I want to take a few moments to mention Malcolm Foster.
Malcolm was a school chum who lived a few doors down the road from where I lived. We used to muck around in the village of Westfield, where we lived.
We went to school together, initially at Westfield’s own primary school, which was just a few minutes’ walk up our road. And then, later, joining the Cooks Coaches’ daily school run to Claverham County Secondary School at Battle.
At the weekends and in school holidays, it was breakfast and out. We would go exploring the countryside for miles around on our bikes. Occasionally, we would ride out to Brede village and its namesake river, with our fishing rods on the hunt for Roach, Perch, and eels. Our parents never knew where we were, and there were no mobile phones back then. No packed lunch, either. We might have scrumped a few apples, and I do remember sitting in a field of Kale chomping down on a few leafy stalks. I dread to think what might have been sprayed on those fields.
My father was the village bobby, and it was normal police practice to change officers’ assignments every couple of years or so. We had moved to Westfield from Lewes, and then sadly, our family had to move away from Westfield.
We didn’t move far, just to Battle. For me, it was just a few minutes’ walk from our new house to Claverham. But it did mean that I didn’t have the daily coach ride with Malcolm, and also, the ripple effect was that there were no after-school or weekend jaunts. So, inevitably, we drifted off into different social groups.
Over the years, we have communicated sporadically, but without the aid of current social media it was difficult.
So, although we didn’t remain close friends, I do have some happy memories.
And, from what I have been reading recently, Malcolm lived a full life with lots of friends.
RIP Malcolm Foster. My thoughts go out to all your friends and family.
WrAnTz 