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Beginnings

I was born at 24 Downside Road, Middlesbrough on November 30 1938 to Edwin and Elizabeth Ann (née Bone). My dad was a Middlesbrough lad and my mum was from Hartlepool. The house backed onto a field that ran down to what we called ‘The Old River’ Tees. Across the valley, perhaps 500/600 yards was the main entrance to Thornaby aerodrome.
My early memories are of the sirens wailing and an adult pulling back my bedclothes and being carried through the darkness, a darkness lit by searchlights, to the Anderson shelter at the bottom of the garden — it always seemed cold. Relief came with the ‘All Clear’ and I guess I associated the sound with being returned to my cosy cot: later it would be to a bed.

Dreams?

Many years afterwards a family discussion turned to the substance of dreams. I have vivid memories of childhood dreams and so described one to my mam and dad: I was in my cot, above my head a bright red object circled slowly and I watched to see if it would land. I subsequently thought of it as a flying saucer, but at the time I just wondered what it was. I trailed my hand through the cot bars — into ice cold liquid. I looked down to see a horrible dirty grey pool swirling slowly. But that was no dream, the air-raid shelter had become flooded and it was my cot that was slowly circling. Mam had been very shocked to find me like that — she had put me into a dry shelter, then returned to the house for the big biscuit tin that held all our important documents; insurance policies, birth certificates etc. Dad was on nightshift at Britannia Wireworks. The shelter had been flooded while she was away, because of a burst water main.

Catching Flies

I have only a few memories of that period in daytime. I do remember sitting on my Granddad Grosvenor’s knee and drinking sugary tea out of a saucer. He and my Gran also lived on Whinney Banks estate, at the other end in Harehills Road. I do remember that the summer of 1940 was warm and dry and Middlesbrough suffered a plague of flies; I never did find out why. My mother, being an expert at her job, occupied me for hours in catching flies in a jam-jar and transferring them to a lace covered goldfish bowl. I recall very well the frustration of flies escaping during the transfer process, but I persisted, I was always stubborn and never gave up easily. I can’t remember what the reward was per dozen flies or whatever. Probably a sweetie, or permission to have a ride on Darkie — next-door’s black cocker spaniel.
Continued in Part 2 - see A6235599

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