大象传媒

THE WAR YEARS

In 1939, at the commencement of World War II, we returned to the farm of my grandfather in order that my father could help to run the farm that was essential to the war effort. This was to become more apparent as time went on as food became short and rationing was introduced.
The farm was Newhall Farm situated on the outskirts of Cannock in Staffordshire, a mixed farm of 114 acres and the buildings were very old with a date stone under the eaves at the rear of the house giving the date of construction as 1689. The main building was a three-storey house containing some seventeen rooms most of which were quite large; in fact the kitchen was of such proportions that I used to ride my three-wheeled cycle around the room when I was just a tot.
The remainder of the farm buildings were largely of two-storey construction and bounded two sides of the farmyard. These contained mostly cattle or horse stalls with lofts at first floor level to store the hay. The side adjacent to the road were single storey and were used for the storage of tractors and other farm implements.
My early memories are not that many but those I have are very vivid. Most of the time life was fairly idyllic and the war was just an incidental to my life. However, the preparations that were being made in case of a German invasion became quite apparent from time to time. Part of these preparations was the formation of a 鈥淔ire Guard鈥�; a sort of auxiliary fire brigade, and my father was appointed a 鈥淪ector Captain鈥� and the farm became a 鈥淪ector Point鈥�. This was a central gathering point for all volunteers. The fact that the house was the rallying point for such activities meant that, from time to time, exercises were held jointly with the local 鈥淗ome Guard鈥� unit. (Dad鈥檚 Army to those too young to remember the war years.)
The farm buildings were often used as the strategic target for the exercises and during such occasions we children were encouraged to stay indoors out of harms way. We used to sneak to the windows and try to glimpse the men in camouflage hiding in the outbuildings or in the garden areas with their rifles at the ready. It used to be taken very seriously by those taking part.
One Sunday morning such an exercise was underway but we were made ready to go to Sunday School in the usual manner. The farm being quite isolated and with no bus services on a Sunday I set off as normal to walk the mile and a half with my sister, cousin and younger brother. We were walking along minding our own business on the beautiful sunny morning when suddenly out from the hedgerow came a voice which barked at us " Stick 鈥榚m up!鈥� and a rifle shot out from the shadows right in front of us. We were convinced that the Germans had invaded and that we were being taken prisoner but needless to say it was just some local volunteers鈥� idea of a joke. It scared the living daylights out of me as I was, by nature, very shy and timid.
One night the air raid sirens had gone and we had taken for safety to the cellar, which we used as an air raid shelter. We could hear in the far distance the dull thud of bombs being dropped, fortunately, none of which were aimed at our location. This action carried on for most of the night and it was just before dawn that the all clear was sounded and we emerged from the cellar, went outside and could see the night sky illuminated by an orange glow on the horizon. This was obviously some miles away from my home and it was not until listening to the wireless later on that day that we realised that this was the night that Coventry had been blitzed.
That occurrence left its mark on me even though we were in no way directly affected. It heightened my awareness of the war and so when one evening we heard a plane low overhead and circling, finally making a forced landing in one of the fields close to the farmhouse, I was convinced that the Germans had landed and we were about to be attacked by them and I watched in fear and trepidation as a torch shone in the darkness and gradually came closer to the house. I need not have worried as it turned out that the pilot, who was one of ours, had mistaken the lime my father had spread on the field for the airport runway and had made an unscheduled landing.
An inspection the following morning showed that it was a Tiger Moth aircraft, which was a single-engined biplane. He had come to an abrupt halt when the nose-wheel ended up in a ditch at the end of the field. The only damage done to the aircraft was a smashed propeller. Contact was made with the nearest R.A.F station at Stafford and a new propeller supplied. It took about eight men to lift the aircraft from the ditch and with the repairs completed the plane was soon airworthy and after a short take-off across the same field in which it had landed, was on its way again.
A second incident involving an aircraft that I can clearly recall, which had much more serious consequences happened about a mile down the road towards the town. Another Tiger Moth got into difficulties and had engine failure and crashed into a tree and burst into flames. The pilot, on this occasion, was not so lucky and was killed instantly when the plane burst into flames. It was the next day on my way to school that I passed the spot and I can remember to this day the stench of burnt wood, metal and canvas of the plane.
A little later in the war period my parents accepted two Dutch children as evacuees from Holland when the German forces occupied their country. They were brother and sister and were just slightly older than myself. We got on well together and played with them often in the barns and loft spaces of the farm. Bales of hay and straw were kept in the loft above the cowshed and one-day we, along with my younger brother were playing hide and seek among them.
The loft was on the first floor and about fifteen feet above the ground. The door where the hay was loaded into the loft was open in order to keep the area aired to prevent any possible overheating of the bales of hay. One of the iron supporting bars, strapped around the building because of local mining subsidence, happened to cut across the middle of this opening. It normally served also as a safety rail when materials were being transferred into the loft. On this occasion, for some un-explained reason Hanns rushed towards the door to escape as part of our game and suddenly he leapt over the bar and out through the doorway. Expecting the worst we rushed to the doorway expecting to find him lying badly injured but by the time we reached the opening and looked out he was up on his feet, badly shaken but otherwise perfectly alright. When we asked why he had done such a stupid thing he said the he had forgotten we were on the first floor.
We became quite immune to the war in many ways and largely forgot, for most of the time that it was going on. This was shown most graphically by the fact that we obtained an army issue 鈥渂ell tent鈥� which was in its camouflage colours and we decided to camp out in the field adjacent to the house. We lay awake at night listening to aircraft passing overhead trying to decide whether they were allied or enemy planes.
Of course wartime brought rationing and we, like many kids of that time, missed out on what today are considered normal everyday things. These included oranges, which, if we were lucky, we found one at Christmas time in our stockings. Sweets were also in very short supply and were rationed along with many other foodstuffs and clothing. Sweets were the last item to be de-rationed but not until the 1950鈥檚.
Many items, which were restricted to others, were still available to us because we lived on a farm. We used to make our own butter by taking the creamiest milk and placing in an empty 鈥淕olden Syrup鈥� tin, sealing the lid on tight and shaking vigorously for what seemed like hours. Eventually the milk would turn to butter and the residue of the milk would be drained off and the butter wrapped in a muslin cloth until it was ready for use. By keeping pigs we were allowed, at set intervals, by the Ministry of Agriculture, to slaughter one of them and keep half for our own consumption, the rest going to the government.
When such an animal was slaughtered, every possible edible part was kept for consumption including the brain and intestine of the pig. After slaughter the animal was cut into the various parts and each carefully covered in salt and left to cure for about six weeks. At the end of that time the salt was washed off and the side of bacon and the ham was again wrapped in muslin cloth to keep the flies at bay and hung up in the coolest place on the farm. This was usually the dairy area where we cooled the milk. As it was required, slices of bacon or ham were removed and the rest remained in-situ until required. As you can imagine the remnants began to grow a mould as time went by but this did not deter the use of the meat and the mould was just scraped off and the appropriate number of slices cut. Today this would be totally outlawed but we certainly came to no harm from so doing.
One further thing that we had in abundance was milk. This we drank straight from the cow with it only being cooled and passed through a crude sieve containing a gauze pad. Again this practice would give the Health Authorities of today nightmares but once again we survived to tell the tale.
At the end of the war on V.J. night we had a massive bonfire to celebrate the victory and we were able once more to resume a normal life.

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