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Chapter's From Mike Charnaud's Post War Story
Post War Chapter 1 Post War Chapter 2 Post War Chapter 3 Post War Chapter 4 Post War Chapter 5 Post War Chapter 6 Post War Chapter 7 Post War Chapter 8 Post War Chapter 9 Post War Chapter 10 Post War Chapter 11 Post War Chapter 12 Post War Chapter 13 Post War Chapter 14 Post War Chapter 15 Post War Chapter 16 Post War Chapter 17 Post War Chapter 18 Post War Chapter 19 Post War Chapter 20 Post War Chapter 21 Post War Chapter 22 Post War Chapter 23 Post War Chapter 24

Post war ...2
Bradfield College May 1946

crumbling stone walls pointed forlornly open to the sky.  The chateau near Creuilly where I stayed, was about a mile inland from Courselles where the British  and Canadians had landed without too much opposition on the first day of the D day landings. It soon became the headquarters of General  Dempsey who was in command of the Canadians and British  when they established their Bridgehead in the area. The beaches were wide  and  gently shallow and slowly shelving into the sea, which of course was a key factor in allowing the amphibious  landings to take place with relative ease. Further up the Normandy coast  at Arromanches were the remains of the “Mulberry Harbour” that had been created on the open coast to supply the advancing armies. A breakwater had been made of sunken ships in two long lines stretching out from the coast, and the vessels still lay as a reminder  of the vital part that it played before the established ports of Cherbourg and Le Harve were captured. There were still half sunk and battered remains of the pontoon wharves, and of course we all readily remembered that “Arromanches” was the outlet for “PLUTO”  (pipe-line - under-the ocean) through which fuel was pumped direct from Southampton under the channel to France to speed the thousands of vehicles on their way into action against the German army.  On the rolling downland countryside amid the fields of corn everywhere were wrecked tanks armoured cars etc. and bombed craters to remind one again of the violent actions that had taken place.  But already monumants such as “Eros - in -Normandy” had been erected as a tribute to the heroism of the Parachute regiment  in making the first landings that had opened the Second Front. Again I did not learn much French but had a marvellous time with a whole gang of  French boys and girls all of whom loved sailing, laughing, drinking Calvados, smoking and petting each other in the evenings! 
One afternoon whilst up a tree with my French friend that September Madame rushed out with a telegram from England to give me my Matriculation results. Two  distinctions in History and Geography, six credits and one pass in French!  I was thrilled.   I had through TB the and being a Prisoner of War lost over 5 years of school education, and now after 2 years solid work, I had caught up and could look forward to a future equal to my contemporaries.
I went back to Bradfield for another year and had to decide  what to do in my career. I had a obsessive fear of being stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life. I loved the open life, the countryside, the wild life of the woods hedgerows and jungles fascinated me. Also from my very earliest days as a child at Luckyland I had an empathy and awareness of plants and the fascination of growing things. I decided then that I would combine all these loves into having a career in horticulture, and with the help of my Father and an introduction from his friend Dr. Eden of the Tea Research Institute, I applied and was accepted for Wye College, but then shortly after I reapplied for Reading University as I felt the University with its broader range of faculties would be more interesting. Again I was accepted and so at the end of the summer term I finally said my goodbyes and left  Bradfield. My final report from the school had all the normal commendations from all the various  house and form masters that one would expect. However the Headmaster Mr Hill who had previously been a housemaster at Eton wrote:
“ In thirty years of schoolmastering this is the most  remarkably mature boy that I have ever come across. No doubt this is due to the extraordinary war experiences that he has undergone, but whilst  he has been here through hard work he  has made up for lost time. I wish him well and every success in future.”
 In the  early spring of 1949 Mother returned from Ceylon for good.  Father’s liaison with Lilian which had  forever been dormant re-opened and so she finally decided to come to make her home in England in peace and away from family traumas. Helen had gone out for three months to help her pack up, and again with her there were endless irritations and scenes. They arrived in February 1949 and took a flat in Wetherby Gardens on the fourth floor. Amongst the other inmates was Anne Gibbon a little older than me whose father was a next door neighbour in Ceylon on the adjoining estate. There were also two amusing brothers who were officially clock repairers, but in fact were fences and involved in all sorts of dubious dealings. There were always frequent visits from the police, but it all made for an interesting environment. Helen though was difficult and would not help Mother lug the coal up the four flights of stairs as she complained of a slipped disc, which then was the fashionable illness. But it was from here a few months later that Mother was able to realise her dreams and buy a comfortable large five bedroom Edwardian house at Buxted, Sussex and 3 1/2 acres of land for £5,500. Orchard House was a dream come true. It was lovely and sunny and bright, on a hillside facing south. It was to be our home for the next 12 years, a final  quiet place of refuge from all the things we as a family did all over the world. A nest and a home for my adolescent courting, above all a place of peace where I could read, contemplate and think. I always look back fondly on that lovely spacious home, its bedrooms with their glazed chintz floral curtains seemed always bathed in perpetual sunshine, and Mother  would forever be sitting doing her embroideries in the sunny bay window of the sitting room.

                        “A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a  sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing”
(Keats)
To start with the house needed a lot of redecoration, and Helen and Mother set to  clean and “distemper” the walls themselves a pale cream throughout. Our  paintings and embroideries, Ceylon Dutch chests, Turkish rugs and carpets, were the basis of the furniture, and Mother would visit auctions in Uckfield to gradually build up a collection of antiques. Slowly I would see everything take shape, the garden improved, and a beautiful peaceful home created to give me that essence of stability that over most of my life that I had lacked.

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