2 (22) IN LESS THAN A CENTURY III.

YOUNG ADULT MEMORIES. 

The Fifties.

At the age of twenty (see picture) I was a barely noticeable cog in the Middle East Land Forces machine stationed in Cyprus. Posted there, via Egypt, at the age of eighteen, I returned to England a couple of months before my twenty second birthday: (via the S.S. Asturias which came from Australia: the Aussies had drunk nearly all the beer before it reached Port Said). There was drizzling rain when we finally got to Soton. We stood on deck and cheered. 
I have never since been bedazzled by the promise of a sunshine holiday. 
Came a break and then British Troops Austria, where I nervously learned to ski, became a cricket follower, obtained expertise in putting up bivouacs and regularly won free seats to the BTA cinema in Klagenfurt by correctly answering questions on films set by a pleasant little British Forces Broadcasting bloke, Willis Toogood, who was also 'Uncle Willis' on the kids' programmes. My answers were both correct and in verse (way before Pam Ayres made a career of it) and ol' Toogood - always, I gleaned, a reluctant 'Uncle Willis' - liked that. 
After a couple of years in Austria and keen for a return to England, I sought and was given the coveted home posting: it was to British Army of the Rhine. 
Y'know, I was not until then aware that the war with Germany had been a civil war. Anyway, off I went to the fatherland; first to a coal dust begrimed barracks at Essen Kray, then on to Rheindahlen where, since I spoke neither French nor Flemish, by some weird logic known only to the military I was appointed troop sergeant of Belgian Liaison Troop. 
I Liked the Belgians. Civilized people. 
Came 1956 and I was all set to leave the service when Anthony Eden, a Prime Minister who, until then, had been little more than a homburg hat on legs, ordered our troops into Egypt to escalate the Suez Crisis. Their action was proceeding with scant hindrance when America demanded it be discontinued. 
Eden was no Churchill. We complied with the demand. It brought to an end our fallacious 'special relationship' with the US; put paid once and for all to the British Empire; finished Eden's career; and kept me in uniform somewhat longer than expected. My final day of Service with the Colours was January 8, 1957, the day before Sir Anthony resigned as prime minister of Britain. (To be continued) 
HOME. 
Our house. Somebody came on Good Friday: told the estate agent they liked the place and thought it would be ideal for 'letting,' but were too concerned at its Grade 2 listed status to proceed any further. So why on earth did they come in the first place? Couldn't they read? Actually, the Grade 2 listing of the house has caused me far less bother than has my Grade 2 listed diabetes. Ah well. Keep taking the tablets. 
A cute present. 

The little bubble quilt seen above was made by my Leader (prompted by, and with some input from, daughter Roz) as a present for the baby girl of close family friends of Roz. It concluded with hours of stitching by hand and I did wonder whether the esteemed Leader would ever finish it. 
Worth every hour, Mo, worth every hour. 
Brother Harold. 
Harry, who I could not like and respect more if we were related by birth, has recently undergone a knee operation. We spoke on the phone this morning and last week he walked around the block with the aid of crutches (and accompanied by his daughter), but feels that his recovery is not as fast as he would like it to be. 
Never is, old mate, never is. 
We will talk again in a fortnight's time when I hope he will have taken more steps towards abandoning those crutches and Pompey will have accumulated a couple of wins (plus a tough, astute new manager).

Enough for the half month.

Television next time 
(including Terry Pratchett films).