Country children had a lot to learn about the natural world but it happened so easily that you didn't realise just how much knowledge was being absorbed.  We learned all the names of the horses harness and how to connect the horse to the different farm implements, how to make vegetables grow, the names of wild flowers and trees and how to recognise them, with and without leaves and to look into the sky and predict the weather.  We recognised the birds, their eggs and their nests and knew where and when they would nest and how many eggs were in a full clutch.  We knew when to plant crops and when they would be ready for harvesting, how to look at animals and know when they were healthy, and to know which animals were dangerous and when a normally placid animal was about to become dangerous.  We were also familiar with general animal husbandry.

We learned from experience just how wide a stream we could jump over without falling in and exactly how high in a tree we could climb before the thin branches broke.  We knew that Oats had to be harvested before Wheat and Barley because they needed more drying out.  We could look at a field of corn and know exactly when it was ready for cutting, and know the difference between toadstools and mushrooms.  We could judge the weight of a pig as well as any butcher, and judge the acreage of a field.  We knew which trees and bushes produced the best wood for making catapults, bows and arrows and most important of all, how to scrump apples without being caught.

There are so many things we naturally learned that I can only remember a small fraction of them, and yet town people all over Britain genuinely believed that we were mentally retarded, straw-chewing morons, and were convinced that they were intellectually superior to us.  They had many derisory names for us like yokel, jozzer, carrot-cruncher, swede-basher etc. I preferred "s**t-kicker."

I once read a serious book, which suggested that it would take a country child six months to learn what a town child knows naturally, but it would take a town child seven years to learn what a country child knows, so I am delighted to chew straw.  Country people held most of the important positions in the RAF, in my experience.

When I joined the R.A.F. and told them my address was New Barnetby, Barnetby, Lincs they didn't believe me, they probably thought I was simple.  When they asked me what my religion was, I told them that I had no idea.  By a process of elimination, they asked me if I thought that I was a Christian, and was I English, and would it make sense if I were Church of England.  I could not find any reason to disagree with them, so I have been Church of England from that day to this.  The Bishop of Grantham confirmed me at RAF Cranwell, so I took it a bit more seriously later, but I have equally seriously lapsed since.

Before the National Health Service, people could not afford to visit the doctor very often and they learned how to doctor themselves.  To keep us healthy during the war we had a spoonful of "cod liver oil and malt" every morning.  I found that it had a pleasant taste and believed that it was good for us, but some children hated it.  The most common cure for almost every illness was " brimstone and treacle" which was sulphur mixed with treacle and which most children didn't like but it was fierce stuff and I can't imagine many illnesses surviving after being attacked by it.

Dettol was often added to the bathwater, presumably to keep us germ free and it was put on any wound when it stung like mad.  We didn't smell very nice but I think we were healthy. The most important thing in life was considered to be, to keep your bowels open.  To make that possible we were dosed with "California Syrup of Figs", when there was the slightest doubt.  Eucalyptus oil or Vic vapour rub was rubbed into our chests if we had a cough or a cold. It was said that "dock" leaves, when rubbed on the skin, relieved the pain from nettle stings. They did not, and yet, even today, so called, survival experts still recommend their use for that purpose. 

A stye in the eye can be cured by rubbing it with a gold ring. I have tried it several times, it has always worked, and yet no one believes me.  They think that I am pulling their legs.  One cure for a sore throat was to sleep all night with a sweaty sock round your neck.  Medicine of any kind was called "Physic." Illness was looked upon as a weakness and sick people were generally regarded as inferior.

I was the first person from Melton Ross to pass the 11 plus and go to Brigg Grammar School.  Many others followed me.  When the teacher announced the good news in the school, the whole of the senior school (about 10 people) cheered and applauded me.  I lifted up my desk lid, put my head inside and burst into tears.  No one had ever praised me or said nice things about me before and I did not know how to cope with it.  The teacher Miss Wilmore gave me half a crown, which seemed an enormous amount of money.  I was the richest schoolboy for miles around.

I only took the '11 plus' because I was given it to take.  We always did as we were told, but I had no thoughts or ambition about passing it, or what the consequence of passing it might be.  It never occurred to anyone from Melton that they might go to the grammar school. Every year after that, at least one person followed me.  It only needs one person to set the example and others easily follow.  There is so much talent among young people and all that is required to bring it out is encouragement.

My parents must have had mixed feelings of pride, pleasure and sheer horror at the thought of how much it was going to cost them to send me to Grammar school.  They had to buy a satchel, pens and pencils, plimsolls, which were called "daps," sports shorts, running vest, football shirt, compasses, protractor and school tie and cap.  The list must have seemed endless and overwhelming.  I hope their sacrifice was not in vain and that I have never let them down or dishonoured them in any way.  My grammar school education opened the door of the world to me, and I feel that I can compete with anyone.  I am strongly in favour of Grammar schools as they enable people from the most underprivileged backgrounds to have the same opportunities as everyone else in the world.

My brother showed that he was at least my equal by following me to the same school, which must have added even more to my parent’s problems.
I was also, with a friend, the first person to deliver the Grimsby Evening Telegraph.
Children were hardly ever praised for anything then but parents were very quick to criticise them.  Children really were expected to be seen but not heard and would never join in with an adult conversation unless they were invited to do so, which didn’t happen very often.

Parents, often tolerated children, rather than cherish them, which resulted in them growing up to be shy, embarrassed, insecure and awkward individuals in social situations.  This bred a feeling of inferiority, which stayed with many of them for the rest of their lives.  The word love would never pass the lips of any parent, as to speak that word, would have caused them severe embarrassment.  Their parents were even more incapable of showing affection.  If a man cried, he would be despised, considered inferior and unworthy of being called a man. We were British and were not supposed to show our feelings.  That is one part of our upbringing of which we should be thoroughly ashamed. Some things have changed for the better.

I knew a family in Barnetby, in which the two sons, throughout their childhood, were always made to stand at the table when eating their meals. I thought it very strange but they both grew up normally and did not seem to suffer. I do not know of any other example of that happening. It seemed very cruel to me.

When I think of the Melton Ross that I knew, I sometimes wonder if it really happened or whether I am only dreaming it.  The people, their ways, their lives and their speech have gone, not for a little while, but for all eternity.  If the universe lasts for a billion years the life that I knew will never return.

When I visit the churchyard now and see the names on the gravestones, I can tell a story about most of them. They were my friends, and when I walk round the village, I don't see it as it is now, but how it used to be.  I see their faces, hear their voices and remember the laughter and sometimes, great sadness.  It was a time of horses, before modern machinery.  It was a gentler, more tranquil and peaceful age and I suppose, in the future, people will look back on today with the same fond memories as I have when I look back on yesterday.