VE Day 80th Anniversary
On 8 May 2025, our country will mark the historic 80th anniversary of VE Day. We are grateful to the grandson of Pinhoe Road Baptist Church's wartime pastor, Rev Joseph Sutton, for sharing with us a memoir of his grandfather's time in ministry in Exeter, along with images from 80 years ago.
Extract from a memoir of Rev Joseph Sutton (b.1902 - d.1983), pastor of Pinhoe Road Baptist Church, 1940-46 (pictured).
Eventually I was able to join my family at Uncle Percy’s where we had to spend many nights in a shelter at the bottom of the garden. I managed to make some bunks for the children, Christine, Margaret and Michael: then there was Elsie and Winifred: so, there was not much room for Percy and myself, and it got so very hot after a while. So Percy and I decided that it would be better if we sat in deck chairs just outside, and if there was any sign of danger, we could dive into the shelter just as fast as possible. It was a strange way in which to live but we were fortunate that no bombs fell near to us, but we could hear them falling in parts of the city.
It was a good thing that I knew most of the Baptist churches in Bristol, and also a number in Devon, Somerset, Gloucestershire and in Wiltshire, many of which I had served during my four years in College. It so happened that I was able to get a number of Sunday appointments, for without any income, we had to live on the fees I could secure. One of the churches I visited was Pinhoe Road Baptist Church, Exeter, and after the one visit the Church invited me to the Pastorate.
This invitation we were glad to accept, and I was glad to have the prospect of working again at the same time to have somewhere where my family might have some chance of a little peace. So, while we stayed on at Colliter Crescent for a little longer, Winifred and I were looking forward to going to Exeter, but we had no idea what awaited us in the City of Exeter.
So once more our lives were upset, but we were thankful to God that he had spared our lives and was giving us another opportunity to settle in a church. Pinhoe Road Church was built in 1933 and was one of the Baptist Union Forward Movement Churches. Its first Minister was the Rev. Douglas Hicks who arrived in 1934, and became a Chaplain to H M Forces in 1939 and it was in the September of the following year that I became its second Minister. The building could sit some 228 people and was a good building in which to speak.
We were fortunate to secure our furniture from Wandsworth before heavy bombing took place over London, and we were able to set up our home in the Manse, situated in Sweetbrier Lane. It was a nice house and possessed a fair-sized garden and I was looking forward to producing some good vegetables from the rich Devon soil. My first task was to prepare sermons and addresses for the various services and meetings and to get to know the members of a different congregation. No doubt they would differ somewhat from those I had got to know while at Leigh-on-Sea. In fact, I was soon told by one elderly Devonian that one of their attitudes to others was: - ‘They measured twice and cut once,’ and I soon found out what they meant by it. In time I discovered that certain members were in the habit of measuring not twice but a number of times. As I have said before, the only way to get to know the people was to visit them in their own homes. Most people were ready to talk when in their own homes and, in this way, one could place them in one’s mind, record their names, and if there were any, the names of their children too.
The Church Treasurer was Mr S. Down and the Church Secretary Mr Leslie Sleeman, a member of a well-known Baptist family. His wife and two sisters, May and Irene, were members of the church, also his aged mother. As the months passed, I grew to like her very much for she was a lady with clear ideas and views. It was soon evident to me that she was the head of the home and not only in name. Frank Sleeman, the elder brother, was a deacon at South Street Baptist Church in the City; and the two brothers Frank and Leslie, were head of Sleeman and Co., Exeter Builders. The family had much to do with the building of the Pinhoe Road Church, so all the members of the family had an interest in the growth of the church. What that interest meant I was to discover in the months ahead.
The Deacons represented various professions: Messrs S. Down, teacher; Cyril Gunn, office staff in Paper Mill; Percy Mabb, commercial traveller; E. Gillard, City Analyst office; Arthur Roberts, printer and Lay Pastor at Woodbury, a small town some 8 miles from Exeter; and Leslie Sleeman, builder and church secretary. They were not only mixed in their professions, but very mixed in their religious outlooks and their theological ideas, and this was to lead to some uncomfortable meetings in the days to come.
It was not very long before I noticed an increase in the size of the congregation. I became aware too that there was an outstanding debt on the church building and also of the Manse. Being war time and many things being rationed it was not too difficult to think of ways in which money might be raised and in a few years most of the debt was wiped out. Soon after I had left in 1946, I was invited back to share in a Thanksgiving Service.
In our early days at Exeter, Margaret and Michael attended Whipton Junior School. A lane opposite the Manse took them to the school so they could walk the journey each day. It was soon obvious to us that there was no discipline in the school whatever, so in the end we took them away and sent them to a small private school and they both did very well and made good progress. They did get some individual attention and we thought it gave them a good foundation for their future education.
I was walking in the High Street one afternoon during the first year of the war, and before Exeter had received any bombs, when there was an air raid warning, and within a few seconds everyone had fled from the streets into various shops and large stores. In fact, myself and a solitary policeman seemed to be the only people about in that part of the city. He suggested to me that I should take shelter. I said to him, “I have just come from the East Coast, and we had come to the conclusion that it was wise to seek shelter but only when there was the possibility of danger: otherwise, we were playing into enemy hands.” And that was the end of that small interlude.
The membership of the church was somewhat scattered throughout the city and beyond, so my old cycle came in useful once more. It had done good service for many years and I imagined that it would have to service for many more. Between time spent on Pastoral work: visiting the sick in hospital or in their homes, and the hours that one had to give in the preparation of sermons and addresses: it would appear that I should have to find some time in the cultivation of the land. We had quite a nice garden and it would produce a fair number of vegetables, but this was war time and we would need all the vegetables that I could help to produce, so I took over some land that had not been used for allotments before. It was situated down the lane opposite the Manse and just the right place for the children to play when they wished to join me. It was very hard work in the beginning for it meant getting all the turf off before digging could begin. It was some of the wonderful Devon soil however and we were amply rewarded for all the hard labour.
One of the difficulties in the Ministry of a number of men was to find sufficient time to do all the reading that one needed to do. The idea was to keep 9am until 1pm for one’s study: afternoons for visitation, and evenings for various meetings. When the days were longer in the spring and summer it was not too difficult to get on the land in the early morning, or on a free evening. But to keep the morning just for study and the writing of sermons was not always possible. The demand of the very ill, or the dying, or those in some serious trouble, one felt had to come first. It was easy to sit in one’s study to work on the subject of God’s Love, or God’s Guidance, and know that one of the membership needed to be convinced of that love. People were not going to be convinced by preaching but by one’s actions.
I enjoyed the preaching part of one’s Ministry and I was made to feel that God added to the gifts I had and used my preaching for the help of many people. It was necessary for me to seek guidance for myself that I might have the ability to apply the message of God’s love to the great needs of the people in these days of war. It was encouraging to note therefore that week after week other men and women were joining the Sunday services, including two or three families who were a great help to the church.
It was in 1941 that I was asked if I could show some interest in the Baptist Church at Thorverton, a village a few miles from Exeter on the Tiverton Road. The village was about a mile from the railway station, and the station was served by a small train which ran between Exeter and Tiverton throughout the day. I put this suggestion to the deacons and they agreed that I could give the friends at Thorverton a day a week and one service on a Sunday each month. So, it was arranged that I visit the village each Wednesday. So, I was able to visit a few of the members during the afternoon and arranged to hold a service for the children in the early evening, and another for adults later in the evening. This seemed to work quite well and for a small village it was most encouraging. Some of the soldiers from the local army camp would join us and they were always very friendly. The worst part of the Thorverton adventure was getting home at night, particularly during the winter months. The Plucknett family, who kept the village dairy, were leading people in the church and were very hospitable. They always asked me in for a light supper before setting off for the station. At times the train was only a few minutes late, but many times it was anything up to half an hour. So, it was often 10 o’clock before I arrived at St David’s station and then I had to face that rather steep climb up St David’s hill up to the city and then about the same distance from the centre of the city to the Manse at Sweetbrier Lane. I was never much good walking in the blackout, so it must have taken me a good hour to get home. One winter’s night we had a thick fog in addition to the blackout. When I got to the top of the hill, I knew that there was a fair open space to be crossed and that in the centre was a memorial clock tower, but that leading off from the space was some five or six roads- but could I find the right one, that is, Queen’s Street? To make matters worse, while I was struggling to grope my way, a voice came out of the fog, the voice of a woman saying: - “Can you tell me where I am?” I was a fine one to ask, for it would be a case of the blind leading the blind. Eventually I found her and asked her where she was going and she said to her home in Paris Street. She also had arrived by train and had not found it easy to find her way to Queen’s Street. Well, I was going down Paris St., and then Heavitree Rd. to home. It had its funny side, for when I told Winifred of the incident, she said: - “You are a fine one to guide someone in the blackout on a foggy night. It is a wonder that both of you did not fall into a ditch.” Still the lady did not know that and she was grateful to reach her destination.
The church at Pinhoe Road was very much influenced by the Sleeman family, and as I mentioned previously, Mrs Sleeman was a very gracious lady, and although she could not get out, she was always interested in what we were trying to do at the church. Her two daughters were very helpful: May was the business woman working in the city, and Irene was at home, but very busy in the life of the fellowship. She led the Primary and was very popular with the children and a keen supporter or the Christian Endeavour movement. She was always very cheerful but being short of stature the boys and girls liked to stand beside her to see if they were growing taller, and the children included Margaret and Michael. I think she had a wonderful influence over many of the children, for in the 6 years that I knew the young people; many spoke of her influence in their lives.
On the whole I enjoyed my stay at Pinhoe Road and it had been good to see the growth in numbers, for although the building seated some 225, it was nice to get the place comfortably full. The meeting that upset me most was the Deacons’ Meeting. Time after time they were spoilt because of the opposition of two members to each other. It all came to a head one night when it looked as the two would come to blows. One of them said he would resign from the Diaconate, the Sunday School, and would give up his membership in the church. All the other deacons just looked at me and left it all to the Minister to put right.
Having spent a troubled night I went to this deacon’s place of work the next morning and attempted to make things better, by pointing out to him what his resignation would mean to himself, his wife, and to his mother who was a good sort and had been involved in the church activities for many a year, and what it would mean to the church. So, after a long discussion he agreed to stay in the church. I had a conversation with the other deacon but he thought he was in the right. I have often said that the Deacon’s Meeting should be the most Christian in the church, for its number are elected by the members to give a lead, but am sorry to say it was not so.
Among the extra duties to be carried out was that of fire watching and I did it one night at the church and one night for the road in which we lived, but what could we have done if incendiary bombs fell? Well, very little except to get in touch with the other authorities. In May 1942, it was a frightening experience. It was a perfect moonlit night and the city was bombed from one side to the other. Our church was being used for those whose homes had been damaged. I went to the church about 1:30 to 2am and found the place crowded with men, women and children. Many were in their night attire, some suffering from shock and many of the children crying. I went with one man whose home had been damaged, because he wanted to find some clothes and shoes to wear to work next day, and I thought what a spirit! Then I visited various streets, where members lived, to find out if they had escaped damage. I went to the Ladysmith Road area to find the Newton family. A few incendiaries had fallen quite near but these had been dealt with. I looked at a hole in the middle of the road, 3 feet in diameter and then went in to see Mr and Mrs Gunn, but returning up the Ladysmith Road, my small hole had become big enough to put a wagon in. It must have been a delayed action bomb. How stupid of me to have looked at the hole in the first place! I visited a couple on the other side of Heavitree Pleasure Grounds and found that the blast from a landmine had blown their garden gate right through the front door, but the couple were unharmed.
Another incident took place on a side street of Priory Rd., where a grandmother and her granddaughter were sheltering in a Morrison shelter, in a corner house on the first floor. The blast lifted the shelter and landed it on a bedroom floor on the opposite side of the road. The grandmother and granddaughter suffered from shock but otherwise were unharmed. The last pair of bombs fell near to us. One fell in the cemetery and the other in a meadow at the bottom of our garden. Fortunately for the people in our road, the bomb fell in a bank of the meadow and did not explode. The army came to deal with it. They had hoped to dig it out but it kept moving down into the earth. So, it was decided to explode it. It was covered with many sandbags and all the people in the area were warned to open their windows on a certain day. When the explosion took place, the only damage to property was broken toilet pans.
Many such incidents took place, but the chief thing that impressed me at the time was the spirit of the people. There was a sense of fellowship and a readiness to help them in need.
The friends at Thorverton thought it would be a good thing if they purchased a second-hand motorcycle. It might be better than waiting about for a train at night. The idea was a good one but the cycle gave me some trouble. One night I was within 2 miles of Exeter when the battery failed. It meant that I could start the engine but did not have enough power to have a head light. So, it meant having a small bit of light, or no light and riding in the blackout until the battery failed altogether. I decided that I had better push the thing and I did this until I arrived at Paris Street and left the cycle in Arthur Robert’s yard and walked home with it the next day.
Some of the friends at Thorverton were very good to us, especially the Plucknett family. Mr Beedell, a retired farmer, and his daughter May, gave me hospitality when I went out on a Sunday. Mr Short, the village grocer was an interesting character and I often enjoyed a talk with him and his sister after the weeknight service. My last call would be the Plucknetts for some supper. They kept the village dairy and Mr Plucknett kept a couple of cows and Mrs Plucknett always had something for me to take home; a few eggs or meat pies or some milk, and this was in times of severe rationing. At certain times Mr Plucknett would give me groceries and a sack of potatoes. I enjoyed the work at Thorverton and the weeknight services were well supported by American soldiers from a nearby camp.
During my stay at Exeter, I became a member of the Devon and Cornwall Baptist Association, Secretary of the Association Missionary Committee, President of the Devon Christian Endeavour Union and Chaplain to the Forces. That is the A.T.S, Auxiliary Territorial Service and the Pay Corps. I would not say that my association with the women was a great success, but a little more encouraging with members of the Pay Corps. A number of them would attend the morning service from time to time. It meant that my time was well occupied for I had to attend various meetings. The Christian Endeavour Movement did good work among young people and boys and girls. It taught those who belonged to a C.E.Society to take some part in a meeting - to sing, recite, offer a hymn, or offer a prayer - and it meant that many of the young people overcame their shyness and some were able to speak. It was a good training ground for young people. I know from my time at East Baptist Church, Bristol that many of us became Sunday School teachers. The churches have tried all kinds of movements over the years, but I doubt if any of them have produced so many workers.
I enjoyed the various committees on which I served for it brought me in touch with numerous fellow Baptists. We usually met at Plymouth or Torquay and my association with other churches meant that I was asked to preach at Upton Vale, Torquay, Winner St Paignton, Mutley, Plymouth, Old George St Plymouth and a number of others.
It was during my visit to Plymouth that I became friendly with Arthur Miller and his wife Etta. Arthur was manager of a grocers shop and he was good enough to remember us from time to time. I questioned him about rationed goods like butter, which he often sent. He said that the control of certain rationed food was somewhat peculiar. He supplied certain hotels with butter for example and his quota was based on last month’s figures. So, if for the present month a hotel wanted 10 lbs less on whatever it might be, then he would be that amount short next month. So he kept to the same figures, for another hotel might want an extra 6lbs. So, some months he would have a few pounds spare. He was not allowed to sell it in the shop, so what could he do with it? He could give some away, which he did.
I had got to know Mrs Evelyn Bridgman who was secretary of Bradninch Baptist Church and I preached there a few times. Mr Tom Bridgman was a farmer and his farm called ‘Comeroy’, was about 170 acres. After the Exeter raids, we were invited to stay on the farm to get some rest. I used to cycle to the farm each evening, but it was rather unsettling. Michael was affected most by the raids, but the nervous tensions began to show itself before we left the East coast. He would go to school in the morning with a clean shirt but by dinner time he had chewed two or three buttons off the shirt. At night he would chew the top sheet until part of the sheet would be quite wet. The doctor told us not to take any notice and not to try to correct him, which was difficult. The Bridgmans thought it might help if he could stay on the farm and just live quite free on the farm and he did this in May and June 1942. By this time the friends at Thorverton had purchased me a motorcycle, second hand of course, for they were not easy to get. It was purchased at a garage in Cowick Street. I went there to get it, not knowing much about it or having sat on a motorcycle before. The man in charge explained the various parts. He suggested I should have a ride across the city to the Manse. So, with more hope than skill, I set upon my journey taking to the side streets, but forgot that in Magdalen Street there were traffic lights. If the lights were red, what was I to do? I did not know how to stop the thing. But faith was on my side for the light was green and with great relief I reached the Heavitree Road and home. The cycle was very useful for my journeys to Thorverton and later on when I helped on the farm.
After the raids in 1942, when Michael was in a nervous state, the Bridgmans suggested that he could come out to the farm and live a free life on the farm and forget all about the bombs. There was an incident I could not forget, when I attempted to take our cat Fluffy out to Michael. I had a great struggle to get her into a carton and tie her in. Then I put the carton into a sack and tied it to the back of my motorcycle. When we were travelling along the road past Killerton Gardens, an American army convoy went past us and one of the soldiers shouted out: ‘You have lost your passenger.’ I looked back and saw Fluffy running along the grass verge toward the lodge of Killerton Gardens. I ran as fast as I could and caught up with her just as she was disappearing into the garden hedge. I caught her by the tail and gathered her into my arms. I am not sure whose heart was beating faster. What Michael would have said had I come without her I cannot imagine. But I managed to get her into the carton once more and when I arrived at the farm Michael was waiting for me. Fluffy was making all kinds of noises, so I said to Michael before I opened the carton, that he was to speak to her. When I let her out, she jumped into his arms and felt safe at last.
In August we all went out to the farm to stay. I could help with the work, and the children had a good time playing in the barns etc., but I am afraid that Winifred did not enjoy it very much. So, it was a good thing to get back to home, work and school.
It was not easy to settle down to sermon preparation and visitation after living free in the open air. But the life had done us good and one felt mentally fresh and ready for the many demands of church life. We had to face up to the autumn and winter work, which meant of course the preparation of sermons, children’s addresses, weeknight talks and numerous committees and the visiting of homes and hospitals. But this is the life of a minister and it cannot be very exciting to read. It was a constant effort to be on top form in one’s preaching and teaching, doing one’s best to help the troubled and at the same time attempt to win people of all ages to commitment to the Christian faith. There were encouragements, but also disappointments.
End of Joseph Sutton’s words.
Part 2: Written by Michael Sutton, Joseph’s Son
This now completes the words written by Dad. I would like to add two stories about this motorcycle of Dad’s. Before that and referring to the story of Fluffy being taken to the farm, I have to explain that probably in 1943, Mum had to have hospital treatment and then went to Bristol to convalesce. Dad was left to work and look after the home and garden. Margaret was to spend this time with Mr and Mrs Mabb, while Dad was to look after Michael. This happened for several weeks until the summer holidays when Mum returned.
Dad used to travel by motorbike to the farm each Saturday. He carried a haversack filled with some old lemonade bottles. These were filled with milk and brought home. As one travelled through Beare, a hamlet near the farm on the A38, there was an ‘S’ bend with an awkward camber. Dad travelled through this ‘S’ bend skidding on a patch of oil. He was flung through the air towards a wall. The haversack came between his head and the wall saving his life. The bottles were smashed, but there was no damage to Father’s head. The motorbike had travelled through the air after him and landed on Dad’s legs. Petrol was pouring out but fortunately, there was no fire.
We don’t know how long Dad lay there. However, a convoy of American troops was passing. They stopped, lifted up the motorbike and set Dad on his way. The usual reaction to something like this was for Dad to faint. He managed to make his way to the lane leading to the farm, then he put his motorbike by the hedge, lay down and fainted. When he came to, an old country man asked: “Had a good sleep guvnor?!”
Another faint occurred partly because of this motorbike. One Saturday Dad was coming back from Thorverton. He decided to take a short cut over Pennsylvania. As he was going round a bend, he stubbed his left toe on a lamp post (stupid place to put a lamp post - I inspected it when I was at St Luke’s). There was the inevitable fainting feeling coming over him, but he was determined to get home before he fainted. As he came down Sweetbrier Lane, the continuous sound of the horn indicated trouble. The garage doors were open. Mum insisted on Dad going up to bed and fainting there: “Don’t you faint here,” she said, “You go upstairs.” Mum had said this because when they were first married, Dad had hit his thumb with a hammer. He came into the kitchen, sat into a chair and then slid into a faint on the floor. He was behind the kitchen table, which meant that Mum couldn’t reach him. So having learnt from experience, she made sure that Dad fainted on the bed.
The day Mum travelled up to Bristol to convalesce, Margaret was to go to the Mabbs. It was a Saturday, and Mum had travelled by train in the morning. Dad had heated a chip pan in the kitchen and had gone down the garden to get some produce for the Mabbs. Margaret happened to glance back at the kitchen and shouted: “Daddy, daddy! The house is on fire.” The chip pan had caught fire and the towels on the rack above were burning. Dad rushed in, grabbed the chip pan and flung it on the grass. The kitchen was rather black! Smoke filled the house and there were smuts in many of the rooms. Poor Dad didn’t get much sleep that night either, as I slept in the same double bed and proved to be a great wriggler. The experiment was not repeated.
I remember having to go to Harrises or Gunns for tea and lunch. That was when Dad was away for meetings. I preferred the Gunns. The Harris family were very narrow indeed.
In the autumn of 1943, Margaret went to Bishop Blackall School for Girls. This was the local Girls Grammar School.
What Dad’s particular activities were at this time were a bit vague in my mind. I can remember that there were many American soldiers about the Exeter area, and that some came to Sweetbrier Lane from time to time. There was also ‘Uncle Mac’ from Bristol, who was in the Medical Corp.
The build up for the invasion of Europe was commencing and I can remember the Dakota aircraft especially and the gliders. We liked the Americans coming as they had plenty of chocolate and chewing gum. The Americans used to play the games of ‘Pairs’ with us with the playing cards.
The great event of 1944 was ‘D’ day. When Europe was invaded, that was June the 6th. I can remember waking up during the night. The planes were going over the house. The baker also told Mum the great news in the morning.
There had been a tremendous bustle of activity from the American forces in the district and now the roads were very quiet.
Dad was to conduct a strange Baptismal Service on the Sunday before ‘D’ day. A young American soldier was due to be baptised on that Sunday evening. However, he was confined to the barracks because the invasion of the continent was imminent. So the baptismal pool remained unused. I think Dad preached a sermon entitled ‘The Empty Pool.’ Unfortunately, the young American was later killed.
Then there came an additional burden to the family. I had obtained a place at Hele’s School, Exeter and went there in September 1944. I was only there for a term, since I developed Perthes Disease of the right hip. This meant from January 1945 until April 1945 there were periodic visits to Princess Elizabeth Hospital in Exeter, for new plaster. The rest of the time was spent at home.
A bed was put in the living room. Mum looked after me and Dad tried to educate me. Dad’s salary was about five pounds a week and the hospital bills were over that. So he had to mortgage his salary. Even in these difficult days, the bills were paid. I believe Christian friends helped.
The hospital bills came to ten shillings a day; fifty pence in our decimal coinage. The church never seemed to recognise Dad’s financial problems.
Individuals helped; Mr Arthur Roberts pressed a five-pound note into Dad’s hand. When Dad went to a meeting at Plymouth, he sat next to a man whom he had never particularly cared for, since this gentleman always wanted to make his voice heard. Anyway, he asked how a Baptist minister was able to pay hospital bills. Dad was surprised and asked: “What do you know about my son?” Several days later, Dad received a letter from this fellow and a cheque enclosed. He found that a bad debt had been paid, so he had sent half of the cheque’s value to Dad. The actual debtor’s cheque was torn up. On another occasion Dad shared the silly attitudes of the officialdom towards his plight with folk from the Devon and Cornwall meetings. The plaster of Paris that I wore was particularly destructive to sheets so he wrote to the authorities requesting some assistance with the problem. The reply was that as Michael Sutton, aged 11, was not a pregnant woman, nor a wounded serviceman, they could not supply extra clothing coupons. One lady in one of our Plymouth Churches heard about this situation. So, she must have spoken to her friends. Anyway, one day a big parcel of sheets arrived.
We used to follow the progress of the war very closely. I remember that I used to pin up the Daily Telegraph, which included maps that followed the allied advance. There had been some relaxation in the rules at home. Now there was no need for blackout and we could have street lighting again. Finally, the great day, when we celebrated Victory in Europe came. It was on May the 8th. There was indeed tremendous rejoicing.
It was at this time that Dad had to visit the Doctor. He was feeling most unwell. The doctor said that he knew all about the duties of a Baptist minister, but asked Dad to tell him about all the other things he did. So the medical man was told about the work at Thorverton, and working in the wider Christian sphere, of the one day at the farm per week. There was also fire watching for the church and street, gardening at home and at the allotment. The doctor replied that he had heard of the fool who had burnt the candle at both ends but never of anyone who had burnt it in the middle as well. One thing he advised Dad to do was to read Westerns in the evening instead of theological books. So began Dad’s love for Western stories, which became bedtime reading for the rest of his life. Michael, who was at this time spending a long time in bed, also shared in this treat.
I remember that in the August of 1945, we travelled to Bristol to have a holiday at 4 Colliter Crescent. Dad and Margaret must have travelled up by train, while Mum and I travelled up by car. Mum sat in the back and I had to lie flat out because of my plaster, on a coffin lid of all things. I can remember seeing the Mendip Hills for the first time and this made a lasting impression.
While we were in Bristol, the BBC announced that the Americans had dropped the first Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima. I believe that this was August the 4th. A few days later Japan surrendered. I was in the Bristol Royal Infirmary, as I had to have my plaster replaced. During one night, quite late, were heard the noises of great crowds in the streets below. They were celebrating the Japanese surrender.
It must have been during this time that Dad had preached at City Road, Bristol, for one of his holiday Sundays. Apparently, he made a good impression although nothing followed from this immediately. I would think that although the Pinhoe Road church knew of Dad’s financial difficulties, they did nothing to meet his request for a raise in salary.
Eventually, there came another invitation to preach at City Road and an invitation to the Pastorate. I remember that the membership was quite large between 150 and 200. I suppose the big University city of Bristol, where Mum had grown up, where Dad had been at College, where they had met and married; here was Mum’s family. Bristol held many attractions.
We must have moved to Bristol in the April of 1946. Margaret and Mum went by train and Dad rode his motorcycle to Bristol and then finally sold the thing.
