My first recollection of Granddad was when we lived at Stoughton, a small hamlet on the Sussex weald.  He lived about a mile away at Walderton.  In those days we went to church in the morning, afternoon Sunday school and evening services.  After church we would walk the mile or so to my grandparent s house and would be given lemonade and ginger biscuits. Then Granddad would play to us on his squeezebox.  We were living at Stoughton because Dad was working at Tangmere Aerodrome on a refurbishment job in charge of the painting and decorating. He was a very keen gardener, and always had a good show of flowers, with roses, etc, which was perhaps due to the bucket privy we had.  Who knows?

It seems that King George V had been ill again and was convalescing in a large house nearby.  Each afternoon he and Queen Mary took car rides into the country, and must have passed our house several times.  One day they stopped outside and got the chauffeur to ask my mum if they could look around the garden. All I can remember was a bearded gentleman and an elegant lady.  They shook Mum s hand and patted me on the head, (pity it wasn t a sword) and looked around the garden.  I must have been about three or four years old which would make it around 1933/34.

From our garden at Stoughton I could see a tower on a distant hill and often wondered what it was. Well it s taken me 72 years to find out.  It s called Racton Tower and now it s almost shrouded by trees. It was build as a folly in 1782 for the Second Earl of Halifax who owned Stansted Park.  A 72 year old mystery solved.

Dad was a general Foreman to a firm in London and came to Petersfield in the early 20 s to oversee the decorations of a newly built house in East Meon called  Leydean . This house was built for Lady Peel, better known as Beatrice Lily.  My dad often discussed with her the decorating requirements. The job involved employing many of the local tradesmen in and around Petersfield and he required a high standard of workmanship from them.  He didn t hesitate to sack them if they didn t come up to the required standard, or for bad work, laziness or cheating, (which they did quite a bit in those days, so he told me).  This, of course, made him unpopular with some of the locals which I was to find out much later to my cost, when I started out to work and they found out my name was Gray, the son of  Frank Gray . At this time my Dad lodged with a family and eventually married their daughter Mabel Emily Marsh; my mum.

What can I remember about my Mum?  I was just seven years old when she died in 1936, while we were living at 25 Tilmore Road.  Poor Mum had a goitre in her throat that was getting larger and would in time stop her breathing.  Dad, I believe, discharged himself from Portsmouth Hospital so Mum could go into Petersfield Hospital to have her goitre removed.  I can still remember her waving to us after the operation from the ward window and waving back to her from the street below.  Children in those days weren t allowed into parts of the hospital, but only adults and only at strict times. The next day, around midday, a policeman called and asked Dad to go to the hospital as soon as possible.  We went with him and later, when he came out he was weeping and told us boys that our mother had just died.  I wasn t to know until years later why she died.  It appears in those days it was quite common after an operation to die of a blood clot,  post op  as it was called.  The worse thing is I can t remember much about her and what I can isn t what I would like to remember her by. Such as soon after I started school I made friends with another boy, but one day instead of going straight home after school we played on. When I got home Mum was furious with me with worry.  Roy was supposed to take me home from school each day.  Mum dragged me crying, all the way down to the police station,  well just outside  to teach me a lesson.

Petersfield was indeed a good place to live as a boy.  We had Buster and Wardown Hills to the south and Froxfield, Steep and Wheatham Hills to the north; each of the downs was roughly three miles away.

Mostly we could get to these places by crossing over the Midhurst railway line that ran across the top of our road.  Then there were fields for miles and miles, crossing only one or two lanes on our way.  We would be gone all day.  Roy Hardy s mum would make up a bottle of lemonade from lemonade crystals.  I would get a penny worth of stale cakes, a large bag full, from Bishop s Bakeries.  I would knock on the side door of the bakery and the baker covered in  white flower from head to foot would answer it.  Mr, may I have a penny worth of stale cakes please?  The smell of the bakery was the bestest smell ever.  That s what I m going to be when I leave school, a baker, if not, then with my first pay packet after leaving school, I m going to buy me a large Swiss roll and eat the lot in one go.  I wasn t to do either.

Sometimes we would take  Smelly  Ron Mells along with us, but only to carry ropes and other things.  We wouldn t let him carry our food or drink, because he smelt so.  Also, given a chance, he might touch, or even eat our food.  His house was the only one no one ever went into.  His mum was very fat.  When we called for him at his house she took ages to come to the door. We sometimes knocked on her door, then ran away and hid, just to see her puffing and cursing at the door when she opened it.  But she never saw us, but called out our names never the less.   I ll tell your mum and dad about you boys, making me come to the door like this, you see that I don t .  It took her a long time to recover.  That meant the longer she took, the longer we had to stay in hiding, so we didn t do that often.

We played in the street quite a lot in those days and quite late at that, and often in the dark.  On one occasion we were playing bat and ball (cricket) in the road, and I put the ball through Roy s dad s fanlight over the front door and broke it.  He came out and caught me. I promised to pay for it, bit at a time,  But please don t tell my dad .  And he agreed.  Some years later he did tell him.  I came home from work and found my dad weeping.  He now realised that I had been frightened of him and in no way could I have told him of things like that.  Also, that I had kept it from him for all those years.  Perhaps he must have wondered how much more I had kept from him.  I think that he knew that he wouldn t have understood me anyway.  These are some of the reasons for not having children so late in your life.  He was nearly 50 when I was born. But again to be fair, he didn t have much fun in his life, losing his partner, my Mum.  Also having ill health and burdened with trying to bring up three boys for ten years.  God bless his old cotton socks!

My Dad was born in 1882 at Stratford, north east London and named Frank Gray. 1900 Dad was 18 years old. Queen Victoria died in 1901 Dad was 19 years old. When WW1 started in 1914 Dad was 32 years old. When WW1 ended in 1918 Dad was 36 years old. I was born in 1929 Dad was 47 years old. When WW2 started in 1939 Dad was 57 years old. When WW2 ended in 1945 Dad was 63 years old. Dad died in 1946 Dad was 64 years old. I was just 17 years old

My Mum was born in 1888 and named Mabel Emily Marsh. 1900 Mum was 12 years old. Queen Victoria died in 1901 Mum was 13 years old. When WW1 started in 1914 Mum was 26 years old. When WW1 ended in 1918 Mum was 41 years old. Mum died in 1936 Mum was 48 years old I was just 7 years old

I was the youngest of three brothers -  William Frank  born in 1925
                                                              -  Roy James  born in 1927
                                                              -  Herbert John  born in 1929

Submitted by Bert