Jezebel 1 & 2 - Katie's Julian Lindsey-Clark puts pen to paper including memories of family in Churt in the 1940s to the 1950's - compelling reading!

Jezebel - Part 1 - by Julian Lindsey Clark



I’ve finally decided to make a start on this story of mine. The year is 2009 and it’s a chilly night in November.

This project has been nagging at me for some time and it’s my late Mum and Dads’ influence, as they both wrote interesting short books which ,to my mind, should be continued from where they left off. I have actually dovetailed my book into theirs’ for continuity.

I’ve always dabbled in music,with modest success and now here I am doing it with writing , so here goes.



Being a ‘second world war baby’, I have lived through huge changes, just like my parents and grandparents did of course.

I feel that my childhood and youth were so unusual and special, (thanks to my extremely diverse but amazing parents )that it is worth trying to put some of it down on paper just in case anyone finds this story tucked in a corner somewhere in years to come.



Just for the record,currently,food costs about fifty pounds per person a week, beer is three pounds a pint,(important).

Cigarettes(hardly anyone smokes now, since the ban in public places came in a few months ago)five pounds for a packet of twenty , fuel is over one pound per litre and a labourer earns about three hundred and fifty pounds a week.



I live in Selsey, West Sussex about fifty yards from the sea, with my lovely wife Jan (We got married in nineteen seventy).

Our daughter Emily, (I am biased of course but she is a stunner, in many ways) aged thirty four, lives in Brighton about thirty eight miles east of here, with Art ,her husband and they seem very happy together having only got married a few weeks ago.

Our son Dominic, is a great bloke, like a rock for us, also lives here in Selsey about five minutes walk from our house.

Dominic is currently single, although he was married at the age of twenty four to a lovely girl , Natalie Heath but sadly divorced three years later.

No grandchildren at this stage but watch this space.

Jan and I feel very lucky because we have two fantastically supportive offspring’s who love us as we love them both and as soon as either of us has more than a cold or cough are there for us in a flash. They are the same with each other too.

We are all a bit ‘sparky’ now and then but when the chips are down, it’s all fantastic.



Selsey is a funny little town or big village. It is quaint and full of off beat characters. Lots of things happen in Selsey that don’t quite add up. we refer to it as ‘ Selseyishness’.

It’s really out of ‘The rat race though and quiet by the sea.

Talking of the sea, it is beginning to nibble at the coast line here and grabbing bits of gardens and the occasional house ,maybe due to global warming and rising sea levels.

Most people are fairly laid back and for some reason, not dashing to the estate agents just yet.

All sorts of things are cheaper and people are not money grabbing here, generally.

I think you have to be a bit bonkers to enjoy living here so I fit in well !



Chapter 1. Earliest times 1939-47



‘Cuppa teaTom’, cuppa tea Tom’.

These were the first words I ever remember hearing and they were uttered by my soul mate and dearly beloved twin Jo, from our joint cot, one early morning in 1946, when we were about two years old at Barford View ,Churt in Surrey, my home for the next eighteen years or so , with a few attempts at leaving home excepted.

I would join in this plea to our lovable, eccentric and sometimes impossible Irish Granddad Thomas Heron, for a cup of tea which I have always enjoyed, first thing ,in bed but not always had time for with school and work.



We twins had picked up on this urge for early morning tea from our lovely Granny Heron, who ,lived with us from when we were born in 1944 until 1956, when she died after five years in a wheelchair following a severe stroke.



Let’s go back to when Mother’s book finished in 1942, around the time of her marriage to Michael Clark, my father, at Corby Catholic Church and the reception at the pub at Bulwick, Northampton.

Mother and her sister Joan , who, leading up to the war in 1939 had belonged to the Three Herons with another sister Wendy, curtailed their harmony singing stage careers to do their bit in the Land Army.

These glamorous London theatrical girls, soon got used to the hard life of working on farms and

living from hand to mouth in a tiny bungalow , with no running water, gas or electricity.



In 1944 just after Joe and I were born we moved from the little bungalow at Bulwick to a semi at Quinton, not far away with the land work over for Mother and Auntie Joan who had their hands full with the twins. Auntie Joan used to help Mother with me a lot of the time and give me my bottle (and I was always very keen on getting my share) and getting my wind up.



I’ve always had a very close bond to Auntie Joan, ever since infancy and felt she was like another mum although no one could really replace my ultra special Mother.



There was a feast of stories about ,both the stage days and the land army and we were regaled with these over and over again, at our urging, all through our childhood which not only influenced my life enormously but hugely enthralled us kids for hours and hours.



Dad was on active war service ,in Italy and Germany for most of the first two years of my life, so we twins bawled a bit when we finally came home.

He did have a leave in 1945 and as a result Steve was born in 1946 and so three boys were produced from three weeks of Dad’s leave, apparently.



Auntie Joan, who had married a Chezckoslovacian soldier called Ivan Obert, in 1943 (he was based near Bulwick) found a little bungalow in Green Lane, Churt,Surrey and they moved there in 1945.

Auntie Helen Heron and Tony her husband lived in Green Cross Cottage, nearby, with daughter Pru and son, Adrian. Catherine arrived a while later. The Herons moved to Horsham in due course but often visited Churt.

We Lindsey Clarks soon followed the Herons and Oberts and shared the latter’s’ dwelling for a few months until eventually Mother found Barford View, near the village centre in Churt and in the winter of 1946/47, with a rent looming of three pounds a week and thirty bob a week rates, the family moved across the village.

Our growing family consisted of Mother ,Dad and three boys , Granny and Grand Dad Heron.

A day to remember, when we took possession of this funny old Edwardian quaintly designed, very basic three bedroom detached house was to provide such a rich (except for materialistic things) and colourful home for my childhood and early youth, as to be aptly described as a home in a million.

Barford View was one of several houses built by the Harris family of Churt. The Harris men folk ,by tradition, were all employed by a large Haslemere firm called Chapman ,Lowry and Puttick But these blokes were gluttons for punishment and did spec building at weekends and evenings and our house was a product of this extra work.



So the scene was set.



Chapter 2.



Pre school pastimes.1947-49



Joe and I thought we’d pop round to our neighbour , Mrs Gregory . When she opened the door there was a smell of old cabbage, moth balls and soap suds.

We announced that ‘’Weem twins and weem two’’,

to which she replied ‘’That’s nice for you dears’, and gave us a sweet each.’

A couple of years later we went round and asked if she had any jobs because our Mummy was hard up. We’d heard Mother telling Joan she was short of cash for the paraffin to fill up the oil stoves

These, quite dangerous, smelly stoves were everywhere in those days..

Funny however hard times were , our lovely parents and aunts and uncles always seemed to be just able to afford to pop down to the pub , or to take a bottle of Gordon’s home. We didn’t care.

Everyone smoked when were kids. Everywhere. Doctors in the hospitals and surgeries. Shopkeepers, all around foodstuffs. Freedom from modern worries. No packet warnings, no talk of stuffy little alcohol units. It was very laid back in those days before all the warnings came along.



The family was always expanding and gorgeous red haired Magda and beautiful blond Helen were born in 1947 and 49 respectively.

Magda, whom Dad called Magdalana Maria was so striking with her lovely auburn hair. She would dance and sing all round the house from an early age.

I remember when baby Helen, better known as Heldy Beldy , was sitting in her high chair, the baker who always came in for a chat, said ‘Blimey, She’s going to break a few hearts one day’.



Before starting school, we were mostly at home, day in and day out, with occasional visits to Frensham Ponds, a lovely big lake two miles north of our village, with ,in those days, thick pea

soup for water but ideal for paddling about. There was quite good yellow sand there on the little beach and we adored it. At weekends it was full of visitors like Brighton beach and just as important in those threadbare days without proper holidays. In fact out first family holiday wasn’t to come for years.

Our Grand Dad ,who loved walking, used to take all in turns, from when we were tiny tots( well,actually I was always a bit on the lanky side from the word go) off on five mile walks to the locally famous and magically deserted (to this day) ‘ Devil’s Jumps’ on the west side of the village and back.

These are three jumps or hills, covered in heather, and gorse with Oak, Pine and Birch trees interspersed.

The Stony Jump (one hundred feet high ,with iron stone rocks on top ),the Cave Jump, with a real cave and which used to be used as an observatory by an astronomer and the House Jump, which had a little dwelling perched on top of it.

On our usual walk, along Hale house Lane, there was an enormous oak tree. Granddad would make us bow three times each time we past the old tree. He would tell us to watch the ‘disappearing house’ too, nearby. This was a tall house and the road sloped downhill as we approached it which had the effect of the house sinking with each step.

When the Lindsey Clark uncles came down to visit they used to take us walking, especially Uncle David, who. like me has always enjoyed a good walk and at eighty plus he still walks very briskly for several miles.

I remember one Christmas, it snowed hard on Christmas Eve morning and Dad had got hold of a sledge and pulled us twins and Steve up to Green Lane,Churt.

Here was Aunty Joan and Uncle Ivan, living in a wooden bungalow, without electricity ,gas or running water. This visit is etched in my memory as, entering their tiny lounge, there was a large Christmas tree decorated in the most magical way, with large baubles and tiny coloured lights.

All through my life I have always looked forward to seeing the Oberts' Christmas tree and some of those ornaments have survived to this day.

Other than that there was the distraction of our family growing steadily with Magda arriving in nineteen forty seven and Helen in forty nine.



Chapter 3. Miss Willis’s. 1949 –53



Miss Willis, short,tweedy and elderlyish, was a kind lady who ran a sort of private ‘dame school’ at Bucklands, Whitemore Vale, Hindhead,which was a penny bus ride on the number 19 0r a steep ten minute walk.

Joe and I arrived ,aged five, for our first half day. ( You did half days for the first half term).

My dear twin opened his mouth and roared with endless tears flowing down his red cheeks all the morning and I joined in for the last hour. Complete wimps!!

There was a girl there who for some reason had stayed at Bucklands until she was fifteen (normally you left at nine years old). She was quite nice but a bit bossy for us and I suppose was a sort of prefect. I always rebelled against prefects at all my schools.

We used to have lunch in this one room school and it was cooked in the same room as the lessons and dining table. One day this girl was asked to serve at the tables and she laughed so hysterically that she blue a huge bubble from her nose and collapsed on the floor for a minute and we all got into the giggles and couldn’t stop.



Because we went to that private school ,the village kids used to take the Mickey, through the village school hedge at Churt, after we got off the bus and walked the hundred and fifty yards home. They delighted in calling us the ‘Sonny Jims’ shortened later to ‘The Jimsters’.

Steve (always inclined to be home and Mum loving) was dragged along, kicking and screaming, on his inaugural school day, by our stressed out Dad ,who threatened him with the ‘rough’ school, away from his big brothers, at Beacon Hill, if he didn’t succumb to the clutches of Miss Willis.

The dear boy was just settling a bit when one lunch time during ‘Grace Before Meals’ there was the sound of a fairly healthy water fall and a pool was quickly forming around Steve’s feet. The overstretched head mistress stopped the grace and asked me ‘Doesn’t he ask to go?’ to which I couldn’t find an answer, went red and cried. Terrible babies, we were.



Our sister Magda was unfortunate to be refused access to the toilet until the end of a lesson and inadvertently a ladylike but never the less, smelly object appeared and got stuck to her shoe , which caused her to cry quite a lot and the whole school was in an uproar.

Another day when she got down to Churt ,from school, on the 19 bus, which cost a penny, the bus conductor shouted out to the Mums gathered there, ‘The ginger one’s swallowed ‘er penny !’. Mother had a fit but had misheard the conductor who had actually said ‘lost ‘er penny’



I remember at this sort of age , being taken to Mass by our Dad. Mass was at Hale House, in Churt. There was a beautiful old barn by the house and it had been converted into a chapel and Churtites would attend on Sunday morning.

It was a bit scary because there were endless old ladies all round you in fur coats and black veils ,singing with wavery old voices to a terrible badly played harmonium.

The hymn I remember most was ‘Soul of my Saviour’. A real old Catholic one with phrases like ‘Blood of my Saviour, Bathe me in Thy tide’ . I always think of that chapel when I hear that mournful hymn.

Later ,we transferred to a newly built Catholic Church at Beacon Hill, called St Anselm’s.This is a very peaceful building to this day, with a beautiful wooden Madonna and Child, sculpted by Dad back in 1956.This statue looks as good as ever fifty odd years later.

Father Tanner was a super priest and we served mass every Sunday for ages.



To complete the feminine siblings, in 1951, our dear Mother bore a pretty little brunette called Trudy (after her paternal Grandmother Truda).

Trudi was a sweet little girl and very kind she is was also extremely firm when she needed to be and still is.

She loved it when her cousin , Stephenie Lindsey Clark came and stayed and the two girls became known as ‘The Twins’.

About this sort of time ,we brothers used to really enjoy visits from uncles or cousins ,especially if they arrived in any sort of vehicle.

Cars were only for the rich or for salesmen and most of our uncles with cars fell into the second category without doubt.

Uncle pat Heron (Mother’s brother) would turn up after a long drive from Cambridge but he would get no peace until he had taken us ‘for a ride’ around the village.

Once Joe came rushing into the house ,yelling ‘uncle Pat’s big car’s doing a wee wee’. In those days, before antifreeze, if a hard frost was forecast, the motorist would have to drain all the water out of his radiator and this had confused young Joe.

We used to follow these weary visiting relations about and watch them do everything. Shaving was great entertainment as the old cut throat razor caused us quite a worry, thinking our uncles ’hand might slip. Uncle Pat’s Adam’s apple was a source of humour to us as it was a bit prominent and we tried to stifle our smiles as it went up and down.

Uncle Peter would give us toffees (he worked for Sharpes ). Another one of Mother’s brothers, he was a great personality and would entertain us all with his guitar and folk songs.

He and Uncle Tony had,years before, joined forces with Mother, Joan and Wendy and performed as the ‘Five Herons’ harmony group. This was back in the thirties, before the call up came for the boys to join up and do their bit in the second world war.



Aunty Joan used to visit us almost every day, from Green Lane, she and Mother being inseparable in those days.

Our cousins Adrian and Ben used to come too. Adrian was a few years older than us and we hero worshipped him and would do anything he suggested of course. He would turn us into a gang of soldiers for war games or red Indians. Our garden was big with an orchard and a ‘wilderness’ as well as soft fruit , vegetable patch, lawns and borders. Fabulous for kids as it wasn’t very precious at all.

One day Adrian arranged a bread and marg and ‘golden syrup ‘ eating competition at tea time. It must have seriously dented Mum’s miniscule budget because he won quite easily as he devoured twenty one slices and we trailed a bit at around a dozen each. Not bad though as we Clarks were all scared of being sick, especially poor Steve who was developing a nasty phobia about it around that time.

Adrian attended St John’s School in Churt for a while and became a bit of a here because he appeared to be smoking a cigarette in class. A sneaky kid said to the teacher, ‘Please Miss, Adrian Heron’s smoking Miss’. Adrian said’ No I’m not, it’s not real’. Sure enough it was a fake with a glowing end.



Much later when Adrian was a strapping seventeen year old Sailor, with some experience of fisty cuffs , he accompanied us to the rec where the big lads like’ Snipe Covey’ and Mick Cane who usually bullied us kept their distance, on that occasion but yelled out ‘We’ll have you next time, Jimsters’, you wait !’



Some of these family visits turned into long stays as there was homelessness and the odd Aunts ‘ nervous breakdown or two to be supported. Many people turned to Mother and Dad for help and no one was refused.



Our older cousin Ben was another role model. Once we went scrumping apples with Dave Harris and after we’d eaten all we could and filled our pockets , Dave (who was usually the naughtiest boy in Churt) said ‘Ben says that’s enough’.

On a subsequent visit, years later, Ben accompanied us older brothers to Frensham ponds where there were quite a few sun bathing beauties on the ‘beach’. We copied him as he crawled along the dunes and asked, ‘Why are we doing this Ben?’ to which he replied that we were ‘girl hunting’.



Our cousins, the Fosters used to visit sometimes, Bernie, Cricky and especially Peter’Eric’. Peter was a year older than me and older lads were generally held in high esteem. He slept in ‘the boys’ room with three beds in it and after the lights were out and we were thinking about sleeping ,I noticed Peter sitting ,propped up with pillows, bare chested and arms folded, staring into space. ‘What are you doing Pete ‘ we said and he replied, ‘thinking’. That tickled us brothers. Peter became a very good sculptor along with his brother Steven. They took after their Father Anthony who was also a sculptor by profession.



Uncle Cyril and Aunty Winifred lived at Star Hill, Churt, at one time and used to come round to our house with Christopher and Timothy. It was quite cold and Chris whined to his Dad, ‘I want mi gloves on Daddy!’ Chris ,who is a cheerful sort of chap, is always reminded of this story by the Lindsey Clarks.



Uncle Peter Heron used to come down with Lela , his wife and Felicity, John and Anthony the children. Those cousins visited us a lot and were always always a laugh.







When I was about eight King George the 6th passed away and I remember the grown ups sad faces.

Our Granny Truda died around that time and we really felt sorry for our Dad.

Some two years after that it was Granny Heron’s turn to meet her maker and that upset all of us, as she had lived in our house all our short lives. She died downstairs in their bedroom and I recall Uncle Peter carrying her sheets outside and making a bonfire and burning them. Pretty grim stuff for ten year olds. We felt weird about it all.

I remember good things about Granny , the piles of apple peelings and lovely pastry on our old scrubbed pine kitchen table, when she was baking apple pie or crumble and her being so kind to us but also her being in the wheel chair for five years.

Our Mother was amazing, having Granny and Granddad at home with a huge family of her own to contend with. There was never any talk of them going into a home but they did go to Uncles and Aunties for short stays. Mother ,with help from Joan, nursed Granny for these five years in a wheelchair, that is until she died.

Some time before she died it became my job to take down Granny’s dictation and write it in a letter card ( a letter with sticky edges to fold and stick down, with a stamp embossed on the front. Good idea for those times, actually.)

These would be sent to her large family so it happened quite often. I would be raring to get out and play cricket or football, and to that end would try to prompt Granny to finish her letter by suggesting she might end now with the words ‘ Your Loving Mother’, which was her usual final line . Often she would grin and sign to me that she wasn’t ready to finish yet.

I had good handwriting then but I have to concentrate hard to perfect it now after years of scrawling millions of words in my business days.

Mostly though, I recall her kindness and gentleness and devotion to St Bernadette. She went to Lourdes a couple of times in her life.

I had a few nightmares after she died and Barford View seemed a bit creepy in the dead of night after that.



Mothers always seem to feature prominently in peoples’ lives and I believe this tie is even deeper with mothers and sons.

Everyone, well nearly everyone, thinks their Mother very extra special and I am no exception.

On our seventh birthday, Mother and Dad had scraped together enough cash to buy us both a carpenter’s outfit. So she set us up in ‘the garage’ (we never had a car in it because Dad didn’t drive and few women learnt in those days.)

We were hammering and drilling away and Mother came out with cups of tea about an hour later.

We felt like workmen and downed tools for a break and sipped our tea. Mum called out ‘Everyone happy’ and we yelled back ‘ Yes, we are ‘!!! Our Mum was so good at making you feel special.

In 1953 ,to celebrate the coronation of Queen Elizabeth 11, there was a big fete in the rec and we all collected our coronation mugs.

There was a pageant at Quinnettes, one of the oldest houses in Churt, with a lovely garden .Mrs Joan Lash (grandmother of the famous film actors, Fiennes brothers, Raife and Joseph) took the part of Elizabeth 1 and even to this day I remember her wonderful acting in that pageant.

It was all very exciting and colourful. We saw Mick Harris, one of the slightly older boys in the village and to our astonishment he had make up on. He was a page boy in the pageant but the lipstick made us laugh. Later on Mick or Mike as he is called these days, become a big buddy and would make me laugh like a drain on many an occasion.



Chapter 4. London trips.



Dad’s Mother, Truda ( short for Gertrude) died quite young ,in her sixties, around 1952 but from when we could walk, until she became ill, we three eldest brothers used to be taken up to London by Dad,to see her and Grandpa . He was Phillip Lindsey Clark whilst Dad was known as Michael Clark in order to keep their professional sculpture names distinguishable.

Those trips were like jewels in our happy but austere lives of those days.

The thing is that for village kids like us, the contrast was amazing.

The excitement would start with a sixpenny bus ride to Farnham or Haslemere stations, both six miles or half and hour away Next the train (I’ve always loved them) , a green electric one, would get us to Waterloo in under an hour and we would , and still do, look out for Big Ben and St Paul’s Cathedral, because once we’d seen them ,we were nearly there. The tube would take us to Sloane square and we did wonder how we hadn’t died on the escalator, so terrified we were of it.

A short walk to Caroline Terrace and fighting over who would use the big knocker on the front door and Granny Truda would open the door with big smiles and hugs and lose no time in sending us up to have a look on our pillows.

There would always be a pack of cards or a drawing book and crayons perhaps and sweets of course.

Then after politely thanking Granny ,she would send us off with butterflies in our tummies to say ‘hello’ to Grandpa but not stay long in the Studio because he was so busy.

Grandpa would say hello and shake hands (absolutely no hugging or kissing from this remarkable but very Victorian gentleman), ask us if we were playing much cricket and give us ‘half a crown’ ( a fortune then, being twelve and a half pence). He might ask us to run along to the tobacconist just a few yards down the road and get him a tin of Gold Block pipe tobacco, so we could spend a bit of our riches at the same time.

Grandpa did take us to Lords once but I think it rained. They had a sort of house keeper come upper crust char lady called Miss French and she took us to Hyde park or Buckingham Palace and we visited the museums. we called the Natural History museum ‘ The Stuffed Zoo’ and really liked the Science Museum. They were all free then.

Lying in bed at night we would here the tube trains rumbling underground and could feel the vibrations. In the morning, early, we would here the horse drawn milk wagon and all the bottles shaking about. Horses were used for coal deliveries and lots of other things.

Uncle John took us to see ‘Gentlemen versus Players’ cricket match at Lords. The gentlemen were all amateurs and the players were professionals and had their own changing room and separate gate out onto the outfield.



We never ever went to restaurants at home but Granny Truda took us to Peter Jones department store which we just couldn’t believe. So much stuff ,so many lights. So incredible. We had a fantastic lunch but felt really conspicuous and not sure about what to do with cutlery of course.

As usual cricket and football got rid of our excess energy in Hyde Park and we enjoyed London Zoo, although Guy the Gorilla put us off our food for about ten minutes when he used to be sick and then eat it.



There were plenty of Lindsey Clark uncles but our lives were enhanced by our Great Aunt Kath Kalnan and Helen too. These were the sisters of Granny Truda and both spinsters.

Aunt Kath loved the colour blue. She lived in ‘The Blue Flat’ in North London and had blue hair and always dressed in blue. She called out ‘Cheerio, Cheerio’ when she arrived at Caroline Terrace or in Churt ,which we thought was odd because she seemed to be saying goodbye on arrival. We stayed with her a few times and she was great. She prided herself on having ‘Gentleman friends at Church or at her bridge parties, as well as girlfriends. Kath lived to a ripe old age and was always cheerful. some of the Uncles who were not married yet would be around and about in London. John, David, Paul and Philip. They were our role models and would take us places and when they visited Churt would play cricket and games. We would beg them to turn out for Churt with varying success.

John agreed and the Churt captain, Nobby Novell put him in at number eleven. John was miffed to say the least and scored a lightening fifty not out before losing his partner. Nobby was so impressed that he asked John to open the second innings and the result was a golden duck for John but Churt won and John was a hero.

Paul was very kind and always seemed to produce half crowns for us at the right moment. Inevitably he became known as rich Uncle Paul.

David took us the Opera which was fantastic for us country village lads and when in Churt took us on long walks. He was funny and still is.

Phillip was another amusing, gentle and enthusiastic uncle who often stayed with us . I remember that he was more reluctant than John to play for Churt but succumb at last with great courage and not much success. He was a fast runner and organised sprinting races in our big garden.

We loved those uncles and wanted to impress them of course.



Chapter 5. Churt



This village of Churt, where I grew up was and still is a super place though I know fewer and fewer residents of course.

In those days things were so utterly different to now and yet, all the outer bits of the village such as The Devil’s Jumps and Flashes area, the wonderful lanes with trees forming a tunnel over the top (in typical Surrey style), the woods and small undulating fields, the footpaths and bridleways, the stream at Barford, all much the same and still beautifully quiet and peaceful.

Other people have written eloquently about the history of Churt but I would endeavour to offer a few memories of Churt in the Fifties.

Cars were slower and still not in profusion. We used to wait at the bottom of ‘the lane’ with bits of paper and pencils and make lists of cars that went by. Fords, Morrises, Vauxalls, Hillmans, Humbers and those lovely old Rovers. Occasional Bedford lorries went whining and puffing up Hindhead Hill.



There was Miss MacNorton with her Austin 7 .Her Dad was so plump that he used to ask the bus driver to stop outside his house to save him walking and he had to sit in the seat by the exit because he couldn’t squeeze himself along the gangway. Mr Power from Hill House, at the top of our lane would often drive past us in his in huge old open Bentley Sports.

Lots of goods were delivered by van or lorry. Bread, milk, groceries,meat,fish,drinks,coal, dustman, laundry.It was endless, which was fantastic for a carless bunch like us. The baker used to let us all crowd into his passenger seat and take us just a few yards up to Mrs Smith’s cottage at the top of the lane, deliver her bread and then drop us all off at our house on the way back down. Kind and patient man, that.



We used to get a Saturday sixpence(2.6 new pence)from Dad and I used to buy an apple for 3d (1.3 new pence) and a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate with the rest.

Players cigarettes were 3s6d (17.5 pence) and petrol was 3s6d a gallon too.(4.425 litres in a gallon) A labourer earned £8.00 then and £300.00 now and it’s amazing how the ratios have remained similar on the whole.

Fruit was a luxury and Mother used to cut apples ,oranges or bananas up into several pieces and hand them round.

Chicken was expensive and only a rare treat. Beef was nearly always on the Sunday lunch table though. Mutton stew in the week featured heavily although on school days our lunch was our main meal.

Mother was keen on Cadbury’s milk chocolate and again would give us all a small segment each.

She had the abilility to share out any treat going, into many portions so it was a question of small but often.

A good and necessary philophosy and no chance of being spoilt. Saint Teresa of Luisieux would, I am sure, be pleased with Mum’s efforts.



There was the time it snowed heavily and we always got incredibly excited when we woke up to a good fall. We got dressed up nice and warm and rushed out to make a snowman. I quickly became overcome by a horrible ill feeling and went in to Mother crying my eyes out with frustration at missing out on the snow. My condition was chicken pox and it spread through the whole family very quickly.



Whenever the family was gathered together with visitors, after we had eaten, the grown ups would sing and inevitably we would all have to do a ‘party piece’, which was fun but sometimes a bit of a pain.



The fish man ran over my foot once. I was tucked in to the side of the lane as far as I could get but over my foot he went. He got out and said to me ‘That was a daft thing to do, as if it was my fault. Cheek. In those days children rarely uttered a rude word to an adult even if that adult deserved a mouthful.

Later he redeemed himself because he gave me some Saturday work and he told Dad that I asked a lot of questions about ‘retail’ and wholesale’ prices and the like and thought I might be in business one day.



There used to be lots of ordinary down to earth ‘Churtites’, many of whom were from very old Churt families such as the Crouchers, Deadmans, Vollers and Harrises, to name but a few as well as Silvesters , Kemps, Whites and Elsons.

The village has changed because most children of the locals have not been able to afford to rent or buy houses and have moved to cheaper areas.

The women mostly wore those scarves around their heads, called nearly every other women Mrs this and Mrs that and always had a big shopping bag in their hand.

There would be queues of these women or ladies (I prefer that word to this day) in the shops, especially the post office, where the owner Mrs Stenning would demand every last fragment of gossip from each customer and then pass it on to the next one, whilst painstakingly going to fetch each item of shopping for each customer. It was a grocer as well as a post office.

Last year the Post Office was still there and I swear that some of the tins of food were left over from those old days. It had the same smell too in that shop. Sadly it is being turned into flats as I write.



There was a post office, newsagent and sweetshop/tobacconist (still going strong),iron mongers, two grocers,butcher,chemist, haberdashery, café, fish and fruit and vegetable shop. People shopped in the village for their food and everyday needs and rarely left the parish except for the odd bus trip to Farnham or Haslemere, both 6miles away.

Overton’s garage was opposite the main shops, an ‘art deco’ building in white and quite distinctive.



From the age of about eight, we boys used to go down to the ‘rec’ and play football in the winter and cricket in summer although we often did this at home on .the cricket pitch, which was a worn out grass area by the drive with a beech tree which was perfect for a wicket.

When down at the ‘rec’ we used to get the Mickey taken out of us unmercifully because Mother had a police whistle which she blew three times as a signal for us to go home for meals. Our house was about a hundred and fifty yards walk from the rec.

Once we were playing at home and Dad was bowling his googlies at Steve, who chipped the ball deftly over the garden hedge.

Joe tore off to retrieve it and Dad called out,’ Don’t throw it over, the sun’s in my eyes!’. Sadly Joe had already sent it up over the hedge and it dropped like a stone on Dad’s head and literally knocked our beloved role model flat out for a few seconds.



On Saturdays and Sundays there was always a cricket match going on at the rec and we were keen supporters of Churt.

There were blokes playing who were our real life heroes such as Frank Covey, a quite fiery fast bowler who looked a bit like Fred Trueman and Bill Lacey or Nobby Novell who would come in low down the order and try to whack everything for six.

Peter and John Covey both bowled spin and fielded at silly mid on and off.

Occasionally the ball would come flying past us and we would scrap over it to see who could throw it back to the fielder, all fumbles and blushes.

I started as ‘Scorer’ for Churt later at about eleven years old and this led to me playing for Churt at thirteen just ahead of Joe who was livid. Dad said’ That’s fair enough as Julian scored for two years.

I only got two not out but I was chuffed. Joe got picked the following week and quickly forged ahead.

Steve was a couple of years younger and had a good eye for the ball, although he was never quite as keen as Joe and I.

The great thing about scoring was the free tea. Loads of sandwiches and cakes and then copious shandies and crisps after the game. People like John Covey were very kind to me and kept me happy and well supplied. I was proud of my scoring and it got me out of the big family crowd for a bit.

We used to go to away matches in a rickety old Bedford coach with whiny petrol engine and a big clock at the front.

Most people just didn’t have a car in those days.



Us ‘Sonny Jims’ as the kids that went to the village school called us, would often get our stumps mown down by bigger kids and we had many a scrap. Sometimes these fights would go on for hours and hours until one or other boy gave up exhausted but not really hurt too much.

One day Dave Church who was a bit of a fat boy sat on me all day and I couldn’t get up. I must have looked like an octopus struggling under Dave (a good friend later) , all arms and legs and the odd panicky screech.

This sort of thing was to go on until we were about eleven and then we gradually all made friends and ended up at the same school but that comes later.



Chapter 6. St Polycarp’s 1953-55



Miss Willis’s school was designed for education up to about nine years of age ,so in 1953, we moved on to St Polycarp's School at Farnham. This was a catholic school with the usual ,infants, juniors and seniors. It was one big building with sliding partitions between the class rooms and we used to troop about 100 yards up Bear Lane to a hall for lunch.



We seemed to be dragged into fights pretty soon at that school and we used to give and receive the odd bloody nose , black eye, scratches and scrapes. In my case it was mostly receive.



Joe and I both fell in love with a girl called Gillian O’Connell. She distracted us ,totally from our lessons, and we were blameless as she was gorgeous.



Eventually another girl called Margaret Reagan asked me to tea after giving me an apple and some chewing gum. Mother wouldn’t let me go and said the girl would be unsuitable!! I was a bit fed up about that.



We had a taste of athletics and school football and I was very erratic and a bit uncoordinated at both, although most of that was nerves. I let a slow moving, slippery and muddy football slither through my legs, when in goal and we lost ,one nil.



In my first school cricket match, I couldn’t believe that this kid was crying just because he got a duck. The it was my turn to bat and I was duly out for a golden duck. On the way back to the pavilion, I too discovered tears streaming down my face.



Most of the pupils were from large catholic families and there was this clan called the Kildares. I had a fight with Brendan on the first day but made friends straight afterwards. His brother Rory, broke the school dinner record by eating fourteen helpings of fish and mashed spud with peas. I kid you not.

Those dinners were for the most part, an absolutely essential part of our survival as there was so little cash to spare at home. Unfortunately there was one dish which actually scared me silly. It was a sort of cooked ham, with an evil smell which I would have nightmares about and it was always followed by tapioca made with water which was utterly inedible.

This is from someone who is so non finnickity about food. The rest was fine and wholesome.

When we got back from school ,on the 19 bus from Farnham, at about four pm , we would go home and Mother would have up to eight teas on our own individual plates, all rationed out,neatly.



This would ,typically, consist of, say, a round of fish paste sandwiches and two digestive biscuits.

If we were really lucky there might be a piece of Swiss roll. We would have a mug of tea with it and take it to our boys bedroom and the girls to theirs.

We would listen to ‘Children’s’ hour on an old oval radio (it ran on an accumulator battery which Mother would get charged up at Stratton’s ironmongers.

A great touch was that each day there would be a comic for the boys and one for the girls.

It was the Eagle on Mondays and Joe was allowed to read it first followed by the rest. Tuesday was mine and it was the Lion. On Wednesday Steve had the honour with the Beano and so on.

You can imagine the battles as brothers nagged brothers to hurry up.

Us three older boys did fight a fair bit but most brothers do. I know I was a pretty heavy handed with Steve and once I remember that I told him to clear off because he was irritating us and Mother found him sobbing in the back porch. I got a thick ear from Mum . I felt awful . I loved him, really.

I’m not proud of those incidents but can balance things up by the fact that I have been on the receiving end of dear old Steve’s endless capacity for ‘taking the rise out of his brothers for the last fifty odd years.

Steve and I have spent over forty years in businesses together, argued copiously but always made up immediately and remain as close as ever. We worked as a team with his design and practical talents and ,I suppose, my organisational tendencies and planting knowledge.



Talking of brothers, Simon was born in 1954 and Vincent a couple of years later. Simon was always a very enthusiastic little bloke full of questions and very inquisitive about everything. Oh, especially cars!

He always has loved them.

Vincent, after initial terrible problems with feeding as an infant, literally bounced every where as if he had springs in his feet. Then exhausted after hours of bouncing around would flop down, cuddled up to the nearest parent, grandparent or sibling, stick two of his fingers in his mouth and look and listen.

I was really worried about Mother, over her last pregnancy and begged her not to have any more babies. She was forty.



Joe and I, Steve, Magda and Helen were known as the ‘Big ones’ and Trudy, Simon and Vincent were naturally the’ Little ones’. We often had to look after the ‘Little ones’ which meant keeping an eye out for them around the garden or later if we took them around the village or to Frensham Ponds or The Devil’s Jumps’ which were our favourite haunts and all within walking distance of the village.

We would bath them, dry them off and get them all ready for bed, teeth clean and hair brushed.

The size of the family meant the chores had to be shared and besides, Mother deserved her quick (well quite quick) visits to the Crossways to chat to the old Farmers and locals over a ‘Baby John’ strong light ale or so. Dear old Granddad was always around mind and Mum needed a respite with Dad in London four nights a week.

This slightly bizarre arrangement seemed to work surprisingly well at that time although, tragically, the booze took control of our lovely Mother later on as the years went by.



This Radio scenario really hotted up with the arrival of ‘Journey into Space’. These spaceship adventures of skipper Jet Morgan and his crew sent the Lindsey Clark children into paroxysms of nervous tension and nail biting fear on a scale never before experienced even when we used to listen to Mother and Auntie Joan’s ghost stories.

It reached a climax when Steve fainted, Magda screamed and we all jumped a mile on our beds with tea flying all ways and huge pandemonium breaking out. The power of imagination.



Around eleven years of age, one of our village mates called, David Harris, started telling us all these weird things about what boys can do with girls and it filled us with a mixture of incredulity and bafflement.

When we asked Mother about it (Dad was mostly up in London during the week), to our horror and amazement she didn’t deny it and the horrible truth dawned, that even she and Dad had done it! or even worse STILL BLOODY DID.

Anyway the result was that a walk to Frensham Ponds was forthcoming that weekend and our Dear Pater patiently explained the whole thing and drew artistic sketches.

Joe piped up ’Dave Harris says it’s called ,’Doing a girl. Is that right Dad?’.

Dad quietly put that one to rest.

He must have found it quite amusing if a little taxing but I always felt lucky to have a Dad to sort it out for us like that.



I was always feeling faint. I was growing incredibly tall and the Doctor said I was outgrowing my strength. Actually it most often occurred when fasting from midnight for Holy Communion at ten thirty mass. Sure enough one day at school that old familiar feeling of fainting came over me and I was dragged by two teachers outside, feet trailing and sat down on a chair in the fresh air. One felt awful on these fainting events and well intentioned but old fashioned people always stuck ‘Salvelatilli’ under your nose which had a terrible smell and made things even worse. I was rushed off to hospital where I was asked if I ever had fits. When my dear Mother arrived (by using the 19 bus from Churt) she was cross that the doctor had asked me that and told him so and said ‘Definitely not!!’

Upon discharge we were taken home in an ambulance and a few days later I was diagnosed as having measles. So that explained everything. Mother was so sweet and hugged us to her if we were genuinely ill but woe betide us if we tried it on to get out of school . If we had an appetite for food we had no chance as she swore that you couldn’t have a temperature if you could eat. These ideas have stuck and I carried them on with my children really.



Chapter 7. Salesian College 1955-57



In those days people, Catholic ,as were Grandpa and Dad , who new a lot of clergy through their work, would often negotiate lower school fees pleading large families, lack of income and the like.



The result was that after bungling our way through two failed eleven plus exams, (during one of which, at lunch, and in front of about six very pretty girls, I managed to choke on an incredibly stringy piece of meat and had to drag it all the way out of my mouth ,in front of them) Joe and I found ourselves travelling even further to the Salesian College at Farnborough where entrance exam results put us in our niche in the Lower First.



Although algebra gave me some worries and brought my spots out ,I got on well with French and Latin, funnily enough as this would prove useful when I started working with plants of course.

There was a fair amount of sport at that school so we played some cricket and football. My nickname became ‘Lightening’ , because I was slow in the outfield so they put me in goal and Joe , my twin, was Thunder.

One Saturday we were due to play football on Saturday afternoon but were starving hungry and had both forgotten or spent our lunch money.

We had to walk past the fish and chip shop, with it’s marvellous aromas and I never felt hungrier.

We played football and somehow got home to extra rounds of bread and jam and a big dollop of sympathy from Mother.



Now, I’ve actually clung onto my Catholic faith (admittedly, by my finger tips at times) from those early childhood days until now and ,I feel, will probably carry on for the rest of my life.

Mother and Dad set us such a fantastic example of how to live as Christians, in a practical way, that I’ve never really wanted to stray away, although I have been exasperated , frustrated and scandalised by certain, man made goings on in my time , so far.

I feel strongly that I cannot do without my weekly dose of discipline; going to Mass; lighting a candle and saying prayers for my family, extended family, friends in need and the whole world.

I find a sense of ‘getting away from worries, troubles and tribulations’ on these visits and being free of the materialistic side of life. A calmness and peacefulness.

There’s the occasional confession, regular communion and the odd meaningful sermon.

A sense of belonging to the church community and all that sort of thing.

I get my faith through thinking of The Holy Trinity , Our Lady, Saint Teresa of Lisieux and St Joseph as well as Mother Teresa of Calcutta and others.

I believe in sticking with the church that is local to wherever I live but sometimes, I have to break off, for sanity reasons and visit elsewhere as a respite from mad, boring ,weird or totalitarian priests and or their housekeepers.





Going back to the Salesian College, it is a wonder I still have my faith. In the late fifties ,before ‘Vatican 11’, these priests and brothers ‘in Christ!’ preached hell fire and damnation at vulnerable

twelve year olds until, for me anyway, I was convinced that I stood every chance of ending up in the ‘Hot Place’ should I meet an untimely demise, which is what these badly trained, frustrated men, pointed out , may well happen to some of us lads with our naughty ways.

It was all mixed up with confession (compulsory each Friday) venial and mortal sins and puberty, guilt and fear. Once I asked a teacher how much you had to steal to commit a mortal sin and he looked thoughtful and informed me that it was around the fiver mark!

Fortunately I have never been into stealing, as yet.



Talking to other boys about those problems ,it took some of us until we were in our thirties to shrug off these feelings and get a sense of proportion.



Happily, after ‘Vatican 11’, things have changed for the good and for most practising Catholics it is a faith based on love rather than fear. the church is more outgoing and respectful of others’ faiths and cultures.

Anyway, I am not naïve enough to pretend there are no challenges left in the Church, far from it but for me it is a huge comfort and support .

I know there have been some awful abuses by certain clergy but the main thing is they must be investigated and the perpetrators brought to justice with safeguards put in place for the future.

I have known some fantastic priests and I personally feel that the vast majority are very good people.

I would prefer the Christian Churches to heal their differences, amalgamate and become one unified enormous influence for good. I would be happy to have women priests and also married clergy.



I inherited my absent mindedness form my wonderful Dad. It either makes those around you roar with laughter or groan with frustration.

Emily and Dominic have caught a bit of it off me and we usually have a laugh about it but my long suffering wife Jan has basically had enough of it and feels like screaming at times and actually does on occasions and I don’t blame her at all.

Assuming you wouldn’t be reading this unless you had a sense of humour and hoping might fall into the former category, I’ll tell you this one.

On this particular Saturday morning, I had got permission to leave class an hour early, so I could score at an away match for Churt.

At the appointed time I asked the teacher if I could go and he agreed ,with quite good humour.

Joe was watching all this.

Basically I forgot my cap and having left, had to knock on the door and ask to get it. ‘Yes’, said the teacher a bit bad tempered ‘And hurry up’.

Next it was my pencil box, the my scarf and then something else, all of which I needed ,or I’d be in trouble anyway and Mr Flynn ,my ginger tempered Irish teacher was angry and shouted at me and accused me of disrupting the whole class.

Finally it was my bus fare, which was in my desk. Purple faced, I knocked and a blackboard rubber flew across the room and smacked me in the face, as I went in.

He danced up and down and frothed at the mouth and forbid me to move out of my seat, scoring or no scoring.

The whole class was in a pandemonium of guffawing laughter and not a jot of work was done after that anyway. Joe was embarrassed and amused in equal proportions.

The only good thing about it for me is that I managed to get such a laugh from everyone.



In the summer term of fifty seven I was asked by Dad to go to the office at the school and get a new purple cap. The priest said something about the state of your Father’s account. I blushed to the roots of my ginger head and told Dad. He was mortified and said something about money grabbing priests and we were told that we would be going to Tilford School in the Autumn .

We’d been having battles with the village lads for ages although relations had ‘improved’ lately and now we were going to go to school with them. Lads such as David Harris, and Les Mitchell. Older ones such as Ian Judge and David Church were prefects and would give us ‘lines’ .

It’s hard on kids in a community, when they get sent to schools out of the village and then need to mix with the locals. Good character building stuff in the end, though.

I also had got on well at Salesian with classes like French and Latin and that was the end of those subjects .

Anyway, I was soon over it and at least the hell fire bit was over.

Salesian College was two bus rides away and Saturdays too ,so quite exhausting for young lads to cope with. The next school was a twenty minute coach ride.



Chapter 8 Holidays.



There weren’t any family holidays. Well not until we were thirteen anyway. I don’t believe it was a priority for Mother or Dad and there was no cash either.

However we were all beside ourselves with excitement when, in ‘fifty seven, we were told we were off on a summer holiday at Wittering, for a week.

We were due to leave on the Sunday after Mass and we three older boys were in long trousers for the first time. For me this was another cause for celebration as I had felt like a ‘stork’ walking about in those horrible school-grey short trousers.

Arriving for Mass at the chapel at Hale House in Churt and full of excitement , on totally empty stomachs (in those days one fasted from midnight if you were going to receive holy communion),

I felt faint and was helped out, so did Joe and then Steve actually fainted.

We all came too after Mass in the hands of , very posh, Mrs Hunt of Hale House, who must have felt very sorry for us and cooked us a fantastic full English breakfast, toast, coffee ,the lot.

We were pretty embarrassed but soon munched our way through this splendid meal, before thanking her profusely and scuttling off for our holiday.

Dad had arranged for his friend Jack Lipscombe to send a smelly old fish van from Billingsgate market with a driver (it might have been a gleaming Rolls for all we cared)and he picked up Dad, Mother and seven or eight kids and all our bits and pieces and off we went.

It rained every day except the first and last days and the whole family caught a bug. We went down like nine pins. Anyway we managed a lot of beach cricket and had quite a good time.

I fell horribly in love with the Lipscombes’ daughter but was too shy to even talk to her .

The Oberts came down for a day. and Carol stayed on and caught the bug of course.

We were shocked and stunned when Dad drove us to Mass at Chichester in the fish van as we knew he had no license and had only ever driven ‘Bren Gun Carriers’ etc in the war. Such was his steadfast faith and sense of his Sunday duties.

Most other holidays comprised visits to the family such as Uncle Hugh Heron and Auntie Elsa in Yoxall, with cousins, Nick and Andrew . The older cousins, Giles, Rosemary and Penelope had all left home by then. Uncle Hugh lived near his brother Peter and we played in a cricket match up there with the cousins and uncles and I ran someone out with a throw in from the boundary. How I loved that cheer I got.

I came to spend the remaining weeks of that summer of ‘fifty seven ‘ at Uncle Peter Clark and his wife Annie’s chicken farm in Suffolk.

I was determined to sort out the travelling myself and using money earned on my paper round, I caught the nineteen bus to Farnham, train to Waterloo, London, two different tubes and steam train to Marks Tay, Colchester where small diesel train took us to Long Melford.

The whole trip took five hours and cost twenty five shillings each way.

I was made so welcome in Suffolk and found it refreshing to pluck myself out of the big close family and be myself , for a change, with other people.

Uncle Peter was an alcoholic but I was always really fond of him apart from a few times ,when he went right over the top but I’ll come to that later. They took me into the Railway Arms and I had a shandy in the corner. I was a gangling, freckly ginger headed youth who just about got away with early pub visits.

I worked on the farm and enjoyed the company of the Wade family who were Peter and the firm, ’Acton Produce’s’ main staff members. There were several Wade girls who were friendly and quite alluring.

My cousin Sue was around and she was smashing with Bob away at School.

It was one big party after work.

This trip was a precursor to continuous visits thereafter, whenever I could make it.



Chapter 9 Those Oberts.



The Oberts are an interesting family. They’ve always been bound up with us and our cousins, Carol and Edmund are much more like brothers.



After the war the Oberts moved to Churt,(near Aunty Helen and Uncle Tony Heron who lived in Green Cross Cottage.) Their tiny wooden bungalow was Fernleigh in Green Lane.

We stayed with them for three months before our move to Barford View. We consisted of Mum, Dad, Granny, Granddad plus Joe, Steve and I. Expanding walls and all that.

Once we had moved out ,Aunty Joan used to walk the mile and a half between houses every day, usually with a baby or two in a pram or in tow. They had a bull terrier too, who was inclined to bite postmen. One day this dog was tearing round the garden at Barford View and knocked Steve over and he was out for the count.

Mother and Joan were inseparable and rarely had a cross word.

Carol was the first born son, in 1949 with a daughter ,Moira a year or two later. Tragically, Moira was severely physically and mentally disabled.

On one of Joans visits, when she said goodbye, with Moira in the pram, she was just going out of our gate when she decided she needed a ‘visit’, and being an ex land girl and some way from the proper loo, she went behind a Lime tree. Meanwhile the pram started rolling down the lane and there was our lovely Auntie tearing after the pram with her drawers at half mast. I saw it all.



After a few years, The Oberts lease had expired and they came to live with us. this arrangement lasted for five years which meant about thirteen of us in a three bedroom house with one small bathroom equipped with a tiny bath.

It all seemed perfectly natural to us and bonded Carol (Ca) and little Edmund .( nicknamed Mundy or even Boy Boy)were this dearest little bloke’s nick names, who was latest Obert to be born.

I always remember poor Carol being made to eat his greens. He hated greens and would heave his little heart out but had to eat them in the end. His Mum was obviously worried that he wouldn’t grow up into a big strong lad but she needn’t have. He’s built like a pro rugby player!! Much later we played five a side football with him and he scythed his way through us ,the brute!

Uncle Ivan was a very strong character who, basically put the fear of God in me a lot of the time, although he was my Godfather and was very generous to me ,always in many ways.

Magda was a bit naughty one evening and kept coming downstairs . Mother had tried to get her to stay up there and so had Dad. Ivan said leave it me, Down came Mag for the forth or fifth time and when her little footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, he nipped into the hall and towards the dear girl. She cried out and turned and fled up the stairs and flung herself into bed and never ever went walk about after bedtime again.

He was one of very few people who could create an atmosphere that you could taste, almost.

A lot of the time he was smashing though and a great host later on when he had worked up a lucrative business in restoration and dealing in Fine Art. Pictures mainly.

All that came later but back in the fifties he struggled to get started and repaired leather goods and restored pictures in our garage which we never used for a car because we didn’t have one.

Ivan had a couple of skirmishes with Granddad, mostly over the bathroom.

There was a scuffle at the bottom of the stairs and after Granddad had had a go at Ivan, he fairly understandably , clipped Granddad round about his eye and drew blood.

Granddad was off to the police and when the case came up for assault ,the beak told Granddad he was a mischief maker and bound him over to keep the peace.

Sadly Moira Obert , the only daughter had to go into a special care home and gradually became out of sight out of mind for me. I was very upset because I found Auntie Joan crying a couple of times and I actually visited Moira once in the home with Mother and Aunty Joan. I found it traumatic but I was glad I went. I cried after I got home, on my own because I didn’t want to upset Aunty Joan again. She died at about twenty years of age.

One day Auntie Joan and Mother had scraped together enough for a bottle of scrumpy from the pub and a penny for me, for going to what was known as the ‘Jug and Bottle’ at the back door of the Crossways Pub.

Incidentally the Crossways is still there and very similar to how it was in the fifties and sixties. Well known for good beers and simple food at lunchtimes only.

I set off with an empty bottle and duly got it filled with eight per cent proof Merrydown draft then went to the Tuck Shop to get a penny chew.

On the way back I tripped over the fence and the much awaited , even craved after , bottle smashed. Naturally I was the least popular kid that afternoon, with the two ladies I loved.



Eventually the Oberts moved out to 113,Wey Hill ,Haslemere. Soon the Clarks as Ivan called us were invited in two’s or threes (no one ever asked the whole lot of us anywhere of course).

They got a telly at least a couple of years before us. You can imagine the excitement of being asked to a house with a telly. Doctor Jeckle and Mr Hyde was enough to scare the living daylights out of us and then we had to go to bed in a bedroom that Carol was convinced was haunted.

Uncle Ivan treated us like adults from about thirteen onwards and we often had a drink or three as he liked to teach us about wine or liqueurs. He gave me a silver cigarette lighter for my birthday.

He was one of those Uncles who used to get his wallet out quite often and give nephews and nieces a nice crisp note. That was more common in those days.

He would give me clothes and I would politely thank him even though they were much too small.



As I have mentioned already, I was bonded to Auntie Joan in a special way. She used to help look after me from birth in those land army days, as Mother was struggling with us twins.



I suppose it’s the nearest thing to having two mothers although my darling Mum was fantastic and made us all feel totally and evenly loved.

Joan was a sympathetic Auntie to all us ‘Clarks’ .Very kind and happy as well as theatrical and eccentric even.

She loved a drink and ‘Players’ cigarettes. They partied a lot. All the Herons did. Joan had her fair share of life’s problems, with numerous miscarriages and the tragedy of Moira.

She said she loved Ivan but didn’t always like him. He was very volatile of course and had an eye for the ladies. I do feel they had lots of lovely times together and were such incredibly good hosts.

Many ,many people had one too many at the Oberts, including yours truly, once or twice.

The Oberts will be featured in the following chapters, more than once!



Chapter 9 Tilford Academy.



First day at Key Cross ,alias, ‘Tilford Academy for Backward Boys and Forward Girls’ 1957-59 and I got in a fight with Mick Lewis, a Farnham lad with a lot to say to me, a new boy , tall and skinny with bright red hair.

What rich pickings for Mickey takers.

My main horror was that some pretty girls were watching and my sock came off mid-fight.

Those school fights only seemed to give you mild injuries really.

Anyway the fight finished when the bell went and Mick became a sort of friend.

Joe and I were utterly spellbound by all the fabulous girls in our class, there being no girls at the Salesian College.

This was so different from all those seedy, even smelly boarding school boys.

The lads at Tilford were all from Churt, Frensham, Tilford, Elstead, and other local villages. They were inclined to swear like troopers. Joe and I were a bit shocked at the language but after a few days we were walking back from the bus to our house, when we suddenly started to have a good old swear and all the pent up feelings about the swearing came hurtling out of our mouths together with massive bursts of hysterical laughter and then we both felt much better somehow even though we had something to own up to when we next visited the confessional.

Then we felt out of it because we didn’t smoke so coincidentally this lady we knew in the village whom we did a bit of painting for gave us fourteen Peter Styvesant cigarettes. This was thrilling as they were so cool and long and in a lovely soft flashy packet, American style!

Well it worked out well for our campaign to make friends with the’ hard nuts,’ as we shared the fags out, behind the cycle shed. It was worth that horrible sick feeling when they insisted we inhaled and then roared with laughter at our green faces.

This stopped the fights for a while although I was regularly ribbed for my red hair and very tall skinny frame.

Slowly but surely, I worked my way through these problems and eventually became head boy.

I didn’t really like that position, as I was a rebel against authority (still am) and finally the head master ,Tom Metcalf called me two yards of pump water and sent me onto the back benches for the last few weeks of school.

We didn’t really learn very much, academically, at Tilford and there were no O’Levels to be had there.

It did teach a lot of us a lesson in survival though and many students became self employed and some were quite successful in building up businesses. I like to think I was one of those.

The teachers were mostly okay. John Chuter was very nice and fair to everyone. Mr Trickett was hard but fair. Once ,I was bored when keeping goal in a very one sided match and, yes, absent mindedly swung on the top bar of the goal and with a sickening crack it broke.

I was devastated and Tricket said if I didn’t fix it over the weekend , I would get the slipper!

I bribed the caretaker with a few Players Weights and we bolted (well, ok he ) bolted it back on.

It never looked the same again but I was spared a beating because I had ‘showed a bit of initiative’.



Several teachers were dead keen on cricket including the headmaster and would give up their time for matches after school. There were excellent playing fields at that school and thankfully they have survived to this day. Tom Metcalf would often talk about ‘How fast Tyson bowled’ or what a player Keith Miller was during history lessons. He insisted that Tony Locke , England’s spinner ,who bowled in tandem with Jim Laker bowled as fast as I'Anson league pace men. The girls seemed utterly bored stiff by all this. of course.

We were each given a choice of project in history so I spent the whole two years doing ‘The history of farming’.

I always wanted to be a farmer from about ten years of age, probably due to all the stories about the land army which Mother and Auntie Joan had brought us up on. I used to read the ‘Do it yourself’ farming books too at that age.



Joe and I worked on Barford Court Farm in Churt for a week at twelve years old and were very slightly indignant to receive ten bob(50pence) each on the Friday evening . It was incredibly hard work but we were almost certainly pretty useless at that age.



During the last term at school , Buddy Holly died in a plain crash and the girls were all crying. So we did our share of comforting them with shy hugs.



There was a girl called Wendy Legge and on a bus on a school trip I said to her, ‘Shall we?’ meaning kiss. ‘Ok’ she said but I’d left it so late in the journey that we arrived at that moment at our destination and we were ordered off the bus. Too slow to catch a cold I was. So awkward and shy!! but keen on girls.

I made a best mate called John Johns and we cycled everywhere although he was much faster and more experienced than me.

We stopped at the spotted cow one evening and had a couple of halves of Guinness and a packet of crisps, aged fourteen I suppose. Got away with it but I told Mum the next day that my ‘Jibs’ were black. She asked if I had been in the pub and I owned up. She said that is what caused the black’ jibs’. Jib is a Heron word for a number two. There are lots of Heron words.



Joe and are were born on 16th April and this usually coincided with the Easter holidays but in 1959, as luck would have it, Easter was very early and the holidays were over before our birthday.

I was absolutely furious and behaved like a typical teenager, ranting and raving because all I wanted to do was start working on a farm and earning some money.

You couldn’t buck the system though and I calmed down and stuck it out until 18th July , when we left Tilford School for the last time.

I had enjoyed the cricket, being for the first time elected Captain and got a taste of being in charge. It felt good and I made sure I got plenty of batting and bowling and even tried my hand at bit of wicket keeping. Once again I will never forget the time those teachers gave up for our sport ;cricket and football, out of school hours. Messrs Metcalf, Chuter,Dibden and Colbran.



Key Cross School had it’s limitations but it taught us a lot about mixing with people, teamwork and standing on your own feet, as well as a chance to appreciate the opposite sex. Very healthy, I would say.



We joined the scouts in Churt at thirteen until fifteen years old. We enjoyed it but got flummoxed by all those knots and other practical things. Lads like Dave Church and Leon Binfield as well as Ducky Plant all joined . We went on camps and it rained without fail. We smoked fags and mucked about like boys do. The Scout masters were John Charman and John Harris and they were great blokes. Once the District Commissioner paid a visit and watched Joe using an axe. ‘No Joe, no Joe that’s not the way ‘ he said. We’ve always remembered that.



Just after my fifteenth birthday ,Auntie Anne Clark rang me from Suffolk and asked if I would like to be Godfather to their latest addition to the family, Tessa. I was so excited about it that I could think of little else and in May off I went on the ,now familiar, bus and train trip of five hours down to Acton in Suffolk. I still remember pressing the switch to ring the bell and stop the rickety old Bedford bus at the bottom of the drive at Acton Place where the Clark’s lived.

It all went off well and ever since, I have felt very close to Tessa, the first of eight God children for me.


End of part 1 of Jezebel

Jezebel (Part 2) YOUTH

Chapter 10. School Leaver.

It was 5.30 a.m. and I was covered in cow dung The big black and white Friesian cows were all round me and doing what comes naturally . Despite this and the fact that one or two of them were inclined to kick unmercifully, when I was putting the milking machines on them or stripping the last drops of milk by hand from their udders, I loved those animals to bits. They all had names such as Ida, Hilda and Buttercup.

This was my first job since leaving school in July 1959 and each Thursday and Friday I was to do my stint with the cowman for eleven hours . It was exhausting but ,to me. really enjoyable ,with milking twice daily, feeding, mucking out and loads more. Mother’s ‘land army’ stories were so vivid and here I was amongst it all at Wishanger Farm in Churt.

Mother had chatted to the farm bailiff ,Mr. Bill Earnshaw at the Crossways Inn, a pleasurable way of ‘networking’ resulting in my first job and he was a kind but firm boss when I started work at Wishanger as a farm student keen for experience. Apart from that work with the cows I was hand weeding countless acres of kale, a sort of cabbage that cows eat and cutting down thistles , initially all on my own and then with another student. I was so glad when break time came and I ate my sandwiches and drank my flask of tea and smoked a Players Weight from a little yellow pack, feeling quite grown up.

I also helped with harvesting and it was a very early combine harvester they used. We would load the bales of straw onto the trailer to go to the stacks in the barns. Health and safety didn’t exist and we would be perched up on the top of rickety trailer loads of bales bumping along the rutted tracks singing and laughing our heads off.

I’ll never forget my first pay packet with two pounds ten shillings inside. Proud! I’ll say. This is what I had been waiting to leave school for. All but a pound went to our dear Mum but those remaining twenty shillings of mine went a long way as a kid living at home.

I went to Farnham and bought a pair of grey suede ‘winkle picker’ shoes and a Cliff Richard record ‘Travelling Light’ as well as Buddy Holly’s ‘Peggy Sue’, both of which I have been strumming on the guitar and singing ever since , on my own or in front of people after a few beers. Dad went spare about the shoes but I pointed out that I had earned them and he reluctantly agreed that I should wear them, ‘But please turn that awful music down’.

That never changes as I said the same to my kids of course later on.
I got to driving the tractor sometimes and did a few weeks muck spreading. There were some girls who waved at me on my tractor and called me ‘Manure Happy Harry’ which offended me just slightly.

One day the youngish cowman asked me if I wanted to go to a dance that night promising it would be a laugh. I got permission from Mum and she said,’Oh dear, I wish your father was here, well, alright but don’t be back later than ten thirty at the latest’. Off I went and this cowman was a total let down and left me on my own while he danced all night. I’d never been on a night out let alone a dance and I was scared stiff of girls and just stood about feeling awkward with a shandy or two while that so called ‘friend’ just forgot me.


I did ask one girl to dance but she turned out to be taller than me and slightly weird. Mother had taught us to waltz a bit so I just scraped by. Anyway it got to ten o’clock and I said I had to get back. Smart Arse was driving of course and it took me until about eleven thirty to get him out of there. Dad was home when I got back and went completely spare. He started on about ‘loose bits of stuff’ and’ Tuppenny halfpenny bints’ He paced up and down in his dressing gown shouting at me. I was the first offspring to start going out and they were worried sick!! This was 1959 mind. I wouldn’t have minded but I’d had a horrible evening.

Our harassed Pater was keen for us to continue our education at night school and Joe and I managed to turn up for a couple but we were both working on farms and the long hard hours caught up with us and it was decided to cancel those dreaded evening classes.

In the autumn of ’59, I was clearing hedgerows and cutting hedges with an old boy, Frank Kenwood from Headley.The Kenwood’s were a great cricketing family. It was memorable as the weather was frosty and we had bonfires all the way along the edge of the fields, burning up the foliage as we went. Frank told me endless stories about ‘the old days of farming’ while we were working and warming ourselves .The gorgeous smell of those fires. I’ve always enjoyed a good bonfire.

Chapter 11. First date.

Barford Court Farm on Barford Court Estate in Churt was my next job again through Mother’s influence with Mr. Graham the farm manager. This was a hundred acre ‘hobby farm’ as they were called. Wealthy business men would farm at a loss for tax reasons but enjoy the benefits.

In this case these benefits were fresh Channel Island milk, butter made in the buttery at the ‘big house’ Barford Court, (one of my jobs was to carry two large pails of fresh milk from the dairy to the house) bacon from the Tamworth pigs, eggs and chickens and lots more. The countryside at Barford in Churt was and still is superb with small hedged fields and lots of trees and woods between. There is Barford stream running close by and eventually into Frensham Ponds.

There was a cowman at Barford Court called Arthur Oram and he lived in Ivy Cottages, In Ivy Lane. And he was a real old timer. Arthur was really friendly but never got my name right and insisted on calling me Juun. He taught me so much. He always wore an old suit and tie as did most working men in those days. And of course a flat cap. Arthur used to sing at the top of his voice when he was milking and the cows seemed to love it and would give a bit of extra milk (perhaps).

The beautiful Jersey cows were so small and dainty after those big Friesians and all had their names up above their own stalls.

Those nameplates were still up there many years later in 1977 when my brothers and I (Lindsey Clark Brothers) bought the farm yard and buildings in two acres of land as our new premises for landscape gardening. That will come later. After milking in the afternoon he would say, ‘Come on Junn, we’ll go and help with the ‘Arvest’ and if it was fine we would all work until dark.

At Barford Court it was a bit behind the times and they used to pull a ‘mower and binder’ behind the little grey Ferguson tractor. This would cut the corn and form it into ‘sheaves’ or bundles tied with string from a spool on the back of the binder.
We would walk behind, pick up the sheaves and stack about a dozen, against each other in pairs to form ’stooks’ so that the air could get in and dry them. The stooks looked beautiful all across the field and we would be exhausted but satisfied .When the stooks had dried we would use long handled two-prong forks to throw the sheaves up onto the trailer and cart them to corn stacks which would be covered with tarpaulins for threshing in the winter.

The threshing machine had a steam engine and was like a monster, hissing and puffing as well having belts and pulleys clanking and whirring around. After the strings were cut the sheaves would be forked into the machine and the corn and straw as well as the incredibly dusty chaff would all emerge separately. Another work of necessity but this time a horrible job.

We sometimes worked in a cellar beneath the dairy in which an ancient Bamford belt driven mill ground up the oats for animal feed. It was quite warm and cosy down there in the winter.

After a few months Arthur left the farm and along came the Stewart family. By the way, many years later Arthur was working on a bit of land and dug up some treasure. He dutifully handed it to the owner of the land and in due course was awarded a tidy sum for his retirement! Nice one.

That Christmas of ’59 at home was amazing. There were Grand Dad, Mother and Dad and eight of us offspring’s. We all used to bring friends home too and there was never anything short of a warm welcome for everyone. There was a tramp who used to pop in and that year Dad and Mum asked him if he would like to join us for Christmas lunch. He really seemed to enjoy the company, food, drink and even a big cigar.
He was a ‘posh’ tramp with an Oxford accent. Our parents were truly kind Christian people always ready to help anyone, especially lonely people.

We used to have our Dansett record player going all the time or else we would turn ourselves into ‘The Everley Brothers’,’Cliff Richard and the Shadows’ or ‘Buddy Holly and the Crickets’ and sing .Steve and Magda were good with harmony and we all gelled well as a group. Singing would break out anytime. Simon would make a drum out of anything and tap away.

We twins began to sneak into the Crossways for a shandy. Dad said go off and wait till you get a bit of stubble on your chins so you look more like eighteen year olds.
We had the odd white Christmas in those days. It was so exciting sometimes thinking about girls and listening to pop music, snowy weather and Christmas at Churt.
Dear old Grand Dad Heron was pretty patient with us and our noise but once or twice her blue his Irish top and even took a swing at us. He did cause trouble though for Mum and Dad and got up to mischief, leaving nasty little letters for Dad and things like that. Grand Dad came into the Crossways one lunch time and I asked him politely what he would like to drink to which replied
‘Oh, I’d like a ginger wine please’. He chatted away and then went home and reported the landlord for serving to teenagers.

Jock Stewart, the new farm bailiff was a tough but amenable man,. His shapely daughter, Lorna was eighteen and appealed to me. She coaxed me out of my shyness and somehow I ended up taking her to the Regal cinema in Farnham. She was quite short and I remember she made me feel even taller when I walked along with her. She brought her shoes in a bag and changed out of her Wellingtons after we crossed the fields from her house to the 19 bus.

My heart was beating madly in the back of the cinema as I reached out for her hand a bit shakily but she soon sorted out our first kiss. She said ,
‘.No Julian, not like that, like this!!’ Crickey….. Pretty innocent though.
The net result of my first date was that once more I was unfairly berated by my inexperienced but lovable Dad, to whom Mother had shown ,my collar with a bit of lipstick on it.

Phrases like’ ‘on a plate’ come to mind. I didn’t mind. I felt pretty good about things and was violently in love, I thought. After three weeks ( most of my romances lasted about that) tragedy struck as Lorna seemed to go off me at a ’hop’ or dance in Churt Village hall and danced with the older lads ,such as Mick Harris and Dog Deadman. It appeared that her older fiancé, with whom she had fallen out wanted her back and I was unceremoniously dumped! I was inconsolable despite dear old Dad’s sympathetic chat but that feeling was soon replaced by a sense of relief and freedom of course and I should have been a little bit wiser to the ways of the world.
Meanwhile back on the farm it became tricky as I had been out with Lorna but I stuck it out until I got a job offer in Suffolk through Uncle Peter Clark’s contacts and gave my notice in. I had really enjoyed working with the animals. The pigs were very interesting to work with and I helped with the Sows’ giving birth as well as feeding them and cleaning out the sties. They like to be kept clean and tidy, do pigs.
There was an enormous red haired Tamworth Ram called, wait for it, ‘Ginger’. He was a randy old fellah and would keep going all day doing his duty with his harem.
If you got near him he would turn and charge at you, teeth bared.

Another day one of the two Jersey bulls got out in the yard and tore round butting everything in sight. Fortunately we all managed to jump over the gates out of harm’s way. He created havoc and the bailiff, Jock Stewart cleverly coaxed him back into his quarters with some tasty hay. soon after that it was farewell to Barford Court Farm and getting ready to leave home at sixteen years old.

Chapter 12 Leaving home

I was full of anticipation as Joe and I bade farewell to our parents and siblings and set off on the 19 bus to catch a train at Farnham. We were off into the big wide world to work in Suffolk. I had decided to apply for a year at Merrist Wood agricultural college starting later in October 1961 and therefore needed more practical experience on farms. Joe was keen on a life connected to the farming world too.

Uncle Peter (I will refer to him as U/P ) and Auntie Annie gave us a great welcome as always. I was taken over to Mr. Miller’s farm at Little Woldingfield and installed in a tin shed which was home, shared with a pervy Irish alcoholic called Patrick of course.

Meanwhile Joe was set to work at Acton Produce Ltd., U/P’s poultry farm at Acton Place, Acton .The twins were separated by a twenty minute bike ride only.
In my three months at Miller’s Farm I did some tractor driving but mostly farm labouring jobs such as feeding the chickens and cattle., mucking out and helping with numerous jobs such as fencing and ditching as well as another harvest. This farm was about three hundred acres and mostly arable with some cattle. The corn would come in by the trailer load from the combine harvester and into the dryer which was in a dusty barn. My job was to fill huge sacks (112 kilos) from the dryer and then lift them off the floor and carry them to a stack. It must have been the cause of my massive back problems which came later and these days you are not allowed, as an employer, to ask staff to lift more than 25 kilos!! Actually, these days, nearly all farm work is done by tractors and implements . There is hardly any hand work and therefore very few farm workers.

We started at seven AM and stopped for breakfast at eight thirty. Mrs Miller’s breakfasts were massive and delicious. Again we worked till dark at harvest time.
I used to ride over to Peter Acton Place every evening and Joe and I would spend the evening partying with Annie and Sue. Annie was great with young people and set up a record player , sort of home made, with big speakers and we had the odd beer and jived around their lounge a lot with our drop dead gorgeous cousin Sue and our youthful Auntie who was a brilliant dancer.

Joe and I had a session of drinking Greene King ale at the Swan in Little Woldingfield and my twin decided he liked Abbott best. This was strong stuff and aided and abetted by the local lads my ‘ womb mate’ got seriously hammered which caused him to fall off his bike into several ditches on the way home to our beloved but .no nonsense’ Aunt. Needless to say ,Joe’s sorry state was not appreciated ,especially when he duly puked up onto the bedroom carpet! Joe was usually fairly sensible about these matters but everyone has their day.
U/P was sometimes not really a very good role model and would come in and was often roaring drunk which could cause problems. He was good with us twins but there were a few rows with his family which mostly went over our heads. At sixteen we would get driven off to the pub occasionally with Peter who would always buy beer for everyone around him whilst getting totally pie eyed himself . Louder and louder, always wanting to party! The other nearby village was Long Melford with fourteen pubs and Peter tended to get banned from one and go on to the next and so on.
He was so smart in the mornings, dressed in a spotless white coat, organizing his staff. Often after lunch, though, he would be as squiffy as can be, roaring at everyone and laughing his head off. U/P would have occasional ‘on the wagon’ evenings, when he made soups, drank tea and would have a real laugh with us at some of the comedy on TV.

All this boozing kicked off after he was released from a P O W camp in Germany at the end of the war. He spent most of his time at the pub and Granny Truda worried about him a lot. He soon met a beautiful nurse called Annie and she did her utmost for him from then on.

Poor old Joe asked if he could move the new green Austin Cambridge truck and promptly collided with a parked tractor. Our Uncle was none too pleased that day.
Back at Miller’s Farm, I was getting a bit fed up with my Scottish boss who expected what I felt was too much. As my wise twin pointed out,(I’ve never forgotten it) ‘You may think you’re working hard but to him you probably aren’t).

As a boss myself later on ,I know what Joe meant about teenage workers.
My cousin Sue arrived early one morning to spend a bit of time on the farm and maybe help with harvesting. I proudly introduced Sue to Mr M and he grunted and said to her,

’ Wait out here, we’re going in for our breakfast’.
That was it. I was furious. The writing was on the wall. He was totally unsympathetic a few weeks later, as I had to go back to bed with a really bad tummy at breakfast time. The only part day off I’d had .

‘You’re burning the candle at both ends young man!’
A grain of truth perhaps but that bug was real. I lay in the tin hut( conscious of Smelly Patrick going in and out of his room in the hut,) dehydrating and sweating, when like an angel , my lovely Auntie Annie came in and helped me pack up and go back to Acton Place with her to be nursed, quickly back to health, bless her heart.
Peter offered me a job at £7 a week. That was a good rise from £5 at Millers.
I went back and gave my week’s notice in. Mr. Miller guessed that my Uncle had taken me on and that he’d given me a rise. It was an uncomfortable week but a great relief to get away. I’ve been back to visit a couple of times since. It was derelict a year or two ago when we drove by like so many farm yards.

The tractor drivers were great blokes and Fred let me drive his little red Wolseley up the farm track a few times. Silly but kind man but it was okay. I didn’t smash it up.

Those farm workers were amazing people. They lived with their families on £10.00 a week and were so loyal to their employers. If they resigned or were given the sack it was a week’s notice and out they would have to get from their ‘tied houses’.
Around this time ,partly due to more mechanization but also to the poor wages on the land a great exodus was starting with thousands leaving the land to work in the towns and cities in factories and the like. The wages were much better and the unions more effective. This syndrome has actually carried on through the decades so that now a farmer is just as likely to run a 300 acre farm on his own with help from contractors for jobs like harvesting or hay making.

Chapter 13 Silly Suffolk


Joe was sent by U/P to work at Smithfield meat market in East London. Our uncle thought it would, ’Do Joe good, make a man of him and open up possibilities’. My twin was a bit fed up about it and a quite scared, with justification. It meant really early mornings and working with a lot of nasty bullying porters. There were fights to be faced and black eyes galore. He eventually left there and went to work on farms in Surrey eventually becoming a corn merchant with a talent for getting on with farmers, cultivating a good share of the market for whoever he was working for. So the twins were apart for the first time. Tough.
I felt a bit guilty really as I now had the job at Acton Place. At that age of 16 we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.
Acton Place was a twenty acre estate with a ‘big house’ which was derelict. U/P and Annie moved there in ’57 and turned a lot of Canadian Army Nissan huts and prefabs into a ‘deep litter’ poultry farm. They lived in one of the converted buildings and I was in the store next door which had a nice, if basic, bedroom. Great for me after that tin roofed shed at Miller’s Farm.

My day would start by waking up and making tea for U/P and Annie. Then out doing all sorts. Feeding the chickens, spreading clean shavings on the floor of the huts or washings metal feeders in freezing cold water, summer and winter.
The chickens were called ‘Capons’ and arrived as box fulls of pretty little day old chicks. They were nurtured under special heaters and fed meticulously with every care taken. They soon grew larger and were ‘caponized’ though and were about 8 weeks old when we slaughtered them, plucked and packed them in very smart black and white boxes 4 in each box for Smithfield market. Peter and all the staff were very proud of the product.

Not wishing to upset any vegetarian readers, despite the fact that we would have to kill about 800 chickens before lunch we would often be served up with Annie’s delicious roasted fresh chicken off the farm at meal times and U/P would make his fantastic soups too with the left overs.

The staff were a bunch of Suffolk characters. There was Barry, the foreman ,who tried to mimic U/P, Dick Wade, the outside manager, and his big family (His daughters were buxom girls , flirty and a good laugh, Helen ,Mary and Margaret ) and the sons ,Colin and Richard… were great and we had endless cricket matches on the big green between the buildings. Then there was Slacker, a fellow ginger haired lad and Jack Woodgate and his son Johnny. The glamour boy was Rick with a fag in the corner of his mouth and collar turned up. There was a lot of banter but it was all pretty friendly stuff. One day when we were off, Barry ran a few of us over to Sudbury swimming pool and shoved me in the deep end. I got out and used the litter bin to get water from the pool and throw it over Barry.’

Oi! Said the attendant’ Ginger, get out you’re banned for six months.’
Generally though, I’ve always found Suffolk people really humble, even naive but incredibly friendly and humorous.

There were always parties going on in the house. Annie and U/P had lots of friends.
Annie would go dancing, quite seriously and looked lovely when she had got ready. .U/P didn’t mind.

Little Tessa was a lively toddler and already developing a strong personality. She was joined by a younger brother Mark and when I lived there I gave him ’walking lessons’. U/P and Annie’s family was now complete. Most of the time Bob was away at boarding school but came home for holidays; He loved the tractors and mowers and was always working away, cutting grass etc, when he was home.

Once U/P took me to a friend’s pub for a ‘pre Sunday lunch pint’. We shot over there in his white Ford Corsair. It was pre breathalyzer days of course but it was the hairiest drive I ever recall. We were on the pavements missing lamp posts on the wrong side, up banks on two wheels, skidding and broad siding all the way home and U/P was in hysterics (and me too) . Our guardian angels were around that day.
Finally in September 1961 I returned home to Churt to prepare for college.
It was a slightly mad and very colourful year and in Suffolk and I enjoyed every minute of it and learned an awful lot about farming and life in general.
I got a date with a girl and was to meet her under the Church clock in Sudbury. I was incredibly nervous as usual and got myself into a right state. The upshot of it all was the classic case of ‘being stood up’. U/P asked how the evening went and I stammered out that she must be ill or something and he said’ No boy, you’ve been stood up’. I felt horrible that night.

I only fell out twice with U/P. The first time was when I left a door open and some chickens got out. He was furious but soon forgave me. The second time was when, one evening I went out to dinner with U/P and Annie at The Swan in Lavenham, a fabulous old hotel. U/P wore his wonderful green mohair three piece suit and all went well for a while. However, round about pudding time U/P started to get drunk and angry with everybody and everything. When we left, to the obvious relief of staff as well as guests, the storm continued and was directed at Annie. On arrival home at Acton Place the shouting got louder and louder. I am usually quite calm and my patience can be stretched to a wide limit but maybe it’s the ‘ginger genes’ or the Irish blood but there comes a point where I see red and suddenly U/P got the full blast from his lanky nephew. I said’ I was sick of the way he treated Annie and went on a bit before walking off to ‘the store’ with U/P’s words following,
‘Right boy, pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning!’ I cried my eyes out in the ‘store’. Where I slept. U/P opened the door and said,
‘ Jul, I want my usual cup of tea in the morning and an apology. I replied ,
‘It’s yes to the tea but no to the apology’. Next morning U/P got both his demands and we shook hands and carried on. Despite these couple of fall outs and knowing that U/P was addicted to booze, I nearly always respected him deep down and I was so grateful to him and Annie for everything they did for me and kept in close touch for the rest of their lives. Their parting gesture was an allowance of £5.00 a month for my year at Merrist Wood College.) That equates to about £150.00 a month now). So generous.

Chapter 14 Merrist Wood

Fortunately , I was given a room in the old part of Merrist Wood House,Worplesdon , near Guildford, overlooking the forecourt with woodland in the background. I was to share my room with Barry Dungy.

This was my first taste of boarding and I never really liked sharing except with my brothers or cousins. Barry used to put a thick sweater under his shirt to make his skinniness less apparent and for the whole year I never saw him stripped to the waist. Hang-ups or what. Barry’s sister Merylyn was incredibly pretty and dainty and after visiting the Dungy’s huge house in Ashtead I went out with her (for the usual three weeks or so). I was shy and she hardly ever spoke so it was a bit tricky really.

We students used to walk to a pub called the New Inn and spend our shillings there on beer, rolls and crisps. Some students had cars so we cadged lifts to coffee bars in Guildford or we went to the cinema . There was a Jazz club at the Wooden Bridge pub which was great. I learnt to skip jive to trad jazz and loved it.
There were just five females and eighty lads at college. I was shocked at the language of one of the huge girls from a farming background.

Once for a laugh we drunkenly jumped, one at a time, into a sort of emergency fire escape in the form of a harness which was raised from the ground with pulleys and arrived outside our second floor bedroom window. Then we were lowered down to the ground. We got away with that prank .

I would hitch hike the twenty miles back home to Churt most weekends, so as not to miss out on the friends and parties as well as cricket for Churt which I loved.
I’d had a few driving lessons in Suffolk and now George Hyton , a wonderful, tolerant and patient friend of Dad’s gave us brothers more driving practice in his fantastic Austin Westminster automatic, six cylinder car. I passed the test in it at Guildford which was my second try.

After that I would sometimes ask him if I could borrow it and take the daughter of one of the college tractor drivers , Brenda, out on a few dates.I was mad in it but fortunate not to pile it up, just.

There was a cricket match at Merrist Wood, staff and parents versus students.I pleaded with Dad to play and he weakened but made me promise I wouldn’t get him out first ball. I hoped he would not be facing me when he duly came in with his side in deep trouble. No such luck and I watched dear old Dad take a guard with a deadly serious face. I trotted in and deliberately bowled a gentle one. Probably because I didn’t try too hard the ball went through Dad’s forward defensive shot and hit middle stump. The bails went flying and Dad walked slowly past giving me a withering look. It was the only serious game of cricket Dad played since school and the last! We had a laugh over it in the bar afterwards. I got 6 wickets and we won and I heard a kid say to his Dad, ‘There’s that demon bowler’ about me. I liked that.
I made good friends with a fellow student, a Pakistani called Karn. He was tiny and I’ve often had really short mates which is funny with me being six foot six inches tall. Karn’s Father had sent him to England to get a farming qualification but he actually didn’t like it much and struggled with farm work. He was a laugh and I used to take him home for a few weekends. One night we were all sitting in the Crossways wondering what to do and where to go (we often did that and ended up staying all night in the pub) when Karn said,‘I must have woman!’. It didn’t really mean what it sounded like ,it was just that we all wanted to meet new girls all the time in the sixties especially at weekends. We would all talk about our ‘exploits’ ,when we did have dates but it was mostly talk and in reality, a lot of fumbling about with bra straps and the like. Pretty naive lads some of us were.

Mother let us have yet another party and when she heard about the lack of girls she phoned the matron of a local care home and asked her if some of her nurses would like to come down to Churt for a party. It was quite embarrassing actually and we met them off the bus. It made the evening interesting but no one really scored.
The Harris brothers were our great mates by now after all those childhood scraps and banter. Dave Church too and Alan Silvester, Richard Kemp, Richard Lacey (who was deaf )to name but a few.
There was a great party at The Kemps’ place, a bungalow in Hale House Lane. I took a tiny girl called Divina (an ex girlfriend of Steve’s.) She too only seemed to come up to my knee caps.

Our lovely sisters were a huge draw to our house for all these blokes apart from the marvellous welcome and hospitality everyone received from our parents, especially Mother.

At the end of the college year there was a concert and I volunteered to sing and strum my guitar. Barry, my room mate says he’d like to join me so we sorted out three songs and the big night arrived. We did ‘Peggy Sue’, ‘Travelling Light’ and ‘Putting on the Style’. Well actually all Barry did was stand near me and clap his hands in time with the ‘music’. I was a good laugh though.

I managed to just pass my finals and the ‘National Certificate of Agriculture’ and was informed that I really should have got a higher mark.

I only crammed in a bit of study just before each exam all the way through the course but was pleased to get my ‘bit of paper’. I really wanted to get back to farm work and then go off to Holland on a student exchange scheme in August.

Chapter 15 River holidays

I went on several boating holidays on the river Thames, always with Dad as skipper.
The first one was with Dad, Joe, Steve and Ian Poppit or ‘Bangit’ as he was known. Bangit went out with Magda and became a family friend. We three brothers used to sit on the boat, moored up and try to attract the local talent with Steve on guitar and us all singing harmony. These two girls walked up and eventually asked if they could come on board. We said Dad was in the cabin and they said,
‘Can’t you chuck ‘im overboard.’.
The wonderful smell of bacon and eggs, sausages and baked beans each morning was produced by the official galley chef, ‘Bangit’. (We washed up and swabbed the decks.) We would find a fresh pub each lunchtime and evening. Marvellous.
I fell in with all my clothes on and Dad called me a clumsy oaf only to fall in himself the next day. We were worried about Dad because he’d had trouble with stone dust allergies from his studio and we thought the cold water might cause him problems.

He floundered about in his heavy clothing and clung to a post. He shouted to us to get help! The lock keeper came along and said,
’ If you care to touch bottom Sir, you’ll find it’s only about two feet deep’. Dad walked out of the shallows a bit embarrassed.
It was a great week but started badly for me as somehow, I left my suitcase on the jetty at the boathouse and it was miles upriver and hours later that I found out it was missing. I had to beg and borrow clothes and bits from the others and reclaimed my full case upon returning to Maidenhead a week later. Those absent minded genes again!

I went on two other Thames boating trips with Dad. Mother and Jack Fisher were on one and sadly Mother’s dog, Tessa disappeared without trace and we assumed she had drowned. Mother was distraught, naturally.

The other one was Dad and I plus Jack and. a bloke called Bev. He was a bit of a pain in the butt and didn’t volunteer for any chores.
One early evening we moored up at ‘The Rose Revived’ , an idyllic old pub at Newbridge , up river from Oxford and not very far from Letchlade the farthest navigable point on the Thames for cabin cruisers such as ours. Dad said,
’Ah ,now for a glorious pint of bitter, Jack where are you.?’
No answer so we went below to hear loud snoring and there was Jack spark out and completely ratted. It turned out that he had been on his own one hundred percent proof, rice wine, and all afternoon and was out for the count to the utter chagrin of our skipper.

The water levels rose alarmingly on the way back down river and we saw several collisions between boats and one boat crashed into a bridge. The rivers can be very dangerous places to the uninitiated but Dad was very experienced and had also done some sailing in his time.

Chapter 16 Holland

‘It’s about time them Clark boys went to ‘Olland’. That’s what old Mr Elson from Churt said, after Joe and I had both got ducks playing cricket for Churt in August ’62.
Joe and I had helped with the harvesting at Wishanger Farm for a few weeks but now we were off to Holland as farm students for a year in while two Dutch students came over here. Mother said it would make us stand out a bit from the crowd to have been abroad. Hardly any village youths went much beyond their home county.
We went by train to Harridge and across on the night ferry to Rotterdam, ‘Hook of Holland’. The North Sea can be rough but it wasn’t that night.

A further train journey followed to Arnhem. We noticed how clean everything was and saw people sweeping the pavements. The station staff all seemed to be smoking cigars.
Mrs Heyting picked us up and took us to the farm called ‘Grasdrogen’ which means grass dryer, in Angelo, a small village. Mr Heyting came in, smiling broadly and brought his foreman along who inspected our hands to see if they were hard which would mean we were used to hard work. We just passed that test.

After a slightly strange lunch of mostly dry boiled potatoes with yogurt for pudding we found ourselves loading bales of straw onto a trailer until dark. We were surprised that the sky looked just the same as England even if the houses were different and you drove on the wrong side.

After a more interesting supper we went down to the village and were drawn into a tug of war which was happening on the village green.
Afterwards we went to a café and when we went to the bar to buy a drink we were told to sit down and the waiter brought the drinks. Strange. Not only that but they didn’t seem to want any money. Nice people, these Dutch. So we had several drinks including brandy which had sugar lumps on the side and a tiny teaspoon. Anyway it was late when we staggered towards the door calling out good night but we were stopped by the waiter with a bill waiving in our faces. Needless to say that bill cleaned us out of a good chunk of our spending money.

Mr Heyting had several enterprises going at. The grass drying side of the farm was a bit specialized and there was some corn grown but he also ran a fleet of old tractors (David Browns and Nuffield’s ) which pulled big ,hopper –like trailers.
It wasn’t many days before we were taken to the Dutch/German border area near Gendrinem and put on tractors and trailers. They would be filled with spoil ,dredged from the dykes and we would go just into Germany and dump them in a huge low area to be levelled out and grassed later. This sort of work was like’ manna from heaven’ for us likely lads. We loved it. We smoked the sweet smelling Dutch cigarettes and felt like ‘Jack the Lads.’

Sadly poor old Joe’s ‘tour of duty’ on the German border was short lived as he was moved to a different farm and digs about five miles away from Angelo. His new boss and family were mean spirited and tight fisted and he hated it.
I hate to say it but he only got £2.50 a week to my £3.50 just to add insult to injury. Needless to say , I hope anyway that I bought him a few extra drinks.
We were starting to learn a few words of Dutch and stringing sentences together. Our new Dutch friends asked us the English translation for certain swear words.
One day Mr Heyting let bus take his huge American car, a Pontiac out for a bit of a tour round as we rarely got out of the villages apart from work. This was an amazing car and so exciting. I soon had it up to 160 kph (100 miles an hour) but suddenly this screaming noise came from the back of the car. We pulled in and worked out that it might be a wheel bearing or something. We drove home quite slowly and parked up without a word. I felt sick with worry about it but nothing was ever said.
Mr Heyting was a very nice bloke really and we didn’t want to take advantage.
I was really enjoying the whole Dutch thing and gaining experience with tractors (although I wasn’t really doing much actual farm work, more like civil engineering).
One fine day in October ’62, a Dutch lad called Jan and I were going in convoy along side a river, trailers full, happy as larks when we spied a very pretty girl walking across the field towards us. My colleague, totally distracted by this’ vision’ drove his tractor and trailer straight into the river and the whole lot disappeared under the surface.

‘Oh, my God’ I thought,’ I better jump in and save poor Jan.’ I stood on the river’s edge holding my nose but before I could jump, Jan came bobbing up to the surface laughing his head off, perfectly unscathed.

When Mr Heyting arrived on the scene, needless to say he was not amused. The tractor was hauled out of the water and hosed off . My boss told me I should get on it and Jan would tow me back to the farm twenty odd miles away. No trailer or fixed tow bar, just an old piece of rope. At eighteen years of age you do not worry about such things and in those days no one was particularly about health and safety .
Off we went and after a few miles a terrible, near fatal accident occurred, when my tractor skidded, did a somersault and landed back up on its wheels. I never ever found out exactly how it happened.

Yours truly got thrown off the tractor and was knocked unconscious with numerous cuts and bruises and a femur broken in two places. I came to (apparently after half an hour) in a pool of blood and found a doctor and a priest staring down at me .
I was told I yelled out, for England, with the pain and asked for a smoke. Mr Heyting obliged and the doctor gave me an injection which helped.

When the ambulance came along they lifted me up and there were more yells from the patient who was so long they had to tie the back doors together, slightly open and fix a red flag to his size twelve’s which were sticking out of the back. What a sight.

They operated on me that evening and I came to briefly, with my dear old twin’s worried face looking down at me and asking ‘
Are you all right mate ?’ to which I replied
’ Course I am’. Actually Jan said afterwards that he thought I was going to die in the road. I’ve always felt that God spared me from an early grave , maybe for a specific reason and I am still wondering about that. Needless to say I said my thank you’s over and over again to Him up there.

I clung onto life through a haze of morphine and anesthetic through those first couple of days and nights and then became alert as I saw a nun at the end of my bed. I asked when I could get up only to be told that I’d be there for about two months or so.

One evening I lay in my bed fully expecting to be blown to smithereens. I had heard someone talking about the Cuban missile crisis and apparently the world was on the brink that night of nuclear war!!! The trouble is no one much ,spoke English except the consultants and they weren’t around so I could only understand the odd word here and there. I didn’t sleep much but Mrs Heyting,next day on her visit, assured me that the imminent danger had passed.

My Mother had never been abroad, apart from Ireland but she packed a bag and travelled over by trains and boat. I was a bit anxious about my little Mum travelling but being Mother she made the most of her ‘ holiday’ and on arrival ,once she knew I was going to survive, started telling us all about this nice man she’d been chatting to on the train and the excellence of the restaurant car and BAR (very important). She thought Mr Heyting was a ‘very handsome man’.

I went on the hospital radio and sang Peggy Sue and Travelling Light.
One day a girl called Annie from Angelo came to visit me and neither of us could speak more than a couple of words of the other’s language. I took up with her when I got back to the farm though and we got on despite the lingo problems.

By the way we three brothers were and still are, of course, all quite different. Joe , just under six feet ,dark with just a smattering of the ‘Dirk Bogarde’ , about him whilst Steve , (nicknamed Green bean was quite like Cliff Richard whereas I had a slight touch of ‘ Charles Hawtree’ with red hair and an extremely tall and skinny frame . We were very competitive about everything , especially girl friends and we often swapped round or the girls did anyway.

Anyway , back in Holland , I spent two months at St Joseph’s hospital, Doetichem and although I made friends in there I was so glad to get out.I must say Joe was incredibly supportive for those two months and only once missed coming to see me, after long hard days on the farm. It was twenty miles each way and he did it on a moped. On that one night he missed he got told off by Mrs Heyting, poor bloke. He had a girlfriend (Annie’s sister and she was called Libby) a pretty blond.
When I was ‘released’ I spent three or four weeks convalescing at the farm and the Heytings were wonderful to me. I had a lot of sympathy from everyone. However it was time to curtail my Holland trip and head back to ‘blighty’ on elbow crutches for Christmas.

Chapter 17 Jezebel

Joe helped me off the bus at Churt and we decided to pop into the Crossways Inn, just opposite the bus stop for a quick pint of English ale on our way home which was a hundred yards up the road.I limped in and sat down so I could hide those crutches and Joe got the in. A voice said
‘Hello twins’ and it was this fabulous looking pair of Baldwin sisters one of which, Jan, we had been at Tilford School with. She was the prettiest girl in the school at the time. Lovely eyes. The girls parental home was in Churt but they were down for the weekend from London where lived. This was exciting and things were looking good for Christmas.

We got chatting and time slipped by so were quite late for lunch. We’d asked Jan and Liz to come back. We had a riotous welcome, tinged with surprise about the girls tagging along. After lunch Joe and I went in the sitting room and put the telly on and before long we were getting quite friendly with the girls. Grand dad popped his head round the door and said ‘ Oh, is it a film?’ and shot off.
Dad called me out into the hall and said through clenched teeth,
‘What the blazes are you two oafs doing. You haven’t been back in Churt for two minutes when you appear with these two girls. I can see the attraction but ,for God’s sake , the Harris’s and co are going down to the pub tonight to see you ! ‘ (As if they would have minded. They may have been jealous. Actually, Michael and Liz had been an item when they were at school together.) I said to Dad,
’They’re really nice girls and we used to know one of them from school.’ Anyway, we made our dates with the girls for Christmas Eve and they went off home.
That evening we went down to the Crossways and there were Mick and Dave Harris dressed in very smart black corduroy jackets, cavalry twill trousers and ties (They’re Mum used to check them over) Dave Church, Richard Lacey of course , Alan and Jenny and Richard Kemp as well as Ian Judge (Judgy) and Dickie Brown to celebrate our homecoming.

Into the pub came a newcomer, Jim Eades ,an ex public schoolboy, with striped blue shirt, a leather flying jacket and flyers boots. He introduced himself to us and said that he’d visited Barford View earlier that week and met my sister Helen (,who was actually thirteen). She had greeted him in a pair of leopard skin tights which knocked him out. Helen ,even at that age, was known as ‘Haughty Hel’ in view of her clipped tones when meeting chaps for the first time. Jim was shown through the hall into the kitchen where our Mother greeted him typically with,
’ Now, who’s this handsome young man ,come to see me.’ Jim offered to help Mother with posters for the next dance that she was organizing. Jim who was instantly welcomed as a family friend.

Next day was Christmas Eve and we went to Farnham with our dates (Liz for me and Jan for Joe.) It was a crowded pub so Liz was on my knee. Liz gave me some Christmas kisses and Jim nicked a few too. I didn’t care.

Christmas Day was another fabulous family occasion with several extras making about sixteen for lunch.

We had got round Dad and Mum to let us have a party on Boxing Night and I was handy at getting crowds together for parties, (still am ) and so about a hundred turned up after we’d all had a few at the pub.

Dad had met a posh friend at the pub and invited him to the party and as Dad’s friend turned into our drive the headlights picked up young Dickie Brown puking into the flower bed. Our Pater was often such a kind man ( although he could come over as a touch pompous) and after getting over his embarrassment and irritation thought he ought to see if the’ wretched youth’ was okay.

‘Oh Mr Clark’ wailed Dickie, ‘ My Mum’ll kill me if she catches me like this!’. So Dad walked him up and down the garden until he was sober enough to steal off home with his tail between his legs muttering,
‘I’ll never touch another drop!’ He still does like a drop though! Like most of us.
It was a fabulous party . A young bloke who was a mate of somebody’s was sitting on the couch and as Dad walked by ,said

‘Goh a light mate? to which Dad replied ‘ First and foremost I am not your mate Sir and secondly I don’t know you from Adam, so please leave my house this instant !’

Our parents were brilliant about parties but insisted that they would be around themselves, which was fair enough.

When the party broke up and everyone was asleep it started snowing hard and then froze solid and this was to last until March of the new year 1963.Being on crutches I was stuck in the house and longed to get down to the Crossways which was the hub of the village for us young people not really to drink too much but just to get together.

My family and friends led by ‘Bangit’ set to and dug a path through the snow, down our lane and along the pavement by the main road to the Crossways.

It was great to get out and we all went down and celebrated. The only thing was that there was a thin layer of freshly fallen snow on the path by the time we went home and I couldn’t get up the slope to the gate. Dad lost his patience and swore quite badly (I only heard him say f..k twice and this was one of those rare moments) and literally carried me to the house. We put salt down after that and Ju’s path was a godsend.

My romance with Liz was due to last the customary three weeks or so and one night Jim and I decided to go over to Wrecclesham by bus, where Liz and her friend Margaret Greenhouge shared a flat. It was snowing and after many delays and waiting for a change of bus at Farnham we eventually arrived at the bus stop near the flat. Margaret, who was obviously looking forward to seeing the dashing young Jim , gave him a big smile and held her arms out for a hug but Jim, furious about all the delays etc., was in no mood for all this affection. He thought Margaret had given him the wrong bus times for our connections in Farnham. My evening was spent, in the end, painting Liz’s toe nails and not a lot else ( she was a tease,that girl,) while Jim and Margaret were not hitting it off at all in the next room. After this unsuccessful double date we missed the last bus and had to get a taxi back to Churt. The £1.50 fare had to be borrowed from Mother. Amazing that she had such a sum. Very unusual . It would be about £30.00 now.

The snow and ice built up in early 1963 and hung about until March. What a blessing that this terrible winter didn’t strike a few years later , after Lindsey Clark Brothers had got going.

I received £30.00 from Mr Heyting in Holland. You see ,these days I probably would have been able to claim about a million pounds for my severe injuries, which have turned out to be partial disability. Anyway I bought an old Rover for £12 and was over the moon to have wheels of my own.

There was a lever that opened the windscreen in hot weather. I took Mother to Farnham where the Rover broke down twice at the traffic lights in the Borough. Each time the lights changed to green it stalled. People were hooting and shouting, Eventually I got it going but on the way home at the straight mile in Rushmoor it boiled over in protest at my showing off it’s speed to Mater and steam came through the open windscreen and Mum’s glasses were completely steamed up. Poor woman had to go and get a bucket of cold water from a house because I was on crutches.
I quickly sold the old Rover 12 for a fiver and with the proceeds purchased a smashing little Morris 8 for £2.50. It was dark blue and when I drove it in the gate at Barford View all the girls came out and got in it and said how sweet it was. How I got in it, especially with my crutches etc I don’t know. I was wearing a caliper ( a leather and iron support) on my left leg at that time too. I think I took the lot off to drive.

The next morning I decided I didn’t like the colour of my new 1938 car and with help from the siblings painted the whole car bright red and green , using distemper brushes. More than satisfied with the result, I nicknamed the car ‘Jezebel’ and drove down to the village,. As I got out Dad was marching in his straight backed way towards Jezebel with a deep frown on his face. When he saw me get out of Jezebel , he muttered something and crossed the road with his nose in the air totally disregarding his joint favorite son and his wretched motoring vehicle. Later he said ‘ Julian, you’re a blithering idiot. You’ll have every policeman in Surrey after you in that infernal machine’ He would never acknowledge Jezebel’s presence let alone ride in it.

I accompanied Jim and was really envious ( one of the seven deadly sins of course) as he collected a lovely new green mini-van. He donned his driving gloves and sped us back to Churt for a celebrationary beer. Jim only ever had one speed in mind, fast!!! and I remember screeching round corners on two wheels on many occasions. To be scrupulously fair though he had far fewer prangs than I did over those years. I didn’t hang around either.

After one of Jim’s late night collisions, this time with my twin Joe, near Bentley, Hampshire we all sat round in the Crossways the next evening discussing the accident. These de briefings were a common feature once we all had ‘wheels’.
Around this time Jim had a girl friend called Joan. She was an attractive girl and shapely too. Our Dad met her and said to me’ I’d like to sculpt that one’.
By now I was getting an awful lot of pain in my hip and one day after receiving another £30.00 from Holland and celebrating with several pints of Flowers Keg, Mother found me sitting on the back door step in some distress, the pain being intolerable.

After being nagged by Mother I went to Farnham hospital and saw Mr Shaw, an orthopedic surgeon who said he’d remove the metal pin in my thigh as it was rubbing against the inside of my hip. I said that the Dutch surgeon had told me to tell the English doctors that the pin had to stay in for at least one year. As it was only five or six months since the op I thought I ought to mention it.

‘Don’t tell me my job young man, you’re staying in hospital and I am going to operate tomorrow.’ I was really worried but what could I do.

After the operation, I came too and then I saw my thigh start to bend upwards and shouted to the nurse. A big fat black surly nurse and told me to be quiet and she’d get the doctor. The houseman arrived and I showed him what was happening. He poo pood it and said it was fine. I was really angry and said I needed the surgeon to look. He walked off and that horrible nurse told me to be quiet.

There was no chance of a phone in those days and so I had to wait for the visiting time in the evening. You just got half and hour with your visitors but I told Dad and Mum what had happened and that as a result my left leg had become an inch shorter than the right. They were horrified and the next day Mr Wright , a consultant friend of theirs paid me a visit and he got me transferred ,straight away to Treloars Hospital in Alton, Hampshire where they put me on traction. Cables are attached to your leg with pulleys and weights at your bed end and the idea is that your short leg is literally stretched. I was in Treloars for a couple of months on traction which was uncomfortable and terrible really and didn’t do the slightest bit of good. Every time I have ever bought a new pair of shoes, boots, slippers, trainers or sports shoes ,I’ve had to get that left shoe built up.
Apart from the leg though I had a marvellous time really in Treloars and made some good friends with it being mostly young people who had had accidents in cars or on motor bikes .

Tom Maltby who became a life long friend, had crashed his car in Cornwall and he’d lost an inch off both legs. At least Tom was level and still six feet tall.
There was a play boy type called Jim Farrow with a sports car (Austin Healey Sprite). There were the usual irritating ones too but on the whole they were a great bunch of blokes.There was a lot of banter and much flirting with the nurses who were lovely and they encouraged us.

My nineteenth birthday was spent in the hospital bed but I had sixteen visitors and cards and presents everywhere. Visiting times and numbers was much more relaxed at Treloars’ hospital.

Jim Eades was great as he brought Mother over quite often. She had a go at him for driving too fast down Worldham hill and he said,
‘ Ok Lady ,that’s fine ,you can get out and walk if you like’. They got on fine really and Mother would buy him a beer afterwards. Of course.
The nurses were mostly lovely at Treloars and there was one ‘sloany’ sort of girl called Janet Moulan. Tall and willowy. The evening about a week before we were due to be discharged ,another patient and I made a date to go for a picnic in the nearby woods with Janet and another nurse. I took those ghastly weights off my leg and took a few hesitant steps. It felt like my bad leg was a dead lump of mutton dragging along behind me. Somehow we got to the woods and had a picnic and then the other too went off giggling into the darker recesses of the trees. Janet and I shared a kiss and a cuddle (only) and eventually the other two came back and by this time by leg had swollen up like a balloon and was multicolored. Back at the hospital ward, Sister was fuming and the nurses were in deep trouble. We were discharged the next morning , in disgrace. I was so pleased to get out of hospital> It had it’s good points e.g. nurses and new mates but that feeling of getting out after another three months of it was brilliant.

I’d shed the crutches after a week or so and my leg grew stronger but has always been shorter and weaker than the right side. I received about three hundred pounds in total from Holland and I was never bitter about anything really, although that surgeon at Farnham should have been sued. Dad did consider it but you had to pay a solicitor even if you lost the case in those days and we had to drop the idea.
Jezebel was waiting for me. I got her MOT’d and insured and taxed with my remaining compensation.
We used to go to Sunday Mass at St Anselm’s at Beacon Hill and as usual ,Joe, Steve and I zoomed in late in Jezebel and parked just outside the church door and ran in to receive black looks from Dad who seemed able to swivel his head round at one hundred and eighty degrees to check on his family’s timing.

There was a procession during Mass which meant the priest and all the congregation walked slowly out to a ‘grotto’ in the car park for prayers and then back in. There was a posh chap called Michael Hunt, in the crowd and his snooty nose quivered as he spotted a vest over a seat in Jezebel which needed washing quite badly.

Dad hung back after Mass away from Jezebel and we drove off down towards Churt when a policeman caught up with us, blue light flashing and pulled me over.
He walked slowly up to Jezebel with a look of disbelief on his face. ‘Out you get, all of you’ he said impatiently. He looked inside the car and shook the driver’s seat which moved like a rocking horse. He then picked up the seat and took it out.
His face was purple and he exploded,
‘This car is a disgrace’. I went on the defensive and grabbed a fistful of papers from the glove box,
‘Look , ‘I said , ‘Here are the MOT, the insurance and log book and it’s taxed’ The latter was said with some pride as I had only just got that.
‘’Get this old heap of tin off the road now! ’ said P C Plod ‘and get that seat fixed. ‘We all assured him that we would comply with his requests in full.
At that moment Dad came by in a Hillman Minx which was being driven by his friend, Brigadier Lash ( Grandfather of the Fiennes brothers, current film stars Raife and Joseph).

‘Oh my Godfathers’ said Dad ‘ I warned Julian about that machine of his, let’s get out of here!’ .
As soon as the copper had gone we free wheeled the car down the A287, with Joe and Steve on the running boards peering round corners to watch for PC Plod.
Steve by now had taken Jan Baldwin over from Joe and they were an item. Steve’s Cliff Richard act had done the trick and the sophisticated London flat girl had fallen for him. Marriage followed and they have six offspring’s and about a dozen grand children now.

Joe was also in love with another very pretty girl called Jackie Deadman and I had my usual three weeks with her beautiful sister Jaycette. The old car would rattle along with the four of us in it, her headlights wobbling and pointing crazily upwards and across into the sky.

I drove Auntie Joan up to tennis at Wimbledon for the women’s’ semi final and we had a great time watching Anne Jones, Billie Jean-King, Margaret Court and Maria Bueno battling it out. the English girl Anne Jones won her match only to lose the final. Half way through the matches a lady behind Joan shouted ‘Could the lady with the bag hat, remove it’ to which Aunty Joan replied’ It’s hot and sunny and my hat stays where it is. If you don’t like it , then kindly leave!’ That shut her up.
Joan had been having driving lessons for ages and failed three times. Soon after the Wimbledon trip she took her fourth test and true to form she failed.
‘Bad luck’ said her tutor and Joan retorted’

Take the bloody L plates off’. She pretended to her family that she’d past the test but I wondered why she didn’t seem all that bubbly about it. She confided in me that ,actually, she had failed but swore me to secrecy. She drove everywhere for quite a while and finally had a secret fifth test and her brother Peter ,who accompanied her, brought her luck and she passed. She couldn’t celebrate at all of course.

Once she’d passed she loved to come down to Churt in the week at lunchtime for a noggin. I was off work still with my leg and was in the Pride Of The Valley Inn, Churt with Jim Eades when Carol (my cousin) came in and said
’ Quick Ju, Mum’s had an accident.’ We rushed up the road with Carol to find Auntie Joan standing by her Mini, which was on it’s side. We all lifted it back on it’s wheels and as luck would have it the only damage was a scratch on the door handle. Joan ushered us all to the pub as she urgently required a large brandy to settle her nerves.
I helped the Oberts move from 113, Wey Hill , Shottermill, Haslemere to Marshes Hollow, Liphook. I only had little Jezebel so was limited to ferrying bits and pieces. I went into the new house with a heavy brass candlestick and dumped it on the kitchen table. There was a sickening crunch as the glass top on the table broke. Ivan was frothing at the mouth and I felt ghastly but Joan said,
’ Now come on Dear’ to Ivan, ‘Julian was only trying to help’. God, the embarrassment.

That year after hospitals had given up on me ,I couldn’t play cricket but Alan Silvester, Jenny White (Alan’s fiancé) Richard Kemp and Dave Harris were great and ran me around to motor cycle’ scrambles’ and I enjoyed that. Dave Church took me to motor racing at Goodwood and we were there when, sadly, Stirling Moss crashed.
On the way to one ‘Scramble’ Alan’s car suddenly ran out of puff and stopped. We had the bonnet up and searched for reasons why it had stopped and it turned out that I had been fiddling with the starter switch and accidentally turned the ignition off. Oh ! Alan’s never let me forget that bout of absent mindedness.

Jim Farrow, had taken over from ‘Bangit’ as my gorgeous sister Magda’s boyfriend, much to Dad’s chagrin . I got the blame for that because I encouraged him. We were concerned for Magda as ‘Bangit’ seemed to be behaving like a staid sort of bloke and not taking her out much. As it happened Jim Farrow was a bit of a rotter and I was naive but these things happen when you’re all young and foolish.

Chapter 18 Last taste of farming.

Jim took me up to Abbott’s Langley for a job interview in his Sprite and we went for a short stretch on the still new M1 motorway. This was my first ride on a motorway and it seemed so wide and straight with strange signs and so many lanes.
I got the job and the following Monday early morning I set off in Jezebel to do the 60 mile journey. It was snowing and icy but despite a minor collision with a car in front(I was a terrible tail gater but fortunately no real harm was done). I managed to coax the ailing Jezebel into the farm. My new boss was Mr Datric (say Mr D) a hard working Latvian who had married an English woman in the war and settled on a 2 acre small holding. My home was a tiny, shabby, freezing cold caravan in the farm yard.
We started early and went into the D’s house for breakfast which consisted of lots of eggs and toast usually. It was great food but this surly boss only allowed us 10minutes to eat a huge breakfast. It was horrible as by the time you had washed your hands you had to wolf the food down. I’ve always enjoyed three meals a day (thanks to the Lord) but I eat quite slowly so it was purgatory.
The whole family were utterly miserable and the kids would sneak on me if I used their toothpaste or made a phone call .
The one nice thing Mr D did was to lend me his nearly new Green Austin A35 Van to go home in that first weekend as Jezebel was suffering. He was very proud of that van .
An unmitigated disaster was the only way to describe that weekend. We all went to the pub at Selborne and then I was running Jim Farrow back through Dockenfield to a dance at Churt in the A35, when I misjudged a corner at far too high speed and hit a stone wall . Jim had managed to throw himself out of the car. No one was hurt but MrD’s car was a write off. What a start to my new job. You can’t blame him but my new boss went off me in a big way and I never really fitted in during the couple of months that the job lasted.

Early in the new year of 1964, I was driving old Jezebel through Kingsley, Hampshire when she stuttered a few times coughed, spluttered and gave a long sigh and basically died peacefully at the side of the road. I was really sad. I’d had eight months motoring for about £40.00 plus fuel and such a laugh. I went up a nearby path to a small house. A teenage boy came to the door and I asked him if he’d like a car for nothing. Absolutely free.’ Yes please’ he said and he and I pushed it into their front garden and I nipped off quickly and hitch-hiked to Churt.

A newcomer to Churt was Donald Limon. He was about thirty years old when we were eighteen and we met him in the pub. He was a clerk at the House of Commons and was short, bespectacled and funny with his posh but slightly North East accent. We were astounded to learn that he earned £2000 a year. He drove a red Mini Countryman . That first meeting we laughed like mad because he said
‘I know you don’t I ‘ and ran his finger round the rim of his beer glass, licked his finger and dipped it into his beer. Donald became a good family friend and has continued to make us laugh ever since. He would take our younger siblings out for rides in his Countryman .He is now Sir Donald but he’s short on aires and graces and to his friends,the same old Donald.

Mt Highton lent us his Austin Westminster and I was to drive ‘the lads’ over to a favourite pub at Northchapel in Sussex. Going down Hindhead Hill at some pace, as lads do, suddenly a car drove straight out from Polecat Lane on the left, into my path. I wrenched the wheel over to the left and tyres screaming we broadsided into Polecat Lane just missing the other car. I was actually congratulated for my quick thinking and all agreed that we should make an immediate pit stop at the Crown and Cushion, Haslemere for a nerve-restoring brandy. We went on to Nothchapel and had a great night with the guitar and a massive sing song.

Chapter 19. The Rolls Royce era.

When I told the Oberts about the sad demise of Jezebel, Uncle Ivan said,
‘No problem boy, ‘You’re my Godson and I would like you to borrow one of my two old Rolls Royces . You will take care of it, I know, here are the keys’. Oh my God, these trusting car owners ! Well, I was completely shell shocked but couldn’t stop smiling broadly and chuckling to myself. I was determined to turn over a new leaf and become a safer driver in acknowledgement of my God Father’s faith in me and also his possible wrath if things should go belly up. His tempers were notorious if you upset him

I went outside and there was this vast, gleaming, black 1935 ,’sit up and beg’ type saloon with the handbrake outside the door. There were leather seats and acres of walnut veneer. I hadn’t got the faintest idea how to open the bonnet ,let alone check anything. How I was going to afford to run this huge gas guzzling limousine was of no concern at that moment and I jumped in and with a wave ,glided on air , back to Churt.

My first call with the Rolls (it was Friday night) was to collect my brothers and the Harris’s and go up to Alan Silvester’s house in Green Lane to collect him and Jenny. When they came out and saw the Rolls and I got out of the driver’s door they laughed so much that Jenny slid down onto the path and lay flat on her back in hysterics. Off we went to the Crown and Cushion. at Haslemere.When we came out it took half an hour to open the door. You had to do special movements with the key and it really foxed us all.

I drove down in the Rolls to the Pride of The Valley Inn one Saturday morning ,parked and walked in the pub. There was a chap in there called Chris Baker, we got chatting and he became a good friend to us all. He was a travelling sort of chap and we nicknamed him Chris Landrover after his vehicles. He told me later that when I drove up in the Rolls, he thought’ Daddy’s boy, free use of the Rolls and not a care in the world’.

I turned up for work at Farnham on Monday morning in the Rolls. I had taken a bread delivery job in desperation as the farming thing wasn’t working out. The other staff and manager couldn’t believe that this lanky ‘whippersnapper’ could have a Rolls. The job went quite well but I was taken to task after a few weeks because I was a couple of pounds down on my takings. Dad took my side bless him and told the Bakery that if they put 19 year olds in charge of money they should expect discrepancies. Actually I think I used to take the odd 2 bob bit out of the bag for a Mars Bar or Tiser, well actually beer, meaning to pay it back and somehow I hadn’t. I can’t remember ever taking anything else ,over the years, that wasn’t mine. Our upbringing forbid it.

People loved a lift in the Rolls but it was doing only 8 miles per gallon so I had a small tin hanging in the back for petrol money.
One night Joe and I picked Dad up from Farnham station. He descended down the steps with his ‘bowler hatted ‘fellow commuters to be confronted by my twin in his pig shitty Wellingtons and overalls ( Joe was still working on a local farm) . Dad threw himself into the back and we drove off but I said to Dad, pulling into a garage,
‘ Sorry Dad Mate but could you lend me four shillings (twenty pence)for a gallon of petrol to get us back to Churt?’ . ‘I’m not your Mate ‘ expostulated the old Pater and gave me a crisp pound note . Riches indeed. The fuel needle moved imperceptibly to the right and off we set.

I motored off, one weekend, down to the Suffolk Clarks in it and in those days you had to drive through London to get to East Anglia. At a set of lights this very posh driver of a mere Jag leaned over and said ,’I say, what a beautiful motor car, wherever did you get it?

I put my nose in the air and told him my Godfather had given it to me and purred off up the road.
Annie and U/P thought it was great as did little Tessa and Mark.
The Rolls only ever, while I had it, ran on 5 cylinders but kept going without too much mechanical trouble.It was the’eight miles to the gallon’ that was the only problem.

One evening ,Steve and his fantastic rock group’ The Conchords’ were playing at the Hollybush pub at Frensham. Towards the nod of the gig we were dancing with the Langham girls when this bloke barged into me. I had only got rid of my crutches weeks before but I saw red and barged him back. That was it.
‘Outside Ginger’ said this bloke who’s name turned out to be Spider Cane and Joe said he was coming too as Spider had a mate with him. I soon went over like a lamppost and suggested to Spider that he had won. He got up and Joe was disposing with some ease of his opponent who got a drubbing and we went inside where we were treated like heroes by the girls. They loved being driven home in style. The love life definitely picked up in the Rolls Royce era.

On the way to Horsham one evening to show the car to my God Mother Helen and Prue and Catherine my sexy cousins, I had a prang which left me facing a bill of eight pounds to have the wing knocked out and repainted. A whole week’s wages were spent on that so I though I’d better give it back to Uncle Ivan. The battery was flat so I went down to Overton’s garage in Churt and took it out for re charging but dropped the bloody thing and it cracked. I borrowed another battery from the garage and took the Rolls on my last journey in it to Uncle Ivan’s garage in Petersfield, Hants. I asked the garage man if I could take the battery back because I’d only borrowed it and he nodded absently.

A bit later Uncle Ivan came on the phone and was hopping mad. He yelled down the phone at me about leaving the car without a battery and I tried to explain but he was on a roll and said it was a good job I wasn’t near him or he would have stuck my head down the lavatory. He was so angry and I was glad I wasn’t near him. I’d had an idea from the start that the Rolls era would end in tears. It was a great time though despite those hiccups.

Chapter 19 Drifting along but enjoying the sixties.

Various other old bangers followed. There was Nero, an old Ford van which only ran if you kept the choke open with a clothes peg, Samantha, an SS Jaguar which ran for just a month before dying. Someone had put sawdust in the oil to keep it going and a Ford Consul which had a rear spring protruding through the rust into the boot. I drove the latter to Stafford for a weekend date and it died soon afterwards. All these cars plus one of Joe’s called Clara (a veteran Austin 10) were dead and blocking up our front drive driving Pater potty. I suggested growing a hedge round them but Dad wanted them to be cleared away. I advertised the Jag and a bloke came and offered a fiver for it because he wanted the big chromium headlights. I told him it was an insult and he went off. None of the wrecks sold and Dear old Dad had to pay about twenty pounds to the council to tow them all away.

I was feeling a bit disillusioned about the farming and my leg was slow to heal so I looked for another job and found myself delivering pink paraffin around Farnham for a while. I didn’t seem to be able to settle working for employers and usually ended up ,politely, telling them to stuff their jobs where the sun doesn’t shine.
My next job was through the Langham family. Stephanie and Marylyn , the two daughters were friends and their Dad was Harvey Langham who heard through the girls that I needed a job. He took me on as an assistant, in his capacity as Senior Horticultural Officer for Surrey County Council Playing Fields department. My role was to assist in working on cricket pitches, football and rugby pitches at schools and villages in Surrey. I liked it and immediately made friends with John Bradbury who was from Gomshall , Surrey and about my age. The foreman was one of the laziest men I’ve ever known and got annoyed with us because we worked too hard. In the end we said ‘ Look ,we will work hard till lunch time and then have a game of football in an extended lunch time. Lazy bones kept an eye out for the boss’s car. We still felt guilty but it was a compromise with that idle foreman.

John invited me to Gomshall, to meet the lads and so I went over and got involved with the ‘Gomshall Lot’ who were a typical sixties bunch spending their spare time boozing, girl hunting and not being backward if a fight was in the offing.
There was a Fonzy type , a cool dude with a sleek newish red Jaguar 3.8 sports saloon. They were a really good bunch of friends and accepted me as their slightly posh new boy on the block. We used to go to the Gomshall Club which had cheap drinks and a snooker table. I would ask them to parties over our way.

After one of the Gomshall parties I found myself with a date on the following Wednesday evening and when I picked up this tubby girl and set off on our date she was (or seemed) a complete stranger. Apparently we had met and got on well at the previous Saturday’s knees up. Anyway we hadn’t been driving along very far when she said ’ I never let a boy touch me below the waist you know!’ . I was totally lost for words and we had a difficult evening and went our separate ways after that.
The other crowd were ‘The Selborne Mob’ which consisted of Tom and Robert Maltby and several others.

Tom was and is, even though we don’t meet up that often, a special mate of mine . The brothers ran Maltby Engineers Ltd., and when their Father ran it before them it specialized in repairs and servicing of agricultural machinery and tractors but now it was light engineering. They were so helpful to me and would patiently repair my old bangers and even lent me a Triumph Herald when Jezebel was off the road. Robert also lent me a little, open Ford special and I ran that with the roof down all over Christmas of ’64. I picked up Diana Dunster, one of Steve’s ex’s and gave her a lift home in it and felt great. Mrs Maltby , a widow at an early age had kept the business going in Selborne for her boys. She was always good to me and I used to stay over a fair bit and she let us have big parties there. Those brothers were often covered in oil and grease and nearly always had black finger nails. The ‘Selborne Lot’ would also come to our parties at Churt as we would go to theirs.
I used to go down to the Crossways on a Friday night. I always felt nervous as I got ready to out socially and my ears would go red which I hated. This feeling would last until I had settled into the evening and my hand would literally shake when I lit a cigarette. It’s strange because I love to socialize and reckon I ‘m a good organizer of get togethers and parties but still to this day , not always, but most often get that nervous feeling .. It’s mostly when it’s a crowd. One to one to two and I’m fine. I’d be first up at the bar,( despite what my brother –in-laws might say !!) and it would cost me about thirty bob or £1.50 to buy a big round for everyone. It would cost about £45.00 to do the same these days but rounds tend to be smaller now. There would always be a tight arse or two who would hang on all night and try to get away without buying a drink but we would shame them into it . No names mentioned.

That Christmas of 1964 was a great one and it culminated in a party again at Barford View . The ‘Selborne Mob’ and the ‘Gomshall Lot’ were all there of course as well as half of Churt. A great time was had by all. Steve, Joe and I sang in harmony and our sisters joined in too. We danced the night away and consumed endless ‘Pipkins’ or ‘Party Sevens’ ,large tins of beer popular in the sixties for parties. Girls drank Cherry B or Babycham. Not much wine around in those days in Britain. There was no decent furniture or carpets so no worries on that score. Dad was superb about everything but at 1pm he shouted at the top of his voice,
’ Right, good night, everybody out!!!’.
‘The Gomshall Lot’ all filed out with the cool dude leading the way. They were very polite to Dad.

’Good night Mr Clark’ they all said. It had snowed heavily during the party and Cool Dude set off in the Jag (with all the others forming a convoy ) and distracted by the blizzard turned right before the gate instead of after and drove all over Dad’s extensive lawns before threading their way back and through the gate and away. Dad went potty at me of course as they were my friends. When the snow melted the damage was revealed and I did what I could to repair it.

I had various accidents, usually late at night after too much to drink. The breathalyzer was a nuisance and none of us took it seriously for those early years.
One of my tricks when hurtling home from Selborne around midnight was, on approaching the main A325 Petersfield to Farnham road at Kingsley was to turn my lights off so I could look for lights of cars on the main road and if there were none shoot across without slowing down.

I got a job at Overton’s Garage , Churt courtesy of Dave Church who put in a good word for me. This was a complete change. I was car cleaner taxi driver, relief petrol pump attendant and general dog’s body. If I cleaned enough cars I could earn, with bonuses up to £14 a week. The biggest wage so far. Dave Church used to lord it over our tea brakes and with his special brand of banter, chit chat and caustic comment would entertain us while we had a cuppa and a Fry’s chocolate bar or similar. I would walk home for lunch and once Dave came with me. Mother made a bright yellow curry and Dave sweated buckets. He politely tried to eat his lunch but nearly exploded with the heat. Mother and I had a lot of spats, a thing that happens with Mothers and Sons but the bond is great and I would always buy her a bar of chocolate (Cadbury’s milk) or a miniature whisky if I’d upset her. I loved her enormously and she gave me such a good example with her simple Christian ways.
Early in 1965 Mother said to Steve and I who were both seeking new jobs’ Look in the Farnham Herald’ , Hones of Farnham are advertising for workers in landscape gardening. We were interested but didn’t know the difference between gardening and landscape gardening. We both got jobs there and were promised 12.5 pence per hour. It was a 57 hour week including Saturday mornings but I was used to long hours on farms. We were mixing cement for the craftsmen to lay stone walls and crazy paving. Other jobs were wheeling turf around and clearing sites, digging and planting shrubs and of course garden maintenance. I stood the job for a couple of months but then discovered that I was only receiving 10 pence an hour. I went to the office and told the boss who said’ Tough!’. I did my usual thing and gave a week’s notice.

All in all I’d had about twenty goes at working for different bosses, learned quite a lot about the various jobs and about people good and bad. I had a growing unease in me about taking orders and a burgeoning excitement about the possibility of working for myself. I had noticed that all I needed to start a landscape gardening business (apart from the fact that I knew nothing about the subject except for the botanical studies at Merrist Wood ) was a van, a rotavator and some gardening tools. I was nearly 21 and wanted to take my career a bit more seriously.

Steve and Jan got married in November ’64. Steve was 18 and Jan 20. They started off in a little flat near Frensham Big pond. Steve was the first of us siblings to take ‘the big step’. Steve was working for Hones still and learning how to lay paving and build stone walls.

Chapter 20 ‘Lindsey Clark Brothers is born.’

Our dear Father was never in a position to finance his offspring’s’ ventures , being a struggling artist all his life, but picture dealer and restorer ,Uncle Ivan was kind enough to lend us £50 and I scraped together the other fifty and bought an old black Bedford CV van. Alan Silvester sign wrote it for me . I asked Alan to write Lindsey Clark Brothers and the phone number on both sides and it looked great. Steve and I had a long chat about the future and he said he would join me as soon as the baby which he and Jan were expecting was born. So in April 1965 ,I started off as a landscape gardener. Dad lent me his gardening tools and an old rotoscythe on the understanding that I looked after the garden at home. He added,
‘ You know you’ll be nothing but jobbing gardeners!’ . I thought ‘Right, you’ll see.’

Aunty Joan’s friend Mrs Boatman was my first ever client and armed with my brand new green diary (which was my office), I went to see her. She briefed me with the words,
’ While I’m away on holiday I would like my garden cleared ! ’.
This was easy and I set to work and cut every living thing down to ground level and cleared all the rubbish away. It looked marvellous! I thought.
I worked out the bill ,24 hours at 7s6d (37 pence) per hour and sent it to her.She phoned up and went ballistic, ‘Where’s my Bay Tree ,it took me four years to cultivate it and you’ve destroyed it in one fell swoop!’. Of course, I had taken her at her word and cleared everything. Oh and I actually didn’t know a Bay tree from a stinging nettle.

I supplied a new one and she paid me. A salutary lesson and I was determined to start reading books on plant identification and have been ever since.
While waiting for Steve to join me I employed my mate Jim Eades who was between jobs. He turned up at my girlfriend Mary’s house in Farnham to help with a job her Father had given me. Mary’s Dad said,
‘Now, Julian, you’re the expert, what shall I do with this weed infested patch of ground here? ’ I had heard that potatoes helped to clean ground so I suggested the whole area be put down to spuds. Jim was killing himself with inward laughter over my advice but the client was very impressed. We started digging and poor Jim was sweating buckets. He stopped the milkman and bought a pint and swallowed the lot.
The next job Jim and I tackled was to tidy up a foreign lady’s garden in Beacon Hill. We worked like mad and again were pleased with the results. The lady of the house came out and screamed,
‘ Where’s my lavender? ‘ .I said
‘ What, you mean that stuff with blue spikes on it? Wasn’t it a weed after all? It’s on the compost heap. She made us replant the lot and sat on the grass watching our every move.
Later on I got stung by a bee from her hive. Jim went to the door and asked for a blue bag. She said,
‘Oh that’s nothing, I’ve been stung a hundred times in a day before ‘ to which Jim replied,
‘ Never mind that Lady, my Mate’s got stung and needs a blue bag ‘. With that she scurried off and got one.
When it got to the bill paying time she said she’d only pay it less 20% as we had started late or something. We argued that we were good time keepers. In the end she paid up. We had actually not been late and worked very hard, (notwithstanding the lavender incident)

The lack of experience was a bit of a problem but did not deter me. I felt so good about being my own boss at last and the world was my oyster. Joe and I were 21 on April 16th 1965. We had a massive party at home and Mick Harris made a speech. Uncle Peter, from Suffolk came, with a driver, thank God. He was pretty far gone after numerous pub visits on the journey. Mother was fantastic with him and kept him in order throughout with her special charm and sense of humour and Peter was always very fond of her.

I was up a high hedge in Headley Road, Churt when Steve drove up and announced that he was the proud Father of a daughter Anna and that despite a drop in salary he would be starting work as my partner on June 1st 1965, which became the official launch date of Lindsey Clark Brothers. We went to a solicitor and had a partnership agreement drawn up, ‘all proper like’.

Most of the work was done at 37 pence an hour per man and we soon had to put our rate up to 43 pence which was very cheap, even then. We realized that we would have to do most of our work on a quotation basis or we would never get anywhere. The first ‘’quoted’ contract we carried out was some ‘clearing and levelling’,.It was a verbal quote of £12.00. We worked really hard and the client was pleased but refused to pay more than £9.00. That was mean. We were green but still argued the toss and said it was a quote and he should pay up in full .He wouldn’t. So maybe this was an early lesson. Put everything in writing and get a signed order or letter of acceptance.

One evening Richard Kemp rang me and asked if I was going down to the pub for a pint. I said,’ No, sorry Mate but I can’t afford it. I had to buy a new shovel this week’. We paid ourselves £10 a week in the first year and when we went to see an accountant after completing the year, a Mr Christmas from Farnham, he looked at our books and proclaimed in his Yorkshire accent,
’ You’re living too fast gentlemen !’.We were so skint and couldn’t believe his words. Regardless we had to have a rise to £12.00 to cover our living costs.
Joe’s girlfriend Jackie Deadman had mentioned us to her Father, Jack and he gave us some transplanting work. In order not to let Joe down and enhance our reputation we tried to make an extra special job of it. After raking it over and sweeping up Jack Deadman came outside to inspect our handiwork. ‘It looks great’ said Jack’ but where are those three gooseberry bushes that were here?’. ‘Oh dear’ ,I said, ‘I thought they were roses and put them with the other roses!’ So much to learn.

In the summer of ’65 I got back into Churt cricket and was bowling off a shortish run but quite fast and cutting the ball across the stumps. My eccentric action was dubbed’ The Windmill’ and there was a huge variety of balls including ‘beamers’ over the head of the batsman. I would bat at 10 or 11 and try to heave everything over the boundary for six with very mixed results. Tom Maltby and I would have a beer or three before the game and lots afterwards. One Sunday, at Old Paulines’ in Thames Ditton, he and I scored a hundred partnership with me 49 not out. We’ve never forgotten that day.

Donald and I volunteered to run the Cricket Club Dinner at Frensham Ponds Hotel that autumn and during negotiations Donald was acutely embarrassed but a little bit in awe of me I think because I asked for a discount and we got it! The whole meal cost £1.10p per head. (It would be about £30.00 now)We all used to go round to Donald’s after a night in the crossways, and have coffee.
His Dad Arthur was really lovely and very funny with a strong Hartlipoole accent and dry humour. Donald would spend hours on the cricket pitch and carried on doing so for years and years. I always say he deserves his knighthood for that work he did on the square, never mind what he did in the House of Commons.

Steve didn’t hadn’t passed his driving test and had to put up with me driving him about at work. We worked from 7.30 am until 6 pm and after tea often went back for an hour or two. We both just wanted to get the firm going. In fact although Steve and I had our ups and downs , we both always tried to put the firm first throughout the whole forty odd years we were working together.

Mother was very supportive towards young people and she would often arrange dances in the village hall. The biggest one yet was coming up so, being me, I invited the Gomshall Lot and the Selborne Mob along (I like a crowd). There were all the ‘Churtites’ there too and we had a band , food and a bar. It was going great guns when some gatecrashers turned up, The Spears, from Headley who were well known trouble makers. In no time the Spears threw a few insults at one of the Gomshall lot and a massive fight broke out with chairs flying, glasses breaking and general mayhem. Joe got knocked out, Steve was pulled out of it by Jan and my three false teeth went flying. Robert Maltby ended up on a stretcher and he and several others were carted off to hospital. Donald was seen walking through the melee cradling the cash box, Dad was in a fury and Dave Church was in the bar swinging a broom around to fend off any fists that might come his way. Dad forbid Mother to arrange any more dances.

In September there was a big change. Dad had the offer of taking over the lease of his Father’s house with the studio and garden in Chelsea , albeit at a higher rent than Barford View. It was about £12.00 a week as opposed to £3.00 a week for Barford View. This would be a very good move for Dad’s work as Chelsea, London is the ‘place to be’ of course for all things ‘Art’ and Dad was soon to become president of The Royal Society of British Sculptors which is based in London. Mother was not at all happy about the thought of London. She loved the village life but hardly made any fuss. She was utterly unselfish and knew it would help Dad with his career and also cut out the dreaded commuting for him.

Steve asked Dad if he could take over Barford View and He ,Jan and baby Anna moved in when Dad, Mum, Magda, Helen, Trudi, Simon and Vincent all moved up to London . Joe and I stayed on at Barfore View as paying guests. Joe was working for Dukes (Corn merchants) and it was perfect for me as Lindsey Clark Brothers’ only premises was Barford View. There were stacks of slabs and piles of sand etc in the garden so from our neighbours’ point of view it wasn’t an ideal situation at all.

Chapter 21 Branching out and engagement.

Joe moved out of Barford View quite soon in ’66 but I was to stay on. It was really unselfish of Steve and Jan to have this slightly wild youth in their house with what was to be a growing family but it was good for the early business years and obviously my contribution to the house helped them a bit.

Great excitement when we took on a boy called George as our first employee. This meant that we could have two jobs going on at once. One morning the Bedford wouldn’t start at all and I panicked and said ‘It’s the end of the business’ but Steve sorted it. Everything was done on a wing and a prayer with an overriding lack of cash. Soon we needed to buy a new van. Uncle Ivan was impressed by the way we paid him back on the dot , for his earlier loan. This time we went for a brand new Ford Transit Van on hire purchase. which cost £600.00 and it was a splendid ‘ pillar box red’ with old English white lettering. Dave Church was heard to comment, ‘Those Lindseys’ll go down the pan, buying a brand new van ; six hundred flippin quid eh!’
I would use this van sometimes in the evenings to take girls out and it was nothing for a rotavator to be rolling about in the back on a Friday night out along the lanes.

One of these girls was called Penny Beach, sister of Tony ( a ‘member’ of the Selborne mob) and she was lovely. We would park up in the square at Selborne outside her house saying and endless goodnight and listening to the radio, Dusty Springfield or perhaps Roy Orbison with the rotavator sitting innocently in the back waiting for the off so it could start it’s antics again.

Soon John, another young lad joined the firm and we were on the way to a bit of expansion. I would do the estimates on a Saturday morning while Steve kept the lads going from 7.30am to 1pm. It was very hard in those days with long hours but that’s the way firms worked then.

Everything had to be learned on the job. From paving and walling to fencing, tarmacing, turfing and planting. Estimating was an art in itself and it was so easy to under price jobs through worries about running out of work or lack of experience. I seemed to lean towards the business side and also planting and Steve had a flair for design, craftsmanship and all things practical. This team work helped us establish ourselves. eventually.

I met a girl called Madeleine . She was 18 and I was 22. She was a beautiful little brunette. Her Mother was a stunner too but definitely mad and her Father was a delightful henpecked Frenchman. There was a sister and a brother too. The whole atmosphere was extremely edgy in their house and it centered around Mother. Madeleine and I got a bit serious (or thought we did) and one evening Mother was invited along with me for a curry. It was an egg curry and really delicious. It was a great evening and soon after that Madeleine and I got engaged . I bought a ring in Farnham for £12.00 which was about a week’s wages.

I went up to London and told the family I was engaged to Madeleine and their was a stony silence. No one was very keen on her really. I felt a bit fed up.
Madeline’s Mum was acting in quite a crazy manner and the pressure of her daughter starting to talk about wedding plans seemed to freak her out. Suddenly she started waving a big carving knife about in the kitchen and was edging towards Madeleine and me in a menacing way and yelling abuse at everyone. I edged out of the way, kissed Madeleine goodnight and was off. My Dad was ill in hospital and Madeleine and I went up to London and visited him. She was a bit moody and Dad noticed it more than me.
We started to get on each others’ nerves and after just three weeks both decided to end it. I asked for the ring back and sold it to a lad at work for a fiver.There was no heart break on either side. It had all been a big mistake.
In those days you didn’t rush into living together so things weren’t so intense. You just enjoyed all (well,most of) your experiences and moved on.

As an advertisement we booked up a Saturday in July 1966 to put on an exhibition of our landscaping at the Village Fete in Churt. Our modest show was all prepared and we were bursting with pride and expectation. Fortunately or unfortunately for us, England had got into the World Cup final England and this coincided exactly with the flower show day. The show was a huge flop and the only people who saw our efforts were a few friends and family. This included our sister Magda who was down from London with her latest boy friend, an eccentric by the name of David Denyer Scott- Barrett, who had dubious connections with the aristocracy.

There was an all day cricket match on August bank holiday as usual and I was pleased to be picked for the match as it was quite popular with the players.
It would be a two innings match. I got a golden Duck( first ball) in the first innings and to my horror another one in the second knock. A pair of Golden ducks, One of the biggest humiliations in cricket. So I found myself turning and walking, not towards the pavilion but out of the ground at mid on and all round the village, in my pads and gloves and holding my bat. I eventually calmed down and sneaked through a window at the back of the pavilion. Apparently my antics had cased a fair amount of amusement in the’ crowd’. We won that game so they didn’t miss my batting much.

We would play the odd match at Thames Ditton and the venue was club cricket standard. Beautiful manicured outfields and perfect pitches. Even I found it easier to score runs on. We’d have a few in the bar after the match, with the opposition and then do a pub crawl all the way home. Mad it was and I don’t know how we made it sometimes. I got into trouble on year from the Mothert of 14year old Tim Allatt who had tagged along with us and imbibed manfully all evening.

Chapter 22 Those Swinging Sixties and a fear of Ghosts

It was a great time to be single in the sixties and also an appropriate period to establish a business. Things seemed quite buoyant and we began to get jobs worth a hundred or two pounds. I started to find I needed more time for estimating jobs, so on Mondays and Fridays I would visit clients and work in our freshly rented office and yard at Golden Acres , Elstead. We had to move out of the garden at Barford View as the piles of sand and ballast did not appeal to our posh neighbours one bit. Our new home consisted of an open barn with a sparse office with a concrete floor. Freezing it was so after a while Mick and Dave Harris, who had gone on their own as carpenters and joiners, made us a nice office in a big shed on the site. There was a bit of room for materials outside. This place cost us £5.00 a week which was par for the course in those days.

Soon we bought our first car (Steve had passed the test by now) another new vehicle costing £590.00, a Ford Escort and we shared it. Dear old Steve let me use it at night to go out with friends. He and Jan stayed in mostly as their growing family prevented much socializing. I baby sat if they needed it and enjoyed it. Anna was one and the latest arrival was Louise.

I have mentioned Joan Lash, a theatrical lady who lived wither husband Brigadier Hal Lash and their family in a beautiful cottage by Barford Stream off Headley Road, Churt, called ’Bridge End’. Dad used to tease me about their daughter Susan and thought I may marry her but we were just friends. In the early sixties Mrs Lash (as we called her) started an amateur theatrical group in Churt called the ‘Bridge End Players’. We used to go and see the plays in the village hall and see people we knew acting and I loved it. Soon I joined and found that however bad you were , Mrs Lash would find you a part. As far as I am concerned everyone should do a bit of acting as it is so character building and exciting to work up the nerve to get yourself in front of an audience, most of whom know you, (which can be worse than if they don’t). I was cast as the caretaker in ‘The happiest days of your life ‘ and when I made my first entrance this voice called out 'Good old Ginge’. It was Joe of course. It brought me right down to earth . It was great though ,the grease paint, the scenery the ups and downs at rehearsals, the dress rehearsal and finally the two or three performances. Then, suddenly, elation followed by anti climax. You know your part and you would really like to do it again. Amazing experience.

There were other perks too, like finding Richard’s sister Vivien Kemp sitting on your knee backstage. Mrs Lash did a great thing for the youth of Churt and it was sad when she decided to stop. Some of us went up to the Haslemere Thesbians but it wasn’t quite the same. The beer drinking lad, Tim Allatt landed a leading part though and was very good. Sadly Tim lived a difficult life, losing his Mother early on and he was, tragically, destined to die young too.

In November ’66 The Ford family took over the Crossways. This was a big thing as the pub was like a second home. The previous family, The Slatters’ had been like family friends and the son Cliff and his wife Kathy were smashing people. Cliff was a keen darts player and we always tried to beat him with little success. It wasn’t all about drinking . That village had very little going on for single people, especially in the week and it was good to meet friends, have a chat or a game of shove –halfpenny or darts. An excellent landlord would make all the difference. Frank and Flo Ford were great and their daughter Sue, a pretty seventeen year old drew a lot of attention from the lads of course. She was our passport to many a ‘lock in ‘) . How Frank put up with it I don’t know but he used to wait up for Sue while we extended the evening, so he could finally lock up for the night. A newish friend of mine , Ken Parfect finally became an item with Sue and they too got married in 1968.
Frank was highly amused when we asked him if he would display a photo of some crazy paving we had laid. It was a terrible sight with huge uneven joints. Still early days.

Otherwise it was parties at Churt, Selborne or Gomshall. On Sundays we would go to the Millstream Club at Farnham which was great with live music. . There was talk of drugs there but despite a nervous curiosity we never saw any there or anywhere else. Ordinary country people didn’t really come into contact with drugs but made up for it with booze and smoking as you will have gathered, which may be worse of course, for those addicted to these habits. The debate goes on.

Steve’s Jan was due to go into hospital and have baby number four and I asked if I could have a party at Barford View when she was away. Well as the due day dawned it was obvious to Jan and the doctor than the baby wasn’t coming for a while so the party would have to be put off. There was a friend of Helen’s at Butts Farm ,Churt. Her name was Pam Cousins . She was a lovely girl and both of us twins had flirted around a bit with her at various times. Her Mum, Margaret was a good sport and she said we could have the party in her flat if she was allowed to be there. She got a shock though when a hundred people turned up, mostly after closing time at the Crossways. She was fine about it though I’m not sure she would have welcomed a repeat.

I wasn’t that bothered but I still hadn’t become really serious with a girl. There was this teacher at Farnham and we ended up one evening at her flat in Castle Street in a tangle of tights, zips, Y fronts ,legs and arms and the whole thing was an utter disaster. That was the end of another beautiful friendship.
Felicity Heron, Uncle Peter’s daughter used to come down to Churt a lot and she used to come out with the crowd. She was a really nice, funny person and often had stories about her nursing . She brought another friend down from Derby one weekend and we all went to the fun fair at Elstead. There was a buzz to that day. Funny how certain times are unforgettable. She went out with Jim Eades for a while but it didn’t last.

Over these years Sean and Becky became numbers three and four in the Steve and Jan dynasty. I loved all those children and still do of course. When I came in the house they would all climb up on me for a cuddle or a game. I used to take them out on my travels around the jobs (no child seats or even safety belts then). One day I had to brake hard and Anna ended up in an laughing little heap in the foot well, completely unharmed, fortunately. Sean became known as ‘Ju Ju’s little mate’.
We are such an enormous family that it is almost impossible to keep up a relationship with more than a few . You need your own ’card shop’ and the will to check the ‘birthday book’ all the time.

We used to go over to Frensham Ponds Hotel and have regular ‘ sing songs’. I would strum the same old songs and we belt out all the favourites, with half the words missing . That was fun and went on for years. After one of Mrs Lash’s plays, in which I had been cast as a vicar, I kept the costume on at the Pond’s Hotel bar and got the guitar out. That was a laugh! I still like dressing up, especially with wigs . (I have little real hair, after all).

My sister Helen used to visit Churt at weekends and I used to take her out with’ The Gang’. It was a nice time for me as I was so proud of my sister, (well, all of them) . We had invited the chef from Frensham Ponds Hotel, Colin Fraser, a dashing fellow , to a big party at Barford View. Later in the evening Colin walked past me with a beaming face and said,‘You never told me you had such an nice sister!’. It was instant romance and few years later they married in secret and then told us all.

In ‘the crowd’ was Ian Judge and Stephanie a tall willowy girl with a broad smile who drank pints, which was unheard of then. She was always game for a laugh.Ian was a country lad and fished a lot and was keen on wildlife. He and Dickie Brown would meet up with me on a Wednesday evening for a quiet pint or three. Ian and Steph were due to be married and asked me to be best man. I was eaten up with nerves and just couldn’t face thinking about a speech. On the day ,I just spluttered a few words and read some telegrams as best I could. They were not all all put out but I could feel all those expectant eyes on me. The shyness won on that occasion.
The happy couple left for Australia soon after, as ten pound poms. This made me seriously think about doing the same. However , after Chris’ Landrover,’ the great traveller amongst us pointed out that I would be able to do it in style one day if the business takes off, I decided to stay put in Britain and concentrate , with Steve and later Simon, on Lindsey Clark Brothers’ establishment.
Dickie Brown suggested I did a bit of fishing and for a year or so he taught me quite a lot. The first outing was to Frensham Big pond where I caught twenty one perch. Beginners’ luck as I hardly ever caught anything else,ever.

Two years running the Oberts asked me to join them on their Spanish holidays in the Costa del Sol. This was an unaccustomed taste of luxury for me. The first year was 1968 and we flew in a Comet. I was scared witless, never having flown before. I think I scared Auntie Joan a bit. We all had brandies, which kind of helped a bit.
On the first day in Marbella in a beach bar, sangria was served and Uncle Ivan asked the waiter to make it a good one. After a few glasses I felt fantastic and Ivan said,
‘Take it easy boy, its strong stuff. ‘Oh, I can handle anything’ I quipped. Soon I was literally dancing round a pole on the beach and we were all having a huge laugh. Needless to say, later on that afternoon I learned my lesson and became really ill. I never touched Sangria again. It was a great holiday though and I will never forget it. I rode a horse (painful when forced to canter). The smells and sights of that warm Mediterranean country remain with me.

I did have one spat with Uncle Ivan when he shouted at Auntie Joan because she was in the toilet. I told him off and he ran after me (Auntie Wendy, who was also on the holiday) said the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck as he tried to open the door which I had slammed. He didn’t speak to me for twenty four hours but then after we all dressed up in our best togs to go to Don Pepe’s (a fabulous restaurant with dancing) he said to me,‘You look good boy!’ and everything was okay again. I seemed to have these upsets with Uncles even though I was really close to them.

A couple of years after Grand Dad had died at Barford View Steve’s Jan started to hear scary ( we used to say weird) noises like the front door opening and shutting around three o’clock in the afternoon. Footsteps up the stairs and into the bedroom which Grand Dad used to occupy day and night when he was alive. Then drawers up there would be opened and shut. All these activities were exactly what Grand Dad used to do. Steve never heard these things but a friend Ken Parfect did one day. Scared him rigid. I began to feel spooky about it but never heard or saw a thing. Joe was visiting and unsuccessfully trying to sleep in the slightly spooky lounge when, in the early hours, the door slowly opened and Joe thought ’Oh no It’s Grand Dad’. When a little voice said ‘Hello Uncle Joe’ and it was tiny Sean. Joe’s nephew.
It all came to a head when the little children came rushing along the landing from their bedroom, to the bathroom and screamed’ Mummy, Mummy there’s an old man on our bed!!!’

Jan called the priest in and he held a special’ exorcism’ service in the sitting room. Nothing was ever heard again of Grand Dad’s ghost except that one day the Duchess who lived in Hill House, next door asked Jan if she new an old gentleman who walked with a stick and wore a hat. ‘I think I know who you mean’ said Jan, with a wry smile. ‘Well’ said the Duchess’ He was at the bottom of our stairs and I called out when I saw him and he turned and walked up stairs and do you know , we searched high and low upstairs but couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere!’

Joe came over to our office at Elstead one day when I was working there alone and told me Jackie had ended their engagement. He was distraught at the time. It was three weeks before the wedding date.

Chapter 23 Moving on and romantic fireworks.

It was while Jan was pregnant with little Becky that I suddenly began to feel that I should move out. It was a fairly easy option for me to be there but I chatted it over with Joe and he said ’I should get out if I were you Mate’. Steve and Jan had been so tolerant to me during these bachelor days for several years. Lots of things occurred things and they would have easily been justified in booting me out ,but they never even hinted at it.

Steve and I had quite a lot of ups and downs and my half- Irish red haired temper would flair up, always about work. There was the time that I mistook the old leather chair in my room ( a gift from God Father Ivan to me) for a urinal after a good night out with the gang. One morning I woke up to feel something live crawling up my bare chest and let out a scream! Poor old Steve dashed down to my room and threw the covers back to find an old toad on my chest. I was such a coward. They put up with me bringing friends home late at night although we did try and keep quiet. I’ll never forget how good Steve and Jan were to me.

I must say that once I decide something needs doing I like to get on with it. Having told Steve and Jan I was going (They must have been relieved but didn’t show it, bless them) I put an advert in the paper to share a house and the next day I drove up to Haslemere and there was this wooden house called ‘Pinecroft’ and standing outside was a tallish, thin dark skinned chap. This Frenchman was called Nobert Jean and he showed me round straightaway. The room on offer was quite large and very basic and I couldn’t see anything wrong with the set up. The rent was £5 00 a week, which was average at the time so we shook hands on it. I went back to Churt , said goodbye to Jan and the kids, although I knew I would see a lot of them and Steve and I moved my bits and pieces up to Pinecroft that evening. As quick as that.
I absolutely loved my independence from that first night, although my time with Steve and Jan was wonderful.

Nobert cooked the first night and it was a simple but very French meal and delicious. He stated that we should always wash up each night and not leave a mess.
Perhaps he instinctively knew I was not quite as organized as that, normally. The next night I asked him if he would like me to cook and he graciously accepted.
I knew absolutely nothing about cooking except for fry ups and Vesta curries out of the packet. I thought I must be a bit inventive with this Frenchman so concocted a sort of sausage and broad bean thing which Nobert politely played with bravely.
The poor lad was so ill he couldn’t go to work for two days whilst old iron-guts seemed to get away with it. When Nobert finally surfaced he said, with a certain firmness,‘Julian, I think it best I cook and you wash up!’ and so that’s what happened from then on.

I had met a girl called Janet from London,( whose family lived at Barford Corner ,Churt) who was the sister of Robin …. a good friend of mine and a cricketing buddy.’ Big Janet’ and I were going quite steady and sometimes after Saturday cricket I would have a few beers with the other team and then scream up the A3 in my latest acquisition, a 1965 C reg white Triumph TR4A complete with speed bump on the bonnet of which I was immensely proud. The old A3 was mostly just three lanes with the middle one reserved for careful overtaking. As far as I was concerned that lane was for me and I used to get to Big Janet’s Fulham flat in under the hour. She shared a flat with two other girls. It was boiling in the summer and freezing in the winter. We would go out for a meal and back to her place till the early hours then I would end up flopping into bed in the attic at 14,Caroline Terrace (Our parental home) totally done in.

Magda became a mother when baby Katie was born in 1966 and this lovely little girl was cherished by the whole family.

On Sundays it was Mass at Cadogen Street or Westminster Cathedral and a session at ‘The Fox’ , Chelsea , two minutes walk from Caroline Terrace, with Dad. The Charringtons bitter was great. Mother’s lunches were memorable . Usually Roast Beef followed by Apple Crumble.How she made it go round the crowd, I don’t know.Some weekends friends like Dave Church, Stuart Croucher or Ken Parfect would come up to London and as usual everyone was made very welcome.

One Saturday after a few drinks with Ken and Sue, we went back to Caroline Terrace to find Dad and Mum still up. I put a large junk of cheese and some bread etc on a tray and took it into the lounge where ‘That Was The Week That Was’ was on black and white television. I started to cut a piece of cheese for Sue and the whole big chunk of bounced across the floor. The booze had well and truly kicked in and we three all got hysterical laughter and couldn’t stop and the more Dad frowned and tutted the more we laughed even though we were trying like mad to cease.


Essentially I have always been a country person and I was always glad to be back out of London and down in Surrey, Hampshire or Sussex with those occasional forays to Silly Suffolk.

Lindsey Clark Bros got their first thousand pound job in. Great excitement as we had often sat in a vehicle at lunch time with a sandwich , day dreaming about bigger jobs like that. We didn’t really know how much to charge or what profit margins to aim for. Guesswork, and more guesswork. Mistakes but always learning by them. On one job we worked out the amount of turf we needed and along it came.
We laid out the lawn with it but there was a mountain of expensive turf left and if we couldn’t get rid of it would die in a day or two anyway. We were wheeling barrow loads of it up peoples’ front paths, giving the stuff away.

Then in 1969 we estimated a big job at the new Farnham Art School. It was preparation and seeding of several acres of grounds. John O’Rourke, the Irish project manager for the main contractor, Riley and Whishaws, checked the estimate and helped us to get it up to about £1600.00.The biggest job so far. In the end , due to inexperience and bad luck with a very finickitty council official we used up the whole sum and had to work for an extra month without earning a penny and that was four men, a lorry and a Massey Fergusson tractor. We nearly went bust but somehow squeezed through to better times. John O’Rourke was a nice guy and helped us to obtain several other jobs culminating in an open ended contract, laying top soil and turves around new mobile homes at Chertsy by the Thames. He said that if we charged 2.5 p per square yard for laying six inches of soil and 22p for supplying and laying turf we should get the contract and we did. David Clark was in charge up there and he would delight in waiving our pay cheque at us at the end of the month and then say,
‘But you’re not getting it until you’ve done this ,that or the other’. We still made a friend of David . We earned about £600.00 a month up there but it was incredibly hard graft and all the materials, labour, fuel and overheads would be deducted of course.

Around this time I was captain of Churt Sunday Cricket Eleven and was loving it as I would open the batting and the bowling and field at silly mid on, my favourite position. I broke my arm in yet another prang on the way home from a Selborne party and was in plaster. I loved my cricket and decided to play, plaster and all against Odiham. Joe was playing so it was a first eleven match. I went in number nine, high for me, and after a while started hitting graceful sixes over the long on and long off boundaries , ending up with another 49 runs (never 50). Joe suggested that my much improved batting was due to me having to keep my arm straight due to the plaster. Yes, after the plaster was off I went my to my normal entertaining but fragile style.

My kid sister Trudi had met a trendy bloke in the film industry whose name was Andy Gatehouse. They too would a little later become’ ten pound poms’ in Australia.
Vincent was getting very keen on the classical guitar and we were all very proud of him. Simon was growing tall like me and filling out. They had quite a time of it with Mother’s addiction to alcohol taking a hold over matters at Caroline Terrace, sadly. Our wonderful Mother was struggling and Dad was feeling it. He was President of the’ Royal Society of British Sculptors’ and needed support from his wife. She tried her best but there were problems galore and my sisters would step in and attend a few dinners and functions with Dad. I was really worried about Mum’s drink problem and concerned for Dad and the family members up there in London. I was very sensitive about Mother and when one of Vinny’s friends appeared to be cheeky to her, I flew at him and threatened him . Poor bloke got a shock and the full brunt of my feelings. Much of the time it was fine in Caroline Terrace and there were always good things happening as well as bad.

Nobert , my flat mate in Haslemere had had his heart broken by his fiancé (ex) when I first met him and wouldn’t go out or anything. After a good bit of persuasion from me he eventually agreed to come down to Churt and meet the crowd. He came straight out of the doldrums on his first night out and was very charming, especially with the ladies.

Coming up to Christmas 1969, this typical Frenchman, who had become a best mate by now, asked me to go over to Paris with him and stay with his sister and family. I was very excited about going to Paris but a week before Christmas I was struck down by Asian flu and the afternoon I was supposed to be packing I was lying in bed with a high temperature. Nobert came in and asked how I was and I replied that I felt like death and couldn’t possibly go after all. He was mortified and slightly annoyingly persuasive and eventually I caved in, got up, packed and went to Paris. I rapped up in my , quite trendy, long ,dark, military coat with shiny buttons all the way down, over flared trousers and shirt. We arrived and I was made very welcome by the family. In France, they have their Christmas meal on Christmas Eve and I felt so ill and couldn’t do justice to the fabulous French cuisine. After the main course I made my excuses and went to bed. Next day, Nobert drove us round Paris like a maniac and we walked a good way too. In my haze of fever I remember the Eiffel Tower, The Champs - Elysees and a huge glittering department store called’ Gallerie La Fayette’. We also strolled around Montmartre I remember looking at all sorts of fine art. Sadly I only felt a bit better though, after we had been back home a few days.
At the end of January 1970 I went to a party at Dave Church and Jilly Harman’s place in Frensham ,on my own. I met an attractive tall ,slim dark girl called Linda and she was going out with my mate Jim Eades. I had a dance with her and said,
‘You haven’t got any sisters at home have you ?’ to which she answered,‘Yes as a matter of fact I have’, said Linda.
The following week we all met up again at another party in Alton Hampshire at the flat belonging to Ken and Sue Parfect who had got married in ’68’. I was chatting to the brother of my recent but now, ex girlfriend ,Big Janet and was a bit fed up because she and I had parted company. It just hadn’t worked out . We were hammering a bottle of Vodka between us. Eventually through a mist I saw this gorgeous girl sitting with Linda. She had shiny black hair, a pert little nose and lovely smile. I also was quick to notice the mini skirt and pop socks. It was like a big colourful firework going off in my brain and from that moment I was gone and I knew I found my soul mate ………..

Part 3 to follow… Copyright 2010 Julian Lindsey Clark