My earliest 'memory'

My earliest recollection - I can scarcely call it a memory as it is very faint in my mind's eye - dates back to when I was but 2 years, three months, and about eleven days old! I had been alive for 831 days. Wow! So exact!

However, I can calculate this fact because on 11 April 1947 King George VI and Queen Elizabeth and the two royal princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret, visited Livingstone in what was then The Protectorate of Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) and my birthday falls on the last day of the year - and I was born on 31 December 1944.

Livingstone 1947, I am sitting beside my Dad, Alex (pr Alec) Edmonds, with my baby sister, Catriona, after she survived cerebral malaria, one of the youngest children ever to do so, with another child to the left, and a puppy Rhodesian Ridgeback, called Roddy, a most faithful dog, devoted to me and my brother, Donald, and sister, Catriona.

I vaguely recall standing beside the road when the Royal family passed by in a large black car - and according to my mother, she got me to salute and the King gave me a smile and a wave. I do not recollect that but I do recall something of that big car driving slowly passed. No doubt we were standing as a family on what became known as The Royal Mile, a road that had been resurfaced for the occasion.

The Royal family visited to see the Victoria Falls during the Royal Visit to Southern Africa during the terrible British winter of 1946/47.

Royal Family at Victoria Falls 1947

It was a long tour in an effort to shore up the pro-British South African government of Jan Smits - but all in vain, the Africaner, Nationalist Party, came to power in 1948, despite the 'success' of the Royal Visit.

The Royals had arrived at the Zambezi Boat Club by launch from the town of Victoria Falls on the Southern Rhodesian side (where they stayed at the Falls Hotel for that Easter weekend) accompanied by the state barge of Barotseland Paramount Chief, Litunga Imwiko. They were met by the Governor of Northern Rhodesia, Sir John Waddington, and driven to the township in the governor's car. The local paper,The Livingtone Mail, wrote that it was 'the most important day in the history of the town,' although in fact, the Royals only stayed in Livingstone, which was a rather basic and unattractive township, compared with Victoria Falls, for the afternoon.

The sense of excitement - from my parents - and the cheering of those standing along the route, no doubt made an impression on me, despite my early years, must have heightened my senses and created a 'memory' for me.

My father, Alexander (Alex prn 'Alec') McDonald Edmonds

My father was born in Edinburgh, in Gorgie or Dalry near the Tynecastle (Heart of Midlothian FC aka 'Hearts') Football stadium on 16 October 1910. His father, Robert, joined the Royal Scots Greys and fought at Gallipoli and then on the Western Front along with his five brothers, all surviving the great slaughter of WWI, except that his brother George was gassed and died in 1921 of respiratory disease. My great-uncle George worked in a garage in Dalkeith - which as still in operation on the A68 near the Dalkeith High School that I attended for my high school years. As George did not actually die during the, he was not accorded 'war death' status and his widow did not receive a pension. So much for 'a land fit for heroes'!

My grandfather was a cabinet maker, but he had been absent during the war years and work was not easy to come-by afterwards, even before the Great Depression. The family circumstances were poor. My father was brought up on porridge fro breakfast and usually a kipper (smoked herring - which wrre cheap) - or part thereof for his 'tea' (evening meal). He had an older brother by two years, John, and a younger brother, Robert, again by about two years. From an early age, during WWI, my father worked on a milk float (a horse drawn wagon, pulled by a Clydesdale horse operated by the Fountainbridge St Cuthbert's Dairy - quite close to his family home, a tenement in Gorgie Road. In the winter his hands would be frozen and he suffered from chilblains on his toes and heels of his feet - but the small pay he received went straight to his mother for 'housekeeping.'

My father recalls the outbreak of the war, although he was only four at the time, as the first bombing raid of the entire war was an attack on the Forth Railway Bridge and the associated naval bases. The sound could be heard in Edinburgh - and of course the whole thing was a huge sensation and talking point.

When his father returned from the war, he liked to have a boiled egg for breakfast, occasionally sharing the top of the egg with one of his sons. When times were really tough, the family might only be able to afford one kipper - for th father. On one occasion, my Dad asked as his father sat down to eat the kipper, 'Where's my kipper?' only to be told -  'You've had yours - you got the  smell of it!' And he was probably lucky not to get what was called 'a thick ear' from a hard slap across his face for daring to ask!

All three boys were bright at school but had to leave as soon as they were fourteen to earn money for the family - even although as boy labour they would be paid in pennies! John was apprenticed to painter and decorator and that became his trade - and he eventually ran his own business and lived in a typical Edinburgh bungalow in the Edinburgh suburb of Portobello for the rest of his life, with his wife, Ina, and two sons, Robert and Ian (Scots for John). My father was taken by his mother to get a job at a warehouse to start a 'career' as a warehouse-man (he would have been a 'odd-job' runner no doubt as a 'lad') - this in 1924 and there was a queue of other lads hoping to get the one position on offer. They boys were all handed a list of items with prices and amounts. The first boy to calculate the total price - and of course all correct - would get the position. It was a race! My father didn't win. So an angry mother dragged him away. Howevrer, as luck would have it, as they passed a Boots The Chemist shop, the manager was just posting a notice in the window that said 'Delivery lad wanted! Must be able to ride a bike.' Without a moment's hesitation, my father's mother took him into the shop and speaking to the manager said, 'Excuse me, sir, Here's you delivery lad. Alexander here can ride a bike. He won't let you down.'

Alex got the job and joined Boots. He was a delivery lad for a year or so, then trained to be a dispenser, before qualifying through night school at the Herriot Watt Institute in Edinburgh (now the Herriot Watt University) as a pharmacist (entitled to place the letters 'MPS' - member of The Pharmaceutical Society - after his name). He often said to me, 'You know, if I'd been a bit quicker at adding up these figures, I could well have become a warehouseman, eventually rising to be a warehouse manager!' Instead, he became a respected professional in the health industry working in both hospitals in Africa and chemist shops, including his own business, in Scotland - and strangely, when he died at only 56 years of age, he was again working as the pharmacist manager of a Boots chemist shop - Musselburgh, perhaps about 10 miles from where he began his work career with the same firm, 42 years earlier.

A toxic mixture

I buy and read The Times newspaper each day (for its news cover, articles, and because I can usually manage the cryptic crossword in Times 2, but not the official back-page Times Crossword! I usually manage to 'get one free' via a Waitrose deal - puchase goods, including the 'free' coffee valued at £2.60 and the newspaper £2.40, totalling £10 and showing my 'Waitrose Card' and I get teh coffee and the newspaper free of charge. It ain't difficult to purchase goods to the value of £5 to make up the £10.

Anyway, on Tuesday 17 October, 2017, there was an article by journalist Hugo Rifkind, entitled, 'Politcs and friendship are a toxic mixture.' In the article, he referred to the friendship between right-wing Tory MP, Jacob Rees-Mogg (whose father was once a well-known editor of The Times) , and a Labour MP, Jess Phillips. Rees-Mogg is a conservative Catholic who utterly opposes abortion, even in cases of rape. Phillips is a supporter of abortion as a woman;s right to choose what happens to her body.

Hugo Rifkind had this to say about their friendship:

'On one level, I approve of all this camaraderie. On another though, it makes no sense to me.

Say you're Rees-Mogg. You oppose abortion because of your faith, which means you think people who facilitate abortion are destined for a bad time in the hereafter. Right? So, are you really going to have no personal misgivings - ''dislike'' seems a tame word here - about somebody who, by own interpretation, advocate something that will send people to hell? Does that make sense to you?'

Well, of course, 'it doesn't,' to answer Rikind's rhetorical question.

Hugo Rifkind's example, however, struck a chord with me as  I have had difficulties for a long time accepting 'as normal' or indeed 'acceptable' the notion that most Christians, and certainly conservative Christian of all denominations accept or go along with as part of their belief: the notion that their loving God has destined that all non-believers (in Christ as Saviour and Lord) will end up in the fires of hell.

I have wondered about neighbours and colleagues, who clearly hold to the orthodox teachings or doctrines of their various Christian churches, including an eternity of heaven for them and hell for the rest. It could be said that they live in hope that the rest will be 'converted' and 'saved' but not only is that unlikely statistically or in any other way - I have been in the company of those Christians who believe that the numbers are limited anyway (to about 400,000 - but then the same type of person who can work that kind of figure out can also tell when the world was created, apparently in 4004 BCE) or that those to be 'saved' is predestined (Calvinists) - so fat chance the vast majority of people ever getting into heaven!

Many people who do not go to church or accept the 'teachings' of the church, but may have some thought that there is or could be a 'divine presence' - God, if you like - are willing to support, with cash or in some other way, the work of say, The Salvation Army. After all, it does a lot of good work with the homeless and other needy persons. Yet, the Sally Army believes in hell and fully accepts that those who are non-believers will spend eternity in the fires of hell.

Now, if someone entertained thoughts that their neighbours - and indeed friends - along with millions of others, were destined to spend endless days and nights in abject and total suffering, afflicted by excruciating pain, with no let up, no relief... and that such horrors were justified, we would have legitimate concern. We would wonder what kind of mind they possessed: were they insane, perhaps criminally insane? Would it be wise to keep their company? Should we inform the authorities?

Thinking that people will be roasted in fire - without even the possibility of death ending their suffering - is a very dark thought. Even if Christians 'temper' the fire image by saying things like, 'the suffering will be more like a total sense of depression...hopelessness...despair...emptiness...etc.' the picture is very dark. They seem to accept that - for ever, for eternity - the non-believer, regardless of what good they have done or evil avoided and/or condemned in their earthly life-time, will suffer excruciating mental and emotional anguish - what we would call, 'a living hell.'

We would be wary of people holding such dark thoughts. We might well fear them. We might well think that it would be better to have nothing whatsoever to do with them. We certainly wouldn't like them to look after our children. Yet we do. We seem to accept their notions and allow or children to attend their youth groups and some even send their children to their schools. How odd!

All this is at the individual level - and we are tolerant. We accept that there should be 'freedom of religion' and we support 'free speech.' To a point. As a society, we will seek to restrict teachings in a mosque, say, that is supporting Islamic terrorism. We want the social media companies to monitor and suppress, when necessary, the on-line outpourings of hate associated with neo-Nazis and Islamic terrorists; and, indeed we are prepared to ban their organisations, as the British Government has done, quite rightly, this year with National Action.

Yet, when we look at the beliefs of conservative Christians, we discover that everyone (who has lived is alive, or will live in the future), unless they are 'saved' through faith in Jesus Christ, is not just 'bad' (in the Salvation Army's words, 'totally depraved', but also to 'exposed to the wrath of God' and to receive 'endless punishment.' See the following statement of doctrine from the UK's Salavation Army web site:

We believe that our first parents were created in a state of innocency, but by their disobedience they lost their purity and happiness, and that in consequence of their fall all men have become sinners, totally depraved, and as such are justly exposed to the wrath of God.

We believe that continuance in a state of salvation depends upon continued obedient faith in Christ.

We believe in the immortality of the soul; in the resurrection of the body; in the general judgment at the end of the world; in the eternal happiness of the righteous; and in the endless punishment of the wicked. (https://www.salvationarmy.org.uk/salvation-army-doctrines)

The Catholic Church beliefs as stated in its Catechism of Catholic Beliefs, says:

Each man receives his eternal retribution in his immortal soul at the very moment of his death, in a particular judgment that refers his life to Christ: either entrance into the blessedness of heaven—through a purification or immediately—or immediate and everlasting damnation. (CCC 1022)

So, whether Catholic or evangelical Protestant (Sally Army), orthodox Christian belief is much the same when it comes to what will happen to non-believers at or after death - and it ain't pretty!

Of course, these are only beliefs, some might say - and none of it has direct reference to life as we know it - life here on earth. Well, maybe. However, if this is the case, it is due almost entirely to the secularisation of society. Thankfully, we have rid ourselves (almost) of church rule and influence (well, certainly not quite).

[While we are shocked and outraged by some of the wicked and cruel acts of fundamentalist Islamic insurgents, like those of ISIS, and of fundamentalist Islamic states like the Kingdom of Arabia, where limbs are mutilated and people beheaded or stoned to death, our history, even into so-called 'modern' times saw people imprisoned, tortured, or put to death for what were 'religious' offences - in Scotland,

Even into the 20th century, the state was prepared to prosecute those who commit 'religious' offences, such as blasphemy - by which we mean not only using profane language but including denial of religious beliefs, such as the Holy Spirit. It was only in 2008 that the Government repealed blasphemy as an offence in England and Wales - and blasphemy laws are still extant in Scotland and Northern Ireland. And that is no coincidence. Until recently Scotland was deeply divided along religious lines, especially in Glasgow, and Northern Ireland remains a 'troubled' community with Catholic and Protestant intolerance never far below the surface.]

While we - as a society (including many voices in the various churches) - condemn the extremist views of fundamentalists in Islam, we do not apply the same standard of vigilance against fundamentalism in Christianity. In fact, our church leaders seem afraid to tackle the subject. They tolerate in their midst, in their councils, in their pulpits, conservative voices - voices that clearly denounce the very same liberal and tolerant views held by the more liberal leaders.

Many years ago now, in 1963, a Church of England bishop, the Bishop of Woolwich, John A T Robinson, wrote a book entitled, Honest To God, challenging traditional theology. One of his critics, an orthodox Anglican, the writer C S Lewis, on being asked what he thought of Honest To God, replied , 'I prefer being honest to Honest To God.'

It was a 'clever' answer - a smart answer, but it was actually a phoney answer. I say this because church leaders, and well educated and informed Christians know how nonsensical their fundamentalist, Bible-Believing, conservative colleagues are, and should be more honest. They know about modern biblical criticism that has shown how the books of the Bible were written and when they were written - and then selected by meetings of the church - to be regarded as 'sacred' texts, the so-called Word of God. They know that the concepts and constructs of Christianity were formed by or drew on ancient thought and custom - and therefore are not veritable truth. They know, in the words of the old song,That it ain't necessarily so!

Yet, they allow in their midst, indeed they seem give respect to - and thereby legitimise - the nonsense of the conservative Christian position. It is as if  The Royal Society, that fellowship of the world's most eminent scientists, were to accept as one of their own someone who adheres to the notions of so-called Creation Science or even that the Earth is flat.

So, why do they put up with this ludicrous situation? Is it because they hold that it is a matter of faith, and therefore beyond critical reasoning? Is it because they base their notions on the same 'authority' = the collection of ancient writings in what is called The Bible to which they, like their conservative colleagues, ascribe supernatural importance as 'the Word of God.' Or is it, in their own practical way, they fear the 'thin edge of the wedge'? That questioning any results in questioning all? After all, where do you draw the line?

A history of Coates

From Wordpress (https://coatesvillage.wordpress.com/a-brief-history-of-coates/) 

People have probably lived in the vicinity of Coates for thousands of years. There is plenty of evidence of early earthworks, not least there are the remains of an Iron Age fort at Trewsbury. Equally the southern border of the parish is the Fosse Way, a Roman road which ran (and still runs, largely) from Bath to the north east of Nuneaton.

The village lies very close to the source of the river Thames, and the outline of a Roman building is clearly visible in a field directly south of the Tunnel House Pub, just a mile from the village. Little is known about this building, but there has been speculation that it is a temple to the goddess Isis, as the source of the great river may have once started there.

The first mention of the parish is, unsurprisingly, in the Domesday Book – the limits of the parish were largely the same then as they are now. The name “Cotes” was derived from the sheep pens that littered the area, just as was the word “Cotswold”, which means “region of the sheep pens.” Oakley Wood possibly derives its name from Achelie, an ancient term meaning a clearing in the trees.

In 1066 the village consisted of three manor houses, named Radulph, Cockerel and possibly Oakley, as with the wood. Historical details of Coates are few and far between, based largely on the occasional spat in the courts. In 1221, for example, the then-priest of the parish, named Robert, slew William de Boses at the occasion of an Ale drinking. As nobody in the village helped to capture the renegade priest, the entire village was fined and the priest was outlawed.

Records suggest that the church was first constructed in the 14th Century. It may seem strange that the Church is so far outside the village, but at the time all or part of Coates lay between the Church and what is now Hailey Woods. No-one is sure why the main part of the village was re-sited where it stands today. One theory is that it was due to the Great Plague; a more mundane explanation perhaps, is that houses built up around the newer manors over time, and fell down in the older areas.

In the late 15th Century, the three manors were brought together by Sir William Nottingham, and in 1600 the village was officially renamed from Cotes to Coates. The remaining part of one manor is now known as Church Farm (reputedly with a tunnel from the stables to the church, but this remains undiscovered), and another is now Setts House.

The oldest part of the village is the end wall of church farm; the oldest house(s) still standing are Coates House, which was originally a number of cottages known as Setts Cottages. Architecturally these were based on the Craft Movement, as were Setts House and Fosse Hill. Setts House was actually built – or at least paid for – by a Captain Stanwick, who didn’t want to have to drive his sister to church!

Life in the village changed dramatically with the arrival of the canal joining the Severn to the Thames. Taverns were constructed for the benefit of the canal workers, one at each end of the tunnel – these are the Daneway Inn in Sapperton, and the aforementioned Tunnel House, which was built in 1789. It was was gutted by fire in 1952, and later renovated, and it was extended in 2004. The Thames Head, situated out on the Tetbury road, is an old coaching inn.

In 1848, 22-year old Thomas Gibbs came to Coates as Curator of the church. He later built the school, largely at his own expense, and lived to a ripe old 94 years. His body is buried in the church yard. The school, probably built originally on the site of a workhouse, first opened its doors in 1849; it was closed in 1987 and sold by the Bathurst estate as a private house. The clock maintenance passed to the parish council, and thereupon to the current owner who still has to ensure the time is set correctly!

Later in the 19th Century, a new manor house was built; later still saw the arrival of a further large residence, which was brought down stone by stone from Hams Hall, near Coleshill in Warwickshire, in 1921. During the war a German plane – a Junkers bomber – crashed into the tennis courts at the rear of Bledisloe, having jettisoned its bombs along the Setts. Coates resident Albert Wheatley was put on guard of the crashed aircraft, and the two German airmen were buried in the churchyard. In 1950 the house was acquired by the Royal Agricultural College and renamed Bledisloe Lodge.

There was also, until 19-something, a licensed establishment in the village called The Shepherds Arms. Coates has never had its own pub; The Shepherds Arms was licensed to dispense beer, and while the men of the village were not legally allowed to drink on the premises, they used to sit on the opposite wall to do so! The last licencee of the Arms was the Wright family, before that Douglas Holder and before that Georgina Laurence, known to all as Georgie, and her assistant Laura. The post office, opposite what is now May Tree Close, was run by a Mary Ann Roberts in 1901, then her son Tom Roberts, and then by his daughter, Nancy. Mary Ann was married to George Roberts, who had a brother Robert Roberts. Their father was Richard Giles Roberts who was a master carpenter for Lord Bathhurst.

The Village Hall was originally built as a mens’ reading room in 1905. Today it hosts a gardening club, and “good companions” whist drives are held regularly. The church itself has been restored twice, once in 1861 and again in 1947. The footpath across to Tarlton was the route for burials of Tarlton residents, as they had no church yard. Incidentally, the cart was until recently still in the church! Inside the church there is an account of a Coates man, Bernard Vann, who was awarded the Victoria Cross during the First World War.

Coates has remained roughly the same size for the last hew hundred years, with population numbering around 400. 12 council houses were built between the wars, and 18 after the last war. Recent expansions include the creation of Quaker Row (in the gardens of the existing terraced houses) and May Tree Close in the early 90’s.

COATES COINCIDENCES

We purchased a semi-detached cottage in Coates near Cirencester on 4th July 2014. We liked the property because it had good sized rooms and big windows letting in loads of light - and because we could see how it could be improved and extended; but most of all because it had an airiness in and around it. Unlike so many other properties we had visited, this one was surrounded by a sense of open space - not hemmed in like so many British houses. It was also very quiet - but the village was clearly lived in (unlike others we had visited - Cotswold hamlets with pretty or rustic stone house but the places looked 'dead' - most properties owned as country cottages and obviously rarely visited by their probable London owners). 

When we looked at a property map of Coates, we saw that a house just up the road from 'ours' was named 'Sarona' and another house we thought was called 'Penney's House' - and thought what a coincidence given our investment company in Australia was called 'Sarhona Pty Ltd' - an amalgam of our daughters names (Sarah and Rhona) and because of our granddaughter, Pennie. We also noticed that the 'big house' of the village (well, set off in its own grounds just on the southern edge of the village) was called 'Bledisloe' - the same name as the famous cup fought out each year by the Australian and New Zealand rugby union teams. So many connections - it just had to be 'meant' we thought.

But we only knew half of it!

The 'big wig' of the area and the major landowner around Coates is Earl Bathurst - and yes, one of his predecessors was the Colonial Secretary and the first inland city in Australia was named in his honour - so another Ozzie connection. Bledisloe House was built (or rebuilt from a house in Derbyshire) by a member of the Bathurst family who as Lord Bledisloe was the Governor- General of New Zealand who donated the eponymous cup referred to above. 

The property was acquired in 1950 by the Royal Agricultural College (now University) at Cirencester and renamed as Bledisloe Lodge, it served as the residential hall of the Royal Agricultural College (until the 1960s). 

In the parish church yard is the grave of  Derrick Francis Douglas Christopherson, a former warden of Bledisloe Lodge.  Christopherson was born in the year Emmanuel UQ was founded (1911) and he died prematurely in 1959 at the age of only 48 years. Each time I take a walk that passes through the churchyard, I stop and pay my respects. 

The village clock which hangs off the wall of the former National School building (established in 1848) and featured in a BBC 2 TV program, The Restorers, in 2017.  Jan and I both appear in the episode on Coates. The clock was first installed in 1911 (that year again!) to celebrate the coronation of King George V. 

Then we discovered only after a year or so that teh curreent Master of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, Dame Fiona Reynolds (elected as Master in 2012) is a neighbour in Glebe House, only 300 yards down the road from us where she lives (when not in Cambridge) with her husband, Bob x, with whom we have had some dealings. As another Dame - Dame Edna Everage would say, ‘Spooky!’

UNO and other fun and games with the grandkids

It is 2017: Pennie is 6 and Liam is 4. It is February: they have spent a week with Jan and me in Coates while their parents packed up and moved from Ham back to Richmond. I wonder how much Pennie and Liam will remember of this in years to come?

There were many games of UNO  - and, wondrously, Liam and Pennie won most of them! (Although Liam kept forgetting to call 'UNO' when he only had that one card left.) 


There were the usual requests for us to buy a ''mazagine.' Liam was delighted to get a magazine/mazagine with some Star Wars stickers including many Dark Fader (sic) figures - with which he then 'decorated' four sheets of paper - and very neatly too.

'Dark Fader' aka Darth Vader

But Pennie why, oh why, did every activity, no matter how much fun, no matter how many laughs, no matter how many words of praise, always end in tears? Nothing like a good sob to round things off?

Still, you were always good fun too, with your cheeky smile and your giggles... and your very good understanding of what was amusing. The there was your reading - wow! could you read!

'Grandma. grandpa. I've read 70 pages this morning - see! (and the pages read would be shown, held between your index finger and thumb. Or a question asked,'How many pages are there from 17 to 89 - I read that much. See!'




Then there were the endless 'eps' on NETFLIX. 'Not the noos, grandpa! It's boring! We want to watch Horrid Henry!'

A special outing that went very well was to the pictures/cinema - and both behaved impeccably when we all watched 'SING' together at the Vue in Stroud - and then had lunch at Jolly Nice on the way back 'home' (to Coates): sausage baps finished with ice-cream cones (both choosing pink 'strawberry' when I thought that at least one would follow my choice and go with 'shocklate?). Yum! 

Destined to be in Gloster?

Now in my seventies, having lived in Africa, Scotland, the Midlands of England, and Australia, I am a resident of Gloucestershire, living in a village near Cirencester.

The older spelling of Gloucester was Gloster. Way back when I was five, there was a hit song, with words including:

Put another nickel in

In the nickelodeon

All I want is having you

And music, music, music

I'd do anything for you
Anything you'd want me to
All I want is kissin' you
And music, music, music

Closer, my dear , come closer

The nicest part of any melody

Is when you're dancing close to me

So, put another nickel in
In the nickelodeon
All I want is lovin' you
And music, music, music

[Instrumental Interlude]

Put another nickel in
In the nickelodeon
All I want is having you
And music, music, music

I'd do anything for you
Anything you'd want me to
All I want is kissin' you
And music, music, music

Closer, my dear, come closer
The nicest part of any melody
Is when you're dancing close to me

So, put another nickel in

In the nickelodeon

All I want is lovin' you

And music, music, music

However, my elder brother, Donald, thought that 'Closer, my dear, come closer, was 'Gloster, O Clement Gloster' and so he taught us to sing it - and it became our musical item. I recall singing it for Uncle David and our cousins, Muriel, Jean, 'Little' Edna (to differentiate her from Auntie Edna, her mother) and Doreen, in the flat we lived in the High Street, Dundee, in 1950 or 1951 before we returned to Africa.

Ad now, all these years later, I live in Gloustershire just half an hour away from its capital, Gloucester, or Gloster, as it used to be written.