大象传媒

During the war, I was an art student, and in 1941, when I was 18, I stayed for about a fortnight on Holy Island with a friend of the family who had a hotel there.
The weather was lovely and I spent a lot of time outdoors painting and sketching the village, church, priory and St. Cuthbert's Island. Then I began to go further afield out towards the north shore, which is a mile or so away from the village. I would take sandwiches and spend the whole day painting the sand dunes, the sea, the wild flowers, etc. One day, about lunch time, I was surprised to see the village policeman walking towards me across the dunes. I thought he must be having a day off and going for a walk, so I greeted him and said "You've come at just the right time." I offered him a sandwich and he said, "no thanks, I've come in my official capacity."
He then began to ask me where my camera was. I was very surprised and told him I did not own one. He didn't believe me, and said "We know you've got one because we've been watching you for the last few days from the castle." He picked up my rucksack and delved amongst my paints and things and couldn't find a camera. Then I said, "Oh I think I know what you mean. I have a square piece of card with a hole in it, which I use to frame pictures." Then he picked up all my sketches and said he was sorry, but he'd have to take them. He said, "I'm taking you back to the village and I'm arresting you. I shall be locking you up until they come from Berwick. They're sending an escort when the tide goes out." Then he marched me back to the village. When I got back, the villagers were standing in silence at the street corners. I knew they were uneasy because they'd been worried about German parachutists. It was at that moment that I began to feel afraid. I was taken into the hotel and locked in my room for six hours. Unfortunately, I didn't have my identity card or ration book. He wouldn't let me telephone my father, who owned a book shop in Gosforth, or Kenton Lodge Training College where I was a student. Eventually he returned and said it had all been cleared up and I could go, but the paintings would have to be kept out of sight until the end of the war. Apparently my paintings of the dunes showed places where a lot of wartime things were being hidden. I never really found out what happened, but I think different friends on the island must have vouched for me and managed to clear my name. A few weeks later, the policeman was discharged and, to my knowledge, there has never been a resident policeman on the island since.
When I got back to the college the principle sent for me and said "What have you been up to?" Everyone thought it was a joke, but I really thought I was going to be arrested as a spy.

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