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MEMORIES OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR (PART 3).1942 Had a letter from my old Headmaster asking the old boys to donate their textbooks (we had to buy them in those days). Our school had been destroyed and they were regrouping…I donated my books. Women were being drafted into industry and I was promoted to setter with a line of nine machines. Maurice was called up in 1943 and posted to West Africa and I was deferred. Now 17, I joined the works Home Guard attached to the Royal Warwick’s. Setters worked 13 hour shifts (91 hours a week) to hand over to the next shift i.e., one hour working together. We all got 2 days off about every 4 weeks on a rotational basis. |
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During air raids, women went into the shelters, setters and foremen worked on. If a whistle blew it meant take immediate cover. One night having just set a machine; an incendiary bomb hit it. Maintenance men came along; moved the machine out with the incendiary and had another machine working in place within the hour…I reset it! Women made superb operators; not only on my machines but on millers, grinders, heavy noisy presses and as fitters and wirers etc. A government film called ‘Millions like Us’ was made in our works at that time. My old line gets a brief camera shot. I sometimes wonder where all those people are now? Some will have gone. Alex Henshaw was our Chief Test Pilot. Sometimes during our lunch break on day shift, some of us would eat in the canteen and then wander around the huge workshops for a while. Henshaw on occasions would take a Spitfire up to 20 or 30 thousand feet…a little dot…turn over to a vertical dive, straighten up at about 50 feet and fly under the eves of two hangars and disappear doing a Victory Roll! 60 years on I wondered if my imagination was playing tricks until I read an account of events by Alex who said in his book “Sigh for a Merlin”, he would do that sometimes as a ‘Thank You’ to the thousands of ordinary people who toiled night and day to keep the Spitfire in the front line. My story is of Aeroplanes, but the civilian women also toiled in the fields, the schools, the home and the office, doing the work of the men serving in the war overseas. 1944 I remained in the factory until November 1944 when I was called up. The lads took the hat around and sent me off with about three week’s wages in small change. The foreman wished me well, shook hands and said “If you come back ‘Our Kid’, get into motor cars; that is where the future is”. I joined the Kings Shropshire Light Infantry (KSLI) at Shrewsbury…one of a draft of 800. Here the disciplines and hard training began to knock us into shape…the Sgt. Major knew all the standard jokes. Between now and January 1945, we charged around screaming and bayoneting suspended weighted bags. More rifle practice and grenade throwing. (It reminded me of the Home Guard). One day on a run, we were halted by a stream and told to camouflage our faces with mud. A bit wound-up I thought, if that’s what you want mate? I went straight into the stream, scooped up two handfuls of cold mud and plastered it all on my face and neck. The Sgt Major ran over to me…Good Man’ he said, then rounded up the others, got them into three ranks at attention; got me in front, put his hand on my shoulder and bawled out ‘Now you ‘orrible lot, that’s the way to do it, so move’. I can look back and smile…no doubt those left of the ‘orrible lot can also. On completion of training, this fine regiment was sent over to France. Private Stokes was awarded he Victoria Cross posthumously in Holland-March 1945. I wonder…was he one of the ‘orrible lot? The European war ended with the surrender of Germany on 8th May 1945. I was in Kirkcudbright and on guard (again) at this time. I can recall a group of happy, jubilant people passing by and one of them shouting to me ‘Ere mate-the war’s over!’ and so it was to that happy band, but by now we had finished our training and were off to Japan to fight in another theatre of the same World War. From the Commander in Chief’s point of view, that was all the officers and men needed to know. The next day we joined the jubilations and paraded our Churchill tanks in a line through the main street of the town; cheering crowds had gathered on either side and I was sitting on a front horn ‘up top’. I remember turning around and seeing an old man running behind, waving a large Welsh Dragon flag. He seemed to want to give it to us but was unable to catch us and was soon lost in the crowd. Later in the evening of the same day, I was sitting by the river (lake) with a mate when a red haired girl of about our age came up to us and said “Would you like to join us for dinner?” We accepted the invitation. Walking along with her we soon arrived at what appeared to be a stately home or manor house. It seemed that family and friends, about twenty or so people, had gathered and were seated at set places on either side of a long table. On one side three vacant places were set awaiting occupants. We sat on either side of the young red haired girl and enjoyed an evening of dinner and celebration…and the bagpipes played on! At the conclusion we exchanged farewells and were given an escort back to camp. Sometimes while sitting in my garden, enjoying the flowers and watching the birds, my mind recalls this particular memory…Who was THE OLD MAN and who was THE RED HAIRED GIRL? We never knew at the time and we were soon off East into the unknown. Victor H Mould
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