大象传媒

Fowey possesses a sheltered harbour. It was in the early years of the war, that it provided a safe haven for a small cargo boat, its captain, his wife and a family of a boy and a girl. They had crossed the English Channel to escape from Holland and the threat of German occupation.

The captain's son was near my own age and he eventually came to the same school that I attended at that time, the Fowey Boy's School. We had never had occcasion to meet, until one day during lesson time, without warning, there was the sound of very heavy explosions coming from the direction of the harbour. All of the boys were looking to the teacher and then at one another. The rounded eyes all registered the same question. What could have happened to cause the windows to rattle in their frames? The explosions so loud and unexpected, that everyone had jumped in their seats involuntarily.

The teacher tried to focus everyone's attention, suggesting there must be work going on in the harbour, He then added that as a precaution, we should go from the classroom where there were a lot of windows that could shatter, with the danger of flying glass. We were all shepherded out and soon I was to find myself crouching down under the stairs. Huddling with me was a new, fresh faced boy, who obviously had a great compulsion to talk. I noticed that he had a way of looking earnestly into my face, which I interpreted as meaning that he was unsure if his pronunciation was correct and clear to understand. When I nodded my head as a sign that I could follow what he was trying to say, a great smile lit up his freckled features.

He seemed to make up his mind about something as he said, "I am Taize Pals" and then added, "I am Dutch and my father is captain of a boat anchored in the river". He paused and I thought I saw that earnest look again, of someone who had something of special importance to share, Then, he spoke in low tones expressing his doubts about what the teacher had said. To add weight to his words, Taize shook his head as one with great knowledge of these things. It added intrigue and surprise to the turn of events when he made an unmistakable demonstration with his two hands, of aeroplanes flying into a dive. His voice then became a whisper when he said, "Stukas over Amsterdam. I saw them." He paused to see the effect of his words and then he went on, "Dropping bombs". He pointed outside as he said, "Not workings on the river, Bombs!"

I now found myself looking back into what were clear blue and honest eyes. From his manner, I knew they had seen more than I could possibly know about.

That afternoon, I walked home from school as usual through the town and there was ample evidence of what Taize had been trying to tell me. Nearly every shop window had been blown out by the blast of German bombs. There had been no warning siren. Thankfully, I was to find my parents鈥� house was safe, except for a new large crack in the ceiling of my bedroom. There was another raid shortly afterwards, which hit the small town of Polruan across the other side of the mouth of the river. On this occasion the school was completely destroyed, but fortunately the children had already gone home.

Meanwhile, Taize's friendship grew and it was not long before I received an invitation to visit his father鈥檚 boat and there, to meet his family. We became and remained good friends, until one day, Taize called on me, He declined an invitation to come into my home, something he had readily accepted in the past. Taize explained awkwardly that he wanted to speak to me on my own, So it was, outside of my parents鈥� house that he stood there, his blue eyes for once not looking directly into mine. His gaze went past me, as if into the unknown. Then, having made a decision, his expression became resolute. I instinctively knew that I should give him space, for it was not that he was trying to compose and speak correct English as when we at first met, he wanted to find the right words to say. When he spoke, his words came so softly I found myself watching the movement of his lips to catch all that was said. 鈥淢y family鈥he boat, all have to go from Fowey. I too, have to go away.鈥� We stood looking at one another in silence, as friends can. Words are not needed. Until Taize's hand suddenly dived into his pocket. When it came out it was holding a handsome scouts鈥� pocket knife. He handed it to me and now looking directly at me, he said, 鈥淔or you to keep. To remember me by.鈥�

It is the cruellest aspect of a world conflict between huge international powers, that the real price of war is that paid by the very ordinary people, in their ordinary ways of life. War becomes a time of almost continuous uncertainty. People come and go, some never to be seen again. And so it was that the Pals family, in their sea going boat, made their way out of the Fowey harbour. I missed Taize, I have thought about him many times since. Did he, or any of the family survive the war? I did not receive any further communication. Or hear news of any of them.

****

An ancient and picturesque town, Fowey is also renowned as an exporter of china clay and the natural harbour can accommodate large ships at the loading jetties, My parents鈥� house looked onto the river and consequently the arrival and departure of those sea going craft, sometimes with tugs fore and aft to manoeuvre a safe passage in the harbour, were in full view. During the war years the jetties and the presence of those ships created a wouldbe target for German aircraft.

It had been a normal and quiet uneventful day, The time was late afternoon and the growing interest for a young lad, was what there might be for tea. The thought had drawn me home.
Suddenly, literally out of the blue, there was the sound of aircraft coming from the harbour mouth and going up river in the direction of the jetties where ships were moored. Thoughts of tea were gone as the high pitched roar of aeroplane engines getting louder and louder, commanded all attention.

As boys will, I ran to the window to see what I could see of the aircraft. As I arrived my eyes were diverted from the sky, to a small motor boat also going by in the direction of the jetties. There were two occupants, both of whom were in the uniform of customs officers. Following along behind the boat, were small fountains of water jumping up out of the deep green river water and leaping forward at great speed, whilst simultaneously, above the roar of aircraft engines there was the deafening and savage sound of machine guns firing. The spitting bullets were hitting the water whilst the two defenceless uniformed occupants of the boat ducked their heads very low. My mother rushing into the kitchen, drawn by the menacing sound of the uninhibited strafing of machine guns, frantically pulled me away from the window鈥�.

The next day, I was relating my story to a school friend. Then, it was my turn to be the avid listener, as he described that at that same time, he had been going over to the other side of the river to Bodinnick in the old rowing boat ferry. The one used for passengers on foot. He described how looking up at the sky the sudden arrival of a diving aeroplane looked black and was not unlike the descent of an enormous predator bird going for its prey. Except that on that lovely quiet lovely river crossing, the thunderous noise of the aircraft engines added to the fear of machine guns firing indiscriminately. Without thought or mercy for anyone, young or old, for mothers, or their children.

The memory of it was sharp in his mind, as he said, 鈥淚t made you want to run. But there was nowhere to go. There was no escape.鈥� I was thinking it must have been desperately frightening on that rowing boat in mid river, when he added, 鈥淢y stomach turned over" he said, "wlhen something flew up in front of my face. On looking down, I could see where splintered wood had been torn away, leaving a gap on the side of the boat where I had been holding on. Right next to my hand.鈥� The bullet that had ripped into the boat, had whined away, perilously close to his young body.

****

It was in the middle of the night and we were all quietly resting in bed. The time, was that sort of time when noise seems to be that much noisier. So that when that noise is the rapid fire of various types of gun, shooting down from aeroplanes above and shooting up from the defending weapons of boats in the harbour, it is difficult to be aware of anything else. It did not help that the night was lit up by flashing tracer bullets streaking across the sky. To make sure that we were thoroughly awake, there was the deafening roar of aeroplane engines, the aeroplanes seemingly leapfrogging the chimney pots overhead.

My father was under a heavy commitment to his job. This was together with his public duties of supporting the St John鈥檚 Ambulance Brigade and additionally, he was a night warden. Consequently, bedtime was precious to him. There was a certain reluctance on his part to leave its warmth, even on this noisy occasion. He had made no apparent movement. In our old house the stairway was open to view from the kitchen and my mother and I were already down and waiting. At the sound of another crash of gunfire, she urgently called up the stairs about the need for us ALL to go to the cellar? As if by royal command and to the rattle of machine guns - my father made his grand appearance. I have to say that even a casual glance in his direction, would have established that much against his usual habit of wearing the appropriate clothes for the appropriate occasion, it seems he had decided perhaps in haste, that other considerations were influencing his thinking.

He stood there, at the top of the stairs, in what looked like his winter undergarments. For all that he moved well. In the general direction of downwards he approached the kitchen as he endeavoured to step into and haul upwards, a pair of trousers. Such garments, tangling around the legs do tend to restrict movement, especially, as he was demonstrating, coming down stairs, One instinctively knew of course that trousers can suffer much coaxing and heaving, to persuade a movement towards intended sobriety. It was the act of a true gentleman then, when determined to achieve his goal, he went in for a sort of stoop, reminiscent of the forward roll of a somersault.

The incredible din of gunfire, coupled with the noise of aircraft engines in the dark of night, interrupted proceedings, instilling again the chilling threat of danger.........

As my father was about to do a funny turn, his vocal expressions were by now colourful, essentially not speaking well of the Germans. He was hardly ever heard to swear, but my mother's hand flew to her mouth, perhaps with the thought of saying something about me being present. Whatever it was, instead I saw that nice smile my mother possessed, as I heard her say mostly to herself - "Why is he putting his best trousers on?"

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