Two years have now passed since the sad day we lost Commando Senior. Today it seems fitting that I should republish the last of his memoirs, the one he was working on in those last few days. It’s a terrible shame he didn’t have more time to write about his flying, his days running his engineering business or all the other wonderful things he did like flying on Concord or sailing on the QE2. Maybe it’s fitting that this last memoir should be about something happy and something that made him incredibly happy, his dancing.Continue reading random musings of a geriatric delinquent – the dancing years – first published 12 September 2014
In the early sixties entertainment was far different to today’s 24/7 portable TV in every room affair. Like most families, we had one small, black and white television in the corner of the living room but it played a much smaller part in our world than TV does today. In the 1960’s, radio was King. There were broadcasts all day and it was the background to our lives. We listened to the BBC, as did most Familes, although I think Alex may have secretly tuned to Radio Luxembourg or one of the pirate stations like Radio Caroline, broadcasting subversive rock and roll music. Continue reading Memories of the early 1960’s – entertainment
The hiatus in the building work continued into Tuesday because a delivery of cement didn’t arrive. This was bad news for the progress of my potting shed come summer house but good news for walking. Given the last few rainy walks it seemed prudent not to go too far afield but, as usual, I had a plan up my sleeve. There was supposed to be another boundary stone in Tickleford Gully, about two and a half miles from home. Of course CJ wanted to come along. He may have caught the boundary stone bug. Continue reading The joy of six
Today’s tale began before I was born, back in World War II in fact. It was a story I would have loved to have heard from one of the main players, my beloved Pappy, but he, being humble, kept it to himself. The first I knew of this story of heroism and humility came in a newspaper article back in the mid 1970’s but it wasn’t until today that I got the full story. Continue reading Bravery, humility and a chance meeting
Playground games have changed a lot since I was a child. These days it feels as if children need a mass of gadgets to have fun and, mostly, they play alone and indoors. Back in the 1960’s playtime meant being outside, even if the weather wasn’t that good and mostly we needed nothing but our companions and maybe a piece of old rope. Continue reading Memories of the early 60’s – playground games
For a child Christmas is a magical time filled with tinkling sleigh bells, elves and anticipation. One of my most vivid Christmas memories is being allowed to help decorate the huge pine tree that had mysteriously appeared in the front room. Normally our time was spent in the back room where large French Windows looked out into the garden and the front room was kept for best, the door firmly closed. Continue reading Memories of the early 1960’s – Christmas
Sadly, there are not many of Commando Senior’s memoirs left. This one is about the weekend ritual of bath night and laundry day, something that seems quite an odd concept now when we have automatic washing machines and hot running water in our bathrooms and kitchens. Back in the first half of the twentieth century things were very different though. Continue reading random musings of a geriatric delinquent – the weekend ritual – first published 8 August 2014
Finally the day had come for me to go to school. There were special clothes, a grey skirt, white shirt and bottle green cardigan Mother had knitted, along with white ankle socks. Everything felt scratchy and new, not at all like the cotton dresses I’d been wearing. With the help of Tiny Dyer, a giant policeman wearing his tall black helmet to make him seem even bigger, we crossed the Main Road a little way down from our house along with a stream of other children I didn’t know. Amongst them was Libby, the girl with the curly blonde hair who lived on the corner at the top of The Crescent, tantalisingly close but too far away to play with. Everyone was wearing the same green jumpers and grey skirts or trousers. Continue reading Memories of the 1960’s – school days
This instalment of the memoirs of Commando Senior highlights the small pleasures that made life bearable for a young boy growing up in wartime England. There many not have been any of the fancy phones and games twenty first century children take for granted but there was plenty to amuse an inquisitive and resourceful lad. Come to that, there were a few things to get him into trouble too.
Shrapnel
One of the few pleasures available to a small boy during the war was collecting ‘shrapnel’ the remnants of shells, bullets and bombs. Shrapnel was a collective term for any such debris but unknown to me at the time it was, originally, the most dangerous part of an exploding shell, invented by Major General Shrapnel, a citizen of Southampton, living at a house in Rockstone Place.
Major General Henry Shrapnel
Splinter
At about ten years of age, in Miss Page’s class at Central, I lazily ran my hand along the bottom of a fixed blackboard, resulting in a wood splinter under the nail of my right ring finger. It was long enough to reach past the first knuckle joint. Miss Page had me soak it in a cup of water, which made matters worse.
At noon, when I went home, Mum took one look and sent me to The Royal South Hants hospital, a journey of some mile or so. There was no A&E in those days but a friendly porter/reception man kindly took me to a nurse. After consulting a doctor, she cut my nail away sufficiently to allow forcep purchase on the other end of the splinter and pull it out. I recall it hurt more coming out that it had going in. A dab of iodine and I was on my way back to school.
Such was the world back then. A generation earlier, Dad had been sent, equally alone, to have his tonsils removed under general anaesthetic and allowed to walk home after recovery. Imagine this sequence of events happening today! A ten year old with a medical need, sent home and then to hospital, treated and returned to school unaccompanied and with the added danger of enemy action or a tonsillectomy similarly treated.
Royal Southants Hospital
Cycling
About mid war, I was allowed much more freedom than an eleven or twelve year old would have today. A favourite outing on my old Hercules sit up and beg ladies bike, was to take it to Hythe on the ferry and cycle home by road, stopping en route to eat cold baked beans, from the can, at the roadside.
Hythe Ferry
Pocket money
During the latter part of the war an American Serviceman was murdered in St George’s Cut, off the lower part of East Street. Being somewhat of an entrepreneur, I guided interested visitors to the scene for tips. When the bloodstains faded I repainted them. Unfortunately this rather spoiled the effect.
Music
Given the electrical problem at the flats we rented a landline service from Redifusion. A boon to the younger generation (mainly me), as well as the HomeService, Light Programme and, classical, Third Programme, Radio Luxembourg was also available. This provided the ‘pop’ music of the day, content not yet available on ‘Aunty Beeb.’ Occasionally the American Forces Network also provided up to date content, it was many years before the ‘pirate’ stations, such as Caroline, forced the BBC to cater for younger people.
It seems to me the children of today could learn a lot from their counterparts in the 1930’s and 1940’s. The main lesson is that fun doesn’t have to cost money and it certainly doesn’t come with a charger cable.
As winter 1964 drew to a close leaving me with memories of Dad lifting me up to snap icicles off the arch of the porch and sucking them like ice lollies (obviously no one had heard of acid rain and pollution in those days) I knew my days at home were numbered. Spring brought my fourth birthday and, in September, I would be going to school. Pappy was preparing me by teaching me to sing the alphabet, to tell the time on the arched wooden clock on the mantelpiece and to write my name. Continue reading Memories of the early 1960’s – the last long summer of freedom
