Brought up in Dagenham and Belfast, Ted Tierney, who was born before the Second World War, has many fond memories.

One day a strange thing happened. Standing at the garden gate in Lloyd Road, Dagenham where we lived we found ourselves staring intently on something in our hands rarely seen before. Why, a number of golden coloured coins to keep for ourselves, wow!

For previous to that the only coins (for the red coloured chocolate bars from the Station slot machine) were few and far between. But, why, why, why?

Found out a little later that these coins were farthings, a coinage not recognised in Ireland. Next we found ourselves on a ship pitching about on the waves with a lot of fully-grown men dressed up as children in sailor suits.

Dad, assuming I had intelligence at the time, urged a sailor to show me the spinning disc of the speed analyser at the stern of the ship. This incident though well remembered conveyed absolutely nothing to me at the time.

Then on arrival at the port I was prompted to watch an anchor being dropped, another puzzler with both exercises wasted on me. I dare say I nodded sagely at all this, only half guessing what was expected of me.

The next thing we noticed was that when playing in the street we found ourselves having to repeat everything we said over and over again. Thinking now that all the people in Belfast had a hearing difficulty, like our father had.

Took a few weeks I suppose before realising that we were faced with a regional accent problem. Not on our part, for it was a one-way difficulty as we were so well used to dad's Irish accent.

I was sent across the road to a shop, to buy a loaf of bread. No, no luck yet again, this 'deafness' business was far far worse than I thought, so I returned home empty handed.

Days later I suppose, I was asked in the street by a group of boys, 'What are ye?' (A commonplace query meaning what religion are you).

I was unable to fathom why the question, repeated over and over again. I looked at my hands, no they are alright, then my shoes.... no nothing odd there either.

Then it dawned on me, it's that accent thing again, aye yes. 'I'm English,' I said. So the lads equally stunned by all this scratched their heads in wonderment and walked away.

Arriving back in the kitchen I related the event to my stepmother who immediately burst into gales of laughter. Then it was my dad's turn to join me in puzzlement also. 'What's all this about?'

With my story being called into his ear the slowest and widest grin appeared. Leaning over, dad said, 'Ted, if ever you are asked that question again.... just say the same thing----you're English.'

Took a long, long while to figure that out, why the question and why the laughter, now a doubled up conundrum.

Then came attendance at the local school. One day the teacher couldn't understand what a pylon was (pylons largely unheard of until a later time).

Then the teacher talking about a river in England called the Thames (Stressing the th). No I called out, 'Its the Tames Sir.' Don't know if the teacher boxed my ears for that, amongst other things.

With time, I slowly began to realise even as a child the distinct change in the weather pattern. Gone... were the long hot summers. On... came the year round jerseys and the cloying dampness.

Even so, with times not great here either saw the lads playing about in bare feet. For though not appreciated at the time my stepmother by opening the house for boarders (paying guests) more than provided for our comfort and well-being.

Dad, if I may mention it only had a very poor pension but pitched in as best he could.

Then in 1939 came the war. It was Belfast then that took on a heavy influx of workers for a change, just like the Dagenham of old. The boarding business thrived for those few years.

With the war over, dad's health worsened, and we lost him in 1946 with all our resources spent on drugs for dad. Then of course the 'free health service' arrived but all too late for dad's sake.

But during the war itself we had to leave school and home as evacuees ........ But more about that later, though to tell the truth we are fair running low on gas.

Ted Tierney, Co Antrim, 2001