Memories of Childhood

I was born in Teynham, a small village in Kent, at 2:00am on 9th May 1945. Victory in Europe celebrations were in full swing as my mother gave birth to me in the back bedroom of a terraced house where the occupants had witnessed, first hand, the Battle of Britain. Dogfights between the RAF and the German Luftwaffe were everyday occurrences in 1940 and my mother recounted tales of fierce battles that were watched overhead in this corner of Southeast England. The Luftwaffe often jettisoned bombs overhead and one fell close and destroyed a church not 100 metres from where I was born...

My father joined the army in 1939, the Cheshire Regiment, an infantry brigade heavily armed with machine guns. 24 hours before mobilisation for North Africa and ultimately the Al Alamein campaign his commanding officer seconded my dad to the Royal Engineers, as it became news that he could drive steam locomotives. Ultimately he drove ammunition trains for the Western Front campaign.

His love for these magnificent locomotives began when he served an apprenticeship in Crewe locomotive works and his love rubbed off on me. From the age of six I lived with my parents in Rugby, Warwickshire, a focal point for the LMS railway (London, Midland, Scottish). Inevitably, I became a 'trainspotter' and from the age of around nine would spend hours at the embankment south of Rugby station and record all the locomotives seen.

I spent my school holidays at the place of my birth - Teynham - with my maternal grandparents. And my love of steam locos came with me. I would encamp at Teynham railway station and see the 'Golden Arrow' express thunder through the station, hauled by a King Arthur class, or Schools class, or, on special days, a West Country or Battle of Britain class Bulleid Pacific locomotive, with a golden arrow emblazoned to the front smoke-box and on the boiler sides.

This love of steam has carried me through many years and into railway modelling. And the Southern region is no better represented than by the 'School' class 4-4-0s, represented here by "DOVER" a locomotive that I saw as a child and the Hornby model of which has just been added to my collection.

The age of steam is now a distant memory, a memory of my childhood, but an era that still reminds me of days of innocence and fulfilment. Days spent with mates and Ian Allen record books, a notebook and pencil, a bag of sandwiches and a bottle of dandelion & burdock pop, and above all, a sense of adventure and anticipation as those steam locomotives thundered through....  

 

Christmases Past

I am sat at my computer dallying over the keyboard whilst listening to Laure Favre-Kahn play the Preludes of Chopin. Beautiful music, exquisitely played. And it takes me back to the early 1950s....

It was a time of austerity. Most food items were still rationed and indeed were until 1954 I seem to recall. I remember as a youngster going across the road in the village where I lived, Teynham in Kent, to Wickes general store and bakery to use ration coupons to buy a bag of broken biscuits and a quarter pound of butter....

I was born in my maternal grandparents house. My father was seconded from the Cheshire Regiment to the Royal Engineers during the war as he was a trained locomotive driver. He drove ammunition trains through occupied Europe and carried a piece of shrapnel in his leg until the day he died, the result of a German fighter plane that attacked his ammunition train in Belgium. He was de-mobbed in 1946. He had not much else but his de-mob suit, his wife (my mother) and me to show for his war effort.

We lived with my grandparents and my Auntie in a small terraced house. A house that had witnessed overhead dog-fights between the RAF and the Luftwaffe in 1940/41. I remember my mum recalling specific incidents that occurred in the skies over Kent...

In those early 50s years the family would congregate at Christmas at the cottage in Teynham where I was born. Those austere times did not dull the enjoyment. My auntie married and my uncle Ted, who worked on a local farm, provided the 'bird' for Christmas lunch. Breakfast on Christmas day was always home baked sausage rolls served up with English mustard. It's a tradition that I follow to this day. The lunch was served regimentally at 1:00pm, the men being told in no uncertain terms to 'be back from the pub' by then. The roast bird was always accompanied by fresh vegetables, including the inevitable Brussel sprouts, and roast potatoes. My grandmother made the Christmas pudding, having embarked on its production some 6 weeks before Christmas. Everyone present dug through their slice (which was served with custard) to see if they could find the hidden silver threepenny bit that was in there somewhere! (Health and Safety today would have a fit).

In the afternoon we managed a 'high-tea' with blancmanges and jellies and cakes and scones.

The late afternoon, early evening was usually occupied by the card game known as 'Newmarket' where the adults gambled with halfpennies and pennies on the outcome of a 'card race'. It was great fun for the kids to watch, particularly watching those adults who appeared to have more guile than others. This was the time when the William & Humbert's Walnut Brown Sherry was opened, and Booths Gin (it was always Booths).

Then, late evening, we would manage a 'supper' of cold meats, mashed potato and home made pickles. And this in a time of ongoing austerity. But of course it helped that Uncle Ted worked on a farm, it helped that my maternal grandmother was the best pastry chef this side of the Atlantic, it helped that everyone 'mucked in' including the children. It helped that there was no TV, no mobile 'phones, no computers, no games consoles. We interacted with each other as we faced a 'Brave New World'. We listened to Wilfred Pickles on the 'wireless' and even attended Christmas Mass at midnight on the 24th December at the parish church. These were times of having nothing, but having everything. Peace in our time, family, home produced food, simple entertainment, hope ... and laughter. And it was a time when we remembered those who were no longer with us, like my great uncle Sydney, who was killed during the war. Happy times and sad times.

The memories of a kid from the 50s.....