大象传媒

I was 7 at the outbreak of war. I think land at the family farm, Goodrest, was requistioned for the prisoner-of-war camp. Twenty-two thousand prisoners-of-war stayed in this country in WW2. This country was very slow in sending them back. Some didn't go back until 1949.

In hindsight, I think the PoW camp should have been sited at Banner Hill, which was then farmed by the Dunne family. They would only have to get through the first gate to see that Banner Hill had hills on both sides of the driveway, not suitable for huts, gunsites and radar. So the camp was built at Good Rest Farm. My memories are of sentries and gun-sights and being given toys made by the prisoners, wooden toys, ladders and chickens pecking on a board, also pennies made into aeroplanes. Crunchie bars were a treat as well. Some of the prisoners cycled to work on the local farms and those that worked at our farm stayed to supper after their day's work. There was always a sentry standing at the gate. I know that my Granddad and Grandma were always puzzled because they had the surname of French, and the sentry used to ask their name. They wondered at the reception they received when they gave this name to the sentry, but they soon became used to it.

I remember the night of the Coventry blitz, it was very visible from Good-Rest. Mum had always said that at least 25 people either walked or drove from Coventry to stay with us. There were large attics and a cellar in the house; we always had a bed under the dining-room table, made up for when there was a siren. Two of my three brothers and I slept down the cellar. I was in the small area, the thrawl. This is where we used to cure the bacon and I put the spare eggs into water glass. This preserved them for a later date. On Sunday mornings I used to take my own duster, crawl under the wire and the soldiers would let me help clean the guns. Sometimes, when there whas a change in the camp, ither Germans or Italians, the camp was left. I confessed to someone that we used to walk on this wire-netting, which was stretched across a large part of the field, and sort of trampoline on it. He nearly had a blue fit, as apparently this was the radar mat! We played in the NAFFI and skimmed saucers across the floor. I think my brothers had a good time, especially when the WAAF were in situ. I know that I found some love letters in a book and received a severe telling off. I have since heard that ladies from Kenilworth walked up Rouncil Lane. Whether it was for the good of their health or not, but, prisoners did marry local girls and settled locally.

The guns were never allowed to shoot over the house, as it would have shattered the windows. When we heard the sound of a German plane we were always told to make for home. I don't think there was ever a bomb dropped on Good-Rest, but one dropped on my brother's farm, another mile up Rouncil Lane, called Fernhill Farm. It took the whole of the third floor and landed in a crater on the opposite side of the road. When Jim took the farm over, they had put a new roof on, but had left the attic stairs intact. The crater had not been filled in. Shrapnel was often found all round the farm. We collected it. I think that I still have a brass shell, which came from the farm when Dad sold up.

My eldest brother went in the army as a master butcher. This was his work in Civvies street. He completed his apprentice at Hurrels in the arcade of the market at Coventry. Jim had dispensation, as he worked on the farm, and our younger brother, Peter, was an apprentice butcher at Snowdens, New Street, Kenilworth. Much later he bought this shop, when meat was short he journeyed to Wales and brought a van load of rabbits back. All 'hands on deck' to skin and gut them for the shop next morning. I think that we killed illegally. I know that one afternoon Ministry men called on Dad, Dereck and Peter, all at the same time to try to catch them killing illegally. Dad was the luckiest. He had killed, there was beast hanging-up, but in an inner loose-box. They saw the outer empty box. Then Dad walked them through the stable block, showed them a door, and said it was a door to the outside one. They did not realise that there was another box between. Very Lucky.

Pigs were often killed. Then, it was all hands to the deck, cutting up, making lard and waiting for the end product. Scratchings, very good -none of the modern ones are anything like. Mum would make pork-pies; Dad salted the sides of bacon and hung them from hooks in the kitchen. I think that at one time, Dad must have swapped a side of bacon for 'Clarke's shoes', as one of the attic floors was covered in shoes anbd sandals, brand new. I hated it as all the shoes were boys', with toe-caps. I know that I took a larger size of shoe, so was always very self-conscious of my feet. I changed into pumps as soon as entering school.

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