I hated maths,couldn't see the point of filling a bath with holes in to see how long it would take,algebra,logarithms,triginometry,it was all chinese to me.I used to spend blissful hours at the maths desk,counting the dust motes as they glistened in the shafts of sunlight,dreaming of distant coral strands where the surf broke on golden beaches and palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze.My maths results reflected the attention paid during the lesson.7 out of a hundred was my usual score.Our new maths teachers had no more chance of gaining my attention to the matter in hand than I had of flying to the moon,but he did succeed in one thing.He determined me on a seagoing career,to the exclusion of everything else!
Mr Pomfrey was not a young man,nor was he handsome or well built,he was portly and not very tall,but he was magnetic when you got him onto the subject of ships and the sea.
The maths lessons for Form 4b became a history of Mr Pomfreys' life aboard the ships of the Merchant Navy,through him we learned of the best ports in the world for a sailor,what life was like in Shanghai before the war,what burgoo was(porridge),that ceilings were deckheads,that boys were peggys' and that the 12 to 4 watch was the best watch of all.He taught us Masefield,"Dirty British coaster with a salt caked smoke stack,ploughing through the channel on a mad March day.He related mathematics to his time as a 2nd mate,and illustrated the uses of logarithms and all the other disciplines,their applications in navigation and other trades.All I learned was that there were ports called Nombre de Dios,Belawan,Trincomalee,that there were oceans where flying fish skimmed the waves,that the best beef steaks were to be had in Buenos Aires and that a Captains word was law.
Through him I began to take a greater interest in ships and the men who sailed on them,Granddad Hengler was an old salt and had worked for Cunard and the White Star.He'd been at sea through the Great War and gave little glimpses of what life had been like then.Uncle Charlie was still at sea,he was a cook and when he came home he would light up the street with his laughter and tickle our palates with his home made Yankee doughnuts,just the sight of him was advert enough for the M.N.,always tanned ,with a gleaming set of teeth and a roguish twinkle in his eye,he was every inch a Jolly Jack.
In Garston you would the the seamen going to the pubs ,with their pockets full of tin,wearing yankee denims that were sea blue,T shirts , tartan shirts and open, suntanned faces.They stood out from the pasty faced locals and I couldn't wait to be like them.But you had to 16 before you could apply to go to the training school and that was a little way off yet.
I had to get on with the jobs I already had,I enjoyed both of them,the one at Appletons was the best because I was always out on the road ,as long as I got my deliveries done Ronnie left me pretty much to do what I wanted.
There was the odd time or two when I wondered if I was in the right job though...................like the time he asked me to deliver a dustbin to Speke.
The bin filled the whole of my basket if it was stood upright,the problem was ,you could not see where you were going,always essential if you are on the road.He laid it across the basket,this enabled me to see but gave me limited use of the handle bars for steering.He decided that the latter way was the only way I was going to manage,and so he made it fast to the carrier and helped me out into the street, where I mounted and set off on my journey.It was like learning to ride all over again,the steering was so limited and if I moved the 'bars too much they would bounce off the other side of the bin and cause me to veer wildly.And all this was while I was still outside the shop!
I got out in to St Marys Road and headed downhill,the handle bars were rattling like hell and I couldn't control the steering..................I left the road,mounted the pavement and shot through Blackledges doorway at full speed ,hitting the cake counter and sending the staff into a panicked frenzy.I picked up my bike,with a dented bin and walked the ****ed thing to Speke.
The other time I had second thoughts was on a very cold winters day( I have already related this tale in my first postings)I had to do 2 deliveries to a Nursing Home in Grassendale,both trips would be with a fully laden carrier,quite weighty.The wind was blowing in the direction of Garston,from Grassendale!I was standing on those pedals almost the whole way there,the cold was making my teeth chatter,my hands were frozen and my legs were aching with the strain.When I got there ,dinner was being prepared,I got my load off and flew back to the shop with a following wind giving fillip to my efforts.The second load was even heavier than the the first,and the wind was still as biting,I arrived,almost blue with the cold,the Kitchen door was open and I could smell the hot food,aromas of steak and kidney puddings and boiled veg assailed my poor frozen nostrils.The cook seeing the hunger written acros my face,asked if I was hungry.My heart leapt as my head nodded yes,she disappeared in to the kitchen and returned"Ere yar lad " she said,handing me a solitary spring onion.
But ,happily, those were the only times that I questioned my job.
Meantime,Frank and Vera were settling in nicely in the railway cottage,there was still a lot to do in the garden and I loved having a go when I could ,not having a garden of our own.
Sundays were still spent visiting the relatives,I quite looked forward to it,as well as dinner at Grandmas,there was tea at Uncle Bills,he was a great story teller and a gadget man.He was always finding something that you did'nt know you could'nt live without ,and sometimes,if I was lucky,he would take me with him on one his trips in his BRS wagon.Sarah,his wife would always bake me a jam turnover,knowing that it was my favourite.Another aunty I used to call in and see on a Sunday,my uncle Gerrys' wife,Lily, always had a Jam turnover freshly baked for me,I had it for elevens's.It was a good job that I was so active,they'd have had me fat as barrel between them.
The summer of '56 saw the Speke Airshow,to us at the Tennies ,it was rather special for a lot of the boys there were model plane enthusiasts and this was a great chance to see the real thing.There were to be planes from all over the world,stunt planes,war planes,veteran planes and jet planes.This year though,they had someone special coming,a Belgian called Leon Valentin.
We had seen him at the cinema in the Pathe News,this man could fly......without a plane! He would go up in a plane and jump out wearing balsa wood wings.We had seen him do the stunt ,gliding gracefully down through the sky,it looked fantastic in film,and now we would see it for real.
It was a beautiful sunny day,a group of us lay on the grass at the edge of the airfield,listening to the commentary coming over the tannoy,the mans voice sounded just like Kenneth Wostenholmes,that beautifully clipped, clearly enunciated english that we were so familiar with.There was a lot going on and it was some time before the "Birdman" made his appearance.The first we knew that the event was beginning,was when the commentator drew our attention to a Dakota aircraft rising up in to the sky,that was the plane carrying Leon Valentin.The plane reached the required height,we could see the door in the fuselage open,and then a colourful figure appeared in the doorway.The man was going to fly.....now!
He launched himself into the air,the wings appeared to be funny,they were above his head.........................he was plummeting to earth and the commentators voice was strangulated with shock and grief.To us ,on the ground,it was a falling shape in the distance,there was no emotion involved.we were too far removed from it.The poor man landed in Hunts Cross,when he was found,most of his balsa wood wings had disappeared,rumour had it that local kids had snatched them as souveneirs.
I still find it hard to look at sky divers without thinking of that far off summers day.
The Best Years of Our Life?
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