Just Looking Back

By Michael Pilbro

In the year 1943, I might have seen some progress in the fight against Nazi Germany, but bombs were still falling on the city in which I lived. Amidst this chaos, I entered the world on April 29, 1943, and began a life, which offered much variety and a fair degree of excitement. The work in a government agency, the years volunteering as a special police officer, the several failed marriages, and the finding of my birth family following my early adoption kept me extremely occupied for most of my life.

I soon began to learn what life was all about. There were never any easy answers, and I resented the suggestion that I was just lucky! All I needed in my early years was, admittedly, some sweets and comics and sufficient entertainment to keep me happy. Later, life became harder and, often, decidedly unhappier.

This is perhaps where I should begin. My life was amusing and sad in equal proportions, but above all, it represents a genuine account of a very average life lived by many in a very ordinary environment that seemed to answer more questions than were ever posed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504946599

Michael Pilbro

Michael Pilbro was born during the final years of the Second World War. He was adopted at the age of three months and educated at Grammar School in North London. He successfully found his birth family and enjoyed an equal amount of happiness and sadness during a life that has not yet ended.

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2015 Michael Pilbro. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/20/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4658-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4659-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   A Child’s View

Chapter 2   The Formative Years

Chapter 3   Being a Teenager

Chapter 4   Working as a Civil Servant

Chapter 5   Health, Sickness & Sometimes Death

Chapter 6   For Better or Worse

Chapter 7   A Special Experience

Chapter 8   Part-Time Work

Chapter 9   Cars, Cars and even more Cars

Chapter 10   Who said Golf is Easy?

Chapter 11   Rest & Relaxation

Chapter 12   A Nice Home

Chapter 13   Becoming My Own Boss

Chapter 14   My First Family

Chapter 15   The Joy of Christmas

Chapter 16   Family & Friends

Chapter 17   Weather

Chapter 18   Gardening

Chapter 19   Retirement

Chapter 20   Stephanie

Chapter 21   Computers, Mobile ‘Phones & IT Technology

Chapter 22   The Gambling Habit

Chapter 23   Guy Fawkes & Me

Chapter 24   Sport

Chapter 25   Art within the Family

Chapter 26   The People in my Life

CHAPTER 1

A CHILD’S VIEW

I remembered very little until the age of four or thereabouts, until I was introduced to Julian, who was to become my lifelong friend and confidante. He lived next door-but-one, as he so often explained. We went everywhere together; and, as most children do, got into trouble from time to time. It was difficult to know the worst offender as I was often cited as the ideas man, but Julian was certainly more devious and knew how to refine our plans to bring them to fruition. The local factories and bombsites were our play-ground in those post-war years of the late 1940s, and as traffic was not heavy, we were able to wander about, often some distance from our homes in relative safety. On one excursion, Julian’s mother sent us on an errand to a local shopping centre to buy some bread. On arriving at the Baker’s shop, we became hungry at seeing all the bread and cakes on display, and I devised a plan to eat a few slices of the newly baked bread from within the wrapped loaf; on the way back to our homes. We decided to visit a local park en- route to enjoy our mini-picnic. I suggested that if we ate a few slices extracted from the middle of the loaf, the bread we took would not be missed; particularly if the ends of the loaf were left intact? I was of course wrong, and consequently on arriving back home our theft was quickly discovered, Julian was restricted to his home for a day or two as a punishment. Some time later, Julian’s parents went out for the afternoon, leaving the lunch table with a plate of uneaten bread and butter and a cold pot of tea. This was too much for us to ignore, so Julian suggested heating some water to revive the cold tea, and then searched in the cupboard for jam, honey and any available cake. It would have been fairly acceptable had we kept the tea party on a low-key basis, but I never did anything in a small way, and suggested that we invite a few friends to join us. We were interrupted by the return of Julian’s mother, who had crept stealthily into the house and then called my mother to witness what had taken place during her absence. I remember clearly that a knife was still thrust into the pot of honey standing on the tabletop when the tea party was discovered. That meant another two days confinement to Barracks!

The Mud throwing was wholly my idea. Armed with sticks, we found that it was possible to fix a ball of mud on the end of the stick and when we shook the stick violently, the mud ball would detach itself, fly through the air, and stick to whomever or; whatever the mud was aimed. We started off by attacking large vans and lorries that travelled up and down the road past my house, imagining them to be enemy tanks that needed destruction. It was fun to see them pull up sharply as the mud landed against the side of the vehicle with a loud thud whilst we scuttled to the relative safety within my parents’ coalbunker. Sometimes the drivers would get out to discover who had thrown the mud, but by then we were safely out of sight. We then turned our attention to the odd car and finally to passers-by, ignoring the fact that a small stone could well be embedded in the ball of mud. All went well until a neighbour was hit. Her coat was stained, and she was covered in a shower of dry mud and grit. She guessed that somehow I was probably responsible, as she deduced that the mud ball had been discharged from within my garden. As a result, she visited my parents to make a complaint. Julian escaped that escapade, but I was punished with another confinement to the house for a day or two and told that our mud throwing must stop. My Dad was surprisingly understanding. He admitted that in the days of omnibuses fitted with metal wheels during the early 1900s, he had placed a tin of rotten fish under the wheel of a bus in a local shopping centre and was overjoyed to see many people get covered in its’ smelly contents when the tin burst open. I realised at that moment that little had changed over the years and boys will be boys, if left to their own devices?

Apart from such exploits with my friend, I spent time with my mother helping her clean and tidy the flat and watch her preparing food for our meals. The shopping expedition occurred a couple of times a week and was most interesting, as these were the days of personal service at the grocers shop, Supermarkets as we know them today; had not yet been invented. The grocers shop was a virtual treasure trove about a mile from the house, and we walked there when it was not raining. My mother read out her shopping list to the friendly grocer, and he immediately scuttled off to the various parts of his shop to collect the food items she had requested. The cheese was sliced from a large block using a wire cutter, and sugar, dried fruit, and biscuits were weighed on a scale and put into thick, blue paper bags. Butter, Margarine, and Lard were served in blocks bearing a government label as there was no choice of supplier; like we have today. I always got rewarded with some chocolate biscuits for not being a nuisance during these expeditions. The journey home with heavy shopping bags was taken on a trolleybus, an electrically propelled vehicle, with arms that stretched up to overhead electric wires above the roadway. On Saturdays, I would often accompany my parents to another shopping centre, where we visited a large store to search for household goods. I was always fascinated by the way money paid at the counter was deposited into a tube and sucked upstairs somewhere to a cashier. Any change was sent back down in the same manner. There were no separate tills scattered around the sales floor or, any customer check-out facilities; as there are in modern-day shops.

At the age of five, Julian and I were packed off to attend school five days during the week, and some order was instilled in our daily lives. I was very upset at being separated from my mother each day and made quite a fuss at the school gate for many weeks, but Julian took it in his stride and seemed relatively unaffected by having to leave his mother on a daily basis. To soften the blow and make me feel happier, the teacher allowed Julian and I to sit together, and we became known as the terrible twins. Although we did not look exactly alike, many people thought we were brothers, as we were dressed similarly and stayed together even when not sitting at our desks. There was little to choose between us in behaviour; and our general ability to learn. However, Julian was able to read more quickly than I, even though my mother spent many hours trying to help me with various picture books. I liked the illustrations, but being lazy, I preferred my mother to read me the story. One particular favourite was "The Little Red Motorcar". She eventually did get me to read this story on my own with more than a little prompting. My difficulty with reading continued for quite some time until the school moved me out of the baby- class and forced me to read, write, and count. I was then about seven or, eight years of age, which does not compare very favourably with my grandson, who at the age of six can read steadily, design greetings cards, and do simple mental arithmetic involving addition, subtraction, and some multiplication and division. I was still struggling to learn my basic times-tables at his age, which seemingly is not now regarded as a prerequisite of teaching arithmetic. We had no television or computers in school, just books with pictures and masses of wall posters. Something caught my eye as a child in the art class. A huge map of the World showing vast tracts of pink spread over many of the Countries was fastened to the wall. The art master explained that this was because these countries belonged to Great Britain and were our Commonwealth. I looked at the size of Great Britain on the map and wondered just how we had managed to acquire such a lot of extra land, compared to the small size of the Island in in which I lived? That is where I began to understand that you needed to have some ambition and drive if you ever wanted to move on to bigger things in life; and be successful. Unfortunately, there were always distractions, like toys, comics, sweets, and visits to the cinema, not to mention radio programmes. Most of the programmes contained wartime popular music and situation comedies, all of which went right over my head. However, a comedian called Peter Sellers, who could impersonate various well-known comedians and personalities, appeared regularly on a lunchtime programme called workers playtime. He really caught my attention and made me laugh. Later he was to feature in a comedy show on the radio called the Goon Show and still later in a series of films entitled the "Pink Panther" playing an inept French police detective called Inspector Jacques Clouseau.

My parents devised a clever scheme whereby they bought me a comic called The Eagle each week, provided I swapped it with one called The Lion, purchased by Julian’s parents. This was a good idea, and allowed us to read two comics per week for the price of one. All worked well until I wanted to keep my comic and our parents needed to intervene to sort out the ensuing argument. Music was not something that had the impact now enjoyed by the young. Rock n’ Roll and Pop Music had not arrived, and there were no electric gramophones or Juke Boxes in Pubs and Cafes. My mother and I listened to news broadcasts, and she explained that there was some conflict in a place called Korea, which she endeavoured to explain to me. I was still too young to know what war really meant, and at my young age, she was not about to tell me. Towards the end of the 1940s a member of the Royal Family (Princess Elizabeth) married, and there was an opportunity to wave flags and listen to the ceremony on the radio. Later, she had a son, (Prince Charles) and again the Nation became excited with lots of pictures in the newspapers and magazines showing details of the royal birth. Many of the magazine photographs were in colour, which attracted my attention even more intently.

By about this time, Julian and I were moving slowly through school and it was nice to have kind and sympathetic teachers calling us by our first names and giving us all little treats, like having lessons in the school garden during dry summer days or; arranging parties; where we all brought food and drink to share with our class friends. Being an only child, without brothers and sisters, I did not always appreciate being made to share my contribution with others, and I thought nothing of eating huge quantities of someone else’s food; without offering the food I had contributed for the consumption of others. Sharing was something that came later in my life, and perhaps is still something that needs some refining in my life today?

Julian and I were still enjoying our childhood and were still being chaperoned to and from school by either my mother or his on alternate days. It was a short walk of less than a mile, but enough to get us quite wet on days when it rained heavily. At school there was a cloakroom, where we could hang our coats and hats to dry, before taking the trip back home at lunchtime. I did not feel that I would like school food and begged my mother to provide me with a meal at home. Julian was expected to come home for his lunch, as his father was self-employed and regularly came home for a break from work. After lunch, we trudged back to school for afternoon lessons until about 3.30pm. It was fun when it snowed and the journey to and from school was magical, and at school we could play snowballs with our friends before lessons and at break-time. Snow was another distraction that had me regularly staring out of the windows to watch as the snowflakes drifted down, and I did not pay sufficient attention to the teacher.

As we moved through the primary classes, at about age seven we were trusted to walk to and from school without any parental supervision. However, each change of class and class- teacher caused me some problems. I did not like change, and was always worried that my new teacher might not be as nice, and as friendly or, as helpful as the previous teacher. I had still not met any male teachers except the Head Teacher, who had little to do with us children and seemed quite remote, except when we had a school fete or, a sports day. On Mayday each year we all dressed in Military style uniforms (made by our parents) to celebrate victory in the 2nd World War. The gramophone in the school playground played marching music; whilst we attempted to act like soldiers and march past our assembled friends. My favourite branch of the military was the Air Force, and I always got my mother to mock up some kind of uniform so that I could parade with my friends. None of us knew much about the war that had killed a large number of people both within the forces and many civilians who had died in the bombing of our homes. We were told that Germany had been the culprit and they were not really our friends. No mention was made of the Japanese, but the Americans were very popular and in the cinema, they had become cult figures, playing cowboys in the Wild-West movies. On one occasion, a boy came to our school speaking with an American accent, and I immediately tried to become his friend. I am not sure to this day, whether it was his accent or, the fact that he always seemed to have masses of candy bars (sweets), chewing gum and bottles of Pop (carbonated drinks) to share around that attracted me to him. His parents were very nice and often invited both Julian and I to attend a party, or have a meal at his home. It was then that we discovered food such as Hot Dogs, Burgers, Coca-Cola and Tomato Ketchup, which were not generally available in the local shops. My normal meals consisted of typically British fare of Roast meat and vegetables on a Sunday, followed by cold meat (sometimes processed meat such as Spam or, Corned Beef) and some mashed potatoes on the days following, with a stew and dumplings on Wednesday to finish off the Sunday joint. Sausages and Meat Pie also appeared at least once a week, plus my all- time favourite of Fish and Chips on a Friday (sometimes purchased direct from the local fish shop). Curry and Chinese food and continental meals like Pizza and Chilli Con Carni had not yet been introduced to the English diet. That was a pleasure to come later in my life, but not by my father, who thought such foreign food was to be avoided. My father could always be relied upon to cook up a pan of chips or a jacket potato, even between meals or, during the evening whilst listening to the radio. He was a great potato eater, which was easily verified by his body shape, although his weight was never excessive.

Julian and I moved up further in school and entered the junior school, which was attached to the primary school. Once again I began to worry about my security, as there were bigger boys; who had the reputation of being bullies; and teachers who seemed more unfriendly and less inclined to allow misbehaviour. Desks were arranged in neat row, and I was not then allowed to sit next to my friend Julian. Consequently I felt more lonely and vulnerable. I began to fall back in my studies; and often got upset if I did not get nice red ticks on my work-book, like many of my friends. After a year we were moved up to a middle class and were told that we must start to work harder in an effort to take an important test that would decide whether we moved on to a higher type of education or merely went to a Secondary Modern school. Apparently, this lower type of school would not allow us the same opportunities in our life ahead. I was worried and asked my father how serious this all was? He explained that he had attended an elementary school as a child and had not passed his Matriculation exam when leaving school. However, he had survived the experience and managed to find work at age fourteen. What he did not reveal was that he was not able to obtain a very good job or, enter a professional career. On moving to my next class I came into contact with my first male teacher. Whilst he seemed quite nice at first, he began to bully some of the boys and as time went on, he started to bully me, and criticise my writing. He never bothered or, upset any of the girls in the class, which I thought seemed very unfair. I had never met such treatment before and so I broke-down in floods of tears during a lunchtime visit to my home. My mother was very sympathetic and together with several other mothers came to the school to complain to the Head-Teacher. After that, everything improved and the teacher became really friendly and helped me to develop a better style of writing, which became really useful during the rest of my life.

At about this time in 1951, the Government decided to construct a superb exhibition on the South Bank of the Thames in Central London, called The Festival of Britain. Its aim was to promote Britain as a new trading centre for the World and give an added boost to British Industry. My parents took me on a trip to see the exhibition and view the Skylon (a cigar-shaped slim metal cylinder about 300 feet high, suspended on wires, standing about 50 feet above the ground). Alongside this structure was another tall brick built tower called the Shot-Tower, built in 1826 and used as a radio beacon during the exhibition. There was another massive structure looking something like a flying saucer mounted on metal legs called The Dome of Discovery. This building contained a variety of exhibits showing the many wonders of modern science, which had been invented during the latter War years and subsequently. The entire site was vast and similar to the Queen Elizabeth 11 Olympic Park built in East London in 2012 for the London Summer Olympic Games. The Queen (as she was to become) & Prince Philip opened the Exhibition and it remained open to the public for more than 12 months. It took more than a day to walk around and view all the objects on display and on many nights a grand Fireworks display was arranged, similar to the Disney Parks set up in America and many other Countries, in the years to come.

By now Julian and I had been separated at school and he was to be selected to join a class supposedly ranked as the very top class of the school, whilst I was selected to join the lower of the top classes. I was now in the class of an older Lady Teacher who, whilst a little stern, had a good heart and actively encouraged everybody within her class to do well. She had developed a formula of providing us with copies of the 11Plus exam papers, which we would all be attempting at the end of the year. To encourage us further, she gave out prizes of sweets, cakes, or extra milk that had not been consumed during our midmorning break. This extra incentive had me working furiously to achieve success, which I did on numerous occasions. After about 2 months, the Teacher was asked to select about 6 of her best pupils to serve as school Monitors, to help supervise younger children in the school. I was selected, and whilst it helped me to develop a more confident approach to life, it enlivened my tendency of being somewhat of a bully. Armed with the authority to direct others to obey my instructions and supported by a squad of equally authoritative friends, I became quite bossy and became somewhat unpopular. Finally at age eleven, I sat the famous "eleven-plus exam" and was successful, along with about 95% of my classmates. Unfortunately, the top class in which Julian was a member gained no passes and they were all sent to the local Secondary Modern School. Happily, Julian’s parents appealed against his failure in the exam, and he was later selected to attend a superior Technical College, which set him on a career in the building industry.

My mother was overjoyed that I had passed my exam, but my father found it almost unbelievable, as he had never recognised me as a scholar and did not think that I could pay enough attention to detail, to achieve any such success. Whilst he never admitted it, my mother told me later that he very proud of my achievement. To this day, I give all credit to our teacher, who knew just the formula to encourage her class to succeed. Both my parents set about helping me chose the local Grammar School that I was to attend, from a list provided by the Education Authority. Seemingly, some schools were not included on this list, if your exam score was not high enough. Looking back, I am delighted to see that some of the biggest names were included on my particular list, even though we did not chose these schools for my future education. My parents needed to make some significant changes in their domestic arrangements to provide additional money to pay for my uniform and new school career. Consequently, my mother went back to work on a part-time basis for the first time in 20 years, since marrying my father during the 1930s.

Julian and I continued to enjoy our young lives together despite attending separate schools, and started to ride a bicycle. My father promised me a bike if I passed the 11-Plus examination and said he would also buy me an electric train set. After constant harassment from me, he finally found a second-hand bike advertised for sale in a local newspaper shop, and we went together to buy the bicycle from a man living nearby. It needed a lot of work to bring it up to a good state of repair, but as my father was a maintenance engineer at his work, he was well equipped to get the bike looking pristine within a very short space of time. I was able to ride the bicycle very quickly, as I had practiced riding with the help of my cousin Margaret during my summer holidays when I was younger. Julian used his sister’s smaller bike and had exceptional difficulty in keeping his balance. However, he continued to ride, although falling off the bike and scraping his knees on the roadway on numerous occasions. When he finally managed to conquer the ability to ride, his parents bought him a gleaming new bicycle, which made me very envious. As compensation, my father bought me a special Derailleur gear unit, which he fitted to the rear wheel of my bike, so that I could keep up with Julian on his Sturmey-Archer (hub) geared bike. Dad also acquired a model electric train set that had been rescued from a house-fire that he purchased from a workmate. I never enjoyed playing with this train set, as it looked very worn with several parts and rolling stock missing. I was not happy that my father had not gone to a toyshop to buy me a new train set, as he had promised. Julian had a big interest in trains and we began to cycle around rail-yards to watch the big steam locomotives and take their registration numbers. I had elected to collect bus numbers for the entire London Transport fleet of Busses. A publisher had realised that there was a huge demand from youngsters for this spotting hobby, and printed small books containing the full serial numbers for all trains and busses in the Country. Both Julian and I were in our element as we travelled around on our bikes collecting these numbers, and noting the fact that busses and trains had been spotted by us. By marking the numbers in our books, we were surprised at just how many trains and busses we recognised over such a short period of time. Together we made plans to construct a model railway together in the future, when we had saved enough money. This interest has never died as far as Julian is concerned, and he is at present constructing a full Double-O rail-layout in a summerhouse, in the garden of his home.

In our younger years, we had roamed the area exploring bombsites and most of the local factories and open spaces for schoolboy "treasure." We did not always realise that we may have been trespassing and were possibly putting ourselves in some danger from the materials found in these places. On a visit to a local bombsite where a block of flats had been demolished by an enemy high explosive device (V1 Flying Bomb), we began to explore, and unearthed various items, which had been buried as a result of the devastation. Most of these items were too badly damaged to be worth anything, but we did find the tail fin of a German incendiary bomb, that had caused so many fires during the wartime bombing raids. As we became bored, we began to throw stones and pieces of concrete at the walls still standing, and also several windows that still had pieces of glass attached to the window frames. Our activities were halted when a local resident, who introduced himself as a Policeman, told us that we were trespassing and causing damage. We were too scared to argue and took his advice to play elsewhere. Even playing in local parks had some problems, as uniformed Park Attendants supervised these places, and if they considered that you were acting improperly and likely to annoy anyone using the Park, they would move you on. Often just playing an innocent game of cricket or, football would be enough to get you ejected through the nearest gate! Policemen were not regarded as friendly individuals and were therefore viewed with a degree of suspicion. Near to where I lived, the Fire Brigade had installed a public fire alarm on the corner of a road next to an Air-Raid Siren that was basically a leftover from the recent war. There were a number of local kids who always liked to cause trouble and annoy the community by walking in wet cement that had been carefully laid in front of some local shops or, running in and out of a neighbour’s garden to damage the plants or swinging on a gate until it broke. On several occasions, these kids would break the inspection glass of the fire alarm and press the emergency button. Within minutes the Fire Engines would attend the scene and everyone would rush from their houses to view the fire that never was! It was nevertheless exciting to see the big fire engines arrive with fireman clinging to the sides and bells ringing to announce their arrival, and to clear traffic for them to get quickly to the scene of the fire. There was always an inquest as to who had unnecessarily called the firemen, and sometimes a police car would also arrive to make some additional enquiries. It was always prudent to disappear unless accompanied by a parent, in case one became implicated in the foul crime! On one quiet winter afternoon, the chimney of a local house caught fire and there were clouds of black acrid smoke. This time the fire brigade did have some work to do, and we watched fascinated as hoses were unreeled and taken into the house to dowse the flames and smoke in the chimney-stack. After the firemen left the scene, the house seemed very untidy with ash and water everywhere.

Julian lived just a few doors from me and his parents owned the small terraced house including a private rear garden. On his birthday, his parents would erect a small tent in the garden that we could use as a den for his birthday and for several days thereafter. This was always very enjoyable and the fun was not spoiled even if it rained. My birthday followed within a week, but only having a front garden with just a small area of grass, we generally held my party in the upstairs flat that my family rented as their home. This was mostly enjoyable, but as I always wanted to have my own way over what games we played and how the party should be conducted so, it was not always a howling success. On one occasion, my mother became so angry at my behaviour that she sent my friends home and I was packed off to bed as a punishment. With food on ration, parties were not so lavish an affair as they are today; where kids are taken out to local fast-food establishments specialising in children’s parties / cinemas or, theme parks. Food consisted mainly of a variety of sandwiches, homemade cakes, fruit drinks and lemonade, together with jellies and a shop-bought iced Birthday Cake made of sponge, jam and cream centre, with butter-icing exterior. There were always an appropriate number of candles adorning the top of the cake, which one needed to blow out with just one puff. Looking back, I cannot remember that rogue candle that would never extinguish fully and light up again in defiance, which became very popular in later years! There were the usual party games like musical chairs or hide and seek, carefully supervised by the adults. There were seldom any party-bags for guests to take away on leaving the party. As one got older, the idea of a party became less attractive, and often myself and one or two friends were taken out by my parents to visit a place of some interest and given tea or, a light meal.

Cinema visits with my parents became a weekly occurrence from the age of nine or ten, due to the fact that we did not possess a TV set. These visits usually occurred on a Friday evening and were vastly different from the epic productions of today. The seats were uncomfortable, and there was always two films containing a major production, plus what was described as a B picture and an obligatory newsreel and advertising segment. Many of the films were in colour, but the newsreels were generally in black and white with a commentary reminiscent of the war years, with commentaries spoken by individuals using very correct Oxbridge accents. On some Thursday evenings, we went to see Speedway (motorcycle racing) at Wembley Stadium. This was a highlight of that week, as I watched many of the riders racing around the circuit in their coloured leather suits and occasionally being thrown from their bikes in spectacular crashes. There were no Pop Concerts, no Street Carnivals, few regular large-scale Football Matches, no Coffee Bars or Dance Clubs.

Once a year we visited the famous Hendon Aerodrome to view their open-day. This enabled me to see several propeller–driven aircraft displayed on the ground and flying above us to demonstrate their versatility, which were flying during the war years. Aircraft, such as the Spitfire and Hurricane fighters, plus the Wellington and Lancaster Bombers and Jet aircraft like the Victor, Vulcan and Valiant (The V Bombers), that came into service more extensively during the late 1950s. It was fun to see a display of these aircraft fly fast and low above the crowds of spectators during our afternoon visit. As we lived close to the aerodrome, we were able to walk to and from home, and perhaps stop for an ice cream or, bag of chips on the way.

Julian’s parents owned a