afford to set up a department. e i n g a w a r e t h at

I registered a company, Anglia Industrial Marketing, on 29 December 1970 and had visiting cards, brochures and letterheads printed along with inscribed book matches (they were popular then then). I distributed these to all members of the local Chamber of Commerce at their monthly luncheon and addressed the gathering explaining what I was offering. A local service to local companies. I was approached by Nigel Proudlock, whom I knew through our work in the local Conservative party. Nigel had an engineering company in Harlow which was quite small and was mainly involved in small jobbing work. He had many contacts including those in the oil industry. A problem they had was the safe transfer of cables throughout their sites. Cables could not be laid on the ground because of possible oil and chemical corrosion.

I was asked if I could find an answer and estimate the size of the possible market for a suitable product. I had six weeks for the project. I carried out research using local libraries and contacted oil companies (Shell etc) and suppliers of equipment. In terms of a product, I came up with, in simple terms, a ladder system to be used horizontally around chemical plants. Such ladders could be mounted at any height and bent to go round corners. The concept was simple, but the market was enormous particularly when one included the chemical and other industries.

The big market was in the Netherlands which housed many oil companies, and I recommended that a visit be made urgently. My thick report was delivered on time and I had a long meeting with Nigel. He took up the recommendations and within 3-4 months, his ailing company was working flat out supplying these ladders to the UK and overseas.

Nigel was delighted and paid my fee of £300 and that was it! He was making a fortune and I was back to square one! I had learned some interesting lessons from my first venture. Firstly, one-off assignments are not lucrative unless there can be some continuity and follow-up. Secondly, when committed full-time to a project, there is no time to look for the next assignment. Thirdly, it is useful to have a partner who can seek work and with whom one can discuss projects and fourthly, it is vital to develop contacts.

I made some interesting contacts through my Institute of Marketing branch. One was a group of three economists in Woolwich who had a ‘think-tank’ and advised local companies. The idea was that I would pick up any marketing needs but, although I went to see them every couple of weeks and we had coffee, nothing ever materialised.

I also met up with Alex Gerrard, an ex-medical representative whom I knew. He had made the decision that he wanted to go it alone, become an agent and source products to sell. He had one interesting product which was some years ahead of its time. It was an extractor fan with built-in filters to clean air, and the immediate market was pubs and hotels. There was no doubt that it was effective and, although it weighed about 12lbs, I contacted a number of breweries including Truman’s and Charrington’s, in and around London, carried this machine and demonstrated it. The recognised problem with pubs and bars was that of tobacco smoke (smoking was accepted then) and the smell of beer, particularly after the bar had been shut all night.

The concept was accepted but a larger model would be required. In addition, a great number would be needed, and the breweries would want to deal direct with a manufacturer where they could exert their buying power. So, after considerable effort, time and cost, nothing materialised, and I earned nothing.

292

I became involved with a chap, Peter Veevers, who was running a successful sales training company and he wanted someone to share the workload and develop the business. My background was ideal, and we got on well. The main problem was that his operation was in the west country, but I was happy to travel. I did join in some of the sales training sessions and they were quite successful. One in particular was with a wellknown horticultural company and garden centre (Notcutts). The staff had been with the company for many years and were opposed to training. They said they knew all about the company, its products and the customers. “It’s a waste of time” was the general comment, but it was a company directive, so they had to attend. The atmosphere was tense when they sat down in the classroom. My colleague, however, soon got them involved by asking specific questions to individuals about their actual jobs which soon got them talking, so that they felt they could show that the course was a waste of time. They were not quite so vociferous, however, when their manager sat in!

We built up their training on their existing knowledge and demonstrated the best way to start a sales interview, how to maximise an order, handle objections and close the sale. They had to ‘sell’ us products and we could be difficult buyers! As the week progressed, they became more involved and the confidence grew. At the conclusion of the course, one of the senior salesmen who had been with the company all his life came up to me and said, “Thank you. If I had been given all this knowledge years ago, my life would have been so much easier”. I thought that this was a wonderful compliment and I have never forgotten it.

It was apparent that Peter and I could work together but it was a matter of how. I spent hours on the phone (it cost me a fortune) with him discussing how we could set up a company, our investment and modus operandi. Although I was travelling to the venues and doing training, he did not seem to want to pay expenses, let alone a salary. In the end, it became obvious that he did not really want someone else in the business, so I withdrew.

The bank balance was getting low, Mervyn had been accepted for Bishops Stortford College, but with forthcoming school fees plus all the uniform, sports kit, etc, I felt that we would have to withdraw his name.

Maureen, however, who had a part-time job with Courage’s at their depot in Harlow, insisted that we must accept the offer. We did and I am pleased that, for his sake, we did.

We were enjoying our time living in Old Harlow. Mervyn was attending the local private preparatory school and I was on the Board of Management. I was also becoming interested in local politics through our new-found friends in the area. The Sunday Times claimed that Harlow was the most left-wing Council in Britain. There was a photograph of strikers marching through the town, led by the Chairman of the Council wearing his chain of office. Old Harlow was the only real Conservative stronghold in the town. As one of our councillors wanted to stand-down at the next election, my name was put forward and I was accepted.

Following a campaign canvassing virtually every house in my area, I was elected. Labour were by far the largest party having over 30 seats to our 5 or so. They dominated the main principal committees and I became a member of the Parks and Recreation Committee, the Allotments Sub-Committee, and the sole representative of the Victoria History for the County of Essex – all non-political appointments you will notice!

Because of my love and interest in Essex, I was pleased Victory History appointment and attended their meetings in the County Hall Chelmsford. That was until my contributions started to appear in Harlow when Labour began to feel that I was a possible threat, so I was voted out and replaced! I only served one threeyear term as a Councillor due to my pressures of work.

The Member of Parliament was, of course, a strong labour member. I can remember one general election when the traditional Conservative candidate, dressed in a three-piece suit complete with watch chain was booed and shouted down. He was not allowed to put his case. The next time we had a new candidate – an ex BOAC pilot, Norman Tebbit – a quite different man. When the meeting shouted and booed at him, he gave as good as he got – and they did not know what to do! On election night the Old Harlow conservative group had gathered in Nigel Proudlock’s house to await the results. Around 11.00pm I decided to go to the count in Harlow to see how things were progressing. It was a hot night, so the hall windows were open as I did not have a pass, I had to view from outside. Looking in I was amazed. The count was nearly complete, 293

and the Labour members present were not looking happy. The Conservative members were smiling one came over to me saying he thought we had won. Just after that the results were announced. Norman Tebbit had won and his career as a Conservative Member of Parliament had commenced. I drove back to our group to break the news and the champagne flowed. What an evening! Norman Tebbit and his wife arrived so more champagne! We held surgeries for constituents in Harlow and I sat with him. Norman Tebbit went on to serve in the government and was to become a member of the House of Lords.

Whilst the consultancy was developing reasonably well, I soon found that there were basic problems which needed to be addressed. Clients required virtually full-time dedication from their consultant and whilst I understood their needs and cooperated as much as possible, it meant that I did not have time to look for future projects. As a result, on completing of an assignment I had no follow-on work and, of course, no income.

It was about this time that I received a phone call from Ken Holland of Macarthys asking how I was doing. I explained my situation and he asked whether I might be interested in taking on a new pharmaceutical project explaining that an American pharmaceutical company wanted to set up a UK operation. He had been approached by the General Manager, European Operations, of a company named Pennwalt based in Rochester, New York. This had to be of interest, so he recommended me and I received a call to meet Saul S Babbin, the General Manager, at his hotel in London. He explained that he needed someone to set-up a UK operation; recruit, train and manage a sales force of experienced medical representatives to launch ‘a new molecule and a major step forward in diurectic/antihypertensive therapy’. The company would be based in Harrow in the offices of S.S. White – a leading supplier of dental equipment which was also part of the same company.

All this sounded interesting particularly as I had experience in diuretic therapy with Merck Sharp and Dohme.

Details were discussed which included a very realistic salary and an automatic Audi car. We shook hands and I walked out as the general manager of a new company. I had to establish an office within S.S. White; engage a secretary; recruit a national team of medical representatives; create literature; arrange distribution of the product through pharmaceutical wholesalers; structure a training course which would be held in Stratfordupon-Avon between 31 March and 6 April 1974, and order cars for the new representatives. A number of executives from the parent company attended and I could never quite decide whether this was for the benefit of the company or to obtain a free trip to the UK! From the contribution they made, I suspected the latter.

I was also required to fly to the Pennwalt headquarters in Rochester, New York State to meet the executives of the company and attend a training course for new medical representatives. Whilst there, Saul Babbin, who was Jewish, invited me to attend the Bar Mitzvah of his son, Jeffrey which was a new experience for me and most interesting. We attended the synagogue, and the men were required to wear a gold printed Kippah (skull cap) for the ceremony which was most impressive. A banquet followed to round off a memorable evening.

The company was launched and an enthusiastic team of representatives went forth. I visited each one to check on their working and give enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I was unable obtain the data analysis of each representative’s activity. Pennwalt paid for this but would not release the figures so I could not measure individual performances. Sales were sluggish and I discussed this with Saul Babbin. We were in a fiercely competitive market and our product did not seem to have any outstanding advantage.

We were a new company unknown to the medical profession. I visited senior consultants in some of the major London Teaching Hospitals and Glasgow. One instance is worth mentioning. You may remember earlier that when working at the Maudsley Hospital on a research project, a consultant anaesthetist from the Westminster Hospital used to attend to give injections and later our Professor found out that this individual was going to publish results under his name? In my new role I had a meeting with a senior consultant at the same hospital and I was invited to lunch in the Senior Consultants Dining Room – a rare privilege I might add!

Entering the dining room, I glanced across to a nearby table to see the consultant I knew from the Maudsley 294

Hospital, having lunch. He had progressed in the profession and had received a knighthood. I would have loved to renew our acquaintance but felt that discretion was the better part of valour!

Although my team worked extremely hard, the product was not producing the sales which I and the company required. In simple terms there was no apparent prescribable advantages over existing products and doctors could not be expected to change patients' medication unless there was a real advantage. Some clinical trial results were published but they were not over impressive. In short, I felt that this one product company was not going anywhere so on 13 April 1974 I wrote to Saul Babbin and offered my resignation. He replied accepting it on 19 April 1974. I do not know what effect this had on my team, but later Pennwalt withdrew from the UK market. In some ways I was sad as I had high hopes for the operation. I had put a lot of effort into the start-up all to no avail. There was also the matter of one’s personal pride as I cannot excuse/forgive failure. Whilst Saul had written to some of the medical recruitment agencies on my behalf, I had to admit that I was out of work!

8th Harlow scout Mervyn, Old Harlow

295

`

—42— Reckitt & Colman

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h i s m ay s o u n d s t r a n g e ,

but I do not seem to have any record of how I became linked with Reckitt & Colman! The first record I have is a letter from the Divisional Personnel Manager, Bob Sandow and it is amazing how small this world can be. When I was a medical representative working in East London, I met Bob who was also a medical representative and covering the same area. We had the odd coffee together and discussed our relative companies. I believe he worked either for Horlicks or Ovaltine and merely called on doctors in the hope that they would recommend his product for a good night’s sleep! I could never work out how his performance could be measured – no wonder he was relaxed!

I must have had some contact with Reckitt and Colman (R&C) because the first letter I have is dated 1 August 1974, offered an appointment as Professional Services Manager. At the time, R&C were starting to expand and they wanted me to join them, but did not have the right vacancy so offered a ‘holding’ appointment. I would be responsible for representative training and sales promotion activities (exhibitions etc) and a major function would be establishing a new training department. The salary would be £4,600 per annum plus a company car. R&C was a major British company and the pharmaceutical division included products such as Dettol, Disprin, Codis, Sennokot. Their prescription range was limited but the company was well-known to doctors. A managing director had been appointed with the object of developing prescription products and the first was Gaviscon – initially prescribable and subsequently an over the counter product. Gaviscon offered distinct advantages over the usual antacids and became the leading product in its class. This seemed to present a ground-floor opportunity but there was one problem. We would have to move to Hull! Maureen had an enjoyable job working for Courage’s (brewery) in Old Harlow and Mervyn was starting at Bishops Stortford College as a day boy. We had great neighbours, enjoyed Old Harlow, our parents were within easy commuting distance and we felt settled and the world was good – except that I needed a job!

Much discussion took place. Apart from the problems of moving to a different part of the country, what about Mervyn? He had got his place in a good school; he had his uniform and was ready to start. The market for executive jobs at the time was not easy and this could be an opportunity for a new start for both of us, but Mervyn would have to become a Boarder. He was not happy nor were we, so we all sat down and discussed the various pros and cons. The outcome was that we decided to accept the offer. I phoned Bob Sandow and received a reply dated 9 August 1974 confirming the appointment, subject to a medical examination which was not a problem, particularly as R&C would pay the fee! R&C were also prepared to pay our removal expenses and the expenses for Maureen and me to visit Hull to see the area and view property.

We were booked into the Beverly Arms Hotel, in Beverley, as a base and the Sales Manager, Norman Thomason, welcomed us, and we had dinner together. He was from Lancashire and had a great sense of dry humour. We got on well together and subsequently we became firm friends. The company had a squash court, and we played most Friday evenings. Poor Norman was not really a racket player and I do not think he ever won, but he was a great sport. We later got to know his wife, Joyce, who was most pleasant. I visited the company’s offices in Dansom Lane and was made welcome. We looked at properties and were amazed at the difference in prices compared with Essex. Everything looked interesting and exciting – except that we would have to sell our home, find a house in or around Hull, move all our furniture, say goodbye to our friends and neighbours and Mervyn would have to become a boarder. It turned out that we were to have a new and enjoyable life for the next few years, but first there were many arrangements to be made.

I travelled to Hull on 2 September 1974 and the company had booked me into a comfortable hotel, where I could stay until I was re-settled. Having been introduced to the management team and established my 296

office, I had to prepare for a representatives training course managed by Norman Thomason. I was also responsible for organising exhibitions. These representatives were different from those I had dealt with previously because R&C was basically an OTC (over the counter) product company as opposed to ethical pharmaceutical products; for example, they were not experienced in calling on the medical profession and hospitals. It was an interesting challenge to introduce this form of selling and they were a good team.

Fortunately, Norman Thomason had experience in this field, so it made life easier. Not that it lasted more than a few weeks because I was moved to the newly created International Division and made a Grade 5 manager with the appropriate salary increase.

In the evenings, I was not only reading about the company background but driving round to look at houses in Hull. I was not impressed. From discussions with other managers, it appeared that they tended to live in the surrounding small towns and villages. I made several friends in R&C and they were helpful as many of them had been on my path of moving north. Maureen could not easily come to Hull as Mervyn was in full time school which included Saturdays. When I was home on one occasion, I said that we would come and watch him play cricket – Saturday afternoons were devoted to sport. Mervyn was quite adamant that we should not, and it was unnecessary! We said nothing but decided to go and how interesting it was! When we drove into the front of the school, we saw a little figure wielding a large broom sweeping up leaves and putting them in a wheelbarrow! Our precious one was on fatigues and we were paying all that money for his education! No wonder he did not want us to come.

Maureen did come to Hull and, after visiting various areas, we found a lovely house in Elloughton (about 7 miles from Hull). I was on the corner of Chantreys Drive and angled to face Brough Golf Course so had an open aspect. There were four bedrooms, lounge, dining room, study, and the usual offices. Outside were laid-out gardens, front and rear, with a double garage. Absolutely ideal. We purchased it for £22,000 freehold.

The house had been owned by the skipper of a Hull trawler. In those days Hull was a major fishing port and skippers earned £25-50,000 per year. Sadly, we were told that our skipper had developed a drink problem and lost his job.

So, it was all action. Our house in Elmbridge was put on the market and was purchased by the headmaster of the local private school, which was almost opposite. We planned for Mervyn to become a boarder at Bishops Stortford college, together with all the ‘kit’ he needed. It was sad to be leaving Old Harlow. We had made many friends and established local roots. Mervyn had been in the church choir; Maureen was involved in the WI and I had joined Harlowbury Masonic Lodge and was within two years of becoming the Worshipful Master. It takes years to reach this position and I knew that I would not get another chance. The members were exceedingly kind and allowed me to continue my progress, knowing that I could not attend the Lodges of Instruction but only the Meetings.

1 Chantrey Drive, Elloughton, East Yorkshire 297

So, on the appointed day, the furniture van arrived; everything was loaded on and we set off on this new adventure. We did have one problem. We had a tortoiseshell cat named Copper who could be quite temperamental. We had (after much effort) given her a sedative (which she spat out many times) and put her in the back of the car on top of piles of clothes. That was a ridiculous decision. She protested loudly and with claws extended tried to get out. At one stage, she got beneath the accelerator pedal thus stopping me being able to accelerate so she had to be put forcibly back in the rear of the car. She did not want to move to Yorkshire. In fact, when we reached our new home, she disappeared and after five days, Maureen went knocking on neighbour’s doors enquiring about Copper. She was found but there was a happy outcome. All the neighbours were looking for her and we made many friends as a result. As for Copper, she settled down to Yorkshire life as did we.

Maureen decided she wanted to work and was fortunate in finding a job in Hull as Secretary/PA to the Chairman of an engineering company. He was of the old school: chauffeur driven; never mixed with his staff; had lunch in his office on his own (dover sole every day); was very demanding (his letters had to be presented in a certain way and the secretary had to wait while he signed them) and so on. He also lived in Elloughton and the grounds of his house backed on to our garden, but he never acknowledged us in any way.

Maureen was a keen sportswoman and soon got involved. Her table tennis was county level, so she applied to join a club. Hull being a male-dominated area created difficulties and meant she had to have a ‘play-in’ test – very few women played table tennis in Hull. To make it more intimidating she had to face several men players, but she did not mind – she went on and beat them all! The face of women’s sport in Hull was changing.

She also became involved with tennis during the summer and badminton during the winter, playing in leagues and representing her company. She also partnered me in tennis mixed doubles when we represented Reckitt and Colman. Reckitt and Colman (R&C) had tennis and squash facilities which were wonderful, so our sporting interests were covered.

In terms of work, I was soon promoted and transferred to the burgeoning International Division. Sales of ‘over the counter’ products overseas were handled by the Export Division through local agents, but prescription products were handled by the Pharmaceutical Division. Where we had our own overseas subsidiaries, they were used when possible. My line manager was Alex Macfarlane, an Australian from Melbourne who had lived in the UK for many years. With his wife, Ruth, and family, they lived in Welton – a village next to us. Alex and I became great friends both socially and in business.

We soon found that there was a strong social aspect within the management group and parties were held in various homes, on a regular basis. This would involve invitations to management colleagues and their wives where the host would provide food and adequate wine. Our managing director, Ron Wing, was a great partygoer along with other members of the team. The time came for us, as the newcomers, to be put to the test. Our home was adequate, and Maureen produced superb food – a casserole that could be eaten in a casual way whilst chatting to the other guests. Then came the party time and Maureen was in her element!

She loved parties and organising games.

As an example, she would place five chairs close together in the middle of the room with six contestants sitting on them. Each contestant would be given a copy of a ‘doctored’ Daily Telegraph where the pages had been by removed and replaced upside down, round the wrong way, back-to front etc. The contestants had to put the paper back in the correct order with a prize for the winner. Can you imagine the chaos? Everyone struggling to sort out their newspapers which invariably got torn to pieces! No-one ever completed the tasks but to the contestants and onlookers, it was hilarious, ably assisted by the wine! Maureen had a selection of party games, so we were always popular.

In fact, life was good. We had a nice house with good neighbours next door. John was an aircraft design engineer working at Brough and Margaret was a schoolteacher. They had a son and daughter, both at 298

college. John was a real Yorkshire man always keeping his eye on his ‘brass’. We had fields locally where ‘Birdseye’ peas were grown. When ready, contractors moved in and harvested the peas which were frozen within two hours. The pea plants were left in the field and John was there gleaning the peas left behind. He would bring a carload of plants home and we would all sit in his garden shucking peas and he froze them.

He reckoned he obtained almost a year’s supply from one afternoon’s gleaning.

John and Margaret loved walking in the Yorkshire Moors and Dales, and they introduced us to some wonderful countryside. In addition, R&C had monthly walks on a Sunday with a guide, and together we developed a love for the Yorkshire countryside which we never lost.

Whilst we were settling into our new life in Yorkshire, we were conscious that Mervyn was settling into his new life as a boarder at Bishops Stortford College. Not long after we had moved North, I had to come back to Essex, returning on the Sunday so I agreed with the school that I would take him out for lunch. He was rather non-committal about school life, and I detected that all was not well. Whether he was home-sick or did not like the school I could not determine but as I left him at the school gate, he was crying. I felt terrible on the drive home. Maureen and I discussed the situation and realised that he had always lived within our small family; had never lived away from home and had attended a small prep school of around 20 children all from good homes. He was now away from family life; in a large school; sleeping in a dormitory with 35 other boys he didn’t know; having to fend for himself and, as a new boy, being integrated into a hierarchy where he was at the bottom of the pile and subjected to a degree of bullying . It was obvious that he was not happy, and survival would take time and be a painful process until he became accepted as one of the group. If he was not settled, his schoolwork would suffer so we decided that he would have to leave Bishops Stortford College and be with or near us. But where?

There were no public schools in our area. Hymers, a day school, was in Hull and Pocklington which was a boarding school. We visited Hymers but they had no vacancies, so we were off to Pocklington. We had a meeting with the headmaster, Mr Willet (an ex-county cricketer) in his study. It was a meeting we would remember! Mr Willet was a very pleasant and amiable man who sat back in his office chair which had side arms; he draped one leg over a chair arm to reveal a split in the seam of his trousers in a rather sensitive area. Maureen found it difficult to stop herself laughing and keep serious attention to the subject matter if you understand what I mean! I also thought the matter hilarious but felt that we needed to maintain our conversation on Mervyn and Pocklington School. The school had a good academic record and appeared relaxed; the dormitories accommodated 8 boys and there was a range of sports, particularly racket sports which Mervyn enjoyed. For boarders, there was a weekend exceat each month for those able to take it.

The ambience of the school was particularly good and seemed ideal to us. The school was near, the boarding arrangements had small dormitories, there was an attention to sport and Mervyn could come home during term time. Mr Willet was happy to accept Mervyn so we left the meeting feeling very satisfied that we had achieved to best possible result in the circumstances.

I contacted the headmaster of Bishops Stopford College explaining our circumstances and our reasons for wishing to transfer Mervyn to Pocklington. The response was rather ‘formal’ and it seemed apparent that they did not want to lose a pupil (and the fees!). They said that we would have to pay a terms fees in lieu of notice. I refused and after some discussions my views were accepted, and I paid a nominal leaving sum.

We drove down to Bishops Stortford and collected Mervyn and all his ‘gear’. He seemed to be incredibly happy leaving the school and knowing that he would be close to home when based in Pocklington.

Pocklington School Having been duly kitted out, we drove him to Pocklington, and he met the other boys with whom he would share a dormitory. According to him, it was quite different to Bishops Stortford College. The masters were kind and helpful, the other boys were friendly, his dormitory was comfortable and only held eight boys, the 299

food was particularly good, and the school ethos was more like a family unit. Mervyn spent the rest of his school years at Pocklington and it was a happy period and did well in his GCSEs. He became school captain of tennis and badminton and we presented a cup for badminton.

Academically, the masters were incredibly supportive particularly, when he was studying for his A Levels and, as a result he gained a place at Strathclyde University to read Catering and Hotel Management. In those days, there were no University fees and we were paid an allowance by the County Council towards his expenses. Whilst there, we bought him a car in Hull – a second-hand VW fastback which developed problems! We would receive a phone call – often on Saturday evenings saying that the car had broken down.

Frequently, this was in some out of the way place in the Scottish countryside when he was out with fellow students. He became known to virtually all the AA patrols in the area!

The car had to be towed to the VW garage where, usually, a fuel injector had been blocked. This happened throughout his stay in Glasgow. We went to his graduation when he obtained his BA degree and, it was only after his return to Hull, that the cause of the car problem was revealed. The petrol tank had rust in it and occasionally some rust would get sucked into a fuel injector thus stopping the engine. A new petrol tank was fitted, and the car was fine – unfortunately we had arranged to sell the car, so someone ended up with a good vehicle.

Meanwhile we were enjoying our lives in Hull. I had been promoted to a grade 6 manager, which was virtually Board level and meant that I joined the Directors’ Dining Room; I had a choice of cars; played for the R&C tennis and squash teams and could further my masonic interests. Maureen was representing her company in both tennis and badminton. In addition, we had dinner parties and enjoyed walking in the Yorkshire Moors and Dales.

We also had visits from both my parents and Maureen’s parents.

Whilst I was enjoying my career, I felt that something was missing, but I did not know what it was. This thought persisted but I could not analyse why I felt the way I did. The answer came from an unexpected source in a letter from Leslie Baker in Bexhill. In a chatty letter, he enclosed a leaflet from an organisation involved in spiritual work. I read it and re-read it and it made sense. I felt I must investigate this further, but I lost the leaflet! We searched everywhere – in the house, wastepaper baskets and even the dustbin, but it could not be found. Where were these people; who were these people; where could I find them? The questions remained unanswered.

About 6 weeks later, we went into Hull one Saturday morning – Maureen was having a hairdo and I was window shopping when I went into the local W H Smith’s to browse at the latest magazines. I noticed there was a new Yoga magazine and, as Maureen had recently joined a Yoga class, I thought it might be of interest, so I took it off the shelf. An insert fluttered on to the floor. Would you believe it, an identical leaflet which Leslie had sent and I had lost. There would be no chance of losing it a second time. I took it home and phoned the number on the Monday morning. It was the office of The White Eagle Lodge based in Liss.

We exchanged pleasantries and I explained why I had phoned and I was told something of what they did – they were a spiritual group which also practised spiritual healing. This sounded interesting and I was given the name and phone number of Hilary Taylor, the leader of the group in York. I phoned her in the evening. It seemed that it was what I was looking for and it changed my life.

Hilary suggested that I go to meet the group on a Sunday afternoon. The day came and I set off wondering what I had started! Hilary and her husband Ken lived in a semi-detached house on the edge of York. I knocked at the door, she opened it and I was greeted with a beaming smile. A lovely welcome.

Upstairs was a small sanctuary. I was introduced to her husband, Ken; Geoff and Elizabeth Raine, and two other members. All very friendly but they wanted to know about me – my background. I told them about my visits as a boy to the Ilford Spiritualist Church and that I was told that I would become a healer etc. It all went 300

very well until Hilary suggested that before we closed the meeting and had a cup of tea, I should give a closing prayer. What! I had never given a prayer in my life. I was on the spot, but I think I managed a few appropriate words.

The group met alternate Wednesday evenings in part of an old Manse in York where they had a talk, a meditation and did absent healing. I would be welcome to join them. I was delighted and this was to be the start of my spiritual journey which carried on for the rest of the time that we lived in Yorkshire and developed further when we moved to Sussex.

Returning home, Maureen wanted to know how I got on. I explained that it was called The White Eagle Lodge and that White Eagle was a spiritual teacher. I told her of the meetings of the group and that I would be joining them. Understandably she was sceptical but accepted the situation. So, every other Wednesday I would drive from R&C to York where we would have a reading, a talk, and a meditation. I really felt that this need of mine was being met and I would drive back to Elloughton singing in the car! Of course, when I got home, I would be met by Mervyn (when he was home) asking whether I had been playing with my Indians again!

The day came when the group suggested that we should have a Sunday walk on the North York Moors and enjoy a picnic together. As Maureen and I had been regular walkers with R&C, I was asked to organise and lead the group. Arriving home, I told Maureen who was not keen to go with these ‘strange’ people, but I persisted, and she was eventually persuaded. The day came when we set off complete with our picnic of sandwiches, a sweet and drinks.

We arrived at the meeting place before the others and Maureen was decidedly nervous as we waited. They appeared and we rose to meet them. Hilary came forward, arms extended, and gave Maureen a true White Eagle (WE) hug. That was it. Maureen was one of us! We had a great day together – with us eating our ham sandwiches whilst they enjoyed their vegetarian lunch! One could say that this was Maureen’s conversion.

She joined the group and became part of the White Eagle Lodge, from that day. This was just the start. We bought WE books and became involved with the York Group. We even became vegetarians and Maureen’s skill at cooking ribs of beef became no more. Maureen trained as a WE healer as did I, so we were both involved in the work before moving South.

Back to Reckitt and Colman. In terms of business, I had set up R&C agents in Denmark, Finland and Sweden, and visited our sister companies in Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. I was responsible for setting up a manufacturing operation in Ghana and reviewing our interests in Nigeria. At one stage, I had to be prepared to travel anywhere in the world at short notice so had my case partially packed and ready to go. I travelled business class or, if I was accompanying a director, first class. So, life was busy and enjoyable.

Living in Brough, we were about a mile down the road from the aircraft factory where the RAF Buccaneer was built. Several other aircraft flew from the attached airfield including the one used by R&C. If a flight to London (Northolt) coincided with my visit, I would go on the plane. In those days private aircraft only carried one pilot so the second pilot’s seat remained empty – unless I was flying! I got to know the pilots and they knew my flying background in the RAF, so I flew unofficially as second pilot. Obviously, they had to take off and land the aircraft but once we were airborne, I took over which enabled the pilot to complete his log.

There are two instances worth recounting. On one occasion, the MD of the Pharmaceutical Division, the MD of the Export Division, Denis Leng, plus two other colleagues and I were flying to London for a meeting with the main Board of R&C. I went into the second pilot’s seat and the Denis asked in a loud voice what was I doing there. Ron Wing, my MD, jokingly replied that I was flying before he was born! The flight was uneventful.

On another occasion, I was flying back to Brough in the early evening. The pilot was completing his log whilst I was flying the aircraft. We were over Norfolk when I spotted an RAF fighter climbing and on a 301

potential collision course. I told the pilot, and he took avoiding action. The RAF aircraft should not have been there, and my pilot complained on the radio and made a formal complaint on our return.

Under Ron Wing, the Pharmaceutical Division was expanding research facilities and we employed doctors, pharmacists, a pharmacologist, and other research staff. We were developing a powerful analgesic and, together with growth in our other products, the division was evolving rapidly. This growth did not go unnoticed by the main Board of R&C – a company basically involved in selling household products. Whilst I never received any actual evidence, I understood that the main Board did not want the Pharmaceutical Division to get too scientific and too large. Perhaps we were becoming a threat! The tail was beginning to wag the dog!

High level meetings were held and as a result, the main Board decided to close the whole pharmaceutical division from the chairman, Ron Wing, down to the most junior product manager. Everyone was devastated.

The whole Division was made redundant.

The atmosphere in the division was terrible. As a board level manager, I was the first to be informed. I was called to the Marketing Director, Steve Harris. I knew what was going to happen. All the product managers and secretaries knew what was going to happen. As I walked through the office, all eyes were following me.

It was a strange experience for them and for me! It was like going to an execution. All those with whom I had worked and whose company I had enjoyed, were obviously feeling for me and, at the same time, knew that their turn was coming.

Steve’s secretary showed me into his office. From her look she was almost in tears. Steve was also upset and embarrassed, but he had been delegated to inform me that my job was redundant. Strangely, I felt for him and tried to be realistic if that was possible! Steve told me that my role as International Marketing Manager was being abolished and that I could be offered a grade 4 manager’s job. The company were prepared, however, to pay a firm of executive head-hunters in London, to find an equivalent position in the pharmaceutical or related industry. All expenses would be paid in my search and I would retain my salary and car for a year. I would also receive a redundancy payment. So that was it! I was upset but knew that it was not my fault and that many others would soon receive the same fate. At least I had a year to find an alternative. Strangely enough, Maureen followed me and was made redundant from the engineering company – we seemed to mirror each other!

I visited the head-hunters on several occasions, but it was useless. I was at an age when 50-year olds were too old. I knew a number of MDs, directors and senior managers in the medical/ pharmaceutical industries, but there were no vacancies at my level. Subsequently, Ron Wing, our Chairman/MD and Steve were also made redundant and whole Division disappeared. We were a great team. What a waste of talent!

Maureen and I thought long and hard about what we should do. It was obvious that the chances of getting jobs at our age were remote, so we decided to investigate becoming self-employed but what should we do?

Starting a business was fine but we needed immediate cash flow so it would have to be an existing business.

We also felt that we would like to do something that would help people but what? I had joined a masonic lodge in Hull and got to know some members quite well. Maureen also knew a lot of people and, using our principle of ‘advertising’ when we needed help, we both spread the word that we were looking for a career change. One of the lodge members whom I knew reasonably well mentioned that he owned a post office. It carried a salary and he had other products for sale so there was a reasonable income with security. The business also had a resale value which meant security for when one wanted to retire. Pensioners’ payments were part of the activities so there was the opportunity of helping people. Maureen and I felt that this could be the opportunity that we were looking for. I told my lodge friend and he suggested that we might like to see if we liked the business by working in his post office and at the same time gaining experience. What a great idea! So, for the next few weeks we went, separately, on different days. He kindly gave us training and we learned how to run a post office in virtually all its aspects. We decided that was what we would do, but where? We did not want a post office attached to a village general store but would like a retail side that Maureen could look after. She really liked that option. We could both run the post office with me concentrating on the post office side. The problem was to find the right one which we could afford, and which had a 302

realistic salary. Such a business did not often appear on the market, but we searched various sources without much success.

In the meantime, we had been in touch with Leslie and Gladys Baker and, bless them, they suggested that they would look in the Sussex area. What a great idea! They lived there; my parents lived there; our family base was really in the South and it would be nice to escape the Yorkshire winters. If we got details of post offices in the South, we would phone them, and they would visit and report back to us. They were also searching locally. It was so kind of them as they were well into their retirement. One day, they came back and said there was a post office in Eastbourne near the sea front. They had seen an advertisement and there was a flat above. They agreed to visit as customers and feed back their findings. It was a reasonable size and busy, but it had no retail business. This sounded interesting so I contacted the vendor who was Irish.

We agreed to come and view the business. Fortunately, we could stay with my parents in Langney.

We drove to Eastbourne and visited the property which was freehold. It had a basement, the post office floor which, apart from the counter, only contained a dining room table and two dining room chairs! This offered great potential to develop a retail business and did not mean we would have to buy any existing, and possibly, unsaleable stock! There was a separate entrance to the upstairs flat which had two floors with a lounge across the front, a kitchen behind and a bathroom and two bedrooms above. This seemed ideal, and although the vendor was not easy to deal with, we agreed terms. The sad thing was that we had to sell our lovely house, pack up, leave all our friends and move South, but it was a new beginning and we would be working for ourselves – no more redundancies! At that time, we also had our golden retriever, Max, so he would have to come. I had to go for an interview with the Head Postmaster at Eastbourne to be approved.

All sub-postmasters had to be vetted regarding ability and honesty. I was approved and for ÂŁ79,000 we were self-employed and the owners of a Post Office.

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—43— Marine Parade Post Office, Eastbourne

J

9 t h 1 9 8 2 w a s t h e s t a r t of our great career adventure. Two furniture vans were loaded, and we set off for Eastbourne. This was during the busy summer season and it took the best part of two days to unload the vans so you can imagine the congestion in the road outside. The stairs to the flat had a bend and the removal men could not get our 4-seater settee up to the first floor and into the lounge. We were told of a local glazier and I rushed round and asked if he could remove the lounge window which he did. The heavy settee was manoeuvred with considerable difficulty and a lot of physical effort up the ladder and into the lounge followed by the armchairs and other bulky items. The glass was replaced, and the move completed.

We were in and had to sort out our home and get ready to open the following morning as owners of Marine Parade Post Office. Thursday was pension day so we would be busy serving and meeting our customers. u ly t h e

It is interesting to note that, in those days, the only training provided by the Post Office was to send a member of the counter staff from the Head Post Office, to stand behind the new counter staff and assist when necessary! Can you imagine? We were a busy Post Office; there were queues to both counter positions stretching on to the street outside; we were paying pensions as well as handling letters, parcels, Giro bank payments and all the other functions of a Post Office. On top of that, we were responsible for a great deal of money and if we were short, we had to make up any losses. The only support we had was a counter clerk from Head Post Office standing behind us – and he was only there for two days! We were so grateful for the experience and training we had received from that little Post Office in Hull.

At the end of each day we had to record details of all the day’s activities including balancing monies received (from the Post Office; Giro business banking; sale of stamps etc) against pensions paid; Green Giros (unemployment benefit payments); P O Savings Bank receipts payments and many other activities. We were a principal seller of National Savings Certificates, Premium Savings Bonds, Dog Licences, Fishing Licences, and our stocks of these items had to be counted and balanced every week, as well as all stocks of postage stamps and the cash held etc. We had to handle overseas letters and parcels for both surface and air mail in addition to the range of UK postal functions. To assist us we had two part-time assistants who were employed on Monday mornings and all day on Thursday as that was the main pension day and all the dockets had to be machined and agreed. We closed for half day on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.

The Post Office would carry out unannounced inspections whereby all cash, postage stamps and stock was counted, checked and a balance agreed. This would take the form of three post office staff arriving around 7.30 am and ringing the doorbell. They would require admission and the safe and all drawers and cupboards would have to be opened. While we had breakfast, all cash would be counted along with cheques, dockets, savings certificates etc and even dog licences! By 8.45am the inspectors would have a balance and provided it was correct, the inspection was over. They would make an overall comment regarding the satisfactory status of the post office and leave allowing the post office to open at 9am. We never had any problems, so we only had occasional inspections.

The Post Office had a reputation for slow service and queuing. We soon stopped that! We adopted a standard 30 second target to serve a customer wherever possible and this was appreciated. It attracted more customers particularly from the main office in Eastbourne. As time went on, we got to know our customers by name and help them with their problems, particularly the pensioners. At the same time, we were after the business customers. By applying the same techniques, small businesses started bringing their parcels for posting as they always got a smile, a friendly chat and quick service.

During our first week, a man came in and introduced himself as Alf Buggs. He told us he owned three post offices in Eastbourne, was President of the local branch of the Association of Sub-postmasters and offered 304

to help us if we had problems. Alf became a firm friend and certainly gave us a lot of assistance both by phone and visits. I became a member of the Association and later took his place as President for the area.

I got to know all the local sub postmasters and we developed a great camaraderie within the local Association.

When we sold the post office, the Branch presented us with a white television for our kitchen which was exceedingly kind.

The post office work was very demanding but, in many ways, very satisfying. Max, our ‘Goldie’ was with us beneath the parcel counter. Of course, one or two customers got to know and talk to him. It never ceased to amaze us how, as soon as they entered the Post Office he was up, feet on the counter and wagging his tail. He developed even greater enthusiasm when some of them brought him a biscuit!

Opposite the Post Office was a ladies’ hairdresser so, as a regular customer of such establishments, Maureen soon became acquainted with the owner, Hugh Gipson. It turned out that he was a member of Eastbourne Masonic Lodge and when he heard that I was Mason, he came across and introduced himself and invited me to attend as his guest This was the start of my masonic career in Sussex.

Developing the Business Having got well acquainted with the running of the Post Office, we turned our attention to the shop. This was a blank canvas. An empty space containing a dated dining room table and two dining room chairs. We were the nearest Post Office to the sea, which meant lots of visitors and all around us were boarding houses, pensioners’ homes, and small businesses. All this meant great potential for a local and holiday retail add-on to the post office. Maureen could use her creative abilities and her natural selling skills in dealing with people.

We contacted Sharps one of the top card companies and they sent in their local representative who advised us on supplying stands for birthday and other cards. He also arranged to supply suitable cards for stock, so the order was placed.

As we were so close to the sea, visitors would buy their postage stamps from us to post their views of Eastbourne cards as well as humorous cards to neighbours, friends, and relatives, so we needed to enter that market and stock these cards. Also, we reckoned that visitors may like to buy Eastbourne Calendars to remind them of their stay so we should stock calendars for local people and visitors. I would add that we bought our calendars from a Brighton wholesaler and he told us that, within 2 years, we sold more calendars each season than any other of his retail outlets AND we started selling calendars in May (to catch the early visitors who wanted an Eastbourne calendar, of course!).

Then, I had an idea. I do not know where it came from, but I took a 12" x 10" picture frame and headed it ‘Card of the Day’. Each evening I would take a funny card, place it in the frame and put the frame in the window. I could not believe it. ‘Card of the Day’ developed almost a cult following! People (mainly visitors) would come down in the morning – often before breakfast – just to see what the current Card of the Day was. It was amazing, and what is more, when we opened the post office, they usually bought one!

The retail side took off; our pensioners and other customers could obtain their birthday cards, Christmas cards, calendars and some stationery items when visiting the Post Office. Having been a stamp collector in my youth, it was natural to sell Post Office First Day covers and I extended this to include a philatelic section selling stamp albums, stamp catalogues and other items.

Life was never dull in Marine Parade Post Office. We got to know so many people and experienced hilarious and serious situations. I will list just a few to give you an indication of the incidents we had.

Above the Post Office fascia, was a ledge about 12 inches (whoops! 30cms) wide which was useful for the window cleaner to stand on. One morning, after breakfast, I went into the lounge and saw him cleaning the windows. I waved. He waved back. A few minutes later I saw him again and he was still waving so, again, I 305

waved back. I went back again, and he was waving more rigorously. It was then that I realised something must be wrong. His ladder had fallen down, and he was hanging on to our window frame. His waving was not a greeting but a call for help, but we could not hear him calling through the glass window. I rushed downstairs and replaced the ladder. The poor chap had been hanging on for about half an hour.

We always had to be alert for fraud, particularly Green Giros and the Post Office Savings Bank (POSB). At that time, there were several young people who had moved to Eastbourne from the North of England and quite a number from Liverpool. They did not work; some had a criminal background and were known to the police. They relied on their Green Giros for money plus more devious ways of securing income. Stealing Green Giros was an option. They liked to live near the sea and mostly had single rooms. Marine Parade Post Office seemed to be convenient, so they tended to use us to cash their Green Giros and withdraw money from Post Office Savings Bank accounts.

Our first experience was when a plain clothes police officer called and asked whether he could place a small suitcase covered by a raincoat on our parcel counter. It contained a camera pointed at the door. They were looking for an individual who was likely to fraudently cash a Green Giro and they wanted the evidence on camera. The camera was linked to a plain police car parked outside. This was a Thursday morning when we would be busy, so it was a good time to come when we were paying pensions. I understand the police got their man! On another occasion the police sat in our lounge above, watching for drug dealers opposite and again they were successful.

We got to know when a stolen Green Giro was being presented and would challenge the presenter. The individual would leave rapidly. On several occasions, I was called to go on an identity parade at Eastbourne or Lewes police station. Obviously, this could be dangerous if I was recognised by the suspect, so I always insisted that I should be behind a screen. The police cooperated and I usually picked the offender. We knew them!

Another method of fraud was with the Post Office Savings Bank (POSB) which listed transactions and showed the current balance. One could withdraw up to £50 in cash in a post office at any one time. Stolen bank books would be presented with a completed withdrawal slip. We were alert to these and could virtually ‘smell’ them when they came through the door. I should add that the POSB gave a £50 reward for stolen bank books so Maureen and I would vie to handle these ‘customers’. It was always the same. When challenged, the presenter would disappear fast leaving the book with us to claim the reward.

One lucrative occasion was when the government pensions department went on strike. This lasted for 3 months, during which time no pension books were printed. The government made special arrangements for the payment of pensions. Pensioners had to draw their pensions weekly, signing on a form (normally they could draw whenever they required e.g. some preferred fortnightly). The pension book had to be presented and we had to enter the details of the pension payment on the printed form which had to be reconciled each day. This created an enormous amount of work for us and on a Thursday evening it was nearly 11pm before we finished. This occurred during the summer period when many pensioners were on holiday in Eastbourne and they had to cash their pensions weekly too. Usually many did not cash their pensions when on holiday but now they had to, so we had long queues down the road and paid out thousands of pounds on a Thursday morning.

On one occasion, it was nearly mid-day, and the queue was still past the shop window and I asked one customer where the end if the queue was. He replied, “Sitting on the end of the pier”. It was exhausting work, and our assistants, Gladys and Anne were brilliant. The good news was that we were paid 30p for every pension cashed and, by the time the strike was over, we had amassed enough money to buy a new car and there was a healthy balance left over.

At that time, Girobank was developing and they were keen to obtain a share of the retail business market.

They advised customers that deposits made on a particular day would be in the customer’s account by 9am 306

the next morning. For small businesses, cash-flow was important so the was a great incentive and resulted in Girobank business accounts being opened and takings being paid in daily. We were paid on a commission basis so this was good news. We were also paid for each payment received. As a result, we were no longer dependent on receiving cash from the Post Office but were actually remitting thousands of pounds to the Post Office each week.

Other aspects of Post Office life The pace and growth of the business was amazing. Alf Buggs was a great adviser, and I should mention here the method of salary payment for sub-postmasters. Salaries were based on a triennial revision where every three years, every activity was recorded in detail from the number of postage stamps sold to the cash paid out. The total activities formed the basis of the salary earned until the next triennial revision. There was, however, provision for intermediate revisions if business increases warranted it. This was where Alf Buggs came in. He could see the way our business was growing and, after we had been there only three months, he guided us in how to make an application for a salary increase. Not bad! That was just the first of several applications made over the next two years. Life was good and we were making a name for ourselves in the Post Office world.

All this took a toll and we needed to have a holiday. The system was that sub-postmasters had to obtain a locum sub-postmaster at their own expense and approved by the Post Office. These were invariably retired sub postmasters who would take over, although the Postmaster was still responsible for any losses. The salary fee charged was negotiable but quite high (when we started it was over £1,000 per week). We found a locum who lived in Polegate. He was helpful, honest and, importantly, was good with our customers and we used him several times.

On one occasion when we returned from holiday, he was over £1,400 short at the end of the week. He had spent hours checking the stocks and sorting out the accounts, all to no avail. We were, of course, responsible for making good the shortage and I was sure that it must be in the accounts somewhere. It came to light the following week. In Seaside, there was a council retirement home and each Monday, the pension books were delivered to us. We would remove the pension dockets and the pension books plus the cash would be collected on the Thursday. Our locum had removed the dockets but left them loose in the pension books.

They totalled £1,400! I phoned him at home and he was so relieved. Our first holiday was spent in Crete. It was wonderful although Max didn’t like being in kennels for the two weeks. Each subsequent year we had a holiday taking Max with us. Often, we went back to Yorkshire and he loved running free. One of the problems in driving north in the morning was that the sun would be heating the back of the car so we had to keep stopping to let Max out and give him water. The answer was to pack the car and leave home before 6am when it was cool.

Expanding the Business One evening looking out of the lounge window, we saw our newsagent/tobacconist neighbour loading his car with personal items and then driving off. This appeared strange and next morning we found out why. The shop was shut – he had done a runner. This did not affect us, but I saw it as a possible opportunity. The newspaper wholesaler also supplied stationery and, as we had an account with them, I phoned and suggested that we handle the newspapers. They agreed so we cleared some shelves and were in business.

Newspapers were delivered around 6.15am and left on the doorstep. The downside was that I had to be in the shop by 6.30am to sort the papers and start selling them by 7am. I was amazed how early customers appeared – in fact, some were knocking on the door while I was sorting. It meant that Maureen had to have an early breakfast and take over from me so that I could get my breakfast then both of us had to open the post office at 9am.

At the end of the day after closing, I had to bundle all the unsold newspapers and fill in a chit then leave them on the doorstep to be collected next morning when the next delivery was made. The gross margin was 25%.

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It was not long before we realised that getting up so early, disrupting our routine plus the extra effort needed was not worth the hassle and the small profit, so we cancelled the arrangement and I withdrew ‘Newsagent’ from my c.v.!

My parents were ageing and finding daily life difficult. My mother needed care, so she and my father went into a local geriatric hospital in Eastbourne. Mother responded well and returned home after around three weeks. My father stayed on but was very unhappy and felt he would spend the rest of his life there, so he devised an exercise programme spending all day walking up and down the ward to prove his fitness. He obviously was fit and was keen to be discharged, but my mother had got used to living alone and did not really want him back! She loved him but she was really implying that, as she was in her nineties, she could no longer cope with running a home, shopping, cooking and doing the washing. We would see them as often as we could, but our hands were tied with the post office. Anyway, my father did return home and they carried on, but he was becoming frail.

We were just going to bed on the evening of 15 December 1993 when I received a phone call from the District General Hospital to say that my father had been admitted with a chest infection. Apparently, he was on a trolley, waiting to be admitted to a ward and in the meantime was comfortable and they would contact me again in the morning. Everything seemed in hand so we went to bed with the idea that I would phone next morning and visit him later. It was a Thursday (pension day) so Anne was in. The phone rang at 8am the next morning and the hospital said that he had passed away and could I inform his wife? He was 89. We were all shocked, particularly me as I felt that I should have visited him the previous night even though the hospital had not thought it necessary. As it was December, the post office was not particularly busy, so Maureen and Anne agreed to carry on whilst I went to see my mother. This was going to be so difficult. They had been married for over 60 years and I had to impart the news. My mother was surprised to see me particularly on a Thursday morning. I do not know what I said or how I said it, but I told her that the hospital had phoned with sad news. She said nothing but just stood there as the news sank in. We spent time together and hugged each other. I had to get back to the post office but said we would come in the evening after closing which we did.

The funeral arrangements were made with the Co-op which would have been his wishes – he had been employed by the London Cooperative Society virtually all his working life from tailoring shop assistant to the Store Manager of a large departmental store. Whenever he needed to purchase anything – I mean anything – he would always see if he could get it from the Co-op first – such was his loyalty to his employer. The day of the funeral at the Eastbourne Crematorium was appalling. The rain was so heavy that it obscured the visibility. The funeral directors shielded my mother with a large umbrella which kept some rain off, but they were soaked through. Throughout the service, my mother sat expressionless and in silence. We never knew what she must have been thinking but probably reminiscing over virtually their whole lifetime together. At times like this, family support is essential but there is little one can do to alleviate the pain of such deep loss.

Having got her through this time, we had to consider her future. She was 93 and from our visits to the bungalow, it was apparent that she was not capable of looking after herself or the bungalow. She had spent some time in a care home, and we felt that she needed ‘looking after’ in every sense. We discussed it with her. It was difficult. This was her home – she loved it – what would happen to it – and so on. Fundamentally, though, we felt that she realised that she could not cope with running the bungalow any longer. We made arrangements with the care home for her to have a nice single bed-sit on a full board basis. The move was made, and we felt that this was the best arrangement in the circumstances.

My mother was always a quiet person; never made a fuss; never interfered and never created problems to such an extent that we never knew her real desires or feelings.

She seemed to settle in ‘keeping herself to herself’ as she would say. A problem arose when the owners wanted to redecorate her room. It meant that she would have to share a room during the decorating, but she did not want that! Eventually after much talking and coaxing, she agreed to share with another lady who 308

had a double room. We went to visit around a few days later with certain apprehensions and were amazed.

She had really made friends with the other lady and they were chatting and laughing together. It appeared that they had many common interests. The result was that my mother had no intention of returning to her single room! Equally, the other lady did not want her to leave. That was marvellous news and we were so relieved that she had companionship and would not be lonely. Our post office commitment plus the shop meant that our free time was limited so it was a relief to know she was happy and settled.

The White Eagle Lodge Moving south we missed our White Eagle (WE) friends in Yorkshire and the happy times we had together, but we soon made a local contact with a remarkable lady, Rita Harrison, who lived in Milnthorpe Road, Eastbourne. Rita was a lovely, gentle person, a widow who had suffered poliomyelitis which resulted in her wearing a leg-iron, but it did not deter her lifestyle. She was one of the early members of the WE Lodge. She told us of her friendship with Lady Dowding, the wife of Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding of Battle of Britain fame. At the time she lived in, or around, Baker Street, London, and together they helped set up the cosmetics company, Beauty without Cruelty, which is still active today.

Monday was always busy in the post office with pension payments and businesses paying in the week-end takings, so it was wonderful to visit Rita on Monday evenings and enjoy a couple of hours of meditation, relaxation and discussing WE. Max would come with us and seemed to enjoy the atmosphere as dogs can.

We were later joined by others so evolved a lovely spiritual group.

Before proceeding I should tell you of the membership structure of the WE Lodge. Firstly, casual attenders (where we all start); if attenders enjoy the teachings etc, they can join for a nominal annual fee and become members which includes the magazine, Stella Polaris. Those who study the teachings and want a greater link, undergo a spiritual initiation and become Outer Brothers. They can take a junior role in the work of the Lodge. The highest level of membership is that of Inner Brother. This requires a high level of commitment with Inner Brothers taking services and being more deeply involved with the WE Lodge. Becoming an Inner Brother involves a physical initiation during a Brotherhood Service at the main Temple in Liss (or in the USA or Australian Temples). This latter service is very gentle, memorable, and beautiful. During the service, the initiate is given his/her brotherhood name.

Another aspect of the work is spiritual healing and training is available. Both Maureen and I trained as healers and gave healing following services as well as on various other occasions. We also created a WE sanctuary in our home for meditation and healing.

One Friday evening as I was locking up the post office, the phone rang and I was told that I was to be initiated as an Inner Brother of the White Eagle Lodge and this would take place in Liss on a specific Monday.

Could I make it? Of course. As the service started at 6pm and we had to be there by 4pm we had to arrange for locums to cover for us.

The service was incredibly beautiful, sacred, and spiritual. It was as if I was not in this world but somehow raised up on to a different plane of life. My spiritual name was given as Jacobus (James).

Some little time later, on a Friday evening around 6pm I was closing the post office and Maureen was upstairs preparing our meal, when the phone rang. They wanted Maureen. I called upstairs but she did not want to come as she was busy. I called up to say it was Liss about her initiation into the WE Brotherhood.

She almost tumbled down the stairs in excitement and I was thrilled. So it was that we had another trip to Liss, and Maureen was initiated. She was given the spiritual name of Shining Star. So appropriate.

The White Eagle Lodge in Eastbourne The Sussex Centre had been established in Crowborough by Jean LeFevre who was leaving to start the 309

White Eagle work in the USA. Her friend, Avis Sheppard, took over her role (followed later by Judith Bowden) and it had been agreed that Eastbourne would be an ideal base. In the WE Lodge we say that nothing happens by chance and it just so happened that there were two new, enthusiast Inner Brothers who were also trained healers living in Eastbourne. What a coincidence!

We were approached by Avis asking whether we would be prepared set up, and be leaders, of a centre in Eastbourne. This would involve regular services plus healing and meditation groups. We were happy to accept and I approached the Friends Meeting House in Wish Road. The venue was in the town centre; it had a pleasant meeting room and there were facilities for making tea and coffee. The charge was nominal and there was free parking in the street outside. We could not have asked for more.

The first service was scheduled for the 9th September 1988. We both felt some trepidation at the prospects and responsibility of what we had taken on, but we knew that, with White Eagle’s support all would be well – and it was! On the day, we arrived early to set up the hall and then waited for a congregation. We were not disappointed. We asked everyone to sign our address book and we found we had 46 names! The service on 13 November 1988 had 48 in attendance and included Leslie and Gladys Baker and my parents. We later ran a meditation course which attracted far more people than we anticipated.

Maureen and I ran the Eastbourne services monthly, except for the summer break, for 20 years. During that time we only had to cancel two services – both times because of heavy snow in December. Our Christmas Services were always packed – principally because Maureen was in charge! The hall was beautifully decorated with candles and Christmas decorations everywhere.

Sadly, we had to leave our Quaker venue when they purchased a new blue carpet and were concerned that candle wax may be dropped on it. Although we only had one candle alight in a service, they were adamant.

We then moved to a church at the corner of Wish Road. In 2008 we felt it was time to retire and move on.

A surprise tea-party had been arranged to follow our last service plus the gift of a White Eagle book.

An Exciting Opportunity Although we had settled into our new careers, I still had some yearning towards my previous business background, and this became satisfied in a totally unexpected manner. It was close to Christmas and one of our customers who lived locally, invited us round for a Sunday drinks party. This was a great opportunity to meet local people away from the post office, so we accepted.

I was introduced to a guest and during our conversation we exchanged details on our occupations. He was the deputy head of the then Brighton Polytechnic and responsible for the training of business students. He asked what I did, and I told him that I was the local postmaster and my situation was brought about by the closing of the pharmaceutical division of Reckitt & Colman. He enquired about my job and I told him that I had been the International Marketing Manager and previously involved in the training of salesmen and managers. To my complete surprise he asked whether I would be interested in becoming a lecturer in international marketing in Brighton. I could not believe it. Not only did it fit in with my background, but I was still missing being in industry. I said I would be delighted. He gave me his card and told me to ring him the next day. I told Maureen and she was pleased but, of course, we had a post office to run. We would need to investigate whether we could get staff to cover my absence.

I phoned him on the Monday and he confirmed the vacancy, outlining the post as a Senior Lecturer in Marketing requiring two lecture periods per week on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The lecturer would be required to set examinations each term and mark the papers. Fantastic but when would I be required to start? He said tomorrow. What! I said I would be there! I spoke to Ann and Gladys who agreed to cover initially while we made permanent arrangements. I had two hours of lectures to deliver the next day. I did not know the students' background or how many there were so I was going in at the deep end. I spent the whole of that Monday evening preparing a lecture and planning the terms work.

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It was a full lecture theatre with around 30 young students. They were a good enthusiastic group and I started by explaining my background and my approach to their course. I would take a practical stance supporting the theory. They would need to understand selling and do practical selling exercises which meant analysing the products and applying them to their customer’s needs. We would then move on to marketing theory and practice.

At first, I was employed on an hourly-paid basis and that was fine. After the first term, however, I was moved to a permanent senior lecturer scale which meant that I was paid even during the holiday periods which was even better. After about three years, Brighton Polytechnic was raised to university status which meant that all teaching staff were required to have a university qualification. A professional qualification on its own was not acceptable so that was the end of my career. It was satisfying to know that I did help these students and most said they were sorry to see me leave. One student went to Hong Kong and sent me Christmas cards for three years outlining his progress but sadly he never enclosed his address so I could not respond.

St Wilfrid’s Hospice One day we heard that the Duchess of Kent had asked local people to donate 1p (yes, one penny) per week to support their local hospice and the scheme was proving to be a great success. Maureen heard this and her immediate reaction was that we could ask our pensioners and customers to do the same to support our local hospice, St Wilfrid’s. There was no stopping her! Although we had been helping our pensioners (I had been known to visit some of their homes to sort out roofs, drains and other problems!), this was a chance to do something really worth-while on a wider scale – in fact for Eastbourne. It also fitted in with my background and interest in medicine.

I produced a poster which gave details (see next page). It was placed between the two serving counters for all our customers to read – and if they did not – we pointed it out! The pennies (and often larger denominations) started rolling in. It was all about the hospice and our customers and we felt it was especially important that, if we were to maintain the momentum, those donating should feel involved and know how the money was spent. We informed the hospice that if they told us what they required, we would provide the money so they could buy it.

It was not long before the requests started coming in and they covered many types of supplies and equipment.

The poster used behind the post office counter displayed examples of items supplied – these were provided from the donations made by our pensioners and customers. It was not unusual for the matron to phone with a particular request which we would be happy, and able, to meet. We contacted the local paper, the Eastbourne Herald, and Girobank, and received regular publicity and support from them. The momentum was maintained; current Mayors of Eastbourne were frequent visitors as was the local MP Ian Gow who was tragically killed by an IRA bomb at his home in Hankham.

With Maureen’s enthusiasm and that of our pensioners, our activities began to spread outside the post office. We ended up with jumble sales and sales of work (we were amazed at the skills of our customers) and, apart from using local halls, Phil and Ann Saunders from The Marine public house nearby let us use their bar lounge on some Saturday afternoons.

The overall publicity was amazing, and it encouraged other people and organisations to support their local hospice. It is amazing to think that Marine Parade Post Office raised over £40,000 for St Wilfrid’s.

Grange Park Investments Limited – I joined the Board We were continuing our visits to Gladys and Leslie each Tuesday, but it was obvious that Leslie’s breathing was getting worse. Maureen was managing the GPI accounts well and by that time, I had a good grasp of the management of the properties. One evening Leslie asked whether I would like to be appointed as a director of the company. From the experience I had gained I felt that I could make a contribution to the 311

Notice asking our customers for support.

Some of the items purchased from our donations 312

Hats off to Maureen and Eric! Receiving a certificate from St Wilfred’s Hospice for donations from customers.

Left to right: Chairman of St Wilfred’s Hospice, Maureen Parrish, Eric Parrish, Mayor of Eastbourne at Marine Parade Post Office.

Thanking our customers for their support.

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company so I said I would be delighted. I was elected to the Board in January 1985 although certain directors had reservations regarding my business experience! It was suggested that I do a ‘project’ which they could assess. Leslie did not agree, and nor would I have agreed as I had an extensive business background and had been responsible for a multimillion-pound international operation with R&C. I was duly elected. Leslie advised that, in order to become a director, I would need to be a shareholder, so he sold me 258 of his shares.

I found the Board Meetings helpful in getting to know the other directors and understand the management of the company. Leslie also wanted Jon Mabey to become a director as he could support me. Jon was voted in.

Sadly, about this time Gladys was showing signs of her age and was finding it increasingly difficult to cope with cooking and running the flat. It reached the stage where they had to go to the De La Warr pavilion each day for lunch.

By this time, Leslie’s condition was deteriorating fast, and one day we received a call from him saying that he wanted to see us that evening. He was quite frail and after the usual welcome, he took us into the ‘office’ (dining room) and said that he had decided that he wanted the company to continue and he was leaving Grange Park Investments Ltd to us. I would become Chairman and Managing Director, and Maureen would also go on the Board and take on the Company Secretary post.

It would provide us with a ‘pension’ and income, and he wanted it to be passed on through the Parrish family. We listened in stunned silence. They had no family, and we were to be the executors of his estate. As we walked down the stairs from their flat, we could not believe the events of the evening. We were so very fond of them and would help them in any way we could, but we found it difficult to accept their generosity.

It was around this time that we were finding the pressures of living in the flat over the post office unbearable.

It was probably a combination of the area around the post office which was increasingly noisy and rough at night; the restricted size of the flat (although by the usual standards it was quite adequate) and we felt we had had enough. Retirement was beginning to beckon. One Friday evening Maureen was talking to Leslie on the phone and she mentioned her frustrations and the need to get away.

The next morning the phone rang. It was Leslie. He said that if we could find another house, he would lend us £50,000 for another property to enable us to live away from the post office. This was unbelievable but Maureen, being Maureen, did not let the grass grow under her feet and by Saturday evening she had found a house overlooking the sea at 38, Royal Sovereign View, Langney Point. It had everything we needed. We bought it and furnished it with good second-hand, good quality furniture. The lounge was on the first floor and had patio doors facing the sea. The main bedroom and shower room were on the second floor and also faced the sea. Opposite was open land which was ideal for Max. We could escape and relax.

Not long after this, Maureen received a desperate call from Leslie one Saturday morning. Leslie said that they could no longer stay in their flat – Gladys could not cope and Leslie was too ill to carry on. They needed care. Maureen phoned Jon and they arranged to meet within the hour leaving me to handle the post office and close it at the end of the morning. Maureen met Jon in Bexhill and they spent the afternoon visiting care homes. Bearing in mind the needs of Gladys and Leslie and their standard of living, they decided on a BUPA home on the seafront. The home had three floors: one for residents, one for ambulatory patients and one for patients needing full nursing care. They could have a double room overlooking the sea and there was a silver service restaurant with a menu choice on the ground floor.

Leslie and Glady agreed and on the due date, Jon helped them to pack their cases (we could not, as we were working) and they were taken to the home. The matron gave us what turned out to be sound advice.

She said they needed time to settle in so for three days we must not take any phone calls from them.

Apparently, new residents found it difficult to settle and often asked to go back to their homes. This proved 314

to be the case with Leslie and Gladys, but within a few days they had accepted the situation. We all went to see them and Jon, living in the same block of flats, collected any additional items they needed.

In the early days they used the restaurant. There is one memorable story concerning Gladys one lunch time.

The waitress brought her soup whereupon Gladys took the open salt cellar and tipped the whole lot in her soup. Taking one sip, she called the waitress over and said, “Dear, I think the chef has oversalted the soup”.

Leslie gamely carried on trying to manage the company and his affairs, but his condition was worsening and eventually he was admitted to St Michaels Hospice in Bexhill. Time was running out and we had a Board Meeting in the hospice on 25 May 1996 with Leslie attending in his pyjamas and dressing gown. He resigned as Chairman and Managing Director at the meeting. At his request, I assumed the Chair in his stead. After I closed the meeting some directors left without saying goodbye. Sadly, our dear friend Leslie passed into the World of Light on 23 June 1996 with Gladys, Maureen and me being by his side. He was more than a friend – he was a part of our lives – but at least I had the privilege of taking his funeral service with a packed congregation which included many members of the Sussex Healers Association and other spiritual groups.

Gladys continued to live in the BUPA home with Jon, Maureen and I visiting her on a regular basis.

The Deerfold Trust Leslie’s devotion to spirituality was such that he decided to establish a Charitable Trust under the name of The Deerfold Trust. The name Deerfold was chosen as it was the seat of Gladys’s family home in Lingen, Herefordshire. The objects of the Trust were a) to relieve the need of individuals or organisations engaged in medicine, religious pursuits or education, b) to promote research into methods of physical, mental and spiritual healing treatments and the rehabilitation of the sick whether in mind or body, and c) to carry out charitable relief of poverty or distress or to contribute to other charitable organisations having those objects.

The Trust was founded on 9 March 1985 and registered as a charitable trust. Leslie funded the establishment of the Trust and entered into a covenant to pay £1,000 per annum for three years. The first trustees were Leslie Baker, Gladys Baker, Eric L. Parrish, and William P Lambert. On 1 March 1986, William Lambert resigned and on 5 March 1991, Jon Douglas Mabey was appointed a trustee.

The Trust used some of its profits from investments to carry out the objects of the trust, but the trustees felt that their activities were limited and that the trust needed income to further its objectives. It was agreed that the trust should invest in a building to be rented out to groups/organisations whose activities complied with the objectives of the trust. After considerable searching the trustees found a redundant NatWest Bank for sale at 233, Seaside, Eastbourne.

It was agreed that the upstairs self-contained flat with its separate entrance could be rented out as offices to provide income. The downstairs banking hall could be used for meetings. Minimal rents would be charged.

Beneath the hall was a dry cellar and at the rear of the hall was a kitchen, toilets, and heating boiler. A back door led to an enclosed garden area. The trustees decided to purchase the building and strip out the banking hall thus making a large meeting room. It was agreed that the building should be known as the Deerfold Centre.

Following the death of Leslie Baker on 23 June 1996, Maureen Vera Parrish was appointed a trustee on 15 September 1997 and, following the death of Gladys Margery Baker on 16 November 2000, shares which she held were transferred to the trust. Mervyn Neil Parrish was appointed a trustee on 1 February 2001. The Deerfold Centre has been in continual use since its renovation and has proved to be a valuable meeting place for healing and many other groups. It is run by the trustees.

Grange Park Investments Limited I was the Managing Director of GPI and was executor to Leslie’s estate supported by Jon Mabey. I knew, 315

however, that there were potential problems concerning two of the directors who appeared to have ‘ambitions’ regarding the company. I understood that they had spent considerable time studying company law and were likely to make an issue regarding the future control of GPI. As far as I was concerned, there was no problem. I was the chosen successor and would have the required number of shares to support it. Around three weeks after Leslie’s death, I called a meeting of the directors to be held at a small hotel near the post office. Two of the directors arrived with various books and documents. I opened the meeting and stated that Leslie had designated that I was to succeed him. I was to inherit his shares and would become the managing director of GPI. That was it. There was no further discussion and, after, a light lunch, we all departed.

To finalise Leslie’s estate took many months and a considerable amount of inheritance tax! Eventually, however, his side of the estate was finalised with Jon Mabey and me receiving the shares that had been willed to us.

Gladys continued to live in the care home and was visited by the three of us. She was well cared for but rarely left her room. She was still a director of GPI but did not attend meetings. She resigned from the Board on 30 August 1997. Mervyn Parrish was proposed and took her place. Following the death of Gladys on 16 November 2000. I was privileged to take her service and the Baker estate was finally wound up.

Retirement Whilst the post office was satisfying in many ways, we felt the time had come when we should move on. We were living full time at Royal Sovereign View and enjoying the freedom it brought at the end of each day but we had had enough so we decided to put the business on the market. It was an attractive proposition; a good livelihood with full living accommodation; a high salary; in a popular seaside resort and close to the sea. Nevertheless, it took us over a year to find a buyer.

It was interesting that during this phase that one morning, we had a visit from an assistant head postmaster who asked if he could have a private word with me but not in the post office. Of course, but why? Maureen was not too busy, so I took him upstairs to the lounge. He produced a large form and required answers to a list of questions. When he had finished, I was intrigued and asked the reason for the visit. I was told that it had to be in total confidence, but the Post Office was putting me forward for an award. What sort of award, I asked? He said he could not say but said it was something to do with honours given by the Queen. Why I asked, but he could not say any more but on no account should I mention the matter to any other person. I did, of course, tell Maureen and we wondered what reason the post office had for wanting to put my name forward.

The next honours list was published, and as I had heard nothing, I asked the individual who had visited me.

I was told that it was usual for two or three applications to be made before an award was made. That was fine except that we had sold the post office before the next application could be made so that was the end of that!

We move on from Marine Parade Post Office It is not that easy to sell a post office. One needs a buyer who has the money to purchase the business, the accuracy and ability to handle the financial aspects of it, the administrative skills and the dedication to handle the paperwork involved. In addition, the candidate must be helpful and considerate to customers, be honest and have no criminal record. Lastly, the candidate would have to be approved by the Post Office.

It was over a year before we found the right buyer – a couple from Hong Kong who had two sons at Eastbourne College. The wife would run the business with support from the husband.

Our final day was on the 26 March 1996. As we had a full house of furniture at Royal Sovereign View, we 316

had to put most of the furniture at the post office into store until we found our permanent home. It cost £103.28 in storage fees and £688.50 to take our furniture into store and later to remove it to a new house – when we found one. Of, course, we had to have the lounge window taken out again to allow the 4-seater settee to be removed. This also allowed the armchairs and other items to be moved more easily than by the stairs. Having said goodbye to the new owners and wished them every success, we drove off to Royal Sovereign View with a strange empty feeling. After all, the post office had filled the last 14 years of our lives.

The next morning was even more strange. We got up with nowhere to go! We felt lost. Eventually we drove into Eastbourne to fill the void.

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—44— Retirement Living Our Retirement Home When we realised that the Post Office sale was proceeding, we started looking for our new home. We drew up a list of requirements and mailed every estate agent in Eastbourne and the surrounding areas. Nothing suitable was forthcoming.

A friend of ours, Judy Cheadle, had been driving home through Stone Cross and noticed that Mcleans were building new homes which she thought might be suitable for us. We went to the site where the first phase was just starting. The one that fitted our needs consisted of: downstairs – 4 reception rooms, a kitchen and a toilet, upstairs – four bedrooms, two having en-suites (a relatively new innovation then) plus a family bathroom. It also had a double garage. Mcleans were building similar houses on another site, so we visited that one and looked at the design which interested us. The house cost £125,000 freehold. We were happy with the layout so we immediately returned to Stone Cross and put our name down for this top of the range model (which, incidentally, had gold taps and door handles!). The first phase, backing on to Dittons Road, was under construction, but the one we particularly liked had been sold to a surgeon who was leaving the RAF and had been appointed as a consultant surgeon at our local hospital. There would be a similar house in the next phase further into the site. Although we were disappointed, we accepted the option and paid a deposit. This meant that we would have to wait almost a year before the next phase was built.

About two weeks later, the site agent phoned and said that the surgeon had to cancel as the RAF refused his discharge, and would we like to take that site where construction was about to begin. We accepted with alacrity! Our site, literally, was a green field with a five-bar gate (the entrance to the field} in the corner. During the build, I visited the site every few days and photographed every stage of the construction. It was all extremely exciting! We also arranged to have a conservatory added. When the house was within one week of completion, the site agent (whom I had got to know well) phoned and asked if I was able to finalise a week before the house was completed? Why? He explained that Mcleans were down on their sales target and needed a sale. So, what was the deal? He offered a discount of £5,000 for a cash settlement. That was a 4% discount which could not be refused so the deal was done.

In the meantime, we had sold Royal Sovereign View and, on the day the money was in the bank, we visited Leslie and gave him a cheque for £50,000 with our grateful thanks. We felt that house had saved our sanity.

It had been raining hard on our removal day. As ours was the first house to be completed (apart from the show house at the entrance to the drive), there was no road – just thick, wet, sticky clay. There were two removal vans and the men brought more clay into the house, although they did cover the floors as well as they could. It was a fearful day!

Over the next few weeks, we needed to place our mark on our new home. Maureen selected curtains and had a professional to fit them. When visiting Mervyn, we called at the Wilton Carpet factory and selected a good carpet for the whole house. I hired a van from a friend, and we drove to Wilton, collected the carpet and brought it home. A carpet fitter laid it throughout the house and the place began to feel like home.

The garden was the next item. The five-bar gate in the corner had gone; we had fencing along the back and side of the site. The rear garden was small and there was some land along the side of the property. We did not want a large outside area, just somewhere to sit and entertain, so this was ideal. I had always hankered 318

after a pond and water feature, so designed a layout which included a pond and waterfall in the corner, surrounded by a low wall capped with flat stone caps with a rockery against the fence. In front of the pond was a raised stone slabbed sitting area where one could have a table and chairs. The rest of the garden was raised by edging with a low brick wall. The central, main area was slabbed.

We were fortunate that a bricklayer working on our site (together with his teen-age son, also a bricklayer), became interested, and suggested they would like to take on the task of building the garden. We were delighted as I would have needed professional help anyway. They ordered the materials and literally built the whole garden and thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity of doing something different. We were delighted with the result and invited them ‘for afternoon tea on the terrace’ when they had finished. We purchased a large circular slate table and benches for the raised sitting area. Trees and plants completed the surrounds, and the garden was finished. The front garden was mainly grass with shrubs.

21 Darwell Drive, Stone Cross, East Sussex

With the death of Leslie on 23 June 1996, I was involved with the administration of his estate and this took several months which meant I always had to be accessible to the solicitors. Meanwhile, Jon, Maureen and I had to make sure that Gladys was visited, and she was receiving the care that she needed. Gladys died on 16 November 2000 and I had the privilege of conducting her funeral. Once the estate had been finalised, we felt that we were free to move on. I had been fortunate during my time with The London Hospital (Ligature Department) Ltd to have travelled overseas, but Maureen wanted to see something of the world so we decided that we would start planning.

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We Commence Our Travels 2000 Egypt Maureen had celebrated her 70th birthday in December and I took her away to a health farm for three days -somewhere she had always wanted to go. It was certainly different. My birthday was in January, so we decided to celebrate by going on a Nile Cruise for 8 days to Egypt – a country that has always fascinated me. We flew to Cairo to start our cruise down the Nile and to Lake Nasser visiting the temples and the Valley of the Kings and Queens. The ship was small but impeccable with charming waiters. The kitchen was immaculate with stainless steel units. The Egyptian part of Lake Nasser is about 400 miles long and, in places, 50 miles wide so at times one could not see land. We saw the Sound and Light Show at Abul Simbel which told the story of Rameses and his wife, Nefertari. To see the show highlighted against midnight blue sky on the warm Egyptian evening was unbelievable.

USA In April we were off to the USA to stay with friends, Genie and David, who are members of the White Eagle Lodge there. David breeds champion Arabian horses and just before we arrived, three foals were born. His pride in his stables and love of his horses was unbelievable. Going to the stables in the morning, we would find him lying on the spotless floor cuddling a horse! We felt the horses returned that love too. Maureen always went down before breakfast with a bunch of carrots and the horses began to anticipate her visit.

We then drove to the White Eagle Centre for the Americas in Montgomery for a week’s retreat. The church is set in 90 acres of beautiful land with a large lake and forests which are home to wild animals and a herd of deer. As we do not believe in killing or harming animals, they seem to know that the area is safe, and they migrate to this land during the hunting season.

This is not the place to discuss the philosophy of The White Eagle Lodge (WE) but I will mention that we learn lessons in this life through our incarnations. We do not usually know of our previous lives but following one meditation lasting around 2 hours, one lady (from the WE Lodge in Jersey) approached and asked if she could speak to me. Of course. She said that during her meditation she was taken into a room where, in the middle, was a long monastic table. In the centre, was seated a monk, eating. His head was covered by his cowl and, as she approached, he looked up and she saw it was me. She felt she had to tell me, but did I mind? Of course not. I have always had an interest in monastic and religious orders, but never imagined that I may have had such a past life connection.

Following our stay in Montgomery, we went on to spend a few days with another WE member in Los Alamos, New Mexico. From there we moved on to Las Vegas, a city that is beyond belief. Our hotel, Circus Circus (yes that is the name!) had 2,000 rooms, 5 restaurants (the largest seated 1,000 guests).

The restaurants had a queue guide which started with a 1½ hour wait. Brides wander around the hotels, wedding breakfasts were served in MacDonalds and further on, you can get divorced. How cool is that!

Gaming machines were everywhere – even in the toilets. The whole of Las Vegas has been created with one objective in mind – to get visitors to part with their money! I have to say, though, we made just over £100 profit!

Whilst in Las Vegas, one of our church members took us on several trips including the Valley of Fire which was a bright red desert with great rock formations. It was extremely hot, but rain in the past week had resulted in desert plants coming into bloom. The plants only last for a few days but were fantastic. We also flew in a Cessna over the Grand Canyon, which was breathtaking, 320

Yorkshire Returning home and suffering from withdrawal symptoms, June saw us heading North for a week in Yorkshire.

We always feel at home when we are on the North York Moors, or in the Dales. It was not a long visit but proved most enjoyable. We also visited numerous auctions where we bid for, and bought, a number of ‘bargains’ which we didn’t really want.

Malta In August we were off to our time-share in Malta for two weeks. The weather went from hot to extremely hot.

It was our first visit to Malta and it was quite interesting, particularly with regard to the Knights Templars and the Knights of Malta.

Maltese food is varied as the island has been subject to so many influences – Italian, Spanish and N. African mainly. The roads must be seen to be believed with many potholes, some quite deep. Add to that the ‘square wheels’ on the buses and you can imagine what a journey can be like. The buses themselves are museum pieces. One had the gearbox in the aisle of the bus with linkages going to the gear lever beside the driver. They seem, however, quite proud of their buses as they even publish postcards of them!

Edinburgh In October we had two friends from Los Alamos visiting us. One wanted to see the Rosslyn Chapel in Edinburgh. I had always wanted to visit there so his wish kick-started me into doing something about it. We collected them from Gatwick and drove 370 miles to Washington, Co Durham, then on to Edinburgh. The Chapel was fascinating and, although we spent half a day there, it was nowhere near long enough. The chapel has Knight Templar origins and is identical to King Solomons Temple. It is said that certain of the Dead Sea Scrolls are buried there. Stone carvings include maize and other plants which were not known in Europe before America was discovered, and yet these carvings pre-date Columbus by 100 years so there is evidence, now being accepted, that the Templars got there first! How interesting!

Christmas We had a great Christmas in Wiltshire with the family. Following a magnificent Christmas lunch with good wine and even better port, we were all sitting round chatting when the subject came round to the 1939-45 war. I was talking about being an evacuee and living through the Battle of Britain and the Blitz. The family listened in complete silence. When I had finished Mervyn said that I should write a book which I thought crazy, but he said it would be interesting for future generations. So I began to think.

My mother died in June 2000 – within 6 weeks of being 100. She was born in 1900 – it was almost before there were motor cars and telephones; radio was about to start; the first aeroplanes had just started to fly; there were no fridges, washing machines, central heating, frozen foods, etc. It was a very basic world. My grandchildren cannot conceive it so what about their children, my great grandchildren! I felt that I had to write for posterity and the benefit of the family.

2001 New Zealand It was natural that our first trip in 2001 would be to see the family in New Zealand and Australia, so we arranged to be away for 6 weeks. In those days, if one was flying long distance from say, the UK to New Zealand, the airlines provided a free two-night stopover in Singapore. As we were travelling Business Class, we had 4-star hotel which was very pleasant. Long distance flights did not exist so re-fuelling stops were essential.

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Having enjoyed our stay in Singapore, we continued our journey, refuelling in Australia and arriving in Auckland. We were met by members of the family and had a wonderful time whilst enjoying New Zealand. It was even more pleasant as, whilst it was winter in the UK, it was summer in NZ. From New Zealand we went to Brisbane, Australia, to see my cousin Geoff (Uncle Jack’s son) and his family.

Geoff had married a lady named Elizabeth from the Philippines, I believe, and they had a daughter. It was great to see Geoff again, but we had a feeling that his wife was ‘cool’ towards us. We had a tour of Brisbane and Geoff asked where we would like to go on the next day. We were keen on visiting the White Eagle Lodge at Maleny which was not too far from Brisbane. This was agreed so we left next morning and drove there enjoying to Australian countryside. We enjoyed our visit.

The next morning with cases packed, Geoff drove us to a car firm in Brisbane so we could hire a car. We decided to make our way up the coast enjoying the seaside resorts on the way and staying at a motel overnight. As they did not serve food, we found an ex-servicemen’s club nearby. As a member of the RAF Association, we were welcomed and had an excellent sea-food meal.

The next morning, we called at the White Eagle Lodge as it was nearby and chatted to Lyn and Gay about the WE work in Australia. As we had no destination in mind, they suggested that we stay at the Centre. We were delighted and spent a few days there visiting the area and going to local beaches. There was a particularly good vegetarian restaurant in Maleny, so we took Lyn, Gay and their husbands to dinner and had a very convivial evening.

We were sorry to leave there, but we felt that we needed to get back to England as we had been away for six weeks. Nevertheless, we had every intention of returning to our ‘home’ in Australia. A pleasant journey home, a great time with family and friends and Spring was around the corner.

Italy In October we made our first package trip to Italy and enjoyed every minute of it. A wonderful hotel in Sorrento with great staff and exceptional food. We were strict vegetarians and as we approached the Dining Room, the head waiter would rush forward, take us to our table and tell us what the chef had prepared specially for us – and it was always excellent. We knew we would have to return.

2002 We started the year by visiting Madeira in January staying at the 5* Savoy hotel which was extremely good.

Madeira is a great place for the winter and has a warm climate. In February, we replied to an advertisement in the Telegraph which resulted in a 4-day break in Lyme Regis. For once we could drive there and not have the hassle of airports. A good hotel and we had the opportunity of learning about fossils and going on an organized fossil hunt.

In May, we were back in Sorrento to enjoy a wonderful hotel, superb weather and had the opportunity to visit Capri, Ischia, Pompei, Rome and the Vatican plus various other places.

In August, we went to the magical island of Iona (off Mull). It is total peace and incredibly beautiful. There are only two hotels plus some B&Bs. We had booked in December and could only get 4 days in August. It is such a spiritual island. Our hotel, the St Columba, is next to the Abbey and after dinner we would have coffee and then go to the Abbey for a simple, candlelight, non-denominational 9pm service. People come from around the world to spend time in Iona.

We returned via the Yorkshire Dales and spent a week in Swaledale, in a delightful cottage which we enjoyed where we could wake in the morning to the sound of the River Swale bubbling by and see the cows passing by our window after milking.

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In September, we visited Ludlow where we stayed in a small Palladian country house run by an Irish lady.

Crazy but fun. We were looked after extremely well for our £90 B&B per person! Our introduction came on the way there as, realising that we would not be there for dinner at 7pm, we phoned on the mobile to tell them. A few minutes later, the phone rang and we were asked what we would like for starters! Our room had a light bulb missing, a loose toilet seat and the flush handle was also loose. If you wanted a drink at the bar, you helped yourself and made a note. When we finished our meal, she would shoo her family out of the lounge where they were watching TV, so that the guests could go in. Following dinner, guests were asked for the breakfast choice and, as you finished breakfast, you were asked to choose from the Dinner Menu.

This elegant house had 16 rooms and although we could have criticized our hostess on many counts, her blarney was so lovely, we couldn’t say a thing. It could be best be described as a delightful Faulty Towers.

The highlight of the year was a visit to Cairo to see a performance of Aida at the pyramids. It was an experience that one would never forget – the black velvet sky, twinkling stars and the Belt of Orion over head – the music – the colour effects on the stage – the site of Pharaoh marching on with 650 soldiers, all magnificently dressed and the whole swept against two illuminated pyramids as a backdrop. Absolutely magical. The most surprising aspect was that there were no programmes available as I am sure everyone would have like one as a souvenir of such an occasion.

We stayed at the Pyramid Sofitel Hotel from where we could see the pyramids from our room. We also took the opportunity of seeing the Pyramids Sound and Light show and visiting the Cairo Museum for the third time, but one never tires. We also visited Alexandria which concluded an enjoyable five days.

Four days after returning, we were off to Rouen for a long weekend. I was there for a masonic meeting and Maureen came along to enjoy some time in France. Unfortunately, the journey was tedious. It involved a coach via Eurostar then a 200km drive through France.

2003 In January we jetted off to Australasia, calling at Singapore for three days en route staying at the new Japanese hotel, the New Otani, which overlooked Clarke Quay. We were on the 23rd floor so had magnificent views. From there, we flew to the Great Barrier Reef in North Queensland, staying first at the Kewarra Beach Hotel in Cairns and then at the Thala Beach Hotel in Port Douglas – both hotels are part of the Small Luxury Hotels of the World group. They were situated in the rain forests. We lived in bungalows which were extremely comfortable. The restaurants and lounges were open roofed with no windows so exotic birds and butterflies would come in whilst we were eating. We went from Cairns to Kuranda on a railway built by pioneers in 1882 – many of whom died in the harsh conditions. We came back on the Skyrail which travels above the rain forest taking about 40 minutes.

Our main event was to travel out on Quicksilver to the Great Barrier Reef – about 45 minutes on the hydrofoil.

We were then kitted out with wetsuits, flippers, masks and goggles before diving to see the underwater life.

In some ways this was disappointing as we have seen better in the Red Sea and Florida. The reef was past its best and the main fish came when they were fed. On our early flight from Cairns to Brisbane, we were asked what we would like for breakfast so, with tongue in cheek, we said poached eggs. To our surprise, poached eggs on toast were served – that was a first – freshly prepared and served on an aircraft and they were delicious. We drove to the White Eagle Australasia Centre at Maleny where we spent time helping where we could. On one occasion, we were privileged to take the Service on a Sunday morning. This was followed by a light lunch, followed by the healing service which was held outdoors in the sunshine.

It proved most interesting as my patient was a man whom I had met on a previous occasion. Having completed his healing, he turned round and, looking up at me said, “ You were a novice in xxxx monastery in Tibet (I wish I could remember the name of that monastery which he told me) and you became the Abbot”. He was most sincere and I did not feel I could challenge him because somehow, I felt it was true!

I have always had an affinity with Tibet and can remember one occasion when we were walking along a 323

wide path and there were three young monks ahead of us. They were laughing and chatting and I so wanted to join them.

From there it was on to New Zealand to see our family and friends. We had time in Auckland and then on to the Bay of Islands where we stayed in a villa in Russell (the first capital of NZ) overlooking the bay. We went for a day cruise calling at many small and beautiful islands delivering mail and groceries to the residents.

Following that, it was off to the Pacific Rendezvous in Tutukaka with its wonderful views.

We enjoyed spending a day with my cousin, Davina, who is a well-known racehorse trainer. She invited us to the Ellerslie Racecourse where we had lunch in the top Silks Restaurant. A table directly overlooking the course and superb food. We opted for the seafood and enjoyed oysters, crab and lobster plus good champagne and wine. Davina took us down to the trainers’ stable where we saw her horses. It was a most enjoyable day. Cousin Rosalie and John drove us down to Wellington to see more family. On the way we stayed at a superb motel in Napier – our room had a circular bath and jacuzzi. Moving on we stopped in Hastings which had flower-lined streets; a lake with a fountain in the centre and a railway line running through the middle of the lake! Whilst there we called on the local WE church and were invited to take the Sunday service. A real privilege.

During our return to the UK we spent 3 days in Fiji, enjoying every minute at the Sheraton Fiji Resort Hotel – a room on the beach with palm trees swaying; Fijian bands playing guitars and singing it really was so special. Our next stop was for two nights in Los Angeles which included a trip to Hollywood and the shops in Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills, where money walks and talks.

Back in the UK, we visited the Chelsea Flower Show, Wimbledon and our annual trip to the Yorkshire Dales plus a week in Derbyshire.

Earlier in the year we had decided that we needed a bigger house so put ours on the market. We could not find any suitable alternative so withdrew it and decided to build an extension which received approval to add another 1500 sq ft over the study and half the double garage.

On 22 December we took our three grandchildren to Lapland for the day, leaving Gatwick at 8am to spend 8½ hours with reindeer sleighs and snowmobiles. The children hardly slept such was the anticipation. Also included was 20 minutes with the REAL Father Christmas; lunch in an ice cream castle and lots more. The outside temperature was -45degC but they provided thermal suits and boots which we had to wear immediately on landing. During the sleigh ride, we had to mask our noses and mouths against frostbite in the extreme cold which could have frozen our lungs. This almost happened to me as my mask slipped and I could feel my breathing slowing down. I told the driver and he turned round and drove straight back to our base. I was taken indoors and sat in front of a roaring fire for 20 minutes to thaw out and recover. Meanwhile, Maureen went on with the children to see Father Christmas and I never did. We spent a wonderful Christmas with Mervyn, Sandy and the grandchildren.

2004 On January 19th we boarded an Emirates flight to Johannesburg via Dubai. Our Business Class flight had an on-flight wardrobe for coats and we were greeted with champagne or orange juice. Canapes and aperitifs appeared with a 9-course menu, concluding wines with port or brandy to finish. Arriving in Jo’burg, we had to fly domestic on a small plane to the private Safari Park which had 12 lodges scattered over 100 squares miles. Our Lodge – Serondella (meaning elephant) was composed of 6 thatched huts (all en-suite) each holding 2 persons. It was beautifully equipped with a swimming pool, bar, lounge and restaurant. Customised open Land Rovers were used and they had a steel chair welded on to the bonnet for the guide/tracker to sit.

The days were strenuous, arising at 5am and leaving the Lodge at daybreak (5.30am) but it was the right time to see the animals. We saw a leopard with 2 cubs plus elephants and some lions. We would return around 8.30am for a shower and breakfast at 10am. The food was excellent.

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Then we flew to Cape Town for a couple of weeks so that we could tour and sample the wines and local food. We visited the Cape of Good Hope, Robben Island and saw where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned. We also spent time with the lady who looked after the White Eagle Lodge Church and were amazed to hear that she was responsible for the whole of Africa. South Africa is a beautiful country but there is a lot of criminal violence, particularly at night. Most homes had a notice on the gate stating, ‘Armed Response’ and quite a number had an armed guard sitting outside all night. It was also the same in car parks where you had to tip a local to prevent your car being vandalised.

Returning, we spent 3 nights in Dubai at the Ritz-Carlton – a wonderful hotel. Of course, we had to visit the gold souk – a commercial area where the windows and insides are stacked with gold. There is always a man sitting at the back of the shop. He is not innocent though – he has a rifle pointing into the shop!

Returning home, we had to plan our Golden Wedding for 3 April. It was held in Eastbourne at the Transport and 2004 50th Wedding Anniversary General Workers Union Centre (now The View Hotel) on the for Eric and Maureen Parrish seafront, a good hotel which could accommodate our 50 guests without a problem. Our guests included our Best Man and Chief Bridesmaid who will celebrate their golden wedding next year. This was the first time that the TGWU Centre had been used for an outside function. The food was fantastic with excellent champagne and wines. It was a memorable night for us and everyone present.

Meanwhile the house extension was proceeding and although the builders were excellent (we were making up to 28 cups of tea per day) there was considerable upheaval.

June was a busy time. We had our niece’s wedding in Chigwell and the following week my cousin and her husband arrived from New Zealand. We took them to the Yorkshire Dales staying in a cottage we often hired and, on the way home, we took them to meet the family in Wiltshire. A week after they left, Maureen’s cousin and her husband arrived from Spain for a week with us.

Just after their visit, we managed to squeeze in a week near Stratford upon Avon to see Romeo and Juliet and spend time in the Cotswolds. In October, we went on a classical tour of Italy visiting Florence, Sienna, Assisi and Rome. The tour was strenuous but enjoyable.

In December, our grandchildren (aged 15, 13 and 9) arrived to spend a week with us before Christmas. We always enjoyed their visits and took them home on Christmas Eve so it was a great start for Christmas.

2005 On January 19, we had intended to visit Sri Lanka followed by the Maldives but in the December, a tsunami had struck the whole region so the visit to the former was off and the little island in the Maldives had vanished completely!

A rapid change of plans resulted with us still leaving on January 19 and flying to Australia. We landed at Darwin en route for Adelaide. The flight from Darwin was incredible and took several hours. The countryside could be red, then orange and change to yellow with no sign of life. Sometimes a straight line indicated a 325

road that stretched for 100s of miles. Occasionally there was a cattle station with an airstrip. Everything totally isolated.

Arriving in Adelaide, we found our 5-star hotel had been overbooked so we were put into an apartment hotel. When we gave the taxi driver the address, he gave us a funny look and asked if we were sure. We confirmed, so we set off. The area appeared run down and our apartment backed on to a small road and opposite was a high brick wall surmounted by barbed wire. Inside were high buildings with narrow windows.

At night, our room was bathed in orange light.

The building turned out to be the Remand Centre for the whole of South Australia! I went for a beer in the bar next door. The barmaid was in a locked, floor-to-ceiling iron cage along with the till. She came out to serve me (with some suspicion) then disappeared back inside her cage, locking the iron gate. There were some shady individuals in the bar eyeing me with interest. I got the message, drank the beer and quickly left.

The hotel did not serve food so for the three evenings we were there we went to a Pizza restaurant on the next corner, had a pizza and dashed back.

We had a couple of interesting day trips, though. Boarding a small plane, we flew to Kangaroo Island for a tour and lunch. There were so many Koalas that they were having to cull them as they were stripping all the eucalyptus trees. We also visited the Barossa wine valley and tried some superb wines grown on 150-year-old vines planted by the first settlers. You will have heard of wines from Jacob’s Creek? We went there – it’s a stream about 6 feet wide but world famous.

We flew to Uluru via Alice Springs. There are superb hotels and shops, but the streets are so hot it was painful to walk on the paths. It was 107 deg in the shade during the day. We arose at dawn to see the sun rise over Uluru – a sacred place for the aborigines – where the colour can change with the light. Whilst there we went into the desert on two Harley-Davidsons (pillion, of course) riding at 80-90mph along the desert road where we had champagne en route.

Back to Brisbane, collected a car and arrived at Maleny around 11pm. In Maleny is a restaurant named ‘Captain Merv’s Sea Food Café’ (Mervyn was not amused!) and in a nearby town was ‘Old Aunty Maureen’s Fudge Factory’ (she was not amused either!). A quick trip down to NZ to be present at the birth of another cousin in Auckland, then Wellington and Tutukaka and home via Singapore.

In April, we had a week in St Davids, Pembrokeshire, which was marvellous – hardly any tourists, empty beaches, wildflowers in profusion, good restaurants and fresh local food. A great time of year to visit.

In June, we drove to Harwich and went on an eight-day cruise to the Norwegian Fjords. The scenery was breath taking and the ship, food and service were fantastic. We met a couple from Grand Cayman Island who were good company and we have been in touch since.

Our son’s Golden Wedding gift to us was a balloon flight which was brilliant, and in the August we went to see the Edinburgh Tattoo which was amazing.

2006 That year, our holiday started on 10th January when we left for Kenya on a private safari. Our first night was at Giraffe Manor, Nairobi. Designed in the style of a Scottish Manor House, it is situated in 120 acres of forested land which houses the endangered Rothschild giraffe.

The manor provides gracious living. Guests assemble for cocktails at 7pm which are served by the host.

There are comfortable sofas and a log-burning fire. The African staff change into white and gold uniforms for the evening. The dining room is most elegant – a long refectory table exquisitely set with a central candelabra plus four others in each corner of the room. Our Host sat at one end and the chatelaine (hostess) at 326

the other with the guests seated centrally. The role of our hosts was to maintain a convivial conversation and take care of the dining. Not only was the food excellent, it was accompanied by fine wines and impeccable service. The African waiters were highly professional – unobtrusive but totally attentive, sensing when a guest has a need and responding at the right time.

Breakfast was so different. A long room with giraffes poking their heads through the windows; we had to feed the giraffes with the pony nuts provided before we sat down. The breakfast menu had an enormous selection with everything cooked to order within a few minutes.

Maureen had a special experience. She visited an animal sanctuary and was allowed into an enclosure with four two-year Cheetahs which she stroked and cuddled.

We visited three safari parks; Amboseli with Mt Kilimanjaro as the backdrop where we saw elephants, wildebeest, fish eagles, ostriches, zebra etc. The camps had luxury en-suite tents and all food drinks and laundry were included.

We travelled in small aircraft (18 flights) landing on small dust airstrips.

The next camp was Elsa’s Kopje of Joy Adamson and Born Free fame. It was on a 200ft high outcrop of rocks with views for 20 miles. We ate under the stars and to get to our room required crossing a 100ft ravine with a swinging suspension bridge. Our ‘room’ had no windows but fantastic views. We could see animals below but had monkeys outside our front door.

Maureen and cheetah

Elephant Pepper Camp was at ground level in the bush. The tents were comfortable but with basic bucket showers and a pudding basin size sink. Our driver was excellent, and he stopped our open sided Range Rover next to a pride of 2 lions, 5 lionesses and 7 cubs (the latter tried to gnaw our tyres). One male came within 6 feet of us. We stayed with them for over an hour and it was such a privilege to be with them. At night we were guarded by two Masai warriors – one had a spear and the other a bow and arrow.

We went to Manda Bay, an incredible island in the Indian Ocean where we stayed in in a massive 70’x40’ grass hut with sea views, wonderful food and a free bar but it was extremely hot.

The next stop was on the banks of the Zambesi. Our room had a roof but no windows. We were 30’ from the river with its hippos and crocodiles and close to the Victoria Falls which was breathtaking – 1.7km long with around 300’ drop – a thundering mass of foaming water. We stood by the edge in soaking plastic macs 327

and covered in spray. Lunch was on Livingstone Island close to the edge – just us with a fully laid table and specially cooked meal and wine – everything having been brought through these swirling waters by boat.

Back home we drove to St Davids for week. A lovely time with the Spring flowers. Sadly, the restaurants had almost doubled their prices since last year and the County Council had imposed high car parking changes although the car parks were empty. There were no charges last year.

In June we went on a Baltic cruise which was enjoyable, but the ship appeared overbooked. St Petersburg was rather depressing although the ballet was wonderful.

Our last trip of the year was to Classical Spain which was interesting. We visited Granada, Cordoba and Seville where we toured the Alhambra.

Apart from travelling, we are involved with local activities. Maureen works in the day surgery in our local hospital and visits a blind person – she was recently presented with an award for this by the Lord Lieutenant of Sussex.

2007 We decided to go to the North of England and Scotland, so started our visit near where we used to live in Elloughton, East Yorks. We stayed in Hessle before moving North to Alnwick where we visited Alnwick Castle and the wonderful Barter bookshop which is housed in the old railway station. Supposedly, it is the largest second-hand bookshop in the world; coffee is available (with an honesty box) and there are armchairs and a coal fir in the winter. Settle down and enjoy.

We crossed the Forth Bridge on our way to a booked cottage at Burghead – a onetime fishing port which has seen its best days. We also took the opportunity to visit my cousin Jean in Nairn. Sadly, her husband was suffering from dementia and she has Parkinsons disease, but it was lovely to see them.

We moved on to Glasgow via Inverness and visited the Glasgow Art Gallery – always a ‘must’ whenever I am in Glasgow. Leaving the city, we booked in at the Premier Inn in Greenock overlooking the Clyde. The next morning the car would not start. Britannia Rescue gave me a jump start and we drove to Gretna Green for lunch. The car would not start again. Another jump start and we got to the Lake District.

The next morning, the car was so dead that the key wouldn’t open the doors. Another jump start and we set off for the Citroen dealer in Kendall who was excellent. We needed a new Electronic Control Unit at £1129.29! A new unit was sent overnight and when we called at 11am the car was finished. We set off home so saw virtually nothing of the Lake District.

2008 We had an enjoyable New Year in Morocco with the family and two weeks later we were off to Sri Lanka and the Maldives. The Sri Lanka hotel was 5 Star and built into a rock face. Everything was recycled – even elephant poo became paper for hotel envelopes, notepaper etc. We went to the Rock Buddha, met the abbot and joined him for tea. He had 50 children to teach and only two Ladybird books for teaching English.

As a result, we sent him 179 books when we got home.

The Maldives were amazing with the whiteness of the sand and the blue of the sea.

2009 With the whole family, we spent time in Australia en route for Christmas in NZ. Mervyn had a 6-berth family caravan, and we had a car so we all toured North Island then back for Christmas lunch. In fact, 35 sat down 328

Right: 1978 Golden Wedding Anniversary (50th) of Archibald Lionel Parrish and Mildred Lucy Parrish

Left: 1988 Diamond Wedding Anniversary (60th) of Archie and Mildred Parrish Celebrating in the bar of The Iverna hotel behind the Post Office.

From left to right: Eric Lionel Parrish, Uncle Jack Parrish, Mervyn Parrish and Archie

1988 Diamond Wedding Anniversary of Archie and Mildred From left to right: Brenda Lamont, Sandy Parrish, Jack Parrish, Edie Parrish, Maureen Parrish, Gladys Baker, Archie Parrish, Leslie Baker, Mervyn Parrish, Mildred Parrish, Eric Parrish, Derek Lamont 329

to lunch – he biggest gathering of the family ever. Sadly, NZ Christmases are not like the UK. House decorations are sparse, shops rarely decorate, there seems little religious activity and there is no build-up in the preceding weeks. It felt more like a bank holiday with barbecues and picnics.

On Boxing Day, I left around 5am to go fishing in the Hurald Gulf in a cloudless sky and trying to avoid sunburn.

In July John and Rosalie from NZ visited us and we took them to a cottage in the Yorkshire Moors then to a cottage in the Cotswolds before calling at Mervyn’s home on our way back.

In the autumn we went on a wonderful cruise to the Norwegian fjords, stopping 32 times in order to deliver supplies.

2010 Mervyn had bought a house in Looe with steps on to the beach. There were 14 of us and we had a New Year’s Party which was great fun.

On 26 January we set off for Egypt staying at Taba on the coast of Aqaba from where we could see four countries – Egypt, Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia. We were there to see St Catherine’s – the oldest working monastery in the world where Moses received the Ten Commandments. It is also the site of the ’burning bush’.

The library houses books from the 4th and 5th centuries AD. We had a trip on a Seascope Yellow Submarine to see the amazing tropical fish. I bought some Egyptian Scarab cuff links – blue Lapis Lazuli set in 24ct gold. I also bought Maureen a beautiful gold necklace.

As the Chairman of our Medical Practice patient’s committee, I was involved in organising a two-day Health Event at the Winter Garden, Eastbourne. There were around 100 stalls.

Acting for Grange Park Investments Ltd, I was involved in refurbishing three flats owned by the company.

Masonically, we had the Knights Templar Service at Hurstpierpoint College in May and, as I was the Provincial Prelate, it was my duty to arrange and conduct the service. This was a great pleasure as we had around 200 attending including their families. The knights were in full regalia. A memorable tea followed the service.

Following our annual visit to Yorkshire, our last trip was to Jersey flying from Manston which was so easy.

The final event of the year was Maureen’s birthday on 4 December when she became an octogenarian. I took her to Littlecote House near Hungerford for the celebration. My only problem was that, to get away promptly, I left her cards and presents at home. It was still a great birthday.

2011 On 24 January, we flew to India for what turned out to be an incredible journey through India on the Maharajah’s Express from Delhi to Mumbai. We lived on the train with our own ensuite cabin. The train had its own chefs cooking Indian and European food in separate kitchens, a lounge, hair dressing salon, bar and gym. We travelled overnight visiting different places each day.

When the train arrived at a station in the morning, a red carpet was laid out and we were met by a jazz or other band. We saw the Taj Mahal and famous cities; had a banquet in a Maharajah’s palace and visited the Rathampore Tiger Reserve where we saw two tigers and leopard.

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In April we visited the Scilly Isles after a gap of 50 years. It was as beautiful as ever.

In June, we left on a Pilgrimage to the Holy Land with the Masonic Order of the Knights Templar during which time we visited most of the holy places and many Templar castles, We also visited the Jerusalem Eye Hospital and presented a cheque for £138,000 from the UK Knights Templar.

As the KT Prelate for Sussex, I had the privilege of baptizing 15 of our group in the River Jordan and, on the following Sunday, presenting baptismal certificates in St George’s Cathedral, Jerusalem.

In August, we stayed with the family in Looe enjoying visits to local places.

October saw us off to visit the five ancient capitals of Morocco. Unfortunately, the hotels were not particularly good and Maureen picked up a gut infection which put her out of action for several days, and was only resolved after seeing our GP when we returned home.

2012 We started the year by visiting the National Gallery to view the Leonardo da Vinci exhibition – the greatest gathering of his painting ever which apparently will never be repeated.

On 12 January we left for Kerala, S. India and staying in small country houses and homesteads over three weeks. We enjoyed excellent food and curries. The markets were incredible with silks, spices and carvings.

We also stayed in a bungalow overlooking the Indian Ocean. The chef visited us, agreed a menu which was cooked and served on the bungalow terrace. A dream place.

In March, tragedy struck. Doing some Yoga in the Gym, I stretched and strained something. It was painful; it got worse and resulted in a hip replacement in August.

As we had tickets for the opening ceremony of the London Olympics, the operation was delayed. I had a cortisone injection and had to go to the Olympics in a wheelchair as I could not walk and was in great pain.

The show started at 7.30pm and finished at 12.45am! Following my operation, I contracted a chest and urinary tract infection which was horrendous for Maureen. Thankfully, everything resolved, and the operation was a success.

Around the same time Maureen developed an hiatus hernia which got progressively worse. We spent Christmas and New Year with the family in Wiltshire.

2013 In April, we want on a cruise to Amsterdam and Belgium which was excellent.

Maureen’s hiatus hernia got progressively worse and resulted in surgery on 1 May 2013. The operation was a success and made a great difference to her life. No further treatment was needed.

In June we went to the South of England Show which is so enjoyable. Also in June, my cousin Rosalie and husband John arrived from NZ and we took them on a 5-day tour of Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk, where we stayed with Yvonne and Ian and enjoyed family catch-up time.

In July we were back in the Scillies and spent time with a couple we had met there previously.

On 3 August we went on a cruise to the Scottish Islands, travelling back down the West coast and finishing at Poole.

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This was followed in August by Mervyn and Sandy’s Silver Wedding in Wiltshire and another cruise down the Danube in September visiting Vienna, Bratislava, Saltzberg and Budapest.

In addition, we were still involved with our church, healing and voluntary activities.

2014 Following a lovely Christmas and New Year with the family in Wiltshire, we headed for some winter sun in Lanzarote. Reasonable hotel but had buffet food which we detest.

2014 Diamond Wedding Anniversary of Eric and Maureen at the Star Castle Hotel, St. Marys, Isles of Scilly: Left to right: Victoria Parrish (grandaughter), Sandy Parrish (daughter-in-law), Eric Parrish, Maureen Parrish, Adam Parrish (grandson), Mervyn Parrish (son), Georgina Stallard, nee Parrish (grandaughter).

The big occasion was our Diamond Wedding on 3 April 2014. The postman brought a special delivery envelope from Buckingham Palace with a card from HM Queen Elizabeth II. A family affair when we took our whole family to the Star Castle Hotel on St Marys, Isles of Scilly. A Black-Tie Dinner with superb food and wine. I gave Maureen a 7 stone diamond eternity ring and she gave me a day driving a railway engine!

Mervyn and Sandy gave us a 3 day visit to Geneva (so I could visit the Patek Philip watch museum).

At the end of June, we were off to Yorkshire meeting old friends.

In September we went on a river cruise from Paris to Honfleur where we visited the Normandy beaches which brought back memories of the war.

On 15 December we visited Loughborough University to see Adam graduate with an M.Sc. in Business Analysis and Management. A proud moment for us and his parents.

2015 In January we headed to The Gambia in West Africa staying at the Ngala Lodge Hotel. We had an enormous room with balcony, sun beds and our own Jacuzzi. The sea views were breathtaking as was the food.

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2014 Diamond Wedding Anniversary – congratulations from HM Queen Elizabeth II.

In April we drove to Cornwall and flew in an 18-seater Twin Otter aircraft to the Scilly Isles staying in the Star Castle Hotel. Wonderful to be back.

In May, I was invited to attend the RAF Association Conference in Eastbourne following an article I had written in their members newspaper.

Portrait of Eric and Maureen Diamond Wedding Anniversary 2014.

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At

the end of June Rosalie and John were here from NZ so we took them for a tour of Dorset, staying in Wolsey Lodges and In August we were cruising in the Bordeaux region of France.

2016 Maureen’s progressive lung condition was worsening, and there was no regular treatment, I scoured the web and found a company in the USA offering an option. In 2015, I phoned them in Arizona and, as a result, had a consignment flown in. Twelve months after starting treatment, her condition seemed stable with no deterioration. If she started coughing steroids helped to resolve it. I bought her a battery operated buggy which could be carried in our car and got her a blue disabled persons badge which was so useful. We had one cruise to the remote Scottish Islands which included St Kilda but travel overseas was out.

We went to visit one of my retired representatives who was 92 and living in Cockermouth. It gave us the opportunity to see the Lake District as well as parts of the Yorkshire Dales. Our next stop was Aberdovey (the Trefiddian Hotel) to see two friends we met in the Scilly Isles.

We decided that because of Maureen’s condition, we could not go to Mervyn for Christmas so went to Deans Place Hotel, Alfriston, only 20 minutes away from home.

2017 Maureen’s lung condition was getting worse, but I had been able to control her cough with medication, but this was losing its effect. On Saturday, 7 January, I phoned 111 and was advised to take her to our local hospital. On arrival and after a preliminary check, she was diagnosed with pneumonia and placed on two antibiotics by drip. She was transferred to a ward and I spent the rest of the day with her. I returned on the Sunday and all the family came to visit. She was cheerful but not improving. By the evening she was uncomfortable. I realised the inevitable. I sensed a gathering around her bedhead. My spiritual teachings told me that angelic beings were getting ready to welcome her into her new life. We spoke and she said,” I want you to take my funeral service; Mervyn to do the eulogy and get married”. She was very uncomfortable. I asked the staff nurse to give her some morphine which she did. A few minutes later Maureen took three deep breaths and was gone It was 10.45pm on 8 January 2017. We had been happily married for nearly 63 years and now I was alone.

I phoned Mervyn with the news. Having gone through the hospital formalities, I arrived home at 11.30pm. I opened the front door and it hit me – the house was eerily empty – there was no cheery greeting and never would be again. I walked around and felt the silence. Only part of me was there. The rest had gone. I sat in our sanctuary and held her in the light. At least I knew she was alright but somehow, I was meant to carry on. My future was bleak.

I went to bed but there was no way I could sleep so I got up and decided to send emails to everyone in my address book. This took until around 4am when I was exhausted. Mervyn phoned to say he was on his way and would spend the week with me making the necessary arrangements. Although I had taken many funerals, I felt that on this occasion I would be too emotionally involved, so asked a member of our church whom I had known for many years. She agreed and arrangements proceeded but Maureen had other ideas.

On the day before the funeral, the lady phoned to say that she had a painful ear infection, was taking medication and couldn’t leave the house. Maureen had got her way.

I took the service and I am pleased that I did. About 100 people packed the Eastbourne Crematorium including family, friends and those representing the various charities she supported. Even our GP came.

During the service, I, and a number of those present knew she was there enjoying the occasion. Maureen always loved a party! The wake was held at the Hydro Hotel. It was a happy occasion where many memories and stories were shared. Maureen would have liked it that way.

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Then it was back to reality. When the mourners depart, the grieving starts and the work begins; dealing with solicitors and banks! After Mervyn returned, I was desperately lonely in the house with the short days, long nights and no one to talk to. Mervyn phoned daily for which I was grateful, but I was living with my thoughts.

I would go into the Sanctuary and talk to Maureen – she was there and understood my problems. On so many occasions she said that I must be patient and it would take time, but the days and weeks went by and I was lonely and impatient.

I must go back to the time when I sent the emails following Maureen’s passing. The last name on my list was my step-cousin, Yvonne, the stepdaughter of my uncle Bob who had married a Greek divorcee in 1946 during his wartime service in Greece. Writing with his news, he enclosed a photo (which I still have), of Yvonne saying that she was looking forward to meeting her new English cousin. She was 7 and I was 15. I adored this little girl and even more so when they arrived in England and stayed with us for three weeks. A link was established and has been ever since. We grew up and pursued our separate lives. She was one of our bridesmaids; I gave the toast to the Bride and Groom at her wedding and we met on family occasions and somehow the link remained. Yvonne had a family of three; had been divorced; remarried and widowed two years earlier.

Yvonne was the first to respond to my email. She phoned to say that she would have come straight away to help but was off in two days for two months to see her grandchildren in Australia. She said she would contact me on her return. This she did and arrived on 1st April returning home on the 6th. The visit was formal to start with but, by the time she left, that link was developing.

Feeling that people may think the worst of me so soon after Maureen’s passing, I emailed my cousin in NZ explaining the circumstances. To my surprise, she phoned me the same evening saying they were thrilled and that, “Maureen is behind this”.

Hadn’t Maureen said that I must be patient and it would take time? Remember Maureen said, “Get married”.

I then contacted a member of our church whose opinion I valued. Her response was that “Maureen’s been arranging this – it is decreed that you are to be together”. I had many similar comments. Our relationship developed; we enjoy being together and Yvonne has moved to Eastbourne renting her lovely home in Norfolk.

2018 In January we went to NZ to stay with my family and spend time with Yvonne’s eldest son, Simon, his wife and their two children, who were holidaying there. We then flew back with them to spend two weeks in Australia before returning home.

In May, Yvonne was booked for a round Britain cruise with an old school friend. Not bearing to be alone, I booked a tour of wartime RAF stations in Norfolk and, on 26 May my eldest granddaughter, Georgina, was married, which was a lovely occasion. In June we had the wedding of Matt and Hannah in Cambridge. He is the grandson of my cousin, Liana (Liana is my Uncle Bob’s daughter and Yvonne’s half-sister).

In July/August, we spent nearly three weeks in Greece followed by three weeks in Norfolk, alternating with Eastbourne. In November, Yvonne’s granddaughter, Emma, was flying from Australia to Paris on a student exchange, and then taking an internal flight, so Simon asked us if we would go to Paris to make sure all went well. Then in December, William, Yvonne’s grandson came to stay for two weeks.

2019 On 6 April, we attended the wedding of Yvonne’s friend, Evie to Brian. It took place in Caius College in Cambridge followed by a reception and lunch at which I had the privilege of proposing the toast to the bride and groom. A lovely occasion.

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Yvonne and I had discussed the possibility of her moving to Eastbourne. We were both driving together to each other’s homes and it seemed sensible to live in one place. However, there were two homes with furniture to resolve. Yvonne decided to rent her bungalow partly furnished and bring some furniture to Eastbourne whilst I disposed of certain pieces of mine. On 20 May 2019, her furniture was loaded on the van; we drove to Eastbourne and received it the following day.

On 1 July, we left for Greece to meet up with Simon and his family flying from Australia. He wanted his children to see Yvonne’s family birthplace. We spent time in Astros and met some of her family. Simon left and we went to Tolo staying in a lovely family hotel on the beach. It was extremely hot. We ate in Tavernas sited on the beach with the sea a few feet away.

Back at home, I arranged to visit some of the company properties with Mervyn who was becoming more involved with the business. This included a business visit to the Isle of Wight where we spent a few days.

In Eastbourne, Yvonne started voluntary work with St Wilfrid’s Hospice, both on the in-patient area and visiting patients in their homes.

At the AGM of Grange Park Investments Ltd, I decided step aside as Chairman and MD to allow Mervyn to take over the reins, whilst remaining on the Board to enable a smooth transition.

On 23 December, we visited my cousin Alan (Yvonne's half-brother) and his wife Janice in East Ilsley, and following a visit to see the Christmas decorations at Blenheim Palace, we spent a very pleasant Christmas with them. Afterwards we went to spend time with Mervyn and his family returning home on 30 December 2020 In February, we felt the need for some winter sun so from 24 February to 5 March we headed for Madeira to a 5 star hotel where we could enjoy the warmer climate. For me, the main problem with Madeira is that there is very little to do, unless you are able to go trekking. We had the coach tours to the North and East of the island, which covered Funchal itself, which was within walking distance of the hotel. The temperature was perfect.

While we were in Madeira, news starting coming through about a new virus, COVID-19 (coronavirus).

Allegedly, it originated in Wuhan, China, towards the end of 2019, but news did not come out until January 2020. The first two cases in the UK were diagnosed on 31 January 2020. Holidaymakers on cruise ships seemed to be prone to this new virus and were seriously ill, and even dying quite rapidly.

We were concerned in case anyone at our hotel was found to have this virus and we would be confined to the hotel for several weeks, unable to return home. However, we caught our flight on the planned day but within a couple of weeks, the whole country was put into ‘lockdown’ (normally associated with American prisons!) indefinitely. A very strange, eerie and sci-fi experience!

The symptoms were loss of taste and smell, a high temperature and a continuous cough. This virus spread rapidly around the world and affected people’s breathing; the elderly were vulnerable and many old and young have died, despite being hospitalised and put on to ventilators, to assist their breathing. It rapidly developed into a world-wide pandemic This motivated the urgent search for a vaccine.

Owing to the rapid spread of the virus, governments had to take stringent precautions to endeavour to protect their populations. Apart from ‘key’ workers (hospital staff, delivery drivers, transport staff), shops, offices, public houses and restaurants, had to close if deemed to be ‘non-essential.’ People are required to stay indoors, with one hour for outdoor exercise allowed daily. Food shops and supermarkets remain open and the public are allowed out only for essential food shopping. If you are fortunate and able to obtain a slot, supermarkets will deliver or you can collect your shopping, after you place your order on line. The wearing 336

of face coverings became compulsory in shops and indoor shopping areas. People are not allowed to gather in individual groups (to meet neighbours or visit families) either indoors or outside. Thousands of people began to work from home, full-time.

8th May was the 75th anniversary of VE Day when we remembered the end of the 1939-45 war in Europe.

After nearly 6 years of war when we had been the subject of air attacks; our loved ones being separated through serving in the armed forces; shortages of food, clothing, and the general loss of freedom in our lives, we could look forward to a world when we start to live again. Of course, these visions were clouded by the continuing war in the Far East with its jungle warfare and some of our loved ones being held prisoners of war by the Japanese. The end of the war in the Far East is covered elsewhere in the book. At this particular celebration, we had a small socially-distanced get together in our immediate neighbourhood. It was glorious weather which enabled us to sit in our driveways and in the road, and it was a lovely way to have this celebration, despite COVID-19.

After the easing of lockdown in July, we were looking for short breaks and on September 12 we headed for the Cotswolds. We stayed at Charingworth Manor which was comfortable and gave us the opportunity to visit that part of England. It also enabled us to call on my cousin Alan and his wife, Janice, in East Ilsley, on our journey home.

Having always enjoyed the Essex/Suffolk countryside so we decided to use Hintlesham Hall in Suffolk as a base for touring the area. It is close to Ipswich so I was able to visit the house where I lived as an evacuee in 1939. I wanted a photograph of the house for inclusion in my memoirs, so knocked and explained to the lady that I had been evacuated there in 1939 and would she mind if I took a photograph. She said ‘No she wouldn’t mind’ and promptly shut the door! Some people are strange. If someone knocked at my door and said that they had lived in my house 81 years before, I would be interested enough to know more.

Following the first outbreak in the spring, the virus was less active during the summer but, as predicted, returned strongly during the winter months hence the strengthening of the precautions. The public cannot eat out (restaurants are closed) or travel. The police have imposed fines (up to £10,000) for people flouting the law. It is hoped that the precautions plus the vaccinations will reduce, or hopefully, eliminate Coronavirus in the UK. A further lockdown was imposed in early November and Christmas 2020 certainly was one to remember, for all the wrong reasons. Families were recommended not to mix, with one day’s grace given for Christmas Day itself. However, this again was for three households only to be able to mix.

Since the start of this pandemic, pharmaceutical companies managed to compress what would normally take about 9 years’ research and development into a matter of months. Several vaccines had been formulated, tested, and approved. Because virtually the whole population needed to be vaccinated, priorities had to be established with priority given to the most vulnerable in terms of age and existing medical conditions. Yvonne and I were in the priority category and have each received our primary and secondary vaccinations.

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16 January 2021

•

A Modern Fairy Tale

W

h at a s t o r y !

A little Greek girl comes to England in 1946. She meets her older step-cousin. There is an attraction, but age requires them to follow their own paths of marriage and family life.

Following widowhood, they meet; the attraction is renewed and they come together to share their lives.

•

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—45— The Manor of Burghurst As a 13-year-old attending Leyton County High School, I had a mild-mannered history master by the name of Mr Cohen who had the nickname of ‘The Bear’. I do not know why except that he was short, dumpy man who walked quite fast taking short steps and always carried a bundle of papers under his arm. Could one say he was ‘bear’ shaped?

Mr Cohen had a different approach to history in that he included the level of the ordinary people of the time.

One aspect that I found fascinating concerned Lordships of the Manor which are among the oldest titles in England and pre-date the Norman Conquest begun by William 1 at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. The Manor was the pivot of the feudal system and by the reign of Edward the Confessor (1042-66), the Lord of the Manor was regarded as the local leader and the most important person in village affairs; whether it be in collecting taxes for the King or dispensing justice even, in some cases. by having the power to inflict the death penalty.

In return for the protection and the land he gave them, the people of the Manor, from slaves to freemen, owed their Lord certain services ranging from money rents, to working for so many days a week on the Lords Home Farm without pay. At the time of harvest, they helped the Lord get his corn in and used the Lord’s mill to grind their own. They let their animals on to his fields that the Lord might benefit from the manure on his land.

Many of the great ‘nobles’ of the period demonstrated their power through the number of Manors they held, and the English nobility was a caste whose power was based on the ownership of land and Manors.

What I found more interesting was that such Manors still existed and it was some years later, when I was in my twenties, that I happened to read in the Daily Telegraph that a Manor had been sold. This aroused my interest and a short while later I found a similar article in the same paper and this mentioned the name of the organisation handling the sale. Wouldn’t it be marvellous to ‘own’ a piece of ancient English history?

I needed to investigate so I contacted the organisation and received a list of Manors for sale. One was the Manor of Burghurst situated in Burwash, East Sussex. The title of the Lord of the Manor of Burghurst dates back to 1256 when it was held by Herbert de Berghersh. The Manor no longer exists but it is interesting that opposite St Bartholomew’s church in Burwash is a house named the Burghurst Manor House. I purchased The Lordship of the Manor of Burghurst with some Deeds which date back to 12th August 1734, on 10th March 1999. Unfortunately, there is no mention of Burghurst in the Doomsday Book and the first reference is in 1170 under the name, Burghersce which meant ‘a stronghold or stubblefield’. So I can say that my childhood interest has been satisfied. What is more the ownership carries a style and title as follows: Eric Lionel Parrish, Lord of Burghurst or Eric Lionel Parrish, Lord of the Manor of Burghurst. The Burghurst Arms employ a Lion Rampart with a forked tail in red and this is incorporated in my Armorial Ensign (Coat of Arms).

As a member of the Manorial Society of Great Britain, I am invited to attend an Annual Reception at The House of Lords each year.

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Armorial Bearings (Coat of Arms) of Eric Lionel Parrish

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Armorial Ensigns of Eric Lionel Parrish

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—46— The Manor of Burghurst – A history

T

of Burwash in the Doomsday Book, and the earliest mention is under the name of Burghesce in 1170, which meant ‘a stronghold or stubblefield.’ It is then recorded as Burghasse in 1378, then Burghersch, Burwasse and finally to Burwash. here is no mention

The title of the Lord of the Manor of Burghurst dates back to 1256, when it was held by Herbert de Berghersh.

In 1268, the position of Warden of the Cinque Ports was created covering Sandwich, Dover, Hythe, Romney (now New Romney) and Hastings. Robert de Berhersh was made Constable of Dover Castle and Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports in 1298 – he was one of he first three Wardens and vacated it on 16 October 1306 and died in the same year. He was summoned to Parliament as Lord Burghersh in 1303.

Stephen de Burghursh became the second Baron and Bartholomew was the third Baron and became Lord Chamberlain and Constable of the Tower of London. He had a son, Henry, who became Bishop of Lincoln.

Bartholomew died in 1355 and was succeeded by the fourth Baron, also Bartholomew, who died in 1369.

It is interesting to note that Burwash Church is Saint Bartholomew and opposite is the Burghurst Manor House!

The Manor passed from the Berghursh family in 1400 to the Hoo family, and later to an Edmund Dudley during the latter years of Henry VII. He was appointed President of the King’s Council and Steward of the Rape of Hastings.(Rapes were established by the Normans as administrative areas and stretched from south to north across the country. Sussex had five – Arundel, Bramber, Lewes, Pevensey and Hastings.

Each rape had a main port and a castle).

Edmund was later accused of treason and defrauding the Crown. He was sent to the Tower of London and executed by Henry VIII. His son became the Duke of Northumberland, who sold it in 1538 to the Duke of Newcastle.

It was next sold in 1763 along with the Manors of Burwash and Dallington to the Earl of Ashburnham for £10,000. This was a vast sum of money at that time, so these must haven highly valuable Manors. It was acquired by me in 1999.

The Burghurst Arms employ a Lion rampart with a forked tail and this is incorporated into my Armorial Ensign (Coat of Arms).

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Armorial Ensigns of Mervyn Neil Parrish BA

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—47— Epilogue

H

of reading this autobiography, allow me to congratulate you. I hope you have found it interesting and maybe, just maybe, you have felt from my experiences, that there is more to life than just a physical existence. av i n g r e a c h e d t h i s s ta g e

From 40 years of study, I am convinced that we are basically spiritual beings in a human body using this earthly incarnation as a means of spiritual development. Let me give you an example. After almost 63 years of marriage, my wife departed this life, and I was heartbroken and desolate. The worst part of losing a loved one occurs after the funeral. The mourners have said their goodbyes and gone away. As the spouse, I was alone with my thoughts, although Mervyn phoned each day which helped greatly.

I would go into our sanctuary several times a day asking for help. I felt Maureen’s ‘presence’ and I felt her telling me that everything would be fine, but I must be patient. This happened day after day. Somehow, I knew everything would work out, but I was so lonely.

Yvonne who was the first to respond after I announced Maureen’s death, was in Australia for six weeks visiting her grandchildren but I felt that something was happening! But what? When she returned, she cancelled her planned commitments to come to Sussex to help me ‘sort things out’. In that respect she was of immeasurable help. As a ‘thank you’, I took her out to dinner on her last evening and we enjoyed a pleasant Thai meal.

On returning home, we felt that a deep bond had developed between us. Yvonne was concerned not to interfere with my grieving process but I felt Maureen’s presence and that, in her words, everything would be fine. Yvonne and I had links from a past life and they were manifesting. Independently, several psychic friends and contacts from England and New Zealand, agreed that we were destined to be together.

So mote it be!

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James PARRISH

George GAYLARD

PARRISH

John PARRISH

John SAMPSON

(architect/surveyor) b. 1834 m. 8.2.1863 d. 16.5.1923

Mary PARRISH

b. 1831 m. 6.10.1859

Albert Edward PARRISH b. 10.3.1870 m. 21.11.1891 (1) m. 29.9.1923 (2) d. 25.11.1960

Lesley Percy PARRISH

Grace

Frederick Albert

m. George HAWKS

m. Lilian Ethel BEAMISH

b. 30.12.1893 d. 21.8.1987

Thomas Kent GAYLARD

Ann Elizbeth SAMPSON

Edgar John PARRISH

Edward Lough PARRISH

Eliza?

b. 22.6.1895 m. 25.12.1920 d. 29.6.1983

Edward

d. 18 mths

Cyril

d. 6 mths

John Cecil

b. 12.3.1901 m. 15.9.1935 d. 9.4.1994

m. Edith Ellen MORLEY

b. 24.3.1901 m. 25.12.1920 d. 16.9.1983

Joyce Lilian

Doris Valerie

John Frederick b. 17.9.1931 m. 2.6.1962 d. 1.6.1990

b. 08.02.1942 m. 1967 (1) m. 18.3.1972 (2)

m. Bernard ADAMS d. 11.10.2016

m. William WORRAL d. 09.01.2008

m. Colleen HOLT

m. John MOORE (2)

b. 26.10.1922 m. 20.10.1945 d. 1.12.1975

b. 23.5.1928 m. 14.4.1951

Barbara Jean

— The Parrish Family Tree —

Geoffrey Allan b. 10.7.1946 m. (1) m. (2)

John Milton FORREST

Martha Elizabeth FORREST

Hannah SIMPSON

Joseph FORREST

b. 15.11.1838

Alice Harriet GAYLARD

William George PARRISH

b. 07.11.1866 m. 21.11.1891 d. 8.11.1922

(Father No relation)

Harriet Sarah SHONE b. 20.5.1874 m. 29.9.1923

Robert Victor

Archibald Lionel

m. Josephine BRISCOE(1)

m. Mildred SALTER

b. 25.7.1902 m. 1928 (1) m. 17.6.1946 (2) d. 28.10.1964

b. 3.5.1904 m. 11.8.1928 d. 21.8.1987

b. 27.4.1905 d.

b. 5.8.1900 d. 9.6.2000

Diane Josephine b. 10.10.1933 m. 16.3.1956

Eric Lionel Parrish

Norman Archibald

b. 16.1.1931 m. 5.4.1954

b. 29.9.29 d. 15.11.29

m. Maureen Vera BURTON b. 4.12.1930 d. 8.1.2017

m. Graham MAYN d. 2014 m. Rita MAVRAKIS (2) b. 15.09.1917 d. 26.10.2010

Alan Robert PARRISH

b. 13.9.1947 m. Ann Stockwin 1971 (1) m. Janice Bickford 1997 (2)

Yvonne Catherine

Mervyn Neal

b. 29.1.1939 m. 28.8.1963 (1) m. 05.12.1980 (2)

b. 14.6.1961 m. 28.5.1988

m. Sandy LAMONT b. 30.5.1962

Liana Rita

b. 2.9.1952 m. Paul WRIGHT 1971(1) m. Adrian MINCHIN (2) m. Kevin MURPHY 1999

Georgina Louise b. 19.9.1989 m. 26.5.2018

m. Jack STALLARD b. 1.10.1991

Son: Hugo David Bernard b. 6.7.2019

Adam Neal

b. 12.11.1991

Victoria Catherine b. 4.4.1995

Daughter: Darcie Mya b. 26.2.2017

A member of this

Parrish T

is the story of an eight-year-old Essex boy who was evacuated with his school friends. Travelling on a special train to an unknown destination (Careless Talk Costs Lives!), the children arrived in Ipswich and were taken to a hall to be chosen by ‘foster’ parents. He and his cousin John were the last to be taken. his autobiography

They stayed with a newly married couple on Whitby Road. There was no schooling, but the children gathered for a roll call every Friday. After a few weeks he was taken back home, only to live through the Battle of Britain, followed by the Blitz. The story tells of his life during those momentous times and how he enjoyed a grammar school education, even though the time was spent in barricaded corridors and school air raid shelters.

On leaving school, there was little opportunity for further education as there were few universities and priority was given to demobilised military. His deep interest in medicine was not to be satisfied although, until National Service in the Royal Air Force, he worked as a medical technologist involving medical research.

He met his future wife, Maureen, and they had a son, Mervyn. His business career included considerable overseas travel. They ended their careers working together in Eastbourne, before retiring and devoting their time to healing and spiritual pursuits.

An interesting and moving account of living through some of the darkest days during the second world war, followed by an interesting career.

A good read.