大象传媒

Such was the Victor's days remembered.
Listening to the radio, with Vera Lynn crooning out the songs of love and war.
Nostalgic as it was for him,
But not for those young and old soldiers now engaged in wartime effort doing their bit for King and Country.
Fighting the war in France.
While he spent his days in front of the black-leaded grate, fire blazing, and staring at the flames.
And the reflections of the flames in the green tiles triggering thoughts of Chasing females and drinking beer spreading ones wings and what future lie ahead.
But not for long, all good things come to an end, the phoney war on the outside world, began to take another turn,
One day Victor. Outside by the house front gate.
Above the blue sky of a pleasant early summer's day light fresh air breeze fanned adding to the feeling of freshness one gets once in awhile, Perhaps the smoke from the engines in the G.W.R Ebbw junction sheds over the road was blowing the other way.
Then the sudden drone of an aircraft filled the air.
In those days, one always looked to the skies, any plane was of interest. This one went across diagonal to his sight, at about eight hundred feet.
All at once he saw several little puffs of black and grey smoke, and red orange flashes, and then several big almighty bangs! Bang! And shrapnel flying every where.
The big gun on the on the ash tip, opened up. With an almighty louder bang for that was one of the nearest big guns to Greenfield estate.
A part from the soldiers of the Mons regiment on the tip by the Railway Bridge.
They were dug in to the soft soil of ashes of the old part of the tip, and their nice new sandbags all neatly squared up. And the new newness of the hessian sacks, standing out in the sunlight
The young soldiers, most of them local men, who had joined up for a few extra bob, or the alternative, on the dole,
Now smartly dressed in their battle order, their gas masks at the ready position, on their chest, six inches below their chin,
Manning the only weapon that was mounted in the gun pit the old Lewis gun, with its round magazine of three-o-three bullets.
All they did was add to the noise of the aircraft, and all the other guns firing,
And the big old navel gun on the ash tip.
Mounted for anti aircraft work, soon became well known, as it shook the whole area when the gun crew fired the thing
The green barrel painted monster, stood out, from its sand bagged circle, ever pointing at the sky,
It stood out for there was a slight rise to its position, and was not far from where the father of Moc had his allotment garden
Sometimes it fired when his Dad was working on the garden
And he often joked that there was not any need to dig the leeks out of the ground.
The vibration of the old gun shook them out.
When the bloody gun fired
And it became to pass that this first air raid.
By an aircraft of the third Reich, it just went across the sky with the shell burst following, and although very close to its tail. The anti aircraft fire failed to bring it down.
The soldiers on the ash tip Soldiers of the Third Mons regiment.
A well-known local Regiment who gained many Battle honours in their actions in the 1914-18 Great War.
This being the early call up of the Territorial Army and for some the Soldiers first time away from home.
The money they had, all though very little by the pay today for a soldier, was only a bob a day, or in the decimal five pence.
And it could buy a five coffin nail packet of well known Woodbines, for tuppence, or a bar of Cadburys chocolate.
So it became one of the exciting things for a young lad to do, and Victor ran errands to the local shops for the soldiers.
Buying the chocolates and fags from Mister Jones the tobacconist.
At the Maesglas shopping centre and he was always enticed to buy from Mister Jones. Because of the commission of an extra bar for him self, free of course.
A kind carrot to entice the trade.
And it did become a regular running back and forth to buy the many items, which brought in a very welcomed large amount of cash money.
In the various pennies and small thruppenny Joey's.
Which the small silver coins was nicknamed.
Sometimes Moc would engage in a treat of an ice square from the ever-loaded shop window display of the cakes, and priceless fancy ones he could not afford.
Yea Dam infernal cake shop. Victor his face pressed against the window.
Moc would not know which one he wanted of all the different cakes, but then brought back to reality.
When all he could manage to raise in cash from rewards of the many errands. He had run for the soldiers.
Three pence! A small fortune to him, and so he would enter the shop, and again the welcome. From being, I suppose a regular customer of the buying of ice squares.
After all not many kids had money to spend on such things, and again it was nice eating the nicely made custard and pastry.
Sometimes the call of the toffee took the fancy of Moc.Its rich light brown and milky colour. And it was broken up with the little hammer of the sweet shop owner.
From its little tray, and placed in a bag, all waiting to be chewed to a soft warm sugared and milky lump in his mouth, the pleasure of toffee, lasting to the last bit a real food.
The war soon settled down or it seemed to move out of interest, as every one came to think it would not last long.

--------Young men gladiators in their flying machines.------
Victor started work before the official leaving age of fourteen.
On Tredegar Estate Farm The baliff Mr Cullimore. Sometimes Victor had to give a helping hand to the shepherd a local man Mr Moreland who lived near the Ebbw Bridge near Maesglas Island or by the Ebbw bridge club.
And his expertise in matters of handling sheep surprised Victor.
From docking their tails, sheep dipping, and cracking their knackers.
And that was one to be on, the first time Victor being instructed to hold on to the blessed sheep.
While, the shepherd quickly manipulated the tool.
That had all the hallmarks of a pair of big pliers, with some sort of prongs, and the contraption was closed around the scrotum and click and a cracking sound and a little b -- bar-e--and away went the sheep.
Minus his breeding capabilities, the thoughts flashed through the mind of Moc. Of the probability of having someone do this, to any one, there would be more than a Baa- baa- black sheep.
The lighter side, of this particular day, a windier one than usual, and a bit over cast and grey looking.
And out of the grey low clouds, flying low, like something out of the past.
Six gladiators, in their flying machines.
The ever familiar markings of the British emblem, on the wings and side of the fuselage,
Circling low over the field, further away in the far field they landed, and taxied close to the hedge, sheltered from the wind.
The spectacle that presented itself to the lad was too much to miss.
And the next thing legs were carrying the Victor to the grounded planes.
Their twin wings. The crossed-laced wires and supporting spars with the added aroma of heat and smell of petrol were all at once feasted upon.
The young pilot's full of life and laughter.
Some already gathering in what seemed to be a garden party.
Gunners and pilot's decked out in long leather coats, leather head helmets, following the roundness of their heads. Chinstraps dangling down unbuckled.
The brownest of the leather and fresh clean look, blending with there tanned faces.
The young Moc looked on with envy of these young but older than he, warriors of the sky.
What fate awaited these men? For no doubt they were training for the future battles to come,
For this was the early part of the Second World War,
Regrettable Victor had to return to his work, and slowly waving a goodbye the Victor walked away.
The next day the planes had gone only tell tale tracks of the wheel marks stood out on the beaten down grass. All that remained was a memory and wonderment of what fate awaited those.Young men gladiators.

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