CHAPTER 11
RETURN TO ENGLAND
September 1964 - January 1966
As my Bristol Britannia aircraft came to a halt at Heathrow Airport in London, I could not contain myself. It was the moment I had been waiting for, during the past eighteen months. I felt ecstatic as I set foot on English soil once again. Then it was through the customs with nothing to declare and a short coach trip to Paddington Railway Station. You never forget small details like this when you are returning home. As far as I was concerned I had done my little bit for my country and I felt on top of the world.
While on the coach, a fellow passenger had been bragging aloud, about how he had managed to get through customs with loads of gear hid in his belongings. Thus denying the British government of precious revenue, in the form of duty that should have been paid on some of the items. Then as we all disembarked from the coach at Paddington railway station, a stranger in a trench coat who had also been on the coach, placed his hand on the passengers shoulder. It turned out that he was an undercover customs officer and had over heard everything the Sailor had bragged about. He was arrested and later taken into custody. I think the motto here is to keep your big mouth shut and do not trust anybody. I understand he ended up paying double the valve of the goods he was carrying, plus a fine of the same amount.
Then it was down into the underground and a short ride to Liverpool Street and the next train home to Stowmarket. All the time I had been in the Far East, I had always dreamt of the day I would return. For some reason I believed I was missing out on something. While in reality I missed absolutely nothing. Stowmarket was still the same old dreary place it had always been. Oh, there was a new house here and a tree cut down there, but basically it still looked the same and I had not missed out on anything. It was as though the town had been locked in time awaiting my return. As you can imagine it only took me a few hours to become fed up and wished I was back in Borneo running around the jungle. I had suddenly become a stranger in my home town.
I had been granted five weeks leave from the Royal Marines and here I was with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. Most of my old friends were all working during the day. While at nights most of the married ones were not allowed out, it being the way we lived in those days. In Stowmarket most people only went out during the weekends. Those that did come out during the week only came to hang around me for free drinks and a couple of my war stories.
It became quite a boring five weeks for me. I never even had my good old faithful Brenda to drop back onto, as she had found herself a steady boy friend while I was away. Therefore, it ended up being one long session of visiting relations and drinking sessions on my own. I did break the monopoly once and visited the 3 in 1 factory, but my reputation must have travelled ahead of me, because I was not successfully in dating one of the factory girls. I just wanted to get back to the Royal Marines in Plymouth, what a waste of five weeks I thought.
I did spend a few days in Ipswich trying to look up some of my old friends, who I had known only two and a half years earlier. However, time marches on I guess. Unfortunately most of them had moved on and were living in new areas of the town, with new pubs to hang out of or had simply got married. I did manage to find Duncan and Butch, both had joined the army and just happened to be on leave like myself. Unfortunately, by this time we did not have much in common with each other. The Royal Marines and the Army do not get on in real life and usually end up fighting at any opportunity. This being a bit of a throw back from the old days, when one of them thought they were better than the other. In order that I did not stir the pot, I never referred to them as Percy Pongo. I lent Butch some money just to get him off my back and I never did get it back. See what did I tell you about the Army. I saw Twinkle from a distance with her new hubby, Colin one of the fair ground workers, pushing a pram with two little one's. Although later the number was to grow to six I believe. Anyway it was at a distance so we never spoke. I’m not even sure if she realised that it was me, because by then my body shape had changed dramatically, I had even grown two inches in height.
At the end of my five weeks leave I was relieved and happy to find myself returning to service life. I had been told to report to the Royal Marine Barracks at Bickleigh in Devon, to join 41 Commando Unit, based on the edge of Dartmoor about an hour’s drive from Plymouth. Very soon I was back into a routine I knew well, of training to be ready for the next little skirmish. Some of my fellow Marines went to Norway for Artic Warfare Training. All Marines have to be ready and expect to be sent anywhere in the world and to fight at a moment’s notice. We must be able to fight in all terrain's and theatres of war. In the snow, the jungle, the desert and a European style of house to house street clearing.
I volunteered for a coxswain’s course that was being held at the Royal Marines water base known as the Hard, which over looked Plymouth bay. We used the new and highly successfully Gemini’s, which to day are better known as Rubber Duckies. They were made of rubber and basically looked like a life raft, but the base was stiffened by the use of a timber in the floor, so they could travel very fast speeds, as they skimmed across the top of the water. They were powered by the old faithful, tried and tested 40hp Mercury out board motors we had used in Borneo. It was all very new to us, it being the new and quick way to get Marines ashore during an emergency. At a push you could carry around 8 Marines, who would take a low profile in the boat as we skimmed across the water. Upon nearing the beach as coxswain I would release the engine locking pin, in case the engine hit the bottom. Then just as the front of the boat was about to hit the beach I would pull the engine up and the boat would ride up the beach a couple of meters, so that the Marines could disembark quickly but with dry feet.
My headaches were starting to get the better of me and I finally succumbed and had to visit the doctor. It then became an endless task of reporting twice a week, having been asked to make notes of when, where and how they were brought on. I was also trying different drugs at every opportunity. However, I found that the ever-faithful Codeine that I had relied on in Borneo still seemed to be the best for me.
In January 1965, Sir Winston Churchill became very ill and doctors agreed that he would not recover. 41 Commando was given the task of training to be the official bodyguard during the funeral. Because during the war Churchill always had a personal Royal Marine bodyguard wherever he travelled. We started training and rehearsing the drills that would be required of us during the funeral. After a weeks gruelling hard work it was decided by the powers that be, to give us a break and to send us all home on leave. I must say that decision was well received by us, especially after the rehearsals had been so intense and full on. We all left Bickleigh camp on Friday at midday. Being told that if Churchill survived until the Monday morning, then 43 Commando who are stationed at Stonehouse Barracks in Plymouth, would take over the funeral duties.
I travelled all the way home to Creeting Road in Stowmarket, arriving home at around midnight, to be greeted by Mum and Dad and some well-earned sleep. However, the very next morning at 8am, I received a telegram from my Plymouth barracks, informing me that Winston Churchill had passed away over night and so would I return to my barracks. I then spent all of Saturday on a train returning to my barracks in Bickleigh, to get all of my belongings together and to return immediately to London, where we moved into Chelsea barracks. This was to be our headquarters, where we had to under take further practice for the funeral. Only this time it was held on the streets of London at 4am in the mornings, trying to keep it secret from the people of London. A couple of these practice sessions were held in the snow. To stand to attention for many hours in the snow is not a very nice experience.
Being in London meant we were all having some good runs ashore at night. It did not take us long to visit the usual haunts with lots of drinking etc and staggering back to the barracks after midnight. Then trying to get some highly prized sleep before getting back up at 3am, so we were ready for drill at 4am. Can you imagine the state that some of us were in.
I think the funeral took place midweek, Wednesday or Thursday. We were all formed up on the cobblestones of Tower Hill, if you ever see a photo there were 120 Royal Marines and I was next to the right hand marker. Therefore, on the photo I’m second from the left in the front row. Marching and standing at attention on those cobblestones was very hard, I think one of the Marines in the back row even passed out. I say that because at all times we have to look to our front. It’s a chargeable offence to turn your head to look at some strange noise that might be attracting your attention behind. However, I was looking at the crowds of people on the other side of the road. It was their reactions that told me that something was not quite right. At first they were only pointing but soon they started shouting and pointing. The next thing I remember is some of them saying, “He’s going, He’s going He’s gone” and with that I heard a deafening thud some where behind me, while the people in front started laughing. Apparently a Marine had passed out by falling back wards in what we call the at ease position. Anyway the sergeant at the back left him on the ground for a couple of minutes to regain his senses and then hoping he had come around he and another sergeant just stood him up and he returned to the at ease position as if nothing had happened.
I can remember hearing the very loud booming noise of the bass drum, keeping all the military personnel in step. As the funeral possession approached us from St Paul’s Cathedral. The gun carriage carrying Churchill’s coffin stopped in front of where we were all formed up on the badly slopped hill. Then as it was lifted on to the shoulders of the pole bearers, I believe they were from the Royal Air Force. The coffin being lead lined was very heavy and the service men wearing steel studded boots on granite cobblestones, was not a good mix. As one guy started to slide, I thought they were going to drop the coffin, but it all turned out okay. The coffin was then carried down the hill to board a small boat by the Tower Pier for a short trip up the river. Where he was eventually buried on his Blenheim estate.
Then it was back to Chelsea Barracks, pack up all our gear and return to Bickleigh in Devon. Although I do feel very honoured to have been part of the ceremony, for once in my life I had taken part in history. Although to this day I have still never seen any photos of the event.
Back at Bickleigh, my headaches were getting very bad and I was sent to see different specialists down in Plymouth, but nothing seemed to be helping me. One funny event happened, during a visit to one of the specialist. Some drops were placed in my eyes, I do not know what for, but it left me not being able to see because everything was out of focus. When the doctor had finished with me he just said okay, off you go back to your unit and walked away leaving me on my own. I was almost totally blind and could not focus on to anything. I had no idea where I was or where to go. Leaving me to feel my way along a wall and somehow get out of the building. I had to sit on a lawn for a couple of hours to let the drugs wear off and to get my eyesight back.
On another visit, I saw an old squaddies, Marine Warne the Grave Digger. He had been kicked out of the Marines earlier, not being able to keep up with those around him. Although he had been very lucky and managed to get a job at the hospital in the maintenance department.
Around this time I befriended a Marine I named Snowy. We used to have some wild times in Plymouth during our weekends ashore. A lot of people latched onto us knowing that we would have a good time. I’ve always said that you make your own fun in this world, it beats me that somebody would want to cash in on somebody else’s. It just goes to prove that some people have not got a mind of their own. Snowy had been married to a Wren who came from the north of England some where, but I believe her parents originally came from Jamaica. Poor old Snowy the marriage only lasted a few months and it hurt him bad.
That year 41 Commando was picked to represent the Royal Marines at the Earls Court Royal Tournament Display. That particular year we had to demonstrate how good we were as Cliff Climbers. A demonstration was organised to show how a Commando unit would disembark on a beach. Six of our Cliff leaders would then free climb the artificial 80 foot cliff to attach ropes at the top that would assist the remainder of the unit following. Once at the top the demonstration was actually over, but to amuse the crowd we then proceeded to show them different styles of coming down the ropes. Most of these were just abseiling back down the ropes they had just come up. However, there were several demonstrations that all Marines wished they could have participate in. A rope had been secured from the top of the cliff to a position out in the middle of the area. This was a demonstration of the Marines famous Death Slide that we had all undertaken during our training back at Lympstone. One Marine came down the rope lying face down and travelling towards the ground at a very fast speed. Then another Marine did the exact same demonstration, only this time he took his hands off and stuck them out from his side so that he looked like and aircraft. Half way down he peeled off as though he had lost his balance and was falling. Immediately the crowd all gasped and several of then stood up. Only to be relieved as the Marine was seen to be attached to the main rope by one of our toggles. There were several other demonstrations like this to amuse the crowd. One thing I had forgotten to mention and that’s when some of the Marines where climbing up their respective ropes, to the public it must have looked like they were running up the cliff. In fact they were, because a group of other Marines were on the roof of the area pulling the other end of the ropes.
We used to perform these shows twice a day for I believe three weeks, so as you can imagine we became very good at what we were doing. Especially because we were performing in front of a crown, well aint we all show men. It was also because we were in London which meant that we could have some good runs a shore once our show was over. It was about this time that one night after a show I met up with a girl who came from Shepperton in Australia. She and a friend where hitch hiking around Europe and at that time were staying in Earls Court where most of the Aussies congregated at that time, it was even known as Kangaroo Valley. I saw her for a couple of nights as we had only met towards the end of our stay in London, although I did enjoy her company I knew that there was really no future between us.
One night we had a bad accident during one of the shows. As the free climbing Cliff Leaders where climbing with the ropes tied around their waste, a fellow Marine would be feeding the rope up to him that was uncoiling from a wicker basket on the ground, this was so the rope would not fouls or end up with a knot in it. Three quarters of the way up one of the Cliff Leader lost a hand hold and plummeted to the ground landing on one of the basket. The show continue although the lights were dimmed while first aid medic stretchered him from the area.
Unfortunately he broke his back and we all realised that it was the end of his career in the Royal Marines, it was also assumed that he would spend the test of his life in a wheel chair. The crazy thing about the whole affair was that he was one of the few Marines at that show who did not drink. I shouldn’t say this but several of us were usually carrying the after effects of drink during some of the shows. However, there was one nice gesture that came out of the terrible event. Later during the evening a guy called around the back where we were all billeted inside Earls Court looking for our commanding officer. After introducing himself and saying that he had been watching the show. He went on to say that whenever the Marine recovered he would look after him with employment. Most Marines could not thank him enough knowing that to be the hardest part of his rehabilitation. It was a good bet that the service would not look after him, there being no huge compensation pay outs in those days. It’s even sadder that I can not remember the Marines name.
I also had my fair share of pain at Earls Court when I awoke one morning to find my face all swollen up and very painful. My first thought was that I’d been beaten up the night before. Although I was sure that I had not been ashore after the show. Anyway I went along to see our Doctor and he told me that I had an abscess above one of my front teeth. By this time I could hardly talk so I was just nodding my head. I was immediately rushed around to one of the main military building in London that just happened to be only a couple of miles away. Upon my arrival I was met at the front door by a security officer who led me to a lift that only reopened on the floor I was to visit. I couldn’t believe it, it was like walking into a modern hospital. I was taken to see the dentist, who informed me that he could attack the problem in two ways. He could drill into the front of the tooth and up or he could drill in from the back and up, I choose the latter. Once he had completed the hole he inserted a needle and burst the abscess. He then informed me that it was up to me now, asking me to suck our what ever was in the abscess. Pain I have never felt pain like that before in my whole life. At one time I thought I was sucking my eyes out. After washing it out he just plugged up the hole. Now I had always referred to these guys as butchers, and of not knowing what they were doing. To this day that tooth is still in place and has not caused me any further trouble, so I guess I was wrong as usual.
In June 1965, I went home for a week's leave. During this time, I was in Ipswich drinking with a few new friends in the Cricketers Hotel. We were all very drunk and sky larking about, when a couple of young girls came in. As there were not many people in the room at the time a lot of attention was paid to them. I was getting very short of cash, I had an old Evening Star newspaper that I had bought earlier and so as a means of an introduction, I tried to resell the paper to them, which they never bought. At least it got me talking to them. One was Margaret who came from Leiston, while the other girl I cannot remember her name lived in London Road Ipswich. Anyway my chatting to them seemed to be getting me accepted, which surprised me as I was a bit of a mess, being drunken unshaved and a bit scruffy in appearance. I do not remember much more, other than I did arrange to meet Margaret again. In fact, I went with her to Leiston where she took me to meet her married sister Sheila at Westleton and to see her first-born child. So we became fond of each other, but I had to return to Bickleigh in Devon as my leave was over.
A couple of weeks later I took a long weekend's leave and returned to Leiston to see Margaret. Almost without hesitation, she was talking marriage. I left it to Margaret (Farthing) to do all the arrangements. I also believe this all took place in a very short period of only about eight to ten weeks, on reflection it was all to fast. In fact I now know it to be to fast, we really needed more time together to get to know each other. Because most of our courting was done by letters and from either side of the country.
Snowy my Marine buddy agreed to be my best man, so to introduce him to what he was in for, we took another long weekend leave, so I could take him to Leiston and introduce him to everybody, boy was that a weekend to remember.
We boarded a train in Plymouth carrying our two Pipkins of beer, I think a Pipkin is a gallon in a can. Anyway, we laid newspapers down on the floor of the corridor because all seats were taken and started to drink and make merry of our trip. Halfway to London and very drunk, the train stopped at some small station. While Snowy was leaning on a carriage door, somebody suddenly opened it sending him sprawling out onto the platform. Causing quite a stir, it took several minutes to get him back on the train.
In London, we also had a whale of a time. Later while at Liverpool Street Station and waiting for our connecting train, we were drinking in the station buffet bar. Where we met up with two good-looking girls, for about an hour we had a good laugh with them. Finally we had to leave to catch our train and to our surprise so did the girls, I believe one was called Ann, (Bartell). Anyway, more surprises were in store for me. They actually boarded the Norwich train with us, so we all made our way to the Buffet car and carried on with our drinking and laughing. At Ipswich Snowy and I had to change trains to catch the Lowestoft train, more surprises the girls also caught the Lowestoft train. So we stayed with them once again, unfortunately this time there was no buffet car on this train, but the party was still into full swing. We had to change trains once more at Saxmundham and would you believe it so did the girls, in those days trains went through to Leiston. When the girls boarded the Leiston train I was starting to get a little worried, man at this rate I would not mind betting they would be going to the house next door to where we were going. I knew that Leiston was a small place and that everybody knew everybody. Mind you I did not really have much to worry about, because nothing had happened it was just a good laugh and a drink. However, you never know how tongues might wag in a small village. Outside of Leiston station, we waved goodbye to the girls as their father picked them up in his car. At that time, I thought or should I say hoped that it would be the last time we met. All I can remember is that Ann lived at East Bridge and I was hoping it would be the end of Saga.
Snowy and I stayed at Margaret’s parent’s house in Waterloo Avenue, where we were introduced to everybody in her family. A visit to the church to find out how it all worked, then a trip to Ipswich for a night out. Where Snowy was introduced to Margaret's friend from London Road, who had been with her when we first met and they got on quite well. On the Monday morning we returned penniless to Bickleigh with no beer drinking on the train, so as you can imagine the trip was quite uneventful.
Within a couple of weeks the time arrived to depart Bickleigh and to head for Leiston and my marriage to Margaret. Everybody had been throwing parties for me and I was getting into a bit of a state. By the Thursday my Company Officer told me I was in such a state that I was of no use to him, I might as well go on leave early. And so at midday Thursday, Snowy and I left Plymouth by train. Once again with our Pipkins of Red Barrel Bitter, under our arms we headed for Plymouth Railway Station. There to once again take up out tried and test position of sitting on newspapers in the carriage corridor. On this occasion there were not too many incidents on the train. Although once we arrived in London we hit a couple of clubs, where we got picked up by the Police for being drunk and disorderly. However, once they knew I was to be married we were released and a squad car took us to Liverpool Street Station to catch the Norwich train.
I can remember being woken from a deep sleep to a light jolting sensation couple to some sort of rhythmic, bump-ty-bump-ty-bump. When I opened my eyes, Snowy and I were sprawled out on a station luggage trolley being pushed down the platform towards our train by a coloured porter. The bumping was from the old iron trolley wheels running over the platform paving slab joints. Anyway, somehow we made it to my parent’s house in Stowmarket early Friday morning. After a quick wash up, we headed to Ipswich for a stag night out with some of my old friends if I could find any. Although I do not know why, because my stag night had already been going for almost a week.
Saturday morning found Snowy and myself on our way to Leiston with Mum and Dad in their brand new car. We arrived early so Snowy and I went to the Volunteers pub. Margaret's mother used to clean there and it was the only pub I knew in Leiston. The owner was a guy called Plum who also came to the wedding. Unfortunately Snowy and I got into the grog once again, joining in with the locals who had just left off from work. When a taxi was sent to pick us up, a few of the local builder’s labourers who we had befriended, climbed in wearing their working clothes and Wellington boots Finally another taxi came, so Snowy and I got on board plus another couple of regulars from the pub.
At the church I felt wobbly, but thought I was all right. Wearing full Royal Marine uniform, Snowy and I made our way down the isle, taking up our positions by the altar. When the organ suddenly struck up with "Here Comes the Bride" I turned round to see what was happening and that is the last thing I can remember. As I went down with a bang, apparently I also knocked Snowy over on my way down.
The next thing I remember was that I could feel something or someone that I thought was punching me in the stomach, so I reared up to hit them. Lucky I did not, because as I opened my eyes I saw the Vicar loosening my military white webbing belt, to give me a little air. Next I heard him say, "Can the congregation please be seated as the groom is not ready yet".
The rest of the wedding went off okay, although I cannot remember too much from that point on. The reception was held in the Church Hall next door to the church and I think the church was St Margaret's on Waterloo Ave.
All my relations had travelled the long distance from Stowmarket to attend the wedding and to be introduced to Margaret's parents and family. I’ve often wondered what they all thought of my little drunken escapade
For a honeymoon we went to Marlbough Hotel in Felixstowe, but even this turned out to be a disaster of kinds. The evening we arrived at the hotel the manager signed us in and then asked if there was anything else we needed, to which Margaret replied that we’d had a hard day and so we might turn in right away. Now he knew we were newly weds and for some reason I felt a little shy and embarrassed. Therefore, I went in to the bar for a few drinks making sure that the manager saw me for a couple of hours before I beat a hasty retreat to the bed room. On the Monday, I got an urgent Telegram to return to Bickleigh. Although I cannot remember why.
Snowy had stayed the Saturday night with my parents and then caught a train to his hometown in Hartlepools. I have not heard or seen Snowy since I left the Marines, pity I would like to meet up with him again, we had some good times together. Today I only have two photos of the wedding with Snowy on, which took place on 07-08-65.
I did not spend long with my new bride, because a serviceman's life is both lonely for husbands and wives and not many homes had telephones in those days, so it was contact by letter only. Then it is the same for all servicemen and some good relationships do develop.
My headaches were becoming unbearable now and I was still visiting specialists of all descriptions, finally around October I was admitted to a hospital in Plymouth, where I was under the care of a Lieutenant. Commander Silvester. He later became the Queens Consultant on Psychiatry, so he must have been pretty good. After being made to take a lot of different drugs and things a decision was finally made that I was unfit to serve in Her Majesty Royal Marines and that I was a liability to my fellow Marines. If we were at war and I was on guard with a migraine attack, I might not do my duties correctly and miss something, putting everybody around me at risk. His words also included that as I was recently married maybe if I settled down to a quiet married life and took things easier it was possible that I could grow out of them. To this day and it’s now 18.04.06, I still suffer badly, in fact some times a lot worse than in those early days. Therefore, I guess looking at it like that, I did not get better and could indeed have been a liability to my fellow Marines. As for slowing down my pace of life, well that never happened either. I’m over 60 now and am still running around like a youngster. The only time I’m going to stop is when they screw the lid down on my coffin. That should keep me still for five minutes.
While in hospital one night a Dutch Marine was brought into my ward screaming and tied up with very thick tow rope to a stretcher, he was pumped up with drugs and left until morning to settle down. Apparently, he had gone berserk on board a Dutch Naval ship, moored in Plymouth Harbour. Knocking out several crew members and for this reason nobody was game to cut him loose. In the morning an orderly brought him some food, I told him that I knew a few words of Dutch from my romantic days with Ria in Altmaar. So I hand fed Rob Koosters while he was still tied up, Rob was nearly crying because of the tightness of the thick ropes around him. It was obvious that the drugs had all worn off, I thought he looked like he was back to normal not aggressive like he was when he was brought in to the ward. I went and saw the medical orderly and got permission to cut him loose. They agreed it might be a good move and not wanting to upset him further they agreed to stay out the way. Which I did with no problems. Rob then finished his meal and we spent a long time talking. Especially about his young son’s liking for the Beatles. Over the years we did keep in contact, sending the odd Christmas card and letter to each other. He told me the story of how he and his mother hid in a cellar during the Second World War when the Battle of Arnhem was taking place above them. While I told him of my meeting with Ria a couple of years earlier. Unfortunately, since I left England I have lost contact with Rob which is a pity, as I would like to see him again some time.
I was given several long weekends back in Leiston with Margaret to prepare me for getting back into Civilian Street. On one trip back, I had a very bad migraine attack on board a train, just after leaving Liverpool Street Station. It was so bad and I mean bad that I had orange flashing lights in my head the works. Somehow I managed to get home, I guess more by luck than anything else. My migraines today have changed, I no longer get flashing lights but the headaches are still very server.
On a train trip to see my Mother in Stowmarket, I bumped into Melvin Peachment while on Stowmarket Railway Station. I could not believe it, Melvin was an old School chum and had just joined the Royal Marines. Funny I was coming out and he was then going in. However, we never met anymore for reasons I will explain later.
I was actually released from the Royal Marines at the Bickleigh camp and in late November I headed for Stonehouse Barrack in Plymouth to return all my gear and complete the necessary paper work. I was given about eight weeks leave to find a job and settle down, my final release date was about late December 1965.
Over the years, I had accumulated a large collection of photos of all the guys and girls I have known over the years. It was just for fun, something I had enjoyed doing and whenever I met a new girl, I would talk her into giving me a photo. Most girls in those days carried one in their handbag. Anyway I had hundreds of them in my dressing table draw at home. One day Margaret saw this lot and made me destroy them. Reluctantly I agreed and it took me a couple of hours to burn them all in an incinerator at the bottom of Dad's garden. Something I regret to this day, because I would have loved to have include a few of them in this book.
Margaret and I lived with my Mum and Dad at Creeting Road, Stowmarket and I managed to get a job at the Suffolk Iron Foundry, assembling lawn mowers. However, I found it hard to adjust after being in the Marines for the past few years. While Margaret had managed to get a job working for Woolworth’s in the centre of town, but I know she hated it, just like me. After only five weeks in Stowmarket, she talked me into moving to Leiston to live with her parents. She told me that I could probably get a job at the Sizewell Nuclear Power Station, which was just completed and its power was about to come on line. Her father already worked there and said that I would be able to get a job, well I didn't, plus Margaret said she would also get a job which she didn’t. Come to think of it, I don't believe she ever did work again. Anyway in early January 1966 we upped and moved to 122 Waterloo Avenue, Leiston. Suffolk.
Margaret's father was known as Woot, I believe his real name was Wilfred. Her Mother's name was Ivy and that's about all I can remember about them. Funny but its only now when I try and look back, that I realise just how little I knew about them. Wooty always spoke well of me and at different times, paid me respect and credit. Something I will always remember about him. He always said I would make it in this world and said I would do well in everything I tried my hand at. Something I still try to do today, because whatever job I do, I try to do it to the best of my ability, Plus I am still very competitive even at the age of sixty plus.