Ken McTigue's Story

 

Dear Gerry,

Thanks for the opportunity to be involved with Evacuee's Club.

I originate from Dagenham, Essex, near enough to talk like a Londoner

but not to call myself one, although I never deny that I am one.

I was evacuated to three different places ranging from September 1st

1939 until I finally returned home permanently in March 1945.

My first time was to a place called Stody Lodge near Holt in Norfolk

(Sep 1 till Jan 1940.)

My second time was to Hermitage near Newbury in Berkshire (September

1940 till September 1941 and finally Worlingworth in Suffolk (September

1941 till March 1945)

I am currently attempting to write a book about my life as an evacuee

and have been attempting to complete some research for some twelve months

now. Maybe I can now make some progress through the Evacuee Club.

I would love to hear from anyone who may remember me from those days; I

lived with Mr. & Mrs. Alfred Greenard in Worlingworth and with Miss Agnes

Sharpe (Aunt Aggy) in Hermitage.

I wish all the members the very best of Luck in their reminiscences and

their possible renewing of old acquaintances.

 


 

Hi Gerry,

Further to my email yesterday, I live in Smithfield Plains just north of

Adelaide.

Just to let you know how successful your Club is I have already had

contact from a Club Member in Perth.

 


 

My Mother visited my two sisters and myself occasionally in

Worlingworth - Suffolk where we were evacuated. One time when she came

she proudly withdrew from her bag three bananas, one for each of us.

She told us that she had queued up at the greengrocers for two and a

half hours to get them for us, for it was a rare event and so rare that

each person with a ration book was allowed one each.

Imaging her shock and horror when I took her into the front room where

on the table was a large bowl of fruit including oranges and about ten bananas.

I lived quite close to an American Air base (Horham) and the Yanks used

to be very generous and gave us plenty of fruit and sweets.

Incidentally, we had generous amounts of ice-cream (soft serve) from them

too.

Some of us had a lovely war!

 


 

Hi Gerry and Everyone,

I was first evacuated to Norfolk on the first day of the war, I went

with my Grandmother, Mother and my two sisters. Nothing happened for

those first few months (the 'phoney war') and so many families returned

to their homes. Incidentally, we were transported on the Thames Pleasure

boat the "Royal Sovereign."

We left Dagenham Docks and landed at Yarmouth Harbour.

Having returned home in January 1940 we stayed at home until the bombing

started, first on the airfields and then after, on the towns.

A mass evacuation was put into effect and with my two sisters we went to

Hermitage in Berkshire. This was after the Battle of Britain was won. I

stayed there for one year and then with my two sisters were transferred

to Worlingworth in Suffolk, where we stayed until the war's end.

I was one of the lucky ones I suppose, from what I have heard of the

suffering of others, but all my foster parents were really good to us.

I lived with a Miss Agnes Sharpe (Aunt Aggie) in Berkshire and later

with Mr. and Mrs. Alfred and Eva Greenard in Worlingworth.

I was fourteen years old when the war finished, and like many others at

the time, in those six years of war I had a lifetime of experiences.

I am attempting to put them into a book,,,,,,maybe one

day...................

Ken McTigue

 

PS I would dearly love to hear from anyone from any of those places

where I lived.

K.

 


 

I have never thought much about how being evacuated had effected my life

until the subject came up in our group.

I don't suppose I was effected by being evacuated so much as by events of the

whole war.

Before the war started I and my sisters were part of a normal family with a father

and a mother, we were a unit, a complete family. Then came the war.

The family was broken up by the evacuation, and it was not until the war finished

that we were to get back together again, but this was to be short-lived. My mother

through being at work and earning wages, became independent (this happened

to so many families), she separated from and then divorced my father

,so that the family was effectively broken up in 1939.

It did not effect me so much, being evacuated, I too had learned to be independent

and after leaving school at fourteen I could not settle down to a normal life. So

I joined the Merchant Navy.

Not until I got married and had children did I finally realize I was home, my

children were my stabilizing influence.

I don't know what sought of character I would have been but for my life from 1939

till 1945. Everything was taken in stride and was accepted as normal.

So I cannot say that the war changed me.

 

Ken

 


 

During the time I was evacuated I worked on a number of farms around Worlingworth

in 1943/45.

My Foster Parents owned a Coal and Meal delivery company and also ground meal for

cattle fodder.

My Foster Mother's father owned a farm, and it was mainly on this farm where I worked.

During the summer months I would work on the farm from daylight (about 5.45 AM) until

it was time to go to school, and then after school I would again work from about

5.30 PM until it got dark at about 10.45 PM. 

Saturday morning's I would bag up 1/2 hundred weights of coal and deliver these around

the village by horse and cart.  I bagged the coal in half lots because I was too small to carry a

whole bag. I generally delivered about half a ton every Saturday. For this I was paid 1 shilling

per Saturday.

The work on the farm entailed: singling out the sugar beet, weeding between the crops of beans

and peas,  'mucklin' - Spreading horse manure and other fertilizers - and harvesting.  

During the autumn and winter we would harvest the sugarbeet and potato crops, and also

'thrash the corn by steam machines.

As I remember I used to be paid 2d to 6d per row for singling and thinning out crops

depending on the length of the rows.

When I tell my son how hard I used to work as a twelve to fourteen-year old, he makes

like he's playing a violin!!!!.

The thing really is, that I did not think anything of doing all this work, it just seemed natural

to me, nearly every other boy at school at that time did it.

As far as I recall we were allowed out of school early to work on the farms because of

the shortage of labour.

Thanks for jogging my memory of these events, it is another subject for my book.............

 


Editor's note on Sept. 1 2000, the 61st anniversary of the German invasion of Poland I

posed this question to the group "Where were you on this day 61 years ago"?

 

Friday September 1st 1939

The Walk

I awoke to the sounds of my parents muffled talking and moving around up

and down the stairs, I lay for a short while wondering what all the activity

was about. My Grandmother came into my bedroom and told me to get up and

get dressed, I said, "what's going on Gran?" why is every body getting up at

this time of the morning, it's still dark?"

Gran said, "Kenny we all have to get up because we are going on a trip, we

are being evacuated." She carried on; "we have to go to the school and meet

with other people to get on buses to go away."

It was still very dark outside, and the time would have been around 4.30 in

the morning.

Mum and Dad helped to get all the suitcases and bags together, and we joined

several other families outside Parsloes primary school in Dagenham to wait

for transport, we were told that we were going to Dagenham docks to get on a ship.

Speculation became rumors as our destination was discussed, I was only

eight years old but I can remember some excitement as we thought we might be

going to America.

With this thought in mind some families pulled out and refused to go, and

there was some disappointment among the other children when their mothers

decided to return home.

My Gran and mother had decided to continue, and we waited for a long time for

our transport.

Eventually, we were told that there was to be no transport and that we would

have to walk to Dagenham docks to catch the ship?

I don't know how long we had waited, but it was quite light, and I would

guess the time to be around 8 or 9 o'clock.

Luckily for us the weather was mild and fine.

The walk was a long one, several miles and while the mothers and older

children struggled with all their baggage, the younger ones, I included,

played chase for most of the way.

I remember we were all strung out in a long column walking along the edge of

the road. Several more families dropped out during this long walk and

returned home. Even so there were still several hundred people in that long

column and eventually, we reached the docks about lunch time.

There were two ships docked and waiting for us, and I believe that quite a

number of families from other areas had already arrived because there seemed

to be a lot of mothers and children already on board.

My family eventually boarded the royal sovereign, a paddle steamer that used

to carry holiday passengers up and down the Thames river during the summer.

We eventually, sailed and arrived at great Yarmouth late in the afternoon.

We were transported on corporation buses to a local school where we spent

the night sleeping in the classrooms.

This is my recollection of that infamous day.

Ken

 


 

THE ROCKET BATTERY

In late 1943 the foster mother with whom my sisters were living was having a baby,

and it was decided that we should all return to Dagenham for seven weeks holiday.

At this time German air-aids were only sporadic with only a few bombers coming over

at night to bomb London and the surrounding area.

The sound of the anti aircraft gunfire was much louder than the sound

of any bombers exploding.

 

My mother had made a bed up for my two sisters under a side-board in the living

room, and I was sleeping on the settee; my mother was sitting in an armchair doing

some knitting. The air raid siren had sounded, but often nothing happened as the

Germans used to fly just up to the coast and turn away. The radar had picked them

up, and the sirens would then automatically sound.

This was done to interrupt people sleeping and getting a good nights rest.

Because of this, many people took no notice and carried on with whatever

they were doing, and did not go into their shelters.

I was sitting up on the settee building a cardboard cutout airplane model, and we

could hear the bombers high overhead, the anti aircraft guns were making their usual

noisy cracks and bangs when suddenly there was a terrific whooshing

sound like an express train coming through the side of the house.

I bolted off the settee and joined my sisters under the side-board and then looked to see

where my mother was, she was still sitting in the armchair and was quite amused and

was quietly laughing at my antics, I think I had just invented coloured under pants!

It turned out that the local park just up the road had gotten a battery of anti aircraft rockets

installed, and there was eighty of these rocket launchers and they produced quite a

racket when they were all fired off together. After this I used to got outside when the

sirens went off to watch the rockets being fired, it was quite a firework display.

It was quite spectacular to see the rockets exploding as they were fused to go off

at different heights to bracket any enemy planes they managed to get near.

In order to keep the rockets on a straight path they had a length of wire trailing behind,

sometimes the rocket would not explode correctly and they would return to earth causing quite

a lot of damage. One night an unexploded rocket came down just outside a public house

and exploded just as the clientele were leaving it, causing several deaths and a few injuries.

The rockets were manned (womanned?) by ATS girls and during the day we would go along

to the park and watch them practice at reloading the launchers. These consisted of lengths of

half piping and a firing mechanism that was connected to a central control.

Radar was used to track the enemy aircraft, and they were extremely accurate and

managed to bring down a number of bombers, though not while I was watching.

 


 

Someone mentioned the sights sounds, and smell of the shoe repair shops and the subject

brought to mind a very unusual experience I had with a blind cobbler while I was an

evacuee in Suffolk.

The following is an extract from a book I am trying to write………………

The Village Cobbler

Most of the boots and shoes requiring repair were taken to Mr. Walter Read a local cobbler.

Mr. Read had been blinded in the first world war and had been invalided out of the army in 1917.

He attended St. Dunston's hospital for the blind and was taught the trade of leather work,

this included making leather goods as well as boot and shoe repairs.

My foster dad Mr. Greenard took me with him once when he was taking some boots for repair,

this I suspect was the show me where to go, forever after this I was given the job of

delivery and collection for boot and shoe repairs.

Mr. Read had a small workshop at the side of his house in the village of Bedfield in Suffolk,

this being about six miles from where I lived with Mr. Greenard.

On the occasions that I took items for repair I collected boots and shoes for several

neighbors too.

This would fill a basket that I used to fix on the handlebars of my bike.

I used to be fascinated watching Mr. Read stitching soles and nailing heels onto the footwear;

he also used to fix the hobnails onto the soles and heels of the farm work boots.

He also used to repair harness and saddles for the local farmers.

I always enjoyed these excursions to his workshop and was never in a hurry to get

away. One of the jobs I used to do for him was to sweep the floor with a large magnet to

pickup dropped nails, and there used to be plenty. I then used to sort them out into there

appropriate boxes and trays.

Whenever I experience the smell of leather, it brings to mind the wonderful character

of Walter Read.

I cannot remember the last time I saw him but I searched the internet for information

regarding him and I found out that he was something of a celebrity in both

Suffolk and south Norfolk.

He together with a group of local musicians used to travel to hotels and public houses

around the districts singing and dancing folk songs and country jigs.

I knew that he played a squeeze box but that was all.

Cheers everybody

Ken

 


 

I got to thinking (rare occasion for me according to the wife!) about one

particular Christmas party in 1944.

Quite close to where we were living in Worlingworth -Suffolk was an

American Air base (Horam- home to the 95th Bomb Group)

Very often they would throw parties for the kids in the area and dances

for the grown-ups.

 

Christmas in 1944 another party was thrown for the kids and the GI's

organized transport to collect about two thousand children from all the

neighboring villages.

A lorry came to our village and picked up about forty or more kids.  

More kids were arriving in  lorries and on jeeps

We arrived at the base and were taken to a large hangar that was normally

used for repairing and maintaining the bombers.

 

Heavily decorated long tables were laid out with all kinds of food and

containers of drink,  we were all told to be seated at the tables.

GI's came around and served us all with plates of turkey, ham, vegetables

and "peanut butter."   I had never before tasted this "peanut Butter " and it

was put onto the plate like a big spoon of mashed potato.

I was horrified at what happened next, before I could say anything the GI

place a large spoonful of jam on my turkey.

"I don't want jam on my meat" I said, 

"That's not jam son" he said, "it's cranberry sauce." 

It was the first attempt at Americanizing Ken; I was not amused.

  (I still do not have cranberry sauce on  my turkey, but I do put apple

sauce on my pork!

But, the rest of the party was amazing, how they managed to get all

that Ice cream made for the day I'll never know, for several thousand

gallons of the stuff must have been consumed.   I cannot remember

much about the rest of the meal except the Ice cream, but I do remember

the Christmas present given to me by the GI Father Xmas, it was

a harmonica.  

"Wow" I  said, "a mouth organ."  

" That's not a mouth organ son" he said " that is a harmonica,

and if you spend a lot of time practicing with it you will become a good player.

I did practice a lot with it, and I managed to knock out a few tunes

but I never became a Larry Adler.

Years later I bought myself a number of harmonica's and even joined

in a harmonica band for a short while.

 

I will always remember that one Christmas.

 


 

Every boy carried a catapult; it was as much a part of his equipment as

was his penknife.

I had made my catapult by sawing a piece of thick plywood in the shape of a

'Y' and tying thick rubber elastic to each yoke of the 'Y'.

I had this catapult for about two years and Mr. Greenard had promised to

teach me how to make a really good one.

On my thirteenth birthday he produced the catapult he had promised -

what a beauty!

the time that he first promised to make me a catapult he had

located a piece of blackthorn shrub growing along the edge

of the road. In his shrub was a fork growing on one of the stems.

He tied up the uprights of the 'y' to form a 'u' and then left this to grow.

After two years the catapult was then the right shape, and he made me

the grandest catapult you ever saw.

The elastic was from 1/4" square rubber, where he got this I do not know

Because you could not buy rubber products owing to the war shortages.

But, I had the most effective catapult in the whole area.

I was the envy of all the other boys.

I eventually became quite adept at hitting a target and could hit a

penny coin almost every time from about twenty paces.

Birds and rabbits suffered terribly from my catapult.

I made ammunition from clay. I mixed clay up with horsehair cut into

small pieces. Then rolled these into small balls about the size of a

marble and they were either baked or placed out in the sun to harden.

With the horsehair the clay balls would not break up and

providing I did not lose them I could use them again.

On at least two occasions I had the catapult confiscated by the

headmaster at school, but it was always returned at the end of the week.

We were not allowed to take them to school.

I also had an occasion when it was stolen.

It was hard for anyone to keep my catapult hidden, and I quickly

found the boy who had stolen it.

He finished up with a swollen eye and a split lip,

and I finished up with my catapult back.

 


 

My mother had an air raid shelter in her back garden in

The Crescent in Dagenham.  She never used it as it was

full of water.

One night a land mine fell onto the back fence and exploded

taking off the roof and blowing out all the doors and windows.

One family only used their shelter, and they were killed outright. 

They live about four houses further up the street.

 


 

Just the other day I saw a report that a person was awarded $A 2.4m

for being strapped at school thereby causing undue trauma.

It made me think back to the days at school, which were mostly as

an evacuee anyway and the caning sometimes meted out to us

(boys that is, the girls were not caned at our school).

I remembered an incident that caused a lot of laughter by the

students but not by the Headmaster.

One of the boys had gotten himself into trouble that resulted in

him receiving the cane from the Headmaster, I cannot recall

the misdemeanor that brought this about.

The headmaster kept his canes (which were cane walking sticks)

in a tube in a large cupboard in the main hall.

The student in question had to bend over a chair in front of

the morning assembly of the school children.

The boy was called out and made to bend over the chair, and

the headmaster went to the cupboard to get the cane.

Throwing open the door to the cupboard. the headmaster

selected a cane from the tube, but when he turned around to the

victim he saw in his hand just the curved part of the cane. Unbeknown

to him or to the rest of us, someone had cut the straight part of the

cane off and replaced the handle in the top of the tube.

He threw down the piece of cane and selected another, same

result and another and another, all the canes had been cut off short.

Everybody burst out laughing which threw the headmaster

into a rage, he screamed out "SILENCE" which had an

immediate effect and silenced everybody.

The Headmaster demanded that the culprit owned up to the

deed, and seeing that the canes had been cut with a penknife

he made us all turn our pockets out thinking he would find the

perpetrator. Since nearly every boy carried a penknife, eventually

we were allowed to go to our classes, and the Headmaster

never did find out who had cut his canes.   Never did we

find out either, whoever it was kept a great secret.

Three weeks later the Headmaster had replaced his canes,

and the boy was called out to receive the six strokes that

he had been due.

Over the years, I suppose I received my share of

the cane, we always knew what the consequences were

if we had  done wrong and we accepted our punishment

without complaint.  It was considered sissy-ish to cry or

complain anyway.

I reckon that my share of punishment would be worth about

$A15m today,  If I could get someone to take up my case.

 


 

On V.E. day I was working in Upton Park on the bomb damage.

I had gotten a job as an apprentice to a plumber.

I was working on the roof of a shop in Green Street and opposite

was a radio shop. Outside they had put a radio and I heard the

broadcast that the war was over (as I write this the hair is creeping up

the back of my neck, it still has an effect on me when I think

of it). I ran downstairs and let the others know.

All work finished, I think t was mid morning and we all went to the

railway station to get home.

There were thousands all doing the same thing, it was all

exciting stuff, everybody kissing each other, anyone in uniform

was mobbed.One thing I could not understand is where all the bottles

of whiskey came from, I think about every fourth gent had a bottle

and was sharing it around. The journey home to Dagenham that normally

would have taken 40 minutes or so took me three hours that day.

tWhen I got home all of the neighbors had congregated out in

the street and had lit a huge bonfire and I remember we were up all

night. It was certainly a night to remember. I don't remember V.J. Day

so much except that we went to London and were outside

Buckingham Palace to see the Royal Family come out on the balcony.

To see Piccadilly Circus all lit up was certainly a sight to see.

 

Regards Ken

 


 

At the school I went to when I was evacuated in Norfolk we had a

nature lesson.

The teacher told us about the animals and birds that we could observe

in the countryside.

  She had a number of birds eggs in a display case and told us the

names of the birds and the colours and patterns on the eggs.

The teacher told us to keep our eyes open when in the countryside for any

animals and birds and when we went to school on Monday morning

she would question us about what we had observed.

On the weekend I was walking in the garden at the back of the house

when I spotted a fawn coloured egg with brown spots on  floating in the

 pond, I carefully scooped up the egg, took it home and placed it into a

paper bag to take to school on Monday.  

I was really pleased with myself.

 

On the Monday morning the school bus pulled up, and we all got on,

I sat in my seat and carefully nursed my egg.

As the bus arrived at the school, I got up ready to get off the bus.

The bus stopped with a jerk, and I stumbled against the back of the

seat in front to me, I put out my hand (the one with the egg in the bag)

 to save myself and crushed the egg against the seat in front.

The egg burst, the smell was awful because the egg was rotten, the boy sitting

in the seat was awfully sick and threw up over the seat in front of him and t

he yellow/brown yoke flowed down the back of the seat where he had been

sitting. The smell in the bus was absolutely dreadful, and all the kids on

the bus rushed to get off, to some of them this was a huge joke and they

were jeering and laughing. We all assembled in the main hall of the school

for the register to be called out and when that was done the headmaster

called my name out. I was given a bucket of water and disinfectant and

made to clean the bus up and apologize to the bus driver.

I had learnt a very important lesson.................

 

BAD EGGS FLOAT, AND GOOD EGGS SINK!

 


Sir Baboon Mcgoon

 

One late Sunday afternoon in October 1943 several other children and

myself were playing outside when a B17 flying fortress with its flaps

extended (which meant it was landing) and the wheels still up.

The engines were throttled right back, and it crash-landed just one and a

half miles away in the village of Tannington.

We knew that something was drastically wrong because Horam airfield

was just 2 12 miles away in the opposite direction.

We heard the sound of the plane crashing, there was no sound of

anything breaking up, just the sound of the plane grating along the

ground.  This was not surprising as it turned out because the bomber

landed in a field of sugar beet. The ground was very soft and wet.

We all grabbed our bikes and hightailed it to the crash site.

When we arrived the crew were standing at the gateway of a field,

The farmer who owned the land had arrived,  he was a member

of the local home guard and was standing with them.

He stopped us from getting too close so we could not talk to the crew.

The bomber had landed in a sugar beet field and had slid for quite

a distance on its under fuselage. The chin turret had been crushed into

the nose of the aircraft, and all the propellers were bent back.

More people from the home guard arrived, and later a lorry arrived from

the American airbase at Horham, the  nearby airfield of the 95th bomb

group,  and the air crew left.

Two American military police were left on guard.

Nearly all American planes had pictures, or cartoons painted on the nose;

this was known as 'nose art''.

The B17 that crashed at Tannington was no exception and painted on the

two sides of the nose was a cartoon and inscription "Sir Baboon

Mcgoon" this was a character based on the cartoon strip 'lil'abner'

from an American newspaper.

At that time I was away from school with a mysterious rash, and the

doctor had guaranteed me from school until the rash had cleared up.

I went over to the crash site, but I was not allowed near the plane.

Next day two large lorries arrived with caravans in tow, these were a

mobile workshop and a mobile kitchen and rest room.

After observing them for about half an hour I was called over to the

plane. I was really excited at this and they introduced themselves to

me and explained that they were going to attempt to repair the bomber

and that it would take off from the field, and it would return to the airfield

where it was stationed.

This happened to be bassingbourne, near Cambridge home of the 91st

bomb group.

The next day I went over to the field early and the mechanics were

laying out some large rubber bags around the wings.

The following day I had to attend the doctors and was kept from visiting

the site. But on the third day I again went to the site, and the Fortress

was standing up on its wheels and there was scaffolding around the engines.

The rubber bags I had seen two days before were used to jack up the

aircraft, and the wheels had been lowered to their normal position.

The repair crew were staying in a cottage in Framlingham and used to

arrive at the crash site very early each morning.

I was asked if I could procure some eggs and vegetables for them

for their meals. This I did, I supplied eggs (for which I had not asked

permission and dug up potatoes and carrots from the garden at a

Mr. Blake's farm. I also caught a few rabbits, which were put into a stew.

I accompanied the cook who had a carbine and showed him where to

shoot rabbits.

We lay in a depression in the meadow and waited for the rabbits to come out.

After a little while a large buck came into view, the cook took aim and fired.

The bullet struck the rabbit's  midriff, and the rabbit disintegrated, there

was little left of the rabbit and the cook decided that this was not the

way to catch dinner.

I taught the cook how to set rabbit snares, and we managed to catch a

number of rabbits that way.

I was given small tasks around the damaged bomber such as drilling

out rivets from torn aluminium panels ready for replacement.

I was also given the job of cutting off the tops and bottoms of empty

canned meat tins and empty dried egg tins. These were flattened out and

riveted together to make temporary panels to patch the holes in the

wings, nose and belly of the plane.

I used to go and sit in the pilots cockpit and in my imagination I was the

pilot, I flew several missions to Berlin all completely successful.

I continued visiting the site for the next two weeks during which time new

engines and propellers had been installed, and the torn parts of the fuselage

had been patched over with sheets of tin made up from the tinned meat

and dried egg cans.

With the job nearly finished my rash had gone and I had to go back to

school.

I was not to see the fortress take off, only the sound of the engines

being run up and then their full revs as it took off.

It did not even come over the school, but flew directly in the opposite

direction.

We were playing in then playground, and we heard Sir Baboon Mcgoon

take off and disappear into the distance as it flew back to Bassingbourn.

Since doing some research work recently on the history of the 91st bomb

group I have found out that 'Sir Baboon' was fully repaired and once again

was flying missions though not with the same crew.

It was shot down, and crash landed in Holland on the 29th march 1944, the

ten crew members were all taken prisoner.

The original crew of Sir Baboon Mcgoon went on to fly several more

missions before they too were shot down over Germany.

The above is an excerpt taken from a book I am writing (attempting) and

edited to shorten it..

Best regards to the group

 

Ken

 


 
I well remember those Prefabs, in 1957 my wife and I were

given the keys to one in Brentwood, Essex.

We lived in one until 1963 when I was transferred by the company

I was working for to Rugby and we were given  a brand new rented

house from the company.
 
There were about 30 of these prefabs on the estate and we were quite

a friendly community, I was not aware of any snobbery amongst us.

Our prefab was built in 1946 or 47 and was very badly looked after

by the previous occupants and I had quite a lot of work to do to

customise it to our satisfaction.

But we did get it looking nice inside.

A novelty of those houses was that they had a refrigerator built in,

this was run on gas (could never understand how we got the cold

out of the heat).

 We also had a proper bathroom, previous to this we had lived with my

wife's parents and because there were all girls in the house I had to use

the public baths at the Brentwood swimming pool and I had to go out

on Friday nights while all the girls took their weekly bath in the tin tub.


 I don't know how long the prefabs were were used in Brentwood but I do

know that there is now a Bye-Pass where the estate was and most of the

people were moved into flats in Ingatestone or there abouts.


 Our prefab had been built in Canada and was supplied in kit form by the

government and assembled on site by building  workers.

As to the cost I don't know but I think they were about £300 each

(this is probably way out!)

I have attached a photo of our prefab (the man in the photo is my Brother-in-law

with my wife Margaret.
 
All the best to everyone
 
Ken
 



Revised 5/22/2001