Most definitely not Sci-fi, this is the story of Albert Edward Holman, was born in Exmouth, Devon, in 1898, at the tag end of the Victorian era, and died in 1992. As the son of a harbour pilot, he assisted his father in taking the sailing ships, which were the main carriers of cargo and people all around the globe, in and out of the little harbour.
When war broke out in 1914 he signed up as soon as he was able and trained as an artillery spotter. Seeing service all across France and Belgium in the mud and the hell that was Flanders.
In 1920, having survived the slaughter, he joined the Metropolitan Police. Where in 1922 he became a founder player for the Metropolitan Police Athletic Association Rugby Club. With them he was awarded his ‘Blue’, for taking part in several of the annual games played against their opposite numbers in the Paris Police.
He remained in the Met right up until the end of the Second War, having acted as a signaller in one of the ‘Q’ Cars. These we highly tuned vehicles, targeting the crime gangs and looting which took place in the blackouts during the blitz.
Soon after the cessation of hostilities, he returned to Exmouth with his family, taking a number of jobs before finally joining the newly formed Devon Water Board as a bailiff. A job he stayed in up until his retirement.
This is his story, crafted from the dozens of anecdotes and tales that he told his grandson over the years, and pulled into some sort of chronological order. Some are hilariously funny, others tragic and painful to read. All however are based on his memories of a long and productive life.
In the papers of the day, he read of Orville Wright as he made the first powered flight. And he watched on television as Neil Armstrong first stepped on the moon. In his lifetime, communications advanced from telegrams and Morse code to colour television and the mobile phone. As a child he ran along behind one of the first motor cars to arrive in Exmouth, and in his later years he travelled on the motorways across Britain and beyond to the continent, in luxury coaches (or ‘charabancs’ as his wife Hilda referred to them).
Dying in 1994, his life almost spanned the 20th century. In his lifetime the world had changed out of all recognition, politically and in business terms the Britain he had known as a small boy growing up in Exmouth it had evolved more than could ever have been predicted. Even in Albert’s home county, small towns had expanded and the countryside was gobbled up by housing as the population exploded with the advent of the ‘baby boomer’ generation.
“Gran… He’s talking French again!” is available in paperback or Kindle Edition from Amazon.
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