A Canadian Boy’s Journey Back Again … 48 Years Later, Part 2 |

A Canadian Boy’s Journey Back Again … 48 Years Later, Part 2

In 1978, forty-eight years ago, my parents took the family to the United Kingdom for one year. We rented a house in a small village — Ripley, Surrey — and for one year, I attended a new school, made new friends, and tried my best to adapt to a new culture. I’m not going to lie to you … it was hard. Part 2.

Find Part 1 of this article HERE.

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I’d had an incredible time in London, but my wife and I suddenly found ourselves with a couple of hours on our own. My daughters were off on a Harry Potter Studio Tour, and knowing this was my one and only chance to get to Ripley, search for my house and retrace my steps to my former school, I took it.

On To Ripley

My former classmate, Lisa, had emailed me the directions before I’d left Canada:

“(It’s) a 30 min train journey from Waterloo. Best stop to get off is Clandon, then a very short uber journey …”

It seemed simple. The train was headed for Guildford, but we would exit at Clandon. Waterloo Station was absolutely epic. Here are two photos; they are not mine, but they illustrate the architecture combining newer designs with what came before:

It was South Western Railway, and I marvelled at the efficiency and ease of the trip. It was easy to purchase the ticket and find the platform.

Ten days later, however, I would curse South Western as we crowded aboard a train with more people than seats, in a stifling hot car that didn’t seem to have air conditioning and whose windows would not open, for a trip of nearly ninety minutes. It was torturous …

But that’s another story for a different time. For now, the trip was smooth, fast, and fairly comfortable.

We were on the train for about forty minutes before the Clandon stop. We exited, surprised to find an entirely empty station without even an employee! We were the only ones there. No other people got on, and no one else got off.

From here I used Uber to take us to my former street …

And once there, I’d begin the search for my house.

In Ripley

I simply couldn’t believe that I was back. Forty-eight years later, here I was, standing on the street where I’d spent that year. I remembered bits and pieces. Playing in a bomb shelter that one of the neighbours had in their backyard, remnants from the war and the London Blitz. Reading comics I’d purchased in the village. They were all stories from WW2, tales of honour and courage and meant to teach children about character and sacrifice and doing what’s right in the worst times imaginable. I still have some of these comics today:

Most of the toys we had, in fact, were related to the war. Army figures and model tanks and Spitfires and Lancasters and so on. World War 2 resonated so strongly in the years that followed, and everyone still spoke of it. There were movies and TV shows and books and more.

Here I am, in one of my very few photos from that time. I was with some other kids on the street, but I don’t know who they are anymore, so I don’t want to publish their faces without permission.

When I look at the picture, I don’t really seem happy. I seem almost accepting of the situation.

I wrote earlier that the experience was hard, especially for someone my age. Don’t get me wrong, though — everyone in the neighbourhood treated us kindly. They were wonderful and welcoming to us. Ripley was — and is — a marvellous place.

I have very few photos from that time, but I did have this one, of my brother and I out in the front of the house. Note the school uniforms. This was likely the first day of class, and my mom wanted a photo of us in our uniforms. My brother had to go to the school in Guildford, and he had to take the bus each day; it was definitely a hard year for him, too.

I thought that there were enough clues in this photo, along with a few things I remembered — like the path I walked to school each day, the driveway location, and the tree in the front yard, that I could locate the house.

It only took a few minutes to find it.

I even spoke to the owner, explained why I was there, and she kindly let me take a photo of the front.

I also had this picture, of my brother and I on the street, at the roundabout. I don’t remember playing on the street with the other kids who lived there, though apparently we did. (Those are the same pants I’m wearing in the other photo!)

And here it is today. You can see the exact same seams and cracks in the asphalt!

I was still in something of a daze. I hadn’t planned this trip, other than getting Lisa’s instructions just in case I had the time to make the trek. But suddenly here I was, walking the same path and looking at a house I’d lived in forty-eight years earlier. I had vague memories of the interior … playing with army men in a room with a hardwood floor … eating at a kitchen table, but I remember little else. I don’t remember my bedroom, or if we had a TV (we must have, but I don’t remember sitting in a room watching it), or what I did when I came home, and so on.

I was a member of the local Cub Scout troupe, and I remember playing rounders in the green, and I remembered the comics and the bomb shelter. There was a TV show called Worzel Gummidge, and books like Mr. Happy or Mr. Sad. I didn’t remember much else.

But I did remember my path to school, so I decided to walk it now.

To C of E First School

The building still exists. I’d seen it on Google Street View. It’s about a ten minute walk, and my wife and I started on the way. We passed this sign. I don’t remember it from when I was seven/eight, though it could have been there.

A few minutes later, I was standing in the school’s parking lot. I remember playing in that space. I even remembered that my class was in a portable classroom outside of the main building, and it was still there! It’s now boarded up and inaccessible, but at least a portion of my past remains at that place. You can see it behind me, just over my left shoulder:

I remember working with classmates in there — a project on an Australian animal, for instance … I researched the platypus — and some other lessons, but nothing concrete remains for me. Lisa tells me I had friends, but those memories are too far gone, too distant. Few others remember me, apparently, which is normal. After all, I was only there for ten months, and then one day, I vanished. The other kids likely thought, “Where did that Canadian boy go?” and the next school year, they may have mentioned me once or twice, but then memories of me likely slipped away as their lives grew more complicated and challenging. Such is life. We have to maintain connections in order to hold on to our memories. I’ve learned that, over the years, and now work hard to stay in contact with my friends and with people who mean a great deal to me.

The building is a pre-school now, I think, and some officials came out to ask what I was doing. It’s natural, and I’m glad they did. I explained with a smile and then went on my way. I think my presence made them aware how much history is at that place, and what it means to people who were once students there. The fact that it’s no longer a school is likely disappointing to others, too. I can’t be the only one who’s bothered by it.

I remembered the lesson I’d learned just the previous day in London, and earlier at Waterloo Station: Cherish what came before. Don’t discard the past to history’s dustbin.

I turned my attention to the heart of the village and the short walk there. Soon, I would have an interaction that would change me and my memories of Ripley — many of which were hard — forever.

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Find Part 3 of this article HERE.

Find Part 1 of this article HERE.

Stay tuned for Part 3 — the final piece — of my article, A Canadian Boy’s Journey Back Again … 48 Years Later. You’ll see photos from a totally unexpected encounter and an event which became the highlight of my journey to Ripley. Watch this space! If you enjoyed it, let me know in the comments below.

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A Blanket of Steel by Timothy S. Johnston and from Fitzhenry & Whiteside, LTD. is the recipient of the 2024 GLOBAL Thriller Award GRAND PRIZE and the 2024 CYGNUS Award First in Category.

— Timothy S. Johnston, 23 July 2026

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WATCH THE GRIPPING BOOK TRAILER HERE.

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A Blanket of Steel from Timothy S. Johnston and Fitzhenry & Whiteside, Ltd.

Book Cover & Jacket Copy:

AN UNSTOPPABLE THREAT!

A mysterious assassin has murdered Cliff Sim, Chief Security Officer of the underwater colony, Trieste. Cliff was a mountain of a man, highly trained, and impossible to defeat in combat. And yet …

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The other books in The Rise of Oceania series by Timothy S Johnston:

The War Beneath 9781771484718
The Savage Deeps 9781771485067
Fatal Depth 9781554555574
An Island of Light 9781554555819
The Shadow of War 9781554556007