Recent controversy over the future of the Victoria Cross Medal which was donated to the town of Walton-on-the-Naze led to me being asked about the recipient of the medal, Private Herbert George Columbine.

I must confess that although Columbine was known to me as a bronze bust which stood in the Marine  gardens throughout my childhood, I knew very little about the real man. I therefore wondered how many other Waltonians or friends of Walton were equally poorly informed.

I have done my research and hope that the following is both correct and of interest.

Herbert Columbine was born in the Penge area of London in 1893. He and his family were regular visitors  to Walton where Herbert would often ride on the horse and cart owned by John William Hipkin, a cartage agent for the Great Eastern Railway.

As a 24-year-old Private serving with the 9th Squadron Machine Gun Corps during the 1914-18 war, Herbert Columbine was in action at Hervilly Wood

in France as the Germans made their last-ditch offensives in the Spring of 1918. On 22nd March, Columbine took over the command of a gun and held back the enemy by firing from 9.00a.m. until 1.00p.m. The gun was in an isolated position with no wire in front to hamper the enemy's advance but wave after wave of German soldiers failed to reach him. Eventually with the help of a low flying aircraft the enemy managed to close in on him. At this point Columbine told his two remaining colleagues to get away to safety. He continued to fire his gun regardless of being bombed on either side of his position. Eventually a direct hit by a bomb blew up him and his gun.

For his gallantry Herbert George Columbine was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. In 1921 his  mother gave the medal to be displayed in Walton's Town Hall. When Walton & Frinton councils amalgamated in 1934 the medal was given to The Royal British Legion where it was displayed. After a series of break-ins at the Legion Club the medal was placed in a local bank vault for safety.

Columbine is remembered on the Pozieres Memorial but because of the nature of his demise he has no known grave. More recently the Columbine Centre on the Bath House Meadow in Walton has been named after him.

Walton youngsters in the 1950s were not afraid of hard work if it resulted in a few shillings to spend on sweets and comics. One of our favourite ways of earning was ‘luggaging’.

This involved firstly making, with a bit of help from dad, a wheelbarrow large enough to hold a number of suitcases. Pram wheels were readily available and with some timber and a few screws and nails a suitable barrow soon took shape.

Armed with this single piece of equipment a large number of Walton boys would congregate every Saturday at the Railway Station eagerly waiting for the first trains to arrive with their cargo of holiday-makers. As soon as the unsuspecting visitors left the platform they were surrounded by the youths all demanding, “Carry your luggage, Sir?”

Seeing that the lads would clearly be less of a drain on their holiday spending money that the local Taxi driver, cases, bags and buckets and spades were soon loaded onto the boys’ barrows. “Where to Sir?” was the next question, and as the newcomers to the town usually didn’t know where their holiday-home location was, they were more than happy for the owner of the barrow to show them the way.

En route usually a cheery conversation was struck up with the family who were keeping a close eye on their possessions. The question, “How much will this cost?” always arose, to which the standard answer was, “We’re not allowed to charge, Sir– it’s entirely up to you”. This practice usually paid off although some of the meaner types would reluctantly hand over a shilling (five new pence) having had their luggage hauled from the Station to The Willow Camp at the Naze. Half a Crown (Twelve and a half new pence) was the desired amount with a day target of around a pound.

The more enterprising of the youngsters (and I like to include myself in this group) would try to arrange ‘an order’ to collect the cases the following week for the homeward journey to the Railway Station. This meant that the usual long walk back to the station with an empty barrow could instead become an earner. A small notebook filled with ‘orders’ would avoid the scuffles and even the odd fight between the boys waiting for the next train to arrive.

When I was offered a summer school holiday job to cycle around the Walton, Frinton and Kirby area collecting and delivering films for processing and printing by Putmans the photographers, I accepted it on the clear understanding that I would not work on Saturdays, as that was luggaging day.