HMS Scarborough - A Guest Post by John Flitney

See previous post here

A Whitby class / Type 12. Anti-Submarine Frigate

Photograph reproduced from The Scarborough Story, 1959 - 1961 Conway Bourke Ltd. Gosport, Hants 

After completing the gunnery training at Excellent I, along with the others from the training class who were joining Scarborough spent a few weeks in the Royal Naval Barracks at Portsmouth, which was then named HMS Victory. No not that Victory, I am not that old. That famous ship is in permanent dry dock within the naval dockyard, (and well worth a visit) the barracks was a ‘stone frigate’ outside the dockyard and now renamed HMS Nelson. During those weeks I was able to get long weekend leave, Friday pm to Monday 0700. A local coach company provided coaches for service personnel to most of the major cities in the country and I could get on the one to Manchester and be dropped off at Carfax in Oxford and Dad would come and pick me up from there about 7pm. Only snag was that the return coach got to Oxford at 0330 Monday morning, not Dad’s favourite time of day.

In the barracks we began to meet others who would become our shipmates for the next twenty-one months. On the 29th September,1959 the whole ship’s company assembled for the first time in the RNB drill shed and from there marched to South Slip Jetty in the dockyard and halted alongside our new home HMS Scarborough. After the commissioning ceremony we went aboard and got acquainted with our accommodation and layout of the ship. After all the dockyard officials and other senior officers and dignitaries had left “Clear lower deck!” was piped and we all mustered on the forecastle for a welcoming speech from the captain and to be told what we would be doing in the near future.  The Captain, Captain Josef Bartosik DSC RN, had served with the Polish navy from 1935 - 1945 and then transferred to the British navy and was now appointed Captain (F) 5th Frigate Squadron, that was us and HMS Tenby and HMS Torquay, HMS Salisbury would join us later.

After a few days we sailed for Portland, Dorset, for our ‘shake down’ where we all got used to our routines and got to know our specific duties and places for work, defence and action stations. Then we started the ‘work up’ exercises, all manner of evolutions in harbour and at sea to bring us all together into an efficient fighting unit. That achieved we were sent to Londonderry to take part in a N.A.T.O. exercise ‘Sharpsquall’. Appropriately named as it started for us with a ferocious gale in the Foyle. Scarborough had to secure to a buoy for the night. This entailed securing one anchor to the fo’c’sle deck, parting the anchor cable from it and then passing the chain forward through the ‘Bullring’, a circular fairlead, right at the bows and down to the buoy. That was the easy bit, the difficult part on this particular night, as the wind and water were so rough, was attaching the chain to the ring on the buoy. Not an easy task at best but one made really hard and dangerous for the ‘buoy jumper’ in those conditions. I was one of the sea-boat’s crew for the task and the coxswain had great trouble getting close to the violently moving buoy without damaging the craft and close enough for the man to jump on the thing. The job was eventually achieved and by the time the boat was hoisted back inboard the crew were cold, wet and exhausted. We were sent to the sickbay and to my surprise and pleasure I was given my first tot of rum, I was under age at the time but this was for medicinal reasons, the M. O. said so. During these first weeks aboard we had all been making new friends and I discovered that two other seamen lived in Oxfordshire not many miles from Murcott. Dusty owned a car and when we had weekends free we would share the fuel cost and travel in style in his Ford Eight. This all ended sadly late one Sunday night on the way back to Pompey (Portsmouth). On the old A34 between Newbury and Whitchurch, miles from a phone box as per usual in these instances, the engine blew up putting a con-rod through the side of the crankcase.

Old A34

Not the best place to breakdown so we started walking and discussing what sort of big posh car we would like to stop and pick the three of us up. There was not a lot of traffic at that late hour but eventually a car stopped, it was a stylish Jaguar, leather seats etc. The driver kindly agreed to take us, so we all got in the back much relieved at our good fortune. He dropped us off outside Aggie Western’s Sailors Rest not far from the dockyard main gate. As I recall conversation in the car had dwindle after our discovery of some scanty female underwear on the floor of the vehicle. I think perhaps we were rather enviously speculating what sort of weekend the driver might have had. The other one in the trio was Roger, he and I became ‘oppos’ and would have many ‘runs ashore’ together. He was a keen Gilbert and Sullivan opera fan and introduced me to those delights. Christmas was spent in Portsmouth with leave to both watches. So half the crew were home for Christmas and the others for New Year. During this time the dockyard carried out some maintenance. Then after a few more refresher exercises off Portland and another brief stay in Portsmouth the squadron sailed for the Far East on March 4th. On the way we did a S.E.A.T.O exercise and had a 48 hours visit to Gibraltar. This was my very first time on foreign soil. I spent my evening ashore taking in the sights of the town and I particularly remember the Flamenco dancers in the bars. Gorgeous girls in flowing dresses, very lively music to which they danced and sang with passion, while playing castanets. I didn't drink much but went back aboard intoxicated with the beauty of it all.

From The Scarborough Story, 1959 - 1961  

From Gibraltar we accompanied HMS Ark Royal to Malta, doing various excises with the Mediterranean Fleet on the way.

From The Scarborough Story, 1959 - 1961  

After a few days there we sailed east again to Suez and through the canal stopping next at Aden. My brother Richard was stationed there with the RAF but due to the civil hostilities ashore ships leave was restricted and alas we couldn’t get to meet.

From The Scarborough Story, 1959 - 1961  

Both from my collection

On from Aden to Colombo and then to Singapore arriving there on the 4th of April. Where we would stay for two weeks. Here I quote the words of the ship’s magazine about those weeks

“This gave us time to find the advantages and disadvantages of Terror canteen, Tiger, Sambawang, Tiger, Johore Bahru, Tiger, Singapore itself and Tiger. By the end of the period we were prepared to settle for Tiger.” 

HMS Terror was the naval base/dockyard and barracks situated on the north side of Singapore Island. Close by the dockyard gate was a canteen and bar, here I sampled my first Tiger beer, a brew I still like to this day. When it was really hot weather Tiger Tops was a favourite as it was very refreshing. It was Tiger shandy really. When the bar got really busy there could be as many as nine barmen working flat out. They worked in threes, one pulling the pints, two at a time. His mate had what looked like a water-pistol in each hand, they were actually to dispense the draft lemonade and he would quickly fire a shot in each glass. Payment was made to the third member of the team while this was going on and you were away with your drinks in no time at all. Another first for me was Monsoon drains, large concrete open channels to take the huge amounts of rainwater during the Monsoon period. They could be on average two feet wide and three feet deep as were the ones around the canteen. I mention them now because late one evening at the canteen a group of us saw something amazing. Tables and chairs were set out around the outside of the bar and the further ones were down a flight of steps and over a monsoon drain. The path to and from the bar was poorly lit and the steps quite dark. A group of five came off shore and wanted a last drink, to top off the ones they had already consumed. They nominated the least inebriated among them to get the beers. He trundle off to the bar like he was walking the deck of a ship in a force nine gale. The drinks were served in tapered pint glasses, we saw him next leaving the bar in much the same fashion as he had approached it, only now he had the five glasses clutched between his huge hands. No tray for this boy! On reaching the steps he paused for a moment before starting down, toward the bottom he lost his balance but quickly recovered by taking several steps to his right. This put him away from the bridge and on the edge of the drain, we all held our breath but he quite nonchalantly stepped over it and with succinct directions from his mates made it back to the table. As it happened said table was on sloping ground and even then he managed to put the drinks on it without losing any beer the whole journey. For which he got a big cheer, after taking a bow he sat down and promptly fell backwards out of his chair. For which he got an even louder cheer.

Up in the barracks were all the usual offices, parade ground etc plus a NAAFI shop. There were one or two other shops and a barbers shop with most of the staff being pretty Asian girls. A crafty ploy, I think, by the Commander to encourage ‘Jack’ to get his hair cut regularly. Sambawang was a village close by the dockyard and I first went there with my oppo Roger. He had spent some of his childhood in Penang, an island 440miles up the northwest coast of Malaysia so had some knowledge of the area and he introduced me to the culinary delights of the Orient. Starting with a Chicken Chowmein type dish, at a street stall in the village. There were promises of a proper curry too once we got into Singapore city itself and a visit to the delights of Boogis Street…but that’s another story….

From The Scarborough Story, 1959 - 1961  

to be continued

Further Training - A Guest Post by John Flitney

See previous post here

Si vis pacem, para bellum. (If you wish peace, prepare for war. ) The motto of the Royal Navy.

With that in mind the navy, in 1830, converted the third rate ship of the line HMS Excellent to a gunnery training ship and moored her at Whale Island in Portsmouth harbour. She was replaced by the second rate HMS Boyne in 1834 and finally HMS Queen Charlotte, first rate, in 1859. Both being renamed HMS Excellent. The guns were fired down a range on the island. The size of the island was increased with the spoils from the expanding dockyard. Eventually HMS Excellent became a ‘Stone Frigate’ a naval term for a shore establishment and continued as the navy’s principal Gunnery school.

(Third, second and first rate of a ship indicated its size and the number of guns it carried. Third rate had 48 - 60, seconds 90 - 98 and firsts had a hundred guns or more.)

Excellent’s reputation for discipline was well known and it was with a feeling of trepidation that I arrived there on the 20th May 1959. The place was immaculate and all personnel were correctly dressed at all times and moved smartly around the establishment. It was a case of having to as the shout “You ‘orrible man, report to me!” could come from anywhere. Except, and I found this out later, there was just one place on the entire island you were told to do the opposite. Between the main accommodation area and the parade ground was an area of grass and trees with a collection of flowering shrubs. Paths across this place took you through the shrubs and past a small menagerie hidden within. Here were housed several species of parrot and one of these was quite vocal. It was a large green job and should you foolishly enquire of it “Who’s a pretty boy then?” the reply you got very succinctly, just two words, told you how to depart the area. It was the only thing that drew any complaints from visitors to the island it was so rude. I just cannot think where it might have learnt such language and me such a delicate young lad too…………tut tut!!

Training continued but now was concentrated on guns large and small. The biggest I experienced was a 4.5in. twin turret, all enclosed and hydraulically operated. The shells and cartridge were separate and supplied to the turret by hoists from the magazine. These were then manually taken from their hoists and placed on the loading tray and then mechanically rammed into the breach. The faster you could do that the better the rate of fire. The Bofors 40mm (1.57in.) twin open mountings were loaded with clips of five rounds at a time and if you could keep the feed going each barrel was, in theory, capable of firing 120 rounds a minute. A short trip in a lorry would take us to Tipner rifle range where we were taught all about the hand held weapons, mainly the Browning .303 bolt action rifle, Lanchester submachine gun and the heavier Bren machine gun. After tuition, in classrooms, on cleaning and maintenance of the weapons, how to use the sights correctly and how to reload their magazines we would go out on the range and shoot at various targets at differing distances. Snap targets were the most fun as they would appear suddenly in different positions for just a few seconds so you had to spot them then aim and fire quickly. We also took turns in the butts marking the shots of other classes. This was done by lowering the target after the ‘all clear’ whistle, all the targets were coloured black and white so we would paste a contrasting colour square over the bullet holes and then raise the target again.

Also at Tipner we learnt basic fire fighting techniques. Fires of different substances were lit to simulate possible situations aboard ship and allowed to get well alight before we had to put them out using the correct method, such as foam for oil fires. On larger blazes we used two hoses, one to create a spray that acted as a heat shield the other to fight the fire. One incident I heard about involving Tipner was about security at night. I’m not sure of when exactly it happened but at the time paraffin was still a popular heating fuel. The oil company Esso had added a coloured dye to their brand of the fuel and were doing a serious advertising campaign for it. The security guard, each night at Tipner, mainly to protect the armoury there, was made up of part of the duty watch from Excellent. The Officer of the Watch would at some point in the night travel to Tipner to check all was well. On the particular night in question the duty officer was the Paymaster, the supply officer responsible for money obviously. He arrived at the gate at Tipner at about 2am and wanted entry. The man on duty there correctly asked to see the officers ID card. He hadn’t got it, and I imagine the conversation gradually got more heated. “I’m sorry sir but I cannot let you in without seeing your ID.!” “I am the Officer of the Watch and need to get in to sign the security log here, open up at once!” “No sir! I do not recognise you and I would still have to see your identification card even if I did. It’s the rules!” “But, but I’m S. O. Cash!” “ I couldn’t care less if you was Esso Blue you aint gettin in ere wivout your ID!!”

We also travelled to Fraser Gunnery range at Eastney in Portsmouth to fire the bigger guns. I remember using ‘breakup shot’ (centrifugal force caused the filling of the Bakelite shell case to break it apart shortly after it left the barrel) on the Bofors. What was used in the 4.5s I do not recall. I cannot imagine we lobbed large, albeit dummy shells, out toward the busy seaway of the Solent.

For the first time now I was doing ‘duty watches’ every fourth day which meant extra work in the evenings or weekends. This involved cleaning work around the establishment, sentry duty and security patrols during the night. Also fire fighting if necessary, as a first response before the civilian brigade arrived. When not dutywatch evenings were mostly free and we were now allowed ashore, though as Junior seamen we had to be back aboard by 2359. Along Commercial road was a small cinema that screened nothing but cartoons in an hour and a half programme with two programme changes a week. I was a regular there twice a week. Also I spent a lot of time racing the dodgem type cars on a delightful figure eight track at Southsea funfair. There were the routine weekly mess inspections and kit inspections but they were less frequent now. There was also the inevitable parade ground. (I would have loved to use one of Uncle George’s fabled Oxometers here just to measure the amount of ‘bull’ applied.) So even more marching and rifle drill. We learnt even more complicated ceremonial drills such as firing squad at funerals, reversing arms as at street lining or mourners at state funerals. We simulated being an armed landing party and the formations required for that and how to defend ourselves should we have to form an anti-riot squad ashore.

Shortly before we finished our course at Whale Island we were issued with our tropical kit. This was a pair of white square rig suits, white shorts, blue shorts, knee length blue socks and a pair of brown leather sandals and white canvas shoes plus a white canvas kit bag to stow it in. This gave a clue that our next posting, known as a draft chit, could involve travel to warmer climes perhaps. Not long after the completion of the training our draft chits arrived. Myself and a small group of the other members of the class were to join HMS Scarborough, recommissioning on 28th September 1959 in Portsmouth after a major refit.

To be continued...............

All Change - A guest post by John Flitney

See previous post here

The last week of March 1958 were my final days of school in Bicester, thereafter I would have the whole of April free before entering the Royal Navy on the 6th of May that year. What I did during those weeks I do not recall now but I feel sure I would have spent a lot of time revisiting familiar places.

Strangely I cannot remember the exact details of my journey to Ipswich. I know Mum and Dad took me to the recruitment office in Reading where they signed consent forms to allow me to enlist in the Navy from that date and to agree to serve a further nine years from the age of eighteen. That done they returned home, with Mum crying for most of the journey. I along with a number of other recruits were taken to the station and then by train to Ipswich and from there by bus to the annexe of HMS Ganges at Shotley. My going to Ganges was another thing ‘fixed‘ by Major Withers, really I should have gone to HMS St.Vincent in Portsmouth but because I had an Aunt living in Ipswich the Major arranged, somehow, that I should go there. The new entry recruits, known as Nozzers, spent the first four weeks of training in the annexe before moving to the main establishment. During that time they were not normally allowed leave but on the second Sunday I was there Aunt Jean and Uncle Graham turned up at the main gate and asked if they could take me home for tea at their place. They agreed to be responsible for my return and so I was allowed out then and subsequent Sundays. I was most grateful for that as I was desperately homesick. This was the first time I had been away from home or family so tea on Sunday gave me something to look forward to.

 The film ‘Carry on Sergeant’ always reminds me of those first weeks of basic training, in many respects there were similarities. The kit issue was done almost exactly as depicted in the film. Going to the clothing store and getting a huge pile of garments, bedding and footwear. This all had to be marked with our names. For this we were issued a wooden stamp of our name and initials. This we used to apply our names either in black or white paint to our clothes and once it had dried embroidered over it with red thread. All this had to be folded correctly and stowed in our lockers in a certain way with the name showing. We were also taught how to wash ourselves and also our kit. For the latter we were given blocks of soap (Pusser’s Hard) and instruction on how to launder by hand. How to use an iron was another subject as we had to iron a lot of kit and put the correct creases in, like the seven horizontal ones in our bell bottom trousers. One amusing tale that went around at the time was of a conversation during a kit inspection. It was between the inspecting officer and a Nozzer of below average stature: - Officer “Well, and what do you think of the RN so far?” Nozzer, “It’s alright sir!” “Do you like your new uniform?” “It’s alright sir! “ “And what about your new underwear?” After a pause “It’s a bit tight under the arms sir!” We all had the same hair style too, it was known as the Shotley Look. Short back and sides and little on top. We also began to learn a new language, all the terms used in the navy that were different to civilian words, such as bulkhead for wall.

 Collingwood 44 Mess.   PO GI Smith.  Courtesy RA Fisk.    

After those first weeks of induction, learning naval law and discipline, kit upkeep and how to march to a reasonable standard we moved to the main establishment and became part of Collingwood division. The group I was with were in 44 mess, class1, and we would be together for the rest of our training. We were on the second floor of a two story block, each floor or mess had its own toilets, bathroom, laundry/drying room and ironing room. There were two classes per mess so twenty eight ratings to each. Our official rating at the time was Junior Seamen. This would be ‘home’ until mid 1959. Petty officers Durrant and Smith were our regular instructors, Smith for gunnery and parade drill, Durrant for seamanship and boatwork. Life became hectic from now on with hardly a moment of free time. Being able to swim, obviously, was essential. As I couldn't I was listed as a ‘Backward Swimmer”, (I couldn't swim either way, ahead or astern!) so I had to get up extra early and go for swimming lessons before breakfast. On arrival at the poolside on the first occasion I was told by the Physical Training Instructor to go to the deep end, walk to the end of the springboard and “Just jump in!” Such humour some of these military boys! I had never seen water this deep before, never mind got into any without my feet touching something, so I just stood there in fear. Not only of the waters depth but also of a potential bowel movement. After some graphic words of encouragement, which I chose to ignore the PTI took up a long pole and said “If it will make you feel better hang on to this!” Now me being an innocent country boy thought ‘how kind’. As soon as I gripped the end he heaved. By the time I hit the water I was at least ten feet up the pool with no sign of the pole. Eventually I passed the test of jumping in the deep end swimming two lengths of the pool and remaining afloat for ten minutes while wearing overalls. Another thing that was compulsory was three rounds in the boxing ring. I think it was to do with checking ones ability to take orders and possibly search for potential candidates for the Navy team. I was none too keen on boxing as I had never fared well against Richard at home. Just my luck the pairings for this particular match were done on physique only. If you were about the same build and height you were in the ring. I did the three rounds and like to think I hit my opponent a glancing blow at least once during those three long minutes. Turned out he had done very well in his local amateur boxing club before joining the navy.

Once a week, Saturday mornings, the main activity was cleaning the mess for “Rounds” which would start at noon. (Rounds = An inspection, by an officer, of all junior rates accommodation for cleanliness.) Any failure meant a ‘rescrub’ and forfeiture of any free time that afternoon. These inspections took place throughout the navy regularly and some years later I heard a story involving a ship commanded by Earl Mountbatten. He would carry out Captain’s Rounds and would have the cooks prepare an iced cake as a prize for the messdeck he deemed the best. The Royal Marine’s mess had been on a winning streak for some time. Mountbatten being a tad biased in favour of the seamen secretly, he thought, hid a penny in an awkward to reach small gap on top of the overhead fan trunking, thinking that if he found the coin again next time it would give him reason to find fault and award the prize elsewhere. To his surprise the following week he found two halfpennies in its place and on enquiring “What is this?” the Sergeant of the mess replied “None of the lads had put a penny up there so it was considered a potential ‘plant’ and therefore to avoid any doubts of theft and to prove we had cleaned the area we replaced it with coins to the same value sir!” Needless to say the marines won again and were also commended for their honesty.

Not long after moving to the main camp we were fallen in beside the mast. This stood at one corner of the parade ground, it had once been the foremast of HMS Cordelia. Now it stood a hundred and forty three feet (43.58m) high with a safety net rigged below it. We were ordered to climb up the ratlines to the upper yardarm, cross over and come down the other side. Just to check our head for heights I suppose. Thereafter we could go up any Saturday afternoon if we wished to.

As we got used to the routine and learnt the tricks of the trade we achieved things quicker and gained more free time in the evenings and at weekends. This allowed us to indulge in a choice of other activities. I teamed up with three others and went sailing on the river in either Cutters or Whalers which was great fun. Another thing I was involved in was the Field Gun competition. A scaled down version of the Earls Court spectacular of the Royal Tournament. Our event only involved changing wheels during the lap of the course with a much smaller gun and limber. Another memorable thing was my first experience of the ‘Grey Funnel Line’ at speed. We were taken for a days sea experience onboard a Daring class destroyer, HMS Dainty I think it was. When she was up to nearly thirty knots it was an impressive sight. Yet another thing I recall is euphoria. No! Not a feeling of pleasure, it was the navy version as in “ YOU FOUR ‘ERE!!” and was something to be dreaded as it usually resulted in some form of punishment such as having to run up and down Faith, Hope and Charity several times. They were the names given to a group of three long, steep flights of steps.

Toward the end of November I got Flu and had to spend some time in sickbay. Then I was put on the School List. This meant I could go back to the mess and attend classes but was excused marching and any strenuous activity. I had a chit from the MO to prove it. This was to last three weeks to allow for full recovery. Toward the end of it I was feeling fit and full of energy, and bored. So when the mess was one short for a football team I volunteered. BIG mistake as during the game I got a serious knee injury and was helped off the far side of the pitch. To add insult to it when the game finished I had been forgotten and everyone went off in the opposite direction back to the mess, ignoring my shouts for help. The sports fields were some distance from the main camp area so I got up and tried to hop but that only made the pain worse. It was about an hour later that three mess mates came looking for me and found me slowly crawling back to the mess. Now I was not only in pain but in trouble as well for disobeying medical orders. The worst punishment though was having to miss Christmas leave as I was sent to Chatham hospital for more specialised treatment and was there until January 1959.

The New Year brought more of the same routine, up early, breakfast, clean the mess then out to morning parade. From there we would march to wherever our morning tuition would be. Class 1 were all going to be Seamen/Gunners so we learnt all things to do with handling craft large and small. From anchoring or securing a ship to a buoy right up to how to rig for a jackstay transfer at sea. Plus all the lesser stuff like knots and splices or how to use ones peripheral vision when using binoculars at night. This was mixed in with days of weapons training on the 4inch mounting or the smaller twin barrel Bofors plus rifles and pistols and just like in the ‘Carry on’ film how to dismantle and clean then reassemble a Bren gun. There was also parade drill, being taught ever more complicated manoeuvres while marching, like those seen at the Trooping of the Colours ceremony. So never a dull moment. Easter leave came and went, all too quickly, at least I did get home then. We had to wear our uniform ashore in those days (ashore being anywhere outside the main gate) and I felt proud to do so.

                               Courtesy RA Fisk                               At home Easter leave

After the holiday we were into our last term at Ganges and took our final tests in the various categories. The most graphic and exciting was the simulation on the 4inch gun. This time we got the whole works, it was a supposed night attack so done in the dark, sprinklers in the roof created a heavy rain affect. Thunderflashes (very loud fireworks) represented enemy fire and large gouts of water came at us from each side. The gun used fixed ammunition, shell and cartridge together and we had to ram these into the breech as the gun tracked the target and avoid the same when it was ejected after being ‘fired’. All this while the deck was pitching and tossing vigorously. During these final weeks of training we got several inoculations, some of which caused discomfort for several days, these would prepare us for travels abroad.

Finally there was the Passing Out parade when Collingwood division would form the guard and march on parade with rifles with fixed bayonets to form up at the front of the parade for inspection by the Captain. Then, after a few speeches and awards, we led the whole establishment in our final march past and salute at HMS Ganges.

Photographs courtesy RA Fisk

To be continued...

RA Fisk was the official photographer at Ganges, and those pixs marked courtesy of Ra Fisk were purchased from him direct by me in 1958/9.

Last Days of Childhood at Murcott a guest post by John Flitney

See previous post here

 Bramwell H. Withers OBE

Major Withers was born in Australia on 4th October1888 and came to England with his parents while still a young child. By 1908 he was a lieutenant in the Loyal Regiment (North Lancashire) and would later become a founder member of part of the Boy Scout movement. I had known him for fourteen years prior to his death but had little knowledge of his past until Mum sent me a cutting she had taken from the obituaries page of the local paper in 1968. ( Also, latterly, by research on the internet) He had seen active service with the Loyal Regiment during the First World War in Palestine and East Africa. He then spent ten years with the Egyptian army in the 11^th Sudanese, and the Western Arab Camel Corps. By 1929 he was in India having rejoined his regiment. There he met and later married Lillian Bibby. They had no children. On retiring from the army he spent almost three decades working with boys clubs and the Scouts in Lancashire. He became a magistrate and in that capacity took a great interest in juvenile cases, endeavouring to find the best way to help youngsters to start afresh. In 1908 he started one of the earliest Scout troops in Winchester and held an interest in Scouting all his life. Often there would be lads camping in his garden, these would mostly come from a London Welfare Department as needing help. Among other things he was involved with the Bridewell Trust which maintained a charitable school in London, he was a governor of Bicester school and for ten years represented Murcott on Ploughley rural district council. Major Withers died, aged eighty, peacefully at home, after a period of illness. 

My last visit to Murcott House, saw him confined to a bed in the lounge with his sister Thelma in attendance. (Mrs Withers had deceased some years earlier.) He was heavily sedated but even so seemed pleased to see me. We chatted for a short time until he drifted into sleep again. I sat with him for a while before quietly leaving. The funeral was held at Charlton-on-Ottmoor church and I would like to quote one thing the Rector, the Reverend E.H.W. Crusha, said about him at the time, “ In thirty years of soldiering and thirty years of youth work there are many who are better men for knowing him!” I am proud to say I am one of those, remembering him with affection and I am honoured to have known such a remarkable person.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Major Withers in Africa

Most likely it was the Saturday morning following our first meeting with Major Withers that Richard and I first called at his house. He greeted us warmly and invited us in, straightaway asking if we had come to help with the trophies. There were all manner of things from his military past, regimental photos and regalia, swords, Kukris and African shields and spears to name but a few. We spent a couple of hours placing some of these things for display in the hallway before going to the kitchen for some tea and biscuits. Here the Major asked if we would like to come on a regular basis and do some odd jobs for him and perhaps pursue whatever hobbies we might have. He had a large workshop that was at our disposal and we were welcome to bring along any other boys from the village who might be interested. Thus started a long and happy association with the Major. I think Mum and Dad were happy too as it gave us somewhere to go as there was nothing else locally to entertain us.

Until leaving school we would spend a lot of time at Murcott House. Roy, the other lad in the village, would come along sometimes and there were occasionally boys from other parts of the country. We would do odd jobs around the house and in the garden, or if the weather was bad there were things to occupy us in the workshop. One of the first things the Major had us do was rig a trapeze swing in the largest apple tree in the garden. This would become a regular source of amusement and exercise. Mowing the lawn was a contested job too as the petrol driven machine towed a seated roller and was a first lesson in driving. We were also taught how to use a gun safely and had competitions at target practise at which Richard excelled.

                        Take off for Richard                     Back Row L to R; Richard, Major Withers, Roy
                                                                                     Front row L to R;  London lad?  me

Trying my hand at target practice 

On leaving college Richard enlisted in the RAF in 1956 and by then Roy was at work, I think in Oxford, so for two years I was on my own so to speak. I missed Richard’s company and during that time I became a bit of an introvert, content with my own company and thoughts. It was something that would affect me for many years to come. I had made no friends at school and there were no other boys nearby, therefore the Major’s would become a focus for my spare time. He had quite a large rose garden and having expressed a liking for them he encouraged me to grow some at home by actually providing a variety of plants. They did reasonably well and I would later pick some of the best blooms to try and entice Audrey out for a walk. They didn't help, and besides she was always about to wash her hair no matter what time I called?? Didn't do my confidence any good at all, girls were supposed to like being given flowers. I didn't spend all my time at Murcott House as there were things at home to do, school homework was the boring bit and came first during term time. Then there were my roses to check and other jobs for Dad in the vegetable garden and the grass needed cutting regularly. Also I would milk the cow after school if Mum was busy, plus collect the eggs from the few chickens we kept.

For all the time we lived at Murcott the toilet was a bucket affair in a small shed in the garden. I had grown enough by now to be able to cope with the job of emptying the bucket when required. This entailed carrying it carefully to the hole previously dug at the furthest part of the garden, tipping it in, whilst holding my breath, then covering the deposit with earth from the windward side. About every six weeks or so a new hole had to be dug so I would do that too, making a hole 4ft ish square and 5ft ish deep. Also, if Dad had felled a tree, I would hand saw, then with an axe or sledge hammer and steel wedges, split logs for the fire. I had a lucky escape one time while trying to split a long section of green Elm. It was a particularly tough piece and I had not reached half way along it before having three wedges jammed in it. That left one more wedge, the widest and rarely needed. So I started that one and got it stuck too. In my frustration I gave it an almighty bash with the hammer and to my surprise it disappeared. As the log hadn't split I bent over to see what had happened when the wedge disappeared again, into the soil right alongside me. The tension in the timber had fired the heavy metal high into the air. Learning from my mistake I used the wider wedge in the already parted section to free the others and reused those to finish the job. To ‘get away from it all’ I would take our dog, Trixie, for long walks down on Ottmoor.

Young Trixie                                                        Older Trixie 

I suppose it was around the time of my fourteenth birthday that I began to think of what I would do on leaving school. While Richard had built model aircraft I had done Airfix kits of naval ships. He had gone into the RAF...logical! Perhaps I could try the Navy, there was nothing locally that enticed me. With Mum and Dad’s encouragement and the Major’s help I made that my objective. (Dad had been turned down, on medical grounds, for military service. He had desperately wanted to avenge the death of his father during the Great War. So when I wanted to join my brother in the services he was not displeased. During my final year at school I made more of an effort and with some extra private evening classes, financed by Major Withers, I improved. Late in 1957 I sat the entrance exam for the Royal Navy. Not in a recruitment office as you might think, the staff from the Reading office came to Murcott and I took the test, one afternoon, sitting at a bench in the Major’s workshop. On completion of the test the Major suggested that I go home, and if Mum approved, I should return later and have dinner with them all. On my way out I noticed the dining table laid ready for the meal and couldn't understand why each place had so much cutlery. Mum said, “I should attend the dinner and not to worry about the cutlery!” Adding, “It will probably be a three coarse meal and to use the cutlery from the outside first. Just watch the others, wait for them to start and mind your manners!” So later that evening I nervously sat down to dine with a Royal Navy Commander, a Lieutenant, a Sergeant Royal Marine and a Petty officer all in uniform with the Major presiding at head of table. (A bit different to tea at home but there was nothing better than Mum’s cooking.)

Some weeks later I went for the medical examination and then it was a case of waiting for the results of both tests. One morning a letter came for me and I excitedly opened it only to read that I had to have another medical, this time in London. Dad couldn't get time off work and Mum did not fancy the trip so they asked the Major if he would accompany me. Fortunately the date would coincided with a business trip he had planned so he was happy to oblige. It turned out that when, at the first medical, being asked about any serious illness I had had as child I, being in a rather nervous and confused state at the time, had replied “Asthma!” A serious error as that would, if true have ruled out any hope of joining up. What I had been trying to remember was Eczema as I had been seriously afflicted with that as a baby. Anyway after a thorough chest examination it was back to the waiting game.

Easter in 1958 was in April so I would finish school at the end of March when the school broke up for the holidays. The long awaited letter, along with some consent forms for Mum and Dad to sign, came during my last week at school..................

To be continued............

More of Murcott - Guest Post By John Flitney

I do not recall much of the early days at the cottage except that it was all a bit crowded as the place was much smaller than at Pitchcott and there were six of us now living under one roof. Grampy was confined to bed in the living room which restricted available space and we boys had to keep quiet and behave. There wasn't a lot of freedom for us now outside either, the two fields put together were smaller than any of those we had been free to roam before. We could go down the lane and explore the stream that ran along the bottom but beyond that was Ottmoor where the land was owned or rented by local farmers. It was somewhere else to walk but there was little of any interest. Besides it didn't matter how careful we were we were all to often (wrongly) accused of causing damage to gates or fences that were already in serious disrepair. “It’s them boys, they newcomers!” It was conspicuous how that attitude changed when the farm across the lane changed hands and Jim and Joan and later their son Barry became our neighbours. They were really nice people and became very good friends with Mum and Dad.

In the village at that time, 1954, there were four others of school age, Roy, a war evacuee, who lived with his aunt and uncle. Margaret and Audrey in a house opposite the village hall and Hazel whose home was the small cottage by the chapel at our end of the village. Roy was the eldest I believe and would soon leave school. Margaret and Audrey both attended grammar school in Bicester. As for Hazel I am not sure which school she went to, maybe the same as me (Bicester Secondary Modern) but I do remember her lovely red hair. I caught the school bus at the top of the lane and would enjoy the ride into school but not half as much as the ride home. The school was a fairly new build with long corridors and separate classrooms for different subjects. Compared to Quainton it was huge with, I suppose, several hundred pupils. Something I found hard to get used to and felt very alone. We studied maths, english, geography, science, history, art, cookery, played sport and did metalwork and woodwork.

Mr. Simms was our regular class teacher and our ‘house master’. He taught us maths and english. English was my preferred subject especially when it came to writing essays with a free choice of subject. I could quite easily go off to some imagined leafy nook in the country and spend the whole lesson happily scribbling away. I gained a few house points for my stories. One time a weekend homework task was to write an essay involving wildlife. (Right up my street! Or rather lane.) My tale was based on memories of Carter’s Lane and the hero was a vole living in one of the hedge banks. There was mention of rabbits, hedgehogs, the violets and foxgloves and all manner of springtime scenes. I pictured all these events taking place under the tall elm trees and went on to describe an owl swooping from the leafy arch above.....(no animals were harmed in the making of this story).

Monday morning, as usual, when our names were called for the register, we went up

and put our homework on Mr. Simms’s desk then walked to our first lesson in a different classroom. After dinner time that day we had a double english session during which our essays were discussed with Mr Simms giving guidance on grammar, spelling and punctuation etc. To my surprise he called me up to his desk and quietly, between the two of us, expressed his concern that my effort was “perhaps not all my own work?” Pointing to the paragraph about the owl he asked “Did you copy that from somewhere?” I was quite upset by this and indignantly defended my honour. He listened to what I had to say then wrote in my book, handed it back to me and told me to go back to my seat. As I sat down and before I could read what he had written he announced to the class “That is quite an exceptional piece of work that John has written, therefore I award him two house points!” Sure enough written in bright red ink at the bottom of my story were the words Two house points. Well done! High praise indeed. I kept that essay book when I left school but alas it got discarded somewhere, yet I shall always remember that day and Mr.Simms.

I made no lasting friends at school, in fact the whole experience never really inspired me. Most of the classrooms had one wall as a window from desktop height to the ceiling. There were no curtains or blinds to shield the sun, so on clear sunny days the sunshine became quite soporific and I found it hard to concentrate and could quite easily drift off into a daydream. Only to be brought back abruptly when the backboard rubber landed accurately. Mr. Jones’s lessons in metal and wood work were OK and I enjoyed the cooking in domestic science. The highlight of that was after making a Christmas cake I was the only one to ice and decorate the cake with piping. I did get into the school soccer team for a season and the best game I played was the first one. There after my talent waned along with my enthusiasm. The best lesson was last period before home time on Fridays when Mr.Simms would read stories, such as John Buchan’s 39 Steps, to the class. There was only one school outing I went on, other than away games with the football team. That was to Cheddar Gorge and was only memorable for the awful pounding headache I had all day, not helped by the stuffy, noisy coach and the bright sunlight.

Village life was dull too. For a while Richard and I delivered the morning papers around Murcott and Fencott. On hot summer days we would sometimes meet with children from the other nearby villages and go swimming, or in my case splashing, in the river Cherwell at Fencott. Other than that there was little to do. Girls were no fun, besides according to Richard, I was too young to know about them anyway. True perhaps as I had been taunted at Quainton school by a very precocious girl who suggested “I bet you don’t even know what a period is?” Thinking, Ah! punctuation! I said “It’s a full stop!” This brought shrieks of laughter from all the girls in her company. It was years later that I became aware of what she really meant. There was a time when I did some odd jobs of a weekend for Miss Stanton who had a small farm next to our neighbours. She was a spinster and lived in the farmhouse along with Mrs. Chennell. Mrs. Chennell was quite a character and was well liked in the village for the Christmas pantomimes she would write, produce and stage in the village hall with local people for the cast. Dad and I took part in two of these and the second time Mum sang during the interval. Richard, being technically minded, did the lighting. Dad played dame on both occasions, I was the cat in Dick Whittington and the goose in Mother Goose. All great fun as the scripts were only loosely based on the original story and the songs, apart from that which Mum sang, were all Mrs.C’s own words. There is one short piece I remember but have no idea where it fitted in the script other than it followed a dance scene :- To the tune of After the Ball is Over..

"After the ball went Uncle number nine in his hand

Hit the ball right into a bunker filled both his eyes with sand

Hit the ball right up a drainpipe after it began to crawl

Threw both his clubs and his golf bag after the ball!”

There were several verses but alas that is all that stuck with me. About this time television was becoming more affordable and popular. We hadn't got one as we had no mains electric yet. Events in the village hall had been well attended but now fewer and fewer people were coming. The last performance I went to was with Dad and Richard. It was to be a one man show of comedy, magic, ventriloquism and performing dogs. Half an hour after the intended start time we were the only people there. By this time the chap had come out and was telling us this was happening all over because of the telly. He did kindly show us the dogs performance which was very good. We would have liked to have seen the rest of the show but hadn't the heart to ask just for the three of us.

Two holidays I had away from Murcott were one with Granny Flitney at Winslow. She was great and made my stay really good fun. She would allow me out to explore the town with a few coppers in my pocket for sweets. On one such trip I found the railway station which then became my sole destination.I would go on the platform to watch the trains. That was it, never mind the anorak, I was going to be an engine driver! I would talk to the footplate crew and on one occasion I asked the driver if I could have a ride please. “Yes!” he says, “But you’ll have to get your mum’s say so first! So immediately I’m burning rubber racing back to Gran’s to see if I can go on the engine, “Oh please, please can I Gran? Please? Thinking of it now I realize how smart and kind that man was. He didn’t want to hurt me by saying no but knew jolly well that he would be gone by the time I got back to the station. Gran knew the same and so wasn’t worried either. I should have had faster shoes on. I left the station feeling rather sad but I was going home the following day so I soon forgot about it.

The other away time was with Uncle George and Aunt Kaye in Torpoint, Cornwall. They had come to stay at Murcott for a few days after Grampy had died and offered to take Granny Moore and me back with them for a week. During that week I had a great time, George was a boy’s dream of a proper uncle. We had all sorts of adventures around Torpoint and into Plymouth. Digging for Lugworms in the mud on the foreshore just around from the ferry. They were to be for bait on the two fishing trips up the river, one with Gran, with me under instruction on how to row the boat. The other at night, again on the river, off Wilcove. He also took me out late one evening to a narrow lane, leading to the village of Wilcove again, where on a rocky bank were a group of Glowworms. The only time I have seen the magical little creatures. The most exciting trip was to the Eddystone lighthouse and my first experience of the sea. Below is a photocopy of what I wrote of the event, using George’s typewriter, the following day. I had great fun carefully positioning the paper to create the line of soldiers at the bottom.........Royal Engineers of course. Just wish I had dated it.

              Our Catch                   Rowing past Naval Dockyard         Ashore at Antony Point

             Approaching the Eddystone              Boat going in                      Stores transfer

                     

Breakwater Lighthouse                                                                Me at base of lighthouse

Life at home was somewhat drab for a time after that week in Torpoint but it all changed one morning when we, Richard and myself, were stood outside the village hall debating what to do next. We noticed an elderly gentleman come out from the big house, and come towards us, a tall stout man with receding hair, a jolly face with a neat moustache and very smartly dressed. He stopped in front of us and after saying “Hello!” and introducing himself said “I have recently moved into Murcott House and wondered if you boys would care to come along sometime and help me put some trophies up?” So we cut along home and told Mum about it. She said to “wait and see!” (I suspect she and Dad quietly made some enquiries.)

Major (rtd), Bramwell Henry Withers OBE who we had just met and he would do a lot for us in the future, me especially.

To be continued................

See previous posts here, here, here, here and here

MURCOTT : Guest post by John Flitney

Front of cottage, circa 1970

I have no recollection of the date we left Lower Farm or how the move was achieved. We had visited Murcott previously but now we were going to live there and life would be much different. Dad had got a new job as maintenance engineer at Woodham Brick company, Mum would be busy in the house and caring for her father who was now bedridden. Richard was none too happy about the move as he had been doing very well at Aylesbury college, particularly at sport. During his last football match, with a talent scout watching, he had scored three goals. Impressive stuff that could perhaps have led to a career in the game. Now he would have to cycle two miles to Charlton on Ottmoor to catch a bus to Oxford to attend Cheney Technical College. As for me, I was eleven years old so would have had to change schools anyway. Now I could walk to the top of the lane and get the school bus to Hyfield Secondary Modern school in Bicester.

These two photos are from soon after Gran and Gramps moved in. The cowshed is behind the camera in the front view. The arch is over the well in the garden scene. The lady is Aunt Kay, George’s wife, with Nipper Grampie’s dog.

The biggest change was that there were now six of us in the house, spanning three generations. Granny and Grampy were both in their late seventies and Grampy’s health was none too good. He was confined to bed after some heart trouble. What was most disconcerting was that his bed was downstairs in the living room and us boys had to sit on the side of it to eat our meals. So the ‘Children should be seen but not heard’ rule was regularly enforced, particularly indoors. Also things (ornaments or the piano etc) were not to be played with. This was something new for Richard and me and I found it hard not to meddle with things. Especially in the ‘End Room'. (It was out of bounds really which made it even more imperative to find out what secrets it held.) This was the place that was kept for special occasions and had all the best furniture and most treasured possessions.

The piano was here and I am convinced the lid only ever squeaked when it was me lifting it. There was also a wicker bookcase, that seemed to creak whenever I looked at it, a tall glass fronted cabinet with exotic ivory ornaments and other delights all crying out to be touched and admired. For some reason they were all locked in.The table and piano top had potted ferns on them, the windows had net curtains across and the sills were crowded with Geraniums which made the room quite dark and mysterious. Adding to this mystique was the fact that most of the ornaments and bamboo wall hangings were what Uncle George had brought back from Hong Kong. He had served out there with the Royal Engineers for five years before the second world war. One of these was a three string Mandolin type instrument with a horse hair bow. Snag was I could never play it quietly and cat impressions were my forte. Trouble was we didn't have a cat at the time so Mum always caught me at it and I always got told off for ‘fiddling’ with it. The cupboard beside the fireplace was another source of treasure too. The fire itself was surrounded by an elegant fender with brass rails and padded lid box seats either side. Somehow the room always seemed very peaceful and quiet like it was just holding time in abeyance............just waiting...............remembering days past...............

Uncle George

Outside things would be different too. We now had neighbours just across the lane at the farm. Gran and Gramps had not got on very well with them in the past so we boys were warned to be careful and not upset them. Also we were now living in a village, albeit at one end of it and separated from the main part by small fields, yet it was only a short walk to the village hall. Murcott, a small village on the northern edge of Ottmoor in Oxfordshire. Ottmoor was/is a flat area of farm land prone to flooding in winter time. It was/is criss crossed with drainage ditches with lines of tall Poplar trees along the banks. At that time (1954) the Royal Air Force had a practice bombing range there. At night we could hear the jets approaching and a short while after a dull thud as the bombs landed. The village had no proper shop back then but an elderly fellow in a house close by the hall sold a few of the basics. I remember going into what was his front room and buying sweets over the counter he had there. There was a pub, The Nut Tree, and the landlord had a bloodhound, a huge dog with big floppy ears, big feet and big amounts of drooling saliva. If you took it for a walk it was like having a mobile shower beside you.

The Nut Tree (with nuts) mid 1960s

Our address now was The Cottage, Pigeon House Lane, Murcott, Nr. Islip, Oxon. The house stood a short way down a shared lane ( with the farm opposite ) off the village road which now is called Fencott Road. This lane became a farm track beyond the house and led to fields on Ottmoor. Built with thick stone walls and a thatch roof, the house front faced northeast and the one entrance was on the south western side. Also with the property were two grass meadows, one larger than the other which had a pond in it and a hollow that would fill with water in the winter. If this froze hard enough it was ideal for sliding on, certainly safer than the pond as the water was not so deep should the ice break and you went through. The moat I have mentioned was a silted up small lake which started at our gate and went the whole length of the big field between the hedge and the farm track. In summer it dried to sticky mud but was usually full during winter. Other buildings were a square stone wall barn with a dodgy roof, two corrugated iron sheds, one a cow shed (the horse had gone to be replaced by a Jersey cow) divided into two pens. One of which Dad used as a garage later. The other shed was nearer the house and was a wood store and workshop. On the left side of the house front was a small lean to shed where Grampy used to store his fruit and veg.

                                Frozen hollow                                               Garden winter '63

The Moat, full

Within the house there were six rooms in all, three up three down. The toilet was a bucket affair in a wooden shed some fifteen yards from the house. There was no mains electricity and only one cold water tap in the kitchen. Previously all the water had been pumped by hand from the well close by the entrance.

Entrance from garden. End room door is top left.

One entered the house into a passageway, to the right was the sitting room, always called the ‘End room’ and rarely used except for visitors. To the left a short way along was the door to the living/dining room. This had an old fashioned coal fired range in it that Mum would use for baking. There was always a kettle on the hob quietly singing to itself. A fascinating little sound that modern electric kettles never achieve.

The livingroom.

At the end of the passage and down a small step was the kitchen/pantry. It was divided into two by a wall but we considered it one room as there was no door into the pantry area. It had two windows, a small one facing the moat and a larger one with a view up the lane. For cooking Mum had the use of two paraffin stoves, a single and the other had two burners with a small oven between them. To regulate the heat she would turn the wicks up or down. There was also the oven in the living room for larger roasts and cakes. Mum managed to feed us six, plus guests on occasion, with this equipment for nine years.

Mum and the two stoves

Lighting came from paraffin lanterns that had tall glass chimneys, also for more portable lights, candles in enamelled candle-holders. Being trusted with carrying my own candle up to bed was a big responsibility. We had moved from a house with lots of room, a proper bathroom, hot and cold running water, electric cooking and lights to a place that boasted one cold tap and the luxury of a battery powered wireless. It wasn't until Dad got some compensation for injuries caused in a road accident that mains electric was brought to the house in nineteen sixty three. The neighbours had had it for years but Gramps had not trusted “these new fangled ideas”. The stairs went up from the living room and turned a hundred and eighty degrees to a small landing. From the top, turning right took you along a short passage to what I always thought was an enchanting room. It was over the kitchen, had two windows, one looking out over the farm track the other facing to the lane. The ceiling was angled at each side and, like in the kitchen below, the floor sloped toward the end wall. Straight ahead from the top of the stairs took you into the middle, and smallest room in the house, the bedroom Richard and I shared. It had a tiny little window that looked out over the garden. Mum and Dad had to pass through our room to get to theirs at the other end of the house.


As for the village it was spread along the Fencott road and it wasn't until opposite the church that there were any houses on both sides of it. Richard and I had our first venture that way when we were tasked to take the spare accumulator to be recharged. The wireless (radio nowadays) was battery powered by two batteries. One was the accumulator, a lead/acid affair in a clear class case with a carry handle. The second was a multi cell dry one that produced a hundred and forty four volts when new. The lead/acid one could be recharged and as I say Richard and I had to take it periodically to Mr. Crawford’s works at the far end of the village for this to be done.

So a new chapter in our lives had started with lots of changes and new restrictions and the prospect of new surroundings to explore. Unbeknown to me at that time a person was soon to move into the village who would have a great influence on my future.

To be continued.............

Previous episodes here, here, here and here  

Leaving Lower Farm, Pitchcott By John Flitney

View of village green Quainton, circa 1860, showing whipping post. 

Courtesy Quainton Windmill Society.

So I had saved my feet from getting burnt but had to walk home with puddles in my wellies. Then when mum found out what had happened, I got my ears ‘burnt’ hearing how stupid I had been. By the time I dared to return to the scene of the crime the fire had burnt out and the ‘dragons’ had gone. The ash was cold.

Talking of cold, one winter while we were at Lower Farm it snowed several times and the snow remained between each fall so the countryside stayed white for several weeks. In places it had been blown into deep drifts. The stream-bed beside the road at the bottom of the big field was about five feet below the road level. The snow, where it had drifted, had filled in the ditch to the same height as the road. The water was still running and was coming out of, and running into white tunnels. It was quite a coincidence but at that time I just happened to be a famous Arctic explorer. Famed for hunting Polar bears in the wilds of Buckinghamshire. (Such imagination! Must have done a good job though, I haven’t heard reports of any sightings there since!) One morning I decided to find a really deep drift to dig myself an ice cave where I could hide and ambush the bears. Behind one of the sheds was a drift higher than me, so I was at it straight away. As I dug into it I noticed that the snow was in distinct layers, some separated by thin layers of ice. One was powdery, one had larger crystals of ice where it had perhaps thawed a little before freezing again and been covered by the next fall. Another layer was softer and made super snowballs, ideal for attacking those bears. The bottom layer was quite compacted by the weight of those above. So explorer and scientist too, never did finish the ice cave though. Funny how just getting cold hands, toes, ears and nose can put you off a good scheme. Hence the expression ‘getting cold feet’ perhaps?

I have mentioned the road at the bottom of the sixty-six acre field in front of the house, it was, and still is called Carters's Lane. It was a good adventure in spring time to take the dogs and search the dividing hedge between the two lower fields on the way to the pond near the lane. Once there check out the water for frog spawn or tadpoles then go on to the road and turn right.  Further along there were hedges both sides of the lane with large patches of wild Violets on the verges. I also remember for some distance along the lane, on either side grew huge majestic Elm trees whose branches formed a high arch above the road. Way up in the branches were dozens of Rook's nests and the noise the disturbed birds made was quite amazing. On the way home we would pick mum a posy of the sweet-smelling Violets.

My recollecttion of the time at Lower Farm is full of happy memories, I don’t recall having any tedious daily chores to do. There were times, when Dad had sawn an old telegraph pole into short lengths, that Richard and me would spend ages chopping the logs into kindling. It was enjoyable work as the wood split so easily. With three dogs as company, and for a while a pig as well, while roaming the fields, sheds and barns to play in, mostly in summer time when the animals were out, trees to climb, bikes to ride. Life was idyllic for two boys. Then on rainy days we had toys indoors, a quarter size snooker table, a Meccano set and Dinky toys, then later an electric train set. Weekly we would look forward to the arrival of ‘The Eagle” comic. My favourite story in that was Dan Dare and his adventures in space. I think also, about that time, there was a programme on the wireless (radio, nowadays) A series of plays called ‘Journey into Space’ which was both exciting and at times scary, especially with the weird sound effects. There were Jet Morgan, the captain, Doc, Mitch, engineer and Lemmy, crewman. The later was played by Alfie Bass I believe. These, I think, started my liking for science fiction and I now have a small collection of favourite stories with Eric Frank Russell my first choice author.

Dad had got some solid wood models of aircraft and these intrigued Richard to the point where he started to build, from kits, flying models and it was always exciting to witness the maiden flights of these. There were also trips into Aylesbury for shopping, the usual groceries and clothes I expect but I don’t remember much of that just the pleasure and excitement of visiting the toy shop and being allowed to choose a new toy. Also back at the bus station we would go to the cafe and have a meal. My choice was always egg and chips. Other bus trips we took, on, I think Greenline coaches, were to Aunt Mary and Uncle Fred at Boxmoor a village near Hemel Hempstead. I liked Aunt Mary a lot and always enjoyed those visits and the pleasure of the watercress sandwiches she did for tea. (Later when I had my own transport I would go and visit her and Fred. Then years later, not long before she died, they surprised us by coming to see us here in Devon. Although she was then confined to a wheelchair she was still her usual cheerful self. A really special day.)

Aunt Mary and her Mum, Granny Flitney.

There must have been other outings from Pitchcott but how they were undertaken I cannot say as I have no idea if we owned a car at that time. Dad had started working for Bob Kirkland in his spare time. Bob was an engineer and had a place at Blackgrove. From there he would go out and fix all manner of machinery from farm tractors to industrial stone crushers or cement mixers to diggers and cranes. With the extra cash Dad may well have bought a car as I can recall visits to Ellesborough and Combehill, Butler’s Cross to see Aunt Margaret. Visit Great Aunt Flo or go to Holmergreen to see Mum’s friend, from her school days, Ivy Knowles.

Mum and Ivy, in later life

We even had outings to Bournemouth and to Brighton. On one of these visits, Bournemouth I believe, I got lost for about an hour. In fact it is the only thing I remember of either visit to the seaside. I had been allowed to go for a paddle and while enjoying myself had unwittingly moved along the shore line. So when I had had enough of the water and went straight up the beach, as Mum had instructed, I was in the wrong place with no familiar faces in sight. What I did next who knows, I must have turned the wrong way in my search as I was a good distance from where I started from when eventually Mum appeared. All I remember next is walking along the beach crying and a woman stopping me to ask the reason I was so upset. On explaining she suggested I sit down with her and wait for Mum to come along, “If you keep roaming about she’ll never find you”. Now whether that dear lady put the word out about having found a lost boy I don’t know but I shall be eternally grateful for her kindness and wisdom for not long after Mum came along. 

Me at the beach.

Also we went to Murcott to see Granny and Grampy Moore. One time I got to stay with them for a week and managed to get into trouble then as well. They kept a pony and had a very elegant four wheel cart too, as Grampy at one time, when they lived at Holmergreen, had delivered goods around the area. The buggy was well sprung, and I could sit on the seat and get it really rocking and bouncing along the dusty prairie trail at the head of the pioneers wagon train while the indians fired arrows at us all. (Well I’d seen the pictures in a book at home you see.) What really spoilt things was being betrayed by the sheet on the hayrick. Close by the rick was an apple tree with a branch laden with fruit within reach from the top of the rick. So one hot sunny day I climbed up, got myself an apple and settled down to eat it. Now me being in ‘wildwest’ mode at the time the height of my vantage point gave me good cover for shooting all manner of enemies. Now what I didn’t know at the time was that canvas sheets create a ‘bloom’ as they age. Unfortunately, this will attach itself to anything it makes contact with, especially young boys squirming about bumping off baddies. The storm broke when I got called in for tea and I realized I was green from head to foot. So no more ‘cowboys and indians’ or buggy riding.

Richard and John at Murcott

Overall my memories of life at Lower Farm are of happy and carefree times. Young enough not to be troubled by adult issues and old enough to have a good imagination and the freedom to be able to act out those dreams. Richard, I think being older, took life a little more seriously and maybe already had plans for what he wanted for his life in the future. We had very generous and loving parents. Things, obviously, were not so carefree for Mum and Dad. Dad had taken more work to earn a bit extra. Mum was becoming more and more concerned about her parents not being able to cope as they got older. Aunt Ada (Mum’s sister) had not married and lived with them until her death.

Aunt Ada

After this Mum would occasionally cycle the twenty plus miles to Murcott to see how they were. These visits became more frequent as Grampies health deteriorated and he became bedridden. Gran was finding it increasingly hard to cope so Mum would stay for days at a time. Eventually Mum, Dad and Grannie agreed that as the house was big enough we should move there so that Mum could care for her parents full time. So sometime in 1954 that is what we did.

The Cottage, Pidgeon House Lane, Murcott

To be continued...........

Previous episodes here, here and here