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Patricia Edwards’ Teenage Memories of the War Years.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Annette Evans, a volunteer from Hayling Island, on behalf of Patricia Edwards and has been added to the site with her permission.

I can vividly recall the day war broke out — 3rd September 1939. We were living in Havant, in Hampshire, and my father was re-called (he had previously been in the army) for active service. He was to report to Ascot and the following day was signed up for the Royal Artillery, London Scottish Regiment, Reserve List. He was 39. I was 13 and my sister Sheila was 9. After active service in France and Belgium, he was rescued from Dunkirk, returning to Margate on the Royal Daffodil. He didn’t speak about it much, but in later years he told us how, when retreating through Belgium, they came to a fork in the road; luckily they took the correct one, as the other road had a Panzer Division on it! He also remembered the poor cows in the fields, dying in agony where they hadn’t been milked.

Not long after coming back, he was sent to Rochdale. The family went with him and we were billeted at Castleton, on the outskirts of Manchester. My sister went to school, but I started work in the local mill producing silks and cottons for parachutes, etc. My role as a ‘dolfer’ involved refilling bobbins for the machines along a long line known as an ‘ally’. I thoroughly enjoyed it and became quite an expert, even to the point of being faster than those who had been at the mill for some time! Life there, however, was quite hard — and dangerous. With all the industry in the area, it was a prime target for the bombers, but I recall that to put them off the scent, the Dunlop factory, which was next to ours (it was huge — over a mile wide ) was topped with a ‘farm’, which from the air would have made it look as though it was a field. It seemed to work, we didn’t get bombed for the time we were there! We didn’t get much in the way of rations, though, and we used to have to take a basin to the corner shop for a meal.

After 6 months, Dad was then moved to Northern Ireland for training, at a town called Newtownstewart, Tyrone, not far from Omagh. I can remember the boat journey going over, the sea was really rough and although I wasn’t seasick, there were plenty who were, including the navy and army! We were billeted in a turf house on a small-holding, run by a family who were IRA sympathisers and we weren’t particularly welcomed. I didn’t work, but helped mum and would sometimes ride out on the horse and cart to help collect the peat. On a happy note, though, there was plenty to eat — the Irish didn’t bother with rationing, as they had more than enough meat to go round and in fact they ate more potatoes than anything. There was a lot of animosity towards the British, though - the Protestant police were OK, but the Catholic police hated us. On one occasion my mum went with a friend to go to a market over the border into Eire. She was instructed not to say anything, because her English accent would have been detected and she could have been in trouble. Eire was a free state and you didn’t know who you’d be rubbing shoulders with.

Our stay in Ireland lasted 9 months and we returned to England, this time to West Wickham. By this time, however, dad was not well and was diagnosed with a stomach tumour. After a successful operation and a long convalescence, he was downgraded from Sergeant Major to Sergeant and was sent to Lydd, in Kent, for non-active service, where he helped to supervise troops and would also watch out for planes crash landing. His ‘claim to fame’ for the war effort was that he was the first to find a doodlebug complete (except for the gyroscope) and called the RAF, who were delighted with the find as they were then able to discover just what they were and how they were made.

While dad was in Kent, I, my sister and mum moved back to Havant — into a house in North Street which is now a key-cutter and engraver’s shop. I was then 16 and had to sign up for work. Behind the Dolphin Hotel (now a shopping centre) there were stables which had been converted into a factory making various parts for aircraft, etc. and I started there as a welder. Half the time we didn’t know exactly what we were working on, but I do recall welding parts on landing craft, parachute harnesses - and toilets! It was a happy factory and I enjoyed working there, and it was only just round the corner from our house.

By this time, of course, it was during the time of the Blitz, and Portsmouth and Hayling Island were being constantly bombarded. I volunteered to be a fire watcher and was issued with a bucket of water and some sand!

Havant got off quite lightly, but I can recall a few instances when we were under attack.

If the threat of a bomber was about, we used to go to the public shelter in Homewell. Next to this shelter was a row of cottages and one day the warning went, so we went to the shelter. We heard the plane coming over, then the whistle of a bomb falling and we all just waited — there was no panic, just acceptance of what was to come (the main thought that went through my mind was that I wasn’t going to see my dad again). The bomb, however, fell just behind the concreted-in Anderson shelter in the back garden of the cottage next to our shelter, buried itself under the shelter, which was blasted out of the ground, then fell back down in the crater, in one piece! The inhabitants — a Mr & Mrs Bailey - though shocked, were OK. A lucky escape for us all.

I used to work with a man called Mr.Christmas (yes, he used to look like Father Christmas — white hair and beard!) and he would never go into the shelter, preferring instead to cycle out of town, where he felt safer (Havant at this time was only a small town and it wasn’t very far to the countryside). There was a hay rick near to Havant Station and on this particular day he had made his way out to there — unfortunately, so did the German bomber. Although he survived, we didn’t see him for months!

Sometimes bombers would drop a bomb then follow it up with a machine-gun attack and we knew a lady, Mrs. Luff, who was gunned down in her own back garden. Her husband and son were in the RAF.

If we heard bombers coming our way, we older teenagers would run out and give it the ‘V’ sign (they used to reckon you were safer in the street as the planes couldn’t get a good angle for gunning). On one occasion I was watching a dog fight from our garden, when I heard a ping as a piece of shrapnel fell to the ground. I never did find it.

When some of the troops came back from Dieppe, they were in a really bad state. I don’t know where they landed, but they came through Havant and rested awhile before moving on. Everyone did what they could for them — gave them cups of tea, food and cigarettes. Poor boys, they were exhausted.

Eventually, it was D-Day and the surrounding fields were awash with troops — British, French, Canadian, South African. There was a lot of military movement leading up to the event and I can remember Churchill tanks going down The Pallant — a very narrow road — it was quite a sight! We all knew something was happening, but didn’t know what, and were often asked to produce ID. When all the planes went over, it was a sight I will never forget — the sky was full with wave after wave of aircraft.

For my part, I carried on welding at the factory until I retired. Havant, now, is unrecognisable to what it was then, but I still live in the area and have many happy memories. I can honestly say I was never frightened during the whole time of the war — in fact, being a teenager I had a great time, and it never entered my head that we would lose. My mum and sister, though, were of a more nervous nature and hated every minute of it.

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