大象传媒

Butcher鈥檚 boy, grocery warehouseman, milkman to R.A.F gunner. (Victor I. Easen)

鈥淭his story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer, Anita Howard from the Desk CSV on behalf of V L Easen and has been added to the site with his permission and understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions鈥�.

I was born in Brighton, Sussex in May 1925; therefore by 1939 I had reached the school leaving age of 14 years and left my Elementary school in August. My plan was to get a job for a year then, hopefully join the R.A.F. as an apprentice. That had always been my ambition because of my great interest in aeroplanes.
From about 1938 onwards, the country was being conditioned to the prospect of a war, with mock air-raids, (Civil Defence exercises and the general issue of gas masks.) My plans were scuppered when Neville Chamberlain broadcast the declaration of war on 3rd September. I was at a friend鈥檚 house when we heard that, and when shortly afterwards the air-raid sirens sounded it was very frightening. My friend鈥檚 father would not let me make a dash for home because I was anxious at not having my gas-mask with me.

From then on nobody went anywhere without their gas-mask slung over their shoulder. The black-out was enforced by vigilant street air-raid wardens and people went, as far as possible, about their normal lives, constantly listening for any news on the radio.

I took up full time work as an errand boy for the local butcher. It had been my Saturday job, anyway. My wages were twelve shillings and sixpence a week with a joint of meat free; very helpful when food rationing started. In today鈥檚 money that would be about 63.5 pence, but I think the days are long gone now to make such comparisons.

We learned to cope with the black-out by buying small hand torches which ran on No 8 batteries. But, for me, there were some magical moments. I used to stare in wonder at the myriad of stars on a clear night and the beauty of everywhere being bathed in the soft light of a full moon on another occasion. You could see for miles and it was certainly something to behold.

It was particularly useful, of course, when you did a stint on fire-watch at night, either for your street or place of work. This was when you were part of a group who patrolled the streets in shifts on the look out for any fires that may be caused by enemy action. Training and equipment was, as I recall, practically non-existent in the early days. Luckily, things were quiet in the first few months then began to hot up in 1940, culminating with the Battle of Britain.

Following Dunkirk, I can remember, as a 15 year old, cycling along Brighton sea front looking out to sea and wondering if any Germans were approaching.
It was quite a tense time and people seemed rather bewildered and shocked by events. But, following Churchill鈥檚 famous speech about fighting on the beaches etc., the atmosphere changed completely. People knew where they were going and it was as if they rolled up their sleeves and said, 鈥淟et鈥檚 get on with it鈥� and I never came across anyone who did not think we would win in the long run.

Following the fall of France, the air war increased as a prelude to a possible German invasion. Many times I watched as a group of Heinkel 111s crossed the area. Many a time I stood and watched the vapour trails twisting and turning high in the sky with the chatter of machine-guns clearly heard as dog-fights took place and often the sight of a plane spiralling downwards out of control. You always hoped it was not one of ours of course! Then occasionally a Spitfire or a Hurricane would swoop lower and perform a 鈥淰ictory roll鈥� indicating a successful conclusion.

In one instance I was walking along the street when I heard the sound of machine gum fire very close so I dived for cover in the nearby Co-op and ducked under the counter. Strangely there did not seem to be anybody about. Then, hearing plane engines I looked over the counter and watched a Donier 17 flying low over the roof tops with a Spitfire on its tail pouring bullets into it. The Donier crashed on the Downs nearby. Brighton, like other coastal towns began being hit by single hit and run raiders. They came in low and undetected over the sea, aiming at a target, usually railway lines or bridges and were back over the Channel before the sirens sounded. To try and counteract this, on the top of the highest buildings in the town a soldier with a Lewis machine-gun was posted. For instance, out of my bedroom window could be seen the large Co-op building and there was one put there. It gave people some feeling of security I suppose but I could never imagine them being a great deterrent!

At one time a railway viaduct was badly damaged leaving the railway lines dangling in mid-air.

I also had what I consider to be a very narrow escape in one of these raids. I was pedalling my carrier cycle back to the shop where I worked, when there was a loud, very shrill whistling sound. Glancing up I actually saw a bomb hit a public house about 200 yards in front of me. It was destroyed with several casualties. If I had not stopped on my way back to speak to a friend of mine for a couple of minutes or so I would have been a lot nearer to the incident. As it was I was trembling so much it was impossible for me to ride on. When finally arriving at the shop the whole window had been blown in and all the meat on display was covered in glass. Luckily the staff was uninjured.

In another incident I was delivering on an estate situated overlooking the town. There was a sudden bang and I could see a plume of smoke rising from an area close to where we lived. Making my way there as quick as I could, sure enough a house had been hit at the end of our street. Going indoors there was ceiling and glass everywhere and granddad, which had been bed-ridden with arthritis, was just standing there dazed. I asked him if he was all right and he said 鈥淵es and I鈥檝e never moved so quick in my life鈥�. When I looked into his bedroom the window had been blown in and there was glass embedded everywhere. It was a miracle how he escaped serious injury. So, like a lot of people we had our moments of concern and were luckier than many others I knew.

Things were beginning to get too nerve-racking and stressful for my mother, so Dad made arrangements for her, my two sisters aged 8 and 6 to be evacuated along with
our four year old brother. They were found a place on a farm in Lancashire, at Grindleton, near Clitheroe, a beautiful, peaceful area opposite Pendle Hill.
Granddad was placed in the local Infirmary where he was well looked after until he passed away in about 1949.

So, Dad and I were on our own. He worked as a cable joiner for the local electricity company and was always very busy. Knowing I would eventually finish up in the services, I changed jobs for better pay, from butcher to grocer鈥檚 warehouseman and then as a milk rounds man where I learned to drive. Luckily there was not much traffic on the roads in those days!

On at least two evenings a week, along with my friend we attended 226Squadron of the Air Training Corps. We were taught to march and drill properly. We had lessons in Maths, aircraft recognition, Morse code and other relevant subjects.
1941 went by and with it the threat of any invasion diminishing, and in 1942 people were beginning to talk about a possible Allied invasion instead.

The town began to fill up with Canadian troops. Their tanks were lined up in all the parks around the town. We met many of them in local pubs and had some good evenings with them. Sadly many of them were lost on the ill fated Dieppe raid.

Prior to my 18th birthday I volunteered for the R.A.F. aircrew. I had to go to Oxford for intensive medical tests and interview. I鈥檒l never forget it. I wore my A.T.C. uniform but had only brown shoes to wear with it. I felt dreadful! However, I was highly delighted when told I had been accepted for PNB training that meant either as a pilot, navigator or bomb-aimer. So my nights at A.T.C. had paid dividends!

However, things did not go quite as I had hoped. After joining in September 1943, we were given extensive aptitude tests to determine what crew position we would be suited. We had to sign to say we would accept the results or finish down the mines as Bevin Boys. Strange, was it not that 50% of us were seen as being more suitable as air gunners than other categories? The answer was simple. Lancaster and Halifax bombers required two gunners and only one of other positions. For me, I was only too pleased to get crewed up and do some flying. So that is how I finished up as a Lancaster rear gunner, but by that time the war in Europe was ending. We were preparing for the Far East when that conflict came to a dramatic close. Anyway, for the next two years I got quite a lot of flying in. As I used to say, I could never see where we were going but I could always see where we had been.

Looking back over my teenage years I can see where we had been and it makes me feel very proud to have been a member of this nation during those traumatic years.

Mr. V. I. Easen Nov. 2005

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