It all seems so long ago now, but so many times the memories of my childhood come flooding back to me.

I first saw the light of day at 22 Charlton, Singleton, in West Sussex amid those lovely Southdown hills.

That was almost 73 years ago now.

My father George, and my mother Lucy, were both honest and hard working Sussex folk. Dad spent most of his time working in the woods cutting down trees, and all the other jobs that go with forestry. Sometimes to get a little extra money he would do a few jobs on the local farm, such as helping with the harvest, and hoeing in the turnip fields. All these jobs had to be done by hand, or with horses, as the tractor and the farm machine age was yet to begin. Mother spent most of her day working in the house. She was a good cook. She used to make beautiful stews with just a little meat and lots of vegetables which came from my father's garden. We had lots of steamed puddings and plenty of fresh fruit.

I was only three months old when the 1914 - 1918 war began. My father was an early volunteer to join the army. I don't know if he was extra patriotic or perhaps it was me keeping him awake at night and all those dirty nappies helped him to make his mind up to go to war. I will never know. But, we saw very little of him until he was discharged form the army in 1919. He was wounded in the leg and racked with malaria.

In 1917, brother Pervical was born. So dad had two sons to look after. Times were pretty hard in those days, we were rationed with food. Money was short. I suppose we were more lucky than some. Living in the country side and having a lovely garden where we could grow most of the things that we needed for food, so we were able to survive OK.

In 1922 my mother had another son, John Henry. I remember father was very thrilled with him. I expect because he was away at the war when Percy and I were in our babyhood stages, so it was all new for him. Then in 1927, our sister Sybil Grace came into the world.

I can remember it so well.:

I was nearly 13 years old when Sybil arrived. Sybil was just about two months old when mother took ill with measles. She was very ill, and it looked as if she would not pull through. After several weeks between life and death, she recovered and things slowly returned to normal.

When I say normal, let me tell you what that meant..

The only drinking water that we had was drawn up from a well that was just outside of the back door of the house. The well was shared by three families who lived in our row of houses. To get some water you had to hook a bucket to a rope and chain, then lower it down into the well, into the water, then you wound it up, - taking care to drop any frogs that had managed to get into the bucket. They went back into the well to eat the slugs etc.

We had no taps or drainage inside or outside of the house. All the waste and dirty water had to be tipped down on to the garden. Our weekly bath was usually taken in a big tin bath in front of the kitchen fire in the winter. In the summer we used to bathe in the wash house, which was shared by all three houses. Here we had a big copper which held several gallons of water. So you could boil the dirty washing on wash day.

The toilet is well worth a mention. It was away from the house, around behind a row of buildings which were used as sheds to store the wood and coal for the winter. The toilet was a draughty brick building it had a wooden seat, which had a big bucket underneath,. When full, it was emptied into pit at the bottom of the garden.

I remember a true story about one old chap who lived in the next village :

This fellow went into Chichester to the iron monger's shop and asked for a bucket. The man in the shop asked what sort of bucket? The old boy then told him in flowery Sussex language the sort of bucket he wanted. I wants a big un he added, as there's a lot of us. They quickly gave him the bucket and got rid of him. He was one of many strange characters around in those days. There was another old chap, who fell out with his wife one day. Soon after he went missing from his home. He didn't come home all night. So the local lads started to search for him. At long last they found him sitting in the middle of a corn field. he had been there for the last 24 four hours. When they asked him what he was doing, he said he was trying to die, and he just did believe that you could die if you sat down and tried. He lived for many years. After this he always told people that the hardest days work that he ever did in his life was on the day he tried to die.

But I digress from the story that I wanted to tell you :

My childhood was mainly very happy. We never went hungry. I can still remember the warm crusty bread that the baker used to deliver to our home - fresh baked every day; and vegetables straight from our father's garden, and some times the taste of roasted wild rabbit that our mother used to cook so well.

Life was very much centered around the church.

In the village, we had cricket in the summer, football in the winter, with whist drives, dances, flower shows, and fetes. There was always something going on.

In the summer holidays from school, we used to spend most of our time on those beautiful Sussex downs. In those days you could wander all over them. I think we used to know every footpath, bush, and tree. We knew where to find the long tailed tit's nest in amongst the coarse bushes, and the hideouts of all the other birds and animals. [Some well known and some not well known]. We knew where to find baby rabbits, and moles. Sometimes we saw a snake but if it wasn't an adder, we weren't frightened. We used to love the beautiful red squirrels, long before those nasty gray tree rats came and drove them away.

I remember we once found three dead baby red squirrels:

We were all very upset, so we decided to dig a grave for them. Then we planted violets and primroses on the little graves. We used to visit them for ages to see if they were OK. We used to go up into the woods to see the woodsmen who would be working there. One old man called Ethelbert was such a wonderful man. I don't think any man I've met in my whole life was nearer to nature than that man was. He used to feed the birds and deer from his hand. He was so kind to us. He would sing hymns to us. Usually Rock of Ages or the Old Rugged cross. He had a beautiful voice. I think he sang all day. We could hear him long before we used to find him.

I expect he's still singing to the folks up in heaven.

Goodwood race week was a very special week for us.

NOTE: in a further episode we will detail the account of the Waymarks whom resided at the Goodwood estate near Arundel for 200+ years and the story of Thomas "fumble fingers" Waymark the first recorded professional cricketer in England!

That was the week we had to sleep on the floor for a week. My mother used to let the house out to some rich race gowers. she used to cook and for a week we used to live like Lords. They used to have roast chickens, duck, and everything that one would expect on a rich man's table: beer, whisky, gin. It used to flow like water for four days. We did enjoy the leftovers. We used to get plenty to eat that week.

I remember one year :

I managed to get hold of a big cigar, so some other boys and myself decided to try our hand at smoking. So we got some cigarette papers. Then we went up to one of our favorite hideaways upon a hill nearby. There we made cigarettes. And we puffed away. But not for long. Soon we turned to all shades of green. The we were all sick. We wandered off home to die. At home I got a good belt around the backside and sent to bed for the rest of the day. That was the end of smoking for me.

But looking back to those long summer holidays, all those years ago we seemed to enjoy ourselves so much. I remember how we lived out our fantasies on those Sussex hills.

After Goodwood races, we were all jockeys. In our imagination we rode the wildest race horses, that had ever lived. Another time we would be Robin Hood and his merry men, with bows, and arrows. We made wonderful bows from wild rose wood that grew on the hills. And the arrows, we trimmed from hazel wood.

I don't recall any Maid Marions. I guess we didnt have a lot of time for girls at this stage of our lives.

Then at times we all became soldiers. We made wooden guns. We made bandoleers by threading horse chestnuts on string, and then drape them around our shoulders. I don't think any soldiers could have been more bold than we thought we were as we dashed around the hill sides. We had to make our own amusement in those days as there was no TV or radio to watch or hear. One thing we did look forward to was the mobile cinema that used to visit the village about once a year and stay for a whole week. After this visit we lived cowboys and Indians. And we were all in love with Mary Pickford and all the lovely ladies of the silver screen and the land of make believe. The cinema was a big portable building which was erected in one of the local meadows. A steam engine would make electricity for the lighting to run the film and to move the whole thing from village to village.

When I was about 8 years of age I joined the choir at our village church. We used to have a choir practice every Friday evening. It was a very good choir for a village. On Sunday we attended a morning service and evensong every Sunday and once a month we sang at Holy communion. I used to enjoy these Sundays, we all looked very smart in our purple cassocks, with stiff white collars, and purple Bow Ties. And then we had a beautiful white surplice with big flowing sleeves.

I stayed in the choir for about five years. Until my voice broke, looking back, they were very happy years.

When I was about 12, I started to work every Saturday for the local butcher. He wasn't known for giving much away. My wages for working from 8:00 am. until about 5:00 in the afternoon, was a shilling, or a piece of meat, which was usually stewing steak. My first job in the morning was to deliver a basket of meat to some estate workers cottages, about two miles from the ship. I had to walk over a big hill. On the way I had to go across a meadow where there were about fifty turkeys. I used to dread this part of the journey because every week they used to come after me. I expect they thought I was going to feed them. Anyway for me, it used to be a nightmare. When I got back from this journey I had to deliver meat to several houses in the village. By this time it would be about twelve o'clock, so I then had to go home for dinner. Home was about a mile away, I would deliver the meat on the way home. My mother would give me something to eat. As soon as I could I would go back to the shop. There I would gather up all the butcher's knives and the meat hooks. There were lots of them. I would put them all in boiling water to get all the fat off them. Then I would scrub them with vim, dry them and wipe them over with olive oil. Then I would hang them all up in the shop. Then my next job was to scrub the butcher's block, where he used to chop the meat. This I had to do with a wire brush. It was really hard work for a boy of my age. But I managed. The next job was to sweep up the sawdust off the shop floor and sprinkle new dust down. Some times there would be other odd jobs to do. The butcher made sure you didn't run out of work. About five O'clock, I would pick up my piece of meat and make my way home.

I don't think many boys would want to do a job like this today. I think this little story will give some idea how things have changed since I was a boy.

When I was 14 I left school. I was still wearing short trousers and my mother could not afford to buy me long ones. So that's how I was dressed when I started out to work.

But that will be a story I will tell at some future date. How I ran off one day and got myself a job in a chair factory some six miles away, without one penny in my pocket - just with one thought in my mind: AI have to make my own way in my life. When I look back now, I often think I didn't do so badly with my life. I've enjoyed most of it. I guess I've been lucky to have lived at the time that I did. Now its a pleasure for me to be able to record some of my memories of my West Sussex childhood.