02 Settling In

‘Fish, chips and peas please,’ said Mam.

‘Peas? We don’t sell peas,’ said the man behind the counter at the chippy on Twydall Green.

Mam wasn’t happy when we got outside. ‘He looked at me like I was daft,’ she said. ‘Anyone would think the Martians had landed. Fancy them not doing mushy peas.’ 

They didn’t do steak puddings either, or gravy. No chip shops in Gillingham did. They didn’t sell Vimto or Dandelion and Burdock, either. Shame.

Yes, things were different. The locals talked funny and they had some strange ways, but we didn’t have too many problems adapting to our new life in Kent. Plenty of kids lived on Crundale Road and they were always eager to play. And we still had Bootsie and Snudge on the telly, though Mam had to correct my pronunciation when I looked up from the Daily Mirror’s TV listings to ask if we were now South-ern. 

At Twydall Infants School I was welcomed into class by Miss Thorpe, and entrusted into the care of Andrew Akehurst. Andrew took care of me in those early days but the first friend I made was Michael Strudwick, who lived at the top of Crundale Road. Michael and I regularly met up after school to crayon our Wavy Line (a grocery brand) colouring books, obtained free of charge, from Tabearts on Twydall Lane.

In our dear Lord's garden
Planted here below
many tiny flowers
in sweet beauty grow

That was the first hymn I ever sang in the school hall. Only I didn’t really sing it at all. I just mumbled along whilst listening to an angelic Ronald Low, with whom I’m shared a song pamphlet. The sun shone brightly through the hall windows that morning, enhancing the joy of worship in an ambience unknown at my old school in Bolton, where Faith of our Fathers was sung with fire and brimstone under the watchful eye of a psychopathic nun.

But nuns with canes, and teachers that tugged kids by the hair as an aid to counting were all in the past; Twydall was my future and I made another friend in the playground. Alan Stewart, a natural leader, took charge of everything from ‘What time is it Mister Wolf?’ to aeroplane games. 

‘You can be a Spitfire,’ Alan would say. ‘And you can be a Lancaster Bomber. And you can be a Wellington… boot.’

The boot always got a laugh. Thus, half a dozen aircraft took off, arms splayed, engines roaring across the infant’s playground. Oh what a thrill.

Another kid I got to know was Kevin Entwistle. I didn’t realise it at the time but Kevin was in a younger class than me. A big lolloping teddy bear of a kid, he only wanted to play but I lost count of the times I had to wrestle him off my shoulders.

Christmas Candle made by old friend and classmate William Hollands, Christmas 1961

Christmas was coming when Miss Thorpe plonked a big box of old Christmas cards on Karen Swandale’s desk. Though an invitation for us to choose one, for the calendars we were making, was quickly retracted.

‘Stop! Put them back!’ cried Miss Thorpe when a disorderly rabble gathered around Karen’s desk. ‘Sit down and I’ll call you one at a time.’

With great disappointment I returned the card I’d picked – a stag in the snow – to Karen, with a whispered request that she save it for me. Whether she could, or would, I did not know but after enduring an anxious wait for my turn I was overjoyed when Karen, with her two front teeth missing, smiled and slipped me the card from under her desk. In doing so she earned a place in my heart forever.