1935
We none of us care about the man who brags about his skills but never lets us witness them and we soon discover him. I had a brother-in-law who didn't brag, he tells you the truth. You might think he is bragging until you take him on, then you find that he can play tennis, darts or billiards. He, by name Ern Dove, was, like me an apprenticed shipwright but whilst I served In the Royal Naval Dockyard he was a Thames-sider. When he got paid off in '22 he joined the R.A.0.C. and soon had three stripes up. On one occasion whilst on leave in Portsmouth he and his brother-in-law Harold took a bus out into the countryside and called in at the local for lunch.
Ern spotted the dart board and commented on it.

"Did he play?" asked one of the locals.

"Yes," replied Ern, "I'm pretty good."

"Oh," says one of the locals, "you'd better give Harry a game, he's quite useful."

Harry agreed and then, thinking they had a soft touch suggested they had five bob on It. Ern suggested that ten bob would be more realistic and then proceeded to go out while his opponent was hardly started.

"Blimey!" said the local, "you're pretty useful."

Ern said, "Well, I did warn you, didn't I?"

And that was the bloke who was going to spend a holiday with us when we lived in the wooden bungalow. I did not look forward to it but it turned out all right. I had one room for a workshop and I was working on a wooden armchair, which was originally made in pine but was having much of it replaced by oak. I was doing the arm rests which had half holes in each for the cross rail and to get half holes you cramp the two arm-rests together and bore holes in the combined piece and then separate them. Ern was intrigued; he said that he handled tools as a shipwright but hadn't touched them for years. Well he spent part of every day in my workroom and when it was time to depart he was exceedingly grateful, he said he'd enjoyed himself.

One thing he was not good at, the raising of little boys.. His youngest son was left-handed and he used to whack him to change It. It nearly drove little Jimmy silly and it was only when he got away from home and his father that he developed normally. He finished up in the New Zealand army. Unfortunately years of service often produces a lack of financial ability and Ern was "conned' out of a lot of his gratuity by a bankrupt, but not before he had bought a house, fortunately.

1935
Several of my memories concern a headmaster of a school I visited three days a week. He was a real character - they don't make them like that nowadays. At the time there were three of them, a triumvirate of staunch N.U.T. members and they wielded great power. A new inspector was drafted into the county straight from university and he visited the three, one by one and snagged their teaching of what was to be known as Social Studies, - Geography and History. They got together and planned a course of action; they all three submitted their resignations it appeared that the new Inspector had been upsetting head teachers all over the county. They sent the local Inspector round and he reported general unrest. I do know what happened at Sheringham. He marched into the schools Infants Department and instead of seeking the head teacher he opened the first door he came to and stood there glowering. The class teacher was Miss Fulger, who came to my evening class at Sheringham. She finished what she was doing and then asked his business. He announced himself and asked what the children were doing. They were reading whilst she marked the individual work from the previous period. Mr Clevercock (I forget his proper name) asked if the children had expressed a wish to read and was told that she had expressed a wish for them to read as that was according to the timetable approved by the authority in Norwich; she suggested politely that he should see the headmistress. After the County Inspector had toured the county and the three resignations arrived he reported that they could expect many more. The sequel? The transfer of Mr C'c elsewhere, out of Norfolk. Back to the headmaster of Fakenham, henceforth known as Frankie. He was a very rude man. I went across one afternoon to be introduced to him as the incoming Handicraft teacher. He deliberately kept me waiting and when he deigned to notice me it was only to be rude. "Handicraft man eh? I never have had any time for them" I didn't bite as he probably hoped I would. I just said "well at least we know where we stand. Good afternoon" Do you know, we got along very well. One day, in front of a member of staff he said that he'd been into the woodwork room the previous week 'the first time for 20 years, I must say it looks like a craft room more than it ever has". He must have been peering through the windows all those years, but it certainly was a compliment.

They had a school fund mainly for sports gear and one day the deputy heed Alf Neck told him that they needed a new football and there was nothing In the fund. Usually they would hold what the old bay called a penny concert (parents 2d) in which each of five classes did something different, but this time Frankie decided to have some

boxing. I didn't see these capers because I visited Reepham on Thursday and Friday and Frankie's penny concerts were always an

Fridays, but every Monday when I went to Fakenham I would be regaled with his latest exploit. The boxing was apparently his piece-de-resistance. He chose the opponents, Noel Allison a rather quiet inoffensive lad and a tough little all - rounder Jack Tooley. We wondered why Allison had been chosen, but it might be that it was all well planned, for he won on points! For three rounds young Jack chased Noel round the ring, aiming blows with both gloves. At the end of the third round Frankie climbed into the ring and raised Allison's hand on high. Alf Neck went across at once and in a loud whisper told him that you raise the victor's hand. That was right he was told

and when All pointed out that Tooley had chased Allison round the ring for three rounds the old mans answer was 'he never caught him". A British boxer once said that in Italy it was necessary to kill your opponent to get a draw. In Fakenham it seems that you have to kill the referee as well

1936.

I've written about the first man to welcome us when we moved into the crude shack that was our first "own home" and sheltered us from 1929.There was another with whom we became very friendly, Frank Steward, who was a few years older than us. During the first World War he must have been in Intelligence. He didn't talk much about it except to say that he used to make frequent trips across the channel. Before the war he was with the Imperial Tobacco Co. in London but when the war ended he felt that after those years spent out of doors he didn't want to go back to an indoor job. He was quite artistic and thought he could make a living illustrating for local publishers. Maybe he might have but he was feckless and procrastinating. He married a schoolteacher at Bodham School but she left him and they divorced before we knew him. He occasionally got a cheque for illustrating work for Jarrolds, good class publishers of Norwich. When he got any payment he threw a party and spent it all at once. Then one year there was a great scout jamboree held at Liverpool with hundreds, maybe even thousands of boy scouts assembled from all over the world. Frank had a brainwave, he would make a little model of a boy scout and sell them as souvenirs. It was a project that needed speed between stages - finding a model, finding the best pose, finding a firm to cast it, finding two guarantors to be responsible for £25 each. He had time but he dithered about and by the time the scouts dispersed to the four corners of the earth the prototype was still awaiting official approval. Alan Steward, his brother who was a teacher at Ipswich Grammar school, lost his £25 as did Mr Packard, another High Kellingite of whom more anon.

Frank was a good tennis player and there was a tennis court in the field near the road to Selbrigg pond belonging to what was in those days the women's sanatorium. Local people were given permission to use the court provided the nurses, who weren't very expert, got a fair share. We, who realised the position, used to play with the nurses and hit the ball to them so that they could get it, but one local lass had to be foolish and make the nurses feel silly. The nurses (only two or three usually came) stopped coming, so the matron didn't open the court when the next season started.

It was about that time that we started tennis In Holt on the playing field. They had laid down a tarmac court but it wore out the balls very quickly so four High Kellingites got some green cementone and painted the surface. The ground was cleared at the eastern end of the playing field raked and rolled and sown with grass seed by a local nurseryman but before the job could be finished the war broke out and the ground was neglected. When we looked at it in 1945 it looked hopeless, but I have already told you this story.