大象传媒

My Family鈥檚 War. Living in a Small Country Town in WW2.

My family arrived in England from the Curragh Camp in Eire, after the Irish Free State became a Republic; the family were been forced to flee to England, after threats from the IRA during 1929. My Grandfather and his sons were fierce Irishmen and always very bitter at being forced out of their homes. On their arrival in England, and work was in short supply; two sons Charles Neville and John Neville joined the Army. (More of those sons later.)

After a brief stay in Aldershot where I was born early in 1933 the family moved to 58 New St Woodbridge, a small county town in Suffolk, resting on the banks of the River Deben.

My father was killed in the first month鈥檚 of the war, Mother worked, as she had to support Herself, Me, My sister, and her Mother and father, we were very poor.

Our rented house at 1/6p (15p Today) a week, was 200 years old, it consisted of one large room with a flagstone floor, leading off this was the front door with one step, down onto the path and road, a small kitchen at the rear, there was no running water, or electricity. Our bedroom was the similar in size; I had a bed in one corner Grandmother and Mum slept in a large bed in the other corner, Granddad sleeping in a chair down stairs. Our lighting was by gas lamps down stairs, and candles upstairs. Our water was drawn from a hand pump in the garden shared by 5 other houses. Our toilet was at the end of our garden 130 yds away.

At my first school with local kids I felt an outsider, but soon developed a good honest Suffolk drawl. All the men went off to fight and our teachers were all very old ladies, or so it seemed. Our summer holidays from school was idyllic, young as I was we hunted along the banks of the river Deben, swimming and learning to chase Germans. A typical summer鈥檚 day would start by Gran making me a jam sandwich, and with a bottle of water, then off my friends and I, would go. Always ending up at the river where we spend all day, playing in old scrap lorries beside the railway sidings being racing drivers, crawling through the reed beds, catching eels in the mill pond, which we took home to eat. Watching the skies for German paratroops, which every one expected (At that time it was thought we would be invaded).

Throughout the war the first thing we did when we went into the school hall was to sing patriotic songs, such as Rule Britannia, There鈥檒l always be an England, John Brown etc. I guess in some way it helped our morale, but us boys sang comic or rude words to most of the songs.
Our lessons consisted of Reading, Writing, Arithmetic, gardening, woodwork ,and little else.

Early in 1940, walking home with my Mother the air raid siren went off and we looked up to see three German Stukers bombers diving down, Mum dragged me into a shop on the Market Hill, where we watched, I saw the bombs released, then all hell let loose, dust dirt, and noise, but no injures. It was only afte,r we realised that we had hidden in a sweet shop full of glass bottles. Good thing the bombes missed and landed in the gardens behind the shop., otherwise we would have been shredded.

During 1939/40 and because of the Invasion scare, I was sent to my Fathers, parents who lived in Porth South Wales, and thereafter commuted between my two loving Grand Parents, whenever mother was hard up and short of money to look after the family. My Grandma Morton often came to our rescue loaning mother money
On one journey to Porth the train stopped just outside Liverpool Railway station, as it was being bombed, I was terrified. But the bombs missed the train, but when we pulled into the station debris lay everywhere. I saw a number of injured and dead people, a scene I can still recall even today.

One day early in 1940, back in Woodbridge. We were told; we only had to go to school half days! We were so happy! We were to share with evacuees, what ever they were. In practice it meant the evacuees went to school in the morning, we in the afternoon, alternating weekly. We soon found out, that evacuees meant London kids, who were housed with local people. We had two briefly housed with us; they slept in a very large cupboard attached to the kitchen. They were very frightened and had worn and torn clothes, they came from somewhere called the 鈥淓ast End鈥�. However we soon made new friends. During the half days we didn鈥檛 go to school we worked on local farms, or collected paper, books, metal pots and pans, from houses and shops, using hand carts to collect items. Which we then took to the railway yard, to be loaded onto trains and were sent off to factories to be turned into tanks, spitfires, or so we believed? I did save one book from its fate. Not only is it a good read, it has been very useful. (Called my pocket book, it weighs 4 lbs, and was huge in size giving extra height for children to sit at our dinner table, my own children and grandchildren, making use of said book).

At School all the oldest boys, had to dig up the playing field and planted vegetables, us smaller boys did the weeding. The girls had to learn First Aid. I remember one morning a German aircraft flew low over the school, and the rear gunner was machine gunning the town, we had been drilled into what to do, so all threw ourselves down on the ground, with our hands over our heads, two girls were injured by concrete bits which flew off the playground as bullets strafed it. Later we heard a following Spitfire had shot down the plane. We all cheered like mad. Looking back I really don鈥檛 see how putting our hands over our heads could really have helped save us.!

Early in the war granddad had a large map of the world, and as news bulletins were heard on the 大象传媒, he would plot the British front line, after his death I continued the practice, also listening every day to 大象传媒鈥檚 Alva Ledell reading the news. I always looked at his map to find out where battles were being fought. It was the best geography lessons I ever received. Other programs we listened to were Monday Night at Eight, and Tommy Handly. We were limited to what we could listen too, as our radio was battery only and when it ran down I had to take it to the local cycle repair shop who was ably to charge it up again.

When the tide was low in the river Deben we would take our pritch. (A metal rod with a barbed end, which we use to get from the local blacksmith for just a few pence) then walk around in the mud, feeling underfoot for flatfish. When we felt them wriggle we would spear them with our pritch, spearing ones foot was an occupational hazard, which I managed twice. But as Mother could not afford Doctors fees, we just got on with it, I guess all that mud and salt water helped the healing? Our fish were taken home, and my Gran would soak them in water for a couple of days to remove the muddy flavour before cooking them. Those long summer days during 1940/1, looking back, were very happy and we would wander miles, often finding a field of carrots, fruit, etc, we would steal a handful run like hell, and then eat them. Sugerbeet was a firm favourite, not very tasty but filling. New Street was half way up a hill, and lorries drove slowly, many where loaded with vegetables, we used jump on the back and pull whatever was under the nets off, and proudly take them home to be cooked. We had no fear.

Granddad always said if the Germans do invade we, and Netta my sister newly arrived!, and I would be OK because they wouldn鈥檛 shoot Irish blondes.. (It was thought that in the event the Germans did invade all black haired people would be taken away. Any way I believed him.)
I remember telling my Teacher that 鈥淚 don鈥檛 mind if the Germans come, we are Irish and blonde so we will be ok, its you English that should worry. I was marched off to the head master and received three of his best. I never mentioned 鈥淭he Irish鈥� again.

Living in a country town meant I never remember being hungry, not so when in South Wales there it seemed I was always Hungry, and I hated all those black houses in the Rhondda Valley, and being taught to speak welsh at school. I decided very early in life Woodbridge was a better place to live. A typical day, might be Breakfast: a round of bread and margarine, Lunch: Usually a large Irish Soup of some sort, my Granny called it Guess it Soup!, She did all the cooking. Tea: Bread and Dripping. (Cold Beef fat), spread on, and well salted. There were luxuries. We had a large garden, in which Granddad grew fruit and vegetables; we also had rabbits and chickens. Chicken was only eaten at Christmas; we had rabbit stew once a fortnight, and often had boiled eggs. We all had ration books, which gave us the extras.

As well as Geography, I was an excellent reader, when Mum introduced me to the library. I first met the Librarian a Miss Lillian Redstone, a lady of great age, here she introduced me to wonderful books by various authors, such as Rider Haggard, (King Solomon鈥檚 Mines), Kipling, and others, many of the books she encouraged me to read. Looking back they helped shaped my life, I will always be grateful to that wonderful lady.

Mother also always made me go to the local dances which were held every Saturday, she taught me the basic steps to all the dances, I hated it!, One night I was dancing with some lady who鈥檚 knickers fell down, she stepped out of them and calmly put them in my pocket and we danced on. At the end a gentleman came up and said in a load voice 鈥淐an I have my wife鈥檚 Knickers鈥� I just wanted to drop off the edge of the world. In later years I was forever grateful for the dancing tuition, it was one of the best things my Mother ever did for me.

The Summer evenings were long and it was light up until 10pm, and beyond, due to double summer time. The winter evenings were black the streets dark, as there were no streetlights. And a blackout in existed, us boys played wonderful games in the dark. Hiding up and leaping out on unsuspecting people, screaming Hiel Hitler, Run the Germans have landed! We scared many a person, but often got caught if they were young and fit, and suffered a box of the ears. We would tie door handles together, then Knock and run, hiding to watch the fun as each householder opened the doors pulling against each other in a weird tug of war. We gave many an old lady a fright. Looking back we were little monsters. But we never broke the law we respected it too much.

This memory sticks in my mind, one day we boys were down at the river, and we saw lots of grim faced men loading up their boats, as we watched, a soldier came along and asked us how strong we were, the result was we joined a long line of people in a chain passing cans of petrol from a railway wagon, to a number of sea going boats. We later learnt about Dunkirk, strange to think we played a very small part in the retreat.

After Dunkirk, Eastern England housed many soldiers in billets around town, they had Bren Gun Carriers, which us boys used to hitch lifts on, and it was great to be seen by your mates riding on one. We had a dog called 鈥渞ags鈥�, eventually when the soldiers left Rags went off with them, I remember Granny being very upset.. Granddad said, 鈥淏loody English will steal anything鈥�,

One evening when we were under the table, during an air raid, my Granddad, went out with a white tin basin on his head, which doubled as his tin hat watching the bombers go over to bomb London, and it was just getting dark, Now picture the scene, our toilet being at the bottom of our garden and no more than a bucket sunk into the ground, with a wooden seat above, housed in a 3 ft sq red brick building with no door and a tin roof. These buckets were large and were emptied by the 鈥淣ight Soils men鈥� who came along in special lorries about once a week. As the poor man walked up our garden path, with the bucket on his shoulder, granddad shouted in something in Gaelic, which gave him such a fright that the man jumped out of his skin, the bucket slipped, and the man ended up being covered in a weeks worth of family compost!. When we found out we split our sides with laughter. However the next day he 鈥渢he man鈥� came and tried to give granddad a good punching, but he reckoned without my Mum鈥檚 Irish Temper.

There was the time a large bomb went off just behind St Mary鈥檚 Church, Gran had a habit of standing on the front door step, and watching the aeroplanes, the blast knocked her across the room, it also knocked down a very large chimney above our kitchen, which fell onto Granddads shed in the garden. It could just as easily fell through our roof, I think we may well have been injured or even died, as I was in bed at the time. Late in war doodle bugs used to fly over on their way to London, occasionally one would drop short in or around Woodbridge, us boys would rush off to find where it dropped and pick up pieces to take home, It was the same if an aeroplane crashed, everyone wanted the windows, as it was the first time we ever saw Perspex, it could be carved into finger rings, parachute silk was the other great find, which Mum鈥檚 made into clothing.

About this time, I joined the cubs/scouts, at St Mary鈥檚 church in Woodbridge, I really enjoyed it, but one day I was asked to sing in the choir, I said I was already singing in the Methodist chapel choir, so what did they do Kicked me out, because I wasn鈥檛 a Church of England Protestant, so much for religious brotherly love. Mum immediately got me into St Johns where they didn鈥檛 mind what religion you were. A 鈥淪kipper Haywood鈥� ran it. He was a wonderfully kind man, who had lost an arm during WW1. He taught us all about citizenship, I went on to be a scout, and did many weekend jobs. After the war in 1946, he took us to Scout camp in Jersey, we visited the underground German fortifications, all free!.

I guess we were Jersey鈥檚 first tourists after their liberation nearly all the people still there were French. It鈥檚 still the best holiday I ever had.

There was a day when Mr Ablitt our very ancient schoolteacher asked us to help pick the apples and pears from the school trees, we ate as many as we picked, but the fruit that survived was loaded in to boxes and we were then told to take three boxes, to the head masters house, using two school wheelbarrows. We got as far as a school friends house called Willy Smiths, and decided to dump the existing transport, in his garden and pick up his home made 鈥淕o Kart鈥� (Soap box on wheels) that way we could push/pull the Kart up the hills to the Heads house then ride back into town on the go kart., All went well until all four of us boys were on his kart, racing down a steep hill, ending at a blind right hand bend. As we approached the bend a car swung around the corner! Willy, pulled on the steering rope, we hit the side of the car, went though the hedge, and landed in a ditch full of water bounding Notcutts Nursery. Picking ourselves and the bits of broken go-kart up we raced up the road, and tried to make our way back to Willys house, via the Cemetery. Half way we were stopped by a large man, who shouted at us, 鈥淕et out don鈥檛 bring that junk in here鈥� again we ran. Unfortunately we were further from school, than when we started out. When we eventually got back to school some three hours late, and told lies about why we were late, the head master ushered us into his room. He then introduced us to his wife. You can guess the rest. It was her car. But it was worth the canning, just for the fun we had. He never asked us to pick the apple trees again.

Once my friend Dave should me how to make a bomb, using a bottle half filled with water and lumps of carbide. (Used to make gas which were burned in lamps) then you drop the carbide in screw the top on the bottle and run! The gas expands then the bottle explodes, great fun, but when I put one in the chicken house and it killed two of Granddads Rhode island reds, his best layers!, my backside suffered, and I had too pluck the dead chickens then remove the bits of glass.

Working on the farms, was great fun, we would be sent off by lorry from school to spend the day potato picking, that meant picking up potatoes after the plough had dug them out of the ground, really hard work, then putting them into sacks. For this we received 1/3p a day (13p in today鈥檚 money), which went into tins to help pay bills. There were always land girls in charge, some not much older than us, they would really tease us boys, and try to embarrass us. We would fill our pockets with the tiny potatoes, and on the way back to school we passed our rival school, at about the time their play break or home time occurred, we would stand up in the back of the lorry and throw handfuls over the wall into the playground. Years after Pebby (My Wife) and I were married she said she remembered those horrible kids. Having been hit more than once by flying potatoes. Best of all was when we picked tomatoes; we would eat as many as we could. Then take a handful to throw at anyone we passed going home from the farms.

Collecting scrap paper, old books, even nettles, acorns, and rosehips, was usually carried out by the cubs and scouts, a typical weekend would start at 10am, we would be told what to do, IE collect nettles, we would have a handcart, and walk out into the country, cubs taking it turns riding on the cart then when we found a wood, start to collect, and pack into sacks, we would be stung all over, we spent more time playing than picking, tree climbing, tossing the cubs into the nettle beds, not funny really! We wore short trousers in those days. However Doc leaves always came to the rescue when stung, rubbing the Doc over the stung area reduced the burning feeling. When we had filled the sacks, we would push the cart back to Woodbridge and deposit the sacks in a building at the railway yards, awaiting collection. Regarding the rosehips, very painful to pick, we would be covered in scratches, but always took a few rosehips home in our pockets, then at school you would break one open, and force the seeds down some poor girls dress, back or front. Against the skin it gave them a terrible itch. Don鈥檛 believe me?, then try it!. Best itching powder ever! Occasionally, Gran, Mum and me would go blackberry, or sloe picking.

It was while a scout I was taught how to make a 鈥淧op Gun鈥� First you had to find an elder bush, then cut off a nice straight branch about 2 inches round, and 8 inches long. As well as a smaller hard wood branch that would fit up the middle of the elder, then burn out the centre, which left you with a hole the length of the gun. With the hardwood you would carve a handle at one end, and then chew the other end till it was all splayed out and was a tight fit when inserted into the gun. For ammunition, you could use potato, or acorns, the method was to ram the substance in one end then thrust the carved stick up the other, the push hard and fast 鈥淏ang鈥� out the acorn/potato would fly, very painful if you caught it in your face.
We also made catapults, (to repel the Germans). We could buy 戮 inch sq elastic, from a shop in Woodbridge, then we would cut a prong shaped piece of wood from a tree or bush, the tie off the ends of the elastic, make a small, leather pouch at the other end, and hay presto, a formidable weapon. Used in the right hands one could kill rabbits, Rats, and birds, etc. Although Windows, the pots on top of telegraph poles were excellent targets as they literally blow up, or smashed with a really loud noise when you scored a direct hit. Whatever the target, you had to be a good runner.

It was thought that Hitler would invade England during 1941. Since then we have learnt that Churchill had organised resistance fighters, in there hundreds. I remember as a cub/scout that we used to have to carry verbal messages from one location to another, while at the same time dodging other scout troops out hunting us down. We quickly learnt how to use back gardens and passageways, as a way of avoiding our foe. I learnt I could cut across from scout HQ, two gardens, into the meadow in Chapel St, from there I could get into an orchard, at the back of my house, cross New St into Mrs Booths garden, at the bottom was a gate that lead to the printing works her husband owned. Then we ran past the works, into Church St, crossed over into a lane, then crawled under a fence into the Abby gardens, from there we made our way via Notcutts to the river. Where we would find a number of senior scouts waiting for the message. Sometimes we would be told to go to a location and describe it afterwards. We played these games throughout the war. Unfortunately we often forgot some of the message. Looking back were we part of Churchill鈥檚 big plan?. Would we have ever been used in the event we were invaded?
I guess we will never know.?

One of the evacuees, was a boy named Jackie, he had a sister, one day when they were out playing on the Fen meadow when his sister picked up a yellow tin, which was a bomb, Jackie knowing what it was grabbed it off her, and it exploded and blew off two of his fingers and burnt his sisters face, she was disfigured for the rest of her life. When he returned to school he was a great hero, showing us his hand, very proud of it. Us older kids new all about this personnel bombs they could look like fountain pens, and toys etc. and were dropped by the Germans every night.

I do remember being marched to the headmaster鈥檚 room on more than one occasion, and receiving six of the best, for various misdemeanours. In particular when us boys decided to see if Olive鈥檚 chest was real or not.. One other time my friend, who I will call 鈥淓rnie鈥�, to save his identity, got caught in the an air raids shelter, with a rather backward girl, who for a sweet, would allow boys to feel a rather large shaped lump on her thigh!, which she appeared very proud of? On this particular day he had his hand up and under her long knee length knickers, with heavy-duty tight elastic just above the knee. And in walked Mr Ablett, our Teacher., 鈥淗elp Sir鈥�, shouted Ernie 鈥淢y hand鈥檚 caught like a rat in a trap鈥�.. 鈥淐ant get it out!,鈥� Ernie couldn鈥檛 sit down for a week, he took such a beating he had cuts on his backside..

During the summer we spent a great deal of our time, swimming on the beach at Woodbridge, (Now sadly full of boats) we met lots of our friends, boys and girls, and all had to undress in the reeds, each peeked at the others, I remember my friend Dave looking very puzzled 鈥淭hey are different鈥� he said. That was about as near to sex lessons we ever got.

It was on such a day early in 1940 that a German airplane was shot down near Woodbridge, and the local policeman, with two soldiers marched the three German airman up New St, on their way to the police station, Two RAF Pilots with them. They all went into the Bell and Steelyard Public house for a drink! We of course goose stepped in front hands high making Hiel Hitler signs, and shouting and singing 鈥渨histle while you work, Hitler made a shirt, he鈥檚 quite barmy so鈥檚 his army, etc etc. all the way to the police station. It was all quite surreal looking back.

Early in the war we had to carry our gas masks everywhere with us, but we soon got fed up doing that. On the odd occasion, the army or the police would let off, canisters of tear gas, and go around the town shouting 鈥淕as Attack鈥� and we would have to put on our gas masks, of course us kids thought it very brave not too, but to run full pelt through the gas cloud, holding our breath. Usually we suffered, burning eyes, and if caught by the police, a smack around the ear.

On one occasion I asked my mother could I learn to ride a bike, she being Mum refused, 鈥渋f you learn to ride鈥� she said, 鈥測ou鈥檒l only want one and we can鈥檛 afford one鈥� So I just sulked. Anyway it came to pass that the scouts had a bike that we could learn to ride. It was old, it had no brakes, you just put your feet on the ground, to stop Also we were forbidden to take the bike off scout land, which was Skippers own very large garden. Came the day I was allowed to try, now although we were forbidden off site, most boys sneaked the bike out the back gate and took it home fro a few days, I was not allowed to have a bike so decided I would keep it at my friend Dave鈥檚 house, believing my mum would never find out. Dave said the best way to learn was to get on at the top of a hill, and just sail down.. Got the picture, First time on bike, no brakes, and old bike. From Skippers house there was along hill, then a steeper hill, at right angles half way down, leading to Castle Street which led to Dave鈥檚. Off I went faster and faster, 鈥淧ut your feet down鈥� screams Dave, Unfortunately the saddle was to high fro me to attempt this feat! I eventually, got one foot on the ground, and started to slow down, in doing so I thought I now had the hang of things, so decided to turn right down the stepper hill. Now this ended at a T junction, with a row of houses opposite, down the hill I flew, faster and faster went the bike, my foot now red hot, and unable to stop I crossed the T junction, hit the front door of a house knocked it off its hinges, sailed along the hall, down five steps into the kitchen, and stopped after hitting the table, and ending up on the floor, the dear old lady who lived there screaming her head off thinking a bomb had gone off鈥� Dave arrived, and just curled up with laughter. Me! Well how was I too explain my cuts and bruises, the skinned knuckles Dave pleaded with the lady not to tell our Mum鈥檚, she agreed as long as we fixed her door, Dave鈥檚 Dad had all the tools so we borrowed them and fixed the door, by now it was 10pm, the bike went back to the scout hut. When I got home, I was able to sneak into bed.

Looking back I guess anyone reading this would consider us boys as 鈥渉orrible little beings鈥� with no discipline, Well that鈥檚 correct, one has to remember all the fit and able men and women, were away at war, ether in the armed forces, factory, workers, coal mines, etc. All that was left were old man, old ladies, and those who couldn鈥檛 be 鈥渃alled up鈥� people like my Mum who had dependents to look after. There is know doubt we did run wild, but we never broke the Law. We were too frightened of the consequences. But we wandered miles around Woodbridge in complete safety, unlike today鈥檚 children.

The thing we feared most, was not the Germans, Bomb鈥檚, Head Teachers, The Cane, Mum鈥檚 or the Police, It was the once a year visit by the school dentist! We were marched into his room sat in a chair, and his nurse would hold our arms behind the chair. 鈥淥pen鈥� he would say, and then promptly tap all your teeth with a small hammer, if you needed a filling it was done with no more than some evil tasting spray, to deaden the tooth. The Machine he used looked like a bicycle stood on end; he would peddle away while drilling your tooth, extracting was the same spray and pull! If you screamed, the nurse just held your arms tighter, and said 鈥� What a big baby you are鈥�. We were terrified of that man. We called him Dracula. When I first told my current dentist he doubted my story, but has been told the same story by other of his old patients.

Little or nothing has been written about what children did during the war. But up and down the country thousands of 鈥渦s kids鈥� worked and contributed to the war effort. Skipper Haywood died in 1951, hundreds of ex scouts, scouts and cubs attended his funeral, he fashioned many boys鈥� minds into being good citizen鈥檚, and was much loved. .

Granddad died in 1942; just before the USA entered the war.

Imagine the shock of seeing for the first time black people they were the American workers who built the runways, for the 8th Air Force. They always stepped off the path when we walked by, as English we thought is was their good manners, we soon discovered that was not why, but the town people made them very welcome, It came as a shock to them that whites would actually talk, and fraternize with them, one or two of the town鈥檚 girls had black children, one, who our Mother befriended, Mary, eventually she went back to the USA with her black Husband, having lost her first husband early during the war.. . . Our cultures were so different.

When the B52鈥檚 (Flying Fortresses) arrived us boys would walk up to 8 miles there and back just to watch them take off and land, also ask the 鈥淵anks鈥� for gum and chocolates.

My Grandmother like so many families around town took air crews into their homes for Sunday tea I remember one named Matt who took me up to Bentwaters, for the Christmas children鈥檚 parties. There was big band playing, it was Glenn Miller. One Sunday Matt didn鈥檛 turn up, like so many brave young Americans he had been killed over Germany.. But always there was someone to replace him鈥� One who my Gran really liked was 鈥淩ed Hollis鈥� I think he reminded Gran of her son Charlie, with his red hair. He arrived one day with an old bicycle for me, with brakes! And brought us tins of Peaches for Sunday tea. They tasted so good, he also introduced Gran to cinnamon, and she had to make him Cinnamon apple pie, which we were able to do as we had a Bramley apple tree in the garden. It鈥檚 still a firm family favourite, still made to this very day.. Red Hollis survived the war and wrote to us after the war finished, until 1989鈥� Looking back these young man were so incredible brave. We owe them so much, and must never forget that!.

During this time our grandmother was told two of her boys Jack & Charlie had taken prisoner by the Japanese. Her youngest son aged 16 years of age died in 1929 just as they left Ireland.

One lucky find was when we saw a B52 Flying Fortress, trying to land a Sutton (Woodbridge) airbase, we at the time being on the opposite side of the river from town. But it fell short and skidded to a halt on some fields, the crew calmly climbed out walked over and asked us where the nearest pub was, we told them and off they went, they said not to go near the crashed airplane. But as always we ignored such silly requests, we climbed inside and found the rubber dingy, which all B52鈥檚 carried all folded up, retrieved it, then hid it in the wood nearby. After the police had arrived and put a guard on the B52, we went home. Two weeks later after the B52 had been recovered we dragged out the dingy, and spent many happy months for the rest of the war sailing our dingy, on the river. It never dawned on us that the B52 may have bombs, or leaking fuel when we crawled on board.

Too earn extra money, Mum used to bring home huge sacks of unshelled Peas still in the pods with leaves on straight from the fields, during the evenings we had to sit and take the peas out and put them into smaller sacks then mum would take them of to the Woodbridge Canning factory. She received 1 shilling a bag (5p), this would go on for days on end and I often did not go to bed until after 11.oopm, I hated it, our hands used to go green, at school lots of us boys had green hands, and we where made to scrub them in cold water, with a stiff wire brush which cut your hands if you really pushed to hard, another of Mum鈥檚 money making schemes, she used to bring home sacks of apples which we had to take the cores out of slice them up then thread them onto string and hang them up until they became dry, (about six weeks), our room used to be covered in hanging drying apples the smell was disgusting, but the money we earned was always religiously put into a tin for Christmas. I once remember Mum saying we had earned 拢5.14 .6. (5.75p) For Christmas.

We always saved some newspapers, and about three weeks before Xmas we would cut them up into rough 2 x 4 strips, folded the ends over and stuck them together with home made glue,a mixture of flour & water. Then we looped other bits together to make Daisy chains which we hung up as decorations. The rest of the year it was cut into squares as loo paper. (Very rough)

We never had a Xmas tree, but used to cut down a few twigs from any tree and then stick them into a flower pot filled with sand, and decorated the branches, My wife Pebby remembers polishing apples to hang up, we did as well, also we broke up our two ozs of chocolate (rationed to qtr Ib of sweets month, it went up to half a Ib in late 1944) these bits we wrapped in whatever colour paper we could find and hung them on the tree, just occasionally Mum used to come home with some real glass balls, Grandma always made our Xmas pudding, she used dried fruit from our own garden, apples gooseberry, plumbs, etc, and 1 remember having to cut them up into small pieces to look like today鈥檚 mincemeat, Christmas 1942/3 we had one of our adopted USA aircrew over to dinner, they would bring us a large tin of peaches, or chocolate drinking powder, and some tins of Spam., Pebby used to receive Hershey bars form their American friends, ( most every family had adopted aircrews) Pebby also remembers a tin of Lemon sweets which she ate, making herself sick, even today she cannot face any Lemon flavoured food or sweets.

The aircrews where great but by bringing tinned items, risked a great deal by doing so.( Black Market goods where illegal for which you could be sent to prison for), I remember our 1943 Christmas because we had one crewman who was a radio operator, I feel guilty that I cannot remember his name?, he was supposed to come to our Christmas dinner, he was lost over Germany just two days before the 25th Dec, we where told by a friend of his, who then filled his place at our table, I remember my Grandma crying, we all felt so sad. It was later confirmed he had died. About a year later we received a letter from his family in the USA, he had told them about us in his letters home, his Mother thanked us for our kindness, The families continued to corresponded for about many years..

Christmas dinner would be Chicken,(one of own), potatoes, sprouts, stuffing (home made with onion, apple, chestnuts, "collected by me", and bread crumbs all mashed together) Gravy made from the chicken juice, and gravy browning or flour mixed in a frying pan, Gran would also make sausages, using bread and Spam, which had to be squelched together rolled in egg and more breadcrumbs........... It was the best meal of the year, 1943 was a good year.
Then in would come the pudding, all alight, how I do not know? We certainly had no Brandy etc, but some how it just happened, In those days we had silver three penny bits, which where always mixed into the pudding on the making, so you had to be careful when eating, We always believed if you got one in your mouth you wished, us children always did, I'm sure we where distracted then one popped into our slice of pudding?, the sauce was hot runny home made jam, usually plum.

After dinner we had to listen to the Kings speech, then we would all play cards for farthings, and halfpenny鈥檚 around our table, it usually ended up in right royal rows, with accusations of cheating, lots of noise and laughter, I suppose by today鈥檚 Christmases ours sounds very bleak and austere, well they where hard times, but when I look back it is with fond memories.

I remember being woken up during the night of the 6th June 1944, with the noise of airplanes roaring overhead, it seemed to go on for hours, came the daylight the sky was black with planes pulling gliders, many having taken off from the nearby airfield, of which there were five within 7 miles of Woodbridge the Invasion had begun, us boys hoped the war wouldn鈥檛 be over until we could join up.

After the Invasion we watched doodlebugs; fly over, on their way to London. Two dropped short on our town. One stopped and dropped harmlessly in a field, just up the road but made huge bang, and very big hole, the other hit tall trees, surrounding a farmhouse, in the middle of fields. All the family living there were all killed. As far as I am aware the only people killed by air raids etc in Woodbridge, during the whole war.

Later that year, some person sounding a car hooter awakened us late one night, we quickly realized that they were using the Morse code V, over and over again, V, V, V, We went into the street and found everyone on their doorsteps, and the message went around that the war in Europe was over. We could not believe it, people started singing, shouting, and crying.. We danced about, made cups of tea, and talked about what it would mean.

We never went to school the next day, it was a madhouse, people singing kissing everyone, our American friends came in from the bases and brought us tins of peaches, and we ate the lot. Within a few days I saw my first banana, My sister tried to eat it skin and all, we kids were given an orange each at school.. But for us the war was not over, Granny still hoped she might see her sons again. Sadly it was not to be.

Our war finalized in 1945, when the Japanese where defeated.

On VJ day there were street parties, the street lighting was on Church bells were again ringing. it seemed every one in Woodbridge was on the Market Hill, music, dancing, I don鈥檛 think anyone slept. It was a mad house.

So ended my war.

My Grandmother went to Church, and I remember her crying a great deal. She lost her last two sons, both taken prisoner in Sept 1942 at Singapore;

HISTORICAL FOOTNOTE: The information below came from books privately produced by the Authors. As far as I know they were never on any bookshop shelves, It鈥檚 as though no one wants to know what really happened after the fall of Singapore, to many young men.

Edmund Charles Neville died Fighting with the Cambridgeshire Regt on the 18th Sept 1942.
(Line of Lost Lives by John Cosgrove, Survivor)

John Edward Neville was taken into captivity. And was transported with 600 men of the 7th Coastal Regt, Royal Artillery, and taken to Rabul, New Britain. Of those 517 were then taken on to Ballali in the Solomon Islands. None survived! Their story is too harrowing and awful to relate. But is well documented in a book 鈥� What price Bushido鈥� written by a survivor, Alf Baker. Only 18 remained alive, at the end of hostilities they had remained in Rabul, because they were too sick or weak to be moved on.

As far as I know there has never been a T.V. documentary produced telling the story of the 600? Perhaps its all best unsaid? I Know I weep every time I think of what befell my two Brave Irish Uncles.

I also lost two cousins, one in the RAF during the last days of the war. Aged 18 yrs. The other in the Navy aged 25 yrs. I lost my father. My wife lost her father. Our family suffered dearly with loss of family members. But we were not alone, of all my school friends many never saw their fathers again. I still shed a tear when I think of my lost family; I attend 11th November remembrance parades in their honour

And the rest of my life, well: I left school at 14, joined the Army as a Boy Apprentice Soldier, went on to complete 8 years as a regular adult soldier, worked in the BT/GPO for 29 yrs, ending my career as an IT Training manager, also I served my community as a Suffolk Magistrate for 21 years. Not bad for a kid with little education, from a poor background

John Edmund Morton.

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