Chapter One 
EARLY DAYS 
O be unspoiled it is not a bad idea to be the youngest of a fam- 
ily of four boys. At least in my case life was very tough from 
the beginning, for I was the victim of every practical joke initiated 
by my three brothers, all of whom, so I thought, had a warped 
sense of humor. 
My eldest brother, intrusted with my welfare, used to take me 
out in a pram to the top of a hill and then let go of the handle— 
a game which probably gave him immense satisfaction, especially 
when I was finally shot out into a ditch. I say finally, for when a 
muddy, brawling brat in a battered pram was presented to my 
mother she had definite ideas about my future welfare. In later 
years I was frequently the victim of gross injustice; whenever I 
practised scales on the piano, which was usually when my brothers 
were doing their homework, books and threats were hurled at me 
with much gusto. If asked why I never became a pianist I have 
a ready answer. 
The great event of my schooldays was the annual visit to my 
grandparents at Ashford in Kent, during the summer holidays. 
My grandpa, in the grand style, used to hire a large horse-drawn 
brake and pack it with uncles, aunts, cousins, and ourselves, plus 
cooked ham and chicken, etc., for the big picnic. We then set off 
for Dymchurch-on-Sea, stopping at various country inns to give 
the horses a rest and to allow the elders to sample liquid refresh- 
ment. Dymchurch was a wonderful place in those days—it con- 
sisted of sand, a sea-wall, a pub, a few fishermen’s cottages, and a 
church. The picnic which took place on the sea-wall was, by mod- 
ern standards, a feast for the gods, but as good feeding was a cus- 
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