Down on the farm in Dunstable

About a moth after the start of the London Blitz, the whole family moved out of the London area to a farm on the outskirts of Dunstable. My grandparents went, together with 5 uncles and an aunt, plus attendant families. Dad was in the RAF, so mum had the job of overseeing my brother Gerald and myself. In addition to renting the farm, we also rented a house nearby. I was nearly 10 years old at the time.



There was another farm adjacent to ours, where the Fenn family lived. I often walked to the local school with Jack Fenn. We would cut across the field opposite, through one or two lanes, and there we were. It was a very small school, and I recall the pupils (including me) happily misbehaving, thereby encouraging the teacher to cane our hand, as he was very gentle about it.

I have just three other school related memories. One concerned the action of one of the kids with whom I was walking home from school. He felt a bit thirsty, and squatted down in the road, leaned forward, putting his lips to a rain puddle, and drank it. I had never seen that done before, and doubt I will again. The other memory concerns a Dr Barnado's home near the school. There were some girls staying there, and we would sometimes see them walking nearby. One of them caught my eye, and I decided that she was my girlfriend. I think I saw her twice in all, but the memory has lingered on.

One day, the field across which we walked to school was a hive of activity. The corn was being harvested, with the machine going round the perimeter of the field, in ever decreasing squuares. Around the edge, were many locals with shotguns, and when eventually the rabbits had no choice but to make a break for it, they were destined for the cook pot.

The farm itself was a chicken farm, with the hens in the now frowned upon batteries. A guy called Nobby was emloyed to manage the place, and the eggs were collected and sold as a commercial undertaking. I recall a water pump outside, with inside lighting being provided by gas mantles.

There was quite a difference between my friends from London, and the farm lads I was now getting to know. One particular incident provided a notable example. I was chatting to a boy, possibly a year or so older than me, and his friend, a year or so younger than me. We were walking along a lane, when the older boy asked me 'Have you ever had a f**k'. As I had no idea what he meant, I said that I had not. 'I have', he said, 'and so has he; haven't you' he asked, nodding his head at the the young lad with him. The young one nodded enthusiastically. After some more conversation about the birds and the bees, I went home, where I promptly asked my mother to clarify the subject. Mum wasn't very good at dealing with such crises, so she did the only sensible thing. She wrote to my father (in the RAF remember) and asked him to come home and deal with the problem! As this hardly came under the heading of compassionate leave, Dad sent me a long letter, setting out the basic facts, accompanied by numerous drawings of matchstick men in the margins.

And so my sex education began.