BETWEEN BIKES BOATS AND BANANAS.

“Where do I begin,

To tell the story of how great this life has been,

To show the meaning of what life is meant to be.” (Frank Sinatra)

What are the important things, the ordinary doings, the exciting or the unusual events ?. What makes us what we are and what we believe ? What leads to happiness and contentment, the hallmark of my whole life ?

THE START OF IT ALL. Parents.

I count myself extremely lucky to have been born to the parents that I had. My childhood was one of complete contentment, and truthfully never a bad experience. Their love of me and of each other drove all their actions, and it appeared to me that we wanted for nothing. All through my life I have been accompanied by 'a lucky fairy' a guardian angel or some factor that usually makes things turn out OK. God's hand ?

Born in 1936, I was really too young to remember the War. My father was a Conscientious Objector, refusing to accept his call-up and being taken to court to give his reasons. He was a very enthusiastic follower of Ghandi and his teachings, and I was a teenager when I saw Dad cry when Ghandi died. He was a member of the Peace Pledge Union, and as we lived on the outskirts of the town, he went out into the centre of Manchester at nights to help with the injured in the bombing. Once I do remember that when he came to have a break, in his rucksack, he found my teddy instead of his expected snack, and Mum and he laughed about it when he returned. He said that he could not believe what men were prepared to do to one another in the name of 'Duty to ones country'. I did not realise the seriousness of all this at the time, or until much later in life. I only remember sitting playing with my toys under the kitchen table, and once during daylight there was a barrage balloon that we could see from the kitchen window that had gone wrong and was rushing around on its tether.. Once too, at night, a stray bomb fell on the nearby golf course, causing no damage, but breaking some of the crockery in our pantry. For some time we had two large brick air raid shelters built in the avenue, though I have no memory of them being built or being removed. One was right outside our house, long and thin with rows of benches inside. I don’t think we ever went in one during a raid, but as young children we did use them as a 'den', hiding and sitting telling rude stories or rhymes away from adult eyes.

Before I reached 18 and my own call-up due for the forces, Dad gave me a book to read by Tolstoy, War and Peace, which was then, and now, far beyond my understanding, but I have grown to admire and agree with his views on mankind and the importance of loving ones neighbour.

Though I have no memory of it, my mother was very ill after I was born and was even confined to a wheelchair for a while I believe. Our next door neighbours the Oaks's were very close and were a great help in looking after me as a baby.

I think my earliest memory is of a pedal car. Even though I have since seen photographs of it, I can clearly remember one special day. Dad used to drive a blue Bedford lorry collecting sacks of potatoes from farms around Cheshire, and selling them to grocers and chip shops in Manchester.. One day Mum and I went with him and on the way to the farm we collected my pedal car from a garage in Stockport where it had been mended by a welder. When we reached the farm, Doanes in Cheshire, Dad was loading the potatoes, and I think some pears, and Mum took me in my car along the country lane. The feeling of going on a journey, somewhere I did not know, pedalling round the bends and seeing more freshly gravelled road ahead, feeling the gravel under the wheels, was really exciting, and remembering that special feeling when I am exploring now, takes me right back there. I think that special excitement of being in a new place and exploring must have been born in me, as it still gives me the greatest kick.

EARLY LIFE AT  19  REPTON.

There were 28 houses in the Avenue, arranged 10 each side and 8 forming a circle at the top, the cul de sac. Number 19 was just before the circle on the right as you walked up the avenue. We knew all the residents, the other children, and those who did not have family, who was friendly, or who kept your tennis ball if it went over the wall by accident. There were several children around my age.

Opposite at 10 was Roy Hubbard exactly my age, and his sister Ida 2 years older. His father worked for a big grocery chain, Co-op manager I think, and was an active member of the Salvation Army. On New Years Day morning the treat was always when his band came up the avenue playing Christmas Carols and collecting door to door. I think he was my best friend, and we took him with us on holiday twice I think when we were 5 or 6, to Cleveleys or Whitby. Also, he had been an 'evacuee' during the war, and so perhaps came to live opposite when I was 5 . Later his father started a spare time project making frames for spectacles out of perspex. In their garage he had a treadle fretsaw machine , which I was allowed to use a couple of times and from then on always wanted one for myself. I had to wait a long time, but eventually at Calthorpe Park school, one of the parents donated an old broken 'Hobbies' machine exactly like Mr Hubbard’s, and I was probably 40 by then. Quickly repaired, it still did good service with many a young pupil pulling a face as they tried to co-ordinate feet, hands and eyes, quite tricky really. Roy went to a private primary school, and later we went to different secondary schools, but Dad encouraged him to ride with us and the Cycling club and he stayed riding and racing regularly until after I left for college. I have a photograph of his lovely gold Hobbs of Barbican after he had wrecked it by going off the edge of a road on a club run. He started work at the age of 16, training to be a 'cutter' in the tailoring trade, and later became a very successful salesman for Cadburys. I think he donated his 'sprints and tubs' (racing wheels) to Steve when he quit racing

Next door at 18 were the Oaks's, with Audrey, just 2 years older than me , but we were very close. She came on holiday with us once too, to Blackpool, When I went to school, it was she who walked me there and back and I can remember sitting at the back of the hall when she was practising in the choir, waiting for her to walk home with me. She had piano lessons too which she hated, specially the practicing., but I quite envied her. Mr Oaks worked in a paper factory and brought us misshaped envelopes and offcuts of paper in big stacks, and small sheets of card that I used for models. Mrs Oaks worked in a bakery in Denton, which I visited with Audrey occasionally. Once she brought home a huge lump of almond paste which I ate, and then felt very sick, so to this day, almond paste reminds me of this over indulgent occasion. Mr and Mrs Oaks used to shout at one another, clearly heard over the fence, as our back doors were only ten feet apart. I don't think that they were unhappy together but I know that they 'rowed' frequently, something that NEVER happened with my parents. Audrey too became a keen cyclist with the club, not racing but touring and weekends, and she married one of my best cycling friends, Barry Haylor.

Next door to her was Brian Marshall at 17, who was 2 years younger than me, and he had a much younger sister Janet. He had infant polio, but I don't remember it stopping him joining in our games. I do remember once, as we both got older, him telling me that he was catching me up in age, quite a concept for small kids to grasp. I also have fond memories of spending time at weekends or holidays playing card games or dominoes with his parents, though his Dad smoked a smelly pipe which I did not much like. One incident that is still clear in my mind is getting a real telling off, because of something I did which was very naughty. Brian and I must have had an argument over something, and to get my own back I sneaked into their garden and pulled up some carrots and spilled a bottle of milk. My mother told me in my later years that I was always a 'goody goody' and never did anything wrong, so perhaps this occasion was a real blot on my copybook.

Brian had relatives who lived at High Lane, Disley, beyond Stockport, and once we rode there on my tandem, and sitting in a back garden playing a record player, I heard my first Hawiian guitar, and though I did not know what it was at the time, I very much enjoyed the sound of it.

Another girl my age was Joyce Holmes from number 25, and her brother Raymond who also worked on the railway, was as old as Stephen. Her Dad was a railway footplate man I think. She and her husband Terry visited us once after we moved down to Odiham.

Jean Griffiths, as old as Audrey, lived opposite Joyce but she never joined in with games in the avenue. I think her parents must have been older perhaps and she was kept indoors most of the time. Next door to Joyce was Keith Bellamy a year older than me but he also never joined in games and kept himself to himself. Mum told me that the Belamys would not speak or look at us because Dad had refused to fight in the war.

As we all grew, younger children took over in the Avenue. Number 21 had two boys, and 23 the Cronshaws two more, next door to Joyce , 26 Stuart and young sister, 27 the Kirkbrights, John, younger than me had drowned at about 4 years old, later had Christine, Steve's age, and twins Jeane and David, who stayed good friends with Steve, my brother. His best friend was however, Geoffery Wade from 16, who's Dad was a bus conductor. I know that it was a quiet but known fact that his dad was in prison for a short time for stealing some of his conductor’s money.

Next door to us at 20, were several families, initially the Wilds, who had no children, then the Kenyons who had children about Steve’s age, and when they moved away, it was the Harveys, Norman and Eunice, when I was a late teenager I guess, who had children even younger than Steve. When I was at College, Dad bought Hi Fi, components, amplifier and turntable and radio, and I helped him to construct a cabinet for them. The speakers was a huge affair, five feet tall and filling one corner of the living room. It had a 15 inch base speaker, a 10 inch mid, and two small 'tweekers mounted separately on the top. The cabinet was of half inch mahogany ply panels with a half 8nch filling of sand in between, so it weighed a ton, but gave a fantastic quality of sound. Norman used to bang on the dividing wall to indicate that Dad should turn UP the volume so they could hear, Ray Connif's Orchestra, was their favourite. They remained good friends even when they had all moved to new locations.

Playing games outside was usual. 'Please Mr Fisherman, can we cross the water ?' was a favourite, when you needed to know all the names of film stars or other famous people, and we had times of the year when roller skates were all the rage, or marbles, or stilts. Making stilts out of empty dried milk cans with strings attached was fun, or from sticks of wood with blocks fixed to them One time we had found some pieces of round metal on a dump, which I now realise were dies for cutting threads on steel rod. We would skim these along the road surface and make great sparkes, specially at night. I skimmed mine once and it went straight through a neighbours window, smashing the glass. When Dad came home from work he rushed out to buy a new window pane and putty, and it was all back OK very soon. I know they realised that it had been a big mistake but I was quietly told to be more careful in future. From another dump we would collect different coloured 'swords' and 'daggers', which I now know were pop rivets, to be used in the aircraft industry Almost every day there were various traders up the avenue, a daily milk horse and cart from the local dairy, who ladled milk from a churn into your own jug. Mum would not buy his mik as she came from a farming background and said that his dairy 'Raistricts', was not clean. Weekly the 'rag and bone man' also with donkey cart, shouting 'bone' in a loud voice. He would exchange any old clothing or household items for coloured 'stones' that were used to put a temporary clean surface on the doorsteps. I don't recollect ever giving him bones, but I think he collected them too. All these animals brought sought after manure, in piles in the avenue and it was a race to pick it up for the garden. I had a tinplate barge pulled with a string and used that as personal manure transport.

We rode all round the estates on tricycles and bikes, with games of tag and hide and seek. As we got older and more daring, as Winter drew in with early dark nights, it was knocking on doors and running away, and once we were chased by a man who came out and caught me because he said I was the biggest. He grabbed me and the others ran off to tell my parents, but he let me go after a good telling off, but he scared us to bits. Incidentally, we really respected the police, and the promise of "I'll tell the Bobby", was a real threat to be taken seriously.

In the Summers, which I remember as being long and hot, we had pretend tents in the gardens, using the clothes horse and old sheets. I ran my 'O' gauge trains round the back lawn, and we had showers under a hosepipe. All the rage was 'french knitting' done with an old cotton reel with 4 nails in the end. This device was used with a blunt needle and small balls of wool to produce a long fat woven string, which then could be sewn up to make mats or purses, but the pleasure was in making a longer rope than your friends. Milk came in glass bottles with cardboard circles as sealed tops. These had a pop out centre so that it could be pulled out with your finger and discarded. We used to collect these and thread them on string, hundreds of them, quite useless really, but a few could be used to make 'bobbles' which were fluffy woollen balls, once again with almost no useful end product. We all had the usual paints and crayons, and I specially used to love making things out of cardboard and glue. Cheap glue was a mix of flour and water, but it took ages to set. We made a cheap modelling clay out of flour and water with salt added so that our shapes would set hard. Harbutts Plasticine was best, it smelled good and had bright colours to, coming in 8"long slabs of 5 round strips each.

Sweets were almost unobtainable, sugar was rationed, as was milk meat and almost all foodstuff. Mum made balls of cocoa and dried milk with some sugar. She had an arrangement with the milkman, who came used an electric vehicle, that any milk left over at the end of his round, she would buy off him. This was quite illegal of course, and once I told this in a primary school diary, and the teacher told Mum, who then had to explain to me that I should not spread around this information.

Winters were always snowy and sometimes for weeks it would lie on the streets getting blacker by the day. people used to clear their own paths, but often they were icy and dangerous to walk on, specially at nights. We built snowmen of course, in our gardens and on the avenue, and had snow fights. I can remember standing in the kitchen sink and crying as 'mi Mam' gently washed off my cold legs and feet, with raw chafed bits where my wellie tops had rubbed my calves. We had sledges too, Dad made me a small one with varnished softwood and steel runners that was the envy of all my friends as it slid so well, even on an icy road. There were not many hills close by, but occasionally we got to try a real deep snowy slope. We made great long slides on roads and pavements which the neighbours called dangerous. After dark we would all gather round the street lamp to play and talk, which did not please number 14, the Gallagers as they had no children and the lamp was outside their front garden. I don't remember any lamps in the avenue at all.

There was some waste ground and a clay-pit close by, with a stack of unused railway lines, and a wooden garage were Mr Hamnett, (number 13, no kids) kept his lorry. A very sad time was when one of the smaller children, John Kirkbright, (number 26, sister Christine and later , twins, Jean and David ) was drowned in the old clay-pit which was unworked and full of water. When Dad came home from work, because he was very tall, 6ft 2inches, he rushed off to try to find John. Mrs Kirkbright never got over losing him at the age of about 4 I think

We close neighbours, Audrey, Roy, Brian and myself fixed up a 'phone' system once. We had tin cans with a hole in the bottom through which was a string and a knot on the inside. The string was pulled taught between our bedroom windows and when we spoke, the words could be heard across the road. Audrey and I could not be connected because the house corner got in the way, though we were the closest.

We four plus Joyce were the oldest in the avenue, which of course was new housing and filled with young couples as were Mum and Dad. As we got older more children were born, like Stephen. At 21 were Peter and Geoffrey Milne , 22 had two boys, the Cronshaws, and Ian McEwan at 15, Geoffrey Wade at 16 same age as Steve, and others after that. One boy Stuart, at 26 used to have fits and was not very well, and he had a younger sister. And so the avenue life developed, everyone friendly and helping each other, taking other children on walks etc..

The best walk was to Denton woods, specially for my birthday in May when we could pick bluebells, and there was an old fallen tree trunk where we had our picnics. Reddish Vale, in the same direction, up Windsor Road and into the country. Here were pig stys, cows, a dairy, and bluebell woods with a stream we used to dam, and trees to climb. Strange it may seem but it was on such a walk that the concept of mothers fathers and children was explained as I looked at young piglets, sex education as it used to be ! Also we passed a huge hollow in one field where we were told a spitfire plane had crashed landed.

It was all very open and friendly, with people chatting at their gates, and visiting each other for cups of tea etc. One interesting point was that there was only one house out of the 28 that had a car. Number 15, the Gallagers were older than most, with an invalid lady who lived with them, and they had a small car, guessing now at an early Ford or Austen 7. If we were very lucky and caught them in the right mood we could catch a ride to the bottom of the avenue, a real thrill. Our family never had a car, we occasionally got a lift from neighbours who would take us to the station for holiday travel.

At the bottom of their garden was 'the country' fields and crops and cows and a pond with fish frogspawn and mud. Occasionally we could go through their garden fence, a gate by the garage, to catch minnows with our nets and jam jars. later we could ride or walk round without using their garden, and one day I had a big accident in these fields. We were running along one day when I ran into a barbed wire fence that I had not seen, and got a huge cut on my eyebrow which bled profusely. I still have the scar. Looking back on those days, the really drastic change that I see is that even close neighbours now, hardly ever see one another, and certainly could not be considered as friends. Maybe one difference is that ‘southerners’ are much less casually sociable than the ‘northern’ folk where I grew up.

When Dad started work as an accountant at J&T Peters, it was with horse and carts, but later, they got a Bedford lorry and it was then that he started driving. In the yard next to Gorton Railway Goods Station they eventually had two lorries but the carts were still there, and used to store bags of potatoes. One lorry had a wooden garage. It was next to the office which was also a wooden shed, that smelled strangely and had a typewriter that later I used to play with. The other lorry was kept in the stables, a two story brick building, with a ladder up the wall through a hole into the top floor. Here were stored the hessian bags and balls of string to tie them , and it smelled of hay and hessian and occasionally of rotting potatoes, but it was always an adventure to climb up the ladder and play. Talking of vehicles, I know I used to see, while visiting Uncle Oswald, a steam truck, rounded at the front with a smoke chimney on the top of the driving cab. It had solid tyres and was used to transport mixed mortar and concrete, from a yard on Chapman Street where there were huge round containers with stone rollers rotating inside. I went to the yard once when Dad wanted some mortar to put in a new back door step. Afterwards a man came to face the step with polished stone. Previous to that Mum used to wash the step each week and 'stone' it, which put a coloured coating on the plain concrete step.

Primary School

West End Primary School, too has good memories. I had a gas mask like a Donald Duck, which we had to carry to school, but I never got to use it. I liked all my teachers, specially the first one Miss Clayton, who had a sand pit in her room. The last one too, Miss Parkes, was a favourite as I was allowed to take my fret saw to school, and when the other boys did knitting, I was allowed to make a plywood frog which waved its legs when you pulled the string and was painted in two shades of green. We also made puppets for a model theatre she used in her classroom. I was always making things in wood. I still have a small church which I gave to my lovely favourite auntie Nellie, (Dad's mother's sister), and somehow it later came back into my possession, though I can still picture it on her mantelpiece over the blacked fire grate and oven.

Making things has always been my greatest pleasure, a trend started by my Dad with his model boats , and fitting out our kitchen with cupboards and a drop down worktop, well before DIY became the normal thing to do. We originally had a 'pantry' in the corner of the kitchen. with only a small window next to the back door, and in there was a marble slab shelf. where the milk was kept, and other wall shelves. Dad knocked this out and changed the whole kitchen layout. It was encouraged by teachers all through my early years.

I was 7 years old when my brother Stephen was born, and to be honest, I don't remember much about him being a baby. I remember him lovingly as "ah kid", but I can not think of many events where he was part of my early life, and it is only much later that he became a friend. I'm not sure why this is, or what shaped our relationship. I never felt he was in the way, and I don’t think we had disagreements but I don't remember playing with him, but he had a collection of plastic farm animals, and at school I made a farm yard I think for Christmas. We both had Dinky Toys, and he had a super tractor which could be steered. By the time I went to college at 18, he was still a boy, with a great collection of Eagle comics and later when he began to buy records, and race Mass start cycle races, he became a person and a close friend as well as a brother. By the time he got old enough to ride with the Club, I was riding with the faster sections, so I don’t think we went on many rides together except as a family. I do know that early on Steve was given Uncle Oswald's lightweight bike for club rides, as Oswald had ceased club riding and had a Velocette motorcycle.. Dad had been on a bike tour in Europe with Oswald and another chap when he was younger. On our last cycling holiday as a complete family, we were riding along the Welsh valley that emerges in Conway, when a passing caravan pushed Stephen into the side and he fell off. He broke his arm and the motorist took him and mother to hospital in Conway. Dad and I had to finish the ride , each with a second bike to steer with one hand. We met up that night when we stayed over a noisy smelly chip shop, and the holiday was ended when Mum Steve and two bikes went home by train.

One memory of Steve is from Guy Fawkes celebrations. In Repton Avenue we usually had a communal bonfire in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and Mum’s used to make treacle toffee and bake Parkin, a kind of ginger cake. Some of the fathers used to barrow out soil and turf from gardens to cover the tarmacadam and us children would scour the local tips and back gardens for anything burnable. Making a Guy was always good fun, using cast off clothing with bits of wood as a a framework. Then we would carry it round the houses and as a reward for our hard labours, we would get gifts of toffee or sweets, and the occasional coin to spend on fireworks. One windy afternoon when the guy was propped on the fence between 18 and 19, a gust blew off the trilby hat. Immediately Steve went to kick it, but unfortunately I stooped to pick it up, and he accidentally kicked out my front tooth ! It left a stump in place, and subsequent dentistry fixed me up with a silver metal wrapping similar to today’s 'braces' until my teeth had finished their growth in my late teens. I have good cause to be grateful to him for this act. When I was just 15, my future wife Julie spoke her first words to me after a Cyclists Touring Club Christmas Dinner at Goostrey cafe. "What's that silver thing on your tooth ?"

Another serious influence on my whole life was my parents interest in cycling. They had met on a Cyclist Touring Club ride. My Dad had been taken out riding by his Uncle Oswald, and soon it became his main interest, besides photography and later model yacht building and racing. Mum and he went to Scotland on their tandem for their honeymoon. One story they told was while in a very tranquil area, they saw two people walking towards them, and the breeze carried their conversation to Mum and Dad, "Oh look at this tall thin man and this short fat woman". Then shortly as they passed they made polite conversation, and then chuckled to themselves afterwards. I think it was a fairly truthful comment anyway.

Initially I was taken out in a ‘Watsonian’ sidecar attached to Dads bike, which I don't remember, but as soon as I was old enough I took over the back seat of the tandem, with a chain and special cranks raised to reach my short legs. There was another girl in the CTC Club called Christine Hargrieves that had similar pedals on a tandem, and we could talk together as we rode home. I do have good memories of the tandem, and specially an all night club ride to Shrewsbury when they were worried that I might fall asleep, but I really enjoyed it and specially the stop during the early hours of the morning at the cross in the town for a snack and coffee from a flask. I now know that this is at Meriden, and an annual memorial ride is still enacted there. Mum had a black Raleigh shopping bike initially and then a lightweight Hill Special ladies frame. I also remember my Dad and I having a tandem tour on our own, again to Wales, when Steve must have been a baby, and as the Elan Valley was being filled as a reservoir, and we could see the church steeple and the roofs of the odd house under the rising water. One night we slept in a hay barn and got milk from the farmer for our breakfast. The smell of new hay still conjures up the cosy feeling of that night, and the strangeness of our bed and accommodation.

TEENAGER.

Toy trains had always been part of Christmas, and I suspect that I had an 'O' Gauge Hornby green four wheeled wind up with a circle of track, though the first engine I do remember was maroon, and had 6 wheels and two controls sticking from the cab, one to stop and go, and one to reverse. I know I had a collection of track, buffers and points, and I made a wooden tunnel made of curved thin plywood, and painted green

After the war, Dad bought me a smaller scale '00' set, once again a shunter, 060 black, and the tinplate oval of track just fitted on the extended dining table with a little room round the edge. This was electric of course, with a black controller, and pieces of track that automatically uncoupled the wagons if you were skilful enough to stop in the right place. Electrical controlled points were available, but I never put the track on a permanent base, preferring to change the track formation regularly. It would reach right through the living room from the kitchen into the hallway. I was definitely at secondary school by the time this arrived for Christmas. and for several years I built up a vast array of points and accessories.

Meccano too was a favourite, and back then the sets were arranged so that they could be built up by adding the relative 'a' set. Set one came with a booklet of models that could be built with those parts, and then buying set '1a' it became set 2 with another book of larger models. Every Christmas, and possibly birthdays too I got a new addition until I had set 6, and quite impressive models could be constructed, cranes, lorries trucks and even a steam engine. I also had the remains of my Dad's old set from when he was a boy, some of it quite rusty, but with big girders, and lovely brass gearwheels. I had a 'No 2' windup motor so that some models could be given action. I spent hours building models, my favourites being the huge articulated trucks with real steering. I could back a trailer very well at an early age.

Another toy which I bought with my own money was 'Castos', a set of wooden formers that could be tacked temporarily onto a plastic covered cork board, and the resulting shapes could be cast in plaster of paris that you could buy at the chemist shop. The flat sections were then fixed together to make buildings, It was quite a messy business but good fun, and quite big models too.

Bayco, another building set was plastic, A set of baseboards with equally spaced small holes. Into these were inserted steel rods of varying lengths, and between the rods slid plastic plates with grooves down each side. The plates were brick pattern, green or white, or corner pieces, or windows and doors with blue frames. There was not much variation in the designs, and not much scope for experiment, as the roof pieces were already formed to a set size..

Earlier, Roy across the road had a set of Minibrix, small rubber dark red building bricks which clicked together very much like today’s Lego, but they made a pleasing click as they separated. We did not make many buildings, but enjoyed making great lengths stung together.

Early Bikes.

My first bike apart from a kiddy's tricycle, was a black 'Wardley' with upright bars and roller brakes, the only type available after the war. This was just for locally going to the shops or playing in the road. I'm not sure when I got too big for the tandem, maybe aged 10 or 11, as Steve could perhaps have gone on the tandem then, but I began to want my own 'proper' bike for club runs. I had a terrible decision to take, as Dad said he would pay half, but how could I pay my half ? He suggested that I could sell my own model sailboat Trix, that he had built for me, but I found that to be unthinkable. It worked out that I would pass on ownership of all my Hornby Dublo trains to my young brother instead of him having a new one. I'm sure this was a happy compromise from my angle, though I never asked at the time what Steve felt about it, and I'm sure that I was still buying new points at 3 shillings and ninepence each.

I did however get my new bike, a bright green Raleigh Lenton Sports. Though it came with a sturmey archer three speed, and a dynohub in the front wheel, dropped bars and cable brakes, it seemed to me the perfect bike, and the pride I felt riding it is brought back to me whenever I see something with that same unusual green colour. I don't know how old I was , but probably I'd guess around 10. I think I was only 13 or 14 when I went on my first tour with Roy Hubbard who lived at number 10 and who Dad had introduced to riding, and another young club rider called Alan Pierce, but nicknamed 'Quarter pint' as he was very small indeed and we already had a young lad nicknamed 'Half Pint'. We went to the Wye Valley, using Youth Hostels. Must look up my old YHA cards.

As I got older, I left the slow 'loiterers' section and rode with the 'intermediates' and then the 'A' sections. These riders tended to be considerably older than I was and usually nearer 20 or more. Later still the Saxon Road Club was formed to enable some of them, and me, to race in time trials.

As a child I guess I had weekly spends, probably a penny or two, but as soon as I reached the grand age of 11 and left primary school I rushed off to be a paper boy at the local newsagents. To begin with I did a round only in the evenings, just over an hour most days, delivering the Manchester News, and The Chronicle, together with assorted magazines on certain days. Some days the bag was so heavy I had to take it in two sections. I was very quick to realise the value of 'doing a good job', and it was soon clear which boys could be relied on and who regularly did not turn up. I vowed to be the best ever, and quickly got to know all the rounds so that I could be filled in with an extra round if someone failed to show, which of course gained extra cash, but I was always very eager to finish by 6.45pm when Dick Barton, Special Agent was on the radio for 15 minutes. It was always so exciting that I hated to miss even a few minutes, he was always in such an awful predicament as each episode finished.

I think I must have earned about eight shillings a week, because at one stage I could just buy two points for my Hornby OO railway at three shillings and ninepence each, and still have a few pence left for cycle lamp batteries and the like. I had miles of railway track.

Later on I did morning round as well, not so pleasant on cold dark mornings, but when it came round to Christmas the 'tips' were fantastic. We always told Mr Armit how much we collected, and he confided in me that I always did best, "That's because they know you're always on time and polite when they see you." He could have said that to all the lads, but I don’t think so. There were never any paper girls by the way, though I never considered that to be unusual. I always enjoyed papers, sometimes using my old black bike to 'scoot' round on. I also stripped down the Wardle, no mudguards etc, and fitted a front cable brake and fixed wheel, because I got quite skilled at riding it backwards in a circle. I wanted a unicycle like the clowns at Belle Vue Circus at Christmas, but they were not available then.

I don't know when sweet rationing ended, but I do remember the day, because all the boys were allowed a pound (weight) of any sweets we chose, a massive amount then, when even buying an ounce from a jar was quite acceptable. There were probably about ten regular paper boys. I was genuinely upset when I had to give up my rounds, but in the year I was to take my GCE, Dad made me give it up so that I could study more, though I had always done my homeworks without much prompting, he knew I was not an easy learner. He did give me 'an allowance' though which was not quite up to the earnings I had been bringing in.

I did have other work to earn cash. During the school holidays Dad got me a job on his ex managers farm, in Leigh, cutting cabbages, pulling spring onions and making up bunches, making up boxes of lettuce ready for market and such jobs. I think it must have been more of a smallholding, though they did grow crops too. I rode there daily on my bike, passing over the Manchester Ship Canal on Barton Bridge, a lifting road bridge. Once on the farm, we were cutting corn, with a tractor and cutter. Normally I followed behind collecting the 'stooks' like a bunch of straw, and stacking them in groups of five or so around the field, to be collected later when they had dried, to make straw stacks. On one occasion, when I think the crop was beaten down with heavy rain, the tractor driver was needed to walk with the cutter to encourage the stalks into the blade with a rake. I was told to drive the tractor ! It's easy he said, and he showed me the clutch which I just had to let out to move forward or push in to stop. I had NEVER in my life driven anything bigger than a pedal car or Meccano model , and round the edge of the field and on the sharp corners I did pretty well and was feeling rather grand. But, as we got to the middle of the field, the corners got sharper, so that the steering lock would not turn quickly enough. "Just back up a bit and take it again" was shouted in my direction. I knew how to back, but had never driven with clutch and brake before. I think lads who grew up on farms drove tractors from a very early age, but they forgot that I was not one of them. Reverse gear was engaged and back I went... But did not stop quickly enough and broke the thick wooden beam that joined the tractor to the cutter. "Oh that's buggered it" said Mr Alf Hodgekiss. Oh Boy did I fee bad.

Other work was Christmas Post, during college holidays, and also while I was still at school I used to work at Oldhams Batteries in the holidays. I enjoyed this too, very practical and I felt really grown up. I became known to the personnel manager, and he sent me all round the factory to all the departments, so that eventually I could slot in almost anywhere. It was not very demanding work, though at times heavy. Casting battery plates, using molten lead and stacking them in heavy trolleys, or the battery posts as they came out of the moulding plate, checking them and counting them out in 100's. Using a template and roller to paint the name on the side of the boxes, or on the assembly line, mainly a woman’s job, filling in the tops with liquid tar. The hardest job was supplying the tar boiler using 40 gallon drums of solid tar. Each drum was very heavy, needing to be rolled in from the yard, and then the drum had to be cut open with an axe, and the solid tar chopped into small enough pieces to go into the boiler. I did not enjoy that job at all. Another bad job was in the acid vats where I think parts were being plated. Working in this department we got a pint of mi k for morning and afternoon break, so I guess that was not a healthy job either. Oldhams money was very good for me, though I suspect the full time chaps were not well paid. Most of the work was extremely repetitive and boredom was my biggest worry. When stacking the plates, I learned my 14 times tables, knowing immediately how many I had in the truck. One chap spent every day at the same machine with sacks on each hand checking parts as they came out of the machine. He virtually had nothing to do at all, except guide the bits into the box, and I asked him one day what he thought about all the time. He surprised me by giving such a long list, from which horse to bet on, through what he would eat that night , to where he would go fishing on Sunday. He was obviously far away from his work in his mind. I knew I could never take on that sort of work. I got much more adult here. Blokes would show me clever drawings of lewd acts, and the women on the assembly lines were always telling dirty jokes or making lewd comments, and of course the general level of language was way below my normal level, swearing and cursing being the norm. I never ever heard Mum or Dad swear.

Most of my cash later went on my bikes, spare light wheels, special racing tubular tyres, Youth Hostel weekends, race entry fees, and normal weekend rides. We all used to take sandwiches and stop at lots of different cafe venues for 'dinner stop' where we would order, '5 meals and 12 tea only'. The affluent ones, who were at work, bought the cooked meals, and the rest would get a huge pot of tea between us, while we ate our own sandwiches. If the ride was to Chester, we went to 'The Dungeons', that served the best fish, or pie and chips ever, so most of us would save for the meal there.

The various sections of the club met at East Didsbury Bus station, (EDS) on Sunday mornings, around 9.00am, possibly 60 or 70 in all. We sometimes had a printed runs list, and went off in groups. In the racing season, it was different in that races had to start as early as 6am to finish before the traffic got on the roads. After a race we would rush off to meet our club section wherever they were having the dinner stop. Lots of times the favourite stop was a cafe at Goostrey, a huge cafe where as many as 200 cyclists would gather to eat or just talk.

Active cycling and its associated social life filled almost every waking moment. I never had a tennis racket like other kids, or thought about cricket or football. I was made to play rugby at grammar school and as I was so tall I had to play on the school team. I could have been on the first team but usually made the second team as I often refused to play on a Saturday if I had an important time trial the following day. In the sixth form the PE master used to chastise me, "All this cycling will do you no good on your teacher job applications, but first team rugby would be an additional good point in any school." He did not convince me.

I still have my diaries for 1952, '53 and '54. nothing very world shattering is written there, but they give a good insight into what was in my mind at the time.

MY DAD'S FAMILY.

As a young boy, my favourite aunty was Nellie, and an uncle Oswald, though not man and wife, in Dad's family

To start at the beginning.

My Dad was Thomas David, and his dad was too. The story was that the eldest child in each generation had always been a Thomas David, rather confusing. I broke the mould because Thomas was not a fashionable name in my generation, and I had never particularly liked it, and I had always been called David anyway, as was my father. I called my son Trevor David, which at least kept the traditional initials , and I have a very good college friend called Trevor Scott who became my son's godfather.

I never knew my Dad's father as he died quite young after a life plagued with stomach ulcers, when Dad was about 20 I guess. He was an accountant by profession, and worked for a company called J&T Peters, farmers and wholesale vegetable merchants.

I believe he was a very quiet individual, and he played a ukelele-banjo, which I still have. My Dad could play 'Little Brown Jug' on it, but nothing else. His Dad also painted as a hobby and we had one picture of his at the bottom of our 19 Repton stairs for a long time, it had a sailboat with brown sails.

Dad said he could remember his dad bringing home small pots of a new water colour as a surprise, and the smell of the small white ceramic pot of Windsor and Newton water paint still reminded him of his dad. They initially lived in Romily and once when we passed the cottage while cycling, Dad pointed it out to me, though he said it had changed. Later they moved to Leigh, as the train journey from Romily to Glazebury each day was too far to travel. Dad remembered being allowed to run down the hill from their house to Romily Station on his own to meet his Dad's train in the evening.

Dad had at least three uncles, his Dads brothers. Oswald was the only one I knew. Their father was a builder in Gorton, and had quite a large business I believe. He is buried in a cemetary in Hazel Grove, which I once tried to find but could not. The church is still there but all the records are kept in Chester I believe. He built two big churches in Gorton, and lots of houses too. During my life Oswald lived in one of these, the family house, with his sister Clara, the only girl in the family. They owned several terraced houses in the same block that were rented out. Neither Oswald or Clara married. When I was very young theirs was always the most expensive Christmas present I received. One was a small German Schuco clockwork car with three forward and a reverse gear, and a stiff wire sticking out of the roof with a steering wheel on the end of it. I have since seen one of these in a toy museum, a true collectors item. Another present was a real steam engine that had wheels and a steerable roller on the front. It was he who started Dad cycling with the CTC where he then met Mum, so I suppose I owe my existence to him ! He took Dad on a cycle tour of Switzerland, when foreign touring was really in its infancy. I have seen Dad's photos taken on this tour, and a painting or two of his. I don't remember Oswald riding with the club, though I do know that he passed his bike over to Stephen when Steve got old enough to ride his own on club rides. Oswald then owned a motorbike, a special one with a quiet water radiator cooled engine. Oswald lived on his own a long time after Clara died, becoming very frail, and living with us for a while before he had to go into Cheetham Hill hospital where he died.

I believe that Oswald and is two brothers went to Africa as teenagers. Clara got Oswald to come back by some subterfuge, and the one of them went on to Australia, leaving Dad' dad on is own, so he came back too. The Australian one settled down there and married an English girl. Their daughter became Billie West, mother of Gifford and Leonard, my cousins, and my age, who have both visited us in England, and I have visited them.

Dad's mother was called Annie Haig and she had two sisters, Polly and Nellie. both of whom I knew as a child and visited occasionally in Gorton where they all lived. Polly had two daughters Evelyn and Elsie. Incidentally it was Elsie who was instrumental in me obtaining my first Hornby Dublo train set when they were still almost unobtainable after the war. She worked in a big Manchester store and was able to buy one as soon as the Christmas stocks came in. Evelyn had two boys, Peter and Geoffry about the same age as Steve, and they lived in the house opposite Auntie Nellie

When my Grandfather died, Dad's mother fell into a deep depression, would not speak to anyone, go out of the house or do anything towards day to day living. She was eventually taken into an asylum, in Warrington, never to come out. I did visit her once. I was told that she would not believe Dad was married, or that I was his son. I only remember an old lady in an institution place, but I know Dad and Mum had discussions about bringing her out to live with us, but the doctors advice was that the world had changed so much that she would not be able to cope with busses or traffic or shopping, and it would not be advisable. I don’t even remember her dying, or talk of a funeral though my parents did visit her, a long bus and train journey away from Denton.

Auntie Nellie however became Dad's stand -in mother. Dad lived with her and when Mum and he married they both lived there for a short time until their new house (19 Repton Avenue, Denton) was built, very soon after I was born, though I believe she came out of hospital with me to auntie Nellie’s house, 42 Woodhouse St. Uncle Tom Wood, her husband was never at home. At the time of the great depression he had to find work in London, and only came home on occasions, and I only saw him once or twice ever, though we visited her very often, and she came to our house too. Polly was also married but I don’t remember seeing him at all. Auntie Nellie was a real laughing lady, always pulling little jokes on people around her, hiding Toms pipe tobacco, or his pipe, and bursting out laughing as she told how he searched for it, and all with a real twinkle in her eye. I was very impressed later as a boy when she took apart the woodwork of an upright piano and made a very presentable cupboard from it. It was she who introduced me to my first banana, though I have only heard this from my parents. It seems that during and after the war, all foreign fruit was unobtainable, but I think that maybe her husband worked at London Docks, and managed to buy a couple of bananas from a boat that came in from the Canary Islands. He brought them home with him as a gift, and she brought one round for me. They tell me that I did not like it ! We took auntie Nellie on holiday once, to Whitby, and she had a small heart attack while we sat on the beach. I was still too young to understand anything except my parents concern. Her house 42 Woodhouse St. Gorton, was second along a small terrace, with a back yard, and an outside toilet, the back door lead into a small kitchen, and then to the living room where there was a huge blacked iron fireplace with an oven and high mantelpiece. There was a front room, never used to my knowledge, and between the two were the stairs, though I have no recollection of going upstairs. The toilet was outside the kitchen door in the entrance yard. Lighting was by gas mantel and I used to like watching as it was lit. Outside the back gate, there was an area of unfinished earth between the backs of her row terrace and the next road terrace. This was the common yard where everyone hung out their washing. Evelyn lived across this yard in the next road, and Elsie lived in Nellie’s road just opposite her.

Auntie Nellie had one son, about Dads age I guess, called Sydney and he married Lena. I suspect that he married before Dad, as in my memory, he was never living with his mother. He was an insurance agent working for the Co-operative Society in a big building in Manchester, and they had no children. I always felt that they thought themselves a bit superior, they spoke differently to the rest of us, she smoked using a long holder, always had painted nails and jewellery, and their house, no bigger of better than ours always looked brand new, with immaculate furniture that you were afraid to sit on. We did not often visit them, but they always came to us for a meal on Boxing Day, with Nellie and Oswald there too, so it was quite an occasion. He had a peculiar laugh, more like a titter, as if he was afraid to laugh out loud, and spoke as though he had loose dentures. He smoked too, so the next day it was all windows open, and once he put a smoking cigarette in the funnel of my clockwork train and Dad said afterwards that he thought that was awful, "Fancy putting his smelly cigarette in David's new engine !" I thought it was a good idea ! We played cards sometimes or other board games. and Dad and Sydney played chess. One unusual board game came from Billy and West, the Australian relatives, 'Race around Australia‘, with pictures of the wild life which I enjoyed. Dad told me once that Sydney had a car when he was a young man, and one day it refused to start as he was winding the starting handle, so he got mad and threw the handle at the car, bursting the radiator and spraying himself with water.

To get to auntie Nellie's house was a walk to the bus, a short ride, and another walk down Tanyard Brow, close to Dads work yard. Mostly though we would walk all the way, through Debdale Park, past the reservoirs, and the allotments, which was all very pleasant, and about 3 miles. We often went by bicycle of course, straight round Thornley Park and down Hyde road, turn right at Tan yard brow, Just under the railway bridge where Dad's yard was.

Dad wanted to become a merchant ship's radio engineer, as he was very interested in radio. He made for me a 'cats whisker radio' that had earphones and was tuned by moving a small wire on to different parts of the chrystal, which looked just like a lump of coke. I was far too young to understand it at all. Dad's father would not let him follow his own idea, but got him job where he worked in an office in Glazebury near Warrington, and he trained as an accountant, like his father.

Later as lorries took over from horse and cart transport, he became a driver in addition to his book keeping, and worked at a branch in Gorton that bought potatoes wholesale from Cheshire farms and sold to chip shops and greengrocers all around Manchester. A couple of times I was with him when he delivered to a work's restaurant in Beyer Garrett’s Engineering in Gorton where they had huge machines. I was very impressed looking down on a massive workshop floor with men standing on the machines as they revolved or moved along making heavy parts for steam engines of all kinds. Now I know that Beyer Garrett Engines were world famous and used far and wide in the British Empire, and are even still in use today in Africa and India.

Often I would go out to work for the day with him, having to almost run to keep up with him as he walked to his yard. He always dressed in a navy blue one piece boiler suit, sometimes with a leather waistcoat over it, and always with a thin leather belt loosely around his waist, and leather sandalls. He took with him each day a 'brew' in an white enamelled can with a top that had a handle and served as a cup. The tealeaves and sugar were inside dry, and he would ask one of his customers around dinner time to give him the boiling water. His sandwiches were in a tin, favourites were cheese and beetroot, or corned beef, and usually a piece of Mum's cake. If we were in a built up area, we would find a quiet corner somewhere, or sometimes drop in on auntie Nellie for a chat. The best trips out were to the farms to collect the produce, almost always potatoes, but during the fruit season sometimes boxes of pears and very occasionally apples. On these days out we would eat in the farmyard, or in a quiet field along the lanes. One occasion I remember, for no special reason, he took his paints in a special box he had made, and we sat overlooking a small valley and the roofs of a farm, and he drew and colour washed the painting. In the box he had a wooden frame over which he would pre-stretch the paper so it did not wrinkle with the wet watercolour.

On the way home I often went to sleep, the drone of the engine the special smell of the cab, and the motion were very soporific. On these trips he explained the working of gears and engines and clutches. One night we were late getting back and he was very worried that the police might stop him as his lights weren't working properly. On a few occasions when the season was right we would go a long way to Lincoln for some special 'early' potatoes, small and with an exquisite taste. He knew the names of all the potato varieties and he had done coloured sketches of them all in his sketchbook. Mum used to enjoy joining him on the special longer trips out.

The Gorton branch of J&T Peters, initially, a manager and two drivers, but later Dad took over the managers job as well as driving and book-keeping. I well remember once that he came home in a furious temper, something unheard of in my Dad. It seemed that when he took over the running of the branch, he had been given a promise of a bonus for any extra business he could bring in. Dad worked very hard and almost doubled the trade in his first year, but when he presented the annual accounts to Mr John Peters, he was refused the promised bonus because it would have put Dads annual pay above any other company employee. He called it robbery, and he hated John Peters ever after, again a very unusual for my forgiving and peace loving Dad. Much later, when he got to about 55 I think, he quit his managers job at 'Peters' , and took up a purely driving job for another rival fruit and vegetable wholesaler just a little further down Hyde Road in Gorton. He was so well known by his customers, that they stayed with him, and he was quite pleased to have ‘given Peters a bit of their own medicine’. He got the same money with no additional worries and was very happy there. One of Dad's tales from that time....The owner manager used to organise the loading of the several delivery trucks each morning. He held the lists of produce for each truck, and shouted out to each driver in turn, which item he should load up. As soon as each item was loaded, the driver had to shout 'Next' and he would be told the next item required. Dad deliberately waited a few seconds after loading an item, knowing that his manager would say, "Shout next David", thus giving Dad a bit of a chuckle, and that saying always still comes to mind when I have finished doing a chore and wondering what to do next.

Dad had several hobbies. His cycling of course, every Sunday a ride, specially during the summer months. The bikes were in a shed to begin with , the tandem was always kept there, with my mice in several cages, and a bench where I 'made things', but very soon the bikes were brought to live in the hallway behind the front door. Eventually there must have been 7 or 8 kept there, leaning on the cupboard under the stairs, with one hanging up I think. Cleaning bikes was always an important activity, and for this they were often brought into the living room and cleaned on a special rug kept for the purpose. Behind the settee the whole wall was covered in glass fronted book cases, full of old books that I guess must have been his Dad's books. I know Mum wanted to get rid of them and I'm not sure where they went, but by the time I was a teenager, there was only one bookcase left in the alcove between the fireplace and the front window. Even that disappeared while I was at college and the Hi Fi radio and record player took over that space. When I lived at home there was no television of course. There was  Murphy radio that had lots of wavebands and made electronic whistles and buzzes as you twiddled the dials which I liked to do. We always used to listen to 'Saturday Night Theatre', as a family, with me making a Meccano model on the dining table while listening. Also there was 'Children's Hour' from 5 til 6 I think, and most women tuned in to 'Womans Hour' during the afternoon. 'Family Favourites' was on Sunday lunchtime I think, an Armed Forces request time. Dad loved latin-american music, Saturday morning was Edmundo Ross, and a singer and film star Carmen Miranda from Brazil was a favourite of his. Later I loved ‘Dick Barton, Special Agent‘.

Then there was photography, not long out of its early beginnings really. His first camera I remember used big glass plates for the negatives. He had to clip the plate in a case onto the back of the camera, and then pull out a piece of black paper, before he took a photo. He had then to take all these cases into a dark room. This was our bathroom, where he had made a special frame to fix at the window with thick black cloth over it, and with a red light so that he could see what he was doing. The glass plates were fitted into a rack which was then immersed in a chemical liquid, at a certain temperature for certain time, both really important. Then they were washed in the same container with water. This gave him the negatives. From these he had to develop the prints on paper. Sometimes he made 'contact prints', the same size as the glass, or he had a huge enlarger with a big black paper bellows and large lenses 6 or 7 inches in diameter, and an electric bulb that gave out a lot of heat. His friend Louis Heap had a more modern enlarger , held vertical on a stand which he borrowed once. The prints also had to be developed and then fixed in different chemical and then washed. He used to wash them with the bath full of water. Mum complained once when his chemicals made some marks on the enamel bath. She also used to bemoan the fact that he would only take scenes, and hardly ever took pictures of people. I used to love watching the picture slowly come darker in the tray. He had a stop watch and thermometers and all sorts of special equipment. He even had special 'tints' that he used to paint some colour to the black and white photographs. What a difference from today’s 'one hour prints' on every street.

His painting too changed as I grew older. To begin with he only used water colours, in a sketchbook, or on sheets of cartridge paper specially stretched over a wooden frame. Much later he took up oil painting and did much bigger paintings. I really only saw him using water colours, from a box he had made. he seemed as if he painted the picture and then almost washed it off, and then painted it over again. He called it laying on the colours to give it depth. He also used to look at his pictures upside down for days at a time, "to get the composition right", so he said. His Dad had painted, though not much, and he had no formal teaching to get him started. I think it was as I became a teenager that he took a course of painting at Salford Tech, and there he learned about perspective and shadows and other technicalities of composition. I was very admiring of all the drawings he brought home, including life drawing with models, plants and everyday objects. He used to go out on his bike at nights with a big drawing board strapped to his back, and his folder. He had a big easel, which he never used, but generally he painted while sitting on the carpet or rug, no table or chair or anything.

MUMS FAMILY.

In fact 'Kitty' was always to me, "me Mam", and it was only later that Julie persuaded me that mum or mother was better than Mam !

Born in Congleton Cheshire as Kathleen Axson, in 1910, she had an elder sister who died I think at the age of eight. Mum said that they had both watched an exhumation in the local cemetery, and her sister soon after became very ill and very quickly died. Her mother too died while they were still very young and her father was soon enlisted into the '14 -18 war. She and her sister were taken to live with her granny and grandfather on their small farm nearby. She had many stories to tell of her life on the farm which she enjoyed very much. They never had money, but there were always chickens , eggs, potatoes milk and such basics. Close to the canal at Buglawton she and her sister often hitched a ride on a passing barge and walked back. Her grandfather was always drunk and never did any work so Granny ran everything. He used to come home in the evening very drunk and hostile, so they would lock themselves in their room. He never touched them but he knocked her granny about. Mum used to drive a cow to market with him, and her grandad used to stay in town and drink all the proceeds When he finally died it was found that they had no money and were in debt so the farm was sold and they went to live in Levenshulme with an auntie, strangely enough in Moseley Road next to a railway bridge. There were several aunties living there, Aggie and Annie and money was very short. Aggie never married and later ran a shoe shop in Leigh, which I visited, and later lived I Congleton. Another auntie later served in a posh Manchester dress shop. Mum was sent to work in a grocers shop 'Seymour Meads' nearby, and she really enjoyed the work. Earlier on when still in Congleton her granny had got her a job in an ironmongers shop, and she enjoyed that too, but it was found out that she was under age and she was sent back to school. She was always top of the class at school and loved it, but her granny was keen to get her working and earning.

Mum lived with her aunties until she began cycling and met Dad, neither of which did her auntie approve. It was of course considered very unladylike to ride a bicycle, to say nothing of wearing trousers or shorts. One day when she came home from a Sunday bike ride, her auntie refused to let her into the house, and threw all her belongings out of the bedroom window. She went straight to Auntie Nellie’s where Dad was living after his Mother was moved to the asylum.

What of her father ? Well, he came back from the war, and found another girlfriend, who he married and they had three children Mum's step sisters and brother. Her granny of course did not approve of the new wife, and used to tell her to run away if ever they saw him in town. Mum said that she did not really know what it was all about at the time, but later realised that it must have been very hurtful to him. I did not meet him until one day when I was about 6 or 7, he turned up at 19 Repton with his son Guy who worked with him driving one of his furniture removal vans. Mum was flabbergasted, specially when he gave me a half crown which was quite a large coin then. They had always known about him and his family and business through auntie Aggie, but after that occasion they became closer. He had a son Guy, about ten years older than me, and when we visited, I could play with his old Meccano set, and it was passed on to me later. He also had two daughters Pat and Eileen, older than Guy I think, both of whom joined the forces during the second world war. I can remember feeling envious of Pat who drove huge army lorries, and once came to our house in uniform. Eileen visited once and brought me a present of a small story book about a horse or donkey called 'Plonk'. With it was an egg cup made of turned oak with a painted picture of 'plonk’ on the side. That egg cup is still in the kitchen cupboard at Carbis Bay. I was only 6 or so at the time. Later, we visited at Congleton and stayed the night. I know the house well even now. Then it seemed to have a huge long garden beautifully kept with vegetables in neat rows, and a greenhouse at the bottom, and cold frames. I could pick and eat the peas too. Beyond the garden were massive elm trees full of rooks that made a real noise morning and evening. The river was out of sight but just a few hundred yards away below the trees. Pat lived there with her husband and father when I grew up. Her husband was Stan and he collected stamps so much later I used to send him lots of them from Grand Turk.

Guy eventually took over the house removal business and they had a big yard in Congleton with several big vans. The company is still there, run by Guy's sons. Pat died after living alone for years. She has one son..

Eileen went to live in Tasmania and her husband was a forestry worker there. They visited England once and I went to collect them from Basingstoke in our Bedford van, where they were visiting friends of theirs, and they had a meal with us in Fleet.

TEENAGE YEARS

I must have still been riding on the back of the tandem when I was 10 and 11, because I contracted Pleurisy in the year I was to take my 11+ examination which decided what type of secondary school you could attend. Plaurisy is a chest infection a bit like TB, I gather, quite serious, and I had always been a bit of a sickly child, lots of coughs and colds. Why I connect these two facts is that I can remember being on the back of the tandem on a Sunday ride, and I got severe pains in my chest, so that it was really painful if we went over a bump or rough ground, and if I breathed in, the pain was excruciating. This kept me off school for several weeks and in the examination year this was quite important. The primary school teachers did not think that I had any chance of passing anyway, but my parents insisted that I should sit for them all. Four possibilities, Manchester Grammar School was the tops, all their pupils got in to Oxford or Cambridge. Second was Hulme Grammar, then Audenshaw, and fourth was Ardwick Central where Dad had gone, and Audrey went there too. If you failed these you went to the Secondary school in Denton. In fact I passed for Hulme grammar, the second best, but only as a fee payer and we did not want that. I also passed for Audenshaw which was much closer to us anyway, so I ended up going there, lucky fairy at work I think.

GRAMMAR SCHOOL

At Audenshaw Grammar School, I began with languages and sciences, all of which confounded me. Grammar school education was for the brainy half of the population, lectures more than teaching, and I was not brainy at all. I was useless at the general science in the first year, so I was put into a languages timetable from second year on. Languages too, completely baffled me. I was given French and German lessons. I loved the German teacher, and the lessons too, but though I knew all the vocabulary, I had no idea about tenses and declinations, even in the English language, and there was no importance attached to speaking in the examination course. Marks were deducted for any grammatical errors, and so I was always getting really low marks though I always got top marks for all homework 'Vocab' tests. As I was in that section of the school timetable, I also was supposed to take Latin or Greek, and for some reason it was Greek for me. Once again I enjoyed the alphabet, and the stories we translated were great, but again the grammar of it all had me completely baffled.

Eventually I struggled to initially pass in only 4 subjects at General Certificate of Education. I was not entered for German as I only got 4% in the mock ! I was then taken in hand by my form tutor Mark Gibbs, the best teacher anyone could ever have, and he personally coached me to pass American History for my 5th pass in the November re-sits. I now had the required 5 'O' levels required for entry into a teacher training college. I was doing my best, but it was no walkover. It was Mr Gibbs who arranged a special timetable for me in my sixth form years. I then spent 22 periods of the 40 period week in the woodwork room, in fact becoming a young assistant in there, helping Mr Eastwood with sharpening the tools and sometimes even looking after the younger classes. By then I had decided to become a woodwork teacher, a decision that I never regretted.

In my first week, at the Grammar School, the science teacher was calling out in turn, the names of the pupils from his register. "Moseley". I stood up to be recognised. "Are you related to the Oswald Moseley ?". I replied of course that I did have an uncle called Oswald. Some of the pupils, and he too of course, were well aware of a well known political figure of the time, Sir Oswald Mosley, who was rather an outspoken politician, but I was far too immature to have heard of him. "Ah well, you will be called Siroz", and after that day he always called me that. Other friends of course shortened it to Oz and that was my nickname throughout school. I loved this teacher, Bill Fradley, who taught PE, and wore a lead bracelet round each wrist to build up his muscles. He wore really flash ties, and boasted that he had a different one for every day of the year. I went on a group school holiday with him to the Isle of Man, supposedly we were to camp, but the weather was so bad, we spent the week sleeping in a school hall o9n the floor. I enjoyed the holiday but was quite homesick, not really having any special friends with me, and the first time away from home. I saw a factory where they were gutting herrings in machines and smoking them to make kippers. I don’t think we had any arranged activities and we seemed to have most of the time to ourselves. I booked to go on his school holiday the following year, on the Norfolk Broads in a motor cruiser for 10. In fact it turned out that they could not get a big enough boat, and at the last minute someone had to drop out. I volunteered because I could go on a bike tour instead, and I went to Scotland.

Another time, probably in my second year, as I filed out of assembly, the headmaster was standing at the door, and motioned me to one side. "Could you stand outside my office please". I did not think that I had done anything wrong but as I had never ever spoken to him before I was apprehensive. When he was seated at his desk, and I standing before him he looked me over and asked my name. "Moseley Sir"…. "Well Moseley, would you pull up your socks." This I did, but they were only short ones, just above the ankle. I was also wearing grey shorts. After a short pause he said, "Well then Moseley, turn them down again" , which I did. "Off you go then, and by the way, have you thought about wearing long trousers ?". I told Mum about this and she laughed and pointed out that I was probably the tallest boy in my year, and that most pupils could not wait to get a pair of long pants. Though I had not considered it, I was quite proud of being the last one to be tortured by them dragging on my knees.

I don’t really remember the early Woodwork lessons, but I guess I enjoyed them very much and must have been good at it. When it came time to decide in which subjects to specialise, it was Mr Gibbs who suggested my woodwork lesson bias, as he knew that I spent every free moment at school, in the workshop, with Mr Eastwood, nicknamed 'Chunky' for some reason. I also liked art very much, Mr Darlington, who could draw fantastic railway engines on the blackboard, and between these three teachers I grew up from a boy to a youth.

I was very proud to be asked to make a new lectern for school prayers in the hall. Designed by Mr Darlington, it was in mahogany and beech, massive pieces of material to work on, with castors set into the curved base, a turned stem about 6 inches diameter, and a top involving skewed dovetails. I often wonder what happened to this. I visited the school in 1966, and it was still there then. I also visited Mr Eastwood retired at his home on this occasion.

In those days, there was no Woodwork 'A' level examination, but I took Art and English literature. I really enjoyed all the art work, taking hours over my homeworks, but I don’t think that coursework was taken into consideration for the final grade. Anyway, I passed in both of those, and also took woodwork as a City and Guilds examination which was really a technical school qualification. I had to take the three parts of the exam at a technical school, a bit un nerving, strange workshop, bench and tools, but I came away with top marks.

After my special technical timetable, the following year there were two other pupils who opted to do a similar course, John Woolfendon and Peter Quine, 'Woolfie' and 'Quink', and they both followed me on to Loughborough College too, but after their 'National Service'. I was starting in my third year at college when they started their first year. My first sight of 'Woolfi' was in the college refectory one lunch time, and he called along the queue of students, "Hey, Oz". I wasted absolutely no time in telling him that I had left that name behind at School.

The school used to have an annual theatrical production, on the stage, and usually it the Gilbert and Sullivan operas that I remember. I was put in charge of scenery, a series of wood framed, canvas covered 'flats' which were fastened together with cleats and rope, to form walls, windows and doors, internal or external as the scene required. Mostly the flats were re-painted for a new production but often, new or special flats were needed. I did enjoy this, specially the excitement of show nights when changing scenes behind the curtain and out of sight of the audience, when everything had to be done on time and efficiently. Mr Darlington was in charge of 'lighting'. One of my school friends was Malcolm Cowdon, and he once was the main character, a girl, in one play, and I did admire his courage and his singing.

One teacher was Miss Loft, nickname Lucy, who taught junior maths, and remembered for her 'good and bad fairies' in equations. ( two plusses equal minus, etc) She asked if I could put up some curtain rails at her house, and I did this and other small things. Also I built some massive oak bookcases for Mr Gibbs over a whole wall of his home. Mr Gibbs ran something called 'Periodicals for refugees' which entailed lots of student volunteers staying on after school to wrap magazines in rolls of about five, and stick on address labels. I did this regularly but have no idea now where they were sent.

There were of course 'prefects' and of course I was one ! I only remember that the duties were not very inspiring, ensuring single file on the stairs and corridors, and that they kept me out of the workshops. I do remember in the first few years that I had to wear the school cap on the journey to school, and that I used to put it on as I approached the school gate where the prefects were on 'cap duty'.

Another incident had lifelong consequences. I think, probably in the 4th year, we were having break one day when 'Woolfie' a mate of mine, jumped onto my back from the flight of steps as we exited the gym changing rooms. It was unexpected, and we both fell to the ground, with me face first onto the hard playground surface. I already had my front tooth chipped quite badly, from young brother Steve kicking me accidentally but this took off another section, and I then had to have a silver brace put on it. It was this that prompted Julie's first words spoken to me. Later when I was at college, we were having a PE lesson on the flat roof of the gym, normal in good weather, but the surface was slippery, and as we did some sort of wrestling, rather like a rugby scum but just with a partner, I again fell on my face and finally broke the whole tooth off. Three times, breaking the same tooth, and all around the first week of November. At 70, I still have the false stub screwed into the original root.

As usual, my school experiences were all happy, with no bad moments or memories at all.

NATIONAL SERVICE     CALL-UP.

Julie and I got engaged on my Birthday in May and in the Summer of 1954 we went on a bike tour holiday round Cornwall, expecting this to be our last long time together as I was due to go away on National Service in the Armed services, July or August at the latest.. When boys were almost 18, the 'Call up' age, they were summoned for a medical inspection. In my case, I had already been granted a place at Loughborough College to start in September 1956 when I should have completed my National Service, and to make sure that I finished in good time, I had applied for 'Accelerated call up', and August was the latest that I could start in the Air Force, which I had put down as my first choice, Army, Navy or Airforce.

I went to my medical on the appointed day, probably before my 18th. The only thing I can remember about it was that I was expected to pee a sample into a bottle, in a room with doctors and others. I found this quite impossible, and even when given permission to use the toilet, I found it very difficult. I still find it impossible to pee in a public latrine. Nothing more was heard of the Medical result, until Julie and I came in from our cycle tour of Cornwall. "Has my call up date come through ?" was my immediate question to Mum. "Wait until your father comes home", was her intruigingly serious reply. Usually referred to as 'Dad', the use of father was reserved for really serious matters. It appeared that I had in fact FAILED my medical and, as a really fit and unusually active ‘teenager' this had given Mum and Dad some concern. They had enquired and been told that I had a scarred eardrum, which could be damaged in future by close gunfire or flying in an un-pressurised aircraft, and so I had been rejected by Her Majesty's Forces. I saw a private ear specialist who confirmed the injury, and he advised me never to pressurise my ears in any way. My parents expected me to be upset and worried over this turn of events, but I was elated. I had not looked forward to wasting two years of my life 'square bashing' as it was known, and I had already accepted the advice of Woolfie and Quink as to my best course of action to relieve the wasted two years. Number one was that I was bound to be chosen to ride my bike for the Air Force Cycle Race team, which would take priority over other training. Number two advisory, was that I should take up playing a musical instrument and try to join the band. This seemed a good idea, and I had always fancied playing a saxaphone, and loved the music of Billy May's Band with his sliding saxes.

MUSIC

My first interest in music was listening to Audrey Oaks, at no 18 next door, practising her piano lessons which she hated. I was secretly envious of her, as I could only pick out the ‘chopsticks' tune with one finger of each hand.

At some time I was given a 'Tiperary Flute' , which was a plastic whistle with 10 notes, and a piece of paper with numbered notes and well known tunes. 'Camptown Races' was the first tune on the sheet and very soon I could play all the tunes, plus others that I worked out and played by ear. I soon learned the limitations of the instrument no half notes for instance, and most tunes either went too high or too low, but I did enjoy making a noise which tried to be tuneful ! Years later, when Mum and Dad moved to Cornwall, I was astounded to find that among the 'kids toys' they had kept and still had for my children’s use, was this same flute, quite curved with age, but still quite playable.

Apart from that, my musical interest was all passive, with no particular likes or dislikes, In the 6th form Grammar School when I was a prefect, some of the others used to gather in the balcony above the school hall and play jazz records which I remember enjoying, but I took no real active interest.

While I lived at 19 Repton, we only had a radio, Family Favourites, Edmundo Ross on a Saturday morning are the only music programmes I have in mind. later when I was at College, Dad bought a Hi Fi system, and Steve began collecting records. These were late 50s and very early 60's of course, Cliff Richard was the British Idol and Elvis the King of Rock and Roll dominated everything. Steve had singles, EP's and LP's, a good teenagers collection, which I have copied and now love.

Music I remember is the dance music, big band stuff from our nights at the Ritz and the Plaza in central Manchester, though I never managed to Jive or rock and Roll, only the ballroom stuff.

Dad was persuaded to take me to the area in Manchester known for music shops, and I came home with a second hand Clarinet ! The advice in the shops had been that, as a saxophone was very expensive, I could start on a clarinet and later double on a sax, which was normal in those days. It cost £19,, and I still have it.

College LOUGHBOROUGH

So, here I was, no national service to do, with suddenly two years to fill with something before college. I told Loughborough of the new situation and they advised that I was accepted for the following September. I was advised to try taking up an unqualified teaching post for the intervening year, and was accepted at an interview at a junior school in Ashton.

Then in the last week of August, I had a letter to say that one of Loughborough's entrants had unfortunately died and that if I was available I could start in 10 days time. In all this, I am sure that my good fairy or hand of fate, or God was looking after my best interests. Had I taken up this post I am certain that I would have quit teaching very soon, as I hated teaching general subjects, as my later teaching practice was to prove.

Of course I jumped at the opportunity of early college and began frenzied preparations. First was the long list of hand tools on the required list, which once again Dad was very happy to supply. We bought all the tools from a big shop in Gorton, and they must have been expensive, but though we were not well off, Dad always managed to find money for whatever we needed, and he was quite proud that I was going to college. I rushed back to school and spent a few days happily making the personal tool box which was exactly specified by college, drawings dimensions and all. I was to make provision for fixing the individual tools inside the box which I did lovingly. Dad applied for a grant, which turned out to be exactly the train fare from Manchester to Loughborough and return, three times a year. I suspect Mum packed a case, and I went off in the train with tools and no bike. Immediately I knew my bike would have a safe place to store, I quickly had Dad send it to me by rail. I had made the train journey once before, for the college interview, and the drab outskirts of Manchester were never more evident that from the railway line.

COLLEGE LIFE.

Until I lived in Loughborough I had never imagined that life and my surroundings could change much, but I soon realised that the Manchester I knew, was not the ideal place to live. We had fog. Sometimes in Winter, riding from my house to Julie's through the centre of town, it was impossible to see more that a few yards ahead. It was common for cars to follow me at a safe distance because I could pick out the kerb and they could not. I had a habit of wrapping a white silk scarf round my neck which got quite black after the ten mile ride. Once I remember finding myself at the steps of a cinema on Bury Old Road, having apparently unknowingly ridden up the kerb and over a wide footpath. The cinema entrance in the evening was well lit of course, but still hardly visible through the fog. I thought that privet hedges which were normal on housing estates had black leaves once their white blossom had gone. If you accidentally brushed up against it, the black came off on your clothes, when doing my paper round for instance. When I got to Leicestershire, I realised that privet hedge leaves came in colours from green through to yellow, and the Manchester ones were just covered in dirt. I was riding my bike at this time with tubular racing tyres, which were heavy enough for training and every day use. They had a red tread. Riding round Cheshire and Derbyshire on club runs and racing, they were always black, but when I rode round Loughborough, they stayed bright red, winter and summer. In fact. during my second and third years at college I got in the habit of riding home for the weekends, a distance of 80 miles each way. I would set off after the last lecture on Fridays, about 3pm, and usually be home around 8 in the evening. I soon got to now that around Derby, my tread would begin to get black, stay black all weekend riding with Julie and the club,, and become red again as I reached Derby on my way back on Sunday evening. The temperatures too were noticeably higher further south too, without that biting chill Winter wind that blew straight through your bones.

There were other marked differences too. My fellow students were a very mixed crowd, and immediately it was plain to me that the boys who had come from boarding schools were more mature and 'street wise', confident and sure of themselves. Also a great mix of accents too was obvious. We all attended speech lectures, and were given a choice, we could keep our accents, moderate them, or attempt to lose them entirely. These days, a northern accent is popularly heard, on radio and television, but back then an accent from the north said a lot about your upbringing, southerners versus northerners, not in any nasty way, but very obviously. I opted to keep my accent with moderations if necessary.

Our living was positively 'gentlemanly' to say the least. I was again fortunate in being housed in an out of town block. Quorn Hall was my address for three years, and an old baronial hall it was. There was  a famous Quorn Hunt. There was a long drive, clock tower and huge outbuildings, a dining hall where we were served our meals apart from breakfast which was a buffet, and even then you could order from a choice of cooked options. First year students were allocated rooms housing 3 or 4 students. There were 4 in my room, three of them called David. We all got along famously. David Finch, very quiet, and strongly religious, studying maths and PE. David Holness, slightly older, probably 25, who had been in banking and wanted a career change, doing PE and Geography. Myself the third David, training for Woodwork and Maths. The odd name out was Barry Morris, again a quiet person with religious leanings, studying woodwork and English. The older David was immediately Holly, I got the name Junior, as I was two full years younger than the other two and 7 years younger than Holly. In fact I was the youngest person in my year, by a year at least, as I did find one other 19 year old in my Drama class a bit of a twit from Norfolk who had flat feet, so even the army would not take him.

Yes Drama class ! After the first three weeks of maths lecturer as my second subject, I decided that I was already miles behind the others in my group, all of whom had passed their GCE at A level whereas I had struggled to pass at O level. A discussion with my personal tutor was amicable, and he latched on to my previous school interest of scenery making. So I joined the Drama group, and what a fiasco that turned out to be. All very 'arty' types, and the lecturer, very pleasant but not practical. We studied all sorts of authors, ancient and modern, usually very heavy. none of which can I remember. What I do remember well is having to wear tights for the practical sessions, and lying around on the floor pretending to be, a safety pin, a ball, or a wounded animal !!! Then we listened to music, 'the planets', and had to do whatever the music prompted. I felt totally stupid and ridiculous, not what was intended at all. Of course we had to put on a production 'in the round', with the audience sitting all around us and not a stick of scenery to be seen. Julie came to watch this debacle, in which I played two characters, and had about three lines to say, I wish I could say that it was all a laugh, but for me it was only a complete waste of time.

In our room, we each had a chest of drawers, a chair and a small wardrobe, all the furniture constructed from English oak by previous students to a set design, not a piece of plywood in sight. The beds were comfortable. One memory is of Holly dreaming a lot and shouting out in the night. He had his long javelin between his bed and the wall, and as he shouted, it rattled and we all imagined him about to launch it across the room. He too was very strong at finding the girls, several, for short spells only. I of course was engaged, and completely happy to be so. 'Finchers' did not seem to think ‘girls' at all, and kept us intrigued by his thesis which was on Mathematical puzzles. Barry had a girlfriend back home too. We developed a great game of strength and agility, building courses round the room where you were not allowed to touch the floor, using chairs and bits of furniture. Also our room became the Hall centre for the 'Bruha' test. which was something the PE blokes got us into. This involved timed steps up and down off a chair, taking pulse frequency before and after the activity, and assessing the speed of recovery back to normal. When all the figures were correlated it gave a number, your Bruha score. We had a scoreboard on the wall and regularly tested anyone in Quorn Hall who felt they could improve their score and move up the ladder.

Of course we had no cooking or catering worries, some of them did their own washing in the shared bathrooms, and Holly even had his own iron ! I seem to remember, ridiculous though it seems now, that I posted my washing home each week, at a cost of 2 shillings and 9 pence, but I don’t remember collecting clean washing from the post office ? Once a week Barry and I met up in town between woodwork sessions, as we had different tutors and workshops. We took turns at buying a quarter pound of spearmint chews, which we shared out during the week, what spenders we were !

I cycled in to lectures in town about two or three miles each day I think. My bike in hall was secure in the gatehouse, under the clock tower built on top of the arched entrance, but where it was kept in town I forget. The College had a cycling club, but no club runs as such, only organised races, and some training 'bashes' along Seven Hills Road I think. The racing for me was a complete change from the Time Trials and track riding which I had done before. All the other riders, and there were only four or five of them, all from the college of engineering, were members of 'The League' or BLRC. I had been a member of the British Cycling Union or Road Time Trials Council. I had been aware of a friendly rivalry between all these road racing bodies, but have only recently become aware of the intense rivalry, even bitterness between them. We used to shout, 'Up the league', as we passed and waved on the road. Anyway, I joined the League, fixed my bike up with simplex gears, and a double chainring, and tried 'Massed start racing' which involved tactics and a team effort rather that individual best rides as in Time Trialling.

I did enjoy them, far more exciting than I was used to, and more dangerous by far. I had to start by entering 3rd Category events, for beginners, and it was relatively easy to gain a place in the first three finishers. When you had proved your riding ability and skills, you would be accepted for Category 2 and 1^st Category events. I still have my BLRC Licence somewhere with my events recorded, but don’t have access to it right now. I rode in one event as a lone rider during the holidays, round Heaton Park in Prestwich, just behind Julie's home, where we occasionally took walks. It was a Saturday ten circuits with narrow loose gravel surface, and I hated it.

One event partially remembered is one evening Criterium round Leicester. I was, unusually, in the lead towards the end, or in a group of three who had got away from the bunch. As we came within a mile or so of the finish, either I, or one of the others, took a wrong turn, realised the mistake, and turned left the wrong way round a keep left sign, colliding with the other two. We all got ourselves sorted, remounted and finished , 1,2,3, but I'm not sure where I came in. The changing rooms were a mile or so away from the finish, and as I stripped off my shirt, arms over head, one of my team pointed out that I had a big gash across my left ribs, no blood, but with three ribs shining white through the clean cut. I had only a small hole in my shirt, but my thigh was badly grazed and bleeding. I think a brake lever had caused the gash. I rode off on my own to find the Hospital emergency dept and had five or so stitches, chest bound up, and thigh cleaned and plastered. I then rode back to Quorn arriving well after 1 am, finding all doors securely locked of course. My room window was on the first floor to the right of the main door, and I tried stones thrown at the window to no avail. Eventually I climbed up the ivy and got in through the open window, weary and aching.

All the other College cyclists were from the 'Engineering' College. Loughborough then consisted of five separate colleges, with all students belonging to the same College Union. Roger, a small but wiry lad organised us and entered team events, A nice lad too was Minoo Damania, an East Indian, who’s Dad had a hardware store back in Bombay. I wrote to him several times after college, but lost touch in '67 when we were in Grand Turk. Pete Timperley was another who lived in Warwick and I visited his home once. One other small lad too ,but I forget his name.

Another up and coming type of race in the mid '50's was Cyclo-cross, a mix of bike riding and cross country running while carrying your bike on your shoulders. This must have been the start of 'mountain biking' but I was not aware of it at the time. I did not enjoy this very much, too muddy and energetic, and for me, never any good at running, not very successful either. I hated getting my bike all dirty, and my slim racing tyres were not suitable either. I built up a 'hack' bike from old parts and Julie's old Viking bike frame, as she had her new James Harrison by then. It was all good fun anyway. The college club was affiliated to the British Universities Cycling Union, and team secretary Roger got an invitation for the team to go to Russia, expenses paid, to race in University events there, but I did not fancy the idea, and it came to nothing.

Once I had settled into college life and work, I used to ride home for the weekends, go out with Julie to watch her race, and ride home again after the weekend. I clocked up some great weekly mileages, and many of my Sunday rides were in the company of mainly women, the 'Manchester and District Ladies Club'. I remember once riding along the road, and a crowd of kids shouting, "Did you see that bloke with all those women ?". She joined the Manchester Victoria Wheelers who had a better ladies cycling team, and I rode with them too.

College work was great, and I loved it all, except the Drama. The practical woodwork was really high class and the tutors gave super encouragement and advice. We all had to design and make a small coffee table first, I made a round one in oak. Then we had to make a chair to a given drawings to be used in the college library. This was quite complex and we were able to carve our name and year on the back rail inside. We had to upholster the seat traditionally with horsehair and sackcloth before the final red leather covering. It really was a fine piece of craftsmanship. In my third year I designed and made a dressing table to go with the double wardrobe I was making during the holidays in my old Grammar School workshops. The college resident Head Tutor in Design was  Mr Edward Barnsley, a quite famous designer of furniture, who had his own workshop selling individual pieces to the rich and famous of the time. When he was in College he had his room in Quorn Hall and we had the privilege of sitting with him at the dinner table each evening. He was about 60 then I guess, very knowledgeable and a treat to talk to. His boast was that the only machine in his workshop was a circular saw, with all other processes done by hand. He had the longest eyebrows I have ever seen, a good 2 inches long I'm sure, and he always wore a tweed jacket, and of course a tie. We too had to dress for dinner. Visitors were allowed for meals at weekends, and Julie came on several occasions. It was all very tasteful and upper class. She stayed at a local pub, sometimes with the girlfriend of another friend Kieth Scammel, also living in Quorn Hall, and with whom I shared a room in my third year.

The actual teacher training course was of 2 years duration, and I qualified in 1956, but as I was 2 years ahead of all my colleagues anyway, and my parents agreed, I decided to stay on for a third year to become a specialist Craft teacher, and in fact I obtained a “Diploma of Loughborough College“, Hons, entitling me to put DLC after my name on my CV and official documents.

In my second year, I moved rooms in Quorn, and shared with Dave Finch ‘Finchers’ and Trevor Scott, from just down the corridor. Then in the third year, with Kieth Scammel only, as senior pupils could occasionally get single rooms, or at most share with one other.. Sharing a room was never any worry, and I do not think I ever had a cross word during the whole 3 years. Trevor Scott only did a one year teacher course as he was already trained in craft from the commercial side and technical college. He lived nearby in Nottingham, he was Trevor's godfather and namesake, and we are good friends to this day. I still correspond with all the others apart from Barry Morris, who I did come across once in a summer school in the 70's.

Apart from woodwork skills we also had to learn metalworking which was completely new to me. I made several small items, from given drawings, as training on lathe , miller and hand tools, and then designed a pair of sash cramps, and a standard lamp. The metalwork and engineering shop was on the second floor of a building and one afternoon there was a quite serious earthquake when the whole building shook very noticeably, and as one student was using the shaping machine and it traced a interesting clear pattern on the smooth machined surface. The tutor was a bit of a card, I told him I was going on holiday to Cornwall. "I hate beaches and sand, it gets up your arse and inside your foreskin" was his comment, and I was rather surprised to say the least.

In my third year, apart from wood and metal, we did jewellery, and I undertook a huge design in silver which I never finished, but the experience was great, casting, etching and silver soldering. In my spare time, evenings and one afternoon I voluntarily took Pottery as an extra and also enjoyed that. Some time too I did weaving, a huge piece of fabric to my own design on a big hand operated loom. I used a small section of this material to upholster my dressing table stool. All in all, College was a ball from start to finish. Even the theory of teaching, philosophy, sociology, psychology, was difficult for my simple mind, and I admit to worrying and putting in essays at the last possible minute, but it all came out fine in the end.

We had three weeks “Teaching Practice” once each year, when we were taken on by schools all around Leicestershire as assistant teachers. In my first one, I was allocated to a primary school in Burton on Trent, which involved and early start each day, and a long drive in a student coach dropping us at different schools. I was almost sick, and always sat on a front seat by the driver. Then we were allocated to a teacher and class , and given a timetable of two or three lessons each day, involving all subjects. I absolutely hated this experience, young children, teaching things about which I had no knowledge or interest. My history subject was about Hanibal crossing to India, which I had never heard of…and my knowledge of Grammar, even at that elementary level was vague, and geography too, useless. Sometimes, a college tutor would drop in to asses us, and sometimes we would sit in on another students teaching. I remember too that my allocated teacher was young, about 25, and one day, as we chatted in the break, she asked if I would like to accompany her to a film at the local cinema one evening. We were both well aware that I was engaged, but I felt that I should try to be sociable towards her as she was my ticket to a teaching pass, so I agreed. I think she was after a proper ‘date’, but she was disappointed, and I had to catch a train back to Loughborough. The second practice was in a secondary school in Leicester, and there I felt very happy, and confident, taking lessons in wood metal and other subjects. My last one was even better, in the school in Quorn, just a short bike ride away., from my residence. Here I was extremely happy, and was given a full timetable, as by then I was actually a fully qualified teacher taking an extra years training for my Diploma.

I know that there was nothing in the 3 years that I disliked, even being away from Julie made her more special, and our time together more interesting. During our weeks apart we both wrote weekly letters telling of our daily doings. Once she was racing somewhere in Nottinghamshire, with the MDL team, so I rode there very early in the morning, and she nearly fell off her bike during the race when I suddenly called out "Get into it then Julie" from the roadside. For me there was never a time of doubt. I left 19 Repton as a lad, and came back as a man. I really felt different. I was no longer Mrs Moseley's son, I was David Moseley, and I was more than ready to get married and forge my own destiny.

Love and Marriage.

What a great part of life this is, and how greatly it influences every other part. Again, in all aspects of love and family I have been positively blessed.

Born into a loving relationship, and benefiting from as stable a family atmosphere as is possible, I thought that this was the norm. Everyone loves their father and mother, and all parents love their children ? Not so. As I have lived, I have come across many instances of parents never seeing their children in adulthood, and of children not wanting to see or speak to their parents. I would not say that this is a 50 50 split, but a continuously variable from one extreme to the other. For my good fortune, I place myself at the top of the loving and being loved category. I could not imagine life without my family, and though they grow away in all practical ways, there is still for me a bond and a love that transcends all others.

It has always struck me as strange that there is only one word for love, and so many quite different meanings to it. I can love ice cream, or bananas or travelling. I can love my wife, and I can love my children. All those entail quite different feelings inside, and are quite different things, but still all use the same word. I wonder if this is peculiar to the English language, or do other tongues have different words ?

Sex too, a part of love, or quite a separate thing? I had a time in my life when I really questioned whether love and sex could be separate, but now I know that they can be separate, but are both much better when taken together.

Sex begins as a naughty word, or at least it did to me way back in the 1940's. In the air raid shelter, or under the lamp outside Mrs Gallagher’s. It was not swearing, like bloody or hell or bugger. It was naughtier than that, more secretive, and f...k was the dirtiest un-utterable word EVER. I had no idea what it all meant, and I am quite uncertain how it all came together. I always knew about baby pigs, and our cat had kittens, and I knew there had to be a daddy, but the connection was a long time coming together for me.

Children 'play' with one another. Exploring. Those of us without sisters were perhaps more curious, though I certainly don’t remember being curious. Audrey Oaks from next door came on holiday when we were young, to Cleveleys and we slept together, so perhaps that was instead of a sister in my parents eyes. Later, in Debdale Park, as children, " show me yours and I'll show you mine", with all our young group. It was just playing, with no sense or meaning, just kid's play. From that stage to being in love is very blurred.

One thing I do know is that about aged 10, the first girl that I noticed, as a girl, came to visit her aunt and uncle who lived at number 9 Repton Avenue. They had no children of their own, and I don't know how long she stayed, or how often, but what is clear in my mind, is that I stopped biting my nails in order to impress her, so I must have 'fancied' her as a 'girlfriend' Mum had been trying to get me to stop nail biting for some time ! I think nail biting was fairly common, and Audrey next door bit her nails for into adulthood, almost as long as I knew her.

I initially went to cycling club dances, social events and lectures with music and dancing after the speaker, with Mum and Dad, and I tried dancing with Mum, awkward stumbling steps, but it looked good fun, and I decided that I had better get some practise, though I don’t recollect dancing with anyone else at that stage. It must have been when I started riding with the other faster and less family groups that my social scene broadened, though only in the cycling group. I think I might have been 15 when I joined a night class for ballroom dancing. 'Rene's' at the Denton traffic lights, was up a narrow flight of stairs above some shops by the side of the market square. (The stairs were still there when I passed through on my '06' end to end. aged 70 !). Once a week, and we all learned and danced with different partners, but I generally teamed up with a Vera, as she was a single, about 23 years old I guess.. We did dance steps from waltz to samba and tango, often to Victor Sylvester strict tempo, and I loved them all.

I went with 12 of the club on a holiday to Scotland, organised by Barry Haylor, who later married Audrey next door. I was by far the youngest. We caught a night train up to Inverness and arrived very early, around 5.am. Not much was open, so Barry suggested we try the local 'Baths', which were actually a collection of separate baths, not swimming baths as they later became. They opened very early for people to use before going to work in the morning. The huge baths in individual rooms, had massive taps which poured endless supplies of cold and boiling hot water. The walls did not reach to ceiling height and we could talk to each other as we soaked ourselves up to our necks, laughing and joking. I suppose we then found some breakfast, but I have fond memories of setting off on our bikes across a long bridge and up the east coast, an adventure tour with friends.

There were Ruth and Neville, a married couple, Dennis Lloyd, Malcolm and Thelma, Malcolm Orret, Arnold Wate, Leslie Wakefield who was Barry's lodging house friend , and Barry the leader who was currently dating a new girl in the club, Dorothy Carlisle.

One day towards the end of the two week tour, we stayed at Fort William Youth Hostel, and spent the day hiking up to the top of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Scotland. It was a hard climb, and some of the group did not get all the way up, but most of us made it to the top and were rewarded by a small pile of snow, which we were able to throw about at each other, even though this was August.

Later, Barry composed a poem in which he sang, 'I On top of Ben Nevis all covered in snow, I lost my first true love, through courting too slow', so I suppose that was his last date. Though I did not know it at this stage, why it is memorable to me is that one evening, I happened to be with Dorothy outside the hostel, and gathered through comments and actions that she might be interested in a date with me. When we got home, I took her out a couple of times, to the cinema, and we kissed and cuddled in the back row, as was the norm in those days. I was beginning to realise what this 'girl' business was about, though I didn’t really have a clue. She could say 'I love you' in ten languages, and I made the mistake of walking her only part way home before parting with a goodnight kiss, but I guess I was too slow for Dorothy as we just remained cycling friends. In fact, within a couple of weeks she was going out with my best friend Roy, and that lasted quite some time, as he was much more experienced than I, having gone to a mixed school possibly.

Very soon after, I was riding home with the group, in the rain at the end of a Sunday ride, and I happened to ride next to Julie Henriques, who was a cycling friend too, but only that. She had been a rider with the Prestwich section, but had started riding with us, the Saxon Road Club, because we had a nucleus of girls interested in racing. That evening, we were just entering the Hazel Grove area, after the long 'sprint for the bridge' at High lane, and we were discussing current films showing. She said, "I'd like to see Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis in ? and I said, "Why don’t you get Arnold to take you ?", as she was currently dating him aged about 27. She must have miss-heard me, rain , capes, traffic etc., and she said, "If you'd like to". It was a very happy moment for me, as I would never have dreamed of asking her out, way above my aspirations and experience. We then had our first date, really at her suggestion, and met on the steps of the Odeon in Ardwick, a red letter day in my whole life. It was no instant red hot romance, but we obviously got on well, and the dates continued, just the two of us, or out with the cycling crowd, dancing or ice skating which was a favourite night out. Julie had her own skates, and a short skating skirt that she had made, and was quite accomplished, even dancing when the rink was closed to free skaters. She danced best with another of her old dates, Alan Barratt, from the Prestwich section, who could also play Boogie Woogie which I loved, on the piano at the cycling clubroom, and envied him greatly.

So the social life blossomed, in a very friendly crowd, all dating one another, and everyone knowing the state of the game, weekends and bank holidays away in Youth Hostels, Thursday nights clubroom, and probably twice of three nights a week training rides round 'the triangle', 30 miles, Cheadle, Chelford, Monks Heath and back. If Julie came training I rode home with her before going back to Denton which clocked up another ten miles or so. We did not have a phone at home but Julie was contactable by phone at her aunts and at work, so arrangements were easy. I hated her saying she had to have a night to wash her hair !

From almost the start of our friendship, I knew that Julie was the one for me, even at the tender age of 16, with hardly anyone else to compare, I was never in doubt. She being more than two years older, was much more uncertain. It was really a question of 'could I keep her in spite of the competition', and I had no inclination to try someone new. One incident stands out in my memory.

We had been dating some considerable time, when we were at the Goostrey cafe with others in the cycling club one Sunday afternoon. She came to me and said something like, 'Ray has got two tickets for the Opera tonight, so I'm going home now to get ready.' I was stunned, probably saying, "Oh is that it then, OK". He was in his late 20's and she had dated this same chap previously, from the Prestwich section, who I thought was a bit of an strange guy anyway as he road and raced a tricycle, but then she had also been on dates with almost all the club, nothing serious, just dating. I had thought I was at the head of the bunch.

Later that Sunday as I rode home with the others, a school friend of mine, Geoffery Goodbody, (Oddbod) said that he was going to the local Ashton Dance Hall that night, so perhaps I should join him. I had never been alone on a 'pickup', to a dance hall and so it was a new experience. Completely out of spite towards Julie I agreed, not because I really wanted to. He and I met at the hall and I danced with several girls through the evening, but when it came towards the end, I offered to walk one girl home, and she agreed. I remember a bus and a bit of a walk to her front gate somewhere in Denton, a short goodnight kiss, and 'perhaps see you next week', and then a very long walk home, all the time thinking, 'I'll show her two can play at that game'. It was only a couple of weeks before Julie and I were together again.

Julia Violet Quixano Henriques, the name alone was enough to blow my mind, and with a 19 inch waist, and slim figure to match, a real cracker, with unusual facial features, high cheek bones and small rosebud lips, and long dark wavy hair from her Portugese descent several generations back.

She made all her own clothes, from cycling shorts and tops, too evening gowns, coats and fancy dress. She sewed for her best friend Pat Pickford, also a Prestwich cyclist, and once they went to the University Ball together with two other girl friends Sylvia and Little Pat. They all dressed as the four aces, real tops and skirts in red back and white with embroidered hearts cardboard cards front and back which they discarded soon into the evening. She told me she was quite shocked by the behaviour late on as partygoers got drunk, and I was jealous of course.

I was jealous and on occasions she chided me for that. She was certainly not as certain as I was that this relationship was IT, and I knew I was on dodgy ground sometimes. She once told me, "Don’t put me up on a pedestal", but for me, that is just where she always was.

I never ever asked myself 'Am I in love ?', I just knew I was, even when we had disagreements occasionally. When I got to 18, with an enforced separation looming in the future, I wanted to be engaged, to try to keep her while I was away. She agreed to be engaged, though even then she was not as certain as I was, mainly because of my age I guess.

Sex was never a big thing, and I don’t mean that it was not good. because it was just great, but I could not separate it from love, and for almost all of my adult life I could not imagine one without the other. I had not seen the explicit films that are everywhere today, or as far as I remember had any sex education. I just did what seemed natural with Julie as we got to know one another. I think we learned together what we liked. Much later in life, there were opportunities for sex outside our marriage, but I never pursued them, probably as my conscience, or good fairy, or something inside me just prevented the practical urge. I don't think that I ever went through the uncertainties of most teenagers, of finding myself, of dating girls, and of not being sure. but now, as a late teenager I was certain of my path, and it was to marry Julie. As THE DIARIES show, I was an early starter on real love, marriage and children, and later in life I was to sincerely thank God for the way my life had progressed.

Julie's Family.

She was living with her aunt and uncle, who were her legal guardians of course, though she was almost 21when I became 18. We chose the ring together, Saqui and Lawrence in Piccadilly, a saphire with a diamond each side, and it was the most expensive thing I had ever bought (£25) at that stage of life, even more than my bike ! The question of asking her Uncle Les for permission was discussed, and Julie's advice was, "You'd better tell him we're getting engaged because he's bound to object otherwise“. In fact I did tell him rather than ask him, and his comment really upset me at the time. "Why, you're not even as old as our Brian". They had two sons, the older one, Roy, already married, and we occasionally babysat for their baby daughter, (who eventually was our smallest bridesmaid). He was fine, had a Chemistry degree and held a good job in a paper mill. Their younger son Brian, two years my senior, who was currently in the army, truck driving, was quite the opposite. He was often drunk when I saw him, he stole money from his mum's purse, was rude to them and everyone around him. Quite a lad, and I had no respect for him at all, and so to be compared with him in any way, was almost an insult in my mind. Later, when he settled down and got married, he was a cheerful chap, still a long distance truck driver, but much improved from his teenage years. Julie and he did not stay in touch, though we remained good friends with the elder son, Roy and wife Margaret throughout their lives.

I should mention Robert too, Julie's brother, two years her junior, just about a year older than me. he too was living with Aunt Jess and Uncle Les. It was only later in life that I came to realise just what a task they took on when Julie's mother died when she was only 18 and Robert 16. Taking on two teenage children, who had never really had a Dad, as well as their own two boys. Aunt Jess was Julie's mother’s sister, and they had always lived close together. Julie's dad died when she was only 4, and her Mum contracted cancer when she was about 12 or 13, so Julie took on much of the household chores and responsibility for her brother. It must have been an awful time for them all, her Mum in and out of hospital during all Julie's teenage years, and no Dad either. She did not talk too much about that time, she passed to go to Bury Grammar school, but her heart was not into learning, more in everyday practicalities, shopping and even cooking. I know that this time made Julie the very independent and practical person that she was. Robert, also in the Air force when I met Julie was a jolly lad, very tall, always having a round baby laughing face, getting in with the cookhouse for extra food, and generally trying to get through his National Service as lightly as possible. I liked him, and later he met up with Margaret, who he married and they had three children, Jack, David and Elisabeth.

So here I was engaged at 18, to the best girl in the world, a real looker, a great catch in everyone's books, and about to step out from a settled steady life into the unknown, training to be a teacher, not wasting two years in the forces after all.

( COLLEGE YEARS 1954-57 still to be written, using weekly letters to Julie, and kept by her, wrapped in a ribbon, found when she died. )

JOB SEARCH 

College finished in July, we had three full ten week terms then. I started applying for teaching posts way before most of my mates, because I knew that my life was due to change once again very drastically.

While I busied myself scanning the Times Educational Supplement each week, and applying for posts, Julie spent her time planning our wedding.

I had long since decided that i wanted to live somewhere in the South of England. The change of climate from Manchester in the North, to Loughborough in the Midlands had been so marked, that the south must be even better. Julie I know was more uncertain of the move, "We will lose all our friends" was her biggest worry, not to mention our cycling clubs, racing and the social scene that went with it, but she was agreeable to try it, and the prospect of setting up her own home excited her as much as it did me.

I applied for 12 posts, probably over a few weeks in March I guess, and the first reply I had was from a school in Hampshire. On May 16 I travelled to Winchester for an interview. An old Grammar school was opening as a Secondary Modern School in Odiham, a new workshop and a new building added to the old 16th century building.

It was coincidence of course, or maybe that fairy, or Gods will, that the interview was actually ON my 21st birthday. I stayed in a Winchester Hotel, the first I had ever stayed in, and had the biggest breakfast I have ever eaten. Eggs bacon etc, but with the very memorable Broad beans ! I have never before or since had green broad beans for breakfast. It WAS a special day too as the interview must have gone well and I was offered the post. I don’t know how many were called for the woodwork post, but I met two other staff who were already teaching in Odiham, Stan and Cyril. They were being interviewed for their own jobs which seemed strange at the time, but they asked what I knew of Odiham, which was NOTHING of course, and told me about the area generally, air force base etc.

There were about six interviewers, school govenors, the new headmaster, and county education officers. Clearly in my mind was a question from the C E O, who chaired the panel. He looked down at my application form and asked, "You are rather young for a teacher, do you think you have enough knowledge to set up a new workshop, order the tools and such, let me see you are .... Oh my goodness, I believe congratulations are in order, 21 today". I was of course very confident of my abilities, at 21, who isn't ?

Thirteen years later, when Calthorpe Park School was officially opened in 1970, that same CEO was being introduced to the 15 staff, and he remembered giving me my first post on my 21st birthday.

So, we knew the location of our first home. At the interview, the Odiham Lloyds bank manager, a school governor, had offered to try to aquire a council house for me, as they knew my plan was to be married. Julie and I had of course discussed this, and she had the proceeds from the sale of her mothers house when she moved in with her aunt and uncle. She also had some investments left to her in her grandfathers will, (F Q Henriques ), and she thought there would be enough for our first home.

I do not remember exactly when, but we cycled down from Manchester to Odiham, probably in the Easter Holidays, to start looking for a house. We stayed at the George Hotel in Odiham. I think we took 3 days to ride down, staying with College friend Trevor Scott and Edna in Nottingham , and getting to Thame on the second night, a pub overlooking the market place.

Our first step was to see the bank manager, the school governor, who welcomed us and made us feel at ease immediately. Then estate agents. We looked at a new bungalow in Hazeley first and then at another Crookham village, and finally one of five just being built in West Street Odiham. I suspect that it was Julie who directed the search. and I probably left the choice to her, but after the builder had showed us round the Odiham one, we rode to the Hartley Wintney Estate agents who were selling the 5 new bungalows, and sat in his office in our shorts and shirts. He was only a young chap, and he nearly fell off his chair when we said that we would not be requiring a mortgage. He offered to show us round the bungalow again, so we rode back on our bikes and he came on in his little car, being quite amazed that we got there before he did.

The grounds were a builders mess of course, and the garden quite overgrown with high golden rod, and the third bungalow was almost finished. Ours was the first in the row, and only a quarter of a mile from the school. We only stayed a couple of days I think, and I don't remember the ride back, but possibly Julie rode the bath Road 100 in Pangbourne on that weekend, before we went back home. When I told Mum that we had bought a bungalow for £2,575, her comment was that their house was only worth £1,900, so it must be a huge bungalow. She couldn't wait to see it.

THE WEDDING

The wedding was all booked for 20 July, only 5 days after I finished college. True to her nature, she had every little thing organised for wedding and reception, having sent out all the invitations, though I actually wrote them out in italic script. She had her wedding dress made at the best store in Manchester where she had once worked, though she made all her own 'going away outfit'.

The church was in Prestwich, All Saints, just 200 yards from her ant and uncles house. the vicar had insisted that I had to be baptised before he could marry us, so I had to go for a ceremony a few weeks before, with only Julie and I in attendance, no crying babies to compete with !

Mum of course was very excited, a new dress, but Dad wore the same suit that he had been married in, so you know who I take after. I had been measured for a new suit, paid for by parents of course, "You know this is the last thing we’ll be buying for you."

To be honest, I don’t remember the day very well. I know that parents, Steve and I all had a taxi to the church, and that we got there very early. I walked along to the chemist shop with Barry Haylor, my best man, and bought some Durex contraceptives, just before entering the church. The service was printed, as was the reception menue The photo album, by the official photographer booked by Julie, shows that we left church under an arch of bicycle wheels held by the cycling club, and the reception was at an hotel just on the corner of Heaton Park.

After the reception we boarded a train to London, where we stayed the first night, before going on to Torquay. Several club members were at the station and they filled our compartment with confetti. That night in London the traffic noise seemed to go on all night, but we did not care. I know she only showed me her new bikini if I promised not to touch her, and then she changed into the most see through short nighty I have seen to this day, like a transluscent rainbow in pale colours.

The details are not clear, but I think that it was only a couple of weeks before my teaching term started that we moved into the Odiham bungalow. Possibly the buying and completion took that long. We had a firm of solicitors from the Bury in Odiham, and Chris Hill, then a junior handled our case, and he became a firm lifelong friend.

The move down was exciting too. Dad had offered to take all our 'stuff' down on his lorry, though it was quite illegal at the time as he was only licensed to carry produce. I know he was rather on edge in case we should be stopped for any reason by the police.

First we collected al Julie's belongings from her Aunts, out through the back gate and the yard. She had a full bedroom suit in solid mahogany, very large by today’s standards, two bikes and other personal stuff too. Then round for my stuff.

This is memorable for one thing. Dad really put Mum in her place. Generally she was the organiser but as Dad started loading my belongings, she offered her advice, "wouldn't it be better..... ". I have never known Dad be so positive and firm.. "I'm doing this job and I don’t want any help from you." She opened and closed her mouth in disbelief, and I did the same, it was so out of character for him.

I had furniture too, A kitchen table with opening leaves and a drawer, that I had made in our shed, the mahogany wardrobe made in the school workshop, and other bits I had made during my school years. I had probably three bikes, spare racing wheels, lots of tyres, plus personal stuff too.

Then next day we all loaded in, Dad and Mum in the front, and Julie, Steve and I on the back of the lorry, under the tarpaulin ! Our first stop was at Loughborough College where I collected my dressing table and my toolbox and a few other pieces made during the course. Then back under the tarp. Steve had brought his 'poppit' cowboys and indians to play with on the way, and it was a smooth but quite dusty ride. A strange journey into a new world.

ODIHAM ---- NEW HOME.

Mum was delighted with the bungalow, and we delighted in showing them round. Still smelling new, damp plaster and fresh paint and emulsion, two bedrooms, bathroom kitchen and living-dining room, A feature we al liked was the living room which had windows on two sides, plus a large french window into the garden, very light and airy. Steve dashed into the back garden and immediately was hidden by the shoulder high Golden Rod. The site had been the orchard of a cottage across West St, belonging to Mrs Batten. She and husband 'Jean' from RAF Odiham became long term friends too. Opposite was the council estate, home to most of my students. Odiham then consisted of either council houses, or people with big houses, horses and pastures, and our bungalows were really the only 'in between' , normal housing, apart from a few down towards the canal bridge on the Hartley Wintney road. It was definitely a village, small enough for everybody to know everybody else.

Being the end bungalow, we had the village allotments all along one side They were full of crops, lovingly tended, not a weed in sight, and the path ran along our high hedge. Where the drainage system had been installed there was a break in this hedge about 8 ft long, with a low wire fence and posts. Of course, all who passed had a good look into our plot. I had NEVER put a spade into the soil, weeded, or even cut the grass in my whole life. Mum did the garden, and Dad cut the grass.

One day, soon after we moved in, I talked to an old chap who frequented the path. He was Frank White, who lived further up West Street with his sister, part of the large Odiham and district family. I admitted that though I had bought a fork and spade, I had never done any type of gardening before, or had any experience. He advised that the whole plot was full of bindweed that needed 'deep double digging' to get rid of it. He also offered to do the job for me ! I expressed my thanks for the offer, but suspecting that maybe this was for pay, and as I was not yet ready to begin any garden project, we left it without a yes or no. To our great surprise, the very next morning, as we emerged for breakfast, there he was at the bottom of the back garden, and by the size of the cleared area, he had been there since daylight. It was a strange situation, so we took him a cup of tea, which he declined, and hardly uttered more than a greeting, never pausing in his work. Every day from then on he was there working until about 8.00am, when he would leave. The plot was a quarter acre, and he dug every square inch that was not drive or building. He built the huge pile of weeds into a closed-in fire which smouldered with a wisp of smoke from the top, and I still love that smell. Occasionally it would burn through and break out, and eventually there was a pile of ash a full 8 ft in diameter and at least 3 ft high. All the back garden he planted with potatoes, two varieties, and told me that as I dug them out, the whole plot would get yet another thorough digging and weeding. Our plot had a bank, outside the front fence, between the road and the fence, and on it were two huge elm trees which made the front of the plot and the bedroom very dark. "You should av e out", suggested Frank, I'll soon av e down. true to his word he was up the tree lopping branches, and soon the whole tree was in our front patch, cut into moveable and choppable chunks, and all with a handsaw and an axe. Frank was a man I hold very dear in my memory.

By now a year had gone by, and when Gina was born in our bedroom,, I burned the afterbirth on the front patch with the last of the tree foliage. 1957 and 58 were certainly times of change, a new job, workshop to set up, new friends to meet, and the plot to make into a garden, while Julie concentrated on sewing curtains, getting our home to her satisfaction, and honing her cooking skills. I seem to remember that she complained that she could not make thick gravy, and that her sponge cakes often sank in the middle, but I never had a complaint..

After moving in, we had my kitchen table in the living room, an old chair salvaged from Uncle Oswald’s old home. of course the bikes were all in the living room. I had my toolbox there to sit on, and we had a small radio that we had bought for me to use in college.. The bedrooms were OK. We had Julie's full suite, and Mum had given me my old bed for the spare room.

We had already ordered a Morris Design dining table, chairs and a sideboard from a Manchester store who could deliver it to us, but we went into Reading by bus to order our three piece suite, and buy curtain materials etc. It was a day trip there and back, usually a Saturday.

On our first Christmas, Julie presented me with a series of small packets. I have no idea what I bought her, but she really surprised me. A Triang TT 060 tank engine and three trucks ! Some time during my three college years, Triang had brought our this new collection of model railways, smaller that the 00 range which was the major scale and which I had passed over to brother Steve about 10 years previously. On our shopping trips in Manchester and in Loughborough during her visits, I had admired this new range, with great enthusiasm, but never had I imagined owning one now that I was a grown married man, with a house and garden to look after. What a girl ! Of course it was no good without the track, and a good model railway shop in Reading, by the station soon put that to rights.

The bungalow had a coal burning 'maxi' grate, and on the first day of school I asked one of my pupils where I could buy coal. Whites of North Warnborough I was told. I was really amazed when I got home that evening and Julie informed me that the coal man had called,, having heard from his daughter that we needed some fuel,, and that she had bought three bags full. "I didn’t know where he should put it, so it's in a pile by the back door,"

I had never done any building, but obviously we needed a coal shed. I drew a scale plan of our whole plot, and we decided what needed doing. A patio with a low wall, and a coal shed. Winter was coming, and soon we had our kitchen and french window back steps surrounded by paving slabs, and a small hollow wall planted with a selection of plants recommended by Solicitor Chris Hill. His father was the head gardener to Neville Chamberlains daughter who lived in her huge house fronting onto the Bury, and her garden was both sides of my path to school through the churchyard. I tasted my first asparagus fresh picked from her garden, and watched as buckets of blood from the Odiham abbatoir were fed to the grapevines in the greenhouse. That was a BIG garden.

Down the side of the bungalow was a narrow tapering strip of land between hedge and house wall. Here I built a wooden lean-to long shed roof to store firewood, and the bikes. The hedge ran the whole length of the plot, and across the back, and it took a whole week to cut, only having shears, no readily available electric cutters then.

One weekend we went up on our bikes to visit one of Julie's old school friends Shiela who had married a Birmingham cyclist, and they lived there in their new home.. We had been to their wedding, and had a Summer two week holiday with them previously in her fathers car to Torquay. They had married a year or two before us, The Wellavises. We had a good weekend staying with them, but it was overshadowed by Julie discovering that she was pregnant ! " But I don't want a baby, I don't even like them", was her complaint, while I grinned from ear to ear. It was definitely not planned, but it was not a calamity either. We were in a nice home, we had enough money, Julie did not have to work, what better time to start the family ?

The day after Gina was born at home, I went into Odiham to the chemist, and across the road was the bus stop. Quite a crowd were waiting, and it was outside one of the lady school govenors houses. As I crossed the road, she came out with her daughter, and on seeing me she shouted to her daughter, and all the assembled crowd, "Oh, this is Mr Moseley, a new teacher from the school, and he got his first teaching post, got married, bought a house and had a baby, all in his 21st year". I could have crawled into the nearest drain.

The bikes had been out with the Basingstoke CTC on a few rides, and a new baby was not going to stop us riding. We ordered a new Watsonian sidecar, the best available. equal to the tall and elegant Silver Cross high pram she rode in. The only bike that had thick enough chainstays was our Houldsworth track bike, and so it was fitted, and off we went, into Basingstoke and on the Sunday rides. There was immediately a big problem as I have never been able to ride up hills sitting down. Standing on the pedals is called 'honking', with the bike swinging from side to side while the rider stays upright. This played havok with the trailer tyre which wore out in less than two weeks. Coupled with this, the frame had very upright angles, as suited a track frame, but it was far from a steady ride, and one day going over the canal bridge, the sidecar wheel caught on the kerb, and mounted it, bringing bike and trailer to a crashing stop, almost turned over. That was really the end of leisure cycling for us both for the next thirty years. We kept our bikes, and I rode mine daily in to school, and short shopping trips, but that was all. I don’t remember what happened to our new sidecar, but I do remember giving my double chainring and gears to a young lad, Nigel Reynolds, son of an RAF chap we knew socially, never guessing that he would become one of my future sons in law!

It was an exciting time, and things moved quickly. School settled down with a considerate headmaster Mr Thomas, and twelve staff, eight of whom were fresh out of college. Myself, Pat Rodwell art, Pat Collinson PE, Beryl ? Domestic Science, Shiela Freezer science, Mary Sadler English , and Margaret Jennings who taught typing and had been a secretary before her teaching course. Experienced staff were Stan Morrant maths and science, Cyril Cooper, history, Mrs .? Watson, who was deputy head and took remedial classes, a New Zealander Brian Smart for geography, and a semi professional footballer for PE who was a big bully. Being a very young staff we all got on well and developed a group spirit. The youngest were all single, living singly or in groups, in rented accommodation, and we seemed to become a meeting centre, having a house of our own.

Chris and Edna Hill became our new close friends outside the school circle, they were avid card and games players, and Saturday evenings was often a games night with them. Also there was  cinema a few hundred yards up West St at the top of Dunleys Hill, and that was another occasional night out.

My teaching seemed to go well, I started a Model Railway Club, after school, with pupils bringing their own models to run, which was quite a success. As a result of this I found another very good friend. The school dentist had a room upstairs in the old building, with a dental chair and equipment for an annual check on each pupil, and remedial work if necessary. One day he saw me carrying a copy of Model Railway magazine, and it transpired that he was an American Model railway enthusiast with quite an impressive collection of models. He agreed to bring some of these in to show the school club members, and so the friendship began. He initially lived in a small flat in Aldershot above his practice, but when he moved into a bigger house, he always seemed to have plenty of cash to spend on his railway in his loft and often one evening a week I would spend helping lay track on his layout. I was pleased to be asked to be a Godfather to one of his sons. John Gray and wife Shiela, remained a close friends until his early death around 1982, and I still correspond and meet with Shiela, in Winchester.

Of course we both missed friends back in Manchester, and we did travel up by train a couple of times, particularly for Christmas when we stayed with my parents. Travelling this way with baby Gina was not easy.

Soon after Gina’s birth, we had some friends visit us from Australia who had hired a vehicle for the duration of their stay in UK. It was Bedford van with windows in the back and hard wood slat seating for 12 people. It was called a 'farmers model', and we were very impressed with it as a multipurpose family transport. I think that it was probably around spring of '59 or '60 that we bought one of these. Neither of us could drive, but our next door neighbour Mona agreed to drive round with me , and she came with us to collect it from Vauxhall dealer Bakers Garage in Aldershot. I think I was fairly fast learner, but I still took two attempts to pass the Driving test. The first was in Winchester, and everything went very well until I came to the three point turn. I completed this OK, and after, parked by the kerb as requested, but when I came to pull away, I could not engage first gear. Try as I may, it would not engage. The test had to be abandoned and we returned to the test centre using only third (top) gear. The tester congratulated me on this feat, and promised a swift re-test when the vehicle was repaired. The van was only a few weeks old, and the mechanic sent to fix it in our drive had to first push it out of the garage backwards. The linkage had come loose at the gearbox.

Willie and Mona lived next door in 'Farthings' and they had two girls who were in boarding school. They were very pleasant, and good neighbours, but they had fallen on bad times when his company went under for some reason, hence the bungalow name, that was all they had. He was out at work long hours, and she on her own. Each week she bought 7 boxes of Cadburys Milk Tray, and she ate one each day, and nothing else. He ate out during the day. She never cooked. It was a strange way to live.

On the subject of food. Just on West St was a small grocers shop called Bidiscombs, and Mr Bidiscombe provided Julie with an “order book”, in which she would write down all the items she bought on a regular basis, and he delivered these items each week on a certain day. We could of course pop in to buy any item at any time. Later as our children were born, his daughter Lyn used to babysit for us, and of course I taught her at school. Also Susan Gubby babysat, as we began to have quite a social life.. There was also another grocery shop, a delicatessen on the Odiham High St, owned by Mr Dicker, a rather ‘upmarket’ man with fairly expensive and unusual produce. Julie tended not to shop there. Some time later I think, a large fruit and vegetable shop opened on the other side of the street, owned by the Whites, and a small Coop, with Manager Mr Baughurst, two barbers shops, and at the bottom, a blacksmith Jack Read, and a small bus company, with one blue bus. My memory here is probably rather vague, as life moved on very quickly,

School life, family growing in numbers and from babies into small children, building a large brick cavity wall garage, and then another big bedroom with a brick boatshed by the side, landscaping the front garden, concreting the front drive, all seems now to have passed in a flash, and probably it did. Looking back now, when my pace of life has slowed almost to a stop, it all sounds almost impossible. I really enjoyed every moment. School was exciting, the woodwork, and Technical drawing, plus the after school clubs, model railways, with train trips into London for interested boys, and then ‘Scalextric Racing cars’ with a huge wooden figure of eight track, raised on pulleys into the ceiling for storage. One particular School Governor was always very supportive of my endeavours, Mr Benford, who owned a big farm. He regularly gave donations of money to buy items for the clubs use, supplied paint, and latterly when we built 10 canoes in the workshop, he was very enthusiastic. There were night classes too for adults in the village and I made several very good friends through meeting them in this way. One man, a building expert and father of a pupil, gave invaluable advice on building matters, and several others remained friends long after we moved away to Fleet. In my third year teaching, when the Geography teacher moved back into New Zealand, I was promoted to organise all the night classes, teacher claim forms, and promotion of new courses. It was the money I earned from this, that I used to build my first 14 ft speedboat, in the school workshop. Mr Thomas allowed me to do this, on the provision that I would complete the build in one term. This I did, starting during the Christmas break, and launching it at Burghfield Lake Reading, in the Easter Holiday.

I taught in Odiham, Robert Mays Secondary School for nine years, 1957 to 1966, enjoying all it’s aspects, but one incident gave me a reason to move on. We began with only 11 staff, and staff changed and the school numbers grew. Teachers were paid in scales, 1 to 4 I think then. I began on scale 1 of course as did almost all the staff. After 8 years, I was still on scale 1, and a 2nd scale post was given to a typing and RE teacher, giving me the feeling that I had been bypassed. It was time for me to move on.