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In Scotland, practically halfway between Edinburgh and Glasgow, lies a dirty little mining town called Armadale, in West Lothian. At one time, it did have a famous football team but those days are long gone.

In 1917, in a small stone built cottage called Heatherbank, on the Linlithgow road, there lived the Osborne family. Walter Stanley aged 36, his wife, Amy Frances, aged 30, and young Stanley Edward, aged 4. Walter, a smart dapper man, was a postman and well known in the area as an Evangelist. He had been employed as a telegraphist but inside life did not suit him, health wise, as he had a weak chest so he was transferred to outside employment as a postman.
He was a happy man, originating in London before moving north, and well respected in the area. His wife was from Windsor where her parents kept a fruit and vegetable shop at 81 Peascod Street.

She was a beautiful, stately woman with a crown of gorgeous, auburn hair, which was so long she could sit on it and which she wore piled high on her head. She used to sit and brush it for long periods at a time.
Walter decided one day to keep the brushings and combings From these was made a plaited double watch chain with gold fittings, which he used to wear across the front of his waistcoat. That item is still in Ron’s possession as this is being written.

Life in that little home was hard and primitive compared with today’s standards and into that life, that year, at 7.30 on the evening of July 24th arrived a brother for Stan, called Thomas Harry. It is about him that this is being written.

A third son was born on the 4th August 1925, Ronald David, and by then the family had moved to more modern accommodation, a council house at 23 Wood Terrace This was much nearer the centre of the town and much more convenient in many ways.

However, despite the great improvements in work and living conditions, Walter’s chest was still giving him a lot of trouble and he was advised by his Doctor to move south to a warmer climate. This he did, and in 1926, the family found itself resident in another small town, this one called Chudleigh, ten miles south of Exeter in Devon.

Chudleigh was vastly different to Armadale, although a sleepy little place. The climate was much warmer, the environment much cleaner and Walter’s job was to take him out into the clean countryside. He became the town postman and took over the leadership of the local Plymouth Brethren Chapel.
Harry was sent to the local primary school where the headmaster, a Mr. Webber had a son who also attended there, and whose name was Zenith.
They were a pair of lively adventurous lads and were quite often to receive the cane for their misdemeanours, Harry often getting punished for things that Zenith had done, but it did him no harm as he knew he deserved to be punished and it helped to instil into him a sense of discipline which was to benefit him in later years.

Mr. Webber was a fair man and the punishments were never vicious. It was a good school and well managed, and was to give him a good grounding in his education.
Recreation was a big thing and Christmas was always a time to remember. The children were taught to make Christmas cards and encouraged to send them to their friends within the school itself.

A post box was made and the cards were duly posted there. Harry, his father being the postman, would have the job, ably assisted by one of the teachers, of emptying that box, sorting all the cards out and, wearing one of Dad’s hats, (many sizes too big for him) and carrying a post bag (which nearly dragged on the floor) would deliver them around the school.
They were good days and he learned well but it became obvious that he would very soon have to move to a higher standard, and there was none in Chudleigh.
Stan was attending Newton Abbot Grammar School, some six miles away and in order to get in there you had to pass an examination. As an inducement to pass, Harry was offered a new bicycle and piano lesson, by his parents.
He did pass, got his bicycle, but refused the piano lessons as they were to be given by Marion Bolt. She was a gifted piano player, who was at that time his, sort of, girl friend. This was a decision he was to regret for the rest of his life.
He loved music but was a very shy lad. There was nothing flashy about the bike but he was so proud of it. It was a single speed Hercules and cost £3.19. 9. Three pounds nineteen shillings and nine pence, complete with bell, pump and saddle bag.

Actually, it was a very astute move on the part of his parents for it was quite costly to send two boys to Newton Abbot each day by bus and Harry was delighted to go by his bike. Six miles there and six miles back each day. It was more of an adventure than a chore and he learned to ride it and respect it the hard way. One morning, on the way to school he was showing off behind the bus carrying his colleagues, riding right up close to get the benefit of the slip stream, when the driver decided to teach him a lesson.

He removed his toe from the accelerator, touched his brakes and then went back to the accelerator again. It was a stupid thing to do and he was to get into trouble over it later, but Harry crashed into the back and ended up in a heap on the road, while the bus disappeared round the road in front.
He was undamaged, picked himself up, and dusted himself off, but when he picked up his pride and joy, he found it was no longer ride able.
The spare wheel on the bus was carried under the back and retained by a clamp, which had a huge wing nut with long prongs. One of these prongs had caught in his front wheel and ripped out fifteen spokes.
Picking up the bits he made his way back to Mrs. Endacott’s house where her son rode him to school on the back of his motor bike. More expense getting the repairs done.

Then, on another occasion, coming down off Exeter Haldon, and travelling at a fair rate of knots, his front wheel skidded on some loose gravel at the side of the road and he was taken home in a taxi, unconscious.
Luckily, no bones were broken and he came round when the Doctor was pouring Iodine into the deep cut he had on his right hip where the gramophone needle tin in which he kept his stamp "swaps", had squashed and gouged a hole.
He also had a row of holes on the right side of his head caused by bits of gravel. However, the bike was not too badly damaged and they were soon together again.

He would also get into trouble with the headmaster at school for failing to dismount when going through the gates. This was a very sound ruling actually, as it led straight on to the main road, and he would be banned from bringing the bike to school for so many days.
This did not worry him, for all he did was leave his mates house a few yards away and walk the rest.

There was also a serious side to the bike riding, and a lucrative one too, for being the postman’s son; he was well in line for delivering telegrams.
The going rate was three pence for one within the town, rising with the distance involved up to one shilling and three pence for over a mile. This was quite a lot of money in those days and he was very careful with it for there was no such thing as pocket money.

There was another way in which he used to make money during his summer holidays and at weekends and that was in giving guided tours.
Half a mile outside the town were some limestone caves which had stalactites and stalagmites and weird formations made by the dripping water, which had suitable names like the Ram’s head with one horn, and the bones of a man’s five fingers, and so on. Armed with candles and boxes of matches they would take people round and earn a few pence for doing so. Some of the proceeds would have to be spent on more candles but some days he would do very well, especially if a coach load was to turn up. You had to use candles, electric torches and batteries for it were far too costly.

Chudleigh was only a small town with a population of about 2,000 or so, and there was nothing whatever to do to pass the time away and although occasionally there might be a cinema show in the town hall.
Harry was forbidden to go by his father, as the cinema was wicked. Dances too were out of the question. Walter as was said previously was a very religious man, with very strict rules and he had to be obeyed.
Both Stan and Harry had piano accordions and mouth organs but the limitations on what they could play on a Sunday were amazing. No dance music or popular tunes, only hymns and sacred music.
The wireless would be put on only for the news, the week’s good cause; the community hymn singing and the service, providing of course it was of an approved denomination.

The family went to the chapel on Sunday mornings and evenings and the boys had to go to Sunday school in the afternoon and to Bible Class on a Wednesday.
There were prayers in the morning, prayers before you went to bed and grace before every meal. Religion was a fetish with him, and work on a Sunday was wicked unless of course it was a bus driver taking him to a meeting somewhere else.

During their early days, there was no organ in the chapel and all hymns would be started by Walter, sometimes with disastrous results, ending up screaming the high notes or growling the low ones.
It was a pity he could not see what he was doing, what a vast mistake he was making by forcing his views on to his children.
A mistake that was to be highlighted later when Harry was to strive to get away from home as soon as he could and join the services.
With the lack of entertainment in Chudleigh, passing time, especially during the school holidays, was a big problem. However, Harry had his bike and he would get his mum to make up some sandwiches and away he would go to explore the Devon countryside.

The only trouble with that part of the country was that you had to spend so much time pushing your bike up hills too steep to ride, and the idea of having a bike was to ride it not push it. Nevertheless he was to get to know the area very well indeed and one day purely as a matter of interest he got out a map and checked up where he had been and found that he had covered somewhere around ninety miles.
Remarkable really, considering that invariably he would be on his own, but then traffic conditions were much different to those of today.
Another place where time was passed quite happily was Tappers Farm. Bruce Tapper was a member of the chapel and was of course well known to Walter so there was no problem with regard to Harry going there.
The farm was on the Trusham road some three to four miles away and he would set off on his bike early in the morning to spend the whole day there. The harvesting of the corn was a lovely time with the big horses drawing the reaper and binder, then the stooking and subsequent loading on to horse drawn carts.
It was always exciting when you go to the middle of the field and there was an island of corn left to cut. The gang got round in a circle and tried to catch the rabbits as they tried to escape. Then one day they sat him on what seemed at the time a huge horse and told him to take it to the smithy in Chudleigh and get it shooed, was he proud as he rode through the town.

It was a wonderful life, as long as the weather was fine. Then there were the orchards where the apples were grown to make the cider and the mass of machinery in the barn where it was made.
The apples in the orchards were knocked or shaken from the trees, raked into heaps and then loaded into carts.
They were not picked over in any way so rotten ones, wasps, earwigs, the lot; all went in to the brew.
The barn that housed the machinery was on two levels and the loaded cart would be backed into the higher level and tipped into a hole in the floor.
Incidentally, the carts were never washed before this and could have been used for carting anything as you can well imagine. On the ground floor was a horse, often blindfolded which went round and round continuously driving a capstan, which drove the rollers.
The load of apples would pass through these rollers into a huge vat from which juice was extracted, strained and put into barrels. These in turn were stacked along the sides of the barn and marked with chalk with the date of manufacture.
There they would be left to ferment. It became a very potent drink as Harry found to his cost one day. It was very warm and he asked if he could go and get a drink.
He was told to find the barrel with the cross on, and there would be a glass beside it, and he could help himself. He had a glass and a half and had extreme difficulty in riding his bike home.

They were indeed most enjoyable days and he would arrive home shattered. Christmas times were good also when he would go out with his father and help him on his deliveries.
He used to do over twenty miles a day on foot and at that season would be really loaded with perhaps two big bags of letters and a load of parcels all hanging on a belt.
Occasionally he would send the lad up to a house with a few cards and he would receive a few pennies as a Xmas box. It was exciting to the lad but he was to realise just how hard his father had to work.
There were of course other bonuses his father would get on his rounds such as eggs and garden produce. Occasionally he would have the misfortune to break an egg but that was never thrown away, he would swallow it down raw.
As was said earlier he was a happy man and was always whistling or singing as he walked along.
He was also an accomplished knitter and would produce his needles from his bag, which contained the wool, and would stroll along whilst knitting away. He once knitted a complete costume for his wife on his rounds.
He was also a very good tailor and did many jobs for the local aristocracy. His wife was also a very accomplished seamstress and used to make his shirts out of sheeting and clothes for the boys out of discarded uniforms, as well as doing “outside” jobs.

One day on his round, he came to a lodge at the entrance to a big estate and heard someone calling for help from inside. On entering, he found an elderly lady who had fallen down stairs. He got her up and in to a chair and finding a telephone rang for the Doctor, staying with her until he arrived.
Much to his surprise he found himself told off for moving her as he could have caused her a lot of damage had anything been broken, and should have made her comfortable on the floor. This preyed on his mind to such an extent that he attended first aid classes passing his exams.
He then joined the local branch of the St. Johns Ambulance and eventually became Superintendent at the outbreak of the war. Another uniform to wear and was he proud of that!

When the family first moved to Chudleigh, they rented a house across the road from the Church but did not stay there very long. They then moved to one situated down an alleyway which ran down the side of the bakery in the centre of the town.
At the bottom of this alleyway lived The Beckerlegs, whose daughter Mary was to marry Stan, in 1940. From there they moved to 26 Fore Street, almost straight across the road from the Post Office.
This house only had the one entrance, from the street, and had the gas show rooms next door to it. The door opened into a passage, which went through to the small garden at the back with high walls all round it. This garden was not big enough to supply the needs of the family so Walter acquired an allotment, near the cemetery.

Each time they moved they improved their living conditions and the next was a lovely place with great potential.
Harry and Margo would have loved to have had that later on in life. It was called Home Lodge and lay at right angles to Old Exeter Street.
There was a high wall and high wooden gates at the entrance so people could not see in, and you entered in to a long garden with the house to the left of it. There were lawns, flower gardens and a big vegetable patch, so Walter was able to relinquish his allotment and still grow enough for all.
He also kept chickens. In the house were four bedrooms, two flights of stairs and a toilet upstairs and down.
It was a vast improvement and they settled in quite happily for quite a few years, until gradually the boys drifted away and it became too large for Amy to maintain and they were to move to a tiny little cottage across the road.

It was a very small place in comparison, just two small rooms up and two down and with an outside loo.
But it was all they needed and they settled in quite well there, until on the 30th. January 1961 Amy was to fall asleep at the dinner table at the age of 74 years. She was an amazing woman in many ways and had had a very hard life bringing up three boys on a very limited budget.
The only one who seemed to stay healthy was Ron. Harry had a couple of boots of double pneumonia as well as his numerous accidents.
Stan was to suffer from tuberculosis whilst studying at St. Luke’s College in Exeter and was to spend five years in convalescence. That was a tragedy as he was sitting his B.Sc. and was apparently certain to pass but the exam did not take place, and he never went back to take it up again.

Then of course, there was Walter and his chest trouble and his spell in a Sanatorium in Bournemouth. On top of all this Amy was a Diabetic and had to be injected twice daily. How she hated that needle. It was no wonder her heart, so full of love for her family, finally gave up. She truly was a lovely lady.
Walter was to live on for nearly four years, finally passing away on the 29th December 1964 at the ripe old age of 83 years.
He used to spend a few months with Stan and a few with Ron before ending his days in a home in Torquay.

He came to realise at the end of his days what a hard man he had been to live with but it was then far too late to do anything about it. He had been a real old Victorian head of the house with his “The fire’s going out Mum”. They are both buried under a common headstone in Chudleigh Cemetery.
There was a further burden put on Amy in 1939 when the war broke out, a burden that was to cause her a tremendous amount of work and worry. Her parents and a brother, who was a little retarded, were living in Kent, not far from the RAF aerodrome at Manston in a place called Minster.

It was likely to be a very dangerous area so Stan hired a car and drove over to pick them up and bring them to live in Home Lodge.
Had they remained healthy and mobile things would not have been so bad. The brother Maurice or Modge as he was affectionately called became a bit of a problem and had to be put into a home at Scarcross.
The old lady developed an infection in her foot, which turned to Gangrene. This was to limit her movement quite a lot and eventually it spread to her other foot and she was confined to bed.
The disease was to spread despite careful nursing and it was a merciful release when she died. There was no nursing service then as there is today so Amy had the terrible job of changing all the dressings and disposing of them.
Whilst all this was going on the old man, suffering from senile decay, became jealous of all the attention his wife was getting and started to play up. He would make up his mind that he could not wash himself or could not feed himself and Amy would be driven to distraction. Whilst it was sad at the time their passing was a great relief for Amy was but a shadow of her former self.
Walter, at the outbreak of the war, had a brother living in London, a sister in Ipswich and another in Watton.

The latter had a fruit and vegetable shop and was to die of Tetanus in the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, and there was a nephew who played the saxophone in the famous Jack Payne Dance Band. Amy had a sister, May, who lived in Croydon, a brother, Dick, in Bristol and another in Reading.
Will was a serviceman through and through having spent most of his life in the Royal Marines, and was a Captain at the outbreak of the war in 1939.
Strange, but he was to figure several times in Harry’s life, after he too joined the forces.

The first time was in 1934, when serving as an aircraft apprentice he had the misfortune to break his left thumb, and was put in hospital for ten days. Whilst he was in there another lad was brought in from Ruislip and they got talking, exchanging names and places of origin.
This lad said he knew someone called Osborne in Windsor and Harry pointed out that his mother was not called Osborne then but Petley. “Strange” says the lad “I have an uncle with that name, lives in Reading”.
“Tilehurst?” says Harry, and the lad agreed.

It appeared that his mother’s sister had married Harry’s mother’s brother. They had never heard of each other but Amy was most amazed when she was told for she knew the family well.

The second occasion was early in the war when Will, finding himself in Plymouth decided to take time off to go and see his sister in Chudleigh. Harry happened to be on leave at that time and was there in his Corporals uniform when Will walked in, also in uniform. He shook hands said
“Hello Harry” and the after a pause added
“You need a haircut Corporal.”
Quite possibly he meant it too.

The third occasion was many years later when he was at Coltishall in Norfolk. He was in the Billiard Room in the mess one evening when two “old-time” Marine N.C.O's walked in.
Getting into conversation with them, he asked if either had ever come into contact with Captain Petley to which one replied, “Which one, the old one or the young one?”
Harry said, “Either”, and this Marine says,
“Well, the young one, he was a right Barstud. The old man, he was a Barstud too, but you did know where you stood with him”.
When told of the connection, they apologised for what they had said but Harry reassured them that that was more or less what he had expected them to say anyway. That was Will and one of his sons.
Actually Will was to serve as Range Master at the Annual shoot at Bisley for several years after his retirement, in uniform of course and almost completed his 50 years in uniform before he died.

There was great excitement one day at Home Lodge when Stan came back driving a car, a Triumph Super Seven. The engine was rather worn and he had to have it rebored but after that was done it was a good little runabout.
There was one amusing occasion, but at the time quite frightening, when he and Harry decided to go to Teignmouth one evening. To get there from Chudleigh you had to climb up over Teignmouth Haldon where there was a grass airfield.
The journey there was quite uneventful but that in return was somewhat different. They had reached the road round the side of the landing area driving fairly slowly because of the poor lights when suddenly they were bathed in brilliant light and a shot rang out.
Harry swore later that he heard the bullet whistle past the car. When Stan realised what it was he said “Rebore or no rebore we are getting out of here”, and put his foot down. A couple of miles later a more sober pace was resumed and the journey completed back to Chudleigh.

On arrival, they knocked up the local Police Sergeant and reported the incident. It appeared that there were some chaps in a large open top car, believed to be of American manufacture, who were hunting rabbits.
They would drive across the grass where they knew it was fairly level in total darkness and then switch on every light they had with the chap with the gun standing ready to fire.
At the sudden blaze of light all the rabbits did was stand still and were easily popped off. The Police had been trying for some while to catch them and a hasty phone call was made to Teignmouth but whether they ever caught them was never known.

Towards the end of 1933 Harry, having turned sixteen, was getting to a critical time in his education and decisions had to be made as to whether he was to sit his Oxford School Certificate and go on to college, or sit the entrance exam and join the Royal Air Force as an Aircraft Apprentice.
The great desire to get away from his father religious fanaticism and strict discipline was to weigh heavily in his mind and he picked the latter. Sitting the examination both he and his pal, Fred Bolt, passed successfully.

Therefore, one morning early in January 1934 saw them, very excited, and surrounded by tearful relatives, stood on the platform at Newton Abbot Railway station, waiting for the London train.
From there they caught the connection to Wendover where they were met by buses, which took them on to RAF Halton and No. 1 School of Technical Training. At last, although still only a boy, he was entering a man’s life, and an environment so vastly different to sleepy Chudleigh.
No more was he to worry about what he was going to do tomorrow. From now on every day was planned for him and all he had to do was do as he was told.