JOHN.
I have left John until last not because he was the only son, but also because he was my father. He was born on December 4th 1904 at 27 Adelaide Street, Fenton, and was known in the family as Jack. He attended Grafton Road School at Longton until, at the age of thirteen, he left school and went to work down the coal mines. However, before he left school, his spare time was spent working as a fruit seller on the streets of Longton with a horse that was usually stabled in the coal-house, and a cart hired from a local haulier. One particular tale my father told me was about the coal-house horse. One Saturday he loaded the cart up with fruit
from the market and drove the rig up the main road out of Longton to get to his selling area. Just before he arrived at Normacot, the horse took fright, bolted, and the fruit and veg were dispersed along the entire length of the main highway before dad caught the crazy beast. My old dad was afraid of nothing, but it was a long time before he plucked up courage to face his mam that day. She chased him up Longton with a broomstick. Just as an aside, the coal-house horse eventually killed itself when it went mad and jumped over the edge of a gravel pit at Rough Close - breaking its neck. Dad was not too sorry to see it go.
After a couple of years down the coal mines, Jack became an apprentice bricklayer and served his time in this trade. In 1927, and aged 23, he joined The North Staffordshire Regiment and was soon serving in India. He spent seven years there without any home leave.
Many are the tales he would tell of his days in the old colony, tales of horses and dogs and snakes and one particular one which I shall re-tell here.
Whilst asleep at night under canvas in the foothills of Northern India, a ferocious mountain dweller slit the tent from top to bottom with his knife and entered the tent. The noise of the canvas being cut stirred Jack from his slumbers and he opened his eyes to find the intruder, naked and greased, rummaging through the contents of the tent. Jack had to lie absolutely still or the thief would have slit his throat before he could cry out. After loading himself up with the things he wanted, the mountain man left the same way he had come and melted away into the night. Needless to say, the memory of this event stayed with dad all his life. Dad always said that his days in India were the best days of his life.
In 1933, he received word that his mother was seriously ill and he set sail for home. Unfortunately, he arrived too late and his mother was buried three weeks before his boat docked at Liverpool. It was the greatest regret of his life that he was not there with her at the time.
In 1934, he met and married Eva Gilman of Sandyford, Stoke-on-Trent. They had four children. John, Barbara, myself and David.
However, after the birth of Barbara, he was called up as a reservist and sent to France with the British Expeditionary Force. Unfortunately, his regiment was overrun by the Nazis and they retreated to Dunkirk. Skilled as a machine gunner, and with his own regiment scattered along the coast, he was seconded to the Black Watch Regiment and had to fight a rearguard action to enable the bulk of the B.E.F. to escape . Many were killed and wounded during those last few days but, eventually, Dad took his place amongst the lines of soldiers waiting in the cold waters of the Channel and managed to escape to England and safety.
After some time resting, he was sent to North Africa and then to Burma.
When the war was over he returned to England and was immediately allowed home to look after my brother John and I who were living with our Grandmother Gilman at Broadfield Road, Sandyford. She was caring for us because our Mother had absconded with a man she had taken in as a lodger.
Dad tried his best to take care of us, but it was too much for him and he arranged for us all to lodge with his sister, our Aunt Sally, at Anson Road, Meir. Those were wonderful times but eventually he met and Married Elizabeth Goodby, (nee Hughes), a divorcee. We all moved to her home and it was there we stayed until Dad died in my arms on 31st of October 1968, aged 63 years. He endured a terrible few months of suffering from the cancer which eventually took his life. He was cremated at Carmountside Crematoriam on 5th November.
His wife, our stepmother, died of a heart attack at Cornelious Street, Meir, in 1992 aged 87.