´óÏó´«Ã½

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Jenny of the Stoke CSV Action Desk on behalf of Malcolm Green and has been added to the site with his permssion. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was confirmed in St Michael’s Church. It had all been arranged and agreed by my parents I assume or my consent had bee assumed. I never did get on well with the churches. St Luke’s Church was in the next street to my house, the Vicarage was just around the corner. I was sent to Sunday School and I hated it. It wasn’t my seen at all. In Alnwick we were supposed to get out of our lodgings and take the fresh air by going to church as part of our education and according to the school’s functions as ‘in loco parentis’ (or my mum and dad are a bit mad).
My difficulty was with the creed ‘I believe in God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost’ etc. I didn’t, I would be telling lies. I was no good at telling lies. I had heard nothing which convinced me in any of the arguments put forward and I still have not, but they admitted me anyway. What does it matter? If there is no God I have offended no one. If there is he or she will surely forgive me. I am prepared to take my chance. I do however respect religions as a code of ethics and morals. Much is based on common sense rules of hygiene and much of it is claptrap, but they have nice building, furnishings and caring ways with the poor and sick. Good luck to them, I can manage nicely thank
you. My trouble is with those who insist on ‘theirs is the only way.’ I used to turn up at the church to be counted and quietly step to one side at the door and sidle off out of sight until it was all over.
As you can imagine, to cram two schools into one set of buildings was a bit of a problem. The Wallsend pupils shared the premises on Lindisfarne Road with the local pupils. I remember one local lad, he was a tall son of a farmer called Curry. I think he came from Whittingham. We often received lessons in churches, church halls, meeting rooms, rooms in pubs; anywhere with space and tables and chairs. We did a lot of walking and we had some designed nature walks. I remember one magnificent walk through the castle grounds, but only the highlights I am afraid. There was a wide gravel road between large rhododendrons and later the Aln and salmon stairs and I think that we saw some salmon leaping. I remember seeing otters, which was a first for me. There was a ruined abbey or church building and a very short statue of a monk standing with his hands clasped together at his chest clutching an empty lemonade bottle. We were told there was a rumour that these buildings were or had been linked by a secret tunnel to Alnwick Castle, but our teacher, I think it was Mr Young our chemistry teacher, who said ‘there is always a rumour of a secret tunnel in old buildings, take no notice and who put that bottle there?’
Mr Thomas, nicknamed Geek, was our English teacher. He gave me a hard time at school, but he imparted a love of words, poetry and literature. He also liked a drink on Sunday mornings and could often be spotted as he tried out a few of his favourites to determine which was the best on the day. I recall one walk where we were abjured to ‘stand where were were and fill our lungs with this wholesome air’ which unfortunately coincided with a few cows with loose bowels walking past. We often walked along the path from the Lion Bridge towards the Denwick road and I have walked that parapet on the bridge. I would not do it now and I would not recommend anyone else to do so. We had Miss Lightfoot teaching us Art and Miss Iles French. Miss Iles name had no particular significance at that time other than a fancy name for something projected from a catapult or peashooter. I remember many noisy school dinners and at least one reading of Grace by the resident headmaster. ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful and allow us a quiet meal for Christ’s sake, Amen.’ The last words were given a special emphasis which at least one hearer appreciated.
Talking about missiles and catapaults, I recall one Sunday morning that there was to be a march past, or some such, of a Scottish regimental band in the market place. The band were assembled for their final cigarette in an alley to the side of the market place and there was a group of us youngsters looking on. I fancied that I could just about get away with launching a small missile of folded paper from the two linked rubber bands in my pocket if I clasped the missile in my teeth whilst stretching the wrapped elastic band about three or so inches and letting it go at the presented face of the big drum. I could and it did with an impressive ‘boom!’ A young lad standing at the front received a clout on the ear and I kept very quiet. The band leader was very big and quick on his feet.
When I first arrived in Alnwick, I was very unsettled and distressed, homesick, worried by the separation from my parents and what was happening to them. I had never been away from home before and never without my parents being close. I started bed wetting which distressed me as much as it must have done my carers. I took some medication, but it did no good. I needed security and tender loving care which strangers could not provide. I don’t think that I was unique, but that brought me no comfort. It was a long time before it improved and it caused me a lot of embarrassment. I don’t know whether that was part of the reason for Alan and I to move out of the Green’s house, but we were moved across the road to the widow of an ironmonger, whose name escapes me. It may have been Dixon. She looked after us very well, but I remember her hair washing ritual to this day. We stripped off out shirts in turn and had a towel wrapped around our necks, then we bent forward over a bowel of warm water. The next thing was the block of Sunlight soap coming down with force and determination on our heads. Whack and whack and rub and rub, strong fingers trying to get at the grey matter inside these solid bones and not to be denied. Then the rinsing and the clenching of the eyes and the teeth and holding the breath until the deluge passed.
The food was marvellous, I did not know her husband, but I will bet that he was not a thin man.
We were taught woodwork by Mr Ninian Blakey. He was an elderly man and his close vision was not all that it should have been. I remember making a boot scraper, which looked delightfully simple, but if you had seen some of the ones that the class produced, including my effort you might have been given pause for thought. He professed a desire for us to use only the finest lines for our working drawings. I was not the only one to be given good marks for an incomplete drawing.
We did not see much of the war except the planes in the skies, but the Luftwaffe saved me once from repercussions in not having prepared some Latin. The siren sounded just before my turn came and everyone shot off to the air raid shelters. No bombs were dropped nearby, but I did cycle over to somewhere near Boulmer where one of our bombers, a Whitley perhaps, returning damaged crash landed in a field and through a dry stone wall. We got quite near to it and there did not appear to be anyone preventing access, but we did not try. A more spectacular event was a fighter plane, whether a spitfire or a Messerscmitt I do not know, it was well on fire and its ammunition was still exploding so we kept a safe distance and behind cover. A returning German bomber must have had one bomb left and got rid of ot on the farm where my brother was convalescing. It missed, but it left a big hole in the field and frightened the hens.
Our next move was to 44 St Thomas’ close, the home of Mr and Mrs Haigh. Fred Haigh was a miner I believe and I associate him with Shilbottle, but whether that was where he worked or where he was born I do not know. Mrs Haigh smoked a lot and they had a son Freddie who was a bit younger than us. The house as a council house I believe, but it was right at the end of the last houses in the development towards Rothbury. It had a large back garden with a couple of rabbit hutches and a cornfield over the fence where I heard a bird that I had never heard before or since and that was a corncrake I discovered much later. There was a footpath over the fence of by walking a bit down the road, which would take one down towards St Michael’s Church or by bearing left towards open country and the rifle butts. I expect that they have now disappeared.
At weekends Mr Haigh used to like to take us out on cycle runs on Sundays because that would take him out in the fresh air on his way to numerous places of refreshment. He had a stuffy job as a miner and he needed a large amount of refreshment, usually as much as he could successfully carry. We got into no troubles or problems and he always picked himself up again for further progress. Fortunately there was very little traffic on the roads we took. In fact more than once we I have cycled down the A1 all the way to Newcastle and on to Wallsend. I don’t think that would be possible nowadays without police permission and motorcycle outriders. The world then was a very different place; there was a spirit of togetherness and unity and caring about others, which would be rare nowdays. Most young men were away fighting in a more dedicated and meaningful way and purpose, the hooliganism was contained and dissipated. The only time recently where I have come across such unity was in a small village in Nepal on the road to Pokhara from Kathmandu when an LPG tanker spun across and blocked the narrow road with its wheels in the ditch. The whole village turned out to fill the ditch with stones which they gathered up so that the tanker could get out and turn and they cut an escape road to relieve the lighter traffic to get past. That was impressive and a bit scary to leave the road; there is usually death by falling thousands of feet.
Yes, I have been to lots of places since leaving Alnwick and I have seen lots of remarkable things; visited temples, shrines, cathedrals, synagogues, mosques and museums, talked to people on the way in spite of my atheism and shyness. But I still have a soft spot for Alnwick and will return to Northumberland as often as we can. This is a place on this planet which has many unique properties, solid foundations in history from the Romans to the Reivers via St Cuthbert and the Venerable Bede. A landscape dotted with castles and bastles and productive farms and the Chillingham wild cattle. It has the sweet sound of the Northumberland pipes and we should be proud to say ‘I am from the North.’

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.