Knockando 1887-1955

After an absence in London of 54 years I made up my mind to revisit Knockando and, one fine morning, I alighted from the Bus at the end of the Bruntlands Road. I at once observed that the lovely Plantation of trees which formerly adorned the roadside here and extended towards the East Mains had vanished, swallowed up no doubt by the ravages of war. The District has certainly not been enhanced by their disappearance. I passed the Bruntlands Farm, which in my schooldays was farmed by the MacGowan family, whose sons Robert and James were respectively well known Auctioneers at Elgin and Craigellachie. James (along with Moir of the Haugh) lost his life in a ferry disaster at Aberdeen about 1896 but Robert’s son still carried on Business at Cumming St., Elgin, and so follows in his father’s footsteps. I then pass the Croft of Loanhead (Ross of the Loan then) and arrive at my Birthplace the Mannoch Cottage where my father was Gamekeeper for several years. I gaze at the wee house now rather decayed and forlorn looking and recall the lines, “I remember, I remember, the house where I was born, the little window where the sun came peeping in at morn.”

I retrace my steps toward the old Smiddy at Crofthead passing in turn, Cardockhead, Gateside and the Old Police Station from which old Bob Munro kept watch and wait on that part of the Parish. At Cardockhead lived the Dow family - Peter was Headmaster for years at the Elgin West End School while James, an ex Sergeant of Royal Marines, was employed as Head Stillman at Cardow, both now sleeping peacefully in the Old Churchyard of Knockando. I look in at the Smiddy but, alas, neither Jamie Stuart nor his son Willie are anylonger to be seen, but the old fireplace and anvil where we school bairns watched the sparks fly are still to the fore, but the smell of the singeing hooves of farm horses is conspicuous by its absence at least it was while I was there. Next door the Shoppie is still to be seen. Old Jessie Smith was the proprietor in my school days and we occasionally spent our Bawbees on sticks of “Long John” or Barley Sugar, especially if we had to wait for Jamie Stuart to singe a Sheep’s head for my mother, which he was good enough to do on rare occasions. I make a call at Woodend Cottage -formerly the residence of old George White, Gauger at Cardow and an enthusiastic angler when he had the opportunity - I went to see Charlie Milne who now occupies it but was formerly farmer at the Borlum. Charlie is nearing his Century but recognised me and we had a good long crack before I set out for the School and Church via Cardow Distillery.

How this Distillery has grown and the various cottages surrounding makes it quite a township. This Distillery originated in the Farm Steading of Cardow Farm where whisky was distilled by one Lewis Cumming who also tenanted the farm. About the year 1888, I heard him tell my father - who had asked him to go shooting with him - that he was far too busy having received a big order from London of two Hogsheads of whisky and he must organise their despatch to Carron Station by Cart. How entirely different now when motorlorries daily make several journeys to Knockando Station and the hogsheads are counted in dozens I imagine. Mrs Lewis Cumming was an astute and dear old lady and once, when I called with a present of Game from the Shooting tenant of Knockando House, she invited me in in these words:-
“Comeawa in Laddy and hae a piece yer teeth are still langer than yer beard”.

I proceed past the old “Windmill Cottage” the home of the Younie family, the windmill being used for the motive power for the Carpenter’s shop adjoining. Alas the Cottage is now derelict and the windmill no more. Many a half hour - on the way home from school - I put in with Lewis Younie in his workshop and on Brose and Bannock Day his mother and sister made us bairns welcome as it was always our first house of call. It was hereabouts also that we were wont to meet Peter the Postie (Peter McDonald) on his daily return journey, on foot, between Upper Knockando Post Office and Craigellachie. How many miles Peter walked during his years of Official Employment I cannot hazard a guess but it must have been a very great many. In Winter and in Summer he seldom ever missed his journey but conscientiously performed his daily task with good spirits and lived to a good old age. His epitaph might well have read: “Well done good and faithful servant" for such he was and ever bright and cheerful.

We also ran across Old Peter Bremner the retired Blacksmith from Crofthead - near Cardow where he went on various daily journeys for “Burnt Ale” for his Coo andStirks. He carried the Ale in two pails suspended from a wooden shoulder brace and the quantity of ale in the pails was a good indication of the amount of whisky Peter had imbibed at theBrewer’s Office at Cardow. If the buckets were full, Peter was comparatively, sober but if they were empty thenPeter was “fou” or nearly so and in this condition displayed his temper to us schoolboys who were wont to rag him. Peter was a good exponent of threshing grain by hand and we enjoyed looking in at the barn door of his Croft on our way home from School to see him use the “Flail” to great advantage. I fear we often hoped (just to hear his remarks) he would hit himself with the loose arm of the flail but so dexterous was old Peter that there was little opportunity of this happening or our wish being gratified and Peter, maybe anticipating our thoughts, finished his job with a sly grin and chuckle. This was the only occasion I ever saw this relic of the old times - beating out the grain - practised in the North East of Scotland.

I pay a visit to my old school which in my time was designated the “Big School” the other presided over by a female teacher (Miss Cameron) in the early school days was called the “Little School” and was situated on the Roadside near the Cardow Farm Cottages on the Knockando Main Road. When you reached the 3rd Standard you went up to the “Big School”. The Headmaster then was Charles Watt M.A., a very fine teacher who was painstaking with any scholar who showed the necessary promise and who got every opportunity from Mr Watt of making good. There has been various alterations to the old school but much of the exterior is as it was when I left for London in 1900. Only the fine Hedgerow , round which we played Chioy-Chase, I see has disappeared and a new school building has sprung up in the Manse field opposite.

I cross over to the Parish Church and Burial Ground a little way beyond the School. This is the New Church, built about the year 1906. The old Church was of different construction : the steps leading to the Galleries being built on the outside of the Church, and at either end, and the Church Bell was rung by the Bellman (WillieTaylor) who stood outside the Northern Gable exposed to all weathers but in a good position to pass the time of day with those who were entering for the Service. There were two Willie Taylors in the Parish. Willie the Bellman and Gravedigger, and Willie Mole, the Hangman or Mole catcher, a noted worthy who ended his eventful life at or near Blackhillock about 1911. He had had a varied career, perhaps somewhat chequered at times. He was at one time a coachman about Balmoral Castle in the reign of Queen Victoria but when I knew him was earning his living as a Mole catcher with occasional spells as a Ghillie at Knockando House when the Shooting Season was on. He was a man of intelligence who had a rather high pitched voice and somewhat given to drinking not wisely but too well. His favourite expression when in his cups and on his way home was: - “STEADY THE BOAT NOO WILLIE. I was in his good books as I had, when in London, rescued for him a consignment of mole skins from a rather unscrupulous Jewish Furrier and got him his cheque, so I was a fine Bobby in Willie’s esteem. Poor Willie was found on the Archiestown Road early one frosty morning with his faithful spaniel dead by his side. He was removed to his home but died of pneumonia soon after. So ended the varied career of a well kent and well liked man who had apparently lived a carefree life and many sided one and only the intemperate abuse of whisky had shortened it. A not unusual type of person even in these days.

In the Parish Churchyard, where several member of my family are sleeping, I observe many memorials to weel kent faces and the Churchyard - both the old and the newground - is still well kept and tended as it always was by Willie Bellman when I attended Divine Worship there from the years 1889 - 1900. As I look over the Churchyard Wall I see far below me the Knockando Wool Mill still in the hands of the Smith family and famous for its Blankets and Tweeds. James was our church organist for many years and Emma his wife - still alive and quite wonderful for 84 - was a regular member of the Choir. She now manages the business with great success and astuteness.

Charlie Brodie’s cottage lies just below the Kirk. Charlie used to be the Tailor who fitted us up with any alterations or repair to our garments when they were passed down to the young members of the family. His grandson John was the Lord Provost of Elgin for several years. As I leave the Churchyard I note the two old Scandinavian Tomb Stones - taken from an old Norse Graveyard near “Pool brenon” Millhaugh - are still to be seen set into the Churchyard Wall. They are relics of Centuries ago and deserve preserving for their very antiquity and as a reminder of the various activities of the Danes on the shores of our Country and elsewhere.

I take the nearcut from the Kirk to the main road below and look down on the old Meal Mill at Millhow, then tenanted by old Lachlan Robertson assisted by his son young Lachlan. Lachlan senior was a keen old fisherman and I can still in my mind see him, old George White the Gauger of Cardow and my father refreshing themselves at the Spring at Speyside near the pool called the “Sliach” when whisky was still cheap and good and some times easily got. My memory of young Lachlan is his splendid well groomed beard and his powerful bass voice in the Choir on Sundays. He was also an ardent “Volunteer” in the Seaforths, a regular attender at the yearly Camp Gathering and Exercises in various places, Stobs, Gordon Castle etc.

Seasonally, we sent our corn from Millhaugh here to be ground into oatmeal. It was here also that my mother got her “Prone” to cook her favourite dish of “Sowans” which according to her possessed all the virtues to make a clean and healthy body. At any rate it was clean, cheap and wholesome, containing none of the preservatives associated with some of the present articles of diet which try the stomach more than somewhat. I called in at the Margach Hall, gifted to the people of Knockando by the late Peter Margach of Gracemount, Carpenter, Agricultural Merchant and also Inspector of Poor for the Parish. In addition to his store at Gracemount he had a depot at Carron Station as Knockando Station was not then in existence and I used to go down there from Millhaugh with my father’s pony and cart for food for his Sporting Dogs as we kept about 20 to 30 dogs then for the Shooting Tenant before Grouse Driving came to be the method adopted for Grouse Shooting on a big scale. The Hall is a very nice building, vested in Trustees, with Stage Hall and other Amenities and it no doubt is a boon to the Parishioners for gatherings such as Concerts, Meetings etc. and supplied, when opened, a long-felt want in the District. I commend it as a memorial to the Living as well as to the dead man, who had the interests of his fellow Parishioners so much at heart.

Opposite the Hall is Woodbine Cottage and Carpenter’s Shop where Old Sandy Innes, who had served his apprenticeship at Gracemount with Peter Margach carried on business for a great number of years and behind Woodbine Cottage was the Blacksmith’s Shop and Forge then owned by Mr Peter Stephen. This shop was, in those days, the scene of much activity in farm implements and horse showing as it served a great part of Upper Knockando. It is however now derelict and the business closed down as the result of the death or departure of the Stephen Family.

The small row of Cottages in the braeface, locally known as the “Poor Houses”, have now been demolished and will no doubt in time make way for some more up to date Agricultural Cottages to serve the farms around this part of the Parish. I now pass on to the Upper Knockando Post Office and General Merchants Shop, now in the hands of Miss Lizzie McDonald, but in my time owned by Tom Beaton, Postmaster, General Merchant, Watch Repairer, Violinist and a Store to boot. I remember Tom quite well. He possessed a very even temperament and very little ever troubled Tom even the process of Watch Repairing. When the owners of watches left for overhaul got impatient at the long delay this did not disturb Tom in the least or cause him any concern as indeed did the ordinary routine of life. He was once the owner of a large St Bernard Dog and when asked why he kept such an animal replied that it was to keep some of his bad paying customers away but whether this animal could differentiate between the bad and good customer is rather doubtful so there seemed little merit in his reasoning.

My journey is at an end and the Bus is ready to return to Rothes, but I shall be back again one day to resume my meanderings in another part of the Parish and until then Good Bye Upper Knockando.

Well, here I am again, on the Bus and bound for another jaunt round the Parish in another airt. I alight at the Cardow Cross Roads where I well remember Roddy Jock who used to work here breaking up stones for road repair. His stock in trade consisting of 1 short heavy hammer for cleaving the heavy stones: one slenderlong-handled hammer for reducing the broken stones to the desired size: one pair of wire gauge goggles and a large shovel. We marvelled at Jock’s dexterity but learned that the knack was to find the line of cleavage - whatever that may be - and the hammer would do the rest, provided of course you had the patience of Job and the Arms of Samson and emitted the Roadman’s grunt as you applied the hammer head to the Stone.

I call on an old School fellow, Sandy Allan, farmer of the Cardnach whose father Sandy senior used to farm Dalbeallie just beyond the Cardnach. Old Sandy Allan was a noted competitor in the Go-as-you-Please Horse Riding Competitions at the various Cattle Shows at Craigellachie, Elgin, Keith etc. and his vociferous remarks made to his horse when careering round the Racing Track gained Sandy no small notoriety. He was however a bluff and kind hearted man who was popular and well liked in the district, a rough diamond maybe but with all his rough exterior he was at heart a good neighbour.

In my youth the farm of the Cardnach was in the occupation of Sandy (of the Cardnach) McDonald who before the advent of a musical instrument in our Church was the Precentor there, the Revd Thos Pirie being the Minister then. The latter was a real typical Parish Minister, an excellent preacher and one who had a dignity and personality about him when out of the pulpit which contributed greatly to the respect and esteem in which he was held by his Parishioners. Sandy’s favourite song at our local Concerts held in the Schoolroom was one of many verses the chorus going as follows:
“Oh love, love, love yer fickle and yer cruel,
Yer no the thing to feed upon, yer waur than Water Gruel”.

Sandy was a good stalwart of the Auld Kirk, a good farmer and friend but like many more of my youthful acquaintances is now at rest in the Kirkyard where he was so well accustomed to fore-gather on the Lord’s Day to lead his choir in divine praise. The Cardnach Wood, although somewhat less dense than formerly, still remains and shows off the neighbourhood to much advantage. I pass the West and East Mains, the latter tenanted by one John Smith, better known to us all as John “Moses”. This nickname he got as a result of his own creation. He, while tenant of the Leakin Farm, at the Hill Foot, was greeted by a friend in the Feeing Market at Aberlour with the query, "Hullo John, how are ye doing at the Leakin," to which John replied, “Oh just like Moses in the Wilderness” and Moses it was ever after. Now we come to the Knockando House at one time the residence of the Lairds Grant which has their Coat of Arms emblazoned over the front door and where my father was Head keeper for over 30 years, our Home and the Dog Kennels being at Millhaugh in the Spey valley near the Railway Siding. Two curious buildings near Knockando House are brought to my mind, the first the large “Doo Cot” built in a field by the House, the top portion being the home of lots of pigeons with nest boxes and an outlet to flight complete, while the lower portion was used as a shelter in bad weather for the Hill Ponies who generally grazed outside in the surrounding fields. The second building referred to was a “salmon and trout” larder cut into the steep bank just beyond the Doo Cot, the walls and floor being laidwith slate stones, this was their idea in those days of our refrigerators of the present period and as necessity is the Mother of Invention was quite a good substitute for that for which it was intended. I have a desire to pay a visit to the “Bucks bush” so I proceed to the Ford across the burn near Millhaugh where I find the old twisted and gnarled Alder tree is still there, with the supposed impress of the Bucks feet in its trunk near the ground level. Briefly the story of the Bucks Bush is as follows:-

A farm servant nicknamed the “Buck” hid in this tree and waylaid his rival as the latter was on his way home from seeing his - TheBuck’s - sweetheart at Ballintomb Farm. The Buck sprang out on him and after a heated quarrel stabbed him nearly to death. The Buck then took to the hills to prevent capture and hid at a large stone on the Hill of Slackmore some distance from the Clune Lodge. He was however spied upon and subsequently chased by a Police Constable from there to near Forres where he was arrested by the Constable who afterwards received his Sergeant’s stripes for this gallant capture, he having divested himself of his boots and by doing so had badly lacerated both his feet. The Buck, it is said, was tried and deported or banished from the Country. I learned all this mostly from my father who always maintained that the impress on the tree trunk was the result of people putting their feet on the tree trunk which seems the reasonable explanation of this happening.

I then walk over the wooden footbridge and through the woods to the small township of “Dalmunack” which in 1900 consisted of about twelve or more houses each with a small bit of land attached thereto. In the first lived one Sailor Jack, a Railway Surfaceman who had served some years in the Royal Navy. Poor Jack was killed by a Goods Train near the Knockando Siding about 1906 and it was the sad experience of my father to find his body and report the circumstances to Police Constable Bob Munro then at Archiestown. Another old inhabitant of Dalmunack at that time was old John McDonald an ex Blacksmith and reputed Inventor of sorts, but I never learned what he was supposed to invent, if anything. He was the oldest inhabitant of our Parish at this time and is reputed for having walked to our Church and back, a distance of 8 miles, on his 92nd birthday, a wonderful feat for a man of his years. Close to June Cruickshank’s cottage stands the old holly tree where we always got our Christmas Holly, as it had very fine red berries which were hard to come by elsewhere. I pass the Imperial Distillery built about 1897 and can remember that numbers of bricklayers were imported from England to build it. It was a magnificent building but, as a Highland Distillery, was a failure at that time, at least that was what I understood. I have now reached my destination at least on this journey, I mean Carron.

Carron, roundabout 1887, consisted of a Railway Station with loading bank, a Saw Mill, an Agriculture Store, one small general shop and a few houses, quite a smallplace. The Railway Station was built many years before Knockando Station and therefore served the community between Carron and Blacksboat - practically the whole of the Parish. It was here that the people gathered after the last train - about 7pm - had departed for Grantown to receive any parcels, papers or mail which were handed out by the Station Master, Tom McKenzie, as there was no post office at Carron in these days. The Railway Station was also used as the means of getting the Doctor from Aberlour to urgent cases in the Knockando District as no telephone lines then existed. How different now with the advent of the telephone and motor car at the disposal of the Doctor or Nurse at any time surely in this direction at any rate we have made great strides in the interests of suffering humanity.

Our first lessons in Dancing was undertaken at the house of Waters the Forester at Carron, near where the school now stands, our Dancing Master being old Adam Myron from Archiestown. There, for the lordly sum of 3d per night, we learned the steps of the various dances then in vogue, but sadly out of fashion in these days I fear. I can still see Adam with his violin tucked under his chin moving about among the dancers diddling as he went such phrases as: “Down the middle, down the middle Mary Ann, Mary Ann, turn roon and posset noo if ye can,if ye can” - or - “Lassie wi the red frock haud ower a bit, haud ower abit”. The session finished up with a Grand Dance for which we paid sixpence and at which Adam generally was “fou”. But there he was all dressed up in his dress suit, with red silk handkerchief tucked into his white collar, fiddling and diddling away as happy as a young loon and enjoying himself as well as any of us. Yes these were the carefree days and what a little pleasure we were content with then as compared with our latter years of life. We were quite happy to walk from Millhaugh to Archiestown, even in the dead of winter to a Plooman’s Ball or Oddfellows Conversatione in the Drill Hall just for the pleasure of a social evening or dance.

Well I am on the train bound for Rothes but must undertake another jaunt one day from the UpperPost Office to the Clune Lodge and, if fit, over the Slackmore Hill to Clashindarroch and on to Callie Brig. Until then, adieu Knockando.

I decide at the last minute not to make the attempt on the long journey to the Clune by way of Milton, Strondow etc., but take the short cut and proceed up the burn side to Lynnahuron, once tenanted by old Willie Black, and so on to Tomnaherry. I have a look here for the two mineral springs - one iron or chalabeate water, the other a sulphur water - but as I cannot spend much time, I abandon my search and skirt the hill by May Riach’s old abode, Mount Carron, then make a bee line over the peat mosses to the outskirts of the Clune Wood, cross the burn and arrive at the Clune Lodge. What memories the old place has for me. Here we gathered to make a start for the Moors and the Grouse Driving or the more social Farmers Annual Hare-Hunt. The latter was an interesting event and deserves its special word in passing - A day among the Blue Mountain Hares (white in winter) was given each autumn when the grouse shooting was over, to the Farmers and a few Friends by the Tenant of Knockando House who also provided them with a snack lunch and 6 bottles of whisky. The invitations and arrangements were in my father’s hands, while the lunch was left to my mother to make up and pack in the game bags. The mustering place was the Clune Lodge. The first party of guns accompanied by my father proceeded to the high ground near Cairn Kitty via Loch Cowlett and were there posted to await the arrival of the hares which were driven on by the second lot of Shooters, operating from the Clune. When the two parties met with their bags, they then adjourned for lunch to the Lossie Spring - Source of the River Lossie- where they partook of hefty sandwiches washed down with copious portions of grog. Tales were told and experiences recounted. The entire party then got into one formation and began their drive back to the Clune Lodge or near it, where, upon arrival, tea was provided by Mrs Christie the Under Keeper’s wife, the last of the whisky consumed, the empty bottles thrown in the air and shotdown by the more exhilarated of the party, the spoils of the Hunt distributed among those present and a move made for home. So ends an enjoyable day on the Hills which did much to cement good relations between the Shooting Tenant of Knockando House and the Farmers and Friends, as well as being a diplomatic way of serving to prevent poaching.

Loch Cowlett,previously mentioned, is a small hill loch set in very pretty surroundings and I can recall an attempt made to stock it with trout about 1897. The Loch Leven trout arrived at Carron Station and was met there by my father who had the water in their containers replenished. They were taken on to the Clune, fresh water being added at a spring near Brackenhowes and from the burn at the bridge where the Clune Burn joins the Knockando Burn and finally at the Clune. Notwithstanding, many of the yearling trout died en route but the remainder were duly released into the Loch but with what success I cannot say further than at some time after this, I saw my father catch two trout there on the fly so I assume they survived all right after their rather eventful journey north.

I now cross the Hill of Clune to the farm of Clashindarroch stopping en route at the Green Tree Spring to quench my thirst. It was here lunch was often partaken of by the Shooting Tenant and his Guests while Grouse Driving on this part of the moors. While on holiday from London in 1902, I experienced at the Green Tree Spring a “Beaters’ Strike” for better money and a better lunch. The first indication I had then had of a concerted refusal to work by a band of beaters. Led by Sandy McDonald, they demanded 1/- more pay and a better lunch of beef or mutton - but no more rabbit pie. As these demands were made at a very awkward time, only half the day’s sport being got through and the Shooting Tenant had several guest shooters there, he had to surrender much to my father’s annoyance and disgust. This was my first experience of a Strike but by no means my last in my forty years in the London Police Service.

The farm of Clashindarroch at one time was worked by one William McDonald, better known as “Red Wull O' the Burn”, as the burn of the Alder ran alongside the farm. Wull was an eccentric man, short, paunchy and with a thick patch of red hair running round behind his ears, the top of his head being bald. I can remember him best at the Hare Hunts as he had an old Muzzle Loading Gun and used Black Powder. He always went down on one knee to fire at a hare. Generally the hare escaped being shot or was out of range but the Black Powder caused such a smoke that Wull was obscured from view for some minutes. At one Hare Hunt a fox got up between Red Wull and Captain Cumming of Cardow who was going to shoot it but Wull called out “DINNA SHOOT IT MAN, ITS SOME FANCY DOG!” This put Mr Cumming off and the fox got a let off much to the annoyance of the Captain and this incident was, of course, the subject of much merriment at lunch time. On another occasion, my brother Donald (killed in France) and I had been fishing the Callie Burn while in spate and called in at Clashindarroch where Wull was eating some soup made of what he called “Fine Braxy Mutton Boys”. He invited us to partake of this fare and seemed astonished when we preferred a cup of tea to his soup and mutton. The farm has now been combined with that of the Leakin at which latter, I now call to be greeted by that bluff, genial chiel, Charlie Robertson, a District Councillor and well known man for miles beyond the Parish Boundaries. Charlie started his career in the ‘H’ Division of the Metropolitan Police at Limehouse Station quite near the Chinese quarter of the East End of London. Charlie, however, did not take to pounding the Beat and gave it up for farming which, as it turned out, was a wise move, especially in these days. Both he and Mrs Robertson are generous good-hearted and delightful persons and as a boon companion Charlie will provide you with entertainment and make one cheery when feeling depressed. We want more of his kind in the world of today as work, all our amenities, entertainments and ways of life, we do not seem any happier or contented that we were fifty years ago. I take my leave of those good folks and make my way back to the Upper Knockando Post Office by way of Garlinmore, Garlinbeg and Croftpoint where the Bus is about to start for Rothes and Elgin, so one more farewell to another part of the Parish of Knockando.

 

This article has been only slightly edited in the interest of readability.

 

John G. Shand was born in Knockando on 1 June 1880. In the 1881 Census, taken on 3 April 1881, he is said to be 10 months old. His father, also called John, who had been born at Boharm, was a gamekeeper on the local estate and his mother, Ann (Stuart), was a Glenlivet lass. Her father, William Stuart, was a tailor who, in 1861, lived at Woodend, Auchbrek, Invera'an. John had an older sister, Maggie, four younger brothers, Donald, Alexander, James and Charles, and one younger sister Fannie.
As a young boy, John and his family lived at 'Mannoch Cottage' which is situated just a little distance up the Mannoch Road. This cottage apparently went with his father's job as gamekeeper. By the time the size of the family had increased, they had moved to 'Millhaugh' which lies on the east bank of the Ballintomb Burn, just below the railway. Here, there was a footbridge leading to the laird's residence at Knockando House, which lay only a little distance away.
In 1911, John was an acting sergeant in the City of London Police Force. He retired from the force as a Superintendant, and went to live in Ilford, Kent, with his wife Christine and daughter Joan.