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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Fay Heard of Tollesbury, a People’s War volunteer on behalf of Cedric Gurton and is added to the site with his permission. He understands the sites terms and conditions.

When war broke out I was on holiday with my mother and sister. By the time we returned to the village the evacuees had been here and left.

I remember standing at my bedroom window and watching as bombs exploded at Mell Farm.

The teenagers in the village often walked to the pier on Sunday afternoons and I remember sitting on the sea wall and watching as the Army tried to blow a hole in the pier to stop enemy troops landing there.

When I was 15 I became a police messenger, working under PC Duncombe. This involved being on duty every other evening taking messages to patrolling Special Constables.

I remember the sirens going and the German planes passing over head on their way to London and one night in particular when the German planes did not follow their usual route after reaching the Blackwater. The planes were gone for a very long time and in the morning came the news of the raid on Coventry.

During the Battle of Britain I watched much activity from the recreation ground. I remember watching a British fighter which was shot down and came down in Seabrook’s Lane, near the main road. My pals and I went on our bicycles to the scene of the crash — the plane was a blazing inferno, the pilot burned to death — not a pleasant sight for teenagers!

On another occasion a plane landed on the field below the recreation ground. By filling in the ditch they were able to get the plane off.

At 15 I spent my summer holiday working on local farms with Land Girls and conscientious objectors — I earned enough for pocket money for the next year.

When I left school in 1094 I went to work with my cousin, Ron Gurton, on his farm on West Street. I remember the time when I went to see the cows in a field opposite Fiddler’s Hall. I gave them their rations from a shed in the middle of the field. On my way home the village was rocked by bombs exploding, and the next day when I went to check the cows I found that the shed had received a direct hit — and the cows were all hiding in the ditches.

Going spratting when my father was ill and unable to work was a very dangerous experience and I was thankful when my father recovered. Fish and wildfowl supplemented our diet and my father had a pass to go on the mud flats between the pier and Mell Creek. This meant going along the railway line and through a field which had huge holes where the cattle had gone through and exploded the mines — another dangerous experience. It certainly was a dangerous time for us all.

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