大象传媒

This story is being submitted by Sue Giardina on behalf of Gwen Hibbert, who fully understands the conditions of the website.

It was on a night-time air raid, that my brother Trevor decided to arrive. While my poor mother was having a baby on the large staff table, we were sheltering in the silver safe a few feet away. This safe was about 6ft x 6ft, and lined with green baize, the walls and door were about 12in thick. When inside you couldn't hear anything if the door was shut. We all used to go there during the air raids, but my father always made sure the door was wedged open in case of a direct hit, otherwise we would have suffocated through lack of air.
The war went on around us, being only 12 years old I was too young to be of much help and school was non-existent, for nearly two years due to air raids and the 3 mile walk to get there.
I was enjoying a different kind of life made possible only by the war.
During these 2 years unknown to most of us preparations were being made for the invasion of France. This quiet backwater suddenly seemed to become of great interest to the army. The quiet fields and woods now had great numbers of men from the Canadian Army. They were busy covering the lakes with camouflage netting, the fields had trenches, barbed wire enclosed the woods, tents went up in the woods and large numbers of Army vehicles filled our roads and lanes.Places that had been my play ground and nature reserve were now 'Out of Bounds'. Guards were posted at roads and gates. During the cover of darkness we could hear large movements of Army vehicles. But still we didn't understand.
Life took a definate turn for the better the day the Canadians came. They didn't have food rationing, the camp was over flowing with food we hadn't seen or tasted for years.My mother always invited several homesick boys to tea each Sunday, during the conversation that took place, she would say that she could cook this cake or that pie if only the rationing wasn't so bad. Within the next 24 hours she would find enough left on the doorstep to make several cakes etc. I remember on one occasion when she said we hadn't tasted dripping for years, the next morning two buckets of lovely dripping stood on our doorstep. No one ever said who put it there, they just appeared.
Thses boys were quite partial to fresh eggs and chickens; the poor farmers found the numbers of both dropped steadily until they complained to the officers. Fathers of teenage girls were definately out with shotguns and didn't rest for months!
How I wished I had been older to enjoy the Nylons, and going dancing like my sister did. She was the 'Jitter-Bug' champion of the dance floor.
Every month the local people who lived along the road approaching Chartwell were treated to a real show. A different regiment of the Canadian Army would take over the camp in the woods. They would be dropped off about 2 miles down the road and would march led by the regimental band right past our gates up to the camp. What a glorious sight and sound that was to see hundreds of young men in their regimental dress marching past. Little did we know that within a few months many of these young men would be dead on some french beach. How glad we were that while they were at Chartwell we were able to show them kindness and befriend so many away from home.
Many months later one lad called to see us before going home, but he was the only one.
D-Day came and life changed dramatically for us. Our lives were shattered by the sudden death of my father in the early hours of that day. He was only 48 years. Unknown to anyone he was suffering from leukaemia and due to a minor operation had died soon after it was carried out.
With the war raging around us our lives totally change, because my father was the only person employed to run the Chartwell Estate, a replacement was needed straight away. Until the right person was found my mother was asked to take his place. As we lived in a tied cottage she couldn't refuse. It was very difficult for her as she had very little knowledge of running a place that size.
I was only 16 years old, my brother was only 4 so we added to her burden and couldn't help much.
When the advertisement for a new head gardener was printed it caused the Churchills a bit of embarrassment because of the low wage offered. the press picked it up and it appeared in the National papers. the new man benefited from this, but my poor father had worked from dawn to dusk for 14 years with just 3 weeks off in all that time, one of those was for his mothers funeral. All for the princely sum of 拢3.10 shillings a week. (拢3.50)
I actually have the letter sent to my father by Mrs Churchill turning down my fathers request for a pay rise, saying they couldn't afford it!
Within a few weeks a man was found and we had to leave our home'Gardeners Cottage' after 16 years.
Housing was very hard to come by in those days, so we moved into 'Chauffeurs Cottage' with my sister Doris who was married to a soldier serving abroad. Miss Whyte, nanny to the Churchill Children lived next door, so we were able to share the worse days of the war with each other.
Bombing continued and enemy planes flew over machine gunning anything. One day my mother, brother and I had a very lucky escape whilst working in the kitchen garden, two German fighters came over, opened fire, but the bullets hit the wall not us.
Doodlebugs were next and then V2s. One of these exploded in mid air and covered the countryside with jagged metal, that really terrified us.
There were many other incidents I could write about. like nearly drowning in the fishpond with my brother, falling through the ice on the big lake whilst breaking ice around the island to stop the foxes catching the black swans. Befriending the young German POWs who came to dismantle all the things the Canadians had put up. They too were frightened and again my mother made tea for them. So many things I remember, not all pleasant.
Then my mother found a house at Toys Hill in return for so many hours working outside. her hard work at Chartwell had paid off.
It was many years later that I returned to Chartwell after the National Trust had taken it over. It was very strange to have to pay to see the house and gardens where I grew up. I did meet Grace Hamblin again who was a great friend of the family.
Recently I read the "Churchill Bulletins, Jan - June 1935" and was very interested to read references to my father "Mr Hill" on pages 7,8,59, and all the other people I knew growing up at Chartwell.
I would be interested to hear from any Canadian Soldiers who were stationed at Chartwell at this time, or any one else.

E-Mail glynnehih@aol.com

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