Life at ‘Home’

I’ve always suspected (well, since knowing anything of these things) that my twin brother David and I were part of an ‘extra’ birthday present (March 8 th) for our father. Certainly the dates work out appropriately! The story was that there was no inkling that we were twins until at about 7 months, the clinic sister said ‘Doctor has told you that there are two, hasn’t he’! I can’t imagine that Marjorie and Trevor were immediately enraptured. This would make the family six in number, and present a number of problems – money, size of house, car etc.; not to mention the strain of having four children under 8 in a post-

war world when the provision of things was difficult.

Too late to worry about any of that now and David William and Colin Richard duly made their appearance at a Maternity Home in Penn Fields, Wolverhampton on November 11th 1947. David (5lbs something) was born first and Colin (breached) was delivered 1.25 hours later at 11.15am. He weighed in at 7lbs something (thus starting something of a trend). A photograph shows proud parents standing at the door of their then home, 11 Aldersley Avenue, Tettenhall holding one each arm – presumably their first arrival home.

Mother used to say that it was a 24 hour job keeping us fed and changed. She breast fed us as long as she could but soon had to supplement that with bottles etc. I can recall the old boiler in which (presumably) our nappies were washed. It was a cylindrical tub, with a gas ring set into the base in order to heat the water to boiling point. That first winter must have been a nightmare. I imagine that family helped out and certainly cousin Marjorie (Jones) was delighted at the thought of newly born twin cousins.

82 Codsall Road, TettenhallAt some point within that first twelve months, the decision was taken to move and a much larger house (82 Codsall Road, Claregate, Tettenhall) was bought. The house dated from the middle thirties, and had been built by the local builders, John McLean and Sons. Mr McLean lived next door with his wife and younger

son Larry (Lawrence). This was a big move up – from a two bedroom bungalow to a five bedroom detached house with large garden. I wonder how Dad did it? It was bought from an elderly couple named Nelson, who sold a few items of furniture with it. This was the earliest home I can recall and very occasionally, features still in dreams. The house is basically a rectangle at ground floor level, with variant roof lines on the left had side of the building as you look at it. Attractive that might be, but it made at least two of the rooms unnecessarily small and difficult to use. It had a sizeable front garden with (originally pebbled, later tarmac’d) drive. Two large fir trees were also there, one shielding the front door from view. Then a small lawn surrounded by beds,

with a circle filled with roses in the centre. The front door was recessed into the hall, providing a door step and porch. It opened into an oblong hall, stair running (with one turn) up the left hand side, lounge door straight ahead, dining room on the right and kitchen in the left hand corner, behind and in line with the staircase. Its prominent feature was a plate rack, and with was panelled with some sort of artificial panelling up to that point, dark brown in colour. The effect, with brass door plates, knockers and handles was ‘tudorbethan’.

The two main living spaces were dining room and kitchen. In my memory, both had fires in them constantly from September until late May, or when ever required. We had no central heating. In winter, a fire would be lit in the lounge on Sundays (‘to keep it aired’ – we rarely used it, especially after the advent of telly). In extreme conditions the gas heater in the hall would be lit, but barely succeeded in touching the cold and if you were ill, an electric fire might be allowed in your bedroom. A paraffin heater warmed (?) the bathroom. The frost would coat the inside of the window pains with pretty patterns and if you took them off at all, you dragged underclothes into bed with you in the morning to warm them up before struggling into them beneath the bedclothes. Washing (once the family ritual of being bathed as children stopped) was perfunctory! The kitchen had a small range with gated fire and oven above. This was fed with coke and could usually be persuaded to stay in over night. Lighting the dining room fire was the first

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job of the day after the kettle had been put on the stove – at one stage, I often did it on Sundays. It was furnished with large built in dresser (drawers, cupboards and surface space), porcelain sink (I remember my father building cupboards to surround it) with draining boards; a corner pantry with stone slab and shelving plus a meat safe, later replaced by a fridge; eventually a large washing machine (Hotpoint Empress with electric wringer!) and a table and chairs in the centre of the room. My earliest recollection is of an electric stove, eventually replaced by a large New World Gas cooker. The oven over the fire was also pressed into service on Sundays for items like rice puddings etc. It was always unreliable on temperature! Above the fireplace was a hanging airer from which washing was suspended and ironed clothes aired (those are back in fashion again now). Mondays was wash day and Tuesday, ironing day – an exhausting and time consuming business with every process having to be done by hand. It’s hard to contemplate how much serious work our Mother did here, day in, day out. She cooked breakfast everyday except Sunday; prepared meals for us all at tea time and again for Dad when he got back from work at about 8pm. She baked cakes and puddings; prepared vegetables – there were few ‘convenience’ foods; washed up several times a day; dealt with all of the housekeeping requirements; daily dusting and hoovering; making up and cleaning after the fires. Most of our childhood she had help once or twice a week – a Mrs Carless, Mrs Winchurch1 at one point when she had been ill and for many years, Mrs Morris from Burland Avenue. Each day had its list of jobs, and to be added to that was getting children to and from school at the appropriate times. She felt worn out most of the time, and thinking about it now, I’m not surprised. We took her and the work she did, for granted most of the time. She would always be there, despite the need to get shopping in – again much more demanding a task than it is now.

The dining room was at least 15’ x15’ with a large bay window. It served as an all purpose room, with a rectangle table that sat six (made by Dad, with turned legs), a small settee and two armchairs, a sideboard on one wall and a bureau on another. It also had the Bush radio and eventually (after 1953/4) a television that sat on a corner unit also made by Dad in oak, that included bookshelves. There was also I think, a glass fronted bookcase that carried Dad’s scale model of the Golden Hind. On occasions, the table served as base to a larger table-tennis top that he had made to sit on it, with sufficient space to play. Perhaps the room was even bigger than I think! Originally it had a carpet ‘square’, but was eventually fitted throughout.

The lounge was ‘kept for best’ – always tidy should anyone call. This room was wider than the dining room but perhaps not quite so deep. It had large French windows (all the windows had small rectangular leaded lights) and was covered by faded blue velvet curtains, ceiling to floor. This room had false beams and a brick chimney piece and fireplace. Strangely it had no fire basket, which meant that coal fires didn’t always burn well. In keeping with the style of the room, the plate racks carried china plates and items of pewter and surfaces carried brass that had been collected through the years. It was furnished with a substantial three piece suite (which I eventually inherited in 1975 and kept until we inherited another from Viv’s Dad in 1986), a carved oak sideboard, gate legged table, impressive grandfather clock (bought with the house I think), a Louise XIV style bureau (with brass inlays and fittings), a small gate leg table made by

Dad (now owned by Margaret) and a piano (that David later had) and cane based chair with rounded back. In front of the fire stood the ‘brass table’ – a round engraved brass tray of about 24” diameter, that stood on a collapsible three-legged base (with Margaret). Again, there seemed no shortage of space in the room, but then it was seldom used by many at a time! My main recollection of its use in earliest years was on Christmas Day, when Grandma Gough and Auntie Gwen would be invited for lunch, and to keep the dining room clear whilst things were prepared, the lounge would be used. I can recall storing my Christmas presents under the bureau and visiting them throughout the day to check that they were still there! The Christmas tree would also be here, alongside the clock though it didn’t boast electric lights until the late 1950s. One more use was for ‘dramatic productions’, with the curtains featuring. I can recall a chorus of the Dickie Valentine’s ‘Christmas Alphabet’ being sung on one occasion.

With Gladys: Colin on right

1 At some point, Gladys (Hughes) employed Mrs Winchurch (a lady in her 60s) to spend time with Nan when she was beyond being left at home on her own. At one point, Nan (now in her middle 80s) was heard to say that ‘She always did what Mrs Winchurch said as she was so much older than her’!

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Upstairs is simpler to describe. Each of the four used bedrooms had the requisite number of beds, carpet squares, chests of draws, wardrobes etc and very little else. David and I always shared (and did so even when we moved to Beechwood Drive). John came off worst. Originally he had the room over the garage (known as the boxroom in our day), but it was thought that fumes were seeping up from below and so he moved into the narrow room alongside and over the staircase, which just about permitted a bed and not much else. To use the boxroom, you descended three steps and came to a point where the sloping roof stopped you going much further. It gradually got filled with family junk and unused objects: railway set, Dad’s violin, meccano, an old play desk, suitcases etc.

The garage was integral to the house, but there was little space within it for more than the car, the largest one of which (an Austin Westminster) wouldn’t fit and for that and other reasons, we didn’t keep it long. The other significant occupant was the fuse boxes. Electrical supply wasn’t as efficient then as now, and at times it always seemed as though something was ‘blowing’. The fuses themselves had to have fuse wire of the correct wattage threaded through them, so dealing with it was difficult, especially if you were in the dark. Sockets etc weren’t earthed: when I think of some of the things we did, I’m surprised that we didn’t burn the place down.

At the back of the one corner of the house was a wooden shed. At some point, Dad built a lobby that incorporated the area alongside the back door, and led through to the shed, and to another doorway out into the back garden. This provided storage space for bikes (including John’s scooter and motorbike). The major occupiers of the shed were mowers and Dad’s two work benches. One had always been there, but at some point, he brought another, bigger one from the shop in Horseley Fields, where it had been in one of the upstairs rooms, I think. Perhaps it was on this that he had made some of the furniture with which the house was furnished. There was also a wooden tool box in which all of his carpentry tools were kept. Ends of tins of paint, brushes etc were on shelves and garden implements completed the collection.

The back garden was about 40 yards long and wider than the house, so perhaps 14 yards wide. Substantial. There was a patio of crazed paving (on which stood a children’s swing), narrow raised beds and then the main rectangular lawn. At the bottom end was again a raised area in which fruit trees grew and we dug holes(!), with a thick privet hedge and a row of tall poplar trees between us and the house that backed onto us in Pendeford Lane. A wooden fence formed the actual boundary. The lawn was used for bike riding, cricket in all its forms, clock golf and probably football, though I don’t recall much of that. I remember dancing on it with Dulcie on the night of Mum and Dad’s silver wedding anniversary – and of looking into the clear sky to see if we could see the sputnik that had just been launched (this was August 1960). That night a flood light was rigged up to provide some illumination – but that’s the only time I can recall it being used in that sort of way!

FamilyDad (Trevor Crompton Gough b.8.3.1908) was 39 when David and I were born and Mum (Marjorie Gough née Hughes b. 18.5.1910) was 372. Married in August 1935, they had already had a still born child in 1937, then Trevor John (b.23.12.1939) and Anne Margaret (b.12.6.1944). Dad worked in the family Butcher business (B Gough Ltd) and ran their Market Stall in Wolverhampton Retail Market. Mum had been a telephonist before and after marriage, but looked after home and family from the time that there was one. This proved to be a particularly stable background into which to be born. Dad left the house before 8am and rarely returned before 7.30pm, working six days a week. In our earliest days we can hardly have seen each other. Mum had the main responsibility for caring for our physical and emotional needs and bringing us all up. This she did with constancy, patience and love. She devoted her whole life to us all.

David and I are identical twins. No one seems to have been bothered to confirm it with talk about shared placentas etc. but it has always been obvious from our likeness (at least until adolescence) and which now, in our late 50s, is becoming

2 See the appropriate articles for further information.

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more pronounced again3. We share similar temperaments but our interests and involvements have taken us in different directions in life. We have never claimed to have psychological empathy or to share thought processes. We automatically used to answer to one another’s names, as invariably everyone got them wrong. Up to the time of leaving Primary School, we usually wore the same sorts of clothes (most children then didn’t have much of a choice) and in earlier years we had deliberately been dressed alike. We were always in the same school class together (up to the age of 12) and even shared the post of being ‘Joint Head Boy’ at St Nicholas’ School4. Our parents were concerned that we should receive even-handed treatment and I know that there were concerns about what might happen if we weren’t allocated to the same schools at the age of 11. My feeling is that we enjoyed a common identity as ‘the twins’ – the phrase even appeared in the family prayer, prayed by Mum each night at the foot of the bed when we were little (“God bless, Mummy, Daddy, John, Margaret and the Twins….”)5. Certainly until we were 7 or 8 I think we probably did everything together and must have been reasonably self contained in our play at home, for I don’t recall going to play much with others, or others coming to us.

Earliest memoriesThese are few and disjointed. I can remember:

1. Standing on the windowsill in my parents’ bedroom, looking up and down the road (I hope the window wasn’t open!).

2. We had a large double pram. I think I can remember sitting at one end of it, having shopping placed between us.

3. There are pictures of us with our teddy bears. I can remember which was mine and thus know which is me.

4. Other stories I know through hearing them repeated: evidently one of us raised the rest of the family from downstairs, crying our eyes out and saying “The King is dead, the King is dead.” (Feb 1952). Gladys used to tell a story about looking after us on one occasion and of us being in our high chairs in the kitchen. David cut or bruised his finger and said ‘Now, where’s the TCP?’ to which I am supposed to have replied “Up top, up top”, meaning the top shelf of the pantry.

5. One of our walks was to be taken down Codsall Road towards Palmers Cross and on the corner of what is now Windermere Rd (before building began) was a large fallen tree trunk that we used as some sort of see-saw.

6. This might relate to this early period or it might have been when we were older. One summer Margaret and her friend Elizabeth Cotterill (Curly) spread out some old velvet curtains on the lawn (blue I think) and using the heads of rambler roses that grew along the fence adjoining the McLean garden, created patterns which I much admired. It was a later adventure of theirs that led to them trying to clamber onto the roof of the chicken hut over the fence in the garden of the bungalow that backed onto us, and crashing through the roof, resulting in a broken arm for Curly.

7. A memory of summer evenings – how difficult it was to try to go to sleep when light still poured through single thickness curtains, and hearing Dad (presumably) mowing the back lawn with the Ransom push mower.

8. I can recall once going (being taken?) to meet Nan (Harriet Hughes) off the Codsall bus. As she was 74 when we were born (b. 3.10 .1873), that must have been when we were quite little.

9. Of course Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation left plenty of memories (June 1953, when we were 5): sitting in the living room at Auntie Ethel’s (with lots of others) to watch the processions and the service on the TV; both of us being dressed up as on Robin Hood’s Merry Men and taking part in the fancy dress competition at ‘Christ the King’ – when the actor who played ‘Walter Gabriel’ from ‘The Archers’ was the guest of honour. We didn’t win! We must already have started school, because we were given Coronation Spoons at a special speech day that summer.

3 In 2003 I shaved off my beard that I had worn for nearly 35 years – neither Viv nor my children having seen me without one. David and I met that summer and had a photo of us taken together. We sent it to Canada where Clare was meeting up at cousin Andrew’s with Neil, David’s son. They said that they were both fazed by the resemblance, that they have never appreciated before.4 For recollections of life at St Nicholas’ School, Codsall, see the appropriate article.5 On our Baptism cards, the Vicar of Tettenhall awarded us each other’s godparents: mine are Doris Porteous, Peter Jones and Roy Gough whilst David’s are Gladys Hughes, William Jones and Robert Jones. .

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10. When I was 7ish I managed to fall from a favourite perch on the fence between our garden and the pavement and getting my one leg caught, hung upside down and pulled all the muscles. After the noise subsided and I was rescued I was carted off to the Royal and presumably had X rays and got bandaged up. I had to return several times for some sort of exercises and electrical treatment which involved a pins and needles sensation down the leg.

11. Regular callers at the house: We had milk from two sources, Midland Counties (delivered by ‘Bright-n’-Breezy’ - our family name for a jolly delivery man) and from the Co-op (Divvy no. 21080); the Fruit and Veg Hawker called on Fridays in an entrancing three-wheeled van; Eddie brought the groceries from Blakemore’s on the Stafford Rd on a Thursday (they rang up for the order on a Wednesday) and Mr Dainty, the Palmers Cross Newsagent, called for his money (he always had a trouser pocket full of change) on a Saturday morning. Once a year, Dave the sweep would arrive, necessitating everything being shrouded or emptied from the rooms for his visit, with massive cleaning afterwards. I’m sure that Bread was delivered at some point, but later it was collected from the ‘Dairy’ at Claregate island (Mrs Jarvis, who branched out into cooked meats and other things after her husband died), and sundry things bought from Green’s Greengrocery and Fruit shop. Jones’ Post Office and sweet counter and Miss Louisa Richards’ Chemist Shop were other regular ports of call.

Social LifeWe weren’t a family for mixing with others. Both of my parents were basically shy, and uncertain of themselves ‘in company’ if it was not family. They would screw up their nerve for anything that demanded their attention, through Dad’s involvement as a councillor, or to do with school. I can’t recall them going out together socially by themselves, apart from the odd visit to the Theatre – at one time the firm got given free tickets for a Monday evening because of advertising the Grand at the shop. But that didn’t last for very long. Perhaps there was the odd dance that they were persuaded to go to. But Dad would always plead his late finishing time (which also wasn’t really necessary, but because his brother and sister weren’t wanting to get to their homes too quickly, Dad felt that he couldn’t leave before they did) and that excused them from the effort of learning to relate to those whose perspectives and lives were broader. Perhaps it was an education thing. Both of them were Grammar School educated, but Dad left school at 14 and although he was sure of himself on his own professional territory (and as I’ve written elsewhere, could show quite another personality at work), his natural diffidence won. So, it was only to relatives and to life-long friends like Doris and Henry Porteous that they (and we) went, and who came to us. Contact with his Mother, sister Gwen, brother Roy and family was very intermittent. They saw each other everyday at work and because Mum never felt comfortable in their presence, there wasn’t much exchange of company. Dad would take us occasionally on a Sunday morning to visit his mother and sister Gwen. I never remember going inside Roy’s house, only sitting in the car outside if something had to be dropped off. So the cousins Bernard, Clive and Jane who coincided with us in age, we rarely saw. Our other cousins – Peter, Bob and Marjorie Jones, were much older, having been born 1933-35. They all went to the Municipal Grammar School, but I don’t remember them as still being at school. I do remember something about Bob being very ill (meningitis) whilst he was at University at Birmingham, but we saw more of Marjorie than the others.

So, we visited Nan Hughes often and would occasionally go to Vi and Billie’s for tea, or just drop in on them and because Ethel and Harry lived just around the corner in Pendeford Lane, we would pop in there when we’d got nothing better to do and often after Sunday School on Sunday morning.

In turn, John and Margaret created circles of friends, through school, church and the neighbourhood and initially we tagged along if they would let us. We often visited the Cotterill household and Robert and Curly were good at putting up with us and making us feel welcome. So we watched Test cricket with Robert and listened to Curly’s wind up gramophone playing a de Souza march and a few old songs.

Their next door neighbour was a Mrs Marie Taylor – Irish and a Roman Catholic. I knew nothing of her husband (he must have died earlier), but her grand-daughter Susan Brown used to come and stay during the holidays sometimes, and although older I think, she was a special friend for a couple of summers. We would play games with imaginary horses and made ourselves whips! Mrs Taylor was also always good for a threepenny bit and so it was worth just knocking the door to ask after her every so often or to see if she needed any shopping or small tasks done!

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There was someone of Margaret’s age who lived in the house at Knight’s Nursery (on which the Tyningham estate was later built) and we used to go to play there. She had a proper sized ‘Wendy House’ and that seemed wonderful. The Playing Field at Claregate was opened when we were about 9 and after that, that was a natural venue for ‘hanging out’ and for meeting up with others from roundabout – the Inghams, Dewes, Ashfords etc. We once earned a visit from a policeman, enquiring about a certain mattress that had been set fire to, prior to the Nov 5 th Bonfire! We plagued the inhabitants of Knights Crescent by riding up and down the pavements on our bikes. I saw quite a lot of the Inghams. David was younger than us and Janet older. Mum was very disgusted about Janet pointing out to us various things in our Family Doctor book about menstruation and sex (not that there was much explicit to learn about it there). It was only later that a certain amount of ‘fumbling’ proved more educational!

At about the age of 9, I started following Margaret to piano lessons with Miss Vera Preece. Despite some aptitude (I had been playing simple things by ear for a bit), lessons seemed pedestrian and certainly had no aptitude for practice. After a year, it was abandoned as a waste of money. I regret that I didn’t try harder and make more of the opportunity. I tried again later with Ken Greenway, but by that time, had lost interest.

We had a dog – Rex – for a short time. We all claimed to want him and then of course no one wanted to be responsible for walking him. Not surprising really because he was a bugger. No one really trained him and so perhaps it wasn’t his fault. He was strong and wilful, and he took you for a walk rather than the other way around. He was said to have been a cross between a collie and a corgi: I don’t know whether there was any truth in that. He was generally good tempered and we were fond of him, but exercising him was a pain. He had a choker lead, but even so it was never a pleasure to be out with him, and if he slipped the lead then he wouldn’t respond to entreaty of any sort and it certainly reduced me to tears. I left him to find his own way home on more than one occasion – there was no choice for he wouldn’t let you catch him. I’m sorry that he came to a sticky end. David and I were away for the day on a school trip (London Airport I think) and on our return learned that he had escaped through an open door and on running across the road, was hit by a passing car and killed. My mother was full of remorse about it, but there was never any question of any of us asking for another!

It’s just worth noting that from the age of 8, we must have travelled to school on the bus on our own each day, and also would go to town, the baths, piano lessons, cubs etc unaccompanied. It wouldn’t be likely to happen now! We joined 1st Codsall Cubs and enjoyed that – knowing many of the boys from school. In due course we went up into Scouts, but that didn’t have the same pull and I think we must have abandoned it at the same time as we changed schools. We didn’t go camping, but did have days out at the scout centre on the Wrekin which I remember enjoying.

Special times and holidaysOnce or twice a year, we would spend a Sunday at the sea. This entailed lots of preparation of sandwiches, a boot full of spare clothes ‘in case we got wet’ and an early start. I doubt if my parents thought that it was worth it, but we did. The usual destination was Rhyl (Splashpoint – the ‘nicer’ end!) and we would perhaps leave by 8am with a stop for breakfast on the way and arriving after any necessary toilet stops, by about 11am. Then it would be paddling, perhaps a swim (I always hated getting dressed afterwards, with all that

sand), more sandwiches and games on the beach including always, a sandcastle. Then it would be time to leave and as everyone else in the western world thought also that the day was nice enough to go to the sea, there would be tailbacks and a very slow journey home along the A41 or the A5. Games would have to be invented to keep us happy in the car; songs would be sung (‘Show me the way to go home’; ‘Little Brown Jug’, ‘I’m a little tea pot’ etc), and no doubt tempers frayed….’how much longer?...I can recall being part asleep on arrival and rather than walking into the house myself, feigning sleep sufficiently to allow myself to be picked up by Dad

and carried in.

Then there was the annual holiday. Never more than a week, and perhaps Dad wouldn’t be with us for all of it, but we went. I can’t distinguish earlier ones from days out, but there was a time when we went further afield, mid Wales (Borth-y-gest), to Devon (Babacombe) and Cornwall (Bude). I think that one was

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the final holiday we all went on together before John got married and we started going on group holidays with others.

The cars were always important to Dad. His principal religious observance was cleaning it most Sunday mornings. The earliest I can recall was a black Austin 16 – GJW 472. After that came an Austin Somerset (I think), then a Cambridge (PJW 51) and the Westminster for a short time. After that there was a Wolseley and then the Singer, on which I think, we learned to drive.

Then there were the Sunday Drives Out. It might be just to Kingswood or Highgate Common, or as we got older, to somewhere of interest like Stokesay Castle or Bridgnorth. It didn’t involve much walking about, it was just a change of scene. On rare occasions we persuaded them to stop at a pub for a bottle of pop on the way back!

At some point, Mum wasn’t well and it was thought desirable for us to be away from home, and we went to stay with Peter and Beryl at Wombourne for a time. It must have been the end of his term for we were taken for the last two or three days to his school (Wordsley) and worked in his class. We enjoyed riding in the side-car of his motor-bike! Then when David and I were about 9, Mum haemorrhaged quite badly with some stomach ulcers. She had to go into New Cross Hospital and was there for some weeks. Hospital policy didn’t allow visits from young children and so all we saw of her was a face waving at us from a distant window. The family rallied round again and David and I went to stay at Vi and Billie’s for some time. What ever discomfort and anguish it meant for others, we enjoyed the novelty. During term time we carried on going to Codsall each day – Vi putting us on the Fordhouses bus and then Mr Law, our Headmaster, meeting us at Staveley Road to catch the Codsall bus. At the end of the spring term, Gladys and Dorothy took us away with them to Talsarnau and initiated us into Canasta and Scrabble. I imagine that Ethel helped to keep things straight at Codsall Road.

Because of Dad being involved in local politics (why, I could never work out) we were expected to help out at election time. I recall the 1959 (‘We’ve never had it so good’) election and folded and delivered no end of leaflets through doors. At some point – probably when we were a bit older – we did ‘telling’ outside a Voting Station too and I think earned a letter of thanks from the MP who got in. Church and such likeMy family have always found it difficult to understand my attachment to God. I ought to emphasis that it really is his attachment to me, and I’m just trying to respond in like fashion! As God is GOD, it has always just made sense to me. I can understand listening to your parents when they say the things you want to hear, or doing just sufficient work at school to ensure that you don’t get in trouble – but why play fast and loose with God? How can you hope to benefit from that? He has always seemed most real to me, in worship and prayer, in the natural world around me and in the joyful and sad occasions in life, in the sacraments and the living out of discipleship. The world presents many occasions and examples of evil, and nothing confronts and defeats it better than what we experience in Jesus Christ and in the lives of those who truly follow him. The proof of that in my experience has grown with the years, since Mum’s prayer at the end of each day commended us all to his care and we were taken to kindergarten Sunday School at Christ the King, Aldersley (then an ex army hut in Macrome Road).

I always had the benefit of a model of mature Christian behaviour and worship in Gladys Hughes. What she believed, she lived out in care and interest for others. Now that I think about it, I try to do for my generation of family what she did for hers.

My earliest experience of Church must have been my Baptism at St Michael’s Tettenhall on Jan 18 th 1948 and I have some recollection of being taken to a Mothering Sunday Service in the churchyard around the currently being re-built St Michael’s. This would date it sometime pre-1955. After that it would have been afternoon Sunday School at Christ the King. Miss Amy Thomason ran it for years, with the help of others, probably from the time that the Church was first established in 1948. I can see her walking briskly with her small leather suitcase, out from which, the most amazing thing that came was a small metal tray that had cake candles fixed to it. If it had been your birthday then the right number of candles would be lit and you could blow them out. We had stories and songs, but I can recall nothing more. Later I think, we went to Sunday School for older children, after the main service on a Sunday morning. There were quite a lot of children and we split into groups. I can remember being in the group led by Lilian Sampson, who must

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then have been in her late teens/early twenties. She worked for Vincent York’s ‘Tettenhall Observer’. We certainly sang songs like ‘There’s a friend for little children’ and ‘Over the seas there are little brown children’ and I would come back home and pick out the tunes on the piano. Alongside all of this goes my experience of religious teaching, prayer and worship at Codsall School. Miss Proverbs (Infants 1) was already aware (so the family story goes) that priesthood – if not episcopacy – was already in my mind.

When I was 7 or 8, there was a Franciscan Mission at Christ the King (maybe in the whole parish). There were some special sessions for children led by Brother Kenneth SSF (of world renown) and these must have greatly impressed me. I can recall nothing of their content except that during what was probably the final session, we were invited to come out if we wanted, to make a special act of personal commitment. Bro Kenneth had cards on which were printed some options of what we might endeavour with God’s help, to do. It must have had something about worship, prayer etc. and there were spaces where you could write in your own thing. He talked with me and asked me if there was anything I wanted to add. I said that I would promise to try to be honest. I had the card for many years, though I haven’t seen it recently.

I gather from the biographies of Charles Gore and Trevor Huddlestone that I am not the only young ordinand who has created chapels in their own homes and led services at tender years. It certainly demonstrates how much my imagination was caught and held. Dad evidently got quite worried when he discovered I was wearing Mum’s black dress! I don’t know what discussions went on, but (wisely) I was never stopped. In fact I was encouraged, by Billie making me a processional cross (into which he must have put a great deal of work). Robert told me in 2001, that when Billie was a young teenager, he entertained an idea of becoming some sort of missionary. Eventually I took myself to the morning Eucharist, and knowing no better, sat on the front row and kept my school cap on throughout. Mum would go on major festivals (at 8am); Dad was strictly weddings and funerals but John had been attracted by Fr Roy Lord into the Servers.

In 1956, the new Church building was dedicated and although not at the service, I was round there pretty quickly afterwards. Soon afterwards, I was helping out in Sunday School – lighting candles; putting stars on cards; sorting out stamps. Ron Carter led things now. By the time I was twelve, I had a small group of

my own and continued with that until we moved from Claregate in 1963. I went on two Summer Schools for Sunday School teachers (paid for by the parish) at Sleights (Community of the Holy Paraclete) and at Clevedon, and the teaching and friendship we experienced there was formative. I too had joined the servers (under Jack Hayward) and was increasingly trusted with assisting in the sacristy, eventually being allowed the keys and full responsibility when Jack was away. The Humphries and the Haywards encouraged me to go with them to David Rhodes’ two ordination services. Fr

Humphrey York prepared me for Confirmation (1961) and heard my first confession and by this time I was also attending occasional weekday Communion services at St Michael’s and ‘hanging around’ with Ernie Nicklin the Verger (who was a fellow Councillor with my father), and being given jobs to do like cleaning silver, preparing candles, ringing bells, serving and filling the hopper that fed the boiler! I loved it all and got to know more of the adults involved in parish life as a result of being around. It was a time when teenagers were being encouraged and given more of a head. Clergy didn’t seem so remote: Frs John Porter, Gordon Hodson, John Crowe were our companions, Fr Bourne (a retired priest) seemed something else altogether – walking holiness - and Charles Borrett the Vicar was good humour personified! The youngsters of St Michael’s and Christ the King came together in the Anglican Young People’s Association and we had a really good time as we did so. Worship of the incarnate Lord was always at the heart of things and we were encouraged to work with him in the world around us. There was for me, a tangible holiness about these places and the worship carried out in them. Whatever God had started off in me in those earliest years was being developed and nurtured; flames were being fanned!

© Colin Gough St Beuno’s September 2006

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