大象传媒

I was four years old at the outbreak of World War Two. My father, gas damaged in World War One, was a fishmonger in Strand Road, Port Erin. To do 'his bit' he became a constable in the Camp. He often took me on patrol around the Village and when required we accompanied Dr Bursu (spelling may not be correct), the archeologist who worked on the Viking Barrow near Balladoole. The internees were guarded throughout their excavations. I recall a pleasant busy atmosphere. On one of our walks he took me out to the Coast Gaurd hut on Bradda Head. It was pitch dark but Southern Ireland shone across the water like a beacon. My father said it would guide fighter planes and bombers directly to Liverpool. Ireland was neutral!

His duties as a constable included guard duty at the barriers where noone would pass without identification. We, as children, had to go through the barrier to school and were frequently teased about being potential 'fifth columnists', 'quizlings', etc etc if we couldn't identify ourselves properly! The men in the barrier huts used to cook stews made from vegatables given to them by the internees, who were very good gardeners.

I used to play with a German internee called Polly. She was my friend and we couldn't understand why we were supposed to be enemies.

My father's fish shop was open twice a week for the internees to shop. Barter went on - swapping a few herrings for some handwork or beetroot and potato salad which was a speciality of Maria whose surname I could never say.

The aliens were kind to me as far as I can remember. Dr Bonzac painted my portrait as did the Baroness Von Fugle (spelling?). There was a big fat white haired woman I didn't like. She used to say 'I am a German, when we win the war you will scrub my doorstep.' Her name was Hester but when the Russians made their advance Hester went around saying 'I am a Russian.' We called her the Russian Rose.

The people from the camp used to have concerts. There was a Mr Coker and a Mr Rigby who sang 'Old man River'. I'm not sure whether I attended these concerts because I was with my father (on duty) or whether locals were being entertained. They were fun. There was a kindergarten where teh Rowany Golf House is now - but not for teh Manxies. I clearly recall the eccentricities of my neighbours especially Miss Luntley who shared craftwork. Many years later I found that my father - in - law acted an an interpreter in the camp, being a fluent French and German speaker. My childgood was happy.

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