N.B. The copyright of this piece is solely the ownership of its author. The opinions expressed in its text are the authors alone.



Extracts from the memoirs and autobiographical writings of members of St Dunstan’s


Selected by Alan Morrison, Tutor and Co-ordinator


Writers’ Forum, St. Dunstan’s, Ovingdean, Brighton, UK



from My Story


Matthew Cecil Rhodes


Chapter 2

My accident was a crash on a motorbike in Germany.  I had been visiting my girlfriend, who was an Officers daughter, and had left her house at roughly 2200hrs.  An Officer had been to a regimental evening, and was going home at 0130hrs.  He usually went a completely different way, but for some reason he was going the same way as where my accident occurred.  He saw my bike, had a look around and found my body roughly 100mtrs away.  If he had not seen me, not taken the route that he normally doesn’t take, I would not be here today.  The bike was hardly damaged, but I had two blood clots in the centre left of my brain and my optic nerve was cut in half loosing me of my right hand field of vision.  The main nerve in my left arm was almost cut off, but I luckily had a bit of my nerve still attached to my arm, so with time, it repaired itself.  My blood clots were in the centre left of my brain, so the doctors could do nothing at all to make the swelling less, as if the clots had been on the outer surface of my brain, they could have drilled a hole to let the blood escape.  Because of the two blood clots I received several disablements.  Everything down my right hand side of my body, from my lips down to my toes, was paralysed.  My paralysis was a great disappointment for me for obvious reasons, mainly that I couldn’t run any more.  My memory is also very bad.  I was in a coma for roughly two months.  When I awoke, very slowly, I thought that I was just in a bad dream, and expected to go asleep, and awaken back in my Barracks with all my great friends around me.  Obviously, this never happened; and the worst thing was that I didn’t have a clue what had happened.  The only thing I could truly remember about myself was my Army ID number.  It took me about three months to remember my first name, then another six months to remember my surname.  When I first met my wife, it took me a good year and a half before I remembered her name.  Luckily for me, she understood!  One of the very first things I could remember was the song by Bobby McFerrin, “Don’t worry, be happy.” How much the words to this song are so correct.  I still love it now and it is one of my favourites.  In years to come, I would love it to be played at my funeral.


As soon as I had my accident, my parents were told by two uniformed Army Policemen who appeared in their shop and they immediately knew that something was wrong.  My mother flew over to Germany to be with me.  She had been told that if I wasn’t dead yet, than I most likely would be by the time she saw me.  She got to me as quickly as she could.


When I arrived at the German hospital after I had been found, the hospital had to put me on a respiration machine, as my breathing was very poor, and the doctors thought that I would not be able to live without it.  My body had not been discovered until roughly three hours after my accident; so I had spent that time relying on nature to keep me alive.


For my first four weeks I went magnificently down in weight.  On the day of my crash I weighed roughly 11½ stone.  Four weeks later, I weighed a bare 5½ stone.


For the next four weeks my mother was told, almost everyday, that I would not live through to the next day.  My heart beat was changing all of the time, going extremely fast, and then going mind stopping slow, sometimes as slow as four beats a minute; how my fitness kept me alive.  After four weeks I was flown back to the UK.  Because of my head injury I could not be flown above 1,000ft.  So I was taken by myself, by a VC10, all the way from Germany to the UK below 1,000ft; I would have loved to have seen that!  From the English airport I got flown my helicopter to a hospital in Hayward’s Heath, East Sussex, which was near to my parent’s home.


When I was in the English hospital in Hayward’s Heath, they tested my body and told my mother that yes, I was going to live, but as a cabbage as they had tested my whole body and I hadn’t responded once.  This test was quite simple, basically poking my body all over with a pin, and seeing how or if my body reacted, my body didn’t react once.


The next thing they told my parents was that if I didn’t eat anything by that night, then they were going to have to stick a tube in my stomach so that I could be fed. Well, my parents couldn’t believe that I couldn’t eat, so brought a big bar of chocolate.  My parents then came to see me with this one bar of chocolate; my father broke me of a tiny bit and I gobbled it down as though I hadn’t been fed for years!  They then showed the doctors this, and I didn’t have a tube entered into my belly, and aren’t I glad as I love eating.  Then, when I was eating, because my working arm could not do much, due to the nerve being damaged, I had to be fed by other people.  I’m glad that I wasn’t mentally back to normal; otherwise I would have been so embarrassed!  Since that day I have eaten lots f delicious foods, and have respected that I could eat.


I was told that I would not be able to do many things, but have proved them always wrong.  I was told that I would never walk again, and I’ve now done the 2007 London Marathon.


When I finally came out of my coma, it happened very slowly.  I didn’t just spring out of it, as they tend to show on TV programs.  When I was coming out of my coma I felt as if I was in a dream.  Every night, for over a year since my accident, I always believed, and wished that I would go to sleep and reawaken back in my Army barracks with all my good friends about me.  But this never, and would never happen.  One scary thing about my accident is that I could remember nothing of it.  I went to bed one night, being a person who loved fitness and could run a remarkable distance and not suffer for it afterwards; to trying to get out of bad and not able to do the simplest of things.  I also miss the comradeship, as when you have been in a War time situation, your life depends on your friend covering you, as his depends on you.  I have found that you can’t get this kind of friendship in civvie street.  My two great friends from the Army are still great friends now.


I can remember the first time I tried to walk.  I got out of bed with a helping hand from my mum; she had to hold onto me very tightly.  I walked, wobbled, dragged by myself and my mum forwards for about 5 meters, and it took us about half an hour, but it felt amazing to me, and my mum was thrilled!


One thing I felt strange was that no matter who I talked to, they could not understand me.  I would hear myself speak perfect English, so couldn’t comprehend why they could not hear or figure out what I had said.  My mother told me later on that what actually came out of my mouth was nothing but noise, no language, no understandable words.  It’s very annoying that I couldn’t hear myself speak the rubbish, as I would have known what was going wrong with my speech and could have changed it.  When I could finally speak actual words, I used to get them all muddled up.  I would think I had said a sentence finally OK, but would then be told that I had said the wrong words.  So when some disabled people sound as if they are speaking nonsense, they aren’t to themselves, they know what they want to say.


Most days I just sat in a chair next to my bed and looked out the window.  I didn’t know anything, it was as if I had to be taught it all again.  Roughly every two days I was given a bath by two 18 year old nurses, one brunette and one blonde, but I didn’t know the difference between man and woman; if only I could go back for another bath!  My mother used to visit me everyday, but to me not being able to remember anything, it would feel like days between her visits.  I feel sorry for my family being put all through that heart ache.


One of my sitting in my chair days I saw this military looking gentleman who came up to me to have a chat.  I’m glad to say that the first sentence I replier to him was said in perfect English.  I was then admitted to Headley Court, a military hospital just outside London.


Chapter 3


I arrived at Headley Court not being able to walk or talk.  Headley Court is one of the main rehabilitation centres for the British forces.  The part where my accommodation was, was on the end of an old building after several huge gyms.  My accommodation was for those who were seriously injured.  By the main entrance there was a road, and across the road was some more accommodation where people with less injuries stayed. In my part of the accommodation was everything we needed.  We had lots of bathrooms, including showers and baths.  We also had a huge lounge/dining room, with a large table and chairs where our meals were given.  In the same room there were quite a few comfortable chairs which we could sit down in, relax and watch the TV.  Our sleeping area was nice and tranquil, and there was just four beds per room.  The windows in the bedrooms you could look out and see a lovely romantic setting of the lawns, trees and beyond.  At least every two weeks we used to see a consultant in our accommodation who would pay us a visit to see how we were doing.  Every time I saw him I used to ask him if he knew when I would be back to my regiment?  He would say nothing and would just look at me and smile.


My physiotherapist here was excellent, I couldn’t have wished for a better on.  She would take me for my treatment three hours a day, five day of the week.  This treatment did me nothing but good.  I used to be in a wheelchair 24 hours a day, and when I started to improve mentally and new what was going on about me, it used to make me very upset.  One of the main reasons was that because I was paralysed down the right hand side of my body, I could not propel myself forward, thus somebody else had to push me everywhere I wanted to go, and this I felt very embarrassed about. I used to get pushed somewhere nice in my wheelchair and then just left there.  I felt like the kind of person who would sit there and count how many bricks were in the wall, very interesting.  Every time I saw my therapist she would try to improve my paralysed side, mainly concentrating on my leg to try and get me walking.  Another thing that would make me jealous, was seeing all the Physical Training Instructor’s who were stationed at Headley Court going out for runs everyday, and then what would make me even more jealous was seeing how most people hated going out for a run, and I would have given anything to join them!


When I could finally walk roughly six months after my accident, it was a magnificent feeling of freedom.  I would feel so happy that I could do the simplest of things, such as walk to the toilet without having to be pushed there.  Every time I had a long enough free break, out to the garden I would trot.  The garden area they had at Headley Court was very large, and they had some superb statues here and there.  They also had the trees cut into picturesque shapes that you see in the magnificent Royal home gardens about Britain.  One part of the garden I loved walking to is the massive pond they had.  It was a round shape, with a circular island in the middle.  All about the pond you saw plenty of ducks, ducking and diving; they always came along to investigate you to see if you had any food for them; which most people usually did.  I have always loved the outside life.


Now that I could walk, my physiotherapist used to make me walk up and down her corridor for hours at a time.  Even though I could walk, my therapist said that it was not good walking, my body had begun to walk the way it found easiest, which was not the proper way.  It was hard to understand as I was just pleased that I could finally walk, I never thought that my body was being lazy in the way that it walked.


Every now and then I would get taken down to the local town.  It was here that I began to learn about the British public, and how they regard you if you are disabled.  I would go into a pub and I would feel like a cowboy gangster who had just walked into a bar; everybody stops what they are doing to investigate this strange person who has just walked in.  For some reason this has never bothered me, I am glad to say.  If a lady was walking past you with her young child, she would sometimes say, “If you do such a thing you will be punished like that young man!”  Older people are worse than the younger generation.  As I have just said, I let them and their comments fly over me.  One day I got on a local bus with my wife and sat down in the disabled seat.  This bus was very busy.  At the next stop and old lady got on the bus, saw me sitting down in the disabled and old person chair and very loudly pronounced, “This seat is meant for old people, so move.”  An old lady who was sitting behind me very loudly said back to her, “Can you not see, he’s a cripple!”  I stayed sitting in that seat, giggling to myself.


One day I was taken down to the military hospital in Portsmouth.  Here they were doing a test on my sight.  I sat down with a big monitor in font of me.  The doctor told me to look at a dot in the centre of the monitor.  I was then given a button which I was told to press every time I saw a flash of another dot about the monitor.  I sat there and pressed the button every time I saw the flash of another dot.  When this test had finished I told the doctor that I had finished the left hand dots, and would he start the right hand dots.  The doctor said that all the dots had been shown, including the dots to the right.  To my horror this showed me that I was totally blind to my right hand side; even if the right hand dot was just a millimetre to the right of my pupil, I still could see nothing.  I always used to think that if you were blind, then you would see blackness.  But on my blind side I saw, and still see, absolutely nothing!  This did upset me quite a bit, as I used to love driving.  My eye sight would not get any better, but it also shouldn’t get any worse.


So now I had lost two things which I used to love doing; running and driving!


Headley Court used to take us out on trips now and again.  One night we got taken to the local 10 Pin Bowling Alley.  We had a great laugh here, even though I had to roll the ball down a ramp as I was in a wheelchair.  It was just great fun to be out in a crowd having a laugh, even though I could only get the ball to go down the gutter!


One strange thing I had with two other lads in Headley Court who were injured is that we were all called Matthew.  I was from the Army, another was from the R.A.F., and the last one was from the Navy.  If that sounded spooky, we all where there due to motorbike accidents!


One day I got chosen, along with two others, to go to the garden party at Buckingham Palace.  I felt very proud of myself, and had a huge smile on my lips!  When we got up to Buckingham Palace there was thousands of tourists all looking past the fence.  We got up to the entrance and drove in.  All the tourists were looking at us, trying to recognize us.  I couldn’t help but give them a Royal wave! When we walked through the Palace to the lawn it was so tidy and clean.  Unnaturally clean and polished, it’s as if we left a mucky footprint wherever we placed out feet.  There were magnificent paintings upon the walls, looking very elegant and unbelievable clean and polished.  When we made it to the other side of the Palace, to the massive garden, it felt as though we were in the countryside, not in the centre of London!  We could see maybe a few tall towers of other buildings, but mainly the back garden.  There is firstly a massive grass lawn, which then goes into a huge, natural pond.  All around the pond is free growth of all natural plants.  There is a small path which takes you around the whole garden.  At the back of the garden is a tennis court, but I couldn’t imagine anybody using it.  By the side of the lawn there was a huge, rectangle tent serving sandwiches and juice.  The juice was a flavour, with water added, and yes, it didn’t taste very nice, which was a shame as I expected a lot better.  We then wondered about the main green meeting all the famous people who had also been invited there.  Towards the end of our visit, we were all stood in single rank file and introduced to Princess Margaret.  This felt like such an honour, especially as she asked us questions about how we were.  I gave her the nicest of answers, with a huge beaming smile upon my lips, and thought how I was going to boast about it to all people who knew me.  After she had done her rounds, we were escorted to our vehicles and off we went, back to where we had come from.


One day I thought we were having a fire drill, as there was a fire engine paying us a visit, and we were all evacuated to the large outside area.  Unfortunately, there was an actual fire there, and even though there was a fire engine there, it didn’t have anything to attend to the fire.  The very bad thing about the fire was that it happened on the last day of refurbishing the whole indoor training gyms, which had taken a long time to do.  Because our accommodation was on the end of the training gyms, we had to move to a different military hospital.  In a bus we all got and down south we drove.  Our destination was the military hospital in Portsmouth.  When we got into our new accommodation, it was as if we had travelled back in time, as it reminded me of the 2WW hospitals I had seen on films.  The room was very long, like a corridor, and very high, and had everybody sleeping in the same room opposite each other.  There was only a few toilets, and just one bath, and they were all at the end of the room.  We were fed where we slept, and the food was not that good.  We spent a week there, and couldn’t wait to get back to Headley Court.


When I had finished my stay here, which was for roughly six months, St Dunstan’s, the charity for man and women who had been in the forces and had lost their vision, was my next step.


Matthew Cecil Rhodes © 2009


from A Very Lucky Lad


Leonard Hobbs


It took me a long time to come to terms with my new life, I did not want to return to my pre RAF job, initially my cousin Bert and I tried to get a small manufacturing business going, making small side tables, I even obtained a Board of Trade licence but we found it too difficult to obtain quantities of the necessary materials.


At about this time, mid 1947, we were expecting our Barbara and I was beginning to worry about the long term future, I missed the joys of flying and approached the two commercial companies, B.O.A.C. and B.E.A., who declined to use my services as a pilot (silly Billies), but I could see their point as there were hundreds of pilots for them to choose from, Group Captains, Wing Commanders, many with academic degrees, looking for work.    Although I would not be flying I also tried Flying Control and the Meteorological Office, not very confidently, but the Air Ministry Met. Office were very kind to me and offered me a board with a view to employing me as a temporary Scientific Assistant which I readily accepted, they inspected my record and on my promise to take up further education I became a temporary civil servant on a salary of £320 a year.   I purchased a brief case and felt ten feet tall as I made my way daily to and from the Meteorological School in Kingsway for about six weeks, I achieved good marks at the end of the course and went to my first office at Croydon Airport where I was introduced to twenty four hour shift working, covering weekends and Public Holidays I needed my own transport and purchased a 250 cc 4 stroke B.S.A. motor cycle which gave me much pleasure and easy transport  I enjoyed my new found career enormously and completed a correspondence course in my spare time at the end of which I took the Matriculation examinations in mathematics and physics.   During this time our dear Barbara Ann was delivered at Kings College hospital, Camberwell, while I was working a night duty, no sleep that day obviously.   All went well at the hospital and Peggy brought our beautiful  new daughter home to our three room flat where I had constructed a crib using the sides of a deck chair, pieces of wooden dowel and my kitbag, Barbara was very comfortable in it.


A couple of years later I was summoned to an Establishment board who confirmed my appointment and issued a certificate that I have never seen although it cost me a half crown, I never could understand the Civil Service system I believe it has changed since.   Shortly afterwards, 1952. I was promoted and posted to Heathrow Airport which was growing rapidly, the Meteorological Office was a prefabricated building beside the perimeter track with, four engined Constellation and Stratocruiser aircraft taxying past it could be extremely noisy at times.   The transfer to London Airport, Heathrow, meant that we were eligible to move at public expense and so we purchased our first home, a new three bedroom semi detached house, in Spelthorn Lane, Sunbury-on-Thames, in 1952, the price of new houses was still being fixed by the local authority, due to the bombing and the shortage of housing it caused, as a result our house cost £1850, very reasonable, a lovely location with a reservoir, Shepperton Film Studios at the end of the garden and the river Thames beyond that, with only a fifteen minute journey to the office on my motor bike we were very happy.

 The period I spent at London Airport, Heathrow, was very interesting, the de-Havilland Comet, the worlds  first jet passenger aircraft, would fly to and from Rome and South Africa, it experienced quite a few problems and had its licence withdrawn.   After many modifications it proved to be a very fine aircraft which was adopted by the RAF. renamed the Nimrod and has flown with Coastal Command ever since.


 I was employed on what was known as 'in flight watch' and would receive a copy of each Flight Plan from aircraft that was due to take off on the trans Atlantic route I would plot the proposed track on a chart and the hourly reports they would make when airborne, they would be informed of any hazardous weather, icing, severe turbulence, storms etc., that could effect them, possibly they would be advised, by W/T, to return or divert, the piston engined Constellation or Stratocruiser aircraft did not have the range of modern jet aircraft, a 'point of no return' was always plotted and a decision would have to be made before that point was reached, we also had to originate messages detailing upper winds to incoming aircraft when they reached 30 degrees West, all very different to the jet aircraft of today that fly above the weather and can fly to the west coast of America non stop from London.   I was not destined to stay at Heathrow very long as I was asked to go to Germany, RAF 2nd A.T.A.F., for a tour of duty lasting three years, I accepted the posting because I was near the top of the 'Due to go overseas list' and there were plenty of not so popular posts, such as Falkland Islands, Weather Ships, Christmas Isle, Persian Gulf, etc.   As we were still an occupation force in Germany, British Zone, Peggy and Barbara were not allowed to accompany me until we were allocated an official quarter and so, off I went on 1st July, 1957, although a civilian, I travelled on Military trains and ship via Hook of Holland to RAF H.Q. 83 Group situated at an airfield at Wahn not far from Cologne, a few years later, after ratification of German sovereignty, it became Flughaven Koln/Bonn.   Peggy was left to sell our new house and put our furniture into storage and followed me on the military route a few months later when we had been allocated a requisitioned house at Troisdorf, a small town a few miles from Wahn,I had learned to drive a 5 ton RAF lorry shortly after arrival in Germany and had purchased, a Hillman Minx car at a very advantageous price, apart from no purchase tax or car duty, new cars were sold to N.A.T.O. personnel at a good discount, I think it cost me less than £800, I gingerly drove the car home from the Rootes agency in Dusseldorf.

I had been issued with an RAF uniform and 'Special Duties' shoulder badges,on being posted to Germany, to participate in N.A.T.O. exercises we were given a large van (Ford Koln), which had been fitted with teleprinter links and office equipment to enable us to work as a mobile meteorological office, on my first exercise I had to drive in convoy to a site at Spa, in Belgium for two weeks where I slept under canvas (P12.) with a field cookhouse and a marquee substituting for the normal Mess, we enjoyed good weather and had great fun bathing in a local stream, Spa is the location for the Belgian F1 Grand Prix race every year.  There always seemed to be something happening, the end of the Berlin airlift into Gatow the British zones airfield, the Suez Canal conflict when Egypt's president Nasser nationalised the canal and the Spring and Autumn N.A.T.O. exercises.


Barbara was six years of age when joining me and it had all been an exciting adventure for her, she was attending a British Forces school and was very happy there.   We made many good friends, both civilian and military, while in Germany and there was a great deal of socialising when we were moved from our requisitioned house into a newly built, furnished property, in Sportsplatz Strasse near Wahn, very nice it was too, a boiler man quietly entered the cellar twice a day to stoke the boiler and arrange a delivery of coke if it should be required, there were outside steps down to the cellar which consisted of three rooms one of which had a large sink, for laundry, and racks for storage, having just acquired a German camera  and enlarger, this became my dark room where I spent many a happy hour developing and printing my pictures.   We had a very good standard of living as an occupation force, a nicely furnished home and Peggy had a cleaner, Frau Richker, who came in every day to help with running the house, and with a new car the three of us made frequent visits to Koln, Bonn enjoyed trips along the Rhine and Mossel rivers and holidays in Holland and Belgium.   During July 1956, Peggy's mother and aunt Gladys came to stay with us for a week, they enjoyed the ferry and train journe they loved listening to everybody conversing in a foreign language and we enjoyed showing them the local tourist spots.


 For us Christmas 1956 was always to be remembered, Peggy who was pregnant and expecting the birth to be early in the new year and I attended a Xmas eve party at a neighbours house, which we left quite early, at about 2 a.m. Xmas day Peggy began to experience pain, I drove to Station Sick Quarters where  I roused the emergency staff, a driver and nurse, who took Peggy in an Opal Kapitan (large car) to Wegberg RAF Hospital, through villages with cobbled streets that were decorated with Xmas lights, a distance of approximately  80 miles.   Peggy delivered our lovely Xmas present at about 9 a.m. Xmas morning.   Barbara and I visited shortly after and found a smiling Peggy and a very healthy and noisy Andrew John, he was a handsome baby and I had a job to get Barbara to put him down.   When we returned to Sportsplatz Strasse  I had the task, with young Barbara's assistance, of cooking a   large Xmas turkey that day, neighbours kept popping in to enquire about Peggy and offering much advice as to the roasting of the bird, neither Barbara, or I, had much of an appetite for it, I was silly and gave most of the cooked turkey away.


My overseas tour was due to finish at the end of June, and since we now had a baby, were very comfortable in Sportsplatz Strasse with our daily 'Frau Richker' to help with young Andrew, and Barbara happy at her school, Peggy and I decided to try for a second three year tour and I put the suggestion to my Senior Meteorological Officer who was all in favour and recommended to Headquarters that it be authorized, it was, and the four of us settled down to another three years in Germany.


During the summer of 1958 Mum and Dad visited us to see there new grandson and have a holiday, it was the first time out of the country for them and there first time in an airplane, they travelled out in an Elizabethan and back on a Viscount turbo jet aircraft, to and from Wahn which by this time had become a multi purpose airfield serving both the RAF and commercial traffic.


Nothing very exciting happened during our second tour, N.A.T.O. exercises occurred every six months and had to be prepared for but work at the office was quite pleasant.   At weekends and during leave periods we often went into Holland, Belgium, or along the Rhine or Mossel river valley, we agreed that our favourite holiday was motoring to Diano Marina, on the Italian Riviera, for three weeks in June 1959, we took our time travelling through Austria and Switzerland  where we went over the St. Gothard Pass to Genoa, then along the beautiful north Italian coast, a lovely holiday, apart from a little sunburn !


Six months prior to completion of my tour in Germany I submitted a letter to Headquarters requesting a posting on my return to somewhere along the south coast, where we thought Barbara at 12 years of age and Andy at 3 years would be happy and I did not wish to go back to Heathrow, I listed RAF Manston,Tangmere, Thorney Island, Hurn and  St. Mawgan, quite a list, from which I was offered, and accepted, RAF Thorney Island a beautiful location between Chichester and Portsmouth.   The vacancy would occur early in April 1960, and so after dispatching packing cases to Bentalls of Kingston, where our furniture had been stored, we left dear old 139 Sportsplatz Strasse with many pleasant memories, on 1st March 1960, bound for Dunkirk and the night ferry to Dover where we disembarked at about 0600hrs on the 2nd, Barbara's birthday, we had breakfast in a hotel in Ashford then motored on to Bosham, West Sussex, where we had booked accommodation at the Critchfield Hotel while looking for a furnished flat or bungalow prior to finding a permanent home in the Thorney Island area.   We rented a two bedroom furnished bungalow on Hayling Island, a short walk from an extensive sandy beach which the children greatly enjoyed, the owner of the property, at that time, offered to sell it to me for £1800, what a good buy that would have been, but it was too small for us long term.   We looked at all the new developments taking place in the area and were very taken by the property we decided on in Inhurst Wood close to the, then, village of Waterlooville , which we bought and live in to this day.   RAF Thorney Island was rather unique, it was described to me shortly after arrival by a colleague as 'a country club with flying facilities' it was situated on a peninsular jutting out into Chichester harbour with only one narrow road having access to the unit, a lovely Anglo Saxon church with the few flint stone cottages making up the old village of West Thorney, it had all been taken over by the Air Ministry early in the second world war when it was decided to build runways and hangars etc.   A sailing club and jetty had been constructed at a later date, it was a superb place to work, I was able to enjoy cockling, sea fishing, swimming and the occasional sailing trip I enjoyed my spell at Thorney Island and was pleased to remain there for the duration of its existence as an airfield I was there until 1977, seventeen years, when the Air Ministry in its wisdom decided to close it (it was rumoured that an Air Marshal who lived at Bosham, on the aircraft circuit, objected to the noise of night flying!!).   With only three more years to serve before retirement I was sorry to leave but was posted to the Royal Greenwich Observatory at Herstmonceux, East Sussex, where I was to establish and open a meteorological observing station, since neither Peggy or I wanted to leave our home at Waterlooville I decided to drive the eighty mile journey every few days and stay at a lovely country hotel 'Cleavers Ling' while at the office, I had been posted in the public interest and was therefor able to claim mileage and hotel expenses.


- 8 -


Rather than carry on working shifts and drive the eighty miles to the office I accepted the opportunity to retire when I reached the age of sixty.   I soon discovered that retirement was not entirely to my liking, I had enjoyed my work in the Meteorological Office and missed the friendships I had made, occasionally I revisited the office and Cleavers Ling.   After a while I took a part time job at a local school as a Technical Assistant in the Design Technology department, it was very interesting working with the pupils on their projects but, because of Council policy, I had to leave on reaching the age of sixty five.   As the years passed, and they seemed to very rapidly, both Peggy and I found we could not be as active as of old and employed Harry, our ex window cleaner, to occasionally cut the grass and do a bit of gardening, the family too were very helpful.


During the 1990's my eyesight deteriorated, due to Macular Degeneration, and I had to give up driving which, after more than fifty years, was a blow, it became more and more difficult to read the newspaper and complete a crossword puzzle and in September,2004, was registered blind at the local hospital, not as bad as it sounds, there is much distortion but have no difficulty finding my way about.


As a result of being registered blind John Port, a Social Services representative, visited me to offer any assistance I required, he arranged for me to become a member of St. Dunstans, an organisation founded by Sir Arthur Pearson (of the publications empire) during the first world war to care for blind ex service personnel, an amazing organisation with a very large building at Ovingdean, East of Brighton, on top of a cliff overlooking the sea with beautiful views.   A car arrived and took Peggy and I  to Ovingdean for  a week long induction course during which we had a double room and more food than we could eat, the establishment was run like a hotel with reception, gymnasium, glass walled swimming pool always with an attendant present, and a bar, all this with no charge.   About forty blind men. and women most of whom were veterans of the second world war, like me in their eighties, some without limbs, lived on the premises with qualified nursing staff always in attendance.   All Dunstoners, one of which I had become on acceptance, were given a braille or talking watch, this was decreed by Sir Arthur Pearson long ago, I was given the opportunity to learn touch typing and study 'Information Technology' at Ovingdean, I attended for four separate weeks , Peggy went with me on a couple of occasions, and transport was always arranged, all this at no charge, the I.T. staff were marvellous instruction was given one to one by very patient, and attractive, young ladies to whom I shall always be grateful.   After my last week of instruction I was sent home with a 'Windows X.P.' computer and a Laser printer, using these has rather changed my life and given me the ability to write this, it is difficult for me to find the words to express my appreciation of St. Dunstans assistance.


Leonard Hobbs © 2009



Harry Beevers


Sink the Bismarck


One of the great pleasures of being an ex-quizzman is that I regularly receive telephone calls and E-mails with the opening words, “Here’s one for you Harry!”. There usually follows a very difficult and complicated question the answer to which I have not the slightest idea. However, the enjoyment begins as I get out the reference books and try to come up with an answer.


One of the best examples of such a message recently arrived from St Dunstans Cadet Challenge Project Officer and beer connoisseur Colin Williamson. Here is the question he posed and I quote:-

“Harry old boy,


Answer this one. He appeared in numerous films;  Superman 4 where he worked alongside Christopher Reeve and Gene Hackman; Robin and Marion, with Sean Connery and Richard Harris, Where’s Jack with Tommy Steele, Anne of a thousand days with Richard Burton, The spy who came in from the cold (again with Burton) Sink the Bismarck with Kenneth Moore (portraying the commanding officer of HMS Prince Of Wales in the battle in which he himself was blinded), The Prince and the showgirl with Marilyn Monroe, Helen of Troy alongside Brigitte Bardot and also worked alongside Laurence Olivier, Peter Finch, Errol Flynn, Ralph Richardson, Googie Withers and Deborah Kerr. He was also a St. Dunstaner. Name him!”


Now that’s what I call a very interesting question and of course I had no idea as to the answer. However, after five minutes consulting “Halliwell’s Film Guide” and “Film Companion” the answer became obvious, it was the well-known actor Esmond Knight who played mainly small roles in countless films. I had heard of Esmond  Knight but I Had no idea that he was partially sighted, that it was a 15 inch shell from the “Bismarck” which had caused his injury, that he had become a St Dunstaner trained at Church Stretton and that he subsequently played the captain of the battleship “Prince of Wales” in the film “Sink the Bismarck”.


The story doesn’t finish there. Shortly after joining #St Dunstans in 2001 I met a new member attending his induction week making his first ever visit to Ovingdean. I cannot imagine how he recognised that I was a fellow Yorkshireman, (it could possibly be the way I talk!) but on that day John Glynn of Plymouth and I became friends and have kept in touch ever since. Here the story becomes really interesting,


John who joined the Royal Navy as a sixteen year-old was aboard the “Prince of Wales in 1941 as a seventeen year old. He was present at the sinking of the Bismarck and he tells me that his captain (Captain Leach) was the father of Sir Henry Leach who eventually became a Chairman of St Dunstans. As the battleship had only been commissioned a few months earlier John did not know many of the crew personally and he never met Lieutenant Esmond Knight. Immediately following the  historic Atlantic encounter with the “Bismarck” the “Prince of Wales” picked up Prime Minister Winston Churchill and conveyed him to Newfoundland where on board the battleship he and President Roosevelt signed the Atlantic Charter. As one of the youngest members of the crew, one of John’s tasks on this occasion was to clear up after ramps had been provided in various parts of the vessel so that President Roosevelt’s wheelchair could negotiate the ups and downs of the ship. When the “Prince of Wales” was sunk by the Japanese later in 1941 Captain Leach went down with his ship whilst John was picked up by a destroyer and taken to Singapore. He was transferred to Colombo shortly before the surrender of Singapore, thus escaping becoming a P.O.W. He then spent some months aboard H.M.S. Guardian laying anti-submarine nets in strategic points in the Indian Ocean. He was later transferred to Pietermaritzburg in South Africa where he trained as an A.A. gunner and spent a couple of years aboard H.M.S. Nigella, a corvette helping to protect convoys travelling round the Cape to the Far East. Eventually, as in the words of the song, he found himself “…on a troopship from Bombay bound for old Blighty’s shore” (with what he called a boatload of Pongos!, (R.N. name for soldiers apparently), and for the rest of the war he served as Leading Seaman aboard an M.T.B. chasing German E-boats off the Dutch coast. He tells me his Flotilla Commander was the artist and ornithologist Peter Scott, son of Antarctic explorer Captain Robert Falcon Scott. Finally, John left the Royal Navy as a Chief Petty Officer in 1968.


It’s surprising what memories can be aroused by a question in an E-mail.



Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Jim (A conversation piece)


Harry Beevers


Hello Jim.


Howdy George.


You’re looking chirpy.


Sure am.


What’s happened?


The wife’s gone.


What for?


For good.


Where’s she gone?


Back to mother.


Up in Scotland?


No, to Newcastle.






Where’s that?


Somewhere in Staffordshire.


And the kids?


They’ve gone too.


All of them?


Yeah, all twelve.


And the lodger?


You mean Helga?


That’s the one.


The Swedish student.


The big blonde.


She’s staying.


Lucky you.


So’s Veronique.


Who’s Veronique?


The au pair.


Twice lucky Jim.


No, thrice lucky.


How’s that then?


You’ve forgotten Natasha.



from Harry Beevers’ Autobiography in progress


In the 1920’s and 1930’s Castleford in the West Riding of Yorkshire was a small industrial town with a population just under the 30,000 mark. It had sweets and clothing factories, chemical works, an important brickworks and pottery and the second largest glass bottle manufacturer in Europe. It was also surrounded by coal mines. A number of years would elapse before our town hit the headlines of the national press. Events such as the recognition of Castleford-born Henry Moore as   an artist and sculptor of international repute would eventually catch the attention of the world’s media. However, as he became more and more famous he was often reported as “Leeds-born” or “Yorkshire-born”. Not so in the 1950’s when there was a spectacular Pools win by a Castleford resident. This giant windfall led to a famous three-word quote, journalistic euphoria and musical show “Spend, Spend, Spend” at a West End theatre. Castleford did get all the recognition on this occasion.  The town also received a mention in the Stop Press of a national broadsheet as Australia’s star batsman Don Bradman piled on the runs against England during the 1930 Ashes series. The news on this occasion was disastrous, not only for the England test team but for Castleford itself. The report ran, “Bradman hits double century at Lords. Explosion in chemical works in Castleford in the West Riding of Yorkshire. Eleven reported killed”.


Needless to say, my birth on Saturday May 11th 1929 was not reported by Reuter’s Press, “The Daily Herald” or “Times”, not even in the columns of the local paper.


The coal industry was by far the biggest employer of the working men of Castleford. In horse-racing parlance it was odds on that if you were born in the area your father would be employed at one of the several collieries. So it was with me. Shortly after the St Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago and a few months before the devastating Wall Street crash in New York in 1929 I was born. Stanley Baldwin was Britain’s Prime Minister, Gene Tunney was the world boxing heavyweight champion and    Harry and Marie Beevers had the first of their three children.


Harry Beevers senior was always known as Big Harry at home although at 5 feet 3 inches he finished up as the smallest member of the family. He was a banksman. That didn’t mean he went to work in a suit and handled money all day, it meant he was up at 4 a.m. and on his way to one of the local mines where he worked on the cage. The cage was the transportation vehicle which took the miners down the shaft and brought the coal up. Its average operating programme was fifty-nine journeys down and up each hour, not much breathing space in a working day! His job was a simple one. As the tubs of coal ran out of the cage and down an incline my father had to ensure they remained on the lines. When one was derailed, (not an uncommon occurrence) he merely had to lever it back into position using a sophisticated piece of equipment called a log of wood. Not too much to ask a ten stone man to perform until he reached the age of sixty-five. He had left school at the age of thirteen and despite the fact he was a bright, intelligent boy his wish to sit for a scholarship to the local Grammar School had been rejected by his parents. “T’pit were good enough for thi father, so it’s good enough for thee” was their response. So at thirteen he began his fifty-two years stint in a hard, monotonous, boring and physical job which could have been soul-destroying for a lesser man. Apart from the 1930’s when the colliery owners closed the pits from time to time because of the depression, I can only remember two occasions when he was off work. Both were the result of accidents one of which was a close-to-death experience.  In 1968 his legacy for the fifty-two years hard labour was a beautifully printed certificate from the National Coal Board thanking him for his services and a hacking cough which would trouble him during what was mainly a very happy eighteen years of retirement.


Like many of her contemporaries, my mother, the former Marie Arthurs, was in service before her marriage. This meant that she was a skivvy for one of the local aristocrats and expected to do the washing, cleaning, cooking and whatever other job could be found for her. She worked for a well-off family named Carr. Coincidentally, this just happened to be the surname of the young lady who became my second wife in 1969 but there was no connection between the two families. My mother too had done well at school but like my father she was not given the opportunity to sit for a scholarship. I believe the pair met at a Young Persons Group of the local Methodist Chapel and in 1928 they were married.


Neither of them had any money as they had been handing over their earnings to their parents receiving only weekly pocket money. One of the more popular family tales describes my father’s feelings when he received his first ever shilling. He took it to the toilet to examine it in private, he was eighteen years of age and could not believe that all this money was his!


On their marriage Harry and Marie rented two rooms in a terrace house occupied by one of my mother’s aunts. It was on the outskirts of the town and it meant when my father was on the day shift he had to be up in the morning even earlier in order to walk the mile and a half to the pit where he worked. The aunt in question was blind and keeping the house clean was not one of her priorities. The whole house was apparently infested and it was in one of these two rooms I was born, It was also in one of these rooms my mother discovered me one morning when I was nine months old with my body covered with bed-bug bites. This event prompted a hasty departure from home number one and days later we were on our way to our new home. Home number two was to be an improvement on the first. It was in the centre of the town. It had three rooms, not two. One room was downstairs and there were two bedrooms. Its description was a “Back-to back” house so we just had the one door straight out on to the pavement. Admittedly there was no water supply in the house. Water had to be collected from an outside tap some fifty yards from the house and stored in an enamel bucket in the corner of our living room/kitchen/lounge/food store/coal bunker. The communal tap was adjacent to the three earth toilets which served the whole row of around sixteen similar houses to ours. But the house was clean, my mother saw to that. Like most women at the time she had given up her job when she was married and it would be many years when both my sister and brother had left school before she would embark on a regular job away from home. Before actually moving into 19 Sagar Street (now part of an optician’s), the building was fumigated and henceforth the house became a small but spick-and-span home. Sadly, unlike my father, my mother died at the comparatively young age of sixty-five following months of severe pain as a result of stomach cancer. I was very close to my mother and her death in 1975 was a real blow not only to me but to all her family and many friends. She had been such a bundle of energy I had always thought she would live long enough to receive a telegram from the Queen.


Harry Beevers © 2009


from Joan (Carr) Beevers’ Autobiography in progress


In 1942, Castleford, the town where I was born in the West Riding of Yorkshire, saw very little action in World War II. However, on the night of August 4th as my mother, Florence, lay in labour in the local maternity home, she watched incendiary bombs looking like golden chandeliers falling through the night sky on to the fields in the direction of Pontefract. In the early hours of August 5th I was born.

     My father, William Henry, came to see his new daughter bringing with him – not a bouquet of flowers (well, there was a war on!) – but an oven-ready chicken. In those days hospitals were glad to accept contributions of food from their patients’ relatives. My parents kept several hens, as many people did during the war years, to provide them with a constant supply of eggs and a rare treat for the dinner table. One of these birds was sacrificed so that my father could be certain that his wife was well fed as she recovered from childbirth.

    The lying-in period at that time was two weeks long, spent in bed in the maternity home which had been bought by public subscription as a war memorial to the town’s fallen of the Great War. As I grew up I always felt proud that my town had decided to spend the money in this way rather than on a useless monument, and it was a good joke to tell people that I was born in a war memorial.

    At two weeks old I was taken home to 76 Methley Road. This was a two-up, two-down terrace house sitting next to the pavement of the main road out of Castleford to Leeds. My sister Betty was already eight years old and doing well at school. Her teacher had told my mother that parents of a girl as bright as Betty ought to have more children. This had made my mother proud – proud enough to tell me about it in later life – but I doubt that it had any influence on my coming into the world. I suspect that her second pregnancy just happened when it happened, as it did to most women in that time before birth-control was a reality for most people.

    Castleford was a coal-mining town and my father, like most men worked “down t-pit”. Well, actually he was a surface worker, a colliery blacksmith and proud of being a qualified craftsman. Only occasionally did his work take him down the shaft to do special repairs or even to shoe a pit pony.  Nevertheless it was essential work and as such it was classified a reserved occupation and therefore exempted him from joining the fighting forces. Thus it was that he was at home with the family right from the start of my life. He was still expected to do his bit for the war and he was an air-raid warden in his out-of-work hours. I still remember his greatcoat and tin helmet hanging on a hook near the door ready for a quick getaway in case of emergency.

     The question arose of a name for the new addition. My big sister wanted to call me Dorothy but this was vetoed by my parents. My father finally decided I would be called Joan and I would have no middle name. It would be easy for me to learn to write it when I went to school, and with my surname Carr I had only eight letters to master.


Joan (Carr) Beevers © 2009



Waiting For Norman


Bob Childs (late)


What has happened to Norman? Elizabeth at first irritated had now started to worry, why was he so late!  Thirty minutes overdue and Norman could be considered to be on time, an hour overdue was normal, but today he was five hours late.  She went to the window and stood watching the approach to the house hoping to see his tall, slightly stooped, frame walking up the gravel drive.  Today was their silver wedding anniversary and Norman's birthday. To mark the occasion she had arranged for Mrs. Cameron, a friend who organised special dinner parties, to prepare a celebration dinner.  Stamping her foot in annoyance she flounced over to the drinks trolley to pour herself a sherry.  Sherry in hand, and, seated in a comfortable leather armchair, the momentary annoyance gone; Elizabeth looked around the tastefully furnished room and sighed in contentment.  She loved this room - here she found vibes that reflected their twenty five years of happily married life.  She settled down to wait and contemplate on those years of married life with Norman.

            Norman Morris was an enigma.  In his professional capacity as a chartered accountant his expertise was renowned;  he was always in complete control.  Outside his profession he was a straw on the wind of chance blown from one dilemma to the next   Fortunately these were never the disaster they first appeared and were usually solved. by an outside influence.  Why his private life seemed to be governed by gremlins was a mystery.  How he managed to persuade Elizabeth, the attractive, sweet-natured and usually serene woman, to become his wife was another mystery.

            Sweet natured and serene with a good sense of humour she needed to be able to cope with Norman's escapades.  His mind always seemed to be on his work.  On the way home from the theatre he parked in the office car park at eleven thirty at night thinking he was going to work.  The last time they were out for a meal he caused an embarrassing situation trying to congratulate the waiter on the preparation of the salad.  When the waiter, with obvious pride, informed them it was the work of the chef who was also his fiancée, Norman's well intentioned answer 'Give him my compliments,' completely soured the atmosphere.  'The chef sir is a lady, perhaps it's just the way I walk,' was the icy reply.  After that the service was almost non-existent.  Restless, she again walked into the dining rooms to look at the table she already knew was laid to perfection.  Then once more the kitchen to check with Mrs Cameron that everything was ready, food prepared for cooking, wine in the cooler, all that was missing was Norman. So, back to her chair with another sherry and waiting.

            At last she heard his key in the lock.  Looking as harassed as ever, in walked Norman, the pain and pleasure of her life.  Agitated, she stood to greet him.  'Where have you been?' she asked.  'I've been worried sick since about four o'clock.  You said you would be home by half past two, it is now half past seven.'

            'Don't go on, dear.  I'm home now.'

            'Oh Norman, I even telephoned the police earlier to enquire if there had been any accidents reported.  Knowing you, anything could have happened.

            ''I'm sorry, dear, not anything but everything seems to have happened today.'  Norman was ready to explain and, as usual, apologise.

            Elizabeth brushed back a lock of fair hair and sank back into her chair. In exasperation she gasped,  'Before you start to tell see, please pour me a sherry.  Do you know I've even been to the morgue today to identify a body, the police thought may have been you.'

            'Why should they think it was me?  I'm not dead!'  If nothing else, Norman was sure of that.

            'A man had collapsed and died in Mason's Store today without any identification on him.  Because I had enquired if any accidents had been reported, the police asked me if I could identify the body.  He was shorter with fair lair, yours is brown; he also had a peculiar scar on his abdomen.  Anyway he was younger so it wasn't you.'

            'Oh I'm pleased it wasn't me.  You seemed to have made a thorough search.  I would have thought a look at his face would have been sufficient.'

            He handed her the sherry as he spoke and, as usual, managed to spill some.  This time though, he had an. excuse, the thought of Elizabeth inspecting another man's body, dead or alive, had unnerved him.

            'Oh Norman don't be silly, tell me about your day.  I feel strong enough row.'  She smiled at him, the sherry was beginning to take effect.

            'Well as you know I went into the office for the retirement presentation to nay secretary, Miss Wright.  Her aunt has left her a small hotel in Devon managed, I understand, by a young man.  She is looking forward to taking up residence.  As she has worked for me for a mbar of years, I thought I would make her a personal gift in addition to the office gift and directors' cheque.'

            Elizabeth sighed.  'Pour me another sherry.'  He rose to take her glass, and failed to notice the look of dreamy anticipation that had crossed her face.  A hotel in Devon my dream, she thought.  Reality told her, however, with Norman and his escapades it would be more like a nightmare than a dream.

            Undaunted he carried on, ' I decided I would buy her an electric coffee percolator, as you know electrical goods are on the third floor at Masons.  Making my way to the lift, I was followed by a well dressed lady aged about forty.  We were the only occupants and both wanted the third floor.  Between the second and third floors the lift suddenly jolted, then stopped.  It must have been an electrical fault or something jammed.  I'm not sure what happened except that I was in an embarrassing situation.  When the lift jolted she threw her arms around me in panic which knocked us both to the floor.  There we were - a tangle of arms, legs, and shopping sprawled on the floor.  To make matters even worse I found I was holding a pair of knickers she had dropped, I didn't know what to do or say, or even where to look, it was so confusing.'

            'It must have been dear,'  his wife sympathised with him.  'Lying on the floor of a lift jammed between two floors with a lady who has dropped her knickers, and not knowing what to do or say.  After all, it doesn't happen every day.'

            The sherry was taking control and Elizabeth in a facetious mood had now started to giggle.

            Failing to understand his wife's sense of humour Norman continued,  'We were threshing about on the floor in panic when the lift started again and, before we could un-entangle ourselves, the doors opened on the third floor.  As we sat up her clothes were in disarray and I was .still. holding this pair of knickers, these had fallen from her shopping basket I hasten to add.'

            'Of course, dear, where else would you have got them from?'  Elizabeth was trying hard to stop giggling. 

            'Anyway I handed her back her knickers, and helped to retrieve the rest of her shopping.'

            'What did she do, dear, faint with relief?’  She raised her glass to hide an amused smile.

            'No, she just said ‘thank you’, and walked away.  After I had made my purchase, rather than trust the lift again, I used the stairs.'

            'Your action was exemplary dear,' she said,  'Just as any gentleman should act.  Is that why you are so late?'

            'No, I'm coming to that.  I made a terrible faux pas at the office presentation to Miss Wright.  It was all so embarrassing I stood up to say a few words on behalf the staff,'

            'Norman?'  his wife interrupted.  'You didn't have your zip undone again as you did when you gave a talk on Deferred Payments to the Young Mothers Guild.' 

            'No,' he said,  'It was worse, it was something I said to her.'

            Oh my God, thought Elizabeth, what could he have said.  'Tell me what you said dear.  I'm sure I shall understand.'

            She was trying hard to keep her voice calm but the combination of the sherry and the giggling made this difficult. In the end she just gave up trying and said,  'Give me another drink dear, don't be afraid to shock me.'

            'Well it shocked me, and Miss Wright, although it caused a lot of amusement to the assembled staff.'

            He handed Elizabeth her drink who by this time was floating on cloud nine.

            'After the events of the day I need something stronger than sherry,' he said and poured himself a large whisky.  Taking the bottle with him to his chair, he continued his explanation to a bemused and befuddled Elizabeth.

            'I presented the cheque from the directors, and the dinner service from the staff without any problem.  When I came to my present I felt self-conscious before all those people and my words became a little muddled.  Instead of saying ‘I hope you will make full use of your new coffee percolator’, I said, ‘I hope you will make full use of your new perky copulator.'’

            He looked at his wife expecting to be reproached.  What he saw was his wife convulsed with laughter, tears running down her cheeks.

            'I'm sorry Norman but I've just had a mental picture of staid Miss Wright, pillar of church and society, with a ‘perky copulator’.'

            He smiled, but not being prissy to his wife's imagination could not understand her hilarity.

            'I still don't understand why you are so late,'  she managed to say.

            'I had a problem on the bus,'  he answered.  'You mean there's more!'  she exclaimed.

            'Yes. On the bus I was sitting opposite a young lady who was pregnant and we were the only two on the bus.  Everything was fine until we reached Silver Hill. Then she went into acute labour pains. The driver panicked, abandoned his route and made straight for the maternity hospital.  As I was helping her into the hospital he drove off.  A young nurse sized up the situation.  She put the young woman onto a stretcher trolley, and told me to give all the information at the admissions desk.  The admissions clerk asked my name, address and age.  I told her fifty two today.  She said having a baby on my birthday would be a lovely present.  Then she told us to sit down and wait.  Why a stranger having a baby on my birthday should give me such pleasure I failed to understand, so I just sat down and waited.  Why I had to wait, or why they needed my name, address, and age was beyond me.  After all I only helped the girl to the hospital.  Finally after hours of waiting they called me, and told me I was the father of twins.'

            Elizabeth, by this time, was helpless with laughter and having difficulty in keeping to her chair, the combined effect of the sherry and her mental picture of Norman's day was almost beyond her control.  Struggling to regain some composure she wiped her eyes sat up and said,  'I'm sorry dear please go on.'

            'It was some time before I could convince them I was not the father, only a helpful citizen.  I think I succeeded when I said it must been an immaculate and immediate conception, the only contact I had had was holding her arm and we were only together for about ten minutes on the bus.  I then was accused of wasting hospital time and being thoughtless.  Didn't I realise the true father would want to be here, then told to be on my way in no uncertain manner.'

            'Never mind dear it was all done with the best of intentions,'  she said,  'even if you do turn a minor problem into a pantomime.  You sit back and relax Mrs Cameron has agreed to stay behind to prepare your favourite meal.  Prawns in mayonnaise wrapped in. smoked salmon, followed by Beef Wellington with mushroom Madeira sauce.  I have also made an apricot and orange mousse, and, to celebrate our anniversary, I have bought some champagne.'  At least that was what she intended to say what actually came out she had no idea.  Thank heaven for Mrs Cameron, she thought, as she wobbled out to the kitchen.  In her present state she'd have difficulty in discerning the oven from the 'fridge and. if she made the champagne stage of the evening her secret desire to give a Shirley Bassey impersonation could became a strong possibility.

            In the meantime back in the armchair Norman, in frequent and plentiful contact with the whisky bottle, was beginning to take on a glazed look and an inner boldness almost unknown to him.  As he watched Elizabeth wobble into the kitchen, his whisky excited brain sent signals that diagnosed a whole new dimension to an unsteady wobble and his body began to react in a way he hadn't felt for years.

            They sat down to dinner happy in their alcoholic haze oblivious to the rest of the world.  Mild mannered and shy people often have a secret desire to be somebody different, with Norman it was Rhet Butler in Gone With The Wind and by a strange coincidence, apart from her singing aspirations, Elizabeth was in her mind, Scarlet O'Hara.  In her best Scarlet O'Hara voice she said,  'O 'fiddle-de-de Norman you are spilling sauce down, your shirt front.'  Not to be outdone, he answered with what he hoped was the Clark Gable voice and look: 'Frankly Ma'am I don't give a damn.'

            Watching from the doorway, Mrs. Cameron shook her head in amused amazement and thought in this state they'll never reach the dessert, and decided to let the children play and to go home.  This perception was not far wrong for shortly afterwards Elizabeth, still as Scarlet, said she wished to retire to her bed-chamber.  Clark Norman Gable thought this an excellent idea and eagerly followed her.  Such is the power of routine that even in this unusual euphoric state they still tidily put their clothes away, cleaned their teeth and followed their usual pattern of action to bed.

            Once between the sheets Elizabeth promptly fell asleep, disappointed. Norman, his excitement subdued, was sitting on the edge of the bed contemplating his day, wondering why me?


Bob Childs © 2008/09


[Please note: Bob passed away last year so any mention of him would need to incorporate ‘the late’. Thank you].



Published writings from St Dunstan’s includes:


An Adventurous Life by Herbert Wisdom (Author House, 2009)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-5100-3



I Well Remember by Louis R. Early (Ammonite Books, 1998)

ISBN 1-869866-12-6


More Early Memories by Louis R. Early



As well as a monthly round up prose pieces, memoir and autobiographical excerpts and poetry by various St. Dunstaners (they are referred to as ‘St. Dunstaners’ by the way), in St. Dunstan’s Review