大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Helen Avey of the 大象传媒 London Team on behalf of John Davis and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Helen Avey of the 大象传媒 London Team on behalf of Hamish Cameron and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I am enclosing some short reminiscences of a young lad (myself) who lived in a remote part of Suffolk, but next to a R.A.F aerodrome between the years of 1942, 1943.

I wrote these reminiscences for a local Suffolk resident who was recording the war time memoirs of people living in the area of Hundon (Nr. Clare in Suffolk). I gather that my contribution was did not want the British to share. I always felt this was very unjust as the Royal Navy had made a very considerable contribution to Victory in the Pacific in the final stages of the war.

In the months after the war, H.M.S Formidable was turned into a hospital ship with nurses and doctors on board, and we went round the Pacific islands bringing back P.O.W's of the Japanese back to Australia and India. Some of these ex P.O.W had been treated very badly and it was a very emotional experience when we sailed back into Sydney with these men, who had been through so much, to see them breakdown when they saw their loved ones waiting for them on the jetty. I think I cried myself!

I am still in quite frequent contact with Mr George Duffy, the upper mid gunner of the Stirling bomber which crashed around our house in September 1943. He and his wife, Loraine, still play gold (he is 83).

Memories of Hundon

I lived at Brockley Green for approximate three and a half years from 1941 to 1943.

When I came I was a boy of 15 for whom life had gone a bit pear shaped as they say. I had lost not only both my parents but also my direction and it is a period of my life I do not enjoy recalling. When I left the area I was seventeen and a half and grown up enough to join the Royal Navy as a boy-seaman at H.M. Ganges at Ipswich. That was October 1943.

I remember these short years in the area with a deep and almost unusual affection and whenever I can I will always make an effort to visit Hundon and in particular Brockley Green and wallow in nostalgia. Quite apart from what was happening to me they were momentous years anyway.

I lived with my sister and he husband at Mill House next to the Plough. My brother-in-law was the Sports Officer at R.A.F Stradishall and I was frequently able to go with him to the base and see all that was going on and to meet some of the R.A.F personnel including Group Captain(As he was then, later to become Air Marshall) Dermot Boyle.

The history of R.A.F Stradishall has been so excellent recorded in the book by Jock Whitehouse and Spencer Adams that I will say no more about it other than that the war and what was going on at Stradishall was a constant background to the area in those years. The sound of aircraft engines being tested went on all day and the sight of aircraft flying on 'circuit and bumps' went on constantly.

By day we would see the B.17s from the nearby U.S. airbase at Ridgewell forming up into their 'boxes' for some mission and then later in the day they would be returning and peeling off in sections, some with obvious damage and a red light under the fuselage indicating that they had casualties on board. In the evening it would be British aircraft filling the sky, all at various heights and all flying east. The air was just alive with the sound of hundreds of engines. It was really a fantastic sight and one that cannot be forgotten.

I'm afraid that there were also crashes. I think within just a mile radius of Brockley Green there were three or four, one of which I will refer to late on as it was literally on top of us but had an interesting sequel for me.

Game Control!

Like many boys I had an interest in guns and shooting. Our nearest farmer was Jack Gagen and his brother Frank. Jack turned out to be a dear kind man, and in spite of many faults seemed to like me and would lend me his 12 bore shotgun and allow me to shoot pigeons on his land. In fact he started me off with a little 4/10 shotgun which I think he had bought for his own son Val. However, I soon got promoted to the 12 bore.

How few farmers today would allow a young lad on his land, let alone lend him his gun. I have such wonderful memories of roaming the fields and woods around Brockley Green. During the war years pigeons were very much considered a farming pest and in fact local agricultural organisations provided free cartridges to farmers and landowners in order to keep them down. Jo Curtis, the butcher in Haverhill, paid 2/- for a pigeon in those days and I think a rabbit was 3/-. People were very glad to get a couple of pigeons or a rabbit then to eke out their food rations. As I had left school at 15 (being considered rather a waste of time on someone like me) I was able to earn quite good money shooting pigeons and rabbits.

Jo Curtis, the butcher, also like to come shooting. He was a rather fat man (like many butchers) and when we went out together my task was to get him into a suitable place on the edge of a field where the barley had just been sown and to build a hide around him with branches and leaves so that the pigeons would not see him. However, almost invariably when I had just completed the structure Jo would say to me 'Sorry boy but I must have a pee' and he would break down all my hard work getting out.

I developed a love for nature and the Suffolk countryside during those wonderful years that I have never lost. Although I did shoot birds and rabbits I would often be content to just watch what was going on from my hide or tree when one would see foxes stalking, hares boxing and rabbits playing. I was often up before dawn and feel that I became part of nature, perhaps like a fox myself. Always there was a background of skylarks and the sounds of aircraft in the distance.

First Jobs

My sister and her husband decided, I think that it was time I got a job. I was becoming a wild thing and needed discipline and to understand that one had to work to live. My brother-in-law got me a job at Sainsbury's depot which was (still is I think) at the Haverhill/Little Wratting crossroads. My job was to be assistant to the egg collecting van driver. There were in fact two vans which set out each day visiting farms in the area collecting their eggs. I was assigned to a short, but tough, wiry man, Jack Farrant by name. Jack had been through the first war and had been hardened, understandably, by his experiences in the trenches. As he told me himself he now feared nothing. He also did not suffer fools lightly and quickly told me that I was as much use as a wet week. Just his lick to get a young prat like me as his assistant. The funny thing is that I respected Jack and wanted so much to please him. I would listen open mouthed to his stories of the First World War on the occasions when he would talk to me.

My job was to pull out the large 36 dozen packing cases from the van as soon as we stopped at a farmhouse. Jack would then meet the farmer's wife (it usually was) and start negotiations regarding price and quality etc. I would then have to collect the eggs and have them counted and correctly packed into the trays in the crate. No matter how fast I did this it was never quick enough for Jack, and I would have to endure his expletives when he returned. 'Corr blast it, you're as thick as an oak tree you are. Where the hell did they get you from?' etc. He was Mr 'No, No' to me.

There were occasions however when one of the ladies would invite Jack into the farmhouse for a cup of tea or whatever!? Jack would remain in the house for quite a time and this would have allowed me to have completed my tasks and then I would be sitting in the van waiting for him. He would eventually just come out, slam the van door and we would be off to the next call. No 'Well done' etc. On one or two occasions I recall the lady of the house saying to Jack 'Would the boy like a cup of tea?' Jack would just say 'No he don't need tea, he's got a job to do.' The object of the day, it seemed, was to be the first van back to Little Wratting. I'm not quite sure why this was so important but we were almost always beaten to it by the other driver and his boy who would look at me in his smug way and ask if we had had a puncture or something? Of course I would get another verbal bashing from Jack - 'My ferret could do the job better' etc. The fact that I had been waiting in the van whilst he was with the lady in the farmhouse never got a mention.

Jack was at heart a good and kind man. Shortly before I joined the Navy I understand he told my brother-in-law that I was not a bad lad, he could have had worse! He did also wish me well when I went.

Introduction to The Great Man

One day on my way to the depot the road was blocked by a large flock of sheep. I was concerned that I should not be late - Jack would not have been pleased - so I slowly rode my bicycle through the sheep. At the end of the road there was a large black car. I believe it was an American Buick. As I approached a smartly dressed chauffeur stepped out and spoke to me. 'There is a gentleman in the car who wishes to speak to you' I went to the car, a window slowly came down and a man in a dark suit leant forward and said, 'Do you know who I am?' 'No,' I said in my usual cheeky way. 'Well' he said, 'I am Mr J. Sainsbury and don't you ride your bicycle through my sheep again.' So saying the window went up and the chauffeur said 'Now buzz off'. So I can now say I was introduced to the great Mr. J. Sainsbury himself.

First Love

The Land Army Girls came to Brockley Green. Sex reared its ugly head along with the pimples and other things. When they started working in a field opposite Mill House I got out an old pair of binoculars and scanned the field, making my secret selection. However my attentions were noticed and when I found some obscure reason to pass by they said 'Why don't you put your binoculars away and come and give us a hand'. I did see some smirking and noticed some ribald laughter but decided that this indeed might be the one way to meet the one I had selected.

Dear God! Have you ever tried pulling and knocking sugar beet? It's all done by machinery now, but in those days these girls did it by hand. Freezing cold, you had to pull them out of the ground, knock them together and try to get rid of the soil and then chuck them into the cart. I don't know how they did it, backs bent over at the worst angle. Land Army Girls never got a medal at the end of the war and I can vouch that this is a national disgrace. Anyway, in no time I was crippled and the passion was right out of me. If Joanna Lumley had been there at that time and said, 'Let's go into the woods' I would have had to refuse!

I was invited to a Halloween party at their hostel which I think was in Clare. I recall scrubbing myself red and trying to cover my spots with calamine cream and making efforts to stick my hair down with Brylcream (I had lots of hair in those days, it's all gone now) and then cycling to meet my love. It was in fact a very nice party with apple dunking and other games. However someone had invited real men from R.A.F Stradishall and the object of my desire was quickly swept away by some sod in a R.A.F. uniform. I recall cycling home on a beautiful starry night deciding that I would have to get myself a uniform and that women are very fickle!

Passion Thwarted

Whilst I was happy at Mill House, cycling the lanes and roads to Hundon, Clare Kedington and Haverhill and having my half pint of brown ale in The Plough I did not meet many girls, at least none that wanted to meet me. By the time I was 17 I was clearly 'in must' and my brother-in-law took pity on me and took me up to Stradishall where there were a lot of young W.A.A.F.s. The R.A.F had several concert parties and the one at Stradishall was called 'The Astra Follies'. The singer of the band was a very fruity young lass and I recall she sang a song 'In my sweet little Alice blue gown'. That was it! Cupid fired a telegraph pole into me. Somehow it was arranged that I could go with her to Bury. St. Edmunds on the R.A.F. bus when next she had to leave.

The day came. More scrubbing, gumming down the hair and calamine on the spots. I borrowed my brother-in-law's sports jacket, much too big but I thought it made me look older and my shoulders bigger. I then had to cycle to Stradishall to meet the bus. I arrived just in time to see it leaving and not going much faster than I could cycle - I thought. I set off in desperate pursuit. I'm not certain but I believe it is a good 15 miles from Stradishall to Bury St Edmunds. There were times when I even caught glimpses of the bus ahead of me. Downhill I reached speeds that should have had me arrested for dangerous driving (or cycling without due care and attention).

I was quite a fit lad but by the time I arrived in the square at Bury I was a physical wreck. My clothes were soaked in perspiration, my trousers had bicycle chain oil on them, Brylcream was running down my red face and, of course, my spots were now standing out like volcanoes about to erupt. I was so exhausted that I was trembling and even when I got off my bicycle my legs kept cycling.

Desperate for a drink I went into a little caf茅 and asked for a lemonade. My hand was shaking as I took it and sweat was dripping everywhere. I could see that the lady behind the counter was watching me closely with her beady eyes. She must have slipped behind the counter to phone the Police for they were waiting for me when I came out. I had calmed down a few degrees by this time and after giving them my name, address and identity card details, plus an explanation, they allowed me to go. They said they understood about boys chasing after girls but this was ridiculous! I do not remember how I got home, by bike I suppose.

I did shuffle around the town looking for this girl but fortunately did not find her. God knows what she would have thought had I found her in that state. In fact I learned subsequently that she was not even on the bus but had gone to Haverhill with some R.A.F. chaps instead!

It was the best cure for lust anyway and I decided that women were not worth the effort - for a few days anyway.

22nd September 1943

It was a pleasant late summer evening at about 7 p.m. I was in the kitchen of Mill House talking to my sister and a friend. We suddenly felt the ground shake and a red glow, like a very vivid sunset, shone through into the kitchen. We went outside and instantly were shocked at what confronted us.

The sky was full of smoke and falling pieces of aircraft, some dropping like stones, some twisting and turning slowly down. Some of it was burning. On the ground there were huge flames from several sites of wreckage. Also our neighbour's (Mr. Deeks) house on that side was on fire. People started appearing from all over the place and we began running to help. However, for a few minutes we were held back due to the falling debris. As soon as it was possible we ran to help Mr. and Mrs. Deeks in removing furniture and valuables from their house. Ammunition was exploding all around and after one very large explosion a warning was given that the aircraft, a Stirling bomber, still had a live bomb and we should take cover. I do not think that many took much notice and indeed several people including I recall Jack Gagen walked about amidst the burning wreckage looking to see where the bodies were.

The American Fire Brigade from Ridgewell arrived surprisingly quickly, then an ambulance and subsequently the Haverhill Fire Brigade. The Deeks' fire was put out first and then foam was used on the main aircraft fires. A search had began and gradually the crew were located, all dead of course except for one man who unbelievably was found still alive. It was hard to believe that anyone could have survived such an event. The aircraft had blown up several thousand feet above Brockley Green and, as related, fell in pieces over a wide area. I believe that fragments are still found to this day.

I did see this poor chap carried to an ambulance and for several days my sister and her husband telephoned the hospital at Woodbridge where he had been taken to see how he was. I do not think anyone thought he could possible survive. One body was not found until the next morning.

Mrs. Deeks was taken to our house to rest. I confess I now forget how they coped with the disaster that had badly damaged their house but I feel sure the local folks would have helped in every way that they could. They were good people. This incident ins fully recorded in the book about the history of R.A.F. Stradishall by Jock Stonehouse and Spencer Adams.

Very soon after his momentous event I left to be a boy seaman in the Royal Navy at H.M.S. Ganges. Although I never forgot the incident I never did find out whether or not this crewman had survived. Death and tragedy were all around in those times and one wished to survive oneself.

However some fifty two years later in 1996 I was advised by my sister that a book had been written about Stradishall and of course I obtained a copy. In this incident is recorded along with so much more and for the first time I learned that the man (he was the mid-upper gunner) had indeed survived and had been visited in Australia by Jock and his wife. In due course I met Jock and his wife Pat who sadly has how died. I got the address of George Duffy, the survivor, and I write to him a couple of times each year. George fortunately remembers nothing of the dreadful day and surprisingly he made an almost full recovery - surely as near a living miracle as one could wish. George Duffy is a fine man and I would love to meet him one day, but who knows?

The Plough

The Plough Inn in the days when we lived next door was very different to the very smart place it is today. As I recall there were just two rooms, a lounge and the snug which we all used. It was run by 'Jimmel' Deeks and his wife Peggy. It was always a very friendly and welcoming place. A nice fire in winter and the place to be if you wanted to keep up with the local news.

As soon as I was old enough to be working (16) I was allowed to buy a drink. If I remember correctly I used to have half a pint of brown ale which I think was 6d (2 1/2 p). I don't remember any drunkenness or rowdiness at the Plough. People got happy, yes, but that was about it. In any case few young people earned enough money to drink too much.

The names I remember are Cuthbert and Walter who were 'ole boys' and there would have Jack Gagen and the man who now owns it, Cyril Rawlinson (Now owned by his son Cyril has died) and many others whose names I have forgotten. People would be playing darts, cribbage or dominoes and I don't think the local Police bothered too much about time! It was a very happy place and I never recall any trouble.

The original parlour and lounge still exist although how it is all one and the old entrance door is the same but of course it is now much larger than the original and very posh too!

Lasting Memories

I shall always have a special place in my heart for the area around Hundon. It was a time of worry and anxiety for many people, and indeed my own family living at Mill House did have a very sad tragedy whilst we lived there which I can never forget. There, in Hundon churchyard, is a little grave with the name Virginia Montagu-Woods on it and a date in May 1942. I do not think that my sister has ever recovered from this event but it is very personal and best kept to the family.

I loved Mill House and especially the orchard which extended some way down the Kedington Road. There are houses there now where once we used to pick pears and apples. The Deeks' house (I do not know who lives there now) is still there with a nice new roof. I wonder if they still find pieces of Stirling bomber in the ground.

I also remember dear Jack Gagen and his family who were so kind and tolerant of me. His daughter Audrey, who I know still lives in Hundon, with her friend Doreen used to tease the life out of me - ringing one door bell and when I went to answer it ringing the other. Little imps they were. Did I ever thank Jack and his family properly? It's too late now. I do recall his wonderful Golden Wedding Anniversary held at Kedington. He gave such a wonderful speech about how lucky he had been to marry May and what a happy life it had been. This from a man who had his fair share of misfortune. It brought tears to some of our eyes I can tell you.

I also became friends with a young navigating officer from Stradishall - Pilot Officer Peter Code. I think he was about 19 whilst I was 17. We went shooting and had a few drinks at The Plough together. I think he was just happy to get away from Stradishall for a few hours. He took me over one of the Stirlings at Stradishall. We sat in the cockpit and he admitted that at times he was petrified and tried not to think about the next 'op'. The Peter was posted and I joined the Navy.

In 1980 or thereabouts I happened to be near St. Clement Danes in the Strand. This is the R.A.F. Church in London. All round the walls there are books of Remembrance containing the names of all the R.A.F. personnel who died during the last war set out in alphabetical order. I went in and looked through several of the books to find people I had known. I looked under 'C' and there was Flying Officer P. Code - I think it was the only 'Code' there. Like so many more Peter had paid the ultimate price.

A sad not to end on but memories are often sad. So many things I wish I had done and others that I wish I had not done. Like my school reports - I must try harder.

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