Age 0 - 21 ... The Early Years
My father, whose Christian names were Arthur Thomas, was known to all as Tom. He was born 14th December 1915. He was the youngest of three brothers, in a farming family from a small rural hamlet called The Lee near Wendover, Buckinghamshire. Read some of his early life memories here> Dad was a bright scholar, and went to Dr. Challenor’s Grammar school in Amersham, and then took a job at the Met Office, in London. He stayed in the Met Office all of his working life. His two brothers, Fred and David, worked in land-based jobs all their lives, Fred as a Domestic Gardener and David becoming Head Gardener for a Hospital Trust in West Sussex.
Mum, nee Doris Frances Martin, was born 24th May 1916. She had one sister and two brothers. One brother died as a child, the other in his 40s. Mum was London born and bred, the daughter of an Islington grocery shop owner. She told tales of how strange she felt when she first went to visit Dad’s family in their tiny farm cottage in the country.
Mum and Dad married on 11th December 1938.
Family
I have added some photos in galleries - follow these links: Mum and Dad > Family Photos >
Mum and Dad's first child was my sister, Sue, born in Edmonton, London on 6th June 1945.
I was born in the early evening of 18th March, 1951, in the maternity unit of Luton and Dunstable hospital, Luton, Bedfordshire. At the time, Mum and Dad were minded to name me Peter, but Sue, who was less than six at the time, suggested that Richard would be a better name for her new brother, and so Richard I became.
Of my grandparents, I remember very little. Both my Grandfathers had died before I was born, and Mum's mother died when I was quite small. Dad's mother died in 1962. My family did not keep in close contact with either of Dad's brothers.
At this time, Mum’s sister, Aunty Ivy, lived in Western Way, Dunstable (an adjacent road to my childhood home of Ridgeway Drive) with her husband Eric Metcalfe and their daughter Frances. Eric had been a friend of my father’s before they both married, so the relationship between the families was strong. Eric also worked at the Met Office, but he moved to work at Heathrow Airport in the early 1950s, and his family moved to live in Chalfont St Peter, Bucks. We continued to see them frequently. Tragically, Eric died suddenly in 1956, aged only 40. Aunty Ivy lived until March 2012, when she died peacefully, aged 99.
My sister and I got on really well, but because she is nearly six years older than me, we seldom played together. Although I don't personally recall it, because I would only have been a toddler at the time, I am told that Sue would on occasions line me up along with her dolls and teddy and play 'school teacher', no doubt giving me sound advice that I carry with me to this day. Certainly, Sue taught me to read and write before I ever went to primary school. Thank you Sue!
Dad bought our first car in 1956. It was a brand new black Ford Popular E93A with red seats. After Uncle Eric’s death, Dad bought Eric’s car from Aunty Ivy – it was a 1954 Austin A40 Somerset, RRO 465. Dad kept it until 1965 – Sue learned to drive in it!
I have added some photos in galleries - follow these links: Mum and Dad > Family Photos >
Mum and Dad's first child was my sister, Sue, born in Edmonton, London on 6th June 1945.
I was born in the early evening of 18th March, 1951, in the maternity unit of Luton and Dunstable hospital, Luton, Bedfordshire. At the time, Mum and Dad were minded to name me Peter, but Sue, who was less than six at the time, suggested that Richard would be a better name for her new brother, and so Richard I became.
Of my grandparents, I remember very little. Both my Grandfathers had died before I was born, and Mum's mother died when I was quite small. Dad's mother died in 1962. My family did not keep in close contact with either of Dad's brothers.
At this time, Mum’s sister, Aunty Ivy, lived in Western Way, Dunstable (an adjacent road to my childhood home of Ridgeway Drive) with her husband Eric Metcalfe and their daughter Frances. Eric had been a friend of my father’s before they both married, so the relationship between the families was strong. Eric also worked at the Met Office, but he moved to work at Heathrow Airport in the early 1950s, and his family moved to live in Chalfont St Peter, Bucks. We continued to see them frequently. Tragically, Eric died suddenly in 1956, aged only 40. Aunty Ivy lived until March 2012, when she died peacefully, aged 99.
My sister and I got on really well, but because she is nearly six years older than me, we seldom played together. Although I don't personally recall it, because I would only have been a toddler at the time, I am told that Sue would on occasions line me up along with her dolls and teddy and play 'school teacher', no doubt giving me sound advice that I carry with me to this day. Certainly, Sue taught me to read and write before I ever went to primary school. Thank you Sue!
Dad bought our first car in 1956. It was a brand new black Ford Popular E93A with red seats. After Uncle Eric’s death, Dad bought Eric’s car from Aunty Ivy – it was a 1954 Austin A40 Somerset, RRO 465. Dad kept it until 1965 – Sue learned to drive in it!
The Family Home
Ours was a very happy family. For the first ten years of my life, we lived in our own semi-detached house with a largish garden at 57, Ridgeway Drive - a residential cul-de-sac in Dunstable, Bedfordshire. Mum and Dad owned the house from new, moving there in 1946. The house was a typical suburban semi, built immediately post-war with 'new utility' wire cut bricks. It is possible that the foundations were laid pre-war. The road outside was not properly surfaced, and had no street lights, until the mid 1950s. The house had two reception rooms and small kitchen downstairs, and three bedrooms plus bathroom upstairs. Mum kept the front doorstep immaculate, repainting the bricks and tiles with 'red 'doorstep paint' as necessary. The upstairs landing was large enough to provide storage space for Mum's treadle Singer sewing machine.
The house had quite a long but narrow back garden, and Dad made a concrete sand pit in the garden for me to play in. There were two coal bunkers in the garden, for storing fuel. Coal men, black with coal dust, would visit occasionally, and tip sacks of coal into one bunker, and coke into the other. There was also a small garden shed - made of asbestos.
I remember the inside of the house quite clearly. On entering the front door to the quarry-tiled hallway, there was a window on the left with wall-mounted gas heater beneath. I wonder if the gas pipe is still there? The stairs rose on the left, and beneath them was an understairs cupboard which I played in sometimes. It smelled of dusters and floor polish.
The first door on the right was to the lounge, which we called the ‘front room’. We only used the front room during the daytime if a visitor was invited for afternoon tea. However, when a television was installed (in about 1956) this was put into the front room, so we then used this room most evenings.
The second door on the right was to the back room. This was our main living room, and was furnished with two easy chairs (one of which I still have to this day) as well as dining table and sideboard. There was a french door to the garden, but it was very seldom opened. Dad made fitted cupboards and book shelves either side of the chimney breast, and a large art-deco style radio stood one side, which was switched on much of the time, probably playing the BBC Light Programme.
A third door from the hall opened into the kitchen, with a 'back' door from the kitchen to the outside, which opened to the side of the house. On entering the kitchen from the hall, there was a coke stove on the right, which heated the hot water. Beyond that, a gas cooker stood on legs, with hob and grill beneath. I think the cooker was blue or grey, though we eventually updated to a cream one with an eye-level grill. A belfast sink stood under the window with a wooden draining board to one side, and a curtain beneath to hide the pans that were kept there on a shelf. There was just a cold-water tap, with a wall-mounted gas-powered ‘Ascot’ water heater providing hot water on demand. Beside the back door stood a wooden kitchen unit with sliding glass doors at the top, and a drop-down flap lined with a metal sheet, which was the only work-top. There were cupboards beneath. Next to the back door, and fitting-in under the stairs, was the door to the pantry, which had a tiled cold shelf and a gauze ventilator to the outside – no fridges for us in the early ‘50s ! (though I am sure we had one later). We also had a washing machine with a mangle that folded down inside it. I don’t recall where the washing machine was kept.
Heating the house was by a coal fire in whichever ground floor room was in use, with the coke stove in the kitchen which heated the water, and the previously mentioned gas fire in the hall which took the chill off the stairs and landing. There was no heating at all upstairs apart from the occasional use of an electric fire. I remember having a telephone installed too - though I do not recall ever using it myself.
Being the younger child of the family, mine was the smallest bedroom, located above the front door and entrance hall. But the room was only used for sleeping, and for when I was in bed unwell. I had a spell with chicken pox which laid me up for quite a while, and for some reason I recall lying in bed watching raindrops running down the phone wire outside my window and dripping to the ground just before they reached the end of the wire. Looking at the modern image of the house above - it looks like that phone wire is still there!
Meals
After Mum and Dad married, Mum became a full-time housewife, and did not go out to work. One lasting memory I have of my wonderful mother was of her standing at the kitchen cupboard, which had a metal-lined flap which opened to create a tiny work surface, making pies, puddings or cakes. As a family, we always ate meals together, subject to Dad being at home - he always worked shifts, including night shifts, so was not always home at mealtimes. All meals were eaten sitting at the dining table, which was always laid with a table cloth. After we had a television installed, which was in the front room, not the back room where we sat to eat, I was occasionally allowed to take my tea into the front room on a tray, so I could watch whatever children's progamme that may have been on at that time.
Breakfast was cereals and bread and marmalade, nothing cooked. Bread came from the baker - Mum never made her own bread. The mid-day meal was the main meal of the day, and we called it 'dinner', not 'lunch'. Dinner always consisted of two courses. The first usually being meat and vegetables. Sundays was usually a roast (beef, pork or lamb) followed on Mondays by slices of the cold meat, maybe served with 'bubble and squeak' made from left over vegetables, then the last fragments of the roast became a shepherd's pie on Tuesdays. Meat puddings, made with suet, meat pies and stews made up the rest of the week. The second course of dinner, which we called 'pudding', would consist of delights such as home made fruit pies or sponges served with custard, or maybe jam tarts, or a favourite which was treacle tart, made with golden syrup and rolled oats. The evening meal was called 'tea', and eaten at about 5.00pm. I can remember having a cooked item such as beans on toast for tea, as well as bread and jam and home made cake. Later in the evening we would have a milky drink - Ovaltine or Horlicks being favourites. We didn't eat in the evenings though, other than an apple on occasions.
Mum was a great and resourceful cook, and stretched the 'housekeeping allowance' which Dad gave her every week, to keep the family well fed. Food was almost all bought fresh - frozen food didn't really exist when I was small, though I do recall occasionally having fish fingers for tea, and I'm sure that was when we still lived in Dunstable. I am sure there were some tinned items in the larder too, such as corned beef, baked beans and evaporated milk. Much of our food came from a local small corner shop, though the baker called at the house at least once a week, bringing bread as well as 'the order'. This was a box-full of groceries which Mum would order each week by writing her requirements in a small book before dropping it off at the shop.
Our Dog
When I was about seven (about 1958) Mum and Dad decided to buy a puppy. They had owned a dog when first married, but presumably didn't want a dog around at the same time as young children, and anyway, Dad was still working abroad occasionally until the mid 1950s. The dog we had was a Sealyham Terrier bitch - a short-legged dog with a curly white coat which needed clipping occasionally. She was named Mandy. She was Dad's dog, and he did pretty much all the care and walking, though of course she came with the family on all our outings and even on holiday with us. She loved travelling in the car, and would also often be found curled up on the back seat when the car was parked. Unfortunately, she wasn't a very robust animal, and suffered from problems with her paws, to the extent that Dad made little tie-on suede boots for Mandy to keep her feet dry when out walking. She was also diagnosed with oedema and was eventually put to sleep at the age of about nine, when the condition was causing her distress.
We Move House
When I was 10 (in 1961) the Met. Office relocated to Bracknell in Berkshire, which meant that unless Dad changed his job, we had to move too. It was quite an exciting time! I remember several trips to Berkshire to look at houses. Bracknell was a ‘new town’ development, which Mum and Dad didn’t take to, so we concentrated on villages nearby. We nearly bought a house on a recently built estate in Crowthorne, but ended up buying a newly built bungalow in a row of about a dozen new properties in Arbor Lane, Winnersh. Ours was number 33. Dad must have stretched the budget to buy it – it was quite a leap from the Dunstable semi.
Ours was a very happy family. For the first ten years of my life, we lived in our own semi-detached house with a largish garden at 57, Ridgeway Drive - a residential cul-de-sac in Dunstable, Bedfordshire. Mum and Dad owned the house from new, moving there in 1946. The house was a typical suburban semi, built immediately post-war with 'new utility' wire cut bricks. It is possible that the foundations were laid pre-war. The road outside was not properly surfaced, and had no street lights, until the mid 1950s. The house had two reception rooms and small kitchen downstairs, and three bedrooms plus bathroom upstairs. Mum kept the front doorstep immaculate, repainting the bricks and tiles with 'red 'doorstep paint' as necessary. The upstairs landing was large enough to provide storage space for Mum's treadle Singer sewing machine.
The house had quite a long but narrow back garden, and Dad made a concrete sand pit in the garden for me to play in. There were two coal bunkers in the garden, for storing fuel. Coal men, black with coal dust, would visit occasionally, and tip sacks of coal into one bunker, and coke into the other. There was also a small garden shed - made of asbestos.
I remember the inside of the house quite clearly. On entering the front door to the quarry-tiled hallway, there was a window on the left with wall-mounted gas heater beneath. I wonder if the gas pipe is still there? The stairs rose on the left, and beneath them was an understairs cupboard which I played in sometimes. It smelled of dusters and floor polish.
The first door on the right was to the lounge, which we called the ‘front room’. We only used the front room during the daytime if a visitor was invited for afternoon tea. However, when a television was installed (in about 1956) this was put into the front room, so we then used this room most evenings.
The second door on the right was to the back room. This was our main living room, and was furnished with two easy chairs (one of which I still have to this day) as well as dining table and sideboard. There was a french door to the garden, but it was very seldom opened. Dad made fitted cupboards and book shelves either side of the chimney breast, and a large art-deco style radio stood one side, which was switched on much of the time, probably playing the BBC Light Programme.
A third door from the hall opened into the kitchen, with a 'back' door from the kitchen to the outside, which opened to the side of the house. On entering the kitchen from the hall, there was a coke stove on the right, which heated the hot water. Beyond that, a gas cooker stood on legs, with hob and grill beneath. I think the cooker was blue or grey, though we eventually updated to a cream one with an eye-level grill. A belfast sink stood under the window with a wooden draining board to one side, and a curtain beneath to hide the pans that were kept there on a shelf. There was just a cold-water tap, with a wall-mounted gas-powered ‘Ascot’ water heater providing hot water on demand. Beside the back door stood a wooden kitchen unit with sliding glass doors at the top, and a drop-down flap lined with a metal sheet, which was the only work-top. There were cupboards beneath. Next to the back door, and fitting-in under the stairs, was the door to the pantry, which had a tiled cold shelf and a gauze ventilator to the outside – no fridges for us in the early ‘50s ! (though I am sure we had one later). We also had a washing machine with a mangle that folded down inside it. I don’t recall where the washing machine was kept.
Heating the house was by a coal fire in whichever ground floor room was in use, with the coke stove in the kitchen which heated the water, and the previously mentioned gas fire in the hall which took the chill off the stairs and landing. There was no heating at all upstairs apart from the occasional use of an electric fire. I remember having a telephone installed too - though I do not recall ever using it myself.
Being the younger child of the family, mine was the smallest bedroom, located above the front door and entrance hall. But the room was only used for sleeping, and for when I was in bed unwell. I had a spell with chicken pox which laid me up for quite a while, and for some reason I recall lying in bed watching raindrops running down the phone wire outside my window and dripping to the ground just before they reached the end of the wire. Looking at the modern image of the house above - it looks like that phone wire is still there!
Meals
After Mum and Dad married, Mum became a full-time housewife, and did not go out to work. One lasting memory I have of my wonderful mother was of her standing at the kitchen cupboard, which had a metal-lined flap which opened to create a tiny work surface, making pies, puddings or cakes. As a family, we always ate meals together, subject to Dad being at home - he always worked shifts, including night shifts, so was not always home at mealtimes. All meals were eaten sitting at the dining table, which was always laid with a table cloth. After we had a television installed, which was in the front room, not the back room where we sat to eat, I was occasionally allowed to take my tea into the front room on a tray, so I could watch whatever children's progamme that may have been on at that time.
Breakfast was cereals and bread and marmalade, nothing cooked. Bread came from the baker - Mum never made her own bread. The mid-day meal was the main meal of the day, and we called it 'dinner', not 'lunch'. Dinner always consisted of two courses. The first usually being meat and vegetables. Sundays was usually a roast (beef, pork or lamb) followed on Mondays by slices of the cold meat, maybe served with 'bubble and squeak' made from left over vegetables, then the last fragments of the roast became a shepherd's pie on Tuesdays. Meat puddings, made with suet, meat pies and stews made up the rest of the week. The second course of dinner, which we called 'pudding', would consist of delights such as home made fruit pies or sponges served with custard, or maybe jam tarts, or a favourite which was treacle tart, made with golden syrup and rolled oats. The evening meal was called 'tea', and eaten at about 5.00pm. I can remember having a cooked item such as beans on toast for tea, as well as bread and jam and home made cake. Later in the evening we would have a milky drink - Ovaltine or Horlicks being favourites. We didn't eat in the evenings though, other than an apple on occasions.
Mum was a great and resourceful cook, and stretched the 'housekeeping allowance' which Dad gave her every week, to keep the family well fed. Food was almost all bought fresh - frozen food didn't really exist when I was small, though I do recall occasionally having fish fingers for tea, and I'm sure that was when we still lived in Dunstable. I am sure there were some tinned items in the larder too, such as corned beef, baked beans and evaporated milk. Much of our food came from a local small corner shop, though the baker called at the house at least once a week, bringing bread as well as 'the order'. This was a box-full of groceries which Mum would order each week by writing her requirements in a small book before dropping it off at the shop.
Our Dog
When I was about seven (about 1958) Mum and Dad decided to buy a puppy. They had owned a dog when first married, but presumably didn't want a dog around at the same time as young children, and anyway, Dad was still working abroad occasionally until the mid 1950s. The dog we had was a Sealyham Terrier bitch - a short-legged dog with a curly white coat which needed clipping occasionally. She was named Mandy. She was Dad's dog, and he did pretty much all the care and walking, though of course she came with the family on all our outings and even on holiday with us. She loved travelling in the car, and would also often be found curled up on the back seat when the car was parked. Unfortunately, she wasn't a very robust animal, and suffered from problems with her paws, to the extent that Dad made little tie-on suede boots for Mandy to keep her feet dry when out walking. She was also diagnosed with oedema and was eventually put to sleep at the age of about nine, when the condition was causing her distress.
We Move House
When I was 10 (in 1961) the Met. Office relocated to Bracknell in Berkshire, which meant that unless Dad changed his job, we had to move too. It was quite an exciting time! I remember several trips to Berkshire to look at houses. Bracknell was a ‘new town’ development, which Mum and Dad didn’t take to, so we concentrated on villages nearby. We nearly bought a house on a recently built estate in Crowthorne, but ended up buying a newly built bungalow in a row of about a dozen new properties in Arbor Lane, Winnersh. Ours was number 33. Dad must have stretched the budget to buy it – it was quite a leap from the Dunstable semi.
The location was very rural. When we moved in, Arbor Lane had no pavements, and no street lights. The bungalow was spacious, with three bedrooms, a double length garage and a very large garden. I think about £4,100 was the buying price. We moved in, in October 1961. For the first few nights, we slept with blankets nailed to the window frames, because we had no curtains, and the flooring was plain concrete, because carpets were still to be laid.
In spite of the rural location, home life continued much as before. There was a local bakery - Winnersh Bakery, run by Roy and Ann Allibone. They ran a fleet of battered grey vans. Fresh bread and 'the order' was brought every week by a cheerful chap who called at the back door and whistled to attract attention - he couldn't knock while carrying a bread basket and a boxful of food! There was also a 'corner shop', run by Mrs Field, which sold a wide range of grocery items, a relatively short walk away. Once or twice, the local postmaster came round on his bike from the village post office with a telegram - this was before we had a telephone installed. Mum quickly made friends with all the new neighbours - most of whom moved in at about the same time as us. She kept in touch with many of them for the rest of her life.
Even in 1961, the bungalow was built without central heating. There was a warm air system which took the chill off the kitchen, hall and living room, but the bedrooms were unheated. We soon had a gas fire fitted in the lounge fireplace. The L-shaped lounge/dining room seemed huge, and Mum loved her state-of-the-art fitted kitchen with worktops made of a new hard plastic material - Formica. My bedroom was a good size and had a big built-in wardrobe. Dad built a desk and drawer unit for me, so my bedroom became a great den for a teenager.
Soon after moving in, Dad set about the garden. The land had previously been rough pasture, so was full of every kind of weed. The soil was difficult-to-work clay. But over time, and with an enormous amount of effort, Dad created a beautiful garden at the bungalow. I clearly remember him sieving and raking huge piles of soil which were then carefully levelled and lawn grass seed was eventually sown. To keep costs down, Dad mixed concrete by hand to make paving slabs for a patio and garden path. He also planted a number of trees at the back, to screen the railway line which ran beyond our back fence. They had become quite big trees by the time Mum and Dad left the bungalow in 1991.
Sadly, the bungalow and its near neighbours were all demolished in about 2005, and their lovely large gardens completely destroyed. The land is now occupied by several new houses and a small block of flats. I am glad that Dad did not live long enough to be aware that his lovingly nurtured garden did not survive him by many years.
Teenage Years> School days>
In spite of the rural location, home life continued much as before. There was a local bakery - Winnersh Bakery, run by Roy and Ann Allibone. They ran a fleet of battered grey vans. Fresh bread and 'the order' was brought every week by a cheerful chap who called at the back door and whistled to attract attention - he couldn't knock while carrying a bread basket and a boxful of food! There was also a 'corner shop', run by Mrs Field, which sold a wide range of grocery items, a relatively short walk away. Once or twice, the local postmaster came round on his bike from the village post office with a telegram - this was before we had a telephone installed. Mum quickly made friends with all the new neighbours - most of whom moved in at about the same time as us. She kept in touch with many of them for the rest of her life.
Even in 1961, the bungalow was built without central heating. There was a warm air system which took the chill off the kitchen, hall and living room, but the bedrooms were unheated. We soon had a gas fire fitted in the lounge fireplace. The L-shaped lounge/dining room seemed huge, and Mum loved her state-of-the-art fitted kitchen with worktops made of a new hard plastic material - Formica. My bedroom was a good size and had a big built-in wardrobe. Dad built a desk and drawer unit for me, so my bedroom became a great den for a teenager.
Soon after moving in, Dad set about the garden. The land had previously been rough pasture, so was full of every kind of weed. The soil was difficult-to-work clay. But over time, and with an enormous amount of effort, Dad created a beautiful garden at the bungalow. I clearly remember him sieving and raking huge piles of soil which were then carefully levelled and lawn grass seed was eventually sown. To keep costs down, Dad mixed concrete by hand to make paving slabs for a patio and garden path. He also planted a number of trees at the back, to screen the railway line which ran beyond our back fence. They had become quite big trees by the time Mum and Dad left the bungalow in 1991.
Sadly, the bungalow and its near neighbours were all demolished in about 2005, and their lovely large gardens completely destroyed. The land is now occupied by several new houses and a small block of flats. I am glad that Dad did not live long enough to be aware that his lovingly nurtured garden did not survive him by many years.
Teenage Years> School days>