The Real Life of Brian

By Brian Taylor

This is the real life story of Brian a retired marine engineer. The book starts with his memories from World War 2 when he lived in Essex during the Battle of Britain and the following years. He tells many humorous stories about his travels abroad as a marine engineer and an insurance engineer.

The book covers a period of employment in Libya when Gadaffi nationalized the oil company he was working for. During the final chapters he deals with redundancy and finally retirement. It is a story of an interesting life well spent by someone with a keen sense of humour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665597043

Brian Taylor

Brian Taylor is an artist and illustrator who lives and draws in Scotland. Brian does not wear hats.

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© 2022 Brian Taylor. 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 05/12/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9703-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9705-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9704-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Introduction

Chapter 1 My Early Years

Chapter 2 Wartime and Rationing

Chapter 3 School Days

Chapter 4 Preparing for a Career

Chapter 5 All at Sea

Chapter 6 An Engineer in Insurance, Part 1

Chapter 7 Working in the Oil Industry

Chapter 8 An Engineer in Insurance, Part 2

Chapter 9 The Good Years

Chapter 10 Back to My Roots

Chapter 11 Retirement … Or is it?

Chapter 12 Living in the UK 1935–2021

Chapter 13 Conclusions

Conversion Tables

Introduction

Hello, welcome to The Real Life of Brian. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I have enjoyed living the life of Brian. I was halfway through writing this book before my friend Chrissie came up with this title. My apologies to Monty Python; I had thought of naming the book Life of Brian 2 or Life of Brian Revisited. I had considered many options, but none had that wow factor; nothing I could think of reflected me and my outlook on life. So I stuck to what was one of my favourite sayings during my working life: Keep it simple.

You may wonder why an unknown retired marine engineer has decided to write an autobiography. It is because I am slightly crazy and I have always tried to see the funny side of everything that has happened to me. Most of this introduction was typed using my computer keyboard right at the beginning of a pandemic using a 2007 word-processing program. It was up to date when I bought it. I decided to write in a logical manner, starting with this introduction and proceeding through the chapters in what I felt was also a logical manner. I realise now, as I approach the end of chapter 11, that the introduction should contain a little more information about the book itself.

I started to write the book soon after we entered our first lockdown in March 2020. The writing was meant to help me get through long periods on my own. I fully expected that the pandemic would all be over by the summer. By the end of May, I had finished the third chapter and was feeling quite pleased. Then my computer went down, and I couldn’t find someone willing to visit and try to recover my lost information. I stopped work until the end of July, feeling very disappointed. Chrissie, who had been staying with me at the start of the pandemic, encouraged me to start again. I am glad she did; it encouraged me to finish chapter 11. Easter 2021 has been and gone, at which point I had two chapters to go, and as I said at the beginning of that chapter, I could see the end of the tunnel. I had hoped to finish the book by the end of July, in ten weeks’ time. (This turned out to be a bit ambitious because my computer went down again, almost twelve months to the day since the previous failure. This time I lost most of chapter 13 and had to start it again.) Chapter 13 is not just about my life; it is also about some of the things which interested me during my lifetime.

I hope you, my friend and reader, will enjoy reading about my life. Looking back, I see that I was, probably, very selfish. I have enjoyed my short stay on this earth during the past ten decades and most of the time did what I wanted to do. I hope I will be allowed to stay a bit longer and also hope that there is such a thing as reincarnation. Some people say that in the next reincarnation you will have a better life. If that is the case, then mine will be a real humdinger. I have a feeling that there is a next life but that we are allowed very few memories of former lives, so it doesn’t really matter. When I was very young I saw things which I felt I had seen before but could not remember where or when. It is said (don’t ask me by whom) that these flashes of old memories occur more often when one is very young. I have been told that people who believe in reincarnation have indicated that these sightings are recalls from a previous life. They are more frequent when we are young because the memories are fresh. They tend to fade away as we get older. That is logical, I suppose.

I have lived in ten decades, during which more changes have taken place than from the time the dinosaurs were eliminated up to the beginning of those ten decades. Later in my life, I began to feel that the extinct status of dinosaurs was not strictly true. I met a few dinosaurs since during my working life. They can often be found at seminars and meetings. In the engineering world, and it is possibly the same in other walks of life, there are professional attendees at seminars and meetings. Generally, they tend to be in the last stages of their careers and feel they have nothing new to learn. They are not there to make decisions; they are expected to report back to their superiors.

I have often heard it said that everyone has at least one book in him or her, and this is mine. There is no one better to write it. I have four reasons to write my autobiography.

One: because I feel I can.

Two: I have travelled a great deal, and as a result, I have met many interesting people. I have been to and seen many interesting and beautiful places. When I have talked to friends and acquaintances and related stories about the places I have seen and my experiences, I have often been told that I should write a book.

Three: I was born just before World War II. I was four and a half years old when it started. I lived in Essex at the time and still have memories of the Battle of Britain and the Blitz. I did not see so much of the Blitz that took place in London and major towns like Liverpool. My memories are more about the aeroplanes and their battles, often one on one. The fighter pilots called them dogfights. Living in Essex, we often saw large formations of enemy aircraft flying to London. The British fighter planes’ intentions were to break up these formations and force the bombers to jettison their bombs before they reached their targets. When possible, they hoped to shoot the enemy planes down. The Germans used their own single-pilot fighter aircraft to protect the bombers. The fighting in the air often resulted in a series of dogfights before the British planes could attack and break up the formations of bomber aircraft. A great deal of the action took place over Essex.

The hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Britain is less than twenty years away, so I felt my memories should be put down on paper.

Four: when I started to write, there was a pandemic sweeping across the world. The cause of it is known as COVID-19, or the novel coronavirus. Here in the UK, we are in a lockdown situation. We must keep at least two metres away from non-immediate family who do not share accommodation. We are allowed one hour for exercise; we must keep to the social distances and only journey away from home for food, essentials, and medical supplies. I am designated as being very vulnerable. I am over eighty years old and have had heart problems resulting in surgery to provide a triple bypass to reduce the workload on my heart. I suffer from high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and I take medication, again, to reduce the workload on my heart. In spite of all this medical activity, which took place after I retired, I occasionally suffer from angina.

If I survive the pandemic, I hope my experiences will provide useful information for future generations of vulnerable people. Perhaps it may help them get through this type of situation. I am sure that as the world’s population increases and international travel becomes easier, the incidents of pandemics will increase. To help pass the time, I finally decided to write this book. If it gets published, that will be a bonus.

I have already mentioned I was an engineer. Most of my work involved the maintenance, inspection, and repair of machinery. In later life, I was telling other engineers what to do instead of doing it myself. I will tell you more of that later. However, one important part of this work was planning ahead. I have tried to use the same technique with this book. How can I split my life up into chapters? Will I be able to give each chapter a suitable title?

Will it be easier to write about my life chronologically? What do I do about the title of the book? This problem was solved later, as I have already explained.

I decided to move on to the second stage of my plan. How should I write about myself? The easiest method could be to plough ahead and write about myself in chronological order. I thought I would write about school and all the different types of employment I’ve had, each with its own chapter. I have worked for two different insurance companies. One of those I left and returned to some years later. On the second occasion, I was later transferred to the parent company’s head office in Liverpool. This was an idea of the general manager which didn’t work out. That bad decision meant that some years later I was made redundant, as were the colleagues who transferred with me.

After some deliberation, I decided my offering to you would be primarily chronological, but sometimes two chapters would cover the same period. My education and my hours of leisure would need separate chapters. Similarly, it would be easier to describe my work and leisure activities in separate chapters. Chapter three would be only about the war and its effects, such as rationing, evacuation, and air raids. Chapter four would cover my school days, part of which took place during the war. Chapters eight, nine, and ten would also overlap. My account of an engineer’s role in insurance would be contained in two chapters. The part in the middle years when I worked for British Petroleum would be given its own chapter later in the book.

I finally decided to have an introduction (this is it) and a chapter titled Conclusions. The reason for naming the chapter Conclusions is that I did not reach the age of eighty-six without arriving at some opinions of my own. They will be aired under the heading Conclusions. I did think of using the titles Preface and Epilogue for the first and final chapters, but in a way this is a report about my life, so I am using a report format because that is what I was trained to do.

You may have guessed by now that I am not a professional writer. I am used to writing long but concise reports, but I did not want this book to sound like a technical report. I must admit that the way I have split the book into its composite chapters relied on the way I planned reports. However, a lot of my working life was spent away from home. It was a time before emails and the Internet. I had to write letters to family and friends at home. If this book seems more like a letter than a book to you, then I am happy, because it should be more interesting in that case.

So we will go back to the plan. Starting at the beginning, I was born in 1935. Obviously, I do not remember anything about it or the events I will be telling you happened in that year. Someone bought me a pint mug for one of my birthdays a few years ago. It commemorated 1935 and had news stories transfer printed on it. I use that mug more than any other because I am greedy and it holds twice as much as most of my other drinking vessels, except my beer glasses and tankards. The events and the people born that year are imprinted on my memory owing to my daily use of the mug since I retired.

I do not keep a diary. I have always possessed a diary but have never recorded anything. It was an aide-memoire that kept me reminded of birthdays, anniversaries, and work appointments. Please do not hold me responsible for the accuracy of some of the dates in this book. I have checked most events where possible. All the local events are from memory. Everything I describe will be something I was involved with or instigated. Occasionally I will mention events that have taken place because of the actions of friends or colleagues. These incidents usually appealed to my sense of humour, and I am hopeful they will have the same effect on you.

1935 was a memorable year—and not just because I was born. Elvis Presley was born that year as well. He deserves a mention because he provided me with so much pleasure when I was in my late teens and twenties. He still does, in fact, but a bit less so. I still listen to his music and watch his films. Unlike me, he did not avoid his duty. He turned up for his national service in the US Army. I always felt that it was a great pity that, like George Best—someone else who provided me with great entertainment—his life was cut short by an addiction.

George V was the monarch, and he celebrated his twenty-fifth Jubilee that year.

During the year, the Rolls Royce Merlin engine flew in a Hurricane (the fighter plane, that is, not the storm the aircraft was named after) for the first time. It later became famous for powering many fighter aircraft during World War II, including the Hurricane and Spitfire. It was also fitted in the Lancaster bomber, so was a major reason the Battle of Britain was successful and the war was won. These aircraft are among my first memories, flying in the Essex skies. I can clearly remember the condensation trails in the sky as dogfights took place. The summer of 1940 seemed to last forever. Every day was a sunny day in my memory as a five-year-old. I still love the sound of the engine. I used to see a Spitfire every year as it passed over my bungalow when performing at the air show at Woodford Aerodrome. The aerodrome was the factory and an airfield during the war, where Lancaster bombers were built. It is now a housing estate.

In common with the Merlin engine, all the following made an impression on me in varying ways. They happened, were introduced, or were born in the UK during 1935.

Cat’s eyes, the reflective bits of glass imbedded in a rubber casing and placed at intervals along the centres of our roads were invented. What a great invention. I certainly appreciated them. I had to drive a great deal at night when I worked for the insurance companies. They kept me on the right path—or, more accurately, off the path and on the road when it changed direction.

The driving test became compulsory. I mention this because my father never had to take a driving test because he already possessed a driving licence. My mother had to take one after the war because she needed to be able to drive. She passed the test first time. This fact will crop up again later in my story.

During the year, Alan Lane founded Penguin Books and published the first paperbacks. Reading became my favourite pastime. During off duty times at sea, the only alternatives to reading, when I was by myself, were listening to the radio and sleeping. Reception was often poor in those days. The movement of the ship would hinder many alternatives, such as listening to records and playing darts. Playing cards was popular, but to be interesting one needed partners and opponents. The introduction of the paperback book was vitally important for seasoned travellers.

Malcolm Campbell set a new land speed record of 301.337 miles per hour, breaking the 300-mile-per-hour barrier for the first time.

In addition to Elvis Presley, several famous people were born in the UK during 1935. They did not influence my life in any way, but they did provide some entertainment either on TV or on the radio. The names include David Vine, Michael Parkinson, Simon Dee, and James Bolam, the latter of which was born the same day as me.

Ruby Murray, the singer, was another born in 1935. She is now more famous because the cockneys use her Christian name to mean curry in rhyming slang. Barry Cryer, a comedian, Anne Reid, the Coronation Street actress, and John Inman, star of the sitcom Are You Being Served?, were also born then.

The year provided a number of sportsmen—notably Lester Piggott, the jockey, and footballers Brian Clough, Jack Charlton, Mel Charles, and Cliff Jones. The last two were Welsh internationals. I have a vague idea I was in the Chester schoolboys’ football squad when we played the Swansea schoolboys. Mel Charles and Cliff Jones were on the opposition team and went on to play football at a high level. Mel Charles played for Arsenal. Cliff Jones played for Tottenham Hotspur when they managed to win the FA Cup and the first division championship in 1961—the first time this double was achieved. This was the only time I managed to get to Wembley to watch a cup final.

Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent, was also born in 1935. I do not recollect him having any effect on my life, but I feel that mentioning him adds a bit of class to this book.

Having got this far, I am starting to get a feeling about the way this book is heading, and it is a bit worrying. Anyway, I am beginning to think of it more as a letter to my readers. (I hope there is going to be more than one reader.) I have also noted that I often leave the subject I am on and make some asides. Please forgive me and put it down to a sign of my age.

I am going to gloss over the period from 1935 to 1940 because I do not think I did anything memorable during this time. If I did, I am sure I would have remembered it.

Anyway, nothing much happened except the small matter of a world war starting on 31 August 1939.

CHAPTER 1

My Early Years

During the introduction, I mentioned how I wanted to plan the book and that I had ruled out writing my life story purely in chronological order. From my point of view, a great deal happened between my fourth birthday and the following few years. The Second World War started, and I started school. There seemed to be three subjects, which would need different approaches, all taking place at the same time. I have therefore devoted this chapter to my home life, my leisure time, and the people around me. It continues until the end of my school days. The next chapter I have devoted to the war years and the way they affected me. Chapter four describes my school days. It is inevitable that there may be some repetition, but I will try to keep it to a minimum.

I have decided that I cannot write about my life without giving some time to my parents. They did a great deal for me, and I thank them for it. Some of their decisions affected my future more than my own decisions did. They were both born in 1909, my mother two months before my father. She was born in Sheffield and moved to Chelmsford after completing her training as a student nurse. She wanted some experience in an isolation hospital. She met my father there when he was a patient. He was born in Chelmsford and was the third child in a family of four boys and two girls. All still lived in Chelmsford at the time I was born. We tended to meet regularly at my grandparents’ house, usually on a Sunday after church. These meetings continued after my grandmother died and throughout the war.

My mother had three sisters and a brother; she was the fourth child. We visited Sheffield twice before the war, but the war put a stop to any further travel. We never visited Sheffield again as a family. I remember very little about our visits owing to my age. Only my mother’s younger sister Ray still lived at home. My grandfather was a steelworker and had an accident at work which resulted in him losing both legs when gangrene set in. I know he died shortly after our last visit.

My father was an engineer at Hoffman’s, a company that made ball bearings for all types of machinery with moving parts. After marrying, my parents lived in a flat for about a year before buying a new semi-detached house on the outskirts of Chelmsford, close to the village of Great Baddow. I assume the village will now have been absorbed by the city. I was born the following year.

The building work further along the avenue where we lived continued until the war broke out. Work seemed to progress at a much slower rate in those days, probably because there was less mechanisation. I can remember that within a short walking distance, there were partly built houses. The local children played in those houses during the war years and roamed the Essex countryside.

Our road seemed to just peter out into fields. For a short distance, it was tarmacked, and then it was gravelled for about one hundred yards, ready for tarmacking. After that, it seemed to us that it was countryside for eternity. In fact, the village of Galleywood was just three miles south of us. I loved roaming those fields, which I did often on my own but mostly with a friend my age. He lived a few doors away. Occasionally we had to look after my sister, who was two years younger than I. She still insists she would have been safer on her own.

We would make dens out of branches, or engage in seasonal activities, such as bird’s-nesting and collecting mushrooms, blackberries, crab apples, sweet chestnuts, and conkers. We would pierce the conkers with a meat skewer and thread string through them to play conkers. This game consisted of taking turns to hit your opponent’s conker, which was allowed to dangle from the string, until one broke. The person who managed to complete this feat was the winner.

Bird’s-nesting and collecting eggs is frowned upon in these more enlightened times. In mitigation, I admit I only collected eggs one year and found I preferred to watch the birds sitting on their nests and rearing their young. At the time, we believed that if an egg was left in the nest, the birds would return and lay more. I was so interested in the wildlife around me; I would have been very happy if I had had a career as a naturalist. There seems to be more scope for a career in that area now than there was when I was growing up.

We took part in most of these activities throughout the war and outside school hours. I was not evacuated, because we did not live in a big city. Chelmsford was a target because of the three manufacturers based there, but more of that later. We were left to seek our own amusement in those days. We did not participate in team games. The war did not help, of course; most young men had volunteered or been conscripted. These days, plenty of young adults are willing to give up free time to organise local football and cricket teams, and teams for other sports. Both boys and girls of all ages can participate easily now. Sport for me was a school activity, and I was thirteen years old before I was asked to play in a team sport outside school hours. This would have been the same for all children then. Obviously, there were no young men available to have the free time necessary to organise children into teams and leagues. Those men who were too old to take part in active service joined the Home Guard or became air raid wardens. During any other free time they had, they were expected to dig for victory. That was a wartime slogan encouraging people to grow vegetables—primarily potatoes. Another wartime slogan was Eat more potatoes; eat less bread. We were even told to eat carrots so that we could see in the dark. I believed this could work until I was a teenager.

During the war, we did not travel much, so my circle of friends was limited to those at school and about two of the neighbour’s children. My sister and I were very good friends, and we often got into trouble because I was always daring her to do things which had a hint of danger to them. On one occasion, just before Christmas, while my parents were out, we decided to try to locate our Christmas presents. I had an idea that my parents had hid them on top of the free-standing wardrobe in their bedroom. My sister, Valerie, and I crept into the bedroom, followed by the cat, and we stared up at this tall, heavy piece of furniture. We could not see anything on top of it because the top was hidden behind a decorative rail.

I talked Valerie into climbing onto my shoulders, and she grabbed hold of the top of the wardrobe door. It started to open, and I fell onto the floor. Valerie seemed to hang on as the wardrobe tipped over and fell against the footboard of the bed. For a while, I was trapped underneath, and as I got out from under the wardrobe, I saw a clump of cat hair and thought the cat had been injured. I started looking for the cat, but it had run off. When I found it, it seemed unhurt but naturally a bit frightened.

I returned to the bedroom because I had forgotten that Valerie, my partner in crime, had not appeared. I heard knocking and, to my amazement, discovered that she was trapped inside the wardrobe. I managed to get her out, only to be verbally abused about the fact that I cared more about the cat than her. After smoothing her ruffled feathers, we lifted the wardrobe and pushed it into place, noticing that it had a nasty scratch where it had come into contact with the bed.

We expected to receive an interrogation about this damage, but to our amazement we heard nothing more about it until about twenty years later.

In later years, after all her children left home, my mother used to enjoy a family gathering on Boxing Day. During a conversation after one family dinner, somebody started talking about things their children had been doing without their knowledge. My sister then related the story about the cat and the wardrobe. My mother looked absolutely horrified and said, I have always blamed your father for that scratch on the wardrobe. She went on to say, I have always told him not to lie when he denied having any knowledge of it. Naturally we all laughed. Dad has since been absolved of any wrongdoing. Once again I managed to escape from punishment for my wrongdoing.

When war broke out, my father still had to work at Hoffman’s. He had a reserved occupation, but he was considered too old to enlist. My mother gave up work to run the household. By the end of the war, she finished up having to look after three children as well as a multitude of chickens, ducks, and rabbits (which were not pets but rather stock being raised for our food). We had a garden that was almost one hundred yards long and about fifteen wide. All the stock was kept in pens at the end of the garden.

Of course, we children did not know the rabbits were not pets. They were all given names, as were some of the ducks, which we found quite comical when they were waddling along. An incident comes to mind when I began to realise that I was virtually living on a small holding. One dinner time while enjoying a very nice meat pie, my sister asked my mother, Where is Susie? Susie was one of the rabbits. My mother quickly replied, She has gone to be mated. We did not know what being mated was, but it sounded nice, so we continued eating, not knowing that it was Susie’s remains on our plates.

When the hens stopped laying eggs, they usually finished up in the pot. The cockerel managed to last longer than most of the hens because he was doing a good job. He kept the hens happy, but when they became broody and hid their eggs from us, we removed them from the nest and replaced them with a china egg to keep the hen happy until she gave up trying to incubate it and started laying eggs again. Occasionally we let them rear their chicks when we needed to replace the ones we had eaten. We had to replace the cockerel after a while too. Actually, I believe we ate him.

We grew all our own vegetables and had a small orchard with about ten trees in it. We produced Cox’s orange pippin apples from three trees. The apples lasted so well we would eat them at Christmas. We also had two Granny Smith cooking apple trees. We had a Victoria plum tree, which produced a good harvest every year after the first summer. That first year my father constantly said that he could find only one plum and it was out of reach. I am sure he felt the tree had done that deliberately. Cherry trees and pear trees completed the set.

There was a large plot of building land at the end of the garden. The local council insisted that it had to be used for allotments. My father decided to have the one nearest to us. He had to cultivate it, so he put a gate in our fence to provide easy access. In fact, most of the neighbours did the same thing. They were all of a similar age and were too old for active service. We certainly ate well during the war and fared better than most people.

While I was helping my father clear the weeds from the plot of land which had been allocated to us, he managed to catch a small field mouse. He handed it to me and told me to give it to my mother. She was in the kitchen, and I said, Dad told me to give you this. She held her hand out without really looking. When saw what it was, she screamed and threw it away. Unfortunately, it did not survive, so we had a funeral for it that afternoon. I think that was the only funeral we had for an animal; we seemed to eat everything else.

The life we were leading up to the start of the war may seem idyllic, but there was no National Health Service. While I am writing this, all the country has realised how vital that service is to us. Fortunately, most of the time I was never seriously ill. I caught most of the children’s diseases, such as measles, chicken pox, mumps, and even scarlet fever, but I don’t have any clear memories of being ill. Certainly after the age of seven, I cannot remember missing a day’s schooling or a day’s work. I think that my body relaxed after I retired, because everything seemed to go wrong for two or three years. I warned you I may sometimes drift off the subject, so more of that later.

Before I started school, my parents indicated that they felt I was a weak child because I caught most of the childhood viruses. I feel that because I was their first child, they probably worried more. I now believe that my mother arranged for me to catch some of the childhood ailments. In those days, if a local child caught one of the viruses, such as mumps or chicken pox, the neighbours would arrange parties in the hope that their children would fall ill. I know that my mother felt that most of these illnesses are more serious in adults and that being exposed to them in childhood helps to build up the body’s immune system. It is very similar to having a vaccination. I understand that I was immunised or vaccinated against diphtheria, tuberculosis, and whooping cough. I was probably exposed to chicken pox, measles, and mumps at one of the parties.

I understand that I also suffered from tonsillitis a great deal. My parents decided (I believe my mother decided, but my father would never disagree about health issues), that I should have them removed. While my mouth was open, its default position, it was decided to remove my adenoids as well. That was like an old-fashioned buy one and get one free. This decision was made before I started school. I assume that my parents thought I may miss a great deal of my early schooling if I did not have this operation. Also, as it turned out, it must have been before the war started, because I can imagine the consternation if the air raid sirens had sounded while I was on the kitchen table.

Yes, that is true. I did not go into hospital for the operation. I believe it was carried out by our GP, who acted as the surgeon. The kitchen table was scrubbed and taken into the front room (which was rarely used, because we spent most Sundays at my grandparents’). All the furniture was covered, and I was prepared and told to lie on my back on the table. A sieve was placed over my face. It looked remarkably like our flour sieve. A cloth was then placed over the sieve. I was told that some water would be sprayed onto the cloth; if any came through, I had to blow it away and count out loud each time I did so. Naturally, it penetrated the cloth, so I blew it away and said one. It did not smell or taste like water, but I blew the next spray of water away, said two, and took another deep breath to wait for the next assault. I do not remember counting to four. I woke up later with a very sore throat which stopped me from talking for a while. That must have had a profound effect on me. When my voice came back, I was never lost for words and always made my views known.

One of my greatest pleasures during this period of my life was harvest time. There was a farm just behind the houses across the road from us. The farmer had a dairy herd, and the fields were also used to grow potatoes, wheat, or hay. I assume that he operated a rotation system and the fallow fields were used for grazing. During the war, there was a lack of young men because his labourers either volunteered or had been conscripted. He had two land girls to help with the routine work. At peak times, such as during lambing and harvesting, extra help was needed. Lambing was not a problem in Essex; there were no lambs, or very few of them.

During the summer and autumn months, some of the local people volunteered to help the farmer, particularly during harvesting. Most of our neighbours would divide their time up to help with the harvest during the summer holidays. This meant that those with young children would take them to the farm. My mother agreed to help in 1940, when I was five and a half. The first year or so that I spent my time with the other children, we were assembled in a group, out of the way of the machinery, and given small tasks to keep us occupied. In later years, I was trusted to help by carrying food and refreshments to the workers.

These periods were some of the happiest of my young life. It always seemed to be sunny, but probably my memory is playing tricks. There must have been times when rain stopped work. The harvest started with cutting the wheat and hay. I cannot remember the farmer’s name, but he had bought a tractor before the war, but it never seemed to be used. As I got older, the men were still joking that he was scared of the tractor, but by then he had an excuse, as fuel was being rationed. Anyway, he still had two shire horses, and they would be used for ploughing, raking, cutting, and pulling the carts which carried the produce to storage or market. The war was a great excuse to keep the horses, but knowing the way he loved them, I expect they were retired when the war was over.

When working in the fields, I was told that if ground-nesting birds, such as skylarks or lapwings, were still sitting on eggs, the horses would stop and would have to be led around the brooding bird. This would