Alan Stone
Squatter
“We lived in one of the first huts on the right-hand side as you entered the camp from Lea lane. I remember the cold nights, candles, a large U.S. Army blanket and a heavy army coat over my bed.
I remember the dusty concrete floors, which always seemed to need sweeping, the pot bellied stove in the middle of the hut. The chimney disappearing through the roof, a large curtain strung across the middle of the hut, separating the living area from the bedroom. A small paraffin heater served as our cooker, but the smell form it unimaginable when it was being used. At first, the coal for the stove was kept outside the front door. This was often stolen, so dad started to keep it just inside the front door, along with his old, black bicycle.
My dad bought a Bush valve radio; I still have it today. My uncle Cyril made me some wooden toys to play with and a cupboard he had made out of orange boxes.
We often had visitors who wore military uniforms but I couldn’t say who they were.
For years afterwards, my parents both spoke of the friends they had made on the camp. Of the camaraderie between those living there, everyone needed to borrow a cup of sugar at some time or other, even though it was still rationed.
Playing far from the huts was strictly forbidden because the canal was nearby. I can remember other children of my age who lived nearby. I met several of them again shortly before my 5th birthday when I started school at Wolverley.
Dad was always going off to see John Wardle, a local councillor, about a new house at Wolverley.
During the summer of 1951, we moved from the camp into a house at nearby Fairfield, in Wolverley. All our belongings were taken by horse and cart courtesy of Mr. Walker, a fruit and veg man, who lived in Fairfield Lane. My mother and I, along with my favourite teddy tucked under my arm, set off to walk the short distance to our new house. We had only reached the school when Mr. Walker’s cart passed us by, my father sitting comfortably on the back of the cart”.
