My father was joined the RAF the year I was born. My mother was the sort of person who could not sit down and do nothing, so they brought a pub (the Wensleydale Heifer at West Witton), to give her something to do.
The birth was expected at about 11 pm, the bar was kept open in order to celebrate. I was eventually born at 2 am. The midwife came down and said “It’s a boy”, the inebriated occupants of the bar asked, “What is?”. Everyone in the bar everyone had forgotten about me and my mother.
We kept the pub until my father was stationed at RAF Hullavington, in Wiltshire.

Memories comprised of, (some according to my sister)

Being sick after eating chewing gum, thrown from a jeep by GI’s. My sister had told me not to swallow it, but I knew better of course. I was about six at the time.

Tanks damaging the front entrance doorstep.

In the garage, sitting in my father’s bright red open Lagonda with chromed exhaust coming from the bonnet. I never knew what happened to that car.

Being laughed at in Sunday school for asking why Jesus was called Harold, if his name was Jesus. I never went back.

Seeing a car in Leyburn with a gas bag (used as fuel) on its roof.

A very long walk to visit ruined castle (Bolton Castle), “Why did we come? It’s in bits!”.

Having my first psychic experience. It was on a Christmas eve, I woke up and saw a light in the bedroom’s chimney. A pair of red trousers and black boots were visible hanging from the chimney. I immediately went back to sleep, fearing that if I was seen peeping, I would not have my stocking filled. Looking back on it now, I am sure my sister was responsible.