The following biography was written by our (Steven and Gary Newports') father John William Newport, Cuthberts' son and, aside from a couple of minor changes, are his words. In odd sections the wording/meaning is unclear, or the content too personnal for publication, so these have been highlighted, amended, or excluded, and are indicated by square brackets [...]. Likewise, where we have added something it has been annoted with brackets [Italics].
For the more detailed War Biography please follow this link
Basically, I'm writing this [biography of my father for any, and all, of his descendants and relatives, who might], one day, wish to know about him and his life. Having researched my family history for many years, I know how I would feel if, one day, I came across a biography of, let's say, my 4-x great grandfather - well, I'd be over the moon, as the saying goes! One day, when I was thinking and wishing just that, I realised that what I was doing with my grandfather's history, I could do with my father's and that made me begin to, figuratively, put 'pen to paper'.
I know that, as far as the wide world is concerned, he was no one special and that he did nothing of any earth-shattering importance but he did have a life that was far from uneventful and is the ancestor of all who come after him.
I must admit that I'd always thought of my father as an ordinary man, someone who lived an ordinary life, and did very ordinary things - that is until, a few years back, when I discovered much more about him than I imagined and that I ever knew existed.
On so many occasions, when I was very young, he would tell me about his life and his relatives and what they did and how they lived, but what he said seemed to bear no relationship to the world that I knew - with the result that I couldn't raise any enthusiasm and took not a word in.
[...]
In 1983, I began researching my family history but this didn't include my father in any way because he was here, and now and, certainly not, history. He died in 1980, too late to ask him the questions I would now love to and, anyway, it took me until 2008 to realise that there was much more to my father than I'd ever imagined - the deeper I researched his life the more I wondered and the more I regretted not paying attention to what he had told me so many years ago.
There are so many questions that I, now, have about his life and the world he knew but the opportunity has gone - it's an old story that many other people, mainly family historians, have echoed.
My father was a gentleman - he really was, in every way, and though he would never have agreed with that statement, everybody who I knew, always said that of him. From what I saw and remember of him, he was, indeed, a gentleman but, for some reason that I, really, can't begin to explain, he and I seemed, always, to share a rather distant, unfriendly relationship - totally different from the one I share, or at least hope, believe, and have tried to share, with my sons.
[...]
My father once related to me how, when he returned home to stay after serving five years, mainly abroad, during WW1, his had father treated him - and I noticed that there was a sadness in his voice, something I had never noticed before but a sadness that he had accepted.
Apparently, his first call was to 'Caritas Villa', the home he had known as home since his birth and there he met his mother and his siblings. After a while he asked where his father was and was told that he was on his allotment.
He walked up the road and onto the allotment where he saw, in the distance, his father busily digging away. As he got closer, his father saw him, looked up, and, then, carried on digging - he only stopped when they were, virtually, face-to-face. Bearing in mind that my father had, among all that mis-placed patriotic fervour joined up before his seventeenth birthday and spent most of the next five years abroad, in the trenches carrying message, despatch riding, risking his life and was now twenty-one, I suppose my father expected a display of some warmth some affection but, apparently, my grandfather kept his distance and his Victorian attitude to emotions and left my father feeling [?]
[...]
He was one of those people who would always give help wherever he could and, at least, try where he felt he couldn't. As an example of this very caring side of him, he once told me of the time that a beggar turned up at their home, in Hooe, 'Caritas Villa'. He answered a knock at the door and was confronted by a rather dirty looking man, wearing old and unkempt clothes; an obvious beggar. The man asked for money, as one would expect from such a forlorn figure, and my father went to get some; but from where he didn't tell me, though it did appear to come from an honest source.
He was just about to hand the cash over when his father, my grandfather, arrived on the scene and forbad him doing so. He scooted the beggar off, with a lecture on work and earning what one needed. He turned to my father and told him never to do such a thing again as the beggar would only go and spend it on drink - a favourite topic of most middle class, and upwards, people in those days, and, certainly, one of my grandfather's - being poor was one's own fault and no one else's.
My father listened and waited until his father disappeared from sight and, then, he ran down the road to hand the cash over to a very grateful, old beggar-man - who, probably, went and spent it on drink. My father laughed at the memory so, I suppose, his father never found out, because if he had, then, the cane which was kept above one of the doors in the house, for those moments of just chastisement, would, probably, have been used.
The strange part of this story is that the house name, 'Caritas Villa', is Latin for 'Charity House' but the beggar found precious little charity from my grandfather! To be honest, it was the thinking of the period in which they were all living.
My father's most used expression, when someone was criticized for any reason, was, 'You don't know what troubles they've had'. He was, as the saying goes, a rock in my mother's life, and she needed that because he never gave the appearance of worrying or panicking but would, simply and surely, get on with solving the problem, whatever it was - usually accompanied by a good deal of head scratching, quite literally.
He was a very hard-working man who would sometimes do double-shifts - coming off one shift and going on the next, simply because the person who should be doing the next had failed to turn up. This would, generally, mean him sleeping on the shop floor or wherever he could just so that he would be there when the next shift started; he did it and never complained. In spite of this he never had any real money because it all went on the family. Society was very different, then, because you looked upon your life and your family as being your responsibility and not that of others. He would say, when times were bad and money was short, that he would 'rather eat dirt than take charity', and many people, then, had that attitude, which is so different from that of today.
He was a very healthy man and was only, once, sick enough to see a doctor and after doing so he vowed he never would do that again because the man had made him feel that he was only trying to get time off work; something my father couldn't have done. He was never on the dole but went out to find work when circumstances made it necessary.
He didn't drink or gamble, wasn't interested in any sport, and didn't go to pubs. He smoked and rolled his own cigarettes, which he did very badly as they were exceedingly thin with many small bulges - looking more like knots in cotton than cigarettes.
He'd make a cigarette, light it, take a few puffs, and then put it down to do something. After a while, he'd decide to take another puff, but would either forget where he had left the one, he'd just made or that he'd ever made it and so would make and light another one. At times, I've seen him with three such 'dead' cigarettes - one behind his ear, one on the edge of the table and another in his saucer beside the half-empty cup of tea, now cold, that my mother had made for him an hour before - that's the cigarette that made my mother complain bitterly because, when she came to wash up, it was she who had to get rid of the soggy one in the saucer!
Taking all this into account, he probably, didn't smoke a great deal but he still managed to get lung cancer, and this may have been, I suppose, because some people are more prone to the disease than others and tobacco smoke may, then, have been the trigger.
Another thing about his smoking was that when he ran out of tobacco, he got irritated and lost his temper over the smallest problem, which was so unlike his normal self. I saw, on many occasions, him beginning to lose his temper and I can hear my mother saying, 'What's up with you? Run out of tobacco?' and him replying, in a not too pleasant tone, with something like, 'No, of course I haven't. That's not the problem' But my mother knew better and would say to my sister, Iris, 'Go and get him an ounce of tobacco, Iris'.
Iris would go (no problems with age in those days, at least, from what I remember!) and come back with the tobacco. When my mother gave it to my father, saying, 'Here go and suck your dummy!', his face would break out in a big smile and he would, then, try to convince all of us that the tobacco had nothing to do with it - he would, then, roll a new cigarette, put it in his mouth, light it and walk away. It was never long afterwards that he could be heard singing some old song from the turn of the century or, perhaps, before.
There is another possible cause, however - he did mention, on occasions, that, during the First World War, he had been affected by the gas used by the Germans though he never explained further, which I would now love to know.
His hobbies were repairing and making watches and clocks (at which he was very good), gardening (again, at which he was very good), and fishing, at which he was very bad. I don't remember him ever catching a fish - but he tried! I have developed much the same abilities that he had except that I can't mend watches and clocks, I'm all right at gardening, and catch just as many fish as he did!
He liked to talk, a fault with all Newports - or so my mother used to say! To me, he didn't so much talk, as lecture because, once he'd started, he hardly ever paused long enough for me to get a word in. I can remember listening to him, picking up a point he mentioned, and making a mental note to make my comment when he paused. I made many such mental notes but, after a while, each note that I had made, I dropped because he had passed the point where it would make any sense to bring up my comment - and I had accumulated so many others that I, equally, would never get a chance to mention!
I remember, vividly, on those few occasions that I did manage to say something, he would pause, look at me as though he hadn't really noticed me there before, and, then, continue with the words, 'well, anyway', which meant that there was a chance that my remarks may have been considered for a fraction of a second but, then, had been dismissed as having no relevance - as being of no importance! I learned to listen while thinking about something totally different, which is a great pity because I missed most of what he told me about our family. He talked of our ancestors, his past, and his time in the First World War. Now he's gone, and I'd love to go over those stories again, to talk and learn, but he died in 1980, just three years before I took an interest in our family history.
From what I do remember of what he said, and from what I later came to know, I believe that my father, in the early years, had a hard and lonely life that was far from easy. The fault was no one's in particular but several people had a lasting effect on his life and, while he never complained, from those few remarks he made, I know he was hurt.
He was a sensitive man who, as I've said, would help anyone, in any situation, and he sang, laughed and tap-danced, in his fashion, down the main street, which embarrassed my mother greatly - unfortunately, I did much the same, sang, laughed, tap-danced, and embarrassed my mother, but I suppose that's to be expected!
He was born in Hooe, on Saturday, 26th March 1898, and was the fourth child of my grandparents; his three siblings being all sisters, Irene Beatrice, born in 1891, Ethel Matilda, in 1893, and Grace Ada, in 1895. In the years to come, eight more children would come into the Newport household, and all would survive into old age; the oldest, my aunt Ethel, passing away one month before her one hundred and sixth birthday.
My grandmother had the burden of being pregnant, from 1891 until 1915, and having a baby, roughly on average, once every eighteen months, a total of sixteen years!
My father died, in 1980, of lung cancer, caused, possibly, by the gas used in the First World War. He mentioned, to several people, that he had, somehow, come up against the gas but no one remembers exactly what he said. Of course, the cancer may have been caused by what little smoking he did, but we'll never know for certain.
Though I appear to have already started to write my father's story, I really have only been giving some idea, I hope, of the man. What follows is intended to be as in-depth a story of his life as I have been able to glean from old documentation and there isn't, really, much of that. No one deliberately leaves documentation, about their lives, lying around for future generations to find - except famous people, like film stars and politicians - oh, and me!
The logical place to start is where it all starts, with his birth, on Saturday, March 26th, 1898, at Caritas Villa, Hooe, and his birth certificate gives the following information, 'Father, John James Newport' and his 'Mother Emily Harriett Newport, formerly Aslett'.
There's a piece of paper, a list, in one of grandfather's scrapbooks and on it he has noted the dates of birth of his children up to the time my father was born. He stopped only because he'd reached the bottom of the paper but if he did continue to record the birth dates of his subsequent children, on another piece of paper, there's no sign of it.
When I, first, came across this list, as you will see, there were the names of my aunts but no sign of my father's name. I went ahead and photocopied the list, in black and white, the only photocopier available at the time (colour photocopiers wouldn't be available for many years to come) and was surprised, almost shocked, to see his name, quite clearly, at the bottom, when it had been totally invisible before.
The details had been added in pencil, unlike the previous entries, which had all been in ink, and due to time, perhaps, the pencil writing had gone so faint that the naked eye couldn't see it but black and white photocopying had brought it back. It was a beautiful moment because, with my father's name there, it proved that I had the correct grandfather!
The dates of birth, written on the paper, were as follows: -| Sept 18. 1891 | Irene Beatrice born | (Friday 4.20 a.m.)' |
| Jany 26th 1893 | Ethel Matilda born | (Thursday 6.45 p.m.) |
| Mar 11th 1895 | Grace Ada born | (Monday 2.30 a.m.]) |
| Mar 26th 1898 | Cuthbert John Victor | (Sat) |
My father's name was, obviously, too long to allow for the time of birth!
Three years later, the family all appear on the 1901 census, of Hooe, the address just being given, as, simply, 'The Common'
After this, the next mention, of my father, is in the school log book, where, on the Monday following my father's birth, my grandfather has written, 'Mrs. Newport is unable to attend school. Two monitors are put in charge during her absence.'. That's it; no mention of why she couldn't attend - well, that's women's work, obviously!
My father was christened, 'Cuthbert John Victor Newport', and called 'Cuthbert' or 'Cuth' by his family, but was known, later in life, as 'Jack' - a small story, re-told later, will reveal why!
The next mention is, again, from the log book, this time, six years later, on 24th November 1904; the entry says,
At a Manager's Meeting last night (Messers Dodson, Errey, Ryan, and Hayward being present) a letter was read from Mrs Neve in which I was charged with "thrashing" her son, George (so the chairman, Mr Dodson, said).
I produced the punishment book and stated the facts, which were as follows: --
1 William Neve, in running, knocked down Alice Marriott, bruising her knee.
2 later in the day, his brother George knocked my son Cuthbert down in a similar way. I cautioned him to be more careful, as I had, William, in the other case.
On 15th March 1912, my father is again mentioned in the log, and the entry simply says,Cuthbert J. V. Newport has been acting as a Monitor during the week.
As a lad, my father loved fishing in the marshes but exactly where he went, I never knew though he often talked about it. His sister, my Aunt Gwen, once told me that she was the only sibling he would take with him because, so he told her, 'You know how to keep quiet'.
He told me, when I was much older, in my twenties, I think, of two other small things that he and his friends used to do, when they were very young. It was strange, and very difficult, trying to picture my father as a small child, playing games with other small children, but I tried and failed! I had seen him for too many years as the [...Original text missing]
The first was how he and the other lads used to run around, pretending to be on horse-back, and in the absence of a horse, they slapped their own backsides - how well I knew that, as I, too, along with my friends, did exactly the same!
The second opened up a world to me that my father had seen but that I never could. Again, he and his friends would run over the fields, looking up into the sky at the 'string-bag' aeroplanes, not that far overhead and still in the infancy of the age of flying, and they'd try to run along in the same direction as the 'plane, keeping up as much as they could, while waving at the pilot and shouting, 'Flyer! Flyer!'
Another entry in the school log book, dated 7th February 1913, gives the information,
Last Saturday morning Mrs Newport gave birth to a son; a month before the time expected. Master Cuthbert J. V. Newport is assisting with the infants.
This latest son was my uncle, Owen Arthur Newport.
My father often said, smiling, that when he was about fourteen, he had had to leave home, because, in his words, 'the nest was full'. but I think he felt more than a little bit pushed out of the family and more than a little bit as though he were no longer part of it. It was not the family's fault and not his; it was just the circumstances and there being too many in the family.
Sometime, between 1912 and 1914, my father moved to live in London, but why, and who with, I have, so far, not been able to find. We do have, however, some idea of where he was working as, when, in 1934, he was applying for work, he obtained a letter of recommendation, (dated October 16th, 1934, from Babcock and Wilcox, in London, and this letter says, [...Original text missing])
At the time, he had four younger brothers and seven sisters, all, as far as I know, living in the small house called "Caritas Villa". I have no idea how the accommodation was arranged but, perhaps, someday, I may find out. The youngest sibling was his brother, my Uncle Donald Herbert Newport, born in May, 1915 and the oldest, his sister, my Aunt Irene Beatrice, born on September 18th, 1891, at 10 Ariel Rd, Hampstead, who was aged 26 and who married Cecil Frederick Miller, the son of a Frederick Miller and a Helen Natt, on August 11, 1917 in Hooe, Sussex.
So, it appears that he was the only one who could, and did, move out, but the tragedy is that, while he was away at work, and at war, his siblings were growing up and, after five years with very little contact, they would have been as strangers to him. There was the added problem that he was quite a bit older than most of his siblings, the greatest difference being the sixteen years between his age and that of his youngest brother, Donald Herbert.
He never went back to stay and live in Hooe, because there, simply, still wasn't room and probably no work that he could have done. After the war he seems to have, naturally, called in at home but then returned to London and new work at Babcock and Wilcox.
What must have added to that feeling of not being part of the family, would have been that in the years to come life, his brothers and sisters, who lived much closer to the old home, celebrated their weddings, Christmas, and various other events together, while he could very seldom seem to have been able to make it.
I have several of my father's dog-eared letters and cards, the only proof that he ever existed, and these, tantalizingly, suggest certain things, certain people, certain places, but nothing concrete to go on.
As with all my other family history, and as I've said many times before, research is on-going but it takes time!
On 4th August, 1914, Britain declared war on Germany and, in November, that same year, my father, aged 16 years and 8 months, volunteered for the army.
Because of the lack of documentary evidence, it wasn't easy finding out what my father had done during his military service, but there was some documentation that, together with a great deal of research, produced a story of what he most probably did and saw. The reason, I feel I have to say 'probably', is that when a man was part of a battalion and the battalion went to fight a battle somewhere, no one listed, rather like they do with a school register, all the men present at the battle, but it is to be expected that the man was there with them, though there might be many reasons why he wasn't. I used my father's service record, where I was able, but where the records ceased, I followed the regiment and battalion he was in, as best I could, and can only assume that he was there, with them.
The story of my father's military life is long, mainly because I've included notes on my research, and my thoughts, suggestions, and ideas. I corresponded with several groups of WW1 enthusiasts, read many books, contacted museums and regimental websites, and discussed the problem with many very knowledgeable people so that I was able to build up, what I believe is as close to what he did, as I was able. The research is on-going so there may be additions, subtractions, and modifications - but that's for the future.
Because this story is long, I've created a separate section for the story plus all the relevant photographs, documents etc.
In June 1919, the war, finally, came to an end and, after demobilization, my father returned to England, and to his home, in Hooe. He had left home, no more than a boy, aged only sixteen but returned, now, a grown man of twenty-one having seen and done things in that dreadful war that I think very few young men of today could do.
His first port of call was, of course, to see his parents, so he called in to that one place which he had known all his life, 'Caritas Villa', in Hooe. He saw and spoke to his mother and his brothers and sisters. Who knows how many tears of joy were shed and how many hugs and cuddles were necessary before he could even start to answer everything they wanted to know. After a short while, he asked where his father was and after being told that he was up on his allotment, at Straight Lane, he decided to go up to meet and surprise his father.
The story, as my father told it to me was that, on his arrival at the allotments, he saw his father at work so walked toward him who looked up, saw him, but continued to do whatever it was he had been doing before. I can't remember my father telling me whether or not his father actually said anything to him, but I suppose he must. There must have been some conversation between the two but I could tell from what my father said, and the way that he said it, that he hadn't received the homecoming he had expected and hoped for and I knew he had been deeply hurt.
I suppose that the problem may have been that his father, my grandfather, had been born in 1867, and was a true Victorian; averse to showing any deep feelings or emotions - but it is only a supposition.
Shortly after returning home, my father, once again, approached Babcock & Wilcox, in London, thinking that he would be able to secure the old job in the Drawing Offices that he had left so suddenly, in 1914, but, unfortunately, like so many men returning from the war, he found that this position had been filled and no similar was available. Instead, the Company offered him a position as an 'Improver' to gain experience in their construction work. He accepted and his first job for them was, in late 1919, at Dunston Power Station, near Gateshead, in County Durham, working on the twenty-four, coal burning, Babcock and Wilcox marine water-tube boilers, which supplied steam to the turbo alternators that produced the electrical power.
The letter offering him the position has not survived but the offer is mentioned in a reference that my father asked for, and got, dated 16th. October 1934. [Ref CJVN-007]
What the letter says is: -
TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN - The bearer of this letter, Mr C Newport, was employed by us in our Drawing Office previous to the War. On his discharge from the Army we gave him the opportunity of gaining experience in connection with our Construction work, and he was employed by us - firstly as an Improver, and later as a general fitter - from 1923 to 1925, when he left our service to better his position.
Later he returned and as and when opportunity offered, we employed him as a general fitter until September 1934 when his services were dispensed with owing to the closing of the contract. He carried out his duties in a satisfactory manner, and we can recommend him for any position of a similar nature.
BABCOCK & WILCOX LTD.
The above letter, however, was written over a decade after the events that follow - the first event being his first marriage.
While in Gateshead, he met a young woman by the name of Bridget Louisa Allan and, after what must have been a very short period of courtship, they married on 23rd December 1919 - the marriage certificate [Ref CJVN-040] states that the marriage took place at the Parish Church, Dunston, near Gateshead, County Durham, on December 23rd 1919.
His wife's name was Bridget Louise Allan. He was 21, a bachelor, and an 'Improver' by occupation while she was 18, and a spinster. The address of both at the time of the marriage is given as 'Old Store Buildings' or, perhaps, 'Old Store Buildings'
His father is John James Newport, Schoolmaster and her father was James Allan, a 'Donkey man'.
NOTE.
James Allan's profession is given as 'Donkey man' and, at that time, Gateshead was in a large industrial area that included mining, the potteries, woollen and cotton mills, and engineering in general; all of which would have used a small steam engine, commonly known as a 'donkey engine', to provide the drive for their machinery and pumping equipment - a man operating or working with such an engine would have been called a 'donkey man'.
The witnesses were Isaac Speight and Jenny Whitfield, two names that are meaningless to me and give no more information regarding the wedding; they were, probably, more friends of the bride than my father but there's no proof either way.
The reason for the rather short courtship was, almost certainly, that Bridget had become pregnant; they had a son, William Alan Newport, born on 4th July, 1920, at a place called 'Cross House', in Dunston, near Gateshead, just over six months after their marriage.
Luckily, the certificate, also, gives my father's occupation, which is 'Boiler Erector - for Babcock & Wilcox', so we have confirmation that, after the War, he did take the job of 'Improver', as offered by the Company according to their letter dated 16th. October 1934, and given above,
The marriage was reported, as follows, in the 'Bexhill Chronicle', dated 10th January 1920. [Ref CJVN-045]
MARRIAGE OF MR C. J. V. NEWPORT - On 23rd December the marriage of Mr. C. J. V. Newport and Miss B. L. Allan was solemnised in the Parish Church of Dunston-on-Tyne, Durham. The young couple are so popular in the district, the church was filled to overflowing with a delightful congregation. The bride was dressed in Saxe blue crepe de chine trimmed with silver, and the maid of honour and bridesmaids in saxe blue velvet, also with silver trimmings. Their bouquets were of rose and pink carnations. About sixty guests were seated at the reception. The bride cake was a large one in three tiers. The presents were many and valuable, and included a piano and other furniture, and cheques.
The honeymoon was spent at the bridegroom's home. Mr Newport was at one time on the staff of the 'Bexhill Chronicle' and is now employed by Messers. Babcock and Wilcox, engineers in executing a contract at the Dunston Power Works.
What my father did and where becomes vaguer over the next few years, with what little is known coming from a few letters that managed, somehow, to have survived the years (and my mother's handbag!), if only in part. These letters were written to my father by Babcock & Wilcox and all concern installation and construction contracts in widely different parts of the country. He, obviously, had to travel around a great deal and, because he would have been working on-site most of the time, must have lodged locally, which meant his spending very little time at home.
Where were Bridget and William all this time? Did they stay in 'Cross House', with, or not far from, her parents or other relatives? Did, perhaps, Bridget and William moved down to stay with my grandparents, in Hooe?
One of the letters, previously mentioned, dated 24th January 1924 [Ref CJVN-004], shows clearly that my father, as an on-site engineer, was expected to go where and when the Company sent him, which must have made home-life very difficult. The 'letter' is, actually, all that remains of a continuation sheet; the previous sheet or sheets are missing. Other than showing that my father was an on-site engineer of some description, the letter adds nothing to my father's story other than he was re-tubing a boiler in Sheffield.
The letter reads,
Mr Newport
LSO 49181 - WINCOBANK ROLLING MILLS, WINCOBANK Nr. SHEFFIELD
...at 8 a.m. to the Wincobank Rolling Mills, Wincobank, Nr. Sheffield, to take charge of the re-tubing of a boiler. We want you to very clearly understand that you are to travel on Sunday and report at 8 a.m. at Wincobank and not travel on Monday and report late in the afternoon there. Hearsey (?) is coming through and will carry out the ...
Here the rest of the letter is missing and what little wording can be seen has deteriorated too far to allow much more to be read but it locates my father, in January 1924, in Sheffield
At some time, however, Bridget and her son must have moved because my half-sister, Betty, who I, always, considered to be more as a sister and whom I thought the world of, was born on 14th July, 1924, at 'Caritas Villa', in Hooe.
The birth certificate gives her full name as 'Elizabeth Constance Newport', and she was the only daughter of my father and his first wife, Bridget Louisa Newport, nãe Allan. This was my half-sister Betty, who I always thought of as my big sister and who I only wish I had got to know better.
The certificate, also, gives my father's occupation as 'Boiler Erector' but we know that he was still working for Babcock and Wilcox at this time. As happens so often, the certificate has been copied incorrectly because it gives the address as 'HOVE' and not 'HOOE' but we do know that the house, 'Caritas Villa' was definitely in Hooe!
From a letter, dated 14th September 1925, written to my father by Babcock & Wilcox, it appears that he had decided to look for full-time employment, which B & W, couldn't offer. [Ref CJVN-005].
The letter refers to two references that had been enclosed with it; a new reference meant, it would seem, to replace an earlier one, dated April 9th 1925. Perhaps, my father considered that some work he had recently carried out for B & W was of sufficient importance to improve his chances of obtaining new employment or, perhaps, he had noticed that some aspect of work he had been involved in, previously, had not been included on the first reference.
Whatever the reason it seems he had been offered a position of permanent work with the 'Spalding Beet Sugar Factory' so he, obviously, felt that he needed an up-dated reference letter from Babcock & Wilcox.
Unfortunately, any written offer of the permanent position has not survived the years.
Our Ref:
Memo from BABCOCK & WILCOX LTD LONDON September 14th 1925
Enc TWO REFERENCES
Mr C. Newport,
197, Winsover Road,
Spalding,
LINCS
Dear Sir,
I have your letter of the 12th instant from which I note that you are hoping to secure settled employment at the Spalding Beet Sugar Factory as soon as the Anglo-Scottish Beet Sugar Corporation take it over, and that you would like to leave the service of this Company as soon as Mr Francis can dispense with you.
I have no objections to raise as naturally in your own interests it is very much better for you to obtain permanent employment than the casual employment Babcock & Wilcox are able to offer, and I am glad to know that the experience you have been able to gain with this Company has been the means of qualifying you to take up the appointment which the Anglo-Scottish Beet Sugar Corporation have now offered you.
If they are willing to allow you to fix the buckstays, etc., to the boilers when the latter are bricked in, I shall be very glad of taking advantage of your services in doing so and to pay you the same rate as you have been receiving. Your new employers may raise some objection, and you might confirm that you will be free to do this work.
I have pleasure in enclosing herewith the reference you require, and return the reference dated April 9th 1925
Yours Truly
(Signature is unreadable)
The next piece of correspondence is dated 31st May 1928 and it came from Babcock & Wilcox. It talks about a contract that my father was, obviously, working on for B. & W., so the position with the Sugar Company may have failed to materialise or, perhaps, he changed his mind and never left or he got the job, wasn't happy there, so left after being there for only a year or so - it's impossible to say.
From a letter, dated, 31st May 1928, my father was at the Borough of Cheltenham Electrical. Works, working on a contract for Babcock & Wilcox. This is all that this letter tells us. [Ref CJVN-006]
D.G.M Date 31st May 1928
MEMO. BABCOCK & WILCOX. LTD. LONDON
MEMO. BABCOCK & WILCOX. LTD. LONDON
Mr Newport (B & W)
C/o The Borough of Cheltenham Elec. Works,
Arle Road,
CHELTENHAM LSO 56360 - Cheltenham (according to the pencilled correction, this should have been LSO 65360)
With further reference to this job, we now have word from the Engineer Mr A. E. Hart that he will be visiting the site first thing on Wednesday morning in order to give you all the necessary instructions regarding the job.
Nothing appears to have been ordered from us in the way of new parts and it is therefore necessary for you to take up this question with Mr Hart as naturally one of the first things you will be requiring is new nipples and circulating tubes.
Please find out definitely whether Mr Hart wishes us to supply these or if he is obtaining the material elsewhere
You will probably by that time be in a position to advise him of any other parts which may require to be replaced.
LONDON: ERECTING
In 1922, as electrification of the western world grew, a group of British businesses that included the young 'English Electric', which had been founded only four years before, in 1918, got together and set up a finance company called the 'Power and Traction Finance Company' (PTFC), whose objects were to identify light and power business opportunities, throughout the world, in the future.
In 1923, the National Bank of Greece approached the PTFC, with the idea of raising the money for the electrification of Greece and, in particular, the building of a power station to supply electricity to Athens.
Babcock & Wilcox with their experience, knowledge, and reputation regarding steam boilers of the size needed to drive the large electrical generators, and with their rapidly spreading production capacity, was one of the companies that hoped to benefit, greatly, from this contract.
In 1926, with the money secured, the project began and one of the men sent to Greece, by Babcock & Wilcox to start work, was my father. Exactly what it was he was sent to do; what his job was, I haven't, so far, managed to discover.
From the many stamps on his passport, however, it's not difficult to get some idea of when he set out from England, the route he appears to have taken to get there, and his return journey...
November, 1928, was a very stormy month, with, on the 16th and 17th, severe storms causing damage all across southern Britain. This bad weather continued throughout the year and into the next so, when my father arrived at the Foreign Office in London, to pick up his passport for Greece, on 21st November, (this is from the date stamped on his photograph in the passport) he must have felt rather pleased. I don't think that he would have been too concerned with going abroad, because whatever lay ahead of him, would have been nothing like what he had witnessed, in France, Belgium, and Germany, during WW1.
His travel Visa was stamped on his passport the following day, 22nd November, when he called in to the Greek Embassy. [Ref CJVN-015]
Two days later, on the 24th November, my father took the train to the Port of Dover and crossed the channel, by ferry, to Calais. An interesting point here is that it was in 1928 that car ferries were started from Dover to Calais, before that all passengers were foot passengers. Everything was new, however, and the cars had to be lifted on by crane. Did my father travel on one of the first cross-ferries to take cars?
From Calais, he took a train to Paris where, on arrival at the Gare du Nord, he transferred to another train for a journey on to Switzerland.
Crossing into Switzerland, on 25th November, he passed through the Customs at Porrentruy, then, after that same day, he arrived at passport control in Domodossola, in Italy.
Whether he stayed somewhere overnight or continued on the train is not clear, but he arrived the following day, the 26th, at Marittimo, Acora, on the east coast of Italy. Here he stayed overnight before catching the ferry to Piraeus, arriving on the 28th November.
Once, inside Greece, he took a train from the Port of Piraeus, to Athens where he was to stay, close to the construction site, tor the next twelve months. There's no information, however, as to where he stayed, who organized it, whether it was suitable or he had to change it.
I have assumed, in the above, that my father travelled by train, from England to Greece, but he may have travelled by motor-cycle, especially if he used the car ferry at Dover. He had learned to ride and to repair motorcycles while in the 'Signals', during WW1, and I know that he had a motorbike when he travelled up to the Midlands, to work on the new Buildwas (later to be known as Ironbridge) Power Station (that story to come later) - and he had one in the 1950s when we lived in Ironbridge. So, it's not beyond belief that he may have ridden all the way to Greece.
His first marriage was unofficially over by this time as he didn't even know where his wife was living. His two children were staying with his mother and father, in Hooe, because he had to work, and the work he did meant that he was away from home for long periods.
I have not been able to discover, so far, at least, what his job was in Greece or where the site was. He seemed to talk about Athens Power Station but I can find no information on that. He, also, often, talked about Greece and said that he had a lot of time for the Greeks. He was strongly in favour of returning the so-called Elgin Marbles back to their rightful owners.
He had a photograph (now lost) taken of himself, standing on the steps of the Acropolis, which he brought back together with, what is now, a dog-eared copy of the guide book.
My father told me of one particular event that happened to him when he was working in Greece, but gave no clue as to where or when it happened, but it's one of those strange things that do happen in comedy sketches and he always laughed when re-telling the story.
One day, when out looking for somewhere to eat, he stopped outside a taverna or it might have been a restaurant, he didn't say which. Looking at the menu but, not being able to speak or read Greek, he realized that it would be of no use to him and, I suppose in those days, because not many ordinary, everyday, Greeks spoke English, he didn't think he'd get any help from the waiters.
This was no problem to him because he had a Plan B - he walked in through the doorway, passed all the tables and chairs, and went straight to, what was obviously, the kitchen, at the back.
He went in, glanced around, and saw someone who, to him, looked to be the cook; a tall, burly man who, hearing him come in, turned, put his hands on his hips, and stared at my father in obvious surprise.
Without hesitating, my father put Plan B into effect - he held out his left hand, palm upward as though he were holding a plate, which he elaborated upon by, with his right index finger, drawing a circle in the air around what would have been the outside edge of this imagined plate, had it, actually, existed.
He looked up at the cook and having assured himself that he had got the man's full attention, glanced around at the various pots and dishes holding food that he couldn't recognise.
Making a decision, he pointed, with the same right index finger, to one of the dishes of food lying on the table and, then, moving that finger over his plate, tapped it up and down to indicate that he wanted some of that, there!
The cook was watching him closely, so Plan B was, obviously, working. He repeated this process, with different dishes, several times until he felt that he'd probably got as much as he could eat.
He put his right-hand index finger away now as it was no longer required, at least for that purpose, and looked up at the cook and waited. He didn't have to wait long because the cook, his hands still on his hips, said, in a strong Scottish accent, "If ye'll tell me what ye want laddie, I'll get for ye!".
It's no surprise that the cook turned out to be a Scotsman who had been living in Greece, and a cook at that taverna/restaurant, for many years.
My father never told me, nor, unfortunately, did I ask him to tell me, any more than that but how I would love, now, to know the conversation that followed - and whether my father was, from then on, a regular diner there.
His passport visa was again stamped on the 4th May 1929 but it's not obvious why, however, sometime around 8th October, he boarded the ferry ship, the 'SS Patris II', in Piraeus, travelled to Genoa, on the west Italian coast, and on to Marseilles, where, on 9th October 1929, he disembarked. Whatever he had been working on the job, in Greece, was finished within a year.
Construction of the first Ironbridge Power Station (later to become known as Ironbridge A Power Station) began in 1929, and the first phase was completed in 1932. The station officially opened on the 13 October 1932.
In 1934, on October 15th, my father went to work for the London Power Company (later the British Electricity Authority (London Division)) at Battersea. At this time, he was a stoker operating their large boilers. In 1938, he took up the duties of Mechanical Fitter but for some reason, only for five months.
In the spring of 1940, when a Nazi invasion of England seemed imminent, the Home Guard was formed, in which, initially, all the men were volunteers, either those too young or too old to join the forces. Later, in the war, young men were conscripted and the training they were given with the Home Guard was used to prepare them for the battlefield.
Because of the importance of the electricity supply to the country, each generating station and main substation had its own Home Guard unit, mainly these were volunteers from the staff. My father joined and one of his duties was to carry out fire-watch, on the roof of Battersea Power Station. Like most of the Home Guard, he was issued with a small book having silhouettes of aeroplanes, both, I seem to remember, British and German. I loved that book and wanted to keep it but my mother persuaded me to throw it away as it was old - how I wish I'd kept it. My father worked at Battersea Power Station A, which was how it was identified after a second station was built.
On 5th August 1942, he was given an identification pass [Ref CJVN-008], which gave the following information,
From a letter, dated, 31st May 1928, my father was at the Borough of Cheltenham Electrical. Works, working on a contract for Babcock & Wilcox. This is all that this letter tells us. [Ref CJVN-006]
Name... C.J.Newport Clock No... 120 Nat. Identity No. .. BFAE 150/5
Authorised by: (The signature is not clear but, whatever his name, he was the 'Engineer-in Chief')
Date 5th August 1942 Pass No. 502
This pass is the property of the Company, is returnable on request, and must be carefully preserved. Immediate notification must be given of loss. The finder of this pass will be rewarded on returning it to the nearest Police Station.
(Note --- BA stands for Battersea Station A)
For some years, my father had wanted to get divorced from his first wife and marry my mother instead but there were problems - his wife couldn't be found and he couldn't afford the cost. I believe that ordinary people, at that time, found it extremely if not almost impossible to prove in a court of law, that there had been a serious and irreconcilable breakdown in their marriage. The financial cost of litigation was extremely high and the cost in stress, for people not used to solicitors, the courts, and all the solemn pomp of the law, was also, extremely high. Most people wouldn't have wanted to put themselves through that.
Sometime in 1947, however, my Aunt Grace, so I was told, took my father on one side and told him that she was going to set a detective on the trail of the missing spouse and, when she was found, as she would be, she, Aunt Grace would pay for the divorce.
This was done, though I know nothing about how or when other than what I was told, which is all that I have written above.
I do, however, have a copy, in fact two copies, for some reason, of the divorce certificate [Ref CJVN-030], and what it says is as follows
Certificate of making Decree Nisi Absolute (Divorce)
In the High Court of Justice
PROBATE, DIVORCE, AND ADMIRALTY DIVISION
(DIVORCE.)
Between Cuthbert John Victor Newport Petitioner
And Bridget Louisa Newport Respondent
Referring to the decree made in this C[l]ause
On the 19th day of December 1947
Whereby it was decreed that the Marriage had and Solemnized on 23rd day of December 1919 at the parish church, Dunston in the County of Durham
between Cuthbert John Victor Newport the Petitioner.
and Bridget Louisa Newport then Allan, spinster the Respondent
be dissolved by reason that the respondent had deserted the petitioner for a period of at least three years immediately preceding the presentation of the of the petition unless sufficient cause be shown to the court within six weeks from the making thereof why the said Decree should not be made absolute, and no such cause having been shown, irt is hereby certifies that the said Decree was on the 3rd day of February 1948 made final and absolute and that the said marriage was thereby dissolved.
Dated the 3rd Day of February 1948
So, on 3rd February 1948, my father was divorced and free to marry again, which they did a few months later that same year.
He remained working at Battersea, until the 4th January, 1949, when my parents made the decision to move to Shropshire. I, vaguely, remember my mother telling us children about how much we were going to enjoy living in the country, which was meaningless to me, as I was about 8 years of age, going on nine, and my younger sister, Pamela, was no older than six at the most.
I, also, remember my mother laughing when I said, after thinking about how my Uncle Bill, born and bred in Ironbridge, spoke, something along the lines of, 'But Mum, I won't be able to understand what they're saying. I won't understand my teachers.' As I say, she laughed and explained that not everyone spoke with such a strong dialect, as did he - and she was right - but that's another story!
After the war, things started, slowly, to get back to normal but, toward the end of 1948, my mother had been receiving letters, written by my grandparents' neighbours, telling her how badly her brother, William Bagnall, was treating the old couple and that she should be there to sort out the problem and calm things down. I don't remember exactly what the problem was but that's what I do remember from what my mother told me. She had a sister who was already living in the area; in Dawley, not that far away, but, apparently, she felt she couldn't cope with the problem, so we would have to move.
The decision was, finally, made, and my father, at the end of 1948, handed in his notice to Battersea Power Station. On 4th January 1949, he left and the Company gave him a good reference [Ref CJVN-009], which he sent, with a letter, to the Power Station at Buildwas asking for work.
The reference, from 'Battersea Power Station', reads: -
SJN Note: The letter seems to be missingHe felt that he stood a good chance of getting a position at Buildwas Power Station, because, in late 1929 and the early 1930s, he had worked on the original building and construction of the Station, when Babcock & Wilcox boilers; on virtually up to its commission in 1933.
In 1949, my father and mother, as a result of letters they received from a few of my grandparents' neighbours, in Madeley, Shropshire, regarding supposed ill-treatment of the old couple by their son, William Bagnall, decided that we would have to move up there to sort things out.
Because of this decision, my father gave notice to Battersea Power Station, where he was working at the time, and had worked since before the war, that he would be leaving, He asked for references and received the letter shown on page 2, which I have transcribed below.
Sometime later, in 1949 (I seem to remember that it was late summer), we sold our house in Feltham and moved up to Shropshire, to stay with my grandparents, Alfred John Morris and Elizabeth Ann Bagnall (ñee Jones), in their home at 22, Wrekin View, Hill Top, Madeley, until we had found somewhere to live.
I remember just me, my mother, and my two sisters going up by train, so I have no idea where my father was; had he gone on ahead for some reason?
At that time, my parents had been considering moving down to East Sussex; to be by the sea and near my grandmother, and all my uncles, aunts, and cousins. This would have been a decision that I would have much preferred because I knew and liked my relatives, loved the sea and loved Bexhill and Hastings - but the letters from Shropshire won and so we moved.
The only good side to this decision, as far as I am concerned, was that, there, I was to meet the young sixteen-year-old girl, Maureen Lilian Palin, who was to become my wife. Within twenty-four hours, I knew I had met the best friend I would ever have and, also, knew that I wanted to be with her every moment of the day, and every day of the week, forever - and fifty years later, I still feel that way - but that's another story!
A problem occurred the moment we arrived in Shropshire: the job at the Power Station, which my father had been promised earlier that year, had, apparently, now been filled. They offered many apologies, which didn't one bit, so he had to start looking for other employment. He never complained, however, never criticized my mother or the move to Shropshire, all of which was very typical of him.
Another problem area arose within a matter of months of our arrival, as the same neighbours who had written to my mother in London, now began writing to the local council saying that we were only waiting for the "old couple" to die so we could take over their council house - they even convinced my grandmother of this and she turned rather nasty, so we had to get out and my parents started looking at houses.
They came across a house, in Ironbridge; No.11, the Wharfage [Ref CJVN-025], so we moved once again, within a relatively short period of our arrival. Unfortunately, all the time we had been staying with my grandparents, at Wrekin View, our furniture, and everything else we had thought was in "safe" storage, being looked after by a very good, old school-friend of my mother, had not had the attention it was thought it was having, in fact it had been badly mistreated, apparently, by the friend's children, and rain had got in, somehow, so it had deteriorated to the point where most things had to be thrown away and replaced.
On the 16th August, 1949, my father, wrote to the West Midland's Gas Board, seeking a position at the local gas works but the reply, on the 19th, was that there were no vacancies. [Ref CJVN-010]
The letter reads: -
West Midlands Gas Board, Shrewsbury District 19th August 1949
Mr C.J.Newport
22, Wrekin View,
Hilltop
MADELEY
Dear Mr Newport,
With reference to your letter of the 16th instant applying for employment with this Undertaking, we have no vacancy at the present date.
Your letter, however, has been passed to the Divisional Manager in case other Undertakings in the Division can utilise your services.
Yours faithfully,
A.V.Wainwright
Manager
A week later, on the 26th of August, however, they wrote again, this time saying that a vacancy had come up and offering an interview on 'next Thursday afternoon the 25th at 2.30'. The date given for the interview is, actually, wrong as the letter was written on Friday 26th August and Thursday 25th, was the day before!! The typist or the secretary had made a mistake and the date should have been the 1st September. I can only suppose that my father saw this and clarified the problem because, clever as my father may have been, he couldn't have attended any interview on the day before he knew about it! [Ref CJVN-017]
West Midlands Gas Board, Shrewsbury District 26th August 1949
Mr C. J. Newport,
22, Wrekin View,
Hilltop,
Madeley,
SALOP
Dear Mr Newport,
With further reference to your letter of the 16th instant and my reply of the 19th there is a possibility I can offer you employment with this Undertaking. A situation has arisen which has rendered the offer possible as against my earlier refusal.
As certain conditions need to be complied with, the matter could be best settled by your attendance here at an interview; next Thursday afternoon the 25th at 2.30 would be suitable for myself and if it should be suitable for you would you write me using the enclosed stamped addressed envelope?
Yours faithfully,
A.V.Wainwright
Manager
In 1954, looking for a better job, my father wrote to the British Sugar Corporation, at Allscott, near Wellington, in Shropshire - a distance from Ironbridge, which was where we were living then, of around 12 miles, depending on the road taken.
He was given an interview and, subsequently, a position, as the letter below says. [Ref CJVN-024]
Dear Sir,
With reference to your visit to this factory to-day, we would confirm that we can offer you employment as a Boiler House Fitter to operate and be in charge of a shift in our Boiler House.
As we are carrying out steam tests at the present moment and will go into production during next week we should be very pleased if you could present yourself for your work at the earliest moment.
Yours faithfully,
For and behalf of:
BRITISH SUGAR CORPORATION LIMITED
A.Duncan Smith
I don't know how long he worked at the Sugar Beet, as the Company was known to us, but he was still there in 1957/58 because I remember him asking me to pick up a Pakistani immigrant who had recently joined and give him a lift to the factory. I can't remember exactly which but we either had to get up at 5 o'clock to be there by 5 o'clock - we did it and don't forget I was still a teenager!
In early 2007, after 80 years in production, the factory closed, finally being demolished in 2011 to make way for new housing.
In 1956, my father must have taken an examination of some sort; whether because he wanted to or because he was asked to, I have no idea. I don't remember him taking the exam but, at the time, I was, probably, in hospital with meningitis - but that's another story
He passed and the certificate reads: -
There is a certificate:
CJVN-026 City & Guilds Of London Institute - Boiler Operator's Certificate 1956
Not really anything to say!
The 1960s decade was, for me, a very busy time as I got married, moved out of the old family home into the new one that my wife and I had bought together. We had two children and later in that decade moved in Shropshire to West Sussex.
During this period, my family and I, mainly because of the distance between us, lost contact - not entirely but almost so because any conversations had to be by telephone while physical contact was only at weddings and Christmas.
We lived in Shrewsbury, for most of that decade, and we had a car while our parents hadn't. We had sisters, and him my wife's case, brothers who had cartons but no one seemed to make the effort to get together other than those times when we felt we had to - that was, I think, just the way it was.
I know that my parents sold their house, along the Wharfage, in Ironbridge, sometime in the early 1960s, and bought a large house along Holyhead Road, in Wellington in Shropshire. It was a large house, built, I would have thought, in late Victorian times, with a very large garden, and when I say large, I mean it.
Maureen and I, with young Steve (Gary was on the way but taking his time), went down to see my parents in their new house in 1966 and my father had started to cut his way through the tall grass and weeds that filled the back garden. They were a mixture of tall grass and plants, such as honeysuckle and brambles, that had been allowed to run wild, - they were tall, easily man height but Dad was pleased to find, under all this, a small lawn, and beyond a wooden, trellis arch. He couldn't see much beyond this arch because the tall weeds, whatever they were, continued way beyond that on toward some tall trees, perhaps, fifty feet away.
I don't remember when we next went to the house but, by the time we did, he had made something of a discovery. The garden continued some distance beyond the arch and ended at a small stream, the other side of which were the stand of trees we'd noticed a few months before.
The next visit turned up something different, as when I arrived, he took me down the path to that stream and turned right. We walked along, behind the rear fence of the house next door, and of the house next door to that, and, I think but I'm not sure, behind the house next door to that. We were, finally, stopped by a fence running from the rear fences of these next-door houses to our left. We turned left, and were able to walk for some distance until we, finally, came to what was the final, back fence of his garden, the other side of which was a wide lane, and the other side of this lane were the equally, large back gardens of houses in the street beyond that ran parallel to Holyhead Road.
The whole was a very large L-shaped garden, very large indeed, with long rows of redcurrant, blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes that hadn't been cared for, for many years. It was a dream, but at the same time, a nightmare because of the hard work that would be needed to keep it under control.
It seems that only a few years later, my parents had sold this large house and bought a smaller, much more modern, three-bedroomed house, in Tern Close, Little Dawley. Here the house was smaller and far easier to keep clean, who had an attached garage and a much more manageable sized garden where my father could grow vegetables he needed and which he could keep tidy without too much effort.
My father reached retirement age but found work on the relatively new power station at Buildwas. He was apparently working in charge of the stores but, as usual, went beyond what he was supposed to do. In his late 60s and early 70s, he used to get a bus from Little Dawley down to the power station, arriving before the first builders/construction workers (whatever they were) turned up for work, at about 7 o'clock. He was up at 5 o'clock in the morning because, due to the lack of a bus service at that time, he had to walk - even in his seventies. He would have the tea made and breakfasts almost cooked ready for the men before they set about their work. He did this in winter and summer, whatever the weather and sometimes he had to walk home because the buses weren't running down what was, and is, called Jiggers Bank, in Coalbrookdale. The buses wouldn't run because the Bank was very steep and with snow on it was treacherous to go down with no chances of the buses getting a grip on the road going up. Even in good weather, it was all bottom gear in a car to reach the top.
On one occasion, my father turned up at home very late at night and my mother, obviously very worried, asked where he'd been. It turned out that, on this cold, dark, snow-covered evening, one young construction worker needed petrol [for] his car but hadn't got the money so my father gave him the only money he had - his bus fare, which meant that he now had to walk back home.
The journey was something like 5 or 6 miles in total, perhaps even more; first along the road that followed the river for some distance before he had to turn left into Coalbrookdale and begin the long climb up the valley, past the old Coalbrookdale Ironworks Factory until he reached the bottom of Jiggers Bank. Then came the [...missing original text?]
...the up the long steep road through Coalbrookdale to reach Jiggers Bank and that climb up into sound files 6 miles long side the June use something like 546 months into that long steep bank, across country lanes before entering Little Dawley's[SJN ?]
In 1972, my Uncle Don received a letter from the Royal Welsh Fusiliers Association, who were arranging a reunion dinner for old ex-regimental soldiers and were trying to trace my father. Not knowing he was up in the Midlands they must have searched for any Newport in and around the village of Hooe and, luckily, my uncle lived in Ninfield, the parish right next door.
My uncle wrote back, giving them my father's address and they, in turn, wrote to him enclosing the invitation, which he accepted. He, then, asked me to go with him, but, for some reason that I no longer remember, I said that I didn't want to or couldn't. I don't remember which, so he asked my brother-in-law, Alan Goodhew to go with him, which he did.
The only reasons I can think of, for not wanting to go with him, from this point in time, namely 2012, might be, firstly, that I was never happy in such gatherings (I always felt out of my depth and extremely uncomfortable; never knowing what to talk about - a problem I no longer have!), secondly, my wife, family and I, were living in West Sussex, while my father was in Shropshire, and I had begun to dislike driving, especially in places such as London.
Thirdly, and finally, I was going through a very stressful time, because, in late 1971, the company that I had moved south to join, went into receivership and we all lost our jobs. I went looking for other work but there was nothing in my line of business so I took on what I could and that was very worrying.
Today, I wish, so very much, that I'd said yes and gone with him. When I think of the questions I could have asked and the answers I might have received, I think what a tremendous opportunity I turned down. How much this hurt my father, I don't know but I think he would have been proud to show his son to his old comrades but, then, I didn't go and will always regret that.
The following is a second letter to my Uncle Don, thanking him for giving my father's address and advising him that they had written and sent on the invitation. [Ref CJVN-029]
The letter reads: -
15th (1st London Welsh) B'n. R.W.F. Association
(1914-1918)
President: : Colonel J. E. T. Willes, M.B.E. Hon. Secretary & Treasurer
Colonel of the Royal WelshFusiliers Harold Diffey, Esq.
1 ADDINGTON ROAD,
STROUD GREEN
LONDON, N4 4RP
Chairman: To whom all supplies should be sent.
Captain H. Trevor Williams Telephone
01-340 1594
D.H. Newport Esq., 9th Sept. 1972
NINFIELD
Dear Mr Newport,
Many thanks for your welcome letter of the 6th. I have written to Cuthbert inviting him to our 58th Annual Lunch on Sat, 30th Sept. and suggesting that he brings you as our guest.
I was visiting a nephew Mr. J. P. Walker of 38 St. George's Road, Bexhill, an agricultural machinery chap (who also cuts grass by contract), and I enquired from him about the Newports & Battle.
Thank you once again.
H. Diffey
I have no knowledge of what happened at the Annual Lunch, as my father lived in Shropshire and I in West Sussex. I'm not sure whether at that time my parents had a telephone; we did, but did they? We didn't write much, as a family, and without a phone there was no other way to communicate.
The invitation [Ref CJVN-011] was, obviously, received by my father because he attended the luncheon and the letter [Ref CJVN 012] he received, shortly after, shows this.
Below is a transcription of the letter:-
15th (1st London Welsh) B'n. R.W.F. Association
(1914-1918)
President: : Colonel J. E. T. Willes, M.B.E. Hon. Secretary & Treasurer
Colonel of the Royal WelshFusiliers Harold Diffey, Esq.
1 ADDINGTON ROAD,
STROUD GREEN
LONDON, N4 4RP
Chairman: To whom all supplies should be sent.
Captain H. Trevor Williams Telephone
01-340 1594
24th October 1972
Dear Cuthbert,
Now that the dust and smoke have settled after our re-union, we can now concentrate on coming events.
The G. L. C. have invited our Chairman to the County Hall to lay a Poppy wreath on our plaque.
On Sunday the 12th November at 12.15 p.m. meet at the Field of Remembrance, Plot 71, for the ceremony of planting the cross and remembering the Fallen. After, we retire to the Sgt's Mess of the C.L.R. Depot.
If you wish to buy a cross to be planted in the Field of Remembrance, Westminster Abbey, please send remittance to me. London Branch Comrades to Mr. Viv Jones, 2 Bridge Court, Heath Road, Hounslow, Middx.
Jim Millett, one of our Senior lads, aged 84, who during the last two or three years has learnt the Christian names of all the nurses in the Royal Northern Hospital, is back again. He went to sleep on the floor of after re-union. He was found the next day and taken back to hospital and renew3ed old acquaintances, to be told that he must not live alone. Arrangements are being made to get him into a Royal British Legion Home, so that should encourage us to buy an extra poppy.
S. J. Jones (Lampeter), one of the original 'A' Coy, passed away recently. His son writes, 'He knew his visit to our re-union was going to be his first and his last'.
LONDON BRANCH SOCIAL at the London Welsh Association Club, 157 Gray's Inn Road, W.C.1, Saturday, 18th November. 55p Buffet & GAMES. I shall be taking my hoop.
DON'T FORGET YOUR POPPY CROSSES
Yours sincerely,
DIF
Hon. Sec and Treasurer
15th Bn. R.W.F. Association.
This was a general letter sent to all members but, at the bottom, and on the back, of my father's copy, Mr. Diffey, had hand-written a personal anecdote for my father. The event he talks about must have occurred sometime between November 1914 and August 1915, when my father was stationed at Llandudno, aged 16. He got his sense of right and wrong, regarding alcohol, from his father, my grandfather, who was very much against drink and had joined the Temperance Society some years before.
The note at the bottom reads:
Do you remember that character at Mrs Edwards, Llandudno, named MACK? He was going to kill you with a carving knife because you said he should be ashamed getting drunk. You locked your bedroom door and he was outside with six of us holding him back. Oh, Happy Days!
I, again, try to imagine my father as a child, this time as a teenager, and, once again, the picture remains foggy and fails to become any clearer!
| CJVN-026 | City & Guilds Of London Institute - Boiler Operator's Certificate | 1956 |
| CJVN-014 | Letter from Aunt Bea (Front) | 28-01-1978 |
| CJVN-015 | Letter from Aunt Bea (Back) | 28-01-1978 |
| CJVN-016 | Aunt Gwen's Letter (Front) | 01-04-1980 |
| CJVN-017 | Aunt Gwen's Letter (Back) | 01-04-1980 |
| CJVN-018 | My parents' passport (one-year) | 22-08-1973 |
| CJVN-032 | Bornhofen Postcard | 14-01-1919 |
| CJVN-033 | Dűren - Postcard | Undated |
| CJVN-034 | Medal Index Card | undated |
| CJVN-035 | My Father's Medals | undated |
| CJVN-036 | My Father with a trilby on - location unknown | undated |
| CJVN-037 | Draft letter to Alan Goodhew??? | Undated |
| CJVN-038 | National Registration Identity Card |
| CJVN-041 | Letter to my mother from Cane Hill Mental Hospital | 26-01-1933 |
| CJVN-042 | Letter to my mother from Cane Hill Mental Hospital | 31-01-1933 |
The following is the report printed in the Wellington Journal???
Mr. C. Newport,
Little Dawley
Mr. Cuthbert John Victor Newport of 4 Tern Close, Little Dawley, died at the Wrekin Hospital on March 21, He was 82. Mr. Newport, a retired fitter, lived in Ironbridge before moving to Little Dawley. He served in France and Belgium during the First World War with the Royal Welch Fusiliers.
The funeral service, at Holy Trinity Church, Little Dawley, on March 26 was conducted by Rev Peter Clay.
Family mourners were Mrs. E. L. Newport (wife), Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Newport (son and daughter-in-law), Mr. and Mrs. A. Ball, Mr. and Mrs. R. Hill, Miss M. Newport (sons-in-law and daughters), Steven and Michael (grandsons), Mr. W. Newport, Mr. O. Newport, Mr. O. Newport. Mr. D. Newport (brothers, rep sisters and families), Mr. W. Corbett (nephew, rep Mrs. E. Corbett and Mrs. M. Corbett, sister-in-law and niece).
Funeral arrangements were made by C. J. Williams of Dawley.