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- 633
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
- Treatment type
- Tablets (oral)
- Dislikes
- Impolite people, yobbish behaviour, pretentious people.
In response to overwhelming popular demand (well, two people at least) I have finally found the time to write as promised. Life has been a bit hectic this week with a dental appointment, blood test, endocrinologist visit, driving my wife to the ophthalmologist, and finally making the arrangements to pick up the new car (Thursday morning).
I decided to start way back in the hope that it will explain why I have always had this insatiable curiosity about the world. I don't know why, but it's always been that way so maybe the clues lie in my early life.
Can anyone here remember where they were on night of 18/19 April 1941? I can. I was in an Anderson shelter in the garden of our home in Dinsdale Road, Blackheath. Why does that night particularly stay in my memory, when it was little different from many nights before it? Well, it was the night prior to my birthday and my parents had gone to some considerable trouble to find some of the ingredients for a birthday party for a 4-year-old. It was also the night I received a birthday present from Adolf Hitler, courtesy of the Luftwaffe. It hit the corner of the house and detonated. Now, we could hear that bomb coming, it sounded different from the others that were dropping further away. The one that's coming for you really does sound different, believe me. The shelter shook, rubble rained down on it and we had to wait until the all clear sounded to go and see what was left of our home.
When we crawled out at the first touch of daylight we reckoned we were comparatively lucky. The house was a wreck, but parts of it were not too badly damaged. We had to find somewhere else to live, of course. I can remember my parents digging the Sunday joint out of the rubble and cleaning the brick dust off it. Food was too precious to let it go to waste. My mother's canary had been blown off his perch and we found him on the living room wall - in slices. Too small to eat, though.
This was a terrible blow to my parents as they lost a lot of their household goods and furniture. My father had been out of work for several years during the depression years of the '30s and they were just beginning to rebuild their lives when most of what they had achieved was destroyed overnight. I remember the couch had a slash across one of the arms, and that couch was still in service in the late '50s.
We turned up on my paternal grandparents' doorstep where they put us up until another house could be rented.
Our next house was large for only three of us, but shortly after we moved in my father was called up and spent the next 4 years in the Royal Navy.
My mother's parents and all her brothers and sisters moved in with us as they lived in a particularly unsalubrious part of Greenwich. My mother's sister had been left a widow with 4 young daughters after her husband died of tuberculosis. For some reason which I can't fathom, and I can't ask because everyone who knew has since died, she was evacuated to a small cottage about three miles outside Builth Wells. My grandmother went down to visit her, taking me along as it was reckoned the Luftwaffe would be a bit scarce in South Wales. The cottage itself was about as primitive as they come. There was no running water and no electricity or gas. Us kids used to hump a tin bath down to the river, fill it up with water and hump it back up the hill. For cooking and heating we used wood from the woodlands that surrounded the house.
At one point my mother even arranged for me to be evacuated to the area and billeted on a family who had several other evacuees staying with them. She dropped me off there one Saturday afternoon but I didn't think much of that idea and kicked up such a fuss that they asked me if I could find my mother. I'd have told them I could swim the Atlantic if it got me back with my family, so they let me go off and find her. There would be screams of outrage nowadays at someone letting a 5-year-old out into the middle of town. But I knew my mother would be getting the bus back to the cottage so I headed for the bus station. My mother was sitting on the bus and was not best pleased to see a little ragamuffin standing on the pavement and gazing up at her pugnaciously through the window. That was the end of my evacuation for that year.
I decided to start way back in the hope that it will explain why I have always had this insatiable curiosity about the world. I don't know why, but it's always been that way so maybe the clues lie in my early life.
Can anyone here remember where they were on night of 18/19 April 1941? I can. I was in an Anderson shelter in the garden of our home in Dinsdale Road, Blackheath. Why does that night particularly stay in my memory, when it was little different from many nights before it? Well, it was the night prior to my birthday and my parents had gone to some considerable trouble to find some of the ingredients for a birthday party for a 4-year-old. It was also the night I received a birthday present from Adolf Hitler, courtesy of the Luftwaffe. It hit the corner of the house and detonated. Now, we could hear that bomb coming, it sounded different from the others that were dropping further away. The one that's coming for you really does sound different, believe me. The shelter shook, rubble rained down on it and we had to wait until the all clear sounded to go and see what was left of our home.
When we crawled out at the first touch of daylight we reckoned we were comparatively lucky. The house was a wreck, but parts of it were not too badly damaged. We had to find somewhere else to live, of course. I can remember my parents digging the Sunday joint out of the rubble and cleaning the brick dust off it. Food was too precious to let it go to waste. My mother's canary had been blown off his perch and we found him on the living room wall - in slices. Too small to eat, though.
This was a terrible blow to my parents as they lost a lot of their household goods and furniture. My father had been out of work for several years during the depression years of the '30s and they were just beginning to rebuild their lives when most of what they had achieved was destroyed overnight. I remember the couch had a slash across one of the arms, and that couch was still in service in the late '50s.
We turned up on my paternal grandparents' doorstep where they put us up until another house could be rented.
Our next house was large for only three of us, but shortly after we moved in my father was called up and spent the next 4 years in the Royal Navy.
My mother's parents and all her brothers and sisters moved in with us as they lived in a particularly unsalubrious part of Greenwich. My mother's sister had been left a widow with 4 young daughters after her husband died of tuberculosis. For some reason which I can't fathom, and I can't ask because everyone who knew has since died, she was evacuated to a small cottage about three miles outside Builth Wells. My grandmother went down to visit her, taking me along as it was reckoned the Luftwaffe would be a bit scarce in South Wales. The cottage itself was about as primitive as they come. There was no running water and no electricity or gas. Us kids used to hump a tin bath down to the river, fill it up with water and hump it back up the hill. For cooking and heating we used wood from the woodlands that surrounded the house.
At one point my mother even arranged for me to be evacuated to the area and billeted on a family who had several other evacuees staying with them. She dropped me off there one Saturday afternoon but I didn't think much of that idea and kicked up such a fuss that they asked me if I could find my mother. I'd have told them I could swim the Atlantic if it got me back with my family, so they let me go off and find her. There would be screams of outrage nowadays at someone letting a 5-year-old out into the middle of town. But I knew my mother would be getting the bus back to the cottage so I headed for the bus station. My mother was sitting on the bus and was not best pleased to see a little ragamuffin standing on the pavement and gazing up at her pugnaciously through the window. That was the end of my evacuation for that year.
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