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This story has been written onto the People’s War site by Callington U3A — Meg Bassett — on behalf of Mr Bill Pascoe who fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.
My name is William (Bill) Pascoe and I was born in 1932, in Dupath Road, Callington, Cornwall, where my father farmed. I was one of eight children and went to school in Callington until the age of 14, when I left to help on the farm.
I remember three bombs being dropped in Callington, on the edge of the town — two in the fields running up to Kit Hill and the other in the road. Of course, I went and picked up pieces of shrapnel! For a long time afterwards, pieces of shrapnel were found under the soil when they ploughed that first field. I think it was a stick of bombs, probably destined for Plymouth, which the enemy ‘plane off-loaded so that he could get away.
A very strange incident happened late one night. There was a knock on the door and a man stood outside, asking the way to Plymouth because he had walked from Tavistock. We had no room to let him stay so my father told him to sleep in one of our sheds on the hay, which he must have done because we saw the impression of his shape in the morning. It set us thinking afterwards because no-one would walk from Tavistock via Callington, because it was a much longer way around and meant crossing into Devon again by ferry. In addition, if he had walked from Tavistock along the road, he would have fallen into the bomb crater which had blown up that road. We were certainly suspicious but could give no description of the man because with only candles and an oil-lamp, no-one saw his face clearly or what he was wearing, although he seemed to speak good English. We wondered afterwards if he was part of the crew of a German ‘plane which had been shot down. Next day, when father went into town, he told the Police Inspector, but we never knew who this stranger was.
There was a prisoner-of-war camp on the site of what is now Ginsters factory. It was built by the Germans, and occupied by them. Later the Italians were housed there — probably a couple of hundred. These men all worked on the farms. I think I rather preferred the Italians! Later Poles and Ukrainians came to live in that camp, although not, of course, as prisoners, and they also worked on the farms around. One of my sisters married a Pole, and there were several other marriages between the Poles and the local girls.
Just opposite what is now Pengelly Garage, on the outskirts of Callington, there was a petrol dump — or, as the Americans would say ‘gas’ — stored in hundreds of jerry-cans. A black American sergeant was in charge and one day he washed his overalls in petrol (I never knew why). I happened to be there, and in lighting a cigarette, dropped the match — you can imagine the result with everything up in flames! Relations were not always peaceful between the black Americans and the white Americans. There was a stabbing incident in the centre of Callington, and I remember seeing the blood but I never knew who stabbed who.
Many Americans were camped along the road from Callington to Saltash, with tents in the fields. After D-Day they vanished overnight.

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