How it all began
Norway - Freds special place
I often get asked where my interest in antiques and curios all began. My Father, after leaving school, worked in an Auction House for several years, working alongside the legendary British Antiquarian and television personality, Eric Knowles. That might have played a small part, as he told me stories of items and objects that had passed through his hands, and how a high percentage of sales, ended up being sent to the USA.
It all began when I wanted to earn some extra money. I remember having the conversation with my parents with words such as responsibility, saving, and how they both fell for the story. In reality it was more about funding my once a week sweet haul at ‘Mr Bleasdales corner shop’, and my new found hobby, fishing. Fishing was another story - it mainly ended up with me catching a cold, instead of any fish.
So at 11 years of age, I embarked on a six-day-a-week early morning newspaper delivery round. You didn’t see a soul on the streets, and the Summer months were always the best. The Winter months however were tougher, walking rather than riding my bicycle because of the ice and snow. In that hour and a half/two hours, the quietness was bliss, and it almost felt like I was the only person on the planet.
Then one Saturday morning, I met an elderly gentleman who came to the front door of his house, and took his newspaper from my hand. This was when I met Fred. I instantly saw a man who looked weary, frail and tired of life, but still incredibly smart, and intelligent. He introduced himself and told me about his poor health due to throat cancer. As an 11 year old child, I found it difficult to know what to say, or how to respond. He shook my hand, and wished me on my way. This became a regular weekly occurrence each and every Saturday, our brief conversations lasting no longer than 10 minutes. I could see something inside his home that always made me curious - and one day I asked him what it was. He told me it was a dagger, but not an ordinary dagger. He took the dagger off the wall where it was hung, and told me it was a WW2 German Kriegsmarine dress dagger (German Navy), that he had acquired in Norway in 1945 after the German surrender. I was quietly shocked as he passed it to me to look at more closely. I wanted to know more about it but he wasn’t ready to share more details at this time. The following Saturday he brought a photograph album to the door of his time in service in the British Royal Navy, including photographs of ships, places in the world he had visited, and his comrades that he’d served with. Each week the conversation and information he shared went deeper, with dates of battles, many details of which I sadly cannot remember. And the tragic loss of friends, and he would always end his words with ‘Such a waste’.
Those 10 minutes each and every Saturday were so educational and informative. It sparked an interest to learn even more, and I started to read books, or do research to find out more about the snippets of information and stories he had told me. I continued to spread my interest further in Historic events, ranging from Roman History, through to battles throughout the centuries. I often told my Mother and Father about Fred, and his WW2 experiences, and they always wanted to invite him to our home, but he would always politely refuse when I asked, as he was happy living a fairly isolated life within the four walls of his own home. Years later, I could appreciate that he just liked to live a simple life.
The dress dagger, alongside a picture of his comrades, was proudly hung up was no more than war booty, a souvenir you would say. This is common practice throughout the centuries - taking mementos as a keep sake. He spoke a lot about Norway, both of the people and how beautiful the country was, and it felt like it was almost his second home, speaking of it with great fondness. Reflecting back at the photographs he would show me, it was clear he was a well respected man. A man of intelligence, a teacher, and a man to aspire to.
The day my Father came home and gifted me a set of medals that he’d bought for me, I couldn’t wait to tell Fred the news.
However, the weekly Saturday conversations became less frequent, and when I did see Fred, his health was poor. It came to a point when I was told not to deliver his newspaper any longer. I often cycled past his house to catch a glimpse of him, but it was to no avail. Fred was present in my life for just a short amount of time, but I didn’t recognise at that point what a significant impact he would have on me. A gentle, humble, kind man, that I wish I knew so much more about. I often wonder if war had a profound effect on his life. Sadly, as I look back I feel this was true, and that the short time he spent with me each week was a way to impart his experience and wisdom, and also spark my interest in learning more about History, and broader topics than maybe I would have naturally been engaged with. I wish we had 10 minutes more my friend.
Thank you Fred.