Early days before school

Of life before school, recollections are somewhat scanty. I saw more of Father than most children, as he was always at home. He had been the village carpenter‑cum‑wheelwright‑cum‑undertaker, when a fall from a broken scaffold left him a helpless cripple at the age of 30. Although he lived to be 60, he never walked again without crutches. I can remember sitting on his knee in the wintertime, when Mother was out at work, watching the snowflakes drifting down. There was an old cold frame outside our living room window. The snow would gradually accumulate on top of the frame, and Father could tell almost exactly how many inches had fallen. I always had to check it with an old wooden rule, and he was seldom wrong.

Before I started school, I had a bad bout of scarlet fever and very nearly died, so I was told. There were only three cases in the village, which was a blessing. My bedroom door was draped in a blanket soaked in disinfectant, and my sisters were sent away to aunts and uncles to avoid the risk of contracting the disease. Despite all the doctor's advice, Father insisted on sleeping with me all the time. Every night when he came to bed he would pray for me, and also as God to prevent him being infected.

While I was still bedridden, my brothers bought me all sorts of toys to keep me amused. One of these was a clockwork aeroplane. This was suspended by a string from the ceiling. When wound up and released, it would buzz merrily round and round the bedroom.

My doctor was a pleasant young fellow named Simms. He took a real liking to that aeroplane and spent most of his visiting time playing with it. So much so that I was glad when he went, so I could have another go myself. When the spring eventually broke, I don't know who was the most upset, him or me.

Prayer was Father's answer to everything, and as I got better, and he kept well, he was convinced that God had done his job. When I got well enough to look out of the bedroom window, I would watch the children in the road. When they got to the Chapel, they covered their mouths and noses with their handkerchiefs and ran past like mad. When I got well enough to go out to play, I was a sort of pariah for a time, but that soon passed.

Even at that early age, the smithy and the carpenters shop were favourite places of mine. My parents didn't mind me going to the carpenter's, but they took a dim view of the smithy's, as the language floating around there was, to put it mildly, rather ripe at times! I came home one day, went to Father sitting in his chair and said "Father, what's an old bee?"

"Why", answered Joe, "it's something like a wasp. You know what they look like."

"Oh, I don't mean a wasp bee."

"What do you mean then?" rejoined Father, looking a bit blank.

"Oh, I heard the blacksmith say to a horse, 'Stand still you old bee', and I wondered what he meant!"

Poor Father didn't know what to say, except to warn me not to go there again.

My first memories of Mother were of hard work from dawn to dusk. With Father crippled, and my brothers and sisters at school, she was the sole breadwinner. It seemed such a shame that just as Father's business was nicely established, the shattering blow of his accident should fall.

About Mother's early life before her marriage I know very little. She was born in Broome, a neighbouring village, living there with her brother and sisters until she was six or seven, when her mother died, leaving five of them motherless, all of school age. Her brothers and sisters went to live with various relations, while the eldest left school early to see after her father.

Mother was taken over by an aunt in London. She was a good, kindly soul, and did all she could to be a mother to motherless Mum. She got Mother into a good school, where she stayed until she was about twelve, when her father died. Circumstances then arose which made it necessary for her to return home to Broome. She had two years of schooling left, and I well remember her telling me that when she went back to the village school she was way above the average standard due to the superior teaching she had received in London. She even helped out on the teaching side.

When she left school, she got a job in a silk factory in Ditchingham. All the old factory buildings still remain, although it is now a modern maltings. The only evidence of its former use is the number of small windows now bricked up. The factory employed a large number of local men and women. As in any factory there were all sorts employed. I gather that Mother's stay there wasn't too happy. She was a staunch chapel‑goer, and the language and horseplay which were part and parcel of factory life didn't suit Mother at all. As she was a good‑living and religious girl she came in for more than her fair share of a generally rough time. No doubt this contributed to her early marriage.

Chapel life was flourishing in those days. It was customary to visit the neighbouring chapels when something special was on, and it was through Mother visiting Kirby Cane that she caught Father's eye. It wasn't long before "pretty little Agnes" and Joe were courting. As her own parents were both dead, it was no surprise when they decided to "tie the knot" although Mother was only nineteen. Nippers began to arrive regularly. I was the youngest of six and, so I have been told, hopelessly spoilt, which was not altogether surprising.