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I was born in Chipping Sodbury, a very pretty village (at least it was in those days) north east of Bristol, England, UK.

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My family were living in Staple Hill, Bristol, but that nasty German man was bombing the Bristol Aeroplane Company, so not that safe to be born near home.

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My first recollection, at the age of 4, was sitting between my Mum and Sister Judy on the family sofa strategically placed facing backwards over the tailgate of the removal lorry on its way to our new home in Cranbourne Cottage, Corscombe, Dorset. Dad was up front with the driver.

 

I suppose it was my first introduction to perspective as the trees and hedgerows rushed by on either side and quickly disappeared into the distance.

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I don't think I have any memories from when we were in Bristol, but I am told I had an affinity for water, being fished out multiple fish ponds by the scruff of my neck, dripping pond weed and frightened goldfish from my woolly jumper.

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Cranbourne Cottage was a one up one down stone built house which has not noticeably changed judging by the google map street view. Dad built the garage and back extension out of blue stone which required hundreds (I think) of wheel barrows of clay taken down the lane opposite and dumped in a farmer's field, (with his permission of course)

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I remember the clay in a huge pile in the middle of the garden which was amazing for me and my affinity to water. Imagine the mountains and lakes and waterfalls that came to life with a galvanised watering can filled from the tap down the road. Imagine the amount of water my mother need to get the clay out of my short trousers and socks and shoes.

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I remember inventing perpetual motion using Dad's Plumb-bob which was a round weight with a pointed bottom attached at the top by twine for the purpose checking vertical pipes and corners of buildings and things. 

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I hung it in the shed from the highest point in the roof with the plumb bob nearly touching the floor. Then I painstakingly turned it round and round many many times. I then let it go and watched it unwind and then wind itself up the other way and stopped and reversed again and again. I raced to the house and excitedly announced to Dad that I had invented perpetual motion and could he come and look. Dad very patiently agreed to come and look if I went back to the shed to check if it was working and then call him up to see. 

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Needless to say, I did not call him up. Thus I learned about wind resistance and momentum and gravity, and many other things. I could have read it all in the Encyclopaedia Britannica but that would not have been so much fun.

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Dad also introduced me to levers and things. When we arrived at Cranbourne cottage the lavatory comprised a wooden seat with a hole in the middle built into three wooden walls with a roof and a door which did not reach the top or bottom for ventilation purposes. I'm not sure what was below the hole in the seat.

 

My sister Judy says she used to sit in there for ages, afraid to come out and be spotted by someone from the four yellow council houses opposite. She would have welcomed the major leap in technology when Dad installed a chemical bucket arrangement in a corrugated galvanised extension on the back of the house.

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The major issue with the bucket was that it needed emptying. This entailed it being carried a hundred yards down the road, past the tap in the wall which was our water supply, and into our allotment behind the post office where Dad had dug a ditch for the waste.

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Dad constructed a long handle made from 2"X1" oak which was held down on the top of the bucket with a wedge under the handle. Dad's end of the handle was right up close to the bucket, whereas my end was 18" from the bucket, because I was only little. So Dad carried three-quarters of the weight and I carried a quarter.  The principle of levers was well embedded in my mind for life.

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I made my own toys in Dads shed. He taught me, at an early age how to use a chisel and a saw without harming myself. He always kept them very sharp for safety reasons.

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