大象传媒

Looking back over 60 years to the war certainly brings back memories of how a pre teenage boy lived and survived.

I can honestly say I was not deprived of very much in the way of food etc, because we lived only 3 miles from the Irish border(Ireland was a neutral country)where you could get most of the necessities for daily living.

As a 7 year old when war broke out it did not mean much to me. All I was interested in was playing with my friends and enjoying the good weather, which always seemed better in those days.

However , one night after tea, it suddenly hit me that things had changed and there was a little melancholy in the air. My mother was teaching my father how to darn his socks and when I asked why I was told that he would be going away for a while in the army and while there he would have to darn his own socks. I was also told he would bring me back a two - tailed monkey. Where that came from I don't know.

Then, only a few days later on a glorious Saturday he was off.My dads leaving really did break the heart of this 7 year old boy and I never saw him again for another 6 years.

So much happened in the interim years that I could write forever - the good , the bad and the the sad hearing that a neighbours son or husband had been captured.

Smuggling was a big part of life then. Every Saturday morning I rode my bicycle for 3 miles to cross the Irish border to Muff village. There I had to buy bread, meat and whatever else was needed. Breadmen made a fortune on the blackmarket. They got extra petrol allowance to deliver to outlying areas so they were able to load up across the border and then sell at inflated prices in Northern Ireland.
Once my mother went to Buncrana in County Donegal on the old Swilly Railway. There she bought 6 dinner plates which she stuffed down the seat of my short trousers to smuggle them past customs officers. The mission was a success.

My two older brothers joined up one as a Royal Marine the other as a Paratrooper.

My father was immediately sent to the Middle East with the Royal Artillery and my brother Bertie was posted to HMS Renown, one of the biggest battleships of the day.

I think it was 1942 when the Renown was in Alexandria, Egypt and my father was stationed not too far away. How they both knew they were near each other I don't know but my father explained the situation to his superiors and was granted a pass to visit his son.
Bertie asked for a pass to visit his father but it was turned down so he decided to quietly slip off ship for a few hours to see his dad. Unfortunately he was caught and had to spend a few days in the Brig. Dad eventually made it to Alexandria only to find the Renown had left port earlier that day. The war was over before they eventually were reunited.

And how did the war end for me?
I must have been about 13, we had celebrated VE Day and it was a beautiful June day which I can recall as if it was yesterday. I was playing a school football match when a teacher (Mr Frame) came to speak to the referee. Mr Frame called me to one side and said "Craig I think you should go home now. Your dad has just come back."

I dashed home and there he was. We ran to each other. I was the happiest lad in the world, but I noticed one thing different about him. He had a thumb missing! I found out later that he was hit by shrapnel at Tobruk - a small price to pay.

My father and brothers came through the war virtually unscathed. They were the lucky ones.

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