大象传媒

This contribution to People鈥檚 War was received by the Action Desk at 大象传媒 Radio Cleveland and submitted to the website by Jane Tombling, with the permission and on behalf of Joan Bilton.

The following is a true story of Jerry Clements from his small garage near Bobby鈥檚 Cycles in Middlesbrough as told to Joan Bilton in 1974.

The month was November, and the year 1945. The war in Europe over, and Hiroshima still fresh in the memory. All over the world service men and women were picking up the pieces and dreaming of demob.

North Africa was teeming with prisoners of war and refugees. Algiers was busting at the seams, and among the allied forces in the town was a recently arrived contingent of WAAF鈥檚. They were there to assist in the running of No 2 General Hospital, some miles from the town.

On this night a party of these girls waited by the hospital gates for transport to take them to a dance at the Sgts. Mess, RAF Blida. The transport was late, and some of them drifted back to their billets. Eventually the truck arrived and in the short time set off for Blida.

As the truck travelled along the 19 year old driver prepared to go over a level crossing. All appeared to be normal, barriers raised and green lights showed. As he drove onto the crossing he was horrified to see an engine speeding down the line and almost on top of them.

In desperation, he wrenched the wheel over to the right and hit the gate post.

The young driver, unhurt but badly shaken, went to get help. H was later to get an official commendation for his skill and prompt action in a serious emergency. Regaining consciousness days later I found I had been the most seriously injured WAAF, having a fractured skull.

Years passed, and I have lived in many parts of the country. My husband got a job with British Steel Corporation and we moved to Middlesbrough. On recommendation of colleagues at work, he decides to take his car to a motor engineer in the town centre.

As it was a Saturday, I went along with him to leave the car and do some shopping. As the repair proved to be easily remedied, we waited for the engineer to complete the job.

As the three of us chatted, a chance remark channelled the conversation into reminiscences of the war.

The engineer had been in the RAF and served in Algiers. A look of amazement spread over his face as I described the ill-fated trip to that dance 29 years before. When the story was told, he spoke quietly.

鈥淚 was the driver of that lorry鈥�!

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