In 1947 we moved to Blackdown, in Surrey, where my father was stationed. This was an army camp, part of a very large area of Surrey occupied by the army. 

4 Victoria Terrace was in a long block of terraced houses, probably Victorian. It had a garden at the front, and what must have been a later addition, a bathroom at the rear, almost separated from the rest of the house. This abutted straight onto a road which divided us from the back of another similar block of houses. The house was in poor condition; it had recently housed German prisoners-of-war, who were still occupying some of the other houses. 

An ancient range, built into the wall of the kitchen, was damaged and unusable, and until it was replaced my mother had to cook on an open fire. 

I went to an army school a few minutes walk away. I made two good friends, John Menage and Robert Holmes, (left, with me in my Cub uniform) who lived in the terrace opposite at the back. The place was a paradise for us. At the end of the road was a small wooded area of mixed trees, and we prided ourselves in being able to climb every one of the trees. Beyond that were acres of sports fields, and beyond these mile upon mile of pine forest.  The forest was an army training area, but nobody worried about us. We rambled for miles, climbed trees, and tried our hand at the assault courses. We also crawled through labyrinths of narrow tunnels, barely big enough for a grown soldier. Just thinking about it now gives me claustrophobia.

My father was a qualified football referee, and was frequently in charge of matches on the playing fields. In the woods nearby was a large house, which I think was occupied by a senior officer and his family. The exterior was used in the making of a film called 'Dangerous Curves' starring Margaret Lockwood. We kids wanted to watch, but since the shooting was done at night we were not allowed to go. It was only recently that I managed to see the film at last, on television. Its name had been changed to 'Highly Dangerous'.

In the area around the houses were a number of earth covered air-raid shelters. We weren't keen on the insides, since they were dark and smelly, but the outsides were ideal for one of our favourite games, throwing stones at each other. Everybody had a cap pistol, firing paper rolls of percussive caps. We played marbles in the street, kicked and threw balls at the end wall of one of the terraces, and raced our bikes round the roads.

On our travels we kept an eye open for cartridge cases from bullets, which we used to tip the arrows fired from our home-made bows. 

A pastime that would be ridiculous to attempt now was collecting car numbers. Little books were published at that time for the purpose, and we would stand beside the main road waiting for the occasional car to pass. New bicycles, as well as cars, were hard to come by. When I saw one in the window of the village bike shop, I excitedly told my parents, and to my surprise and delight they bought it for me. It was an adult model, and a little big for me, but I managed and was very proud of it. In those days bicycles were a major form of personal transport. Nobody would dream of riding on the pavement, or without lights at night. Nor was there any fear that your bike or its lights would go missing. 

Saturday mornings were reserved for the cinema, which was a few minutes walk away. The Saturday morning children's shows consisted of short films featuring such stars as Tom Mix, Hopalong Cassidy and The Three Stooges, and a serial with a cliff-hanger ending, which even we could see was ludicrous. Invariably the predicament into which the hero/heroine was placed at the end of the episode was completely different at the start of the next week's episode. There was always a scramble for the front row of the stalls, with the screen looming large a few feet away. We couldn't understand why anyone would want to sit at the back and watch a tiny distant picture. This cinema, presumably run by the Army Kinema Corporation, was notorious for breakdowns. Frequently the picture would freeze, and slowly turn brown as the film was scorched by the arc light. The whole audience joined in the countdown as fluffed changeovers resulted in the showing of the numbered leader. One of the operators, who had a withered leg, would cut bits of film out to give to us if we asked.

There was another cinema down a path behind the church in Deepcut. Opposite this other cinema was the Scout hut. I was a Cub for most of my time at Blackdown, becoming a Scout very briefly just before we left.

There was no such thing as refrigeration in anybody's homes, so grocery shopping was done nearby at the NAAFI shop on an almost daily basis. The shop was ridiculously small by today's standards, and assistants behind the counter took the required items from the shelves behind them. Many things now sold pre-packed were sold loose then, and had to be weighed out to order. Biscuits were usually displayed in large tins attached to the front of the counter, one of which would contain a mixture of broken biscuits which were sold off cheaply. 

Deepcut village, adjacent to Blackdown, was the main shopping centre. It was here that I bought my comics, and I remember the excitement when 'Eagle' first appeared. It was completely different to the established comics, such as Beano, Dandy and Radio Fun, and was a great success. 

I also remember the first appearance of biros in the stationers and sweet shop, which was also the sub-post office. They were simple sticks of shiny plastic, with a round cap and coloured to match the colour of the ink. Their use was strictly forbidden at school, for it was believed that they encouraged poor handwriting. This shop did a roaring trade in caps for our guns, as well as larger versions for our bombs. These were two metal castings, which together formed the shape of a bomb. When dropped, with a special percussive cap between the two halves, they made a very satisfying bang. 

There was an old-fashioned dairy in the village, where I used to help out by washing the bottles on a machine with whirling brushes. I also went out with the milkman sometimes and he gave me sixpence for my help.

Of school I remember little. I passed the 11 plus, and left the Army primary school for Frimley and Camberley Grammar School. This was some miles away, and involved two buses, with a change at Frimley Green. Later I made the journey, by a more direct route, by bike. We had one holiday, as far as I can remember, to Shanklin in the Isle of Wight.

There was an open-air swimming pool somewhere near the primary school, to which we were taken for 'swimming lessons', although I can't ever remember any teaching going on. It was freezing cold and we were just left to get on with it as best we could.