Teresa, my twin sister and I were born on the 3rd of January 1938. The Second World War began in September 1939. It ended in 1945; Teresa and I were then 7 years old.
In this photograph we are aged about 3. in  1941.  The photograph is taken in the back garden of our Nannie  who lived up Dunsford Hill.                                      Weren't we sweet?

Angelo and all.

On the 3rd of November 1942.  My brother Angelo was born.   Teresa was delighted of course, what little girl wouldn't be?
She constantly fussed him, tucking him up in his warm cot blankets and rocking his pram.  All I did was wake him up, so I was not too popular around town.
My Mother, as beautiful as ever held this little bundle in her arms and gave him all her love and attention.  Hmm! I was busy at school, which distracted me from too much jealousy.  But Hey! I had been her favourite until now.  It was not fair.  Was it?
But it was not in my nature to be a nuisance and jealous for long, I rather liked him.  Maybe I could teach him to play with me?  So I soon adapted and took an interest in this fat little brother.  Trouble was just around the corner when my older brother Domenico returned from Italy where he had been during the War.
My Mother spoke PIDGEON English and we teasingly made fun of her but never disobeyed her out of respectful love.

Mum would sit in her bedroom soaking up the morning sunshine as it shone through the windows and she fed her breast milk to her new little man.
Angelo was a large baby and he seemed very contented as he happily guzzled his mother's bountious breast milk.
I could not contain my curiosity any longer.
Mum?  My mother looked at me as she fed Angelo.  Yes dear?  Mum? What does it taste like?  What dear?  That milk stuff, can I taste it?
Eh, Edmondo what a you say? (Mum spoke like that).
Can I taste it Mum?  No, she said, it's a for da baby.  Yes I know, I said, but what does it taste like? Eh, she said all exasperated, come a here. My Mother let me taste some of her milk with the tip of my tongue. UGH! Its horrible I said.  Eh, good, now go away "Va Ten" my Mum always said.
For some reason things seemed better for us at home now that we had Angelo, everything was calm and even the war had gone quiet, very strange.
The relatives made a special effort and brought all sorts of goodies for my Mother and her new baby.  And of course I benefited from all the largesse. 

There was of course a downside, but Hey!   life aint all roses.  (I'll Give you What for?)     What for? was the cry of all the children in the land?  As Fathers and Mothers and sadistic teachers and other rotten grownups gave some helpless and innocent child a hiding for apparently doing nothing, other than just being kids, and just being there and being easy to blame an all that.
Hence the screams of the children "What was that for?" as they reeled from some unprovoked parental assault.  The reply was usually "I'll give you what for" and don'tyou dare answer me back, as they got some more. not that my brothers or sister ever suffered at the hands of our parents,   because they did not.  But I on the other hand, Well!    What can I say?

I was a Scamp, a Roque, an Urchin and I well deserved the few serious beatings that my father was forced to give me.  I had been threatened with the belt many times but only recieved it on three occasions.  My greatest sin was taking things that did not belong to me, lets face it I was a thief, a Tea leaf.  Basically it was my curiosity that got me into trouble.  Those particularly beautiful stamps in Dominics Stamp Album or the Myriad of silver coins in the Takings bags that Dad and Uncle Henry brought home.  I merrily took them to school and found a host of new friends immediately. I WAS popular WOWEE so i took some more and eventuall got found out and got a beating. This reinforced our strict Catholic upbringing and the trauma of both the beating and the new found friends caused me some thought.

Those of you who are of my age might well remember the nuances of smells that emanated from our homes at that time! The smell of cabbage water or in our case quite often the smell of turnip tops boiling.  This Kale which the Italians called `Rab` or Rapa or some such, it was full of vitamins and tasted like iron filings, so rich in iron and vitamin "C" was it.  In Italy, I later discovered, those Peasants who relied upon this vegetable as an important part of their diet all had huge shining white teeth without decay up to their death!.

I hated boiled carrots but would eat them raw for a pastime.  We, as children would often go scrumping for fruit in the local orchards.  Many of the fruit that we ate were wind falls and had been infested with ground insects or pecked by birds.  I remember well when I had been taken short up in the fields above Slaters orchard how we all gathered around my pile of steaming shit to look at all the maggots in the turd.  Teresa told Mum and I was dosed for the rest of the week with California Syrup of figs, this did the trick and I was thoroughly cleansed internally even if not externally or spiritually.

I knew it was wrong to steal, after all we were good Catholics and all that. certainly the fear of hell and damnation had been drilled into me often enough. Yet this did not stop me stealing money from the bags of money, Takings, that were brought to the house by my Father and uncle Henry.  I knew that they were florins and half crowns and what they were worth even if I insisted upon referring to them as silver pennies.  I must have done this to somehow alleviate my guilt in my fathers eyes, but what he must have thought of his Idiot son God knows?

Somehow I reasoned that if I did not have the money on me then I could not be blamed!  So I became devious and clever, and hid the money away romantically within tree stumps and beneath lumps of moss within stone walls up Barley lane.  It would not surprise me to learn that people were still turning up small hoards of my Fathers money to this day. 

During one of my investigations for secret hiding places I discovered within a small Copse at the juncture of a hedge dividing two fields a secret hiding place used by a soldier who had been Absent without leave or a deserter! For there, within his hiding place was the remnants of an Army uniform, mess tins and cutlery and a small primus stove, a ground sheet and an army penknife.  All good stuff and very exciting at the time. Also there was some methylated spirits which he had used to light his primus stove.  Later when I returned I brought with me a box of matches and messing about with the methylated spirits in the Farmers field I decided to trail it and set it on fire which it did with a WHOOSH, which cause d me some heart fluttering panic for a moment or two.  I was more careful after that.  the den was broken up because I could not keep the secret of it to myself, and I told some friends, and well you know!.

Dads Kodak Medallist Camera which he got from a YANK during the WAR, probably in exchange for some money or something. 
My Father had Tool boxes and stuff from the war and they were stored in the garage I either mucked them up or took them, or borrowed them for closer scrutiny and forgot to give them back, you name it I did it.  He never hit me too hard with his belt as a punishment, just hard enough that  I got the message.  And he never held me to account afterwards, once I had been punished the matter was forgotten.  Lovely Dad.

As a child I went to the front of our house, "Littoria" every day without fail and looked up to read the sky.  What is this? You may ask? 
I found friendship wherever it was offered and was romantically inclined by nature to approach people without fear.  This was especially true of "Gentlemen of the Road" or "Tramps" to anyone else.

These men would often stop to talk to me about the weather and how to read the signs in the sky of what the day was to bring.  They told me obvious things like Red sky at night, Shepherds delight, Red sky in the morning Shepherds warning, but also to watch the animals and their behaviour were they lying down? Were they close together? Were they herding together or lining up at the gate ready for milking?  Had the wind changed direction?
Also they told me of the wind and different types of clouds.  Was the air still? Was their a sudden squall? They said that winds often sprang up at the changing of the tides.  The types of clouds could indicate weather to come.  To look to the horizon was it clear or were there clouds surrounding us?  What were the different types of clouds called and so on.

smokey joe

They told me that there were often two, three, or four layers of cloud above us at any one time, and that there were winds that moved about at different heights and speeds, sometimes these speeds could reach several hundred miles an hour and if an aeroplane managed to catch one of these going in the right direction, it would reach its destination well ahead of time.

It was my experience that you could tell the difference between those gentlemen who were safe and the Nasty men who by their demeanour and whether they could or would look you straight in the eye.  If the Gentleman was filthy dirty with bad teeth and unkempt straggly long beard and who could only look at people with hatred and fear or would only stare at the ground, I would leave this type strictly alone and keep well clear.  However if they asked for money or food straight up I would happily engage them in conversation and try and find out something about them and their travels.

Knight of the road

My beard is long like a blackbirds nest
Hanging rough upon my bony chest
My body Trembles from the cold
I am neither young nor old
On this cold and frosty morn
Awakening slowly, and curse the dawn

Fingers through my hair and then
I venture out there from my den
Eating crumbs from my bag of bits
Boil my water for a mess of grits
Purloined from a strangers hand
Or taken from the farmers land

 Birdsong fills the fresh morns air
Scuffles in the hedgerow there
Gives comfort that nature nearby
And a fine day promised by the sky
Gathering about my wits and bits
Through the shrubbery I trudge
Along the road to nowhere again
The good Lord, protects me from the rain

I stretch and reach up to the tree
And help myself to an apple or three
I sit and munch upon a stile
No one to bother the likes of I 
Setting off to god knows where
With my stick and beard and lazy eye
This makes me look fearsome
Makes they terrible afeared

Sometimes I dawdle, stop and muse
Passing spitters shout abuse
Mothers hug their children closer
For fear of the vagabonds carousel
Down and out useless drifter
Beachcomber, beggar, rubbish sifter
Treated sometimes to ale and pie
A poor traveller who shall pilgrimise

A knight is I without a charger
A knight of the road without a steed
Not without chivalry, a highwayman
Equal to my fellow man indeed
So bless you all that pass me by
Specially bless all that give to I
Damn the middle class majority
Curses on their local authority.

 
Once or twice this led me to take an interesting fellow home to meet my Mother. These men were all different and sometimes times I might be shouted at or sworn at, however they were most often in such a bad way physically that they would not be able to do me any harm.
My Mother was not pleased with my adventures into the realms of Knights of the Road and feared for my safety.  However she never turned any of them away from the house without food although she never let any of them into the house.
As soon as the "Fellow" had left my mother would go and inspect the pavement outside of our house for signs of chalk marks like the Gypsies left, which indicated that the owner of the house was a soft touch.  If there were any chalk marks my Mother would make me scrub them away until there was no trace left.

Mum used to sigh deeply and say "Edemondo I Donna Know".  But I loved her for allowing me my adventures.
Although I enjoyed playing with my friends I also enjoyed private adventures and found that I would look at every possible angle of everything that I did and not to just do it.  Sometimes I could spend a lot of time in such contemplations and found that I would lapse into a sort of daydream, building possible adventures around scenarios rather than real ones.
And so I became an observer of the human condition as well as a participant.  All of this is laced liberally with catholic rhetoric, conditions, fears and mores.  So sometimes I was a confused lad but sometimes a happy one.

 
   My childhood heroes were.............                                                        

There was Stanley Mathew probably the best footballer ever.

There was Stanley Mathew probably the best footballer ever. We saw his grainy picture in the newspapers or scoring important goals on the newsreel at the local cinema.

Roy Rogers and Trigger his Horse were great favourites.  We would leave the cinema after seeing one of his films and canter down the road slapping our thighs and pointing with fingers in the imitation of guns, Great stuff.

Hop'A'long Cassidy was an early favourite with us kids at Saturday morning Pictures at the Gaumont Cinema in North Street.  We howled with enthusiasm as all his bullets got a bandit, but none of theirs ever came anywhere near him.  As children this was sheer escapism for a few hours once a week.

Desperate dan and His cow pie was a great favourite each week along with...........

 The Beano and  DENNIS THE MENACE.                                                                             

Dandy comics

And of course Dan Dare 

Wonderful Comics that      we used to      read and swap and often re-read.  My particular favourite was Wilson the Wonder man   who could live in a block of ice   and had  immense physical  strength.

I played with Dinky Toys of course and Teresa,  Dolls and skipping ropes.  We both had Teddy bears  which went everywhere with us.

Dinky

Toys

And our Teddies of course.