Vest, Born with a silver Spoon, "I Think Not"

This Post is in reply to a WU Blogger, who suggests that I  Vest was born holding a silver spoon


This was his Bad-Ass of me.

Anonymous said...
I cant imagine Vest to be what he portrays, an asshole - perhaps a greedy overweight christian hog with pots of shekels - born to wealth and fed with the silver goblet is more to the truth, he is a mockery to poverty and hateful to religions mainly muslims and jews.a big man in his castle torture his many starving servent swhile he eats fine food and wine and beds many women to sate his sexual appitite. A..W U B's.

Tuesday, 29 March 2011 12:26:00

Herewith unfolds the truth.  WGTATF or Memoirs of Vest.

A New Begining.

Little John Spencer, awakened by the call of the rooster in the back

garden, tiptoed across the creaking floorboards to lift the latch of the

leaded window. The bees at the end of the garden were in full flight after

busily taking off one by one upon emerging from the slot at the bottom of

their hive. As he listened, the old rooster repeated his call, which was

echoed by calls from other roosters further a field, bringing the day to

life.

I, little John Spencer, rushed over to my brother and shook him,

saying, .C.mon, we.ve got to get up.. Dressing as we went down the

stairs, we tumbled through the open door and emerged into the sunlight.

.Let.s go!. Christopher cried.

.Now don.t go too far away, and be back for breakfast in half an

hour,. said Mrs Parker.

.Yes, Auntie,. we chorused.

It was a beautiful summer morning in late July 1932. A lightly scented

breeze wafted over the myriad of summer flowers near the cottage. We

hurried down a long path and crossed the road over to .Turners. farm,

where I was subjected to other unfamiliar smells. I saw the brook flowing

over a slippery wooden causeway. Hanging over the brook were bushes

with white marble-sized seeds that looked like small snowballs, which

sheltered the fish in the brook from the sun. As I looked around at that

moment, I could feel only happiness. My six-year-old mind focused on

the tranquillity of my surroundings and said, .This is where I belong. I

never want to leave it. ever..

My elder brother, Christopher and I had arrived here at the village of

Chalgrove in Oxfordshire the day before. We had travelled by train and

bus from London, where our earlier years had been a succession of

uncertainties and disappointments.

16 July 1926 . 21 Homerton Place, Hackney, London E8

There had been no bright stars or claps of thunder to herald my arrival

into this world . only an expression of deep concern from my parents,

2 . Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies

who wondered how they were going to support this new addition to the

family on an already overstretched budget.

John Leonard Spencer, son of Albert George Spencer aged thirtyseven

and Victoria Violet Maude Spencer, nee Stephens, aged twentynine,

was born on the stroke of midnight within the sound of Bow Bells

on this auspicious day. According to London folklore, if .Bow bells could

be heard,. it meant I was a true Cockney. Also, being a Thursday.s child,

.I had far to go,. or If a Friday.s child, loving and giving, a poetic promise

borne out in many generous portions later in life.

1926 was not a good year to enter the world. There was much political

strife, coupled with industrial strikes, job shortages, and a generally

undernourished population. Very few people escaped the deprivations

that continued into the early 1930.s.

I remember little of my first years, although I vaguely remember my

brother, Christopher, who was seventeen months my senior, born on

Christmas day 25 December 1924. I also recall older children dressing me

in a paper suit and the unusual aroma of a confection that sold on the

local streets (which I have never smelled since.) Then there was the barrel

organ, which we knew as a Hurdy Gurdy. A swarthy looking bloke with

a large, red-spotted kerchief tied around his neck and a monkey on his

shoulder sang to the Italian music he played, while the monkey foraged

through the singer.s hair. Occasionally the monkey collected a penny or

two in a tin can. If the tin can rattled at the end of the day, they would

eat.

When I had reached three years of age, my father proudly polished

his medals and buttons and went to summer camp with the Territorials.

When the camp was over, he returned with his fellow East Kent regiment

ex-soldiers (.The Buffs.) to our humble home where one ex-soldier

played the bagpipes. This was a frightening experience for me. No

wonder enemies retreated in disarray after listening to that terrible

sound! Sadly, my father, the late tramway worker and ex-army sergeant,

died as a result of recurring problems from a head wound he received on

the last of his three tours to the battlefront in France during WW1. My

father was only forty years old. My mother provided most of the

information I have regarding my father.

By my brother.s birthday, Christmas day 1929, I was nearly three anda-

half years old. Ruth, our baby sister, born 15 July 1928; was eighteen

months old, and Christopher was five years old

A New Beginning

John Leonard Spencer . 3

1930

After saying goodbye to Granny Stephens, our family went .hop picking.

in Kent for a few weeks in the summer. Travelling to the hop fields in old

Lorries (trucks) was something I thoroughly enjoyed, along with the new

experience of clean, fresh country air and the great smell of the hops! No

wonder men like beer! The vines of the hops reached higher than my

mother.s head. Since I was encouraged to help, I would occasionally pick

the hops lower down.

The facilities at the campsite were very basic. Our sleeping quarters

consisted of clean mattresses filled with straw on wooden bunks. We

brought our own bedding, clothes, and cooking utensils. Children would

fish and swim in the nearby river. The smell of wood fires and cooking

our meals are things I will never forget.

Tough times called for desperate measures. After the winter and

another trip to the hop fields in Kent, my mother decided to stay with

elderly relatives at Folkestone in the county of Kent, who would provide

board and lodging in exchange for household duties. It was very hot on

the day we arrived and the walk into town seemed never ending. My

mother asked a woman at a posh house for water, and the lady was kind

enough to give us a meal as well.

We moved into a house not far from the beach, where the fishing

.boats. were propped up with poles. Most of the time, the fishermen

would give me a bucket of dabs (small flatfish), which we all enjoyed and

kept us on side with the elderly relatives.

Late in 1930, my mother asked me to look out the bedroom window.

She told me I was looking at the Airship R101. Remembering that

spectacular sighting, it saddens me to say that it was the first and only

occasion I would see it, as unfortunately the R101 crashed later in the

same year.

By late 1931, the whole country was in a depression. If food was

available, few could afford it. I was now five years plus. For some

unknown reason, we moved to the town of Dagenham in the county of

Kent near London to live with other Spencer relatives. I vividly recall the

cold winter and going to school for the first time.

I learned later that our mother became enamoured with an already spoken-

for male member of the Dagenham Spencers, which was

probably the reason our family was given our marching orders by an

A New Beginning

4 . Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies

irate female family member. The short stopover at the local workhouse

was as far down the social ladder as anyone could go.

My father.s brother rescued us from this disastrous situation. Uncle

Ted, a bachelor, was a serving member of the army who attained the rank

of captain after rising from the ranks, but unfortunately died in his fifties

from an alcohol-related problem. Our short period of residence with our

paternal grandmother was full of conflict. It was about this time that I

was hospitalised with diphtheria. Statistically, I was one of the few

survivors of this medical ailment.

Life went on until the bubble burst. My mother and relatives decided

it was time we were someone else.s responsibility. So, in early 1932, Saint

Barnado's  Homes, Stepney, London EC1, accepted us.



Want more ? Buy the Book, Click on the Pic , Its Easy........Vest. 

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