FROM CANNING TOWN

TO

LONDON TOWN
 ONE INTRODUCTION

During a recent visit to the London offices of Appraisal and Valuation Consultants Ltd (AVC), I was
introduced to young graduate who had recently joined to the Company; because I had been associated
with AVC in its various forms for many years, I was asked by the current MD to give the newcomer a brief
outline of the activities of the company and the history of its evolution. The young man appeared to be
genuinely interested in my narrative, especially as to the methodology used to carry out our business
without the use of modern technology. The most significant question was: “how did you manage without
computers? At the end of our meeting his final remark was: “… you should write a book about it.” I gave
this remark some serious thought, and decided to “have a go”.

I have been gainfully employed for more than six decades during that period have worked in numerous
industrial and commercial establishments, and have witnessed, at close quarters, both in the decline of
many of the old traditional industries and the evolution of some of the new ones. That period probably saw
the most significant change in working practices in the history of mankind, even surpassing the Industrial
Revolution. The Industrial Revolution increased the speed and quality of production; it also generated
many new skills in addition to enhancing the abilities of the old craftsmen. In contrast, although improving
production in quantity, quality and accuracy, the new “Digital Revolution” had the effect of making many
of the old skills redundant and in some cases lost forever.

I therefore decided to put together, in chronological order, my memoirs from an odd-job Canning Town
boy, to a “suited and booted” white collar consultant in the City of London.

THE EARLY DAYS 1940 to 1944

I was born on the fifteenth of June 1940, the son of Frederick Robert Bartley and Jane Lily Bartley, nee
Guyton; they were usually known as “Fred” and “Jinny”. The Bartley name can be traced back to Daniel
Bartley who was born in Ireland circa 1800, and the Guyton line to John Gyton who was mentioned in a
document in 1755. Tracing my family tree back five generations, I discovered that out of my thirty two
ascendants; fourteen came from Norfolk, eight from Essex, four from Ireland, four from Hampshire and
two from Bristol.
See my Family tree.

My place of birth was 51 Cundy Road in the County Borough of West Ham it was a moderate mid-terrace
house; Mum, Dad and sister Shirley lived downstairs while Dad’s eldest brother Thomas “Tom” occupied
the upstairs with his wife Aunt Ann and their two sons Tommy and John.
We all lived there for a short while until the end of the “phoney war” in the autumn of 1940. This was not
a particularly healthy spot to be in when the Luftwaffe commenced bombing the London’s docks. We were
well in range of the near misses aimed at the Royal Docks, and one of the first bombs to fall to the east of
London destroyed several houses in Cundy Road, killing at least seventeen people. We were evacuated to
Burton-Upon-Trent in Staffordshire until the worst of the bombing was over.

I was obviously too young to remember much about this chapter in my life but cousin John has filled me in
with some of the details. When the bombing started attempts were made to remove all families with young
children out of harm’s way. John and his family were in the hop fields of Kent when they were contacted
and told not to go home but to travel to Burton-upon-Trent (Burton). They must have returned home for a
short while because our two families travelled together. Aunt Ann managed to assemble a large box full of
food and drink for the journey and we all boarded a train for Birmingham. The train journey was pretty
horrendous and took about sixteen hours to get to its destination. Aunt Ann’s box of provisions “went
missing” and no refreshments were provided during the whole journey, not even drinking water. When
the train pulled into a siding for coal and water many people took to drinking the water intended for the
steam boiler. When the train arrived at Birmingham we were taken to a disused “Lunatic Asylum” and
provided with a hot meal and a bed for the night. It must have been pretty traumatic for Mum and Dad
with a four year old daughter and three month old baby boy. I believe I had a bed made up in an old
suitcase!

The following day the train continued to Burton where the passengers were found “billets”. We were
“taken in” by two families: Mr and Mrs Wilson and Mr and Mrs Cardwell. They truly were wonderful
people who treated us like family and became life-long friends. Mr “Charlie” was a real character: he was
the local butcher and although he had one artificial leg, he rode a bicycle to work every day.
After a few weeks the men folk were ordered back to London, but fortunately Dad and Nunkie managed to
get jobs in Burton and came back.

My father was not eligible for military service, but he “did his bit” in other ways. He was an ARP warden
and, became a member of the British Red Cross. Towards the end of the war he was involved in the
construction of the Mulberry Harbours **mh. He never spoke about it to me in any detail, but one of my
Aunts said he had a responsible supervisory position. She also stated that he was instrumental in obtaining
equal pay for military serviceman conscripted as extra labourers on the project, who at first were paid their
basic army pay which was much less than the “civy” workers.

When he joined us in Burton he managed to get a job in the local railway shunting yard. Fortunately they
did not discover he was red/green colour blind and he had to commit to memory which signals were stop
or go. After the war he remained involved in Civil Defence and, probably due to his medical knowledge, he
became a member of the National Hospital Service at the start of the “Cold War”.

During our stay in “Burton” we made some very good friends and kept in touch with reciprocal visits
until, due to the passing years, my parents and their Staffordshire friends found it difficult to travel.

When we returned to West Ham there was a scene of utter devastation and I believe our old house in
Cundy Road was totally destroyed. My maternal grandmother “nannie” Guyton had moved away from the
“Blitz” to stay with her son uncle George; when she returned to West Ham she moved in to No20
Lansdowne Road, which was unoccupied. That was common practice at that time, that is, not bothering to
find out who the landlord was until after settling-in. When we returned we simply moved in with her; we
had the downstairs and she had the upstairs

There was a second but shorter period of evacuation in 1944 when the V1 flying bombs or Doodle Bugs,
and the V2 rockets arrived. We were moved to some barrack type huts in Broxbourne, Hertfordshire with
my Aunt Minnie who was the wife of my mother’s brother Uncle Alf, and several of my cousins. For me
this was a very pleasant interlude. No school and beautiful weather.

There was one incident that has been told and retold, and probably embellished over the years. I was
walking back to the barracks with my cousin “Lenny” when we were aware that all the residents were
shouting and waving at us; the reason being that we appeared to be in the flight path of a V1 flying bomb.
This apparently passed overhead, landing in a distant field, without exploding. We returned to Lansdowne
Road when the threat from the V-weapons was over.
I was only five years old when the war ended so I do not have many memories of that period. However I
do have some misty pictures in my mind of some trivial incidents for example: walking home with my
parents in the dark, hearing the distant drone of an aircraft and seeing searchlights searching for it; sitting
in our “Anderson” shelter in the back yard and hearing an aircraft flying very low overhead and being
reassured by dad that it was “one of ours”. I do however have some more vivid recollections towards the
end of the war. I was playing cards with Nannie in her upstairs room when suddenly the house shook and
plaster fell from the ceiling, followed a few seconds later with a load explosion. We both dived under the
kitchen table! I assume that it was a V2 rocket which fell on Tidal Basin Station. I also remember watching
the nightly event of a convoy of Pickford lorries, pulling mysterious trailers, parking up on the Silvertown
Way. I now realise that they were most likely smoke generators used to hide the Mulberry Harbour
construction yards from enemy reconnaissance aircraft. My final recollections came after VE day and
watching the Victory parades and attending a large victory street party.

We eventually returned to Lansdowne Road and remained there living with my mother’s mother “Nanny”
Guyton. My brother Terry came along in 1949 and the six of us remained there until the floods of 1953,
when the house was “condemned”. We were then moved to a council maisonette in Plymouth Road. A
maisonette in those days was defined as a four storey building comprising two, two storey units, one above
the other and not “half a house” as in today’s estate agents’ parlance. I have a vivid recollection of the
moving day. We had lost many possessions to water damage and most of the remaining household goods
were well past their sell by date. We probably received a grant from the council so Mum and Dad took the
opportunity for a fresh start and fitted out the new place with brand new furnishings and fittings. Our few
remaining possessions were loaded on a hand-cart borrowed from the Boy Scouts which, with the aid of a
friend, I was ordered to push the mile or so to the new Chez Bartley. I was not, however, trusted with the
prize possession, our twelve inch G.E.C. television which Dad carried on foot.

Nannie Guyton was given a small one bedroom place in Rokeby Street, Stratford. After a year or so she was
taken ill, and came to live with us. Shortly after the move, surprise, surprise, she made a remarkable
recovery. We were then deemed to be overcrowded and the outcome was that we were relocated to a four-
bedroom corner house in Bridgeland Road, Custom House (now known as Mandela Street).

There we remained until we three children married and moved on, Nannie died and Mum and Dad moved
to a one bedroom flat in Prince Regents Lane.