大象传媒

Thinking of Rob Wilton, a much loved comedian, who was often on the radio and started his performance with "The day war broke out...". usually an hilarious story, relating to all sorts of situations. He had a strong north country accent which contributed to his story being even funnier. So, the day war broke out we were living in the hill station of Khyragullie in India. My father was on leave following an army patrol on the Khyber Pass in the North West Frontier, quite a dangerous place in those days. My brother and I were in bed. He was asleep but I could hear their conversation and reaction to the news that war had been declared. My mother's reaction was bitterness and concern because one of her brothers had been gassed in the 1914/1918 war. But my father was excited and could not wait to get into the fray. He was then aged 38 and raring to go.

Very soon began the laborious and tedious journey back to England. All the families were entrained taking 3 nights and 4 days to get to Bombay to await embarkation. We children had a wonderful time whilst staying in Bombay, bathing in the sea and visiting the Zoo. We saw huge tortoise who waved their very large heads and did not withdraw into the shell when we touched them. This was quite scary. We were there for about 3 days. Then we embarked on board SS Ettrick, now converted to a Troopship. It was a great thrill to see our large black box being swung over the side in a net and then lowered into the hold. We did not see this box again until after the war, as it was 'lost' in a warehouse in Southampton. Imagine our surprise and delight when sometime in 1946 we had a communication from the War Office to say that it was on its way. We had quite written this box off as a war casualty and never expected to see it again. It was incredible that everything inside was just as it was when it was put in the box in 1939, from blankets to brass objects, including a very pretty carved wooden table that I still have in my possession. There was no damage at all, no damp or moth or anything like that.

Thus we set sail in convoy. We had wonderful time on board, despite the danger. The Army are always very caring with their children. They arranged all kinds of activities and sports and various things to do. Naturally there was lifeboat drill every day and we had to sear the life jackets at all times. I recall that I won a book that I still have. "Fairy Tales from Wonderland" by Elmehorst Westerman with illustrations by John Hassall, published by Blackie & Son Ltd Glasgow. It was inscribed by my mother with my full name and the comment "from The Sports Aboard H.T. Ettrick November 1939 - somewhere at sea". My brother, by then 5 years old, won of all things, a toy drum. He then proceeded to drive everyone mad with a continuous rat a tat tat. It eventually got misplaced, I wonder why!

Without mishap (or none that I recall anyway) we arrived eventually at Marseilles where we disembarked and were placed on a French train on route to Cherbourg. This journey took about 4 days and we were never allowed off the train. Two families were lodged in a carriage. We did not see any of the men until after we had arrived in England. Presumably they were somewhere on this special train, or had returned by a more direct route. Two small persons - my brother and the young daughter of a friend slept in the luggage racks - those dreadful string affairs. The son of the friend and I each slept on the two seats - awful rexine imitation leather - and the two mothers slept on the floor. I am not so sure they were in he best place. I know I kept rolling off and falling on to my mother and that must gave been very unpleasant for her. Our food was very basic. I seem to remember a lot of tea and eternal baked beans and large army 'bully' biscuits. It did not put me off baked beans. I still enjoy them.

During this journey we were often put into sidings to allow the movement of other trains transporting troops and munitions etc, of course they had priority. Finally, we arrived at Cherbourg where we embarked on a cross channel boat for Southampton. We arrived there late at night and before we could continue our journey we had to be issued with identity cards and fitted with gas masks. I still have my identy card somewhere, numbered PD4670. Apparently this number informed and inspecting official that I had come off a ship!

To comment on the question of Identity Cards, I cannot understand it is assumed they would reduce one's rights. They were most essential during the war for obvious reasons, and it seems apparent to me they would solve many problems today. Surely there is nothibg to fear on being asked to produce this card to secure national security.

From Southampton we left for Farnborough, the Royal Tank Regiment's main barracks. We arrived in the early hours of the morning that must have been a nightmare for the families. About two days later we were issued with travel warrants to take us anywhere in the UK. We had no home to go to so my mother sent a telegram to one of her sisters living in Coventry asking if we could stay. She immediately telegraphed "yes" and we stayed with her for a week or so and then rented a house nearby.

It was very cold and I do not remember ever feeling warm. I know I developed the most horrendous chilblains. They drove me crazy and I scratched them raw. There was no central heating then, just an open fire in the living room. I remember we had baths in a large tin bath, in front of the living room fire. The bathroom was much too cold. I also remember the delicious cups of hot cocoa being most sustaining and comforting. Clutching one's hands round these hot cups probably did not help my chilblains very much.

I cannot remember how long we stayed in Coventry, although I think it was probably less than a year, as not long afterwards my father was appointed as Officers' Mess Orderly and there were quarters above so we lived with him in Farnborough for a while. Although it was wartime they did seem to waste a lot of food and I can recall my mother taking large joints of meat out of the dustbin. On reflection this would no doubt be frowned upon but the meat was never there long enough to be contaminated and my mother thought it was criminal to waste good food. So we did eat rather well, as can be imagined. Later, when my father was posted we had to get out and my mother took a trip to Hook near Chessington in Surrey, visiting the same friend who had travelled with us across France. My mother found some accommodation in Hook where we lived for many years. My father was sent overseas in 1942 with the Regiment, involved with the 8th Army and followed their vicissitudes through North Africa and on up through Italy. We did not see him again until the end of 1945.