"Dreams - Really Do Come True" - A Book By Gordon Beard
Canes And Catapults
Looking back to my early childhood, it is amazing how strict, indeed
how regimental, our lives were controlled.
As the schools were ruled by the cane, so the household was ruled by the
leather belt and hazel rod. You spoke only when spoken to and moved
only when told, a rule that no one dared to question. Children could
be made to sit for hours on a chair until they were given permission
to move. Dress was strictly controlled too. We had to change into
old worn clothing immediately after school, folding away our better
quality school clothes neatly for the next day. There was no school
uniform but we all wore a clean white shirt and jumper or jersey and
short trousers, usually corduroy or grey flannel. Short trousers were
compulsory until you left school at the age of fourteen.
Girls wore a white blouse under a gymslip with ankle socks in summer
and knee length socks in winter and leather shoes, fastened by a button
and strap over the instep. The boys wore thick leather hobnailed boots
and some strict parents would check the soles each evening to see if any
hob nails were missing. Any boy suspected of sliding on ice puddles
to cause them to come out would be punished with the belt – perhaps
because it was our parents who always had to repair our shoes.
We had few toys except a hand-me-down wooden horse on wheels that
taught all us children to walk. So, we improvised. Girls would make
dolls from clothes pegs and I created a ship by rearranging the wood
pile and erecting a log to form a make believe mast. I, of course, was
captain, using an old clay land drain pipe for a telescope and my sister
Madge was the ship’s cook, relishing the chance to use her Christmas
present in the ‘galley’ - a tiny metal tea set. Keith, five years my junior,
who had been the next Beard to arrive, was put on watch with a smaller
drain pipe. I must have trained him well as later he became a member
of the Royal Navy and his exploits, though at the end of hostilities, put
my seven years war service to shame. I could not have been a very
good captain because, when I became old enough to join up, I chose to
be, not a navy man, but a soldier.
Another popular toy was, of course, the catapult. We all carried a shut
knife1, a popular Christmas and birthday present, which we used to
make either a catapult, or peashooter. To make the catapult we would
scour the hedgerows for a suitable hazelnut branch about the thickness
of a man’s thumb, cut it into a “Y” shape and split the two ends of the
“Y” to approximately one inch deep. We’d then use about 12 inches of
catapult rubber bought for a couple of pence from the local shop which
was cut in two, inserted into the slots of the “Y” and tightly bound
with sugar twine. A leather tongue from an old shoe finished the job.
One could not wait to try it out with one of the perfectly round stones,
specially selected from a river and soon, an unsuspecting sparrow
sitting in the hedgerow would be fluttering off in alarm. Another
favourite target was the porcelain cups which insulated the telegraph
wires at the top of the pole. Several stones and great skill were required
to smash them and no doubt we’d have been smashed ourselves by the
local bobby. If he’d ever caught us, I imagine we’d have been brought
before the magistrate and given several strokes of the birch.
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| The R33 airship which was based at Pulham Market, Norfolk |
Living in a farm house so isolated from the village could be very
mundane, so any activity in the farm yard could help to break the
monotony. One summer evening in 1926, my brother Reginald called
me out into the garden to witness a spectacular sight. Crossing the
cloudless sky from east to west was a beautiful elongated balloon-
shaped object with a large black letter “R” and the figures “33”
emblazoned across its huge fuselage. This was one of the maiden -
and sadly one of the last - flights of the R33 Airship, a companion of
the more famous R100. How disappointing that this wonderful vehicle
was abandoned in favour of today’s jet airliners that shoot stressed
business executives from a London boardroom to one in New York
five hours later, his head still spinning with figures. The airship would
have carried him on a serene week long cruise, giving him ample time
to digest the statistics of the London meeting and adequate time to
prepare his speech to the tycoons in New York and close his eyes to
arrive refreshed. BAH HUMBUG! to the backward progress of this
crazy world.
Another fascination to brighten up dull days was the arrival of the
steam driven lorry to collect the corn from the barn. It absolutely
fascinated me and I dreamed of one day driving a lorry myself. This
dream was awoken again by the arrival of the petrol driven lorry with
big bold letters on the doors: “Leslie Judd Hay and Straw Merchant”
which came to collect the straw bales. I watched in awe at the neat
way in which the bales were loaded and at the colossal height of the
finished load. One day I will drive a straw lorry, dreamed I.
But first there were more pressing adventures to be had. . .
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