1967 My father stopped the car outside Eades’ Stores, a wonderfully old-fashioned grocers with their name proudly set in mosaic between two large plate glass windows set in dark green frames and housing complete sides of smoked pig, whole rounds of strong cheese, and a wooden frame containing glass-fronted tin boxes with Peek Frean’s or Huntley and Palmer’s just emerging from heavily pawed and ancient paper. He asked me to go in and buy three tins of Trout Hall grapefruit segments. I came back with three bottles of Brobat (loo cleaner).
“I didn’t ask for that!” said my father. I do remember the shopkeeper, Mrs Potter asking me if I was all right. Clearly not, because the story jumps to my father forcing glucose tablets through my gritted teeth while supine on my bed. The tablets were about 6mm thick and the diameter of a 2p coin. They were sold by Boots in yellow and black striped rolls. I still hate all forms of glucose except Lucozade.
1969 Coming out of the subway from the railway station at Shoreham-by-Sea, I walked straight into the path of a racing bike travelling at speed. I remember the rider examining the front wheel, which was bent, but being far more concerned at the deathly colour of my face. I also remember coming out of Frank Ellis’s with a Mars Bar, but the whole event is muddied. I would love to thank the cyclist.
As the 2A bus (From Race Hill, Brighton, to Shoreham Beach) was about 75 yards away from the stop opposite Buckingham Park, for some reason I hit the gutter on my back. I well remember the event, but have no recall of the walk home from the stop.
Your not alone and especially with the rebound.
