大象传媒

鈥業n 1939 most families in Doncaster had a radio. However, most homes lacked electricity so the radios relied on a dry battery or a rechargeable accumulator. The radios had been on continuously as the events unfolded. Now it was the weekend and many sets faded and then fell silent as no spare batteries could be bought. But my family heard the broadcast.

鈥楽taff Sergeant Alan Jones arranged for us to be able to listen to the declaration of War as we worked. All of our mobilisation equipment had started to arrive. We had to unpack, check and then issue it.

鈥楩or the married men their predicament slowly dawned. I began to realise what a terrible thing I had done to my wife, heavily pregnant at that time, to leave her unprotected at a time when she would need me most. My only consolation was that Edith's mother would look after her. I was conscious of a deep sense of guilt involving Edith in such hardship. This feeling was uppermost in my mind throughout the war years. We did not know how long it would last or even the eventual outcome.

鈥業 am sure the majority shared the same worries and fears for the families they left behind. One poor man was so beset with the worry of it all, that he got out one night, went home and gassed himself and all his family. I knew him quite well because he was a coach painter in the Plant鈥�.

鈥楢ctivity was the military antidote to worry. Mobilised on the Friday and on a war footing on the Sunday. Things happened too quickly to get upset. A new daily routine took over our lives. If you paused for a moment it just seemed unbelievable.

鈥極ur first brush with war occurred on Sunday night. The air raid siren sounded and there was a general rush outside to see one little plane caught in the search-lights and very high up. It was interesting rather than threatening. However the intervention of some officious person spoiled the occasion by ordering that gas masks had to be worn.

鈥楾hree times a day they were marched down to the Lyceum Cafe in the High Street of Doncaster for meals. The weather was warm so we marched without tunics, our brand new white braces announcing that we had just been issued with new kit. During the daytime the senior NCOs gradually knocked us into some sort of military shape.

鈥楤ut the level of activity at the barracks simply raised the level of anxiety among relatives. Tension among the local community was heightened when on Wednesday they received instructions to dig trenches around the drill hall for use as a refuge in the event of air raids. Along with the fear of a gas attack, much had been made in the press of the ability of modern bombers to destroy whole cities and their inhabitants.

鈥楢fter a few days sleeping on the drill hall floor with just an army blanket for bedding we were allocated civilian billets. I was dumped with a couple of old souls in Chequer Road, near the Park entrance in Doncaster. I may have stopped there the first night but after that I used to call in to let them know where I was going, then went home to see my wife. I'm sure everyone else did the same.

鈥楨ach day of the first week of the war there was the heartbreaking spectacle of wives and family arriving at the barrack gates in a quest for news. Were they going to move? There was no hard news but rumours abounded. Frequently, before the relatives or girlfriends had arrived home after a lengthy journey by train and bus, another rumour informed them that they were due to leave the next day. This would necessitate a return journey to the barracks.

鈥榃e were also told at this time that the pay for a sapper was three shillings and three pennies a day and we would be expected to make some provision for our wives or families. I was pleased to make a contribution of two shillings and six pence a day out of my army pay. What a terrible shock. As a Grade 1 electrician in the Plant my average wage was 拢4 10 shillings a week. Our financial situation was worse than I had anticipated. My pay packet shrank to under a quarter of its peacetime size. Not only was I deserting my family but I was impoverishing them. There would be no luxuries on my new pay. Even the annual training bounty would be withheld now I had been mobilised.

鈥楲orries were requisitioned from local removal firms, given a coat of green paint and joined the army sailing to France. With the equipment packed and dispatched there was little left to do except worry. There were many heavy hearts marching down the main street of Doncaster to the station on Monday morning as we headed for France. It was an early start. We marched out promptly at seven o鈥檆lock. We had received notice two days鈥� before that we would be moving on Monday 10 September. It had taken just ten days from the time we were called up.

鈥楾he actual moment of parting arrived with little warning. Edith was fortunate. With my father's help she managed to be on the platform for a last heartbreaking farewell. To see the agony on her poor, dear face as the train pulled away was unbearable. Not a moment to be savoured! So we were on our way but far too miserable to care where we would end up.

鈥極ne laughable thing was that they issued each of us with a ration of one tin of bully and one hard biscuit for the journey. The biscuit was about five inches square and three-quarters of an inch thick. It was most likely a left over from the First World War. Most of the rations went out of the window.

鈥楢t 2.30 we arrived in Southampton and embarked on a ship called the Monals Queen, a former ferry boat on the Liverpool/Isle of Man service. By this time most of us were nursing sore arms due to the vaccination and immunisation jabs which didn't improve our general misery. There were a few benches and the limited saloon space was taken over by the officers. So it was a case of securing a small space either on deck or in a gangway and sleeping the time away with a greatcoat for protection from the autumn breeze and my pack for a pillow.

鈥楢t 6.45 am we started to disembark at Cherbourg. I half expected a cheering crowd or some reception committee from the French we had come to defend. But instead, the only activity on the quay, or in the town, was the dockers and military movements personnel. The town was surprisingly tranquil. We received our real introduction to army life. Every time we expected to settle down the call came, 鈥楩all in lads, we're moving again鈥�. 鈥淗urry up and wait鈥� had frustrated generations of soldiers before and we would not be spared.

In Army Plan W4, in position 2637, 106 (West Riding) Army Troop Company (SR) is listed as part of the first contingent of troops. The Company would lead the way on M+7 to arrive with some other specialist units and the first infantry companies. These would be the first units of the BEF to arrive in France. Little did they know but they would be among the last to head back to England several weeks after Dunkirk evacuation in June 1940.

This story was submitted to the people鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from CSV Oxford on behalf of the late Bill Harvey. It is a transcript of his own diary and taped interviews and he gave written permission for all the material to be published.

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