大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from Northumberland on behalf of Mr. Gerry (Gerald) Straker. Mr. Straker fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions, and the story has been added to the site with his permission. It is written in the first person.

I was born in 1930. The 鈥淕ood old days鈥� before the Second World War is a myth, certainly for the areas of Northumberland that I grew up in. Poverty was rife but I was relatively lucky as my Father had quite a good job as manager of the local gasworks, which was at the bottom of The Wynd, the hill out of Amble leading to Warkworth. One of my two older brothers served in the Royal Navy during the War, the other with the Coldstream Guards Regiment.

As a young lad entering his teens as the War progressed, I had quite a good time of it. Between 1940 and 1942 we used to go to what was known locally as 鈥淭he Ranch鈥� where films were shown. The original picture house had burnt down in 1939. We usually had enough money to get there and to get in but we had to walk back to Amble. It was not unknown for us to pinch a couple of baggies, a local name for Swedes, from the fields to eat on the way back home!

When a convoy in the North Sea off Amble was attacked by a U-Boat, field hospitals were set up in the Masonic Hall on The Wynd, and in the Parish Hall, to treat the survivors. I remember seeing bodies in 鈥淒ead Man鈥檚 Hut鈥� lying with gas masks on.

Another tragedy at sea was much closer to home when the local dredger hit a mine a little way out of Amble harbour. I imagine the dredger will have had a name but everyone always referred to it, simply, as 鈥淭he Dredger鈥�. As it keeled over its boiler blew up. Some time later, with my pal, Davy Goldstein, we came across a headless body in the Little Shore by the pier in Amble harbour.

A well-known incident in the Amble area was the tragic loss of the five children of Farmer Robson and his wife. This happened on a Sunday night when a British Stirling bomber of 75 Squadron (New Zealand), normally based at RAF Mepal, Cambridge was diverted to RAF Acklington on its return from a mine laying operation off the Danish coast. Unfortunately, RAF Acklington was shrouded in heavy fog and during its final approach the aeroplane hit overhead wires and crashed into the Robson鈥檚 farmhouse at Togston, lying between Amble and the airfield. The top floor of the farmhouse, where the children had been sleeping, was totally destroyed. Jimmy Rowell, the local butcher who had been salting and rolling bacon, was quickly on the scene, to rescue the tail gunner who was the only survivor from the plane.

Reverting to more light-hearted memories, with Taffy Gray I pinched from Charlie Craig鈥檚 fish and chip shop a stuffed alligator. We thought it would be a great laugh to put it in 鈥淭he Gut鈥�, where Amble Marina now is, but we were caught and, at one stage, our misdeeds were going to cost us two shillings and six pence, only twelve and a half new pence, which today might be the equivalent of 拢6.25. However, Mr. Craig intervened in the due legal process, to admit that he鈥檇 been trying for long enough to find a way of getting rid of that dreadful alligator, so the charges against us were dropped!

Unfortunately, I could not escape the consequences of another misdeed. The Boy Scouts used to meet at Warkworth. As a Scout, one of our tasks was to collect waste paper along 鈥淭he Butts鈥�. When the Scout Master tackled me one day about paper that I鈥檇 collected but not handed in, I told him that I could get three portions of fish and chips in exchange for it, one for me and one each for my sister and brother. Laudable as that consideration for my siblings might have been, it held no sway for the Scout Master and I was told to return my woggle and stick: 鈥淵ou鈥檙e out!鈥�

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