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Harold Taylor was the youngest of a family of six, with this same Christian name as his father; thus the name of 'Baby Taylor' was sometimes used for him. At the age of 18 months in the late 1920's he lived with his family in Chichester and remembers one of the families, the Willards.
We were not the first in Alexandra Road to have a wireless, but we probably had the highest aerial. Mr Willard, three houses up the road, used to repair our set. He lived in a council house and drove the coal delivery lorry for Farr's, who also had a furniture storage and removal business in the St. Pancras.
The coal yard was opposite the end of New Park Road, and was later fronted by a builder's office, Richardson, who also took over the yard at the rear.
Apart from repairing radios, Mr Willard also made breeze blocks for building his own house, collecting the cinders from his customers. How much time he spent making the blocks before he started the building I do not know, nor can I recall when he stopped working for Farr's to start his own business.
He built his house in Salthill Road, the first bungalow on the right just over the railway crossing. He also opened a radio repair shop in South Street, which later developed into the present Willard's Electrical Wholesalers.
I used to play with his children and particularly remember their grandfather, old Joshua, a white bearded gent who would have custody of us toddlers and take us to the swing park on the other side of the 'rec.'.
Jack Willard, the senior partner in the firm, does not recall me today, which is surprising as we spent a lot of time before our school days together, and later on, before they moved, it was on his cycle that I learned to ride.
We had been 'cheeking' some older boys, who gave chase. I had sprained my ankle and could not run, so Jack helped me mount his bike. From then on I rode. Several years before, I had been given a 'fairy cycle' which I could not get the hang of, and the only thing I achieved with it was to take all the skin off one of my arms.
I had the bike upside down and was driving the wheels with the pedals. I tried to stop the wheels with my hand in the wrong direction, and the wheel dragged my hand and arm round underneath the mudguard, taking the skin off in the process.
Another odd reason he does not remember me is the fact that, as I was the youngest in our family, I was referred to as 'Baby Taylor', perhaps not to confuse me with my father, who had the same Christian name. The result was that Jack always called me Baby, which could be rather embarrassing. When he was still at school and I had started work, should we pass in the street or call from across the road, he would still address me as Baby Taylor.
His mother was a 'character', and whenever I passed their house I was sure to see her hanging over the gate, and we would stop for a chat.
Life sounded so much more relaxed in those days.
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