大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War Site by Ruth Jeavons for Three Counties Action, on behalf of Jeremy Cave, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

When I was four, my father kept a transport caf茅 at Jack鈥檚 Hill on the old A1 road. He started in 1939 鈥� bought a hut and had a Tilley lamp for floodlighting. My Mother helped him with the deposit for the hut. It was a 24-hour caf茅 and we sold Whale steaks and lots of tea. The business just grew and grew. We served convoys of soldiers travelling up and down the A1 all pleased to have a free 鈥渃uppa and a sarnie鈥�. We got the bread from the Welwyn Bakery. My Dad always had a car and we took the water to the hut in dustbins on a trailer towed by the car. I remember being on water duty, getting the water from a standpipe at Gravely. It was a greasy spoon caf茅, really, with a great big teapot and sugar in a basin on the counter with a spoon tied to it.

My Father鈥檚 next venture was to buy a chicken farm. He knew a man with impetigo who wanted to get rid of the farm as it was bad for his health. He was desperate to sell, so my Dad bought it from him and we had plenty of eggs, which was useful for the caf茅. We had a baker called Fred who made beautiful sponges and cream horns on an electrical cooker.

I remember one occasion when my Dad was unloading dead hens from the boot of the car ready to send to the caf茅 for roast dinners. He spotted some dark-suited men walking up the drive and without a moment鈥檚 hesitation he immediately started counting them out instead of in. Said he was destroying them to avoid having to explain. They were probably inspectors from the Ministry of Food and Fisheries. I was impressed by his quick wittedness.

My Dad had to support five children 鈥� four boys and a girl. Two of the boys were not well: One was damaged at birth with a trapped nerve and never learnt to read, the other had eczema and Asthma and died young at the age of seventeen. I was sent to St Christopher鈥檚 School at Letchworth between the ages of 4 and 11, which was a private fee paying school, so my Father must have been doing quite well.

We lived in Letchworth on the Great North Road. Letchworth Gate was taken over by the army as a tank base, and we were not allowed in, but I remember seeing convoys of Americans passing down the Baldock Road before D-Day. 鈥淕ot any gum, chum?鈥�

When the sirens went we were put under the stairs in cots as we had no Anderson Shelter. My mother was frightened out of her wits for the children when buzz bombs came overhead. You could always tell when they were about to drop as they went silent. My Father was always eager to see where they would land and dashed upstairs to see if they鈥檇 miss us. He wasn鈥檛 called up because he had bad eyesight and always wore pebble glasses.

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