My Name is Bond - Pete Bond: From Bulkington to Bangkok With a Few Stops in Between

By Pete Bond

A well-travelled Bond, but it's not James.

 

Born in the UK on Thursday 30th August ,1945, part of the so-called 'Silent Generation' but as you can see, Pete had some pretty good associates…

 

John Lennon, Elvis Presley, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Pope Francis, Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi to name but a few. Not much silence in that lot…

 

Destined to become a world traveler, Pete relates some of the hilarious incidents he has encountered along the way. From Bulkington where he was born, to Jamaica where he suffered his first real sunburn and eventually to Thailand, with multitudinous stops in between, it's laughs all the way.

 

Get the answers to some of life's mysteries in this hilarious memoir by Pete Bond, My Name is Bond – Pete Bond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DCO Books
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9786164560635

Book preview

Introduction

The contents of this book have taken a lifetime to collect. Putting them on paper has taken nearly as long. It has been written in little bits over a fairly long period but as life progresses and business and work commitments become fewer and fewer, more time becomes available to finish what was started as a little challenge.

Could I write it all down? And more importantly, could I remember it all, after all, we are talking about more than 75 years of memory. That’s a long time and as sometimes I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, I found that committing things to paper was a real memory jogger.

When searching for a title of this book I sought assistance from friends and colleagues. Many suggestions were forthcoming which seemed to revolve around my name and movies of a certain relative named James. As I have lived with this since Dr. No appeared on the scene I tended to overlook the connection; friends and colleagues didn’t. Several excellent titles were proffered, including some which were not quite appropriate for a novel title.

Eventually, I decided to go with the ‘Bond’ theme, as you will have noticed from the modified title. Many thanks to all who contributed and, as a consolation, I have included a selection of the printable, unselected titles in an appendix to the book.

Of course, many of the stories in the book have been recounted several times throughout my lifetime and some minor changes to some events may have crept in. Memory, or lack of it, does that. I can assure readers, with my hand on my heart, that most of the details in the stories are true to life.

Except for one little event which I may have dreamt about but it felt so real I included it.

Why did I write the book? Well, I have always liked a challenge and due to a little infirmity and trying to slow down a little, I thought it would be an interesting challenge. Secondly, I wanted to share some of the more humorous events as everyone knows, laughter is a great medicine.

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing the book and have re-kindled contact with many of those mentioned to seek their approval to be included. A joy indeed.

I hope that somebody, somewhere enjoys reading.

Pete Bond

Bangkok

August2023

The Early Years

My name is Bond, Peter Bond

I've been living with the joke that I'm James Bond since the first James Bond film, Dr. No, was released in 1962 and everyone I meet for the first time always delights in asking me me if I'm James. I've heard all the variations on the theme, from Basildon Bond to Chemical Bond. I've even been asked if I'm a Warehouse Bond.

I've lived with this joke for over 60 years, so I'm used to it now. But, even today, I'm still not sure why everyone thinks they're the first person to make the connection.

Anyway, let's get on with the real story and start with a little bit about my early years.

I was born in Bulkington, Warwickshire, a small village right in the center of England. No-one who was the least bit notable came from Bulkington. The most famous person I can find is a Mr. Frank Henry Harrell. He was born in Bulkington on 28 January 1888 and was a Stoker, 1st Class, in the Royal Navy. He died, probably un-noticed on 25 October 1917 whilst serving with the Royal Navy battleship HMS Glory. R.I.P Harry.

To top that is going to be something of a challenge and take some beating. Anyway, here goes…

I went through the typical childhood upbringing of attending nursery followed by junior school. In those days I walked to school, crossing, as I recall, several main roads. People drove much slower back then, so it never was a real problem to get to school alive. And, of course, we always had the ‘Lollypop’ lady stop the traffic for us outside the school gates. Why were they always big and fat - was that to intimidate the drivers? And they always seemed to have a huge, thick belt, somewhere around their middle.

I think I was about nine or ten when I ventured on my first construction project. The house where I lived was very close to some fields which had nice rolling hills, great in the winter when covered with snow and pleasant in the summer for the odd camping out days. Back then parents never worried about their kids being out in the fields alone, or at least, my parents didn’t worry.

None of us kids had bikes but I had the idea of getting an old bike frame, stripping the brakes, mudguards and wheels off and fitting smaller wheels. Scrounging around the estate where I lived, I managed to find a couple of pram wheels, the front pair as the back ones were too big, and with a bit of ingenuity fitted the wheels to the frame. Two or three of my mates managed to do the same. No brakes, no pedals, no helmet or thoughts of safety and off we trundled to ‘the banks’ to try out our new creations.

Unbelievably, there were no accidents and a great time was had by all. One major design fault was soon apparent. The hub where the pedals were fitted only cleared the ground by a few inches, so going over rough ground was a bit tricky. Going home was a lot easier as the houses where we all lived were located at the bottom of a hill so it was just a matter of sitting in the saddle and steering. Stopping was easily achieved by dragging the toes of your shoes along the ground. I recall getting home and being banned from ever using the bike again. I was told that this was on safety grounds but I have a suspicion it was because my toes were peeping out of the front of my shoes. Was this the forerunner of the mini bike? It was certainly a new thing to me, so maybe I was destined for greater inventions.

In those days, newspapers were delivered to your house daily, and naturally, they tended to pile up after a couple of weeks. Seeking ways to get rid of them, my mum told me to take them to the local chip shop as fish and chips sales were wrapped up in old newspapers. Plastic bags hadn’t yet been invented. On delivery of my first bundle, I was handed the princely sum of one shilling and six pence, (12.5 pence in today's money), which to a ten-year-old was a massive sum, with a request to bring more in a couple of weeks. And I got a free bag of chips as a bonus. This became a regular occurrence until the shop changed from newspaper to more hygienic white paper. No more vinegar-soaked chips, and trying to read last week’s news in soggy newspapers. So, my income went back to my irregular six-pence a week pocket money, which was just about enough to keep me in sweets for a few days.

I wasn’t particularly clever but I was bright enough to pass the 11+ examination, which weeded out the top 60 most intelligent kids from the surrounding areas and selecting them for ‘higher education.’ I think on reflection I was probably number 59 or 60 as it was soon very evident that all the other kids in my class knew a lot more than I did. So, I entered an all-boys grammar school, The King Edward V1 Grammar School for Boys.

One vivid memory from my time there was being appointed captain of the under 13 School Cricket team, which achieved the dubious distinction of suffering the biggest cricket defeat, 13 runs for us, 128 runs for the opposition, in the school's long history. As usual, the results of all the school’s weekend sporting events were announced at Monday morning assembly with this one causing considerable mirth, at least amongst fellow students. The result was quite an accomplishment considering the school had been around for a few hundred years. Obviously, I was destined for greater things.

The other memory was of getting a caning from one of the many sadistic teachers who taught there. I think their philosophy for teaching was that if a student didn’t understand anything, beat it into them. Twisting long wooden rulers into your ears was one teacher's favourite way of instilling knowledge. If you ever come across a person with deformed ears, he probably went to the same school.

I was sitting in class, quite innocently and happened to talk to the boy sitting next to me.

You, the master bellowed. Have you got any comment to make?

No, I said, shaking my head.

No what?

No comment.

He literally exploded. Tuck Shop, he thundered. Six of the best.

The Tuck Shop was where the school canings took place and it was probably the busiest room in the school. He was a sadistic monster and I still wince today when I think about it. It did, however, elevate my status in the school's hierarchy as having the first beating form the new teacher. Oh, how I would like to meet him today.

One particular school report from the French language teacher said: ‘A pleasant disposition does not take the place of hard work’. I didn’t know what it meant until another kid explained it to me as You’re a nice kid but a lazy bastard. I never did have any admiration for the French after that.

They were not particularly happy schooldays and I wasn’t too disappointed when my dad’s job changed and he told me we would be moving to Newcastle. I remember when telling my class teacher that I was leaving and moving to the north of England he commented that it was a terrible place to live, dirty, smelly and full of people who spoke a different language. He didn’t say that he had been there so it may have been conjecture on his part. Anyway, it wasn’t dirty or smelly and the people spoke English, although the Geordie accent may have given the impression that it was a foreign language.

So, at the age of 13, we moved to the North East of England and my parents, being as they knew me well, and I think quite liked me, decided to take me along.

Welcome to Whitley Bay, a beautiful coastal town. It turned out to be very nice in the summer but being on the east coast and exposed to the North Sea it was bitterly cold in the winter. I managed the usual youth stuff, paper round after school, bread round and delivering milk in the school holidays and spending summers on the beach, probably wearing a couple of sweaters, an overcoat and gloves. At that time Whitley Bay was a popular holiday resort for Scottish vacationers. Two weeks in the summer were called ‘Glasgow Fortnight’ when hordes of Scots descended on the town. I was advised by many to not venture out to the streets at night. Whatever happened to Hadrian’s Wall? I thought that was built to keep the Scots out.

The new school, Wallsend Grammar School, was much more enjoyable. It was a mixed school with teachers who seemed to care more about teaching than beating you, which was quite a new experience for me. Incidentally, the town of Wallsend was named in Roman times because it was the start of Hadrian’s Wall. Work that one out.

Coming from an all-boys school where the language was a bit rife, the change took a while but as most Geordies couldn’t understand what a Midlander was saying, a lot of the bad language went unnoticed. One sadistic prefect at this school was a guy by the name of Colin. I won’t go into details here but you will meet him later in the story.

Although I passed enough ‘O’ level exams to make the 6th form, I realized that I might not have an aptitude for all the learning that was necessary to pass ‘A’ level exams, and possibly university. (Maybe that French teacher was right after all).

After completing my ‘O’ level examinations, at which I did reasonably well, it was decision time as to whether I continue my education or start looking for work. University wasn’t much of an option really because kids from my part of town didn’t go to University. It was usually finish school, get a job time. But before this happened there was a school visit by the man from the local Labour Office to talk to us about careers.

Well Peter, have you decided what you want to be when you leave school? he asked.

Yes, I replied, unemployed. A look of some consternation crossed his face.

No, what sort of job are you looking for?

Well, to be honest, none at the moment. I haven’t decided whether to stay on and study more or leave. What do you suggest?

Well, he said, The Ministry of Pensions and National Insurance has their head office in Newcastle and are always looking for bright school leavers.

As soon as he said the word bright I knew that was not for me. Anyway, the ‘Min’ as it was affectionately called, had a reputation for taking in all the kids who couldn’t get a job anywhere else. Several of my classmates went there.

I see you have no problems with your eyesight and your colour vision is perfect. You could consider becoming a train driver.

Jeez, I thought. Is that all he can come up with?

I think I’ll probably decide to stay on and study for my ‘A’ levels, I said.

He left saying he hoped to see me in a couple of years. Not much chance of that I thought. I could be working for British Railways driving trains.

My First Guitar

Sir Paul McCartney and myself have something in common. We are both left-handed and both of us play the bass guitar. But there, sadly, the similarity ends.

According to research, around 90% of the global population is right-handed, so consequently around 10% of the population is left-handed. Surprisingly, statistics indicate that only 10% of people worldwide play the guitar, meaning that only 0.1% of the population are left-handed guitar players.

When it comes to a standard group setup, it typically consists of three guitar players: one lead guitar, one rhythm guitar, one bass guitar player and one drummer. It’s unlikely that they will have a leftie in their group. One obvious exception, of course, is Paul with the Beatles.

Suppose you visit a guitar shop that has 1,000 guitars. Given that only 0.1% of the population are left-handed guitar players, that amounts to one left-handed guitar, so the options for left-handed players are limited. As a left-handed bass guitar player myself, I have experienced this personally.

Unfortunately, being left-handed comes with a premium price and fewer options. Moreover, not many guitar shops stock 1,000 guitars, so the chances of finding a suitable left-handed guitar on your first, or any visit for that matter are slim. In the past, ordering and waiting for the guitar to arrive was the only option, with the added risk that it may not meet your expectations.

Fortunately, with the advent of the internet, today it has become a lot easier to search for left-handed guitars. But back in those days, it was a completely different story.

So, as a left-handed aspiring musician, I found myself facing limited choices when it came to purchasing a guitar. Frustrated with the lack of availability, and the obvious lack of money, I decided to build my own. I wonder if Sir Paul faced similar difficulties and crafted his own instrument when he was young. Evidently, it didn’t deter Jimmy Hendrix, he just turned a right-handed guitar upside down and played it that way. If only I had thought of that, life would have been so different.

With no prior experience of handling an electric guitar, my only source of inspiration for the design was what I had seen on TV and in magazines. Despite knowing nothing about guitar construction and with no access to any drawings or instructions, I decided to copy the guitar's shape from what I had already seen. I found some suitable pieces of wood, glued them together to form the body, and then began the process of cutting out the shape. The next step was to find a suitable piece of wood for the neck, shape it, and glue it into place. As I worked on the guitar, I was unaware of the challenges that lay ahead, but despite my lack of knowledge, I was determined to finish it and, surprisingly, the result was starting to look good.

The thought never crossed my mind that I might be doing