About "The Life and Times of Jack Broome".
When Jack was in his 70's he occasionally penned reminiscences about his life, possibly with a view to publishing an autobiography. Unfortunately he never completed this work. The collected scripts have been assembled and transcribed by family members and is shown here for the first time. There were however gaps in his recollections and as a result it has been necessary to add important information to maintain chronological continuity. Occasionally Jack digressed in his writings and these lapses have remained exactly in the sequence that he wrote them. These inserts can be seen in a different typestyle from the body typestyle of the original text. The text has been referenced to other sections of this web site, by hyperlinks to photographs, books, newspaper articles, audio and video. The first entry in his collection is titled "Square One".

1901 - My Family
My mother was a Miss Lake.  Her sister married Oliver Jones Trinder (Uncle Joe to me), recognised and respected in the City of London for his interest in shipping linking England and Australia. He founded the Trinder Anderson Shipping Line, which prospered and, eventually, merged with more Australian shipping. My father's father, Frederick Napier Broome was a sheep farmer in Australia [New Zealand]. Before that he might have been one of the convicts exported from England for all I know. Nevertheless, he became Governor of Western Australia (the town of Broome was named after him) and went on to be Governor of Mauritius, then Trinidad, where he died [died in London], before I was born.

One of his sons, Louis, caused him anxiety; after causing anxiety also at Winchester College his father had him shipped out to Australia at a time when Australia had plenty to offer. But Louis, unfortunately, wanted to tackle everything rather than anything in particular. He was attractive, but wild.  Miss Lake accepted the kind invitation from her mother-in-law for a free trip to Australia and back. Clara Kathleen Lake met Louis Egerton Broome, which led to the creation of my elder sister Joan, by three years, and myself.  It is quite easy now to understand why my father and the Trinder family did not get on with each other; they were poles apart. The Trinders were steady, shrewd in business, comfortably rich. My father was wild, extravagant, and invariably broke, he always had a quest for adventure. 

Klondike Gold Rush
My mother's prelude to producing me coincided with a family financial crisis. What did father do? He joined that gold rush to the Klondike, Alaska, U.S.A., at the beginning of the century. I've no idea where our rush started from or if father got any gold, but I do know that Mama had to drop out at Seattle, Washington to produce me. This led to the strange situation that when I joined the Royal Navy thirteen and a half years later, I was still eligible to become the President of the Unites States of America. Memory is a strange attribute. Mine seems to come in lumps with gaps in between. For example, my first recollection of life on earth was an incident when we were living in Detroit, Michigan. U.S.A. (I have no idea why). One day we, that is to say my sister, some young friends and myself were romping about in a field close to our house; running, jumping, chasing as children do. There was a hole in the ground; we dared one another to jump across it. A young girl insisted on first go. She ran, she jumped, but not far enough. She landed in a sitting position at the bottom of the hole, three or four feet deep. None of us had bothered about what was in the hole until we heard screams, and saw smoke! This hole contained a partially extinguished bonfire, poor little creature. The first and I hope, the only time I saw a lady with her bottom on fire! 

1906 - Sent to England
Another gap in my memory until my parents decided that sister Joan and I should be taken back to England by Mama and get us educated, leaving Papa in Detroit. All I remember about the journey home is that the ship, which carried us, was S.S. Magdalena.  Memory is a fickle attribute, which to me, seems to come in lumps. I remember nothing of the trip home (my first sea voyage) but the three of us walking into a large English drawing room later that evening is as clear as crystal. It was at Uncle Joe's house, Cedar Grange, Caterham Valley in Surrey. To me it was a mansion. Two things puzzled me. Why was everyone sitting round dressed in that peculiar way? (It was after dinner.) And why couldn't I understand their English conversation? ”I only knew American.

1907 - Life in Panama
Before long, father had one of his adventures. At that time, U.S.A. was having trouble designing and building the main lock of the Panama Canal. For some mysterious reason, they asked father to undertake the job. Adventure! Off we went. The Isthmus of Panama was pretty rough in those days, but as soon as he could procure a house fit to live in at Gatun, where the lock was to be constructed, he cabled Mama to join him, and bring us children with her.  I well remember S.S. "Mexican" the hasty little ship in which we travelled. On arrival off Colon the northern side of the Panama isthmus the sea was too rough for the ship to go alongside the wharf and we had to lie at anchor for a day or two, which practically cured me of seasickness. 

When we got to Gatun (pronounced Gatoon) with its primitive drains, mosquitoes, malaria and snakes, it was not ideal for young children, but it had its attractions. My time was divided between trips on the river Shagris in a tug boat, even at that age, I liked the water trips in my favourite shunting engine (No.222) busy clearing the earth as the lock began to take shape, looking for snakes with my great friend Chester Harding, son of a Colonel in the resident U.S. Army and the ever exciting adventure of accompanying my father, occasionally, when he went deer shooting at night. I held the lantern.

There was also my friend and ally, Braithwaite who was hired to look after me, but, basically, partial to all the mischief I could conceive. Joan and I were supposed to attend the one and only day school in the mornings. Joan went but Chester and I generally found something more interesting to do.  I also remember once, when Chester and I were in front of the house, looking down on the cutting where the lock was to be, where all the coloured workmen were busy digging. Suddenly, trouble broke out amongst them and spread like lightening as they began fighting with picks and shovels. Chester and I were getting a bit scared when, out of the blue, father appeared carrying a megaphone and a rifle. Without further hesitation, he shouted to the quarrelling workmen, "Clear off, the lot of you! If anyone of you is in sight in five minutes I will shoot him as dead as mutton". They shuffled off. Father had won. He had also gone up, immeasurably, in his son's estimation.

Prehistoric drainage, condensed milk and mosquitoes caught up with Joan and me, and we both went down with malaria. When mine developed into blackwater fever, Ma and Pa realised Gatun was not for us. They decided to send us home together.

1908 Return to England
It was arranged by them, before we left, that on arrival in U.K. Joan was to go to my half brother’s family. He was a retired army Colonel, Uncle George to me, and his charming beautiful wife, Aunt Evie. For some reason, which I never gathered, their family name was CroleWyndham. They lived in a nice house called Whitwall Hall in the village of Reepham, Norfolk. They had a son, Raymond, who was a bit "potty", I once saw him eat a worm, and two daughters, Evelyn and Noel. Noel and Joan were life long 'buddies'! Noel was most attractive. She later survived three husbands in succession. The only thing I remember about Whitwall was that Uncle George had a parrot that he taught to say "One two four (pause) dammit I've forgotten three!" Amusing to hear once or twice but repeated all day and every day, it grated a bit.

My main base was to be Cedar Grange. By that time, Uncle Joe and Aunt Florrie, Ma's sister, had five grown up, unmarried children; Arnold, Harry and Bruce, Olive and Janet. The boys were becoming men and drifting into their father's shipping industry, but wait a minute! I haven't got to England yet. My father and mother came to see us off at Colon. I can't remember the ship's name, but, to us she was the largest and most comfortable we had seen. I well remember Pa climbing on to the roof of a railway truck, alongside the jetty, for a last handshake. It was unusual in those days for kids of our age to travel alone, but my, oh my, what a time Joan and I had! The other passengers seemed to be competing to look after, and to spoil us. It suited us fine.

At Southampton or was it Tilbury?  we were met by Olive Trinder and whisked off to Cedar Grange. Joan recalled that she discovered a stewardess was stealing their clothes and that on arrival at Southampton a day early, she had to book them into a hotel until Olive arrived, the next day. Joan went off to Aunt Evie, and then, on to a convent, St. Monica's at Warminster, Wiltshire. I took up residence at Cedar Grange and, soon, went as a boarder to Upward Park, a nearby preparatory school. I must have been an infernal nuisance to everyone at Cedar Grange.

My only two friends were William, Uncle Joe's chauffeur, and Tommy Atkins, the under gardener, who used to bowl for the Caterham cricket team. I must have been a horrid little schoolboy. No parents or elder brother to kick me around. Even at term time, under reasonable observation, I seemed to gang up with other horrid little boys and get found out in our horrid little escapades. A great "dare" was to climb out of our dormitory window onto a sloping roof. On the floor above lived one of the masters. When it was my turn to climb out of the window (anyone missing his turn was ostracised), the master happened to be looking out of his, too. Everyone in my dormitory had done it. I was the one who got caught. It cost me six on my backside. There was a small wood on one side of the school. The headmaster once noticed smoke ascending from it. On further examination, he found me before an applauding audience feeling rather sick, on one end of a cigarette. My punishment, rather shrewd I think now, was to accompany him into his study and finish smoking the cigarette. I was sick, and never smoked again for many years.

School Holidays
Holiday time in the winter at Cedar Grange, was grim. Except for William and Tommy Atkins, there was no one to talk to all day. Uncle Joe and his sons were in London. Only Uncle Joe's wife, Aunt Florrie remained. She was a terror. After producing her five children, she had some illness which, poor dear, left her paralysed from the hips downwards. She lived in a bath chair and in spiteful hatred of everyone, including me. I'm sure it was some sort of resentment of the paralysis but when I was around, she carried a large hatpin in her blouse and whenever she got near enough to me, and she was remarkably agile in that bath chair, she would try to skewer me with her hatpin. She lived in a little room on the ground floor, stuffed full of bric-a-brac. A lift had been installed to get her to and from her bedroom on the first floor. Every afternoon she went for a drive in her horse drawn carriage. Henry Freeman, the coachman, and Tommy Atkins lifted her in and out of the carriage in a carry chair. Naturally, she had to have a personal maid-cum-nurse. In my time at Cedar Grange this was in the person of a middle aged, ex-nurse called Lawson. Lawson was a remarkable character. She was pleasant, quiet, very kind to me, and she handled Aunt Florrie as if she was a precocious child. No nonsense. To my everlasting surprise, my Aunt responded to Lawson like a lamb. Uncle Joe was always very kind to his unfortunate wife and frequently brought her presents from London. Looking back, my mother used to remind me that her sister had been extremely active before the paralysis, which must have come as a bitter blow. Perhaps fate provided me, to be a target for her spleen, and her hatpin.

Uncle Joe also had a splendid, expandable, house called Heatherwood at Totland Bay, Isle of Wight, perched up above a tennis court, a lot of steps and a sandy beach. He sailed all and every day in his comfortable little yawl "Muratai" which, I believe, is Maori for "Sea Breeze". Little did one foresee it in my early and delightful visits to Heatherwood but as the years rolled by Uncle Joe's children got married, had families and a Trinder colony grew up in that corner of Totland Bay. Harry and his wife Bella, Bruce and his wife Muriel, Olive and her husband Maurice, all had houses inside a half-mile circle centred on Heatherwood. Before sister Joan fastened onto the Wyndham family, she lived with me at Cedar Grange.

Of all the Trinder family, my favourite was Olive, the elder daughter, who was also busy courting a nice chap called Maurice Gill. Maurice was to me, a bit of a hero because he had actually caught and captured a burglar in his family home, The Stone House, also in Caterham. It was long after the burglar incident that I heard the real story. Apparently, this burglar was a seedy little man. By sheer chance Maurice, on his way to the loo in the middle of the night, caught him on the job. Maurice seized a cane with a lead top, grappled with him and started hitting him on the head with the cane. The poor little burglar crumpled up and pleaded for mercy, but Maurice (he told me this years later), was much too frightened himself to stop whacking him on the head with this cane. By the time the police arrived, the poor little burglar was unconscious. A doctor was summoned and Maurice was mildly reprimanded for overplaying his part. Maurice had a kind mother who gave enjoyable children's parties. Joan and I were invited to one and we were driven the odd two miles to the house in a cab. When we arrived, the cabman rang the bell and the horse, possibly to show his contempt for driving children about, let a very loud and long fart. Without any hesitation, I seized my sister's arm and twisted it until she apologised to the cabman for the fart. She greeted Mrs. Gill with tears still in her eyes. How revolting and unscrupulous can younger brothers be?

Father returns to England - 1909
When father's work on the Gatun Lock was completed, he and mother came home to England. I suppose I was about 10, still at Upwood Park prep school as a boarder, spending holidays at Cedar Grange. Father spent a good deal of his time in London, living with his mother, looking for a job. He was undoubtedly her favourite son. He must have done well in Panama because before long Jardine Matheson, a growing firm of surveyors, pioneering in China, pounced on him to go East and supervise the building of a railway from Tientsin to Peking. Another adventure which excited him considerably. Mother was to follow in due course. I remember on a weekend visit to Cedar Grange after my parents had supped with the headmaster of my prep school, father came along to the dormitory. To me, father was almost a God and, doubtless, I had boasted about him to my schoolmates, as youngsters do. Consequently, no sooner had he entered our dormitory than the audience of eight demanded a story. Father did not let them down. Once, during his journey in the Klondike, he told us, in freezing weather, when provisions were getting low, he elected to go off, himself, to hunt and shoot a moose. Snowstorms continued, snowdrifts deepened, no moose. He struggled, his strength was ebbing. Still no moose. He was staggering, pretty near the end of his tether, when through the murk what did he see? A moose in the same state. He managed to get his rifle up to his shoulder, shoot the moose, crawl up to it, cut out its

liver and suck it thereby saving his life and reviving him. The story which I hadn't heard before, went down splendidly, but I well remember I was bit doubtful about it and later on, when I got a chance, I checked up with mother who convinced me it was perfectly true and well known amongst his fellow gold rushers, some of whom were trappers whose profession was moose hunting with plenty of experience of that sort of weather and they had strongly advised father not to go. Father told the story modestly and convincingly and I must say it put my shares up tremendously.

Father leaves for China - 1910
I rather believe that before he left England, Father had hopes of staying on with this great expanding firm after the railway line was finished and, hopefully, having mother and perhaps Joan too, out there with him. For the moment, I was to soldier on at Upwood Park. Olive was by far my favourite Trinder then and for that matter, ever afterwards. She elected to marry Maurice Gill and I was to be a page at their wedding in Caterham but, instead, the school and I had chickenpox. I can't help feeling that Uncle Joe had helped that school financially. To show his gratitude in a mild way, the headmaster had the school Boy Scouts polished up and fallen across the main gate of the school which Olive and Maurice would pass in their carriage after the wedding, on their way from the Church back to the reception at Cedar Grange. I, who was up and about by then after chickenpox, was to stand in front of the Scouts and we were all to cheer the carriage. As it passed by Olive struggled through her veils and tossed an envelope to me. It contained two (new) half crowns. [Twenty-five pence, a lot of money at the time!] It struck me then, and has struck me whenever I remember it, it was a very sweet thing to do in the middle of a wedding day. By the time Olive and Maurice had settled down in "Heathwood", their small house, the other end of Caterham, mother and Joan were preparing to join father in Peking, China by the Trans Siberian Railway. Olive consented to look after me during the holidays from school.

My first spell at Heathwood brought three pleasant surprises. The first was Bob, a liver and white spaniel pup Olive and Maurice had acquired, the second was Adele, their French maid/cook, who became a great friend. The third was my new bike. I had been saving up for it for some time. When I got to Heathwood, Olive, bless her kind heart, had added the required amount and, in the garage, there was my brand new "Humber" bike on which, thereafter, I practically lived. But I was still a nasty little boy.