大象传媒

My father, Kenneth Charles Wood, was born on 23rd September 1925 in Stafford.This meant that in October 1941, after passing a medical, he was called into the Army Cadets. On top of his normal 9-5 job in a boot/shoe wholesaler, he would join other recruits 2/3 evenings a week (7 pm - 9.30 pm) as well as weekends. Kitted out in uniform and led by a top ex-army Captain, their training included: drilling, fitness, map reading, written tests and, at weekends, field exercises.
By enjoying the bonding experience and showing aptitude for all the activities, dad was soon made Corporal. Later when the standing Sergeant Major was called up, the Sergeant took his place and dad took his.

Having made smooth progress in the Cadets and making Sergeant, dad thought a good career in the army proper beckoned, so it was somewhat of a body blow when, at the start of November 1943, his call-up papers told him to report to Littleton Colliery as a Bevin Boy. At the start of the war miners, keen to be free of the pits, signed up, leaving the mining industry woefully short staffed. With coal vital for victory, Ernest Bevin decreed that every tenth man called up should serve down the mines.

Dad had never set eyes on a Pit before so, before his start date, he took a trip over to take a look. He found a bleak and dismal place which left him with a sense of foreboding. The Colliery itself was 9 miles away, which meant leaving home at 5.45 am, in order to catch the bus for Cannock, which past by the pit, and arrive on site for a 7.30 am start. If you were late for the last cage down, you missed a quarter shift and there were harsh words as well as the loss of money. Dad soon learnt to be on time. The men walked to their positions on company time (it could take up to an hour to reach the coal face) and walked out on their own time. So, though the shift finished at 3.00 pm (1.00 pm Saturdays), dad wouldn't reach home until 5.30 - 6.00 pm. Later a friend would buy a car and the lift would make things a little easier. He picked up 拢3.75 a week (old money) for his efforts and had 5 days off per year.

Dad's first few weeks were spent at the pit surface guiding just emptied coal tubs back to the mine shaft. Then he went underground for the first time and soon learnt the secret of taking a deep breath before the cage hurtled at high speed down a straight mile. It took him a while to get use to the vastness of the place, as well as the noise, the dust and the dark. In such an environment it paid to be careful as there was little emphasis on safety, and injuries and deaths were commonplace. However, such was the camaraderie amongst the miners, not only did they take the Bevin Boys under their wing, they were constantly watching each others backs.

His first job underground was with a small gang salvaging old iron girders from disused mine shafts. Dangerous work as the overhead was prone to collapse, and also tiresome as they dragged the giant girders foot by foot to the main shaft. Here a chain rope was continually revolving, pulling coal tubs back and forth. Some of the tubs were flat ones for salvage and alike and the girders were heaved onto one of these and taken to the pit head.

Later dad would have a more lonely role, monitoring the movement of these tubs. The mine worked in 3 shifts. The afternoon shift would dynamite the coal face, the night shift would cut the loosened coal with a giant 'pig', and the morning shift would shovel the coal into the tubs. All the cut coal had to be removed before the shift could finish. Dad was positioned alone, 10 minutes walk from the collector at the pit head. He had only his helmet lamp to see by (he was helmet 107 - each man being issued with a numbered helmet before going down in the cage and if all were returned then every man had completed the shift safely) and could just make out the light of the next chap in the distance. His job was to ensure the tubs ran smoothly and to remove the back 'snap', which prevented the convoy of tubs from colliding on inclines or declines. The ground levelled out beyond him to the collector. By doing this it speeded up the process of getting the coal to the surface. Again this could be dangerous work as each full tub weighed over a ton and could easily crush you or run you over. One time dad couldn't get the back snap off in time and the following tub crushed his shoulder. He kept on working as there was no sick pay and as he lived with his elderly grandmother, they needed the income. His wounds recovered in time.

During the first Winter dad would return exhausted and by the time he had cleaned up and eaten he would often fall asleep. But as he acclimatised and Summer came he, like any young people of this time, was keen to get out and about. At weekends he would meet up with friends and go for a few drinks, a game of snooker or attend one of the many dances. A few hours dancing with a pretty girl to the atmospheric melodies of Glen Miller was enough to revitalise the spirits. But it was here also that the prejudice would surface. Often surrounded by men in smart forces uniforms, he felt somewhat out of place in his cheap suit. People were quick to point the finger and accuse but were strangely deaf when the retort came. They had little understanding and, like most Bevin Boys, dad felt somewhat belittled and undervalued. There was no appreciation of the terrible conditions endured by the miners, so to do such a difficult and dangerous job with little support from the people or the government made the going tough at times.

But this was his lot and, with good heart, he saw it through until the end of the war. However, the celebrations at armistice were tempered somewhat as the expected discharge was not forthcoming. Eventually he wrote to the Ministry of Labour who finally wrote back with a discharge date for August 1947.
Unlike the forces there was no demob suit or other help but no matter. Having met my mother at one of those dances in February 1947 he walked hand in hand with her across Cannock Chase on that sunny day in August, happy and relieved to leave the misery of the pits behind forever and look forward to a bright future together (they would be together for 57 years until mum passed away in 2004 - dad is now 80).

Of course it is easy to look back and wonder what would have happened had he been called into the army as he expected. Would he, following his promising time in the Cadets, risen through the ranks, survived the war and had a successful army career, or would he have been the first man killed on the beaches on D-Day - some poor chap was. Either way he would never had met mum and had their life together and I (and my 2 brothers) would never have been born. For me not only can I see the sad and terrible loss of all those men but also the loss of all the their descendants, those boys and girls that never were.
So perhaps, besides the dangers and the misery of the pits, being a Bevin Boy was a stroke of luck - some would argue that. It's certainly hard to imagine the terrors endured by the members of the armed forces. But it seems to me that men and woman during that awful time found themselves in unknown territory, places beyond their control. Fighting the war was a collective effort of all those people and winning it relied on each of them doing their best in the situation they found themselves. Every man did his bit and my father was no exception.

Additional Note: Coventry.

As my family moved the 40 miles from Stafford to Coventry in 1966 I thought I would add this little note.
Both my parents remembered hearing the bombs explode during the blitz on Coventry in 1940 and seeing an eerie red glow in the sky as the city burned. It certainly brought the war closer to home.
And for those of you who have never visited Coventry, the fact the just metres from the burnt out shell of the old cathedral, rises the glory of the new one is a poignant reminder of the power of destruction and resurrection.

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