I

The Early Days

Jack Lamport Newton was born in a hayloft on 4 February 1920, although the hayloft had long since been converted into a cosy flat, and the stables below it into a garage where chauffeur John Lamport Newton kept and looked after the guvnor’s cars. They lived there for twenty-five years in a very smart part of Hampstead, in north London, through the generosity of John’s employer, Mr Johnson, of Johnson and Johnson, the famous baby powder company, who provided his chauffeur with the courtesy flat, and £5 a week wage.

It was in this atmosphere of gracious living, stylish and fast cars, as well as a lifestyle that must have been the envy of his school pals, that young Jack and his elder sister, Babs, spent their formative years enjoying the many benefits and privileges which came their way at 13 Lancaster Mews. Mr Johnson was a kindly man who loved expensive cars, and being well able to afford them, the ‘shop’ – the family’s pet name for the garage – was filled with some of the choicest models around at the time. Cars such as the 90 horse power Fiat, and the superb Issota Frashini, to name just two. A stable once filled with horses was now full of high horse power cars. The irony was not lost on Jack. He became nearly as obsessed with the sleek and beautiful horseless carriages as his father, and Mr Johnson, too. Mr Johnson’s cars were his pride and joy, and when he could take a couple of weeks away from his business he liked nothing more than to have chauffeur Newton drive him off to Spain where the roads were long, straight and empty. ‘Come on, dear chap, put your foot down. Open up. Let’s see what she can do,’ he’d say encouragingly, as John put the powerful Fiat through its paces.

On one such trip, the two of them fell foul of some Spanish brigands. Up in the hills around Granada, old Mr Johnson and his chauffeur were suddenly confronted by a gang of ruffians who stood across the road waving guns, hoping to stop the car. Their intentions were pretty clear. ‘Go through them, Newton. Drive on …’ ordered the old man, as though he was leading a cavalry charge. The two men put their heads down, and drove straight at the gang who had to throw themselves either side of the road to avoid being run down. Shots were fired as the car raced away, one missile hitting John Newton in the wrist. Even so, he kept control of the vehicle and continued driving until they reached safety – and a hospital.

John’s favourite snack was dripping on toast. He loved it. Gus, as his wife was nicknamed, made him lightly browned toast, and John piled the dripping on so thick it fell off the sides. Then he would cut each slice into four, pop a quarter into his mouth at a time, and savour the flavour for as long as possible before swallowing. After that, he popped in the next piece, and the next until it was all consumed. Jack would watch mesmerised. He recalls:

Mum was one of six sisters who all came from Fareham, in Hampshire. Mum’s father, Granddad Lamport, was a local butcher, which must have been where dad got his taste for fresh dripping. Each weekend we always had a package from our own family butcher consisting of a couple of pounds of sausages, some pieces of meat, some bacon, and some things unheard of now called chitli