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For the first few months of their marriage Cyril and Pamela stayed with her parents in Mendham; this was however only while they completed the purchase of their first home and source of income: a grocery shop in the village of Dickleburgh, about seven miles away and over the Waveney in Norfolk. This was home territory for Cyril who had been born in the village.
As documented elsewhere, they bought the shop from local businessman Dick Chenery, and moved in over New Year 1956. Cyril’s training in the retail trade, and his mathematical ability, caution and general good sense all now came to the fore and enabled him to run a moderately successful business capable of providing for his new wife and the three children they would go on to raise while living in Dickleburgh. Never rich, he was however able to gauge the needs of the village and adopt strategies to address the changes in society, even in a sleepy Norfolk village, through the next three decades.
As documented elsewhere, I was the first of the couple’s children to arrive (in a thunderstorm!) and my birth was followed about six years later by my sister Diane and two years after that my brother Kevin.
Through these years Cyril devoted himself to his family: he was a strict father and expected to be obeyed, but while his upbringing – his parents were after all effectively Victorians – had taught him not to show emotion, we all had absolutely no doubt that we were loved.
I remember only one occasion during my childhood on which I saw a tear escape from my father’s eye: one Father’s Day I proudly presented him with a Certificate for being the Best Dad in the World – a sentiment which in I fully believed. This simple childish gift was able to move him – but it was still one stray tear.
At the age of about fourteen I managed to persuade my parents to let me go on a week long school trip to France; on my return – at about 2am – my parents greeted me, Mum by bursting into tears and falling on my neck because she was so delighted to see me, while Dad stood there in his dressing gown, arms folded, and merely commented: ‘Well, you’re home then’.
If Cyril prided himself on being a good provider for his family and a good father to his children, that pride was fully justified. In an age when female emancipation had yet to have an effect, he still encouraged his daughters just as much as his son to do as well as they could at school, and was, if quietly, pleased when they did well. He was always on hand to provide lifts to and from parties and events for his children. He supported the local British Legion and Scout group – especially when his son became a member, and he always managed to find the money for school trips, sports equipment and in later years college and university fees.
Such was his devotion to his business that we only ever had one actual family holiday – to Hemsby when I was six, and even then Dad had to go back half way through the week to ensure my uncle and aunt, to whose care he had entrusted the shop, were doing OK.
However, Sundays were family days and we spent many happy days on trips to Great Yarmouth, local stately homes, airshows (of course), flying kites at Knettishall Heath and our favourite – Mundesley on the North Norfolk coast where we played in rock pools and ate ice cream to our hearts’ content. And where, if it were really really hot, Dad might deign to remove his jacket – but never would he stoop to opening his collar or taking off his tie.
Eventually, once all three of us had flown the nest, a combination of a large empty house and the slow death of the traditional village shop, falling under the axe of the supermarkets, brought Dad to the decision that it was time to retire and sell up.
He and Mum moved to Harleston, to a smaller house with a corner plot where Dad could now indulge his love of gardening, something the lack of land and time at Dickleburgh had prevented. He spent the rest of his life in happy retirement growing and harvesting his plants, making wine (delicious it was too), playing with his grandchildren and finally indulging himself by going on a few holidays.