Chapter 3

My parents rented a flat facing the harbour in Gorey. It was an upside down flat, ground floor Midland Bank, first floor bedrooms, second floor, living rooms and kitchen, third floor, attic bedrooms. (Attics again!) I was eleven and it was heaven for me. I was accepted for Victoria College in St Helier, a school made up of most beautiful buildings, the hammer beam roof of the hall was a replica of Westminster Hall. The senior French master Marc Ceppi was well known as the author of one of the standard works of French teaching, "Le Français." My maths master P. A. Tatam (Pat) earned my undying hatred by "mocking" my stammer.

Discipline was strict. Boys who lived in St Helier had to obey a 7:30pm curfew during term-time and caps had to be worn all times. I was once punished for not wearing my cap while being driven through town in a car. The school porter who wore a uniform of frock coat and Chelsea Pensioner style hat was a figure of authority.

I travelled to school by bus, there were two rival bus companies, allegiance to one or the other was almost tribal. In my perverse way I chose the underdog. The first double decker to come to the island caused quite a commotion, on its first trip nearly everyone came to their doors to gaze at this new monster and to call to their neighbours, "The double decker."

My school friend Mortimer and I spent many of our lunch hours watching the activity at St Helier harbour. Cargo vessels, mainly from Goole and Hull, were loaded and unloaded by the use of their own derricks. We generally had lunch at the "Old Oak" or "Gaudins," usually beans on toast (eight pence). I spent the best part of my summer holidays barefoot, the soles of my feet became very tough, and I could traverse the rocky coast like a mountain goat. I had the good fortune to be befriended by Mr Perchard, a boat builder, and I passed many fascinating hours watching him at work. He let me have, "on permanent loan" a rather decrepit dinghy, which I painted and cosseted with loving care. I spent a lot of time in this little boat which I named "Green Linnet" and in which I mastered the art of "sculling over stern."

The "event of the year" in Gorey was the regatta. Those of whom who had access to a dinghy would tout for business, carrying owners to their boats. The most luxurious boat in the harbour, "Aphrodite" belonged to Lord Trent. (Founder of Boots Chemists.) In the evening there was a "battle" with confetti on the harbourside.

We had piped water for washing but were obliged to carry water for drinking from a hand pump two hundred yards away. Rubbish was taken to the pier and tipped into the sea through a machicolation. Bunny among others fished for mullet at the tip - "true recycling."

Bogie had improved scope for enjoying Katie's well tought bad habit. When the flat door was opened, he would tear down the stairs along the narrow passage, across the road on which there was little traffic in those days, down the slipway, finally along the sand at the front of the sea wall to Grouville, some three quarters of a mile away. He barked throughout this run, his ears flapping as if he hoped to take flight. He used to sun himself on the sitting room window sill. (second floor) One day he fell asleep and then fell to the road below. We thought he could not possibly survive, but the only aparent injury was his pride.

My mother, restless as ever, decided to try her hand at business, and bought the "Chateau Plaisir" in St Ouens bay, a quite magnificent restaurant with a "vita" glass sun lounge seating over one hundred. It was renowned throughout the island for its lobster teas. The name, "Chateau Plaisir" even appeared on the destination boards of the buses. I was, among other things, a "washer up," my pay, the money from the toilets. A three piece orchestra played on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. The Chateau was the inspiration for my interest in engineering. Electricity at fifty volts was provided by a "Crossley" paraffin engine driving a dynamo connected to an array of open topped glass accumulators. I soon took over the running of this little plant, which was my pride and joy. The engine house was the best kept room in the place! When mother bought the "Chateau," our own Martello Tower came with it. The interior was completely gutted but we managed to renew floors and stairways and make a nice "refuge." It's walls were more than six feet thick.

We had our first car - a Standard 9. Checking oil levels, water levels etc., soon became my duty and pleasure. Mother had difficulty in learning to reverse, and there were quite a few bent wings - mudguards they were then called. Actually every car on the island had a slight kink in the rear wings due to the unloading from the ship by crane, there was no "roll on, roll off."

My cousin, Nancy still spent her holidays with us and we still remained good friends, but the age gap now lessened our intimacy. I was a self reliant child, and made trips on my own, to Caterham and Liverpool. It was quite a journey for an eleven year old. Steamer to Southampton - train to London - underground train across London - train to Caterham (or Liverpool) - walk to "Pentlands." Mother was very relaxed about it so long as I sent her a telegram on arrival.

My father's problem with alcohol continued and he had several spells in nursing homes. I was now old enough to comprehend the damage that was being caused to the family from the situation, and it instilled in me an obsessive hatred of alcohol which I did not lose until my late twenties, since when I have taken it, only in moderation, mainly to be sociable. I still remain unhappy at the "glamour" that attends its use and the attitude that non-drinkers are a bit "odd." My father returned to Streatham to live with his sister Agnes. Following which, mother decided it was time for us to move again, this time to Liverpool where her mother had recently died.

My father lived with Agnes between further spells in nursing homes until she died in 1937, and then with cousin Dorothy who had married and returned to Wallasey. He died in a nursing home in 1940 - I saw him a few days before. He was buried in the family vault in Rake Lane Cemetry, Wallasey. Agnes must be one of the unsung heroines who devote their lives to their family - first her mother and orphaned nieces, and then her brother.

Looking back - I supposed my mother should have made a greater effort to support my father - but my memories of the time, give me an understanding of the difficulties.