大象传媒

When registering for National Service in July 1944 just prior to my 18th birthday, I was informed that I had been selected by ballot for service as a Bevin Boy in the coal mining industry. My pleas and appeals based upon the fact that I had served in the Air Training Corps for 3 陆 years in preparation for service with the Royal Air Force meant nothing. After medical examinations I finally received my call-up instructions in October 1944 to report to Oakdale in Monmouthshire, a Training Centre Colliery in South Wales.
Accommodation was in a miners鈥� hostel and the 4 week training program commenced. Much of the early training took place in classrooms and it was not unusual for me together with others to walk out when told by the Instructor that we would lose a day鈥檚 pay for arriving ten minutes late for an eight o鈥檆lock lecture. The fact that we had to make our way for half a mile from the hostel through thick snow was not taken as an excuse for being late.
It seemed pointless to remain in the class for the rest of the day without being paid when one could be enjoying a day in the open or visiting the cinema in the nearby town of Blackwood. This situation and the deployment of shovelling snow off the colliery railway tracks brought about an extended training program.
Whilst finally being in my final week at Oakdale, I developed influenza and was unable to get up out of my bed. 鈥淕et up and go to work鈥�, shouted the hostel warden. 鈥淚 cannot, I feel too ill鈥�, I replied. 鈥淕o to the sick bay鈥�, he retorted. I managed with considerable difficulty and dizziness to stagger in my pyjamas through pouring rain to the sick bay. Dripping wet, I stood in front of the sister鈥檚 desk and said in a frail voice 鈥淚鈥檓 ill鈥�. 鈥淪it down and wait your turn鈥� came the reply as I collapsed in a heap on the floor lapsing into unconsciousness.
The next recollection was waking up in a clean bed in the sick quarters where I remained for the next five days, becoming progressively worse, with my system rejecting every type of food and medicine thrust upon me. I was haemorrhaging from my lungs, and on the fifth day they decided to send me to hospital.
I remember that Sunday in January 1945 and the 40 mile journey by taxi, not ambulance. In spite of my high temperature, the cold air helped me to be aware of my surroundings. 鈥淲e have got another pick up on the way to Newport鈥�, the driver told me. The diversion was to one of the small mountain valley towns, possibly Cross Keys or Risca, where I was joined by a pregnant woman in advanced stages of labour.
The journey seemed endless with my lapsing in and out of consciousness and her cries of labour pains. Upon arrival at Newport Infirmary, by which time I was completely unconscious, I once again found myself in a hospital bed in a small ward with five other patients.
A senior consultant examined me, immediately diagnosing double pneumonia and ordering that I was to be given on e million units of Penicillin by injection every night. Unbeknown to me at that time, my chances of survival or recovery were highly unlikely and my parents were called for and informed that I would not live through the night. Penicillin, a new drug at the time, which was used as a powerful antibiotic, however reduced my temperature from 106.7 degrees Fahrenheit to an almost normal temperature within 24 hours.
Feeling very weak and not having eaten for almost a week, I was told that a crisis would follow within a few days and that I was not out of the woods yet. The duly happened when everything repeated itself all over again with a dramatic rise in temperature. This apparently is normal and gradually recovery followed during the next six weeks.
The other five patients in the ward were army servicemen who had been seriously wounded during action against the Germans in France. Seeing and being with these men all similar to my age made me realise that at least I was in one piece and that their plight was far more serious.
When I was finally discharged from the hospital, my father had to bring spare clothes from home, as my locker had been broken into and stripped of everything. As a souvenir from the hospital, I was given the two needles that had been used to inject me 56 times with the Penicillin.
After a short spell of sick leave during which time my hair started to fall out as a result of the injections, and I lost my girlfriend, I was sent for a medical examination.
However, it was thought that perhaps an immediate return to underground coal mining work might prove detrimental and tat a short period of temporary work in the fresh air would prove to be more beneficial. Being still subject to the Essential Works Order, I was sent to work on a heavy anti-aircraft gun site installation being constructed just outside London.
I thought that surely my short coal mining days were over once and for all and that I could now leave all that behind me. But after only a few short weeks I was once again summoned for a medical examination and pronounced as A1 fit. Joining instructions to return to the Training Centre Colliery at Oakdale quickly followed.
I had to start the same training course all over again. After having finished the course, I was finally allocated to my working colliery, which as it happened, turned out to be Oakdale. I remained at the hostel. I remember the sandwiches that were given to us to take with us on shift all containing typical wartime ingredients, mostly cheese. We were encouraged to drink milk in the pithead canteen when coming up after a shift. Pit head baths were a great advantage as an alternative to having to go back to the hostel or even having to return to private billets in order to get cleaned up.
The majority of my time working underground was spent on conveyor belts, keeping the walkways clear of coal spillage and the loading and movement of drams. I, like other Bevin Boys, went absent on a number of occasions, often overstaying weekends. I seem to remember pit ponies moving drams about on the surface and not working underground as Oakdale was renowned for its modern methods.
The war finally came to an end and in 1946 I made an appeal to be released from the mines and be transferred to the Royal Air Force to complete my period of National Service. The Ministry of Labour and National Service finally agreed to my transfer, but not without having received my papers for the Army first, in error.
My days of serving my somewhat broken service as a Bevin Boy in the coal mines over a period of two years will never be forgotten, but like so many looked upon the whole thing as a farce having been forced into an industry entirely against our will whilst the regular miners were serving in the Armed Forces.
Fate however plays strange game, for I could have gone straight into the R. A. F. instead of the coal mines and been killed or shot down in an aircraft. The touch and go situation of having pneumonia and recovering in a ward amongst seriously wounded soldiers could have been my fate.
What happened to all these men in that ward and what became of the woman expecting a child on that cold January day in 1945?
Finally Bevin Boys were not popular amongst the local people as they understandably felt at that time that we had come down to Wales to take away the jobs from their own kith and kin who were serving in the Forces. Another disadvantage of being of military age and not being in uniform brought about verbal abuse from the public as they suspected us to be draft dodgers, deserters or conscientious objectors. We furthermore often received challenging by local police.
It was all an experience of life and I often wonder today what has happened to all those fellow Bevin Boys with me at the time in Oakdale and to the Welsh Miners who tolerated us.

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