Clare House

Life’s twists and turns often unfold swiftly, leaving little control over the course of events. After Michael and Irene were married, they remained at Claire House for a few months before moving out. Biddy continued to be a great help to my mother, providing much-needed support during this challenging time. One day, a new person arrived at Claire House. Introduced as Eddie, the brother of one of my uncles, I didn’t yet realize he would soon become my stepfather, bringing significant changes to our lives. At the time, I lacked the business acumen to help run a hotel, and it was clear my mother was overwhelmed emotionally and financially since Dad’s passing. Eddie’s arrival offered a glimmer of hope and stability. Before long, he and my mother were married. Phillip and I were too young to fully comprehend the implications, while Michael, Lionel, and David were preoccupied with their own lives. Initially, things felt awkward. I stuck to my routine: each morning around 7 o’clock, I’d visit the local bakery on Winchelsea Road. Stepping inside, I’d be greeted by the aroma of freshly baked bread and the sight of large mixers and ovens. I’d collect our order and hurry back home to Clare House, enjoying a crusty roll along the way. This became a three-times-a-week routine, and gradually, Eddie and I grew used to each other. Soon, Mum’s pregnancy brought more children: Tony, Carol, and twins Steven and Paul. While this brought joy, it also introduced new challenges for Phillip, me, and Mum. Tony would accompany us on outings to the beach, riding in the pushchair while Phillip walked beside me. On one particular day by the sea defences, an iron hook from a crane swung out and struck Phillip on the side of his head. The workers rushed him to the hospital, and thankfully, he recovered with no lasting effects. Even now, the memory of that swelling lingers vividly. As Tony grew, it became clear he would require special needs support, while Carol blossomed into a helpful, caring little girl. Managing the twins remained a handful. Occasionally, guests stayed at Clare House, requiring full board. Mum continued to lead in the kitchen, while Eddie, having spent most of his life at sea, lacked culinary skills. Mum began teaching me simple recipes to help in her absences, and Biddy assisted when available. Eddie’s struggle with alcoholism became increasingly apparent. He often asked me to fetch gin, but over time, I began avoiding those requests. My brothers, aware of the situation, tried to intervene, but Mum refused to consider removing Eddie from the household. Life continued with the children growing, each finding their place in the shifting family dynamics. In my final year at school, I shifted from Religious Education to music lessons under Mr. Dickinson. It was there I met Sid King, my best friend and only close companion at that school. We bonded instantly despite our different backgrounds, spending afternoons at the cinema or swimming pool. We even enrolled in The Big Brother Scheme to immigrate to Australia, completing medical checks, though ultimately, Sid backed out, and I chose not to go alone. As my birthday fell in February, I left school at Easter. Job opportunities in Dover were limited: cross-channel ferries for the summer season or local coal mines. The mines were not for me. Instead, I applied for a job on the ferries and was hired, marking the start of my working life and the beginning of a new chapter beyond Clare House.
After being selected to join the ship’s crew, all of us attended the company offices to sign the ship’s articles. This was where men who had served on other vessels presented their discharge books, which recorded every previous voyage and were usually stamped “Very Good”, confirming they were experienced and reliable seamen. I signed on as a pantry boy. The other boys were deck boys, part of the deck crew, while I was assigned to the catering department. As this was my first ship, I was issued with a discharge book of my own, which the company kept until the voyage was completed. Being a pantry boy meant I was at the very bottom of the ship’s hierarchy, and as you can imagine, I was terrified. I found myself among experienced able seamen, many of whom looked stern and serious. There were also assistant stewards and cooks — men who knew shipboard life inside out. Once all the crew had signed on and been told our starting times, we went aboard and reported to our respective departments. Mine was the restaurant, pantry, and galley. Those early days were very hard for me. I had no knowledge of life at sea and struggled to find a routine, not to mention dealing with constant seasickness. In time, however, I became more efficient at my duties. These included the daily scrub-outs — mine were the toilets, which I had to clean several times a day. My superior, the Second Steward, regularly inspected them, and if they were not up to his standards, I had to clean them all over again. It took several weeks to learn his particular dislikes, but once I did, he began to look after me and took the time to show and train me in the ways of shipboard life. This was in 1955, when the cross-Channel ferries operated only during the summer months, normally from April to October. When the season ended, most of the crew were signed off, and many travelled to ports such as London, Southampton, or Liverpool to find other ships and voyages .I went up to London’s King George V Docks, where I was interviewed, passed the medical examination, and was issued with an identity seaman’s card. I was then given a company to report to — the New Zealand Shipping Company, whose vessels were known as the Rangi boats, as all their names began with Rangi: Rangitiki, Rangitoto, and so on. I was later told that I was the youngest person to secure a contract out of King George V Docks. Sadly, it did not last long. I booked into the seamen’s hostel for the night and rang my mother to tell her the news. She became very upset, and it worried me deeply knowing she was on her own with so many responsibilities. I lay awake that night, unable to sleep, turning it over in my mind. By morning, my decision was made. I went to the station and bought a train ticket back to Dover. I realised I could not be happy going away to sea and leaving my mother behind.
During this time, I bought my first car — a 1926 Austin Ruby — and taught myself how to drive. Just across the road from Clare House, off Winchelsea Road, there was an old dirt track lined with lock-up garages. On weekends and holidays, it was always busy with men working on their cars. Motoring was simple then: petrol was affordable, the roads were quiet, and these men were true enthusiasts, forever tinkering with their engines.
I became friendly with a couple of them, and they showed me how to drive the Austin Ruby. Looking back now, it’s astonishing how far motoring has come — everything today is computerized. When you lifted the bonnet on my little Ruby, it looked more like a sewing machine than an engine.
I remember one afternoon when the lads had given me a lesson and then gone home for their tea. Eager to practise, I got into the car and decided to try reversing. I put the gear stick into reverse, pressed the accelerator, and before I knew it I was reversing up a bank. The car flipped over — and somehow landed back on its wheels. That was the last time I ever attempted to drive in reverse.
A few weeks later, I parted with the Ruby and bought a larger car, a 1934 Wolseley 10. I was immensely proud of it and couldn’t wait for David to return from his sea trip so I could show him. I kept that car for some time, and when I finally left Clare House, it carried me as far as Taggs Island, Hampton Court — a small but meaningful step into independence.