大象传媒

Brunt鈥檚 War
I was six years old when World War 2 broke out in 1939. Old enough to know roughly what was happening but too young to comprehend the horrors and heartaches of this terrible conflict. To introduce myself, my name is Peter Brunt and I lived on a large dairy and arable farm, Sudlow Farm in Knutsford, Cheshire with my parents, Samuel and Muriel, and my three elder siblings, Anne, Robert and Barbara. We had moved to Sudlow in 1934 from a farm in Didsbury, Manchester
My first recollection of warfare actually took place in 1939 before war was declared. Barbara took me on holiday to Moelfre on Anglesey where she had friends who had a holiday cottage. The family there also owned a motor yacht named The Clarion. Imagine my excitement the day after we arrived when we all went for a trip in Liverpool Bay, off Moelfre .
After a few miles out to sea we came across several ships, two of which had huge wire hawsers under the part submerged hull of another ship. The men on the ships shouted across the water to us asking for newspapers. It was not until much later that we learned of the tragedy that was unfolding. The submerged hull turned out to be HMS Thetis, a submarine that was on her first diving trials with engineers from Cammel Lairds, the builders and her compliment of submariners.
When attempting her first dive an officer had looked through a sight cock to determine whether the torpedo tube was 鈥榙ry鈥� Tragically a painter had left a blob of paint in the sight cock and nobody knew the torpedo tube was open to the sea . With a mixture of Admiralty blunders and bad luck the Thetis slipped to the seabed and ninety nine men perished.

Knutsford in the war years was a magical place for little lads like me, 鈥榦ur gang鈥� spent our days cycling around the district looking for bomb craters, collecting shrapnel and watching all the comings and goings of British and American soldiers as they drove through the town in their trucks,鈥橨eeps鈥�, tank transporters and Bren Gun carriers. We also helped the War effort collecting books for our troops abroad and aluminium pots and pans for recycling. Many American soldiers were billeted around the town in camps and hotels, General George Patton had his headquarters there and the American Doughnut Stall was a popular haunt in Knutsford town centre. Petrol was rationed and private car journeys were not allowed, but I heard of a few farmers鈥� sons bending the rules a bit, by placing a baby calf on the back seat of their car, they were able to convince an inquisitive policeman or warden they were delivering the animal somewhere. One such occasion was the annual Young Farmers Club dance, held at Cottons Caf茅 (now Hotel) The dance committee were worried a short time after the dance was due to start as the local dance band musicians had not arrived. An American army officer seeing their plight offered his help. 鈥淚 could get my boys to play for you鈥� he said, the committee reluctantly agreed. Up struck the American band, which was superb, the name of the officer turned out to be, Major Glenn Miller.

Sudlow Farm was bombed about this time, one night a huge explosion rocked the neighbourhood. It ensued that it was a landmine, probably jettisoned by some German bomber on his way home from bombing Manchester. In the morning the cows came up for milking with soil all over their backs and the bull was missing. My brother, Robert, fearing the worst sent the cowman to look for the beast. Searching Tabley Park, where the cattle had been grazing, the cowman soon found a huge crater and in the bottom of the hole the bull was bellowing and pawing the ground, but otherwise all right.

Our gang certainly had a vivid imagination at this time and we were convinced that a woman who lived in St. John鈥檚 Road was a German spy. We spent many a night in her garden peering through her bushes, certain we could hear the tap, tap, tap of her Morse Code key as she sent her secret report to her Nazi masters!!

My sister Barbara had met and later married Captain 鈥楯im鈥� Rodwell, who was a parachute training instructor. The rookie paratroops were flown from Ringway (now Manchester) Airport and dropped in to Tatton Park, Knutsford.

Although as I got older and appreciated the horror and sad times of this terrible war, it was a time I will never forget and there were good things as well as bad that will stay with me for ever.

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