The Autobiography of Brian Stables (Part 11)

Introduction

Tying The Knot

Brian was born in Tickhill in 1929 and emigrated to Canada in 1976. He is currently serialising his life story for us.

He has also provided a superb collection of photographs to accompany his story. Click the photo for a larger image.

Brian Stables & Valerie Jean Goundrey. 1959.

Upon my return to Europe, I was unsurprised that the ‘Cold War’ had been progressing very well without my help.

It was a period of World lunacy.

There was still a small amount of ‘Sabre rattling’ going on, and it did not fail my notice that there was one resemblance to 1939, when It may be recalled, all the people who, (thought) they would not be in any danger were the very ones who were very strong on aggression.

There was a difference however, this time, because of the threat of the Atomic bomb, most thinking people realised there would be no escape for little England, and in the event of the unthinkable happening, the lucky ones would be the ones who died in the first blast.[1]

This truth did little to curb the hard line idiots and so the world hovered on a precipice of disaster for far too long

I rejoined my Regiment in Germany and got caught up in real soldiering once again.

After a few months messing about in tanks, I was selected to take a wireless instructors course at the RAC training school at Bovington.

I loved it, I always have enjoyed new challenges, the army had just started the final moves to replace the old short wave transceiver with the latest VHF models and I was lucky enough to be one of the first to receive training on, and be given the opportunity to field test, these new models. What a difference they made to our lives, from now on any person with normal training was able to operate the wireless and maintain communications. Morse code was now obsolete and was eliminated, that extra skill required for the old shortwave sets was a thing of history.

I just had to learn if she was married to, or even engaged to, some undeserving slob who would be totally unworthy of her. 

I was almost through my course at the school, when to my total surprise I met up with my old pal George Goundry. The first thing I asked him, almost before I had finished greeting him; was how his daughter was getting along, he told me she was well and that I was more than welcome to visit his quarters in Dorchester and find out for myself. He knew I was head over heels in love with her and got no small amusement from keeping me ‘on the hop’.

I was both apprehensive and anxious to renew my friendship with Val. I just had to learn if she was married to, or even engaged to, some undeserving slob who would be totally unworthy of her. I could have asked George, but I just wanted to see her, and to be near her.

She was still free, and as she was now almost nineteen years old and appeared glad to see me, I began to hope my day had arrived at last.

Time flew, and all too quickly I had to return to Germany and my Regiment. We kept in touch by mail for I did not dare risk to lose contact a second time; telephones in those days were not as ubiquitous as now. Letter writing was still the normal accepted method of communication in the 1950’s.

Early 1959 was a busy time for the Regiment, we celebrated the bi-centenary of the formation of the 17^th Lancers, (the 21^st were a year later), and we received orders for posting to Hong Kong.

The moment this news of an imminent move was announced I decided it was now or never, and I immediately asked Val to marry me. She straight away asked me why it had taken me so long to make my mind up!

I ignored that.

You have to.

Women!

I explained that I was off to the Far East once more and it would be at least three years before we could possibly get together again, I pointed out that if we got married right away we could possibly travel out there together. What girl could resist?

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” asked the Church Minister. “It’s not too late to change your mind” 

To this day am still not sure whether it was the thought of getting away from home or the promise of a return visit to her favourite Continent, (the Orient) that decided her to agree to my proposal, but consent she did, and we arranged to be married on the 19^th December 1959.

“Oh Valerie, you are not going to marry a soldier are you?” was the reaction of both her grandmother and her Aunty Jean. You could say their perceptions of soldiers were somewhat biased, then again, maybe not.

The wedding was arranged totally by Val, she did it all. The poor girl had to: flowers, cars, church, reception, you name it she had to do it, her parents were uninterested in such mundane tasks and there was no else to give a helping hand. She took charge of everything that was required. I, of course, was in Germany, thinking about it, and encouraging her to ‘get a move on’.

 “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” asked the Church Minister.
“It’s not too late to change your mind” said Aunty Jean.

The day prior to the wedding I had an altercation with Val’s mum. She ordered me to clean up the front yard. I told her I had plenty of people giving me orders in the army, and I was not going to do anything unless she asked in a more civilised manner. The sparks were flying when George came to the rescue.

After this setback George took me out and we attended an R.A.O.B. lodge. He did his best to ensure I would have a hangover the next day.

I stayed overnight at Val’s maternal grandmothers home and was kept awake all night because the clock, situated in the church just across the road from my window, had its clock chiming at fifteen minute intervals. I was in poor shape when the big day dawned.

It rained, Val’s face broke out in acne spots, one of the guests asked me if I was a friend of the groom, (his best friend I replied) another asked me what it was like in the Marines, (How should I know, I thought, my head throbbing, but I controlled myself). One of the bridesmaids defaulted and my nephew got forgotten and was left alone in the church for a considerable time after the ceremony ended.

It was a normal wedding.

At the church the minister had already given us both a lecture upon how we should show great decorum during the ceremony and above all not to rush out of the church “in an unseemly manner” at the close of proceedings, (I think it was the uniform that did it) on the other hand he may have heard of my past reputation, who knows? Anyway, he reminded us of this instruction once again immediately after we had signed the registry.

I was trying to obey the instructions to ‘show decorum’... and Val was dragging my arm, snarling out of the corner of her mouth, telling me to hurry up...

It was this very directive that caused our very first marital argument.

It was after the ceremony was all over and when we set off to walk down the aisle, when it started. Val was keen to get out of the place, and I was trying to obey the instructions to ‘show decorum’, I was trying to walk slowly and Val was dragging my arm, snarling out of the corner of her mouth, telling me to hurry up, all the while trying to smile at the guests.

These nice people were looking at Val as though trying to judge how far pregnant she was (this, in consideration of the haste in the arrangements for the ceremony). I had great difficulty trying to keep a straight face and stop laughing aloud, poor Val was glad to get out to the wedding car, it was still raining of course and so we had to ‘run for it’

After the ceremony we gathered at a meeting hall where Val had organised a reception and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

We honeymooned in London at a Hotel close to Hyde Park and shared the train journey with some guests who were returning to their homes. As we entered our room and opened our suitcases we discovered that some joker had filled both cases with masses of loose confetti, this exploded and flew out all over the place the moment we opened them up, we both instinctively got down on our hands and knees and started to pick it up, after a couple of minutes of this we looked at each other and started to laugh, we said; “to hell with it”, and threw the bits we had picked up, back on the floor and went out for a look around.

We became quite expert at travelling the underground. We visited most of the tourist places and managed a couple of theatre shows but, with only one week available, there were a lot we missed too. We promised ourselves we would return ‘one day’ but except for an occasional day visit have never managed it, (so far anyway).

After it was all over, I had to return to the Regiment, leaving Val behind to stay with her parents. There were lots of things to do and boxes to pack, Val once again rolled up her sleeves and, all on her lonesome, got it all done, leaving me little to do except reflect upon how lucky I was.

...the ship passed through a huge water spout system...it was for all the world as though the sky was being supported by solid trunks of spiralling water...

We boarded the troopship ‘Oxfordshire’ at Southampton early in 1960 for the three week journey, once again traversing the Suez Canal and calling at different seaports along the way.

Whilst sailing through the Indian Ocean the ship passed through a huge water spout system. I had (luckily) decided to go on deck and was amazed to see immense spouts of water seemingly joining heaven and earth, it is difficult to describe the enormity of nature’s powers, try and picture a whole seascape filled from horizon to horizon with gigantic pillars of water, column after column, stretching from the surface of the sea to the lowering clouds, it was mesmerising, it was for all the world as though the sky was being supported by solid trunks of spiralling water, I had never heard of such a phenomenon, I had read of the fact that water was absorbed from the oceans into the clouds but had never imagined how this was done.

A couple of days after this I had the extremely rare opportunity to observe another one of natures many wonders; this was “the green flash”. Many people will insist that there is no such thing, but I can assure you it is real, I have seen it three times now, (once here in the Ocean, once in the Sinai and lastly on the Great Lakes of Canada.)[2]

The ship called in at Singapore and we took a cab up to Fort Canning, I forget who was occupying the premises, it was either the Malay Regiment or the Singapore Militia. The mess steward was the same man that we both remembered. He recognised us both immediately and we were made very welcome. We talked over ‘the good old days’ as one does at such times and passed a very convivial half day before it was time to re – embark on the ‘Oxfordshire’ for the final leg of our journey to Hong Kong.

By the end of March we were settled into our first home together, which was a brand new sixth floor apartment, in Ho Tung Road which ran off Boundary Street, quite close to Kai Tak airport.

Our life together was off to a good start.