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My name is Geoffrey Ellis. I was born in 1934, in Russell Terrace, Seaford Road, South Heighton. After the war, a local boundary adjustment necessitated a change to this address, because there was already a Seaford Road in Newhaven. My road was renamed to honour a local councillor, and my address became Avis Road, Newhaven. I continued to live there until I joined the RAF in 1953.

My place of abode determined that I should attend South Heighton Village School where Mrs Stevens was the Head Mistress, and Miss Hooper taught the younger pupils. Mrs Stevens occupied the house attached to the school; but Miss Hooper lived in Evelyn Avenue and either cycled or walked to and from school each day.

I was intrigued to see some soldiers digging into a roadside bank that I passed on my daily school journeys in 1941. This fascination became an obsession that one day when I had more time, I would investigate the reasons for this very secret place. My revelations can be found on www.secret-tunnels.co.uk but that is another story.

I remember a policeman coming to the school during the war. He hung a large coloured poster over the blackboard and easel, that showed pictures of hand-grenades, mines, and unexploded bombs. One of the bombs was called a butterfly bomb on account of its appearance. It resembled a can of beans with two ‘wings’ at one end. It looked quite innocent but it exploded if touched. German aircraft dropped them in large numbers, and their purpose was to kill innocent civilians. It was impressed upon us that we should tell an adult if we ever found one and never ever pick one up.

Sometimes our lessons would be interrupted by an air raid. As soon as the sirens sounded the alert (a wailing signal), we would be taken into a shelter in the playground where we would have to wait until the sirens sounded the all-clear (a steady signal). During this time we would sometimes hear the whistle of falling bombs followed by large explosions, and sounds of gunfire from the army’s local gun batteries.

Air raids happened more frequently at night when enemy aircraft took advantage of the cover of darkness. We had an Anderson shelter where we retreated upon hearing the siren alert signal. This was a galvanised corrugated-iron hut supplied freely by the local authority that had to be half buried in the garden. The excavated soil had to be placed on the top and sides like a thick blanket so that it resembled a large mound. The Anderson shelter could accommodate four adult bunks; two, one above the other on each side, with a narrow gangway between. Lighting was minimal, only a torch or maybe a candle.

Heating was a problem in the Anderson shelter during the winter. We had a Valour paraffin heater but it was not very satisfactory for three reasons. These all concerned the products of combustion. Burning paraffin creates copious quantities of carbon dioxide and water, and has an objectionable odour. The odour could be tolerated, but carbon dioxide is a killer gas. Moreover, every gallon of paraffin burned produced a gallon of water in the form of water vapour that condensed all over the exposed metalwork. Even without the heater, the water vapour exhaled by four persons was significant. This created a very damp and unsavoury environment. When going to the shelter at night we had to take our bedding, gas masks and a box of matches with us, and remove them all when we retired back into the house following the all-clear.

It could be quite hazardous outside when the guns were firing. Every shell fired into the air exploded into hundreds of pieces of sharp jagged metal fragments whether a target was hit or not. These fragments rained back down to earth and could be heard hitting the slates and pavements. This is why people who worked outdoors during the war needed to wear tin hats.

My father had a cataract on his left eye. He was also left-handed and was unable to sight and use a gun, and so he was not called up. He then worked for Newhaven District Council as caretaker to the Lewes Road Isolation Hospital. I was very fortunate to have both parents at home during the war. My father loved gardening and kept half a dozen chickens so we never went short of vegetables, eggs, or the occasional roast chicken. My grandfather Sandy Ellis, although crippled, could raise a shotgun and shoot a rabbit whilst using his crutches, so we were frequently fed rabbit pie. I recall walking across a field (now Paradise Park), and crossing the railway, to walk along a path to the riverbank. These walks were always timed to occur at low tide so that we could go down into the riverbed to collect a pint or two of winkles. When we got home, mother would boil them, and we would have winkles for tea.

Once, on one of these walks we noticed an enormous swathe of camouflage supported by tall iron poles strung across the river the whole length of the Oxbow (abandoned original river course). The construction was substantial but I only ever saw it once. I recently discovered the reason for the mystery. At the time of the Dieppe Raid in August 1942, there was a need to berth some thirty LCTs (Tank Landing Craft) at Newhaven for up to a week, in extreme secrecy to avoid detection by enemy aerial reconnaissance. Such a large number of craft couldn‘t be hidden in the harbour itself, but the Oxbow provided an excellent opportunity to deceive the enemy into thinking that the river was quite normal.

It must have been about this time that I saw convoys of troop carriers pass my house on the B2109 all heading towards Denton Corner. I would cross the road and sit on a style at the entrance to the field, and was amazed that many of the soldiers threw coins out of the lorries at me - pennies, three-penny pieces, sixpences, even the odd half-crown. I was delighted of course but had no idea why. With the benefit of hindsight, I now realise that these soldiers must have been Canadians destined to participate in the Dieppe Raid. They had more than a hunch that they had little future and even less use for material wealth, and that thought sickens me.

There was an Army Transit camp on Mount Pleasant. This comprised many Nissen huts, ablution blocks, and canteens. Loudspeakers hung from several electricity poles and these broadcast Reveille and other messages. At times of embarkation such as the Dieppe Raid and D-Day, fields full of tents supplemented this camp.

I remember a Bofors anti-aircraft gun surrounded by sandbags in a field where Tate’s Filling Station stands today. Just close by was a string of cowsheds that the army had commandeered to accommodate a diesel generator. In an adjacent field there was a searchlight, presumably associated with this gun. A barrage balloon was tethered in a field opposite 140 Avis Road. I watched soldiers filling the balloon with hydrogen gas from about twenty gas cylinders on the back of a trailer through a large pipe made from the same material as the barrage balloon. I noticed the ends of the cylinders go white with frost as the balloon inflated. The balloon was then attached to a winch, allowed to rise, and then coupled to a ground anchor.

For a while a Churchill tank was stationed in the field just opposite my home where Paradise Park car park is today. I got to know the soldiers quite well, but then they left just as suddenly as they had arrived leaving only track marks in the turf as evidence of their visit.

There was a great demand for accommodation for members of HM Forces serving in Newhaven. I remember my parents had a Royal Naval lodger by the name of Shelley for a while, and later on, an army transport driver by the name of Dick Field who arrived with his newly wedded wife. These last two became longstanding members of the family.

I remember that on a number of occasions the fields were covered with short strips of aluminium foil. The code name for this was Window. Our own aircraft dropped this material in large quantities from a great height to confuse and confound the German radar operators into thinking that a large aerial attack was on its way, or perhaps distract their attention from other aerial operations taking place elsewhere.

V1 Flying bombs, more commonly called doodlebugs were a constant menace from mid-June to the beginning of September 1944. Once heard, never forgotten. I recall two in particular. One exploded on top of Mount Pleasant not far from the plantation; the other was chased by a brave spitfire pilot who fired at it and exploded it in mid-air. Sadly he was killed when he flew into the debris causing damage to his aircraft that crashed into fields not far from the Drove.

At 5.10am on the morning of 22 November 1944, the biggest explosion in Sussex of the entire war awoke us. An ammunition barge laden with high explosives had come adrift from its tug in very heavy seas, and had blown up on a beach minefield causing untold carnage in and around Newhaven but miraculously killing only one poor soul. Our first thoughts were that a supersonic V2 rocket had hit the town but we learned the truth later. The full details of this incident can be found in the Newhaven Local & Maritime Museum, at Paradise Park.

My parents sometimes took me to see our relatives in Hove by bus. I recollect there was a military trailer with a dish aerial parked just off-road at the top of Telscombe Tye where there was a chalk track leading north. I have since learned that this was a top-secret experimental radar installation. National Archives documents record that its presence caused great consternation to the local military authorities who were not allowed to know anything about it.

Further west, between Roedean School and Black Rock, the long, straight, and level cliff-top coast road that had no lampposts could have made an excellent aircraft runway. The army installed metal poles and wiring along this stretch to avoid any such use by the enemy.

Beyond Black Rock the military blocked access to the Brighton seafront from Arundel Road to Lower Rock Gardens. Consequently the busses had to make a detour via St Georges Road, Bristol Road and St James Street to avoid this restriction.

Return journeys at night seemed interminable. There were no streetlights and only very limited shaded lighting inside the bus. All vehicle headlights were covered with slotted shades that rendered them next to useless. Such was life.

I was evacuated twice during the war. The first time to Barcombe, near Lewes (probably following the Nazis occupation of France) for about a month, and much later to Denbigh in North Wales with some relations. I remember quite a lot about my time there; the rail journey to Crewe, then Chester, followed by the seemingly interminable journey through the Welsh mountains in a smoky old train that rattled and jostled its way to Denbigh via Mold. I attended a Welsh school there and took lessons in Welsh language. During my stay, I saw iron railings being removed from properties by workers using acetylene torches, and kettles, saucepans and other aluminium household goods being collected to be recycled into armaments for the war effort.

After the end of the war, I went to the New Road street party celebration.

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