I'm taking a little diversion from my usual topic. My dad, Eric-the-Viking, passed away, unexpectedly but peacefully in his sleep on 1st November 2017.
Without any further introduction, I'm just going to post something that he wrote, back in 2003, when Ian, (RE, my brother) suggested that Dad write his life story. I've left the formatting, grammar and positions of chapters just as dad wrote it. As much as it is in my nature to beggar about with it, I feel it would lose its authenticity if I did.
First, a photo of my dad and then straight into his story.
Cobblers
Awls, a Load of Balls
By Eric Hotson
Foreword
I
was having a few pints during October 2003, in Wetherspoons (The Old Yarborough
Hotel) with my youngest son Ian and a few friends. At the end of the session
Ian and I were left to mop up the last two pints. During the conversation he
mentioned about his young days and queried “Why did we move to Caistor? All I
can remember is one day I was living at Cleethorpes, the next day I was living
at Caistor. I was only six years old.” I replied “It’s a long story and if I
try to explain now, we will both get pissed as well as skint and need carrying
home”. Ian agreed and said “That wouldn’t be a bad idea but why don’t you write
your life story”.
1
Susie, the one-eyed old sow ran out of the
cart. There was a terrific bang. Susie laid shuddering and shivering on the
concrete yard. She was hoisted up and
her throat slit right down to her belly and through to her tail.
I was born on the 16th of August
1938 just before the Second World War and this is about the earliest instance I
can remember. I presume that I would be
about five years old. Before this, I
have memories of being woken up by the warning siren and taken down to the air
raid shelter at the bottom of the garden of 63 George Street, Cleethorpes where
I had resided since leaving 11 Edward Street in 1940. The shelter was shared with our neighbours
Dicky and Sylv Bacon and Ronnie and Vi Blyth.
Nobody seemed to be bothered about the bombs. Dicky and Ronnie enthralled us with old yarns
and assured us that “Jerry” was aiming for the dock area in Grimsby
Occasionally we would
hear the drone of an engine and have a look out of our shelter. “It’s OK, it’s one of ours,” became a knowledgeable
and assuring phrase. One morning,
however, it wasn’t. Dad looked up and
spotted a stick of bombs being dropped by “Jerry” on his way home. Dad picked me up, and next moment, I was
hiding under the bathroom sink with Mam and Dad. Bombs do not come straight down – they go
with the momentum of the plane. These
apparently landed near Sussex Recreation Ground.
It
was 1943 when I started school at Thrunscoe Infants in Highgate which consisted
of two classrooms wedged between Thrunscoe Senior Girls and Senior Boys. I had my first school fight when I was
six. I knocked a kid’s glasses off who
was giving me some lip outside school, and I was immediately surrounded by six
big kids from the senior school – thirteen year olds. I was lucky – fortunately the leader was a
mate of my big cousin Harry. He must
have told them to leave Eric alone.
2
One day I can remember
us all being paraded in our Mickey Mouse gas masks, and sent into a truck and
out the other side to test the masks.
For all we young kids
knew, it could have be
genocide.
Before going on about my
time at Bursar street junior school, I must mention about my Granddad (Fred)
and my Grandma (Liz) Hotson. Both were born about 1876. Fred was a Meggie, and
a plasterer’s labourer; Liz was a country lass from Saleby near Alford
Lincolnshire. Her parents are buried in Saleby churchyard. They had five
children – Fred, Nellie, Albert, Wilfred, and Clara. I have good memories of
both because I was eighteen when Granddad died in 1956 and twenty four when
Grandma died in1963.
There are many legends
about Fred who certainly was not a gaffer’s man. He christened the foreman as “The Gaffer’s
Henchman”. Once, the boss Mr Houghton
caught Fred resting on his shovel;
“Are you having a bit of
leisure then, Fred?”
“There’s neither leisure
nor pleasure on this job, it is over-hard work to call it leisure and, as for
pleasure, there’s not enough pay at the end of the week” replied Fred.
Another time, Fred was having a
walk around Humberstone Avenue on a Sunday afternoon when Mr. Houghton pulled
up to him in his big new car.
“Would you like a lift back to Cleethorpes, Fred?”
“Are you enjoying your ride?” replied Fred.
“Yes” came the reply.
“Well I’m enjoying my walk.” And, with that,
Fred put his hands firmly back in his overcoat pockets and carried on walking.
The plasterer for whom
Fred laboured was called Mr. Cross (Crossy).
They worked together for years and never spoke to one another – it must
have been some long-standing feud. Despite
no conversation, they were apparently the best plastering team at Wilkinson
& Houghton. Fred always had the
planks and trestles, tools, mortar and plaster in position at exactly the right
time. Even though Fred disliked Crossy,
he came to his defence if there was a dispute. There was a complaint about some
work and Crossy was due for a telling off and possibly the sack from Mr.
Houghton. Fred had kept quiet while the
gaffer and Crossy were arguing until he strikes up, “Hold hard a minute, let’s
go back to the site and have a look at the job”. So off they trooped back up the road on to
the site and entered the particular house.
On viewing, Fred said “Don’t blame Crossy because it is not our
work!!” Then Crossy, and Mr. Houghton
stood back aghast.
“How do you know that,
Fred and what proof have you got?”
“There are no brown
streaks in the plaster” replied Fred.
They nodded in agreement
because they all knew that Fred chewed thick twist at work and spat in the
mortar and plaster.
3
Another time, he pulled
Mr Houghton out of a hole when he was having trouble satisfying a posh lady
customer. He had sent the painters to whiten this lady’s washhouse/outhouse.
They had been on and then back again but she was still far from happy. Mr. Houghton took Fred to one side and
explained the situation asking if he could have a go. Fred duly went to the house, mixed a tub of
lime and lathered it over the ceiling and walls all the time thinking “That’ll
teach her to moan”. He left the job in a
hell of a state. While Fred was relaxing
over a pipe of bacca, she came back from shopping;
“What a wonderful job
you’ve done Mr. Hotson – thanks very much.
Here’s five shillings for you” (about twenty pints in those days).
His wife Liz was a
country lass who moved into town with her sisters Edie and Ginny to find
work. Liz got a job in service at the Cliff Hotel Cliff
Hotel
I cannot remember much
about my other Granddad (Harry) and Grandma (Betsy) Smith because I was only
about aged seven and nine respectively when they died. They had seven children; Barbara, Ellen,
Charlie, Betsy (my mother), George, Bill and Jim. They were a good family but a
lot different to the Hotsons both in wealth and politics – a lot closer, clunch
and secretive. My mother did not tell me
about the old days. She spent a lot of
her spare time gossiping with her sisters amongst themselves the “Smiths”. I was either out playing football, cricket,
trying to run a four-minute mile; at my Dad’s cobblers shop or drinking cocoa
and eating bread and butter at Grandma Hotson’s.
I started at Bursar
Street Juniors in September 1945 just after we had won the war. I hovered between A and B streams for four
years until passing the 11-Plus in 1949, and going to Clee Grammar. Mam said that I liked school – I hated it
except for Tuesday afternoon, football day on Sussex Rec. Fifteen minute walk there, thirty minutes
football, fifteen minute walk back then back to the lessons.
4
My best mate John Swaby
and I always went home to dinner.
Mostly, we would dribble a tennis ball along Bentley Street , Fairview William Street George Street
cloth ears and, after he
had taken our names, we switched to Plan B for a few weeks. Cut down the passage and dribble along Crow Hill Avenue
Saturday was the best
day of the week. In the morning,
football on the fields on our little Wembley (now Richmond
Road Oslear
Crescent
“Which team stopped
Manchester United doing the double in 1948 by taking three out of four points
from them (and then got relegated)?”
The answer of course –
Grimsby Town.
I was at that the home
game with United, on the Pontoon Stand rails, having reached the age of nine
and being allowed to go with my cousin Harry.
Town played well and drew 1-1 after losing our centre forward Lew
Armitage after twenty minutes. We beat
United 4-3 away late on in the season before they went on to beat Blackpool 4-2
in the F A Cup Final at Wembley, but only finished second in the league. Town
were winning 3- 0 at half time, but slacked off in the second to let United
draw level. Town got the winner near the end. Scorers for Town were Cairns 3
Blenkinsopp 1. Other games that I attended that season include:
Town 0 Liverpool 6
(Stubbing hat-trick)
Town Stoke (Stanley Matthews didn’t play)
Town 2 Hull 2 (The Raich
Carter free-kick) A three foot high bullet.)
This was either Division
2 or the FA Cup. Town
1 Spurs 1
Town Middlesbrough (Clough running the show) Division 2
Town 1 Arsenal 4
Town 3 Portsmouth 2 (Johnson’s two long throw ins)
Sunday mornings were
OK. Take the dog out and then down the
prom in the arcades searching out slot machines that had gone mad and into
paying out – these were very rare. The
gangsters that owned them were not stupid.
Dinner then Sunday School at St
Peters
5
Perhaps it was his way
of letting her think she was the boss? I
gave in (one point to the adults) but would have loved to have joined in those
20-a-side games played every Sunday opposite the railway station when the tide
was out
.
Back at Bursar Street
Juniors, I seemed to arrive in 4B and not 4A where you were more or less a
racing certainty to be destined for Grammar School. This year was a lot more pleasant – at
last. We were taught by a teacher
that liked football, Mr Tom Brown.
Rumour had it that he played for Scunthorpe United in the Midland League
before the war. There was no junior
school league football but he managed to persuade the Headmaster to enter a
team in the Asher Cup. We George Street Carr Lane Weelsby Street
Somehow, I passed the 11-Plus
whereas some of the stars in 4A did not.
I think they must have suffered exam nerves whilst I simply went in
thinking “just another day at school”.
Throughout, I was always good at arithmetic – they only started to call
it mathematics when I got to Clee Grammar.
At the interview with Colonel Thomas, I told him I wanted to become an
Accountant.
As I mentioned earlier,
my Grandparents Fred and Liz had five children.
Wilfred (Wilf) was my father and attended St. Peter’s School. From eleven, he used to help Mr. Chris Leeson
in his cobbler’s shop at 53 Mill
Road William Street 62
Coronation Road Edward Street Old Clee Church 16
August 1938 . World War Two
broke out in September 1939.
When first married, they lived in
Grandma Hotson’s front room, at 9 Edward Street until number 11 next door
became available three months later. At
one time, Wilf’s sister Nellie lived at number 7 with her husband Joe and
children Barbara and Alan, Granddad and Grandma and daughter Clara lived at
number 9 and Wilf, Betsy
and myself at number 11 – much
like Happy Families or, maybe Monopoly?
The rear alleys of these houses backed on to Conway ’s bottling store.
6
Wilf worked hard in his
shoe repair business for eight years until war broke out in 1939. He went for his Army medical and passed A1
but was considered too old at thirty years old and also was in a “reserved
occupation” – needed to maintain Services footwear. All those fit and not in the Services were
expected to join “voluntary auxiliary services”. Both Wilf and Betsy did “Fire watch” and
Betsy joined the Women’s Voluntary Service (WVS). Wilf duly got an Army boot-repairing contract
and also joined the Home Guard (“Dad’s Army”).
There was also a
civilian effort called “Dig for Victory” – Wilf took an allotment up a track
opposite Wendover Rise on Taylor’s Avenue and entered into partnership with his
mate Fred Richardson (“Curly”) rearing pigs and chickens. This venture was to guarantee food on the
table for the family during rationing.
Wilf had been brought up on sheep’s head broth when times had been hard
during the Great War. Everyone in the neighbourhood saved leftovers and swill
which leads to the adventures of the “swill round” i.e. pinching fellow
pig-keeper’s swill if you got round early.
One day, Wilf and Curly were going to tend to the stock and found two
eight-stone sacks of potatoes (like gold) at the track entrance. They put a bag each on their bike handlebars
and wheeled them up to the copper sheds.
Wilf then suggested that they tip out the spuds and burn the sacks but
Curly felt the sacks were every bit as scarce as the spuds. Wilf explained that, as the spuds were not
theirs, they should remove the evidence and Curly praised him as a “crafty
little devil”.
Curly was strong and a
jointer with the Electricity Board. He
was a good mate to Wilf who himself was 5ft 3ins and eight stones wet through
but wiry from his hard upbringing. Curly
was streetwise round the pubs especially the Cliff, the Notts, the Fish and the
Queens in Sea view Street and kept a watchful
eye over Wilf. One night, they finished
a session with four mates and came out of the Fisherman’s Arms back way on Wardall Street
“Hang back Wilf; it’ll
be worth half a dollar to see them silly devils run”
Another night, in the
Dolphin, Wilf had given some leery geezer a backhander and it was developing
into a scrap on the sands. Curly knew
that this geezer used unfair tactics such as cosh and knife and that he was
renowned for hitting a mate with a shovel on a building site. He duly got between them and peace was
restored.
The chickens and pigs
were kept in adjoining huts divided by a door.
Curly had been on to Wilf about leaving the hatch open to see if they
would mix. Though doubtful, Wilf agreed
to do so and – next morning – what a site!
Feathers everywhere and chickens missing.
7
Though strong, Curly
possessed a compassionate side and asked Wilf whether they should get the Vet
to the old one-eyed sow Susie to treat her bad eye. Wilf
disagreed, and said,
“She will see all she needs to see between now and Xmas!” Curly replied “You
cruel so and so”. There was a dartboard
in Wilf’s cobbler’s shop around which they congregated for practice before
going to the pub. Games were always
played for a pint so Wilf and Curly would be warmed up ready for action. Sometimes, the soldiers billeted in
Cleethorpes would pop in for a game. Once, during these practice sessions,
Curly pinned a fly to the board.
There are a few more
stories about Wilf in the Home Guard that I knew about before Dad’s Army came
on TV – we may add these in later.
I started at Clee
Grammar School in September 1949. It was a well run school but I was struggling
to keep up academically. A line from the
school song went
“…some excel in the field of learning, some in the field of play…”
I will just say that I
enjoyed myself in the field of play; football, cricket, boxing, cross-country
and athletics. Academically, I should
have dropped all subjects after a year except for maths, geometry and
woodwork. I became famous for the record
low of four out a hundred for Algebra.
As for Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” and “As You like It”. If you didn’t like
it, you had to lump it!
One
day, when we were playing football in Mollison Avenue (off George Street), the
new bloke who had just moved in to the corner house came outside to have a word
with us. We expected another old, moaning so-and-so but, not at all. He was very polite and said we could go in
his garden to retrieve our ball as long as we did not tread on his
flowers. We told him that we were not
that bad as his fence was six feet high.
He then introduced himself as John Martin, maths teacher from Carr Lane George
Street St. Peters
Some of the raw material for these schemes
were acquired under the “right act”. Who you know; and not what you know.
8
My mate John Swaby and I
were never short of money. This enabled
us to go to watch Town (nine pence in the boy’s paddock), to watch wrestling at
night on the Pier (one shilling) and to play snooker at several billiard halls
(six pence for thirty minutes). Always
“loser pays” mainly at the Ideal (now the Sunnyside in Grant Street Charles Street
So, though not
academically clever, I certainly had a good work rate, was well streetwise and
knew that doubling your money was at least a good way of survival when I joined
my Dad’s business. I began to realise
that Dad had experienced cash flow problems for years within the business. For twenty-three years since 1931, he had
always worked long, hard hours and had built himself up a reputation for
quality work. Shoe repairing came easy
to me and Dad was a good tutor with bags of patience although we could have done
with more modern equipment to make life easier – that was to come later. I became really interested and perhaps the
weekly wage of £2 – 10s was an incentive.
Dad was having
difficulty paying for his materials. The
bank manager at the Midland Victoria Street ,
Grimsby
Our shop was full of
shoes on shelves awaiting work in a daily order. I got stuck in and did all the easy jobs of
which I was capable. I also helped Dad
with the more difficult jobs. We worked overtime until 10pm at night and, after a month, had caught up
the backlog whilst still doing the daily intake of work. Granddad called in twice daily and would then
return home to advise Grandma that “Eric was working like a black” – such a
comment would be termed racist nowadays.
The BSA Bantam began to
come into play. I used to deliver the shoes and collect the cash. This also had
a knock on effect as the customers used to give me some more work to take back
to be done. I made two boxes. It was sacrilege to buy something if you could
make it yourself, and fixed them on the back frame to carry the shoes. Two of
dad’s old school mates who were farmers, Tom and Joe Fletcher, used to visit
Dad with their repairs. They where dour, I knew not to speak unless spoken to.
I just carried on working but listened and learned. I got a shock one day. Tom
and Dad had been discussing property, when suddenly Tom addressed me, “What do
you think boy? What’s best, freehold or leasehold?”
I replied “Freehold
because you don’t pay ground rent.”
Then Tom said, “Do you
know another hold?”
“No Mr Fletcher, only in
wrestling”
9
Tom said “Well the best
hold of all is called Hand Hold: Hand hold of the money and don’t forget it.
And another thing boy, money’s no good to you but, it’s one hell of a job if
you want some and you haven’t got any!”
This was already
happening, things where beginning to look brighter with business. Within a
year, we had paid all our creditors and paid off the overdraft at the bank. I
then took over the books, banking and running the business when I was 17. With
dad’s skills and reputation, my work rate and my ignorance of academic skills,
we had worked a near miracle. Years later, Mr Stagg (“Staggy”) as his old
school mate Charles Ekberg used to called him) told me that I was a nasty
little lad, standing there not budging an inch waiting to be paid. Despite this
Mr Peter Stagg was okay, never owed us a penny and a very keen supporter of
Grimsby Town FC.
My accounting system was
legal and honest but not apparently recognised by the Institute of Accountants Midland Midland
Trivia question for quiz
night could read “How much in 1956 does £280 represent in today’s (2009)
money?”
My guess after using my
pints of beer per pound is about £8400.
Between 1956 and 1962 we
had a lot of work and employed some youths straight from school and taught them
the trade. Some went on to start their own businesses and others stayed until
they could find a better job. We also took over some other cobblers who where
either retiring or giving up business to go to work on the developing Humber
Bank factories. These takeovers where unsuccessful but not complete financial
disasters. We closed the two non-viable shops but kept the property at 73 Ladysmith Road , Grimsby
10
Socially during this
period I was playing table tennis for British Railways in division 1 of the
Grimsby league. I practised a lot to keep up to the standard and completed my
drinking apprenticeship in the old club rooms in Carr Lane the
16th May 1960 , when I was told to report to RAF
Cardington in Bedfordshire for recruitment and kitting out. I had no choice
except for 2 years in prison as a conscientious objector: so I duly became
5077803 AC2-HOTSON E. The intake was a mixture of regulars who had signed on
for between 3 and 9 years and national service conscripts. We were segregated
on different tables for our first taste of RAF food. I made some sort of
derogatory comment to the National Service lads about the regulars, which
caused a laugh and broke the ice, as most where moaning about the food and
having to leave good, well paid jobs, and being reduced to earning £1-4S-0d a week.
The Corporal called Ron
who was in charge of us was OK. He marched us round in ranks of 3 to the
various equipment and clothing stores. Every item was duly marked 5077803. We
where only here for about 3 days and all us national service lads had to salute
for ten shillings. During the evening we got the odd game of table tennis and
snooker in the NAAFI. We also walked round the two massive hangers that had
been used to store the Airships R1 and R2 between the First and Second World
Wars. We then went by train to Birmingham Shropshire
for eight weeks basic training. As soon
as we got off the bus at Bridgenorth; the drill instructors started shouting at
us….
“From the right number”
“Form ranks of three”
“By the left, quick
march.”
…onto the Airman’s Mess
for some grub. It wasn’t too bad once we got used to the routine. As near as I
can remember, a typical day was: Reveille 6.30am, arise, ablutions, make bed
pack, clean bed space and down to the Airman’s Mess at 7:30 for breakfast. 8.30am on parade and inspection, a
bit of drill and march down to lectures and administration.
Weapons and ammunitions.
When I
got on the rifle range I was holding a 303 rifle casually ready to fire.
Corporal Gunn (what a name for a gun instructor) shouts at me “You’re not
playing a guitar Hotson; you’re supposed to be firing a rifle!” I fired a Bren
gun, changed the magazine and fired again, letting them go all at once.
Corporal Gunn disapproved telling me I should have fired in short bursts. I
told him. “If you’d have been a German you’d be dead.”
He replied “If there’s
another war Hotson I’m going to make sure that I’m on the other side”.
First Aid and Life
saving If someone
has an accident or is drowning in the river the first thing you do is send for
help, before attempting to save life or go to their assistance.
11
The VD Lecture. You don’t get it from
toilet seats, you get it from the girls that come down to Bridgenorth on a
Saturday night. They are known as the “Wolverhampton Wonderers”.
RAF History Battle of Britain.
The Dambusters and how we built car parks in Germany
More drill and rifle
drill - “Attention! Stand at ease! Stand Easy! By the Left quick march! About
Turn! Up two three! Down two three etc”.
It seemed endless! However there where plenty of tea breaks and we where
fed three times a day. Evenings were mainly general ‘bulling’ the kit in the
billet, then down the NAAFI for a pint and a game of snooker.
Near the end of June the
King of Thailand was due on a Royal visit to London. Extra bodies where
required down at RAF Uxbridge for the guard of honour. We were paraded on the
square and informed that all those above 5ft 8in will be completing the final 3
weeks of basic training as part of the guard of honour at RAF Uxbridge, London
This turned out to be
the biggest skive ever. Whilst the big kids where drilling for three weeks, all
our tasks were to keep the billets clean for the RAF regiment. A National
Service Corporal who was very easy going and laid back was in charge of us.
More or less, it was just a work parade after breakfast; then he left us to it.
It was an easy ride.
This Essex lad, Chris
who worked in the City in Civvie-Street offered to take us for a guided tour of
pubs in Soho. Myself and my mate Grimmy John, Scunny Steve, Grantham Allan and
Ginger Jock from Glasgow London
old) into action. The
other four lads went on ahead. Grimmy John got hold of Ginger Jock and I used
my communication skills keeping the coppers happy. I told them that we where
both fisherman in Civvie-Street and we’re used to these capers down ‘Freemo’
every time we landed after three weeks in Iceland
12
Basic training was now
finished after the three weeks down at Uxbridge. The National Service Corporal
who we had hardly seen; addressed us before we left. He told us the rules about
36 and 48 hour leave passes and what time we where allowed off duty officially.
Then adding “That’s the rules and get as much other time off as ever you can”.
After a few days home on
leave in Meggie’s and down the old British Railways Club in Carr Lane; I
received a letter and was told to report to RAF Freckleton (Medical Training
Establishment) near Blackpool. I thought “What are the RAF going up to now?
Surely they are not going to try and train the cobbler to be a Doctor?” Grimmy
John went to train as wireless operator but when I arrived at RAF Freckelton I
met up with Scunny Steve and Grantham Alan who had also got the same posting. I
was not interested in the practical or classroom training whatsoever. It was
like being back at school again. I just fooled around (which I found easy)
trying to get thrown off the course. I enjoyed myself socially mainly because I
had the use of our 1958 Ford Anglia. Dad agreed it was okay as we also had a
6CWT Ford Thames van for business.
Off duty I was able to
get a job at the Garrison Pub near Preston and then I introduced Scunny Steve
to the job to help. The gaffer was an ex-army sergeant called Matt. He was okay
and told us that if the customers asked us to have a drink, don’t be greedy and
have a pint; just accept half a pint and then they will ask you again. A pint
of Lions Mild was 1s-1d, staff price of 6d for half a pint (2.5 new pence).
After closing time we used to stay behind for staff drinks with Matt and his
wife Ann and the barmaids- a Lancashire lass called Linda and an Irish Colleen.
It was alright until Matt started shouting mainly at his wife Ann. I used to
nudge Scunny Steve and say “Time we got back to camp.” With the extra money
earned at the pub we could afford to drink at Blackpool
on a Wednesday night usually arriving at the Tower or the Winter Gardens after
the pubs kicked out. We also saw Tottenham Hotspurs 1960/61 Double Team beat
Blackburn Rovers 4-1 at Ewood
Park
I think I was at
Freckleton for about 8 weeks, before after a few verbal battles with Squadron
Leaders and Wing Commanders they took me off the training course and posted me
to RAF Hospital Nocton Hall near Lincoln.
13
I arrived at RAF
Hospital Nocton Hall in October 1960; this was the ideal posting, 36 miles on
the rat run via bomb alley to Cleethorpes. So when I got time off on 36 and 48
hour passes I was able to get home and help Dad with the shoes. The original old Nocton Hall which I
supposed was built in the eighteenth century and would have been owned by the
country squire or some other titled gentry. The hall was now the Princess
Mary’s nursing Sisters’ mess. The Americans built the actual administration and
hospital buildings during the 1939 to 1945 World war. The hospital had twelve
wards each having beds for eighteen patients. Each ward was staffed in order of
command on each shift:
In charge-
1 Princess Mary’s
Nursing Sister
1 Senior Technicians
(the chevrons where upside down)
1 Senior Aircraftsman
(who had qualified at Freckleton)
1 Gopher/Cleaner/General
Dogsbody (IE Self 5077803 Hotson E) actually once I got known, the Civvie
police on camp called me “The Doctor”
1 Civvie Kitchen Women
(all local country lasses)
Soon I was to meet some
good mates, a mixture of national service and regulars. None of ‘us and them’
now, we where all in it. Some had got life sentences, others in for 6 or 9
years. Lucky Hotson 5077803 has only 18 months to put up with it. My main mates were:
Union Miner – Bob Croft
from Worksop
The Camp Butcher – Bob
Paterson from Bonnyrigg near Edinburgh
“Cuzz” – Mick Crossley
from Winterton.
The Camp Storeman –
Geordie Derek from Penrith
AC2 Leiper- Aberdeen Bob
“Shaggy”- Bill Dunnett
from Leeds
Before being assigned to
a ward I had to report to Station Headquarters and complete various
administration paraphernalia. I was greeted by Sergeant Hogg. When I put a tick
against football, table tennis, and tennis as my favourite sports he was
overwhelmed as he was in charge of both the camp football and table tennis
teams. He asked, “Was I available to represent the station?” That was OK by me.
After the interview I was eventually told to report to the sister in charge of
ward 7 and this was the Officers’ Ward. Even today the RAF still has
this class distinction: Officers’ Mess, Sergeants’ Mess and Airman’s Mess. Us lads on the wards used to joke that we
must all be different blood groups. However I was soon to get to know that the
Airman’s Mess served the best food as it was the same kitchen that supplied the
hospital. About every three months you had to do fire picket, as well as
working on the wards. This meant kipping in the billet next to the fire engine
shed for a week. You also had to report at 1800 hours to station headquarters.
This was known as fire picket parade.
14
The first time that I
did fire picket I got put on a 252 (a charge). I was doing the late afternoon
shift 1700-2000 hours. This officer had been having a bath and somehow had
flooded the bathroom. I was enthusiastically doing the mopping up and forgot
all about reporting to fire picket parade. I got notified that Warrant Officer
Jones had put me on a charge and I was requested to report to Station
Headquarters next morning at 0900 hours. I reported early, met my sports mate
Sergeant Don Hogg (we’re on first names now!) and explained my problem and
genuine excuse to Don. He replied, “Don’t worry Eric, the Adjutant is taking
the charge; I will have a word with him. Just be as smart as you can- ‘Cap off’
and all that, when spoken to and asked to explain, tell him the truth and
plenty of yes sir, no sir and three bags full sir- you’ll be okay.” Sure enough
the Adjutant who was very strict announced “Charge admonished.” Later I learned
that Warrant Officer Jones was not too pleased. The Cobbler- ‘the Doctor’ had
made him look an idiot.
Whilst working on Ward 7
several of the patients were Squadron leaders, Wing Commanders and Group
Captains who had been pilots in Lancaster’s during the 1939-45 World War and
some who had been in the Battle of Britain. Also there were younger pilots who
had ejected from modern day aircraft. They weere mostly diagnosed as suspected
slipped disc in the back. The treatment was boards under their mattress and bed
rest. Urine bottle and bed pan delivery jobs for Eric the Doctor.
The kitchen women where
mostly from Nocton or nearby villages. I got on great with these lasses, plenty
of kid’em. Spud and veg talk and “do
pigs and chickens mix?” etc.
One lass, Joyce used to
shout and get on to most of the national service lads. I met up with her when I
was moved from the Officers Ward 7 (I never got to know why) to Ward 5. This
was the Airman’s broken bones and operations ward. We lads always helped the
kitchen lasses with the serving and washing up. That way, we could always have
any leftovers whilst working. Sort of dining in RAF’s time. Then as soon as we were off duty, it was back
to the billet, change into civvies and down the Star and Garter pub at
Metheringham or the Wagon and Horses at Branston or, into Lincoln.
Anyhow, I had been on
Ward 5 for about 3 weeks and getting on really well with Joyce. So one day
after we had got the washing up done; we were in the little rest room she was
having a fag and I was doing my John Arlott impressions with a pipe of St
Bruno; when I ventured to ask “How is it Joyce that you swear and are nasty to
the lads but you are really nice and polite with me?”
She replied “That’s easy
Eric, you’re such a silly and daft little devil it wouldn’t do any good. It
would go in one ear and out the other. Then you would reply with something even
dafter.”
Chief technician Frank
Padley was in charge of Ward 5. There was a Sister higher than him but she
didn’t like me because I used to play hide and seek with her when we clashed on
night duty, she could never find me. An
SAC called Polly Parrot had his kneecap (patella) taken out. He had kept it as
a souvenir and one evening he happened to say “Put this kneecap in the
steriliser Eric when you go off duty.”
I carried out his
request and didn’t think anything of it until the next morning, when I reported
for work. It wasn’t long before Chief Tech. Frank shouts “I want a word with
you Hodge!” He always called me Hodge, I don’t know why. So I said “Course you
can Sarg.” I always called him ‘Sarg’ as
a sort of repost to him calling me Hodge.
“What’s the story about
the patella in the steriliser?” I
replied “Oh yeah, Polly told me to sling it in the steriliser last evening when
I went off-duty. Have you got it Sarg?”
15
“Yes Hodge, I’ve got it
alright, I have also had to clean all the grease out of the steriliser as a
result of you’re stupidity.”
I tried to get a word in
to say something like, “What a waste, we could have made patella soup”. But it
was no use, he just carried on and on trying to give me a telling off, wasting
his time as well as mine. His words where just landing on cloth ears, like
water off a ducks back. His face was going redder and redder. When he
eventually stopped for breath I managed to get a word in.
“For a start Sarg, watch
your blood pressure. Don’t carry on any longer or else there is a danger of us
falling out. You better put me on a charge or get me slung out of the RAF and
have done with it.” This stunned him,
the fact that I was concerned about his health. He smiled and said, “Hodge I don’t want to charge you, but please
promise me that you won’t do it again”. Also I am sure the fire picket incident with
Warrant officer Jones must have been discussed at length in the Sergeants
Mess. Something like, “Waste of time
charging Hotson, he will only talk his way out of it”. Good old Frank! We got
on ok right until I got demobbed.
Looking back although I
was not interested in the nursing side; the tasks that they gave me which were
within my capabilities. I did them without moaning, with enthusiasm and speed-
serve the meals, wash up, dish out the urine bottles and bedpans- clean the
bath and the bogs as well as trying to entertain the patients, and Staff with
my communication skills. I was always
willing to do errands around the hospital such as fetch the meal trolley from
the mess, go fetch so and so’s x-rays, take this patient to theatre, take this
to the path lab, “Can you get these bets on?”, go fetch these drugs from
medical stores; where there was a nasty little sergeant. Very often I would get
carried away on these errands, talking to different people and was away from
the ward quite a while. Old Frank- Sarg. Never bothered; probably he was
pleased to get me out of the way.
When it was my turn for
night duty, the patients used to request the “Cobblers’ Reveille”, this was one
of my self taught skills- hurling a stainless steel bedpan the length of the
ward at 06.00 to wake them up.
One of the perks when I
worked on the Officer’s Ward was the Half pint bottles of Younger’s Beer. Their
ration was one bottle with their evening meal. They used to mount up in the
fridge for various reasons; some patients being on antibiotics, some had been
discharged, some where due for operation next morning or they had just come
back from theatre. Once evening, on the late shift there was only myself and
Shaggy Dunnett on duty. The bottles of Younger’s had mounted up to about a
dozen. When we went off duty at 20.00 hours things where a lot tidier. Shaggy
and I had supped the lot.
16
In 1961 we got a tip for
“The Lincoln”. A horse called Johns Courts from one of the officers. Shaggy and I raked up as much cash that we
could afford. In those days the race was ran on the Carholme at Lincoln. That
afternoon Shaggy was on duty but he instructed me to attend the meeting and put
all of the cash on the nose. It won at about 25-1. We won about a tenner each (about three weeks
RAF pay). We were millionaires on camp for a few days.
I went home to see Mam
and Dad the following weekend. Dad happened to say that he had got two
problems, so we went to the Crows’ Nest for a few pints and a discussion. The
first problem, Dad had already sorted and just wanted to inform me. He began to tell me this story, which in
later years has become a legend. He began, “I have had a dispute with the Manager
at the Midland Bank about the overdraft. I suspect there is some jealousy over
us buying the brand new six seater Ford Consul. He wants us to transfer the
cash from our reserve account to clear the current account overdraft. I have
disagreed with him and told him to leave things as they are. He told me that he
couldn’t do that, so I have told him to close both accounts and pay me what
ever is left. Then he asked me what I am going to do. I told him that I am
going across the road to the Natwest, but that is now none of his business. He
then said that I would get no better service over the road. So I told him that
it would be a change of faces and places. I am just fed up of being treat like
a naughty little school boy for the last 30 years. So Eric, we are now banking
at the Natwest; in fact they welcomed us with open arms”. I replied, “Well done
Dad for standing your ground”. I went to
the bar for the refills, and then Dad continued. “The second thing is a
problem, and we must make a decision before you go back to Nocton. Cleethorpes
Council have been playing up about health and safety referring to the premises
at 62 Coronation Road 16-18 Cambridge Street 15 June 1961 exactly 30 years after Dad had
started business on his own.
Back at camp, after my
48 hour pass. Mostly we were short of money, but if desperate we could collect
a bit of gear together and flog it down the Wagon and Horses at Branston. Then
we would join in the killer at darts. This was quite profitable, although we
sort of had to cheat fair. Shaggy was a star player. He used to whisper his
number to Aberdeen Bob and myself. Naturally we laid off his number and tried
to kill the rest. Shaggy nearly always won and bought the beer for the rest of
evening.
17
About November 1961 I
was assigned to escort duty to take two patients in the ambulance to the RAF
rehabilitation unit at Chessington on the outskirts of London. One was a
Corporal and the other a Junior Technician. Both had had operations on their leg
but were mobile with the help of crutches. LAC Les Hill was the ambulance driver from the MT Section. We left Nocton at
about 10.00hrs. And picked up the A1 at Newark London
“Les, the patients need
to stretch their legs; pull in at the next pub car park.”
Les being a regular
wasn’t too keen in case he got into bother. But after I told him that I would
carry the can for any trouble; he duly pulled in at the next pub car park. What
a picture, the two RAF lads in uniform hobbling out of the ambulance on
crutches and into the pub. The Corporal paid for two pints a piece; we had a
game of dominoes and then back on our way to RAF Chessington.
We arrived at 16.00hrs.
Handed the patients over, parked the Ambulance in the MT section compound, and
went for an evening meal in the airman’s mess. Les and I caught the tube and
went into London Waterloo
Looking back I enjoyed
the two years “fighting” for my country with the RAF both on and off duty. I
represented the station at both table tennis and tennis. I played the double bass
for the camp band- The Bob Patterson Trio. I took several WRAF and Civvie
lasses out for the odd evening, but made very little head way. I must admit, I
was on my best form “out having a Beer with the lads”.
I got demobbed 15 April
1962 beating the system by a month with some scam that I was able to penetrate
mainly by using the ‘Hotson communication skills’.
When I got demobbed from
the RAF in 1962 it wasn’t long before I met a girl called Geraldine (Ger) whom
I married on 15 December 1962. We lived with her parents in Station Avenue, New
Waltham until Proctor Brothers had got the bungalow built at 17 Seaford Road,
Cleethorpes. Dad had helped me to get the deposit of £450 together; the balance
£4000 was on mortgage with the Abbey National. By then Dad and I were drawing
£15 a week each for wages. The mortgage payment per month was £15-3s-10d.
A lot of things that I
have done so far in my life had been to the disapproval of my mother, God bless
her, getting married so quick and wrapping a big mortgage around my neck. I
think according to her rules we should have courted for six years and then
waited another six years before producing an offspring. However our daughter
Frances “our Fran” was born 28th
August 1963 . I bet this got my mother and her two sisters gossiping
at their meetings which were still about four times a week. Dad didn’t bother,
because he knew I had always been in a hurry, that’s why we got the shoes done
so fast. That’s why I didn’t do well at
the Grammar School. Rush the homework- get out to play football etc.
18
Since 1956 our yearly
accounts had been done by JE Cross and Co. Fish Dock Road, Grimsby
Dad was over the moon
when Rob ert (Rob )
was born on the 15th June 1966 (World Cup Year). We were having a
drink in The Crows to wet the baby’s head, and suddenly Dad asked “How did you
time it to the day Eric?” I immediately knew
what he was on about. Dad had this fixation about the 15th June. The
day he started business was 15th
June 1931 , the day the business had moved from Coronation Road Cambridge Street 15th June 1961 .
In 1969 Ian was born. We
where still working hard with the business. I cannot remember how much I was
earning, but it was nowhere near enough to bring up the family and pay the
mortgage. Beer would be about half a crown (about 12.5p in today’s money).
There where several discussions with my wife Ger at home and with Dad over a
pint at the Crows. We were still paying rent of £7-10s a week for 16/18 Cambridge Street 3 Wardle Street
Although we had been
banking at Natwest for eight years we had still not been able to get a loan to
purchase the business premises. As I mentioned Ger and I needed more family
income so we tried opening another shop near our home on North
Sea lane to be run by Ger and her mother. We did not have any
investment capital and had to rely on our suppliers for extended credit. It
only lasted about 6 months because we couldn’t maintain enough cash flow to
keep up the demands of our wholesale suppliers. It was a wrong move, but
something that had been waiting to happen for a few years. The company owed
£11000 to our creditors for supplies. At the annual company meeting in April
1970 our accountant David Mitchell explained that the company was on a
precipice. By the time the meeting had finished The Crows Nest was closed so we
pulled into the Weelsby Woods car park for a talk. The conversation went as
follows. I said, “We are in the mire!
Mitchell says we are on a precipice”
Dad calmly replied “We
better be careful we don’t fall off,”
All was not lost.
Through opening this branch shop I met an old school friend who had this
property on his books for general insurance. I told him about our difficulty in
raising the money to buy 16/18
Cambridge Street
19
So May 1970, we owed
£11000 for stock, and about £4500 for the property. But now we owned the
freehold property which turned out to be a good buy. My wife Ger had always
helped and supported me with the business over the years since 1962 decorating
the shop out, reorganising the sales area and helping in the workshop when we
where over-run with shoes repairs. By now my parents where near to retirement
and nicely settled in their bungalow at 20 Terrington Place
So we are now at rock
bottom, “Up the creek without a paddle”! At our Nadir etc. Dad said that he would leave it to Ger and me
to sort out. He also mentioned that although Mam and he could not help
financially; they would support us in any way that they could.
Ger and I had a meeting
over a few pints, and Rum & cokes, and decided on the following action.
1. Sell 17 Seaford Road. (We got about £6000,
and came out with £1500)
2. Convert upstairs at 16-18 Cambridge Street 3 Wardall Street
3. Discontinue the collection round.
4. Make the staff of
four redundant, and run the Business, Family only. (I was able to get them all
some cash from the Government Redundancy Scheme.)
5. Find a tenant for 76
North Sea Lane. And move all stock to Cambridge
Street
6. Carry on doing top quality shoe repairs.
7. Trade up market
selling men’s and ladies’ all leather footwear.
Family and domestic
wise; we built a patio over the yard between the two buildings, took an
allotment at the back of the Cemetery. The beach, promenade, and the open air
bathing pool, Sussex Rec. and Bee’s Riding
School
There were not many in
the Pool early one particular Sunday in April 1973 when the water temperature
was 54 Fahrenheit. Only Rob and
myself; we were outnumbered by the staff. Good Days! Cheap! A good Job! We had
not got much money!
The watering holes were
mainly, The Fisherman’s where George Lane (Ginger) was at the Helm. The Clee
Home Guard Club where I used to pit my limited Snooker skills against the Team
Players, and occasionally The Crows Nest on a Sunday lunch.
20
At the Home Guard, the beer was Younger’s
Tartan, 15p a pint. They also sold Brew
10 which was cheaper and a cheek! They ought to have paid us to drink it!
It took us about 4 years
to pull the business round, and get us on an even keel. As well as paying all
trade creditors, and the bank overdraft; it also included paying off the
mortgage of the whole building. So in 1975 Ger decide that she had had enough
of being a “Townie” and wanted to move to a place in the country that had some
land. As for Myself, I would probably still be in Cleethorpes, “Worshipping” at
all the local pubs and clubs.
We didn’t owe anybody,
and owned the property, but didn’t have any money. We had always run the
company legally, reconciled the daily takings, and banked three times a week.
Our annual accounting results always were available within a month of the
auditors receiving our information. By now J.E. Cross and Sons had moved to
Abbey Walk, eventually being amalgamated into Forrester Boyd & Co in South
St Mary’s Gate.
How are we going to
raise £10,000 to buy a place?
I rang my old school pal
David. He sent his “Winger” to see me at the shop, and he told me to have £200
cash ready for next Thursday. We searched round, and somehow raked up the £200;
gave it to the “Winger” who deposited in my name with The Halifax Building
Society and then he said, “Now go and
find yourselves a place. We will get you the money, and cover it with an
Endowment Mortgage Policy”. Dad couldn’t believe it and said, “Seems just like
the old school tie; it’s not what you know, it’s who you”. Of course they
required the last three years trading accounts. From our efforts over the last
four years; everything was in order. We realised there would be Corporation Tax
to pay at a later date.
We soon found a place
within driving distance to work. We moved to Caistor on Ian’s birthday 29th August 1975 .
Ian: now you know how you got to Caistor!
8 North Kelsey Road was
a two bedroom detached bungalow standing on half an acre of freehold land which
we bought for £10,750. We used it as three bedrooms by using the front room as an
extra bedroom with the dining room doubling as the living room.
21
Personally I was quite
happy living above the shop at Cleethorpes; but Ger wanted to move into the
country to start a hobby of breeding Cocker Spaniels. Also Fran had sort of completed her
apprenticeship of mucking out horses at the Silver Shoe in Sea View Street, and
riding them on the beach. We did the normal things that are associated
when a family flits, getting the kids into new schools and registering on the
local doctor’s panel etc. I clocked in
at the Talbot pub within six hours of our arrival in Caistor. It wasn’t long before Ger and I started
planning a different layout of the half acre, with the help of my brother in
law Bill Morgan and some local labour from the Talbot. We carried out the
following over the next two years. Added a 12 x 15 Foot kitchen extension, the
Talbot tug of war team uprooted the 9 tree orchard, made the large back garden
into a paddock built a 12 x 18 Foot Stable with leftovers from the kitchen extension
and old bricks and beams scrounged from Kendal’s Demolition in Grimsby. Fran bought a three year old palomino (part
Arab) for £120 from Nev
I soon became a regular
at the Talbot and seemed to mix in ok with the locals and the Irish lads who
had settled in Caistor since coming over to work on the land in the fifties and
sixties. After about a month Mrs Smith,
the barmaid had a quiet word with me. She gave me some sound advice in a
Caistor country accent “Eric, they all like you; now just be careful about what
you say about anyone in Caistor because they are nearly all related.” I signed
on for the Talbot’s darts B team which consisted of mainly long distance lorry
drivers. I got a game if they were short
– then the marker had to watch out!
Dad and I sponsored the
Talbot tug of war team by making them some leather belts to support their
backs. I also had the use of a crew bus to take the team to local village
competitions. I did have a go on the
rope once at the old Caistor hospital garden fete. I was beat after one pull,
and told myself to “Stick to dominoes, snooker and drinking.” I played snooker
down at Lysaghts Sports and Social Club in Holton le Moor, and used ‘Top House’
The Fleece Inn as an alternative to the Talbot.
22
As a family we hardly
ever went on holiday, although I think I can just remember driving a Ford Dormobile
to John O’ Groats, via Edinburgh and back in about six days. Friends,
relatives, and our customers in Cleethorpes used to often ask “Why don’t you go
on holiday Eric?” My standard reply was
“I’ve been on holiday ever since we flitted to Caistor on 29th
August 1975”. Ger used to get involved
with the horses and drive Fran to local shows or Gymkhanas etc. I was quite happy taking Rob
and Ian down ‘Meggie’s
and occasionally on bank holidays to Mablethorpe or Skegness. They were good
lads, after they had had the half day outing, and a treat they used to say,
“We’re ok Dad; let’s get back to Caistor before the Fleece and Talbot close.” Brilliant, so foot down and back to
Caistor. I was always busy wheeling and
dealing in footwear and cobbling boots and shoes; just working like every bloke
to provide for the Family.
About 1987 the shoe
repairing was beginning to get less and less due to cheap throw away footwear.
The big stores had already taken charge of the retailing. I was getting some aches and pains from
standing at a bench and machine for 35 years.
I tried a few things to make the job viable but eventually ceased
trading on March 31st
1990 . I paid all that the
business owed and locked the shop door for the final time. I took the Books to
Forrester Boyd and as I was going into their office I remember thinking to myself,
“I am free, it is like being let out of prison; this is the last time that I
have got to do this”. The last six years
had been disastrous.
As well as enjoying
myself in Caistor, I was a keen supporter of Grimsby Town FC. I used to take the lads with me so that I
could keep an eye on them. Eventually
they lost interest so that just left Dad, and myself, until Fran sold the horse
and decided to be a Town supporter. At
this time, Dad had retired, Fran had left school, and against her mother’s
wishes had kicked the catering course at the college into touch. She was helping me at the shop, mainly at
first to keep her out of her mother’s way.
We worked well together manually and on the clerical side. We were both
company directors of W & E Hotson
Limited.
I’ve been following
Grimsby Town FC since 1946-47 Seasons when they were in the old First Division.
1979-80 season, taking Dad and Fran to the match will always be my favourite
Season. Also in my opinion the team managed by George Kerr was the best team
town ever had in my lifetime. I know
this statement is open to argument, but that is my opinion.
Put football team here..
23
I joined the ranks of
the unemployed the following Monday. I
reported to the job centre in Victoria
Street , Grimsby Hull
I seemed to take to
being unemployed just like a duck takes to water. It gave me plenty of time to
visit friends and relatives, who all agreed that Dad and I had worked hard over
the years.
24
I got the appointment to
see the medical officer in Hull. His
diagnosis was that I have an umbilical hernia and also a slipping left costal
cartilage and that I am only available for light duties and no heavy lifting.
He advised me to consult my local GP. On
consulting my GP he realised immediately that I needed a rest and signed me off
sick. I took the sick note with me to
the job centre on my next signing day.
They soon informed me that I was nothing to do with them now and sent me
over Newmarket Street Bridge to Crown
House in Nelson Street. It turned out that I was about five pound better off on
the sick and also saving me the hassle of signing on every fortnight. This lasted for about three months before the
employment service sent me to one of their doctors who advised them that I was
fit for light duties. So I started
sending for job application forms. I can remember the first one that I was
enthusiastically filling in one evening. I came to the part where you are required to
tick the skills that you have acquired over the years of employment. I came to
a sudden halt. Communication skills? Our
Rob happened to be around so I asked
“What are these communication skills that they’re on about?” Rob gave me an instant reply, “Don’t worry about that Dad, you talk to
everybody!”
I applied for numerous
light jobs but always seemed to get the well typed negative replies. I
registered with the ‘Job Bus’ which came to Caistor every Thursday morning and
learned some computer skills until it was time to meet cousin Harry at The
Fleece or The Talbot.
I gradually became semi
computer literate and registered for the employment service job match
scheme. Basically they paid me £75 per
week as long as I did some part time work and tried to find another part time
job. I helped my daughter and son-in-law (Fran and Chris) in their memorial
business. This was mainly driving and
minding the office and showroom which gave me access to a computer. I was able to get another part time job with
a computer company. This was driving the boss around who had lost his license
through drink driving. This lasted 5
days as there was a fault on the car’s fuel system. He started blaming my driving which I didn’t
agree with. We parted company without
any animosity. He was a good bloke about the same age as our Fran. I called the
five days, an exchange of knowledge. He
taught me some more computer skills; I gave him some business advice and taught
him the eleventh commandment. “Never get
caught,” for the next time he decides to drink and drive! After the six months
job match scheme I did some voluntary administrative work for Caistor
Limited. This was a regeneration outfit
with about eight on the committee. All
were very well educated (at least a degree apiece) and in well paid jobs. None
of them drank at the Talbot or the Fleece so we didn’t have a deal in common.
But I had the use of the computer and got on ok with my main contact the
company chairman who was deputy headmaster at Caistor Grammar school
25
Ger and I had drifted
apart over the years, which lead to divorce in 1994. There was no mud slinging
then, and I am certainly not going start any now. My view was, as soon as
everybody gets on with the rest of their lives, the better. This lead to the
sale of the bungalow, leaving me homeless. So in autumn 1995, I packed my gear
in two black dustbin sacks, and my son in law Chris gave me a lift to
Cleethorpes. I moved into my mother’s spare room at 20 Terrington Place Grimsby Freeman Street
About once a month he
came to visit me at the Crows and I introduced him to all the lads and lasses.
By now I am a regular follower of the Crows Nest FC and also support them in
all their charity efforts raising money for Dr Mack’s Cancer fund.
Shortly before Mam
passed away in April 2003 my eldest son Rob
had come aboard at 20 Terrington Place. I am happy in my present situation. If
I keep in good health, and the Good Lord spares me; I hope you can all put up
with me for another 10 years!
I have written this story on A4; but my thanks
go to my computer wizz-kids; son Ian, granddaughter Vicky (company secretary)
and “Stats Man” Paul.
26
A few more family
memories:
Ger – My ex-wife, helping me to produce and bring up
three great children. The one day train excursion to
Knaresborough.
Fran- The walk down to the match and granddads “clear
round”. “The good times are over.” –
But not yet I hope!
Chris – Working together on shoe repairs and
headstones. Snooker on a Friday night
and dropping me off at the Fleece. The
odd officious bastards that crossed our paths. Taking me to Leicester
when Floreen passed away.
Ian – 7am
Sunday Scartho Baths. “Do Rabbits and Labradors mix”?
The one day outings. Fleece 6.30pm Sunday. Grimsby
Vicky- The tramp round Canada Lane
Paul - Introduction to the Crows Nest Mafia. Granddad’s Minder. “Squelch Allison.”
Harry “Cuzz” About 1948 Camping in the Cow field at Holton- Le-
Moor. About 1951 sailing in your self
manufactured canoe from “The Fitties” and getting ship wrecked near the old
bathing pool.
Leyland and Julie – “Oggie oggie oggie”. The tour of Freeman Street
GOOD LUCK!
Eric the Viking
 |
| With Mum and Paul & Katie at their Wedding. |
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