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This story was submitted to the People’s War website by Marie on behalf of John and has been added to the site with his permission. John fully understand the site’s terms and conditions.

On Sunday September 3rd 1939, my family and I were living at Gunville, Isle of Wight, just to the north of Carisbrooke. I was 13 years old and had arranged to go on a fishing trip with three other boys to Newtown Creek. We left very early on our bikes and were soon fishing for school bass which were very plentiful at that time of the year. When we’d caught enough, we tied them to the handlebars of our bikes and road back home. My mother was standing at the front gate and she told me that at 11am that day, war had been declared. I had no idea how it was going to change everyone’s lives from that day on.

The first thing that happened was the complete black-out all over the country — no lights to be showing, all road vehicles had to have shaded lamps and Air Raid wardens would patrol the streets to check this was being done. My mum had to get used to strict food rationing and we were all issued with a gas mask as well that we had to learn how to use. In addition we all had to carry identity cards at all times and show them to the troops and police at road blocks etc — I can still remember my number EPC198/3. The war itself got off to a very bad start. Within two weeks the aircraft carrier HMS Courageous was torpedoed and sunk, and then shortly after the HMS Royal oak went the same way. Both with great loss of lives. I remember it well as a boy I knew — William Firth — was on the Oak. He came from the village of Godshill, where my family and I had lived all my life until early 1939 when we moved to Gunville. Billy, as he was known, was much older than me but we had been friends so it was very upsetting when he was killed.

In January 1940, I started work as an office boy in the Head Office for Southern railways at Newport. My wages were 8s/4d for a five and a half day week. I answered calls, transferred them to various extensions and worked the switchboard for the railway’s internal telephone system as well as doing the office filing, keeping the register up to date and sorting and despatching the post. When the red warning for air raids was received, I had to disconnect the Post office phone and take it to the cellar where there were desks and chairs set aside for the office staff and I could connect the phone again. Some days this has to be done lots of times.

I also remember the Dunkirk evacuation of the British Army. Some of the paddle steamers from the IOW ferry service were sent to help — the paddle steamer Whippingham alone rescued more than 2000 men. Among them were two brothers Stan and Ken Jackman who were both IOW railway men and they came to see everyone in the H.O. when next on leave.

The next thing to happen was the Battle of Britain. Every day there were dog fights over the island. Some planes were shot down but the pilots came down by parachute in most cases. A german pilot came down near Gunville and he was captured by local farm workers and handed over to the Military from Parkhurst Barracks. During the Battle of Britain, there was a bombing raid on the Radar Station on St Boniface Down, just above the seaside town on Ventnor. Some RAF men and young women were killed and as you can imagine the local residents were very upset. By this time, the military built a camp site at the end of Gunville to house a searchlight battery, manned by soldiers and women in the A.T.S. So as the bombing raids began to start after dark, with the German bombers crossing the IOW to get to Southampton or Portsmouth, they would be ditching their bombs on the island if they were unable to hit their targets, and the searchlights and anti-aircraft guns would be firing. Sometimes I got to go to one of the three cinemas in Newport, and you would be sitting there hearing the guns firing overhead. But hardly anyone moved — we just carried on watching the film.

I was in the Sea Cadets based at Osborne House. To get there I and other members of the corps from Newport would cycle along the East Cowes Road via Whippingham. At Whippingham there was a camp with a battery of anti-aircraft guns and one evening, returning from a parade, there was an air raid and these guns opened up just as we were passing — we nearly fell off our cycles! And every time we passed the camp after that, it was heads down and peddle like mad until we were clear.

During a bombing raid on Cowes, the shipyards were damaged, and also the Medina Wharf where all the coal for the island was unloaded and distributed. One of the transporters was badly damaged but as luck would have it there was a Polish destroyer anchored just off Cowes and their gun fire helped to beat off the attack, otherwise it could have been far worse. One of my friends living at Gunville was an apprentice shipwright at Groves and Gutteridge shipyard, East Cowes. As he arrived at the yard, he could see the damage from the gates, and he was told there was an unexploded bomb amongst the debris and to go home and come back tomorrow. As I was on a late shift, the next day I cycled to East Cowes with him. Groves and Gutteridge were building Air Sea rescue Launches and Motor Torpedo Boats at the time and all you could see was damaged and charred hulls in th sheds. My friend wanted to find his metal tool box so he started looking for it — it was all distorted and bent by the heat and I had to help him get the padlock off with a bbar only to find that his tools were ruined. At this point my friend broke down in tears, being poor he was given some tools by friends and workmates and the rest he was buying by paying into a tool fund. For days he was put to work helping to clear up the bomb damage, then one evening he came to my home to tell me that he had been given a new set of American Stanley tools so as you can guess he was well pleased.

By this time I had been promoted at work — I was now Junior Porter at Blackwater, IOW. It was a small country station and I had to work early and late shifts opposite a Senior Porter. My job involved working a set of crossing gates, issuing tickets, working the signals and keeping the station and oil lamps clean and tidy. The farmers would bring milk in churns by horse and cart to catch the early train so I had to start the early turn at 6 to let the freight train from Newport to Ventnor pass. My wage for a six day week was 15 shillings and I was 15 and a half years old. My father was a Signalman at Newport South signal box. He had also joined the Home Guard — Railway Company. He was issued with a set of denims and nothing else. Then a few weeks later, a box of Canadian Ross Rifles arrived. There wasn’t enough for everyone to be issued one, so names went into a hat and my dad was one of the lucky ones picked out. He bought the rifle and ten rounds of ammunition home with him and as the gun had been stored in thick yellow grease, we spent the afternoon cleaning it all off so it was ready for use.

The following year I was promoted again — to Relief Junior Porter covering the whole of the IOW. The young man I took over from went into the RAF, trained as aircrew and was then shot down over Germany. The bombing raids on Portsmouth and Southampton were still going on, and I remember a very heavy raid which scored a direct hit on Portsmouth harbour station, destroying the signal box, buildings and blazing a large hole in the tracks of the middle platforms. Part of an electric train fell through into the sea below and remained there for months and months. Yet within a few hours, the Portsmouth-Ryde boat service was running a normal service and there was a restricted train service to London Waterloo. Portsmouth itself was very badly damaged and I remember women and children being evacuated to the IOW — some came to Gunville for a short while.

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