大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Jabulani Chwaula from WM CSV Action Desk on behalf of Eric B Fuller and has been added to the site with his permission. Eric B Fuller fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

In May 1942, I was transferred to the valley Outstation in the Rhydymwyn Valley, near Mold in North Wales. I got digs (lodgings) with Mr and Mrs. Dean, of Sychtyn. I am still in contact with their son John. I got on well with them, and they treated me almost as one of the family.

I cycled to work, and indeed everywhere else. The day after a ride over the mountains to Llangollen, my bottom bracket axel broke. Mold was down the hill almost all the way from Sychtyn, so I rode freewheel as much as possible and entered the cycle shop. The owner had a whole box of second hand bottom brackets axels, so I bought the nearest to a fit. It was too long, so for the next ten years the chain-wheel cone nut projected slightly from the correct position. But supposing it had broken miles from anywhere the day before.

During weekends at work, there were times when at least four people鈥檚 break time coincided, then we would play contract bridge, not even for matches. We were not allowed in the works canteen, so we lived on sandwiches and tea. We got hold of some powdered milk, placed it with water in a 500ml beaker and mixed it using a paddle attached to an electric motor held in a retort stand, it worked fine.

We worked on a four shift rota. Mornings 8.00 to 16.00, afternoons 15.00 to 4.00, nights 23.00 to 9.00, days 9.00 to 17.30.The over lap was to allow the on-coming shift to don toxic clothes, the shift leaders to discuss the log and any directives from on high, and take over any work in progress and then the outgoing shift stripped, showered, shaved and shot off 鈥攏ever mind what else they said beginning with SH.

Incidentally, the toxic clothes were sent to the laundry all except the socks, which never came back if sent. We used to wear them till the soles were stiff, and then wash them with hand soap, of which there were plenty in the place, in a hand basin. Elsewhere soap was not always easy to come by. The sock dried on a radiator.

There were two men on a shift, over two and a half years I worked with two leaders, first with Charlie M, who was about 30 years old and should have had more senior position and later with Eric W, nick named 鈥淐ulbertson鈥� from his outstanding ability at bridge. From about 6.00PM to 8.AM the amount of work varied, mainly arising from checking new batches of Mustard gas.

During the day there were much more work to be done, including sampling as required the 70 ton tanks in the 鈥渢unnels鈥�, there were 24 of them and occasionally going out on a tanker to sample from huge underground tank in some field. This was the only time one went outside the factory gates in one鈥檚 toxic clothes. Sometimes we took a spot check on an incoming or outgoing tanker.

Many night shifts were so slack that one of us would go to sleep whilst the other did the work. This was absolutely against the rules.

One snowy night, I went out on my own to collect several samples. The glass bottles were carried in a yellow tubular bucket for extra safety. I was returning past the maintenance engineers鈥� shop when I fell over something they had wrongly left in the path. It was of course, invisible under the snow. The bucket and samples went everywhere. I had a terrible job banging on their metal door to tear from their game of cards and alert them to the mess. I left the mess behind and went to wake Culbertson, strip, and shower. I do not how the engineers got on cleaning up the mess. If I remember rightly, there was a squad whose job it was to take care of such things. I had no trace of a burn.

We had a clear day between each set of shifts, and every five weeks a 鈥渓ong weekend鈥�.

By swapping shifts we were able to leave at 9.00AM on Friday and return at 15.00 on Tuesday. Nobody objected to the necessary 鈥渜uick changes鈥�, and it meant that even those living furthest away could have 3 clear days at home or with the girlfriend. Most fellows treated their girls with great respect. All decent girls expected it.

On my long weekend off, I would catch the local London Midland Scottish (L.M.S) train to Chester, where I would pick up the L.M.S Irish mail. It was always on time and always full. It would be on time at Crewe, on time at Rugby, and would have been on time at Euston, but it seemed always to stop 20 minutes within sight of the platforms. I never found out why.Then I caught the tube to London Bridge, walking to the main line (Southern Railway) station and boarded one of the frequent trains to East Croydon.

Thence I took a bus to Shirley Park Hotel stop and walked about 3 minutes to reach home. On a couple of occasions I used the Great Western Railway train from Chester to Paddington. It was a slower journey, but the route swung west and seemed to more rural than the L.M.S. line.

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