- Contributed by听
- RAF Cosford Roadshow
- People in story:听
- John Henry Hadley
- Location of story:听
- Birmingham
- Background to story:听
- Civilian Force
- Article ID:听
- A2854334
- Contributed on:听
- 21 July 2004
The Defence Medal
John Henry Hadley
This is the story of a small apart of the life of my father John Henry Hadley, always known as 鈥楯ack鈥, who was born in 1906 and was 33 years old when World War 2 started. It all happened in Birmingham.
My father was awarded the Defence Medal for 6 years service in the Auxiliary and National Fire Service during World War 2. He never made much of it and until after his death in 1978, it just lay in a drawer in my parents鈥 bedroom.
For all concerned, and particularly long service fire fighters, this was a hard won decoration that seems to be ignored by many people today. For such as my father required a minimum of 3 years continuous service in the UK. For volunteer members of the Fire Service, it involved not only life-threatening work during the blitz, during so-called leisure time but also continuing with a normal full-time job and raising a family under war conditions.
For virtually all of his working life, my father was employed in Birmingham, at Earl, Bourne and Co off Dudley Road. The company worked mainly in the manufacture of brass tubes and their related products. This was to be of extreme importance during the war, as it proved to be an ideal basis for the manufacture of shell and bullet casings, aircraft instruments and, at a later stage, landing craft components. Because of this work, my father was immediately designated as being in a reserved occupation, i.e. not allowed to be called up for the armed services.
Within days of war being declared in September 1939, I remember going with my father to a large fire station in Birmingham where he was fitted with a uniform and other equipment, such as an axe, steel helmet and gas mask. He had joined the Auxiliary Fire Service, which in August 1941, became the National Fire Service.
For much of the next 4 out of the 6 years, I saw little of my father; he had a normal working job of 56 hours a week (minimum) and for 2 nights every week he was on duty as a fireman. He was based at Monument Road Fire Station for the whole period. There was also another little job that also involved 2 nights each week, that of an ARP (Air Raid Precautions) Warden. I suppose that when not actually fighting fires, the men must have been allowed some sleep, as a 24 hour day for four days each week would have been unsustainable.
As an early volunteer, my father had the luxury of 60 hours training; later members made do with one month of actual duty when they might not have had any real active involvement and learnt as best as they could.
At the beginning, everyone was as much of an amateur but learnt very rapidly. After coming home one morning following a hectic nioght, my father said that he and his colleagues were lucky not to have been killed the previous night. Being very law-abiding the fire engine drivers had always stopped at traffic lights if they were red, even during an emergency call out and also when there were almost no other vehicles in existence at the time. After being put right on the matter, attending a fire the next event the driver kept going at Fiveways, Birmingham. Just as the fire engine cleared the red light, a high explosive bomb hit the road, making a large crater exactly where the vehicle would have stopped on previous journeys. Many fire fighters did not have such luck!
As war progressed, air raids became less and less frequent. The two nights each week became one and then less and ARP duties seemed to have been abandoned. Peace eventually came, my father and colleagues were discharged from the NFS, the medals were handed out and that was that.
My father was allowed to keep his axe and it did sterling work for many years as a household implement on civilian household duties. In about 1998/9, not long before she died, my mother told me a story which I had not previously heard. Some time at the height of the blitz, my father did not come home for 2 days. My mother had no news whatsoever. When he did finally arrive it came out that he had been told that the whole of Rotten Park Road, where we lived, had been totally destroyed and that there were no survivors. He could not face that. Then he was told the truth, that nothing had happened and that no one was dead.
Despite everything, my father never received a scratch and died, aged 72, in 1978, another unsung hero who just did his job along with everyone else. My younger brother still has the 鈥渦nregarded鈥 Defence Medal awarded to an unpaid volunteer.
Written by Eddy Hadley, oldest son, and submitted at the RAF Museum, Cosford.
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