Putting the record straight
The focal point of my earliest days from birth (1949), both geographically and genealogically speaking, was the much slanderously maligned, pretty Fenland town of Wisbech, Cambridgeshire.
Following my biological Father's tragic death in an aircraft accident in 1950, in 1953 my Mother brought me and her bicycle (or maybe it was her bicycle and me) to the impoverished home of a 'Fen Tiger', a smallholder tenant farmer in the Fens, as housekeeper and Nanny for his son.
Neville day. A jewel of a man. Honest as the day is long. Intelligent but principled. Hard, incredibly hard working, and adored by all who met him. Including me, whom he brought up as his own son. Teaching me everything of any value that I ever needed to know to succeed in life. For which I am naturally eternally grateful.
But what of much maligned Wisbech? An inaccurate reputation as a hostile, crime ridden den of thieves. A reputation gained solely due to the seasonal influx of itinerant, frequently lawless, crop pickers who, let's face it, observe a different set of social mores. To be fair not all are villains, a few 'Bad Apples' nonetheless seemingly wrecked Wisbech's reputation.
In reality, providing some of the less than salubrious pubs and bars in those days that catered for them were avoided, then Wisbech was, and still is as safe as any other town in Britain. Probably far safer.
Wisbech, a pretty, strongly Georgian architecture built town, with the tidal river Nene running through its centre, on its egress to the Wash.
This lititle story though is not about me, well slightly but only in gratitude. Society, industry and enterprise, along with social mores, ran to different standards in my 1950s childhood. Vastly superior rules in my opinion to those today, with the sad state many in Britain are now forced to endure.
Wisbech was effectively run by a hierarchy of probably ten relatively wealthy, entrenched families. I knew all of them, and they all knew me and my immediate family. Indeed my Stepfather was closely related to two such families. Each of which always welcomed our family, always providing us generous hospitality.
I'm not going to name these philanthropic pillars of society here. It would not be proper. Suffice to say though that every last one, including extended family members, took my widowed young Mother and me in as one of their own. My dear, late Stepfather was not wealthy at the time we met in 1953. He was nonetheless closely aligned with the town's ruling elite, the land or business owners who practically owned and thus ran Wisbech. Despite our relative poverty when compared to our peers we were accepted without question and for that I shall forever be grateful.
I no longer live in the UK. Unfortunately obliged to emigrate to France in 2000 along with my dear wife, in order to escape a corrupt, Draconian government and punitive tax regime making it almost impossible for my then fledgling but now world beating business corporation to survive. A move neither of us have ever regretted. I will though never forget Wisbech and what the small town and its honourable citizens all did for my Mother, my Stepfather and for me.
Anyone not moved by the photograph linked to this one has no soul!
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