Loquitur’s Jottings Dad’s story

On the 28th August 1939 I was twenty-six and a bit years of age. I don’t know why I have started writing. I had no intention of doing so , especially about the War years, but sitting and thinking about the 15th January 1991 – just 8 days away – and I’m seventy seven years old, seventy-eight in May, and another war is in the offing – it brought back memories of the part I played 50 years ago. A different war of course, because back then we were directly and without any alternative completely involved.

War then could have been avoided if we and our Allies had taken note of what Hitler was doing and intended doing in Europe. We let the man do what he wanted and allowed him to get away with it. We really had no choice. Who’s fault did you say? There is only one answer to that. From the late Twenties’ we had a load of useless politicians – have we ever had anything different? Well I suppose in some ways we were better off. We had The Empire which we drained of life to our advantage. We built transport systems all over the World: South America, India, Africa. The bank rate was 2 and 1/2 percent, there was no inflation and the Pound was worth 4.95 to 5.00 US Dollars. We were the envy of the World. We just went on producing and selling. We did not need real politicians, so we didn’t have any! There were people sitting in The House of Commons, but they didn’t do anything except close their eyes to what was going on around them. Had they been just a little alert, war could possibly have been avoided.

I was in the Territorials, a Gunner in fact, and from 1930/31 onward we were taught to recognise German aircraft. Why? So we could shoot ’em down when the next war came! What happened? We had a stupid sod of a Primeminister named Ramsay MacDonald who decided on disarmament – our 1932 Camp was at Blackdown near Aldershot with a Mountain Pack battery, listening to 10 pack mules farting as they moved over the slopes of the Surrey and Hampshire Common Land. No cash available for our AA Shells, only 3.7″ guns, not even a .303 bullet for a rifle. What a shower! A round of 3.7″ cost 3 pounds seven and six. Ramsay MacDonald was a Labourite, we had a Labour Goverment from 1928 – 31. He continued as Primeminister until 1936 but with a National Goverment. Then Baldwin took over ’til 1937 – still a National Goverment – and then the “umbrella man” Chamberlain took over until he was kicked out by Churchill. But the War was on by then. What a shambles, and though there were no party politics, they still “slept” in the House of Commons! What I am trying to say is that if we had had anyone with a grain of common sense, someone who could see what was happening in Germany, war could have been avoided. As it was, we were so weakened by the intransigence of our useless leaders, we were unable to help the countries we had promised to help after the 14/18 War, i.e. Czechoslovakia, etc. etc and finally Poland. There was one man about the time of 1937/8 who had considerable foresight. He was called Beaverbrook. He became Minister for Air and started building our airforce. Quite a number of my friends joined the equivalent of the TA and formed the Volunteer Reserve Squadrons of the RAF. Getting back to the crux of the matter, today we must not give in to Saddam Hussein one iota over Kuwait.

Now back on course. The 28th August 1939 – I and my mates slept on the concrete steps of the White City Stadium  at Shepherd’s Bush in London. We were a new lot remember, we were only formed in 1939 and in fact only a few of us had even fired a gun. We were originally due to go to our first practice training camp a week later at the beginning of September, but we headed for the real thing instead. I must add here that after the Disarmament programme of the Labourites, the programme was cancelled when the National Goverment was formed in 1932, so some of us had had the experience of live Gunnery.

So the morning of 29th August saw us in coaches and trucks leaving London and going no one knew where. My old Battery, 159, went to France almost immediately. We ended up on Dartford Heath with four 3.7″ machine guns, some ammunition, a prediction and height finder……. and nothing else! I think we had a couple of officers, Lt. Hawes and Lt. Gibson, and three very old Sergeants. Most of the chaps had never seen a gun, so I was immediately made a Limber Gunner. That suited me. Number 5 on the gun; the chap who pulled the firing lever and who became a wet nurse to his gun. He never left his gun, never went on parade, no duties or fatigues, he was excused all other duties. It was his gun and no one else could touch it!  (Thanks to www.limbergunners.ca, who confirm that the  Limber Gunner was detailed to care for the maintenance and preservation  of the gun. Although there is no exact date when this position was created, the rank of  Lance Bombardier, the rank that a Limber Gunner was appointed to, has survived from the old Grenadier Battalions of the British Army that lasted up to disbandment in 1855 – Ed). The Limber Gunner knew more about the gun than the Number 1. Fifty-six grease nipples in the roller racing, “Tela…… (Dad’s writing indistinct – Ed) T26 Grease Gun, graphite and C70 for the shining portion of the piece, 240 lbs of air pressure in the recuperator and don’t forget the buffer and the “tell tale”. The case firing mechanism was a good show off. I could take it to pieces and put it back together again blindfolded, all twenty-three pieces.

Get on with it!

There was no perimeter fencing around our site, there was a rough track entrance from the road, with a blue tent for a guard. We had to have a guard because the IRA was active at that time, putting bombs in letter boxes in London and so on. BUT the guard have to have a rifle and there were only half a dozen of us who had ever fired one, and unfortunately I was one of them! So the poor old Limber Gunner had a 3.7″ gun during the day and a .303 rifle at night. For good measure though, we nearly shot the Major! He visited one night and did not halt when told to do so. I can’t remember his name. He was a short arrogant little man. He did not last long. I think he was “Bowler hatted” soon after Christmas. I’ll tell you about that later.

Anyway, there we were on Dartford Heath and the first words from us all were “Where’s the cookhouse?”, “Where are the latrines?”, and “Where are the ablutions?”. Well we soon built some lats and ablution benches. A water tank was put up for the washing facilities. The lats were a wooden framework with a tin roof, and a long trench with a pole over it to sit on. I only used it at night when it was peaceful and one could sit and gaze at the Harvest Moon. But what about food? Well “blow me down!”, about 4 o’clock The Co-op arrived with the evening meal, and this continued for a few days. Huts were erected for sleeping, etc. and a cookhouse was built, and a fence appeared around the site. We sandbagged the gunpits and we were settling in fine.

Then came Sunday 3rd September. We were digging slip trenches for the gun detachments. “Lord Knows why” for if the enemy came we were supposed to fire on them, not take cover! Well our slip trench was being dug when the air-raid sirens went off in Dartford and so we took post at Action Stations behind the guns. There we were when Lt. Gibson came round to inspect us. He said “Put on your gas masks and gas capes!”Then he said “Where is your slip trench?”. We pointed it out to him and he said, “Get in it!”, so we got in it. There we were, all eleven of us, standing outside the gun pit in our slip trench which was all of ankle deep! What a shower! To our delight we heard a plane coming and we heard gunfire. It was over the Thames Estuary but turned out to be one of ours. Well Sunday came and went and so did The Co-op. We now had a cookhouse and rations were delivered, but no cooks! So who could cook? Josh Harries said he would have a go, so he and two or three others took on the job. I must say that we did rather well and everyone was satisfied, particularly Josh and a few friends who managed a nice rump steak for themselves every night! We soon had a Canteen going and some chaps arrived from the Army catering Corps to take over the cookhouse.

As a unit we were a very mixed bag, and were what was known as an “Officer Producing Unit”. We were in no way, at this stage of the War, an attacking force and had to concentrate on defence, and Gunner Officers were required in large numbers. Two OCTUs pittsburgpa online
(Officer Cadet Training Units) were formed, one at Shrivenham and one at Oswestry in Wales. No action except we were on the move and away. We left the guns and equipment on Dartford Heath – good job there was no action as only a few of us had ever fired a gun!

This was the middle of London, we were at a Junior Girls School and the rest of the Battery joined us. We were in Hackney – a bloody good place to be – no guns, no nothing! A perfect target for enemy bombers. So what did we do? We had a large photograph taken in the playground, had lectures in the classrooms and made use of the facilities as best we could. The lavatories were too small to sit on – they had been especially made for small girls, so there were no stalls for boys.

Now we are on the way again, going out of London. Blow me down! We’re at Whinchmore Hill; we’ve stopped at my old Football Club Ground at Hedge Lane (Borough of Hendon, N. London – Ed). They’ve put up some huts; we’ve got some guns; but we’ve overflowed onto the Saracens Rugby Club as well (the nomads of English Rugby, Saracens played at Fir Farm, Whinchmore Hill for a time – Ed). There are also some strange looking sheds on wheels in a corner, and on enquiry, someone said it was called “Cuckoo”! The huts are not ready for occupation yet so about thirty of us are sleeping in the pavilion. We are almost touching each other and the palliases are as hard as iron! I slept next to Jack Winder, an old friend, but he had an awful habit; he just stood up in the middle of the night, turned left or right, and “did it”! Woe betide the poor bloke who’s turn it is!

It was getting a bit chilly now, and we moved into the huts which had a large coke burner in the centre of the room; so we sat around it when not working. I of course was still a Limber Gunner and was learning about “Cuckoo” which was RADAR in its infancy. We used to get “Action Stations” at various times of the day or night. We were still an odd lot. Alfie Sassoon, nephew of Sir Phillip (3rd Baronet, see Link in Blogroll – Ed), was on one of the guns and whenever he went to “Action Stations” he carried a huge suitcase with him. It contained bottles of Whiskey, Gin, etc. which he refused to leave in the hut. Strange things happened in those days. One went on guard duty at night and by ten o’clock next morning when the Orderley Officer came round, half the guard would be missing; or one or two chaps on a fatigue would disappear. Where to? Well, London of course. Why? To get some officer’s uniforms. The Papers in those days, or rather The Times and The Telegraph used to publish a list of names of those Commissioned. So off they went to London for officer’s uniforms.

We had our TAB jails at this time, (can anyone tell me what Dad means here – Ed?) and the first lot of us were given 48 hour leave passes. I was one of the lucky ones  because it was soon discovered that it was not leave but 48 hours “excused duty”. A friend of mine had a Morgan 4 (the first one was built in 1936, and 77 years later Morgan are still making them – Ed) which he used to lend me to go home on leave to Epsom where Claire was now living with Ma amp; Pa, and of course little Antony.

The weather was getting bitterly cold and we were on the move again. We arrived somewhere near Gloucester, and I was now a Sergeant; three stripes.  Our 3.7″ mobile AA Guns pointed down the valley. Over the river behind us was a Searchlight Unit. We soon got rid of it! A few nights later “Jerry” came over and the searchight, all fifty million candle power, went into action.  So did “Jerry”! We could see the bloody bullets coming down the beam and most of them were aiming at us! We made the searchlight battery move the next day.

We were off again and on the road to North Wales, a place called Aberporth in Ceredigion on the West Coast, a lovely village (55 years later another Josh Harries went to Aberporth – to the firing range on MOD business – me! – Ed). The trouble was it was snowing and we were billeted in people’s houses or in the Village Hall. God it was cold(!) and we had to do our best with the rations which were issued to us, and buy food from the village shop. There was a mobile butcher, and Bill Bolton and I used to buy steak and cook it on a Primus Stove in the Village Hall. Bill was an old friend of mine for many years and he got the Belgian Croix de Guerre, mainly because he was posted to Brussels and his Wife’s Family were fairly high up in the Belgian Government; they were Belgians of course. We should have been fed at the gun site which was a couple of miles away, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. We couldn’t get there however because of the deep snow. I don’t think the Battery ever did get up to the gun site. We spent a miserable Christmas and then went back to Millhill Barracks outside London.

One incident sticks in my mind afer all these years. I was Orderly Sergeant and the Orderly Officer was 2nd.Lt. Flower. We called him “Daphne”. He was the son of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. He and I had to tramp through the snow to inspect the Guard on the gun site. The Guard, twelve men and a Sergeant, turned out with fixed bayonets. That was all right when he inspected them at “the slope” (Slope Arms! – Ed). Then he gave the order for inspection “Port Arms!”. Just imagine! They came to the “Port” with bayonets still fixed. Well! There they were, left foot forward, rifles held across the waist pointing forward with a bayonet sticking out in front. The officer is supposed to take the barrel in his right hand and look down it to see if it was clean, and then examine the breech. Some hopes! It would probably have ended with a bayonet up one’s nostril! Daphne said to me; “What shall I do now?” I said; “Better dismiss the Guard soon and we can go back to our billets”. So that’s what he did, thank goodness!

So were now in Millhill Barracks, the home of the Middlesex Regiment, and on parade the next morning only eight men turned up. I was one of them. All of the rest of the Battery were sick, the consequence of our Christmas in Wales! The Medical Officer decided there was only one way to deal with the situation, so everyone was sent home on seven days sick leave. So we all had our throats swabbed and away we went.

The major got a “Bowler Hat” (left the Army – Ed) and we never saw him again; or at least I don’t think so. It was only January 1941 at this time, and although I was only a Sergeant, I did not see an officer above the rank of Lieutenant until October of that year when I went to OCTU (Officer Cadet Training School) at Shrivenham. of course I may have seen one, but if I did they made no impression on me!

So, back to Millhill Barracks after Leave and then to Blackdown and into barracks. We were to be issued with kit for a hot climate, and it was all very secret, and we were allowed a weekend pass to see our families if we could get away in the time given. Claire, who only lived at Epsom, came down and we stayed at a bed and breakfast house at Frimley Green, and of course spent most of the time in The White hart in Frimley – a lovely old pub.

Our weekend over I discovered that our guns and stores had gone to Aberdeen and were being loaded onto a ship – for onward to where? Where do you think? Of all places; Finland! I don’t know who the Fins were fighting at that time, either the Germans or the Russians; the Germans more likely. We had no casualties except a Sergeant who was killed when the leg of one of our 3.7” guns fell on him on the quay at Aberdeen. We finally though stayed put at Blackdown because either the Germans or Russians had already beaten the Fins!

We did have British troops in Finland because a later friend of mine – a Captain A J H Hopkins was a Movements Officer there and was lucky to get away, and I later met him in Palestine. In civilian life he was a Cargo Loading Manager at George V Dock in London.

So there we sat! It was all so bloody “hush hush” we knew nothing, but our guns and equipment had disappeared, and I found out later it had gone to France. Our advance party had gone and we were to follow. We were going to Abbeville, so away we went, full of hope, and ended up in Finsbury Park, North London! What a shambles! The Troops had given up in France and were now in the middle of Dunkirk (and the evacuation). I became part of a small party to go somewhere; I’m not certain where – Portsmouth or Southampton – to help get the chaps off the boats and on to trains to wherever. Then back to Finsbury Park. Our guns, etc. duly arrived back from France so at least we had something to do. I was a full Sergeant by this time and I had a gun and detachment of twelve men, a driver, a Matador (Towing vehicle – Ed) and a load of ammunition, a motorcycle and a couple of Bedford 3 ton trucks.

I can’t remember how long we stayed at Finsbury Park. One day I was called to a tent or marquee with Geoff Healy the Sergeant in charge of No. 2 Gun. Geoff was a musician; he ran a dance band in civilian life and played at a club in London’s West End. So we were called to what was known as an “Orders Group”. We were both given a map reference and told to take our guns and equipment and make our way there as soon as possible. There had evidently been air raids in the area and there was only one old 3” Anti Aircraft Gun mounted on a hill near where we were going. Our map showed us a bit of open ground between Swansea and Neath on the South Wales Coast marked Jersey Marine Golf Course. It was a hell of a way! (now Swansea Bay Golf Club based in the village of Jersey Marine – Ed). We said “What about food?”, and were told to fend for ourselves and scrounge what we could from civilians along the route. We had a couple of bell tents and some sort of equipment for cooking, but we were careful to stop on the way where it looked most likely we could scrounge something to eat. Most of the public were very kind and helpful and I think in one or two places we were given live chickens. Anyway we did not starve. There was no Severn Bridge in those days and so we had to go north a bit and through Gloucester.

So here we are in Wales. It’s usually a hell of a job to put down a 3.7” mobile Gun and get it level, but I chose a nice Green (don’t know what hole it was!) and the gun was level in no time. What next? Get something cooking. Sometime later Geoff Healy arrived and put his gun down on the next Green about 30 yards away. There we were. We heard from the locals that there had been firing at the port of Swansea, so we presumed that was why we were there. There had also been bombing raids which we were to find out about later ourselves. However, what were we to do? Just fire at anything that came over I suppose. Just make a noise to encourage the poor old locals. We were quite happy.

Lo and behold, the next day, who should arrive but Taffy Evans with a Vickers Predictor and a UB2 Height Finder (During World War 1 instruments were introduced to provide laying data; typically Height and Range Finders (HRF) were optical rangefinders of the coincident type, for example the Barr & Stroud 2 metre UB2, that also measured the elevation angle and hence produced height. Deflection was found by entering the range into tachymetric devices that tracked the target in range and elevation to determine the rate of change and hence the deflection –Ed) and a few vehicles and men. Taffy Evans was a Warrant Officer 3^rd Class – a Troop Sergeant Major, so we were a Troop! Two guns and a Command Post; no officer just a useless Sergeant Major BUT a couple of first class Sergeants!

Taffy selected his Command Post and had his tent put up; tested the prevailing wind to erect a corrugated iron Cookhouse on one side and on the other side, some Latrines. Next, dig some slip trenches behind the guns and Command Post and then get the guns calibrated. Our “aiming point” was selected somewhere near The Mumbles, and we were ready for action. Why the hell we always had to dig slip trenches I shall never know! We were there to fire our guns against the enemy aircraft, not to hide in the bloody slip trenches!

I’m writing a few words today because it’s the 28^th March 1991 and Dad was taken prisoner on that day in 1918 – the day of the “Great German Onslaught”. He wrote quite an interesting little book about his captivity by The Bosche. he called it “Scavenging For The Bosche”, because he did not get further than behind the German Lines. I shall not elaborate because anyone sufficiently interested can read all about it – Josh has a copy (that’s me – Ed).

My story is on Jersey Marine Golf Course, and we are two guns and a very ancient Command Post with a Troop Sergeant Major in charge.

It is just after Midnight and the Air Raid Siren has gone and the searchlight, about two miles from the sea on top of a hill, has lit up the sky. There is a Heinkel IIIK (a German aircraft designed by Siegfried and Walter Günter in the early 1930s in violation of the Treaty of Versailles. Often described as a “wolf in sheep’s clothing”, it masqueraded as a transport aircraft, though its actual purpose was to provide the Luftwaffe with a fast medium bomber–Ed) circling overhead, and it is dropping bombs on us – the screaming sort – very frightening – but they do no harm. They fall onto the sandy golf course and explode with very little noise.  The searchlight has picked it up; a marvellous target. There is a loud voice from the Command Post; “TAKE COVER!”. There is a loud voice from me; “NUMBER 1 GUN STAND FAST!” I am on my knees behind the gun shouting “TRAVERSE RIGHT. RIGHT. ELEVATE TO 80 DEGREES. TRAVERSE. TRAVERSE. HALT. LOAD FUSE 7. TRAVERSE. HALT. FIRE!” Up goes the 56 pounder. A hit! We have a hit and he comes down in the sea! We heard the next morning that the crew of five were picked out of the sea, taken to hospital and given hot cups of tea, etc. I and my gun detachment did not even get a thank you!

We did not stay long at Jersey Marine. We were on the move and ended up in a field a short way to the east of Newport in Monmouthshire. We were a larger Troop now: four guns and an officer in charge named Lt. Dunlop. Another Troop were in a field about a mile away. We had huts to sleep in and a Sergeant’s Mess; a proper Cookhouse and a Cook! Evans was still with me, but we were a happy crowd.

We were bombed one night but the bombs dropped either side of the gun site and made a few holes. Had some fun one afternoon. We were following a Heinkel at Range Control. We could not engage – it was almost out of range – but away in the distance coming towards us in formation were three Junkers, 87s (also known as Stukas-Ed) I think they were. We laid on them using the dials controlled from the Predictor and loaded Fuse 11 and got the order to fire from the Command Post. They were sitting ducks. We shot them all down. Four shells exploded in the middle of them and they all disintegrated. Job done! We saw a fair amount of action as there was not a lot of air defence  in this part of the World. Gunners were few and far between despite the “Territorial’s” and the Officer producing units. The War was not yet a year old….and anyway it was going to end last Christmas according to the pundits!

We were into early September 1940 and one afternoon the Telephonist in the Command Post kept getting phone calls saying “CROMWELL”. He didn’t know what it was all about so he called Lt Dunlop, our only officer, who went to the Command Post  and phoned Ops. He was asked if he had heard of CROMWELL. He said yes; that he was the first silly bugger to get a haircut! However, it turned out that CROMWELL was the code word for the German Invasion of Britain and on that day the Church Bells rang in many places and we went to permanent Action Stations.

As we all know the invasion did not come off. The Rhine Barges that the enemy was coming over on were sunk by the RAF and Hitler and Goering danced in vain!

Meanwhile Claire and I were married in 1937; the ceremony performed by my old pal Bill Fussell at Epsom Registry Office. We had not planned to marry quite so soon but Claire’s Mother died in March 1937 – she was only 50. It was a terrible shock – she had a stroke. It was very sudden! After her Mother’s death Claire continued to work and lived at home in Tooting with her Father and Brother. Things became a little difficult because her Brother’s Girlfriend came to stay, and all was not so easy going. Claire eventually went to live with her Sister Ethel at Hayes in Middlesex, and we decided to get married.

We found a very nice ground floor flat at Carshalton. Quite expensive for those days; 29/6 a week (nearly £1.50-Ed) but we had parquet flooring, a resident porter, who kept the halls and stairs clean, looked after the very nice gardens and the two hard tennis courts which were for the use of the tenants.

There were about 60 young couples and many of us were good friends. Various occupations; several Imperial Airways Pilots. Croydon was the Aerodrome in those days, just up the road from us. I played Football for Carshalton and a bit of Golf  at Hackbridge – a nine hole effort – and at Sanderstead with Jack Richardson, a Scot who lived in one of the flats with his Mother and Sister. He worked at Venners, the “Time Switch” people on the Kingston Bypass. (Venners made time-switches for controlling street lighting. Google will find them if you are interested-Ed). We had a jolly good pub adjoining the entrance to the flats – The Windsor Castle (still going strong-Ed) – run by a chap Doug Foster and his Wife; a very pleasant couple who sold Gin at 6  1/2 d (about 3 pence) and Whiskey at 7  1/2d (about 4 pence) and Beer at 5d a Pint (about 2 pence).

Although I say it myself, our time at Wynash Gardens was a happy period. We had a comfortable time and although I was away quite a lot, I was home at weekends from Friday to Monday – except when I went to Scotland which was usually a ten day trip. We spent out time trying to produce a Son! There was no mucking about and he was no accident! Antony was born on 23 December 1938, so Claire did not carry on her job at Price Forbes for long. What a night that was! We went to The Windsor Castle for the evening with some of our flat mates. There was snow on the ground and we played snowballs on the way home. It was cold and frosty. When we got in, about Midnight, we got some coal in and lit the fire in the Bedroom. We often did this at night; even had Supper in bed sometimes! Dad’s car was outside so that I had transport in case of an emergency and so it happened that night! The alarm bell went soon after we were in bed. The roads were so icy that I did not want to drive, so I rang for an ambulance. Antony was born about 6 o’clock (a.m.) in the Cottage Hospital at Carshalton. I went back to the hospital at 8.30 in the morning and there they were, sitting up in bed. At least Claire was; the baby was in her arms. That was a Christmas that was!

Here I must say something that has haunted me all my life. The boy was to be named after me and his Grandfather, but I’d had an upset with Dad. I don’t know what it was about – we were friends again soon after – but Dad was not at the Christening and the boy was christened Antony. I must have been an awkward bugger because when the Vicar said “Anthony, how nice… after the Saint”, I said “No! No H, just Antony!”.

I’ve regretted that incident all my life. Why do we have unnecessary rows? I don’t know if it affects other people in the same way but, despite my outward appearance of indifference, I’m not like that at all. I can remember many instances of hurt feelings which have not really been meant. Why, oh why, do we do it? When those we have loved have gone, it is too late! I suppose that is our punishment, and it hurts and lingers forever……..

Well, so much for Antony. He was a good lad. His cot was by my side of the bed and I used to give him a bottle in the middle of the night. His ma used to feed him. She was a bonny lass, and had a pretty lonely time, with me away such a lot. She never complained. Claire, of course, was twenty-one in November 1937. Her Father used to come over to lunch sometimes on Sunday. She must have missed her Mother very much at this time.

In 1938 we had the “Munich Crisis”. The territorials were being called-up, gun sites were being prepared, and war seemed inevitable. All the office buildings were being sand-bagged, and Chamberlain waved a piece of paper and called out, “Peace in or time!”. I spent hours going round TA HQs to try to get in again. I could not re-join my old mob as I was no longer associated with Lloyds. Suddenly the TA began an expansion programme and the old “159” crowd formed a new Battery. A cadre of NCOs went to White City to start it up, and I was in again. That was April 1939 and the new Battery was about 280 strong. Well that Summer passed, or almost passed, until on 27 August in the evening, whilst I was playing tennis, the telegraph boy arrived with a telegram telling me to report for duty.

Here I am going to digress. I am going to extol the virtues of my Parents; their kindness to me and later to my Family. It was really out of this world! I suppose my Father was fairly strict. He had to be! We were a family of seven! We went short of nothing; it must have been a helluva job! He was a good man; did not drink (except for the odd glass of wine); clothed us well; fed us well and took us for 3 weeks holiday every year. Claire and I even went on holiday to Manorbier in Pembrokeshire in 1937 with all the Family (back to our roots – Ed), and before that Claire went with them to Salwayash near West Bay, Bridport, Dorset.

In 1936 I was twenty-three and Claire was twenty. We wanted to get married, so I went to R C Thorne the Director of our Marine Section at Heaths and asked for a raise. I was then getting £110 per Annum. He asked why, so I told him. He said it was stupid to get married! The answer was “No”, but if I stayed at Heath’s for 40 years I would get quite a good pension!

I’m afraid I was a little rude, because I said “Because (he) was unhappily married, it didn’t mean that I would be”. So at that stage I left his office and thought it advisable to offer my resignation before I got the sack! This I did, and for the period of my Notice I was transferred to the Enquiries Department at the front of the Office. It was an interesting job because anyone coming in had to be interviewed, state their business and wait to be seen by the person who dealt with the problem in question.

One day a gentleman in a top hat with button-hole and umbrella arrived. He did not come to the Counter but started through the door without stating his business. I naturally went to stop him and we became involved in a struggle – I said, “Where are you going?” He said he was going to see Lord de Vesci. I said “No you are not!” He said “Yes I am! I am taking him to lunch!” I said, “Wait here and I will tell him”. By this time we had struggled towards the Viscount’s door, past the Fire Dept., and he had partly opened the “Vicar’s” door (we called the Viscount “The Vicar”). I said, “You’ll get me the sack!”. He said, “If you get the sack, I’ll give you a job!”.

I let him go in and went back to the Counter. A few minutes later they came out and as he was passing I said, “Did you mean what you said about a job?”. He said, “Yes”. I said, “I am leaving here at the end of the month”. He said, “Come and see me at 11.00 tomorrow morning”.

By this time the whole of the fifth floor, about a hundred of them, were on their feet staring. Several of them came round saying, “Do you know who that was?”. I of course, hadn’t a clue! “That was Klamborowski, the Boss of the Provident Mutual Life Assurance Association”. I told them he had offered me a job. “You lucky Bugger!”, they said.

I was at Provident Mutual’s Offices at 11.00 next morning and had an interview with “Klambo” as we called him. He was a lovely man. He made the Eagle Star and British Dominion Assurance what it was, and of course, is to this day. And after The War, he built up Lambert Bros. into a thriving company. (These latter companies are still going strong today and have a web/internet presence. Sadly, Provident Mutual was dissolved in 2003, although “Aviva” includes it’s history as part of it’s heritage – Ed). Well, after my interview I was told to come back the next day for a medical examination – which I did. I passed, and on the first of the month (December), I started work in the Agency Department, at more than double my previous salary – in fact £250 per Annum .

The Provident Mutual was a pure Life Assurance association, no mucking about. All Pensions’ Schemes are covered by Assurance Companies whose Actuaries work out what premiums are required, by working out the “Mutuality tables”. We had Life and Endowment Assurance Schemes with every Transport company in Great Britain except three, i.e. “Thames Valley”, “Hants & Dorset” and “Wilts & Somerset”. We covered the “Post Office”, Railways, everything including several Banks. The Country was split up. London was Head Office. I was in “London South” and covered the area south of the Thames, west to Swindon, down to and including the Isle of Wight, and east to Kent, to Dover and south to the English Channel. I covered the area with a chap called Claude Frost and our boss who sat in the office, but came out occasionally. He was a chap named Johns. Then there was London north of the River and two other chaps covered that area. The rest of Britain was covered by offices at Bristol, Nottingham, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Carlisle, Newcastle, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Glasgow & Aberdeen. They had their own areas with Branch Managers.

In our area we had sub-agents in Railways, Post Offices, Bus Depots; who explained the Schemes to the Staff and recruited members. They got a small commission. But the beauty of the Scheme was that all premiums were deducted from Pay through the Company Payrolls. My job was to go round my area and jog the sub-agents who got a bit slack sometimes, and to talk to groups and answer questions at meetings. We were salaried and did not get commission, but our expenses were liberal and we only stayed in the best hotels. I was away from home quite a bit, but that was my job and I became very interested and happy to travel and see new places. Payment of claims were made to the Branch Manager concerned who in turn paid the money to the Claimant, but one of the managers decided to make his own arrangements once he had received the money from HQ. This resulted, eventually, in claimants complaining to HQ that they had not been paid. So much to the Manager’s surprise he was taken to Court and got 6 months and the sack!

Well, that altered my life as well because it was decided to make an internal audit of Branches every three months, and I was given the job. More travel, fresh places to visit, all by road – a wonderful job! I travelled with the Agency (Assistant) Manager, J.M. Robertson, and not only did I visit Branch Offices but depots in towns all over England, Scotland and parts of Wales. It was not all work. For instance, to visit the Scottish Offices took ten days, and the work involved about 10 hours in all!

On one of our Scottish visits I tasted Haggis for the first time. The Edinburgh Manager, named Menzies (pronounced “Mingis”) was a member of the “Royal Burgess (Golf) Club”, whose President at that time was the Prince of Wales. He took us there to lunch and we had Haggis, mashed Turnips, or “Neaps” as the Scots call them, and Whisky (not “Whiskey” – that’s how the Irish spell it!). We also went to the “Royal and Ancient”(Golf Club) at St Andrews on the way up to Aberdeen. In Aberdeen I was introduced to the owner of the “S.M.T. Bus Co.”, a Mr H.T. Alexander. He introduced me to real Whisky – he carried a bottle in his car. It looked like water, but tasted like the very Fire of Hell – about 90% Proof!

One day coming from Aberdeen back to Edinburgh we took the inland road along the “Royal Deeside”, past Braemar over the bridge where you can watch the Salmon leaping; and Balmoral, with the Castle on the right, down the road to the “Devil’s Elbow” (The Cairnwell Pass is on the A93 between Glen Shee and Braemar and is the highest main road in the UK. A mile south of the summit is the Devil’s Elbow, a notorious double-hairpin bend climbing at a gradient of 33 percent (1 in 3). The modern road bypasses the hairpin bends, but the old road still exists – Ed). On the road coming towards us was a Ghillie (Scots term for an attendant on a Hunting or Fishing trip – Ed) leading a Mule with a huge Stag across its back. Walking in front were two chaps wearing kilts and carrying crooks. We stopped, stood on the seats with our heads out of the sunshine roof and said Good Afternoon. I said “Good God! It’s the King!” It was too! Walking back to the Castle with the Duke of Gloucester after a day’s shooting.

Life was certainly not humdrum in those days. There was always someone new and interesting to see. We would leave London and stop at “The Bell” Public House at Eton to talk to a chap named Clutterbuck, who was the Secretary of “The London Brick Company” at Biggleswade – we were always after new business.

It was in Edinburgh that I met Duncan Macrae. He was busy at St Andrew’s University training to be a Doctor. He played Rugby for Scotland. We met originally in the bar of Fairley’s Restuarant in downtown Edinburgh. He introduced me to a Captain Robertson who was M.O. (Medical Officer) at the Castle. We used to be able to get a drink any time of the night in The Waverley Hotel because Robertson knew the Night Waiter who was a retired WO (Warrant Officer). We met up quite often. I don’t remember what we talked about, but we enjoyed one another’s company. Robertson went off to Abbysinia with the Red Cross. The Italians had invaded the place. (this crisis increased the tension in Europe in the years prior to WW2 – if you are interested – see the link in my Blogroll -Ed)

The Provident Mutual being concerned with almost all the Transport Companies in the UK, it was customary to go to the Commercial Motor Shows at Earls Court. All of the Stands had tents where they served drinks. We met an old friend, a chap called Dawson, who owned the Bus company “Enterprise and Silver Dawn”, who later amalgamated with the “Lincolnshire Road Car Company” (in 1950-Ed).  A very good time was had by all, and Dawson ended up buying some DEC (I think!-Ed) Bus Chassis for his company. He had to cancel the order later of course, when he got back to Scunthorpe and realised what he had done. However, the thing rebounded!

JMR and I went up to Scunthorpe sometime later to talk to him about a Pension Scheme for the staff. Initially that area was very productive in those days. The Steelworks there turned out one seventh of the total World output of Steel, there was no unemployment, Bus Conductors were earning 10/2 (ten shillings and twopence) per 4 hour shift and they were doing 2 shifts a day. That was a lot of money in those days. Anyway, believe it or not, JMR and I left there two days later and we had not once talked about pensions! We had to stop in the middle of Lincoln, on the bridge over the River Witham, to be ill! (sounds like alcohol poisioning, or was it just the late night kebab!-Ed)!

One morning I was staying at the “Railway Hotel” in the Centre, by the Level Crossing (where else?-Ed) when a man jumped off the top of the Cathedral! A good hotel; I used to go there for their great Roast Lamb and Pickled Walnuts.

Birmingham was an awkward place to get about in. They had a one-way system. It was like a bloody maze! Our office was in the centre. The only time I stayed there the place was packed out. Some chap with an umbrella was there with a party, and when I got to the Hotel I found that they had made up a bed for me in a bath! The chap’s name was Neville Chamberlain (for you youngsters, he was a British Conservative Prime Minister 1937 -1940, best remembered these days for his appeasement foreign policy, signing the Munich Agreement with Hitler, and ultimately leading Britain into the Second World War. Plenty on him and events of his time on Wikipedia (follow my Blogroll link)-Ed)

I was interested in joining the TA again, but the Provident Mutual was not very enthusiastic. They were not members of Lloyds and so did not give the additional leave for Training Camp.

I can’t really pass over this period without mentioning some of the other Branch Offices I visited while with the Provident Mutual. Bristol I enjoyed. The “Life” Inspector there and I would travel round the area in his car and visit Exeter, Torquay, Okehampton, Plymouth…. the place I liked best was Barnstaple, where we stayed at The Imperial Hotel. Four days travelling round the West Country every Quarter was quite a holiday! Then there was Cardiff, Swansea, Newport…and no Severn Bridge to use, so it meant going through Gloucester (the first bridge was not opened until 1966 – Ed). There was a nice hotel there, I can’t remember the name. I’ve already said all I want to say about Birmingham. The Potteries was quite a good spot. I used to stay in Hanley and visited Stoke, Stafford & Newcastle-Under-Lyme.

Nottingham was good – stayed at the “County” or “Black Boy”(The Black Boy – an inn had stood on the site for many years when it was rebuilt in 1887-88. With its massive central tower with dark wooden gables and a Bavarian balcony with a dark wood balustrade, it was a major landmark in Nottingham city centre until its demolition in the late 1960s – Ed) The England and Australian Test teams used to stay at the Black Boy Hotel. There is an inn under Nottingham Castle called “The Trip to Jerusalem”, where King Richard used to assemble his men on the way to the Crusades. “Trip” is the old English word for “Halt”… so the “Halt on the way to Jerusalem”. You could actually buy a “yard of ale” at the inn, and there was a speaking tube from the Bar up to the Castle – seven hundred feet long! In the old days the inn was the cellar for the Castle, and orders for supplies were shouted down the tube. The cricketers used to use the inn a lot. (This is a fascinating pub, purported to be the oldest in England, dating back to 1189AD. See the website link on my Blogroll-Ed) I was in Nottingham the week of King George VI’s Coronation (12 May 1937. He was the one with the stammer, and subject of the 2011 film “The King’s Speech”-Ed) It was well lit up! Sherwood Forest was worth a visit and you could drive through it to the Great North Road (a coaching route used by mail coaches between London, York and Edinburgh, and now in part the A1-Ed).

Next came Manchester. I used to stay at the Midland Hotel, but ate at the Astoria Bar across the way. They had a huge Saloon grill – the steaks were magnificent (you chose your own), but the pride of the place was their Lancashire Hotpot – served in dishes with whole Lamb Chops and covered with pickled Red Cabbage. People used to go to the Cocktail Bar in the Midland to watch the Barman shake cocktails. He won the British Empire Cocktail Shaking Championship in Australia, and could shake and pour about six drinks without a spot of liquor under or over (?-Ed).

Then to the Queen’s Hotel in Leeds. When it opened in about 1937 it was the most modern hotel in Europe. It was part of the Railway Station Complex. Believe it or not it was only 8/6 Bed and Breakfast; 12/6 if you had dinner (that was really good value, as using the Retail Price Index to compare relative worth, that equates today to only about £20 (30 quid with dinner) . B&B (with dinner) at the Queen’s today would set you back £90 (£110). If you are interested in comparative worth – check out the “Measuring Worth” website – linked to my Blogroll – Ed). JMR and I, the Leeds Manager and the owner of a Clothing Factory used to go the Angel at Ilkley, which was an infamous pub; and then go for Fish and Chips at the supposedly most famous Fish and Chip restaurant in Britain. (Dad means, of course”Harry Ramsden’s”) (I think that the Angel Inn is actually at Hetton – near Ilkley Moor – can anyone tell me why it was “infamous”?-Ed)

Did you ever do any work Harries?

Now to Liverpool, with the Liver Building. The Mersey Tunnel had just been opened. JMR used to stay at the Adelphi, and I stayed at a Hotel called the Exchange. It sounds dull and probably was. I can remember one occasion, it was the time of the Victoria Cup – you know, for Coursing. The hotel was packed out with Irish Priests over for the Cup. I don’t know what we played; it was played with heaps of pennies like “Pitch and Toss”. We drank Guiness and sent out for loads of pigs trotters.

Chester, a lovely town! The city was all old buildings with dark beams – marvellous! The green sward down to the River Dee was close-cut and all along the river were coloured fairy lights. Can’t remember doing much work there. We must have just called in passing to visit a firm or an agent. The trip was the same time as the Coronation (George VI in 1937. Dad was also in Nottngham this week- Ed). It was a particularly festive visit.

Whenever we went to Newcastle we usually went there from Birmingham. We had no fixed route as our visits were supposed to be unexpected so that the accounts could not be “cooked” for our arrival; not that they ever were! Newcastle can be quite an interesting place to visit – two bridges over the River Tyne, a busy port, Eldon Square where our office was situated, Grainger Street and the Railway Station (Grainger Street or Grainger Town is the historic centre of Newcastle-Ed) – I sometimes stayed at the Station Hotel (the Royal Station Hotel -Ed); the posh area down to Whitley Bay; Moor Green – part of the town on the way to Blaydon Races. I remember arriving one afternoon at 3 p.m. The office was closed. They had all gone home because the Chief Clerk was playing Rugby Football. I remember one visit in 1936. It was dreadful! The streets of Gateshead were lined with men in dark suits and cloth caps. They were unemployed. A terrible year! It was the same in other towns south of Newcastle – a large mining area.

I used to visit Sunderland to see the Traction Company there. In fact I played football at Sunderland Football ground (Roker Park-Ed) for the Army, and with Raich Carter, the Sunderland Captain who was in the RAF (Horatio Stratton “Raich” Carter; admired by the great Stanley Matthews no less – check him out on Wikipedia-Ed). I’ll tell you about that later if I get to it.

Well now we are leaving Newcastle and going West instead of South. Going along Hadrian’s Wall to Carlisle. I was always intrigued by the signpost out of Newcastle which read “Heddon on the Wall”(Wikipedia again if interested-Ed). Robbie and I usually left in time to fit in a meal at the Inn at Chollerford Bridge on the River Tyne. The cooking was marvellous and the views out of this World! Arriving at Carlisle, the hotel we stayed at was the Grosvenor.

Its not easy to remember all the details  of those days. Remember, I joined the Provident Mutual on 1st December 1936 and put my uniform on, on the 27th August 1939. Not long really, and so much had happened: married, got a lovely Wife and a magnificent Son and heir; not done too badly in business life. Had it not been for the War I think I might have got on well at the P.M. I had, after only a few months, a pretty responsible job. I had overtaken other members of the Agency Department and in fact had been introduced to the “Sheriff of London Club” off Queen Victoria Street, by R B Glasborough the Agency Manager. I was being accepted by Management. What a boastful old – or young – egotist you are Josh Harries!

Well, after all the Branches to visit every Quarter, and not only the Branches, I got to know many people in many other towns and cities, who did, after-all, take a reasonably important part in the running of local services. And in fact I was involved quite considerably in the prosperity and success of a very important Life Assurance Society.