Almost Total Recall

By Terry Aspinall

I was born during the Second World War while my Father was chasing Rommel out of North Africa and Italy, for this reason I never saw him until late 1946. I grew up in the sleepy little Suffolk country side town of Stowmarket, and underwent an education that to me seemed an absolute waste of time. Although with that wonderful tool known as hindsight, my reading and writing skills would have served me well in the writing of this book. I should have taken the trouble and given the teachers my full undivided attention and not the girls sitting next to me, while behind me was always the wall. Yes I was a back of class type of guy who was always getting into trouble and talking during class. Upon leaving school I became what was known as a Teddy boy and hung around with the Ipswich town local gangs. Once the novelty began to wear off, and I realised that if I carried on along the path I had chosen, it would only lead me into trouble with the law, so I decided on a complete life style change and joined the Royal Marines. My growing up during this period of time can certainly be attributed to my Royal Marine training, something that is still part of my life to this day. I tell of my service years and of being on active service in Borneo. Upon my release I became very interested and involved in the Rock n Roll music of the day, and helped form a local band in the town of Leiston in Suffolk. I also became involved in the then new sport of hang gliding. Which later lead me to strapping an engine on to my glider, and being amongst the first in the UK to pioneer the sport of Microlighting, and to set a record that still stands to this day. Eventually while working for Bernard Matthews I upped my family and immigrated to New Zealand, to help build a new factory in a small county town of Waipukurau on the North Island. Where I experienced a complete new style of living that my family and I all enjoyed, and took to it like ducks to water. It was a taste of what was to come when after three years I once again up rooted my family and move over the ditch as they say to Australia. Where I later became involved in the changing of history involving the invention of the Modern Hang Glider.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Aspinall
• Release date: Aug 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476395722

Terry Aspinall

I was born during the Second World War while my father was chasing Rommel out of North Africa and Italy, for this reason I never saw him until late 1946. I grew up in the sleepy little Suffolk country side town of Stowmarket, and underwent an education that to me seemed an absolute waste of time. Although with that wonderful tool known as hindsight, my reading and writing skills would have served me well in the writing of this book. I should have taken the trouble and given the teachers my full undivided attention and not the girls sitting next to me, while behind me was always the wall. Yes I was a back of class type of guy who was always getting into trouble and talking during class. Upon leaving school I became what was known as a Teddy boy and hung around with the Ipswich town local gangs. Once the novelty began to wear off, and I realised that if I carried on along the path I had chosen, it would only lead me into trouble with the law, so I decided on a complete life style change and joined the Royal Marines. My growing up during this period of time can certainly be attributed to my Royal Marine training, something that is still part of my life to this day. I tell of my service years and of being on active service in Borneo. Upon my release I became very interested and involved in the Rock n Roll music of the day, and helped form a local band in the town of Leiston in Suffolk. I also became involved in the then new sport of hang gliding. Which later lead me to strapping an engine on to my glider, and being amongst the first in the UK to pioneer the sport of Microlighting, and to set a record that still stands to this day. Eventually while working for Bernard Matthews I upped my family and immigrated to New Zealand, to help build a new factory in a small county town of Waipukurau on the North Island. Where I experienced a complete new style of living that my family and I all enjoyed, and took to it like ducks to water. It was a taste of what was to come when after three years I once again up rooted my family and move over the ditch as they say to Australia, but that’s another story?

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Almost Total Recall

© Copyright 2012 by Terry Aspinall

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying) recording, or otherwise without prior permission in writing from the author.

ISBN: 9781476395722

Published by Terry Aspinall

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TABLE OF CONTENT

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter 1 - Early Years

Chapter 2 - Teenage Years

Chapter 3 - Teddy Boy Years

Chapter 4 - Royal Marines

Chapter 5 - Active Service

Chapter 6 - The Reason

Chapter 7 - Burma Camp

Chapter 8 - Back to Lundu

Chapter 9 - Burma Camp 2

Chapter 10 - North Borneo

Chapter 11 - Return to England

Chapter 12 - The Fun Factory

Chapter 13 - Musical Years

Chapter 14 - Jim West

Chapter 15 - Night Riders

Chapter 16 - Hang Gliding

Chapter 17 - Microlighting

Chapter 18 - New Zealand

Chapter 19 - Australia

Chapter 20 - The Magic Years

Chapter 21 - The Doldrum Years

Chapter 22 - The Internet Years

Chapter 23 - The Modern Hang Glider

Chapter 24 - The Grafton Festival 1963

Photos Linked to Website

http://www.terryaspinall.com

Other books by this Author

Dedication

The writing of this book in the early 1990's would not have been possible without the help of Catherine Elizabeth Cook who first planted the seed of an idea in my head, while I was being taught to fly a hang glider by her husband David during the early 1970's. Along with a lot of help from my family. Mark my son who eventually introduced me to the computer. Karen his wife who spent countless hours trying to decipher my hastily and sometimes un-readable pencil scribbled notes. Especially my dear wife Emily who has spent many many hours with me researching, rewriting and getting the whole project together. Not to mention my Mother Blanche, and her younger sister Kathleen Joan who became proof readers, correctors and historians covering my early years. The project took almost ten years to complete. Something I am very proud to have achieved.

My wish is that it will become a record of my life for future generations. Something my children will be able to hand down to their children and so on, to become part of the Aspinall Family history. In the believe that it might also become a historic window for future historians, covering a period from the end of the Second World War, to the early part of the 21st Century.

Introduction

It's very hard trying to recollect events and incidents that took place over fifty years ago. However, remembering the hit music of the day has been a great help during the nineteen fifties and sixties period. Especial as music turned out to be my first love and favourite pastime. Fortunately, I also had the help of a brief personal diary to assist me through the Borneo years. For the rest I have had to rely on my memory and the help of close friends.

Music is 'Total Recall' was something I was told during my three-year stay in New Zealand, by a fellow guitarist cum bass player Paul Defane. How true his words have turned out to become? Whenever I hear an old record being played, I can usually remember where I was at the time it was released, or who I was going out with at the time, or some other incident that is connected to the tune. Although I must add that it is mainly with the music from the fifties through to the mid to late seventies. Why not from the seventies, well maybe it was my age or that I did not want to follow the Punk music of the day. Maybe I do not want to be reminded of those later times, which I do struggle to recollect. Anyway, I will go along with Paul's wise words that music is 'Total Recall' because it seems to work for me. It is for this reason that I chose the title of this Autobiography to be known as 'Almost Total Recall'.

Before putting pen to paper, I had to spend a long time wondering how I was going to attack this mammoth task. It was during this time that I suddenly realised that there are certain people who have left a lasting impression on me. By that, I mean they had a big influence on my life and the direction that it would take.

One of the first people to make an impression on my life was Richard or Ricky Sparkes as he was known to all who knew him in the area. Ricky was a couple of years older than myself and so I guess I looked up to him for guidance, as I tried to fit into a world of delinquent teenagers, as the local and national news papers of the day usually referred to us. However, we all saw it as having fun. We were growing up in a way that children had never be allowed in the past, and I might add in a way that most of our parents totally disapproved of. We were breaking away from what was commonly known at the time as our Mother's apron strings, although it was our Fathers who tried to beat it out of us. I might go as far as to say that we did everything our parents disapproved of just to say that we were going to do what we wanted and not what they wanted us to do. I don’t think I need say much more because the children of today have taken it to a much higher level of defiance than we ever did. Ricky being the older usually led the way, and I went along with whatever it was, believing that age was always superior. In fact, I can go further and say that I looked up to him as if he was my older brother, something I had never experienced until then, as I had grown up being an only child. And judging by the close friendship between us that developed over a great enjoyable four-year period, I'm almost sure he looked upon me and treated me as an equal along with his two younger brothers. His Mother god bless her, certainly treated me as one of her own as I spent many many happy hours in their house. I used to refer to her as a Mother hen clucking at us to seek protection under her out spread wing.

Then there was Tootsie Lawrence who lived at the top of Poplar Hill. We had attended the same school together and I knew him during our many times of play. However, it was while he was home on leave from the Royal Marine Commando's after an active service tour of duty in Aden. When I met him in a local pub and he then successfully advised me, or should I say talked me into joining the Royal Marines. Service life has played a large part of my life, even when I returned to Civilian Street, I followed and supported anything that was military. My decision to join turned out to be a decision that I never regretted and upon hearing of Tootsies passing during Christmas 2002, I felt cheated that I had not seen him one more time before he left us. The last time we chatted was way back in the late seventies.

The third person to have played a major role in my life was Ray Callahan, even though we were only together for about eighteen months. Ray was the person who first introduced and later successfully taught me how to play the bass guitar. To this day I still play the very same, or at least my variation of the riffs that he painstakingly taught me way back in the sixties. It is only with hindsight that I have been able to appreciate just how musical and talented Ray really was. A few years ago, I read a book called 'Play Like Elvis by Mo Foster. In it Mo describes how most of the so called up and coming Rock n Roll musicians of the early to middle sixties, tried to improve their playing abilities and instruments. It was while reading this book that I suddenly became aware of the fact that we fell into the very same category. Because we had formed a band known as the 'Forbidden Fruit' and had played our brand of Rock n Roll music. In our own little way, we were also learning, improvising and pushing the music horizons of our day forward. If you think about it, music today would not be where it is, if it had not been for people like us advancing it one step at a time. After all Elvis had only been around singing and playing since 1956, and in those days, there were no bass guitars. They came later and Jet Harris (who played with Cliff Richard and the Shadows) is credited with being the very first person in the UK to play one to a live audience. While a couple of years later Shirley Douglas is credited with being the first female to play one. Shirley used to play with the Chas McDevitt Skiffle group and helped start the bass player bandwagon rolling forward, by bring out a book on how to play the new musical discovery known as the bass guitar. Both Jet and Shirley acquired their new instruments from the USA in the late fifties. Jet had been a very successful double bass jazz player up until then and had changed over, unlike most of the guys of his day. Who had all subscribed to the notion that the bass guitar was just a novelty and that it would not be around in a couple of years time. This meant that a complete new breed of player had to take up the challenge and learn to play the bass guitar. They had to learn and invent ways of playing the instrument, as it handles, plays and sounds totally different to the double bass, a process that is still going on to this day. Therefore, with all this in mind when Ray first started teaching me, he had to have had an incredible ear for music. I guess he must have copied what he’d heard on the radio and records, but I’m sure he had the ability to take the Bass guitar forward by inventing his very own riffs and runs. He also taught himself to play keyboard and lead guitar and later taught David Bridges how to play Rhythm guitar. Not to mention the assistance he gave Ben Wright with most of his drumming problems, as he carefully dissected each record that we all tried to copy. Ray must have been a very talented and highly skilled guy and underestimated by many of that era. Today I find it quite awe inspiring and amazing that I was also part of the music revolution that has become known as the swinging sixties. I often wonder what the 'Forbidden Fruit' would have sounded like as a band today, if we were still making music together.

A little later, as my style of playing developed I combined what Ray had taught me, along with the style of John McVie of 'Fleetwood Mac' fame. I call it the Callahan/McVie style. I met John McVie at the Manor Ball room in Ipswich on the 13.10.68. How could I ever forget that date? He gave me a lot of help with my playing and I copied many of his techniques. Having played those styles for well over thirty-five years, it has long since gone out of fashion. Therefore, it’s quite pleasing when the younger generation of musicians approach me and ask how I achieve the sound and style that I play. For a time, I had thought that I was a bit of a dinosaur and that the youngsters were in fact making fun of me. Until the day I was asked to attend a music workshop in Brisbane to demonstrate to younger musicians how I achieved my sound and style.

David Cook played a large part in making possible my love of flying. I first met David in early 1973, when I turned up at his house unannounced, asking him to teach me how to fly a hang glider that I had just purchased. Without hesitation David took me under his wing, passing on a vast amount of his flying expertise. He not only taught me how to fly, but he instilled in me that thirst to win and to come first at every opportunity. He flew a different style of hang glider to the one I had purchased. What is known as a three-axis control machine. In my opinion it was far superior in its performance to that which I flew, namely a weight shift-controlled hang glider. Its lack of performance did not stop me from advancing to the pinnacle of its performance, more to the point it helped me push my envelope to its maximum, in a fruitless effort to beat David at every opportunity. Later we both progressed in the sport and added power units to our gliders. With this new-found power to assist our flying David was achieving not only English records, but in many cases World records. However, I only managed to notch up an English distance record although at that time I was content with that achievement.

Peter Bowden from Felixstowe is a person I admire greatly. I wish that I had his philosophy on life. I learnt a great deal about life from Peter during our hang glider years together and I thank him very much for being one of the people who changed my life for the better and the direction I was following. There is not much more I would like to add to that other than Peter would know what I’m talking about. See even after all those years I’m still too embarrassed to talk about it. Thanks Peter for your friendship and understanding.

Paul Whittley is another friend who has left his mark on my life. During the early days of the Norfolk Hang Gliding Club, Paul attracted the nick-name of the 'Bionic Baby', because of his flying style and very young looks. A few members went as far as to call him reckless in his flying style and possibly I was one of them. However, I never did hear of him having an accident and strongly believe that his flying style actually helped improve the flying of most club members. He experimented at different sites with different take off styles and positions. During an evening club meeting in Norwich we had a lecture about first aid and what to do if one of us were to crash. We all went through the moves that even included mouth to mouth resuscitation. About six months later the club was experimenting with a new winch Tow Launch system. After a couple of successful launches, it was my turn. I climbed into a harness and picked up the borrowed glider ready to be launched. For some reason it did not feel right and so I declined the launch. Another flyer Ken took my turn and unfortunately it all went horribly wrong when the glider suddenly locked under pressure and side slipped with great force and a loud bang into the ground, from about two hundred feet. A dozen guys including myself ran over to help him. However, after seeing him crumpled up on the ground and unconscious we all stood around not knowing what to do next. Paul who had not attended the first aid meeting pushed his way though us and took full control of the situation. I strongly believe that Paul saved Kens life that day. His body was badly broken up and he had also sustained some brain damage. However, after a year in hospital, where he was patched up and re-educated using the other side of his brain he returned to his old job as a school teacher in Norwich. I believe that on that day most club members changed their opinion of Paul and they actually went to him for help and information concerning their flying problems. What’s more, I can never remember Paul ever talking about the incident, let alone claiming that he had saved Kens life, no he just quietly got on with his life as if nothing had happened. Thanks Paul to me you are one of the real true silent heroes of this world.

As a foot note about this incident, while I was to take my turn in flying Emily had stayed in the car on the road behind a rather large hedge. She had always thought it was dangerous and did not want to see me fly. However, the force of the glider hitting the ground was so loud that she heard it while sitting in the car. The next thing she knew was Mike Pulford jumping in to the car telling her to drive him to the nearest phone box as quickly as possible. This she did at break neck speed, all the time thinking it was me who had crashed. Mike being too shocked to say anything did not mention who had crashed.

Then there is Hans Van Oyen, Hans is the guy I credit for helping me sing backup harmonies. When it should have been Ray Callahan many years earlier, if only I had listened to him, for it was Ray who always insisted that I learn to sing while I learnt to play the Bass Guitar. Unfortunately, I did not take his advice at that time, although I now wish I had. I met Hans when I was recruited to play for the band 'Cross-Cut' in Brisbane Australia. I liked his style of singing and found him to be a very easy person to sing along too. I was lucky in that our voices mixed and blended in with each other, as if we were brothers. Hans was always patient while he nurtured me along. It was made easy by the fact that by this time I did want to learn. As time went on I started to enjoy the singing and found it easier and easier, to such a point that I was able to adlib along on my own. I now consider the worlds my oyster and it’s up to me where I let it take me from here.

I can count my true friends on the fingers of both hands, however I place Ben Wrights name at the top of my list. We befriended each other outside of the Richard Garrett’s bottom factory gate in Leiston, way back on the 16th January 1966, while waiting to start a new job together. A relationship that is still going strong to this day, even though we are miles apart. We hit it off right from day one, we had the same interests, liked the same music and had the very same sense of humour, we were compatible in every way. During the dark days of my marriage break up, he was one of the only friends who stood by me, even though I would suspect that he caught the anger of a few of his friends in doing so. I think one of the saddest days for us both was when we said our goodbyes, as I was about to fly out to a new life in New Zealand. He turned up at my house with red puffy eyes and a couple of tears on his cheeks and I must admit that it placed a large lump in the back of my throat. Ben thanks for always being there and we will see each other one more time, God willing.

For good clean fun and very happy times, I must thank Snowy, Mel, Sharpe and David, who were all members of our small private hang gliding club. Most weekends when the weather and winds were in the right direction we would travel the back roads of England and Wales looking for sites to fly and a crazy time was had by all. I’ll never forget that orange coloured v/w van that we all spent so many hours in, whether driving around the country or sitting out the bad weather at one of the numerous flying sites we visited. Thanks guys I doubt we will ever all meet up again, but at least I have the memories.

However, a highlight must be my meeting up with Graeme Henderson on line while living in Brisbane during 2006. A friendship that was to grow through our love of hang gliding and for seeking the truth into its invention. That was to lead to something I never imagined or thought possible at the time, the changing of history. Graeme was one of the top hang glider pilots in New Zealand and had been reading on line about some of my exploits while I lived there. However, he had never heard of me and so made contact via E-mail, and later by phone. He was very interested in my websites, to which I told him that I could build one for him. He went on to tell me that he was very interested, and that it might be of help in trying to find out who invented the modern hang glider. Although this all went straight over my head at the time as I had always believed that Professor Rogallo from NSAS in the USA had been the inventor. At the time I did not realise how important this was to turn out to be. However, Graeme had sowed the seed within my head. Came the day when he got in touch and asked if my offer was still on. Which it was, not wanting to miss out on another challenge. I asked him to tell me a little about himself and that I'd do the rest. He quickly told me it was not for him but for John Dickenson. He then proceeded to tell me about a couple of people who in the past had published articles on John (Mark Woodhams and Stephane Malbos) and of how in their view Dickenson had invented the modern hang glider. Well the rest is history as they say. I went on to build the website for John Dickenson and to undertake a lot of research to assist Graeme. It was a very interesting subject and I was keen to learn more, as I had been involved in the sport in the UK during its early development. We spent a few years researching the subject that included making friends via the internet with Mark Woodhams from the UK, Stephane Malbos from France, Ken de Russy from the USA and Andy Abbott from Australia, and we all ended up working as a lose knit group. Finally, our evidence and claim was accepted by CIVL in the FAI and in July 2012 they awarded John Dickenson their Gold Air Medal in recognition of him being the Inventor of the Modern Hang Glider. Sadly, a bi-product of campaign was that we also proved that Francis Roggalo not only did he not invent the hang glider, but he was not even a Professor or a Doctor. Almost every pilot in the UK during those early days of hang gliding believed he was. In some cases, some thought he was all three, inventor, Professor and Doctor. Having proved who was the inventor, I suddenly became interested in how it arrived in the UK during 1972. I went on to build the website www.british-hang-gliding-history.com to help prove it. This has turned out to be the biggest highlight of my life. To be able to say that I was part of a small group of dedicated hang gliding enthusiasts who changed world history. Not many people can add that to their resume.

Now a word about my sponsor Emily my wife. Having spent well over forty years together, it’s only fair to say that she has played a very large part in the shaping of my life and to the directions we have taken. She swept me off my feet way back in 1967 as she still does to this day. As I get older, I find that I rely on her even more now, for her help and guidance. I pray that we will see our days out together, still enjoying the love and kindness we found at our first meeting.

I cannot go any further without mentioning my Parents, after all both played a very big part in my upbringing. Their guidance steered me towards the final direction that my life took me. We were not a very religious family, but I still say that the Ten Commandments are not a bad guide to follow, something I try to adhere to.

To these people, I am very grateful that they steered me in the direction that I finally followed.

However, on a low note I must add that it has been levelled at me that I have not mentioned a great deal about my close family in this Autobiography. I must admit that the criticism is correct. I’ve been a little bit selfish most of my life in trying to obtain my goals, of earning big money with employment and getting to the top in my chosen hobbies of music and flying. All have taken me away from my family for long periods of time. I have always worked long distances away from home, even though with some of the jobs I came home at night. In most cases I was so tired I just went straight to bed, rather than spend quality time with the family. While at weekends I played guitar with pop groups or chased the prevailing winds to participate in the sport of hang gliding.

As this book is about what I got up to during the past 70 years, there is not too much about my close family, but then I was never there and unfortunately I missed them growing up It was not until we were in New Zealand and I went to watch my son Mark play a game of football that it suddenly dawned on me, but by then it was too late. Unfortunately, you can never have those years back to re-live as a good parent should. However, I have been honest to acknowledge my faults in this book and hope that in some way I can repay the family while I still have a few years left. By a twist of fate many years later I worked for Mark my son for five years. It turned out the be the best job I ever had, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We were both on the same wave length as they say during work and play. During that time, we never had a bad word for each other. However, I have to add that he was the boss he gave the orders and I was happy with that. I also realised that being the boss he was the one who took the responsibility when things went wrong, and I was also happy with that.

None of us are perfect in this world, it’s all part of growing up and to how we play the hand that has been dealt us. While most respond in total different ways, there are always those around who do not like what others have done. So, we can all criticise each other in one way or another, but I would say to those of you out there, don’t throw stones in a glass house. Every single one of us has skeletons in the cupboard that we do not want other people reading about. Whereas I have lain all mine down in print for the world to see and criticise. Maybe my critics would have liked me to call the book 'Almost Total Self Criticism'.

Chapter1

The Early Years

June 1943 to September 1954

My Father Richard (Dick) Aspinall was born on 30th December 1919, in the Northern English town of Warrington. Upon leaving school he tried his hand at an array of different jobs that included working in a butcher's shop, a cinema as a projectionist and in the local coal yard. Then on 2nd April 1940, while living in Admiral Street, Howley, Warrington and employed as a gas fire fitter, he joined the Liverpool Scottish Regiment, a catchment unit for the British Army to become Private Aspinall No 2934673. Later he was transferred to the Seaforth Highlands, the Cameron Highlanders, eventually ending up with the Hampshire Regiment.

My Mother Blanche Irene Palmer was born on 26th January 1924 in the small rural Suffolk village of Mendlesham. Later the family moved to a council house just a few miles away on the outskirts of Stowmarket, on the top Creeting Road hill. At the age of 12, she was employed by Messer’s Hart & Son a grocery cum butchery shop located in Bury Street, where she worked late afternoons after leaving school and Saturday mornings. In those days all the shops closed at 12 noon on a Saturday. Upon leaving school at the age of 14, she managed to secure full time employment with the shop owner as a live-in cleaning maid. Mum has always described this time of her live as being very hard and back breaking. The lady of the house was very abrupt and was always after her pound of flesh. Mother was worked from very early in the morning through to late in the evening, on a seven-day week basis. She also claims that she was only fed leftover food while the family lived a relative good life style. Once a fortnight, she was allowed half a day off, to walk home and see her family about a mile and a half away. However, because of the distance involved this did not allow her very much time to be with them. Upon her return, if she was late then she would be punished by being awarded even more work. At one-time Mum became seriously ill and while trying to work with the lady standing over her, she collapsed. Even though she was allowed to go to bed for the remainder of the day, bright and early the very next morning she had to carry on with her chores. That included cleaning out the very large open fire places and dragging out the ashes in a rather large coal scuttle that had to be refilled with coal and returned to the fire place areas of the house, while her own very small bedroom was damp and cold because it did not have any heating. Her only warmth was gained by cuddling up in the two blankets she had been given by the lady of the house. Later she was to collapse once again and was finally seen by a doctor who diagnosed her with diphtheria, quite a common disease in those days. Mum eventually recovered from the illness after a long convalescing period with her parents at home, however, she never returned to the shop. I’m not sure what she was paid in those days, but she had to purchase a maid's uniform from her wage. From what I understand when she eventually finished working at the shop, she was more in debt than when she first started.

Mum met Dad while he was on leave from a local temporary Army camp based at nearby Needham Market in late 1940. Dad accompanied by his best friend Frank was walking along the River Gipping tow-path that in those days snaked its way from Needham Market through to Stowmarket. Only a few years earlier it had seen horse drawn barges frequently use the water way to transport goods around the area.

It just happened that Mum along with her younger sister Kathleen Joan was also walking along the same tow-path, but in the opposite direction. As the two parties merged just behind the old Stowmarket Malting Buildings, a conversation developed between them, resulting with Mum pairing off with Dad and Kathleen Joan going with Frank. Mum arranged to meet Dad at a later date and a relationship developed between them, and in just a few weeks they became engaged. My Aunt Joan also met up with Frank on a couple of other occasions, but sadly he was killed just a few months later, being shot while on active service.

On 27th May 1941 along with her sister Kathleen Joan, Mum ran away and joined the Woman’s Auxiliary Air force (WAAF) having to tell a few little white lies about their age. At the time Mum was just 16 years old, while Joan was only 15. Mum was to become LACW No 2010524, and Joan as she was affectingly known in the family, became LACW No 210572. When my Grandfather found out, he hit the roof and all hell was let loose. However, they had signed along the dotted line as they say, and so there was nothing he could do about it.

Because my Father’s army unit was expecting to be sent overseas at any moment, Mum and Dad were married very quickly, on the 20th September 1941, having only seen each other on a few occasions, whenever they could both manage to get their military leave to coincide with each other. Dad was constantly moving around the country, so it became increasingly difficult to meet. Then just before his embarkation to North Africa they managed to sneak a leave together and spent a wonderful week together in the sea side town of Scarbough. The war was always a constant threat to every family and when the men folk were dispatched overseas many believed that their loved ones would never return. In an effort that they had something to remind them of their brief relationship, they would try for a child. My parents were no different, and on one special occasion while I was nursing her in the last few months of her life, she whispered in my ear that I was conceived during that very special week.

In September 1942 while Mum was only 18 and Dad was 21, he was informed that his unit was off to North Africa to join the Allied Army that was commanded at that time by Field Marshall Montgomery, who was amassing his troops in Egypt in an attempt to push the famous German Field Marshal Rommel from North Africa and back into Europe.

He sailed from Southampton on board the liner Queen Mary and headed to the Middle East, where he ended up taking part in the battle of El Alamein. Dad once described the night before the attack to me, and it must have been a horrendous experience for all those who took part. Especially, when you consider that most had grown up in very small English country villages where the loudest nose they heard to date would have been a cow mooing. Dad said that at 7pm the evening before the attack was to take place the British Army started bombarding and shelling the German lines, and that there were so many guns all firing at the same time that it was like one big continual explosion that lasted right through the night till about 5am the next morning, when they were all ordered to advance forward, ahead of the tanks. Dad always believed that they were being used as the mine detectors because Montgomery did not want to lose his tanks too early in the battle. Dad must have been a very lucky guy because he went right through the North African Campaign, then across the Mediterranean to do it all again in Sicily, and to continue right on up through Italy. When you consider that he joined in April 1940 and was discharged in August 1946 and survived unscathed it’s just amazing. All he has to show for those six years is five medals. They are the 1939/45 Star, the Africa Star with 8th Army Clasp, the Italy Star, the Defence Medal and the War Medal 1939/45. His overseas time is listed as Middle East 20.12.42 to 29.08.43, North Africa 30.08.43 to 15.03.44, Middle East 16.03.44 to 23.09.44, Allied Army Italy 24.09.44 to 16.05.46. After most servicemen had been sent home, my Father had to return to Italy where he assisted in the dispersal of hundreds of thousands of prisons that were strewn everywhere in the Mediterranean area.

Mum was discharged from the Air Force in January 1943 and I was born in June of the same year at my Auntie Queenies house on the Common in Little Blakenham, just outside of Ipswich in the County of Suffolk. Aunt Queenie had been living with her first son Ivan, while her husband Eric was away fighting in the Far East. Where he was later captured by the Japanese and imprisoned in the infamous Changi Jail on the island of Singapore. Later he had to endure the horrors of being forced to work on the infamous Burma railway and to witness many of his friends being brutally forced to work without food until they died.

Mother later told of me of an incident that scared her and her sister, when one night a bat somehow managed to fly in to one of their bedrooms. They were absolutely terrified and spent most of the night trying to coach it in to leaving, by constantly trying to swat it with a rolled-up hand towel. Apparently, they were both scared, because as Mother put it, they thought it was going to land and nest in their hair. It being a well-known myth of the time, that if a bat did land in your hair, they would entangle themselves, making it almost impossible to remove them. The incident had a happy ending when the bat eventually made its own way to freedom.

A few months later and while my Father was still away with the war effort, it was thought easier for my Mother if she were to move back in with her family at Creeting Road, along with some of her brothers and sisters.

My Grandmother’s house stood alone on a hill in the countryside, about one and a half miles from Stowmarket. The house had a lovely view of the town spread out in the valley below. Nana and Granddad had seven children, four girls and three boys. Although some of them were away in the services at the time, fighting in the war.

I remember most afternoons I would go into the fields that surrounded the house with my Nana and feed her chickens and geese. I would jump about on the haystacks and play around on an old derelict rusty tractor that stood in the field. Nana also had a dog called Prinny. I got on very well with this old dog and I’m told I used to push him out of his kennel and use it as a gang hut. Prinny was some type of mongrel and very big, so at times I could even ride on his back. I’m also told that my Mother and Betty another of her younger sisters used to dress me up as a girl for fun, although I do not remember this. However, other members of the family have confirmed it and I am told that there are a few photos in existence somewhere to back up their claim.

Unfortunately, Nana's house only had 3 bedrooms, and was crowded most of the time. Leaving my Mother feeling as if she was always in the way. Therefore, later that year she moved to Warrington, Dads home town and set up house with the Hawthorne’s, Bill and Eddie. Once she was settled in, it was just a case of awaiting Dads return from the war, although at that time nobody had a clue as to when the hostilities would end. It had always been assumed that Dad would be returning to his old job as a gas fire fitter at the Richmond factory once the war was over. Mum felt it was only right that she should be there ready for his return. However, they were all to be very disappointed when he eventually did arrive home.

My Father returned from the war in early 1946 and saw me for the very first time. I would have been about 3 years old by then. His flight home had been a bad one and the plane had to make a forced landing somewhere, but they were all lucky and there were no casualties. Even his visit home was short lived, because after only a month’s leave he had to return to the war effort. He was then flown back to the Middle East where he had to help in the repatriation of most of the prisoners of war in that area. Lucky for him this time the flight went okay and there were no problems. I have the feeling that it might have put Dad off flying in the smaller type of aircraft, later in life.

Upon his discharge from the service on 22-08-46, along with Mum he tried to set up their own home in the Warrington area, but somehow it just did not work out. Mum was constantly being ill, it being a heavy industrial area that had a constant thick blanket of smog covered over it for most of the time.

They thought it would be a little healthier for them if they lived in the rural area of Suffolk. They would also be able to get their own council house a little quicker and anyway Dad liked the area very much, having seen it when he first met up with Mum. He had always wanted to get away from the dirt and grime that the Northern area was well known for.

Once again, the family headed south with all our furniture crammed into the back of one of Cole’s (Stowmarket) removal vehicles. We arrived once again on Nana’s doorstep in Creeting Road, where we all moved in together. It was now crowded more than ever, with the return of most of Nana’s children from the war. The house on top of Creeting Road, should have displayed a sign outside proclaiming a 'Full House'. It was so full in fact that my parent’s furniture had to be stored by Cole’s at their local depot in Milton Road.

One of my first recollections was around 1947. I would have been four years old at the time. I was attending a nursery school in Lockington Road Stowmarket, while Mum was working at the same nursery looking after the children. To get to the nursery my Mother had to walk about a mile across the fields from my Nana’s house, through the Gun Cotton Works, (now the I.C.I Works) and over a river. I was sat in a pushchair and upon reaching the river we came upon two boys who were dripping wet. Apparently, they had been playing with a raft made from an old aircraft belly fuel tank. This had rolled over throwing both boys into the river. One was crying so my Mother spoke to them and asking if she could help. All around the bridge were wild blackberry bushes and on one of these bushes, my Mother found a very large green caterpillar and pointed this out to the boys. I then remember Mum pushing me away as the boys suddenly started fighting, about who was to have the caterpillar. I do not know why I should have remembered this trivial incident but maybe it was a pointer to the future. Even, so-called friends can sometimes fall out with each other and before I reached the age of eight, I would have a scar on the top of my head made by a close friend to prove this point.

I believe that later Mum used to take me to the nursery on a bike, while I was placed in a little seat that fitted on the back behind her. However, she would have had to go the long way around through the town, because she would not have been able to lift the bike over the railway crossing and the large wooden gates that where positioned either side of the track, by the ICI factory.

I cannot remember too much about this period, although I do remember bath nights. This event was held like a ritual every Friday night. Can you imagine about nine adults and one child, all trying to get into a bath at the same time? In the backyard stood the body of an old very large vintage van without wheels. It had been blocked up and turned into a shed. With curtains placed over the small round windows in the back doors. The cab was a separate compartment from the back and this was where I played at racing drivers.

A large galvanised bathtub was placed in the back of the van. While the water was heated in the house in a very large old brick copper, with an open fire lit underneath. The hot water was then carried to the bath in buckets by the family. Granddad would go first, followed by Nana and then the family had their pecking order. Being a child and on the end of the food chain would always be last. Can you imagine the colour of the water by the time it came around to my turn? I only hope they at least removed some of the scum from the top of the water before adding a few drops of hot water to re-warm it, that’s assuming some remained in the old copper back in the house. I must have been dirtier when I got out than when I went in. I do remember that we always had to go to bed after our bath, just in case we got the Pip, which is what Nana used to tell us. Although I always failed to understand what she was talking about. Later she was to explain that it was to do with going out in the cold night air after a hot bath. I now believe what she meant was that we might get a chill. Try telling that one to the Scandinavians. Granddad used to tell us we were all lucky because their neighbours who lived by the pond in the field next door, used to stand in their back garden and throw buckets of water over each other and knowing them I’m sure they did. During the week and after a day’s work, I can remember Granddad standing by the kitchen sink with a towel tied around his neck and draped across his back, as he tried to remove the days dirt and grime from his body. Although it did not pay you to stand too close, because as he splashed his face he usually managed to wet anything that was within a three-meter radius of him.

Before you went into the shed for your bath, you had to take a towel to dry yourself with. Poor Granddad once forgot his and was witnessed by the whole family running from the shed to the house in the nude, while looking for something to cover himself. Then there was the time that I was being bathed by Mum and I managed to get away from her. By getting out of the bath and the van and running naked down the road in front of the house. Aunt Betty finally caught me just before I reached the fruit orchard by Sterns farm a couple of hundred meters down the road. I reckon that day I invented the art of streaking, but so far, I have not gained notoriety for the feat.

Another thing I remember about that shed was that on the inside walls were large pictures of Bing Crosby. The girls of the family liked their pop stars of the forties just like the young girls of today, times have not changed that much have they.

The entrance to the toilet, although part of the house was positioned outside, so at nights you had to feel your way along the brick wall from the back door, because there were no lights, come to think about it, there was no electricity either. Mum tells me that she and her sisters used an old jam jar that had a loop of string attached around its neck and a candle burning inside to find their way around.

The toilet was known as a thunder box and consisted of a large wooden box positioned over an old rusty bucket. A hole had been cut in the top of the box and it was then lined up dead above the bucket. Toilet rolls were none existent in those days, so we used torn up sections of a newspaper, that were placed together into a rough looking square and a hole was then poked through one of the corners. A string was then passed through the hole and tried in a loop. The loop was then hung on a nail that was sticking out of the wall within reaching distance of the thunder box. On many occasions I heard the family laughing about whose picture in the newspaper they had just wiped their back side on, while others enjoyed a read to help pass the time.

Granddad had the unenviable chore of emptying the bucket on to a manure heap in the back garden at least once a week and was usually watched by the entire family through the kitchen window laughing and giggling at him. To save Granddad emptying it more than once a week, the male members of the family were ordered to always relieve themselves up against the hedge at the back of the vehicle shed, which was out of sight of the house and main road.

To lock the toilet door there was a bolt on the inside. Being very young, I did not really understand how it worked. One day I got the bolt slid across locking the door, but I could not pull it back when I wanted to leave the throne room as I later called it. A furious Granddad had to charge the door with a garden shovel in an effort to break it down, in order to get me out. This left him in a bad mood because he also had to repair the door afterwards, while the other members of the family did not help the situation with their constant laughing at him about the incident, especially my Uncle Brian.

Dad was turning out to be known as Mr Lucky, after all, he had gone right through the Second World War without a single scratch and then suddenly within just a few days of arriving in Stowmarket he found himself a job working for George Thurlow Engineering works in Stowmarket. He then purchased himself a bicycle from one of the local shops, I believe it could have been Ivan Codd’s to help him get to work, so much easier than walking, and I bet he had under taken enough of that while walking across Northern Africa and up the entire length of Italy. Years later I used to taunt him, it was a wonder they didn’t expect him to swim from North Africa over to Sicily.

Nana’s youngest son's Michael and Brian used to take me out with them and were forever getting me into trouble. Me being young and innocent, I would do whatever they told me, after all they were older than me, so they must be right. Just down the road from where we were living was a farm owned by Mr Stern, which had a very large orchard that was surrounded by a thick hedge. Mick and Brian would talk me into going into the orchard through a very small hole they had made, taking with me a sack. I would then have to fill it up with apples that were lying on the ground and to try to drag it back to the hole. I would then have to pass it back through the hole to them. I cannot remember if I was ever caught, but I do remember having a stomach-ache a few times and to being told off by my parents, while Mick and Brian just laughed at me getting into trouble. Mick was the Master of Working out different problems as they arose, one trick he used on many occasions, was to place a long nail through the end of the stick. In order to get at the fruit that lay on the other side of the hedge. He would then pass the stick through the hedge wherever he found a hole and puncture the apple with the nail. He would then very carefully and slowly drag the apple back through the hedge.

To Mick and Brian anything food was fair game to be gathered as they called it, especially wild blackberry’s. On one occasion in his haste to devour as many as possible before Brian, Mick accidentally swallowed one that still had a stalk attached to it and it became lodged in the back of his throat. No matter what he did he could not dislodge it. Later that day he was heard running around the back yard going 'Caw-Caw', just like an old crow trying to cough it up. Mum always laughed about that one and was constantly re-telling me the story for many years to come.

Mother once told me that during the bad winter of 1949 and after a deep covering of snow. Mick, Brian, Mum and I had taken a small wooden sledge to the top of Creeting Road Hill. Once there she had stood in horror as Mick and I hurtled down the hill at break neck speed. Not being able to do anything about it, she had to just hope that we both reached the bottom safely and in one piece, which we did. It always amazed her that the older boys thought I could do the same as them and it never entered their heads that I was just a little toddler.

It was while I was attending the nursery in Lockington Road, that I had my first major accident. The play ground around the back of the nursery had a concrete floor and a four-foot high brick wall surrounding the area to stop us wandering off. One day while we were playing, I found myself pushing a large wooden train. Instead of pulling it with the string that was attached to the front, as was the usual method of playing with it. This time I was pushing it and pushing it very fast. In fact, I was running as fast as I could, all the way down the full length of the play area. When I lifted my head to see where I was going, bang! I had gone slap bang into the brick wall. I cannot remember what happened next. However, I do have a rather large scar on my upper lip just under my nose, to prove the incident did take place. During my early teenage years, it haunted me, and I became very self-conscious that it made me look ugly and that the girls would not give me a second glance. The nursery was also the place where I made my very first friend Larry Hammond. I cannot remember much about that first meeting, but we did go right through Secondary schooling together. If you look at the photo of the nursery, Larry is on the right at the back just peering over somebody’s head.

Another Incident that happened during 1947 was the detonation of two unexploded German bombs near Nana’s house. During the latter part of the 2nd World War, a German plane had dropped a couple of them on Stowmarket in an attempt to hit the Gun Cotton Plant, which could be seen from the front of Nana’s house. However, the two bombs missed their mark and landed in some garden allotments and the river at the back of Lime Tree Place, which was on the other side of the river to the ICI factory. One was a 500lb while the other was a 2000lb. The Army had removed these and had taken them to some waste ground, still in view of Nana’s house, to where they could be exploded safely. I can remember all these army guys who were involved in this work were hanging around the front gate of Nana’s house. I thought they were just being friendly, I guess I just did not realise what a magnetic attraction girls have on service men that are away from their families for long periods of time. A future foreman later informed me that sex would draw you further than gunpowder can blow you, how right he was.

Anyway, I had been told that these bombs would go off at a certain time. During the intended explosion, I had planned to hide in a large wooden box in the backyard, while playing at soldiers. It was late Sunday afternoon and most of the family were all sitting around the tea table having tea when, the bombs eventually went off. The explosion caught me by surprise and made me jump. I tried to dive under the kitchen table and cuddle Prinny the dog, because I had been caught out and was very scared. It had been a very loud explosion, so it was sometime before I finally ventured out from under the table.

Sometime later Uncle Mick took me to the area and showed me the very large hole in the ground. All very scary, I never did like that large hole in the ground. In fact, I was in the area a couple of years later and that hole still scared me, it was finally filled in during the fifties, when the Britannic Allies Company built a factory there.

Harvest time was always a family event. At that time, the farmers used what was known as a Binder to cut the corn. It could be horse or tractor drawn and carried out the cutting of the corn or wheat from the fields around Nana’s house. This machine cut the corn and tied it up into a bundle with string holding it together, and then flicked the bundle (called Sheaths) out the side onto the corn stubble. A group of men that included, Mick, Ivan and myself would walk behind the Binder picking up these sheaths and stack about six or eight of them together, with the wheat ears pointing upwards to dry out. Then a couple of weeks later when they were dried out they would be collected up and placed on a wooden horse drawn cart, known as a tumble and taken to an area where they were stacked on top of each other making a large haystack.

On a prearranged day a harvesting team would arrive with a Thrashing machine and an International Tractor to drive it. Although on some occasions a steam engine would be used to drive the Thrasher. Both these engines used a very long six-inch-wide belt that was attached between the tractor