We hopped the Atlantic or the English Channel basically every 18 months and I got to know both sides of my family. My Uncle George, who married my Dad's sister and my Dad's parents in this picture.
Either my face is cold or I'm making that farting sound, Probably the latter, given the grip my Dad has on me and the expression on his face.
There were still lots of bombed out buildings in London at this time. We lived in Liverpool and frequently took the Ferry 'Cross the Mersey.
Dad always shipped his American car over and my mother had the job of co-pilot in England, telling my Dad when it was safe to pass. On the narrow English country lanes, this was some times pretty hair raising, as my mum wasn't fond of the role.
We seemed to spend a lot of time going in circles in round a bout's looking for the right road. Every little village had them, so we'd drive a few miles and then go round and round.
In 1951, many directional signs still had not been replaced after they had been taken down during the war to slow the Germans down if they invaded.
There were no highways then, like there are now, and several bad guesses in a row would prompt my mother to insist that we stop and ask someone for directions.
It usually went something like, " Right, guv. You go round the round a bout and turn down the Whitsend Road by the fish and chips shop, there. Straight on 'til the Ox and Fiddle Pub, turn left there down the lane and continue on 'tll Shandy Farm. A right there and Bob's yer uncle, you cawn't miss it.
This was always followed, as my Dad drove away after saying, "..yes, yes, I've got it", and thanking the helpful soul... with Dad asking Mum, "What did he say?", and round and round we would go.
"You cawn't miss it..." became the family joke.