Keith and I were just eighteen months apart and became confederates for several years. Looking back, we engaged in some rather terrible things ... we were good at scrumping (stealing apples). Now, we'd be regarded as delinquent children. We used to play up in St. George's Hills, which has become an enclave of the rich and famous, and we'd take picnics, of a sort, to carry us through. We'd take, or shop-lift, Wall's pies, bottles of Tizer and walnut cones. We'd build little fires in clearings in the bracken and toast the pies. My obligation became to take Shirley wherever I went and his was to take Alan. It was fun, at first, but soon grew onerous. We thought that they'd not ever grow old enough to go on their own. After I went to Woking school we grew apart. Keith liked the Boy Scouts, then became a Sea Cadet and, thence, enlisted in the Royal Navy. He spent quite a few years there, serving in the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean. He grew a beard and looked like the sailor on the Player's cigarette package. After his discharge from the service he worked at the Post Office and soon married Doreen. She and her family were in the Salvation Army, which Keith also joined. He was a restless and a kind hearted soul. After weeks of severe pain, he finally went to a physician and was then diagnosed as having multiple myelomata. He only lived a short time but did get to see grandchildren, to his joy. Doreen was his greatest source of comfort and love.
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