A Distance Travelled

A Distance Travelled

A personal journey through love, marriage and industrial strife

Terence Kearey

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©Terence Kearey, Petworth 2012

MEMOIRS BOOKS

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A companion volume to

A Changing World, History, Heroism & Home and Country Ways

Without limiting rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior permission from both the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

Cover Design Ray Lipscombe

ISBN: 978-1-908223-60-9

Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 Family matters

Chapter 2 Population boom

Chapter 3 An industrial revolution

Chapter 4 Bursting at the seams

Chapter 5 From factory to classroom

Chapter 6 Lecturing and learning

Chapter 7 Cutting the Gordian Knot

Chapter 8 Leighton Cottages

Chapter 9 A ready-made family

Chapter 10 College Farm

Chapter 11 Andalucia

Chapter 12 La Fuenta

Chapter 13 Puerto de la Cruz

Chapter 14 The countryside burns

Chapter 15 Homeward bound

Chapter 16 The dust settles

Epilogue

INTRODUCTION

When I married for the first time in 1957 Britain was still recovering from the war years, and we all had a long way to go. I was one of many who found that the defeat of Hitler and the securing of peace was only the beginning of fresh, unimagined problems. In my case, the economic pressures were exacerbated by a family which expanded far faster than I had intended or could afford. This led to an economic and emotional downward spiral which ultimately led to the greatest crisis of my life. I found myself fighting an emotional battle at home and an industrial one at work, caught up in the greed, selfishness and restrictive practices which overtook the printing industry, among others, in the decades after the war.

In the 1980s, helped by friends, family and good fortune I recovered, remarried and rebuilt. There followed wonderful years of peace and relative prosperity in England and Spain, with new friendships forged and old hostilities buried.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful for the help of Peter Clark’s Hope and Glory and David Thomson’s England in the Twentieth Century, which were both kept at my elbow as I wrote this book to give a national picture. The Harrow Observer information desk has been most obliging, having to put up with my frequent requests. The Harrow Museum and Historical Centre supplied numerous elusive facts. Thankfully, Harrow and Petworth libraries did their best to supply day-to-day answers and Wikipedia was always there to fill in the gaps.

I hope this book will encourage others to record their memories so that later generations will better understand what has gone before and what efforts others have made to develop a continuity of time and place.

However hard I have tried to be fair, reasonable and factual, it is inevitable that some events and statements have been missed and others misinterpreted or even misrepresented. For all such errors, I apologise.

CHAPTER ONE

FAMILY MATTERS

If the object of life is to seek happiness, I found it in the early 60s. I was happily married, had two fine sons and the trade I was in was expanding. Peace reigned in industry, I was on top of my job, and I had a fine circle of friends. I was concentrating on home, family and work. The air I breathed was of pure contentment; but it was not to last.

By 1962 Sally and I had been married for five years. Our summer holiday that year was spent on a farm in Timberscombe, Devon, close to Dunster and its castle. I can still see the large bowl of cream placed on our table for every meal, the porridge made with cream, cream tea served in the afternoons and strawberry sponge liberally spread with cream on request. It was a delightful break and the castle was given our full attention. It was the longest trip we had attempted and the motorbike behaved perfectly. It was a good choice after the slower, lower-powered AJS.

On one of our motorcycle trips out around the lanes near Rickmansworth, we sped round a corner to meet a car coming in the opposite direction. The leaves on the wet road presented no grip and we drove straight into it. I gripped on to the handlebars like glue, but Sally flew over both my head and the oncoming car. I sustained a broken wrist, while she had no injuries at all.

I made my way to Mount Vernon Hospital, where my wrist was put in plaster. The damaged motorbike was transported to a garage in Wealdstone, where it was repaired. It was never quite the same bike again, being out of balance and the frame being slightly twisted. That made us very aware that from now on our family’s safety was paramount.

In the sixties, the industrial unrest centred on the shipbuilding industry, dockside workers, mines and motor works. This had the effect of turning young people off those jobs for fear of being involved and losing wages. The long-term result was a lack of suitably-trained workers within all these heavy industries. The emergence of web-offset printing presses using continuous reels of paper for the production of local newspapers and periodicals – cut costs, introduced better-quality pictures and allowed the use of colour. This was the beginning of steps taken to restructure the printing workforce. The coloured supplements now started appearing in all newspapers.

The three main printing processes, letterpress, gravure and lithography, competed with each other for the middle print-run jobs – print runs of half a million copies or so. Letterpress held on to newspaper production, mainly because the production set-up was long established and would be expensive to change and the strength of the letterpress chapels had always held the management to ransom. Letterpress controlled book production for a similar reason, although from a union point of view their power diminished because their profits were not from advertisers and deadlines. Photogravure existed for long runs – magazine production in the millions. Lithography printed labels, holiday brochures, lesser magazine runs, greeting cards, prints and jobbing work.

By the 1960s, it was very clear that the two former printing processes surpassed the latter. Innovations like flatbed scanners, studio cameras, new film production techniques, the use of patched- up foils, printing machine improvements and machine plate manufacture pointed the way towards an industry heading towards a revolution.

Countries abroad influenced change too. Their workforces were more flexible and easily controlled and had strong management. New techniques, working arrangements and modern machines were quickly introduced without renegotiating new agreements with their unions. This undercut Britain’s industrial effectiveness.

In Britain, the newspaper industry continued to operate using pre-war working methods. Abroad, mainly in Holland and Singapore, they used new lithographic printing machinery, which enabled them to undercut our prices. Their pre-printing processes used film for typesetting and the latest scanners for the colour separations. The page positions were computerized to give multi- images on to sensitized machine plates. Their national printing industry, financially assisted by their governments, undercut UK prices, the object being to entice work from abroad. This they succeeded in doing, for it forced many UK firms to close down. Britain could no longer compete.

The year 1963–64 saw the twelve-month premiership of Sir Alec Douglas-Home, the surprise choice of the Conservative party. He predictably came across as a reliable, trustworthy prime minister who unfortunately did not have a media-friendly personality. He was a poor choice, not because his policies were bad but because he did not reflect this age of youth and scientific progress. There were to be great changes in industrial development, which did not bode well for us planning our way ahead.

It was considered by government ‘think tanks’ that motorways were the cure for traffic hold-ups. Town planners and developers proclaimed new architectural design to progress a brighter future with the promotion of concrete roads, embankments, slab-sided buildings, bridges, institutional buildings and council offices. Only forty years later was this misplaced zeal decried and these edifices of poor design were pulled down. It should have been obvious that this utilititarian approach to building was neither long-lasting nor aesthetically pleasing.

When we had been living at Pinner for just over a year Sally decided that it was time for us to think about having a family. We were still saving hard for our own house and the thought of having to do without one salary was worrying. We had never discussed having children, or what size family we would like. In fact Sally had never shown any desire for children. Working in a hospital might have been the stimulus, or perhaps it was because some of her friends were pregnant. Once she had decided she was adamant that we should start at once, whatever the financial ramifications.

Nothing happened for a couple of months and eventually the doctor consulted. We were advised to give it time. At last, the day came when Sally had a pregnancy test that proved positive. Sally still cycled to work and the months ticked by as the due date, in early February, approached.

That summer I started to take driving lessons in a Standard Pennant car, setting off with a climb up the hill to the cinema along Pinner High Street or trying to pull out from the parked cars going down towards Love Lane. Riding a motor cycle had made me road conscious, so it did not take me long to get the hang of driving or getting used to road conditions. I managed to pass in eleven lessons, a relief because we badly needed to save the money.

I sold the Triumph 650 cc which I had bought to replace a BSA bought nine months before. Colin Reuter, who ran a garage along the Pinner Road, sold me a pale yellow Ford Anglia 15 cwt van for £150. It had only three forward gears and a sidevalve engine. This van was a valuable addition to our growing family and over its life gave noble service. My brother Stan had moved into the motor industry and was working in the servicing department at Dagenham Motors, Alperton. He had given up his previous position as an agricultural engineer because of poor conditions and wages.

Experiencing the comforts of dry, warm motoring, I began to wonder why I had continued riding a motor bike for so long. Those freezing cold fingers, wet chilled knees, waterlogged shoes and bulky weatherproof clothes. Not to mention hitting those awful raised white lines on a wet day as you came round a corner, or going over a polished manhole cover or a pile of rotting leaves. And there was the heart-stopping moment when a motorist suddenly opened his door or turned sharply without signalling.

Our first child, a boy, was born on 5 February 1960 at Wembley Hospital Maternity Unit. We named him Simon Roger after Sally’s brother. I was twenty-five and Sally twenty-eight and we were delighted that the birth had been a success, without any complications. Simon was delivered at the hospital because it was felt by doctors that all first-born babies should have the necessary emergency arrangements on hand.

After ten days, Sally was released from hospital. Carrying Simon carefully, we drove back to her parent’s home, thinking she could rely upon her mother to make the passage to parenthood easier. It was a relief that her parents were so near and that Rita was happy to put up with the invasion. It was an ideal situation, which lasted for a couple of weeks, but like all good things had to end. We collected the new baby’s bits and pieces together and with Sally’s suitcase, journeyed back to Pinner. When we got there, we unloaded the pram and wheeled it up the front path. There, we suddenly realised the awful truth – the pram was too big. No matter how much twisting, turning, tipping and tugging we applied, it would not be enticed around the front door and up the stairs to the flat. It was at this stage that Sally, getting more and more upset, declared that we were to return to Priory Gardens immediately.

Our fateful return convinced my in-laws that here was a crisis that they had to sort out. They would have to put up with an invasion yet again, unless desperate measures were taken. A pow- wow produced a solution – we had to have our own home and fast. Harry scanned the local papers for Houses for Sale and we went in the van to see some of those on offer while Sally stayed behind with Simon. We had talked through the financial situation, knowing that I had a Provident Life with profits policy to secure a mortgage.

The first house we viewed was at the end of Norwood Drive, North Harrow. It was an untouched, typical Cutler house with two reception rooms downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs. It was unoccupied, so we had the place to ourselves as we walked round on our first and only inspection. It was exactly what we were looking for and the garden laid out mainly with a lawn was just perfect for our family. Harry negotiated a price of £2,800, which he thought was just about affordable. Sally thought it was suitable and agreed that we should go ahead.

When I was seventeen my aunt had taken me to one side to explain that I should devote some of my wages to take out a Provident Life policy – to save and later convert to house purchase. This seemed like an excellent idea and I completed the paperwork at once. The mortgage cost me in the region of £17 a month, which was a lot of money to me being almost a week’s wages. How pleased I was when it became clear that this policy would be our salvation, for it allowed us to put down as a deposit of £2,300. However, we needed another £500. My father-in-law stumped up the amount needed and put the transaction through the bank’s lawyers. How lucky we were that he was a bank manager fully conversant with such matters and had all the necessary contacts.

The purchase arrangements were speedily completed and we became the proud owners, knowing that there was much work to be done to put the house into a state suitable to receive our new family. All my spare time was spent scrubbing floors, stripping old wallpaper, painting and planning the new kitchen. My brother Derek helped strip the fire surround of its dark brown paint. Sally and I agreed to name the house Harbury, adopting ‘Har’ from my hometown of Harrow) and ‘bury’, from Sudbury, her home. The sign graced the front porch, hanging from the door canopy. It was very exciting to own our own home. I could not stop myself from walking round and round the house thinking how lucky I was!

It was about this time that Harry took early retirement from the bank at the age of sixty. He had looked forward to this moment with relish. He was going to do all the things he had been dreaming of: being a grandfather, watching cricket, cycling, reading and perhaps best of all buying their first television set to watch westerns. His face would wrinkle up in a tremendous smile, he would draw in a mouthful of smoke in and exhale through his teeth as the wonderful thoughts, expectations and delights regaled him. Now he could devote all his energies and time to his long-desired dreams! The first thing he and Rita were going to do was to spend a holiday abroad. They booked a trip to Italy.

Our new home, 68 Norwood Drive, had been built in 1932 when most of the development of North Harrow was completed. It was a semi-detached, bay-fronted house with roughcast walls. I never thought I would be the owner of such a home – it was a distinct improvement on my parent’s, for the reception rooms were larger. The side of the house had sufficient space to take a garage. The garden had ample space for a family and I could hardly wait to get started on its design. The neighbours had a baby girl the same age as Simon who started school at the same time. They both attended the same class and continued to do so for the rest of their junior school life. The few cars in the street were parked on their driveways or tucked away in their garages, which kept the road clear of parked cars.

The road was flanked, as were the majority, by a grass verge, behind kerbstones, planted with a crab apple, a hawthorn or an almond tree outside each house to provide colour and form. It was usual to keep the front of one’s house very tidy, for all had similar front gardens – a square patch of grass with a flower border and a neatly-cut privet hedge that masked a draped, chain-linked fence beneath. Window frames and doors were painted either green and cream or brown and cream and most, if not all, had lace curtains. This may all sound rather twee and regimental now and perhaps it was, but it maintained a good overall standard of uniform behaviour, rather than extreme differences. A green and pleasant land prevailed!

The larder was in the hall next to the kitchen and there was an under-stair cupboard. There were picture rails, plate racks and dado rails in hall and landing. We had open spindled staircases, unpainted polished handrails, galleried landings and wood-surround fireplaces framed on a tiled hearth. The properties were solidly built, with tile- hung curved bays to the front and French windows at the back. We had no drive or garage yet, but a rear entrance with wooden fence and gate. The glazed front door was fitted with stained glass, as was the landing window. The kitchen had a range that heated the water, a wooden dresser with cupboard beneath and a butler sink. The exposed pipework ran round the walls in keeping with the fashion of the day. Previous owners had not altered the house, for it contained all its original fittings and fitments.

Opening the back door revealed the garden and the concrete path that circled the house. The lack of a shed for coal or tools gave further proof of the property’s unaltered state. The sixty-foot lawn sloped down to a mature hawthorn hedge, a one-time field boundary. It stretched as far as the eye could see along the back gardens, giving shelter, shade and an animal byway, ensuring a rural landscape throughout the seasons.

On either side of the lawn, a three-foot wide flower border held a couple of clumps of bedraggled Michaelmas daises and a woebegon phlox. The lawn, such as it was, held indentations where wartime vegetable plots had been laid. There was much scope for improvement.

We moved in just before Easter 1960 and settled down to domesticity. Simon occupied the bedroom