This is the brief story of my life - my Memoirs. I finally started these notes in our caravan at Allhallows-on-Sea, on a cold snowy end of December 1996. It is the last day of the year tomorrow.
Why ‘finally’? Well, like many other persons in the history of writing "I’ve been meaning to do this for years, but never seem to get round to starting." Therefore, finally, I have managed to get to the start, not really knowing how this writing project will go.
The most important question to ask is, why am I doing this? I’m denied one rather important attribute, which will therefore make this final product readable only to a handful of people - as it will never be published. Indeed, it may be regarded quite simply as unpublishable material.
What am I lacking? - fame of course!
I also consider my life uneventful, although for me it has been most interesting, and will certainly have left many of my peers behind. In fact, I am writing this just so that you will know what it was like all those years ago!
How often does one encounter another person, young or old - but generally the latter - who is renowned as a bore? The trouble is, so few people can tell a good story, as they tend to wander along the anecdotal trail.
The story line they have is probably quite good, certainly interesting, but the telling of it generally involves repetition, deviation, and running off the rails, with the storyteller forgetting the point of the story itself. So we don’t listen. It’s sad really, as there is so much real-life history waiting to be told.
So, the next best thing - no! the best thing is to write it all down and tell the story that way. The written word is so much better. It is concise, it avoids the accusation of rambling, and one interesting paragraph can be read in a minute or so, whereas the telling of it would take very much longer - and could become boring!
There is a final reason for writing these notes - which I don’t seriously call memoirs; - and this is that, in the latter years of his life, perhaps in his mid-seventies, I told my father that he ought to write down his life-story and all the interesting things that had happened to him. How I would have loved to read of his movements, his aspirations and his achievements during the 1910’s, the 1920’s, and so on right up to the late 1950’s when he retired.
However, he ridiculed the idea, saying that no one would be interested in reading about him, and that nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him.
This from a person who was born just a year after Queen Victoria’s death. Who was 15 years old when the First World War ended, and played football for Barnstable Town at that time. Who ran away to sea, joined the Army, served in the Coldstream Guards, and lined The Mall on King George V’s death. Who was Army Champion in various athletic and field events, and would have competed in the 1928 Olympic Games but for the tearing of a hamstring. Who served in the Army for nearly 40 years and remembers all the events of the Second World War. The list goes on. But sadly we have no account of his life and times, and we do not know what it was like from his point of view.
So, here is my version, of my own life so that you will know what it was really like, for me.
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