The Fates smile on Danny again.
The cat Peter stayed with us until summer '57, then one morning we were discussing getting him the 'snip'. He carried on licking his fur on the hearth rug with feigned indifference. But he was reviewing his options..... Next morning he had gone and didn't come back.
We asked around the neighbourhood; no one had 'won' a tabby. Nor had any been handed into the constabulary. The local children (always the most reliable source in these matters) reported no squashed cats. He had simply vanished; he had always been a semi-feral animal, he would undoubtedly survive on his wits.
In the end it was just as well. Mrs D.'s mother's dog had pups in the autumn. We chose one. "Sally" was just a mongrel, basically a small Manchester terrier (Black-and-Tan). She was to be our faithful companion for 18 years; when she died we were heartbroken. We never had another dog.
The months raced by into summer of '58: we'd been in post for three years, the end must surely be in sight. The news came in August - Thorney Island ! "Jammy", they said. "Lucky devil", they said. They were not wrong.
Someone (don't remember who) would be in line for the best hiring of his life. We started the rigmarole with which all service families grow familiar. We got the Three Estimates from the mover (by the tried and trusted method of picking the one we wanted: he would get two higher ones from his pals in the trade). We started packing our stuff: it is amazing how much you can accumulate on even one tour.
The date for the dreaded Marching Out Inspection was fixed. Actually, we had little to fear. The house had been in beautiful condition to start with and we'd kept it that way. Peter, ever the perfect gentleman, had concentrated his destructive efforts on the hessian-padded kitchen table leg I'd provided for him. Sally we'd house-trained from the start. We were complimented by the Housing Officer on the excellent condition of the place. Final gas and electricity meter readings were taken.
The TV set (hired - 10/- a week, a bad bargain if ever there was one, as over the three years we'd paid £75 - and you could buy a good set for that) had to go back. Against that, the cyclometer on the front fork of the 'Winged Wheel' read 3,000+ miles, all home/duty @ 1d/mile (motorbike rate) = £12/10+ (gross). As it seemed to run for ever on a gallon of petrol (ca 3/- a gallon), it had pretty well paid for itself already and I was in profit.
Someone else would have to stoke the church boiler that winter, and do most of the cleaning and the flowers. Then followed the sad part: leaving our first married home and saying "goodbye" to all the friends and neighbours we'd gathered in the last three years.
Then we pumped up the tyres on old "Micky", loaded kit and small dog on board, handed in the keys, put 180 on the compass and we were on our way. I do not remember how long it took us to get down there, but we finished up in a little hotel in Horndean. We didn't have to stay there for long, for we fell on our feet (housing-wise) almost at once; for a hiring came up in Hayling Island.
A Lt/Cdr had bought a new-built pair of two-bedroom flats for his future retirement. They were in Bembridge Drive, right down at the SE tip of the island; in fact the Drive ran parallel to, and was the last road before, the shingle beach. The top flat was let as an RAF hiring, below us a nice old lady, "Nance" Tibbott, lived with her even older brother. Our flat had a balcony facing across the Solent to the Isle of Wight. The Drive was a dead-end to the east, there was no through traffic. Our landlord had chosen well.
Distances were the only problem. As the crow flies, the ATC Tower at Thorney was only about two miles across the mud flats. But I had to drive some six miles up the Island to Havant, then three along the coast road to Emsworth, then another five down through the 'Deeps' to Thorney. There was no way round this short of a hovercraft (or swim).
However, Thorney was a Master Airfield, open 24/7, so we were on a four-watch system. You would start (say) on Monday afternoon, then do Tuesday morning and (all) Tuesday night to 0800 Wednesday. The rest of Wednesday and Thursday completely off, then in again Friday afternoon and so on. The cherry on the cake was that, although Local and Approach spent the nights at their desks, Talkdown, when there was no demand for his services (which was generally the case), had a room in the bottom of the Tower and got his beauty sleep (or most of it) in there.
More next time. Goodnight, chaps,
Danny42C.
Some people have all the luck.