My life story by Henry J Macey (books suggested by bill gates TXT) 📖

scrumping, as there were many orchards around Wellington, most of which grow cider apples. Most of the apples would go to the cider factory in Taunton, but a lot was made into farmhouse cider, the locals called it stumpy or tanglefoot, I have never drunk it but you can tell the ones who do by the big purple noses they develop.

 

As we left an orchard with our shirts bulging, we ran straight into the local Police sergeant on his bike, he marched us to the farmer's door where we had to empty our undeserved profits onto a table.  The farmer sorted the apples into different piles and then told us to eat one pile, after two apples I was full, but the sergeant made me force another one down.

 

When we had finished eating, the sergeant gave each of us a clip round the ear and a boot up the pants to send us on our way.  Halfway home, we were all doubled up in pain, by the time I got home, the pain was unbearable.  My father asked why, and when I told him I got another harder clip round the ear, not for scrumping but for getting caught, my mother gave me a dose of the dreaded Syrup of Figs and I was sent to bed. For days afterwards I had a stomach ache and spent most of my time in the toilet, even today I still cannot eat an apple, without remembering that time and the discomfort I had.

 

When I left school at fifteen, I went to work at Fox’s woollen mill in Wellington as a lodge boy, there were four of us running messages all around the mill, when we had nothing to do, we either had to clean the numerous brass nameplates, or the mill's antique fire fighting pump, it was a fine example of the early firefighting equipment, with four solid coach wheels. The front axle was steered with a drawbar with two crossbars; four men would pull the pump to where it was needed, then they would climb onto the pump, to operate the pivoted handles to pump the water.

 

When we first started, the lodge-keeper told us of our duties, he also gave us several warnings, one of which was to be very careful when we went to deliver messages to a certain part of the mill, he said that he once had a boy start to work with him, whom he sent to the mending shop with a message, the boy was never seen by him again.

 

The mending shop was an all women’s working area, all the lodge boys would wait outside the shop, and give the message they were carrying to the first person who entered. My first trip there resulted in me being forcefully removed from the shop, I had waited outside the shop far too long and built up my courage to enter, opening the door I peeked inside and saw I had a clear run to the office.

 

So off I went as fast as my legs would carry me, then felt very proud of myself as I handed over the message inside of the office, my joy was short-lived because as I left the office, several hands grabbed me, and I was jammed upside down in a round bobbin basket and left outside; ‘trouserless.'

 

After a short time as lodge boy, I was given a job working with a chap called Alfred George, his job was the testing of new types of ropes, and equipment for the mill, these ropes went on the mules, ‘mules were the machines that span the wool into yarn’ the new ropes had to be tested for there durability, and the amount of stretch in them, to see if they were suitable for the task they had to do.

 

Alf's was a character of the first degree, and with a wicked sense of humour had me in stenches most of the time. He had been a prisoner of the Japanese for a number of years and had not a hair on his body, his stories of hardship and survival in the jungle, plus his time as captive made me glad I was just a whippersnapper.  He never did tell me what the Japanese did to him, to make him lose his hair permanently, perhaps it was too painful for him to talk about, or too horrible for my young ears to hear.  He was also the physiotherapist for the Wellington rugby club and taught me much on the subjected, I went to many games with him, as his bucket and sponge handler.

 

In these days of the early fifties, hundreds of people worked for Fox Brothers mostly married woman and young girls, there were a lot of men and boys, but we were definitely outnumbered, and intimidated by the fairer sex.  Most of the workers came from outlying villages, bussed into the factory, the same buses brought people into Wellington on Wednesday’s and Saturday night’s, for film shows at the two cinemas in town, as in those days, hardly anybody had a car, so the buss’s brought girlfriends in as well.

 

With hundreds of workers the mill had its own dining room, and a massive kitchen, the dining room also doubled as a theatre and dancehall, with Christmas parties and wedding receptions being held there too.  The raised stage was used not only for the mill band to play at dances, or the mill players to put on amateur theatricals.  Fox brothers put on live shows with professionals for their workers, Arthur Askey sang his bee song where he was one among many, then once a mouth the dance held there was the most attended, and where I met my first girlfriend but enough said about that.

 

When I was sixteen I bought my first motorbike, a B, S, A, two fifty side valve, it was an ex-army dispatch riders bike and was still painted khaki.  With spring guarder front fork and a rigid rear end, a single seat with pannier bags and leg guards, it had cost me forty-five pounds and was a real bone shaker, but I loved it and lovingly cared for it until it died a death that no amount of work could revive it.  Now I could terrorize the outlying villages, I couldn’t before on my pushbike, on the A38 between Wellington and Willand, there was a transport café called maiden downstage, the young lady I had befriended had a part-time job there on the weekends, she lived at Berlescombe some two miles from the café, and I used to ride out there to see her on Saturdays.

 

It was on one of these trips I learnt a valuable lesson about riding a motorbike, you can’t take a ninety-degree turn at full tilt, the café was only open until noon, and I was running late, when I got there she had already left on her bicycle, I had missed her by a few minutes, so racing back along the road to catch her up, I took the turn for Berliscombe too fast.  I left the road and went onto the grass, then my bike punched its way into a hedge, I came to a halt upright my face inches from the hedge, but I could not get off my bike, as the bike entered the hedge, my leg guards had folded back trapping my legs against the bike, it took me some time to free myself, then I went home to sort out the minor damage to the bike.

 

I suppose you might find this a bit sorrowful, but this incident is the only memorable thing I can remember about our brief encounter, I suppose you should remember your first girlfriend name, I can not, her name completely eludes me, so if you ever read this; my humble apologies, that is if you remember me at all.

 

I joined the Navy in nineteen fifty-six, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was sent to H.M.S. Raleigh for my training, as a mechanical engineer but we were still called stokers then, we were given the first day to make up our minds whether to stay ‘in’ or go home to mummy. After an uncomfortable night in a barrack room with thirty beds, holding thirty young strangers, some of them decided in the night, this was not the place for them to be, so they were silently whisked away in the morning, never to be seen by the rest of us again.

 

I stayed in and accepted the queens shilling, and had my identity changed, I was now Macey, H, J, RN, DK964288 mechanical engineer ‘in brackets’ (trainee) and went on to do my basic training.  I soon got into trouble with my instructors, being in the Somerset Light Infantry Army Cadet Force for so long, I did all the marching at light infantry pace, as we came to a halt, I naturally stood at ease, as was the way in the light infantry.

 

I soon learnt, from my instructor’s gentile and helpfully persuading language to get it right, the Navy way, helping my other classmates with their rifle drill and weapon maintenance; pleased some of the instructors but not all.  One day, we were in the classroom being instructed on the Bren gun, I was telling one of my classmates all about it when I heard my name called.  The instructor told me to come to the front of the class and he said, “Seeing that you have been listening to me so intently, you can tell everybody what I have just tort you about the gun and show them how it works.”

 

I had done this lecture before and got the glaring eye's treatment from him, as I told the history of the gun, where it was made and even the man who had designed it as I stripped it and placed the parts on the table.  Then picking up each piece I explained how the gases from the gunpowder worked on each part to return the firing pin, also when firing the weapon you had to physically, hold it into your shoulder, as the recoil mechanism worked so well, if you didn’t hold it tight to you it danced away from you.  When I had finished and reassembled the Bren, the instructor told me to report to the Instructor’s office and wait, I was put on the instructors report list and was brought up before the camp commander and all the instructors. 

 

They discussed my record, as though I wasn’t there, which made me feel very small, fortunately, the outcome was that I moved up a class and jumped basic training completely, later, another instructor told me that the weapon instructor was upset because I knew more about the gun than he did.

 

Although it was many years ago I can still remember, being given several pieces of metal, some were cut into smaller pieces and then filed into different shapes of different dimensions, some had to have holes in the middle; others had parallel square grooves and V-shaped grooves. The dimensions had to be lifted off a blueprint, each of us was given, the rest of the metal, we made into our tools, open-ended spanners, hammers, pliers, adjustable wrench, callipers, and chisels which we had to harden, then we were marked, on the accuracy of our work, I still have some of the tools to this day.

 

The next stage of training was learning about Admiralty three-drum boilers, which used distilled water made from seawater for the superheated steam they produced that ran the steam turbines, to drive gearboxes that turned the shafts that turned props that drove the ship through the water. As the steam expanded it lost power and was piped to lesser equipment such as reciprocating pumps, turbines that drove electric generators, then onto the galley to cook food, and the laundry for the washing of clothing. It would end up in the condensing plant and made into freshwater to be used onboard ship.

 

When I finished