Merlinkeith

​Keith's Story Chapter Three

The R.A.F., a wedding and the Manchester Unity

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At the beginning of 1957 I received the letter that all young men expected, and most dreaded - my National Service call up papers.

 

I had earlier indicated that if given a choice I would prefer to join the Royal Air Force rather than the Army or Navy, and so I was sent to the RAF recruitment office on Carrington Street, Nottingham and there with several other lads from Boots underwent a medical examination.

It was a strange experience walking through corridors from room to room passing other lads I knew all in various stages of undress.

Having passed through that, I was given a simple intelligence test to see if I was acceptable to join the RAF. 

They seemed to think I was, and so I was led into a large office and told to sit on the other side of a desk from an immaculately dressed recruiting sergeant.

He seemed very friendly and handed me a list of trades and asked which I preferred.

As I could not drive I thought motor engineer would be good as I could learn a trade and get free driving lessons.

When I made my selection it he seemed very pleased and told me I would need to sign on for five years. This made me reconsider and so I suggested I would just like to be a driver, this he said would require me signing on for three years. When I said I had no intention of doing any more than the two years required, his attitude changed, “You want to be a National Serviceman?” the words sounded like swearing, and when I said I did, he barked out “Cook or Medic” and as I did not fancy spending two years in a kitchen I began my National Service as a trainee nursing attendant.

    

This meant that I could no longer continue with my O level studies, as only full time students could apply for a deferment, so two year’s work was lost.

Also Margaret suggested that we became engaged to avoid the “Dear John” letter that many of the lads received in the forces, because most couples split up when he was called up, so we became engaged in the spring of 1957.

The announcement of our engagement was not a very grand affair.

One Saturday in March we went into Nottingham and bought a ring from W.H. Samuels then came home for tea to our house.

Hardly able to contain herself, Margaret went to Mam as she stood washing up at the sink and proudly showed her the ring. Mam looked at it, said “Very nice dear” and carried on with her chore. It was hardly the most enthusiastic reception to a possible daughter-in-law.

On April 2nd I stood on Beeston station waiting for a train to take me to Cardington to begin two years National Service in the RAF.  Roy Churchill a friend of my Dad’s was also on the platform waiting to catch a train to Derby, so I left unnoticed and almost without anyone I knew seeing me off on the next phase of my life.

 

The arrival at R.A.F. Cardington was less than auspicious when a group of bewildered young men from all walks of life and in various states of dress were lined up outside a hut and told we were going to be made into airmen.

This began with the kitting out procedure where we walked along a line and were handed various pieces of ill fitting, uncomfortable clothing and at the end of the line, a kit bag.

That night we were all given some brown paper and string and told to parcel up our ‘civvi’ clothes and write our address on the parcel, and so our final link with civilian life was broken.

At R.A.F. Cardington I met up with Alec “Bob” Shepherd, who I had been at school with, and a chap called Mick Sparry from London.

I corresponded with Mick for many years after.

Another of the lads was Alan Deadman, Alan came from Gravesend, and so he introduced himself as “A Dead Man from Gravesend”.

After two weeks in Cardington suitably kitted out, given a number and rank - 5043153 AC2 Stevenson K., and given some basic information about the RAF, I was put on a train with many others including Bob, and posted to RAF Wilmslow in Cheshire to begin basic training or “square bashing” as it was known. 

 

We were met at the station by a drill sergeant who arranged us in a line 2 abreast and announced his name was Sergeant Smiff and added “with two f’s before you ask!”)

We were then marched several miles to the camp all the time being told what a scruffy ugly lot we were.

The ordeal was about to begin!

When we arrived I was put into flight G2 and billeted in Hut No. 427. Corporal Thomas and Corporal Foster were our drill instructors.

The next morning we were taken to the armoury and each handed a rifle. The rifle was an old Royal Enfield 303 which had not been fired in anger for many years and was simply given to us for drill practice. As I left the armoury I politely asked Corporal Thomas how I should carry my ‘gun’

“Gun!” He screamed, “Gun! Who do you think you are, Davy Crockett?

It was an incident that was to live with me throughout my time at Wilmslow as all my mates constantly reminded me of it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

R.A.F. Wilmslow –May 1957 with our ‘guns’

Back: Alan Deadman - Keith Stevenson - Ken Lund

Front: Ken Steel - Bob Shepherd

 

The food in the R.A.F. was awful, but as were in training and working hard we were constantly hungry so we ate anything put in front of us. One of the delights of RAF Wilmslow was Manchester Pudding. This was a creation dreamt up by the cooks when the sweet course ran out. They simply spread jam on a slice of bread, dipped it in the fish batter, deep fried it and covered it with watery custard. In spite of the strong fishy taste and revolting consistency, hungry young airmen queued for seconds.

 

One incident at Wilmslow summed up life as a National Serviceman.

Most evenings to offset the boredom of camp life, we played cards, usually brag or poker for small sums, but as gambling was forbidden we used to put a blanket on the table to muffle the sounds of coins rattling, and someone would keep watch. We had just been given our first 48 hour passes and were all excited at the prospect of going home, so on the Friday night we settled down for a game, and I was doing rather well. Then suddenly Corporal Foster came into the billet.

All the other players dived for their beds, but as I had my back to the door I did not see him enter, so I was caught with the evidence of gambling on the table in front of me. He marched me into his room and demanded the names of the other players, when I told him I was playing patience, he took my 48 hour pass from me and tore it up, saying unless I gave him the other names, I would not be allowed off camp that week end. I was devastated, but knew that if I gave any names, they too would be confined to camp. The next morning, Saturday, the rest of the lads packed their kit and set off home with suitable words of condolence, and much relief. When they had left Corporal Foster came in and said had I had given him one name, he would have carried out his threat, but as I had been loyal he threw a new pass on the bed and told me to clear off. I think it was something to do with building up camaraderie within the flight!

 

After eight weeks square bashing I passed out and was posted to RAF Warton near Blackpool to be trained in the trade of Nursing Attendant. Two of the incentives we were given when we first arrived were that failure to pass the final exams would condemn you to being a ward orderly which meant two years of cleaning floors and emptying bed pans.

The other was that if anyone obtained a mark of over 90% every week in the exams set at the end of the weeks work, they could avoid the two weeks revision and have choice of the postings available. I had never been abroad, and so was determined to achieve this, so while most of the rest of the flight spent their evenings in Blackpool, I studied hard, thinking that my reward would be worth the hard work. Eventually I reached my goal and I completed my training 12 weeks later and passed out as AC1 with my ‘dogs’ proudly worn on my lapels, ‘dogs’ were small brass badges worn to denote your trade. I never knew why they were called ‘dogs’.

While there I followed in Dad and Uncle Bill’s footsteps as I was presented with a St. John’s Ambulance certificate.

To celebrate all this. That evening I went into Blackpool with 3 friends to celebrate, and we overdid thing a bit and realised we were going to be unable to get back on camp before curfew. So as we stood thumbing a lift a large saloon car stopped to pick us up, I sat at the front with the driver and recognising the uniforms, He asked “R.A.F Warton lads?” when we said yes, he surprised us by saying “you’ll not get past the guardroom at this time of night, shall I drop you by the usual gap in the perimeter fence?” As this was my first trip to Blackpool and I knew nothing of this gap in the fence, I was most relieved to agree.He went on to say that he did this trip every night after his show in Blackpool as he didn’t like staying in the town overnight. As it was dark and I didn’t recognise the voice I asked if we should know who he was. He replied, “Frankie Howard.”

The next day I received a big disappointment when I was handed the posting list to choose from.

There was no overseas postings on the list at all! So I chose to go to RAF Syerston, working on the principle that if I had to stay in this country, I might as well be as near home as possible.

 

 

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A ‘dog’

 

The train from Wharton took me to Newark and from there I caught the bus to RAF Syerston where the sergeant in the guardhouse told me to go straight to the cookhouse where I was served with a full English breakfast.

It was the best meal I had had so far in the RAF but my hopes were dashed by the lad who collected my plate who said “make the best of that – you won’t get a meal like that again here” And he was right.

The food at Syerston was of the usual RAF standard and the problem here was corned beef. We were of the opinion that they had a large stock of ex-wartime tins of corned beef to get rid of, but whatever the reason, no meal was ever served without corned beef being included. Every soup, no matter what its name contained corned beef, every stew contained corned beef, and even fish and chips came with a corned beef fritter!

To this day I cannot eat corned beef, I think it was because I overdosed on it and my body has reacted adversely.

Also, whenever mushrooms were on the menu we only ever saw the stalks. I can honestly say in two years I never saw the head of a mushroom, later I was told by Elvis (a cook who was besotted by the singer) that all the heads went into the officer’s mess. Also at every mealtime the duty officer walked around the mess and asked each table in turn “any complaints” as far as I know, he never received any.

My life at RAF Syerston which was a flying training station was pretty ‘cushy’ as I worked in the Station Sick Quarters and being ‘non-combatant’ I did not carry a rifle or turn out on parades.

I was given a space in a billet but hardly used it as I was often on overnight duty so stayed in the sick quarters.

But peace as shattered soon after I arrived when the whole camp was struck with Asian flu and we had to deal with many cases of fit young men becoming very ill, many on oxygen. Sadly one airman deteriorated and the RAF flew his parents down from Liverpool to be with him, but they arrived an hour too late!

The Team was run by the S.M.O. Squadron Leader Cowan assisted by a M.O Flight Lieutenant McGregor. We also had a sergeant who had been in the RAF since the war and was ready to retire, and was very easy going. He often came on our booze-up nights at the Pauncefote Arms in East Stoke, bringing us home in his battered old car. The rest of the other ranks were a good bunch who got on very well together and most days we played football or cricket games in the coppice by the mortuary. As there was a large married quarters next to the camp, one day a week we had a family’s surgery, and we were constantly on alert to take a pregnant woman to the RAF Hospital at Nocton Hall should it happen at night.

In fact when we knew one was due we ran a book on who would be on duty that night. 

On one occasion it was me along with Keith Wheelhouse who received the call and off we went in the early hours in the road ambulance through the middle of Newark, with Keith ringing the bell (he always wanted to do that). But unfortunately the baby arrived there and then and so I delivered it in the middle of Newark with the help of the mother who had been through the experience many times before – unlike the midwife!  In October 1957, I was promoted to L.A.C. 

Then after a year, in April 1958, I went to RAF Swinderby to take my SAC exam.

There met many who were on my course who had taken 14 weeks to complete the course and had been posted abroad. 

They were flown in from Germany, Christmas Islands, Cyprus and even one from New Zealand. It was all very galling.

But at least I was promoted to Senior Aircraftsman.

On Saturday April 19th. 1958 I attended the Golden Wedding of Grandma and Granddad held in the Railway Hotel, the only pub in Netherfield and affectionately known by all as “Jacky Bell’s”. 

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The Golden Wedding of Thomas and Annie Stevenson – April 19th 1958

Left to right: Paul, Susan, Stan, Terry, Ida, Keith, Gert, Len, Pamela, Martha, Peter, Maud, Tom and Bill 

Thomas and Annie in the front with Robin

 

The local newspaper report of the event read as follows:

Septuagenarian Motor Cyclists

Netherfield Golden Wedding Celebrants have sons at Beeston and Stapleford. When the weather becomes warmer, Mr. Tom Stevenson, of 48 Arthur Street, Netherfield, will be taking his wife out on the pillion of his motorcycle. Nothing remarkable about that – except that the couple are both in their seventies. They celebrated their Golden Wedding with a party in the Railway Hotel last Saturday attended by 40 relatives, including sons from Carlton, Beeston and Stapleford, and a daughter from Netherfield. The actual anniversary was on Sunday, Mr. And Mrs. Stevenson having been married at the Nuneaton Methodist Church on April 20th 1908. They are still both at work, and have the same employers – Stafford and Co. Ltd. Printers of Netherfield.

FORMERLY A MINER

A native of Shepshed, Mr. Stevenson was a miner for 41 years, including 35 at the Gedling Colliery. He has been a night watchman at Stafford’s for the past nine years. Born at Belper, Mrs. Annie Stevenson was a member of a family of 18 children of whom only she and three sisters survive. She started working part-time at the local cotton mills at the age of 11 years for a wage of 2s. 6d. a week. She had worked as a bench hand in the paper room at Stafford’s for 12 years, (sic) and although 74 years of age has no intention of retiring. “I would rather be there than in the house all day” she says

Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson have lived at their present address for 48 years. When they came there were 40 houses to let in Arthur Street at rents between 3s. 9d. and 4s. 3d. per week. This was due to the transfer of a large number of railwaymen to Peterborough.

RAILWAY CLUB MEMBERS

The couple have been members of the Netherfield Railway Club for many years. Mr. Stevenson is an honorary life member of the fishing section and until recently his wife played for the ladies darts, whist and dominoes teams.

Mr. Stevenson has been a keen motor cyclist for 30 years and has owned a variety of machines during that time. His wife still likes to ride with him as a pillion passenger.The couple have one daughter and three sons – Mrs. G. Chambers of 20 Hodgkinson Street, Netherfield, William who lives at 24 Shanklin Drive, Stapleford; Thomas who resides at 6 Evelyn Street, Beeston and Stanley of 32 Forester Grove, Carlton.

Also present at last Saturday’s party were the seven grandchildren and Mrs. Stevenson’s three sisters.

 

One of the most dramatic days of my life happened at R.A.F. Syerston on Saturday the 20th of September 1958.

It was “Battle of Britain” Day. And like many other R.A.F. stations throughout the country R.A.F. Syerston staged an open day. And as the Second World War was still fresh in the minds if many people, there was always a huge crowd of visitors wandering around the static displays, and watching the various fly-pasts of well-known aircraft.

All week the station had been subjected to a “spit and polish” and we were all ordered to wear “best blue” uniforms on the day. The medical team were to be on duty with a crash ambulance by the runway throughout the day, and so it was that I was on duty for the first shift from 1pm. with the ambulance driver S.A.C. Keith Wheelhouse.

The fly past was due to begin at 2pm. and so Keith and I who always had a reputation as a pair of rebels, slid open the roof of the ambulance and sat enjoying warm sunny day out of sight of the sergeant. At about 1.45pm. it was announced over the Tannoy that an extra item had been arranged. A Vulcan Bomber stationed at Hucknall and fitted with the new Rolls Royce Conway engines would be doing a low fly-past at five to two. Keith and I sat on the roof of the crash ambulance watching the Vulcan as it flew passed when suddenly, the wing began to disintegrate. It looked like confetti falling from the wing, then with a huge roar it crashed at the end of the runway. We looked at each other in horror, then Keith said “Let’s go” so we dropped into the seats and set off down the runway into what looked like a wall of smoke and flames.

(Later we learned that it fell on the air traffic caravan in which were two sergeant air traffic controllers, one of whom was Sgt. Hanson. and a jeep with two firemen in it. I have also learned that another victim on the ground was Edmund Simpson but I don’t know if he was the other sergeant or the driver of the jeep.) Keith and I were first on the scene and to our amazement an airman came staggering out of the flames; he was S.A.C. Turnbull, one of the firemen, who we took back to the sick-quarters. From there he was taken to hospital with a fractured skull, but survived. The crew of four, the two sergeants, and the other fireman were all killed instantly. When we returned to scene a few minutes later I was handed a fire extinguisher by the sergeant and ordered, “Go and put him out” The body of one of the aircrew had smashed through the perimeter fence and was burning in the field. I had never seen a dead body in my life before and here I was spraying a burning body with a fire extinguisher! We spent the whole day as the show continued collecting parts of the dead and taking them into the mortuary. It was a gruesome task on an awful day; which ended with seven burned and dismembered bodies in the mortuary. One incident stands out in my mind.

On one of our trips back to the mortuary, looking filthy dishevelled and tired; I was pulled up by an Acting Pilot Officer and put on a charge for not wearing a tie! Naturally I heard no more about it. Later that evening, I was on duty in the sick quarters on my own when Mrs. Hanson from the married quarters came to ask to see her husband, Sergeant Hanson.

I misunderstood and said we had no patients in that night, she explained that her husband was one of the sergeants in the air traffic caravan and was now in the mortuary. I spent an hour persuading her not to go in to see him because he was unrecognisable. Eventually she agreed if I would put the small bunch of violets she had brought along with her beside his body.As I did so, the body parts and scraps of humanity we had been collecting all day suddenly became real people, and I was overcome by grief. On Monday morning, the 22nd we took all the bodies to a mortuary in Nottingham, but for several days after the area was searched by teams of experts looking for clues of the cause of the disaster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The moment of disaster when the R.A.F. Vulcan began to disintegrate

 

The following week another disaster struck my life. While I had been working at Boots I had put money into a savings club. When it was agreed that we become engaged, and I went off to the R.A.F. I had put all of my savings into the same account as Margaret, and this was to be the money required for our wedding. When Margaret left work the Friday before our wedding, (as all girls had to do, as they were then re-employed in their married name) she collected the money in cash in a brown envelope. By the time the bus dropped her off at the top of Cow Lane, Bramcote, the envelope had gone, along with every penny we had. The dresses, my suit, the church, and reception had all been booked, and we did not have a penny. I came home that weekend to find Margaret distraught and all our wedding plans in disarray.

I immediately cycled over to Netherfield to see the only person who I thought could help – Granddad.

We went into his front room and I told him the story, he listened, then went upstairs and came down with £100 rolled up in an elastic band, this he said was put by for his retirement, but as he was not planning that just yet, he handed it over to me.The following Saturday, October 4th 1958 I was married to Margaret James at St. Michael and All Angels Church, Bramcote.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wedding of Keith Stevenson and Margaret James 4th October 1958

Back: Thomas Richard Stevenson, Mick Kerry, Jim James, Nora James

Middle: Martha Stevenson, Keith and Margaret

Front: Linda James and Susan Stevenson (bridesmaids)

 

My best man was Mick Kerry, and the bridesmaids were my sister Susan and Margaret’s sister Linda.

In sharp contrast to today’s lavish weddings, after the ceremony a reception was held in the Bramcote Memorial Hall, all the food was supplied by the mothers, sandwiches pork pie, sausage rolls etc. And the beer was bought by the best man and me and carried from the pub in crates. After which we all re-convened in the ‘Top House’ at Bramcote for more drinks etc. At closing time Mick and Brenda Kerry caught the bus to Beeston with us and came back to the bed–sitter we had rented, but we were so much the worse for drink, that Margaret and Brenda fell asleep in the bed, and Mick and I slept on the floor. For years I told everyone that on my wedding night I slept with the best man!

We had no money for a honeymoon, or anything really, so we began our married life at 188 Station Road, Beeston.

It was just a single bed-sitting room with a paraffin heater, which we bought on H.P., a Calor Gas cooker and a bed-settee. 

The following morning being a Sunday, Mick and I went off to the pub for a pint leaving the girls to make the lunch. When we returned they were distraught as the pork joint we had bought was obviously ‘off’ due to the fact that we had no fridge and so for our first meal as a married couple was beans on toast!

Just like everyone else in the forces I was always looking for a “fiddle” and for me the answer came because Syerston was only 13 miles from my home. I was able to claim a living out allowance, which meant that in exchange for a few shillings I was not allowed to eat in the mess, and was given a travel voucher for the days I was not on night duty, which I sold.

But as meals were delivered to the sick quarters for patients every day, it was a simple matter to arrange with ‘Elvis’ to add one more “patient” to the list.

So each night I was not on duty I cycled home, and returned the next morning and hid my bike in the mortuary.

This meant that I was able to enjoy many evenings at home including my birthday.

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R.A.F. Syerston, December 1958 - Me and the road ambulance in front of the sick quarters

 

As was the custom at Christmas all the staff were allowed a week’s leave apart from one medic and a driver, and so we had to draw lots for who was to stay on duty. I asked Flight Lieutenant McGregor who arranged the draw if I may be excused as I had only recently married, but he refused and much to the amusement of all – I drew the short straw and so Keith Wheelhouse and I waved the rest goodbye. But all was not lost as I phoned Margaret and arranged for her to come to the camp by bus and she slept in one of the wards, and we even had Christmas dinner in the YMCA when they found out about our arrangement. The bonus was that I was given a two week leave over New Year to compensate for my loss of Christmas Early in 1959 we were approached by a man who said he owned a large house on Grove Avenue, and as he lived alone he was looking for a couple who could share the house in exchange for a small rent and a help with the cleaning. As it seemed too good to miss we moved there, carrying all we possessed on a barrow.

On the Monday morning I went back to camp and told Margaret to lock the bedroom door, half an hour later the man tried to break into the bedroom. So we were in urgent need of new accommodation and found an advert in the local paper. The woman lived in West Bridgford so I cycled over to see her. She explained that her mother had moved in with them and her house at 15 Fletcher Road was for rent, so we moved in and stayed there for about two years but even that was fraught with difficulties. The problem centred on the old lady who used to come to the house every Friday to “clean up” and complain that we did not look after her house properly. One Friday she took up the stair carpet for some reason and locked it in the front room, which was kept locked for her belongings. It was never put back again. In the evening she was usually collected by her son-in law with apologies. He was a local police inspector.

During this time Nottingham Forest were doing very well in the FA Cup. as well as the league and I was able to see many of the matches because in those days there was a turnstile especially for HM Forces which allowed us into the ground very cheaply, so I used to go in my uniform, and even when there were great queues of people fighting to get into the ground, I was able to walk past them and get in for a few shillings. It was also a time before floodlights, so replays were usually played on a Wednesday afternoon, and as Wednesday was sports afternoon on camp I was able to sneak out to watch the match, and return later in the evening.

During this time my brother Terry followed me to the Beeston Fields Secondary Modern School, and in his form was David Fox who many years later was to become my brother-in law, as he married Lesley’s twin sister Chrissie. But more of that much later!

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Beeston Fields Secondary Modern school

Terry is on the right of the second row, Dave is third from the left of the same row

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One morning there appeared in front of the Station Headquarters a large hole in the road with barriers round it warning lights and pick and shovels lying on the ground. It was several days before it was noticed that no workman were to be seen, and it transpired that a couple of National Serviceman had collected these items from a road works, dug the hole and been demobbed the next day!

Most National Serviceman created elaborate ‘demob charts’, counting the days before they were free to go back to their normal life. So it followed that as the day of release grew nearer we all indulged in a great deal of celebration and high jinks.

One night after a session in the Pauncefote Arms a gang of us came back in the crash ambulance which had been hidden at the back of the pub. As we passed the guardroom at high speed (no one stopped a speeding ambulance) George Savage overcooked it and we drove straight over the rose garden in front of the Station HQ. The CO demanded and enquiry the next day but we got away with it after removing the evidence from the crash bars from the front of the ambulance.

On the night before I left we had a customary water fight and set off several fire hydrants which I learned later cost a redecoration of the staircase.

On two occasion during my time at Syerston I was placed on Standby to fly to Cyprus as there were often a need for extra nursing staff but on both occasions I was stood down and so I left the RAF without ever having had a flight in a plane.

I was demobbed from the RAF on April 1st 1959 and so walked past the guardroom and down the main drive of RAF Syerston for the last time and a week later I returned to Boots Pure Drug Co. Ltd. working as a drug packer in D6.

 

A few weeks later I saw Forest win the F.A. Cup on television. I had seen several of the earlier rounds and Tommy Wilson one of the heroes of the match had been a guest at our wedding. He was a regular at ‘The Top House’ and had previously played at Workington, Margaret’s dad’s home team. My time in the forces had unsettled me and I resented clocking in at the factory every morning, and I felt like a prisoner being locked up for the whole day. Then one day Clive Smith, the Britannic Insurance Agent, came to collect Mam and Dad’s money as usual and I happened to be in the house at the time.

During conversation he said they were looking for an agent, and as the idea appealed to me I went to Long Eaton for an interview with the branch manager Mr. Creswell and was offered the job. So on October 12th. 1959 I began work as an Insurance Agent for the Britannic Assurance Co. Ltd.

The assistant manager of The Britannic Assurance Company was Mr. Burrell who showed me the ropes.

He was a tall, very friendly man who helped me very much while I was there. To my surprise I was a great success in the job, so much so that in my first year there I was presented with a Parker pen for being the top agent in the area.

For the first six months I covered the area on a pedal cycle, but as this meant travelling as far as Bilborough and having to go out at night I decided I needed something quicker, so in March 1960 I bought my first vehicle, a second hand 49cc Raleigh Moped reg. 49 CAL. I was very happy in the job and enjoyed meeting people, but Margaret did not like the fact that I spent many hours at work, especially in the evenings when I went out to create new business. So in 1961 came great changes. Clive Smith had now left Britannic to work with his Dad at their credit drapery business called Westwood’s.

And in the February he offered me a job with them. I went to see his father who made various promises including a partnership in the business and a van. I took the offer and joined them on February 18th.  

As the job involved carrying stock to show to the customers I needed something more substantial than a moped, and so I bought a brand new scooter, a Capri 80 registration number 328 JAL. It was cheaper and not as well made as the well-known Italian made Vespas or Lambrettas, but it was all I could afford, and it did the job. As I was by this time quite proficient at handling two wheel vehicles I took and passed my Motor Cycle Driving Test on the first attempt in May that year.

 

 

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The Manchester Unity.

Later renamed The Beech Tree, and finally demolished to make way for a Tesco petrol station.

The tree still stands thanks to a preservation order

 

No history of our family can be written without the “Manchester Unity” taking a very large part.

 “The Club”, as it was always referred to, became a central part of our family lives for 11 years and whenever we met together happy stories were recalled from our times there. The building stood on Middle Street, Beeston and the Independent Order of Odd fellows, based in Manchester bought the building and set up Lodge no: 831 The Loyal Nelson Lodge. In the days before the National Health Service the I.O.O.F. provided working class people with a “sick club” and for a few shillings a week members received a small amount of money if or when they were unable to work through sickness or injury. When I was very young I remember taking dad’s card and payment to the “Lodge” on a Friday night, when he was too busy to go himself. As the lodge only needed the first floor, the ground floor became a social club, and so the Manchester Unity Social Club was born. Dad had been a member of the Manchester Unity, for some years, as membership of the Lodge entitled you to automatic membership of the club. In fact one year he had been elected the Club President.

In October 1961 the steward and stewardess of the club, Lol and Lil Porter decided to take over a pub in Derby.

So the position became vacant and Dad applied. It seemed a strange decision for a man who had worked in heavy industry all his life as a miner and a boilermaker to want to run a social club, but as Dad was to say later in life, it was one of the best decisions he ever made. After several interviews he was offered the job, so after 25 years at the Beeston Boiler Co. became a club steward, and after 19 years at 6 Evelyn Street they moved to live in the club.

As the house that Mam and Dad had rented for all those years became vacant, Margaret and I moved in and took over the rent so I was back living at 6 Evelyn Street after 2 years away.

In the early months there was some resentment from his work mates, who thought he had moved above his station in life, and that the venture was doomed to failure due to his lack of experience, but it did not last long, and in any case Dad went on to disprove their theories in spectacular fashion, becoming the most popular steward the club ever had.

The long serving Lodge secretary at the time was Bert Lander, who was also the manager of a dairy on Union Street, and although a committee controlled the Lodge, Bert was technically Dad’s boss. The club now became the centre for every family occasion. Wedding receptions, 21st birthday parties, christening, wedding anniversaries were all celebrated at there.

 

I researched the history of the building and it is recorded at the end of this chapter

 

In October 1961 the situation at Westwood’s was becoming impossible, the work was not pleasant at all, the customers I was given to call on were mostly out of work and forever avoiding me. Carrying the stock around was very difficult on a scooter, especially when it rained, and the promises of a van were never mentioned again. I soon realised that the whole reason for employing me was to build up the round using my insurance contacts so that Clive’s brother could take it over.

So I gave in my notice and just walked out. One of the members of the Manchester Unity was Fanny Tebbutt.

She was a member of the ladies bowls club and a very nice person. She heard that I had was looking for a job so suggested that I went up to a new shop that was about to open on Beeston High Road called Wigfall’s.

She herself had just taken a job there as a cleaner.  I went, and saw the manager Mr. Ken Henson who offered me the job of salesman, so beginning a very happy five years. Also working there was Dawn Billings who’s family were Jehovah’s Witnesses. And Jean Jones, who lived with her husband Frank in Inham Circus. Later on Dave Wakelin came as a salesman and we struck up a friendship, which lasted for several years. Dave lived in Bulwell, and had a brother John, who worked for a short time for Hoover.

On January 31st. 1962 Margaret gave birth to our son, Calvin James, in the City Hospital.

Three days later, on February 2nd I was with the other Dads in the waiting room at visiting time when the ward sister called me into her office. I felt very stupid standing there with arms full of flowers and fruit as she told me that Calvin was very ill and had been put in an incubator. Margaret was left in the ward with the curtains drawn around her bed not knowing what was going on. I went to see him in the incubator, and as I stood there a priest came in, said a few words over the incubator, sprinkled it with water and as a way of explanation said they do this to all the babies that are not expected to live!

Later that evening he died. And so like my Dad (with Joan) and Granddad (with Olive) I suffered the loss of a child in infancy. The hospital almoner offered to “deal with the body” for us, but I refused the offer.

I went to A.W.Lymn, the funeral director on Robin Hood Street in Nottingham, and they said they would bury him in consecrated ground somewhere in Nottingham for a small fee; we were never told where.

Many years later I was told that there is a section of ‘The Rock’ cemetery in Canning Circus Nottingham where these babies were laid to rest, but I have never pursued it. The doctor in the hospital said he had died of congenital heart failure, and told us to go home and have another child as soon as possible! In those days there was no bereavement counselling, you were just expected to carry on with life.

In May 1962 I bought my first car. Well to be accurate it was a Morris 8 van, reg. BFL 212, which was an ex-Post Office vehicle for which I paid £25.00. I first saw it behind the house of the owner on Great Hoggatt Drive, Inham Nook.

It was painted grey and was standing on four piles of bricks in place of wheels as had been used as a chicken coop and not driven for some time. There was no passenger seat, so a wooden crate with a cushion on it was used, and an old Barton’s bus seat was fitted in the back. The seat was rather high so rear passengers had their heads touching the van ceiling, this was rather dangerous on rough roads. However, it was all I could afford and it did go, after cranking it with the starting handle. It was in this vehicle that I took my driving test in July 1962, but failed mainly due to the fact that although I warned the examiner of the dangers of the seat, when I performed the emergency stop, he crashed his head on the windscreen almost knocking him out. In August Margaret announced she was pregnant again.

It came as a great shock to me on August 28th to learn that Granddad had died, and so, along with the rest of the family we gathered at 48 Arthur Street, Netherfield for his funeral at the beginning of September.

When we arrived at the house, he was “lying out” in the front room and we were all encouraged to go in and say goodbye to him before they put the lid on the coffin, but could not bring myself to look at his dead body, even though the family tried to persuade me. From there we travelled to Wilford Hill Crematorium for the service.

After the service, while the ladies had tea and sandwiches, all the men went to “Jacky Bells” at the top of the street for a pint and a chat. All the conversation centred on Granddad and many stories were told, most of which I had heard first hand from him. Granddad was perhaps the most influential person in my life and I have never really got over the loss.

A week or so later I took Margaret dancing in the Palais de Dance in Nottingham on a Wednesday night.

It was our usual night out, and we usually went on the scooter, but because it was raining I was persuaded to take her in the van, even though I had not passed my test. We often met up with Sheila Chester, an ex-Britannic customer of mine. 

On this particular evening Margaret’s sister Barbara was there, and at the end of the evening she asked if we could we take her home to Ruddington as she had missed her last bus. When I explained that I had not yet passed my test and it was a big risk to go all that way, she assured me that Ruddington only had one policeman, and he was usually in bed by 10pm.

Against my better judgement we drove her home then stopped for a coffee, so it was well after midnight when we set off home. As we drove along the main road I noticed a policeman standing by a lamppost and as we approached he stepped in front of me and held up his hand. Knowing I had no licence, I slowed down, and as he stepped back onto the pavement and reached for his pocket book I thought “How will we get home if he stops me driving” and so I panicked, switched off the lights so he would not see the number plate, accelerated away and drove home.

An hour or so later we were awakened by a banging on the front and back doors and lights shining into the bedroom, I looked out and saw two police cars in the street and lots of policemen running around. The first person through the door was a police inspector followed by several fierce looking officers. He told me that roadblocks had been erected on Clifton Bridge, and half the Nottingham police force had been out looking for me. It appeared that there had been a break-in at the Ruddington Army depot and a grey van had been used to carry away various items, including firearms! When I told him why I had not stopped, they searched the van and left, me with a constable who took my statement.

He seemed very friendly and assured me that I would probably be let off with a small fine.

I took my driving test again on the 17th   of September and this time I passed. The following week I appeared in court charged with driving without a licence, driving without care and attention, and a possible charge of dangerous driving. 

The policeman claimed I had driven at him and he had to jump aside to avoid being run down. I asked to question him in the witness box, but he refused to be questioned. In summing up, the magistrate a wizened old woman said “If it was not for the agility of this policeman, you would have been here on a much more serious charge”.

I was eventually fined £25.00, about two week’s wages in those days

The worst part was that I had not had the courage to tell Mam and Dad about the incident, and as I knew it would be reported in the Nottingham Evening Post that night, a hatched a plan. I called round to the club at about 4pm. and waited for the paperboy, when he arrived I collected the paper from him and threw it in the bin. Thinking I was safe, I went home for tea. However, the plan backfired because I was working behind the bar that evening and the first person through the door said to dad, “What about your lad then, he’s made the headlines in the paper.”

The atmosphere behind the bar was very tense for the rest of that evening and for many days that followed.

On the 17th January 1963 I traded in the van and bought a Morris 8 saloon, reg. GOP 607 

 

The history of the Manchester Unity

The building was originally built and occupied, as Vicar and in retirement, by Rev John F.T. Woolley. In his period of Parish Vicar 1822 to 1854.

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Rev John F.T. Woolley

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It is generally claimed that the building was used as a hospital for the care of shell shocked victims of the First World War but I have no hard evidence to substantiate that claim. The next owners of the building were the Manchester Order of Oddfellows. The details are as follows taken from the Beeston History Society.

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Loyal Nelson Lodge, Beeston, Nottinghamshire Manchester Unity Order of Oddfellows - June 1912

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This group, from about June 1912, is standing in front of the Council Offices building, then in The Square, Beeston.

We know that it is dated after May 1911 as there are residual marks on the brickwork from the decorations displayed for the Coronation of King George V (visible on the original, slightly higher than the limits of this copy)

 

Top Row: Bros. J Monk, T Clarke, J H Cross, C Whadcote, Rev. A J Price, Arthur Nicholls (P.G), J Scothern, H Cropper

Middle Row: Bros. H Ford (P.G), W Schofield (P.G), H Charlton (P.G), F Stansfield (G.M), H Pegg (Per Sec, C.A, M.U), G Drinkwater (P.G) G Saunders (Ass. Sec), P Drinkwater (P.G), G Taylor, W Simmons, Abram Nicholls (PPGM), E Price

Bottom Row: Bros W Gilder, S Peel, S Martin, J Hart, W H Walsh, C Attlee, R Cropper, H Fox, F Warrington

Names from Beeston Gazette & Echo, 8 June 1912

 

The Independent Order of Oddfellows Society (Manchester Unity) was one of several friendly and fraternal organisations which were particularly popular before the establishment of the Welfare State in the United Kingdom, including universal unemployment and sickness benefits and the National Health Service.

As a non-profit, mutual organisation, it supported its members in time of need by the redistribution of its income. The local Loyal Nelson Lodge was founded in 1833 and was supported strongly by local tradesmen and working men in particular. In the early days it met at the Cadland Inn in Chilwell but was eventually able to open its own meeting place on Middle Street - popularly known as the 'Manchester Unity' in the house previously built and occupied, as Vicar and in retirement, by Rev John Woolley.

The building later became the Beech Tree pub, then the 'Cow at Beeston' and in recent years was demolished to become the site for the Tesco Petrol Station.

The above photograph, complete with names, allows us an insight into the membership of the local Lodge. Accordingly, the following table is an attempt to identify individual, based largely on his 1911 census entry and birth and death registrations. While every care has been taken to match these entries with the person shown on the photograph, this cannot be guaranteed.

                           

Name                                                           

Forename     Surname    BirthYear           Place in 1911                         Address                       Occupation                             Died        Notes

 

James            Monk          1844           Market Harborough, Leics       Post Office Square       Confectioner

Thornton       Clarke         1876           Nottingham, Notts                   Linden Grove                Designer  & Draughtsman    1951          

 ohn Henry    Cross           1873           Hucknall, Notts                        Gladstone Street          Labourer                     

Charlie           Whadcote   1891          Beeston, Notts                         Commercial Ave           Cycle Hand                  

Arthur John   Price            1875          St Clears, Carmarthen              Newcastle Ave             Clergyman (Cof E)                                   1

Arthur             Nicholls      1891          Beeston, Notts                         Union Street                  Moulder                                    1916        2

John               Scothern    c1856         Sutton-in-Ashfield, Notts        Chilwell Road                 Framework Knitter                         

Arthur            Cropper      1876          Halam, Notts                            Collin Street                   Brass Bobbin Winder              1953        3

Harry              Ford            1866         Wymeswold, Notts                   Imperial Ave                  Insurance Agent                      1928          

William          Schofield     1865         Ragnall, Notts                           Humber Road               Railway Platelayer                    1939          

Henry            Charlton       1851         Chilwell, Notts                          Chilwell                          Rate Collector & Grocer         1933          

Fred              Stansfield      1881         Rotherham, Yorks                     Gladstone Street          Plumber                                    1942          

Harry             Pegg             1883         Beeston, Notts                          Willoughby Street        Coal Merchant's Clerk             1940         4

Robert           Drinkwater   1859         Chilwell, Notts                           Chilwell                         Lace Maker                               1912          

George         Taylor             1874         Wollaton, Notts                        Wollaton Road             Beer-off keeper                        1932          

W                  Simmons     ??                                                                            

Abraham      Nicholls       1849            Stanground, Hunts                   Union Street                 Carter                                        1937         5

Edward         Price          c1843             Hampton, Warwicks                Middleton Street          Retired Signalman                   1927          

Walter           Gilder         1865             Thaxted, Essex                         Denison Street              Iron Foundry Labourer            1926          

Samuel          Peel           c1888            Beeston, Notts                         Long Eaton                   Lace Maker                                                6

Johnson       Martin         1882             Beeston, Notts                         Chapel Street                Boiler Fitter                               1938          

Joseph         Hart           c1866             Hathern, Leics                           Mona Street                 Foundry Labourer                     1938          

William Harvey  Walsh    1864             Southwell, Notts                       City Road                     Foundry Labourer                     1935          

C                   Attlee         ??                                                                            

Richard        Cropper       1885             Fiskerton, Notts                       Humber Road               Tester in Foundry                      1961          

Henry           Fox               c1869             Sheffield, Yorks                       Windsor Street             Grinder                       

Fletcher        Warrington  1877             Heckington, Lincs                    Clifton Street                Baker's Vanman                         1959           

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 Notes

1.  In 1901, Arthur Price was the Master of Carmathen Workhouse.

2.  Arthur Nicholls served with the 11th Btn Sherwood Foresters (Notts & Derby Regiment) during the Great War.

     He was killed on 1st July 1916 and is remembered on the Thiepval Memorial and on his parents' memorial in            Beeston Cemetery.

3.  Named as 'H Cropper' in the newspaper but probably Arthur Cropper, as detailed here.

4.  Became a Registrar of Births & Deaths and was the father of Harry Pegg, the Pork Butcher.

5.  Harry Pegg, Secretary of the Manchester Unity, was granted probate of his estate.

6,  Probably the brother-in-law of Harry Pegg senior

 

In the 1990’s the Manchester Unity Club was finally closed and it was bought and developed by a Greek family who renamed it The Beech Tree. But that too closed in 2001, and it was renamed again this time as The Cow in Beeston.

The building finally closed its doors in March 2007 as it was purchased by Tesco and demolished to make way for a petrol station, but the beech tree was preserved. A sad end to a fine old building that had so many memories and connections to our family.

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