CHAPTER 1. FIRST MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD

I have no memory of it of course, but I was born in Storer's Nursing Home in the UK.? Apparently I arrived at 4am in the morning. A little early for breakfast; but the following years to the present I am essentially 'morning person'; but not that early. ?

Later I do recall having my tonsils and adenoids removed following a bout of almost choking and having serious difficulty breathing. Even a traditional 'cure' of hot milk, toast and butter.......and a scotch whisky....... did not solve the problem.? Not even the Scotch whisky! Perhaps a Jack Daniels would have worked.....on ice.

 I recall moments prior to the general anaesthetic; remembering sitting up in bed glancing through the ward through windows offering a view of the green English gardens of the iconic, exceedingly old Calthorpe Estate.

Following a period of unconsciousness; a timeless vacuum and awakening after the operation, much to my surprise I was presented with delicious mince chicken and afterwards, jelly!! Nice nursing home/hospital.? Even to this day the sight and taste of those dishes live on in my mind. 

The earliest memory of childhood is when living in my parents' house, which at the time was next to an old former farmhouse with grass meadows.? Hard to imagine that this was within reasonable walking distance from the city center.

The farm, long since gone and replaced by a school. Rather sad gone fauna so green, gone the long grass taken over by a modern soulless structure. 

Prior to this house we lived on the same road, in a rather large Victorian house. My Dad liked it but Mom did not, so he was persuaded to buy the house I remember so fondly.

 I recall being pushed in a child's push chair and enjoyed the gentle slopes of house driveways along the road. Smooth tarmac and most enjoyable; almost like flying. That memory visits me often. And I do still have 'flying dreams'.

Running next to the former farm house and fields, a little stream ran nearby and apparently under the house itself; rather deep down. It was a time of excitement when a walk was planned. The manager of a traditional English pub just across the road, and a friend of the family was the guide.

Walking literally along the stream, Wellington boots keeping the feet dry, and branches of trees hovering overhead, the sound of water gently rippling over glistening stones. ?A calming sound as though leading to a Universe far beyond a child's imagination. 

Where sun blessed the stream, water sparkled as if there were diamonds on the surface; flowing, seemingly never ending, disappearing into a far away distance, tempting further exploration but potentially unknown elements prompting caution.

One memorable sight was that of a kingfisher (beautiful colors), not only observing but supervising human invaders trespassing upon its territory.

We walked a long way and ultimately the river banks were becoming higher and higher and tree branches lower and lower; time to turn around for home and enjoy some cake and a hot chocolate. ?Not until many years' later was it revealed that the stream meandered for miles and miles.

I must have been around five years' old and can look back and remember those first years with a degree of glee and awe.

Around a year later, I do remember being given a pedal car; a metal one, which looked like an old racing car with real blow-up tyres (the car's 'racing number was on the side '1'). A hand-down from a family member.

 One day on finding a tyre had gone flat I literally pedalled it across the main road to a garage my Dad used and requested that the puncture be repaired! 

Whether I had waived at vehicles so they stopped, allowing this imperious (though exceedingly polite) five year old to 'drive' across a busy main road, is beyond recollection. 

Describing it now (and the memory is as vivid as if it had occurred yesterday), I may have been given the impression to the garage mechanics of being a overly self assured, bordering on pompous, but certainly not impolite; politeness and good manners had been part of my upbringing from 'day one'. Including when to recognize when someone is going to shake your hand. One keeps one's arm straight until there is the slightest signal; body language than the individual is going to and wishes to shake hands! 

I was indeed reprimanded by my parents for being foolhardy, but I seem to have a vague memory of amusement on their faces.

Mom and Dad loved gardens and the front driveway was transformed where an 'island' was created in the center with a tall lamp to light up the area. I can still visualize; smell the almost hypnotic scent of mutli-colored wallflowers. Almost the equivalent of English bluebells blessing the woodland just before leaves reveal themselves reducing sunlight. Spring enlivens an awaiting landscape.

At one time Dad drove an Armstrong Siddeley which was parked outside the garage doors. Later he had a Humber Super Snipe. Perhaps being a petrol head could be a genetic phenomenon; my son most certainly inherited the same, or even more dedicated and enthusiastic love of autos; American autos!