I was born on the Wirral, to Margaret, a Domestic Science Teacher, and Tony, a Butcher's Manager. Margaret was fair and freckly, and Tony was like Robert de Niro with more teeth. We had our own little house, and were just a normal family. Myself, my older brother, my Dad, and my Mum, who he fondly referred to as," Chip-Bag Bottom ". He would never say,"  This is  my wife, " Chip- Bag Bottom." It was just a pet name they had.
 

They seemed pretty happy. They would sing rounds and harmonies at the sink, as they washed and dried the dishes. My Mum in her gentle soprano, and my Dad in his rich baritone.

When I was eighteen months old, (as my Mother always used to say.) She contracted Meningitis, and nearly died .She had to go to a convalescent home, so my brother and I went to stay with another family. When my Father went to visit her, and asked what she had had for lunch, she replied " Oh, same old stone elephants,"  but what she really  meant was, cold, lumpy old mashed potatoes. The Meningitis had caused a stroke, and she was completely paralysed on the left side. Fortunately she made a good recovery, regaining most of the movement, but she always felt cold on the left side of her body, and her piano playing had suffered, but she could still tinkle those ivories every now and again.

I couldn't say for sure, but perhaps because of this trauma, my parents decided to work for Dr Barnardo's , which meant that they would work together, and we would live in a big house with lots of other children, like one big happy family. I think my Father had to do some training," The Butcher of Barnardo's "  wouldn't have sounded very good. And so we went to live at the Dr Barnardo's Children's Village in Ilford. It was designed to give homeless inner-city children the experience of living in a village. Built around three village greens, it had its own School, Church and Hospital, a Nursery, an Old Folks Home, and a Swimming Pool.
 

Cottages were built around the green, and many were named after wild flowers, such as Bluebell, or Forget-me-not, but we lived in Beehive Cottage. My parents were referred to as Aunty Margaret, and Uncle Tony, but to us they were still our Mummy and Daddy. There was Aunty Ada, who did the cleaning, and other Aunties who came and went, and helped to keep everything running smoothly.
 
At mealtimes, we all sat around a big table and ate together. We children drank our squash or milk from brightly coloured plastic beakers, which some people had a habit of chewing. One morning, we sat down to Breakfast, to find that all the cups had been cut into a deep zig-zag along the top, so that  when you drank from them, all the milk ran down your neck. I don't know if a lesson was learned or not, but it certainly was a strange morning.
 

On the green in front of the house, was a tall Plane tree that dropped itchycoo balls  onto the grass, that would send you mad with itching, if you got them down your back. It was the little hairy fibres that  caused the trouble, and the boys that caused the trouble with the itchycoo balls.
 

The boys loved to build Airfix models, and if you didn't  wet  your bed  for a month, you could win a model aeroplane. You had to be a " bed-wetter "  to start with though. When they had finished glueing them together, and done all the painting, they would hang all the planes from their bedroom ceiling, so it looked like a battle scene. Everyone had a chart, and would get a star for every night that they were dry. There was a lot of washing in that house.

One Christmas, when I was about four, I had to stay in the village Hospital. I had a sickness bug, and I had to spend the whole holiday in quarantine so all the other kids didn't catch it. I think Santa came and brought some presents, but I don't think he was the real Santa, and I don't think they were the real presents, and I wanted to be at home with my stocking and my satsumas.

I had a home visit from the Doctor once. He crept quietly into my bedroom one night when I was fast asleep. He said,"  It's O.K. I'm a Doctor, and I'm just going to examine you."  I knew it wasn't really the Doctor, It was just  John Brown, and he was about fourteen. Too young to be a Doctor.

I was really sleepy. He sat down on the chair next to my bed, he lifted up my nightie ,and he laid me across his lap on my tummy. I don't remember much else .He was quite a kind, gentle Doctor, and the diagnosis was that I had nappy- rash, but I think I had goose-bumps from being wrenched from sleep in the middle of the night. Anyway, I didn't wear nappies ! I don't know what became of you John Brown, with your Winkle-Pickers. Maybe you are a Doctor somewhere out in the world.