My grandfather was Frederick Howes. He was a foreman at Daniel's Nurseries in the mid 1900s following his service in WW1.

He lived in the estate house, known as The Hawthorns. Fortunately, my grandfather had paid fifty pounds to have a bungalow built for himself and my grandmother, Ellen Eliza (née Farrow), because (as was the custom in those days) my grandfather was released from his job a week before his retirement. When he died, my Aunt Lillian moved into 'The Nest' in Melton Road with my grandmother, She had been a nurse during WWII alongside her day job as secretary to a doctor in Norwich. She then became a Personal Assistant and companion to elderly ladies in Chelmsford. She joined the Doctor's Surgery opposite Woolworth's in the 1960s as their receptionist and also had dispensing and equipment sterilisation tasks every day. She married my father at the abbey.

All my mother's family were buried there too. My sister and I spent many weeks each year in Wymondham in the 50s and 60s when it was a very rural place to stay, travelling on our own by coach or train from the very industrial West Bromwich. Where there are now housing estates, we would pick blackberries. During my grandfather's time at Daniel's Nursery he helped in developing a special pippin apple tree, one of which we were recently able to buy from a heritage fruit tree company. The garden at The Nest was our playground filled with flowers attracting butterflies and fruit and vegetables. Good days.

Memories of the Wymondham Trains

Exhausted but excited, I jumped through the carriage door down the metal grid-step of the ten-thirty train from New Street, Birmingham, into the waiting arms of my beloved grandfather, Frederick Howes. My sister thanked the ticket collector who had already received a guinea from my father to ‘keep an eye on us’ for the near-five hour journey. He smiled kindly at this confident twelve year old in front of him.

We strode on up through town, past the Market Cross and Woolworths, beyond our butcher’s, past the old cinema until we reached the uphill end of our trek to Nanna’s in Melton Road. ‘The Nest’ was my childhood respite.

Despite my occasional angry outbursts, there was never any harsh word or punishment of time alone in my bedroom here. Rather, my grandmother lovingly cooked us three meals a day as at home and there would be outings by coach to Great Yarmouth, Hunstanton or Blakeney to see the seals from a boat, often accompanied by my wonderful Auntie Lil.

Many weeks later, my mum and dad would arrive to take us home to West Bromwich in the Rover, but all I could see for now were glorious days stretching ahead that felt like freedom.