1939 - 1944 56 Granville Road, Sevenoaks, Kent.

It was said by 'somebody' that we moved here when I was 4 mths old. The reason for the move seems to have been that my grandparents, the Webbers, Ernest and Florence were fleeing the shame etc. of bankruptcy. Back then bankruptcy, like illigitimacy and divorce were a matter of far, far greater shame than they are now. That's more of "my story" that I'll never get the answers to.

Anyway, move here we did, southwards for most of the length of England. The war had just started or was just about to start. Under the circumstances it was an odd place to move to, given that Hitler's anticipated invading armies would have been here very quickly if "Operation Sealion" had suceeded.

He didn't manage his invasion but much of the Battle of Britain was fought in the skies over Kent and was later part of "doodle-bug alley" when his V1 Flying Bombs began in 1944. As a toddler none of this meant much to me. Memories of "then" are of course dim and fragmented for me. But seemingly I spent the greater part of World War 2 very much "in it."

Sevenoaks was presumably chosen because my grandfather had got a job there. No idea what he did then. My dad had disappeared about then never to be seen again as far as I know. My mother joined the W.A.A.F. (Women's Auxliary Air Force). She went wherever the RAF sent her. She appeared from time to time, to see how I was doing I suppose. All of these people will get their story told in more detail in due course (time pernmitting).

The house was huge or seemed so in the eyes of a small child. The outside was finished in pebble-dash. (Look it up somewhere!) Three stories (floors) I believe. It was near the railway station. At the top of the road was the church where I was christened and my name went from Eric to DErick to Derek ... there's a clever little tale.

During the war the government "billetted" military personel in houses deemed big enough to house them. 'We' were no exception and a steady stream of soldiers and airmen shared the house with me.

A V1 'doodle-bug" crashed at the top of the road and most of our windows were blown out by the blast. The war was very real, but now seems so remote and it's sliding steadily into history.

I think my grandfather must have got a new job because in 1944 we were to move again.

1939 10 Swanfield Terrace, Laneshawbridge, Lancashire, England. My birthplace.


I'd sort of promised myself (and my readers) that I'd try and write a little about each of the places I'd lived. A daunting task really.

The list of these is a couple of entries back if you care to look. So here we go, beginning where I began, well, emerged, I'm not sure where conception took place!

This is 10 Swanfield Terrace in Laneshawbridge, a village in Lancashire not far from the border with Yorkshire. Below the arrow and to the right of the man, is the house. The why of my being born here is mostly a mystery and belongs in another entry. It's be hard not to stray into those circumstances - after all some of it's sinister enough and weird enough to belong in a novel.


My birth certificate gives this as my birth address.

This link will give some of the history of the place:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laneshaw_Bridge

In 1983 I visited the village during my great genealogy phase. Nobody was at home at number 10 Swanfield terrace but I wrote to the address and below is the reply. Quite interesting stuff.
Click to enlarge and click the "+" to further enlarge to read.

As for the background to my being born there? Mine is a muddled family history. The four family names then, i.e. my grandparents, were Hutton, Addlesee, Webber and Calvert.

My father was Harold Eric Hutton and my mother was Freda Webber. She was 17 when they married, prompting the thought that she may well have been with child then. But there's no evidence to support that. I turned up two years later, when she was nineteen.

My mother's family were from Halifax in Yorkshire. Very sketchily, and it's largely guesswork: their import business had failed and their next venture, a carpet shop had failed too. My grandmother had set up a bakery in Colne which is very near to Laneshawbridge.

My parent's marriage seems to have been a very rocky affair. Sooner or later I hope to write it in what detail I know. I never met my father but I knew my mother and, knowing her, it could well be that she drove him to extremes of behaviour. She always asserted that he gone for her with a knife on at least one occasion. His second wife and daughter tell of a very different and rather loveable man. We'll never know but I'm tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So how she came to give birth to me in this odd little house essentially in what might be described as the middle of nowehere I really don't know. Was she fleeing from him to save herself and her unborn infant as her fearful tales suggest or ..............

Anyway I emerged, on March 13th., supposedly blue and with the cord around my neck. Survive I did despite it all.

A few months later the whole family seems to have reappeared in faraway Sevenoaks in Kent.

I'd give a lot to know the details of those few years. Oh yes indeed.

1961 When I was 22 & Mitch was 1 & Martin wasn't .......



...............I/we arrived in Singapore.

Heat exhaustion was well enough known no doubt but unknown to me. Maybe it had been explained to us. I'm not sure though, the Royal Air Force seemed to have sent us from England to the Far East remarkably ill-prepared.

A family of three, we somehow found accomodation. Nobody gave us salt tablets or told us about salt tablets. Nobody told us to drink plenty.

The unmarried airman was pitched in with other airmen who'd been there for weeks, months even years. But us married families were essentially dumped a few miles north of the equator about as green as it's possible to imagine. We got no advice because, somehow, there was nobody close to advise. Green? We were very, very white!

So a great many men, women and children of that period no doubt got very sunburned and very de-hydrated. That results in that debilitating and sometimes fatal condition known as heat exhaustion.

I reported for duty at 390 M.U. (an aircraft maitnenance Unit) at R.A.F. Seletar, maybe a mile and a half away on my newly purchased bicycle. The heat, the humidity, of course I'd never known anything like it. Sweat, sweat, sweat.

That first period in this new world was a tale of increasing fatigue and decreasing appetite. I'd cycle to work in the morning and stumble about my duties then cycle home for a lunch I'd probably not eat but merely lie on the bed, sweating. A headache and awful tiredness making me utterly miserable. Then back to work for the afternoon and back home as a repeat performance.
Probably, in medical terms, I was dying. And it went on for days and days. I didn't know why or what to do. Sounds stupid now but pride kept me plodding along.

I didn't die or end up in the base hospital but it was a hellish time. Presumably somebody, somewhere got the message across to me. I must have started drinking more and adding salt to my diet but in time I got over it.

I sometimes wonder at how "we" sent our young men overseas in the several centuries of Empire. Presumably the new arrivals learnt from the old hands already there, or perished.

I was 22 and knew little of the lands 'beyond the sea'. Then, suddenly, we climbed into a Britannia and 25 hours later, climbed out onto the tropical dot on the map called Singapore.

Five years earlier troop ships were still being used to send servicemen to the corners of the Empire. This allowed the young novices a chance to "get their knees brown" and absorb the accumulated wisdom of the men who'd done it before.

A year later I was sunburnt and dark as any native and fitter than I'd ever been or would ever be again.

All for Queen and Country!

2009 "Who We Are/Who We Were"



Although the family tree has the aspect of a hobby it's also a serious attempt on my part to map out my/our family.

Nobody before or since seems to have taken a serious interest in those that "came before." Sadly my time on the planet can't last forever and there's so much detail in my head, on paper and here on "the web". Sadly too there's nobody who's really serious about all this stuff now. If I'm not careful much will get lost. Lost it will be because much of it will be out of reach unless the searcher really gets hard to work.

The following lists the whereabouts of it all:

1) I have a Genes Reunited tree.

2)Two, small, red, three-ringed binders contain the Hutton story from 1939 - 1975. Written by me in the 70s it now begs to be brought up to date - 34 more years have elapsed.

3)I've kept a journal since March 1975 - most in a cardboard box written on ordianry "three-holed" paper and more recently on a yearly basis in perhaps 10+ notebooks.

4)Several hand-drawn "trees" on Bristol board.

5)A "bankers box" full of miscellaneous family related stuff.

6)Two shoeboxes of photos and three? CDs with the beginnings of an orderly collection of captioned photos.

Gather up that lot and you have pretty much all there that is currently known about us Huttons.

Now ................. whether or not Mitchell or Martin or Alex or Marc Andre or Ian or Emily ever become the family arhcivist I'll likely never know. But to lose it all would be a sad, sad thing. Surely somebody, somewhere, sometime will get the genealogy bug ?

Apart from the above six, who else is there? Cliff, Glennys, Andrea (Sister Toni's gone missing) are all that are left of the "oldies" .................. ideed we are thin on the ground!!

Oddly, cousin Paul Horrocks has a Genes Reunited "account" and cousin Michael Fuller, Sherri's son too but getting in touch with them will get harder as time passes!

And .......................... who will access this blog entry and seek the above stuff?

1939-2010 Where I've Lived in 71 Years .. (40 places ... so far)
(Click on pictures to enlarge)

Getting this entry together was a labour of love really. Finding the pictures and scratching my head and trying to remember details! Perhaps a few subsequent entries would be an idea, explaing the whys and wherefores of each place. Why have I lived in so many places? Why indeed.


10 Southfield Terrace, Laneshawbridge, Colne, Lancashire.
Here I was born 1939 Number ten is the right of the man in the picture.












56 Granville Road, Sevenoaks, Kent 1939-1944











29 Alexandra Road, Farnborough, Hampshire 1944-1953
Sadly I have no photo of this address. Sadly because, if
I had a childhood home, this was "IT".
So this "at school" shot will have to suffice.










8 Brandreth Road, Balham, London. 1954
This is how Google Maps sees the place in 2009.
We lived upstairs at the front I think.
(A brandreth is the frame upon which a barrel is stood)













37 Randolph Avenue, Maida Vale, London 1955

Back to Balham to a now forgotten address. 1955

Then: 19 Nightingale Square, Balham, London 1956

2 Branksome Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex. 1956











RAF Cardington, Bedfordshire. 1957 (the famed balloon sheds)








RAF West Kirby, Cheshire. 1957
Outside one of 'those' huts, so beloved
of the RAF, for accomodation.












RAF Kirkham, Lancashire. 1957 Billet D 13
Airframe Mechanic's course.

RAF West Malling, Kent. 1957

RAF Driffield, Yorkshire. 1958

RAF North Weald, Essex. 1959

RAF Weeton, Lancashire. 1959

No list would be complete without mention of : 97 Mansfield Road, Layton, Blackpool, Lancs. (1959-1996 for me) Here Rena lived almost her entire life and here Glennys and Andrea grew up. At varying times "we" visited and lived here. In total, probably more time here than at some other addresses! Thanks Rena : the Huttons owe you!

RAF Horsham St. Faiths, Norfolk. 1959

183 QueensRoad, Norwich, Norfolk . 1959.... here I lost my virginity. I don't want it back!

4B Quebec Road, Norwich, Norfolk 1959












A second home, address forgotten but somewhere in Norwich.1959

A third home, address forgotten but, again, somewhere in Norwich. 1960

21 Dennis Road, Norwich, Norfolk. Here Glennys went into labour withMitchell. 1960

No.? Arlington Lane, Norwich, Norfolk 1961

? Hing Hock Lane, Jalan Kayu, Singapore 1961









130-14 Tong Lee Road, Jalan Kayu, Singapore 1961- 1963









25? Bedale Street. RAF Cottesmore, Rutland. 1963-1964
Our only RAF Married Quarters. (That's our very new Mini)













63A Aukland Road, Doncaster, Yorkshire 1964-1965
"Where Martin was conceived"
Our flat was downstairs at the far end, in fact invisible in this picture! We lived here for part of my time at RAF Lindholme.











Flat 2, Moorland Court, Lawn Road, Doncaster,Yorkshire. 1965
Martin almost born here when Glennys went into labour.
I was demobbed from RAF while living here.










The Mill, Bielby, Yorkshire 1966-1967










8 The Oval, Brough, Yorkshire1967/8 Sadly, no picture.

Apt. 406, 390 Cote Vertu, Montreal, Quebec 1968

Apt.104, 710 32nd Avenue, Lachine, Montreal, Quebec 1969-1971
Our apt. above right hand garage door.









47 Andras Drive, Dollard des Ormeaux, Montreal, Quebec 1971-1974 That accursed condominium

278 8th Avenue, Ile Perrot, Montreal, Quebec. 1975









Back of the Moon Lodge, Sherwood Park, Enfield, Nova Scotia 1975









4 John Murray Drive, Enfield, Nova Scotia, B0N 1N0 1975-1979











"Ooptt'lot" 4 Lynch Road, Shubenacadie, N.S. B0N 2H0 1979-1995
Seen here as I put on the vinyl siding in '94(?).








8 Roman Way, Bourton on the Water, Gloucestershire, England 1995/6

Park Victoria Apt ?, 1333 South Park Street, Halifax, Nova Scotia 1996/7

Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. 1995(?) Viv and 1997 to date for me.
This is how Google Map saw us in Spring 2009 Viv was cleaning the car!

1911-1987 Herbert Ralph Ward-Eversley ..........................



Below is Andrea's response to my efforts at getting pictures of Herbert Ralph Ward-Eversley.
The man who was Glennys' and Andrea's is a strange and shadowy figure and seems destined to remain so. But dammit ..... I wish I had photos of him for the family tree.

******************************


"I don't think I have photos of Ralph. Don't forget I only met him about 6 times in my whole life.

I was brought up to hate him .

I remember him coming upstairs to see Glennys when she had pleuresy and leaving
her half a crown. He was a total stranger...a man who had come to see Glennys.

I remember him coming to the house when I was about 13. A handsome man with his coat collar turned up and a trilby hat set to one side, just like Clark Gable. Rena was working overtime and I didn't know who he was. I invited him in and he had a cup of tea. He then said, 'You don't know me do you? I am your father.'
I was horrified when Rena came through the door and told him to leave. He went across the road to Mrs. Ray. I was shaking, not because he was my father but how Rena had reacted. My life was absorbed in making her happy, making her proud, I felt that I had betrayed her.

I saw him with you in London.

Then when Mrs. Reynolds died, he had to move out of Tennyson Road. He invited me to go up and had all this market stall rubbish ready for me to put in my car. Then we went to lunch and I met his gay friends and I only realised then that he was possibly gay. He was full of venom for Colin and his wife (probably Mrs. Reynolds' son and daughter in law) who wanted to sell No.4. They got him the Council bungalow and sorted everything out for him.

Next time was when I received a call from the police, who had found my name and number by the telephone, to say he had died of a heart attack in his new, warden-controlled, little bungalow.

I had to go and clear everything out and organise his funeral.

I contacted everyone whose number I could find. They came to his funeral. Sherri and were late! ALL the people were gay and had no idea, apart from the 2 men that I had previously met, that Ralph had been married and had children and grandchildren. I wrote all our names down for the Vicar and who we were, yours included. The astonishment on the dozen people present was incredible.

I had his ashes scattered in the rose garden at the crematorium on the Rose Garden named 'Dark Secret'

I wish I had known him. it was obvious that I get all my drama and flamboyance from him.
I got on with him, I understood him. I was sorry for him.

Here endeth my recollections of my father. " Andrea

***************************

And this was my reply which gives a brief look at my memories of the man:


"What a sweet write up for Ralph. Most of it you've mentioned before but having it all in one piece gives a better picture.

I met him 3 or 4 or 5 times? I can only recall three:

1) He came to Glennys and my wedding in 1959 in Norwich

2) I visited him once at 4 Tennyson Rd in Coventry and stayed the night. He was a terrible snorer and I sought refuge on the couch in the living room. He'd made a glorious garden at the back of the house. Somewhat embittered he complained about being neglected by everyone and I seemed to spend all the time trying to defend "us". We toured Coventry Cathedal together.

3) That strange meeting in London. Met him at Euston. We rowed on Hyde Park(?) lake with him and one? or both? of Martin and Mitchell. So I think he met his grandsons just the once. No ........ there are pictures of him at Warwick Castle where Glennys and the kids must have met him on another occasion.

I tried writing to him the way I wrote to Rena but he claimed that he got very, very few of the letters and in the end I gave up trying. Never managed to find anything out about his past or his origins. I have pieced together a bit. Don't know if you're interested.

A sad, lonely, little guy. I rather liked him. Rena and Glennys painted him pretty black. He seemed to think Rena threw him out for just being himself. Somewhere in all the bitterness lies the truth which we'll never know.

And yet he's the father and grandfather and great grandfather of so much of our scattered clan. Time to forgive and remember perhaps.

Odd parallels between Ralph and my dad. What a world of broken marriages children grow up in."

2009 Today I threw Away ................................



Sunday evening is time to "make-up" the garbage for Monday's collection.

I've just thrown two items away:

a) The 'Audubon' "bird" clock that came from my mother's apartment not long before she died. Not an old clock or even that expensive, witness the quartz movement that ate batteries far too fast. But it WAS one of the few momentoes I have/had of her.

b)My old R.A.F. flashlight (torch). I've had it for over 40 years! Technically stolen, I suppose, from H.M. the Queen. Oh well. I could have held it up and said to folks, "I had this in the Air Force!" But I realise such claims aren't really taken seriously, so out it went.

What we see as little treasures one day ............................. ? Then in the harsh reality of flying time.

1950 +/- "Electrifrying..............."


Long ago, soon after dinosaurs roamed the earth .................

Mid '50s I s'pose (1950s that is). I was at London Bridge station, trainspotting. Out on platform's end, wishing the damned electrics wouldn't always get in the way, when a "Schools" was passing to, or from, Charing Cross. Great place to get 'electrics' though - more red lines under more of those innumerable 4-SUBs.

There were perhaps a dozen of us assembled, pencil and notebook equipped. One of our number - a stranger to me - was an entertainig character.

He jump onto the juice rail for sixpence. Once or twice we were prevailed upon to give up our pennies and ha'pennies until he had the requisite tanner and he'd do it.

Down the ramp, face the rail, and jump, both feet onto the rail, balance for a moment, then jump backwards off again.

Enterprising lad. Where did he end up I wonder? What age did he attain?

Funny what you remember.

(I'm sure nobody will understand 1% of this)