One of the residents at Glenmoor House I've had the the great privilege of meeting is James Smith. James has so many fascinating stories to tell from his experiences as, among other things, a Marine and a prison officer, and for the next few posts I'm going to share some of these. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did...

I was born in Bradbury, Cheshire, on 28^th April 1924. We lived at 2, The Cottages.  I went to the infant school there, and the secondary modern was next door, over the big wall. I didn’t pass the 11+ to get into the grammar school so I went to the local school, until I was fourteen.

My first job was in a grocer’s shop, and I worked there, clad in a white coat. The adventurous part for me was cycling to work along the tow path.

I weighed sugar and flour, and two days a week I took orders from the local villages in the rural areas of Cheshire and Derby. There were hills and sometimes I’d push the bike going up, but otherwise it was round the bends and down the hills, across viaducts, along the river, the basket piled high with deliveries. For a young man who loved speed it was wonderful.

Soon I moved to another shop, a high class grocer this time, so I had a smarter coat, and I was a shop assistant.  You start where you are in society and move up from there. I packed the groceries and I engaged with the cheese, Cheshire, Lancashire and a large Stilton that I cut with a wire. It was two shillings and sixpence more in wages.

Some houses that I had to deliver to would have a dog at the gate. One of them had a Great Dane. The lady at my shop used to have bags of broken biscuits that she saved for the children and I would keep these and give them to the dog so I could get to the door. The butcher and the gardener would ask, “How did you get there?”

It seemed like the size of the dog reflected the ascendancy of the family- the bigger the dog, the higher up or richer the family. This is the way life was.

Then one day two plain clothes police officers came and took the manager away. He’d stolen some money, so he was sacked and sent to prison, Strangeways, I think. He had to give up his house and move away when he got out. We sent him letters of condolences.

Next I got a job as a labourer at Woodford Aerodrome. There was an Irish gaffer, and I made tea and got their fish and chips and pie. I was allowed to keep the money that was left over. After that I was a van boy delivering cotton reels and paper and shellac packed in huge baskets to the mills all over Cheshire and Lancashire. They were placed in the van in offloading order. I’d go with Percy the van driver. The lady in the office would give us tomorrow’s route by 4pm, and we’d check it on the map. Manchester, Ashton, Underlime, Liverpool, Preston, big mills.

For lunch we’d have ham or lamb with apple pie for dessert, or sometimes fish cakes, chips and peas, and big pottery mugs of tea. Sometimes when the engine got hot, we stopped and waited for it to cool down. We’d go into a greasy spoon and have bacon butties and chips.

Then the war started and everything changed…

-JAMES