Cooped-up Angels

Saturday, December 15, 2018

John Milner Ashby

John Milner Ashby

John Milner Ashby was born on the 14^th August 1914 at Hayward Villa, Longley Road, in Pinner in Middlesex. His parents were John Frederick Ashby, a financial journalist and Jessie Milner, the daughter of Tom Milner the city treasurer of Hull.

At the time London was expanding and St George’s Headstone, the parish where John was born, was a semi-rural area with unmade roads. Longley Road was made up in 1908 but was still in a dreadful state in 1910.

A temporary church had been built in 1907, at its dedication the rural dean and the vicar of Pinner almost lost themselves in the darkness and turned up late. The permanent church’s foundation stone was laid in 1910 and consecrated in 1911 when a new parish was formed from the larger parish of Hatch End. The old tin church becoming the church hall.

It was in the new church that John was baptised on 4^th October 1914 by Rev Ramsay W Couper. The sponsors were his father J F Ashby, Stanley A Nettleton and Gertrude Nettleton.

The church remained part of their lives in Headstone, John receiving the Senior Sunday School prize in February 1922.

At some time in the 1920s the family moved to Watford, living at 2 Gade Avenue. John was educated at Watford Grammar School to 1932.

After school he worked for the World Auxiliary and the Western Australian Insurance Companies before applying for a post at the National Employers Mutual and General Insurance Association. John was called for interview in May 1937 and on 24^th May was offered a position as insurance clerk in the fire department at a salary of £175 per annum. He worked for the company up to his retirement in 1977.

1937 was a busy year. John had taken out his Provisional Driving Licence on the 26^th March 1937, and held a full licence from 26.6.37.

At the outbreak of war in 1939 the firm moved out of the city of London to Great Missenden.

On 12^th Nov 1940 John enlisted in the Royal Navy, service number JX 229096. In his service record he is described as 5ft 5¾; 35in chest; Black hair; blue eyes; sallow complexion; with a scar on his right knee and left side of chin.

From 12^th Nov 1940 to 11^th June 1941 he trained as a telegraphist at the Royal Arthur shore station, the former Butlin’s holiday camp at Ingoldmells, Skegness and HMS Pembroke shore station in Chatham.

On 12^th June 1941 he was posted to HMS Kellet as an Ordinary telegrapher.

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The Kellet was one of the “Smokey Joes”, a coal fired minesweeper renowned for flames appearing from its funnel. One officer telegraphed to shore “Exodus 13 v22”. Columns of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. During its wartime service it covered 35000 miles.

Just two months later, on Tuesday 12^th August 1941, he married Muriel Jessie Anne Hasel , whom he had met at the NEM.

His mother wrote a letter to his aunt Minnie:

“The bridegroom arrived in London on Wednesday (sic: she means Monday) afternoon, and after calling on Fred at his office went on to Cricklewood to see Muriel and make final arrangements. He did not reach home till 11pm. So had to get his clothes pressed on Tuesday morning. Bob fortunately, was able to get 24 Hours leave, and he arrived before John.

We all went to Cricklewood by train, and were met at the station by Mr Hasel with two cars which took us round to his home to collect his family, and from there to St Michael’s Church. There was no organ or choir, but the service was impressively taken by a very understanding vicar, who did all he could to put the bride and bridegroom at their ease.

After the ceremony we all went back to the bride’s home at Cricklewood for cake and light refreshments, where we stayed until they went away for their honeymoon. Muriel wore a blue dress with a spray of pink roses for the ceremony, and travelled in a black coat and skirt, with coral pink georgette blouse.”

The honeymoon was at Chorley Wood Hotel from the 12^th – 17^th August at 30/- per night.

He then rejoined HMS Kellet as a telegrapher from 12 August 1941 (the date of his marriage) to 14 Oct 1942. Muriel returned to the NEM in Great Missenden, living at The Laurels, Twitchall Road.

In June 1942 he was in Gorleston at the Floral Hall for a dance for the 4^th Flotilla to the Sherwood Foresters band. Tickets for gentlemen cost 1/6.

From Oct 1941, The Kellet was clearing mines between the Faroes and Iceland (Out Sweeps by Paul Lund).

A year later he went for further training at HMS Pembroke (15 Oct – 27^th Oct 42) passing his exam and being promoted to T.O (W/T)) from 1 Nov 1942.

John was then transferred to various shore stations: Flowerdown, Victory and Kestrel in Winchester, and King Alfred (Hove). These were listening to German and Italian radio traffic transcribing it and passing it on to the codebreakers for interpretation. (28 Oct 1942 – 12 Oct 1943). Its possible that Muriel joined him occasionally. There are invoices from the Westgate Lodge Hotel for 2/3 Jan and 27/8 Feb 1943 at £1.1.0 a night; 5/- for lunch and an extravagant 10/- for dinner.

A further months training at HMS Pembroke (17 Sept - 12 Oct 1943) led to a posting to the aircraft carrier HMS Pursuer from 13 Oct 1943 to 12^th Dec 1945.

How much leave he had in the next two years is not clear, but we can assume that he was on board for most of these operations:

From HMS Pursuer log:

1943 September – to October. Under modification in Liverpool

November – Prepared for operational service; 16^th sailed for Clyde

Deployed at Greenock

26^th Under repair in Belfast

19^th December work-up in the Irish Sea

1944 February. Cover for Atlantic Convoys OS67/KMS41 and SL149.

Newspaper coverage, including The Illustrated London News, shows that on 12/2/44 they were involved in a battle 3380 miles west of Cape Finisterre where Bobcats from the Pursuer shot down to enemy aircraft and damaged a third.

March. Returned to Clyde; sailed to Scapa Flow; Cover for Arctic Convoy JW58

And attacks on Tirpitz (operation Tungsten)

April: Force 8

3^rd Cover during further attacks on Tirpitz.

5^th Return to Scapa Flow resumed Atlantic Convoy cover.

26^th – 28^th Operations Ridge Able and Ridge Baker off Bodo, Norway. Received storm damage and returned to Scapa Flow for repair.

May/June D Day support in Western Approaches (operation Neptune)

In June, John went to take his exam for W/T3 at Greenock on 17^th but he failed.

July/August. Pursuer provided support for allied landings in South of France (Task Force 88 - Anvil)

September. To Alexandria for support of the reoccupation of the Aegean Islands (Outing 1)

October: returns to home fleet service.

November. Scapa Flow (Operations Counterblast, Steak, Handfast and Provident.

John retook his W/T3 exams on 21^st Nov 1944 at HMS Rodney and failed again.

In December HMS Pursuer took passage to Norfolk (US) for repair.

While there John visited the Union Jack Club, 412 West Freemason Street. There he was given an introduction to “Miss Sniffen” of Washington DC – “Ring the bell and walk in and you will be looked after”. A bus weekly ticket shows he took advantage of the offer.

On the return trip in February they provided transport for aircraft to Belfast.

1945. March/April took passage to Durban en route to join the East Indies fleet at Trincomallee.

May 3^rd Refit in Durban for Far East service.

While the refit was going on John went for further training at the South Atlantic Communications school: HMS Afrikander in Simonstown SA. (12/5/45 – 3/7/1945 exams 29/6/45 – 1/7/45) This time he passed and was promoted to Temporary Acting Leading Telegrapher (W/T3) from 1/7/1945

July Pursuer took passage to Colombo and joined the 21^st Carrier Squadron for operation Zipper, providing support for landings in Malaya at Port Swettenham, Fort Dickson and Morib.

John took time out to dine at the Cungking Hotel Rangoon on 2/11/45. 7 Rupees for 1 Chicken Noodle, 3 “F. eggs” and 4 cups of tea.

The war in the Far East ended on 15^th August and in November Pursuer could return to the UK for paying off, arriving in the Clyde on 12^th Dec. John passed through customs at Greenock on 18/12/45.

John M Ashby was given a final posting to HMS Pembroke from 13^th Dec 1945 to 3 March 1946, but his release order showed he was released on leave from 18/12 and was then released Class A. His medal card shows service from 1939 – 45 in the Atlantic, Burma, Italy, F & C (France and Europe) and service for the 1939 - 45 star. The Arctic Star was not instituted until 2012.

His discharge papers comment:

Has knowledge of various sets with which he has been employed as operator. A very good type, hardworking and reliable, but unsuccessful in getting through for a commission.

After the war John returned to the NEM. He and Muriel bought a house in St Albans, 18 Pondfield Crescent, moving there on 29/5/1946. Their two children were born there: John Philip on 8^th November 1946 and Peter George in 1949. In 1953 John was promoted to be Superintendent of the Policy and Endorsement drafting Department and in 1956 he moved to Reinsurance.

To mark the promotion John borrowed £3600 from the firm and the family moved to a newly built detached house: 165 Gurney Court Road, St Albans.

Settling in to life in St Albans, catching the 8.05 from St Albans to St Pancras each morning and returning on the 5.30 left little time for leisure. (The working pattern at the time included most Saturday mornings, occasionally Peter was allowed to join him). But John and Muriel were active in the church, initially at St Albans Abbey and later at St Peters. Although John never joined the church council he assisted the treasurer, Mr Ernest Mileman.

Holidays were largely taken in the UK. Trips to John’s aunts, Faith and Nellie, in Colwyn Bay were a regular feature as well as Devon, Scotland and the Lakes. In 1959 a more adventurous trip took the family to Guernsey and from 1964 Switzerland and Austria became regular destinations. At first these were by car, stopping in France on the way and John coaxing the car over the Vosges mountains with regular stops to top up the water in the radiator and adjust tyre pressures.

At the NEM, John was further promoted to Reinsurance Manager from 1968. On 23^rd June 1977 he was presented with a silver sweetmeat dish as a token of the board’s appreciation of 40 years service.

The forty years of commuting together with his war service had taken their toll on his health and John developed asthma. He was refused early retirement on health grounds but retired anyway in August 1977 and he and Muriel moved to Serai, 11 Sherbrook Hill, Budleigh Salterton, Devon. With more time on his hands, John could join the Probus club and take part in National Trust outings.

Nearly ten years later illness struck again and John had an operation for Gall stones on 8^th April 1986. The operation was successful but followed by a stroke on the 24^th June and a further stroke on the 21^st June 1988. Muriel was unable to give him the care he needed and on the 24^th September 1988 he moved to Links Pinewood Nursing Home in Budleigh Salterton, where he died on the 15^th December. His funeral took place on the 20^th December 1988 at Exeter and Devon Crematorium and his ashes scattered in plot BT022. His name was inscribed in the Book of Remembrance at the crematorium and also in the book at St Peters Budleigh Salterton.

His assets declared for probate amounted to £161718 gross, £160961 net.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Big Brother

John Ashby

8^th November 1946 – 4^th September 2016.

Where is my big brother when I need him.

Growing up I always looked up to him and for a time tried to emulate him.

As the second son many of the things I did were first done with John.

The first film I went to see without my mother

(my father only ever went to one film that I know of –

South Pacific on a wet afternoon in Teignmouth.)

was with John in Colwyn bay.

We walked from Rhos on Sea and arrived late

and had to sit in front row seats. Neither of us can remember the film.

My first big concert was to see Johnny Mathis

at the Prince of Wales in London with John.

John took me to my first opera:

Aida, up in the gods at Covent Garden

with a view just of a corner of downstage right.

My first taste of proper scotch was Chivas Regal

in a student bar in Liverpool. John taught me whisky is not just Bells.

My first major political rally was Harold Wilson

at St Georges Hall on the eve of the election in 1970.

Though I had been to a few demos before.

Academically he was two years ahead of me.

An inveterate hoarder of paper,

John kept his test papers which I could then use for revision.

Often the same papers would come up when I took them.

John would pass with flying colours, sight unseen;

I would scrape through having had the papers for months.

The history teacher said he couldn’t understand why I was so bad at it

when John was so good.

The difference was John put the work in.

I did just enough to get through.

At school he was called Harry, possibly behind his back,

as he always looked harassed.

He was sporty – in the school cricket team and rugby team (with Colin Blunstone),

and in the chess team.

He played cricket out of school in the local rec.

And allowed me to join in.

Later he went on to play in a charity cricket match with Roy Castle

at Gerrards Cross in a match organised by Uncle Bernard.

But where John was in the team I was always on the sidelines.

He played cricket, I became the scorer;

He played chess; I became secretary of the club.

John joined the tennis club to play tennis;

I joined the tennis club to meet girls and organise dances.

He took up rock climbing – going on a course run by Hamish McGuiness

in the highlands and gained his mountain leaders certificate.

Then he crossed Corsica with a group from Michael Cobb’s youth outreach.

I stayed many times in Liverpool.

We went for walks around Sefton Park, The docks, the Cathedrals.

I can even remember John when he used to cook which shows how long ago it was.

Like most younger siblings as I couldn’t beat him I did the opposite.

Where he fitted in and by and large conformed

becoming for instance a school prefect, I rebelled.

He was socially conservative, I became a socialist;

when he had a time of reading the Guardian, I moved to the Socialist worker.

I even managed to get us thrown out of a pub in Lime Street – the only one that required you to wear a tie!

In faith, we were both influenced by the team at St Peter’s St Albans.

John by John Wheatley, evangelical, charismatic lay reader.

Me by David Woodley, Anglo Catholic curate and Andrew Bradley the vicar

who later went on to run a housing charity.

John was ‘born again’ and accepted a literal reading of the Bible;

I became a radical following in the footsteps of the Christian socialists and later the mystics.

John would send me books trying to convert me long after I was ordained.

His faith was always much stronger and firmer than mine ever was.

In many ways he was really the one who should have been ordained,

though he would have been as frustrated with the institutional church as I was.

I never really knew if he approved of me and I am pretty certain I never wanted him to.

But despite our differences he was a good friend, always there for me.

For a time we met up at least once a month.

I’ve just found a note attached to mum’s papers saying that after her death we should keep it up. Somehow with my retirement and John’s addiction to work it never happened.

I am pleased that in the past few months we have been able to get together,

relive some of the past and offer one another a blessing.

We are going to hear some of the Dream of Gerontius.

At the centre of that is the ancient Latin prayer:

Go forth upon thy journey Christian soul.

Go from this world. Go in the name of God.

And may thy place today be found in peace,

and may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount

Of Sion: - In the name of Christ our Lord.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Muriel Ashby Thanks for the memories

My first memories are of going
through London pea soupers
to mum’s family home in Cricklewood
and the smuts from the engine in the train home.

At home in St Albans she helped out the Tory party
and as Townswomen’s guild Drama secretary
produced flyers on a flat bed copier that came in a tin.
Elocution lessons smoothed out the cockney
into proper English.

The daughter of a tailor she made all my clothes;
dresses for school
plays – obviously.

There were always word games
– Lexicon cards before Scrabble arrived
and books from the weekly visit to the library van.
Films too, at the local cinema,
always the Odeon, never the ABC;
war films in the fifties, usually naval battles then musicals.
TV only came later and then only BBC, never ITV
(until she discovered The Bill).
And an annual trip to the theatre:
pantos at Golders Green first then shows in the West End
– My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Oliver
and a local Gilbert and Sullivan.
And she went specially to get me (and cousin Susan) tickets
for Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl.

Mum had a lifelong love of Gardens
– introducing me to flowers and borders, nasturtiums and coleus;
With visits to country house and national trust gardens
Bodnant and Woburn;
Then Arley and Dunham Massey in recent years.
And was it those elephant rides at Whipsnade
that gave me my longing for Africa.

There was always time for holidays.
In the fifties in the UK,
Mum packing the trunk for British Road Services
to take ahead into the depths of Wales.
And however dry the summer,
dad always found some mud for mum to slip in.
Her memories of Crinkle Crags still fresh
just a few weeks ago.

In the more adventurous sixties
mum and dad began to explore:
France, Switzerland and Austria,
mum writing in her schoolgirl French or German
to guest houses for rooms to stay in.

Moving to Devon she found a new life;
New places to explore and new groups to join:
Quilters and embroiderers
needlework and goldwork.

And then as a widow, freedom at last.
Sherry and cake with Mae and Josie.

And the accent slipped,
once she knew it was me:
“Ello pete ow are yah”

More tolerant than others,
when the vicar strayed
and the hypocritical parish wanted him out,
she hoped they would get a
“black disabled lesbian”.

This prim and proper lady
never a word out of place,
came into her own.
After her stroke
When I asked how she was
There could be only one reply,
“F-<&ing awful”

And for the past few years
finding a new home and new friends
at the Old Rectory.
Receiving for herself the care
she had once given to others,

Delighting in news of grand (and greatgrand) children
And relishing their visits.
With a mind still active,
winning the quiz, winning at Mah Jong,
enjoying visits from family and friends.

And leaving to all a wealth of memories.

© Peter G Ashby 2009
Photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/pegash/

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Stumble on the stable

Why did Jesus get born at such a busy time of year?
He should have known
we would be distracted
by everything else that is going on.
Too busy to notice his arrival.

The town is full,
everyone come for the celebration
of a successful registration,
not yet allowed a vote,
but at least included, recognised as citizens.

And he would be pushed aside,
no room in the hotels,
or the inn,
or even the backpackers hostel.
Joseph should have booked ahead,
what did he expect,
he should have known what it would be like,
and what she is like,
typical to have the baby at the most awkward time
in the most awkward place.

So a stable round the back,
easy to miss, easy to pass by,
except for the donkeys
trying to get some sleep
after carrying their burdens into town.

To find it you need to look,
you need to search,
make a journey,
you can’t stumble on the stable.

It would take angelic guidance perhaps,
a voice in the sat nav,
rising to an insistent clamour which you try to ignore,
as the shepherds did:
dragged from their sheep
or their sleep in the night.

Or the wise men,
posher, so star nav for them,
fortune tellers,
tools of their trade to hand as they come
from the familiar east into the west.

All travel far from their comfort zone,
letting go of the past,
take hand luggage only, leaving baggage behind.

Travelling unfamiliar roads to distant places,
avoiding the distractions,
the false turnings,
the celebrations and the celebrities.
And there they find Jesus
was always there,
at the centre,
at the heart,
in their hearts.

© Peter G Ashby 2008

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

For whom the cock crows

How many times did Jesus call?
Andrew started it -
he followed John;
then changed to Jesus.

He went to get his brother
Simon would rather have carried on fishing.
"I will make you fish for people"
Jesus said.
Not giving him much of a choice.

Then - having taken away his job
Jesus took his name away as well:
'Peter' he had to be called from now on
Jesus would explain later.
Perhaps.

So Peter never belonged.
Not that anyone else did
but he less than most.

Every time he thought he had got it right
he was slapped down.
"Shall we make three shelters?"
"Don't be stupid"
"Why go to Jerusalem if you will be killed there?"
"Get behind me Satan."

Was it really that bad?
He was only trying to help,
only trying to belong,
to find someone to be close to.

So his natural place was in the courtyard,
outside with the servants,
outside with the outsiders.
In the kitchen at parties
Never at the centre,
in the thick of it.

Ignored for so long
naturally he thought no one would notice.
He could take up his usual place:
observing from the edge
on the outside looking in.
At least there he couldn't put his foot in it could he?

"You were with him"
"No I wasn't"
"This is one of them"
"No I'm not"
"Your accent gives you away"
"What are you talking about. For Christ's sake."

Oops

The cock crew

As Jesus said it would

Well it always did didn't it.
It's what cocks do,
close to dawn.
It's what they do best
It's in their nature.

As certain as human betrayal.
Second nature to look after number one.
And what was the harm
it wouldn't save Jesus, or condemn him:
to lie to strangers.
What did they know?

But Peter knew
and so did Jesus
That each betrayal
left Peter further outside
and Peter wept
From loneliness.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Build your house on the sand

Jesus got it wrong
He told us not to build our house on the sand
But to build on rock.

He should have known we would take it literally:
that we would do what we were told
and build our churches
on rock, out of rock.
Rock walls, rock floors,
rock roofs, rock doors
without an entrance and without an exit.

Rituals set in stone
tablets passed down.
Worship only
in fixed places, with fixed rules
and a fixed service, for fixed people.
No danger there.

A place of protection.
Safe from being washed away
of being swept up by the tide
and carried off to new places
new experiences.

And luckily
no space for the spirit to get at us
no embarrassing spiritual stuff allowed.

But also a place of imprisonment.
If no-one can get in
we cannot get out.
A place of isolation.
Others cannot join us
nor we reach out to them

But Jesus didn't build on rock
he didn't practice what he preached.
He went beyond the literal
and saw the creative
possibilities of sand.
He called Peter:
"On this rock I will build."
What a joke.
Not Peter
Mr Shifting Sands himself.
Always getting it wrong
always bottling out.
Unlovable
sink, not swim, Peter.

"Peter do you love me"
"Maybe, sometimes"

"Feed my sheep:
Not from rocks
Not from stones
But with flesh and blood
for people of flesh and blood.

"People living on sand
threatened by the flood
overwhelmed by the world
or taken by the tide of the spirit
they know not where.

"So build on sand
impermanent castles
which can be adapted to need;
or swept away
as God calls us on
or moves ahead of us.

"Build on people
Insecure people
Inadequate people
but real people
searching people
people who know their need of God.

"Like Peter
"On this rock
I will build my church."

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Tears and towels

Everything was just right
Crockery and cutlery ritually clean
Food strictly kosher
Each guest in their proper place
Orders of precedence observed.
Conversation turning to higher things

Then a murmur of disapproval
as the calm is broken,
a stranger come amongst them
a woman at that.
The distraction of scent and sexuality.
She can't be a member.

"I know I'm not good enough
but they won't notice me.
If I'm found they'll turn me away
I'll be rejected again
but it won't be the first time.
Only wanted when needed
only loved when used
Every time you think love is forever
every time you lose a bit of yourself.

"If I can just get close to him
If I can touch the hem of his robe
But the tears blind my eyes
as they sprinkle his feet
and I've no towel but my hair."

And the murmur grows louder
as right is proclaimed.
The woman must go
lest she sully the feast
with her earthy perfume
and the smell of her sex.

But Jesus stands up:
"Let her go free
Just bring me a towel.

"Have you, Simon, forgotten,
How you were caste out:
a leper unwelcome
till healed by a love
that cured by including
enfolding and healing.
Does your healing enable
your feelings of grandeur?
That you are entitled
to judge and condemn
those not yet whole:
to despise and exclude them."

So he took up the towel
and began to wash the feet
of all those at the table.
Till he came up to Peter

"Not me.
Wash them Lord not me."

"Yes you Peter,
especially you.
This woman has known love
and has shown love.
If you don't accept love
How do you expect to give love."

"Then it's not just my feet
That need to be washed
but my mind and my heart
both need to be cleansed."

"Too right," said Jesus
"Too right."

©Peter G Ashby 2008