LEWIS MIDHURST WALKER

This is your life.

You were born on 31st August, 1907, the eldest of four children, in the village of Wing in Buckinghamshire.

Your father was an agent on the Rothschild estate at Wing. He was a superb horseman and won the Champion's Cup at the International Horse Show at Earls Court, London.

Your mother was an excellent housewife and took a great interest in the activities of the village.

One of your earliest recollections was seeing the church at Wing draped with black and purple to mark the death of King Edward VII in 1910. Another was seeing Halley's Comet.

Among your playmates were the children of Lord Dalmeny - Lavina, who became Duchess of Norfolk, and her brother, Ronald Primrose, who died early of blood poisoning.

In 1914, you accompanied your parents to Baden-Baden in Germany where your father "took the water". You returned just before war broke out.

During the first World War you had your appendix removed in a hospital in London. The nurses took you out on the roof so that you could see the Zeppelins flying over. Your operation was performed by the same surgeon who had removed King Edward's. At a subsequent operation you had in Durban, the surgeon recognised your scar as the work of the famous surgeon.

After an initial education in the village you went to Dunstable Grammar School as a boarder. You recall getting "six of the best" on your first day for knocking over a beehive in the Headmaster's garden. Cary Grant also went to Dunstable Grammar School.

You passed the academic section comfortably, but it was at sport that you excelled. You were captain of the 1st cricket team; an honour to which your two younger brothers, John and Geoff, succeeded. You recollect the teams being driven to "away" matches in horse-drawn brakes.

After school you continued to participate actively in sport. You played 1st team hockey for Bedfordshire and 1st team cricket for Buckinghamshire.

Your first job was with the General Alliance Insurance Company. The offices are opposite St. James's Palace. (You had a clear view of royal processions entering and leaving the Palace.)

Your salary was seventy-five pounds per annum, paid quarterly. Nevertheless, you were able to attend the theatre in London for only about one shilling by sitting in "the gods". At one time, you and your friend, Charles Blow, had seen every show that was on in London at the time.

You were among the young men who volunteered to keep the tube trains running during the General Strike of 1926. Flapper socialites plied you with refreshments.

Your father offered to sponsor a sea-trip. You chose to go to New Zealand - the most distant point. You lived and worked on the North and South Islands for a time and visited the South Sea Islands. You were in Napier at the time of the earthquake - a frightening experience.

On your way home, the ship docked at Durban and you decided this was where you would like to live - so you returned to South Africa.

You worked in Johannesburg with the S.A. Guarantee, where you were taken under the wing of Mr. Fuller-Jones. You and his son, Keith, became life-long friends.

You were transferred on request to Durban. You have a book inscribed "a token of appreciation" on leaving Johannesburg.

In Durban you stayed at the Portsdown Hotel. It was there that you met the Nye family who became numbered among your best friends.

Life in the 1930s in Durban was carefree. You played a lot of golf and dined and danced, suitably clad in black tie and tails. Golf was your main sport. You had been fortunate enough to practise as a boy on the Rothschilds' 18-hole course and were now playing off scratch. You made several coastal trips with the Bank Line, going ashore at Lorenço Marques, Beira and Dar-es-Salam to have a round of golf with the ship's captain.

When war broke out in 1939 you were in Capetown awaiting a passage to return to the UK to rejoin your regiment, the Royal Bucks, of which you were a volunteer member. As no passage was available you joined the Artillery of the Union Defence Force.

You had a spell of manning coastal anti-aircraft guns, where "never a shot was fired in anger". You recall that you even had a surfeit of crayfish on Robben Island and at the Bluff, Durban, you caught sand-fly fever. Thanks to your friendship with the Grimwoods, you were able to convalesce in comfort in their gracious home in Mentone Road.

But the time came for you to embark for North Africa with the 6th South African Division. By the time you reached Egypt the theatre of war had moved to Italy. This was a time of comparative cold and deprivation but eventually the Germans succumbed.

On your return to Helwan, Egypt, you and Jean were married at the Anglican Cathedral and had a reception at Kasr-el-Nil barracks. The two weeks' honeymoon leave were spent at Mena House Hotel, overlooking the Pyramids, and the Cecil Hotel, Alexandra, on the shores of the Mediterranean.

You intended returning to the UK at the end of hostilities but were asked to go to Pretoria to help complete the Records.

After six weeks in Pretoria and one month's holiday in the Cape, you settled in Durban.

You joined the Pearl Insurance company and when they were taken over by the Commercial Union you continued in their service.

You were blessed with two children, Helen and Ian, who each earned University Degrees. They are both happily married and your granddaughters are a great joy.

After 25 years' service, the Commercial Union gave you a gold watch and in 1984 an overseas holiday for two. You finally stopped work in February 1987 and were give a great send-off by fellow staff members. Tributes were paid to your loyalty and support.

You are settling down to your retirement and enjoying the two "C"s -
Cookery
and
Crosswords

with the odd visit to the Club.

MY EXPERIENCES IN EGYPT

Like Helen, I was finding teaching domestic science tedious. The air raid warning frequently went off in the middle of a lesson, when I had to lead the girls out to the air raid shelter where they sang loudly and happily till the "all clear" went. I had to dash in and out to keep an eye on the cooking in the stove and also on the odd (usually lone) reconnaissance plane overhead. To me the last straw was when the supply of material for sewing dresses dried up. We were obliged to get mothers to pass on a dress of their own to their daughters, which we cut up and made smaller.

I was fortunate that His Majesty's Inspectress for Schools was sympathetic as she had joined the NAAFI (Navy, Army, Air Force Institutes) in the First World War, and she know they were looking for recruits. She put me in touch with Meta Forbes and we joined up together. We had to take a course at Kennington on feeding the troops. I stayed with Mary's parents at Croydon during that period (Aunt Kate and Uncle Stephen). They were wonderfully kind and hospitable. Mary and Robert Niven were far from home at that time and I think they liked to hear how I had spent my day. Our class consisted of ten of us in our twenties and ten old men who had been running canteens for years. There was usually something funny to relate in the evenings. At the end of the course I returned to the South of Scotland as a fully-fledged "Restaurant and Welfare Superintendent", staying, at various times, in Edinburgh, Dunbar, Galashiels and North Berwick. We had well-tailored khaki uniforms with shoulder badges coloured navy, red (for the army) and light blue for the Air Force: NAAFI Institute.

It was intended that we volunteers should be sent out to the Middle East. As we ranked as civilians, we had to become members of the ATS (Auxiliary Territorial Services). General Eisenhower would only have fully trained members of the Army - otherwise we would be considered "camp followers". The training consisted of six weeks at Guildford, drilling and exercising. Other subjects were "interior economy" (cleaning up our hut inside) and "exterior economy" (cleaning up the outside, e.g. picking up cigarette ends, etc.). My brother Ian had warned me not to volunteer for anything as he had found that if you were asked, "Are you fond of music?" you were liable to be called to move the piano. It was a light-hearted period, which didn't last very long. We even sneaked out to a cinema on the odd occasion.

After becoming an ATS private it was time for me to become a cadet officer-in-training. This took place at a school in Windsor, the school which Rudyard Kipling had attended. We had a busy, interesting time. I bought myself a second-hand bicycle at Maidenhead for one pound. I nearly fell off when I met the OC at the gate of the school and tried to sit up straight and do a smart salute at the same time. We had lots of lectures and studying to do, sometimes on a punt on the Thames, chased by swans, or at a picnic at Runnymede. We had to take turns at sitting at the top table and giving talks.

At last we were ready for "passing out". We spent hours polishing brass and leather the night before the parade. The inspecting officer stopped in front of me and pointed at my shoes. I preened myself until I heard her say, "Look how badly these shoe-laces are tied".

We spent the time of awaiting our turn to embark for the Middle East at Dulwich. Aunt Kate came and visited me and we watched a game of rugby at Robert's old school, Dulwich College.

I was granted embarkation leave and spent it at Logie Newton. I remember Dad, Aunt Nell and Helen came to see me off at Aberdeen Station. The compartment next to mine was occupied by Vivienne Leigh and my nose was out of joint as everyone was interested in seeing her and not me.

At Dulwich we practised going up and down the fire escape carrying full equipment in order to prepare us for boarding ship up steep gangways.

At last the day came to depart. I had no idea where we were going and from which port. I think it was at Addison Station our trip began. I was the only officer there, with a sergeant, two corporals and fourteen other ranks going from the NAAFI.

I spent the time trying to guess where we were. I thought we stopped at Newcastle but it turned out to be Liverpool. We were met on the station by helpful soldiers and went straight on board the Stirling Castle - no steep gangways to negotiate. We quickly settled in and set sail.

I had a first class cabin which would normally hold one but in wartime conditions four of us shared it which was good company.

We sailed out into the Atlantic to avoid submarines and then went east into the Mediterranean. I recall seeing a boat blown up by a submarine in the distance as we passed just north of it.

We disembarked at Port Said and went by train across the desert to Cairo. It was a beautiful, moonlit night. We passed clumps of tents lit up by the moon. We were taken to a civilian hotel. Next day we went to the ATS headquarters and were taught the care to take when practising hygiene in Egypt. It was a lovely feeling to be driven around Cairo streets on a warm, sunny day. I wanted to say, "Isn't it a lovely day?". The reply would be a surprised, "So it is". I had left Britain in cold January weather and every day was fine here.

I met up again with Meta Forbes. She had been told that she was to be transferred to Cyprus and I was to replace her at Helwan (the UDF - Union Defence Force - Camp). But she was told she must take some local leave first. She asked how she could possibly go travelling around Egypt on her own. So they asked her who she wanted to go with her. She said, "Jean", so there I was, granted leave after I had just arrived! I sent Dad a telegram: "Please send twenty pounds", which he did. I sent him a photo of me relaxing on the verandah of Luxor Hotel wearing dark glasses! We went by train up the Nile to Luxor and Aswan. We were fortunate enough to visit the sights and wonders of the world at little or no expense - one pound a night at hotels and, of course, our fare out had been at the King's expense.

After that, I did settle down happily and busily at the Wassie Camp in the greater Helwan Camp. I was the only ATS officer there so was able to stick to the rules of either as it suited me.

I had an office in the camp which I shared with a male NAAFI officer and a girl corporal. As the war had moved out of Africa and there was less to do, the staff was reduced and I was the only NAAFI officer left. I had the full use of a car and driver. He used to drive me to Cairo once a week and daily round the various canteens in the surrounding areas.

The driver's name was Zaki. He was a perfectly well-behaved gentleman. He had learnt English from the troops so it was not always so well-mannered as he thought it was. I asked him once how much he had paid to have a small repair done to the car engine by a road-side mechanic so that I could refund the money to him. He replied, "Two ackers, too bloddy much" (only about a penny). Another time I saw two of our NAAFI men walking on a part of the airport which I thought was out of bounds and I asked Zaki what they were doing. "They go shit," he informed me with dignity.

One of our kitchen staff had had an accident and I had to fill in a report form in Egyptian. I asked Zaki if he wrote Egyptian, only to be told haughtily, "Englese bus" - "English only" (actually neither). He drove me once past the small place where he lived to meet his beautiful wife. She wore a yashmak and had a child on her shoulder but we were quite unable to converse - just smile to each other.

I only learnt a few words in Egyptian. Such as "cleffy wallah". The word for "No" is "La". I confused Zaki by pointing firmly at the place where I wanted him to put the car and saying "La" - French for "there".

I met Tony soon after I arrived at Helwan. I stepped out with Meta and some South African girls I had met from the Mess, to go down to the dining-room when a voice said, "Hallo, Jean". We had moved from the light to outside and I thought, "Who in the whole of Africa knows me?" We had met a few nights before in a box at Cairo Opera House when I had been taken along to see a play done by the cast who travelled out on the Stirling Castle with me. Tony was a member of the 6th South African Armoured Division. Not very long after we met, in April 1944, he was posted to Italy.

Helen and Richard met in Chesterfield when he was home on leave from Burma and while she was teaching there. On a cold December day in 1938 they came up by train to ask Dad's permission to marry. I joined the train in Aberdeen and was most impressed by Richard. (I remember he handed me State Express cigarettes - very smart!) Dad met us at Rothienorman station but he was suffering from a bad cold and was in a bad mood. He would barely talk to Richard - obviously not good enough for his daughter!

The weather was too frigid to go out but we sat round the fire and fired questions at Richard about his life in Burma. Dad pretended at first not to listen. Aunt Nell was gracious as always and, bit by bit, Dad's curiosity got the better of him and he was joining in too. Before the day was out we were toasting their health and celebrating their engagement in sherry. All was fine! Dad took Richard round the district, introducing him to all. I remember him telling me about the novelty of having New Year drinks offered at all their ports of call. At Glendromach Distillery the large jug which he thought held the water was the one which held the whisky. Everyone was very generous with the whisky, but sufficient water for his drink was hard to get.

Richard returned to Burma with every intention of returning the following year to get married, but the war intervened and it was five years before they could be re-united. Helen continued teaching for a time but then resigned and came home to Logie Newton and acted as a Land Girl. I know Dad and Aunt Nell enjoyed her company during that rather weary time.


1939-1945

One of Helen's favourite comments was, "Who says the country's dull?" But it certainly was dull on 3rd September, 1939, sitting at the dining table with piles of black Italian cloth, making black-out curtains under Aunt Nell's supervision and listening to Neville Chamberlain's speech. I remember it vividly.

Ian was a member of the Territorial army and had to report immediately. We gathered at the back door to say a sad farewell to him, but within hours he was back home with orders to report the next day as they were unprepared. Again we waved a sad farewell but he returned within hours again. This went on for several days, so that when he eventually left we scarcely looked up - and then he went only to Huntly where he was stationed. He came home for his motorcycle and could move about freely. This was the "phoney war" period.

James was declared redundant from his job at the bank in London, which had its branches in Danzig, as those had been closed. While waiting for approval he helped Dad with the harvest. It was lovely harvest weather that year. I remember seeing James stripped to the waist and working into the night by moonlight on the tractor.

From Ian:

Tuesday was the day of the service and we had invited some of Mom's old cronies - Margaret Wetherley, Andersons and Maureen Fraser. We gathered at the lodge at about 12 and, when all had arrived including Ian and Fiona, James and Margaret and David, set off in the Land Rovers for the white stone park. The weather had been pretty miserable (it’s just started snowing outside here!) but a bright patch opened up as we got there and we could all get out. I followed the Anglican prayer book format including a few prayers and a reading from Corinthians which we had at the cremation service. It was short but poignant and everybody appreciated it.