The great city of Birmingham was very close by and during the bombing of those heavily industrial areas, we would huddle down in my father’s wine-cellar, while Father himself drove out to help the victims of the German raids. Nanny was a tall, dark, thin, very severe woman whom truly I feared. Which was a lot of parents did in those days. I would shriek with delight and run after him as he parked the car in the stables, there to be hugged very briefly, before being handed over to Nanny. He would grin at me and blip the throttle of his Frazer-Nash BMW as he passed through the confined archway. We had servants and I would wait in the archway for my father to come home from visiting his patients. My father was then a prosperous doctor and though my first memories of life must have coincided with World War 2, life for us was still good. My earliest memories of life involved a large house that had a coaching-arch that opened onto a busy street in a Midland English city. ![]() His brief memoir, A Life with Entrances and Exits, is published here for the first time in three chapters, of which the following is the first.Ĭonceived around Christmas 1936, I arrived in this world towards the end of 1937. A LIFE WITH ENTRANCES AND EXITS BY ANTHONY BACONĪnthony Bacon was the pen name of a British Royal Air Force pilot and indomitable lover of boys.
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