The following originally appeared in a limited edition print version distributed among family members. I have prepared these web pages so my grandfather's words can be seen by a larger audience.

MEMOIRS OF A RAILWAYMAN by STANLEY ROWE MERCER, edited by DAVID McCLELLAND. Copyright © 1996-2006 by David McClelland. All rights reserved. No part of Memoirs of a Railwayman may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsover without prior written permission. For information contact Dave@McClellandMedia.com

Twenty-five years after my Grandfather started writing these notes to my brother and myself, and 18 years after his death, I will attempt to re-record his memoirs as a family history - and as a tribute to a man who died too early for me to know very well - yet I think of him often.

He recorded these notes in pencil in a gray British Rail Notebook. The pencil he used was still between the pages where he made his final entry.

Stanley Rowe Mercer, you were a wonderful Grandfather to me. I hope this does you justice.

David McClelland, Editor, December 20, 1992

Notes on entries: I am not attempting to correct grammar - I want this to be as close to the feel and intention of what Stan wrote as possible. I have, however, corrected spelling where needed.

In some cases, Stan added his own notes to clarify certain passages. These are noted by asterisk with the addition following.

November 8, 1967

To Dear David and John

I am writing my memoirs not because I have been a hero sometime in my life, or have achieved some outstanding success which I want to put into print.

It is something I have always wanted to do. I am not a writer, I have not got a very good memory for dates. I have been a working man all my life, and suppose I shall always be unless fortune is kind to me and I win the pools.

I shall try to make this book as interesting as possible. I am 58 years old, to you, David and John, I am probably an old man. I have 7 years to go before I retire as a railwayman. I shall bring my work into this book because it is a great part of my life, and feel it will interest you.

I shall be frank, but hope I do not offend anyone. If I do they must take it for what it is worth.

I hope dear David and John that you can learn a little of life from what I have written, that will help you a bit as you both grow up.

Gan Gan

Stan's father, Rowe Mercer, outside Shotwick House, Saughall, Cheshire.

My earliest memory was at the age of 6 years old. I have two brothers Eric and Harold, and a sister Ida. My father was 52 and a very sick man.

Rowe Mercer's grave, Saughall, taken November 1998

When my father died my brother Harold was 5. I was 6, my sister Ida was 8 and my brother Eric was 10.

My father's business was taken over by another painter in the village (whose name I will not mention) and my mother, who was a dear simple soul, was robbed of any money out of his business and was left without any money to bring up four children.

In those days the working classes were no more than slaves for the people of money. Unions and the Labour Party was never heard of (thank God things have altered).

It was mentioned from time to time that the four children of the late Mr. Rowe Mercer be put into a home. This did not happen because we had a mother who was prepared to do anything to keep the children with her.

Although I was very young, I shall never forget the years that followed, and how our very dear mother slaved to keep our heads above water.

My mother was caretaker of the village school which helped us a bit and which us four children attended. She got a very poor wage for this and to try to make ends meet she used to go out washing for other people at 1/6 per day. There was no washing machine and things like that in those days, it was scrub, scrub, scrub, with a brush.

My mother used to get up very early in a morning, go to school at 7 a.m, come back to get us off to school for 9.00, go out washing all day until teatime and try and be back to give us a bit of tea when we got home from school at 4 p.m.

We used to go home for our dinner and get it ourselves, usually bread and dripping or bread and jam which was the main diet in those days, school dinners were never heard of.

My mother then used to go back to school at about 5.30 until 9 p.m to clean it and during the winter months stoke a terrible boiler fire that used to heat the school.

This went on for a number of years. How my mother used to keep going I shall never know. I think it was for the love of her children that she did this. She was only a fragile little woman but her stamina was endless. God bless her.

(This is actually before chapter 2 in Stan's book, but appears to be a later addition he made to keep things in order - DM)

One of my outstanding memories of poverty was the giving of bread to the poor by the church. Loaves of bread were taken to the church and put in the porch. Each week, I, along with other poor families, used to go and collect two loaves.

This still stands out in my memory, and went a long way to causing me to dislike and even hate those rich people who was dedicated to keep us so poor.

I have also vivid recollections of whole families being wiped out through that terrible disease called consumption, or T.B. Thank God today these people can be cured. I must say that while we were poor there were other families in the village who was the same as us.

(There is a blank line, followed by the following, again appearing to be written at a later date, the handwriting resembling that later in the book - DM)

The village of Saughall near Chester was like all other villages in those days, in complete darkness at night. The only noise was the village lads up to their tricks and I was one of them.

I should mention here that my brother Eric had got a little job, looking after some dog kennels of one of the rich people of the village, a Colonel Rigby.

He came home one day with a lovely labrador puppy which he told us was the wreckling of a litter of puppies and was going to be destroyed, out of pity the Colonel gave it to him.

This dog grew up to be a very faithful and beautiful animal and was a constant companion of my mother on her trips to the school on dark winter nights. It lived to be about 12 years old, although it only lived on scraps from our table.

I have faint recollections at about the time of the Great War 1914-1918. The reason being, they had converted the village hall into a hospital for wounded soldiers, and they used to walk about the village in their blue and white hospital clothes.

Later I shall try to tell you the life of a village lad and the tricks we used to get up to.

Sunday was a special day in our lives. As poor as we were, our mother always managed to put on something special. A nice hot Sunday lunch with a little joint of meat. Tea consisted of potato cakes, which my mother was very good at making.

All Saints Church, Church Road, Saughall as it looks today.

My father and mother were church going people and so it was the proper thing for me to attend Sunday school and be a member of the church choir. Although I say it myself I had a good voice and played a big part as a boy singer in the church choir.

We used to wear a black cassock (*1) and a white surplice (*2). My mother used to make sure I attended church regular. Being a choir boy was not all religion, far from it.

Our vicar was a old man with a long beard, who must have been 90 years of age then. We used to attend choir practice each Thursday, but this didn't stop us having fun at the expense for the vicar, such as putting some string across the footpath of the church for the vicar to trip over and then placing a holly bush for him to fall into.

During the church service, in between hymns, we used to be eating toffees, and when the vicar suddenly announced a hymn, to get rid of these partly eaten toffees, we used to stick them underneath the choir pews where we sat, and over a period of time this used to make them into a terrible mess.

Many a time the vicar has conducted his service with about ten or twelve hymn books in his church robes, which had large pockets, and we used to place them gently in while he was reading the lesson. He never seemed to find this out. Perhaps he was too old to notice all the weight he was carrying about.

My school days were happy days. While not a brilliant scholar, I was clever enough to pull through. I don't think a day went without me getting two of the best on each hand for playing some kind of trick on my school mates, although some of my school chums were worse than me, and was constantly getting the cane.

• *1. Black Cassock. A very long black garment with about 20 buttons down the centre. This used to reach down to your shoes.
• *2. White Surplice. This was always kept a pure white, it reached down to your hips and had very wide sleeves. It always gave you a feeling that you were really taking part in something of importance.

Up to the age of 14 most of my life was taken up by sport, of which I was very keen. My favourite sport was football.

Again I must give myself a bit of praise and say I was above average at this game and at the age of 14 played for the senior side consisting of grown men.

Stan in a soccer team. The year isn't known, but he looks quite young. Stan is on the front row, second from the right.

At the age of 14, I was picked to play for Cheshire School Boys, which in those days was something to be proud of. Perhaps with a bit more luck I could have been a professional footballer. This never happened, I was only a poor village lad. You had to have someone to push you in those days.

Perhaps it was best this way, because as I will write later in this book, when I attained the age of 20 this was the turning point in my life.

One of the annual events in village life was Harvest Thanksgiving service. On this day the choir in their robes used to walk through the village singing hymns into the church, which was decorated for the occasion.

On one of these occasions I rushed into church to get my cassock and surplice for the parade and in my hurry, forgot to put on my cassock.

It was rather funny that no one but my mother, who used to occupy a seat near the aisle where we walked up, noticed this. I can remember the glance of my mother as I walked past her. The look was very serious and I was really in the dog house.

In the next chapter I shall try to relate my life between the age of 14-20 when I brought my first wage packet home.

MEMOIRS OF A RAILWAYMAN by STANLEY ROWE MERCER, edited by DAVID McCLELLAND. Copyright © 1996-2006 by David McClelland. All rights reserved. No part of Memoirs of a Railwayman may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsover without prior written permission. For information contact Dave@McClellandMedia.com

My thanks to Cameron Bales, Hank Stinson and Rose Santanasamy for assistance with scanned images.

Created December 8, 1996. Last update Feb 25, 2006