2. High Days and Holidays

Before moving on to the second decade of my life, I have to recount my world outside of school. My Mum and Dad were married in 1950, and settled in to the house in which they still live, 57 years later. After his Mum's premature death from spinal cancer, and Grandad's subsequent marriage to his second wife, Dad had spent some time growing up living with his Auntie Gertie. She lived in a rented house on Horncastle Road, and at the time that Mum and Dad married, the house next door to Auntie Gertie's became vacant, so this became the eventual family home. Many years later, both houses were eventually bought from their ageing owner. I was born in 1957 five years after my sister Barbara, and five years before my sister Carol. Almost five years after that, my brother Paul was born. Aside from a baby that didn't survive its first week, our family of six, plus Auntie and Uncle next door, was complete.

As a young boy, I tried to play with Barbara, but she had already established her friendships with other local kids, and I was a burden to her. I remember her 'going out to play' and me trying to follow. She would reach the gate and tell me something like, "Quick! Go back in the house! Mum's got some sweets for you!" Being naive, I would run back up the path, to find that she had gone, and latched the gate behind her. Lessons are soon learned in childhood.

I was happy enough.

Although Mum and Dad didn't have much spare cash, we had everything we needed, if not always everything we would have liked. I had a large collection of Corgi, Dinky and Matchbox cars, and would spend hours lining them up, parking them by the skirting boards, or just 'brumming' them up and down the fireside rug.
I had a metal pedal car with working headlights and a horn, and Dad also made me a 'Wells Fargo' train, which was great and gave me many hours of fun scooting up and down the path!





Barbara had a scooter, and a tricycle with a back box, which we all used as kids when we were growing up.

When I was a little older and I did get to play in the back street, the only other kids that were the same age as me were a boy called Chris Leonard, and a girl called Bridget McConvey. Chris was okay, but to my mind was totally bonkers. He was a daredevil, and the more dangerous the game he could find, the more he liked it. He was continually covered in scratches and bruises, either from throwing himself headlong onto the gravel while playing 'Wars', or from riding his bike full-pelt into the Water Board gates at the bottom of the street. Chris had two older brothers, so I'm guessing that one of them showed him how to make this home-made 'toy', and he showed us. It was a dart which you could either throw or blow through a pea-shooter. It was simply three matchsticks, a household needle, and snippets of wool for a flight, all tied together with wool or cotton. Once you had your ammo, you just needed a 'Cowboys and Indians' or 'Tarzan' scenario, and next thing you knew, you had a needle sticking out of your arm, leg or neck, which meant you were dead. Ouch!

Bridget was very squinty. She always seemed to have one eye closed against the sun, even when it was dull! We became friends for a short while, and I used to play with her bikes and toys at her house. One day, she decided she needed a wee, and went to the outside loo that most houses had then. Being a friend, I went in to keep her company, and sat on the floor chatting to her. The next moment, her Dad suddenly threw open the door, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and frogmarched me home! Being totally confused and scared, I still didn't know what I was supposed to have done wrong, even after we got home and he was shouting at my Mum about keeping her perverted son away from his little girl. I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 years old at the time. Strange man.

Dad was a grocer at this time who, along with a former work colleague, ran their own business, Clay & Lane's, in Main Ridge, Boston. As kids, we couldn't possibly know how hard he worked to provide for his growing family. Kath Lane spent every day in the shop, serving passing customers, and Dad took out his Bedford hi-top van, supplying groceries to people in their homes.

His working day started early, and apart from dropping in for meals, he would work until around 9.30 each evening. Occasionally, Dad would take me with him on his rounds, which extended to outlying villages and farms. It was all a great adventure for a small boy, but in the wintertime, when it was dark early, I wasn't too keen on sitting waiting in the van, while Dad was having a cuppa or a chinwag with his customer. Some of the country lanes around Boston at that time were almost devoid of traffic, so I would get a bit jumpy when an owl hooted nearby, or small creatures would rustle through the wheatfields.

The big old Bedford van almost became part of the family! On Sundays, Dad and Mum would sometimes take Barbara and I out in the van for a day at the seaside, or for picnics. Skegness is only 23 miles from Boston, but small children are impatient, so the journey seemed very long at the time. Barbara and I would sit on the deluxe seating in the back of the van which consisted of a three-legged stool, or a Smiths Crisps tin. We didn't mind, because it was all fun. Armed with a Primus stove and hastily packed food, Mum and Dad ensured we ate like kings in the open air. Why does food always taste better when you're 'roughing it' outdoors? We swam in the sea, sunbathed, dug holes in the sand and built sandcastles. A game of cricket or 'shuttlecock' made the day complete. Towards the end of this period of his working life, Dad was only paying himself the princely sum of £8 per week because it's all the business could afford. On that, Mum and Dad somehow brought up the whole family. It was a tough time for the small Grocer, and in the next few years, supermarkets drove the last few to the wall. Dad realised the way the tide was turning, so reluctantly gave up the business and sought work elsewhere. To give an idea of how little cash we were surviving on, when Dad managed to secure himself a job with the Lincolnshire Ambulance Service, his wages started at £13 a week. Mum also worked, cleaning other people's homes, but that was little more than slave labour. Because they both worked, when the school summer holidays came along, Barbara and I would spend time either with Mum's sister Rita and her family, on their farm, or with my Dad's sister Doff and her family in Stamford. Barbara and I didn't think it strange that we lived away from home for a few weeks at a time. We just accepted it as normal, and enjoyed our summer holidays. Doff, Dad's older sister and her husband Cliff (above) spoiled us while we were there, buying us clothes, toys and sweets. Auntie Doff would whisper, "Don't tell your Mum and Dad!". Their own two, Avril and Langley, had grown up, so they indulged us, being the little kids that we were. I loved spending time there because Doff was an animal lover, and in their small terraced house, she had Penny the dog, a mangey white cat with runny eyes that hissed at you if you got too close, Chico the mynah bird, who had us in hysterics with his chatter, coughing and whistling, rabbits in the yard, and a goldfish pond in the front garden. Unfortunately, Doff suffered the same illness as her mother, and died in her forties. It was a very sad time, but not properly appreciated by myself because I was young and foolish.

In 1962, Carol was born and life carried on much the same, albeit with an extra mouth for my parents to feed. Carol was a happy child, and grew into a happy adult. I suppose it's hard for me to admit, but there may have been a little jealousy on my part. I don't remember it as such, but I do know that I used to tease her terribly. I don't think I was a particularly nice child at times. In spite of that, we all got along okay, and the days out in the van continued. Being close to the coast, most outings were either to Skegness, Seacroft or slightly further to Mablethorpe, as in this picture from around 1963-4.

It's true that Dad's wages had increased, but we were still not a well-off family, so Dad kept the van after closing the business, and some time after, he converted it into a caravanette. He installed side windows, and made benches for either side in the back, and a fold out table which doubled as a base extension for making the seats into a double bed. He made two hammock style beds in the hi-top which rolled up and fastened to the wall when the van was in motion. The days out now sometimes became weekends, or even whole weeks away from home.

Paul was born in 1966 and instantly became everyone's darling. He was a cute, chucklesome kid with curly blonde hair, and being the baby of the family he had lots of attention. I was pleased to have a brother to even out the male-female divide, and I loved him from the start. When he was a toddler, I happily took him up town in his pushchair, and delighted in spending my pocket money on toys for him, just to make him happy.


In 1967 we went on what I remember as our first major holiday to Croyde Bay in Devon. Langley, Doff's son, and his wife Shirley and daughter Angela went with us. When we reached the cottage on the beach that we were staying in for the week, Dad and Langley carried on down into Cornwall, touring in the van, down one coast and back up the other. I was 10 years old, tubbier than I'd ever been, and didn't like myself very much. I was still quite childish, and I remember being terrified one night in bed when the tide came in, and the crashing waves on the rocks below got louder and louder. Shirley called me names and ridiculed me, which made me feel worse, so I spent a couple of days sulking and feeling very miserable. I took myself off, walking into the village about a mile away, and made myself feel better with some retail therapy! I spent almost half of my holiday money on a cool blue and white shirt, and felt like a million dollars because I'd actually chosen and bought an item of clothing for myself for the first time.

My joy was short-lived. I wore my new shirt down on the beach the next day, and decided to go for a swim. I folded my clothes up and took to the water. I enjoyed myself so much surfing along spreadeagled across an airbed, and didn't realise how long I'd been there. When I finally came back to the beach to retrieve my prized shirt, it was gone! The tide had come in, and it had washed away. I spent ages walking up and down the beach, peering at every wave, expecting my shirt to miraculously appear again, but it never did. Back to feeling miserable again. I must have been SUCH a joy to live with!

Our last family holiday before I started at Boston Grammar School in 1968 was to Great Yarmouth. It was one of the weeks when the whole family piled into the van and we pootled off to the coast. We stayed at North Denes Caravan Park and despite changeable weather, we enjoyed ourselves. The park itself had a central bar and amusement arcade area, but apart from that and a couple of gift shops and a bike hire shop, the main entertainment was in Yarmouth itself. The first night we arrived, there had been very heavy rain, so the campers in tents were desperately trying to dry out their belongings, whilst cars and vans were getting stuck in the mud. We 'moored' up for the week and set about having fun. Barbara was about 16 at the time, and experienced her first, and I think only, holiday romance with a lad in a neighbouring caravan. The rest of us did seasidey things, touring the endless gift shops, eating fish and chips, taking rides on the funfair or just spending time on the beach. One day it was decided that we should have a walk to Lowestoft. It is only across the River Yare, but it seemed to take us forever to get there, and half way, it absloutely pelted down with rain. We weren't prepared for it, so Dad rushed into a gift shop en route and bought us all plastic macs. Crinkling our way onwards like soggy carrier bags with legs, we eventually reached Lowestoft, looked at the wet fishing boats, ate fish and chips in a cafe, and I think got the bus back to North Denes. When your only source of heat is from a two-ring Calor gas stove, you can imagine the fun trying to dry out the clothes of a family of six in the back of a Bedford van! Our temporary home suddenly turned into a sauna, and Dad kept wiping down all the windows with a wash leather and wringing it out outside.
I don't think it bothered us kids, but it must have been a bit of a nightmare for Mum and Dad.
During a dry moment one day in Yarmouth, they decided it would make a fun excursion to book a trip the next day on the 'Golden Galleon'.

It was a small passenger ship that skirted the coast and back. We made it on board just in time for the heavens to open once more, this time accompanied by strong winds and sea spray. Maybe it wasn't the most enjoyable cruise ever, but it was certainly memorable!
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As a footnote, looking online, I found out this about the Golden Galleon.
ML162 had an illustrious career during World War II, as not only did the crew have the distinction of having shot down six enemy aircraft and taken part in the sinking of a submarine, she was also mentioned as being highly commended for the part played in the D-Day invasion.After the war, ML162 was transferred to the Royal Netherlands Navy where she continued in service for a further two years. She was then sold off and taken to Great Yarmouth for conversion to a passenger vessel. Emerging from the refit as GOLDEN GALLEON, she began her new career in 1952 taking as many as 150 tourists on excursions along the East Anglian coast and the Norfolk Broads.

Sadly, I then also found this:

Golden Galleon, in 2006 moored near Reedham. Despite efforts to save her, she was deemed a potentional navigation hazard and was scrapped a couple of months after the images below were taken.