My name is Alan Edward Parkinson and I was born on the 22^nd of April 1938, the youngest child of two wonderful parents, Fred and Elsie Parkinson. Unlike my brother Frank and sister Jean, who were both born in Barrow, I was born at 34 Hastings Street Walney Island, this making me the only true Walneyite in the family, of which I am quite proud.

The Island of Walney is eleven miles long and at its widest, is one mile wide; the Island is separated from the mainland by a narrow strip of water, named Walney channel. Over the years some of the finest ships in the world, both Royal and merchant were launched from the slipways at the Vickers shipbuilding yard, on the Barrow side of the channel. The Irish Sea laps the West of the Island; where on a clear day, the Isle of Man and North Wales can be often viewed. The only means of access to Walney is by using the Jubilee Bridge, which spans about three hundred yards and I must add, at this present day, a very much over used bridge. The Island I knew as a boy, was a green belt area, but sadly now, where there were green fields and open views, now unfortunately there are ugly sprawling housing estates. Life as a boy passed ever so quickly in the war time environment of the forties, with the ever changing fortunes of War.   The long awaited victory in Europe came just after my seventh birthday on May the 8^th 1945. The street party to celebrate the victory was outside Joe Condron; s fish and chip shop at the bottom of Hastings Street.  With mountains of sandwiches and cakes, washed down with bottles of pop, the likes of which we had never seen before.  I don’t recall a crumb being left on any plates after the hungry mass had finished eating.

In the evening, large bonfires were lit on waste grounds, to the delight of everyone young and old alike, in what was for sure a day to remember always. It was also a period of time when uniforms were in evidence daily, because besides locals being in the forces.  We had situated on Walney Island an Army and R.A.F. camps and also a prisoner of War camp, situated on Walney Island.  The prisoners were mostly Italian and often under casual escort they could be seen outside the camp doing small tasks. What were so noticeable on the Italians, were the big patches on their tunics showing they were prisoners of War. When eventually the military finally left Walney Island, we had unofficially further play areas around the camps to explore, which of course was exciting to say the least.  The bonus for further adventure play areas, were the sand dunes that were very close to the ex-RAF operational airfield, all of which had been out of bounds during the war years.  These were all very happy days and I don’t think any young person, could have wished for a better area to live.

The family house in Hastings Street, had a front and back room with three bedrooms, also a back yard with an outside toilet and coal bunker.  Similar to most families at that time, we had a tin bath, which was kept in the back yard and more often than not was brought into the house every Friday night, for our weekly bath.  There was not much money about those days, but we were all happy and probably my happiest memories of family life, was in that little back room of 34 Hastings Street.  It was here where the family would gather round the table with the radio playing, being able to laugh and talk freely, unlike present days, where television stifles family life. A happy home life is so important when one is young, because it breeds manners and respect to elders and others less fortunate, which sadly is so much lacking this present day. The neighbours in Hastings Street were first class in every way and form, with Mister and Misses Arrowsmith, Bell, Baines and Griffiths just to name a few, who still hold precious memories for me.

It was also pleasing to know there was always somebody at home who really loved and cared for you, no matter what the problem. I can honestly say my home life ranked with the best, which of course, was all made possible by two wonderful parents, who made sure our lives were filled with happiness, not forgetting a little pal who came into my life on my twelfth birthday.

 My sister Jean bought me a black and tan puppy from the now demolished old Barrow market. I named him Kip and he became a most loved member of the family. My dad kept hens and of course when the dog first saw them, he chased them all over the garden.  Although furious at the time, my dad taught Kip to round the hens up, but not only did he round up the hens, Kip would knock the hens up a ramp, with his nose, into the chicken coup.  Quite often a small crowd would gather round the garden fence watching the skill of Kip and praising the dog with true sincerity.

As my brother Frank and I grew up on Walney Island, which in our eyes now was a complete adventure playground, Kip was our constant companion and at the sight of water, which of course was plentiful, he was in.  On his own patch he was quite bossy, but he was never a vicious dog, all our pals loved him and even to this day when I meet old friends; Kip is spoken of with true affection.  Rag and bone men are now figures of the past, but it brings a smile to my face, when I think of the day my mother gave to the rag and bone man, an old jacket Kip slept on. No sooner had the cart set off down the street, when Kip came bounding out of the back yard and leapt on the rag cart to retrieve the jacket and bring it back into the house. The house was in uproar, with everyone rolling over in laughter, while Kip lay contently on his beloved jacket.

“Is your dog in!”  Came the weekly shout from the coal man; for some unknown reason or another dogs do not like coal men and Kip was no exception.  I am sure he would craftily lie in wait for him, because many a time, the coal man would be hurrying out of the yard, with Kip holding on to the seat of his pants.  The happiness Kip brought to our family life was paramount.  When he died at the age of thirteen, I thought it was the end of the world and only animal lovers who have had dogs will know what I mean by that statement. I buried Kip in his favourite corner of my dad’s garden and strangely as I type this, I still feel a bit choked, because after all, he was a one off, he was our Kip.          

Junior days at school were a complete disaster, not only to my education but also to many more of my junior age group. The local Education Authorities through their wisdom, made all the children of school age under eleven, North of a certain street, move to another school. Even though a child might have only

lived a few streets away from Ocean Road school; they still came in the category list of movement of children. The school designated for us was on the other end of the Island, named Vickerstown.  Every morning and dinnertime three double decked buses took us to school and back, this in my junior days at Vickerstown School lasted four years.  I can only speak on behalf of my brother Frank and I, and say it was one complete disruption to our education. During my time at Vickerstown, the War in Europe and the Far East came to an end, but to be quite honest, I was pleased when junior school days came to an end. Only one boy and four girls, out of forty pupils in the (A) class, passed for the Grammar school, and that sums it all up in one sentence

 With junior school behind, and having failed my eleven plus examination, I joined my brother Frank at Walney Modern secondary.  This was the senior annex of the school, which we had been taken from, through the wisdom of the Barrow Education Authorities in 1944.  Obviously when starting new schools, first year boys have to endure a certain amount of bullying and initiations, but that is the name of the game. My fathers words of don’t be first and don’t be last, always echoed in my ears, and those words not only got me through that episode of life, but in later days also.   My form teacher was a Miss Harrington; she had just arrived at the school from college and with her dark hair and good looks, I along with my fellow classmates had an instant crush on her.  Not only was Miss Harrington the English teacher, she was also the girls Gym mistress and it was not unusual for a crowd of lads to be hanging round the corridors, hoping to catch a glimpse of her legs, all so innocently of course! Our hopes were all dashed, when she married another teacher in the school named Mister Banks.

The uneventful years passed quickly to the year 1953 and thankfully this was my final year at school.  The headmaster a Mister Parkington wanted at least nine boys to stay on at school to take their (O) levels.  This had never been done at Walney modern ever before and as I hated school from day one, which I will write about later, there was no way I was going to do an extra year and so I left. The true character of the headmaster came out a year later, when he gave me a bad reference. A local firm, which was Vickers, wrote to him for a character reference and he wrote back saying I was a bad influence. This was quite unbelievable, because not once did I appear before him or any other teacher for any misdemeanors of any kind whatsoever.

It certainly summed up the spite in people of authority and makes one wonder, how many more young people this happened too over the years, does not bear thinking of.

With the school leaving hymn.  The day thou gave lord as ended ringing in my ears, I started my first job as a butcher boy on the Monday and gave my notice in on the Tuesday.  One week later I started to work as an office boy in the Dispatch office, at Vickers shipbuilding works.  I enjoyed being an office boy, but unfortunately I had to endure a bit of bullying, by older lads.  One particular lad who was the main bully would shout “ lets singe ginge,” which unfortunately was me. His cronies, who were all bigger than me at the time, would hold me down while a lighted match singed my hair. I outwardly took it, but the same as all whom has endured bullying, I have never forgotten the ringleader’s names and I told them all at the time, my day would come.  Unfortunately for me, as I grew up and got bigger, my paths with the bullies never crossed. One thing in life that really riles me is bullying, because one, who has suffered bullying, knows what the bullied goes through.      

I would not have had an apprenticeship if it hadn’t have been for a Mister Standish of the Vickers Shipbuilding Correspondence office. He knew I wasn’t a bad influence and through his good name, he acquired me a trade of a Fitter and Turner.  Not only did he do that; he blasted the reference given by the headmaster of Walney Modern secondary school, as complete and utter rubbish, of which it was!  Mister Standish, who is now deceased, was a true gentleman of the first order and I will never forget him. My apprenticeship started on the 20^th of September 1954, and from day one I really enjoyed it.  Vickers has a good name throughout the world for their shipbuilding and engineering, and to get a good name the work force had to be second to none.  The men who taught me my trade were men indeed and I mention their names with pride, Lenny Worral, Neville Dempster, Ted Lewis, Bill Beverly, Eric Shaw and the unforgettable C. B Heslin, (Barney).  Barney was a true brick and not including my dad; he was the most sincere man I eve met in all my life.  Sadly now, only Lenny Worral and Eric Shaw are still alive.

As I grew up older lads in the street such as Dave (Joe) Bell, Jimmy Ferguson, Ben and Hugh Harrison, were all called up to do their national service in various branches of the services.  To all the younger lads in the street they were our heroes. Hugh, because of his popularity and sense of humour, who seemed to do everything with a smile, was much missed by the lads in the street when he was called up to join the army.

Other street heroes were also returning to civilian life after their war time service, such as Sid Kelly who had been in the Armoured Corps.  I mention this man, because he was one of the most popular of men, not only in our street, but also on Walney Island. I believe that when the ex- servicemen returned to civilian life after the War, they had a sense of relief of having survived.  This was a bonus in life, and in Sid Kelly’s case, he enjoyed his life until the day he died.

With the months and years passing ever so quickly, our gang leaders Johnny Harrison and Bernard Williams were called up.  I knew Johnny would be all right with a rifle, because many a time while his dad was at work, he would bring out his dad’s guns. One particular day he brought into the back yard a .22 rifle loading a round into the breech, Johnny fired it over the back yard wall.  Obviously, those days we never understood the stupidity of the situation and lucky for us, due to gardens and open fields at the back of our side of Hastings St. no one got hurt.  Johnny, who was quite a game lad, unpredictably joined the R.A.F for nine years. I must admit he had plenty of guts and he was also a lad who my brother Frank and I looked up to quite a lot. As for Bernard Williams, he was also a lad we all looked up to, because of his dare devilment and no problem attitude, Bernard went into the Army Catering corps, for his national service.

Two years later in April 1955, it was my brother Franks turn to do his national service in the Royal Army Medical Corps and because of not having a trade, he was therefore called up at eighteen years of age.  At the time I had started my apprenticeship as a fitter, so I knew it would be another Five years before it would be my turn to be called up. Thankfully, I would be twenty-one years of age and undoubtedly much more mature for what lay ahead.  During my years as an apprentice, a person became the odd one out if he had not been in a branch of the services including the merchant navy.  Therefore the military topic was constant and all the apprentices including myself would listen with open mouths, at the tales being told by ex-servicemen.  They would put the fear of god into lads who were about to enter the forces with their tales, and Mickey taking.  I do not think a month went by, without someone leaving to join the forces or someone coming back from the forces after being demobbed. It was also a known fact that your turn would come to have the Mickey taken and the nearer one got to that time, the cloud of thought got bigger every day.

On reaching the age of twenty-one and having completed my thoroughly enjoyable apprenticeship, I was now officially a man.  In a way I was pleased, because the sooner I could plan out my life the better and this could only be done on the completion of national service.  As you the reader must understand, I was one of the many millions who had been in the same predicament and there was no way I was going to duck out of being in the forces, but I can assure you they were unsettling times.  When I say unsettling times, this is not just for oneself, but others close to you, such as parents, girlfriends and in quite a few cases, wives.