A Short History of a Nearly Nobody

I don't have many readers here, but some stories deserve to be written down anyway. I worked at Digital Equipment Corporation from 1966 to 1991 — a quarter century that took the company from a scrappy minicomputer maker in an old wool mill to the second-largest computer company on Earth, and then into the decline that eventually ended it. Joining DEC: the minicomputer revolution When I joined in 1966, DEC was already proving something IBM didn't want to hear: that smaller, cheaper machines you could actually sit down and work with beat room-sized mainframes fed by punch cards. The PDP-8 had just shown the world that a computer could fit on a workbench instead of behind glass walls. That was the spirit I walked into — engineers who cared more about getting the machine right than about the quarterly numbers. The golden years: PDP-11 and VAX The 1970s were, in hindsight, the best years. The PDP-11 reshaped software (Unix and C were both born on one), and then Gordon Bell's tea...

  I was not having a particularly special educational experience at Hardy's Grammar School, Dorchester. Having missed most of term due to glandular fever did not help, but academic I was not. Agricultural science was a great subject for me but the specialist teacher left and the subject was dropped by the school, so the end of my ambition to become a farm manager with it; Becoming a policeman was another dream, but a minimum height requirement of five foot ten inches certainly blocked that too (I maxed out at 5 ft 4in). I think my parents realised that the RAF might offer me a career, so I set off to RAF Cosford for assessment sometime in early 1957. This was my first time away from home and so armed with a Rail pass I was dropped at Dorchester railway station to start what was an "eye opening" experience for a 15 year old country boy. Changing train at Bristol Temple Mead station was interesting then the next leg to Birmingham was mostly through beautiful Engli...

My dad had a motorbike and sidecar and one day he decided that it needed to have a de-coke and the valves needed to be reseated. So this turned into my first lesson in motor maintenance.  Grinding in the valves meant having a sucker on a stick and some grinding paste. Keep grinding until the sound of the valve being set in its seat was a solid clunk, then it was done. This stood me in good stead in later years when I had my first ford van.

Helping my dad in the Bothy gardens went through a number of phases. At first we wanted to clear a path from the house to the gate in the wall at what looked like the bottom of the garden. Clearing and having bonfires is my idea of having had fun. The next task was to restore the health of the very many fruit trees in the garden. Dad had a book all about pruning fruit trees, so it was a job to be taken seriously. And slowly over a couple of years fruit began to appear. Apples, pears, plums, peaches of all varieties one could imagine. Coxes orange pipin apples are the best I can remember. In the old house there were fruit storage shelves so we could keep some varieties of apples and pears for many months. But the the best crop from the garden, down by the stream were the Snowdrops. Each Year we were living in the Bothy we (my sisters and me) picked snowdrops, put them into neat bunches of about 50 flowers each and backed with two Ivy leaves and tied neatly with rafia. Dad (or...

So we were to move from the modern council house in Charminster to a cottage on the estate of Dewlish House, in of course the village of Dewlish. The cottage was attached to the kitchen garden for Dewlish house and in the corner of a large field. The gardens were for the most part walled and enclosed about 2.5 acres with a stream running through the part outside the wall. The cottage had not been lived in for about 11 years, and had been occupied by troops during the war. So when my father lit the fire in the front room, it filled with smoke because of the remains of birds nests in the chimney. The electrics were in a poor state too. However the kitchen had a great Aga range for cooking and heating the water which came from a well in the back yard. The garden was a magical place and a bit like a jungle when we arrived. It was of course totally neglected but had a great variety of fruit trees including peaches, plumbs of all sorts and every type of apple that you could think of....

Other Hardy's school experiences that stick in my memory. One was of the art teacher who did Lion head sculptures to head the Gate at the entrance of the School. It was quite interesting to follow his progress as he worked on them. I wonder what happened to his work when the school was demolished. The school was also where I started to lean to sell. I took apples from the garden of the house where we lived after leaving Charminster. I sold them to some fellow students for a few pence each. One thing that did not appeal to me at all was the school dinners. My mother gave me the school dinner money (one shilling and six pence, if my memory serves me right) each Monday, and I used this to buy "fish and chips" at a local shop in Dorchester. I could do this for three days then went hungry for the last two. The school divinity teacher was a tall quiet man who had once represented England in high jump at the Olympic games in the 1920's. Nice chap as I recall. But th...

Not quite sure when we left Kingston Russel, but I do remember being taken to Hardys Grammar School in Dorchester by my dad to meet the headmaster for an interview. It seems that although I had been accepted into Bridport Grammar it did not mean that I was automatically entitled to transfer to Hardys. However, I was allowed in and another chapter in my school life began. As Hardys was a boys school and most of the teachers were former Army officers who had seen action in the second world war. The headmaster was a Major, the French teacher and most of the others were Captains as far a I can remember. The French teacher for my classes was nick named Calais (of course) and I did not learn much from him (but mostly my fault). As I have lived in French speaking Switzerland and France for many years now, I have paid a high price for my lack of interest as a student of the language. But I get by. One of my happier school memories was of the CCF Combined cadet force. I was a radio operato...

School in the country. Moving from St. John's primary school in Weymouth to Long Bredy school was a big change.  From one large class of about 30 children all in the same grade, to one class of about 20 kids from the age of 6 to 11. What a difference. We even did country dancing and ringing hand bells as part of our weekly routine. Different, but certainly fun. The school lunch was cooked at the school, and us larger boys took turns to go and collect water for the cook from a spring at the bottom of the lane where it met the village road. What a surprise. I was only there for the end of the school year as I had taken the 11+ exam before leaving Weymouth. As I passed, next year saw me on the bus each day to Bridport Grammar. Another adventure on the road to adulthood. If you have a photo of the school, please post it here. Thanks 

Visiting my Grandfather in Weymouth was quite a trip. I traveled down on the bus from Kingston Russel which took about an hour and was usually a double decker so . could sit on top at the front. The route took us via country lanes through Martinstown and down through Upwey, finishing up at the old Bus Station behind King Street near the railway station. As my Grandfather still lived in Derby Street it only took 2 minutes to get to his home where we used to chat. Some days I went fishing on the New Pier at Weymouth harbor. Even caught a fish sometimes too, a small bream or whiting. As I was walking back to catch the bus I passed the Pavilion theater and noticed a workman high up on the building with water in a bucket (which he was spilling) and a whisp of smoke coming out of the wall nearby. I walked on down to the bus station and was amazed when the bus home drove up to the esplanade to see the Pavilion burning like an enormous bonfire. As the building was wooden no real surprise ...

More of Life at Kingston Russel Farm. I have been back in recent years with my parents (now sadly departed) and it brought back a flood of memories. Learning to drive a tractor, going into the dairy and seeing the cows being milked, collecting our daily quart of milk straight from the cooler, fresh and creamy. All things that helped me grow up and understand how to get on with country folk. All things that would not be permitted these days I am sure, due to all sorts of rules and regulation. Collecting birds eggs was also part of a normal boys life too. The man who lived in the house next to us was a professional rabbit catcher! This was in the year before the dreaded mixamatosis hit the rabbit population. I went out with him some times as he set 120 traps each day, those rather cruel things. He also had some ferrets and I was allowed to borrow one some Sunday mornings and go out on my own adventure. It seemed very exciting to take his dog, a ferret and some nets and find a rabbi...

Well it was time to move. My parents decided that they had lived too long with Grandad Martin and needed their independence, so we were going to leave the seaside for the country. So off we went, all the family together to look at country cottages. Winterborne Abas was the first village we visited but there was not much garden. The loo was a shed at the end of the garden too. Eventually we found paradise on Kingston Russel farm. About half a mile from the main Dorchester to Bridport road and one of a pair of two story cottages. Ours was the left hand one of the pair as you look at it from the front and had about half an acre of land. Just what Dad and Mum (I hope) wanted. It was a sort of dream land. Woods and fields for a young lad to explore, and a big dairy farm with friendly staff. Just before we moved I had sat my 11+ exam at St. John's School in Weymouth, and while waiting for results went to the village school in LongBredy. An interesting little place with one class...

And what do small boys do in Weymouth in about 1949. Well we roamed around the harbour and went fishing on either the new pier or the old pier. I remember that just off to one side of the old pier there was a place where it was almost allways possible to catch small bream, and these were taken home where my mother filleted and fried them. Really good they were too. Otherwise the fish were often rass or what we called rock salmon, which we just threw back in the sea. But best of all was going with my father in his boat to empty the lobster and crab pots or fish for conger eels by Portland Harbour wall. We would anchor just off the wall and try to catch these rather clever fish. They were tricky because they would take your bait and then back into the wall and hang on with their long bodies. To stop this happening it was necessary to strike and pull hard as soon as they took the hook and get them away from the wall before they could get a grip of it. My Dad was pretty good at it and ...

Back home after a total of nine day in the hospitals. I was transferred to From Vichy to Moulins only two KM from where I live on the Tuesday after the crisis. Now I am taking six medications per day and feeling very well with non symptoms except for a very occasional pricking sensation in my chest. My main concerns now relate to the level of physical activity I should allow myself, and gaining a full understanding of the reasons for, and possible long term effect of the medications I am taking. As my next consultation with the cardiologist is scheduled for early June, I want to bring it forward and get proper clarification on these matters.

The 29th of March saw me with a blood pressure reading of 17/12 and my partner calling the French emergency service number 15. A Dr. and nurse arrived very quickly hotly pursued by an ambulance. Yes it had happened, a partial blockage of one of the arteries that feed blood to a muscle of my heart was giving me some discomfort and needed urgent attention. So we rushed off, with all sirens going for a 45 minute ride to Vichy, the nearest hospital with the specialized facility to deal with me. I have begun to tell the story more fully in a separate blog, but it has a small place here too I think. Suffice it to say, the hospital staff did a great job and a stent was inserted about half an hour after i arrived. The result was an almost immediate relief from the distress I was in and me on the road to recovery........ I have now been home for ten days and feel very good. Need to take it easy and allow the heart muscle to repair, but should be as good as new in a few months as long as I do no...

1947. Sitting in the front row right under the eagle eye of Mrs. X. The lesson was "learning to write!! My writing book had lines to guide me so that I knew the correct height for each part of a letter as we started with learning proper script. We had to copy the letters only as a first exercise and later full words. If we made a mistake then the dreaded "ruler" would come crashing down on our knuckles. This certainly helped with "attention". To add to the excitement we were using pen and ink from the ink wells in our desks. All together lots of chances to make a mess and get bruised knuckles again. It worked!!! And so began almost five years at St. John's School Weymouth.

Don't you remember that Uncle who was always pleased to see you, give you a sweet and tell you interesting stories. Well I was lucky enough to have a number of these. The earliest of that I remember lived in The "George Inn" on Weymouth harbor quay. I recall there being a pool table in the bar and going there when it was closed to visit my Grandparents and coming across Uncle Pat. He was home from the Air Force I think and had a funny little hat on the side of his head and his blue uniform. The pub was closed so it was OK for me (about six I think) to be in the bar and I wanted to play pool. It needed a coin to get the balls out but Pat knew how to make it play for free!!! My Hero!!! The second memorable Uncle was another of my Dad's brothers and I always called him Uncle Buster. And just up the street and around the corner from Derby Street by the railway he had a workshop and made wrought iron gates and things. I used to feel very grown up when I visited him as he w...

Uncle Sid (Sidney Martin) was my aviation hero. An aircraft engineer who started on "Wood and String" aircraft and finished his career signing off on "VC10 and Boeing 707" aircraft. He was part of aviation history. He qualified as an aircraft engineer in about 1932 and was then employed by Imperial Airways and posted to Africa. Getting there was quite and adventure as it took five days and included spending one night in an Egyptian jail! The crashed aircraft "Hanno" was one of those in his care and the photos are those that he took while surveying it in preparation for its recovery and repair. I will add a few more including the aircraft successfully flying off once the job had been done. In his file I found a few historically interesting photos that I thought you might like to see. I will comment on them later. Here is a link to wikipedia giving details of this aircraft. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handley_Page_H.P.42

Waking up in what I was later told was an "Anderson Shelter" is the earliest memory I think I really had. It must have been toward the end of the Second World War as I was born in 1942. Apparently we took it in turns to be in the shelter as there was only room for four of us and we were a family of five. Even my baby sister had to take her turn in another bedroom. But we all survived. Dad was away somewhere and my mother and two sisters and I lived with my Grandfather in Derby Street just near to the railway station. I also have a memory of the street party and sitting on a table looking at all the activity. Whether this is a real memory or something I have constructed from the things we talked about, I am not really sure. But I claim it as real anyway. Weymouth was a great place for a youngster like me. I would wander off on my own, and had some favorite places. The Harbor wall was always exciting. There was a ledge about two feet wide along the side nearest the town, and t...

Sunday 30 July was my fifth day at the Moonrakers Gliding club and I was looking forward to flying again. So far I had flown with four different instructors and they all seemed to have a magic touch. When I had to work hard all the time to keep the glider flying level or turning smoothly, they could take control and everything instantly become smooth and perfect. Today I was back in the T31 and flying from the front seat with Dennis instructing from the rear. One of the most exciting phases of flight when learning to fly a glider, is the take off. We were using a launching method whereby a cable is attached to the aircraft at a special hook point just under the front of the fuselage. Once this was attached and checked to ensure it would release correctly, a helper held one of the wings of the glider, and the cable (about 3 or 4 thousand feet of it) which was attached to a winch at the other end of the air field, was rapidly wound in, pulling the glider with it. This gave us the spe...