I entered upon the scene in a small back room of a ground floor rented flat at 10 Lawrence Road East Ham, on 1 February 1923. My parents had recently moved from Barnes Street, Stepney, where my brother, Frank Richard Henry Spencer, had been born on 21 June 1920. Since my mother was in the late stages of pregnancy, it seems likely that the move took place some weeks before my birth to allow my parents time to settle in. At Christmas 1922, Frank would have been two and a half years old.

The flat had just one bedroom and possessed a front room with a fireplace (the parlour), a kitchen which in effect was where all the activities of the day took place – cooking, eating and bathing – and further on, leading to the garden, a scullery with a huge coal-fired boiler for the purposes of laundry. Outside at the back of the house was a toilet also used by people in the upstairs flat. The toilet was provided with a well-scrubbed white-deal seat and, if you were lucky, cut-up copies of the Daily Mirror hanging on a string.

The kitchen had a coal fireplace, which could be enclosed, and at the side of the fireplace an oven All this had to be blackened with Zebo once a week. For convenience, there was also a gas cooker, and refrigeration was a box hanging on the wall outside with a perforated zinc front, known as the meat safe.

As a child, you accept as normal whatever conditions life throws at you, however outlandish they may seem to others. The weekly bath took place in a galvanised tin tub on the table, usually on Friday, when my mother had bought us sweets from the market as a special treat. Presumably, adults had to step in the tub when the children were safely in bed.

The front room was provided with a single bed, which, following infancy, I shared with Frank until I was ten years old As we grew bigger, we went head to toe, and slept soundly nevertheless.

The motivation for the move to Lawrence Road was no doubt to be close to East Ham station At the station there was an elongated hut by the side of the track,used by drivers and guards, with access from a platform leading under the bridge carrying East Ham High Street.. The facilities available there were probably not sophisticated, hot water for making tea, and a place for signing on and off

As a guard, my father had a large rectangular leather case which carried a green flag, the handle of which had an aluminium sheath, some detonators and, I think, an oil lamp. There was also an enamelled canister with a lid in the form of a cup. The canister would contain several spoonfuls of condensed milk and loose tea, ready for the application of hot water.

At some stations, two wires were installed at a height of about eight feet travelling along the length of the platform. Iif the guard connected the two by means of the aluminium sheath, a bell would ring to tell the driver he could leave

Detonators were provided with flexible fixings, so that if a train came to a standstill in the event of fog, the guard had the duty of placing a detonator on a rail some distance behind the train to warn any approaching train. My father’s leather case was kept hanging on its strap under the stairs where coal was stored, and unfortunately, one such detonator slipped out of the case and got mixed up with the coal. This led to an almighty bang in the fireplace.

When I was about four, I went with my mother by train to Nottingham. I remember the flooded fields on the journey. My Aunt Georgina Maidment was about to give birth, and the purpose of the visit was to enable my mother to give any assistance needed. My uncle Jim Maidment was the goalkeeper for Notts. County or Forest. Footballers were then very poorly paid, and my parents gave them the sum of ten pounds, quite a large amount, probably approaching two months’ wages of my father. The fact that it was never repaid remained a bone of contention.

Later that year, I stayed with my grandparents at 35 Seaforth Grove in Southend. .My uncle, Ernie Wisker., was a master builder, that is a builder on own account, and he had built two adjacent bungalows, the one on the left occupied by himself and my Aunt Lilian, and my grandparents on the right.. The bungalows were then about the only buildings in the road, which was unmade and deeply rutted. Across the way, were stabled a dozen or so donkeys. In the summer, they were led largely through fields, across the railway line, down to the beach, where they gave rides to children on the beach. Later on, it was one of my jobs to give stale bread to the donkeys.

My grandmother had a practice of visiting an off-licence in Hamstel Road to buy the occasional bottle of beer. The area was quite rural, and across Hamstel Road were open fields, then lined with magnificent elm trees. On one occasion, at the age of four, I accompanied my grandmother to the off-licence, outside which was a tethered goat quietly nibbling the grass. Children were not allowed in off-licences, so I stayed outside. Turning my back on the goat, I must have presented an irresistible target, and I saw stars as I was butted and was hurtled through the air.

I stayed quite frequently with my grandparents up to the age of eleven. When I was six or seven, my grandmother took me to Southend Central station and gave the guard sixpence, a healthy donation, so that I could travel in the guard’s van to East Ham. I was greatly impressed with the honour.

From Lawrence Road, the most convenient way to visit my grandparents in Lowell Street, Stepney, or my Aunt Minnie in Hardinge Street, Shadwell, was by tram or bus along Commercial Road. The living room in Lowell Street was below street level, and a well gave on to the street to provide light and air. The clatter of footsteps on the grating could be heard as pedestrians passed by. On the wall of the living room hung a photograph of my uncle Frederick, who had been killed in the war.

A journey by tram to Stepney was interrupted at East India Dock Road by the need to make a switch in the power supply from an overhead wire to a shoe in a track on the highway. This was always an interesting process, a result of the existence of different highway authorities. Some thirty-odd years later, it was my job to arrange a new connecting highway scheme for the construction of a flyover there and a new section of the A13 trunk road.

On occasions such as Christmas, there would be a family gathering at Lowell Street, with my father’s brothers Bill and Jack, their sister Elsie and their. families. On one such Christmas, I had been given a disguise outfit, which was all the rage with boys then The outfit comprised sticks of theatrical makeup and bits of wig. To amuse the party, I did a succession of characters such as cowboys and pirates with some female impressions. I remember a somewhat troubled look on my father’s face as. I played the female role probably a bit too realistically for his liking!

I had started school at the age of five when Ivy was born on 28 February 1928. She had a cot in the only bedroom, which, when she was five years old was not an ideal arrangement. So in 1933 we moved to 134 Landseer Avenue, Manor Park, where at last Frank and I had a proper bedroom, with our very own beds, and Ivy had a little box room all to herself. Luxury of luxuries, there was even a bathroom!
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