Christopher John Alfred Dixon 1949 -
This is going to be a long storey - I've lived an amazing life in some interesting places, so for this page I have a table of contents:
Introduction
1949 - 1952 birth, club feet and Jeremy
1953 - 1954 Hamburg and Munchen Gladbach, Germany
1963 - 1965 Endsleigh School, Colchester, Essex
1965 - 1867 Pierrepoint School, Frensham, Farnham, Surrey
1968 - 1971 Limassol and Episkopi, Cyprus
1971 volunteer on kibbutz Kfar Hachoresh, Israel
1971 - 1973 finding my independence in London
1973 - 1976 becoming a teacher at St Osyth's College, Clacton-on-Sea,. Essex
1977 Marriage to my love
1977 - 1978 Teaching at Canvey Island
1978 - 1983 Lived at Dauntsey's School, West Lavington, Wiltshire
1983 Emigration to Perth, Western Australia
1984 -1986 Tech studies teacher Numbulwar school, Arnhem Land, Northern Territory
1986 - 1990 Adult Educator Numbulwar, NT
1988 James and Rachel born in Darwin Hospital
1990 -1993 Tafe teacher Katherine, NT
1993 - 2019 NTU/CDU lecturer Katherine and Darwin NT
2007 - 2023 Started DRV4LYF Driving School
1995 - 2026 Voluntary work
2019 Head hunted by International Teacher Training Academy - Lead Trainer Assessor
2024 Around Australia in a Toyota HiAce van, still travelling
2027 New home to be built in Apple Tree Creek, Queensland
1949 Birth, club feet and Jeremy
I know you were expecting to see me but here is Mum and dad aka John Dixon and Marian Evans Sheffield 1949. Donated by Marian Dixon
I have loved writing about everyone else, but now I have to give my life story. It would have been easier if I had kept a diary, because now at almost 77, I wonder just how much I will be able to recall. And most of my rellies my age are no longer here to help. Lucky I asked a lot of questions before they passed... but never enough!
I am the son of Alfred Patrick John Dixon and Marian Edna Evans and I am also the author, compiler, editor and general dogsbody of these stories.
I was nearly bom at Sea View cottage, Layer Breton, near Colchester in Essex, but the taxi managed to get me to the nursing home in Feering in time for me to be born there on 4 Nov 1949. The night before I was born, my aunt Phyl (who at the time lived next door in the other half of the cottage), had a very vivid dream that Marian would have a son but that something would be wrong with his feet. The next morning she recounted this dream to her mum Gertrude, who told her not to worry, everything would be alright.
When Gertrude got back to SeaView after my birth, she looked pale and drawn. Phyllis asked her what had happened and she explained that Marian had had a boy, but there was something wrong with his feet. At the time, when I had been presented to my mother after her exhausting ordeal, no-one had brought up the subject and they had kept my feet covered up. The "wrong thing" was double club feet (double talipes) - in those days, it was considered a serious fault as there was no known treatment. My mum was very small – at 4 feet 11 inches. She was also smoking. Mum was living in the family home that my great grandfather (Alfred Archer Dixon) had built. It was a small semi-detached cottage and at that time housed my mum, my grandmother Gertrude Dixon and Dad when he was home. In the other half of the house lived my aunt Phyllis who was married to Derek Burns and their two children - Tony and Geoffrey.
My condition immediately complicated my parent’s lives. And mine and certainly influenced my childhood.
To get an idea of what I was affected with I turn to Google:
Daily Life and Social Realities
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Delayed Mobility: Learning to walk was severely delayed by heavy casts and metal braces. I had braces to my knee every day, and night braces to my thighs
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Social Isolation: Casts and braces made it impossible to play standard childhood games. I wasn't allowed to do sports or PE at school. However, I can't recall suffering much social isolation, though I never mixed with the sporty crowd
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Specialized Footwear: Children could not wear normal shoes, requiring expensive custom orthopaedic footwear. Throughout my early childhood I had to wear handmade boots with built-in leg irons but later I could wash Clarks boots. To this day I can't wear shoes and still wear boots.
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Stigma: Congenital physical differences in 1949 were often met with pity or social discomfort. I recall nothing like this.
Children with club feet at this time, were always referred to specialist children's hospitals and the only one in southern England at that time was Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. Living in Layer Breton meant only one or two buses a day and so, within 6 weeks of my birth, mum and dad had to get there and back. An exhausting journey they told me ... only 4 years after the end of WW2. Everything was rationed. So, bus to Colchester train station, walk to the railway station; steam train to Liverpool Street Station. I imagine they got a taxi to the hospital, but I don't know. After the treatment they had to take me back home again.
Because I had double club feet, I was referred to their specialist doctor - Denis Browne. Dr Browne was a genius and later inline became the Queen's doctor and was knighted. There is an excellent write up of him in Wikipedia. The treatment for double talipes at that time was treated primarily using conservative manipulation, serial plaster casting and mechanical splinting. I can imagine it was excruciatingly painful cos mum told me I shrieked - for a long time. I must have put my parents through hell. I won't explain the long process of trying to correct the deformed feet but at home, I had to wear leg braces on my boots in the daytime and callipers to my thighs at night. Every night at bedtime, mum massaged and made me stretch my ankles. She was most insistent!
The upshot of all this is the right ankle came good, but the left did not. Thus, up until a major operation at the age of 22, I still had to wear callipers in the day and at night.
The upshot of all this is the right ankle came good, but the left did not. Thus, up until a major operation at the age of 11, I still had to wear callipers in the day and at night.
I know mum was devastated and felt guilty all her life. And she never took a picture of me wearing the splints. To make things harder, my dad wasn't at home but was far away undergoing Royal Air Force officer training. He had been demobbed after the war but was unable to find a good job. He worked at Flatford Mill (made famous in the Turner painting), lifting and carrying flour sacks, then at a garage selling non-existent cars. (the car manufacturing industry was still starting up after the war years.
In 1949 he applied to re-enter the RAF as an officer and was accepted. He really wanted to be home to support my mum but was unable to. Luckily, my grandmother Gertrude and her daughter my aunt Phyl did a lot of the heavy lifting and gave mum lots of support.
So every six weeks, wherever we lived in England, I was taken to London to see Denis Browne
In 1950 we lived in Layer Breton and dad finished his officer training course and was then sent to an equipment officer's course in RAF Bircham-Newton. He also completed courses in Suffolk and ethics. finding time to travel cross country to visit mom and i.
In the spring of 1952, it was time for another move, this time dad was posted to 52 MU (Maintenance Unit) RAF Pulham (explosive depot) where dad took over the airfield storage at Bungay. We stayed for a short time in a grotty bungalow opposite the RAF station. Then dad was posted to Hunstanton on the coast. Dad managed to rent a third floor flat in a terrace on the sea front at Hunstanton and our small family at last managed to adopt a more normal mode of family life for a brief period. This lasted 3 months before dad was posted to RAF Compton Bassett in Wiltshire as transport officer. There was no accommodation to be had, so mum and I returned to layer Breton for a couple of months. Dad eventually found the rector of Bromham who was willing to rent out the top floor flat in the rectory. Bromham is miles from anywhere. A month after we moved in, the rector died and we were homeless again. In desperation mum and I rented a room at the Kings Arms public house in Melksham, Wiltshire. Dad had to stay at the officers mess. Four months later, dad found a pleasant ground floor flat facing the green in Calne and we were all reunited. 4 homes in a year
We still managed to find the time and money to get back to Essex to see the rest of the family. Dad had grown up in the seaside resort of Clacton-on-Sea and had lots of friends and family, so in 1951 we enjoyed the holiday there.
And here I am, Christopher Dixon Layer Breton 1949
Donated by Chris Dixon
Mum (Marian), me (Chris) and Nanna (Gertrude) at Clacton 1950. Donated by Marian Dixon
Dad (John), me (Chris) and mum (Marian) at Clacton 1950. Donated by Marian Dixon
On 17 June 1952 in Hunstanton, mum gave birth to my brother Jeremy. I could never get my tongue around Jeremy, so to me he was always Jedge spelt Jegs
1953 - 1954 Hamburg and Munchen Gladbach, Germany
Later that year, dad was posted to 86 MU in Hamburg. He went first to organise our accommodation and we joined him and lived in a lovely, requisitioned house in Blancanese. We were there for almost 2 years and I have a vague recollection of a school with black and white tiles smelling of cabbage (the school and not the floor). Dad was responsible for the movement of all RAF freight in and out of Hamburg docks. He taught us to swim in the harbour.
I still had to make regular trips back across the North Sea to London for treatment for my feet. We travelled by ship and later by plane and I can recall one trip that was extremely rough. Dad explained this:
'I well remember arranging a trip on one of the tramps teams to take Chris to the hospital and was more than glad after the roughest of passengers to disembark at Antwerp on the return journey and catch a train to Hamburg. We also managed a trip by Sabina airlines which was a lot more pleasant way of travelling."
Chris. Jegs and our Nanny Vera. We lived in a comfortable requisitioned house. Donated by Marian Dixon
Dad taught us to swim in Hamburg harbour. Chris and Jegs 1955. Donated by Marian Dixon
1955 - 1957 Antwerp, Belgium
In June 1955 dad rejoined his unit at Antwerp and mum had to make her way by train from Hamburg to Antwerp. Remember this was less than 10 years after the end of WW2. A quote from trains Reunited tells us that “In 1955, traveling by train from Antwerp to Hamburg required a multi-leg international journey via the network of the National Railway Company of Belgium and the German Federal Railway, typically routing through the Netherlands and the Ruhr area or Osnabrück, taking roughly 8 to 10 hours with at least one or two transfers at major border junctions.” Most Germans did not speak English and mum only had enough German for shopping. It was a traumatic time for her. It didn’t help that at one station, she managed to board the wrong train. During one of the trips our mum made us promise we would not say anything. Ha! After just half an hour, Jegs piped up "Mummy I want to to the toilet." This brought many irate stares from the other (German) passengers. However, we eventually arrived in Antwerp. Dad was frantic with worry as we were 8 hours late and it was the middle of the night …. In winter.
Chris and Jegs on the balcony of our apartment in Antwerp. Donated by Marian Dixon
We settled in a penthouse on the Avenue de France for a very pleasant couple of years. By this time he was the Shipping Officer and among other duties he made regular trips to Zeebrugge to supervise the loading and unloading of explosive ships and trains. We were seven floors up. There was a great view of the city and I still remember looking down at the cars on one of my favourites from that time is the Citroen light 15. I went to a British Army school and we travelled there and back by bus. Trips back to England for my foot treatment were extended to six months. Dad always took me by ferry
Mum took Jegs and I on a train from Germany to Belgium. At this time, just 10 years after the end of the Second World War, there was not a lot of love lost between the Germans and British.
I went to an Army school and travelled there by bus, but Jegs was too young and he was enrolled in a school run by nuns. Mum had to walk him there and back again. He had to wear white gloves and he caused our mum no end of problems by insisting of running his gloved hands along the railings, ending up at school with filthy gloves. The nuns were not very loving and I expect this is where his hatred of religion started.
Jegs had an inquiring mind. I woke up one morning and found he had managed to smear black and brown boot polish on every surface of our bedroom. Mum was livid. Another morning found him trying to stick pencils into the 240 volt sockets in the wall. One memorable morning, Jegs climbed onto the concrete parapet and shouted "look at me Mum!" There was no safety barrier and the penthouse was 7 floors above street level. I can also remember him throwing some of my toys over the parapet to the street below. Luckily they were soft toys.
1957 - 1958 Padgate; Rugby
In 1957 dad was posted back to England to RAF Wellesbourne Montford and we moved to a married quarter at Padgate Lancashire. Jeremy and I were exploring one day. and we found an old caravan packed with heavy lead paints and turpentine. Of course, we opened all the cans we could and when we got back home, covered in paint, mum was very angry and we both got a sound spanking. Mum was horrified at her treatment of us and we were never spanked again. Then again, I've always been much more careful when dealing with paint. We were there for about 3 months, before a married quarter became available at Church Lawford near rugby. I went to Rugby Primary School for about a year. We had a lot of fun at Church Lawford. The officers married quarters section was small, consisting of about 10 houses. Jeremy and I and perhaps a couple of other kids spent all day out in the fields exploring, The RAF base had been large during WW2 and there were a lot of abandoned barracks and a rifle range where we collected shells and explosives of all sorts, but dad made sure that they were safe when we got home. We went to school by bus, one day Jegs remembered that he'd forgotten something really important so he dashed off the bus , didn't look to see what was coming and was hit by an oncoming car. Luckily it wasn't too serious, but he was in hospital for a week in Rugby and we saw fireworks night from the hospital lawn.,
Food - Chris knows it's a serious business
Donated by Marian Dixon
Jegs and Chris 1955 Donated by Marian Dixon
1958 - 1960 Beirut, Lebanon
On a sudden impulse my dad volunteered for a secondment of the Lebanese Air Force and much to his surprise was accepted and he flew out of Beirut in December 1958 the British government gave a squadron of 6 hawk hunter F mark 6 fighters to Lebanon. This was funded by the US government. The planes and the aircraft equipment came from RAF maintenance unit stocks. Dad's job was to teach the Lebanese Air Force staff to set up the spares and maintenance processes.
As with most postings, dad went on ahead and we had to follow. Once he confirmed that he had found accommodation, we took a train to London, the underground to some accommodation the RAF had organised and then to Heathrow for the flight to Beirut. It was a good trip with BOAC until we hit turbulence and the plane must have dropped a 1000 feet. We were all very sick, and when dad met us at the airport, we smelled horrible. But he was happy to see and when we got to the apartment in town, he gave us presents of a radio controlled toy (well it had a wire controlling it). Jegs got a helicopter and I got a car.
Lebanon was absolutely fantastic for Jegs and I. We lived in three different departments all beautifully furnished and secure. The last apartment was right on the sea front. Every day we were free to play on the ground outside the apartment there was a lot of ground that was still not built upon we soon learned that Arab kids didn't take kindly to us even though our parents were helping their country. Arabs are excellent stone throwers and we joined in with enthusiasm. We're not throwing stones we attended the silesian multinational School for Boys. This was a big school. The American kids were taught on the top floor non American kids were taught on the 1st floor and locals were on the ground floor. The teachers were monks. And strict. I was keen on my hand for forgetting my pencil case. The toilet consisted of a hole in the ground. With my lack of balance there was a hair raising experience during air #2. I learned a lot at this school American history and geography matrix maths for dollars and cents, little A wish helped me in later life. I joined the wolf cub scouts and had a cute outfit of blue and yellow the only thing I can remember about that was climbing a rope.
Dad bought himself his first new car a Borgwaid Isabella. Almost every weekend mum and dad took us on trips around the country. Quite often we took a trip out to the Air Force Base where dad worked Ryack and that was close to a beautiful town. And we visited some amazing historical places. I was at an age where I could appreciate the sights and can still remember some of them. Highlights included Baalbek temple we climbed onto the largest stones in the world - carved by Romans. We stayed in Byblos, considered one of the oldest cities in the world.
One day we got up early and drove to the mountains, played in the snow and went tobogganing, had lunch, drove home and went swimming in the evening in the mid. Another time we drove all the way to the southern border and saw the railway line disappearing into the mountain. Israel was on the other side. Little did I know at the time that years later, I would see it from the other side. On one of the earliest trips we stopped on the way back and I would ask for a ham sandwich it was most put out when it was served on Pitta bread. By the time we left Lebanon I loved pita bread and at least in cooking. Mom had a maid that loved to cook for us.We had a summer camp in August of 1960 on Mount Lebanon and I remember the impressive cedars of Lebanon forests. The teachers took us out one night and we saw Sputnik cross the night sky. We were all impressed that the tiny moving dot in the sky had two dogs on board. One day, dad took us into an intricate set of tunnels lit by coloured lights we travelled by boat. I can't find any reference to these in Lebanon today. The country had so much going for it, but it is being blighted by the presence of Hezbollah. The dementors of this world. The only thing they can do well is to make people's lives miserable and dig tunnels. These tunnels are damaging historical monuments, sadly mum and dad didn't take many pictures at this time.
I am in awe of the freedom we had - a 10 year old and an 8 year old paddling out into the open sea to row around and into Pigeon Rock by ourselves. Photo off the internet
Every day in the school holidays we swam at the prestigious Military Club (we knew it as Bain Militaire) and learned to swim like fish. We were able to use the skiffs and paddle out of the bay to Pigeon Rock. Mum spent the day sunbathing and chatting to other mums. I am in awe of the freedom we had - a 10 year old and an 8 year old paddling out into the open sea to row around and into pigeon rock by ourselves.
Jegs was an excellent diver. Our apartment was near the building on the extreme left of this picture. But everything has changed since 1960.
Dad enjoyed the job and mum enjoyed sunbathing and socialising. I will remember weekly strolls along the promenade, eating ice creams and drinking Canada dry. Life wasn't always perfect though - one day, the concierge's dog went mad and had to be shot. It was diagnosed with rabies and all the kids in the apartment block had to have the rabies injections.
AI tells us in the 1960s rabies post exposure treatment in Lebanon and many parts of the world typically involved a painful series of 14 to 21 daily injections, often using older nerve tissue preparations like the simple method of early duct embryo vaccines, administered subcutaneously into the abdominal wall. I don't really know what all that means but the doctor promised us a fruit pastel if we didn't scream so over the next 15 days I collected 15 fruit pastels. Jegs collected none, then again he was only 8 and I was a mature 10. . The injections were absolutely huge. Another time we were collected as usual by the bus an armed the armed guard told us not to look out of the left window as we passed the public square of course we all did. They're hanging in the square with three bodies having been lynched for being suspected Israeli spies.
Chris, John and Jegs on the rocks in Bain Militaire 1958
Donated by John Dixon
Lebanon was not a safe place to be, although for us it was probably safer than most. We lived in modern apartment buildings that had security guards and dad had a driver. We had a maid. We had no idea of the political turmoil that Lebanon was going through, though we do remember a number of violent demonstrations and we could never forget the experience of battles taking place outside the flat, and tear-gas drifting up to us was most unpleasant.
Dad did a sterling job with the Lebanese Air Force and was asked to stay on for a further two years. But mum and dad were worried about my foot and decided to return to England. Dad was recognised by Fouad Abdallah Chehab, president of Lebanon, as a valued officer who helped establish the Lebanese Air Force. He was awarded the National Order of the Cedar medal by the president.
Sqn Ldr APJ Dixon's medals: L-R: 1939-45 Star; Africa Star; Defence Medal; 1939-45 War Medal; something else ; National Order of the Cedar
Donated by Chris Dixon
Right - the Cedars of Lebanon medal with Airforce bar.
So it was time to go back to England and I can say with confidence that none of us was looking forward to it. Dad decided to turn it into an adventure, so instead of flying straight home he loaded the car and us into a freighter that also carried a few passengers for a trip across the Mediterranean Sea. The ship was the SS Stelvio. AI says the “MS Stelvio, often referred to as an SS or MS was a prominent Italian passenger cargo ship motor ship operated by the Adriatic alliance during the 1950s and 1960s. Running regular express passenger and Mediterranean regular mail/tourist routes between Italy eastern Mediterranean and ports like Beirut and Marseille”
SS Stelvio, our home for 10 days Beirut to Marseilles.
I have fond memories of the journey across the Mediterranean Sea. After leaving Beirut we stopped at somewhere in Syria. either Tripoli or Latakia, then Mersin in Turkey. Dad hired a taxi and to our amazement, it was horse drawn. Then Ismir and we saw the blue mosque. The next stop was Crete and we had a day exploring the palace of Knossos. As we left Crete, the weather worsened and within a day, became a full blown storm. Mum, dad and Jegs came down with seasickness and wouldn't or couldn't get up. It was then that I discovered I didn't suffer from the huge waves. Dad organised for a crew member to come and get me and I joined the captain in the dining room for lunch. I was the only passenger present and was invited onto the bridge. I never told my mum and dad, but they served me wine as well. I've loved storms on the sea since that experience. Storms didn't linger long on the Mediterranean and the next day was calm again.
The ship headed on and passed Corsica and we saw the smoking volcano Stromboli. Our family spent happy hours in the saloon playing gin rummy. The next day we pulled into the port of Naples and we spent a whole day having a guided tour of Pompeii. Mum spent a long time looking at cameos, before buying one. After leaving Naples we cruised across to Marseille in southern France arriving a week before Christmas.
The car was unloaded by ropes laid underneath and lifted out by a crane and we set off north. It was very cold and the sides of the roads were piled with snow drifts and we saw snow ploughs. I can't remember how many days it took us to get to Paris, but at least three days. The roads were pretty bad. We found accommodation in cheap hotels and pubs. We stayed a few days in Paris and we saw the Louvre museum the Eiffel Tower conveyor sigh. I can remember the cold hard wooden floors of the hotel, but not much else.
Jegs, mum and Chris. Eiffel Tower 1960. Donated by Marian Dixon
.The car was unloaded by ropes laid underneath and lifted out by a crane and we set off north. It was very cold and the sides of the roads were piled with snow drifts and we saw snow ploughs. I can't remember how many days it took us to get to Paris, but at least three days. The roads were pretty bad. We found accommodation in cheap hotels and pubs. We stayed a few days in Paris and we saw the Louvre museum the Eiffel Tower and lots more. I can remember the cold hard wooden floors of the hotel, but not much else.
After two and a half years in the warmth of the Mediterranean, it was hard to get used to the cold again. Mum and dad took us shopping for warm clothes, as we didn't have many.
Then it was back in the car for the next leg Paris to Le Touquet - where would make the Borgward into a flying car.
1961 - 1965 England and Endsleigh School
Le Touquet in northern France was the French base of the aircraft company Silver City. Silver City Airways was a famous British independent airline that pioneered cross-Channel car ferry services operating between 1946 and 1962,
And it was there that we drove on the day before Boxing Day 1960.
Dad stopped at the airport terminal and we all got out and went indside. After formalities, a driver then drove the Borgward into the belly of a Bristol 17 freighter plan. I think there 3 other cars there as well. We climbed the steps and settled into the passenger section. Within an hour we landed at Llyd in Kent. Hovercrafts put an end to this route.
We got off, picked up the car and drove to a bungalow in Southampton. Our neighbours in the Beirut had offered it to dad as a temporary base and it proved to be most disappointing. From there we moved into another dismal house in Manningtree Essex. These were my dad’s words, I found the place quite exciting. The kitchen cooker was an old fashioned range and it really kept the kitchen warm. I had a fantastic toy– a fore runner to Lego. It consisted of little bricks, and windows and door frames and tiles. I would mix some glue stuff -I can’t remember what it was, and build bus shelters, sheds etc. I can’t find any reference to what it was today. Mum had all sorts of problems learning to cook on it!
I do remember one time trying to get back to the house and there was a real pea-super of a fog and it took us hours.
I thin we stayed there a month before moving to a miserable flat in Clacton-on-Sea. The top floor of Anglesea House. Good Lord it was cold. Mum, Jegs and I would sleep in one bed just to keep warm. And we had to walk to school every morning - Holland Road School. We stayed at the school for about 3 months. I'm not sure where dad was at this time... probably a series of courses as he was soon posted to a really beautiful location - Headquarters Bomber Command near High Wycombe.
By March 1961 dad had been assigned a married quarter in a lovely part of England set in Burnham Beeches, a beautiful ancient woodland. Jegs and I started school at great Kingshill Primary School. I loved that school and have memories of seeing swallows swishing by in the summer months and huge icicles hanging from the roof in winter. The classrooms were heated by coke fires and one job was to carry coke from the coke shed to the fireplace. Another task was filling up the ink wells on the children's desks. Some of us got in trouble for throwing coke over the wall between the boys and girls toilets and we had to stand in the hall for an hour. Tuesday has always been the worst day of the week for me because one unfortunate Tuesday I upended the dinner plate all over my front. The rest of the day at stay in class smelling of gravy, cabbage and meat. My reading and spelling came along in bounds. I had to stand next to the teacher's desk and read Dick and Dora books and Spot the dog books. If I made a mistake I got smacked on the legs. Maths was a case of learning the times table and answering questions like what are nine eights. I was very good at that I was also good at handwriting. We learned the Marian Richardson handwriting style. Funnily enough when I became a primary school teacher, I also taught hat style. But I never smacked my students.
The education their children preyed on mum and dad's minds. We had been to about 14 schools by this stage and they were worried that we would be left behind and not have the qualifications to find a proper career. Both dad and his dad had been to boarding school - Dad had attended Colchester High School and Grandad had attended Ongar Grammar School, so I suppose it was inevitable we would go. Mum hated the idea.
So whilst at Kingshill schools I took the 11+ exam to see how clever I was - could I get to grammar school? I failed miserably. The questions were about English history and geography and the maths was pounds shillings and pence. Apparently I had one of the lowest scores in the county - but then I had spent the last two years learning the metric system and the geography and history of the USA.
Dad chose Endsleigh School in Lexden, Colchester, just a few miles from where I was born and just around the corner from my aunt Phyl. In the summer of 1961 our parents took us to Newson's outfitters in High Street Colchester where we collected the required clothing to attend Endsleigh school. It was a very smart uniform.
The circle on my left lapel was yellow and stood for Lisle House, named after George Lisle, a Royalist in the Civil war who was executed by the Parliamentarians.
So, together with a trunk containing our clothes and a traditional tuck-box that dad painted our names on, we were taken to the Lyndens, the boarding house of Endsleigh School. The school had only started 7 years earlier - in 1955. I loved this school ...... mostly. The boarding school master was Mr Williams who was strict but fair. I was never punished by him, but I was a good boy. The prefects were another matter, They were Persian and loved nothing better than marching into the younger boys dormitories, ordering us out of bed to bend over the end of the bed. Then they liberally applied their leather soled slippers to our bottoms - for a variety of excuses. I had little respect for Arabs after 2 years in Lebanon. It was at this stage I started hating them. One of my friends, Alan, was very badly treated because he wasn't in bed early enough, suffering from a stomach ache. They kicked him so badly that that an ambulance had to be called and Colchester hospital discovered he had appendicitis. Sadly the teachers were away that night.
The Lyndens was set in a huge field. There were large houses on either side along Lexden Road, but not much behind us. And just across the field was the old Endsleigh school - the Upper school. It was newly abandoned when I was there. At weekends I recall digging into the edge of the field near the wood at the side of the house and finding roman pottery which we took eagerly to Colchester Castle and they gave us explanations of what we had found. This reinforced my love of archaeology. I actually wanted to be an archaeologist, but never got the quals.
Every day we walked from Lyndens to the school at the bottom of Lexden Hill and even in the coldest weather we had to wear short trousers. I joined the school in Upper 3A and was doing quite well even though I was not allowed to do any sport, PE or cross-country running. I didn't mind that because in the winter, when it was freezing cold I was in the library. But I was jealous in the summer months. PE was such fun and I begged to join in, and in 1962 I was ecstatic that I would be allowed to join the class. The gym was set up with ropes (I could climb very well, and those box things that people leap over and hoola hoops laid on the ground. There was a path to follow - leaping, running, sliding - it was a pirates adventure game, I had fun for 10 minutes until I mis-stepped on a hoola hoop, crashed down and.... broke my ankle. I passed out. The school had to call an ambulance to take me to Colchester Hospital. Well, that was the end of PE. In the library I developed my love of history. There were photo albums of previous students and I often wondered what had become of them. Some teachers were outstanding. I recall being enthused in history, geography, woodwork, metalwork, music and English. One year we dissected Silas Marner. I have no recollection of maths or science, subjects I hate to this day,
Endsleigh School )Upper School) 1963 Donated by Chris Dixon
In early December 1961 I had to be withdrawn from school for an operation at Queen Mary Carshalton Hospital. The surgeon was Dr. Nicholson, one of Sir Denis Browne's colleagues. Mum and dad took me to the hospital and left me in the children's ward, returning a week later after the operation. I must have been in a lot of pain, but the nurses were lovely and I was well looked after. It was a a big ward. much like those portrayed in the carry on Nursing film. I was confined to bed and discovered the usefulness of bed pans and so intrigued that the staff would insert the needle, with drugs, pump the contents into my thigh, unscrew the glass vial, screw a full one back on and push the rest of the drugs in. Mt feet were ensconced in a tent that kept the sheets and blankets off my feet. And for the rest of my life I haven't ben able to sleep without pulling all the bedding out from under the bed. Mum and dad came back tol pick me up. Mum was fine until the covers were pulled back and she saw my left foot encased in plaster of Paris, utterly soaked in blood. She passed out on the floor, took one look at my bloodstained plaster cast and passed out on the floor.
I missed months of school and by the time I returned in the summer of 1962 I was way behind. In 1962 alone I was Upper 3B and Upper 3C; 1964 Lower 4C and 1965 Upper 4D. The school had some outstanding facilities. I loved the metalwork and woodwork room. My class learned how to make the aluminium shields that decorated the pathways to the upper section of the new classroom block. We made the moulds for sand heated uo the aluminium to be liquid and pour it into the mould. Fascinating experience, Years later, after the school closed, and before it was torn down, I halfinched one of the shields and have it still. The music teacher was excellent and I learned to appreciate classical music. I had my first crush on Vicki Matterson and Maria Cullen was nice too. Though I never had the courage to talk to them.
Endsleigh Lexden Park. When I first started my class was in the old building in the middle. The 1960s monstrosity on the right had the tuck shop, lots of classrooms and huge toilets. Remember the small bottles of milk at break time.
Endsleigh School was set in a gorgeous park and opened in 1955. So it was a young school - a private school. Originally built in the 1800s as a private house, with spectacular grounds including a large ornamental lake. After being hugely extended Lexden Park House became a private school before becoming part of Colchester’s Technical College.
It's amazing to see what it looks like today. And how almost all the buildings that were there have gone and been replaced by tasteful, expensive homes. Only the main house remains.
1965 - 1967 Pierrepoint School
Why they chose Pierrepoint School near Farnham is beyond my understanding and it's too late to ask them. This was an absolutely awful school. And this will be the hardest part of the story to write. Ed: Both Jeremy and I loathed this school. Traditional private school, run by ex Army officers who had survived WW2. Bullying was endemic. And it was very expensive. The uniform could only be bought from Harrods. All the clothing was grey. On Sundays we had to wear white shirts with stiff collars that had to be attached.
Rear side view of Pierrepoint School. Source Internet
The school's main building was a 19th-century country house designed by the architect Richard Norman Shaw around an earlier house. In 1973 this was listed as Grade II Building. It was a lovely building, full of dark wood panes and large staircases and a beautiful ballroom that was our assembly area. AI tells me "While it was initially founded in 1947 as a character-building private boys' school, a sharp decline in the late 1980s and early 1990s cemented its negative legacy. Pierrepont School in Frensham, near Farnham, statistically earned that reputation in its final years when it was named one of the worst-performing independent schools in England." I can tell you it was deplorable in 1967.
The first night after dad had dropped both Jegs and I off at the school and I was in the dormitory with about 30 other boys, the bullying started. This evening it was not that I was different, just that I was new and the older boys stormed in and tried to put the heads of the boys down the toilet bowl. I know that happened but I don't remember it. Because I was disabled, and had crooked teeth - in fact I could stretch my lips and two of the top teeth would pop out like a vampire, and was slightly overweight because I had been unable to play sport, I quickly was given the name freak. Some of the boys were absolutely beastly, though I can't remember who. I did make some friends though.
Every morning and evening and weekend most boys sent time in the common room. Every time I hear the Moody Blues Go Now it takes me back to that room. It was played over and over.
I loathed physics, chemistry and maths. I do remember the maths teacher telling me that I should find a career that didn't involve thinking about numbers. The teacher (my least favourite teacher) spent hours making us do exercises with sine and cosine. I still have no idea what they are why I would ever need to know.
But I did find something I was good at - underwater swimming. I won the cup for the longest underwater swim every year... and have been good at that ever since. All the swimming in Beirut helped there.
In 1992, an expose by The Independent titled "The public schools that come bottom" revealed that Pierrepont ranked in the bottom five nationwide, with students averaging a dismal 1.5 A-Levels. I never made it past fifth form. Despite its poor academic record at the end, it did produce a few notable alumni, including:
Jonny Wilkinson Rugby World Cup legend
Michael Baden-Powell, 4th Baron Baden-Powell and Scouting Leader;
Richard P Nixon, author
Sean Pertwee, actor;
Asterix David Bamford (descendant of the Samuel Bamford of Peterloob who is responsible for the establishment of the police force) and a musical talent
Sean Rowan Barnes-Murphy, cartoon colourist and prominent British. He is widely recognised for his whimsical, humorous, and highly detailed illustrations featured globally in books, magazines, and major advertising campaigns and. was my best mate at Pierrepoint.
Christopher John Alfred Dixon - me.
I found it an awful school but it did have its moments. I was in Waterloo house and the housemaster was Mr Burgess. He was a good teacher and I liked him a lot. He had been in the army in Burma during the war and it was so easy to get him to talk about his experiences, instead of learning how to disect a mouse.. He was our biology teacher. Biology was one of the three O levels that I passed. I also passed two extremely useful subjects for my future career as a teacher - English literature and technical drawing. I may have passed geography but I don't remember. An old student, Nixon, described Pierrepoint as "being a cross between Animal House and a military academy. In reality, it was neither, and yet it was both, too."
It was at Pierrepoint that I realised I would never hold a position of responsibility as I coudn't take charge of anything. I was appointed dormitory captain and all I had to do was get the younger students to bed. There was a fierce pillow fight, no-one took any notice of me and that was that. Funnily enough I can now walk into a lecture theatre full of students and run the lectures with no problems.
I remember the fun times - there were underground rooms and in one of them and we started a model aeroplane club. It was cold down there, but friendly.
Sean and I would head into the woods most weekends and had a lot dun climbing trees, jumping off cliffs, swimming and fishing in the river. I was a good b0y, and hardly got into trouble, but one time I told the housemaster that I was sick and needed to lie down. Then I sneaked off to Farnham by bus - 3 miles away. I had found a hotel that had a separate bathroom and I was able to sneak in and take a long leisurely bath. Why you ask? Well at Pierrepoint, to teach us to be tough, we were only allowed to bathe twice a week and we had to share the bath water with three other boys, and by the time I got in it was cold and dirty. Anyway, I was seen in town and Mt Burgess gave me a good talking to, and three strokes of the cane. However, it didn't stop me taking advantage of the wonderful bathroom.
The operation on my club feet had been successful but I was still banned from sports and PE. But Yay!!! I was allowed to be the scorer of the school cricket team. As I said, it was a tough school and boys had to join the CCF - cadets. They marched all the time, stamped their feet saluted and sometime got to play with rifles. Those of us who couldn't join, became scouts. The Scout troop teacher was not very motivated. The only thing I learned to do was fish with a fishing rod. That skill didn't really help me later when I had to rely on my fishing skills to get enough food to eat. Luckily I had Aboriginal hunters with me who were much better teachers.
One activity I enjoyed very much was the horse riding afternoon. This took place every Friday I recall, and once I had earned to ride, we had freedom to explore many tracks on Frensham common. And there was a lot of army ordnance as it had been an army training ground during the war. Every Saturday and Sunday you could always see boys walking around the laying fields, Penalty Drill (PD) was the punishment for minor infractions.
As I said I was severely bullied at Pierrepoint School. I remember sitting in the toilet and crying because I was so unhappy. But in 1967, something happened that changed my life. A country in the Middle East, south of Lebanon was going through. Bullies, hundreds of thousands massing on all sides and threatening to invade. Arab leaders publicly stated their goal to destroy Israel. Feeling surrounded and outmatched in numbers, Israel launched a surprise air attack on June 5, 1967.
The result was the complete collapse of the arab assault. On the first morning of the war, airstrikes destroyed most of the Egyptian and Syrian air forces while their planes were still on the ground. And in just six days, the Israeli military won the ground and air conflict. Israel took control of the Sinai Peninsula and the Gaza Strip from Egypt, the West Bank and East Jerusalem from Jordan, and the Golan Heights from Syria.
The way I saw it, the only option I had was to fight back with everything I had. I learned to ignore barbed comments and fight tooth and against physical bullying. And the results? The bullying stopped. I wasn’t more popular, but I was respected for not taking any more shit. That attitude has lasted all my life, and on the odd occasion I had workplace bullies – I have won out every time.
1968 - 1971 Limassol and Episkopi, Cyprus
It was obvious to my teachers and my parents that I was never going to progress well in sixth form, so thankfully they agreed to my wishes to be withdrawn, which I did at the end of term 3 1967. The autumn of that year saw me get my first job, sweeping the floor and cleaning the Airmen's Mess at RAF Stanmore. Disgusting creatures, erks. I applied and obtained a position with Sellotape, can't remember where that was and I can't remember the job, but by January 1968 I obtained a job at the RAC in Stanmore in the accounts. I was a young, immature 18 year old lad in a room with 6 mature, experienced women. I learned a great deal in just a few weeks.
Before long, dad was posted again - this time to RAF Episkopi as a staff officer at Headquarters Near East Air Force, His job was in supply, dealing with the provision and supply of explosives, fuels and clothing. I decided to go with them. We had to leave Jegs behind at school. Such a bad decision.
We flew out to RAF Akrotiri and found accomodation in a flat in Limassol on the Archbishop Makarios III Avenue. I started exploring the town and met some interesting people. I was also studying correspondence for my maths and English Language O levels. There were many RAF families in Limassol at that time and the RAF started a social club - the Island Club. I met Pete Look there and we have been close friends ever since. He and I met our first girlfriends - he met up with Mandy Robbins and I met Fran Webb. Three days later we swapped and later he married (and divorced) Fran - who later changed her name to Sam. I went out with Mandy for about 18 months, till we parted and she returned to the UK.
Mum and dad needed a car, so they bought themselves a second-hand Simca 1000. It was a tough little bugger as it had to put up with me learning to drive, and with my lack of foot movement it took me longer than most. Before he left Cyprus dad wanted a sports car. He was very tempted by the Ford Capri.
Mum told him it was totally impractical since it only had two doors, two seats at the front and just a very narrow box at the back. He didn’t really listen to her because he bought a Fiat 124 super sport which had two doors but it did have two small seats at the back.
As soon as I started earning money I had to have transport. Dad took me to a local motorbike shop and I was delighted to buy a Honda 90 (with leg shields). It wasn't a rockers bike.. but to me it was freedom. I took it on road and off-road and explored southern Cyprus and had a lot of fun with it. A little later I upgraded to a Honda 125 super sport. Peter (Look) and I explored parts of Cyprus going into areas where we weren't supposed to be and being turned around by gun toting UN soldiers. I have a picture to pout in here/
I managed to obtain a job in the Modifications Control department. I started as a clerical assistant and worked up to e a clerical officer. Because Cyprus was the sole operational base for the UK in that sector after withdrawing from regional bases like Aden, HQ NEAF had to strictly manage all technical modifications. At RAF Episkopi, which served as the Headquarters for the Near East Air Force (HQ NEAF), the Modifications Control section was an engineering administrative department. It was responsible for authorizing, logging, and tracking official design modifications for military aircraft, electronics, and ground support equipment operated across the theater. It was a full on job, a lot of typing and incinerating. My friend Pete was also employed at the base and we would meet up and spend time at Dodge City. It was called Dodge City because it looks like there were places to tie up a horse outside the shops. I bought many of the LPs I still own from the record shop And every morning I went down to buy a roll for lunch.
The base had a large set of playing fields and the area was called Happy Valley. There was a 200 metre tunnel that led from Happy Valley to the beach, it was the width of a truck. Where we lived in Kensington village, there was a goat track leading down to the beach. Everyone spent a lot of time at the beach. There was a take away called Shabby Dins. It helped that we started work at 7am and were finished by 2.
Cyprus would have been an idyllic place but there two groups of people who absolutely loathed each other. Greeks and Turks. Massacres regularly took place between Turkish and Greek villages and there were areas we were advised not to travel to. And areas patrolled by the UN from which we were turned away. I had a Honda 125SS and travelled almost everywhere. The trip u to Mount Troodos was exciting with the hairpin bends, especially the Seven Sisters - but what magnificent views there were. I also travelled some of the Turkish areas like Kyrenia. It was interesting to see how the Turks barely changed their way of living for centuries but the Greeks embraced modernity.
Dad’s posting was coming to an end, and we knew we would be returning to England in May 1971. A friend of mine from Pierrpoint school came over and said he was going over to work on a kibbutz. That appealed to me. I made inquiries and was accepted for the program and mum and dad took me down to Limassol to catch the ship to Israel.
The ship was anchored off the beach and we had to get into a small boat and then climb up a swaying ramp to the deck. The ferry was packed with black clad pilgrims, almost all of them Greek women. I had bought the cheapest of the cheap tickets. No cabin for me. I bought deck class. But the funny thing is, it was at the very bottom of the ship, about as far away from the desk as it was possible to get.
There were drop-down bunks in the hold and the floor was steel gratings with sea water sloshing about underneath us. We aren’t talking small space - it was the whole of the front cargo area. The drop-down bunks were bare-bones, utilitarian metal frames with canvas or thin mattresses. They were chained or hinged to the walls and structural pillars so they could be folded up against the bulkheads when the space needed to be cleared. These spaces were notoriously cramped, very loud from the sound of the engines and the seawater rushing by the hull.
It might’ve been okay other than the fact that the weather worsened that night. The pilgrims retired to their drop-down bunks and before too long many of them were vomiting all over the place - luckily most of it went straight through the gratings into the bilge but the smell was absolutely appalling. I grabbed my backpack and climbed upstairs and spent the night in the lounge, holding on tight and enjoying the ride. The morning dawned bright and clear and we sailed into Haifa harbour. After having my passport stamped I emerged and was immediately set upon by some people who asked me if they could buy my jeans. Apparently jeans were in short supply and if I’d taken half a dozen pairs with me, I could’ve made a killing. As it was the only trousers I had, I declined.
II had to find my way to the kibbutz office which was in Tel Aviv. I caught a bus and overnighted in a hostel and rocked up at the office the next day. I was assigned to kibbutz Kfar Hachoresh, near Nazareth. I travelled back north the next day to Nazareth where a VW combi bas was waiting for those of us who were new volunteers. They took us out to the kibbutz - we passed through two heavy guard gates with armed kibbutzniks. We were welcomed to the dining room, because by that time, it was lunchtime. After lunch the man in charge showed us around. The kibbutz was perched in the Nazareth hills with views toward the Jezreel Valley. We were allocated a small cabin. Mine had ttwo single beds that were very old and looked like they had been slept on by giants. I shared the shack with a large Scotsman called jock. He had been there 6 months and was well settled. He was very helpful.
We had many jobs - working in the kitchen, washing up, a bakery was located off the kibbutz, picking oranges and grapefruit; painting structures; mixing concrete for new buildings; harvesting chickens form the free-range barn.
I especially liked picking oranges. Each morning the volunteers would assemble and be told what jibs were assigned to whom and would make our way to the worksite for the transport down to the orchards. After slinging a bag over our shoulders, putting on gloves and grabbing a pair of secateurs it was off to the trees. Good ranges were placed in the bags, but soft and squishy ones were great for target practice at other volunteers. It was a long day, but we were out in the sun and March and April is not too cold in Israel.
Lunchtimes were interesting. Usually plenty of Israeli salad, humus and one time there was raw bacon. I said to one of the kibbutzniks that I thought eating bacon was not allowed. With complete confidence he said that it was Israeli beef. Some of the kibbutzniks were not very religious.
On one particularly hot day, we were heading back to the kibbutz on the sandy track, when we had a flat tyre. Of course there was no jack. No probs said the boss, grab a long length of branch from the edge of the orchard and a big rock. Like Archimedes, we hoisted the car up and replaced the wheel. It was after we lowered it down that we discovered we had changed the wrong wheel.
One night we had a celebration – can’t remember why and all the volunteers had to come up with an act. Where’s Asterix when you need him? All I could think of was to play the comb, which I did, badly …. Having had a few arab brandies. Afterwards I stupidly got into a competition with a 16-year old American girl who drank me under the table. The hangover was so bad that it was the last time I drank too much. .
We had time off on Saturdays but I didn’t go very far. Just explored Nazareth. At the end of my month, I caught the bus to Jerusalem and spent a week exploring the city, falling in love with the Old City. Then I caught a bus to Beersheva. I was lucky enough to see the old Bedouin market before it became modernised. Ive been back a couple of times and it is utterly different.
Then onto Eilat. During the bus trip we suddenly heard machine gun fire and it sounded very loud. The bus screeched to a halt and we threw ourselves to the floor. When nothing seemed to be happening we sat uo and it turned out that an Israeli soldier had been sitting with his machine gun between his legs, and had accidentally pressed the trigger, not realising the safety catch was off. There was a short line of bullet holes in the roof. He was very embarrassed and I often wonder what happened to him.
In those days Eilat was a very basic outpost at the end of the country, a couple of hotels a few houses. All the young people who were travelling would sleep on the beach and we were told to put all our belongings into the sleeping bag because thieves snuck across the border (a barbed wire fence between Israel and Jordan). It never happened to me, but it dd happen.
Then it was time to head back to Haifa and catch a series of buses to Haifa. And the ship back to Cyprus. The only ship I could get went to Famagusta.. a delightful, modern and beautful city then. The population was mainly Turkish but it really was cosmopolitan. And very, very old. Sadly the Turks took it over in their invasion of Cyprus and it has been abandoned and left to rot.
However it was a lovely city when I was there. I caught a series of buses and managed to walk u to mum and dad’s front door and surprise the. They were delighted to see back. A week later, my motorbike and the family were loaded onto an RAF plane and we landed in RAF Lynham. Our Cyprus adventure was over. After every overseas postings, the family got time off to relax and reacclimatise. We returned to the family bungalow in Clacton-on-Sea.
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