Along with 14-15 others I was in a boys Home. The year 1939. The place, Norwood, South London, England. At the magnificent age of 8yrs I had arrived. I knew not why or how, and I cannot recall anything of my life prior to this time, except a dreamlike recollection of three very specific events.

Firstly, of accidentally knocking a towel into a bath full of hot water, and for my sins being bashed over the head with a hairbrush - I still have the scar. I suppose I would have been about 6yrs of age at the time. This foul deed was perpetrated by a female, whom later, I assumed to be Hitler's mother. At the time however, Mr Hitler and I were not acquainted.

Secondly, seeing from a distance the burning down of the original Crystal Palace. This meant very little to me at the time, except the drama and excitement of it all. A diversion from the ordinary grind of daily disciplines.

And lastly, of walking 'inside' the walls of Windsor Castle, at the lying-in-state of the late King George V. I say 'inside' the walls, because this is how it seemed to me at the time, and I was amazed that a wall could be so thick that you could walk inside it.

Or did I imagine these things? I shall never know, but all three images have stayed with me, and indeed remain my only memories prior to the year 1939; the sum total of my first eight years on this planet. Not much is it? I wish I could remember more, good or bad. Oh, and I had a mother. Nobody else, just a mother. In fact to me, she wasn’t a mother. Merely a lady who’d given birth to me, by some unknown chap, The unknown chap in question wasn’t made known to me for another 60yrs. Not that this mattered. Neither a mother or father, were necessary for my continued existence. I’d only ever known the life of being part of a ‘general’ community, and the word ‘family’ hardly meant anything to me.

Something else happened in 1939 - the outbreak of war. I remember thinking that it could not possibly last any longer than a fortnight. Mr Hitler thought otherwise. In consequence, a school a short distance from where I was incarcerated, received a direct hit from one of Hermann Goering's bombs, with many fatal casualties I believe. Time to clear out I thought - I was petrified. But, decisions of this ilk were not in my province. And this is all I can recall of this particular establishment. For, sometime after this incident, I was evacuated to a small village in Surrey by the name of Newdigate. Alas, my recall of life in this village is also nil. I know I was there, but that's all.

So, we now go forward to somewhere in the region of 1941/42. In essence my more fully recalled life starts here. I am in a boys Home on the outskirts of Horley, Surrey, 'The Chestnuts' by name, and a magnificent edifice it was too. Sounds grand, doesn't it? but it was still a 'prison' where my personal freedoms were governed and controlled by others. Situated just outside Horley itself, the Home was about a hundred yards from the old Southern Railway line. This wonderful old line was to give me my first taste of 'independence and freedom'- my first taste of being 'my own man' - my first taste of being a member of 'the proper world'- because, for reasons which were never made known to me, I was selected from all the inhabitants of the home (possibly 15-20 or so), as the sole person to attend a proper school. Every day I would travel on this wonderful magic carpet of a railway, to a school situated a few stops down the line at a place called Earlswood - on my own of course - no matrons or masters in attendance. Magical - absolutely magical - to this ten year old - but more of this later.

I would frequently ponder as to why my mother saw fit to deposit me in ever-changing locations - why I couldn't live with her in a world of family and freedom, but she never told me, and I was too timid to ask. However, although I had no idea why I was in this place, it did turn out to be a significant part of my life. So much so, that my recall of it is positively brilliant compared to the emptiness of recollections prior to this time. I continued to see her on odd occasions, this by virtue of her being employed as a cleaner in a local hospital Redhill Hospital I believe.

I think it was during this period of my life that I first formulated a childlike view of her. Of, what she was. ? And, why didn't I know my father? Why had she consistently flung me into the cauldron of a world, where freedom was at a premium, and where one's entire existence and it's quality, rested upon the character, attitudes, and integrity of others such as masters and matrons? I assumed that she was not really a proper mother, but someone who was merely showing the common humanity that is extended by one human-being to another. The view that she wasn't a 'real' mother, stayed with me for many a year. I therefore considered her to be merely someone who had given birth to me, then dumped me. As such, her infrequent visits to me meant little more than giving me the opportunity to 'mix' with the outside world - a world that over-ridingly meant one thing to me - freedom!

In the main, my abiding memory of this Home in Surrey was of 'going to school'. I’d had no formal schooling whatsoever up to this point in my short life. But I did have an inherent appetite for knowledge, and skills that might be acquired from such knowledge. So, you just cannot imagine my feelings, when all of a sudden, I was transported into the realms of sitting in a classroom, full of ‘ordinary’ people. The forty-five minutes it took to transport me to this school every day, became also, my first forty-five minutes of independence and freedom. All on my own - money in pocket - buying tickets - asking strangers for directions, holding conversations with totally unknown people - the wonder of sitting where I chose to on the train. Doesn't seem much, does it? But to this 10yr old it was heaven.

Up to this point any education I'd received was purely the very basics of the three 'R's', and only administered by relatively unqualified people in the various Homes I'd attended. Needless to say, the amount of time given to such a luxury was exceedingly limited - much more time was given to chores and discipline. Now, here I was, traipsing off to school every morning from Horley to Earlswood. Heaven, I mean absolute blissful heaven - travelling on my own, on a train, surrounded by ordinary people. A satchel, a cap, sandwiches, and all that was needed to take my place in a 'proper' school. What a marvellous thing to happen to me.

When I arrived at the other end, it was to be confronted by, and mix with, 'normal' boys who had families, and a home of their own. I was in a proper school - what heady stuff for a shy introverted prisoner! For a few hours every day I became a 'real' member of society, totally responsible for my own welfare. Not quite, of course, for I'd still got teachers who intruded upon my Utopia, but I wanted them to anyway. For the first time in my life I was 'Colin Leaney' not merely an appendage to someone else's ego. The school was adjacent to a couple of gasometers, and this appeared to be the only fly in the ointment of my happiness. Bombs! I always assumed that any direct hit upon these gaseous edifices, would result in me being no more. There wasn't, so I wasn't, and here I am.

I was, I think, a good learner, despite my natural indolence (a trait which I proudly still have). My brain was fertile, and I possessed a boringly hateful habit of asking for answers to questions, not previously thought of by others It has ever been so. Even today. At that age I was bored by the mundane and ordinary. I therefore had a tendency to be mentally idle, especially with trivial matters. I cannot remember sitting any exams (I was only there for a few months), but I seem to recall that I did reasonably well; Mental arithmetic and intelligence tests seemed to be my strengths. Every late afternoon however, I would be obliged to return to my prison - to my haven of discontent - to matrons who didn't appear to comprehend the ethic of the freedom of the individual. Nonetheless, compared to my fellow inmates, I was leading a life of luxury, having regular and mind-sapping contact with the outside world.

The sum total of my trip into the world of education was probably quite insignificant; there was no passing of exams, no qualifications of any sort, just the opportunity to be one jump ahead of my fellows in the Home, I suppose. It mattered not, for now I could at least content myself with the brag of being the only boy in this small conclave of humanity, to escape to the outside world.

I had realised by now that I was a 'bastard' child. I don't recall that I was consciously bothered by this, as indeed I've never been since. I was more bothered by the fact that it meant the lack of aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and any family except my mother. I never met anyone from my mother's side, and never got to know whether anybody existed in that direction. So, with no family, and what I considered to be a 'name only' mother, I shortly made my way into another world.

My train rides to the little school at Earlswood came to a halt and I found myself on the way to Dr Barnardo's Homes. It was a world I’d heard of, without ever imagining that I would be part of it. I don't actually recall any of the detail of this presumably traumatic upheaval except, that at the time, I concluded that the reason for this intrusion upon my newly found school life, was that my mother couldn't afford to pay for my upkeep any longer; hence the 'no-charge' option of Barnardo's. Therefore, on 9th September 1943, I entered the gates of Russell-Cotes Nautical School at Poole, Dorset. I am now a Barnardo boy.

IN AT THE DEEP END

Now this was a different proposition. A resident of a 'technical' school no less. What a place to be a member of - I was going to learn a trade - surely this would lead me to better and greater things. ? I was now a 'mature' 14yr old ! Supposedly fragile, and very bullyable.! Also very agile and of quick reaction.! The second kept me away from the first.!

I settled in amongst these two hundred or so boys, and, in fact, never did get bullied; I was too mentally and physically sharp for any would-be attackers. Later on (post-Barbardo's), these same abilities were to be very useful in my football. I settled into the permanent position of Left-Back. Me, with my frail stature ! Left-Backs were supposed to be burly, strong, forceful, dirty, and sadly lacking in finesses, and the finer points of flair and imagination. Not so with me. I was faster and more imaginative than most of the wingers I had to deal with. They could clobber me from pillar-to-post, but I’d just bounce. (my gymnastic training at RCNS).

This was a 'trade' school, and glory be we were given a free choice as to the trade we wanted to pursue. Admittedly, by today's standards the choices were fairly limited. I think the full list was: Printing - Horticulture - Boot-repairing (snobs) - Engineering and Tinsmith. So, given the choice, I put into practice what became a lifelong talent, for making a studied analysis of all pertinent factors, arriving at correct possibilities, then making the 'wrong' decision ! In this instance I chose to be a Tinsmith. At the time I wasn't at all disappointed with my choice. I looked forward to a successful and rewarding career. I also enjoyed it. It involved a fair degree of geometry and mathematics, coupled with the facets of artistry, and an ‘eye’ for line etc. I assumed that people would clamour for my skills, and back this up with financial remuneration ! But it wasn't to be. I was to learn that the skills of the tinsmith were no longer part of modern man and his technology. In essence, what I could make in three days, to finish up with a beautifully engineered single piece, could be made by a production line a thousandfold. Nonetheless, this was my choice and I got on with it.

I also got on with the task of mixing with a couple of hundred other boys. Although we had the normal institutionalised camaraderie, I can't recall that many of us confided in each other, as to our former lives, our reasons for being there, or our family backgrounds. We would swop stories of our previous Barnardo places of residence (if applicable), but beyond that, very little else. In many instances of course, this was simply because the more pertinent details of our earlier existence, were not known to us. I have often wondered since, whether or not boys who are thrown together in this way, 'throw' away aspects of their past, as a physchological response to the thought that they, in effect, were thrown away by others ! Be that as it may, we were all in the same boat, and so between us, we established identities, hierarchies, and pecking orders. We were all 'inside' whilst the rest of mankind was 'outside'.

Occasionally some of us would try and alter the status quo by 'doing a bunk'. This was quite exciting, and I tried it once. I took with me a packet of 'Craven A' cigarettes to bolster my manhood. I had no idea where I would go, or how, but I finally settled into the gorse bushes on Hertford Common to smoke my first packet of 'fags'. A very silly fifteen-year-old now became violently sick, found himself unable to proceed further, and within a short time, having sampled a few hours of painful freedom, was caught by the authorities and marched back from whence he came. Punishment ensued. This was administered by our gymnastics master, with a wolfhound, a fully equipped gymnasium, a dilapidated recreation hut and a vivid imagination. In the gymnasium we hung from the bars attended by the wolf-hound, and he also stood guard while we clambered round the bench in the hut. I survived of course, but decided that gaining my freedom in this fashion was but fruitless and painful. Never again.

So, I got on with my life at 'Goldings', This being the common name of the school. It’s proper title so I believe was the William Baker Technical School. I participated in every sport available to us. Which included swimming, gymnastics, football, and table-tennis. Although we were very short of first-class facilities, the school encouraged all affordable sports, to the extent that we participated in the local 'outside' leagues. I thoroughly enjoyed this side of our existence. And although I was not excellent in any one thing, I had some prowess at table-tennis, and won the school championship. I continued to play league and tournament table-tennis ( off and on), until the ripe old age of forty two years odd, with varying degrees of success.

Like Russell Cotes, this school too was very regimented, and awash with discipline. Naturally, as healthy teenagers we didn't at the time appreciate discipline, and all that it meant. Parades were the order of the day, with army-like drills etc. - just an extension of what we went through at the nautical  school. Occasionally we were subjected to parades and inspections for visits by royalty and various other dignitaries. I don't think such visits meant much to me. I have never been of a mind to be influenced by, or deferential to, people with titles or positions of power. This has never altered, and I'm still of the same mind. I don't think it has anything to do with complexes about being part of the lower order of things. Probably more to do with a 'sense' of equality which institutions tend to engender. I suppose, because we were all in the same circumstances of being separated from normal society, we were, more or less, all equal. This, I think, developed in us a sense that nobody is really any more important than anyone else. This is something else which has stayed with me for life. ( I wonder if I’m looking for facts to fit a theory ) ?

Nevertheless, we had a healthy regard for authority in a place where, like all other Barnardo establishments at that time, they continued to instil into us the Victorian ethics and morals espoused by our previous Homes. Later in life, and even today, these Victorian values proved appeared to me, to be grossly out of step with a large slice of mankind. It was indeed a 'play up, and play the game' scenario, involving decency, honesty, and trust. Apparently on a level which ordinary society could not, and would not produce. I can only speak for myself when I say that my upbringing to this point, had manufactured a boy who supposed that the 'outside' world and it's people, were indeed what Barnardo's told us they were. Honest, trustworthy, responsible, decent, and fair-minded. This proved not to be the case and I have suffered ever since with a certain amount of disillusionment. But, I wouldn't have it any other way.

During my stay at Goldings, however, I did get the opportunity to partake in a few interesting experiences. One was to be selected as a ball-boy for the Wimbledon Championships in 1946 and 1947. I had the good fortune to be selected to do this on the Centre Court, where I played my part in all the finals of these two years. T’was was a marvellous experience for we kids. Every day we would travel by coach from Hertford to Wimbledon, and for this alone it was well worth being selected. Each day, upon our arrival, we would be taken to our special rooms, where we were overseen by an elderly gentleman, who became our coach, master, and disciplinarian. I cannot recall his name, but he was a splendid person of the old school. We daren't disobey a word he said. Off duty we wandered around freely, having access to all the players and their autographs. We participated with relish in the time-honoured tradition of strawberrys and cream. Our actual job on court was very exciting, and gave us the opportunity of being right in the middle of the action. All this, every day for a whole fortnight. And, would you believe it, on top of all this, we would be paid 19s 6d a week for the privilege. I had never dreamt of such wealth before, and it all belonged to me. I probably wasted it all, but it matters not. These were moments of glorious escapism.

Upon our return to the school and normality, chunks of wood fashioned from any tree we could get access to, acted as our rackets, alongside any spherical objects we could find to act as balls. I very swiftly established myself as Wimbledon Champion, and in all humility it was common knowledge that I was vastly superior to any of the actual champions. We would mimic these heroes with their 120 mile-an-hour serves, overhead smashes, and cleverly angled drop shots. But, tennis was not for Dr Barnardo's and it's inmates - far too expensive and elitist - so we contented ourselves with homemade equipment, used on tarmac courts which doubled as a parade ground. Thus was our Wimbledon experience.

My sojourn at Goldings came to an abrupt end on 15th July 1947. It's hard to imagine what it was like to be told that I was going to be deposited into the outside world, as a bona fide citizen. In essence, for the first time in my life, I was about to go into a mode of being where, at least at certain times of the day and night, I, and I alone, would be able to decide what I did, and how I did it. Absolute magic to these young ears.

My report at this stage read thus:

Name: Colin Leaney.

Age: 16.25yrs.

"I have had this boy under observation for a period of 2yrs at Goldings".

General Character: "Very Good".

Truth & Honesty: "Very Good".

Habits: "Clean intelligent boy, very good footballer and table-tennis player"

Usefulness: "Should be a credit to us at work, and in the home.
a boy of independent mind"

Date: 7th July 1947.

Signed: R. F. Wheatley --- Headmaster.

I wish I'd written this - but I didn't - these are the unadulterated words of the Goldings headmaster. Quoted verbatim, with not a hair out of place. So, the first 16yrs of my life had resulted in the above testimonial, according to Mr Wheatley that is. This information has only recently been made known to me, and I take delight in believing in the integrity of this man! A splendid chap. !

* * * * * Mankind was about to be regaled with the last of the Leaneys - or so I thought - at the ripe old age of seventeen years. As a Tinsmith ? Not on your Nellie. ! But as an assistant pourer in a 'die-casting' foundry. I ask you, after diligently studying and practising the skills of Tinsmithery (my word), I finish up as a die-casters assistant – my grand plans already in tatters, and my talents in the filed of tinsmith creativity shamefully wasted, never to be seen again. What a loss to mankind. I had intended that the world would be beautified by my efforts, but it wasn't to be. Ah well.

The Real World was about two hundred yards from Arnos Grove underground station in New Southgate, North London. This is where I was deposited, and where I was to start ‘proper’ life. In digs, In the company of three other ex-Barnardo boys, all of whom originated from Goldings. Now I had to contend with a landlady instead of masters and matrons but I didn't give a jot. I had my freedom. T'was all that mattered.

What now, was my attitude towards Barnardo's ? I was so busy adjusting to my new world that I hardly had time for such thoughts. This was my new planet. Barnardo's was behind me and I had a life to get on with. I was master of my own destiny. Years later I was to give thought to Barnardo's, and what it had done for me, but not now. There were more important matters to attend to. This then was my departure from Barnardo's. And the probability, that I was only released at that time, because of the vacancy arising in the die-casting foundry. And because employment had been found for me. Certainly not because I had become a fully trained tinsmith. I was somewhat disappointed at the near certainty that I would now never become fully trained in a useful medium. But, I would not have exchanged my freedom for it to be otherwise. This freedom meant everything to me, and has done so ever since. I had my liberty and that was all that mattered.

I was somewhat bewildered by this new life in the real world. I now had to learn about shopping, telephoning, working for money, listening to the radio, choosing what to do with my leisure time, how to converse with those only accustomed to a normal world, and one way or the other, all the normal mundane aspects of life. No Wimbledon here. No marches into Poole. No parades. No masters or matrons shouting at you. Just the ordinary job, of getting on with a normal life, and earning 22s 6d per week pouring molten metal into various forms of dies. Sweaty, boring, unimaginative, simple labour, which even then I realised wasn't really for me. Nonetheless, it was a platform from which I could only go upwards, and the very banal nature of the work certainly served to make me appreciate that I should aim for better things by making opportunities, if not given them. As far as my social and domestic lives were concerned, it was natural that I would cling to, and socialise with, my three other ex-Barnardo comrades. We had all undergone the same experiences in life, and although we were four very different people, these experiences bound us together. I rapidly concluded however, that this was not in my best interests, for my three companions tended to hang around street corners and were not inclined to do anything different. I hated it, but I had no other people to cling to. Luckily, this was to change.

I soon established in my own mind that the outside world was not as Barnardo's had told me ! The honesty, truth, decency, trust, and responsibility ethics, which Barnardo's had espoused, were not prevalent in the way I had supposed. This disillusionment may have been partly as a result of my personal perception of what Barnardo's had drummed into me, but nonetheless it was real enough. It was a bit of a shock simply because of the constant use in Barnardo's of the phrase 'you won't be able to behave like that when you get outside'. Well, here I was outside, and the people who were not supposed to tolerate dishonesty, lies, cheating and so forth, were actually the perpetrators of all that we'd been taught to reject. It was already a changing world from the 'Victorianism' of Barnardo's, and presumably I had to change with it. I never did, and never have. Ever since, others have perceived me as being somewhat naive. If this naivety is based upon my perception of Barnardo ideals, then so be it - I am naïve. I have stuck with such principles ever since (or at least attempted to !) and it's a certainty that I can't change now.

So, this really was the proper start to my life - the time when I needed to test my powers of resilience against the forces of normality. How long would it take me to become an acceptable member of conventional society ? Would I be disillusioned ? Would I be deemed to be different ? These, and many other questions, were to stay consistently with me for a number of years. However, I got on with the job of learning and living. Learning how to contend with the banter of workmates, who, in essence, were totally alien to me. Learning how to fend for myself, without the imposed assistance of masters, matrons, or commissioned officers. This was it, the real thing. The die-casting work was pretty awful. Boring, physically demanding, dirty, noisy, and completely lacking any redeeming features. Not for a cerebral personality like me ! It was a small foundry in New Southgate, North London. I was surprised that foundries existed in London. I had assumed that the whole of London was a mixture of clean industries, and clever people, all of whom were engaged in processes at the pinnacle of sophistication. Not dirty noisy foundries ! Surely these were for the likes of Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Sheffield - but not London! Here I was, stripped to the waist each day, transporting ladles and pots full of molten metal, from furnaces to dies. Not the best of starts for a life full of promise and potential ! My dislike of the work I was doing did not in any way diminish my joy at being free. Although I had no educational or vocational qualifications whatsoever, I never doubted that I would one day be better than a die-casters mate. !

My fellow lodgers and I, in 'Hotel Barnardo' on the 'Costa Del Southgate' would spend quite an amount of time dodging street gangs who were hell-bent on setting themselves up as training officers for the Hitler Youth movement ! Socially, this was not what I had envisaged for myself. Nonetheless, it was my 'real' world. I eventually managed to escape from it when I somehow discovered a Boys Club in Frien Barnet (adjacent to New Southgate). Boys Clubs, with character-building as their aim, were all the rage in those days, and I presumed this environment would be closer to my Barnardo life, so I joined it. This was better than the 'street corner' situation, and once again it put me in touch with the sporting scene I'd enjoyed in Barnardo's. Here I met a certain Ken Briers, and we quickly became firm friends. He introduced me to his family, and within the space of a few months I was invited to take up residence at his home. This was my first close contact with a real family. With all it's foibles, shortcomings, joys, loves, and the belief that 'blood should be thicker than water'. It was an invaluable experience for me, and one which I have always been most grateful for.

These Boys Clubs were there to assist in bridging the gap between adolescence and manhood. All sporting activities were on the agenda, and  were complemented with other activities, which life had not yet allowed me to participate in, such as amateur dramatics. This I really enjoyed, and I became involved whenever I could. It's hard to know how I managed this, because I was at that time exceedingly nervous about any form of public appearance, and still am. However, life bowled along at the boys club, and I shall be forever grateful to it for taking me along this particular road.

Ken's family was seven in total: mother, father, and five children aged between 7 and 17yrs. when I met them . They were poor, very basic, and very ordinary. They were also lovely people, who were exceedingly kind to me - I suppose the first real unsolicited kindness ever extended to me. In essence, I became a member of their family. They had in effect adopted me, and my life took on a new meaning. I was being treated as a part of a unit with an identity, a character, and a personality - not a number, but a person.

There was also one other major factor, which at the time was purely incidental, but was to become a catalyst for much of what has happened to me since. in the front room of the Briers home there stood, in all it's majesty, a piano. To be accurate, it was a 'pianola', fully in tune, fully playable, and with a couple of dozen 'rolls' containing wonderful pieces of music. It was very much a focal point of enjoyment in this home, with both of the daughters having had piano lessons. To me, it was wondrous. A world I had only dreamed of - music - piano music more specifically. My fingers on a keyboard. Magic. Alas, this was only to last for six months or so, because of calls from the royal family to avail myself of their kind offer to join their army ! More later.

We would sit at this magnificent machine, pedalling away, and making passers-by believe that we had budding Rubensteins in the house. Needless to say, I spent hours trying to figure out how to play the proper piano. I discovered that I could instinctively, and quite easily, play any single-note tunes at will. I also discovered something else about myself: Since I could play tunes naturally, without training and musical knowledge, I used this as a musical ‘crutch’, and never bothered to undergo the disciplines of proper training. After all, I could just sit down at any time and play anyway. Laziness! A fatal flaw, which is still an integral part of me and may yet become the only regret of my life.

All this of course, transported me into a world of music I'd only ever dreamed of. So, apart from all else, my stay at the Briers home was a musical delight. I got on well with all the family as far as I know, and indeed fell madly in love with Olive. She was the eldest daughter probably about 18yrs of age, and I was  living under the same roof. ! Boy oh boy, what an experience for me. ! I never stood a chance of course. Firstly, I had absolutely no idea whatsoever of how to 'court' a member of the opposite sex - I mean, really no idea. Secondly, she was hardly aware of my existence - I was merely a friend of the family and certainly not a potential boy-friend.

I had maintained the foundry job during this period, picking up the enormous sum of 22s 6d per week, and being bored out of existence. But I was to engage in many more boring tasks before reaching the age of thirty years, and this first ever job was no worse than some that were to come. I have still to this day, never ever trained or studied for a job or career - a measurement of my indolence no doubt, so I don't complain. T'was in my hands to alter, but idleness was my master.

I stayed on quite happily in the Briers home, until one day in the early part of 1949, I received a request from somebody described as King George V, asking me whether I would care to become a member of his private army. I wasn't churlish enough to decline this very kind invitation, so somewhere in the region of my eighteenth birthday, I shifted my place of residence from Glenthorne Rd to Catterick Army Barracks. My time at the Briers' home had been invaluable to me. Even then, I considered that I had been very fortunate. Apart from giving me a taste of what proper family life was like, they had all been very kind to me, and with the assistance of the boys club, had kept me on a reasonably level path. It might have been so different, had I not met Ken.

AND SO TO ANOTHER PHASE

To anyone who has never had the privilege of serving in the Armed Forces, I say 'pity'. I don't mean that it is pitiable, merely that it is an experience (or most certainly was), that has done very few people harm, and most people good. Even today, many people will still recommend life in the Forces, as a panacea for many social ills. However, in general terms, life in the Armed Services was disliked at the time that people were actually serving. The life appears to have a sort of 'retrospective' benefit only. I had a good idea even before setting foot in Catterick, that this new life would not present any problems to me, for I had been prepared by Barnardo's, and I was right. It was manifest from day one, when tears and sobs could be heard in the darkness of 'lights out'. Not from this throat did they come, but from the souls of hardy individuals who had never before had the dubious privilege of living a day without the assistance of mother or father. I felt quite superior really, almost arrogant. I wasn't about to sob; I was accustomed to being ordered about, without the protection and support of anyone else. The shouting and bullying of the nearest lance-corporal, had been a part of my every-day existence for many years. I was a hardened order-taker. For most of my colleagues, it was their first experience of being shouted at, insulted, and in general terms being on the receiving end of the forces of discipline, stupidity, arrogance, and brainwashing. So all this was for me merely an extension of my previous life. Not having a parent available to comfort me was of no consequence. Some of the others seemed destroyed by the shock and trauma of it all, but only temporarily of course - the shouting very quickly had a positive effect, and once again they became men. I have to say that during these first few weeks, where nothing I came across was new to me, I did indeed feel quite superior. I was fit, agile, mentally in tune with everything thrown at me, accustomed to all marches and drills, and even became interested in the few skills that I hadn't experienced before, such as the use of firearms, and how to survive in the NAAFI without any money. Just being at Catterick was in itself a sort of thrill for me. I'd never been north of Watford before, and was imbued with what was supposed to be the typical 'Londoners' attitude, that the world ended at Watford (north), and Brighton (south). This therefore was my first geography lesson!

I was in the 17th/21st Lancers - an ex-cavalry regiment by then in centurion tanks. It sounded like a regiment at the top end of the scale and I couldn't wait to get my first leave, and show off my magnificent uniform and accoutrements to the entire county of Frien Barnet ! All the spit and polish, the cap and badge, the lanyard, the razor sharp creases, the boots, and the regimental motto. All these formed part of my swanking duties, and I duly did them justice. [It may well have been, that during this 2yrs period of my life, I resolved that once my army days were over, I would never again willingly allow myself to be denied the freedoms of choice of thought and action, within the confines of decent behaviour and the rule of law. I still hold this ethic, and value it highly. I settled very quickly into this new life. Every few weeks my leave would crop up, and would take me back to the Briers family. In most instances this would be by kind permission of motorists travelling along and through a rather famous hitchhiking spot called Scotch Corner. Lifts were always most generously given, and one didn't have to wait for very long. The shortage and inadequacy of our financial remuneration given to us by King George, (approx 27s 6d per week), meant that such lifts were essential to many of us getting home. So, bully Mr Joe Public !

I wasn't really travelling home just, to the Briers family of course, I was going home to see and hear Olive - nobody else really mattered. Unfortunately, my life thus far hadn't armed me with any knowledge of how to woo the woman of my dreams and I was utterly hopeless. In any event, my ideas of the opposite sex ensured that Olive hardly recognised my existence. To me, females had always been mythical lovely creatures, who sexually aroused me, but were totally unreachable and untouchable. I couldn't talk to them, and I only just managed to look at them. Incidentally, I'm pretty certain that none of my uselessness in this regard had anything to do with my upbringing. Rathermore, that it was entirely due to the real genetic Leaney: introverted, shy, full of complexes, a lover of humility, and a mass of embarrassment - not exactly the weapons of successful courtship, but this was me, so Olive remained a dream, just a dream. My earlier upbringing most certainly hadn't exactly equipped me well for approaching the opposite sex; I hadn't really met many of them in my own age group, and looking up the skirts of middle-aged matrons was about the summit of my sexual experience. I was madly in love, of course, with a number of female film stars. Pictures of some of these, illegally cut out from magazines such as Picturegoer and Picture Post, could be found tucked into the recesses of my wallet. Deanna Durbin was my number one. Not only was she more or less my age, not only was she beautiful and innocent, but she had a voice like an angel - a fatal combination for yours truly, and probably still is. Through all this, I remained a virgin.

My leave from army chores were nonetheless full of expectancy, and Ken and I always made the most of these moments. More than anything, I suppose, the mere fact of being able to say to my comrades that I had a home to go to, was in itself a boost to me for it was not something that I'd been able to say so far in my life; it was quite grand really.

I was at Catterick for about six months, and having successfully got through all aspects of the initial training I was transferred to Luneburg, Germany, where I became a trooper in a regiment called The Royal Scots Greys - ex-cavalry, then Centurion tanks - very much a 'traditional' regiment of the line this one, with battle honours from Waterloo amongst others. I'm afraid I have never been a person of loyalist, royalist, or patriotic tendencies. I don't know why this should be, but I have a strong feeling that it is a personal trait directly related to my earlier life - a relic of my upbringing. Anyway, it all meant that I didn't really hold any feelings of pride merely because I was now a part of a famous traditional regiment - it meant nothing to me - but I did have a regard for it's disciplines, these being most stringent and rigid. It's true that they could either 'make' or 'break' you, and there wasn't really a middle result. Ninety-eight percent of us made it, and the probability is that it put us on the road to manhood.

Tanks ! I ask you. tanks, for someone who would be sick merely by sitting on a merry-go-round. A traveller I am not, and never have been. It was a close shave that I almost went to sea from Russell Cotes and now, here I was, forced to be a passenger, either as a gunner, driver, wireless operator, or commander, on a form of conveyance which when travelling cross-country (it's major purpose), was a cross between a trawler in force ten gale, and a seaside roller-coaster. I had no choice - there was no way out on this one - you just had to do it. The army authorities did not seem to show much understanding for the fact that my nervous system didn't choose to co-operate with my ears, my stomach, my eyes, my head, or my physche when travelling and the result was violent bouts of sickness. It seemed to me that Centurion tanks were not going to be particularly conducive to easing this problem and I was right. The tanks themselves were magnificent beasts, and wonderful pieces of engineering but not Leaney-friendly. My regimental masters seemed guilty of a lack of compassion and common humanity, so eventually I agreed to go along with them and peace was restored.

Life in Luneburg was quite an eye-opener. This was 1949, only four years after the cessation of hostilitie,s and here I was, in occupied territory. We were 'the masters' so to speak, and I became disgusted at the behaviour of some of my fellow soldiers in this regard. The German people, although quite friendly, were naturally suspicious of us. One could always sense an inner hostility, and no doubt we would have been the same, had the positions been reversed. Luneburg Heath was the target for our tanks. Little regard was paid to incursions on to private land, although intentional damage and destruction was kept to a minimum. Eighteen-year-old British soldiers were very prone to arrogance and showed scant respect for our hosts; I frequently felt shamed by the behaviour and attitude of some of them but there was nothing that I could say or do to alter things and I just got on with soldering. Generally speaking the German people behaved very well towards us, and displayed a great deal of tolerance. Nonetheless, the British 'football hooligan' syndrome often came to the fore, and was as prevalent then as it is today. 'Arrogant victors' was how I tended to view such people. Eventually I became a tank commander, and a Lance-corporal, neither of which gave me any particular sense of pride or achievement - they just happened.

However, my life in The Royal Scots Greys did make me a little proud about one thing and rather surprisingly so. Quite a large intake of us joined the regiment at the same time - some sixty or seventy of us - and our joining gave the regiment a total membership of about three hundred. Every new trooper had to undergo a small 'education' test for the purpose of ascertaining those who needed the half-day a week of formal education. The entire regiment was subjected to these tests, and I was amazed beyond belief to find that I was one of only a mere handful who did sufficiently well to be excused these half-day sessions. I was flabbergasted. I had it in the back of my mind that normal people brought up in normal circumstances would have been far better educated than I and therefore superior to me in terms of their general knowledge and academic ability. It was obviously not so. I genuinely considered that these tests had been on a very simple level, and fully expected at least 75% of those taking them, to pass with ease. It wasn't to be. All this of course did wonders for my ego, but to a certain extent was counter-productive. I'd always had a hankering for learning and knowledge, and here I was being denied the opportunity. I obviously wasn't quite the dummy I thought I was. Coupled with this, I was further advantaged by the fact that I was selected to represent the regiment at football and table-tennis. I didn't really consider that I was particularly good at either but not enough others were better, so I got in. The consequence of all this, was that because the regiment had a policy of treating those they considered as 'sportsmen' as special, we were the recipients of various privileges. Training sessions, better food, excused a few parades, excused a few guard duties, and generally making for a slightly more acceptable existence. It paid to be useful at something, as I had found out in Barnardo's. My time in this enforced occupation was therefore passed with the minimum of fuss and bother. It wasn't a hard slog for me, but like all my fellows, demob was the name of the game - it couldn't come quick enough. Even so, I think most of us held the view that it had been a useful experience along the road to manhood.

There was one other aspect of my sojourn in Germany, which determined much of what has happened to me since. One of my fellow soldiers (a chap named Colin Hull) was quite a good pianist. I was without doubt completely envious and jealous of his ability to play. So much so, that I determined to do something about it. I discovered in the town centre of Luneburg, a Y.M.C.A, where I also discovered, tucked away in a small top room, a piano. This room was rarely visited by any other human, and I quickly took steps to ensure that the room and it's piano was mine, and mine alone - private - allowing me to doodle and learn, by making awful noises without upsetting anyone. It was a situation I had always dreamed of. I could sit and figure things out my way, without any interference. My musical knowledge was nil with the exception of knowing the tonic solfa but this was all I needed and it became the basis for all that I was subsequently to discover. I cannot possibly relate exactly what I did, and how I did it; I can only say, that without the assistance of any training whatsoever, I finished my time in the army with the discovered ability to know instinctively how to use correct chords. This didn't make me a pianist of course, but merely someone who could sit at the piano and play any tune that he knew, accompanied by the correct chord structure. I worked out chords by what I considered to be straightforward mathematics and since that time have discovered that many more do as well. This is termed 'playing by ear', and it is not a trite term - you literally hear the melody and the accompanying chords, and can then play them together. This attempt to teach myself a method of playing was later to have a major part in my life. At the time I got enormous enjoyment out of it, and it proved to be a financial life-saver in the NAAFI. I would be forced to play by my fellow soldiers, who would then ply me for the rest of the evening with free drinks thereby enabling my own exceedingly limited funds to be reduced at a slower rate.

After eighteen months of enforced service to His Majesty, I returned to the loving fold of the Briers at Glenthorne Rd. I didn't have a job to go back to and I wasn't trained for any form of employment that might have been available to me. There didn't appear to much call for Centurion tank drivers, which was something I could do, and I could only assume that modern technology had taken over the requirement for tanks. I accepted therefore the only job offered to me, which was a greengrocers assistant. Not exactly the pinnacle of success nor a satisfying replacement of my previous thoughts of being this country's leading tinsmith. Not exactly the first step on the road of worldwide fame, but a job, earning money. I had no choice, I had to accept it. Not for very long. however, because after a few months or so, an event occurred which was to change my life forever.

My association with the Briers family came to an abrupt end. Almost overnight it seemed, they decided to move lock stock and barrel to run a very small country pub, a million miles from nowhere, in the centre of Cambridgeshire. I was asked to go along with them, but I really felt that I would be lost without the trappings of city life. In response, they kindly arranged for me to move to Birmingham, to stay in digs at the home of other members of their family. This, then, was the parting of the ways. I shall be forever grateful to them all. They were exceedingly kind to me, despite their own poverty, and I dread to think what might have become of me, had they not shown interest in my welfare. They were the first people I'd known, who actually liked Colin Leaney (at least, I assumed they did). They understood and sympathised with my reluctance to stay with them, and we parted as the firmest of friends. So, I moved to Birmingham. My life changed direction once again.

Birmingham - a city new to me. Mr & Mrs Gibbins and their son John, Nansen Rd, Sparkhill. I quickly discovered that there had been a hidden motive here: living almost opposite my new home was a young twenty-year-old girl called Brenda who was also a relation of the Briers. It transpired that she was the motivation for my move here; it had been considered by the family that perhaps these two young people could get together, conduct a courtship, and perhaps even marry. It frightened me to death to learn of this 'arrangement', not because of Brenda, mind you, for she was an attractive young lady, and to a large extent we had similar tastes and characters, but I was expected to court a girl publicly, with a view to succeeding in the exercise. I was, of course, very flattered when she agreed to give it a go and away we went. Once again I found myself without a job. I finally managed to get one as a tester of electric kettles. Can you imagine all day spent filling kettles up with water, and watching them boil. I knew now that life was going to be a struggle! How could I possibly handle such a cerebral occupation? But I succeeded !

Life with Mr & Mrs Gibbins was, like that with the Briers, full of kindness and understanding. They were a lovely couple, who made me very welcome. I had the full run of the house at all times, including a front parlour with a piano. Their son John was a trained musician - a trumpeter no less. Their home was a villa type three bed-roomed semi - nothing pretentious or ostentatious, but warm and friendly. John and I got on quite well, and he quickly took the time and trouble to allow me to accompany him on his drinking and musical jaunts. He was a jazz musician, Stan Kenton and the like, and our musical tastes were not compatible. But, I admired the skills and talents that were required to produce jazz, and enjoyed our outings together. This was another wonderful experience for me - I was mixing, talking, and socialising with real musicians. In musical terms =I felt that they were so far above me, that I rarely mentioned that I sort of played the piano for these were proper musicians, not ear players or buskers, but I loved it all. I was part of a musical world. My own musical interest was in the world of Gershwin, Porter, Berlin, Kern, and all the great American composers of popular songs, and these I played on our front room piano. This epitomised all that music meant to me - it still does; it was also my antidote to watching kettles boil!

What about Brenda? We got on quite well, and pretended to be in love; we became engaged, and spent most of our time on a sort of Cinema/Church fete type of level. Not exactly exciting stuff, but more than sufficient for two people who were still relatively shy and introverted. Life was fine, despite kettles.

However, I didn't know that I was about to experience the most stupendous moment in my life. I was now 21yrs of age, learning about life as never before, and learning how to get along with mankind in general. I thought my life was more or less settled, and I could picture my future before me as a happily married husband of Brenda. I hadn't achieved anything, but this didn't cause me any concern. I didn't consider that achievement in itself was everything. It is all very admirable, but not essential to either happiness or the quality of one's existence. I was about to have all this comfortable tranquility shattered. Still shy, introverted, and unable to express an opinion in public, life was about to to deliver to me an enormous slice of good fortune. It came in the shape, and I mean shape of, Marina.

Although I was still pretty clueless on the subject of females, I could still play a mean game of table-tennis. I decided that in an effort to widen my horizons, I would try and get into a team. To this end, I contacted B'ham City Council who put me in touch with the Hall Green Y.M.C.A. They apparently ran half-a-dozen teams, and were considered to be of a high standard. One evening I popped along to this club, with a view to having a trial. I played well and duly passed the trial with flying colours. Selected to play in the first league match of the season, for the first team. I was of course delighted, and very much looked forward to meeting up with my newly acquired team-mates. At some point in the proceedings I was obliged to answer the call of nature. This I did, but due to my unfamiliarity with the building, I lost my bearings somewhat on the return journey. It mattered not, because this minor irritant was more than compensated for when my ears were suddenly regaled with someone singing. A female voice no less, not unlike one of my favourite vocalists Peggy Lee. This was better than table-tennis I thought, back in my world of music. Up went my musical ears, and temporarily at least, my interest in table-tennis waned. I was determined to get to the source of this wondrous sound, which I now followed along various unknown passages. Eventually I'd hunted it to ground, and it sounded even better standing outside the door of the room from whence it came. I stood there listening, rooted to the spot; a purring sort of voice, with just a piano accompaniment.

Suddenly, the door was whipped open from within, a hand reached out, pulled me into the room, where a voice boomed: "Yes, can we do something for you" ? With the door now closing behind me "I was just listening" I replied, "I hope you don't mind" Apart from all else, I was now purple with embarrassment. When I finally recovered sufficiently enough to survey the scene, I was firstly awestruck by the hips, then blinded by the breasts, and finally dumbstruck by the hair and face. Not of 'boom' voice you understand, but by 'the voice'. There she was, casually leaning against the piano, where the male pianist sat, almost in physical contact with this angel. All eyes were on me. Mine were only on her. For an introvert this was a defining moment. For a small, not very good-looking introvert, it was even more defining. For a musically inclined, small, not very good-looking introvert, it was definitely the most defining point of my existence.

Just a few seconds, that was all. The singing had stopped, I was slowly changing from purple to a deep shade of maroon, when boom voice suddenly said: "Do you do anything" ? There were, all told, I suppose, about seven or eight people in the room, and they were now waiting for a reply from this shambles of a person. "I play the piano after a fashion" was all I could muster. I'm amazed that I even managed this, for 'the voice/body' had her eyes on me along with everybody else.

"Do you really" said 'boom' voice, "in that case meet Marina, she will sing and you will play for her". The effect of the three hundred decibel shouting of my old regimental Sgt Major was chicken feed compared to the fright I now felt. Me, play in public ? Me, play for this wondrous creature ? Table-tennis was now a dim memory - unless they ran a team in heaven - for that must have been where I was.

Anyway, I played, and she sang. Seventeen years and a few months she was. I was an old man of 21yrs. How I managed to get through it all I shall never know. However, she liked my accompaniment and I thought her singing was marvellous, and we both liked the same sort of songs. This then was the overture to my life proper! At the time couldn't believe it possible that a female of this calibre could possibly ever have any interest in me, but life turns corners that we don't even know are there.

This was a concert party, purely amateur, travelling around and giving their entertainment to hospitals, old age pensioners, and any charitable institutions who wanted their services. The Y.M.C.A. was used for rehearsals, and much hard work was put into practice, routines, and so forth. Boom voice asked me to join their party, and become Marina's permanent accompanist. I thought about it for an interminable split second, and said 'yes'.

Before that particular evening was through, I was to marvel furtherat my good fortune. Little had I thought, when I picked up my table-tennis bat earlier, that my life would be changed forever. Come midnight I already knew that my relationship with Brenda would never be the same again. Although I knew for a certainty that Marina wouldn't give me a second look, having regard to all the other males in the party, I also knew that the basis of my relationship with Brenda wasn't strong enough, and didn't have sufficient substance to stop me from adoring Marina, even from afar.

The concert party it was then. I would attend rehearsals only for the joy of seeing Marina, and although we got on very well, I assumed that if she had any female/male feelings, they most certainly wouldn't involve me. She was way out of my league. In fact. I considered that most females were, but we gave our shows, and I thoroughly enjoyed being part and parcel of it all. We had some fine talent: accordionists, comedians, singers, magicians, and a wonderful tenor called Alf. We were always very well received, and I don't think I am being biased when I say that invariably Marina was the star of the evening. I was still in awe of her, but I was her accompanist - her only accompanist. At these times, I only shared her with the audience - nobody else - life was indeed good to me. Of course the day came when I finally managed to pluck up enough courage to ask her for a date. She said yes !! I couldn't believe it and I wasn't prepared for it. What was I going to tell Brenda ? It mattered not. I was taking Marina out to see 'Carousel' at the Birmingham Hippodrome. In fact I was late- fog - just my luck - but I made it, we enjoyed the show, and I was courting. No words here can describe how I felt: ten foot tall, walking on cloud nine, all complexes gone, and a possible future undreamed of. Of course, by this time I knew that she wasn't just a face and body. Her personality, her attitudes, her morals, her ethics, and her intelligence, were all that I admired in people. How was I to tell Brenda ? Anyway, with Marina's approval and agreement, I did. It was quite traumatic, and not something I was particularly proud of. However, no great harm was done, as it transpired that Brenda's feelings for me were just as transparent as mine for her.

Marina and I were now, in today's parlance, an item. I was soon to learn that she wasn't much interested in the normal average small talk conventions of courtship. Not really interested in the male chauvinism of sexual conquest. This was fine, because I couldn't have given her these aspects of mans behaviour anyway. I was to discover also, that the traits of the opposite sex she admired most, were up top, not down below. Just as well really. Even at this age, I didn't have much idea of what to do down below anyway.

I also changed my job. A school-friend of Marina's, Margaret Churchill, was married to a chap, Dennis Pearson, who worked for a telecommunications company called Telephone Rentals. I got on very well with Dennis, and he used his influence to get me an interview. I knew absolutely nothing about communications equipment, but somehow I managed to carry off the interview successfully, and was offered the job of trainee engineer. I'd never known such status. Me, a telephone engineer. My goodness, life was looking up.

We still performed in the concert party, and in broad terms it was all good fun. I never did manage to overcome my nervousness though, and I was always especially conscious of the fact that I was the least accomplished of all the pianists we had in the party. But I suppose that my playing by ear gave me an added feel which wasn't always there when playing from the music. More importantly, however, Marina preferred my playing - that was all I needed. I was quite content to be the world's worst pianist, accompanying the world's best singer! Our courting continued on it's merry way, although I still didn't really have the wherewithal to do it in the accepted manner - patter, chauvinism, sporting prowess, and male superiorityo I decided that all I could do was to be myself at all times, and hope that Marina was suitably interested. This was for real. Gone was Deanna Durbin. Gone was Olive Briers. Gone was Brenda. My life was now only Marina. For the first time in my life, I loved someone, and someone loved me. This was to be a new Colin Leaney.

Nowadays, especially amongst those whom I socialise with at golf, cards, horses, and the like, I am renowned for bemoaning my luck, for always being on the wrong end of 'chance' where circumstances will always conspire against me. On the other hand, I also hold the view, that in the context of what I consider to be the important aspects of my life, I have in fact been exceedingly fortunate. I have an enormous sense of gratitude to all those who have contributed to my life.

For the next five years I bowled along in a world of singing, playing, loving, working, sporting, and wonderment; a very selfish existence I suppose, looking after our happiness, rather than enhancing the lives of others. A complex and very debatable matter. Not to be debated here. My relationship with Marina blossomed as hoped, and in principle at least, we agreed that we would marry. Her influence upon me changed me almost overnight from an introverted person to someone almost on the borderline of being an extrovert. Quite simply I had a woman on my arm. Not any old woman, but a woman of integrity, intelligence, style, and beauty. I was this woman's choice. I quite rightly felt proud, and a person of some value. Both of these things were new to me.

On the work front I had managed to progress as expected, despite my still prevalent attitude of mental indolence. I enjoyed a job which took me to many places in the U.K., and the 'technical' nature of it all suited my general mentality. Travelling by bus and train every day to places I'd only heard of, staying in digs in unpronounceable Welsh towns and villages. complete involvement in technical work, the nature of which I had never dreamed I would be associated with. Life was good, I can tell you, life was good. Here I was, in my mid twenties, with no qualifications for anything, but I had a lively approach, a diligent attitude, and an enquiring mind that was eager to learn anything from anybody at anytime. Questions just flooded from me, almost as if I was trying to catch up on a slow start. I think it was at this time that I formulated the view that, in general terms, I was about fifteen years behind the rest of mankind ! I honestly believe now, that I've never caught up. But it's of no consequence. It's quite pleasant to lag behind, and has it's advantages. It was also at about this time, that I became conscious of what might have been considered a disturbing trait of character - I had no ambition. Not in any direction, or in any sphere of life. As far as my work was concerned, I was perfectly happy to be doing what I was doing. Quite simply, I was not prepared to make an effort to 'achieve'. It has been ever thus. Quite interesting to ponder why this should be ? Perhaps later.

I continued to play competitive football for various local teams, with varying degrees of success. In the main these variations ranged from near failure to utter failure! It mattered not. I made friends and it kept me reasonably fit. I'd given up serious table-tennis ever since my initial meeting with Marina ! The match I was now playing in was a far superior one.

What about our Concert Party ? Gone of course - demised - never to be seen or heard again; eaten away by the sands of time and people growing up. It had been a most enjoyable and rewarding experience, and one which I wouldn't have missed. Marina and I continued to perform of course, mainly in the company of a very good friend of ours, Ken Askey, who was a fine vocalist. Over this period the three of us enjoyed a life of song. Pubs, clubs, church halls, village halls. All fell victim to our musical taste. Nobody was allowed to escape without being subjected to the songs of Gershwin, Porter, and the like. We haunted the promoters and agents who would regularly hold audition sessions at establishments such as The Birmingham Hippodrome. We have some wonderful memories, but we never made it to the top. In fact, we never made it anywhere. We even spent four or five days in London, with a record we'd made, hawking it from agent to agent, with no succe, of course, but what an experience - it was Worth every penny. During this period also, I was able to supplement my income, by playing piano at local pubs and clubs, which was very useful.

All of this produced a new Colin Leaney - not necessarily better but a totally different one. I was learning, and enjoying the process. By this time I had virtually forgotten the implications of my previous early life - not deliberately - it just happened. I doubt that the subject of my upbringing and it's effect upon me ever came into my mind. I was now a 'full' member of society, engaging in all it's normal activities. I'd arrived.

Marina and I, after five and a half years of courtship, finally agreed on a wedding day. We didn't actually become engaged or partake in the custom of wearing an engagement ring, this being Marina's wish. We both felt that it was somewhat trite to symbolise our union, by the wearing of a ring. Even to this day, neither of us really knows why it took us so long. A near six year courtship ? Unusual, even for those times. I suppose we were too busy enjoying ourselves.

If nothing else, this lengthy courtship gave us the opportunity of really getting to know the real Colin and Marina. We had got to the stage where we realised that neither of us was going to make a career out of music and singing. In my case I wasn't anywhere near good enough. Marina, however, could have been good enough, had she been interested in being so, but she wasn't; she merely enjoyed singing and had no ambitions or pretensions in this direction. She knew her place so to speak, and this I approved of and admired. Marina's parents of course, were very proud of their daughter and her singing exploits. Even more so, when in 1958 she appeared on television, in a programme which I think was called 'Carroll Levis Discoveries'. At rehearsals for this, she was supposed to sing to the accompaniment of a very fine musician, one Jerry Allen, but she refused, and categorically insisted that unless I accompanied her she would not perform. She got her way, and I appeared with her. She performed very well, but the general consensus was that she sang a song which didn't have any popular appeal. True, it didn't, but we liked it so we performed it. Nothing came of any of this, but it had been an interesting experience. It certainly didn't alter the attitude of Marina with regard to a career - she just wasn't interested. Apart from a brief moment when an interest was taken in her by a popular comedian of the day, Max Wall, she never really sang seriously again. Instead, we got married.

Much to my disgust, this will probably be the shortest episode to be related within these pages. Nonetheless, this was the culmination of nearly six years courtship. July 26th 1958. St Agnes church, Moseley, B'ham. I was in digs at Moseley at the time, hence the venue. Although neither of us embraced or practised any particular religion, we enjoyed the thought of getting married in a church, and going through the religious ceremony. I suppose in a way this is cheating. A double standard ! Notwithstanding, we were grateful to The Church Of England for giving us their blessing, and allowing us to use their rituals. It wasn't a big wedding, Marina's parents couldn't afford anything ostentatious. A very normal, average, working-class wedding, with the minimum of fuss and trimmings. Marina wanted it thus. She wasn't, and never has been, a person to accommodate the trappings of limelight. However, just for a few hours we had no choice. To this day, neither of us has a clear recollection of the detail of this day. I suppose this sounds quite dreadful to traditionalists and romantics. Perhaps our lack of detailed memories, can best be measured by the fact, that only three photographs were ever taken of the days events. Three only ! Sounds dreadful doesn't it ! But here again, it was the wish of Marina. I have never really had an adequate explanation from her on this, and probably never will. As far as I'm aware, a very large content of the wedding day, is given over to the taking of photographs. Presumably in most people's eyes, for the purpose of recalling fond and loving memories in the years to come. I fully agree with a view which might say that a true, honest, loving relationship, doesn't need the props of visual memories to sustain it. But it is very pleasant to use photographs (or videos) as a catalyst for the recall of fond times past.

The day for me of course, was a day of wonderment. I really felt now, that I was a serious component part of what I used to refer to as 'the outside world'. Twenty seven years of age, a respectable married man with responsibilities, a job, and above all, a wonderful life-long partner. I felt I had become of age; another new start to another new life. They're nice, these new lives, and I had quite a few of them. My mother was able to attend, and thankfully she is present on the photographs. Her attendance it's true, didn't mean an awful amount to me at the time but in hindsight, I'm very glad she did. Who knows, she might even had feelings of pride. I don't know, so I shall assume that she did. I was certainly proud of me !

Ken Askey (he of the golden voice) was our best man, and a thundering good job he made of it to. Thanks Ken. A few years later we lost track of each other, and he disappeared from our lives. Thirty five years on, by an amazing coincidence, he has returned; having carved out a successful career for himself by dint of hard work and application, he has now retired, and we spend time together singing, playing, and recording. How splendid.

Having regard to the 'family' syndrome of weddings, this one was a little one-sided. The two Leaneys versus The Rest. Totally outnumbered, of course, we held our own and I came out of it with the hand of the woman I loved. I now suspect that all my life it has been a case of Leaney versus The Rest - shades of Headmaster Wheatley's observation that I was a boy of 'independent mind'. Perceptive man this Mr Wheatle! I've often imagined, with my somewhat anarchic sense of humour, that had we employed the ritual of typical working-class weddings, of two families scowling at each other across an empty reception floor, it would have been two against fifty. A bit unfair really, I'd have to send mother across to the other side! This then was our wedding. The reception was held at the bungalow home of Valerie, (Marina's sister) thanks Val, and eventually we slipped away to engage upon honeymoon activities, to Brighton. Apart from the fact that the weather was unkind to us, all went well, and I suppose, we went emotionally and physically through all the stereotype concepts of a honeymoon. I refuse to enlarge upon further developments!

Upon our return to normality and the grind, we took up residence in a furnished flat in the Hall Green area of Birmingham. These being the days, when very few working-class couples could afford the luxury of taking up home in their own house. We were lucky here, insofar, that the people who occupied the only other flat in the building, were friends of ours. So we had no neighbour problems. So this was it ! Settled. A respectable married man, with a decent job and a beautiful wife. Far from the days of doing a bunk from Goldings. The psychological relics of earlier years had now completely disappeared. Wrong ! So very arrogantly wrong ! I still bear them, although they are of no consequence. At that time they were far away into the recesses of my sub-conscious. I must also add that by that time, I had acquired a sense of humour. I don't know where I got this from, or why. For years I had been a somewhat humourless brat. All part of the chrysalis syndrome I suppose. I do tend to take life and people more seriously now, but then this is the privilege of the elderly!

The next six years passed by relatively uneventfully. I was still at Telephone Rentals, Marina and I were now living in her parents' home (temporarily), Ken Askey (he with the voice) and I had taken up the ridiculous sport of golf, I had purchased my first ever car (1961 Ford Anglia), and generally speaking life was just plodding on. My entire phsyche and being at this time, were miles away from places such as Barnardo's. So much so that I very rarely thought or spoke about such matters to anyone, not because of any complexes you understand, but merely because I was so integrated with normal life and normal people. I had become 'part of', or so I thought. It never occurred to me to make any contact with my past, and indeed I maintained this Barnardo vacuum for many many years. I suppose that somewhere in the region of the mid-seventies, I decided to join the Barnardo Guild, and this was my first ever contact with them since 1947. The only circumstance to crop up which occasionally gave me food for thought, was when in the company of friends, they would recall fond memories of youth and childhood, most of them having gone to the same school, and all belonging to local families which knew each other.Often, they ha played for the same football team. These and many other subjects would be discussed. I enjoyed their conversations, but I couldn't participate in them. My memories could only be shared with a small group of people, scattered I knew not where, into every corner of the globe. None of this caused me any concern, but it would often become a reminder of my upbringing. I was still an outsider 'looking in'. I have to be honest and say that there have been times when I would have dearly loved to have joined in, but I couldn't, so I became a professional listener.

I still hadn't achieved anything, but this bothered me not. My natural state of indolence ensured that I didn't need to fight the battle of non-achievement. What a comforting and convenient excuse. I'm sticking with it.In 1964 we bought our first house. We were so proud. £3,500 it was. A modern semi-detached in the borough of Solihull. We were never ones for saving money, too busy having a good time. So, this house was bought via an insurance scheme. A scheme which all our friends said would never come to the expected fruition. A 100% mortgage, plus all legal expenses, plus a fixed interest rate for the entire loan period of 5%. What wouldn't we give for this today! Our very own place. I wonder if the youngsters of today have the same feeling of elation and pride ? Although we had very few household possessions, we were soon up and running, and immediately put ourselves amongst the elite of being a 'home-owner' ! Marina was still doing very well in the travel trade industry, and I was still happily beavering away at being a telecommunications engineer. Both earning a living wage, and we even got ourselves a dog. This was it. We had now both arrived.

By this time also, we had long finished with our musical activities. I hadn't owned or played any piano for a number of years, and Ken (the voice) had gone off to carve out a career for himself, very successfully too. He became the Senior Training Officer for the Rover Group Apprentices at Longbridge. I now went back to my first sporting love, table-tennis. Not only playing three to four times a week in team competitions, bus also spending many weekends away from home in nationwide tournaments. I was to continue this somewhat selfish sporting activity until approx 1973, when I finally realised that I wasn't destined to become the world's No 1 player ! Another illusion shattered! Having regard to the fact that during this period I was also a very keen golfer, and would regularly (twice weekly for example) beetle off for hours on end to pursue this juvenile pastime, Marina showed stoicism far beyond the call of duty. It was a happy period for us nonetheless, and it encompassed another happening which became the forerunner of much of what was to come.

I left my job at Telephone Rentals. Me, deliberately leaving a work scenario, which had been responsible for my respectability ! Once again, as in many things, I had Marina to thank for what was about to change my life forever. One evening, having scanned the local rag in the job adverts, curiosity nothing else, and having for the umpteenth time remarked:

"I would love to do that, but I'm not qualified", Marina responded with a snappy: "Don't be silly, you're as good as the next man. How do you know you wouldn't get the job, if you don't at least write in and get an interview".

So I did. I got an interview, and I got the job ! I have never been so utterly amazed in all my life. An office job. A jacket and tie job. Me, with no qualifications except a brain. Office desks. Dictation machines. Telephones. Typists. Wiring diagrams. Sales targets. Projections. Targets. Lectures. Presentations. Good God, what was I about to get myself into ? I wish I could remember my first day, but I cannot. No doubt I went in my one and only suit, and presented myself with as much aplomb as I could muster:

"Good morning sir, my name is Colin Leaney, and I've come here to start my new job as an Inside Sales Engineer for Honeywell Ltd".

This name may not mean much to the majority of people, but, at the time, this was a very large internationa, American based, company involved in the production and sales of computers, commercial panel controls equipment, residential heating controls, medical equipment, and micro switches. Three hundred offices worldwide, and forty odd factories. My place of work was Erdington, B'ham. I was now going to be trained as an Inside Sales Engineer in their Micro Switch Division. My time at Telephone Rentals had given me a certain knowledge of the field of electrical controls, but this was to be totally different. I'd got the job by virtue of my insistence that whilst I had no obvious qualifications for it, I'd got a keen mind, and a strong willingness to learn, but the gulf proved to be enormous.

After about three years, having managed to absorb most of what I was supposed to absorb, I was offered promotion. To Scotland ! I now knew enough about the ways of commercialism to krecognise that a refusal to move forward ususally results only in moving sideways. Neither Marina or I were keen to make such a move (further proof of my lack of ambition I suppose), so the offer was turned down. More proof, if proof were needed, that at least I was now 'my own man'. However, you don't turn down promotion with impunity, and yet here I was, the man who three years prviously had been the recipient of a miracle, deliberately putting myself into a precarious position. Twelve further months were spent trying to recoup the situation but it wasn't to be. I left the company. Mistake ! Very big mistake. The job I changed to proved to be absolutely soul-destroying; it really was an enormous error of judgement on my part but I was rescued by another minor miracle. One, Peter Williams of Honeywell Residential Division, called me one day out of the blue, and asked whether I would be interested in joining him, as his Inside Sales Engineer. Glorious, glorious rescue after three months of hell. After an interminable split second I replied in the affirmative.

Back at Honeywell, with a bigger salary, and a better job. Someone upstairs had been kind to me ! This turned out to be totally different than my previous job at Honeywell. I mixed, and became part of the 'managers/engineers' scenario, dealing with products which interested me greatly. I loved the job. All part of my life's learning process, including the mistakes. Young criminals - children from a wide variety of deprived backgrounds - street-corner thugs - foundrymen - soldiers - telephone engineers - all these I'd known and now I was constantly in the company of people who really mattered. Important people, people who could really teach me things!

Silly me! They were not at all what I thought. I'd put them on a pedestal of respectability and integrity, which in fact they never had. That was my fault, I put them there, but it mattered not that my perception of these people was wrong. They were sufficiently close to my mentality to completely satisfy my ego. Back at Honeywell, with a better job than I left with, I was so lucky. This was around 1966, and I was quickly quite besotted with my new sense of worth and importance. Sales presentations, lectures, seminars, promotions, all these were the day to day trappings of a successful company, and I was part of it! A suit and tie every day. Business lunches.(Not my favourite pastime. Too much fraudulent chat). To me, all this almost represented 'the big time'. Certainly by comparison to anything I'd done before, this was a job of status. It wasn't of course, but it was tremendously helpful to my growing up process. I learned quite a lot about life and people.

During this time, Marina was also doing quite well in her career in the travel business. She had always been well regarded there, and was a well-known personality of approx fifteen years experience. Now, for the first time, our jobs were of equal status. Not that status is of any consequence to either of us, but this new situation gave us a greater degree of understanding of each other's work problems.

By this time I had long since given up football. My last game had been at the tender age of twenty-nine. I remember thinking that at that age I was an old man, and well past my prime. Hindsight and time subsequently told me that this too was a premature decision. I later realised that I could have quite comfortably continued playing until well into my forties. When one gives up football, one is convinced it constitutes a major catastrophe - the end of the world - there is nothing left except the boredom of growing old ! Not so of course. One quickly discovers that there is a life beyond football. From the point of view of the sporting arena, football was quickly replaced by golf, and later, back to table-tennis. Football was indeed easily put behind me. Golf became my first sporting love, and the years have proved that it is undoubtedly a love/hate relationship.

It is not a sport that I would recommend to anyone who is intelligent, mature of thought, and at ease with life. The sheer elation of watching that little white ball, soar 250yds as straight as a die, down the middle of the fairway, is more than matched by the ever-present hopelessness of being totally inadequate. The sport is a killer, and should be banned !! It's a drug, as many have found to their cost. Families and marriages have been destroyed by it. Promising careers have ground to a halt by it's insidious habit of becoming addictive. Be warned dear reader Little wonder that authors such as P.G.Wodehouse were able to brighten our lives, with horrifying tales of the game. It is both a wonderful sport, and a dastardly one. People who don't play are often heard expounding theories of how relaxing it all is. You can wind down from the problems. Of a days work. Forget about the inadequacy of your salary. Escape for a few hours from the wife and children, and just relax. Let life wash over you ! Forget it. These are myths. People who perpetuate these myths have never struck a ball in their lives. All of ones powers of concentration, mental calmness, determination, positive thought, and bodily co-ordination, are required just to move this little white ball accurately from 'A' to 'B'. If one is not blessed with these capabalities, as in my case,, then it's panic, worry, frustration, anger, and the certain knowledge that the ball is not going to gracefully fly from 'A' to 'B' as requested ! I suspect it was invented by The Marquis De Sade!

For something like thirty seven years I have subjected my mind and body to ridiculous attempts to batter the little white ball into submission. Over this period I have forever recognised the fact that the little white ball is the winner. I have given up the game on at least twenty-five occasions. I have been convinced that my knowledge and perception of the theory of 'the golf swing' is second to none. All to no avail !! I am still a failure. And now incredibly, Marina to is a failure!

Two supposedly intelligent people! There are those who say that one's efforts and attitude at the game are a direct reflection of ones character. My game is pathetic, bad, and unstable! Doesn't say much for me does it ? There are those who say it doesn't matter how badly you play when you take six shots to cover a distance that should have been covered in two; it's the 'playing of the game that counts, not the end result'! All a la Rudyard Kipling, no doubt! Rubbish, absolute rubbish ! This is tantamount to saying that it's perfectly acceptable to display yourself in public as a fine ventriloquist, when the whole world can see your mouth going up and down, in and out, and round and round, to the same degree as an operatic tenor. You are publicly doing something badly, and enjoying it !! That's golf. On a more serious note, it really is a most wonderful and challenging sport. Regretfully, however, it is also a sport that, to my mind, brings out and displays all that is worst in mankind. I realise that this view must sound very strange to many people, who would hold the view that golf clubs and the sport of golf represent. one of the last bastions of sportsmanship and common decency. Not so - it is a superficial layer spread on top of the game, hiding a terrible amount of hypocrisy, bigotry, false morality, and the love of male domination and superiority. The golfing fraternity would tear me to pieces for holding such a view but I believe I have a strong case. Nonetheless, I love the game almost as much as I hate it. I have little doubt that I shall continue to chase the possibility of going round in 72 shots gross, and I would then retire, with dignity restored, but it won't happen. I shall continue to be a perfect example of all that's bad in the game, and pretend that it's good for me. Ah well, such is life.

Enough of this. Let me tell you about my table-tennis over the period 1964 - 1972. I had never intended to take up my bat in anger again, having virtually given up the game when I bumped into Marina and I can't really remember how it all came about, But it did, and very selfishly, I suppose, I again put myself wholeheartedly into the game for a number of years. Having regard to the fact that I was now a happily married man, and at the age of 33yrs I was well over the top table-tenniswise, taking the game up again might have seemed silly to many. It's a young man's sport, and you are definitely past your prime at this age. Anyway, I dusted the moth-balls off the bat, and joined the happy throng of modern day players. In fact, I managed a fair degree of success. I threw myself into it one hundred percent, and played for many successful teams. Four or five times a week this would be, and many weekends; I would travel to all parts of the country to participate in tournaments. Although I managed to inprove my game, I couldn't possibly keep up with the younger generation. So, eventually I did finally retire, at the ripe old age of 42yrs. I've never regretted it.

All this of course meant that Marina became what in golfing terms would be described as 'a grass widow'. She took it all very well, and never once discouraged me. With hindsight I realised that my sporting pursuits were extremely self-centred and selfish. It is ever thus I suppose in terms of the male/female relationship. Ironically, Marina herself eventually became interested in golf, and to the extent that she not only still plays the game but is the current ladies section secretary at our golf club. She loves the game, and spends more time at it than I do. Touchez, I suppose!

So what about Honeywel ? Well, by the time 1971 came around, I had progressed into the realms of being an outside sales engineer, with a company car, covering the south western part of the country. My salary had increased accordingly, I was reasonably successful, and largely responsible for my own destiny. All was well with life, and I was still in the learning process. However, I lacked ambition - I never really wanted to 'go anywhere'. I had no sense of wanting to achieve anything. Achievement in itself didn't appear to be part of my make-up; I was happy in my rut so to speak. Suddenly, in 1971, it came to me that with my knowledge of Honeywell and it's products, I could possibly use my skills to better effect. Although I was enormously grateful to all those who'd helped me get into this new world, and although I enjoyed aspects of it such as presentations and lectures, (the ham in me I think), I felt a need to move on. This in itself was quite astounding, I suppose. I was still relatively 'servile', and having got myself to a sort of personal pinnacle, I amazed myself with this new-found attitude. It was real enough, however, and so much so, that in I left the company for the second time.

My real reason for voluntarily giving up the wonderful opportunity I'd been given, was to start up my own business. To do this efficiently, I felt I needed some experience in the field of wholesale work, for I intended to set myself up as a 'heating controls wholesaler/consultant'. With this in mind I left Honeywell to join a heating wholesaler by the name of Griffin Warm Air, just for twelve months, that's all, and in 1972, armed with a bank loan of £1500, I went solo. How I had the nerve to do this I shall never know. When I look back on it now, I shudder. I took this step with an enormous sense of gratitude towards Honeywell, who had obviously made this possible for me. I was now forty-one years old, and about to take the second biggest step of my life.

I am a born gambler, so to a certain extent I was now in my element. In essence this is what I was about to do: buy a stock of heating controls with my £1500, store them in my garage at home, pick up my briefcase, visit area gas boards up and down the country, and attempt to obtain from them annual contracts for the supply of heating control spares. Simple, isn't it!

I had already come to the conclusion that there was something lacking in the state of this particular marketplace, prior to leaving Honeywell. Many existing suppliers of this equipment to gas boards had virtually no idea of the technicalities and application of these controls. They merely supplied them, with virtually no other service being offered. With my technical and application knowledge, coupled with my experience of dealing with gas boards, I thought I was on to a good thing.

I acquired some small orders to start with, realising that I would have to be somewhat patient. As is usually the case when people first start out on any self-funding small business, the first few months can produce quite horrendous cash-flow problems. My situation was no different, and to supplement my income, I bought myself a Hammond organ and proceeded to take it out and play for payment. I obtained various residencies over the next twelve months, and the income generated from this enabled me to overcome the initial problems of cashflow. Playing the organ, of course, requires quite a different technique from that for the piano; f eet have to be used on base pedals, and the hands used differently on each manual, but I soon got the hang of things - at least sufficiently so for people to engage my services. At last after 41yrs, any talent I had was proving to be very useful. I enjoyed playing the organ, although basically I was riddled with nervousness. At one residency in a local social club, I even had to pretend that I could read music. I couldn't, of course, but I would put the artistes sheet music up on the stand in front of me, and pretend to read it. Nobody ever knew that I wasn't reading it until one day I was confronted by a committee man, who'd noticed that whilst supposedly reading the music, I was looking all round the room, and never once looked at the music. Discovered, by jove! My ploy of no further use!

This extra income proved to be invaluable - hank you God for the genes. I managed to obtain various gas board contracts, as hoped for, and my first twelve months passed off without ever once going into debt. I was still working from home, and I really did keep a tight grip on the cash flow. I was determined that I wouldn't fall into the common trap of spending money as if it were mine, instead of belonging to my creditors. During my time at Honeywell, I had come into contact with numerous instances of self-employed people who ran their business's on the basis of:- Cash plus assets =X. Monies owed =X plus. A yacht in The Bahamas, and a Jaguar in the front drive = disaster and eventual downfall. I was therefore determined not to be tempted by such idiocy.

As such, the business continued to flourish, entirely as a one-man band and with a very acceptable profitability factor. So much so, that my bank manager didn't like me running my account permanently in the black since this didn't make profit for the bank, so he would take me out to lunch every Christmas with a view to talking me into an overdraft facility. I never did take advantage of an overdraft, and I think most people thought I was mad - all businesses run on overdraftts -it is the heart and soul of financial success. This may be true, but I've very rarely been conventional. I suppose I took a certain pride in the fact that I could run my business without this financial prop. A bit arrogant really, but I succeeded.

During these first twelve months or so Marina's salary was essential - thank God for her skills and dedication. All in all things went along very nicely. So much so, that shortly I moved into rented premises. It was a hard slog, and I was at once a typist, an accountant, a storeman, a delivery boy, a sales rep, and an engineer. My accountant, Martin Lawrence, an excellent chap, used to say that I'd got the best business on his books. I still see Martin occasionally, and he's still running a successful business. I deliberately set out to obtain the services of a completely 'honest' accountant; this is another aspect of business which many chose to use unwisely in my opinion. I have little doubt that many people thought of me as being naive in money matters, but I could only do it my way, not the way of convention.

It was during this period of my life that I came to the realisation that my perception of 'honesty', in all things, was quite a bit different from the accepted perception. As silly as it sounds, this perception of mine puts me at odds with mankind in general. Where there is common acceptance of the honesty of people such as politicians, the judiciary, those at the head of business conglomerates, councillors, educationalists, and many others who would purport to operate with integrity, my perception of their honesty is utterly different. I am somewhat puritanical, and I don't like it. However, at the age of 67yrs, I doubt I shall change for the better.

It was during this period of my life that I came to the realisation that my perception of 'honesty', in all things, was quite a bit different from the accepted perception. As silly as it sounds, this perception of mine puts me at odds with mankind in general. Where there is common acceptance of the honesty of people such as politicians, the judiciary, those at the head of business conglomerates, councillors, educationalists, and many others who would purport to operate with integrity, my perception of their honesty is utterly different; I don't like what I see, and realise that I am somewhat puritanical. However, at the age of sixty nine years, I doubt I shall change.

My business continued to thrive over the next few years, and I considered myself to be extremely fortunate. I was now earning money beyond my wildest dreams. I worked hard and diligently, and considered that I earned every penny. I rented a second set of premises, using my original premises for storage only. I got myself a secretary, and this took a useful workload off my back. Marina and I enjoyed having a bit of money, and hopefully I never used it as any form of status symbol - this is something which I abhor in others. I would on occasion remark to Marina that nobody had a divine right to expect a lifetime's supply of money and it's trappings; there would come a time when we would not be so fortunate. We did of course occasionally engage in forms of self indulgence, but such instances were kept to a minimum.

In 1975 we moved house to a place only 500yds from where we were; a place that we had regularly passed and commented upon, and now it was ours. We never ever thought we could be the owners of such a house. A far cry from polishing floors at RCNS! Life had been kind to me.

I suppose it was a bit of a superficial existence - brittle too. Nonetheless, the results of our combined effort weren't totally selfish; Marina's parents were very proud of their daughter and what she had achieved. They themselves lived in council property and had only ever known relative poverty. So, they were proud of her new home, and the way that we'd worked hard to get it. Many family 'do's' were held there, some of which we captured on video.

However, it wasn't all a bed of roses. Somewhere in the region of 1980 I became hospitalised supposedly because I was suffering from something which was described to me as 'anxiety neurosis'. It became clear later that in reality I needn't have been hospitalised at all; for many years, probably eight to ten, I had innocently taken valium without ever suspecting that it was anything more than just a 'calming' capsule for a 'nervous stomach' due to anxiety. Eventually the addiction caught up with me, made me even more anxious, and I finished up in hospital. Although I was only an inpatient for fourteen days, the experience was sufficiently traumatic to act as a catalyst for my next course of action which was to give up tranquillisers forever. In fact the entire experience of being surr