My Life Story - 9, Next Stop, Worcester

[MOLLIE]

Chapter 9 - Next Stop, Worcester


It was a major task packing everything up into boxes to be shipped back to England, where Frank had been posted to Worcester in February 1975. Fortunately though for this move, we'd no white goods as everything had been supplied but, once we got settled in we had to buy a washing machine, fridge, etc. A cooker was provided, so it was an expensive move.

Because of the previous experience with the aircraft, I refused to fly home. Once Frank got news of his posting when still in Soest, we bought a brand new Triumph 1500 TC (twin carb) car. We'd ordered maroon with tinted windows and instructed for seat belts to be fitted, although they weren't law in England at that time.

He set off for Bremer Haven, which was about a three hour journey, to pick up the car but once there was met with a shock. The car on the lot for us was an emerald green car, and I swore I would never ride in a green car because I think they're unlucky. The windows were clear and there were no seat belts fitted. Anyway, there was no option but to take the car, but he insisted on them fitting seat belts before driving back, and the whole charade took him about 10 hours. It was pitch black when he got the car home so I couldn't see it properly in the dark. He did warn me it wasn't the colour we'd picked, but I wasn't best pleased next day to see it was a green one.

Because of my phobia of flying, we were driving back to England via Belgium and on to the Hook of Holland where we would sail over, then drive all the way up from the south of England, an enormous journey.

It was really sad to say goodbye to the people I'd not only worked with, but those who had become such good friends as well like Rex and Marie, but this was to re-occur every couple of years so it was a matter of getting used to it.

Worcester is a lovely place and we soon settled into our new bungalow at 3 Toronto Close, Lower Wick, with its under-floor heating but, the greatest joy was that we'd followed our lovely friends Rex and Marie, who were living in a different part of Worcester, but within an easy car ride, so we hooked up with them again. We would nip to a Chinese takeaway called the Tai Pei and the curry from there was to die for. I remember it especially because it was really that good!

Within a few weeks I had secured a job at the, now defunct, Milk Marketing Board with the Veterinary Research Unit where I was an audio typist to a veterinary surgeon, a bacteriologist and a biochemist. The job was extremely interesting, but hearing new words for the first time down the earpieces was a bit hard to grasp at the beginning. I mean, everybody knows how to spell agalactae staphyllococus, don't they? Well anyway, I soon got used to it. Jonathan, the bacteriologist worked in the lab studying the results of milk samples taken by our field operatives from farms all across the country, which was then a legal requirement. It was tested to make sure the cows weren't infected with brucellosis or mastitis, which could be harmful to humans; and Roger, the biochemist, tested for other things, just to make sure the milk was safe, but he worked in a sort of turret to the building and you had to climb a wooden staircase and walk through a dusty corridor to get to his lab. He was lovely, and had great enthusiasm for his work, and let me look at his bugs under the microscope several times. I found it quite fascinating.

There now, that bored you, didn't it? It was interesting though at the time, however that was the first and only job I've ever had working in a typing pool, which I hated. The local women who had worked there for years took against myself and Jean, another Army wife, simply because we were just that, and knew we were only there temporarily for a couple of years. I just got on with my job and didn't bother with them much, except for Margaret, a very tall, exceptionally good looking lass, who lived on the same housing estate as Jean and me. We got on very well, but she was PA to the boss, whose name I can't remember now, so she worked in a different office. We socialised outside of work, taking trips in the cars at weekends, and it was a happy time.

We would make fairly frequent trips up north, either to my parents, or Frank's parents who lived in Bradford. One time when we went to Yorkshire Frank's sister's cat had just had kittens, so I picked out the one I wanted - a little black female, whom we called Ceilidh. She was very bright indeed and, once I allowed her out of the house alone she took to following me to work, which was about a half mile walk away. There were many times, when I'd realise she was behind me just as I was about to cross the road and I had to pick her up and take her back home again. She loved coming for walks with us.

One Saturday whilst Frank was on duty at the barracks, I was vacuuming my hall when I felt a stab in my lower left back. I thought nothing of it really, but it got progressively worse, to the point where I couldn't stand up. I crawled outside and a neighbour (non-Army) was mowing his front lawn. He came over to me when he saw me and I asked him to call a doctor. The problem was, we weren't registered with local doctors, being Army associated, but the guy was good enough to contact his own doctor, who came out to me. I'd met him before, he being the father of one of the women I worked with, and he diagnosed that I had a kidney infection, for which he gave me a prescription for a bottle of kaolin and some pills.

I couldn't get the prescription filled because I couldn't move. However, luckily for me, a little while later there was a knock on my door. I was desperate for help so I struggled out of bed, crawled along the hall and managed to open the door. It was my friend Marie and she'd popped round for a chat, knowing that Frank was on duty. She was shocked when she saw the state of me and asked me what was wrong, so I told her. "Right," she said: "You're coming home with me. We'll look after you."

She got me and Ceilidh bundled into her funny little car and sped off with me and, once Rex got the gist of what was happening, he managed to get a message to Frank, but told him not to worry as I was with them. Marie sent Rex to get my prescription filled whilst she bundled me down on the couch, then she went to make up my room for me.

This is what Army folk are like. They are a community and look after each other. Anyway, after taking my medicine I was fit and well again a few days later, but I can't describe the pain I had at the time, and I've no idea what had caused the infection in the first place.

We loved the City of Worcester with its little cobbled streets and beautiful shops selling exquisite bone China. The River Severn and the cathedral, and the funny little quirky streets were a joy to see.

In the hot summer of 1976, the Army were called out to help the Fire Brigade put out fires which had started on the Malvern Hills. They had to beat the flames out with spades or anything else they could use because hose pipes couldn't reach the higher points. He eventually came home late that night stinking of smoke, but his Army combat kit had to go straight into the washing machine, despite the hour, and he in the bath.

We put his combat kit on hangers to dry but because it's such thick material it just wasn't drying, and he was going on exercise to the Brecon Beacons in a couple of days time so, the day after, a Saturday, we went into town and bought a little tumble dryer (my first) so that his kit would be dried properly and that he'd be able to wear it the day after that when they set off on exercise.

We once went for a walk up the Malvern Hills, which is something I wouldn't be able to do now. The view from the top is magnificent and, on a clear day, you can view 13 different counties. It is stunningly beautiful.

On 31 July of that year, the unit that Frank was with was moving, just up the road to Hereford, to where the SAS are based, so off we went again, packing our bags, and Ceilidh as well.

This time we moved into 41 Oak Road, Credenhill, which wasn't as nice as the bungalow we'd had in Worcester, and here we would spend one whole year. Obviously, I had to leave the job I loved, but I vowed to get another job as soon as I could. However, that was not to be. The nearest available jobs were in mid-Wales, which was too far to commute so, with the greatest reluctance, I played at being a housewife, which I hated.

Credenhill is only a small village so there was nothing to do, but there were a few shops in the village, and a social club, which we went to occasionally. There was a bus into town every now and again so I'd get on it and go the Job Centre in the hope that a job had become available quite close by. I was pretty stuck, but pride prevented me from collecting any dole, so we managed on Frank's wage.

It was whilst living in Credenhill that one day there was a knock at the front door and, when I opened it, there stood a post-man with a telegram in his hand. He told me it was bad news and did I want him to read it to me. I said he should and the sad news was that Frank's dad had passed away.

It was rules and regulations that family did not ring that particular barracks because of the sensitive nature of it, but I panicked and ran to the phone box. I managed to get through and Frank came home immediately.

I should also mention at this point that, when we still lived in Worcester, we'd had to get rid of the Triumph 1500 TC because it was costing us to much to make the payments and, Worcester and Hereford were not cheap places to live and therefore we couldn't afford to run a car, so we bussed and trained everywhere after that.

Neighbours soon heard of my father in law's death and rallied round by getting us transport to the train station, and somebody looked after Ceilidh for us. The train journey was inexorable, and we had to change stations several times before we finally got to Bradford. That was a terrible time for everyone. Frank's dad had served with the British Army during World War II and had been captured by the Japanese and set to work on the Burma railway. He'd also come under fire and had a piece of shrapnel resting on his brain, but refused an operation to have it removed as the chances of him surviving was just 50/50 in those days, so at times he endured incredible pain. Because of his treatment by the Japanese he barely weighed five stone at the time of Liberation, so they were shipped all around the world to "fatten" up the prisoners of war, but he was still only eight stones when he got home, and he met his youngest daughter for the first time. He would never tolerate anything manufactured in Japan after that, nothing at all. I loved him very much and it was a great loss when he died.

Living in Hereford was nice, but uneventful in the big plan of things.

We were coming to the end of our tour of duty when Frank got the call to Ireland in July 1977! This was one posting that every soldier dreads!


© Mollie M - 2009

This post has been edited by MOLLIE on Oct 29 2009, 11:37 PM

[Ann]

How intersting Mollie you sure have done a lot of things in your life
lived in lots of places
franks dad how terrible to go through that
I do not blame him not bying nothing from Japan
as for Irland my son served there to
I am Irish to :yes:

[MOLLIE]

Thanks again for reading, Ann. :)

Yeh well, you have to travel around with the Armed Forces, but I really enjoyed every moment of it. :D

Frank's dad was a truly lovely gentle man. I'm very proud to have known him. :yes:

Will start writing the next chapter soon, but that one will take a bit more doing than the others because so much happened in Londonderry. :cry: