A War Story

Wood's book is one of a number of local history books that have been appearing over the last 20 years or so.   This is one of a number of books from 'The History Press,' that look likely to be worth a read.  This is one of a number that concentrate on the History of Essex and the locals involved in recent past times

The subject of the book is born just before the war breaks out.  His Jewish grandparents came from the east trying to escape pogroms there.  Based in London the family are moved to Basildon, a small hamlet in Essex just outside London, not far from Southend.  As the war progressed the young lad and his mum remained in accommodation supplied by a 'friend' called JL.  This came through his two aunts, women who would enjoy life during war with the number of men available at the time.  JL was what is referred to these days as a 'wide Boy,' one with his hands in every opportunity and not all were as honest as they appeared.  However, he had accommodation the family could make use of while heir home in London endured the 'Blitz.'  David's dad travelled into work, finding a new workshop close to a few more 'wide boys' and 'east end' types.  This while the 'Black Market' was about to get into swing during rationing.

The tale concerns the boy David growing up from a 5 year old until his 11 Plus at the end of the war.  Not all children suffered during ww2, many indeed enjoyed it.  There are a huge number of interesting people and objects that come into the hands of many a youth during such times.  This author was to mostly enjoy his time as scary experiences were rare.

Written well by a man who is not an author, the life lived as a child, but told as an adult looking back on a war, now knowing so much more about the war than possible at the time, is interesting.  Information was not easy to obtain, except via the press or 'Pathe' or 'Gaumont' newsreels at the cinema.  While the propaganda was to be seen there is no doubt the UK knew more about the war than any German would know, unless he tuned to the BBC secretly.  

The houses, the friends, the Black market, even German POWs are encountered.  His aunts behaviour left him somewhat bemused at the time, and when able to visit the towns around his mother dragged him along window shopping!  How tedious for a boy!   

Anyone familiar with Basildon today would not recognise the place, now a modern 1950s town.  The area has changed, the boy has grown, and written a decent short book covering his childhood, a better childhood than many today!

Tuesday Twittering

It's the little things that hinder most.

I had orders to ttend the surgery for an 'Old Man's Test' at 11:35 today.  This meant I had to wash properly and ensure my clothes were not as scruffy as usual.  Having prepared I put on clean sox, there are plenty of them, most without holes, and here it was I struggled.  My feet appear to be much further away from me than they used to be.  Once upon a time I just got down and shoved sox on and moved.  Today I struggled.  My now expanded stomach does not help, even allowing for the recent exercise that has toned the fat, it still remains an obstacle for such jobs.  I may ask the nurse today if she can pop round in the mornings...

Update, no chance!

 

I slept well enough last night even though I lurched through some rubbish football. This featured an easy win for West Ham United, supported by so many around here.  The London overspill goes back many years.  West Ham itself was indeed part of Essex until the spread of houses took over so much of Essex it all became part of Greater London.  Few consider themselves in Essex in that region today.

By the end of the second world war I think the lines had been set.  Many out this way moved to just get out of the city, especially those with children, some for work, others just wanted a better life.  Today house developers cater to those with money who wish to move, the lower orders are not wanted in Tory lands, houses suitable are never developed.  Many West Ham footballers will however live in Essex, they can afford the prices for the mock Tudor buildings.  Funnily enough, there are many such buildings, mostly towards London, but when at the museum we had almost nothing on Tudor life in these parts, in spite of part of the Boleyn family being based down the road.  The English appear fascinated with Henry VIII, I fail to see why, many other bullying imperialist English kings make for better reading.

Early, I wandered round to greet the Stasi.  She was on the phone and ignoring me and also the beginning of a queue behind.  Eventually she placed her bets and began to deal with us poor mortals awaiting.  I pleaded my case, she fingered the cross and skullbone badge and gave orders. 

Obediently I entered the building, once she had unlocked the door, I than sprinkled my hands with the stuff in the container, once I found it, and took my seat. The nurse came on time, called me by name and ushered me into her cell.  

Here she probed, stuck a pin in, took blood, lots of it, placed it in one or two computerised measuring gadgets, weighed me, doubted my honest weight, gave instructions, informed me I was doing OK except for still being a fat slob.  Losing one stone, or whatever that is in metric, was not enough.  Leafleted, ordered, instructed, amongst which were no more drinking, no more fat breakfasts, no cheese, no more sausage rolls, etc, I was then thrust out into the street again.  

I promised to obey, to make every effort, to once more adjust the diet, especially as she has informed the doctor, who I may have to face, about my fat.  Hmmm... I may have to brush up on my communication skills, or flattery as it has been called if I meet her.

 

 

I forgot to inform the young lady, and all nurses look young to me these days, that I had finished a bottle of sweet red Greek wine yesterday.  She may have put that on the computer, so I forgot.  Then, having forgotten, I wandered up the road, bought six more bottles of this wine before the lorry driver shortage caused by Brexit leaves us short.  I had hoped this would get me 10% off but this did not occur.  However, I slunked off home, ensuring the nurse did not see what I was carrying, and returned to base.

Tomorrow the diet starts anew!

 

Colne Valley Railway Day Out.

Having lived after climbing Castle Hedingham the other day I considered it was worth while exercising my bulk once again by going half a mile further up the road to the Colne Valley Railway.
The line opened in 1861 and passenger services pasted for a hundred years before ending in 1961.  The line was closed to goods in 1965 and the tracks lifted.  It lay dead until 1973 where for two years work began recreating one mile of line.  There was no infrastructure so the original 'Sible and Castle Hedingham' station buildings were taken down and rebuilt here and the disused wooden top half of the signal box at Cressing was transferred here also.  Today, after much work and a recent attempt to throw them off the land, the railway still runs.  The line is short, just over a half mile in either direction, with plans to go further if they can and when money is provided, but in spite of the short line I found two hours worth of enjoyment wandering around the collection there.

The value of heritage railways is the way they bring back memories to the mind.  This first sight, the gate, the old signal box, signals, water tower, all the way I remember them from days of yore.  Not that I was ever down here of course but the similarities with the many rail trips, hauled by steam, are numerous.  They also educate the young not only in local history but national history also, so many great events had at least a side show on such rail lines.

Not a special picture but it evokes memories of such scenes throughout the country in days of British Rail.  British Rail?  Bring it back!

The original Colne Valley and Halstead Railway (CVHR) remained independent until 1923 when it was merged into the London & North Eastern Railway (LNER).  Some names changed but the oil lamps and heavy trolleys remained the same!  The railway evokes memories well with the objects left lying about, such as the passengers box, the Avery weighing scales and other items we find.

With so much reconstruction occurring it is no surprise to see rougher areas.  These were however covered in an abundance of Poppies, these were all round the site and this chap picking hos way through them was only a few feet away from me and quite used to people.  He did not however pose properly and soon disappeared. 

I made my way there by using the bus pass and a Hedingham Omnibus, No 89.  I mentioned the railway to the driver and was told he would not drop me there, instead he would take me further on into Great Yeldham, turn around and drop me in the way back.  This because there is as yet no bus top at the museum.  This would be fine I thought but as it happened the road being quiet on a  Saturday he dropped me opposite the Railway and I crossed over in between speeding automobiles.
Hedingham Bus drivers are usually good.

The gates had just opened as I arrived and one other man was before me.  Of the two women on the till one was clearly efficient and experienced at her work, all volunteers of course, and the other tried to charge me full price, considering I "Did not look old enough," which I understand.  I did pay the £6 and not the£8 she demanded however.  The staff I spoke to appeared competent, friendly and knowledgeable concerning the questions asked.  However chatting up the friendly young women in the Buffet did not get me anywhere, £2:50 for coffee, not bad.  

In the days of proper railways, British Rail and Steam, passing trains were either completely maroon or this half and half style.  The coaches were never better dressed and never looked as good as all maroon did.  How lovely to see all these names on coaches everywhere.

The waiting room was equipped with all mod cons, including a vast radio, so passengers could enjoy 'Workers Playtime,' 'Listen with Mother,' or 'Housewife's Choice.'  It was off today.  An atmospheric waiting room, table and chairs and a phone for those who need to inform someone the train is late.  No private calls here as it is placed by the door.  

I liked the way the wall was decorated with pictures of various railway types.  Also several rail employees who died during the Great War were remembered by these print outs on the wall.  A very good way to connect with the railwaymen of the past.  Father and son often worked all their lives on the railway, many companies treating the staff as well as they could, not all did of course and strikes in some places occurred before the Great War.  Whether it affected this region I do not know.

  

While there was still few around it was time to get on the train.  With so many volunteers not on duty there was a problem with this.  As we went in the first northerly direction the driver has to get off and open the gates, nobody else around to do this job.  He also had to fix things when we did stop.  However the guard, a friendly helpful woman, kept us informed and no-one appeared bothered much, it was bringing a real life situation into the line I suppose.  

At the buffers the driver came through to the other end of the 'Bubble Coach' and, once he and the lass had worked out how to open the door, he took his place assisted by two young trainee drivers.  This I thought marvellous.  This is what such railways are for, to teach kids what it was like in the past and to give them a thrill of pushing buttons to make horns work and standing at the front of an engine giving the H&S man a heart attack.  We went straight through the station, worrying the family waiting for us, and down to the far end, half a mile away in a southerly direction.  As we had been kept waiting the driver took us back, not stopping at the station causing panic for the family awaiting, and back down to the far end.  Then we returned to the beginning and alighted.  Not far, and we could keep going back and forward if we wished, but it gave an inkling of times past and a railway network long gone.

As is normal in such places every time you turn a corner, in every nook and cranny, there are things either lying about or placed to be seen.  No corner is allowed to be empty unless something is planned for it.  I like that.  Many items are bought or donated or work their way into the heritage railway and may not be used for many a day, that however is not a reason to hide them let them lie in public view and one day they will be restored.

 

Talking about something lying about!  Merchant Navy Class, No. 35010 Blue Star, built 1942 is no longer heading out of Waterloo towards Bournemouth or Salisbury but resting here awaiting renovation.  What a powerful looking loco she is, especially compared to the smaller 'pugs' around her.  The 0-4-0 has had an outer restoration, clearly no chance she will run again but it was fun trying to board as my stomach did not wish to go between the gates!  

These places always have a Royal Mail coach, these services have long since disappeared.  I avoided the temptation to follow the command, "Have a go at sorting letters," which hung above, enough of that!  The stretcher is from the Great War and maybe one day there will be a hospital train coach here also.

The line has several sub lines containing a variety of coaches, some look as if they could be used while other require more than just a lick of paint.  Some huts appear from other railways and one day will find a home on the line.  

The coal, or is that coke, for the steam engine which will run on Sunday.  I am not sure if it runs on coke these days, many are now oil fired.  I would think these chaps would prefer coal myself rather than oil.  The model rail layout did not run today however in a hut at the back a tremendous model railway can be found.  The young lad running it had several trains moving in different directions.  The model was made by one man over 30 years and when he passed away the layout was donated to the museum, an ideal choice.  The two lads running it knew what they were talking about and enjoyed it immensely.  One mum told me they were having trouble getting one son out of there.  I forgot the picture but it was an immense layout, worth looking at.  

  
Everybody has to have a 'Barclay' also!  The 'Pug' reminds me of the Cowdenbeath one that pulled coal wagons across the High Street to the marshalling yards.  These little engines, and others like them, were found in all major factories, dockyards, industrial areas almost all gone and replaced with gentrification or nihilism.  

 Some messages never change.

The old wooden coaches are hard to find now, being made of wood they were easy to break up when no longer required.  When we went to fife we often saw aged truck bodies in allotments and gardens where they were used as huts while they and their owners rusted away.  Not so many seen these days.  

The abundance of Poppies was joined by other flowers, clearly someone takes good care of these just as station staff did in times gone by.  The purple thing I think is the one that came from the Himalayas and 'escaped' via little birds and winds onto the nearby rail lines and was swept throughout the land leaving people to consider it a 'British' plant.  A gardener will correct me soon.
I had a great day out in the sunshine.  The Colne Valley Railway is small and desperate to grow bigger.  The staff were friendly and knew their business, the short train ride can be taken several times, occasionally by steam, the buffet and other services were good and the buffet staff friendly.  
The kids there, few today it must be said, were clearly enjoying themselves, especially 'driving' the train!  Soon they will have a proper museum built to tell the history of the line and the area around and in years to come the big engines will also run along the small line, well worth seeing.