My Life so Far: The Story of a Common British Man Come Good

By Fielding

This is the story of a boy from a working-class background. It tells about his torment during his early years, the discrimination during his schooling leading to his truancy, then his big break with the RAF, which did not care where you came from. It also tells his many adventures as an airman to his discharge. After some calibration work, he joined British aerospace, where he flourished, becoming a senior training officer before transferring to be an in-country representative after a short time back in the UK. He came back to Malaysia to work: first, in aviation then in oil and gas. Finally, he retired there to live out his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Aug 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543746969

Fielding

He comes from a background many can associate with and rose to a well respected position, it could inspire people to be like him and enjoy the rewards like he has earned. There are also many adventures related to his growth and funny situations, which will keep the readers reading.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

IT WAS HARD BEING RAISED

by my siblings. My parents were not around much. Mum and Dad did not get home until about 11 p.m. most nights. My siblings resented that they had to stay home and look after me and Gill, whilst our oldest siblings went out to play, date, or work.

Mum was seldom home, holding down a part-time job—sometimes full-time—then having to pick my father up from the train station every Monday to Friday as he worked in Manchester and couldn’t drive. The pickup was normally followed by a visit to the Hat & Feather, the pub nearest the train station. The visit often lasted until 11 p.m., by which time I was normally in bed. If I wasn’t, all my parents said to me was, Bedtime, young man. So it was good that we had the caravan to go to on the weekends. At least we got to spend some time with our parents. Though again, not much as we would be left to our own devices whilst they went out at lunchtime and at night. Sometimes though we would be allowed to go out with them, and sometimes we all went out for the day together, though my Dad would just find a pub to sit in, wherever we went, and Mum would often stay with him.

Watch that hole! Can’t you see the road? Watch out for that car! Why didn’t you go through that light? It was only on amber. Hurry up. The pub closes soon. This is all we heard on the ride to Pickmere. My nondriver Dad, getting on at my mother, was telling her how to drive. We always had to get to the pub in Altrincham (on the road to Pickmere) that Dad liked, before it closed after lunchtime. We would be given a few pennies each to go across the road to the amusement arcade. The money didn’t last long so we spent a long time waiting for them to come out. Then it was back to my Dad’s moaning for the rest of the drive to Pickmere. Sometimes my Dad would have a lot to drink and sleep for a while after the stop, which gave us all a rest from his constant moaning.

I had made friends with a few of the kids of the other caravan owners as well as the children of the farmer whose field we stayed on. They were about my age. Plus I had some friends who lived by Pickmere Lake, which was about a mile away down a steep hill of shale. We would always cut through the other fields to get to the lake. It was a lot quicker and shorter than walking all the way round. We were always watching out for the nasty bull who lived in one of the fields. If it ever saw you, it would charge at you no matter what. All you could do was decide which was the nearest exit from the field and then run like hell.

One time, the bull was chasing us and we jumped over a sty (an area in a fence to climb over easily). The fence must have been a little weak as the bull just ran straight through it. We went back into the other field and ran to another exit, managing to keep ahead of the bull. We went straight to the farm to let the farmer know about the bull and the broken fence. He sent some farmhands down to make sure the bull was back in its field and to repair the fence.

Halfway down the road to the lake was a club called the Endeavour. Its owners called it a club because that allowed them to be open longer than a pub. That was where we would normally find my parents. Though children were allowed in the club when they were with their parents, we only went at night for a few hours. We would rather be out and about during the day, especially me. I wanted to be out with my friends. We could always find something to do, from dawn until dusk.

At the beginning of the road to Pickmere was a pub with a beer garden. It was called the Red Lion. We children were allowed into the beer garden, where we could have a soft drink and play whilst our parents drank—well, my Dad mostly as Mum had to drive. We would stop there first if it was open and then go to the Endeavour Club for the extra hour it was open.

Whenever we reached the Red Lion turning, or the Endeavour Club in Pickmere before closing time, my Dad would tell my Mum to stop so he could have a drink. If it was after closing time, we would go to the caravan, unpack, and have a meal before opening time. I’m not saying my father was an alcoholic. I very seldom saw him drunk, but he did like his drink.

For the Saturday or Sunday, depending on when we went to the caravan, we got a shilling (five new pence) to go down to the amusement park and lake for the day, whilst our parents went to the club.

Sometimes, my eldest sister, Christine, and her future husband, Norman, would come down and stay with us. It made the sleeping arrangements a bit tight as Norman was a big guy, but they were fun to have around. I remember once Norman wanted to have a go on my little tricycle. It was much too small for him, but we got a photo of him on it with his legs stretched out in front of the front wheel and me pushing him. He looked so funny. As they were not that much into drinking during the day, they would join us at the lake. We would go out on the boats—sometimes the motorboats and sometimes the rowing boats. We all had fun and then got fish and chips (fries to the non-English) on the way back to the caravan.

Infant school was OK, once I reached there. Mostly we painted, drew, learned the alphabet, and made collages. This was a good way to pass the time and to enjoy learning. I do not remember much detail about that time, apart from struggling daily to keep up with Jackie and Ste on the way to school. I do remember falling behind them one day, when I reached Seventh Avenue. I was attacked by the Seventh Avenue group who wanted my lunch money.

I was on free lunches because we were poor, so I did not have any money. They did not believe me and started ripping my pockets out and going through my school bag, searching for any money or valuables. Eventually, when they were sure I had none, they ripped up my books and sent me on to school, which was less than one hundred yards away. That night, my mother saw the state of me, my clothes, and my books. She laid into Jackie and Ste for not looking after me, reminding them I was only five years old. That worked for about a week, and then they would leave me behind again. After a while, I fell way behind them again, and once more I got set on by the Seventh Avenue group. Luckily, this time Jackie heard me calling for help and she called Ste. They came running over, unbeknownst to my attackers. Ste was a good fighter—he boxed for the Navy later—so he laid into the three lads attacking me. Jackie came over to look after me and collect my things together.

Ste told the lads to remember my face because if any of their group touched me again, he and his friends would search them out and beat them to a pulp. I never had any trouble from the Seventh Avenue group again.

Mum, what are they building over there? I asked.

Oh, they are building a new toilet block there.

Yeah! I shouted. Now we won’t have to walk all the way to the entrance to go to the toilet.

I was still only seven, just finishing infant school, but I wanted to help get the toilet block finished quickly. So for the next two weekends, I spent all my spare time helping the builders as much as I could. Obviously, I could not do too much at that age, but I would take a few bricks at a time up the ladder to the workers and take them water. At lunchtime, I would ride my bike to the shops to buy the workers their lunches. They would all tell me to keep the change, which allowed me to buy myself some lunch too. The workers seemed to appreciate the help, and I felt that I was helping to get our toilet block quicker. This was a great time for us. The nuisance of walking all the way to the entrance was huge, especially at night.

I fondly remember when we were at the caravan for a two-week holiday a few weeks after the toilet block was completed. Having so much more time, I bonded with my friends, especially the farmer’s children, and we did lots of things together over that holiday. We helped with the hay gathering and stacking the bales in the hayloft in the farmyard. At this time, there was not a lot of the modern machinery so it was quite physical and tiring work, but we enjoyed it. We would also call the cows in at milking time (at least the afternoon call), going out into the field to urge the stragglers along. Sometimes we would ride cows at the back and herd the cattle to the farm. Once we had them in the yard, we would help get them into the stalls.

Half of the herd were milked at a time, they knew if they were first or second, if not, we would send out the cow that was out of turn. We would clean the cow’s udder, and put the milking machines on to them. `After putting the chain loosely around their necks, so they cannot back out of the stall. I cannot remember how many times I got kicked by some of the cows, some cows just didn’t like you messing with their udders, and some of them had sores on their teats, good enough reason for them to kick out? However, this was made up for when we rode the nicer cows in from the field, when bringing them in for milking and when taking them out to the current pasture field. If it was a far off field, then one of the farm hands would follow with a tractor and we would all ride back on the tractor. We also had fun around the farm, playing in the hayloft, racing on the cows and sometimes, we were allowed to drive the tractors.

I still made time for my other friends, we mostly all met and played around the lake. There was a steep hill down to the lake, the vehicle access part was made of shale and was quite sharp. However, there was a grass covered hill further over. Here, we would use cardboard boxes to slide down the hill, racing each other until someone had won three races. The ride down was great, but the walk back up the hill was quite exhausting. Even without money, there was always something to do there.

Back at home, there was not much room for a family with six kids, in a three-bedroom house, well two bedrooms and a box room really. The oldest child in the house, got the box room on their own, the rest had to sleep head to toe in the big bed in the second bedroom. Luckily, Alan (my oldest brother) was a lot older than most of us. After Alan, there was Christine, five years younger, then came Ste, another four years younger, then Jackie, another three years younger, then me, two years younger again and finally Gill thirty months younger than me.

Our first couple of years of life were spent in our parents’ bedroom, and then we were moved into the second bedroom with the others. By the time I was moved into the second bedroom, Alan was away at Grammar School and then he joined the Army. He was a tank driver and was sent to the troubled area of Eden (as it was known then), so Christine had the box room and three of us shared the second bedroom, until Gill joined us. Christine and Ste spent most of their evenings at their friends’ houses, because there was not much room in ours. Especially because we were not allowed to go into the living room, it was kept for special occasions. Plus the fire was in the kitchen, and you needed it at night. If it had not been lit during the day, we had to light the fire in the evening. It was not an easy job, sometimes taking over an hour to get started.

We had some good neighbours at home, though I felt sorry for a couple of them. They really had it bad, one had Epilepsy, and the other had Polio, which had severely damaged his legs.

We had a little garden in front of the house, and a bigger one at the back. Though we had a bathroom upstairs, we also had a toilet outside the back door, which we used during the day and when playing outside. There was also a coal shed out the back, where the coal for the kitchen fire was kept, a delivery was made every week, so we could keep it topped up. There was also the remains of an old bomb shelter in the back garden, which was left over from the Second World War time. Beyond the backyard fence there was a working man’s club, though it was not well maintained, I think it was still in use when I was young. Though it was demolished in about 1967, and the space left to grass over.

From our backyard, we had a gate that we used when we wanted to go to the shops. We had four shops on the road downhill to our left (on Walkers Street), and four more on the road uphill to our right (up a steep hill, on Oak Road). Then there was my favourite chippy (fish and chip shop), up an alley across from our house, on Cummings Street. We would take a Pyrex bowl from our house there, and buy pea or butter bean mixture (chips covered with peas or butter beans), for only six pence (two and a half new pence). If we did not have enough for that, we could get the chips covered with the juice from the peas or butter beans for four pence. Another of my favourite meals, was pudding and chips. From the chippy up through the alley, I got the Holland’s Steak & Kidney Pudding. Then there was another chippy on Walkers Street down to our left, from there I got their own made mincemeat pudding. Both were really nice, but the own made one was a little cheaper, so it often depended on how much our parents had left us to buy our dinner, to see what you could have.

Growing up on chippy dinners, I became a big fan of the food available there, especially the ones I mentioned and their pies and cod fish too. We could also get nice pies from the bakery, which was on the road up to the right of our house.

The chippies and grocery shop/bakery at Pickmere were also the staple of our diet. However, they did not have the puddings there. The Holland’s Brand was only available in Lancashire, and the Caravan Park was in Cheshire, and their pies were not as good as those from back home. So I ate fish and chips a lot more there.

Sometimes, during the long summer holidays, our parents would let us stay in the caravan whilst they went back to work during the week. So the older siblings were left in charge, no real difference to what happened at home.

You must remember that we had some permanent resident neighbours at the caravan park there, and this was a much safer time and area than we have now. When our parents left us at the caravan, we could not leave the area, as we had no transport. Though, the neighbours sometimes took us into town with them, so we could go to the supermarket to buy things we needed cheaper. Therefore, we had to find even more ways to enjoy ourselves there. That was easy for me, because I had a lot of friends my age there, but the older ones did not, so they did not like it much. Though the weekends were still much the same as normal ones. I loved every minute that we spent at the caravan, everyone was friendly, and there were no bullies or fighting, except for the angry bull in the field. I was always sad to say goodbye to my friends, when we had to go home.

The kitchen fire was the vocal point in the winter, everyone crowding around to try to keep warm. The fire was also the cooker. Pots were hung on arms that swung out and in, like those in the old west of the USA. We had also built a rack that slid over the fire, where Mum could put the frying pan and deep fryer for easier use. At the side was the oven, whose top could be used to keep the other food warm, whilst waiting for the roast to finish. There was no heat control, so Mum had to learn how to cook by sight and probing only, looking to see if the food has cooked all of the way through. Mum was a good cook, she always cooked a Sunday roast for the family. She once worked in the kitchen of a school, bringing home left overs for us to eat, and she had also worked at an electric factory, cooking for the workers. I sometimes went to the factory when I was not at school, Mum would sometimes show me how to cook, very useful for my later life.

Other times, one of her friends there, who was a lovely lady, would let me help build some parts of the control boxes (the factory made the control boxes/timers for the street lights). The lady also helped me learn how to control my breathing whilst running, because I used to do cross-country running. Her advice helped me a lot, even through my RAF career.

The coal for the kitchen fire was delivered weekly, the coalmen would be as black as the coal, hauling the bags of coal from the lorry to the coal bunker on their backs. During the summer we only needed about one bag a week, but in winter it would be two-three bags, to keep us warm. The fire in the kitchen was also used to heat the water for us to take our baths. We had to stagger our bath times, because there was only enough hot water for two baths at a time. Normally, us younger ones would have a bath, in a little water, then one of the older kids would have their bath, after topping up the bath with hot water, so that we could all get bathed in time for bed.

The last summer holiday, before going to Primary School, was one I intended to make memorable. Our parents took us to the caravan the first weekend of the holiday, then left us there during the week. The next weekend they came and stayed for two weeks, then they went back to work for another week and came the next Friday for the weekend, then we all returned home together. So we ended up having four full weeks stay at the caravan. The longest time I can remember staying at one time. I made the most of this time. It was harvesting time for the hay and straw again, the cows still needed milking twice a day, and we were trusted with the old tractor on our own in the fields, all great news for me. I felt that I was grown up now, I had proven that I could work, be trusted, and take care of myself.

We also found time for fun, and for the first time, the farmer’s children joined the rest of us to play down by the lake. So we all had a good time, every time we got together. Some of my friends asked if they could help around the farm like me, but they were told that the farmer had said no one could, except me. I’m sure they were disappointed, I know I was. On the good side though, the farmer’s ponies had grown and been broken in. The farmer’s son did not like riding much, so it was mostly his sister and I going out riding on them. Though neither of us had been properly trained to ride horses, we did OK, with seldom a fall between us. We changed things up a lot, when out riding, sometimes just going into the nearest fields, other times going down to the lake, another time down the road to some other fields. We even rode through the caravan park to get to the harvested hay and straw fields there. Of course, my friends and family saw us, it was hard to see my friend’s sad faces, but I loved the riding.

This was the hardest time I had when we had to go home. I sat with all my friends to say my goodbyes, and we were all struggling to keep the tears in. After that summer break, when I was seven, it was time for me to start Primary School. This was a time of many ups and downs.

CHAPTER 2

PRIMARY SCHOOL WAS A TIME

when I had to really work, learning to read, write in cursive (joined up writing), doing mathematics, history and geography. In the first year, it was discovered that I was dyslexic. I had been mocked before for talking ‘Double Dutch’ by Ste, but it all sounded fine to me. So I had to take Special Ed classes to help me get over it, this took until the end of the second year, and was one of the causes of the taunting and bullying I suffered from the other kids. Another problem was that I was left handed, some of the teachers were good and understood that it was not something to worry about, it was a natural thing. Though other teachers did everything they could to make you write, draw and eat right handedly. The punishments for being caught doing things left handedly were sometimes harsh and severe.

There were many forms of corporal punishment in our school, all of them were done in front of your classmates, to enhance the embarrassment factor. Some of my friends were sympathetic, others had a good laugh at my expense. When you went home, and your parents saw the marks, they wanted to know what you had done. Then they would punish you too, if they thought you had done wrong. I was a victim of a lot of punishments, especially from the teachers trying to make me do things right handedly. I could not do things right handedly, so I was punished a lot. Even when we were having lunch I was not safe, there were always two teachers on duty in the canteen, watching for any trouble.

It was mainly because there had been a few food fights in the canteen years ago. So they now wanted to have teachers there to control things, and to watch what was happening. So now, when I was caught sneakily trying to eat left-handedly, the nasty teachers, would punish me. I did manage to learn to use the knife and fork as a right handed person, though eating my desert with a spoon, was still left handed. As a result of this constant punishment for being left handed, my writing ended up very messy, due to trying to do it right handedly. This meant that I got marked down in a lot of the subjects, because I’d not been taught how to write left-handedly, so my writing was hard to read.

The punishment from the other students was even worse, if you did anything to annoy or anger them. Especially the older children, when I was in Years One & Two, they would choose who would be punished. There were normally two teachers in the playground, supervising, and looking out for trouble, but there were many places to hide from their view. If not, diversions were set up to take the teachers attention away from the area where punishment was being exacted. So you had to learn to keep your nose clean, and not upset the older kids. Not that it was easy, if they had no one due to be punished, they would just choose someone and attack them. I got this a lot as I was an easy target because Ste was at Grange now, and Jackie was not big enough to stop several kids from attacking me. Though, a few times, her friends joined her to come to my rescue.

Luckily, we still had our caravan weekends, to get away from the thought of school, and the bad things going on back there. So I made these trips as memorable as possible, I would go playing with my friends, helping out at the farm, I was getting bigger and stronger now, so I could help more. The cows could still kick me across the stalls though, but now I recovered a lot quicker. I would try to avoid putting the milking machines on the nasty cows, but it appeared everyone else did so too. So I still got kicked a lot, though I also learnt a better position to stand in, to avoid so many kicks. I also had the horse rides to enjoy, as well as the tractor driving, so the good outweighed the bad.

When I reached the third year of Junior School, Ste and Jackie were already at Grange Secondary School. So I got into a lot more fights, because the bullies had no one to be afraid of. I won some of the one on one encounters, but they were seldom, usually it was three or four on one. I did get hurt at times, but mostly I was a quick healer and my parents did not see the marks much of the time. I would go to bed early, to avoid Mum seeing the marks. The worst thing was the damage to my clothes, well Ste’s clothes, because I could not hide it from my Mum, so I told her it happened whilst playing football or something like that.

This was also the time I became interested in girls, mostly due to the teachings I got from a few of our neighbours, mostly Jackie’s age, and/or friends. I did not understand what was happening at first, but was soon taught exactly what it was all about. I think most of them were just experimenting, because it only happened once or twice with them. However, some must have liked it, because they came back for more. There was a beautiful girl who lived opposite and down one house from us, I was amazed when she invited me over one day. I thought it was my birthday, or something even better. However, she had a big plump sister, and said I had to go with her first, or she would tell on us.

So I went along with it, but when I had finished with her sister, the beauty said there was no way she was going to be with me, it was all a trick. I was devastated and lost my respect for these types of girls for a long time after that. I would still have fun with them, but that was it. If I really liked them, I would sometimes go out with them again, but nothing serious. I also managed to get a paper round at this time, though I was still too young really. The owner of the paper shop, which was up on Oak Road, up to our right, next to the bakery, knew my family, so he helped me out. I had a morning paper round, and an afternoon paper round. So I had to rush to deliver the papers in the morning, so that I could get to school on time, and rush back after school, to do my afternoon round, so I could get back for dinner before going out to play.

I also helped our milkman at times, with his deliveries, on the weekends and holidays mostly, when we did not go to the caravan, riding on the milk float and delivering the milk.

Friday night was payment collection night, for the milkman. The milkman had a book, where he recorded how many pints of which milk everyone had that week, plus anything that was outstanding from other weeks, also any other products they had had. So we went door to door collecting the payments, if we did not get it on Friday night, we would knock on their doors when we delivered the milk on Saturday. I enjoyed the work, though a lot of my friends thought I was stupid to give up my free time. They did not know that a lot of customers would often give me extra money, and tell me to keep the change, I made several pounds a week with this.

As always, I looked forward to the school holidays, especially when we were left at the caravan site to have fun, and to avoid long boring days at home. The farm hands, became a lot more accepting of me now, as I was able to do a lot more to help them. I was always sad when the farmer took his kids on holiday, because it was not as much fun around the farm without them. The farm hands noticed, and tried their best to cheer me up with more tractor drives, and they would saddle up one of the horses for me to go riding on.

Also, I still had my other friends there too, so it wasn’t that bad. It was still better when we were all together, I liked to have my friends integrate. Plus it meant more minds to think of great things to do, so we would never get bored there. We still lived on chippy and bakery food, except for the cereal we had for breakfast. Ste, who later became a chef, also started cooking at the caravan occasionally. He was a pretty good cook, but always left a mess, it was a pleasant change from the usual meals we ate.

Ha-ha ha-ha, cannot afford your lunch eh?

Still wearing Ste’s clothes eh? these were some of the taunts I still suffered daily.

Maybe you should have your dad get a proper job, I never let on that he wasted a lot of his money on drink. Though, we were obviously below the poverty line, otherwise we would not have been given the free lunch tickets. Luckily, they seldom noticed the holes in the soles of my shoes, which Mum covered with cardboard, like it was an insole. It was not too bad in spring, summer or autumn, but when it rained, anytime, or the snow lay down in winter, the cardboard did not help much and had to be changed daily. So the first job when I got home was to take my shoes and socks off and put them close to the fire to dry off. I would then put on some thick socks and warm my feet in front of the fire.

I loved Mathematics (Maths) and Geography, because I was interested in these subjects, so I also did well in them. English was much harder, though I tried hard to write right handedly, it was a mess, and because of not being taught how to write left handedly, it too was quite messy. The content of my essays and such though, was pretty good, so I still maintained good grades (not bad for a dyslexic eh?). In Years Three & Four, I was one of the top students in my class, winning a gift certificate for my efforts.

As we were older now, we had to enter the next level of the groups. This meant a lot more conflict, especially when defending our turf. Even if it was the older members, of the other groups, coming into our area. However, they knew that if they hurt us too much, our older members would go to exact revenge on them and more conflict would ensue.

Every 5th of November, we had a local bonfire and fireworks display, to celebrate Guy Folkes Night (he tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament on this date a long time ago). We would go around the local shops, factories and houses in the neighbourhood, asking if they had any scrap wood. If they had no wood, we’d ask for any fireworks they would like to donate, starting weeks before bonfire night. It was always a challenge to see which area got the biggest bonfire, often leading to other groups raiding your bonfire for theirs. Therefore, we would have to leave guards at our bonfire once we had accumulated a good amount. We would also pool our pocket money, and any donations, to buy fireworks and food for the night too. We would have some given by the parents and older kids as well, at times, so that we had a really good show. We would roast potatoes and chestnuts in the fire, and eat them when they were cooked. Our parents would make toffee apples, and treacle, toffee for us too.

They were good times and brought the neighbours together, everyone enjoying the night. An effigy of Guy Folkes was always made out of rags, then stuffed with straw and set on top of the bonfire, to symbolize burning him for his treachery.

After bonfire night, things started to ramp up towards Christmas and the New Year. These were times that the family all got together, first for Christmas Dinner, and then New Year’s Dinner. One of Mum and Dad’s friends was a Butcher, we called him Uncle Ron. Mum would always get a big turkey and ham from him for the dinners, turkey for Christmas, ham for the New Year, and Uncle Ron would join us for the dinners. This was one of the times that the living room was used. After dinner, the men would relax in the living room and have some drinks. Mum and some of us kids would do the washing up and cleaning, then we would relax in front of the kitchen fire and drink some Sherry or Port, sometimes we would drink Advocat, another of Mum’s favourites. Mum would serve us kids the