“Pop”

By Pop

My Number one daughter, Jill, Has asked me to write down the history of my life, so here goes…………………..

I was born the youngest of five, two brothers and two sisters, on May 31^st 1924. The younger of my two brothers, Fred, told me in later years that because our parents were not on the best of terms, probably to due, to some extent on the effects of the 1914-1918 war, my mum had to give birth to me in what was then termed the Wantage Hill Workhouse. In much later years I was to learn that 1924 was the first time a labour Government had come to power, so perhaps it was not such a bad old year to be born after all, although of course I did not know too much about it then.

I don’t remember too much before my school days, except my first bedroom at Westcote, which had a big hole in wall. However, thanks to my brother Fred who was working on the farm for a Mr Dendy, who I understand lost one testicle in the war (very careless) and hence no family for him and his very attractive little wife, and so had a better house in Sparkholt, Berks which had no hole in the wall. Incidentally, my name “Darby” came about, I understand, from a Captain Darby my dad worked for as a stable lad, exercising his horses for racing. I already had a sister, Joan, three years older, and I was born on Derby Day. That’s my story anyway.

I went to the village school at Sparsholt with some twenty to thirty children from the village and outlying areas, during which time I had scarlet fever and was isolated in a hospital near Abingdon, having some wonderful food and fruit etc., visitors could only look through the window to see me, but I survived. Later my mum died, when I was about eleven years old, so my dad and I had to do for ourselves, with generous village folk giving me a meal occasionally. If I was a bit late home any night, my dad would shut me out and I would sleep in the nearby barn with my old mongrel dog. For a shilling a week I would run errands for an old lady in the village, dinner times etc. and she would help me out with a pair of shoes and the like occasionally.

At fourteen years old, I went to live with my brother Fred and his wife Molly at Kidlington, cycling from Sparsholt to there, some twenty odd miles. I would then cycle each day to places such as Risinghurst, selling printed stationery and the same houses as my kids are buying today, young couples in them in 1938-39 of course. The undergrads then were on the march against the oncoming war, ie Chamberlain Prime minister must go, Stand by the Checks, Unite for Peace. As a youngster, recently from the country, I thought it was terrific. My sister-in-law Molly who had lost her dad in the first war could see it differently, her husband could be in any coming war. However they were getting a bit tired of me, so early in 1939 I cycled back to Sparsholt and my dad (with the aid of a bottle of dandelion wine Molly gave to me) to work as a gardener boy in the big house at Kingston Lyle, on yer bike each day.

Towards the end of 1939, me and the head gardener was not getting on too well, hence I left for a job as a House-boy for Cannon Farmer, his wife and daughter at Standford-in-the-Vale Vicarage. Helping the daughter with household duties and cooking, carrying the cold water to bath the child, Googles. Of course when war was declared, soldiers were billeted there.

When I was a lad, I must have had my poor old mum very worried, for I was always at the top of the huge Elm trees near us. I was generally the one at the top of the very tall Blenheim apple tree when the old farmer made his appearance, whilst my mates had already scarpered. I was climbing to an owls nest half way up the biggest Elm near my house, luckily I was looking down, when the old owl came swooping down and ripped all along the back of my neck, which could of course have been my eyes! I did not climb that tree again for some time. A mate of mine in the early years was the son of the village sportsman, who in his day played all sports and encouraged his son, Jackie, to do the same. He actually gave me his old football shorts so I was one of the few in our team that had such, a bit oversized admitted. His son Jackie and I made our own hair cream out of rose petals. Unfortunately Jackie, who was our star batsman, died of I don’t know of what, at about nine or ten years old, we all went to his funeral from the school. There is a monument of him today with his cricket bat in the church burial grounds. We used to live a few miles away from the White Horse at Uffington, Tom Browns country, and us lads would think nothing of running those miles behind the Stop-me-and-buy-one three wheeled tricycle on a Saturday, in the hope of being rewarded with a penny lolly for helping push the trike up the hills. The Ridgeway and the Downs lay above our village, and the Blowing stone, which made a noise like an old cow in trouble, could be heard for miles if you knew how to blow it. Legend has it, that it was originally used by King Alfred to call his men up to fight the Danes.

At fifteen plus, with other lads from the village, and a few ex-servicemen from WW1, I joined the Home Guard and we dug big trenches on the cross roads to our village, to slow the advance of the German Paratroopers, should they arrive.

Early in 1940after a disagreement with the Vicars wife, who had been used to dealing with black boys in South Africa, and I was on my bike again, back to a job on Mr Denby’s farm. Whilst on that job, I went into lodgings with the cowman and his young family at Sparsholt. They moved in late 1940 and I was with another farmer at Woodcote near Reading for a while. Late summer and I’d had enough of farming. I went on a local coal lorry, humping nags fo coal around the local village. A few months later, myself and another London lad on the other coal lorry were making Brushbacks in a wood factory at Checkendon for a while. All this time I was in the Home Guard, joined at sixteen whilst at Sparsholt, hence we were at Checkenden guarding the big house with my Lee 303 rifle waiting for Hitler and his paratroopers, but he must have known about me and my mates, for he shot off to Russia instead, thank god or I would probably not be writing this today. By now I had finished with brushbacks and had a real paid job, building war material sheds in the woods round Woodcote. My lodgings had moved to another nearby farm at Maple Durham, where I was later to meet my present wife, with a snowball in the back of my neck, her 14 plus, but a good shot.

Thanks to various books etc, treasure island and the like, I always was keen to travel, but my attempts at joining the Navy, even the Merchant Navy, all failed from 14 years onward. However, after the first year or so at war, which we were not doing very well in, I was accepted for the Royal Navy at Reading recruiting centre and received my calling up papers, tail end of 1941 to report to Reading April 1^st 1942. By this time I had ledt my previous lodgings and went to live with, by now, my girlfriend’s family. Her dad was a shepherd with a grown up family of 13, and my girlfriend, his youngest daughter, worked on the farm generally. I usd to take her to the pictures etc, in my best Home Guard suit, and eventually asked her to be my girlfriend while I was at sea, and she didn’t say no, So? On the 1^st April 1942 I dressed in my best, which wasn’t exactly Saville Row and in the milkman’s float, went to Reading Recruitment Centre. Meeting a lot more lads there from the area, we were given five shillings each, which we promptly spent in the local Reading pub called “The Ship” naturally, before all catching the train for Portsmouth, and from there the ferry to Gosport, where we were to be fitted up with our naval fear, and a bit of square bashing etc, to knock us into shape at the naval barracks. Incidentally, my remaining civilian clothes got me exactly 2/6d (Half a crown) at the local second-hand shop.

It was raining and rough when we went aboard the ferry at Portsmouth, the biggest boat I had ever been on to date and felt like I was already at sea. I was a bit excited, except for cold nights on guard duty. I received letters from Vie and her mum, also some sausage rolls made by my “girlfriend”, which I had no job in getting rid of with my new shipmates, although we were pretty hungry most of the time. We spent most of the time “working ship”, as they termed it, until we were 18, then a “draft”, as it was termed, to HMS Collingwood at Fareham for three months Seamanship Training Course, until Christmas 1942, the home to my girlfriends and her family, now a full blown Matelot, ready to be drafted to any ship, anywhere.

Having finally been accepted for the navy, and completing my seamanship training by Christmas 1942, and after mucking around for a while in the middle of the night, early in 1942 we were entrained at Portsmouth for Liverpool, and I went aboard the biggest ship I had ever seen, let alone been aboard. It was a 9 deck Troopship, HMS Strathaven, with many other servicemen and women, first to Iceland, and then to the Mediteranean.

Vie and her mother continuously wrote to me while I was at sea and there was the cream off the nilk for me when I finally came home, minus one leg at Christmas 1944. I married my little ex-land girl, Violet, In September 1945 and we got on with the business of producing a family, first two boys, Rob and barry, and then to our delight, our very first daughter Jill. It was a marvellous feeling when the hospital told me over the phone next morning, you have a daughter, a feeling I’ll never forget, and fetching her and her young mum from hospital later was really something, my wife looking very desirable, they were the days and nights!! At that time we were temporarily living in ex W.A.A.F. nissen huts while waiting for a decent house and home. I looked everywhere for a WAAF, but never did find one.

Re losing my left leg, we had done the invasion of Sicilly in 1943, then supported our troops for southern Italy, and finally South of France. With our Radar we could guide the planes in and do a bit of rescuing for the lads that finished up in the sea from Gliders. Then returning to Malta with a heavy sea running, we were being towed by a tug to our buoy, stern first, her towing wire parted, the wire shot over the side, taking my foot and ankle with it, my shipmate who was caught up in the hemp line had his left taken off similarly, his leg burnt off with a rope-line, whilst mine, in a steel wire, was neatly removed like they used to cut cheese. After a bit of first aid on board, a tourniquet and the like, we were taken ashore in Malta, to Bighi Naval Hospital for tidying up. The surgeon on his rounds next morning told us, “you lads are lucky, you will be home for Christmas now”. At first we did not get the “lucky” bit, with half a leg each missing, but seeing the nurse with the lad who had lost both legs and both arms further up the ward, he obviously had a point. After a few weeks we were both on a hospital ship, on crutches, home to England. We went up the Clyde to a hospital near Glasgow for a week, then down south, home for Christmas. On New Years day 1945, we both had a further 16 inches taken off what remained of our left legs, to make it a better fitting for an artificial leg, then sent on indefinite leave for several months on crutches. This didn’t stop me from going swimming in the river Thames at Clifton Hampden, and taking Vie’s nephew Leslie on my bike with my one leg, and in particular, making a fuss of the little girl who had been waiting for me while at sea!

My two plus years at sea before losing my leg were, in many ways, very rewarding, something O always wanted to experience. Between convoys and watch-keeping to many parts of the Med, calling into some lovely ports, Isle of Capri and the like. Cyprus in the East to Malta in the West, nearest we got to home until Christmas Day 1944. We actually got as far as Gibraltar, surely we must be going home this time. Instead a frigate came alongside with a cargo of gold on board from England, and we spent Christmas Day carrying boxes of gold below decks, probably a fortune in every box, all for some country in the Med. A box in each locker, we suggested, run the ship ashore on the return trip to Alexandria. One of our lads guarded this fortune on the 2000 sea miles back to Alexandria, but on arriving back there was a whole boat load of marines met us with fixed bayonets until it was all unloaded. Nearest most of us ever came to getting really rich. Another job on duty I really liked doing was being coxswain to our one and only motorboat and being responsible for taking the lads to and from shore on liberty day release, though night return with some of the lads beered up and no lights on the moored boats in the harbour to guide you, it  could be a bit tricky at times and as coxswain I had to get those lads in order before going aboard our ship or get a rocket from the officer on watch. Being coxswain you were completely in charge and responsible even if there was the odd Admiral had come a-shore with the lads. However losing a leg was the end of my naval career, and I did not need to look at the north star to guess where the skipper was taking us any more, ie. North star to the left meant we were steaming east, Cyprus and the likes. North star to the right meant we were steaming towards Malta and eventually home.

We had agreed we would get married when I got my first artificial leg. All this time I was very shy and never tried it on with my wife to be. However, when she put it “Are you going to try what you are going to buy?” (a wife cost you 7/6 in those days) I did try it, and I liked it in those summer months before our wedding. It was September before I finally got my first leg and two weeks afterwards we climbed the several steps to Clifton Hamden Church to make my girl, my wife, and an honest woman. In the morning of that day however, Violet had to feed the calves etc, and I had to catch old Tom, the horse to take the beer down to the village hall for our celebrations (no drink driving laws in 1945). When we finally got before the vicar, we found he too had an artificial leg. There was no telly in them days, so we were able to get onraising a family, hence Rob was born just nine months afterwards, and more to follow. Thanks to someone giving us a tea-set at our wedding, we had agreed we would use all those cups in time and we did. That winter was a very rough one and I helped Vie’s dad (who all his life had been a shepherd and had 13 young ‘uns himself) with that year’s lambing, so soon handling my new leg. Soon after Rob was born the council recognitioned Burcote Lodge of the big house that had housed wounded soldiers during the war. I obtained a job locally painting the number back to front on all ex-government vehicles, lorries, tanks etc, and some lovely four wheel drive army vehicles. That’s when my driving experience began, I used to jump in whatever i had just numbered, muck about with the gear lever until it moved and take it from there.

Soon i was driving lorries to the nearest garage to be filled up with petrol for transport the next day. I lost that job through nicking the wood etc that came in with the vehicles (coal was very short in those days) However, I was taken to Watlington Police Station, fingerprinted and eventually fined a small amount at Oxford Police Court. Hence i always made the boys stay on the straight and narrow since. However, i got a pick and shovel job building the road near Dorchester. While on this job I met the young surveyor who sold me my very first car, a 1939 Morris Minor, for the sum of £50, which the lads on board my ship had collected. Hence we had our very first motor, admitted the hood would fly back and the doors would fly open while travelling, but soon got used to pulling in and putting that right, and on we would go.

When the road repairing packed up, my next job was stoker shift-work at the naval air station at Culham. Hence I was working for the navy while waiting for my pay and existence money due to me while still on indefinite leave from the navy. They had obviously lost all track of me, so moneywise we were not doing too badly for a spell. They eventually called me to Portsmouth for final end of my naval career, so a second demob suit, trilby and all. From there I was eventually offered a three month agricultural engineer course at Egham, with disabled getting priority. From this course I was able to understand the internal working of our car etc, plus ploughs and agricultural bits and pieces. I was then able to take up a job at the big barn at the War Agricultural Tractors and likes at Cowley. Being connected wioth farming there was never much money, it was less than a fiver a week, which was not a lot for a growing family. By now our second son Barry had arrived at the Croft, Burcote, so on becoming redundant I then went into the Pressed Steel Fisher car factory where as much as £20 per week could be obtained, real money, on piece work. Previous to that we had moved onto the WAAF mission huts at Chalgrove, as afore said, with many other ex-servicemen and their families all awaiting a decent house ot be built for us. It was there our first daughter, Jill joined the family, we were almost complete.

Then we were offered a just built, new house, rent 16/3 per week at a place called Old Marston, tail end of 1952, our present house. Now of course we were no longer country folk, but almost townies, being not all that far from oxford, the city of learning. No more did we need our old banger, but we did fancy a new telly that was now very popular, what with our young queen getting married and Stanley Mathews in the cup game, but there wa a little problem of real money for some. So, the solution was obvious, sell our old banger which had been around for holidays etc as a family, bell top tent and all. So in the mail it goes for £37.50 to anybody. The only possible customer offered all of £12.50 so I sent him packing saying I could do better raffling it, and I did just that, 2/6 a ticket, 300 sold to my workmates. £37.50 for our new television, the only one in Cromwell Close, second prizes was a bottle of Guinness. For Sanely Mathews 1^st cup winners’ medal. Blackpool beating Bolton in 1953, all the caravanners at the bottom of our close came into No 7 to watch it. Eventually a green Austin seven about £20, took it’s place and the family on holiday at Whitesands Bay etc. We had another Austin seven at the right price, followed by our first real car, second hand from a works director, real head-linings all in it. I had learned a bit about engines so was able to keep our Morris Minor on the road plus the several Austin Sevens that followed. By this time our third son had made his appearance, actually being born in Cromwell Close 51 years ago, his birthday, 29^th June 1957. One more to go now, We came back from Jersey and my wife did not have indigestion as she thought, but our second daughter Ann, who we don’t know what we would do without, spending so much time with her mum and the like, this making us a family of seven, so another tea-set was required but, like our first daughter, we would not change her for the world. So that meant selling even more plants etc, up the works, but we coped though there wasn’t much pocket money around. Ie. Sixpence per week ay five, then up three pence each birthday.

Towards the end of 37 years in the factory, I was doing a lot of ladder work n the roof, repairing rubber hose-pipes to the welding guns etc. For a laugh (iy was a bit monotonous in the factory some days) a big fello below whose ear my leg went whizzing by, nearly fainted where as a little coloured girl, who experienced the same treatment rolled up laughing. It takes all kinds?

I was able to collect money for OXRADS Sports centre for the disabled and others, by having one leg facing one way and the other in the opposite direction bring in the pound pieces, a little girl in the Tandem Pub tried twisting her leg round like mine, it was a good laugh.

However, after some 37 years in the factory now turned 80 having had a parrot on my shoulder which I eventually managed to be rid of in my 82^nd year, things have slowed down more that a little.

I did a few charity swims down the river so the hospital decided i should be fitted with an activity leg, hence I have been able to swim in the local pool, swimming early mornings at 6.45 am. Now achieving my 22 odd years swimming since retiring at 63 plus. Whne I started in 1987 and old boy of some 84 years used to stagger in, blimey I thought, I have got some 20 years to catch that old bugger up, I’m there now but he has moved on.

Post script;

Why and how I learned to swim at 19:

 In the warm waters of the Mediterranean, when we were relieved, the lads on board HMS Antwerp, who had been through all the Malta convoys, were informed that the Germans and Italians between them were sinking a ship a day in the Med. Sitting on a pile of rope, I decided that the sooner I learned to swim, the better. I eventually achieved just that, by going over the ships side in my life jacket whenever they piped “hands to bathe for an hour” when we were in harbour.

I now know anybody can swim if they will allow themselves to.

For Barbara:

I put 150 one gallon whisky bottles in 150 pups around Oxfordshire for all Oxfordshire’s disabled people and others. We had raised £18000 when Princess Diana opened OXRAD in 1989, 20 years back.

Poor old Barbara, Diane and OXRAD’s former chairman Alan Porter-Smith have all gone on now.

Postscript by Jill:

Well Pop, here we are, and here it is at long last eh, it’s taken so long I have to say this little write-up doesn’t begin to touch on all the good you’ve done and all the time you’ve given up, not only with your family, but with so many people from all walks of life. It doesn’t say how hard you worked doing three jobs at the same time, biking to Pressed Steel Fisher every day, selling home-grown plants and selling either Christmas cards or cigarette machines to make ends meet and give us all a holiday. It also doesn’t say how, when we would be on our way to, or coming home from wherever, you would stop and pick up a hitch-hiker regardless of the state of him, regardless of the fact that the tiny Austin Seven was already crammed full with a family of five plus a dribbling cocker spaniel. Out would come your harmonica and we’d all sing along to “bye-bye Blackbird”. How you went on strike for the miners and how you never got cross with me, even thoug I’d shaved off up to your ear with my new clippers!! How you always messed around anf how once you fell back into a cow-pat pretending to catch the cricket ball, to make Annie laugh, well you did that alright Pop, ooh and the Ali-Ali-Ali’s when the sea was obviously freezing, not that you’d admit it was. It touches on the effort you’ve put into fund raising money for OXRAD, but in no way conveys the fact that you put your heart and soul into making life 100 times happier for so many disabled people. You’ve brought so many laughs and so much happiness to not only your family, but to everyone who has been lucky enough to meet you Pop. From a determined youngster to a determined man, you’ve overcome so many obstacles in your life, which I can safely say, we’re all very grateful for, because, without you, and your love, we wouldn’t be here, let alone have had the wonderful upbringing you and mum gave us all, for which we are incredibly grateful, time being the greatest gift of all. There’s no doubt that in our eyes, you are a great man, with a big personality, tons of guts, and a great sense of humour. We all love you very, very much, and are very proud to be able to say, this is my dad.

Thanks Pop, from us all, from the bottom of our hearts.

XXXXXXX