Before I Forget

Called Hays, my father’s school was set in the country near Shaftesbury in Dorset in southern England. I was three at the time; Puffin was the name of our overweight spaniel; and a pony and trap (cart) were the usual method of travel to and from Semley, the nearby village. Close to the big house was a small, thatched cottage where I was kept, well out of the way and in the care of a Nanny.

As there was no bathroom in the cottage, which was par for the course in the 1920’s, and because I was a fairly normal kid who frequently required scrubbing from head to toe, it was regular practice to place a hip bath in the next room to the kitchen for this purpose. Again, like most boys of my age, I was loathe to peel off my clothes and suffer the indignity of being dunked and scrubbed by a member of the opposite sex. In fact, I ran yelling around the tub on this occasion with my Nanny in hot pursuit.

Unsurprisingly, I slipped and fell, base over teakettle, into a tub which was full of next-to-boiling water. The Nanny, showing minimal intelligence, had mixed no cold water with the hot. Firmly entrenched in my memory is how swiftly Aileen appeared and scooped me out immediately to tend to the burns and blisters which were fast appearing upon my derriere.

It is fitting that my first memory is of Aileen, for she kept appearing in my life, always with warmth and affection though once in a while with stubbornness, as will be seen later. She too, made her home in this country and I often wondered over the years why she had left our home in England in such a hurry. Had she fallen in love with my father? Many had, I learned later. Time would tell.

My father, Linton F. Wynne Willson (no hyphen in those days) was always known as "The Major." This was the rank with which he was demobilized from the Royal Flying Corps and before that the British Army at the end of World War I. The title fit him to a T.

He was the owner of a superb sense of humor and a love for life, his fellow man, girls and all sports. He also was subject to moods, which could chill us all and which could last for days on end. These moods we christened "frosts" in the family and when he was in one he barely spoke and it was unwise to speak to him.

I never did find out what triggered this state of affairs, but it was a most effective way for him to obtain privacy! How my mother coped with such enforced silence, God only knows. There was a rumor around that she, who was quite straight-laced and most religious, drove him to take such refuge. I find it hard to believe though. It was quite normal to be somewhat scared and in awe of one’s father then, but due to "frosts" I started out a bit more scared than most. This was not due only to this malaise, but also because he was brilliant scholastically and already I had started to feel inadequate in that department.

Born on April 5^th, 1879, he became a scholar at Winchester College and then went on to Trinity College, Oxford. From Oxford, he ran off to enlist and was granted his commission as an Officer personally signed by Queen Victoria. It still hangs proudly in my study here at home. Upon his return from the Boer War in Africa, he became headmaster of his own school.

My mother, who was born October 6^th, 1876, was one of five children. She had three sisters and one brother. My father had three brothers and two sisters. My mother was the only sister to marry; though why I never could gather! The others I’m sure, never were at a loss for opportunities. A kinder and more thoughtful lady than my Mum would have been next to impossible to find.

As I mentioned, her Church of England faith, implanted by her parents at an early age, was a mainstay for her life. This was particularly comforting when trying to cope with her champagne life built upon a beer income. Dad was a hopeless businessman whose generosity was only exceeded by his personal charm. Sadly, he never had the wherewithal with which to be financially generous, so Mum faced nothing but bills, bills, and more bills. Happily, this state of affairs was mostly kept from my sister Betty and myself at that stage, however by instinct we always seemed to know when things really got bad.