Vol 3. Chapter 14 - Constant Change is here to stay (1960's)

The smell of chocolate when it is being manufactured is not the same as the smell of chocolate when you eat or drink it. 

When we moved to Slough, we moved into a brand new house which overlooked the Industrial wasteland of the Slough Trading Estate and the Mars Chocolate Factory.My father went to work at Mars, which meant that we had an unlimited supplies of Mars’ products. Of course we binged and to this day I can’t stand the thought of “Spangles” (Mars no longer make Spangles, although strangely they do make Whiskers cat food.)With the smell of industrial chocolate hanging on the air, we were able to play in our very own garden, which doubled up as a pet cemetery for the numerous rabbits that died of Myxomatosis.


We also had the unheard of luxury of a telephone. The telephone was late coming to Slough and we had to share a Party Line with Mr & Mrs Jenkins who lived next door. Whenever they used their telephone, our telephone gave a slight ping, which meant that if you were very careful you could gently lift the receiver and listen in to their conversations.Despite the smell, at least my sister and I now had our own bedrooms, until one day in 1961 I came home from school to find I had another sister! The shock was repeated when 18 months later another sister arrived. It is said that my middle sister’s first words were, “I mell chocolate”!

The one good thing about living in Slough was that across the waste land at the back of our house, were the animation studies of Gerry Anderson.  We liked nothing better than to rummage through their dust bins retrieving bits of discarded film of Fireball XL5, Thunderbirds. Stingray and Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons

With 4 children in a three bedroomed house, and the boy next door learning to play the drums, it was time to move.

Probably any other parent would have thought that with a son about to take his  O Level High School Exams and a husband who had a job nearby that it would be sensible to remain local. But no, my mother decided she needed to move 15 miles away to live in the country, or Bracknell New Town as it was called.

In January 1965, 6 months before my Exams, we moved, (No. 10) and I transferred to another school which had a completely different Exam Syllabus.  That year I left school with an O Level in art, the only subject that had remained the same.

My father continued to work in Slough, travelling the 40 minutes each way every day. Although by now he had changed job and worked as an account in a small rat infested factory on the Slough Trading Estate. (He sometimes supplemented his income by working as a delivery driver for a baker, until they discovered that too many doughnuts were going missing. He also worked as a delivery man for a butcher until they discovered too much meat was going missing.)

The house in Bracknell was a very nice corner house situated at the junction of two rows of terrace houses.  This meant that we had a very large back garden, but no front garden.  However, our neighbour did have a front garden which was next to our front door. This garden was not well-kept. My mother was petrified that people would think that this unkempt garden was ours, and that therefore people would think that we were gypsies. There was nothing for it, but to move.

In 1967 we moved ½ a mile to Haversham Drive, Bracknell. (No. 11) All was well until my mother discovered that the garage next to the house, didn’t actually go with the house. My mother burned with resentment at the unfairness and injustice that we had to park our car on the road, whilst a complete stranger parked their car beside our front door.  This simmering resentment was amplified by the fact there was a public telephone box next to the garage and that “undesirables” i.e. poor people who couldn’t afford their own phone (not even a party line) were loitering by her house. This, and the fact that she’d had a flaming argument with the deaf and dumb Spanish woman who lived opposite, meant that there was nothing for it but to move.

Move number 12 took us ¾ mile away to 75 Ashbourne, in Bracknell. It was about this time that my mother was taken seriously ill with a thyroid condition. An error during the operation left my mother struggling for life. A tracheotomy tube was inserted into her throat. My mother bravely coped with this for the rest of her life. Seriously ill, swathed in bandages and tubes coming out of her throat, my father decided to cheer mum up and put in a request for a song to be played over the hospital radio.  Knowing my mother’s favourite singer at the time was Engelbert Humperdinck, the request was duly played. From Horace to Margaret, Engelbert Humperdinck singing,

Please release me, let me go
For I don't love you anymore
To waste our lives would be a sin
Release me and let me love again

I have found a new love, dear
And I will always want her near
Her lips are warm while yours are cold
Release me my darling, let me go

Please release me, let me go
For I don't love you anymore
To waste my life would be a sin
So release me and let me love again

My mother added this to the list of things never to be forgotten or forgiven. Dad would be reminded of this many times during the next 43 years.