大象传媒

As I was not born until 1948 my contribution to the WW2 Peoples War is based upon memories of my nearest and dearest which they shared with me as I grew up.

My Mother鈥檚 home was in a quiet road in Knighton, but it was a lot less quiet when she and a couple of her friends were pursued up and down the street by an enemy plane firing at them!
Later they realised that the actual target was more likely the searchlight based on the nearby racecourse and not aimed at them personally.

Her younger sister came home one evening and said to the rest of the family. 鈥淵ou should see the pretty fairy lights down by the brook鈥�. Her Father鈥檚 reaction was to usher everyone into the Air-Raid Shelter at the bottom of the garden. The Fairy 鈥擫ights were incendiary bombs dropped in readiness for further hostilities.

Apparently in the early days of the war they got accustomed to bedding down for the night in the shelter. On one such occasion my Grandfather brought a large bag of chips to share around in an attempt to make the situation more bearable.

Someone soon pointed out that the extra food had an unusual taste. Further investigation discovered that somehow in the blackout, the chips had not been sprinkled with vinegar but instead had been soaked with a well-known brand of Stout.
Whether this was entirely accidental or a deliberate ploy to augment the rations was never explained satisfactorily.

A bottle of beer also has a prominent role in my final story. My Mother and Father were married in 1942 and shortly afterwards he rejoined his colleagues in the Army Medical Corps as they accompanied the Allied Troops through North Africa and eventually into Italy. As Christmas approached he wrote to his darling wife saying how much he loved her and how the Festive Season would have little joy amidst the privatations of War. The effect of that letter on my Mum can only be imagined, as can her reactions to a missive she received early in the new year from some of Dad鈥檚 Comrades. This contained a photograph showing the situation that Christmas Day. There is my Father fast asleep in a chair in front of his tent surrounded by an apparently empty desert, and on the arm of his chair is a large bottle of ale recently drained of it鈥檚 contents!
Obviously his experiences out there were not all 鈥淏eer and Skittles鈥� , but it was a long time before he was allowed to forget that little indiscretion, even when he returned to the comforts of home.

But thankfully, he did come back and they were able to enjoy those pleasures they had been denied for so long. The fact that I appeared on the scene three years later is proof of that.

This story was submitted to the 鈥淧eoples War Site by Rod Aldwinckle of the CSV Action Desk on behalf of ALVIN SATCHWELL and has been added to the site with HIS permission. The author fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

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