大象传媒

Amongst several places in which I lived during the war (which included London in the blitz) was a village in the fens.

My uncle, veteran of the First World War, was the village butcher and during the two periods of time that we lived with him and my aunt I recall the building of a large brick building behind the slaughterhouse.(Yes it was and - yes he did!)

This was the armoury which was built as a facility for the local Home Guard of which my uncle was C.O.
It contained boxes of 303 ammunition, sten guns, bren guns,. a rack of Lee Enfield rifles and, crowning glory, a 'spick and mortar' device for sending bombs into the sky so slowly that you could follow their trajectory and watch them bounce, since the missiles were only dummies.

I was five and could name all the weapons, all the parts of the 303 rifles (the lazy screw lies in the foresight bed!) and IA one and IA two, which were what you did when your Bren stopped firing although I was not strong enough to - 'cock, mag. off, new mag on' - or in IA two - open the gas regulator by turning it with a live round. Thirteen years later this knowledge helped me to become a marksman in the R.A.F. but I am glad to say that I never had to shoot at anyone.

The keys of the armoury were kept safely by my uncle and no-one else was permitted to open the door, though I believe the local policeman had some knowledge of the security arrangements. It may have been for this reason he seemed to carry away small 'extras'.

"Can you use a half pound of sos'ges, George?", would be my uncle's casual enquiry and the policeman would reply, "well, thas very nice", and once I saw him put the newspaper-wrapped parcel under his helmet.

In the armoury there were sometimes items which were not of an offensive nature.

Sides of bacon, like Black Dog in 'Treasure Island', appeared and disappeared.

Old Missus soo-'n'soo down the fen was said to have 'killed a pig in the house' and my uncle 'assisted her in dispersing the joints and returning them in kind as required.(Cast your bread upon the waters!)

I had seen the blood and guts in the slaughterhouse, but I had also visited her lonely cottage behind the high river bank, and have still a vision of porcine intestines draped round her immaculate sitting room. It was some years later that I discovered that 'in the house' meant something different.

My cousin came home on leave and his father, my uncle, said, after a relaxing cup of tea, "before you take your uniform off, Ken, just you drive the van over to Charlie Britten's will you!". He turned to me, "You'd like to go, wouldn't you?"

Unaware that I was travelling as 'extra camouflage' I jumped eagerly into the van. My cousin was some sort of an idol. He had a picture of Tarzan and he had said that when he was abroad he would buy me a monkey.

Entering the next village we were stopped by their village bobby.
"Hallo, Ken", he said."I never knew you was back"

"Just come", said my cousin. "Dad wanted Charlie to have a look at the van...."

A nice side of bacon slid silently into the food chain.

By the time that we returned to the area I was three years older. I still had no idea about the kind of dealings which I had seen but not understood, but now I was old enough to take part in the provision of, ' a bit on the side' that was legal.

Girls kept rabbits and searched the grass verges for dandylion leaves and all the other rabbit delights that could be had free. Some of them were also good at the other processes that lead to the invitation of a furry pet to Sunday lunch.

We boys rabbited, though fishing was the most pleasant way of 'getting in' with the rest of the village.We returned one evening with sixty-eight fish (big fat roach, perch, bream and a small pike) and eight eels.

All the ponds had been stocked in case of need in the first world war and now they teemed with fish.

"You're a good little ole bore, you are!" said one old dame as I took her a thick slice of pike, and distributed other fishy presents along the cottages.

I felt pretty good!

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