Light up and enjoy a fag?
Posted: Wed Apr 22, 2009 10:31 pm
In one of my earlier posts, I mentioned that my life with smokers might be interesting. If this is allowed, I would like to say that anything that I write is directed only at younger people who are thinking of starting smoking, perhaps because they want to appear "grown up" like their young friends.
I have no interest in older people who have already made their minds up, as to how they intend to conduct their lives and recreation habits, and in any case, it is not my place or intention to lecture these people. If young people read my story, I would like to tell them that it is not only about my past, it is also an indisputable story about their own future if they take up smoking. This also applies to young people who have already started to smoke.
I smoked my first fag at the age of thirteen. I bought five "park drive" fags for two old pence, and bought them because everybody seemed to smoke, and it seemed to be the normal thing to do. Walking through a hop garden at Goudhurst, Kent, I lit up and waited for wonderful things to happen. I remember the funny smell, the dirty smoke, and the heat in my eyes. I felt sad that I had bought five stinking fags instead of a bag of sweets. I chucked the rest of the fags away, and that was 68 years ago.
At 17, I started work at the locomotive shed at Hither Green, and I remember that few Drivers there lived past 70. The first one that I remember was "Darkie" Roberts, only in his 50's from cancer. My own Driver, Bill Ashby died two weeks after he retired, at 65. His son, "Slosh" Ashby, died in his 50's. There were several more, and of course, all smokers.
My next Depot was Orpington, and one day in the Drivers lobby, I made the tea and got my sandwiches out. there was one other Driver in the room, Les Diamond. He bred Corgi dogs, and I bought one of them. He put his cigarette out, and I said to him, "That's alright Les. you can smoke". He said "no, it's not alright while you are eating". Poor Les, a Gentleman, was dead in less than a year. When I visited him in Hospital, he broke down an cried. He said that he didn't know that he had so many friends.
My next Depot was Victoria, and the next one to go was Ron Cooper. We are in the Driver's lobby, and Ron is suffering from a terrible back ache, and we are teasing him unmercifully about his sex life. I remember that, with tears in his eyes, he said "please don't". He was dead in a couple of Months. His insides were full of cancer. A smoker of course, and we collected £200 for his Widow.
Next, Micky Motha, from Sri Lanka. I went with his Wife Sheila, to see him in hospital. He was little more than a skeleton. All he kept saying over and over again was "George, the pain". He was dead in less than a week, a chain smoker of course, and 50 Years old.
The deaths kept coming all the time in my working career, and we would hear about our mates from different Depots, dying from cancer or unable to work because of Emphysema. I can't remember all their names, there were just too many. I should point out that Drivers were like one big family. we mingled in Drivers lobbies all over the Southern Railway. We knew most of each other by name, which is why I know the extent of the killing. we never heard of any of our generation dying of diseases like Flu. etc. It was always cancer or Emphysema, but one Driver did die when he fell off a ladder.
Then I was diagnosed with heart disease, which was a shock to me, because I was only 47 years old, and I am convinced that I was a victim of passive smoking. From the internet, I discovered that there is a chemical in tobacco smoke that effects the liver, in which there is a chemical which controls cholesterol. the poisons in tobacco smoke affect that chemical. now I have to take cholesterol reducing drugs drugs for the rest of my life.
Because I was not allowed to drive trains carrying passengers, I was transferred to Slade Green Depot for carriage shunting. Also there was Eddie Allen. We were cleaning engines together in 1945, firing and driving as the years went by. Eddie had a wonderful sense of dry humour. We were standing on Slade Green station platform, which overlooked a field. In the middle of the field, was a solitary horse. Eddie turned to me and said, "there you are George, I always knew that Slade Green was only a one horse town. What a lovely throw away line.
Eddie was a smoker till he got throat cancer, so it was goodbye Eddie, and he was just about 60 years old. Also at Slade Green with me was Ken Short, who also started with me in 1945. He was taken off the main line because of heart disease and difficulty with walking. He went into hospital to have his leg taken off. As sick visitor for our sick club, I went to see him, and I said, "as sick visitor Ken, I have to make sure that you are not malingering". He saw the joke and we laughed. Some weeks later, they took the other leg off, and he died. Ken carried on smoking right up to the time that he went into hospital. when the leg Arteries get bunged up, the gangrene starts at your toes,
The South- Eastern Drivers meet four times a year for reunions. At Rainham, Ramsgate, Tonbridge and Ashford. Every time we meet, there are more faces missing. Mostly, they are a lot younger than I am. I say, "Is Johnny Wilson here?" (from my old Depot, Victoria). No! dead, got cancer. "Arthur Clingham?" No! dead with lung cancer. "Ronnie Hill?" No! died before he retired. "Ken Hilton?" No! dead with cancer. "Buck Ryan?" No! dead with cancer before he retired.
My Aunt Rose and Uncle Doug both died before they were 70, both with lung cancer. My Cousin Dougie, told me that he wouldn't want to see anybody else die like his Mother did. I found out what he meant when I watched my young Brother David, die. My Wife's Brother Bob, one year younger than me, died wearing an Oxygen mask and lung cancer 11 years ago. My Son-in-law Pat's Mother and Father, both died with Emphysema. Pat's Mother asked my Wife, " how do you keep so healthy?" I would have thought that the answer to that question was obvious.
My Sister Rose's Husband, Eddy, a heavy smoker, died from Emphysema. His Brother would smoke all day, lighting a fresh fag from the butt of old dog-end, died with Emphysema. My Uncle Wally, another heavy smoker died aged 58.
My Workmate, Bob Morrison, loved a fag. I used to get irritated when we played golf. His fag smoke always seemed to go down my throat all over the course. He'd put his fag down on the grass, hit his ball and stick the fag back in his mouth. He retired from work early because he was very well off, and he wanted to enjoy a long retirement. He was 5 years younger than me at the time, and his retirement consisted of a hospital bed, with lung cancer and the usual oxygen mask. He was crying because he wouldn't see his Grandchildren get married. He is now a little pot of ash, retired.
Little Vic Tibbles was nearly 50 years old when he died of lung cancer.
I'm playing chess with little vic in the Driver's lobby at Victoria. I move my Queen next to his King and call "check". Vic can't take my Queen because she is defended by my Knight. Vic Captures my Queen with his Rook, which I have pretended to not to see, and there are gasps of surprise from the watching Drivers. Vic has his lopsided smile because I have lost my strongest piece. I moved my knight and said "check mate". I see the smile fade from Victor's face, because he can't move his King out of danger. His own Rook traps his King. I have allowed my Queen to be killed so that I could kill his King.
Writing about my old mates now, I can see their faces and little mannerisms. I can see little Vic Tibbles at Victoria, hurrying along the platform, because he has lingered too long in the Driver's lobby, talking. He's got a cup of tea in his hand and he's trying not to spill it. He's driving a boat train to Dover, and he's got to run 14 coaches to reach his cab, and the whistles are blowing. I can still see his lopsided smile and the fag stuck in the corner of his mouth. that image of little victor has never left me. It's the same with all the others. I can hear Ron Cooper saying "I've made the tea George" and salt is stinging my eyes, and it makes it hard to type, and I wish that I hadn't lured Victor into that trap with my Queen , because he wasn't a strong chess player. I could have beaten him easily, but I had to be clever. That was more than 40 years ago, and Victor has lost all those years because of a stinking little fag.
There is one good thing that happened to me because of a fag. I was at a dance, and saw a pretty young girl smoking a fag. She looked about 16 years old and I said to her, "what's a young girl like you smoking a stinking fag for?". after I'd walked away she said to her mate, "who does he think he is?" Well, at the time she didn't know that we were going to marry. That was the best thing that I have ever done, and she's been thanking me ever since for telling her off. She's still got beautiful Platinum silver hair, without any dirty yellow nicotine stains.
To be continued.
I have no interest in older people who have already made their minds up, as to how they intend to conduct their lives and recreation habits, and in any case, it is not my place or intention to lecture these people. If young people read my story, I would like to tell them that it is not only about my past, it is also an indisputable story about their own future if they take up smoking. This also applies to young people who have already started to smoke.
I smoked my first fag at the age of thirteen. I bought five "park drive" fags for two old pence, and bought them because everybody seemed to smoke, and it seemed to be the normal thing to do. Walking through a hop garden at Goudhurst, Kent, I lit up and waited for wonderful things to happen. I remember the funny smell, the dirty smoke, and the heat in my eyes. I felt sad that I had bought five stinking fags instead of a bag of sweets. I chucked the rest of the fags away, and that was 68 years ago.
At 17, I started work at the locomotive shed at Hither Green, and I remember that few Drivers there lived past 70. The first one that I remember was "Darkie" Roberts, only in his 50's from cancer. My own Driver, Bill Ashby died two weeks after he retired, at 65. His son, "Slosh" Ashby, died in his 50's. There were several more, and of course, all smokers.
My next Depot was Orpington, and one day in the Drivers lobby, I made the tea and got my sandwiches out. there was one other Driver in the room, Les Diamond. He bred Corgi dogs, and I bought one of them. He put his cigarette out, and I said to him, "That's alright Les. you can smoke". He said "no, it's not alright while you are eating". Poor Les, a Gentleman, was dead in less than a year. When I visited him in Hospital, he broke down an cried. He said that he didn't know that he had so many friends.
My next Depot was Victoria, and the next one to go was Ron Cooper. We are in the Driver's lobby, and Ron is suffering from a terrible back ache, and we are teasing him unmercifully about his sex life. I remember that, with tears in his eyes, he said "please don't". He was dead in a couple of Months. His insides were full of cancer. A smoker of course, and we collected £200 for his Widow.
Next, Micky Motha, from Sri Lanka. I went with his Wife Sheila, to see him in hospital. He was little more than a skeleton. All he kept saying over and over again was "George, the pain". He was dead in less than a week, a chain smoker of course, and 50 Years old.
The deaths kept coming all the time in my working career, and we would hear about our mates from different Depots, dying from cancer or unable to work because of Emphysema. I can't remember all their names, there were just too many. I should point out that Drivers were like one big family. we mingled in Drivers lobbies all over the Southern Railway. We knew most of each other by name, which is why I know the extent of the killing. we never heard of any of our generation dying of diseases like Flu. etc. It was always cancer or Emphysema, but one Driver did die when he fell off a ladder.
Then I was diagnosed with heart disease, which was a shock to me, because I was only 47 years old, and I am convinced that I was a victim of passive smoking. From the internet, I discovered that there is a chemical in tobacco smoke that effects the liver, in which there is a chemical which controls cholesterol. the poisons in tobacco smoke affect that chemical. now I have to take cholesterol reducing drugs drugs for the rest of my life.
Because I was not allowed to drive trains carrying passengers, I was transferred to Slade Green Depot for carriage shunting. Also there was Eddie Allen. We were cleaning engines together in 1945, firing and driving as the years went by. Eddie had a wonderful sense of dry humour. We were standing on Slade Green station platform, which overlooked a field. In the middle of the field, was a solitary horse. Eddie turned to me and said, "there you are George, I always knew that Slade Green was only a one horse town. What a lovely throw away line.
Eddie was a smoker till he got throat cancer, so it was goodbye Eddie, and he was just about 60 years old. Also at Slade Green with me was Ken Short, who also started with me in 1945. He was taken off the main line because of heart disease and difficulty with walking. He went into hospital to have his leg taken off. As sick visitor for our sick club, I went to see him, and I said, "as sick visitor Ken, I have to make sure that you are not malingering". He saw the joke and we laughed. Some weeks later, they took the other leg off, and he died. Ken carried on smoking right up to the time that he went into hospital. when the leg Arteries get bunged up, the gangrene starts at your toes,
The South- Eastern Drivers meet four times a year for reunions. At Rainham, Ramsgate, Tonbridge and Ashford. Every time we meet, there are more faces missing. Mostly, they are a lot younger than I am. I say, "Is Johnny Wilson here?" (from my old Depot, Victoria). No! dead, got cancer. "Arthur Clingham?" No! dead with lung cancer. "Ronnie Hill?" No! died before he retired. "Ken Hilton?" No! dead with cancer. "Buck Ryan?" No! dead with cancer before he retired.
My Aunt Rose and Uncle Doug both died before they were 70, both with lung cancer. My Cousin Dougie, told me that he wouldn't want to see anybody else die like his Mother did. I found out what he meant when I watched my young Brother David, die. My Wife's Brother Bob, one year younger than me, died wearing an Oxygen mask and lung cancer 11 years ago. My Son-in-law Pat's Mother and Father, both died with Emphysema. Pat's Mother asked my Wife, " how do you keep so healthy?" I would have thought that the answer to that question was obvious.
My Sister Rose's Husband, Eddy, a heavy smoker, died from Emphysema. His Brother would smoke all day, lighting a fresh fag from the butt of old dog-end, died with Emphysema. My Uncle Wally, another heavy smoker died aged 58.
My Workmate, Bob Morrison, loved a fag. I used to get irritated when we played golf. His fag smoke always seemed to go down my throat all over the course. He'd put his fag down on the grass, hit his ball and stick the fag back in his mouth. He retired from work early because he was very well off, and he wanted to enjoy a long retirement. He was 5 years younger than me at the time, and his retirement consisted of a hospital bed, with lung cancer and the usual oxygen mask. He was crying because he wouldn't see his Grandchildren get married. He is now a little pot of ash, retired.
Little Vic Tibbles was nearly 50 years old when he died of lung cancer.
I'm playing chess with little vic in the Driver's lobby at Victoria. I move my Queen next to his King and call "check". Vic can't take my Queen because she is defended by my Knight. Vic Captures my Queen with his Rook, which I have pretended to not to see, and there are gasps of surprise from the watching Drivers. Vic has his lopsided smile because I have lost my strongest piece. I moved my knight and said "check mate". I see the smile fade from Victor's face, because he can't move his King out of danger. His own Rook traps his King. I have allowed my Queen to be killed so that I could kill his King.
Writing about my old mates now, I can see their faces and little mannerisms. I can see little Vic Tibbles at Victoria, hurrying along the platform, because he has lingered too long in the Driver's lobby, talking. He's got a cup of tea in his hand and he's trying not to spill it. He's driving a boat train to Dover, and he's got to run 14 coaches to reach his cab, and the whistles are blowing. I can still see his lopsided smile and the fag stuck in the corner of his mouth. that image of little victor has never left me. It's the same with all the others. I can hear Ron Cooper saying "I've made the tea George" and salt is stinging my eyes, and it makes it hard to type, and I wish that I hadn't lured Victor into that trap with my Queen , because he wasn't a strong chess player. I could have beaten him easily, but I had to be clever. That was more than 40 years ago, and Victor has lost all those years because of a stinking little fag.
There is one good thing that happened to me because of a fag. I was at a dance, and saw a pretty young girl smoking a fag. She looked about 16 years old and I said to her, "what's a young girl like you smoking a stinking fag for?". after I'd walked away she said to her mate, "who does he think he is?" Well, at the time she didn't know that we were going to marry. That was the best thing that I have ever done, and she's been thanking me ever since for telling her off. She's still got beautiful Platinum silver hair, without any dirty yellow nicotine stains.
To be continued.