Dixon, Christopher John Alfred

Christopher Dixon 1949 -

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.

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 have been working towards putting out a website about my family tree since 1971.

I was nearly bom at Sea View cottage, Layer Breton but the taxi managed to get me to the nursing home in Feering in time for me to be born there on 4th November 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 Marion 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 Marion 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 club feet - a fairly common problem problem as 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. I was born with double club feet (double talipes) which immediately complicated my parent’s lives. And mine and certainly influenced my childhood.

I have loved writing about everyone else, but now I have to give my life story. It would have been easier is I had kept a diary, because now at almost 77, I wonder just how much I will be able to recall.

I was born 4 Nov 1949 at a nursing home in Feering, Essex. 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 mum was very small – at 4 feet 11 inches. She was also smoking. I was born with double club feet (double talipes) which immediately complicated my parent’s lives. And mine and certainly influenced my childhood. Google describes this affliction in the next column.

Daily Life and Social Realities

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,
Social Isolation: Casts and braces made it impossible to play standard childhood games. I wasn't allowed to do sports or PE at school.
Specialized Footwear: Children could not wear normal shoes, requiring expensive custom orthopedic footwear.
Stigma: Congenital physical differences in 1949 were often met with pity or social discomfort.

Long-Term Outlook in Adulthood

By the time these children reached adulthood in the 1960s and 1970s, the aggressive surgical treatments of 1949 often backfired. Many suffered from premature osteoarthritis, rigid "rocker-bottom" feet, and chronic pain caused by the structural changes forced upon their developing bones. Luckily I only suffer from cold weather that can cause a lot of pain. One reason I live in the sub-tropics.

My dad Alfred Patrick John Dixon married Marian Edna Evans in Sheffield 9 April 1949.

I was born 4 Nov 1949, 7 months later.

Above left: Mum and Dad's wedding day April 1949;

Above: Chris 1950

Below left: Chris, Mum and Jeremy Hamburg 1953

Below right: Jeremy, Chris and Dad.

The Denis Browne bar, also known as the Denis Browne splint or foot abduction orthosis, is a medical device used in the treatment of club foot, named after Sir Denis Browne (1892–1967), an Australian-born surgeon at Great Ormond Street Hospital considered the father of pediatric surgery in the United Kingdom

Children with club feet were always referred to specialist children's hospitals, and the only one in southern England was Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. As I said, we lived in Layer Breton, which only had one bus a day heading to the nearest town, Colchester. And one bus heading back. So when I was 6 weeks of age, just 2 weeks before Christmas, mum and dad caught the bus to Colchester bus station, then to Colchester train station and caught a steam train to Liverpool Street station in London. More busses to Great Ormond Street Hospital. After the treatment, they had to take the return journey home.

Because I had double club feet I was referred to their specialist doctor - Denis Browne.

Dr Browne was a genius and later in life became the Queen's doctor and was knighted. Wikipedia tells us "Dr Browne was the first British surgeon to devote his practice entirely to the care of children. A native of Australia, he served in the Royal Australian Army Medical Corps in World War before moving to England and joining the staff of the Hospital for Sick Children at Great Ormond Street. An amateur tennis player in the 1920s, he made four appearances at Wimbledon." 1

The treatment for double talipes (bilateral congenital talipes equinovarus, or clubfoot) at Great Ormond Street Hospital in 1949 was treated primarily using conservative manipulation, serial plaster casting, and sometimes early mechanical splinting or surgical tendon releases, predating the widespread adoption of the modern Ponseti method. It was excruciatingly painful for a 6 week old, although I have no recollection. It must have been hell for mum and dad listening to my shrieking.

The treatment consisted of gentle or forceful manipulation. Orthopedic clinicians manually stretched the tight soft tissues and ligaments of both feet shortly after birth. This was followed by serial plaster casting: successive plaster of Paris casts were applied week by week to hold the foot in a slightly corrected position and gradually realign the joints. Because lived 100 miles from London, I had plaster casts fitted every 6 weeks. Splinting devices - dynamic or static splints (such as early variations of foot-abduction splints or Denis Browne-type bars) were used to maintain correction. At that stage, the braces went from foot to thigh, with leather hinges at the knee. 2

I know Mum was devastated and felt guilty all her life. And she never took a picture if 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 lifting carrying flour sacks, then at a garage selling non-existent cars. 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 6 weeks, wherever we lived, I was taken to London to see him. In 1950 we lived in Layer Breton and dad finished his officer training course and was then sent on an equipment officers course in RAF Bircham-Newton. He also completed courses in Suffolk and Essex, finding time to travel cross country to visit mum and I.

Dad was posted to 52 MU (Maintenance Unit) RAF Pulham (an explosives depot) and he managed to rent a third floor flat in a terrace on the seafront 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 Brteton 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 Hotel in Melksham, but 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. Four 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 a lot of friends and family there, so in 1951 we enjoyed a holiday there.

Mum, Chris & Gertrude (dad's mum) Clacton 1951. Donated by Chris Dixon

Dad, Chris and Mum. Clacton 1951. Donated by Chris Dixon

In the spring of 1952 it was time for another move, this time dad was sent No 53 M.U. at RAF Pulharn (an explosive depot) where dad took over the airfield storage at Bungay. We stayed for a short time in a grotty bungalow opposite the station. Dad got chatty with the local publican who had a terrace house in Harleston and dad persuaded him to offer it to the Air Force as a hired married quarter. He did that and we subsequently occupied it, and it was here that my brother Jeremy was born 17 June 1952. I could never get my tongue around Jeremy, so to me he was always Jedge spelt Jegs.

A year later, in 1953, Dad was posted to 86 Movements Unit in Hamburg. Dad went first to organise accommodation and we joined him and lived in a lovely requisitioned house at Blankenese. We were there for two 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 into and out of Hamburg docks. Dad 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 tramp steamers to take Chris to Hospital and was more than glad after the roughest of passages to disembark at Antwerp on the return journey and catch a train to Hamburg. We also managed a trip by Sabena airline which was a lot more pleasant way of travelling."

Chris and Jegs swimming in Hamburg harbour 1954

Donated by Chris Dixon

Chris, Jegs and Vera, our nanny. Blankness, Germany 1953

Donated by Chris Dixon

1955 saw us move to Antwerp in Belgium. We lived in a penthouse on the Avenue de France. We were seven floors up. There was a great view of the city and I still remember looking down at the cars and one of my favourites from that time is the Citroen Light 15. I went to a British Army school and we traveled there and back by bus. Trios back to England for my foot treatment were extended to 6 months. Dad always took me by ferry.

1n 1957 Dad was posted back to England to RAF Wellsbourne Mountford 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 really angry and we both got a sound spanking. Mum was horrified at her treatment of us and we were never spanked again. Then again, l'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 - the longest time I had been in one place to date and I thoroughly enjoyed the school. By this time dad had been promoted to Flight Lieutenant Dixon.

Jegs dragging Chris somewhere 1955. Donated by Chris Dixon

On a sudden impulse my Dad volunteered for a secondment to the Lebanese Air Force and much to his surprise was accepted and he flew out to Beirut in December 1958. The British Government gave a squadron of six Hawker Hunter F.Mk.6 fighters to Lebanon. This was funded by the US Government, The planes and 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.

Lebanon was absolutely fantastic for Jegs and I. We lived in first class, secure accommodation right on the seafront. Every day we were free to play on the ground outside the apartment - there was lot of ground that was still not built upon. We soon learned that Arab kids loved throwing stones visitors to their country and we joined in with enthusiasm at weekends on the vacant lots near the house. When not throwing stones, we attended the Salesian Multi National School for boys. This was a big school. The American kids were taught on the top floor, non-American kids were taught on the first floor and the locals were on the ground floor. The teachers were monks. And strict. I was caned on my hand for forgetting my pencil case. The toilet consisted of a hole in the ground. With my lack of balance it was a hair-raising experience doing a number 2. i learned a lot at this school - American history and geography; dollars and cents little of which helped me later in life. I joined the wolf cub scouts and had a cute outfit of blue and yellow.

Dad bought himself his first new car - a Borgward Isabella. Almost every weekend mum and dad took us on trips around the country. Quite often we took a trip out to the airforce base where dad worked - Rayak, 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 and 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 with the snow and went tobogganing, had lunch, drove hime and went swimming in the evening. 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 I would see it from the other side years later. We had a summer camp (Aug 1960) of 4 weeks 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 2 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. Lebanon had so much going for it, but it has been blighted by the presence of Hezbollah, the dementors of this world. The only thing they can do well is to make peoples lives miserable and dig tunnels. These tunnels are damaging historical monuments. Sadly mum and dad didn't take many pictures at this time. On one of the earliest trips, we stopped on the way back and I asked for a ham sandwich and was most put out when it was served on pitta bread. By the time we left Lebanon, I loved pitta bread and Middle Eastern cooking. Mum had a maid that loved to cook for us.

Every day in the school holidays we swam at the prestigious Military Club 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 to Pigeon rock by ourselves and spending all day alone. Would never happen now. To be honest it wasn't that far, but it was on the open sea.

Pigeon rock. Jegs and I would paddle to here on flat topped skiffs (like surfboards) from Bain Militaire. Our apartment was near the building on the extreme left of this picture. But everything has changed since 1960

Dad enjoyed the job. mum enjoyed sunbathing and socialising. I well 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 apart,emt block had to have the rabies injections. Healthwise, I was taken to Cyprus to see a British doctor about my feet every 6 months. We flew there in a Dakota DC3 - a remarkably noisy experience. Cyprus was also an extremely dangerous place at that time.

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 Semple method or early duck-embryo vaccines, administered subcutaneously into the abdominal wall". The doctor promised us a fruit pastille if we didn't scream. So over the next 15 days, I collected 15 fruit pastilles. Jegs collected none. The injections were absolutely huge.

Another time, we were collected as usual by the bus and armed guard end told NOT to look out of the left and window as we passed the public square. Of course, we did. There, hanging in the square, were 3 bodies, having been lynched for being suspected Israeli spies.

During our time there were a couple of riots, Dad closed the windows, but I can remember the way our eyes watered as the tear gas seeped until the flat, and the loud yelling come from the streets.

Dad did a sterling job with the Lebanese Air Force and was asked to stay on and do 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 and he was awarded the National Order of the Cedar medal, by the president.

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 it was a "The MS Stelvio (often referred to as an s.s. or m.s. in timetables) was a prominent Italian passenger-cargo motorship operated by the Adriatica Line during the 1950s and 1960s, running regular express passenger and Mediterranean regular mail/tourist routes between Italy, the Eastern Mediterranean, and ports like Beirut and 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 tumour amazement to 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 turned into a full blown storm. Mum, dad and Jegs came down with seasickness and wouodnot get up. It was then that I discovered I didn't suffer from huge waves. Dad organised for a crew member to come and get me and I joined the captain in the dining room=for =lunch and was invited into the bridge. I have loved storms and the sea since that experience. Storms dainty lt long on the Med and the next days was calm again. The ship headed on and passed Corsica and we saw the smoking volcano, Stromboli. Two days later we pulled into port at Naples. We spent a whole day having a guided tour of Vuesuvius and mum spent a long time looking at cameos, before buying one. After leaving Naples we cruised across to Lyons in southern France, arriving a week before Christmas. Our family spent many happy hours in the saloon playing gin rummy.

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 3 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, Eiffel Tower and Versailles. I can remember the cold hard wooden floors of the hotel.

Then it was off to Le Touquet in northern France where Dad let us out and then drove the Borgward into the belly of a Bristol 170 Freighter plane. We climbed the steps and joined dad in the cabin area. And then, within an hour, we landed at Lydd in Kent. Hovercrafts put an end to this route. We got off, dad drove the car off and we drove to a bungalow in Southampton,

Jegs, mum and Chris, Paris 1954, Donated by Chris Dixon

Our neighbours in 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 (it had had an old fashioned range) and yet another in Angelfield House at Clacton while waiting for dad's next posting, which was to be at Headquarters Bomber Command at High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire. Jegs and I started at Holland Road School in Clacton.

By March 1961, dad had been assigned a married quarter in a lovely part of England Our officers married quarter was set in Burnham Beeches, a most 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 childrens' 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 is my worst day... because I was in a Tuesday that I spelt my school dinner in my lap. My reading and spelling came along in bounds.... I had to stand at the teachers desk and read. If I made a mistake I got smacked on the legs. Maths was a case of learning the times table and answer questions like what are nine eights. I was very good at that. I was also good at handwriting - we learned the Marion Richardson handwriting style. I took my 11+ exams to see if I could get into grammar school and 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,

Chris at school 1961

Donated by Chris Dixon

My dad and grandad had both attended private schools in Essex - and loved their school, days, Dad had attended Colchester High School and Grandad had attended Onger Grammar School.so dad persuaded mum we had to attend boarding school. She was against the idea, but dad was insistent. By the time I was 11, I had attended more than a dozen schools. He thought our future careers depended on a 'proper education'.

Jeremy and Christopher Dixon Endsleigh School uniform Clacton-on-Sea 1961. Donated by Chris Dixon

In the summer of 1961 our parents took us to Newsons outfitters in High Street Colchester where we collected the required clothing to attend Edsleigh school (in Colchester. Dad chose this school because it ws cost to where his sister lived - my aunt Phil.

So, together with a trunk containing our clothes and a tradition; tuck-x that dad painted our names on, we were taken to the Lindens, the boarding house of Endsleigh School. The school had only started 7 years earlier - in 1955.

I loved the school, mostly. The boarding school, master was strict but fair. I was never punished but him, but the I was 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. Every day we walked from the boarding house at the Kindens down to the school at the bottom of Lexden Hill.

In 1961 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 in the winter when it was freezing cold 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. 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.

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. 3

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.

In the summer of 1961 I had to be withdrawn from school for an operation at Carshalton Hospital. The surgeon was Dr. Nicholson, one of Sir Denis Browne's colleagues. Mum and dad took me died here snd left me in the children's ward, returning a week later after the operation, Mum took one look my bloodstained plaster cast and passed out on the floor. I missed months of school and by the time I returned I ws way behind. By the end of the year I was in class Upper 3B.

By the end of 1962 I was in Lower 4B and 1963 saw me in Upper 5C.

Our second boarding house. Jaqueline Court, a 17th-century house in Lexden Road. wikipedia