Chapter Six - Holding the Line
THE ATTACK on Russia and the reckless declaration of war on the United States by Hitler following the events of Pearl Harbour convinced most doubters that we would eventually win the war. However, we all realised that the path to victory would be hard and long, with disasters as well as triumphs on the way. Our losses in the 'Battle of the Atlantic' were becoming more and more serious, and the sinking of the battle cruiser 'Hood' was a bitter blow, in spite of the eventual destruction of the 'Bismarck'. This engagement lasted several days, involving battleships and other units of the Royal Navy. Tragically, casualties on both sides were very heavy, and two courageous young men from the village lost their lives.
The destruction of the Bismarck was a relief, but the war at sea was not going well, and we had to endure increasing hardships. Rationing was progressively tightened, although the pain was eased to some extent by greater dependence on our allotment gardens, the gathering of food from fields and hedgerows, food parcels from relatives overseas, and the occasional 'windfall' from generous farmers who had something left over from a shoot.
We were encouraged to keep animals, but special arrangements had to be made regarding their feed, with appropriate rations being withdrawn (e.g. eggs, if you were keeping chickens). However, the overall effect was in favour of those who were prepared to put themselves out. Our family opted to keep chickens, but one or two were more ambitious, keeping pigs, geese, and other livestock.
Shortages were not just confined to food and clothing. It was a time for austerity, and we had to improvise in order to make life tolerable. There were many restrictions, and one of the pleasures denied to us was a trip to the coast. Beaches in the South were heavily defended, and we had to be content with waterside relaxation nearer home. One very popular place was the local ballast pit, which had the dimensions of a man-made lake. It had not been worked commercially since the outbreak of war, and nature had turned it into a haven of peace and tranquillity.
There were different species of willow gracing its shores and an abundance of fruit, including blackberries, sloes, and wild strawberries. To complete the picture, it had a small Island in the centre, linked to the mainland at low water by a causeway lined with bulrushes. On the most recently worked part, where the water was more than eight feet deep, someone had erected a diving board, and it was extensively used for swimming and bathing.
The older parts of the 'lake' were stocked with fish, providing a great attraction for anglers, and it was a sanctuary for many forms of wild life. These included; water fowl, newts, frogs, grass snakes, and several species of dragon and damsel fly. During the summer it was frequented by bathers and anglers, and in winter it was an attraction for skaters, the water often freezing, with ice up to nine or ten inches thick.
The war required a tremendous number of sacrifices and increasing demands on our free time. Most of these were undertaken without complaint, and in some cases generated a lot of good humour. A common and light hearted retort to understandable irritations was "Don't you know there's a war on?" Similarly, housewives donating their aluminium saucepans to be smelted down and used for the construction of aircraft would often point to the sky as a Spitfire roared overhead and say "There goes my old saucepan!"
Mother, like many other women, had joined the Women's Voluntary Service (W.V.S.), and most of 'us lads' were now of an age to take life a little more seriously. The 'war committee' had long since drifted into oblivion. I had joined the Boy Scouts, and we were getting involved in more 'grown up' pursuits. We often took part in fund-raising activities in aid of the war effort or some charitable cause. These were constantly being organised by schools, clubs, scouting organisations, councils, and many others.
Collections of scrap metal to be turned into tanks and guns, paper for repulping, unwanted clothing etc. were also made on a regular basis. I can remember Father pointing to the removal of iron railings from a local police station and proudly informing us that he had made the patterns for these many years before. Almost everyone in the village contributed to a 'Mile of Books' event, which filled the streets with so much paper that lorries had to be used to cart it away. Ferryden Church even donated some beautiful ornamental railings which separated the Chancel from the Lady Chapel. The great thing about most of these activities was the unselfish dedication of those who took part. It was all done as part of the war effort, and nobody dreamt of monetary reward.
Even some of the peripheral activities which had to take a 'back seat' because of the shortage of manpower attracted volunteers, and Father often gave his services free of charge. He was not a religious man, but for several years running he tended neglected parts of the churchyard, cutting grass and other foliage because he could not bear to see 'God's acre' so overgrown. This was a summertime activity which involved the whole family. He would undertake the heavy work with a sickle, and the rest of us would follow up with shears and a hand mower. The Churchyard never achieved its pre-war neatness, but it looked a great deal better after we had finished with it.
Because of the need to make good use of every scrap of daylight, we often worked long after the Sun had dropped below the horizon, and made our way home in the twilight. On one of these occasions, I can remember wheeling my bicycle down the church hill, quite unconcerned about the dangers that might lurk in the shadowy recesses of this more remote part of the village. I had got about half way down the hill, and was passing a concealed doorway, when a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed me by the throat.
I let out a blood curdling scream, and struggled to break free as a voice from the darkness barked "Gotcha!" It was P.C. Hatfield, who thought he had caught one of a gang of thieves known to be stripping lead from church roofs and selling it on the 'black market'. He seemed quite unconcerned that he had frightened the life out of me, and was clearly disappointed when he shone a torch in my face. All he could say was "Oh, it's only you!" The incident left me shaking like a leaf and it took some time for me to compose myself, but he accepted the explanation of my presence, and I was allowed to go home.
Although Father took little interest in the church, he had a great deal of respect for the clergy and would never hear a word against them. If George or I criticised them he would rebuke us, and insisted that, although they had a calling, they were human beings and subject to the same temptations as anyone else. This respect for the Church and the clergy emanated from grandfather Wilks. He was a very religious man, and lived by the bible. My conscious involvement with the Church started when I attended Sunday school. It was consolidated at confirmation, and strengthened still further in 1941 when I joined the choir.
In those days, it was necessary for aspiring choristers to serve a probationary period before they were allowed to wear robes, and sometimes there were a few chores, like tidying up the books and 'pumping the organ'. Electric blowers were virtually unheard of, and it was hard work keeping enough air in the bellows when all the stops were out. Our choirmaster often gave recitals, and one of his favourite items was 'The Grand Choir'. This was a piece where the organ was maintained for long periods at full blast. For some reason, I always seeded to get the job when this was on the programme, and I swear that he took great delight in seeing me struggle and drip with sweat.
As might be expected, the civil defence volunteers constantly practiced their 'arts' just in case an emergency happened, and the 'Auxiliary Fire Service' was no exception. They dammed up the stream which ran through the centre of the village, to give a plentiful supply of water as a precaution against fire. They often used to practice on a summer evening, using a powerful trailer pump and flexible hoses. Nobody objected too much, and in drought conditions, gardeners welcomed the additional water.
Although the summer months never created any problems, it was a different story in winter. Heavy rains dislodged bits of wood and other debris upstream which floated away on the torrents, and often resulted in blockages lower down. These blockages stopped the water getting away and caused the roads to flood. On most occasions the problems were anticipated and dealt with in time, but on one winter's night there was an unexpected torrential downpour. The stream filled rapidly and soon became a river, overflowing into the road and flooding the adjacent cottages.
The first we knew of the flooding was an alarmed reaction from Mother, who had gone downstairs to make the morning tea. Instead of putting her feet onto a solid stone floor, she stepped into a foot of water and let out a yell that must have been audible on the other side of the village. Many of her precious things were floating about in the kitchen, and she quickly got the family up to mount a rescue.
The alarm had already been given to the emergency services, which were soon in action to prevent the situation getting worse. After the initial panic, Mother managed to get some tea underway, and just as we were about to enjoy a cup, a knock came at the back door. She asked who it was, but on getting no reply decided to ignore it. However, the knocking persisted and eventually, in a fit of annoyance, she opened it. The slight difference in levels resulted in an inflow of water, but instead of a friendly neighbour, the knocking had come from a dust bin, which, floated into the living room and emptied some of its contents on what would have been the floor.
Although the flooding was not a pleasant experience, we all saw the funny side of things, and reacted with a humour that was typical of the times. With the aid of the fire service, the water was cleared by mid-afternoon, but it took a day or two for the cottages to dry out, and the smell of dampness lasted for weeks. We were to suffer similar floodings during the next few.-years but that was the price we had to pay in order for the fire service to do its job.
One such occasion recalled by George concerned a mishap to one of our newly appointed clergymen. Once again it involved an unexpected torrential downpour on a night of unusually severe weather. The rains, accompanied by high winds, created enormous quantities of land water and an above average amount of debris. This floated down on the torrents and collected in a culvert under the high street, generating a considerable head of water upstream. The situation was compounded by a grid in the culvert which, although constructed to stop only the larger items of flotsam, became totally overwhelmed by the sheer volume. Consequently, the waters rose rapidly and flooded our part of the village to a depth of between twelve and eighteen inches.
The cleric learnt of this as he was having breakfast, and decided to put in an appearance straight away. Being suitably kitted out with Wellingtons, rain coat and umbrella, he waded into the flood. As he went, he glanced from left to right, raised his hat to acknowledge the villagers standing at their bedroom windows, and radiated good cheer. Unfortunately, he had not been told that the emergency services, in their desire to reduce the water level, had lifted several manhole covers, and had forgotten to mark them. He completed the outward journey without mishap but on the return, stepped into a hole and disappeared from view. The only visible signs were a hat which floated away on the flood, and an umbrella that remained, like an overgrown mushroom, to mark the spot.
Fortunately there were several workmen nearby, and they rushed to his aid, hauling him to safety in a matter of seconds. The workmen steadied him for a moment or so as water poured away from his drenched clothing and, having gained at least some measure of composure, he made to continue his journey. Nobody seemed to know quite what happened after that, but he hesitated for a moment or two and there were a few angry exchanges, accompanied by some rather vigorous gesticulations. These exchanges were followed by a rapid departure and he 'squelched' off in a state of considerable agitation.
In keeping with other emergency services, the Home Guard was in a constant state of readiness, and frequently involved in battle training, including target practice. The captain of the Ferryden battalion was a publican in civilian life, and we were always rather amused about their headquarters being in a disused 'Temperance hall'. Ironically, the 'under cover squad' - a kind of Home Guard secret service - held their meetings in the pub. Although I am certain that the Ferryden battalion would have given a good account of itself, these factors, together with some of the more bizarre aspects of their activities, tended to support the latterly-held concept of a 'Dads Army' that frightened us more than it did the Germans.
Target practice was held in a nearby sand quarry. This had several advantages. To begin with, there was little chance of the general public straying into an obvious danger area. The sand 'cliffs' presented a perfect back drop, being light in colour, and the sand was ideal for absorbing the energy of spent bullets.
As a means of introducing a little more keenness into the practice, the men would often have wagers with one another, or form into groups to see who would stand a round in the pub. George wasn't a bad shot, and in one of these competitions he knew that he had done reasonably well. "How've I done?" he asked the sergeant. "Four bulls and an outer." came an unexpectedly curt reply. "There's only one thing wrong with it," he continued, "you hit the wrong bleeding target!" Needless to say, George had to pay for a round of drinks in the pub that night.
From our point of view, 1942 was a time when we were suffering more from the consequences of war than we had during our experience of being 'on the front line', in 1940 and 1941. The R.A.F. was carrying the war into the heart of Germany, and the American forces were building up their strength in the U.K. In spite of terrible setbacks in the Far East, the mood in Europe was changing from a defensive position to one of attack.
Round the clock bombing of the enemy by British and American Air Forces got underway in the spring, and prompted retaliation by the Germans who attacked many cities in the south of England. Most of these attacks were undertaken at night, and defensive measures included the deployment of heavily armed aircraft using radar. One of the fighter types based at an airfield near Ferryden was the Bristol Beaufighter, which was a twin engined derivative of the Blenheim bomber. These fighters frequently flew over the village and its surrounding districts during the daytime on test and training flights. On one such occasion, a plane got into trouble and crashed on some nearby marshy ground.
The crash happened after school hours on an overcast day, and I was walking to a nearby village with some friends when the plane came over. It did not appear to be in trouble, but it was flying very low and steadily losing height. It skimmed some elm trees in the corner of a field, roared over the top of a row of terraced cottages, limped over a thickly wooded area, and belly landed in the marsh. For some reason, we did not hear what happened to the crew, but there was no fire and they probably escaped with their lives. The fact that this crash did not get a great deal of attention (other than a report in the local press) underlines the prevailing attitude of the times. The events of war were so momentous that an incident of this magnitude was hardly worth a mention.
The lack of manpower during the war often created problems for civilian contractors, who had to rely on willing but sometimes inexperienced labour. Mishaps frequently occurred, even with experienced people, and I can remember one instance which caused chaos on the river for a week or two. One of the local quarries made use of river transport to ship quantities of stone for construction projects. The stone was loaded onto barges at a wharf on a tidal stretch of the river and hauled downstream by tugboats. The wharf was on a fairly narrow part of the river, and it was sometimes a tricky manoeuvre to turn a fully loaded barge, or to keep control of it, if it was not under power. One of the critical factors was the tide. There was more room for error when it was coming in than when it was going out.
We never knew precisely what happened in this case, but a heavily laden barge got stuck broadside across the river as the tide was going out. The bows dug firmly into one bank, and the stern into the other. Valiant efforts were made by tugs to free the stranded vessel, but its plight became worse as the tide receded. Eventually, the weight of stone became too much and she broke her back, completely blocking the river to all commercial traffic.
To clear the waterway, it was necessary to employ a floating crane and a number of smaller barges, which stayed in the vicinity for some time. Eventually, the obstruction was cleared, but I am certain that this accident caused more disruption to river traffic upstream than the Germans ever achieved by their bombing campaign.
The beginning of 1942 seemed to be one disaster after another. Things went badly for the Allies in Europe and in the Far East, but towards the end of the year we had every reason to cheer. General Montgomery had defeated Rommel in the desert, the Germans had been routed at Stalingrad, the Americans had landed in force in North Africa, and the British and American air forces were giving the German war machine the biggest pounding it had ever had. On November the 15th, the bells of victory rang throughout the U.K., including Ferryden, sounding for the first time since the invasion threat in 1940. It was a time of great rejoicing, and we made the most of it.
