Walton’s Telephone Exchange

During the summer months I find it difficult to find time to write posts here, so you can imagine how pleased I was to receive a story about Walton Telephone Exchange from Alan Beales, who was the engineer  trusted to keep the old exchange working back in the 1960s.
Alan’s story follows with some interesting additions by Rita Griggs, one of the telephonists.

Here are a couple of photographs from my Archive which I took in 1968 just before the exchange closed for good

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WALTON TELEPHONE EXCHANGE 1965 – 1968 (by Alan Beales)

In November of 1961 I joined the GPO on a two year apprenticeship. When this was completed, I was posted to Clacton and trained up to maintain the Exchange Manual Board.  My supervisor was called Ted, who spent most of his time in the rest room, handing me endless lists of repairs to sort out.

At this time I was only 18 and easy fodder for the practical jokes that were played on me by the operators.
I swiftly became bored with this job (and the endless banter) and requested a transfer to become a Linesman, which was my goal in life.

In 1964, I was then teamed up with various Linesmen in Clacton to learn the trade of repairing the phone network from the exchange to the subscribers’ phones.
My ambition was now on track.

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By 1965, I was considered fit enough to be let loose on the unsuspecting public on my own. I was informed that because of the increasing demand for telephones, there was a new position at Frinton and Walton as a fully-fledged Linesman.
However, there was one snag, I couldn’t drive.
I was told that if I took an intensive weeks driving instruction and passed my test on the following Friday afternoon, I could take up the offer of the job on the following Monday.

There were three of us taking this driving course but I had the biggest advantage of us all
The Driving Instructor on the first morning out, commented on how unusual it was to find someone who had mastered the art of gear changing, braking etc. so quickly.
I pointed out that I have been driving Tractors since I was 13, the Instructors attitude immediately change to being quite hostile, “well we will soon get you out of those bad habits”.

I was successful and on the Monday morning I was given a Morris Minor Van and told to report to Bob Stone, Senior Linesman who covered Frinton and Walton.
Bob maintained Frinton exchange and I was to look after the subscribers and exchange at Walton.

At this time I was only 20 and on my first morning, Bob immediately took me on a conducted tour of Frinton and Walton exchanges.
It’s a good job he was with me, as I was shaking with nerves as he introduced me to the Supervisors, Alice at Frinton and Winnie Moss at Walton.
However, they soon put me at ease and made me feel very welcome.
Walton Telephone exchange was located in a private three storey house, to the right of the Head Post Office in the High Street.

However, my first visit into the Exchange, I was very relieved to find Rita Griggs who was a youngster like me, as the other ladies present were of a more senior age.

My senior area manager back at Clacton obviously didn`t trust me with a decent van so I was allocated the oldest vehicle in the fleet which had rubber front wings. Nice and flexible if you were to hit anything.
I think it was only on my second day at Walton, I had parked in the road outside the Telephone Exchange.

Looking out of the exchange window, I saw a Police Car parked behind the van with two policemen gesticulating at these wings. I hurriedly went out and made my presence known, to which they immediately remarked “are these wings legal?”
Having the vehicle only two days I had no idea, but I assured them that the GPO would never allow illegal vehicle on the road. They seemed convinced and left.

The Switch room at Walton was located in the front room of the house, with the kitchen and rest room in the lounge at the rear. The exchange Power Room was in the cellar, directly underneath where the operators were working.
Power for these small exchanges was supplied by a bank of lead acid batteries at 50v. These were invariably made of glass with exposed terminals and continuously trickle charged from the mains supply.
50v Direct Current was distributed out to the customer’s telephone, at this low voltage it posed no danger to the engineers who were working on exposed live wires.

In the event of a mains failure, these batteries would continue to supply power to the exchange hopefully for at least 24 hours.
Today the same system is used, but now with the addition of a standby Diesel Generator which immediately takes over on the loss of the mains supply.

The exchange day staff would work split shifts possibly 8 – 1 pm, 1 pm-6 pm then 6 pm until 10 pm. After 10 pm, the day shift finished and the night staff took over until 8 am the next morning.

The Night staff were permanent residents in the two floors above the exchange.

If anyone in Walton required the services of the operator, a bell would sound in the corridor or the switch room to alert the staff on duty.
I think Mrs Drinkwater, the Night Operator had some kind of bed or easy chair in the switch room.
After Mrs Drinkwater’s retirement, Marie Seaman took over until the exchange finally closed down.
I can only assume the house was owned by the GPO and eventually sold after closure.

The Switch room was very compact with three switchboards, a very small table for the supervisor and a Main Cable Frame where the underground cables terminated from the outside.

Each switchboard was designed to handle 100 subscribers.
At the time of writing this text, Rita Griggs informed me these were extended with the 3 boards eventually serving 400 Walton subscribers.
When the subscriber lifted their handset at home, this would cause a dolls-eye (flap) to drop on the switchboard which was labelled underneath with the relevant number.
The switchboard had a row of 24 paired cords each with an associated lever switch.
To answer the calling request, the operator would plug a cord into the jack associated with this line, operate the lever switch forward and speak to the calling subscriber.
If they required another local number, the other half of the paired cord was pushed into the switchboard jack associated with that number. Again with the lever, she would pull this back to send a ringing current to the other parties telephone.
This would complete the connection and the operator withdrew to answer the next call.

One of the most common practical jokes played by the operators on engineers was the use of the “ring” lever on the switchboard. The switchboards cords didn’t have a very long life span and frequently required changing.
Even on Walton’s three position suite, it was a daily task to change defective cords
I would go to the rear of the switchboard, take off the wooden cover to reveal the wiring inside and find the terminating position of the faulty cord.
I would proceed to undo the exposed brass connection terminals at the end of the cord and release it, ready to be replaced.
Normally there would be a small battery voltage on these terminals which was quite harmless.
However, if the operator knew what cord you were working on, they would permanently pull back hard on the associated switchboard key into the “ring position” and then sit and wait.
The normal harmless battery voltage was now changed to a much larger 70 – 90 volts AC voltage on the cord terminals.
Now when I touched the exposed terminals with my bare fingers, I would receive a nasty shock.
It was far from lethal, but usually gained the desired response from the back of the switchboard with “ouch” and a sudden reflex movement.
Switchboard plugs were manufactured with brass sleeve connectors and it didn’t take long for them to tarnish, which resulted in a very noisy connection. The cure, a rag and a tin of Brasso brought them back to new.
That would be a normal weekly routine, to take a board out of service during a quiet period and clean these plugs, with the “whiff” of Brasso in the air.

I recall one instance, it had been pouring with rain for hours, when Winnie Moss the Supervisor reported strange noises and smell from the cellar.
I was in Lower Kirby at the time and I raced as fast as I could through a torrential downpour to the exchange.
When I opened the door to the cellar, I was confronted with water nearly two feet deep, only a couple of inches from the top of a bank of lead acid batteries.
I hurriedly found a bucket in the kitchen and started to bail out the water, at the same time I asked Winnie to put out an urgent call for another engineer to come to my aid.
Eventually Bob Stone from Frinton arrived and between the two of us we gradually reduced the water level with copious buckets of water being thrown out the front door.
GPO batteries were not like car batteries; they weren’t sealed but had exposed terminals. If the water had ever reached the stage of short circuiting these terminals, the resulting damage could have been catastrophic.

I was also informed by Rita Griggs; the exchange had previously suffered a catastrophic failure, where the entire system shut down.
“Winnie Moss despatched Joyce West off in her car up the Walton Road until she came to the first call box that was connected to the Frinton board. They would then pass on her urgent request for assistance.
We had various people coming round to the front door to see why they were not getting an answer”
The most likely cause would be a power failure in the cellar.

Rita also recalled “Winnie used to send me across to Osborne’s for ice cream and going over to the library on a Saturday afternoon how free and easy life seemed to be then. Marie Seaman used to send Ron I think that was her husband’s name across to Osborne’s for sweets during the evening shift. I think Osborne’s did well out of us.”

Each morning I would visit the exchange, where the Supervisor would give me a list of problems in the exchange and the telephone lines that required attention.  The exchange was always given the highest priority for any repairs.

Winnie Moss would often say, “It`s no good going to such and such a house, the lady has gone out  and won’t be back until after lunch”.
This avoided many wasted visits, when access was required to a property.
Winnie appeared to know most things that were going on in Walton.

All customer faults were usually resolved within a few hours of being reported, unlike today.

When I was there, some of the operators were Winnie Moss, Rita Griggs, Marie Seaman (night op), Doris Brice, Mrs Boon, Jackie Markham, and Joyce West.

I was very well looked after by these ladies, whenever I arrived if it coincided with a tea break a cup of tea was always waiting for me in the rest room. This was always welcome after being outside in the cold and wet weather.

My other duties were associated with the Head post Office next door. You must remember back in the 1960s the GPO was responsible for the Royal Mail and the Telephone network.
One of the most tedious tasks was to wind all the clocks once a week in both buildings.
In the front office of the HPO there was one large clock facing the road and another behind the counter.

I would emerge from a side door carrying an enormous step ladder, I then had to negotiate a path through the queue, erect the steps so I could reach the clock by the window.
Amazingly someone in the queue always held the steps steady for me, no Health and Safety in those days.
With a 7 day spring it took ages to fully wind up, I always took it very easy as I always dreaded the sound of a spring breaking

I also had to maintain all the machinery at the rear, in the Sorting Office.
There was no official training; you just had to figure out most things by yourself.

One very messy task once a week, was to clean and thoroughly overhaul the automated stamp cancelling machine. The main problem was the build-up of indelible ink on the rollers and the guides of the machine. These had to be removed and thoroughly cleaned in special fluid, then reassembled in addition to topping up the large ink reservoir.
With no Latex gloves in those days, the only way to get your hands reasonably clean afterwards was the copious use of Vim and a scrubbing brush.
I must have removed a layer of my skin each week undertaking this task, no wonder I had smooth skin!

Another task was a monthly check on the Counter Scales. I had a wooden box which contained a variety of given weights; these would be placed on the scales if they gave an accurate reading. If there was any discrepancy the scales were adjusted.

One of most interesting customers was a visit to the farm on Horsey Island owned by the Backhouse family.
The only drawback, being it was only accessible by a causeway during low tide, I think I had 2 hours leeway either side.
The owners were keen horse breeders, who relied heavily on a working telephone.
It was too hazardous to use a heavily laden small van to traverse the causeway and so I would arrange for a large Bedford 4 wheel drive truck and a driver from the Colchester Depot to get me across to the island.

I can recall sitting on the seawall on numerous occasions at 5 am or 6 am, waiting for dawn to break, the lorry and the scheduled early morning low tide.
I had to take over every conceivable piece of equipment to effect a repair, the option of a return visit the next day was not on.

Over the years it must have cost the GPO a fortune in repairs, it seemed like I was over there at least once a month, but I never did get trapped there by an incoming tide.

However, in 1969 the GPO was divided into the Royal Mail and Post Office Telephones, so our partnership with the Postal side came to an abrupt end.

I was at Walton and Frinton until they both closed down in 1968 when they were taken over by the automated telephone exchange in Old Parsonage Way.

When the exchange finally closed down Winnie Moss, Doris Brice and Rita Griggs moved to the Colchester manual board.
Joyce West moved to Telephone House, working in the Administration Centre next door.

Rita Griggs joined as a telephonist when she was only 16, working at several manual boards in the Colchester area. Her final posting was to Walton until its closure, she subsequently transferred to Colchester finally retiring in 1973
Rita currently lives at Wix.

The day after closure, I was transferred back to Clacton until 1973 when I was transferred to Colchester.

 

Alan Beales: – Engineer
Rita Griggs: –  Telephonist

 

WALTON PIER TRAIN

For those of us who remember the thrill of riding on the little train which ran on the Pier, I have some good news.

The engine named ‘Dreadnought’ has been found almost alive and well in Staffordshire.

It is now owned by Ammerton Railway near Stafford who also have one of the Pier’s old passenger coaches in service. ‘Dreadnought’ is currently awaiting engine repairs before it too will be back on the rails. The photo below is courtesy of our local railway expert John Mann who found the engine.

Here are some more photos of the train when working on the Pier from the 1950s to 1970s

The photo below which Jill Joshua has given to me, shows her father, Roy Turner, who
painted, maintained and drove the engine for many years. Jill, unlike the rest of us, was privileged to ride with her dad in the cab.

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While on the subject of steam trains the photo below, which was taken by Ben Brooksbank in March 1960, takes me back to my schooldays when I traveled to school in Colchester on these evocative locomotives.

This is one of the last two steam locomotives based at Walton – a Class N7/5 number 69651 which ran its final service from Thorpe-le-Soken to Walton on the evening of December 31st 1960. Next day it left Walton with engine 69650 for the last time.
As can be seen in the photo, electrification of the line was complete.

Thanks to John Mann for all this information.

WALTON PRIMARY SCHOOL 1947

I have just been given this 1947 photo of Class 4 at Walton Primary School complete with most of the pupils’ names. There are a few unidentified as indicated by ??

Can you name them?

The lovely white haired teacher is Miss Lockyer who was one of the first of my teachers at the school .

David Howells – A Remarkable Story

My parents lived in Vicarage Lane, Walton and it was there that this story begins.

For the first nine years of my life the next door neighbours were Phyllis and Gwilym Howells, although he, being a Welshman, was known to everyone as ‘Taffy’.

Phyliss and Taffy adopted a little boy named David and here follows his story in his own words…

My name is David Anthony Howells. Although I did not know it, I was born originally with the name Anthony Auer in Colchester. My mother was a ‘local’  at Widdington, near Saffron Walden in the late 1940s, but she had originally come from Austria. Her name was Josefa Auer, previously Stanek and might have been known as Josie or Josephine to many of the locals at Widdington at that time. This is my story:

I have lived in the South Wales Valleys since I was collected from Walton-on-the-Naze by my uncle Edgar after both my adopted parents, Phyllis and Gwilym Howells, died within three months of each other in 1956.                       
Edgar and his wife Myfanwy had told me very little about my father or mother and my life  in Walton -on -the-Naze. I’m not sure whether or not Edgar and Myfanwy knew anything about my adoption, or perhaps they thought it was best not to tell me anything about it.

Uncle Edgar’s furniture van
which collected me from Walton

I had lived in Walton-on-the-Naze for the first six years of my life with what I always had known as my parents Phyllis and Gwilym Howells (pictured right) until they had died in December 1955 and March 1956 respectively I had both Phyllis`s and Gwilym’s death certificates given to me some years later in my late teens. On my mother’s death certificate, it said death by drowning and Open Verdict P.M., and I had often wondered what I should do about this information. I waited until 1992 before I did anything, which I have regretted ever since. I phoned the Coroner in Colchester to ask for the inquest report.

This action set off a chain of events that would change my life completely. I needed my full birth certificate, something I never had, and so I sent for a copy and was informed that there was no record of my birth at St Catherine’s House, and that it might be because I had been adopted. This proved to be correct. Some months later, I was given my original birth certificate in the presence of an appointed social worker. “Your name is foreign,” she said. “It’ll be fairly easy to trace. It is Austrian or German. Your name is Anthony Auer ,” and she gave me my birth certificate.  I arrived home later and feverishly checked through the telephone directories for my new surname, but found nothing. I phoned my adopted family in Essex and asked cousin John Oxley if he could search his local directories for the names. Some time later he returned my call with eight Auers complete with addresses and phone numbers. The list tweaked my curiosity, but I didn’t think that it would be a good idea to phone people and interrupt their lives on the phone. What would I do if I found myself in a conversation with my mother? What would I say? What if she refused to accept my existence?                                                     Age 16 months                                   

I later contacted my adopted family in Walton-on-the-Naze and told them the news, and they found names and numbers in the local phone books with names of Auer for me. Some time later, I visited Walton, but on the way I went to Widdington a village near Saffron Walden, to see where my mother had lived in the late forties. I wanted to see where my mother had stood, walked and worked, laughed and cried… I needed to visit Widdington. I remember it was the 30th of October 1992. It is still clear in my mind. I knew the shape and size of the village because I had bought an O.S. map of the area. It seemed a very different outlook to the one I was used to in the rows of terraced houses in Bargoed in the mining valleys of South Wales, where I lived as a child. (pictured left) I remember driving towards Widdington, becoming very excited, like a child awaiting the moment to open presents on Christmas Day.  A sign! Pond Mead…I passed it…I braked and reversed until the sign was in view again. I gazed into the gravelled driveway and at the front entrance for some time. I couldn’t believe it. Did my mother live here? Did she own it?  What did she do to be able to live here? I parked near the Village Green, got out and walked about to catch my breath, and wondered what I was to do next. The village was beautiful, the Green, the thatched roofs and the general layout was so nicely ‘old world’.

I decided to go to Pond Mead and knock on the door. There I met Grant Geen and explained about my connection with the house and the village. He was very helpful and happily showed me around the house and garden. Grant told me as much as he knew about the village and some hours later I was at Walton-on-the-Naze still `stinging nicely` from the visit to Widdington. I had arranged to meet several members of the Oxley family at Walton, because many of the family remembered me well as an adopted child that Phyllis and Gwilym paraded proudly about the town. The Oxleys are an important part of the town, they have generations that have been involved in the lifeboat crew at Walton. Henry Britton, my great grandfather [adopted family] was the first coxswain of the first RNLI lifeboat in Walton in the late 1800s.

I had several surprises on Sunday the 1st November 1992. The first was an early morning call for a hearty breakfast before going out on the lifeboat, as a guest. The crew were out for a regular practice and also had a burial duty to perform in scattering someone’s ashes at sea. There were gale warnings, the sea was rough and the day was very blustery. The wind raged towards the end of the pier as we boarded the lifeboat. I remember telling the crew that I certainly would not like to do the launching in the dark on a cold winters night. As we left the pier the sea water splashed and crashed over the roof of the lifeboat, and I wondered what was in store for me, but none of the crew thought anything of the conditions, as far as they were concerned it was a flat sea. We made our way out into deep water and performed the scattering of ashes with a bible reading and flowers placed on the water. The service was very sombre and tastefully performed.

Later, back at my adopted cousin, John’s house, he told me about his adoption too. He had always known about his adoption, Ethel and Bert had kept him well informed throughout his childhood. Sisters, Phyllis and Ethel had chosen to adopt children at the same time. We chatted about recent events; he thought that I should just phone the numbers that I had on my list of Auers and so I quickly made my decision to make the calls that would eventually change my life completely.

My second call was made to Peter Auer from Stansted. I recall it well, and I always get goose-bumps when I tell people about the call.

“Hello,” I said, ”I’ve just found out that I am adopted and happen to have the same surname as you, I wonder if you could tell me what country the name comes from ?” “Oh that`s interesting,” he said “Perhaps we’re related in some way . The name is Austrian, possibly German” and he asked me if I knew any more. I told him that my mother’s name was Josefa. The phone went quiet, and the silence seemed to go on forever, He said that his mother’s name was Josefa also, and asked if I had any more information. “Yes,” I said “She used to work at a big farm house called Pond Mead in Widdington, Near Saffron Walden”….the phone went quiet again, this time for longer It seemed longer than a lifetime. The unbroken silence echoed down the phone….the silence eventually ended in Peter replying “ My mother worked at Pond Mead, Widdington.” I gasped, I tingled. He said, “Sounds to me like you are my brother”. We chatted a while, once we both got our breath back, and arranged to meet each other the next day. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe I could just crash into someone else’s life and Peter seemed to accept it so well. In fact, we had a great deal in common besides our mother. I met Peter the following day, exchanging stories and photographs and filling in gaps in our lives that could not previously have been explained.

Josefa Auer (above)

My mind was a bit of a jumble of unanswered questions, excitement and apprehension as I travelled home to South Wales that evening, getting home at 3.15 a.m.

The next few weeks, I was on a ‘mission’ to collect more information and make more contact with people who knew me and my family, particularly at Walton. I was eagerly awaiting another visit to Essex and Widdington. I made the journey with my wife, and daughter and her husband on the 1st of January 1993. I remember it being foggy and very cold that night as we set off at 3.00a.m., because I wanted to make the most of the day I had in Essex.

When we arrived, the car was covered in ice from the freezing fog. I met several family members at Walton that I had met before, and all were intrigued and excited about what I would do next in my quest. I met Jack Frost and his wife Doris who were my next door neighbours for several years at Vicarage Lane, when my mother had drowned  at home in 1955, and Gwilym had died on the back doorstep. Jack said, that Gwilym had died of a broken heart, because he was so affected by Phyllis’s death, and that I was to ignore what was written on Gwilym’s death certificate. Jack and Doris had told me about the happiness that I had brought Phyllis and Gwilym, when I was brought home as their adopted son on January 20th 1950, but how sad and traumatic it had been for everybody in Walton, when Phyllis and Gwilym both died within three months of each other, and then I disappeared to Wales with an Aunt Blodwyn. Both Doris and Jack felt aggravated by my disappearance, nobody had told them where I had been taken, but they were both pleased that I had returned safe and well some thirty seven years later. Again, I was left with many more unanswered questions when I left Walton, and wondered what Widdington might have in store for me when I arrived.

I had arranged with Grant Geen to stay at Pond Mead as Bed and Breakfast guests. We were made very welcome by Grant who now owned Pond Mead and was able to supply me with some more information. Grant suggested that I speak to Jeremy Dillon-Robinson, who had previously owned Pond Mead during the late forties, and I arranged to meet him the following day. I met Jeremy together with his wife Gillian at Priors Hall. The property was very large, situated on a hill overlooking beautiful slopes of grassland that was part of the Priors Hall estate. We chatted in a small kitchen for some time, but there was not a great deal that could be recollected about Josefa or my unknown father, except that she had been a good cook, hard working and the apple strudel she cooked was fantastic. Jeremy showed me around Priors Hall and the ancient barn, and we soon left to meet up with my half-brother Peter and his family.

I reluctantly left and made my way to Peter`s house and thought of the arrangements to meet my mother’s sister Anna, who used to run the Coach and Horses Pub with her husband, known as ‘Ash’, at Quendon. Anna was a quiet woman, who seemed naturally apprehensive about my somewhat sudden appearance on the scene, and my searching questions were thinly answered by her. Her answers were of no great significance to, especially my main question, Did you know who my father was? she answered, ”Just a prisoner of war, I know no more”.  We all had tea at Peter’s house and he was able to give me some photographs of our mother and we chatted about our lives and filled in some of the spaces. Peter and his family surprisingly had limited information about the family and my father’s identity and I was soon travelling back home with my usual heap of unanswered questions jumping around my head.

Several years passed by and unfortunately I didn’t keep in touch with some of the friends and family as I should have. I had relaxed my search due to work and family commitments, but since more information had unexpectedly arrived in 2001, I thought that I would make an all-out effort to complete the story before the information is forever lost. I bought a computer in October 2001, and this together with many posted letters has enabled me to trace a great deal of information about my past. I joined the Anglo German Family History Society, and they have assisted me in my search methods. Unfortunately, over the years, since 1992, many older inhabitants of both Widdington and Walton-0n -the-Naze have sadly passed away. Many of them would have known Josefa and my father, which is something else I regret. It`s always better to pursue your goals eagerly and immediately, rather than `putting it off till another time`

Information I had received had enabled me to state in April 2002, that my father was almost positively named Peter and he worked and stayed at The Wyses with The Holgates.

 

John, George and Marie Hoy of Widdington were able to remember my father with some accuracy, and recalled events of the late forties. Peter, my father was friendly with another German called Matthias Holzinger, they both lived in a shed at the back of Wyses, which was apparently very comfortable. He also had another good close friend called Richard Ihms. I have been told that Peter was a handsome man, who was fairly dark skinned and George remembered him visiting the village about eight years previously, with his family

What should I do with my ‘new found’ information ?  What I really needed to know was … Could I find somebody who can either recall either Peter’s surname or knows other people who either worked with him, so that I could access the surname? Perhaps, a friend or work colleague may have known his surname. It would be likely that some documentation may still be in existence about the foreign workers in the village from the late forties.

I then received an e-mail which stated that both Josefa and Peter would have had medical records, dental records and naturalisation papers. It might even be the case, that the Police may have records in their archives about Prisoners of War in their jurisdiction. I became very busy again with e-mailing, letter writing and phone calling.

Another visit to Essex came at the beginning of the half term holiday May 31 2002. We left Penycae at 5.00 am and made good time to get to the seashore in Walton-on-the-Naze by 8.30 am. The sun was shining and we had a breakfast at the café on the seafront, overlooking the pier and sea. The café was a tribute to the bravery of the Lifeboat Crews over the years at Walton. The walls were adorned with framed photos of the crews and the stricken ships. The rescues depicted on the café walls, had been the daily tasks that the brave lifeboat men were destined to perform. I sat eating my hearty breakfast as I overlooked the sea, as it splashed endlessly against the uprights of the pier, wondering what I was to do next.

I received a fair amount of communication during the weeks to follow, but the big break came on the 18^th of June when I had an e-mail from Grant Geen suggesting that I contact John Penney who used to run Wyses. I was told that he was elderly and not a very well man, so I chose to keep the phone call short. The result was a phone call, in which John remembers my father and his name PETER HUBERT, (pictured below) who worked alongside Matthias Holszinger. I had already sent some material to The Holzingers two days before as it was suggested that the family might know something about my story. I didn’t expect the call to corroborate what I had just been told minutes earlier by John Penney. Matthias had unfortunately died, but his wife Hermine was able to recall my father, Peter and stated that his surname was HUBERT also. Unbelievable !

One month to the day from finding my father’s name. I was sent a photograph of a group of people at The International Club from the fifties, with my father included. I received another letter, this time from Deutsche Dienststelle, Berlin on September 28, 2002. The letter was accompanied by relevant Prisoner of War camp information, including dates and embarkment dates to Great Britain in July 1946.The letter was entirely in German, but I noticed it had references to my father, Peter Hubert and some dates and places were also included. I tried to decipher the contents with a dictionary, but only managed `the obvious`. I eventually phoned friends of mine in London, who had a German student lodger Ruth Erbertz. I asked Ruth to translate it on the phone. The letter had Peters Name and birthdate and birthplace, confirmed he was Romanian. His birthtown was Bentschek, Romania, birthdate 22.11.1919 and there was a reference to a town called Ludwigshafen 3.12.2001. However, in the letter, the date was followed by the word ….. verstorben, which means deceased. Ruth was inconsolable on the phone.

She said, “it means he is dead. I’m so sorry,” she said. I was `gutted`

It seemed as though my optimistic search had come to an abrupt end. I had persevered with lots of magnificent help from others over a ten year period, only to find, that I had missed the meeting with my father by a measly ten months.

I had a new e-mail which informed me of a Peter Hubert in the Ludwigshafen phone directory. I also made connections with The Twinning Association between Ludwigshafen and Havering, Essex. They were able to confirm information that unfortunately I had already received.

I thought that this is more than likely to be his address. I later phoned Louise and Herman Hugel in Dorsten and told them about the recent news. Hermann, had been a Prisoner of War in England at the same time as my father, and they were apparently very good friends in Britain. I had already spoke to Hermann some weeks earlier, and on that occasion, he was understandably suspicious of my phone call and questioning. He said it was difficult to talk about things in England, and sensing that I was placing Hermann in a very awkward situation I ended the conversation quickly, but politely. Perhaps, there were some sworn secrets about England, that as friends, they                                     POWs including Peter Hubert
agreed to keep to themselves                                                                                                                                  forever, and I had to respect this. However, when I spoke to them about my father’s death, they were disappointed for me, but Louise had offered to assist me in any other capacity. I asked her to try to investigate the family a little, so that I would be able to learn about any children that Peter might have had. She said she would contact me sometime, when and if she could get any relevant information.

It was on the 6^th of November that I had a letter from Louise Hugel that told me that I had two sisters. Unfortunately, one sister had died of cancer, earlier in 2002 and Peter’s wife had taken her own life due to the trauma she had sustained during 2001/02. However, the surviving sister Irene still lived in Ludwigshafen was told of my existence and wanted to meet me. Our communication with each other had been exciting and informative, and was all very hard to comprehend. I had found my family! and the family was really pleased to have me invade their lives. It would appear that my arrival has been placed nicely in Irene’s life. She had been ‘very low’ after the deaths of her mother, father and sister and was pleased that her family has been extended a little in the last few days by my arrival. I was very fortunate that Irene accepted the situation and included me into her family. I had some wonderful conversations with Irene’s daughter, Sigrid, and son–in-law, Stuart during early December. I was fortunate that they both speak English, and we were able to make good exchanges on the telephone. Sigrid and Stuart are a doctor and surgeon respectively in local hospitals, and they have assisted me in communication with my sister Irene. They were also on the Internet and this has been able to provide good links to Germany, and also helps to confirm the family link, with photos, documentation etc.

We have been able to exchange many photos and stories, some of which help to complete the voids that existed in the story, both in Germany and here in Wales. Some photographs have been well received, because they are good quality and show Peter in his younger days, unseen by my sister Irene, until mid December 2002. I also learned about my Grandparents and Great Grandparents, and their lives in Romania, and also have photographs of them from that time. It seems that the family were imprisoned in a concentration camp in the forties by the Russians. It was there that my Grandfather was executed by firing squad. The family returned to Romania some years later, obviously affected adversely by their experiences in the Russian camp.

We were then invited to go to see the family in Germany, the town of Ludwigshafen is near Heidelberg and Mannheim, and it didn’t take long for me to realise that the phobia I thought I had about air travel had now gone completely. I phoned Ryanair and booked the flight and couldn’t believe the price, just twenty pounds return to Frankfurt. We flew out to Frankfurt on the 28^th of December 2002 and I could hardly wait. As far as I was concerned Christmas day was now the 28^th of December. If there was any reason to shed the fear for flying in an Aeroplane, then, this was it. We were going! I was certain we would be welcomed there with open arms and I had no doubt about anything regarding our meeting. We had all spoken on the phone and we all agree that all our lives have changed, and that a new life was to begin on the 28^th of December 2002, with our new found family.

On 28^th of December we checked in at Stansted Airport and within 45 minutes were on our way to Hahn Airport near Frankfurt..

As we queued at the arrivals I could see the awaiting family. My sister Irene, her daughter Sigrid and her husband Stuart and their five year old daughter Kaija. We all waved crazily at each other l, as if we had never met before! The reality was that we hadn’t met before!  I was filled with excitement and trepidation about the meeting that was about to take place in the next 10-15 minutes. We awaited the collection of bags and cases with massive anxiety and continued waving sessions. We collected the baggage and left quickly to meet everybody. We met near a door entrance of the airport, and hugged and kissed each other, nice warming tears falling from everybody’s face. It was an emotional moment that I will never forget.

It was soon after, that we were on our way to Ruppertsberg. We travelled on the Autobahn hastily, chatting to each other via a three way conversation. Stuart did all the translation and he worked hard to keep up with the recollection of 50 missing years in our lives. Irene kept stroking my head and shoulder from the back seat of the car and saying, “Mein Bruder, Mein Bruder” We chatted for entire journey to Stuart’s house, and it was the same in the other car. We arrived at Stuart and Sigrid’s house and unloaded the cars quickly and settled down for our first meal together. The meal was special and sumptuous, but was not hurried. Each moment and morsel was savoured and digested into mind and body. The wine was superb, and as Stuart is a connoisseur of the grape, living in the midst of the Rhine Valley wine region, we all relaxed and bathed in each others company and tales. We chatted till the early hours of the morning. Even at 2.00 a.m. I was not ready to sleep. It was all too exciting! I didn’t want to miss one second of my visit by the unconsciousness of sleep. I awoke early in the morning, with the accompaniment of the local church bells, which were in sight of our bedroom window. I was ready for more, much more.

Each day with Sigrid, Stuart and Kaija was exceptional. We were entertained well, we ate well but more importantly, our hosts, my family, were magnificent. We spent a great deal of our time talking about my father and his family. My father Peter , had returned to Romania from Britain in 1955 to re-join his family in Bentschek, but later, in1979 they chose to leave for Germany due to the continuing difficulties in Romania and it`s horrendous dictatorship.

The family left with only a few suitcases, when my father had just turned 60 years of age. They had to leave their home and nearly all their possessions in Romania, but were pleased to leave and start afresh in Germany.

There are many ‘loose ends’ to the story, and I intend to unravel them to obtain a clearer picture of their lives not as a matter of urgency, because I have found my true family in Germany. My link with the past can be completed. I have photographs of my father, and his family in Bentschek in Romania and I am pleased and fortunate to be connected with such a rich culture.

What I have learned during my search is that ‘Urgency’ in matters of this kind must always prevail. Never linger and ‘put off’’ tasks until another time. Seize the moment and ‘go for it’. I have told my pupils at School , that they must accept the urgency for their work and their continued and unrelenting striving for success in exams is paramount, and never ‘leave things gather dust’. I have told them that my mistake was leaving things unattended for too long and not getting ‘hungry’ for the matter in hand.

Born 100 years ago today

Maurice Edwin Frost – better known as Jack – my father, was born one hundred years ago today.

February 1st 1917 was undoubtedly a busy day with his arrival in the front bedroom at 69, North Street, Walton. His mother Grace, his father Broughton and his sister Edith were all there to greet his first appearance.

This post is really a very personal one, but maybe some other old Waltonians will remember him.

I remember him with much love – he taught me so much without realising it.

THE CARTER FAMILY OF WALTON

Over many years I have been pleased to assist people with their family history research relating to Walton-on-the-Naze.

Genealogists now do most of their research online and a search for old Walton residents invariably leads to these Walton Tales and my Walton Photo Archive.

Back in November, I wrote about one such enquiry which has resulted in not only making friends both here and in USA, but also gaining a lot of new knowledge about our town. Melanie Carter of Weeley Heath has sent me a super piece of her family history researched by her second cousin, Carole Cowgill, which I reprint below with a view to it perhaps being of interest to anyone else researching any of these families. I will be pleased to assist in putting any family researchers in contact with Melanie.

The Carter family were prominent in Walton in the 19^th century, owning the North Street bakery and also operating bathing machines on East Beach.

   The North Street Bakery                     Stephen Carter’s bathing machines on East Beach

This is the document I received:

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William Carter 1809-1894 and Sarah James 1809-1880

William Carter was born in 1809 in Great Oakley, third son of Thomas and Sarah Carter. He was baptised there on 25/6/1809. He and his three brothers followed their father and became master bakers.

William established a bakery at 4 North Street, Walton le Soken, in the early 1830s, just as the town was starting to be developed as a seaside resort. (The business was probably purchased from J. Pyman, baker late of Walton with the Soken, and previously miller of Gt. Oakley, according to the local newspaper, who became insolvent in Feb 1833.) The first pier in Walton was built in 1830, and many of the town’s hotels and businesses were established at that time. William married Sarah James in Walton le Soken on 7/11/1833. She was the youngest daughter of Thomas and Mary James, butchers in Walton le Soken.

William and Sarah had 10 children, all born in Walton le Soken (which later became Walton on the Naze) – two of the children died in infancy: The children’s dates of birth were noted in William and Sarah’s bible:

• Sarah (born 14/8/1834 – bap 18/8/1834; died 3/10/1834 – buried 8/10/1834)
• Jane (born 30/8/1835 – bap 26/9/1835)
• William (born 27/11/1836 – bap 8/1/1837)
• Thomas (born 16/12/1838 – bap 13/1/1839)
• Sarah (born 19/5/1840 – bap 14/6/1840; died 16/40/1841 – buried 21/10/1841)
• Stephen James (born 17/12/1841 – bap 23/1/1842)
• Jonathan Edward (born 23/2/1843 – bap 6/1/1845)
• Anna (born 16/11/1844 – bap 6/1/1845)
• Arthur Charles (born 10/11/1847 – baptism not found)
• Elvina Mary (born 25/4/1849 – bap 2/11/1851)

In the 1841 census, William was a baker living in North Street, Walton, with wife Sarah and three children.

In 1851, William and Sarah were at the bakery with seven children. By 1861, William and Sarah were in their 50s, still at the bakery with their three daughters and a 12-year old errand boy.

 

William developed a bathing machines business at the East beach in Walton on the Naze from 1863, run by son Stephen. (pictured right and below with his dog ‘Nep’)

 

 

Steamers brought day trippers from London, Margate and Gt. Yarmouth, docking at the pier. Walton had been revitalised in the 1860s by Peter Bruff, a civil engineer who brought the railway to the town in 1867, and was responsible for developing the south side of the town

.

In the 1871 census, William and Sarah still lived at the North Street bakery with daughter Anna, 26, shop assistant, and grandson John Yerbury, aged 4 (oldest daughter Jane’s son). Son Arthur, 23, a journeyman baker, was living next door.

William’s wife, Sarah, died on 4/7/1880, aged 74. By the 1881 census, William was a retired baker, living at North Street with youngest son Arthur, 33, who was now a master baker and had taken over the bakery from his father. William’s unmarried daughter, Anna, 36, was also living there, as well as a female servant and a 14 year old boy help.

William had a letter published in the Essex Standard on 8/2/1888, complaining about the state of the paths and roads in Walton, and that the council commissioners didn’t actually live in the town and didn’t work for the ratepayers’ best interests.

The 1891 census showed William, Arthur and Anna still at North Street bakery – Arthur Carter, 43, unmarried, was a master baker, living with his father William, 81, retired master baker, and sister Anna, 46, housekeeper. A 25 year old shop assistant, Phillis Harris, was boarding with them.

William Carter died at Walton on the Naze on 12/5/1894, aged 85.

According to his great grandson Harold, William Carter was stacked in money and a wonderful man.

In his will, William left daughter Anna the house and bake office in North Street, then in the occupation of his son Arthur, together with the furniture, plate, linen and pictures. Son Thomas was left two houses in North Street (the proceeds to be left eventually to Thomas’s son Thomas); son Stephen (pictured below with his pal Billy Steer) was left the 12 bathing machines he used in his business and £60.

Son Jonathan was left three cottages, stables and a cart shed in North Street (to be sold on Jonathan’s death and the proceeds split equally between Jonathan’s sons Edgar and Arthur – Edgar’s son Harold eventually inherited the three cottages, after uncle Arthur’s half was left to him); daughter Elvina Mary (wife of George Polley, pictured below with her brother Stephen Carter) was left some freehold land in Station Road and a life insurance policy of £100.There was no mention in the will of sons William and Arthur or daughter Jane. Presumably, they had already been provided for in William’s lifetime. Jane’s husband, John Yerbury, had died aged 36 in 1874, and it is quite likely that her father had helped her financially at that time. William had bought Valley Farm, Thorpe le Soken for son William in the 1860s. Son Arthur had already been left the bakery business at North Street, Walton on the Naze.

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Recently a further relationship to the Carter family has been brought to my attention. Both Robert Creswell who was the owner of various wagons and also ran a horse drawn ‘bus’ service to Colchester, and Jonathan Parsons Potter the town’s butcher are connected. Considering that Walton in the mid 1800s was a small village with a very small population it is understandable that so many of the families were inter-connected.

             ^{Robert Creswell (above) leading one of his wagons with what
             appears to be the complete population on board for a day trip.}

I researched my own family tree many years ago before the advent of home computers. I spent many happy hours pawing over the original church records, but maybe I should now take a new look at the Frost family with the aid of the Internet.

DAFFODIL DAYS – Walton Memories by Daphne Harvey

I recently had the pleasure of supplying a number of old Walton photographs to Daphne Harvey to illustrate her 49 page A4 booklet “Daffodil Days”.

Any readers who were around in Walton in the 1950s and 1960s will probably remember Daphne’s father, Edwin Atkinson, better known as ‘Atty Atkinson’ –  the local sign writer.

Daffodil Days recounts Daphne’s early life in Walton from when she was born in 1924 and living in Green Lane at the house named Kosicot. Her mother inherited Wendycot and Sandycot in the same road from Daphne’s great grandfather who had built all three houses.

Daphne’s mother, Jessie Elizabeth Garrett, had grown up in Witham and married ‘Atty’ in 1917 while he was on leave from WWI service in France. Later she created a good business at Sandycot as a boarding house for the many holidaymakers who thronged to Walton between the wars.

This is the tariff for a stay in 1939.

 

 

Daphne’s recounts her school days at Walton School with headmaster Laddie Lansdowne and then Clacton High School where she was a pupil during WW2, until the whole school, pupils and teachers,  were evacuated to Wolverley, near Kidderminster in Worcestershire, where she completed her education.

Returning to Walton Daphne met her husband Edward Harvey an RAF officer who was stationed at the radar post in the Naze Tower.

 

 

Copies of Daffodil Days can be obtained for £6 including postage by contacting Daphne’s daughter at jilldyer35@gmail.com and I can recommend it as an interesting read with lots of illustrations.

I congratulate the 92-year-old author.