大象传媒

When war was declared in September 1939 I recall my mother listening to the wireless whilst cooking Sunday lunch, with tears running down her cheeks. We were living in Essex at this time and when the farm managed by my father was sold, we moved to Lukyns at Ewhurst. This was a gentleman's residential estate, kept purely for pleasure, and it was my father's task to convert it to the production of food, as the law required.
For the next four years I attended the village school, walking two miles each way until I had a bicycle. In the early days, we stood in the fields, watching the Battle of Britain being fought overhead, seeing the planes spiralling to earth and the airmen descending on parachutes. Every week, I think it was Wednesdays, tanks would trundle their way along the lane to train on Holmbury Hill. Sometimes they would camp overnight on the farm drive before going on. During school holidays we delighted in climbing the hill and were often given rides on the tanks. One false move and we would have fallen off and under the tracks. Health and Safety were not priorities then, and it was every man for himself, and self preservation. Living in the country, life was reasonably safe, and we really did not suffer the hardships of townspeople as we had a house, cows to supply milk, from which we made butter, from the hens we had eggs, and buckets of them were preserved in waterglass at times of plenty to be used for cake making and cooking. There were rabbits and game to be shot, giving an adequate supply of fresh meat. I was often dispatched to a friends house, carrying rabbits for their dinner. At haymaking and harvest time we wee able to apply for extra rations - cheese, sugar, etc. in order to feed the workers. We also shared with a neighbour in the slaughter of a pig from time to time, had to obtain a licence and forfeit part of our meat ration, although I doubt we ever did! Some we ate fresh, some was salted and the legs were smoked. Mr Bailey, the butcher, made lovely meaty sausages for us too. We always had a ham hanging in muslin from a hook in the ceiling. We had plenty of home-grown fruit and vegetables, but no oranges or bananas. Clothes too were a problem, especially as I was growing fast and needed adult size clothes before I was eligible for an adults clothes ration, so to accommodate my ever growing need for a large size shoe, everyone else in the family had to give up their coupons. We recycled clothes, which were cut down from adult clothes into something for children. We unpicked hand knitted jumpers, skeined and washed the wool and reknitted. Nothing was wasted. Sweets were a luxury, and perhaps once a month, we were able to go in to Cranleigh to buy our supply, but what panic there was if we mislaid our ration books. Because I lived over two miles from the school, when the Canadians organised a delivery of Wellington boots from Canada, I was so excited to be allocated a new pair. My most exciting Christmas present, was a pair of fairisle gloves which my aunt knitted from scraps of wool - I was so proud. As the war progressed, we nightly watched the waves of bombers going on missions, and hearing them return in the early hours. Occasionally a military funeral would take place in the Church opposite the school. It was a tearful experience, even for a child, to hear the Last Post being sounded. Enemy bombs fell on Ewhurst, we had an oil bomb in the school playing field, and others fell else where in the village. Those which fell in what is now Downhurst Road made huge craters, which enabled us to find the fossils which were thrown up, and, of course, we collected shrapnel as souvenirs. From our high point overlooking the village, we could see the flames from the fires caused by the Molotov cocktails which had fallen (I think a large bomb with lots of smaller incendiary bombs spilling out on impact). Whilst walking home though the woods from school, I saw my father was on the tractor ploughing, seemingly unaware that a stray enemy plane was machine gunning him. My friend and I hid in the ditch and when we came out, expected to see my father dead, but he was still ploughing. I was aware that the ammunition dump on Leith Hill was exploding. Huge palls of smoke were drifting over, and as I rode home on my bicyle I went into thick yellow smoke hanging in a dip. I can remember the terror I experienced then, thinking that I could not go on but forcing myself to do so and suddently I emerged into fresh air again. I was ill when I reached home and I remember being seen by the doctor and interviewed by the police and the military. I probably saw what was one fo the first flying bombs. I awoke in the night, heard what I thought was my father getting the tractor out, but couldn't think why when it was so dark. I looked out of the window to see an aircraft on fire, and shortly afterwards it cut out and crashed with a loud bang. We were informed a few days later about the flying bombs and saw several after that. One evening, returning from church, we watched one cut out, glide over Pitch Hill and crash. It landed on High Wethersell. From school we attended cookery classes in Cranleigh, had taken our fruit to lessons, and been able to make jam, with a special allocation of sugar. Of course, we had to leave it behind to cool and set, and at the weekend, there was a direct hit by a flying bomb on the cookery hut. We never had our jam, but luckily no one was hurt. Many of the Candaian soldiers building Dunsfold Aerodrome were stationed in Ewhurst at Garlands and Woodlands. The sand was dug from Pitch Hill and there was a sand lorry passing through the village every two or three minutes. The Post Lady, I seem to think her name was Ada, was sadly killed. After work, many of the Canadian soldiers came to work on the farm, much to the delight of my father because they were experienced and hardworking. They had to be paid straight away, and then spent the rest of the evening in the pub. At busy times on the farm we had German or Italian prisoners of war working for us. I do not know whether they brought food with them but meal breaks were spent in the wood shed, where they chalked swastikas on the wall and drew other pictures. They were given potatoes to cook and I still have the large fish kettle they used (we also used it to cook our hams). The Italians used to make sandals and baskets for me and my mother, out of any scraps they could acquire. Brookhurst Grange, which was owned by Sr Kenneth Lee of Lukyns, but leased by Mr Arthur Guiness of Holmbury House, was requisitioned and used as a convalescent home for the forces. They wore bright blue suits with white shirt and red tie and wore their regimental hats. I was a St John cadet, and at weekends we used to help there, setting the dining tables and waiting, taking meals to the bed ridden, and then washing up afterwards. At Christmas we were invited to sing carols nad join in the parties. Mr Guiness supplied a bottle of the black stuff for each soldier at meal times and they were given access to his swimming pool at Holmbury House during the summer. One day a week, after school, we collected the waste paper from the shops in the village, and probably houses too. We took it to the stable block at Garlands and put into piles ready for collection and recylcing (so what's new?), then we tried to piece together the torn up letters and cheques. We thought it was fun, and we didn't get caught! My brother went off to war even though he was reserved occupation on the farm. I can recall my mother searching the shops for a cigarette case for his twenty-first birthday which he didn't get because it fell just before D-Day and he went off to France. He returned safely. We have parties to celebrate the end of the war, and every child in Ewhurst was given a copy of OURSELVES IN WARTIME - I still have my copy which my grandchildren borrow to use in the studies of WWII.

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