NEW EVERY MORNING....
“When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent......”
As midnight approaches I look back, not just upon 2017, but from the beginning. I thank God for my parents and my brothers and sisters who provided the family in which I grew up. All over the world there are children who would not believe such love and security was possible. I give thanks for my school teachers who made the best of me - especially my Headmaster who gave such an exaggerated report of my financial prowess that I have enjoyed a career as a Chartered Accountant beyond all expectations. I give thanks for my time in 1941/43 as a founder-member of 172 (Haywards Heath) Squadron – Air Training Corps, which led to RAF 181 Signals Wing (Air radar) in Burma and Indonesia. I give thanks for those who made it possible for me to have my own accountancy practice after the war - those who worked for me and those who were my clients. I give thanks for those who voted for me in Parish Council and District Council elections and those who forgave or excused my shortcomings. I give thanks for those who encouraged me in voluntary work after retirement, particularly as a Charity Trustee. I give thanks for the Priests and Chaplains who have advised and guided me over the years, especially those who did not hold my back-sliding against me. And I thank my Guardian Angel (I think of her as female) for the innumerable occasions when I must have goaded her almost beyond endurance. Before all these I thank my wife and children who have tolerated my many shortcomings yet still profess to quite like me. On and off. So here’s to 2018 - and my hope for you all is that, whatever the hardships ahead. you will find such love and support as I have enjoyed.
.....what time will then remain for moaning and lament.”
Sunday 31 December 2017
Tuesday 28 November 2017
Mr Tod - as I remember it
Our first dog - but my tale begins long before.
I left school at 15 and started work in an accountants office in Haywards Heath. Our offices fronted on Paddockhall Road with a small garden. One day when I went to work I was surprised to see my Boss in gardening clothes, weeding. I went in and asked his secretary what was going on? She said "!His dog died last night". "Oh, sad" I said "but what's going on?". "I told you," she snapped - "his dog died and he's upset". I couldn't believe my ears - a grown man behaving like that just because a dog had died?
Well, life went on, the war came, I got married, had a family. The children (5) had the usual pets - rabbits, guinea pigs, etc.but Simon longed for a dog. Mother (wisely) said No - she knew she would be left to look after it. Life still went on, we progressed from impoverished to just about managing, and we gradually moved up the property ladder until we moved to a more isolated house on the outskirts of Oxford.Simon seized his chance - "Now you're in a more isolated position you really, REALLY need a guard dog". We gave in and he immediately found an advert for a home wanted for a dog.
The dog belonged to an old man who sold the Evening Standard at London's Green Park underground station. The poor old chap, a churchgoer, was dying of cancer and from time to time had to go into hospital;.. When that happened, the Vicar went round trying to find someone who would look after the dog. Eventually he told the old chap that it was not fair to the dog or the parishioners and it would be a kindness to all if the dog was put down. The poor old chap was distraught - "You cannot kill a healthy dog - can you not find him a home in the country?". (Pause while I wipe my eyes)
So they advertised - in the Oxford paper because the people looking after him at that time lived in the area as well as in London. We fell for him at once, and he for us. I don't remember his name then but we decided to find our name for him and, thanks to Beatrix Potter, we called him Mr Tod (Toddy for short) because he looked a bit foxy.
We had him for 5 or 6 years and we had never been happier. I like to think that these were his happiest times, too. He loved the children as much as they loved him. Alas, he grew old and eventually was diagnosed with liver cancer and had to end his days. The vet asked if we would like to have him back for one last weekend and I was all for it but Mother said No and she was right. I howled - literally. After all those years I understood my Boss being upset "just because a dog had died".
Our first dog - but my tale begins long before.
I left school at 15 and started work in an accountants office in Haywards Heath. Our offices fronted on Paddockhall Road with a small garden. One day when I went to work I was surprised to see my Boss in gardening clothes, weeding. I went in and asked his secretary what was going on? She said "!His dog died last night". "Oh, sad" I said "but what's going on?". "I told you," she snapped - "his dog died and he's upset". I couldn't believe my ears - a grown man behaving like that just because a dog had died?
Well, life went on, the war came, I got married, had a family. The children (5) had the usual pets - rabbits, guinea pigs, etc.but Simon longed for a dog. Mother (wisely) said No - she knew she would be left to look after it. Life still went on, we progressed from impoverished to just about managing, and we gradually moved up the property ladder until we moved to a more isolated house on the outskirts of Oxford.Simon seized his chance - "Now you're in a more isolated position you really, REALLY need a guard dog". We gave in and he immediately found an advert for a home wanted for a dog.
The dog belonged to an old man who sold the Evening Standard at London's Green Park underground station. The poor old chap, a churchgoer, was dying of cancer and from time to time had to go into hospital;.. When that happened, the Vicar went round trying to find someone who would look after the dog. Eventually he told the old chap that it was not fair to the dog or the parishioners and it would be a kindness to all if the dog was put down. The poor old chap was distraught - "You cannot kill a healthy dog - can you not find him a home in the country?". (Pause while I wipe my eyes)
So they advertised - in the Oxford paper because the people looking after him at that time lived in the area as well as in London. We fell for him at once, and he for us. I don't remember his name then but we decided to find our name for him and, thanks to Beatrix Potter, we called him Mr Tod (Toddy for short) because he looked a bit foxy.
We had him for 5 or 6 years and we had never been happier. I like to think that these were his happiest times, too. He loved the children as much as they loved him. Alas, he grew old and eventually was diagnosed with liver cancer and had to end his days. The vet asked if we would like to have him back for one last weekend and I was all for it but Mother said No and she was right. I howled - literally. After all those years I understood my Boss being upset "just because a dog had died".
Tuesday 15 August 2017
VJ Day 1945
Before the war we were all at it - British, American, French Belgium - we all had our Asian colonies. The Dutch had their East Indies, now Indonesia. All fell to the Japanese, all had been promised limited autonomy under the Japs after they had won the war. In July/August 1945 we were part of a vast armada making for Kuala Lumpur for retaking Malaysia, after which we would progress down to take Singapore, but the Nuclear Age intervened. We carried on to Singapore, then began the liberation of the Dutch East Indies. When the Japs came, they rounded up all the men and murdered them on the spot or sent them to work on the railways or in the mines; the women and children were rounded up and Sumatra became a vast Prisoner-of-War camp. No-one was well treated, some suffered more than others. All wanted to get back to Holland as soon as possible, so we established a repatriation service. Small planes were used to ferry the survivors, about 24 at a time, to Singapore where they were transferred either to larger planes or troop ships for the journey "home". The flying conditions at Medan (Sumatra) were primitive, the Japs having destroyed all they could, and I was sent out to install a simple navigation system to help pilots to identify our runway. One night, the pilot was hesitant about taking off because the weather was bad and getting worse. He decided to press on but quickly found conditions impossible so he decided to turn back..But to land safely he had to rely on my untested navigation aid. He made it - all was well. I was in the canteen when the door burst open and the pilot came in demanding "Where is the Radar King?" (my nickname ever after). It could only be me so I stood nervously. He came over, shook me by the hand, and said "I have to thank you for saving my life. And my crew. And my passengers." I could ask for no better reward.
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