大象传媒

"This story was submitted to the People's War site by the Barnsley Archives and Local Studies Department on behalf of Phyllis Crossland and has been added to the site with his/her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions."

Amid the many changes and innovations brought about by the war, one thing that excited great curiosity and some amusement in our area was the appearance of American jeeps with their coloured occupants speeding through the Four Lane Ends crossroads. Most local people had never, until then, encountered at first hand anyone with black or brown skins so, to begin with, those service men from across the Atlantic were objects of wonder, especially to children. As time went on and they were frequently seen, not only as they hurtled along in their jeeps but also in Penistone pubs, they were accepted as part of the wartime scene. A number of these coloured Americans were housed in a camp at Scout Dyke, just outside Penistone on the Huddersfield Road, so the bypass route, including Four Lane Ends was used by them a good deal when travelling to and from their billet.

The function of these overseas servicemen was to take over work already begun by the Royal Air Force, which was to transport loads of bombs to and from the dumps sited in the remoter area of the parish. Unlike the R.A.F., the Americans were mechanised in their methods of stacking up the piles of bombs. Whereas the former had lifted and passed up the bombs manually, the latter used ladders with roller rungs, which did the lifting for them in half the time. This was typical of the Americans who regarded speed as an essential part of life.

The speed of their jeeps certainly caused the Four Lane Ends folk to stare in amazement. Never before had they witnessed vehicles going so fast through the crossroads. We were highly amused one day when my Grandfather actually has a ride in one of those jeeps. He came into out house laughing but still half-bewildered as he related his experience. Walking along the bypass from Thurgoland towards Four Lane Ends, the sudden load noise of a vehicle screeching to an abrupt halt alongside caused him to turn his head in that direction. Two grinning dark faces looked out from the jeep, one of them enquiring genially, 鈥淲anna lift Pop?鈥� As he spoke he opened the door invitingly and made room for him to sit beside them. Although my Grandfather was in his mid-seventies, his spirit of adventure was not dead, after only a slight hesitation, he accepted their invitation and climbed into the jeep. Hardly had the door closed than they were off in such haste that caused him to clutch his cap as his head was jerked backwards. It seemed to him they flew rather than drove along that road. In no time at all the brakes were squealing to a stop by the Travellers Inn where Grandfather had asked to be put out. The men got out with him and, giving the vehicle a brief inspection, one remarked to the other, 鈥楪ee, she鈥檚 red hot.鈥� Relating this to us, my Grandfather commented this was not surprising if it kept up such a pace all day.

For security reasons the areas in which the bomb dumps were sited were closed to the general public at that time. Local farmers and anyone else who needed to use these small country roads near the bomb-sites could obtain passes, which enabled them to go through the area. Guards were posted by the Americans to ensure that no unauthorised person entered the forbidden territory. There was one incident, however, that caused a few laughs at their expense.

A certain farmer, having spent an evening at Greenmoor鈥檚 Rock Inn, was returning to his farm on the Stocksbridge side of the hill. He did not possess a pass because he lived outside the area. Usually he got a lift home from the Rock but on that particular night his friend was absent. Being compelled to walk, he decided to take the shortest way to his house, which happened to be through the guarded area of the bomb-dumps. Whether his sojourn at the Rock had rendered him oblivious to the fact that he hadn鈥檛 a pass, or whether he was consciously flouting the law for the sake of convenience, is not certain. In either event his reaction to the challenge was commendable.

When he found himself confronted by a big, dark-faced figure with a gun at the ready, demanding to see his pass, the farmer fumbled in his pocket. Drawing out a piece of paper, which was actually one of Goldthorpe鈥檚 corn bills, waved it at the guard nonchalantly, who, without even inspecting it, muttered quickly, 鈥極kay, okay,鈥� and hurriedly motioned him to proceed. Such was the security. If the farmer had been a master spy those guards would have been none the wiser!

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