Family home mid forties on the Essex coast. We moved there to be close to the Colchester military Hospital where my oldest brother was sent having been badly wounded during the Normandy invasion. For us youngsters it was heaven being surrounded by marshes back and front and high tide coming up to a few feet from the front door. We sailed both the Blackwater and the River Colne,both being in easy reach depending on the tides.The house had been converted into a fort during the early war years to guard the nearby Strood Causeway leading to Mersea Island so it was hard work bringing it back to a decent state and us children were give the task of moving hundreds of sandbags out. Once that was done it was Swallows and Amazons full time. In the 40s there was only one other house on the causeway road and no trippers to speak of.The locals used to tell them the salt flats were highly dangerous and could swallow them up instantly so it was rare to see anybody out there save the odd marshmen and happily no jet skis or gin palaces to foul the peace and quiet. We only came into the house to listen to ITMA. I even slept in the yard extremely cosy tack room as I had very muddy boots on most of the time. It was a sad day when we were packed off to the London house and our paradise was sold to some other lucky people. One of my younger brothers ran away and lived in a tent out on the Pyefleet marsh for some months,I would have joined him but art school beckoned... Very odd blogland is...My labels are coming up with words I havent put in..what have "cycles" to do with marshes?
1950s party at 103 Lansdowne Road Notting Hill.I stood on the kitchen sink to take this photo as it was about the only empty space left in the house,but as usual, all the best action takes place in the kitchen.Upstairs two types of music,ground floor Trad Jazz,first floor Sinatra etc...worked well.
I think this was the one when a visiting Canadian airman who flew one of the first Comets(and who bought a copious amount of very strong gin with him) walked through an upstairs landing window thinking it was the way to the bog.He landed in the garden unhurt save a badly cut hand and had to be carted of to hospital,thank the lord he left the gin.Poor chap wasn't allowed to fly the Comet back to Canada though.
Good parties,never bettered,no trouble and those with to much of the hard stuff just found a bed and drifted off leaving no room for those with naughty thoughts hence no fights...!
John French (1 March 1907-21 July 1966) was an English fashion and portrait photographer. Born in Edmonton, London, French originally trained and worked as a commercial artist, becoming a photographic director in an advertising studio just before World War II, during which he served as an officer in the Grenadier Guards. In 1948 he set up his own photographic studio. Working originally with the Daily Express he pioneered a new form of fashion photography suited to reproduction in newsprint, involving where possible reflected natural light and low contrast. He also undertook portrait photography. French himself devoted much attention to the set and posing of his models, but left the actual triggering of the shutter to assistants, amongst whom were Terence Donovan and David Bailey. Wickipedia