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I was born in the New Forest just a couple of miles from the Arnewood of Captain Maryatt's great story. My family lived in a cottage in Sway that belonged to my grandfather, as it had to his grandfather before him. Even so, we had no mains water, gas, or electricity, the toilet was an earth closet in the garden and we bathed in a tin bath. In many ways we lived the life of times already gone by for most people. But life was in many respects idyllic, for me that is, it was probably quite hard for my parents. I was an unfettered spirit and could, and did, roam to my hearts content. Life however was about to change……….

I was six years old when the war started. I have many memories of before then, of family events such as visiting the local market towns with my Grandparents by motorcycle and sidecar, visiting the cinema at New Milton or Lymington with my Grandmother, sometimes twice a week! Spending time at the blacksmiths (my Grandfather). Watching a black coach and pair of black horses, complete with driver and footman, also in black, on their way to church with a grand looking lady on board. She was the lady living at Hincheslea House in the New Forest. I can recall catching sticklebacks, newts, and with bent pin and worm, rainbow trout, in the local Avon Water stream. There are many other memories like that. But it is true to say that my real awareness of life began with the Munich Crisis of 1938 where I can recall the family sitting around the newly acquired radio and listening to Neville Chamberlain talking about 'Peace in our time'. I distinctly recall the sombre nature of that period, due I suppose to the attitude of the adults around me. It was just a year later of course that war was declared. The course of the war for me is made up of a kaleidoscope of memories, not always easy to put in their proper context, but as clear today as they were at the time.

Dunkirk
I was in my grandparent's bungalow next door when the telegram arrived to say that my Uncle Sid was missing, believe killed, during the retreat to Dunkirk. He was thirty years old and called up as a reservist, having only being in civvie street for a few months after completing his peacetime Army service. Another memory of this time was the hospital trains passing through our local station with their cargo of bright blue suited wounded soldiers in various states of bandaging.
Many years later as a grown man I tracked down his grave in France at Bertenacre, a few miles south west of Ypres, where I found a first world war cemetery in a corn field near to a farm with over a 100 graves, about 20 of them from the Dunkirk evacuation of the second world War. The farm seemed little changed over the years and appeared to have bullet holes in its walls from both conflicts. I wondered whether or not it was a used as a refuge or a strong point by the troops at the time.

The Invasion that never was
All of my school chums and I talked seriously (for seven and eight year olds, that is) of what we would do when the expected invasion came. We would know when this was because we had been told the church bells silenced for the duration would ring out a warning that it happened. We decided that our bows and arrows would be the chosen weapons to strike down the Nazi soldiers from ambush. We made lots of arrows and coated the pointed nail ends with cow dung and deposited them at several caches in the local Set Thorns Wood. The intention was to make off to the wood as soon as the troops landed and to lie in wait for the enemy. We never gave any thought to food or water that I can recall, or to the distinct possibility that we would only need but one arrow before we were swiftly dispatched. Laughable perhaps, but we were deadly serious at the time!

The Blitz
I was standing outside of our thatched cottage with my mother, and grandparents, looking at the sky towards the east where the search lights were tracing their patterns over Southampton and occasionally a German bomber was illuminated by them and sometimes other beams quickly swung to lock the bomber in their grasp to allow the anti aircraft (ack ack) guns to lock on to the target, at which time we would all cheer. Sometimes the bomber dived away from the beam, when we would all groan. Even at 20 miles the guns and bombs could be heard clearly. This seemed to go on for months until finally the raids became more sporadic.

Later on it became too dangerous to stand outside during the raids as by then we had three anti aircraft guns at the top of our road close by the tumulus near to Marlpit Oak, and another three in an old gravel pit on Hag Hill near to Wooton bridge. When they fired the air was filled with falling shrapnel, some of which descended on the tin roofs of garden sheds with a loud clattering. After the War when our thatch was replaced by slate we found quite a lot of sharp shell splinters in the old thatch. The Tumulus mentioned above was pressed into war service as an Observer Corp post.

On one occasion I was visiting Southampton with my school chum Harold, an evacuee from there, who was then living in a cottage owned by a family member in the village. We walked along the entire length of the high street and there were many skeleton houses with just one or two walls standing and great piles of rubble. An incongruous sight was a clock still on a mantle piece in what had been a bedroom. Jones Department Store was completely destroyed, but the ground floor basement carried on in the best English tradition. Much of the rubble from Southampton ended up in a runway at Stony Cross Airfield a few miles away in the New Forest.

We visited Harold's family house, which had been severely damaged but not completely destroyed. We were still able to make our way up the stairs and eventually got up to the rafters somehow and were able to get a good view over the surrounding area of devastation. I can recall the Civic Hall, a splendid modern building standing defiantly undamaged and pointing its tower to the sky and the large number of barrage balloons surrounding the dock area.

Hit and Run raids
I was outside of the cottage on the corner of Manchester Road and Brighton Road, right at the edge of the Forest with a school chum who lived in the cottage, when we heard aircraft approaching. There were three of them and it was like in slow motion as they flew just above the roof top. We dived into the ditch, but I was still able to see very clearly the pilot and what was most likely the machine gun operator in the rear of the cockpit in the twin tail finned Messerschmitt 110. Shortly after we heard explosions and machine guns going off. New Milton had received a hit and run raid and some buildings were destroyed or damaged and quite a number of people were killed. Years after the War, bullet damage could still be seen on some buildings in the High Street.

Bourne Valley Gas Works Canteen
While on a raid to destroy the rail viaducts that cross Bourne Valley in Branksome, Poole, the bombs failed to hit the viaducts but scored a direct hit on the adjacent Gas Works canteen. Being lunchtime, many were killed. It was at around the same time that my future wife was bombed out of their home not far away by the blast from a land mine dropped from a raider.

Our Allies
The Canadians were our most numerous visitors in the early part of the war. They were billeted in many of the large houses around the Forest with encampments in the grounds. They had a tank regiment at Quarr House and another at Sway Place. Those at Quarr used to park their tank squadron alongside the fence palings on the road verge with each tank name painted on the fence.
I have ridden in a Churchill tank over the heath lands of the adjacent forest and the tracks they made in the heather were visible for many years after the War.

We used to spend quite a lot of time with the soldiers, we would be invited into the canteen for meals and 'helped' with preparing the tanks with the collapsible skirts to make them amphibious for a hush hush event that turned out to be Dieppe. Many of the familiar faces that we had known, including my favourite, 'Big Bill', did not return from that debacle.

I remember at least two splendid Christmas parties that were held at Quarr House for the Village children. Plenty of everything was made available including sweets, fruit and ice cream. Most boys had an excellent collection of cigarette cards from the Canadian cigarette packs of 'Sweet Caporal', which featured aircraft of all the combatants

Prisoners of War
There was a prisoner of war camp at Setley Plain, near Brockenhurst and just a couple of miles from Sway across the forest heath. First it was filled with Italian Pow.s, and later they were moved elsewhere and were replaced by German POW's. We kids liked the Italians, they were allowed out to work in and around the village, some worked at the local sawmill and used to make toys for us. I had a highly carved and decorated flute, and my younger brother had a toy that was like a table tennis bat with three or four small wooden jointed chickens that, when a weighted ball was swung around in a circle beneath the bat would peck in turn at the surface of the bat! I remember they (the prisoners that is) were quite popular with some of the ladies in the village as well, but we kids were not supposed to know about that sort of thing! They were always singing, and I grew quite fond of Neapolitan love songs as a result. The Germans were quite different, although the more amenable ones were also let out on occasion to visit the shops. We used to buy things for them and I remember that one of our lads (a grammar school swot) translated for some of them from German or French, which a few of them understood. Later in the war there was a rumour that one prisoner had been hung by a Nazi group for being to friendly to the 'enemy'. I have since heard this about other camps, so perhaps it was just the rumour mill working overtime.

Crashing Spitfire
Walking to the local shop one day with a chum, as we reached the corner of the road a Spitfire trailing smoke flew just above our heads and disappeared in the direction of the fields around Meadend
Farm. By the time we had reached the local Garage the owner, Mr Botting, had returned from collecting the pilot who had a screwed up parachute in his grasp. Although there was some blood visible and on the chute, he was able to walk from the car and seemed only a little the worse for wear.
Naturally we made off to the crash site but were not allowed to get near to it.

Thunderbolts from the Sky
A ? Thunderbolt crashed at Shirley Holmes and was soon taken away but we were able to find bits of it scattered all over the place, which rapidly became souvenirs. A larger aircraft, a Liberator crashed to the south of the Village in the vicinity of Flexford Farm. Unfortunately, despite all the space around, it demolished a converted railway coach that was lived in. We understood that the residents and crew were all killed, but I am not sure about this.

Gun pits, bomb craters, and doodlebugs
Each gun pit encircled three guns and in the earth walls of the pit were the guncrew rooms, sleeping areas, and ammunition pits, all very rudimentary, with more permanent sleeping and washing facilities nearby in camouflaged Nissan huts. I only recall one bomb crater anywhere near to us, not very far from one of the gun sites, but more than likely a jettisoned bomb from a home bound raider. Towards the end of the War a V1 Doodlebug came down our road on the back of a lorry, it was damaged in crashing but apparently had not exploded as it was largely intact.

Malta Convoy
An uncle of mine from Wales was in the Navy and served on the Aircraft Carrier Victorious. While taking part in a large convoy for the relief of Malta in 1942 they underwent bombing for many hours. It was during that convoy that the tanker Ohio was badly damaged but made port held up between two destroyers. Incidentally, Captain Mason of the Ohio who received a medal, the George Cross, I think, lived in Sway after the War and my mother ended up working for him as a domestic. His daughter now lives in New Zealand and still corresponds with my Mother!

D Day
For weeks, if not months, before D Day we knew something was up because as we cycled around the area which we did far and often, we saw the vehicle, fuel and ammunition dumps, and all sorts of other equipment both in the forest and at the airfields of Holmsley, Stony Cross and Beaulieu. But the most powerful memories were of the air armada's of hundreds of aircraft and gliders passing over as they headed off for the invasion. Also the hundreds of ships from horizon to horizon, which for us was from the Needles on the Isle of Wight to Old Harry Rocks at Studland Bay as viewed from Barton on Sea cliffs.

North Africa
If Rommel had known that my father had been sent to Egypt and Libya to fight him he would have given up sooner than he did - or at least that is what we believed! My Father was not called up until 1941, as he was, at 29 at the outbreak of War, too old for the first drafts. So at 31 he was trained, assigned to the Royal Army Service Corp, as he was a lorry driver and spent several months chasing Rommel backwards and forwards along the North African Coast, with an ammunition truck filled with 25 pounder shells. He became quite good at diving into ditches during Luftwaffe strafing runs, but fortunately his truck was never hit. He was at the battle of El Alamein and ended up in Tripoli, via Benghazi, and the Mareth Line, then to Palestine, before coming home to take part in the invasion of the Channel Islands. He drove a DUWK an amphibious vehicle, which as the Germans surrendered without a fight was used to ferry POW's to the waiting transports. He finished his war back in Palestine and a trip to the Caucuses for some purpose or other. In the summer of 1946 I was at a fete in the village when I heard that he was home at last. Finally the war was really over.

Afterthoughts

A different World
Despite all of the troops of the Allies and the POW's in the Village, our house was never locked and any one could walk in at any time. They never did of course, one did not in those days, or perhaps more accurately, we did not expect them to. However if they had, they would have been offered a cup of tea! I seem to remember that the cottage remained unlocked until the late 1960's, when life became less secure than it had been.

Part time schooling
For quite a few months in the early part of the War, we went to school in the morning's one week and in the afternoon's the next week because of all the evacuee children in the village. Later another house was used as a school as well and we went back to full time schooling - much to the disgust of some of the children! Another memory of this time was of the head teacher (there were only three in all) showing me an exercise book of my mothers from a cupboard, to point out to me the difference between my writing and hers! I was very impressed that they should still have that book after so long - it would have been 14 or 15 years.

Supreme Optimism
I do not remember anyone that I knew who thought we would lose the War - it was inconceivable - we would go on until we won.

After the War
The war changed everything, and everything changed after the war, The villages of the New Forest became another commuter destination for Bournemouth and Southampton and later, even London. The old rather insular way of life was gone forever.

Post Script
Although I did not think about it at the time, the War still played out its influences upon me. I was called up for National Service, just missing Korea, joined the RAF, and was posted to Fighter Command. I spent my time in 238 OCU (Operational Conversion Unit) servicing the last twin piston engined fighter bomber built for the RAF, the Brigand, which was used to train navigators for night flying radar interceptions.
On leaving the RAF and still being keen on aviation, I joined BOAC, later to become British Airways, where I spent the next forty years. But that is another story………

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