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this story is an extract from the memoirs of Eric Hart added to the site with his permission by Belinda Nash of the Folkestone Heritage team. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The H.Q of the 8th (Cinque Ports) Battalion, Folkestone Home Guard was the Drill Hall in Shellon Street, home of the Territorial Army鈥檚 鈥楧鈥� COMPANY 鈥� 鈥楾he Buffs鈥�, but a separate Platoon was formed at Shorncliffe camp from the civilian employees. Our sergeant was none other than the former Garrison sergeant Major Hedges, who although retired, still retained a thunderous word of command that would send shivers up and down your spine of any recruit, although taking orders from an NCO with a lifetime鈥檚 military service behind him was I suppose a privilege. However, it goes without saying that the officers of the Platoon were selected from various Clerks Of Works.

Our base of operations was to be Sandgate Castle, built during the reign of Henry VIII together with the string of Martello Towers along the south coast at a time when Napoleon might have been the invader. Modest in size, the castle with boundaries that were to become even smaller, for positioned so close to the sea its outer ramparts were to fall victim to the wrath of the waves from successive storm tides鈥�.. The prime evil this time was again threatened from 25 miles across The Channel, but in the form of the German Panzer divisions assembling there. The modest size of our Platoon meant that each member was called upon to carry out a tour of duty throughout at least two nights per week, on the basis of two hours on duty and hour rest period. Our small Castle keep didn鈥檛 exactly afford the height of luxury while contemplating a 鈥榮nooze鈥� when attempting to match one鈥檚 reclining body shape to the curved wooden slated seats set around the inner circumference of the castle wall. A 鈥楲egacy鈥� left us by Henry VIII were the rats, which would scurry about the place, so it was imperative that any food brought along was secured in strong metal containers. We had heard stories about the resident ghost, but apart from a weird few noises erupting from the Dungeon below at high tide I think these could be dismissed as a result of the water or the rats, but I never went down there to investigate! One strange phenomenon, which we all experienced, would occur when staring through the darkness out to sea鈥�. A chemical reaction in the water known as phosphorescence produced glimmers of light on the surface of the water, best understood by looking the word up in the dictionary. However, the tour of duty termined at 0600hrs, whereupon we stood down, cycled home for breakfast and our ablutions, before starting out for another day鈥檚 work at 0800hrs. The Platoon consisted mainly of older men, some having failed a medical for the regular armed forces, or were beyond call-up age. In my case however~I had to put my age UP in order to qualify for home guard enrolment, and was soon to discover that I had another young companion by the name of Donald Petts. We often used to team-up together for the cycle patrol which extended eastward to meet-up with the Folkestone H.G, who used the Cliff Lift lower terminal building adjacent to the pier as their guard room, and which took us along the restricted (no-go) under cliff road. Prior to the outbreak of war this had been a local beauty spot, with its mantle of a wide variety of trees, shrubs and flowered borders, but all this had to pay the price of being in 鈥楾he Front Line鈥�, and replaced with borders of barbed wire barricades and awesome skull and crossbones 鈥淒anger Mines鈥� signs. On arrival, after signing in at the Folkestone end, my point of focus through the murk would be the ghost-like form of the ageing Royal Victoria pier which opened in 1888. This all-time 鈥楳ecca鈥� of entertainment now stood isolated out there above the waves, for the section adjoining it to the shore had been blown up by the Royal Engineers early in 1940, to deny the enemy a landing stage. However, to resume our duties, we then back-tracked along our route beyond the castle and along the open A259 coastal road as far as Seabrook, where we would labour up Hospital Hill to record our presence in their Log Book before returning to Sangate Castle and our two hour rest period鈥�.

The significance of these patrols by part-time soldiers might by some be held to ridicule, but in those dark days the volunteers of the Home Guard played a valuable role in defence, none more significant than those of us within such close range of the enemy. This sparked conversation amongst the veteran members at the Folkestone end one night, as they chatted over a mug of tea before going on patrol, with one of them pointing out to you the possibility of an enemy incursion on the shore by Hitler鈥檚 crack troops, whereby a number of hostages could soon be whisked-off to Germany! Shall we say then it wasn鈥檛 the brightest of recruits that accompanied this 鈥榦ld sweat鈥� on patrol water later- for when a tree branch caught in his webbing, pulling him back a pace or two~ it prompted the frightened chap to yell 鈥� 鈥淣O!- NO!鈥ET ME GO鈥�.. I don鈥檛 want to go to Germany!!!鈥� It must be said however that some night patrols could be quite rewarding, for 鈥� on other occasions quiet calm prevailed with clear skies, as we made our (almost) silent progress along this deserted coast road, made more discernible by the moonlight which filtered down through the bordering trees, the silence occasionally interrupted by the soulful 鈥榟oot鈥� of a watchful owl. On nights such as this, the moon鈥檚 silvery wake across a calm sea made the hard reality of war seem far removed, although conditions like this were favourable for attacks on enemy shipping in the French Ports by the R.A.F, whereupon a veritable 鈥榝irework鈥� display would ensue, with bright flashes as the bombs fell, and the ground defences sent up a cascade of tracer bullets into the night sky. On other occasions a cross-channel duel would commence between the heavy artillery on both sides. Conditions permitting 鈥� it was possible to see the 鈥榝lash鈥� as the gun fired in the Calais area, and by the time one had counted to 60, the one and quarter tonne shell would have exploded here on south east town with devastating effect. German records show what they recorded as an 鈥淗istoric moment鈥�, on the 12th August 1940 at 10:45 German summer time, the very first shell was fired from a rail-mounted gun, which destroyed a house in Millfield, Folkestone.

Moving on from the sombre side of events, I must conclude with a...light-hearted [story], and which it must be said 鈥� happened every bit of 60 years ago! Our meagre weaponry at Sandgate castle did however extend to one well-worn Lewis machine gun, which we would mount on a tripod during air raids. While standing by with the gun one summer evening, a German Dornier Bomber with a wisp of smoke issuing from one of its engines came limping quite low over the hill in its desperation to reach the French coast. Although I considered it to be out of range for the Lewis gun, my excited compatriots wanted some 鈥榓ction鈥�, so I opened fire! I should mention that my intervention was no hindrance to the progress of the aircraft 鈥� for it was infact too far away, but we did score a ricochet or two of the spire of the nearby Sandgate school so鈥� I would hazard a guess that the 鈥榣ocals鈥� would have been wondering just who鈥檚 side we were on that evening?!

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