A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
Uncle Colin
Uncle Colin lived in a small, upright, striped tent with Mr Punch and Judy, just west of the pier. Also he shared the tent with a crocodile and a policeman. At least that's what I used to think. He used to drink lots of tea over the road at the Bingo that was owned by a certain Herne Bay councillor, Councillor Hardgrave’s. Uncle Colin was a term used by all of us kids. He was knownas Uncle Colin, a kind of stage name. That's why I didn't put him in the Uncles' chapter. He was a Punch and Judy Man. Whenever he performed he drew hordes of screaming children. Loud Speakers were set up and with the announcement by Uncle Colin of ''HELLO CHILDREN'', a roar would go up.
Soon the cry of ''That's the way to do it! That's the way to do it!'' thundered across the beach and you knew that Mr Punch was in full swing, kicking the crap out of Judy.
Uncle Colin also did conjuring tricks. But just as in the TV series Hi De Hi with the bloke who ran the donkeys, Uncle Colin didn't appear to like children very much. It was just a job to him. Maybe he liked children at first, but not for long. Off stage he appeared very grumpy. But he must have stuck at it for quite a few seasons for he was also known to utter ''bugger off'' a lot.
He soon joined hands with Councillor Hardgraves, Jack Phippard and others to open an amusement arcade and bingo complex at Reculver. Years later, Jack Phippard became my boss as the manager of a small arcade at Arthur Fitt's Caravan Site at Hillborough, just before you got to Reculver. Jack was the best boss I ever had, an exceptionally kind and generous man.
And Uncle Colin?
He became a whiz at electronics and an excellent amateur photographer. Besides being a partner in that particular fraternity at Reculver, he used to mend my electronic fruit machines whenever they went wrong. A quietly humorous man who would stare off in the distance until the solution to the problem came to him and then, soldering iron in hand, he set to work. I still called him UNCLE COLIN and he never said ''bugger off'' once.
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