Life of Ronald  … rough draft to be re-written

I was born on the 8th of November 1958 on North Ronaldsay, the furthest North of the Orkney Islands, where my father was the local GP from 1957 to 1960.

This apparently makes me a “Selkie” … a mythical seal that was capable of taking human form on land by taking off its skin, which it had to hide so it could return to its former self, once tired of the land and the human race.

There were about 100 or less “Selkie’s “ with short memories on the island at that time and maybe 25 habitable crofts, which my Father could visit daily if he wished as the Island was very small, about 2 miles by 8 miles and probably one of the smallest GP practices in the UK.

I was weighed off at the local Post Office as these were the only scales of a suitable size available.

Others will have to relate the tales of these years as I have no memory of them.

My first memories are of our house in Prinsted, Emsworth  ( Nr Chichester ) which was my Father’s next practice, I can just about remember the snow of 1963, which was a particularly heavy winter,
I think Uncle Alan and the Bapty family came to stay, sometime about Christmas and he built us a sledge that lasted until the mid 70’s and probably that year he was rumoured to have driven a car ( for some reason I think a ford Anglia ) across the frozen Thames, though I am not sure, which part of the river he crossed.

Apparently while in Prinsted I made a complete nuisance of myself by learning how to release the clutch on the mower ( left running while the grassbox was emptied)  so much so that the gardener resigned; fed up of chasing an unmanned mower around the garden, which at times crashed into the compost heap or demolished the fence.

I sadly cannot remember this, nor do I remember the accusation that I knocked my best friend out with a hammer, which if true probably left him unable to remember the incident as well.

Memories of this time are muddled, in content and timeline, but falling in a duck pond followed by the embarrassment of being stripped in public to have my clothes wrung out and replaced, seems to have some basis in truth.

I  have vague memories of Grandpa Walkey’s desk and the smell of extra strong mints from a small round tin kept beside it. Though, no actual memories of the man himself, I seem to remember that Granny & Grandpa had a small bungalow or similar quite close to us in Emsworth.

There was a couple in the street ( Friary Dean ) who owned a parrot, I was quite taken with and I  remember winning a “Wee wIlly Winky race” at Kindergarten ( Long Meadow School), though at that age all the contestants were probably winners.

About this time the family car was upgraded to a Zephyr 4, which was much loved.

Elisabeth was at Clarendon School in Wales John at Hinwick Hall near Wellingborough

Father felt uncomfortable in the practice for some reason and either resigned or decided to move on, which led to a few uncertain years where we lived amongst other places in a disused army camp in Roding Valley ( just north of London) owned by Dr  Beatie who was associated with Roding Lane Free church, which we used to attend, while Father settled to a new practice in Ilford.
Dr Beattie was the senior partner of the practice father joined, offering father something like a one twelfth partnership  … without mentioning it to the other partners, which caused a bit of embarrassment!

Granny came to stay at  the army camp on one occasion and the Turkey shed was cleaned out for her to sleep in as this was the smallest of the many sheds, but we were not entirely alone as the place was also used as an international camp for young people on some sort of cultural exchange scheme.
On one occasion I was dressed up as a little girl complete with straw plates for a fancy dress party or similar, I would guess I was about 4 or 5, there is a photo somewhere … unless i destroyed it out of embarrassment.
We lived in a 4 berth caravan on site and baths were taken in the army kitchen that had massive sinks  …  big enough for me at the time anyway.

For some reason I was nicknamed “The Wump” and wanted to be a “Cow Wow”, which I suppose I partly achieved via a degree in Agriculture, though with the complete absence of firearms.

From there we moved to temporary rented accommodation in a small house in Ilford before moving into 163 Ilford Lane which was actually 2 houses 163-5 with the ground floor of 165 converted into a surgery for the practice that had taken Father on.
The Ilford Film factory was just across the road and I suspect if we were not actually living within the Cray Twins “Manor” we were at least within easy walking distance of it, though  I think they had been arrested a year or two before we arrived.

This was the early 1960’s “Winkle Pickers” were going out and “Bovver Boots” were coming in, the sort of thing you notice when you are so close to the ground.

The family record collection included “The Beatles “ , “Nina and Fredrick” and Bernard Cribbins. I can remember watching the 1966 World Cup on the small Black and White T.V. with Granny getting quite excited about it. The Aberfan disaster was in the same year and made quite an impact in the news and nation generally.

In bored moments I would wander into the Surgery and help the receptionists with the filing, I cannot have been too bad at it, as I seemed welcome, but no doubt they had suitable defences against me set up.

One of the doctors kept a chessboard in his surgery and would invite patients to make a move.

Father always seemed to take a delight in befriending the “ unmentionables “ of society such as the Circus camp, which seemed to have a near permanent base towards Barking so at times he was treating fire eaters for mouth burns and lion tamers for bites and earning friendship in low places, so life could get colourful from time to time.

Cleveland road primary school was my next  source for education, I don’t think I was there for more than a year or two but that was long enough to find and establish a life long friendship with Mark D’Mello, who live a street away in Windsor road, with much of our time spent together at either his place or mine.

A friendship born of slipperbag (  for gym shoes )  fights in the playground and an allegiance to S.H.A.R.K. whose meaning i have forgotten  …. Ask Mark!
We rode bikes, played with cap guns, action men and many other toys of the day occasionally venturing into quite distant parks ect…  as we explored Ilford and life together.

Mark’s neighbour was called something like Bill Bailly, and owned something like a MK2  Jag, whose engine spent most of its time in the living room being serviced, until the next Bank job came up, when it was reinstalled, because Bill Bailly was the local “Getaway Driver”  … or that was the rumour anyway

Out of duty, the parents then enrolled me at Beehive Preparatory School, which was vaguely Gants Hill area, a small private school far more dedicated to the cause of education than I was, but strangely a feeder school to Bancroft’s which I  attended in later years, I don’t think I was here much longer than a year before the family moved onto Hornchurch, new home, new school and new friends, though Mark and I remained in touch.

Sometime before we left Ilford, probably about 1967, I have clear memories of buying or being bought  a Red Rover bus ticket, which was a one day pass to use on any bus in London. I would have been 8 or 9yrs and I took Joanna , who would have been about 3yrs on a tour of London, I don’t remember much but probably did St Paul’s. the monument, the embankment and Trafalgar Square, which I had been to before with my sisters. This was in the day of open backed buses which you could jump on and off as the crawled through the London traffic. Joanna was not quick enough to catch a bus at Trafalgar square and I had to jump off again to go and get her.
Kids were allowed more adventures in those days!

Granny came to stay with us for a bit and I remember having to walk with her down the street   as she handed out religious tracts to the local thugs … you didn’t mess with Granny and I was only too pleased to be able to hide behind her.

Sometime, while still in Ilford, the parents took a holiday in Spain accompanied by one of my father’s patients as a guide.

We also had a caravan holiday in Norfolk.

About this time I spent some time with the Bapty’s at Wingate way ( Cambridge), here I learnt how to rise a bike and also went on holiday to Wales with them, I seem to remember driving past  Ironbridge on the way and later a horse (or pony) borrowed for us to ride picked bit me and actually picked me up with its mouth, Allan rebuked it with a large home made paddle from a dinghy, I don’t think the bruising troubled me too much, but I was put off horses for a bit.

Hornchurch was a little less “East London” and a little nearer to ” countryside” , but not much.
I suppose historically the big feature was Hornchurch Airdome, which was the last line of defense before London and in the 70’s still littered with caches of live ammunition and the odd unexploded bomb, with local houses haunted by the ghosts of airmen who had met unfortunate ends  … as delighted in by  schoolfriends.

Romford, ” the den of all iniquity” with its large market, the brewery and the greyhound track was a short ride away and I suppose there was a young Steve Davis (Snooker champion) knocking around somewhere as well.
The brewery used to malt on a Thursday and if it was a still muggy day you could virtually chew the air in the market, and it was a proper market, there was even a stall offering made to measure suits of armour at one time.

I once went to a hire shop in Romford to hire some bolt cutters or something and was presented with a catalogue of scantily clad ladies … they had misheard me, and corrected the error.
All life met in Romford!

Sutton’s primary was my last Primary school and I actually had the best part of 2 years there and enjoyed it, it was just so nice to feel I belonged somewhere with this this being my 5th school in something like 7 years of education, given a brief attendance at a school in Grantchester, when living with the Bapty’s for a bit, while the parents sorted out  life’s problems.

In my last year my teacher noted that my handwriting adopted elements of 5 different scripts, which I had somehow learnt on route and she also asked my father to get my hearing checked as she was pretty sure that there was a problem there.

These were years when I would walk to the nearest friends house on the way to school, before walking onto the next and then the next in a growing crocodile of  schoolchildren,

In the days before PC’s were thought of I was taught binary, pottery and far more interesting things than I had learnt elsewhere!
I left the place with regret after failing my 11 plus.

Without hope of entry to a local grammar school, I was sent to boarding school at Bancroft’s in Woodford green, borders were not required to take an entrance exam so I suspect this explained my status here with the school was only about 10 miles from home, some day boys used to cycle that distance to school every day and I envied them.
My failure at that exam must have cost the parents the earth!

In 1970 when I first arrived Bancroft’s apparently had the longest dormitory of any school in the country, divided by some double doors into junior and senior  dorms., with about 40 boys in the junior dorm in metal cast iron beds, about two feet apart, giving just enough space for a bedside cupboard.

To date my life had been dominated by a Mother and 4 sister’s, with father being forever busy with doctoring and other commitments and suddenly I was flung into this very macho all male environment with no privacy to speak of, nowhere to hide and no home to go to at the end of the day.

The boarding house was ruled by monitors and prefects … I was never sure of the difference, with staff making courtesy visits at “lights out” and waking the following morning.

The boarding house initially had about 100 boys with another 350 or so day boys ( Daybugs) joining us in the day

At times chaos seemed to rule for at least half the night, or until the prefects decided they had had enough and wanted to go to bed themselves, with continual pillow fights and upending of beds etc.
If someone got knocked unconscious, they were simply put back to bed, to wake up with headaches the following morning, which happened to me half a dozen times in the first two years  … surviving until the first class of the day could be a relief, with some respite from conflict and perhaps even a chance to sleep.

Perversely the daytime would then introduce me to more mindless violence in the form of Rugby and new opportunities for injury.
My first heroic attempt at bringing down a fellow considerably larger than myself with a rugby tackle, rendered me concussed, when he landed heavily on my head, earning me a quiet afternoon in sickbay, with no worse threat than matron to contend with.
After that for the most part I discovered the virtues of running away from the ball, rather than towards it, except  when it was an inter-house match, when out of loyalty to the boarding house “School House” I would make a considerable effort …. You couldn’t let the “Daybugs win” without a fight.

The school was home to a number of Ghosts
“Step & Drag”  would walk the attic dragging a ball and chain.
The chapel organ Ghost which played not the modern organ but a hand pumped one in the unlit chapel.
And the Back Stairs Ghost, that supposedly attacked people attempting to escape the dormitory at night, though the last did not seem to mind my night time escapades, when occasionally I would go for walks along the A11 in the dead of night.
This was always a little spooky as the road passed through Epping forest and the car headlights coming up behind you meant that your shadow came rushing towards you as each car approached and passed.

Strangely, even in the dead of night you could leave the dormitory by the back stairs and leave the school grounds completely without encountering a single locked door or gate, for my first  two years at the school anyway.

About this time they decided to start running down the boarding house with the year below us being the last intake of first years or “ Thirds” as they were traditionally know, with the second years being “Removes” followed by “lower fourths”, “upper fourths” ,” 5ths”, “lower 6th “and “upper 6ths”  for reasons best known to someone else.

The first few years saw me rendered unconscious at least half a dozen times, in pillow fights  together with 4 visits to Whipps Cross Hospital to have head wounds stitched.
Nobody expressed the slightest concern, this seemed to be within the acceptable norm of things!

The worst of these incidents happened when I forgot to duck my head sufficiently when fleeing a potential tormentor through the porters' gate, which was a small doorway in the much larger main gate to the school.
I cracked my head pretty hard on the upper frame, but typically decided that if I completely ignored the damage the pain would pass more quickly.
I did not realise anything was wrong until a member of staff came up behind me following a trail of blood … another trip to Whipps Cross and 12 stitches on this occasion.

The priority of the first few years was survival and I suspect that I was a little offended by the suggestion that I needed to be taught anything, though classes were at least a safe diversion.

My third year at Bancrofts saw the main dormitories closed, to be converted into classrooms with the borders now being accommodated  in rooms shared by three of four people, which made things a bit more civilised and gave you some more personal space, with the option of a kettle and a few other things in the room, if you provided them yourself, so record players, tape recorders and radio were now on hand, but there was no television for the boarding house at this stage.

The dormitory pillow fights were now not possible and things calmed down considerably.
This also gave scope for a few more small scale  hobby interests etc.
People started drawing, learning to play the guitar and other things with the background music from the record player.

At some point someone decided that I ought to learn how to play a Cello, I had no idea what a Cello was, but typically just accepted the idea for the sake of peace.

I cannot say that the venture was a total success though it was nice to have some one- to-one time with an amiable adult  and I enjoyed the company of the teachers and even  learning the theory of music but I could not make the instrument make an attractive sound, so eventually gave up.
At one point it honestly seemed that my attempts  to play the instrument were best advanced by avoiding practice altogether, which I found a bit disheartening.

The lower fourths with  the improved state of the accommodation were a little brighter and I even started to take a little but not too much interest in learning, enjoying  amongst other things  woodwork, in the hope of a creative outlet, with other subjects mainly sciences as I  assumed at this stage that I was destined to follow in my father’s footsteps.

Languages I dropped at the first available moment as my hearing was causing me problems here, I could not cope with the subtleties of pronunciation, but  latin was obligatory and  I had to take a General Classics course, that I failed so badly in the mock exams that they did not subject me to the real thing  … thankfully.
Here my rather patchy primary school education came into play. Most people had entered  the school with at least some introduction to things like grammar and language construction, but beyond what I had learned by osmosis I  hadn’t a clue … which has not changed much since.

Woodwork turned out to be a bit of a waste of time as an academic subject as I needed more time and help than was available to me in a class of 30 supplied with blunt chisels.
That said, I did take an interest in the theory, which served me well later on and for a short time even saw me overseeing a woodwork shop for ex-offenders where I learnt far more in terms of practical skills than I  ever did at school.
Throughout life I have envied those who grew up with a father or grandfather who had a decent workshop in which they could be introduced to tools and skills.

I think I would have been far happier learning a trade!

A few years into my stay at the establishment I discovered that the chaplain had been persuaded into Churchmanship by Granny and that the Vicar of the local church was a second cousin or something, probably at least once removed,but a cousin all the same and i started looking suspiciously around the staff wondering who else I was related to, with the geography master a likely suspect … at least at first.
Family Church links were so strong that it seemed that given 5 minutes on the doorstep of just about any vicarage I could either find a distant relative or the friend of the one, as well as a cup of tea, this could be quite useful at times.

 
Progress through the school years brought happier times and I met my first girlfriend towards the end of the “O”l level year , I think, only to be greeted with the news six weeks later that she was about to move into the Headmaster’s house!
Her parents were off to New York for a bit, and the Richardson family ( the headmaster’s clan ) had offered to put her up in the massive Victorian residence that the school provided for that office.
The young lady was comfortably housed in a large attic room at the top of the house, which I suspect originally was the servant’s quarters or similar, so any time I wanted to visit I had to pass through the house from top to bottom, up some rather grand stairs.
Daunting though this was as an initial prospect, the Richardson’s were very kind to me and I I got to know them quite well for a short time.

As my sixth form years began my father started to suffer quite seriously with his mental health and had something like four nervous breakdowns in two years, associated with his manic depression ( bipolar depression ) which had its roots  in a bad reaction to an anti-malaria drug. This led to highs of extreme energy and optimism and lows of no energy and depression, which for years he had managed quite well, but this period was a severe crisis point that meant he had to retire from his practice, sell the house and move on, which he was in no state to manage on his own, so Mother came under a lot of pressure at this time as well.
Just before my mock “A” levels I looked at two weeks off school to help my mother find a new house, my mock “A” level results were so bad the staff would not give them too me!
The kindness of various friends in Woodford and their parents at this time will never be forgotten.
I recovered from my academic low and to everyone’s surprise  achieved quite respectable results in the actual exams.
I remember being particularly low after the last “A “ level paper and spent 4 hrs sulking in a bath  … a deep school bath with endless supplies of hot water, but no plug, so a wad of loo paper had to suffice. During this episode I decided to launch a bucket of water over the next person passing under this window which was 3 floors up and apparently  I showered the captain of a visiting swimming team ( my apologies !).

To my amazement when enquiries were made I was able to answer all questions quite truthfully without incriminating myself … they did not ask the right questions!

… to be continued