Sunday, December 29, 2019

VISIT TO UKRAINE by Kath Harpley, Sept 2018



OUR VISIT TO UKRAINE
JIM AND KATH HARPLEY
September 2018
____________________________________________________________________

We landed in Kyev and spent a day choosing to do the 'Lonely Planet' walking tour which took us nicely away from the high street shops and up the hill to the less obvious and less busy sights. Its not a magnificent city by London or Paris or St Petersburg standards but it has pockets of interest and loveliness with influences of previous occupations, not least the Russians. There are in fact relics of communism all over the country. We followed the high path running parallel with the river which gave us excellent views and eventually a restaurant lunch in a very pleasant green area. At one point struggling to find a building of note, the only other person in the area rushed over to assist us. By chance an English speaking lady – the kindness of strangers! Our building was behind a closed off government area secured by soldiers. She translated what we wanted and all three of us showed our passports and were allowed through. She carried her passport as she needed it for her banking job. English speakers in this country are few and far between except to say that in good hotels in big cities there are English speaking employees. In the smaller towns and villages we sometimes had to resort to Google translate, Jim's interpretation of sign language and drawings for our basic requirements which as vegetarians saw us eating some interesting meals. In one case grated carrot on a side plate with a salad dressing which was actually quite nice but not quite the fish and two veg that we were trying to describe. The fish came separately. I will say at this point that all the hotels we stayed at, even the £13.00 a night one, was good and all the food we ate was good, although the portion sizes might be a little small compared to UK restaurants, but then overweight Ukrainians are few and far between, so that perhaps says something.

We decided to ignore the Lonely Planet advice which says take the train and use a taxi and not to drive as the roads are bad and described as the worse they had seen anywhere in Europe and the drivers are appalling. Well we have driven all over the world often choosing to go off road for the fun of it and after all, hire cars go anywhere!! It was an experience, the roads in places are really bad and I mean really bad (even worse than our roads!!). The main road west out of Kiev which heads straight to Poland is good and the drivers were no worse than other places we have been to. However our car which was pre-booked proved a problem later on. A good map and sat nav are essential and we discovered that most places have more than one spelling of its name so for example Luck is also Lutsk. There were lots of petrol stations and they all take credit cards. The signs are mostly written in our Latin alphabet so navigation was not too difficult. However the small villages on unmade roads are beyond sat nav reach, and they are unnamed so difficult to find. The people do not speak English so to find exact village locations without an interpreter would be more than difficult. Even in the nearby town of Luboml we did not find any English speakers, even in the hotel. Nudyze is some 300 miles west of Kiev and very close to the Polish border. It is possible to cross the border but not in a hire car, hence our decision to fly into Kiev. Hospitals are not by any means up to our standards, and it is recommended that you take your own first aid kit including syringes. We did not do this so we chose to take an E111 thinking that should the worse happen we could travel over the Polish border and suffer the hire car problem later.

Prior to our (Jim and myself) holiday to the Ukraine, I had undertaken some research work and had put together a life history and time line of Mark (my father) Gigiera. I had also drawn the family tree as I knew it at that time which basically consisted of the 2 boys, Mietek and Mark and their parents, Zot and Iryna. I tried research work on the internet but found language barriers and because the Cyrillic alphabet is also different, translation, even with an ap, was very difficult and inaccurate.


Nudyze church.  Built from timber and quite stunning.

 The stunning interior of the church.  When we arrived the Priest was on a scaffolding tower doing some repairs to the ceiling.   I cannot imagine any of our UK clergy doing repairs to their own church!








Having searched through various web sites, I realised early on that I would need to employ a research company to assist and so selected Your Roots in Poland. The archives are centrally held. For the period I was interested in, they are held in Lutsk, and YRIN sent a researcher there to look for records from the Cross-Vozdvizhenskaya Church in the family village of Nudyze. This church is made of wood, pre-war and is quite fabulous. Records are kept in different places, dependent upon date and so we were able to find Marks (b1923) birth records but not Mieteks (b1921) which are held in Polish archives. We also found other birth and death records for relatives and were able to build a more detailed family tree. It would seem that when girls marry they move to the village of their new husband and consequently villages have many people of the same name. The village of Nudyze has many Rabyj's which is the village that Iryna, the boys mother, was born and where her family came from. Mietek's father, Zotik came from the next village of Humence which has no church.

On arrival in the nearest town of Luboml, we checked into our hotel (The Euro). To put a price comparison in here, it cost us about £55 total for 2 nights. As prices are low by our standards, I paid extra to have more room. We had a large bedroom with en-suite and a large lounge. The quality was good as too was the food. Of course we tried the vodka!

Kath, Oxsana and the Priest searching through the archives.

YRIP had found us a guide. Oxsana, a University lecturer, historian and tourist guide in Lutsk. She was excellent. She spoke good English and proved a really good translator. No one in the village or any of our relatives that were there, spoke English and therefore a translator was absolutely necessary. Without this we would have found nothing. Oxsana had phoned ahead, speaking to the Nudyze council lady, Lillia. Lillia had mobilised the village ready for our arrival. We drove north our of Luboml taking a track with forest either side. The track went on for several miles and driving was slow to avoid the many potholes. On arrival we were greeted by Lillia. We had a tour of the local school which held a small museum and visited the church where the priest was waiting for us. He took us up to the belfry and allowed me, the returning relative to the village, to ring the bell. An honour bestowed upon me. The priest rummaged in the church loft and came down with old archives from which we found a list of other Rabyj's and confessions from Iryna's brother Kuzma. Again we needed Oxsana to translate.
Village house
Village house

Note the dove tail joints on the corners of this traditional wooden house.
This is the type of wooden house that Mietek and Mark would have been born into.
Most of the village houses are still like this, some bigger and newer but essentially the same.

Lillia had done magic on the old bush telegraph and we had a series of village people to visit. All very old. We visited one old lady who was in her shed sorting through a pile of beans. Hoping to find family information we were sent from one person to another. We were invited into one small home (above).  We went into one room which had an old fashioned cooking range as well as a table and two single beds.  Like all the properties there was garden all the way round.

     Lillia asking an old lady if she knew   the               Gigiera's or the Rabyj's





Apart from seeking family it was interesting to see where and how people lived. The road north out of Luboml was unmade and potholed. The sat-nav did not reach this far with the message 'roads unrecognised' although the village of Nudyze was on my road map. These are roads the average tourist would never venture down and consequently you would never get to see villages like this. I recall that as a child dad would talk of the storks nests. There were many of these, although at this time of year, no storks.





Cars are of course widely used but the farmers still have a horse and cart. We saw several horses in the fields working. To own a horse still represents wealth and they looked well. My father always spoke of the family horse which was used for everything.



Village road

Back to the family:
Mark always said he was illegitimate and Mietek collaborates this by telling his descendants that his mother went off with another man. DNA tests of Juan (Mietek's son) and Andrew (Mark's son) have proven this to be correct. However,  Zotik Gigiera is listed as Marks father on his birth records. I think we can assume that Zotik is Mietek's father as both brothers believed this to be true and we believe Mietek to be the first born. Our researchers found a third brother called Gieorgij, b12 April 1929. Neither Mietek or Mark ever mentioned this. We do not have a death certificate. It may be that he died as an infant. Gieorgij's father too is listed as Zotik. Given that Iryna left her husband Zotik around the time that the illegitimate Mark was born in 1923 and went with Mark to live with her own father, it seems unlikely that Zotik is Gieorgij's father. Of course its possible that Zotic and Iryna continued some kind of relationship. However I am told that Zotik and Mietek were bitter about Iryna going off with this other man and abandoning them, so this seems unlikely.  This begs many questions; did Gieorgij survive, why did neither Mark or Mietek ever mention him, if he did survive what was his story and who was his father.  If the same as Marks, does he have offspring and if so where are they and do they know who their grandfather was????

We visited one lady in a nearby village. Her husband was a descendant of the Gigiera's. Unfortunately he was out working in a field and we were unable to speak with him.  His father was either a Gregory who was possibly a cousin but not on my records. There will be other relatives not yet discovered and so not on the family tree, or he was the above Gieorgij b12 April 1929 who was a brother to Mietek and Mark.  This was the only Gigiera connection we found. To progress this it might be necessary to have a researcher look at the other church in Holovne, near to the Gigiera family village of Humence and records held in the Polish archives. (10/2/19 Found a Gigera in the Ukrainian Athletics – 100m sprinter. Lives in the right area. I have also found some Gigiera’s on Facebook living in Kovel and Luboml, so they are there and waiting to be discovered.  As Zotik Gigiera was the father to Mietek and not to Mark, the Gigiera's are not related to me and so  I only have a vague interest, if only because it might lead us to George, if he lived, and to an explanation on his paternal line which potentially could be the same as Mark's.  Other than this, I have no interest in tracing the Gigiera family and I leave this to Mietek's descendants in Argentina to follow up, should they be interested enough.

So, back to Nudyze. We were eventually given the details of a man in Kovel with the name of Rabyj. Everyone seems to know everyone in these small communities so finding contact details was not difficult. Kovel is east of Luboml and about a 45 minute drive from where we were. We decided that even though it was getting later in the day, to go there. They live in a big detached brick built house, on a reasonable sized plot where they grow their own food and like us have an entertaining Jack Russell. It seems common to build your own house and no doubt family and friends pool their skills and help each other. We were met by Miwa/Michael. Living in the house was his ageing mother with the most beautiful skin. She was gardening when we arrived. His wife-Olga was away in Poland working in the mushroom business. Olga’s father was also living in the house. He is called Pawel Rabyj b1934 so aged 85. This was now a 'Who do you think you are' situation. Oxsana explained who we were – people turning up out of the blue, possibly related!! Pawel told us who his mother and father were; Pawel (Iryna's brother) and Julita. Bingo!! YRIP had come up trumps, they were on our family tree. So here we were, with our first living relative in Ukraine. I'm now thinking my money was well spent on research and the potential spin off from this was getting better.

Pawel's parents are;
His father also a Pawel Rabyj (the younger brother to Iryna) and his mother Julita.
Julita and Pawel Rabyj
I would guess that this is in the 1920's
         Mietek Gigiera                                                   Mark Gigiera
           
                                                                         
Pawel and Kath (me)
So the old man in front of me was a cousin to my dad, Mark and my uncle Mietek.  Pawel was not on our family tree so he was immediately added. He had 2 brothers; Mark b8 May 1932 . who was shot in the head by a Russian soldier in 1946. We found his grave. The second brother was Kliment b1 December 1929 who died, aged 2, 21 May 1931 from the measles. Pawel's (jnr) daughter-Olga and son-in-law Michel have 3 daughters. We met the youngest on her return from school. She said she could speak a little English but was reluctant to do so. Michael is now a taxi driver. They moved from the village to Kovel for better work and schooling opportunities. They told us that Pawel (Mark and Mietek's uncle) was a soldier in the Polish army and a prisoner of war in Germany doing hard labour. He had a bad leg from this, I think from a bullet wound. He had a horse. It appears to be a symbol of wealth, owning a horse.

As well as the quest to find the Rabyj family I was of course intrigued to know more about the mystery of my father's father. Dad always and consistently told us that his father was a Count and an Officer in the Tzar's Cavalry Regiment who had moved into the area. Was this for real, was it embellishment and who am I really looking for?? I have always felt embarrassed in relaying this story as it does seem far fetched given that my blood is definitely red with no hint of blue and whilst there are some interesting noses in the family, none of them are turned up. However, Jim was the last man on the scene and he recalls Mark discussing this. Going along with the story; from this, my conclusion was that as the last Tzar was assassinated by the Bolsheviks in 1917, then anyone of rank associated with the Tzar would flee the area in fear of their own life. Dad also consistently said that his father had bought a property with some land and had a large mill. He recalled the house had a library with pictures of military gentlemen. He was also married with no children at the time he was born. Research shows there were a lot of aristocrat families underpinning the Tzar and I have no doubt that there would be some important people in the area and maybe a lot of illegitimate offspring. Not all the aristocrats were mega wealthy and I believe this to be the case if this Count exists as, why else would he be in this area and not fleeing with all his wealth to a more western country. Having raised my doubts about this, before the trip east, my brother Boris recalled an incident. As a youth, he was in the Nottingham Ukrainian Club with dad and dad was speaking with this lady who came from the same area as dad. Boris confidently recalls the conversation. They were discussing the Count that also lived in their area. So, never say never!!! Needless to say, this has fuelled the intrigue.

Ivan (L), Pawel (R)
During day 1, we were given details of the son of a large mill owner. This was a flour mill and the largest in the area. On day 2, we went to visit him in Kovel and not far from Michael's house. Michael and Pawel came with us. They all knew each other and it turned out that the old man's daughter-Anastasia was away with Olga, working in Poland. The old man-Ivan was at least 90 and very deaf and we did not want to push him or upset him and so we got very little from him except to confirm his father-Josef had the mill. I know from  research that there were several mills in Luboml, though most of them Jewish owned and mills in other nearby villages, so it is not conclusive that this was the mill.

Given that Mark was illegitimate and his true father was married, questions have to be a little delicate. The old man is called Ivan and his father, the mill owner is called Josef.

Next, we were off to the cemetery in Nudyze with Oxsana, Pawel and Michael to identify some family graves. For the size of the village this is a large cemetery. Before our trip I went with no real expectations of finding pre-war graves as I had heard of graves being destroyed by the Germans and the head stones used in road building. However, this village is well off the main route into town and may be the reason why so much survived, including the lovely church.


Pawell at his brother Mark's grave.
Mark was shot by the Russians when he was just 14
.


My aim was to find Iryna's grave. This was not to be. There were many graves unmarked, Some just simple wooden crosses with no words. There were lots of grave stones and all written in the Ukrainian Cyrillic alphabet and so not readable by us. Pawel pointed out the ones he knew but as an old man he could not spend hours on his feet. I don't think there is a list of the grave plots and they are all very randomly placed with overgrowth and so it would be a difficult job to locate other family graves, although for someone with the language and time, not impossible. This was one of the most poignant times of the trip as this cemetery represents my father’s and uncle’s family history on the Rabyj side and had war not broken out it is no doubt where they too would be buried and their lives would have been totally different.

Moving on to happier things. Of course we were keen to see the family land. Again I had gone with low expectations hoping to identify a plot of land. Driving through the village again, we could see that all the detached wooden houses had plots of land, adequate to grow their own fruit and veg. They are all well kept and everything is looked after and valued. I would describe the villages as pretty and the people generally have enough of everything although they clearly have to work for this, even the old people.

We are now a little way out of  Nudyze and driving up a lane at the side of a meadow with a rather nice chestnut horse grazing. We arrive at a couple of houses, close together with barns and a cart (shaped like a long V which is common there-see picture of one) and a pump in the front garden. Behind the properties there is a good piece of land, a guess – a couple of acres and what could be more land behind. The pre-war description of these people as prosperous peasants would probably translate as small farmers today.
We were introduced to Pawel's son-Leonid, who lives in the wooden house he has built. This replaced the house that was built by Pawel's father (Mark’s and Mietek's uncle) and which no longer exists. This is where Pawel lived as a child and where he brought up his own children. 

PICTURES: 
Top L-Leonid and Pawel at the family home.
Top R- Kath (me), Leonid and Pawel.
Bottom L&R-The field opposite the family home. The big tree (L) is where the original family home was where Mark lived with his mother Iryna and her father so presumably this land was theirs.

There are several barns and a lovely seated area under cover which we took advantage of in the warm sunshine. We asked about the house that dad would have lived in. Now, from what dad told us about him running away from his uncle after his mother died, I was expecting to be told that this was some distance away. Leonid pointed across to the big cherry tree in the middle of the meadow and said it was about there but again it no longer exists. I guess to a small boy a short distance is a long way. WOW. We were now truly looking at the land of my father. This discovery was the icing on the cake. The land in this area is flat for miles, getting more hilly as you go south. There are lots of forests between Kyev and Luboml.

 We were invited to lunch with Pawel's grand daughter-Halia. She is Leonid’s daughter. She is lovely with a friendly bubbly personality and gorgeous smile. This was not far from the family plot and was probably built on the family land. The house is large brick built and detached and with a big barn/out building. They have a young son of 4 or 5 and baby daughter. Again they built their own home and it is one of several brick built homes. As time goes on, it is likely that the old wooden houses will go, to be replaced by brick. In my mind it seems a shame for the pretty traditional wood cottages to go, but brick lasts and I can see the attraction. Their décor is warm and homely and they live extremely well. Halia’s husband-Roma arrived. For the Corrie fans amongst you, he looks like Tyrone (Yes, I watch Corrie, it has good wit, great one liners). I made the comment that he looks like one of our TV stars and he was well flattered. Bearing in mind that we had turned up out of the blue with no forewarning and no time to prepare food, we had a good meal. A lot of preserves were opened. Hope we weren't eating their winter fodder! There was fish and meat, mushrooms, aubergines home grown salads and a milky yoghurt which was the only thing not to my taste. Then out comes the vodka and offered to Jim. Ah ha, he was driving so politely declined and pushed me forward as the taster. Now, when I say the vodka came out. This is home made by Roma and its not just a bottle but a 5 gallon drum! So I take a sip, 'when in Rome'. Not that I am a vodka drinker, but since being in the mother land, or rather father's land I have tried a few of an evening. This was actually very good and I duly passed the compliment. Needless to say I should have been less enthusiastic as my glass was refilled and then again! Things were becoming fun now and we were having a laugh, well I was anyway. It was a good lunch. I wish I had longer to spend with these people as there is so much to ask and I am sure there is a big box of old photos back at the family home ready to be explored. We showed them photos of dad and Mietek and of the families and told them about how they eventually arrived in the UK and Argentina. We said they were picked up and carted off to Siberia at which we were told that it was literally like that. You could be going about your own business and you were literally just picked up. The people here are resigned to their past but they are living for the now and striving for the future and they have a good life. There is a hunger to improve and to succeed. Sadly we had to leave but not before accepting the gifts of mushroom and aubergine preserves. We drove back round the corner to the family home where Pawel insisted we take a bag of potatoes. Now, I know these are unusual gifts, but they were given with love and they were grown on the very land that our father grew up on.

We drove back to Luboml, satisfied that our mission had been successful, sad that we could not spend more time with family and with lots of questions yet to be answered.

On our trip we made quite a lot of observations. The people all look healthy. There was no obesity so they eat the right food in the right quantity.

Hospital treatment for serious illness is poor. Pawel's son has a heart condition and he is careful of what he eats and drinks as he knows a hospital cannot put him right if anything happens.

The women have great skin. Dad always used to say this and he said it was the cabbage.  Some of us have the short Folwell Finger. When I buy gloves the little finger is always too long?  I also have the Rabyj eyes. Have you ever wondered where those strange green, brown, grey eyes with the yellow halo around the iris come from. Well I can tell you that its a Ukrainian thing and many people have those eyes.

If you get lost, no one speaks English, so make sure you have a sat nav and if you take a short cut off the main roads then they will be bad.

Hotels are good and cheap, except in major cities where they are not cheap.

Food is good and as veggies we did not struggle. We do eat fish and dairy which helps.

I finish by telling the story of the car. We were supposed to pick this up from Boryspil airport after our visit to Kyev. I had booked with Hertz. A reputable company and a name I recognised. When we arrived there was no office for Hertz although there was for other hire car companies. I went up to one of these and the guy phoned another guy who turned up 20 minutes later, explaining that as we had not been there to meet him at the arranged time he had hired our automatic car to someone else and he now only had a manual small car left – uh!! We were late but then we had expected an office and like in other places more than one car and then it would not have been a problem being late. Reluctantly, we accepted the manual car offered. Did the usual, checked it over, signed the documents, and off we trundle to Luboml, Our onward journey took us 300 miles to Kovel, up and down the unmade road several times , down some potholed roads, a day south to Lviv and back across country towards Kyev. At some point we noticed an engine management light come on. We have had recent experiences of this with our own car and so did not panic too much. We also noticed at some point that there was a lovely glossy silver steel band appearing on the edge of a couple of the tyres and this was getting ever larger the more miles we did. I had planned to spend our last night relaxing at the side of a lake in a forested area in a chalet with a verandah and hot tub and given that the weather was lovely and warm this would have been wonderful with a few beers. Having driven 200 miles back toward Kyev we turned off north heading for our wooded haven. We pulled into a forest gateway as I wanted to check the map before we went into the unknown as the tyres by now were not great. Switched the engine off and went for a pee behind a tree – not that anyone was there or anywhere close. Came to switch the engine back on and it wouldn't start. Needless to say we did everything we could think of. We tried to push and bump it but with just two of us this was literally a 'none starter'. Good fortune came our way in the form of a big strong Ukrainian who turned into the driveway. I stopped him and bless him, he helped Jim push and I bump started it. Thank God it was a manual and not automatic as otherwise we would have been down a road which we didn't know the name of trying to get help. We abandoned the verandah and hot tub and hot wheeled it (or steel rimmed it) back to Kyev where we found a good hotel for £13, close to the airport with good food and we toasted our holiday with a couple of vodka's.

Kath Harpley
September 2018


Friday, December 20, 2019

BORIS GILBERT - THE 216 ENTRY CRAFT APPRENTICE, by Boris Gilbert, 1 JULY 2005


THE 216 ENTRY CRAFT APPRENTICE

BY BORIS GILBERT

1 JULY 2005



Boris and Janette

I MET Roy Gorringe at RAF Twinwoods who recognised the Locking Apprentice tie I was wearing. Soon we were chatting about our times at RAF Locking and the very shiny floors in the barrack blocks, “No!” he didn’t remember because the Blocks hadn’t been built when he was there, he was in the earlier ‘Huts’, “With the pot bellied stoves in the middle” said I. Apparently they didn’t even have heating but that’s a story for Roy Gorringe to tell. Clearly, as a ‘new boy’ I had different experiences….. Before my meeting with Roy, I thought I had it tough; two years of seven days a week Drill, Rifle Drill, P.E., Inspection Parades and trade training, and no, this wasn’t borstal, I had volunteered for all of this……. This is my story:

It’s amazing that the date, entry number, service number and place are engraved into my memory like a birthmark. On the 9th September 1969, I became E8009727 Craft Apprentice Boris Gilbert of 216 Entry RAF Locking studying Ground Radar.

I caught the train from Midland Station in Nottingham clutching my RAF rail warrant in one hand and all my worldly possessions in the other. At 16 years old my escape to a new family called  the Royal Air Force began. I immediately met another fresh faced youngster on the train. “Going to RAF Lockington?” said I and a shy looking chap nodded back. Within minutes of boarding the train, I had already met fellow adventurer Trevor Evans who would prove to be a good friend at Locking.

Having successfully negotiated the London underground (not for the last time), we finally arrived at Weston Super Mare Station to be herded together with many other spotty faced youngsters by some severe looking NCO’s. The RAF blue/grey bus drove us to our new home.

The next few days were like a whirlwind but the first thing we HAD to do was write home and say we had arrived safely. Next came the medical which included a thousand different inoculations against everything you could catch and one against Martian Flue ‘just in case’!! Whilst the main uniforms (No 1s, 2s and great coat) were withheld, we were issued with a button stick, shoe brushes, three shirts and six collars complete with my first introduction to the collar studs and a tie that had to have a Windsor Knot and of course the famous holdall which seemed like a very awkward bag, but was soon found to be beautifully shaped to fit your back and provide an arm rest for hitchhiking duties. Even underwear was issued and our pants were affectionately known as Shreddies (does anyone know why?). These were usually the first casualty of the inexperienced laundrette operator as most ended up yellow when washed with a duster. We were expected to wear Coveralls, webbing belt, beret and highly bulled boots every day for the first three months and we were confined to barracks for this period. The privilege of being allowed to wear Jeans after this had huge status but they were worn in conjunction with the regulation haircut (not so hot!). I remember an apprentice from a senior entry shaving his head and being confined to barracks until it had grown back.

The Apprentice Mess had birds flying about inside and often there was ‘pecked at the sugar’. The Corn Flakes were scooped up with your bowl and when the milk was added any lurking cockroaches would crawl out. If you weren’t early enough for the fresh milk, powdered milk was made up. This really was disgusting
(Kath's note: not known for being an early riser, I wonder what was more important to Boris at that tender age – more sleep or fresh milk!!) .

Our Drill instructors managed to gel us together with the common bond of ‘Hate the DI’. Flt Sgt Batel was a kindly paternal figure. Sgt Watson of ‘A’ Flight was an Irishman from the ‘Old School’ who wanted every one to become stars of the Boxing Ring, Cpl Price (RAF Regt) was great, very easy to get on with, but commanded respect, this at a time when every job was an RAF Regt job. I seem to remember that firemen as well as DI’s were members of the Regt and funnily enough several years later, I did a tour with 2 Sqn RAF Regt where I earned my Parachute Wings, was I influenced in any way by the said Cpl Price? And finally there was that ‘Hard-man’ - Cpl Mullon who we hated beyond hate and …...wait for it, would have followed him anywhere and sometime later I did meet him again in a NAAFI at St Athens and thought what a great bloke, even bought him a drink in a moment of weakness.

Drill was done every weekend and coming to a halt whilst wearing our studded boots out side Thompson Block (I think) which was on the slope nearly always ended up with us skidding, sliding and falling over.

We had bull night after bull night to keep us busy and not get home sick, we would glide over the floors in the blocks on polished pads and the floors were like mirrors until the dreaded pass out of a senior entry who would raid our blocks and ask us for money or they would ruin our precious floor. Many a night had been spent repairing the damaged floors with the result of yawning apprentices at college the next day.

Sometimes we would crack under the pressure, there was no real means of redress and I recall plotting to go AWOL with Ken Holdaway. We kept this idea afloat for several weeks before reality stepped in. A lad called Chetwyn turned to religion in a big way and some escaped to the band in D Flight so that they could alleviate their frustration by strangling a bagpipe or banging a drum.

These days were punctuated with the occasional red cross parcel from a loving parent and all in the billet were invited to a feeding frenzy. Then there were birthdays when a parent would send a giant birthday cake for the birthday boy to share, oh jolly days.

Remember the ‘bed packs’- the hospital corners? I recall an inspection one morning when Sgt Watson and the Flt Lt came round and picked up Trevor Evans’s razor, alas there was no blade in it and Trevor was asked why not. Quick as a flash Trevor replied that he didn’t want Sgt Watson to cut himself. The Officer told him that Sgt Watson was a big boy and could look after himself. Trevor was put on a 252. The real reason for no blade was like most of us, Trevor had nothing to shave and a blade on our super soft skin did major damage to our acne. The first time we tried shaving cream, we had it all over our faces and our eyebrows were at serious risk of being removed. We had no idea how to shave or even why. We learned how to iron using a blanket and table top. Apart from our own boot polish we found that we had the choice of only two polishes that had to shine everything else in the block so metal polish doubled up as the glass polish as well.

We were called into service in other ways too; babysitting for the officers was one perk that I enjoyed and was paid to do. My Officer, who I regularly babysat for and whose name I can’t recall, was selling his record player for £40 which I couldn’t afford. He generously let me have it for £5 and this coincided with our Year and a Day. As you know, one is a Sprogg until one had completed a Year and a Day, so clearly this was an occasion to celebrate. I cunningly sold the record player for £30 and our entire block illegally climbed through the fence and descended on a pub nearby. I bought a pint of vodka amongst the many other drinks and don’t remember much more. I came round once we struggled back through the fence and recall spending most of the night on my knees in the loo’s.

The next day I was ill, my head really hurt and my wallet was empty. I’ve never been drunk since, but as a side note, my good friend Trevor innocently and proudly told my Officer of the vast profit I had made on the record player. I was never asked to babysit again. What a learning curve!

About that time a small apprentice called Jolly was hung up by his epaulettes on the coat hooks in the tech blocks. The passing Sqn Ldr was not amused. We were warned not to loiter in front of the Nodding Horror or our kidneys would cook. Someone from England has since invented the Microwave Cooker and I hope it was one of our apprentices who saw the potential and took the money.

A civvy cook from the mess allowed me to drive his car on the beach which was brave of him as the tide comes in pretty quickly. The Fun Fare on the pier was a source of amusement. As well as thrashing the Go Carts at the end of the pier, Andy Digby and I would stand behind the hand rail in the pitch dark of the Crazy House, after a time our eyes would adjust to night vision mode and we could see people passing through. We would touch their hands or let their hands slide along the hand rail until they touched our hands. In the darkness, panic stricken people would scream and we would laugh, ah, such simple things. During the summer months, coach after coach load of young ladies would appear on holiday and a chap wearing the uniform of the Royal Air Force held a certain fascination for them. I have many a happy memory of Weston-Super-Mare!! Hitchhiking was a breeze in uniform and as you could exchange a pass for money, travelling became a profitable pastime, providing you didn’t get caught swindling the public purse.

We could see Concorde fly overhead before it came into service and even then we all knew it was something special. We were proud to be British.

During 1970 I volunteered for everything, after much training. I took part in the Ten Tors expedition across Dartmore, and then went onto Holland to walk the Nijmegan Marches where the Dutch people were exceptionally friendly to us, but were distinctly ‘cold’ towards the German teams. They asked that we call them Hollanders because Dutch sounded too much like Deutch(land). Being Royal Air Force, we were very much liked by the locals. It was years later that I learned about the RAF’s very dangerous role in supplying food to the Dutch people for months (the occupying Nazis were starving the entire nation) which had taken place only 25 years earlier, but the good Dutch people clearly remembered. It was during this trip to Nijmegan that I met a group of girls from Bedford also taking part in the Marches who belonged to the Girls Venture Corps Wing of the Air Cadets. I married one of them several years later, so it’s fair to say that being a Locking Brat comes with unexpected benefits.

Boris and Janette wedding.


All these years later, I would love to know if there was any truth in the myths of RAF Locking:

Myth One:
An unknown apprentice was set upon in Weston-Super-Mare which triggered a devastating response from Locking. According to the Legend, the ‘No one kicks my dog but me’ principle, applied and just about every apprentice at Locking descended on Weston where a riot ensued, but according to the Legend, we were never again set upon by the locals. Certainly, in my time, we were treated with respect from the local Skinheads and even went into their strong hold ‘The Dolls House’ with impunity.

Myth Two:
Another unknown apprentice who was renown for oversleeping woke up in bed one fine sunny morning on the parade square with his two lockers and mat by his bed whilst the whole Apprentice Wing stood on parade smirking at him.

In conclusion, from my back ground and lack of qualifications, there was a very real danger of me embarking on a life of crime until I joined the RAF. They believed in me, gave me friendship, standards to achieve, rewarding challenges and my self respect. I look about me today and see youngsters who would benefit as I did. I finally ended up running several different Air Training Corps units and was able to make a difference to a few souls by drawing on my time as an apprentice. I was always able to understand just how isolated an individual can feel and the power of friendship, trust, belief, pride and achievement. I take great pride in being RAF Brat, it gave me self worth and set me up for an interesting and independent life.

Boris Gilbert
1 July 2005

JOSEPHINE ELLIS(nee Folwell) EULOGY, by Margaret Clayton, 17 Sept 2008


JOSEPHINE MARY ELLIS (nee Folwell)

B26/04/1930 - D09/09/2008

EULOGY

BY HER SISTER, MARGARET CLAYTON

My sister – Jo


 Jo in her garden in Lambley, Nottingham.


   Jo and Margaret Folwell

It has suddenly struck me that I am now the senior member of my extended family – my buffer zone has gone. This has given me pause for thought, and as the only person here who knew Jo as a child and teenager I thought you might like to have just a tiny glimpse of her early years.

Jo was the first born child to Joseph and Mary Folwell. I was the second and my brother Anthony, the youngest died in 1979.

As a child Jo was a real tomboy with enthusiasm for all pursuits outdoors but was also a merciless prankster and I was often the butt of her practical jokes. She and Anthony often made a twosome and I was left, piggy in the middle. But this state of affairs lessened by the time we went to school.

It was she who decided we go sledging, out for a bike ride, swimming or exploring, and by now Anthony was off with other male friends which left Jo and me.

Her love of reading started in the early years, and not being allowed comics at home, she would use her Saturday penny for the bus fare into town to Leicester’s central library to catch up on the affairs of her boarding school “friends” in the comics of the time. Some times she took me along, but my reading skills were not up to this kind of sophisticated occupation and I                remember getting rather bored.
Picture: Jo Ellis and Margaret Clayton

At the Newark Girls Grammar School I recall she was good at hockey and also enjoyed tennis. She was also always delighted when it was potato picking time (this was during the war of course) which meant she could escape from formal lessons. She was learning to play the violin at the time, but being left handed found it very difficult and gave up trying after about a year or so.

I think she was 15 when she and one of her school pals hired a tandem and set off on a Youth Hostelling holiday in the Lake District, which was a big adventure at that time. Academia did not beckon until much later, tho’ by the time she was 14 she had discovered the arts and music in particular and when she heard that Beniamino Gigly (the Pavarotti of the day) was to give a concert in Leicester she decided that we would go. The local paper recalled afterwards that the queue for tickets stretched almost a mile and I know she went off in the morning and was gone most of the day coming back triumphant with 2 of the cheapest tickets available.

Sometime after this concert she bought a record to play on our newly acquired wind up gramophone. This was the final trio from Richard Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier and I recall Mother, she and me standing listening to this luscious piece for the first time and I can see the look of pure joy on her face even now.

She left school at 16 and decided she would be interested in a career in horticulture and was employed by a rose growing nursery in Leicester at the time when much of the labour force was made up of German prisoners of war. She soon became adept at rose pruning, grafting and budding and by all accounts was the best muck spreader there.

Her one flirtation with smoking took place here and her chosen tobacco was St Julian – in a pipe! She lodged whilst employed at Coles’ at the home of the manager and his wife – and I can remember her coming home on Saturday afternoons on her bike – we lived some 10 miles away – and in the summer the handlebars would be festooned with huge bunches of roses.

Her outdoor life with plenty of exercise gave her glowing good health and vitality and she brought these attributes to her marriage and the rearing of 5 very boisterous children. Her occasional escape from total immersion in child oriented occupations was a growing interest in history in its many branches and she read widely, embracing peripheral aspects including architecture, fine paintings, needlework and foreign travel. She was well read in all these subjects.

The final avenues of history she explored were local and family history and her researches here lead to the locating of relatives we had lost sight of and also some we had never known about. She kept up correspondence with these people and remained on friendly terms with many of them.

Fast forward now to 2006 when Jo’s health was giving us all cause for concern but being Jo this did not deter her from motoring to Manchester to spend a few days with her youngest son Andrew and whilst there they went to the opera. What did they see, Der Rosenkavalier! At this point it seems appropriate that we listen again to that sublime aria which had first entranced her, whilst reflecting on the life of one whose grit, stoicism in the face of her growing frailty, and love of life leaves me breathless with admiration.

I shall miss her so much.


Margaret Clayton
September 2008

LEESONS - by Joan Stenson, Aug 1996


THE LEESON FAMILY


By Joan Stenton B1920 
 Descendent of Mary Ellen Folwell, B1848  D1912
Written August 1994

Kath Harpley writes: I found this family document in mum’s (Jo Ellis) files. Whilst I know of none of these people, they are descendants of ours and reflect on the family in the early to mid 1900’s.

In the year, 1905, my G.Grandparents, Samual and Mary Ellen Leeson came back to Leicester from Gorleston in Norfolk to make some new family arrangements. They had moved to Gorleston when they retired, leaving Arthur their youngest son in the New Bridge Street Shop, Samual (Sam) in the King Richards Road Shop, Will in the one at Dorset Street, and their daughters, Louisa (married), Clara and ‘Ettie’ in the shop at Hamilton Street. My Grandfather, Harry had been buying for all the shops and doing the accounts. G.Grandfather wasn’t satisfied and decided that they should all take charge of their own shops and buy them. My grandparents at that time had a private house at Uppingham Road. Sam had two small children, Hubert and Elsie and he wanted to emigrate to Australia and have a farm. This was the opportunity to change things, so my G.Grandfather said he would lend my Grandfather Harry £200 to buy the King Richard Road Shop but it had to be paid back in two years. (So Sam and his family are going to Australia and now that leaves a vacancy for Harry and Clara to have the King Richard Road shop)

I was born in Leicester in October 1920 and for eighteen months lived with my Grandparents, Clara and ‘Harry’ Leeson at their Victorian house on the Uppingham Road. They had just moved in there from living over their Pork Butcher’s shop, 117 King Richards Road, having lived there since 1905.

In October 1905 they moved in and a month later little Harry, their nine year old son died. So they had sorrow, debts and my Grandmother was given twelve months to live as she had Asthma. She had bad attacks during the night but next day would struggle down into the shop whilst her husband went to the market and organised the making-up. They paid back the £200 in eighteen months. This made them sympathetic towards poorer families who lived roundabout and that sympathy was with them all their lives. Working all hours – they didn’t close until the ‘pubs’ shut at 11pm, but they prospered. During the 1914 =18 War, rumour was about that they were German and my Grandfather kept the ruffians at bay with a chopper in his hand whilst my Grandmother slipped out the back way to fetch the police.

In 1910 Arthur wanted to follow the example of his brother, Sam. His parents had returned to Mere Road in Leicester. His mother, Mary Ellen was ill. Arthur and his family landed in Australia on the day his mother died, 6th March 1911.

The farms were called “Bradgate” and “Wannamaal” and later on the latter was the name of Clara’s house when she married Sam Wooley in 1929.

I was 17 months old when my brother, Jim was born – we lived at Roselands Victoria Road East. He had pneumonia when six weeks old and needed care so once again I went back to my Grandparents. I was sturdy and energetic – they sent me to a dancing academy when barely four. I spent much time at the shop with my Grandmother and my Father. Father was a commercial Artist and had a studio over the shop. There his apprentice, Karl Wragg used to draw for me and I had my first painting book which I dried in front of the gas fire. My Father had a dark room which at one time had been my Mother’s bedroom and I used to watch the procession on May Day from there. The back room had stocks of grease-proof paper, printed bags, and carrier bags for the shop. It overlooked the yard where the tins of lard were setting. Downstairs, in the room behind the shop we had tea and snack lunches. Once I was taken into the shop to see a big man who bent down to kiss me. It was my Great Grandfather. I can remember the circumstances quite plainly. He died a short time later – that was 1925.

In 1912, after the death of Mary Ellen and that of his eldest daughter, Louisa earlier that year, Samual (G Grandfather) decided to go out to Australia with Clara and ‘Ettie’ with the idea of going to live there. He stayed with his son Sam, but wrote to my Grandfather that it was a land of heat, dust and flies and they were coming back to England. They went to live in a private house in Barclay Street. The war broke out in 1914.

Now Ettie had formed an attachment to a young man who worked on the farms in Australia and he came over with the Australian Corps. She came to my Grandmother/her sister-Clara with her problem. She loved Arch Slaven but there was the problem of leaving her ageing Father and her sister, Clara. My Grandmother advised her to go back with Arch and in January 1919 Arch and Ettie were then married and went to a fruit farm on the Murray River, South Australia. She wrote frequently to Clara, Hilda and my Mother and sent us boxes of dried fruit all through the Second World War-1939-1945. John, Hilda’s son went to visit her when on leave in India.

In 1922, Hilda, Aunt Ada and Uncle Will went to visit Ettie but not so my Grandfather. He had other things to manage besides the shop – he kept his own pigs, cows and poultry and employed an overseer. He also bought a farm, lost money on it – put money into a business for my Father as well as doing his own buying at Melton and Bourne markets.

Hilda married Sidney Folwell after the visit to Australia so once again one of the Leeson family married one of the Folwell one.

Auntie Clara was a regular visitor to our house, often on Sunday evenings, when she would read out letters she had received from Sam, Arthur and Ettie. She was on the Board of Guardians and later became a Magistrate at the Court.

In 1931 Will died and the following year we knew my Grandfather was very ill and in the April he died – one brother only 54 and the other 60.

Auntie Clara decided to go once more to Australia as Ettie had had an operation for Cancer and to see her for the last time.

I met Elsie, Sam’s eldest daughter when she visited England in 1957,1973 and with her husband, Art in 1981. Some members of Eva’s family have come over too. John and Esme visited Elsie about two years ago.

So this is a small tribute to those of Sam and Mary Ellen’s line both in the Old Country and ‘Down Under’.


Joan Stenton
August 1994