MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS

My story begins when, after being born at a very young age, I moved from Enfield in north London to the city of Liverpool. I was only nine months old at the time so my parents moved with me... well... someone had to carry my suitcases.... No, seriously, my father was employed by the Civil Service and at the time I was born, was working at The Royal Ordinance Factory at Enfield Lock in Middlesex. The factory he worked for was involved in the manufacture of firearms and ammunition, although his particular duties included clerical work and small arms testing. Having worked there for some considerable time, he was offered the opportunity of promotion. His new position involved being re-located to another part of the country and as a result we were subsequently transferred to Liverpool early in 1941. My father’s new post as small arms inspector at the Aintree division, was to result in me spending the first twenty years of my life in my new hometown. We were to live at 149 Storrington Avenue, Norris Green, Liverpool 11., one of a very nice series of terraced properties built especially for Royal Ordinance factory workers. Upstairs consisted of three bedrooms, and a toilet and bathroom, downstairs, a sitting room or lounge, a dining room, and a decent sized kitchen. Outside we had a large back garden, and a somewhat smaller one to the front of the house. Sadly, from a nostalgic point of view, these properties have since been demolished and replaced with large blocks of flats or apartments, nevertheless, the district of Norris Green, situated about four or five miles from the city centre, was rural, and at that time, a very nice area in which to live. Beyond the garden at the rear of the house lay acres of fields, used for the production of crops during certain times of the year, and for cattle grazing at other times. Beyond this, we had a beautiful view of a large area of woodland which was both picturesque and full of wildlife; foxes, deer, rabbits, hares, and birds of a variety to numerous to mention.

Recollection of my early years start I suppose, around the time my brother John was born in 1944, I was then just four years of age.

My childhood memories have always remained fond to me, sure there were up's and downs, but in general they were great times. My parents although fairly strict were nonetheless, very fair minded and supportive, always as generous as means would allow, very self sacrificing and consistently striving to do their best for us. Whilst we were not a well off family, mum and dad would make certain that we all went away for our holidays each year, sometimes to visit relatives down South, alternatively we would go to Blackpool, a great British seaside resort. I have fond memories too of our frequent weekend trips crossing The River Mersey on the ferry to spend the day on the beach in New Brighton. Another favourite jaunt would be a trip to Southport, kiddies tricycle rides, a putting green, and miles of golden sands. Birthday and Christmas presents were never forgotten either, great times indeed. Our parents were very special to my brother and I, we miss them both dearly.

It always amazes me how childhood memories can spring to mind with seemingly very little provocation. I can recall visiting the premises of Whalley, the local blacksmith, what a character he was. Some days he could be quite grumpy to say the least, and on others he was really chirpy. Whatever his mood, he would always invite you in to have a look around and watch and chat with him while he worked. His premises, situated only a stones throw from where we lived, always appeared so ram shackled and run down, and he himself was an untidy and shoddily dressed character, no matter what time of day or night you saw him. Despite his appearance, he was extremely popular with local residents, and loved showing children his skills as a blacksmith. I recall watching in amazement as he wafted his furnace with a huge pair of bellows, thrust a piece of iron into the flames until it was red hot, then hammer it out on his anvil, until it magically took the shape of a horse shoe.

My frequent visits to see Whalley usually took place either on the way too, or back from the local farm, from where we collected our fresh milk, no deliveries in those days.

What an education! There I would stand, watching the blacksmith that shod the horses, that pulled the carts, that carried the manure, that fertilized the fields, that grew the grass, that fed the cows, that produced our milk; and the kids of today, wonder why we refer to 'the good old days'.

Speaking of education, I was just five years of age when I first attended Wellsbourne Road, Infant and Primary School. My earliest school-day recollection was not a happy one. One of the teachers, Miss Burns, a rather strict individual, had during her introduction forewarned us that, if we wished to speak to her, we first had to raise our hand. Having attended the school for only a few days, I found myself wanting to go to the loo. "Excuse me miss, but I need to go to the toilet." I exclaimed. Turning toward me and with a stern look on her face, Miss Burns retorted, "Come here immediately Brown." pointing toward the front of the classroom. From the tone of her voice, I knew I should not query her instructions. As I stepped forward she announced, "I thought I told you never to speak unless you first, raised your hand." She immediately took hold of my hand and rapped me across the knuckles with the side of a ruler. I'd just received my first lesson in obedience. "Now; you may go to the toilet." she uttered.

Another memorable, but nevertheless unpleasant occasion took place when I was around eight years old. At this young age, I wasn't particularly interested in either music or the arts, however, I had been recruited as an unwilling volunteer to be the leader of 'McNamara's Band', a kind of kiddies orchestra with children playing recorders, paper combs, and tin drums.

There followed an extensive series of rehearsals for all those taking part. The event was to be the highlight of the forthcoming parents day activities, hence all the practice. However, as far as I was concerned it was all to no avail. Parent’s day arrived along with all the parents, it seemed like there were hundreds of them, and I for one was feeling particularly nervous. My first appearance on stage went competely pear-shaped and proved to be a nerve-racking and total disaster, and I left the stage balling my eyes out.

When visiting Enfield on holiday, we would stay at my uncle Fred and aunt Edie's house. Their daughter Marion, herself only a youngster, was quite an accomplished pianist and I would spend a great deal of time listening to her play, wishing that I could do the same. After a little tuition from Marion, I used to have a go and discovered that with little difficulty, I managed to play various one fingered melodies, however, whilst pleased with my efforts, at that particular juncture, this was as far as my musical interests took me. Unbeknown to me however, my parents too had paid some heed to the apparent ease with which I could tap out a tune, but at that time, never mentioned it further.