大象传媒

I was a child during the Second World War and lived in the country in West Sussex. Apart from the odd distant bomb being dropped and a few crashed, or brought down, planes we did not experience first hand the horrors that a lot of people did. The nearest that I can remember our village coming to action was when one day a stray German aeroplane swept over the village and the pilot strafed the local bus. Fortunately the bullets went between the driver and his seat so no damage was done, apart from some chips off the front of the village hall. Although some food was in short supply and rationed we were able to supplement with home grown supplies. The house we live in had several acres of land and we kept lots of rabbits, and chickens, ducks and geese, and even a few goats, which my sister and I had to sometimes milk. We have both disliked goats milk ever since. We also kept a pig in the sty at the bottom of the garden. I clearly remember when the time came to kill the pig. It weighted 22 stone and the man who came to kill it was Farmer George Woodbridge. A giant of a man with a waxed moustache, he carried the dead pig down from the sty to the back of the house where he proceeded to cut it up on a large table.
As he cut the pig into useable portions I remember he would cut a small slice and pop it into his mouth. No wonder he was big! We also had dogs and a favourite was a black corgi sized one we called Simon. He would often sleep in the sun out the back with one of the ducks sitting on him. As well as the rabbits we kept, my father would sometimes shoot or snare wild ones, so rabbit in various forms was often on the menu. I still like it. I shall never forget having to collect, with my sister, sackfulls of various weeds and things like dandelions, hogweed and wild parsley for them.

My father was a member of the Home Guard, and used to go out some nights watching for German 鈥榩lanes, and practising grenade throwing. Not live ones of course. He had been wound twice in WW1, at The Somme, and again at Pashendale so was an old hand at it. I think some of the time was spent in the local pub, but that wasn鈥檛 official! There were three pubs in the village. The nearest one to where we lived was The White Horse. It stood back a little from the road and it鈥檚 sign, a fine painted horse at the top of a tall post, was down by the roadside. One night after some Canadian soldiers had had a little more to drink that was advisable, one of them shot at the horse. I was there only a few years ago and the hole was still there!

The village school had three classrooms. One for infants, one for juniors and one for seniors. One of my lasting memories of that school was being caned by the Headmistress for ruining the schools dinner (lunch to you). The school had a kitchen attached. One day we were going to have jelly and blancmange, and these delights were standing on school benches in the shade outside the kitchen door to set. Playing with my friends and running around the benches I somehow knocked them all over. Miss was not amused.

My friend in those days was John. He was some four or five years old than me and he had a bicycle, (I didn鈥檛). We went all over the place together with me on the crossbar. I can even remember going over a ploughed field one day when we were looking for a crashed aeroplane, hoping to pick up a souvenir or two. We rarely did because by the time we got there the 鈥榩lane was usually guarded by the local policeman, or some other official. I can still smell the smell of spilt aviation fuel that was always present at these places.

Like most parts of the South all the large houses, and their grounds, were occupied by troops. There was a Bomb Disposal Unit and the Royal Engineers at one place, and the Royal Signals at another. Also nearby were Canadians. Occasionally, for short spells, we had the wife of a soldier staying with us to catch a few days with their husbands before they went over to France, - because this was the build up to D-Day.
That brings me to the most vivid memory of the war. There were troops everywhere. In the fields, and along the side of the roads, just waiting. It rained, for about three days, and I remember some of the soldiers parked along the road coming into the house to get dried off. Out house stood on it鈥檚 own down a small track, a small field away from the road, so from the windows of the house we had a good view of them.
Our dining room has a large alcove in which stood a big iron fireplace. There were soldier鈥檚 clothes hanging everywhere. Then, one morning we woke up and, nothing. Every soldier, vehicle and everything connected with them had vanished. It was the 6th of June.

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