大象传媒

This is my Dad's story as he wrote it in 1994. You can also read my Mum's under the title 'A Happy Time in the ATS'.

WAR MEMOIRS 1939-45

JOINING THE ARMY

"I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received and this country is therefore at war with Germany". The Prime Minister's declaration was to change my life as it was to change the lives of so many others.

The Sunday morning in September 1939 was bright and within minutes people were beginning to gather in the street. I found myself talking to a neighbour, a young friend of about my own age. We decided at once that we ought to DO SOMETHING - we ought to VOLUNTEER. For no reason other than the fact that my father had served in the Merchant navy in the First World War, I suggested that we should offer our services to the Royal Navy. He agreed and we both cycled to the Naval Recruiting Office near Temple Meads station only to find it closed; it would be open for business again the next day, Monday. We called again the next day and on being asked by a Naval Petty Officer how long we wished to serve for, answered 鈥淲ell, until the war ends, of course鈥�. 鈥淣ot possible鈥� said the N.P.O. 鈥測ou can only join for 12 or 18 years鈥�. We declined this offer on the basis that we certainly hoped the war would not last 12 years and pointed out that war had been declared the previous day and it was likely that there would be a number of young men offering their services for the duration and that the Navy would have to give this some thought. This produced a shrug of the shoulders and as we left a parting shot to me 鈥淲ell, you're in a reserved occupation if you work at the Bristol Aeroplane Company and you won't be allowed into the armed forces鈥�. We left, with our initial enthusiasm by now somewhat dimmed.

I continued to work at the Bristol Aeroplane Company at Fulton in the progress office. Soon after the outbreak of war a Local Defence Volunteer unit was formed. It later became known as the Home Guard and was mainly staffed by young men who had not yet entered the forces and not the older people represented in the beloved 'Dad's Army'. I spent most of early months of the war, in addition to the day job, doing night patrols around the factory and office site equipped with either a Canadian Ross or Lee Enfield rifle. We had no ammunition and I recall no-one ever gave us any orders or instructions as to what we were expected to do.

Nothing of any consequence happened until February 1940 when, having reached the age of 20, I was required to register for National Service. I was asked my preference as to which arm of the services I would want if called up for military duty. I again expressed a preference for the Navy and this was duly noted. In July I was called before a Medical Board who turned out to be representing the Royal Air Force. I pointed out that I wanted to be a sailor and was told to forget it - the examining board was R.A.F. and the R.A.F. was where I was destined. All my efforts to change this came to nothing and having asked eventually what the nearest thing was to the Navy, was told Coastal Command would be something similar and so I accepted this offer.

Early in September 1940 I was just leaving the house on my way to work when
an envelope arrived with my call up papers. I had a quick look, noticed that I had to report to Exeter on 16'h September, put the envelope in my pocket and hurried off to work where I informed my workmates that I would soon be off to join the R.A.F. One of them looked at the papers and laughingly pointed out that I was being called up into the Army. Efforts to get this changed at the various recruiting offices were fruitless and so I accepted the inevitable, enjoying the doubtful record of having volunteered for the Navy, been medically examined by the R.A.F. and called up into the Army.

September 16th saw me at Exeter station with a number of other young men and we were transported by lorry to a field on the Exeter by-pass full of bell tents. This was to be the first of at least three winters begun in bell tents, at the same time as the House of Commons were being assured that there were no troops living under canvas.

Army marching drills then formed the beginning of our soldiering until we awoke one morning and saw the most ugly contraption in the middle of the field. We were told that this was the anti-aircraft 'secret weapon' which would protect civilians and that we were lucky to be working with them. The invention of this weapon (which was to fire masses of rockets into the air, filling it with exploding shells - at least that was the theory) had apparently caught Winston Churchill's imagination and a call-up had therefore been ordered of young men from the West Country irrespective of their own plans and wishes. As far as I know, there was no occasion recorded throughout the entire war when these things actually fired their rockets in anger in an anti-aircraft role. Rockets were of course developed by all the warring countries but used, I think, only as field artillery.
WEST YORKSHIRE
With winter approaching, we were moved to a little village called East Morton, about half way between Bingley and Keighley in West Yorkshire. Our home while we were there was to be an old disused woollen mill that had closed down in 1938. Our first task was to scrape about three or four inches of grease off the floor before the place could begin to look anything like habitable. Settling in was helped by the fact that we were the first troops to be seen in the area. This was a big hit with the local girls and with the adults who argued in the pubs over who was going to take the troops home for Sunday lunch. Some of the lunches we had were massive and I ate more rabbit then than I have done ever since. One of our benefactors in Keighley had the reputation of being the local drunk and on one occasion apparently was so drunk she fell through the window of a furniture shop and was found asleep in the bed in the window some hours later.
The mill turned out to be a good home and I was particularly favoured by the woman who owned a small local shop. I quickly became the family favourite and was offered all sorts of goodies denied the other lads who frequented the shop. The short time we spent in the village is one of the most vivid memories I have of the six years I was in the forces.
No 'secret weapons' available; we just did more marching drill and learned how to use a rifle. I was now a 'two-striper', in artillery terms a bombardier, rapid promotion indeed.

Apart from the locals' kindness two memories remain. At the top of the iron stairs leading up to the mill rooms was positioned a wind-up gramophone accompanied by one record - Gracie Fields singing 'He's dead but he won't lie down'. It became tradition for anyone returning to the mill from an evening out, whatever the time, to play the record and we listened to Gracie warbling again and again, sometimes at 2 or Sam in the morning. The other vivid memory is of an inspection by a visiting officer. The sergeant in charge of the cookhouse, intent on making a big impression, polished all his cooking utensils beautifully with Brasso, but unfortunately omitted to wash them afterwards. This had disastrous results and during the night there were long queues of desperate soldiers trying to reach the limited number of toilets. Alas, the majority of them didn't make it in time.

The possibility of being home for Christmas was squashed by the Army's decision not to allow troops to travel during the Christmas period. Troops were now being moved around the country and we were relieved in Yorkshire by another bunch of would-be rocket soldiers while we were returned to Bristol. Why we didn't stay in Yorkshire and the others go to Bristol I never understood. Still, a posting to my home town was not to be sneezed at and we spent about four weeks there followed by about the same period of time in Corsham in Wiltshire where nothing of any note happened other than my reaching my 21st birthday.

PLYMOUTH

March 1941 saw us, still without any 'secret weapons' en route for Plymouth in good time, as it turned out, for the Plymouth Blitz, during which we had the pleasure of being billeted in the dockyard area. April saw five major air raids on Plymouth within seven days and we were in the middle of it. The first night found us in the Tamar brewery building which was on fire and I recall that we got out by jumping onto a pile of blankets that some troops had placed below the window. It seemed at the time, with not too steep a drop, quite good fun. The third night, Wednesday, we had to evacuate our billet in the gun wharf, but the thing I remember most was hoping above all that we might get the chance for some sleep, not having slept for three nights. A rapid movement on the Thursday found us sleeping in the cold storage building in the dockyard where we had some respite until the following Monday when the German aircraft returned.

We were equipped, I recall, with Lewis machine guns with a range of about 800 yards. Since the German aircraft were flying at about 15,000 feet we did not pose much of a threat to them, although we had a little excitement trying to hit incendiary bombs lodged in girders and trying to knock them to the floor so that they could be dealt with on the ground. It crosses my mind now that it might have been better to leave them there.

We soon decided that we would be of more use helping the firemen and we lent a hand with the end of a fire hose, pumping sea water. I can still recall the awful taste of dockyard sea water. The next night (Tuesday) the raiders returned and this time they were obviously looking for us personally as, shortly after the raid started, the cold storage building in which we were now under instructions to take shelter received a direct hit, luckily at the far end of this long building from where were situated. This meant we had to get out and we were directed to shelter at the side of a dry dock some 200 yards away. It is difficult to recall clearly what those 200 yards were like. The only impression I can offer is running like hell through a world of fire and noise. We reached the dry dock and spent the rest of the night there. Throughout the whole of the five-night blitz we had suffered only one casualty and that was a soldier off duty who had been walking through a park and had been killed by shrapnel.

I don't recall where we laid our heads next until we found our more or less permanent site at the top of Mount Edgcumbe on the Cornish side of Plymouth Sound. We soon found ourselves with our full complement of 64 'secret weapons', set up a well-appointed camp, built dozens of Nissan huts and began what was to be a fairly carefree and happy 14 or 15 months with little attention from the German air force. Not that could have made any impression on them. We were officially operational, but we were not permitted by the area Gun Operations Officers to shoot at German aeroplanes. All this time, fully equipped and not allowed to take any part in air defence - what a waste of men and material.

We therefore had lots of time on our hands and, apart from the normal military drills, the next year or so were spent largely in sporting and social activities in order to maintain morale. I can even boast spending two weeks in Truro becoming a physical training instructor (second class, it must be pointed out, as I was unable to do the somersaults and back flips which were necessary to make first class.)

Highlights of this period were a visit from my then girlfriend and from my younger brother who, aged 17, had joined the Royal Marines. My efforts to get him to change his mind failed as he was now alone at home, his three elder brothers by now all in the services, and he had little time for his father.

We did have, while at Mount Edgcumbe, an important invasion exercise. It was essentially for infantry troops but we were required to take part to make up the numbers. Early in the exercise we captured the General controlling the 'invading' forces but were made to let him go as it was making a mess of the whole thing.

By this time it was becoming apparent that it was unwise to tie up regular soldiers in rocket batteries and the decision was taken to hand over as many units as possible to 'Dad's Army' i.e. the Home Guard and this resulted in my being posted to Oxford to train local Home Guard units in the handling of the equipment. Oxford was a great place to be. A grand piano in the Clarendon rooms was one of life's delights. My friend and I had the run of the American camp at Slade, having befriended a wayward American soldier and made him see the error of his ways - a feat that no other officer or soldier in the American camp had achieved - and all without trying. The lad offered us a bag full of money that he had won shooting craps - about 拢80 in all - and was amazed when we declined.

DATCHET

November of that year (1942) saw the end of the fruitless connection with anti-aircraft rockets. Perhaps it would help to explain what they were. The rocket was about eight feet long, six feet taken up with the propellant and about two feet filled with the explosive that would detonate in the air. The theory was that the sky would be filled with explosive shells which would make it impossible for any aircraft to survive. What apparently had not registered was the fact that the information determining at what height to explode the end two feet was so inexact that no guarantee could be given that the explosions would occur anywhere near the desired height. Furthermore, the ballistic performance of the projectile through the air was also insufficiently predictable. There was, in addition, the problem of six feet of pipe falling to earth after the aerial explosion and causing more damage and injury to the people below than the German bombs. All in all, another of Churchill's brainwaves came to naught.

Then there came an entirely new departure - a posting to a unit with proper anti-aircraft guns at a place called Datchet, and to a mixed unit with A.T.S. girls. After the joys of Oxford, Datchet did not seem a good posting, especially as we arrived on a dark November evening with the rain pouring down. I remember saying "What a bloody dump".

We had all made a decision not to get mixed up with any individual females but to be pleasant to everyone. Some hope! I was soon to meet the girl who was to become my wife and the people with whom we were to live for four or five years. By now I was a full sergeant - three stripes with a gun on top - and drilling A.T.S. girls was at times something I would rather not have had to do. Datchet was to keep me for only three or four months after which an officer or officers arranged for me to be posted to Dover to spend a brief period again training Home Guard units in the use of rocket equipment. Cross channel shelling by the big German guns in the Pas de Calais were rare but uncomfortable experiences, and as far as I could see, fairly pointless.

(cont in Part 2)

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