West London in the 1930's

I began life in May Street in West Kensington, London. The
house
was midway down the street, at one end of a block of terraced
houses. There was a passageway down the side of our house. The
back garden could be reached by a wooden door adjoining the
house, where it faced the street. This wooden door was shut by
means of a latch, but had no lock. There was a small front
garden, in which there grew chrysanthemums and Michaelmas
daisies.

Wartime and many subsequent moves means that I have preserved
very few family documents. There is however one faded
sepia-coloured photograph of a woman with a baby and a dog
standing in a small garden near a wooden kitchen chair. The year
was 1928 and I was the baby. The dog was called Roma or Roamer.
It died before I had any recollections about life. I remember
being told many times that I was brought up on "Cow and Gate"
milk. Some of my earliest memories are about medicines. My
chest was regularly rubbed with camphorated oil. I can recall the
smell, which I enjoyed. But I did not relish the taste of "Syrup
of Figs". A weekly dose of this aperient was considered
necessary by my mother until the age of about eleven.

Another preserved photo also shows the dog Roma in the corner of
the small, walled back garden of the house. with my paternal
grandmother. I remember her as an old lady, living in the
downstairs front room for a time. She liked to wear shamrock on
St. Patrick's Day as she was an Irish Catholic. When I knew her
she lived on the Lloyd George Pension of ten shillings per week.
Out of this she bought an orange occasionally for me, her only
grand-daughter. I believed she liked an occasional tot of gin,
but as far as I know, never smoked, unlike my father, who smoked
mainly Players Weights, small cigarettes.
.
Another sepia photo shows me in a white party frock, obviously
my best clothes, standing in front of a dining room chair. My
aunt May told me it was taken when I was four years of age.
Possibly by my grandfather. I do not remember him very well, but
was told that he played the banjo. I have also got a painting
by him, of a sweetshop, in Sheepcote Road, London, quite far from
where we lived. He worked in the building trade, and probably
knew all parts of London. I was told that he had "brittle legs"
and during his life , broke a leg several times; when off work,
owing to such an accident, he painted in water-colours, in order
to occupy his time. He worked as foreman for an old -established
firm, and presumably, as foreman, his job was safe.
In time my father was apprenticed to the same trade. In time he
also became foreman, and then changed jobs quite frequently,
usually retaining a foreman's position. My father did not inherit
grandfather's brittle legs, fortunately; as during the inter-war
years, a time of economic depression, his job would certainly not
have been safe. As it was, during the ninety-thirties, my mother
was often deeply worried, when he was "off work". Sometimes, he
had given up his job of his own accord, and at these times, my
mother became particularly angry with him. I did not know why
he was in and out of work so often, apart from the fact that
interior decorating, papering and painting, in which my father
specialised, was an erratic job. When one house was finished,
there was never any certainty of a new start.

My father was ambitious, and very interested in engineering, to
which he had been introduced, while attached to the big guns such
as "Big Bertha" in the first world war. He would have preferred
this trade to the building trade. But during the
ninety-thirties, it was impossible for a working man to change
trades. Among his papers, I found a sheet of headed notepaper,
giving his name and address, John Martin, 59 May Street, West
Kensington, London, W.14 and the designation "Builder and
Decorator"; so presumably, he may have tried to set up in
business on his own account, but nothing ever materialised from
this. However, by 1938, the great depression was coming to a
close. The upper classes, certainly, were continuing to have
extensive interior decorations. At this time, my father got a job
with "Harrod's" , and our family situation financially improved.
He later told me that he was continuously employed decorating the
"gentry's" houses , including for example, the author , Rebecca
West. His best friend was Ted Gardiner, who drank a lot . My
mother did not like him for that reason. My baptismal
certificate shows Ted Gardiner as Godfather, so he was a
Catholic, like so many in the building trade in those days. Many
were Irish or descended from a previous wave of Irish immigrants.

One of my passions was collecting cigarette cards. By 1939 when
I was eleven I had a box of about 2000