大象传媒

People In The Story: The Jones Family
Background: The Loss Of Two Brothers And Other Memories

THE FATEFUL YEARS

I remember so clearly the announcement made by the Prime Minister (Neville Chamberlain) that we are now at War with Germany. It was a Sunday morning, September 3rd 1939. Briefly after the announcement the air raid sirens sounded, and people rushed for cover. Fortunately this was a false alarm.

We were a family of six children, living on a farm about 8 miles from Dorking, Surrey. The life seemed idyllic with the fields and buildings our playground.

Ken, my second brother, had already decided to make the Royal Air Force his career and had joined as a cadet in 1936. He was initially stationed at RAF Cranwell in Lincolnshire. He was training as a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner. Reg, my eldest brother, was called up and joined the Royal Artillery.

Ruby, my only sister, decided she would like to join the W.A.A.F鈥檚 (Women鈥檚 Artillery Air Force), which she did shortly after War was declared. Cyril, my third brother, opted for the Royal Navy and joined in 1940. He was initially stationed at Chatham, Kent, with H.M.S. Pembroke.

I decided when I was very small that I would take up Nursing when old enough. I commenced my training at the East Surrey Hospital in July 1941.

Ron, my younger brother, was still at school, but later joined the Army in the Cold Stream Guards. We were all very busy with our various careers with either one or other member of the family home on leave; this always delighted my parents, as they were very proud of their 鈥渂rood鈥�.

But in December 1941, we had heard very little of Cyril, and as we approached Christmas with no word from him, there was great concern. Shortly afterwards the dreaded telegram arrived from the Admiralty saying 鈥淲e regret to inform you that your son, Ord/Sig. Norman Cyril Jones, C/SSX 34101, is missing 鈥� presumed killed鈥�. This came as a terrible blow, but we were ever hopeful that he would return, not knowing the details. Time passed when further news was received that Cyril had been called at the last minute to make up the numbers on the Submarine H31. Apparently news had been received that Scharnhoust, Gneisenau and Prinnz Eugen were about to breakout from Brest in to the Atlantic. Eight submarines were ordered to the area in expectation of an attack. Lieutenant Frank Gibbs was in command of H31. They sailed from Falmouth to patrol the area and were due to return on December 24th 1941. On the night of December 24th/25th Lt. Gibbs was ordered to report his position, but there was no signal. It is believed H31鈥檚 loss was due to mining in the area off Cape Finnisterre sometime between December 19th 鈥� 24th.

The family heard nothing until late March when a further telegram arrived saying 鈥淎ll hands had been lost鈥�.

This news hit the family very badly. Cyril was 19 years old.

Imagine the shock when a few weeks later another telegram arrived, this time from the Air Ministry to report, 鈥淔light/Sergeant Kenneth John Jones 550677 has been killed in action鈥�. Ken had been serving with 224 Squadron, Bomber Command, and had been on many missions. His logbook shows the crew had had many near misses and there had been damaged to the aircraft.

On this occasion the aircraft went into a dive, which could not be corrected and it crashed at Garston, bursting into flames. On impact 鈥� all the crew were killed. Ken was 22 years old.

The loss of two sons within 4 months was almost too much to bear for my parents. They were quire bereft with few people to turn to, and of course, no counselling was available at this time. The family unity had been destroyed, never to be restored.

OTHER MEMORIES

I travelled everywhere on my bicycle, my only means of transport. The blackout made things very difficult. Lighting on vehicles was controlled with only a pinhead of light permitted. This proved quite dangerous, particularly on moonless nights. I think the accident rate increased dramatically. On one such occasion while returning from choir practise, and not seeing a thing, I sensed someone walking in the road, and assumed they would be to one side. But having just passed the 鈥渓ocal鈥� I was very cautious. However, before I realised it, I had crashed into someone! Bottles tumbled on to the road and there were grunts all round 鈥� we both got up without a word 鈥� but it was clear to me that the gentleman was inebriated and I was too afraid to reveal my identity as I knew who the man was! With buckled handle bars and a thumping heart I made my way home. Imagine my astonishment when meeting him a few days later he asked, 鈥淲hat the devil were you doing the other evening?鈥� On these dark nights we were often accompanied by the luminescent lights of the many glow-worms along the roadside. A welcome sight of the traveller.

Less welcoming was the drone of the enemy aircraft overhead, one would just hope and pray they would continue on their way without being intercepted by the RAF, and a dogfight ensure.

We were particularly fearful of the 鈥淒oodle Bugs鈥� as one knew the moment the engine cut out, the ghastly flying bomb would explode.

Many dogfights did take place overhead and early in 1941 things came a wee bit too close for comfort. Whilst the family were sitting after an evening meal we heard an enormous explosion! Windows shattered, doors blown open, plaster dislodged and general pandemonium. With my knitting trailing behind me, we gathered a few belongings and fled to the Anderson shelter, situated in the orchard. Next morning we discovered a huge crater just behind the house! A 1,000lb bomb had been delivered!!!!

It was about this time, whilst returning home, that I noticed a huge area of the sky aglow in yellows and red. In the direction of London, clearly it was an enormous fire. (We were about thirty miles from London). The news later revealed there had been a direct and sustained attack on the docks and the East End. This had caused great devastation and many casualties and loss of life. This was repeated over many towns and cities throughout the country.

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