If you find the early chapters of this a bit too much nostalgia for you please be patient. There is much about how a church came to be built and what a privilege it was to be involved with this. Looking back it was indeed interesting at the time or else how could those involved have put up with being pushed into things quite forcefully--as indeed they often were-- by a very determined Priest-in Charge.
IT WAS VERY INTERESTING AT THE TIME
By William T. Bates (copyright reserved)
Chapter One
Once again it was Sunday afternoon and I made my way towards St.Mark's Sunday school. It was quite a nice afternoon and I would far rather have been out for a walk or playing out with my friends. But no! I had to go to Sunday school whilst they had either been allowed to stay home or never did go anyway. In spite of all my protests I had been given no choice and neither had my two younger brothers who were no happier about it than I was. Although it was becoming more usual for children not to go to Sunday School there were still a considerable number of parents who regarded a good religious upbringing as an essential part of a child's education and a necessary adjunct to building character. There was also the added bonus for the parents of a nice, quiet, uninterrupted afternoon nap with the kid's out of harm's way. Mind you no one could accuse my dad of not practising what he preached. He was a regular churchgoer himself and gave his not inconsiderable talents as a singer to the church choir and was also the choirmaster for some years.
My mother was involved in church too as a member of the Mothers' Union although perhaps she was not there as frequently as the rest of us. My brothers and I were members of the choir and so were expected to be present at morning and evening services as well as Sunday school. Mother was something of a musician herself and played the piano quite well. She tried to teach all three of us to play from an early age. I remember the first touch I had on a keyboard was when I was brought downstairs to see a piano my parents had bought second-hand. I must have been very young indeed for it seems that I first had to learn the alphabet in order to be taught the "lines and spaces”. There came a time however when it was too difficult for my mother to keep on teaching all of us and my brothers gradually gave up their lessons. Perhaps it was fortunate that I had just learnt enough to allow me to really enjoy playing so that I kept practising. From time to time I would retire to the privacy of the parlour and have a go at some piece of music belonging to my mother that had taken my fancy. The resulting weird and wonderful sounds would soon provoke a reaction and mother would come to play the piece for me and give me a quick lesson. Dad would occasionally allow me to accompany him whilst he sang and this also encouraged me to practise. But that's enough about family life, let me return to Sunday afternoon.
I eventually arrived at Sunday School (however reluctantly) and found the curate waiting at the door for me.” Billy", he said,” How would you like to play the hymns for us this afternoon?” How would I like to play the hymns indeed! There was almost no need to ask! My whole Sunday afternoon was at once changed for the better as I relished the thought of playing for an audience. On the other hand I was a little bothered because I really only knew two hymns, so I first asked,” What hymns are we having?”“ Whatever you know best will be fine.” the curate replied.” Can we have 'Abide with Me' and’ All things bright and beautiful?” I asked,"Certainly!"He said, apparently disregarding completely any question as to their suitability or otherwise, and so it was that my career as an organist was launched although I didn't know it at the time.
My first public appearance could hardly have been looked upon as an unqualified success. The only real experience I had of playing the church organ was an odd few minutes snatched when I got the chance and the few times when my father had asked me to play the melody line for a choir practice when the organist was away. I had only the most rudimentary knowledge of that which has been called the” king of instruments” and it was only when I seated myself on the organ bench that I realised what a responsibility I had so cheerfully undertaken. There were, it seemed, a thousand things which might go wrong and a hundred things to do before I could even play the first chord. Which stops ought I to use? Should I use them all and just hope for the best? These, and a myriad of other questions, crowded into my mind. But at least I didn't have to worry about the pedals! I couldn't even reach them!
After what seemed like an interminable length of time it seemed that everything was in order and I nodded to the curate to show I was ready. He announced the hymn and, taking firm control of my nerves, I pressed firmly and confidently upon the keys. To my absolute consternation there was complete silence! In my eagerness to avoid keeping everyone waiting I had forgotten the first essential any pipe organ must have; a supply of air! I had failed to signal the little boy who had been press-ganged into pumping the bellows. Frantically I tugged at the cord, which operated the signal, and this was immediately followed by a frenzy of noisy activity from the rear of the organ. Noisy, because the boy tried, in vain, to make up in enthusiasm for that which he lacked both in experience and strength which led to quite a lot of rattling and banging from the bellows.
Organs "speak" of course; they don't simply make musical sounds in the manner of lesser instruments. Unfortunately, in my confusion, I kept one hand firmly holding down a chord all this time so that as the air filled the bellows the voice with which the organ "spoke" was accompanied by noises from the bellows and sounds like a bellowing cow with a bad attack of asthma from the pipes! The curate looked at me and gave an encouraging smile, as curates no doubt must under such circumstances, and he waited patiently until the organ began to produce a more normal sound before leading off with the singing. I got through the rest of the verses without further incident beyond an odd wrong note or two and returned to my seat in class thinking that this would be the last time I would be allowed to play. I doubted if I would even be asked to play the second hymn. But when the time came the curate beckoned me forward to take the "hot seat" again and I managed to finish the closing hymn of the afternoon without any further great disaster. His smile became much less forced and he thanked me for helping out saying,” We must let you have another try quite soon.”
True to his word he called on me quite often afterwards and I gradually increased my repertoire of hymns. It was to be a long time, however, before I could play the first chord of any tune without recalling the anguish with which the organ spoke on that first Sunday afternoon. Indeed, even today, I recall the incident with a shudder of horror!
Chapter two
Inside every mission church there is the potential to become a parish church and St.Mark's was no exception. The ambition to build a permanent church to replace the existing "Tin Tabernacle”, as it was affectionately known, was one, which was often mentioned when various fund raising activities were being organised. We were probably more fortunate than many mission churches because we had a legacy of £5000 which was left solely and exclusively for the purpose of building a "proper" church and in those days, before the Second World War, this was a considerable sum of money which probably only needed to be doubled before building could commence. Unfortunately it always seemed that all the money raised in various ways was at once swallowed up in routine running expenses and the building fund, if it grew at all, only did so very slowly indeed.
So it came about that the church council in their wisdom decided that as many of the fund raising events as possible during the year 1937/38 should be devoted to increasing the building fund and all the various groups such as Mothers' Union, Men’s Institute, etc. should be called upon for some extra effort. The young people were also to be encouraged to do their share and each class in the Sunday School was asked to help in whatever way they could. My dad, who was a St.Mark's stalwart from way back had much experience of this sort of thing and made the rather cynical remark,"Well, Billy, I hope they do well, but I am afraid that St.Mark's will still be trying to build a new church long after I am dead and buried.” which was his way of saying that it would never be built. In spite of this I nevertheless found the prospect of helping to build a church quite a heady one as indeed did most of the members of my class and, encouraged by our class teacher, we got our heads together to search out a few ideas.
There were about a dozen of us and we were around thirteen to fourteen years old. As a group our reputation left something to be desired and it would be perhaps kindest to describe us as being of a somewhat over enthusiastic disposition and to leave it at that. Sunday School teachers seemed to stay with us only briefly until a certain young lady, whom I shall call Sally, arrived one day and took firm charge of us. The fact that she was amply blessed with feminine charms and knew how to use them was something which was considerably to her advantage because the whole class promptly took a fancy to her and become as putty in her hands. Soon she had us talking seriously about how we might work to get some money for the building fund and made us feel that this was the most exciting thing in the world.
Making a mile of pennies was a popular way of raising funds in those days and this was the first thing we thought about but others had already taken this idea up. By the way they were talking about it you would have thought they were intending to do far more than a mile without any trouble at all but a mile of pennies, although it represented a heck of a lot of money, also represented a lot more work than most people realised. Nevertheless in such matters it is often the intentions, which are just as important as the results, and it was certain that these were well worth pursuing. Of course our class could still help with the pennies if we wanted to but Sally felt that we ought to at least try to do something special of our own and so it came about that, after a lot of discussion, the idea of forming a mouth-organ band was born.
Amongst our number there was one who proudly announced that he could play already and would soon show the rest of us how it was done. There was nothing to it, he said, why he had only been learning a few weeks and already he could play two tunes. He undertook to have us all playing like Larry Adler in no time at all. Some of us, of course, had more of a problem than others because we not only had to learn the instrument but also had first of all to persuade someone to let us have the money to buy one. But parents were badgered and nattered until eventually we all had our mouth organs and furthermore one parent loaned us his pigeon loft to practice in. In fact immediately after we had finished our first rehearsal in his front room he was absolutely insistent that we should use the loft.
For the next four weeks those pigeons were serenaded on two evenings a week and on Sundays after Sunday School. What optimists we must have been! We saw no problems at all in learning to play from scratch and attaining the standard required for a public performance We planned, confidently, to make our debut at the annual Garden Party which was to be held in one month's time. Today I shudder at the mere thought but by our last rehearsal on the evening before the Garden Party we had learnt four tunes; well more or less learnt them anyway. Although we might not be quite perfect if there was any justice in the world we would attain instant stardom.
The great day dawned fine and sunny and we were soon busy helping with the many tasks, which are needed to ensure the success of all social events. We were well used to helping on these occasions by loading tables on to lorries and acting as unpaid labourers. Sometimes we might justifiably be accused of getting under everyone's feet but we liked helping; it was fun; and there was always the chance of an odd "perk" or two in the shape of a free bottle of pop, a cup of tea, or a sticky bun. Riding a lorry or a horse and cart loaded with tables and chairs was great fun in itself. We were busy one way or another right up to the official opening so busy, in fact, that it was with some surprise that I heard a voice saying” I have made all the arrangements you are on in twenty minutes. Will you be ready?” It was Sally and she sounded a little bit anxious. Quickly I felt in my jacket pocket and as I did so my heart skipped a beat,"Oh dear”, I heard myself saying,” I have left my mouth-organ at home."
Sally continued to round us all up from the various distractions of the Garden Party until eventually it became clear that I wasn't the only one who had been forgetful. One by one everyone confessed to the same failing,"Oh dear! I have forgotten my mouth-organ.” Absorbed in the delights of the day we had lost all track of time until it was now far to late to go home for our instruments and be back in time to perform. Sally was a right good sport about it though and simply said, in her most sympathetic manner,” Never mind, perhaps you can play for the prize-giving instead.” She must nevertheless have been most embarrassed at having to apologise to the organisers of the entertainment for our absence. But circumstances conspired to make sure we never did perform together in public as mouth organ band at a prize giving, or on any other occasion, and to this day only the pigeons and ourselves will ever know what the world of entertainment has missed.
Not all of our ideas failed to come to fruition although sometimes the end result bore little relationship to what was originally intended. There was the time when the church council decided to brighten up the image of the traditional walking day by including a number of floats in the procession and these were to have a religious theme. This would, it was reasoned, encourage more people to take part in the procession and, just as importantly, attract more people to watch. A prize would be awarded to the Sunday school class, which came up with the best-decorated float and another for the most novel and original idea.
It was hardly to be wondered at that our little band of enthusiasts could not let this chance to shine pass them by and that we spent all of one Sunday afternoon apparently studying open Bibles, whilst furtively discussing, in badly concealed whispers, just what our contribution should be. It soon became clear that we would first have to overcome a manpower problem because some of us were in the choir and were duty bound to walk with our fellow choristers. It was therefore decided that the remainder of the class would bear the brunt of the responsibility and we who were in the choir would help with any construction work that was needed. After this it was decided that the theme for our float should be based upon some Bible story or other although we weren't sure which it should be. We spent so much time talking about this that eventually those who were not in the choir and were most involved simply said,” Don’t worry about it any more just leave it all to us. We will sort something out and if we do have any problems we will let you know in good time."
Sally apparently decided that it was best for her to stay in the background. That way she didn't get blamed and could more easily pick up the pieces afterwards. She left everyone to get on with it and, strangely, we who were in the choir also seemed to be surplus to requirements for, as the time passed and the walking day came closer, all our offers of help were politely, but firmly, rejected. We were a bit concerned at first that we might have another fiasco like that with the mouth-organ band but when we suggested this could happen we were told quite firmly,” Don’t worry we have everything sewn up and we're going to win hands down."
Walking day arrived at last. The church gradually filled up with people making preparations for the procession and the air became filled with an excited hum of voices above which could be heard the occasionally raised tones of teachers giving out last minute instructions. At one point, when the babble of voices became overwhelming, an even more penetrating voice was heard demanding instant quietness and reminding everyone,” After all this is a house of God let us please behave accordingly.” Which, after the first initial reaction, didn’t make any perceptible difference at all because everyone was far too excited to take any notice. Then finally an even more compelling voice rose over the din as the curate called us all to order and led us, first in prayer, and then in singing the hymn,” Onward Christian soldiers.” The processional cross was carried out into the street followed by the choir and we all tagged on behind in due order ready to start out.
The banner, which seemed to us at the time to be truly immense and magnificently embroidered, was raised up in the teeth of a slight breeze by stalwarts from the Young Men's Institute. They staggered from the initial effort and cautioned each other in anxious tones,” Steady on, I’m not ready yet!"---"Mind how you handle that rope!"----"Be careful!!"---"Mind the gate!” until the banner was at last in the middle of the street and ready for off.
The rest of the procession gradually sorted itself out and, at the very end, came just two floats. Two only, because the idea had been less enthusiastically received than had been expected and furthermore, as we looked back along the procession from our leading position with the choir, we could see no sign of our classmates anywhere. Then, at last, we saw them running pell-mell through the church grounds towards us pushing what appeared to be a very large and dirty wheelbarrow filled to overflowing with rubbish of all kinds.” Could this possibly have any relationship to the Bible at all?" we wondered as our "float" at last joined the procession and it became painfully clear to us all that any religious theme there might have been had been sacrificed on the altar of topicality and originality.
At the time there was a long running, popular programme on the radio in which there was a character called Sid Walker. Based on the traditional image of a rag and bone man he had become quite a cult figure and the theme song with which his sketches were introduced had also become very popular. As our classmates pushed they also sang and the words of their song rose clearly above the choir's rendition of 'The church's one foundation.'
"Day after day I'm on me way,
Any old rags, bottles or bones,
Any old rags, bottles or bones."
There was little doubting that our 'float' had topicality and originality but had it a Biblical theme? Of course it had, as our friends insisted when taken to task by Sally,” Everyone has heard of the valley of dry bones! Haven’t they?"
Chapter 3
Sunday School was gradually becoming less important in the life of the community but was, as yet, still relatively well attended. Regular attendance was rewarded at the annual presentation of prizes and this was a highlight in the church's year because as well as the prize giving there was also entertainment in the form of a concert given by the members of the Sunday School.
The thing I used to look forward to most of all was, however, the enormous tea, which was laid on by the Mothers' Union. They would spend most of the day making their preparations, bustling around preparing great piles of bread and butter, filling cake stands until they absolutely groaned under the weight of home-made cakes and buns, stacking plates with buttered scones, and strategically placing dishes of strawberry or blackcurrant jam upon the tables, But these were only for the "filling up the cracks"(as the saying goes) for at the last minute, when everyone had seated themselves, a plate would be placed in front of each person which had upon it succulent slices of boiled ham decorated with a garnish of lettuce and tomato and then, adding a final touch to the meal, a dish of fruit was also placed in everyone's place. When all was ready there would be a rapping on the top table from the curate's spoon and a call for silence whilst grace was said. Such a meal was certainly a blessing from on high if anything ever was and everyone was indeed truly thankful for the gifts of time and talent, which had gone into providing the feast.
From that moment on all conversation was down to the bare essentials for a few minutes.” Pass the sugar please.” Any more tea anyone?” Has anyone seen the salt?” That jam's good. You must try it. Who made it do you know?” But eventually even such remarks became restrained as everyone knuckled down to the serious business of relieving the groaning tables of their burden of food until, as the end of the meal came closer, other remarks began to be heard,” Come on you young lads. What are you playing at leaving food on the table? I could eat a horse when I was your age. Get those cakes eaten, we don't want any left over.” Such encouragement was really hardly needed as the last remnants were willingly disposed of and a gradually growing trickle of people rose from their chairs and left to take their ease in the grounds or started to clear the tables ready for the evening's entertainment and for the prize giving itself. Soon all the crockery and table-cloths disappeared in the direction of the kitchen where a babble of conversation and laughter mingled with the sound of splashing water and clattering crockery whilst the men added their own contribution to the general clamour as they moved forms and chairs into position in front of the stage.
So many willing hands soon had everything ready and the seats, which were now laid out in neat rows, began to fill with children and their parents. The children, of course, made a beeline for the front rows and these soon filled but the grown ups were not all that far behind and it wasn't long before all the seats were taken and everyone was ready for the prize giving. There was an expectant buzz of anticipation in the air and interesting bumps and bangs could be heard coming from behind the curtains in front of the stage before they opened to reveal the Vicar, the Curate, and the Sunday School superintendent gathered around a table piled high with all kinds of books. Those who had managed to get a prize began to be called to the stage to receive them from the vicar to the accompaniment of unstinting applause from the audience.
Shortly a growing number of whispers could be heard as more and more children returned to their seats with their prizes. Most seemed to be well satisfied with their books but there were some who received theirs as a sort of mixed blessing. These had been given a prayer book, or a Bible, or some uplifting religious work and seemed unsure whether to regard their prize as an honour or an insult. I myself could never quite understand a mind, which could think a religious book, was necessarily one, which a small child would appreciate. I am sure most children would be more thankful for a book of adventure stories or perhaps even a compendium of games or suchlike. Although I concede the point that there may be some of a more serious inclination.
Last to be called to receive their prizes were those in our class and these were to be the last we would receive. At fourteen years of age some of us were already working and the rest would soon be joining them. There were just two of us who still had to spend another year or so at school because we were at secondary and grammar school but all of us, without exception, were looking forward to moving into the young men's class the following week. We received our prizes and returned to our seats and as we did so, whether we realised it or not, we were also losing something of our childhood. At the time the term 'teenager' was something we only associated with American films and this is what we had now become almost without realising it. But at last the prize giving was at an end and now it was time for some entertainment. Sally had asked us to try to do something special since this was to be our last year together and she asked that we should also be a little more serious about it than we had been in the past. I believe she had really expected us to revive the mouth organ band but not only had we come to accept that we could not really play well enough but had become bored with the idea and it no longer held any interest for us. It took a long time before we were able to think of an alternative and in the end it was Sally who suggested we might like to try to do a very short play of some kind. From somewhere or other she managed to get hold of a script for a version of Snow-white and the Seven Dwarfs which, although it was intended for small children, she felt we could use quite well if we made a few minor changes. This was a very good choice because at the time Walt Disney, that cartoon genius, had just produced the classic film version of Snow-white and it was having a tremendous impact on the cinema going public at the time. All the class had been to see this and had found the experience a memorable one and indeed my own family visit had been memorable in more ways than one.
In our town there were more cinemas than I care to remember and in the town centre there were at least five ranging from luxurious right down to 'fleapit' status; but the ultimate in luxury was without doubt the Odeon, which had only recently been built. Our family visit was intended as a double treat because this was our first opportunity to see inside the Odeon and also to see the very first full-length cartoon. So special did my father consider the occasion to be that he actually took the unprecedented step of booking our seats in advance. Normally we would have queued up for seats as did most people and I had often been envious of those who had booked in advance and were allowed to walk straight past we lesser mortals in the queue. So it was that we arrived at the cinema in less of a rush than was usually the case and looked around for a way in.
We were not surprised to see an enormous line of people stretching along the pavement but this was nothing to do with us, or so we thought, and we all walked confidently up to the entrance with Dad as he asked,” Where do we go with these?” and held out our five tickets.” Right to the end of this line.” said the doorman and waved his arm vaguely towards the far end of the building where the queue disappeared from view around the corner.” But we've booked.” stuttered my dad,” So has everyone else.” said the doorman and carefully straightening his beautiful, brand new uniform he turned disdainfully away. However there was no great delay and we were soon seated in the elegance of the town's number one cinema enjoying a truly magical evening of superlative entertainment.
Having gone through such an experience how could our class possibly be satisfied with a mere children's version of Snow-white? Obviously we would need to make quite a few changes to the existing script. We added some dialogue of our own which was largely taken straight from Walt Disney's version and changed the rather inadequate names of our dwarfs which were simply called first dwarf, second dwarf, etc., to Grumpy. Sleepy, Sneezy, and all the other names in the film. Then we added all kinds of stage effects. Mysterious lights were contrived by covering hidden torches with coloured tissue paper and these were shone on the face of the Wicked Queen to achieve our idea of a suitable sinister effect. Weird cries were introduced at suitable moments and we spent a great deal of time rehearsing our stage manager until he could produce the exact effect we needed. Indeed there was no problem beyond our ingenuity! Not having any girls in the class meant that John had to be the Queen and Alan had to become transformed into the beautiful and glamorous Snow-white and this was only achieved by calling upon Sally and a girlfriend of hers to provide suitable make-up and dresses. The film version had been the vehicle for a number of very popular songs and we were convinced that we too would need to use at least some of these if we were to achieve the success we deserved. As a result I found myself conscripted as 'musical director' with instructions to learn to play ‘Heighho, it’s off to work we go', and,’ Some day my prince will come’. I was also asked to play something suitable during the interval and 'The Maiden's Prayer' was suggested. This was felt to be a logical choice for a maiden such as Snow-white but don't ask me why; it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
So with the stage cleared we at last made our debut as actors. I was despatched to my place at the piano and, dressed as a dwarf, I played 'Heighho', as another dwarf pulled back the curtains, and five other dwarfs marched across the stage singing lustily and carrying pickaxes and shovels as big as themselves. The Wicked Queen appeared and was an instant success, being greeted with booing and cheering from all the smaller kids in the audience. The effect was unfortunately spoiled when a torch rolled from it's hiding place and fell at the feet of a small girl in the front row who dutifully handed it up to one of the dwarfs saying,” Please give the queen her torch she has dropped it".
Snow-white 'she' was the star of the evening although he had been completely unable to confess to his mother that he was to play the part of a girl so that at the end of the first act she was heard to say,” Who is the girl was playing Snow-white? I am sure I should know her". Our confidence grew as the audience booed in all the right places and laughed at all the funny bits. The more they appeared to enjoy themselves the more we began to ham it up with the result that we ran well over our allotted time and into the time allotted to the rest of the entertainment. Still no one worried too much and at the end we received overwhelming applause and many congratulations. Our Sunday school careers had ended in a blaze of glory. At last we had made our atonement for the mouth organ band, which failed, and the wheelbarrow float, which went wrong.
Chapter Four
When I left school in1939 the war had just started but as yet it seemed to have made little improvement to the job prospects for school leavers although more and more companies were going onto war work. At our school we left a year after most people but although the extra year of education was regarded as an advantage it could also prove to be just the opposite.
Apprenticeships started at fourteen years of age for the traditional seven-year stretch up to the age of 21, which meant that at fifteen we were a bit late for starting one. This caused me to miss a couple of chances and after a while, feeling discouraged, I decided anything was better than nothing and took what was really a very 'dead end' job with a firm of sheet metal workers who were producing detonator cases for the army. This was, to put it mildly, a right mucky mess of a job. It involved cleaning the half complete detonator cases of the layers of surplus soldering fluid and grease that they had acquired in manufacture. The whole operation was 'Dickensian', indeed almost primitive. No nice, tidy, modern degreasing plant such as you see today. Just a tank of paraffin, a brush and a bucket of hot water, which soon cooled down and needed, frequent replenishing. Under such conditions it is hardly to be wondered at that I began to lose any ideas I had about’ the dignity of labour’. I used to go home smelling like nothing on earth. Then I became matey with a lad about my own age who had previously worked at one of the larger firms in the area and had been laid off. He was called back to his old job and was full of praise for his firm. Indeed he seemed to have appointed himself as their unofficial recruiting agent and promised to ask for a job for me.
He was as good as his word; I duly got an interview, and the job. The work was still a bit dirty but nowhere near as much as the other one had been and I did at least smell decent when I went home. The wage was also much better and I received 15 shillings a week instead of the ten shillings I had been getting. I hadn't been in my new job more than a week or two when, soon after I had returned home from work, there was a knock on the front door .My dad answered it and I heard a voice ask him,” Is that lad of yours still looking for an apprenticeship?” and my father's reply,” Indeed he is come in and have a word.
"A man whom I recognised as the husband of one of the ladies at St.Mark's came in and said to me,” How do you fancy being a motor mechanic?” I could hardly believe my ears for I had really begun to feel that I would never get an apprenticeship at my age.” Come for an interview after work. Just come as you are nobody is going to worry about a bit of muck in a garage. Mind your manners and how you answer our manager's questions and the job is your's". I was duly interviewed and got the job. My first wage as an apprentice was twelve shillings and sixpence a week which was half-a-crown less than I was used to, but there was one big difference which made it all worthwhile. Although I was again going home smelling of paraffin and oil I was at least enjoying what I was doing.
The first week flew by. You couldn't learn this job in half an hour, it took years, and I began to feel that there really was dignity to be found in labour provided always that the labour was interesting and fulfilling. Those first few months of the war were to become known as the’ phoney war’ but nevertheless it was beginning to make it's effects felt upon everybody's lifestyle and young men of the Men's Institute at St.Mark's began to disappear one by one as they were either conscripted into the forces or volunteered. Then there were those of us who, whilst yet too young for the forces, became involved in longer and longer hours of work and all apprentices still had to keep up with their night school studies in spite of this. Young men and indeed men of any age became a rarity in the life of the church.
Because so many men went off to the forces the Men's Institute had to be put into mothballs for the duration although during the early years of the war efforts were made to keep the club open. Eventually, however, all such attempts had to be abandoned and it was decided that the best thing to do was to try to keep the equipment in reasonable condition ready for the time when everybody came home again. Amongst other things, which might well have been expected to suffer, was the traditional concert party but because entertainment was at a premium during the war the Sunday school concert at St.Mark's actually thrived. So much so, that instead of being contrived from a hodge- podgy of varied individual efforts, it became 'The Concert Party' and it's members not only performed at St.Mark's but also were now regularly invited to give of their talents for the benefit a variety of other churches and organisations.
My contacts with the church had at this time become somewhat tenuous. Because of the war I had now become an apprentice toolmaker instead of an apprentice motor mechanic. The motor trade really suffered because of petrol rationing and we were, along with many other firms, now making aircraft parts. I rather enjoyed the swap and I liked my new job and became totally involved in what I was doing but, on the other hand, I was still working on cars at weekend with the mechanic who originally found me my apprenticeship. In these circumstances it is hardly surprising that nothing could have been further from my thoughts than St.Mark's when someone from the church stopped me in the street one day. His name was George.
George had been prevented from going in the forces because of a hearing problem and therefore had remained involved in church life.” I was just coming to your house to see you.” he said,” Are you still playing the piano?” Yes, when I have the time.” I answered.” I wonder if you could help us with the concert party." he continued,” We are losing our pianist and you seem to be favourite to take his place. We prefer to have someone from the church if we can." I was happy to try to help so he at once invited me to attend the next rehearsal. I was taking over as pianist for a concert that had already been performed a couple of times and was in great demand around the town's churches. When I realised this I became a bit worried but I really had no need to be because everyone was so well rehearsed that they were well able to cover for me should it become necessary. I also inherited the title of Musical Director, which sounds good, but I actually did very little directing at first and only came into my own when the next concert was being prepared. I soon realised that George was the driving force behind the whole group. Without him I doubt if there would have been a concert party or any kind of concert. As producer he certainly kept his hand firmly upon the tiller and made sure everyone else did a good job and that everything was 'alright on the night'.
In spite of his hearing difficulties George played the organ for St.Mark's during the war and for some time afterwards. It was he who persuaded me to pump the organ for choir practices and Sunday services and he also persuaded me to pump whilst he did his own practising. This I agreed to but only on the strict understanding that he also pumped for me whilst I had a practise and the arrangement worked out fine for both of us. The job of organ-blower carried a weekly fee of sixpence and I did this job until I myself had to go in the forces. I take pride in the fact that I never once let him down during this time.
My dad had found that long hours of shift work combined with membership of the Home Guard were very demanding and, after a short illness, he was advised by his doctor to cut his workload. His enforced resignation as choirmaster was, I often think, one of the war's less obvious effects upon church life. But there were many other effects and not least amongst them was that upon our ambitions to be build a new church. The whole idea began to look more and more like an impossible dream. I was reminded of my dad's words,"St.Mark's will still be building a church when you are as old as I am."
Chapter5
Pancake Tuesday was important to apprentices for more than the fact that it was the last day before Lent. It was the custom that we should have the afternoon off work but there were certain ceremonies and rites attached to the privilege. In fact some of the rites might well be considered to be degrading today especially when, as often happened, some people carried them to excess. There were always those who would use such things as an excuse for a certain amount of bullying and skilled men who had only just come out of their time were often the most likely to abuse the tradition. In fact it was the excesses that in the end led to Pancake Tuesday as the apprentices day being phased out.
My first Pancake Tuesday as an apprentice was one that I approached with certain feelings of apprehension although I was certainly looking forward to day off. It remains particularly vivid in my mind because some of the incidents serve to highlight the dangers of allowing horseplay in an industrial environment.
It was the particular custom for our company to shepherd all the lads to the very top floor of the building so that they were forced to run the gauntlet of all the skilled men who would be waiting on each landing of the staircase. All entrances were closed except one so it was impossible for anyone to leave except by that way. There were however more ways in and out of that place than there were doors and windows and we apprentices knew them all although a certain confidence in our own fitness and a good head for heights was essential if they were to be used.
Preparations for the day, at least as far as we were concerned, started on the Monday morning as we each took a little longer to carry out our various errands. We had every excuse for this because often we spent quite a lot of time searching out suitable second-hand parts for the car repairs. Yes, this was how it was done during the war because there was shortages of everything very little were thrown away. Indeed one of my own special jobs when I was transferred on to tool making was to make up new valves for car engines out of old and damaged ones, which I sorted out of the scrap. This job, and in fact all jobs we apprentices were given, took much longer than usual on the day before Pancake Tuesday.
There was a disused loading door on the top floor which was normally nailed up but by Monday night the nails had been taken out, the hinges had been checked to make sure they were working freely so that the door could readily be opened, and a rope was also tied to an old beam and tucked out of sight ready for use. The loading door on a lower floor was given the same treatment. The firewatchers also checked a trap door to the roof although this wasn’t entirely necessary because it already had a semi-permanent ladder up to it for use during air raid warnings. Once access to the roof was assured then there were many ways down from there to the street below. The particular method used was however very much a measure of the recklessness (or foolishness) of each individual.
When the day at last arrived I and my mate Jack had a couple of plans ready. One meant using the trapdoor to the roof and the other needed a fast sprint to the ropes near the loading doors, which had been prepared earlier. Jack chose to try the roof and I followed him up there but one of the older lads had got there first. His intention was to run up the slope of the roof, round an old mill chimney, slide down to the roof of a disused warehouse next door and escape through another trapdoor and out into the street easily but then, unfortunately, he slipped and began to slide down the other side of the roof until his feet encountered the toughing at the edge, then, because this had become rotted and weakened by age, it began slowly to come away from it's fastenings until it was held by only one creaking and rusty bracket. There he clung for dear life for what seemed an eternity. We who were watching were helpless to do anything and it seemed as if he must fall the full height of the four-storey building. He felt frenziedly along the edge of the roof until his frantically clutching fingers found a hole in the roof tiles and gripped some projection below it for dear life. For some minutes he hung there, still not completely out of danger, until some reserve of strength born of desperation, enabled him slowly and painfully to haul himself back on to the roof and then down through the trapdoor to safety. For our part we decided discretion was the better part of valour and made our way back through our own trapdoor having quickly decided that our alternative idea was much safer.
Jack ran across to the first loading door, opened it and dropped the rope, which was already tied firmly to the beams, and began to shin down it to the street below. By this time some of the men had realised what we were trying to do and began to come towards me. I hadn't enough time to wait for him to reach the ground so I quickly made my way down to the other loading door on the next floor. Here I was surprised to find that the rope had been removed which meant there was now no way out for me except the official one. I duly ran the gauntlet, suffered the usual undignified treatment, and covered by a generous layer of sump oil in some very strange places at last I got out and into the street.
We all came together there and Tony, the roof adventurer, was obviously shaken although he firmly denied any suggestion that he had been in danger. Sheer bravado of course. Jack had a similar close call and had almost come to grief when someone spotted the rope going through the loading door and, not knowing that Jack was already using it, gave it an almighty swipe with an axe severing it completely with one stroke. Jack had quite a limp but again faced things with apparent calm as he assured us all that he had been so concerned to get away that he had hit the floor with his legs already running when the rope was cut.
There was one other near casualty who had taken the roof route but had chosen to shin down a telegraph pole that almost touched the building. He had done very well until he ran out of those metal stanchions that are placed on the poles for the convenience of the engineers. At that point his nerved failed and he clung there at a height of about ten feet completely unable to bring himself to allow the rest of us to support him over this last hurdle. As we urged him to jump, and assured him we would catch him, two of his pursuers hung from an open window and did their best to drench him with the aid of a stirrup pump until, at last, with some difficulty, we finally got him to the ground whilst taking more than our fair share of the water which was flying around. Putting it in a nutshell we all ended up looking like drowned rats.
Our works was quite near the main shopping centre and a fairly large crowd had begun to gather most of who found the whole thing very entertaining and applauded as each apprentice arrived in the street. There were some, however, especially amongst the ladies, who didn't appreciate what was going on at all and could only see a some poor little apprentices being bullied and treated in quite a shameful manner. Indeed the incident sparked of a lot of correspondence in the letters column of the local paper mostly on the theme of how it was time such 'barbaric and primitive initiation rites' were abolished, which was quite embarrassing for our employer and could well have had something to do with the fact that the following year we no longer had such a bad time of it. Although we still got our half-day off and there was certainly a little 'hassle' everything was in a much lower key. Later on during the war the traditional Pancake Day rites practically disappeared altogether. We also lost the half-day off eventually.
GENESIS2
Chapter 6
During the war holidays presented problems which would not normally have existed but we still had the traditional one week's break from work (Wakes week) as usual and Blackpool remained the favourite resort for many. This was because one of the biggest problems caused by the war was a shortage of transport and so Blackpool, being our nearest resort, was the easiest to get to although, on the other hand, it could be difficult to get accommodation due to the fact that many boarding houses had members of the armed services billeted on them.
The R.A.F. was the major user of Blackpool's facilities and so most of the boarding houses and hotels had at least some airmen staying in them. Indeed there were airmen all over the place and it was part of the entertainment in fact, to watch squads of airmen marching and drilling along the full length of the promenade.
I remember one such occasion particularly well when the squad being drilled was obviously made up of raw recruits. The sergeant was quite clearly driven almost to the end of his tether by one of the men who insisted on getting everything wrong, until it all became just too much for his patience and he let fly with a stream of the richest and most kaleidoscopic language you have ever heard, language which would have made even the most hardened veteran flinch. At this point a woman in the crowd of holiday-makers who were watching, perhaps with a picture in her mind of one of her own sons at the receiving end of similar language, became so incensed with anger that she dashed from the crowd and gave the sergeant a series of enormous whacks from her handbag whilst at the same time telling him exactly what she thought of him.
She only stopped when she realised that, not only was she the object of amusement to the holiday-makers but amongst those laughing most heartily were the sergeant and the man who had been the subject of his verbal abuse. She left the scene, looking somewhat shamefaced, as quietly and unobtrusively as she could manage.
This was the year when a number of us, who were taking our apprenticeship courses at the local technical college, decided to take our holidays together but for various reasons Herbert and I were a bit late booking and could not get in the same hotel as our friends. They had booked into a hotel, which was known to be a good one for teenagers and younger families, but, because it was full when we tried to book, we had to be satisfied with a more traditional type of boarding house. As a result we found ourselves at the mercy of the very worst kind of Blackpool landlady. We did not know this when we booked of course, but we soon found out when we got there. After all there was a war on and we were lucky to get any kind of digs and there were other things to worry about before we could even get to Blackpool.
The most popular way to travel was by train but in wartime you couldn't just go to the ticket office, buy a ticket, and then catch the train. During holiday week you also had to 'regulate' your ticket.’ Regulation' was a system intended to ensure that all the trains were equally filled and there was a place for everyone. Please, dear reader, do not confuse a 'place' with a 'seat’, because in practice, although there were one or two extra trains for Wakes week, there were, in fact, nowhere near enough and each and every one of them was ram, jam, packed to the doors. Lucky indeed was the person who actually got a seat.
The neighbouring towns of Burnley, Nelson, and Colne all took the same week just as they do today and the trains started from Colne, stopped at Nelson, then Brierfield, then Burnley Bank Top, Burnley Barracks, Rosegrove and then a multitude of other stations before eventually arriving at one of the three Blackpool stations Colne got the best end of the stick of course but then at each stop afterwards, as you may imagine, the trains became more and more crowded. By the time they got to Burnley Bank Top they were really full and by the last of the Burnley stations (Rosegrove) there was no chance of a seat. Overcrowding was a normal state of affairs as far as we were concerned and we weren't at all surprised when we got to the station to find an enormous queue winding it's way into the entrance waiting for the barrier to be opened.
For all it's length, and concerned, as everyone was to get as good a place on the train as they could, the queue exuded an air of conviviality and good-humoured patience. If we were going to suffer a certain amount of overcrowding and discomfort what did it really matter? Everyone was in the same boat and there were all the pleasures of a week in Blackpool to compensate for any discomfort. Beyond this, of course, I am sure many of us were conscious that we were far better off than those who were at that very moment fighting in far off places around the world.
From the length of the queue it began to seem almost hopeless to expect to get on the train at all, never mind get a seat, but about twenty minutes before the train was due the barrier was raised and we were all allowed on the platform. Nevertheless it still seemed to be outside the bounds of all probabilities that everyone, plus the enormous piles of luggage they carried with them, could be accommodated. Our lot stayed firmly together in a little group jockeying, along with everyone else, for a good spot on the platform.” Let’s go up to the far end its always best there.” calls a confident voice.” Not likely "comes the reply” We listened to you last year and look what happened."
The idea was to try to have an empty compartment stop with it's door right in front of you so that you could step right in but this was a very outside chance really. However the jockeying continued to an accompanying hubbub of excited voices until at last the smoke and steam of an approaching engine were seen in the distance. The shouts of the children echoed through the station,” It’s here! Mum, it’s here!” followed by,” Stand well back! Stand well back.” from the voice of authority in the shape of a weedy looking individual dressed in porter's uniform who almost immediately afterwards made the magical announcement,” Blackpool train! Blackpool special! Stopping at Burnley Barracks, Rosegrove, Hapton, and all stations to Blackpool Central.” As the smoking, snorting, dragon of an engine fussed into sight scattering red hot sparks from it's funnel and pouring great, gushing clouds of steam and smoke into the air the loud clanking and screeching caused the waiting lines of passengers to shrink back from the massive engine which, like some rampaging god, demanded due deference from the lines of lesser beings assembled before it. But then, almost at once, the menace was gone as the monster, apparently suitably appeased, settled down to a subdued, almost hypnotic, hissing as if to assure us that his massive powers were now entirely at our disposal.
There was a great deal of good-humoured pushing and shoving as the train rapidly filled. We found ourselves faced by a bulging carriage full of people who seemed to be almost literally standing on each other’s heads. A head sticking out of one window said, sympathetically, "Sorry lads, we can't help you, you’ll just have to dig in somewhere else." but eventually a kind voice from another compartment took pity on us and said,” Come on, we’ll just about be able to fit you in with us."
We now squeezed into a compartment which held four adults and two children at one side, four adults at the other side, and two adults standing, plus Herbert and I (also standing). Fourteen people in all, in a compartment designed for eight persons. Thankfully the children were very small. The rest of our group had meanwhile managed to squeeze in further down the train and the frantic hubbub quietened down as we were at last ready to start our journey. How everyone had managed to push their way in must forever remain a mystery but the platform was now absolutely empty save for the lonely figures of the porter and the guard.” All clear!” came his call as he blew the shrill blast on his whistle which authorised the driver to rouse the slumbering monster at the end of the platform from the lethargy into which it had fallen and with a Banshee wail in reply to the guard's whistle the great dragon god snorted more clouds of steam, strained against the weight of his increased load, took a firm hold upon the track, and firm control of our journey.
Our overcrowded compartment began to seem less crowded as we all settled down and someone even found enough room to dispense generous cups of hot, sweet tea from an enormous flask. We ourselves responded with the offer of some of our sandwiches. Soon quite a convivial family atmosphere was established and everyone moved around to make sure the children could see through the windows. We were nearest to them and their parents somehow involved us in the well-being of their kids by extracting a promise from us to 'keep an eye on kids' a promise that required an ever increasing vigilance on our part as the children frequently threatened to lose their heads by leaning much too far out of the window. They were, as they kept telling everyone,” Looking for 'The Tower'."
In the towns and villages round our way you don't dare ask which tower is meant when someone says 'THE Tower’. There may be larger towers, there may be more elaborate towers, but there is only one, which matters to us, and there was great competition between the kids in any train going to Blackpool to be the first to see 'THE Tower’. This journey proved to be no exception and it was not long after leaving Preston station that voices began to be heard claiming to have spotted it first. False alarms were numerous and could usually be put down to someone having seen an electricity pylon but soon a voice which would brook no denial rang out in a clear and piercing treble,” Mum! Mum! I really can see it this time! Mum! It's 'THE Tower’, and yes indeed it was Blackpool Tower at last.
It is a characteristic peculiar to THE Tower that as one approaches the resort it appears to retreat into the distance at a speed which exactly matches the speed of the train so that it never gets any nearer for some considerable time. On the other hand at the end of the holiday as one travels home the effect is exactly reversed so that it seems to be only a couple of minutes before 'The Tower' is out of sight and never to be seen again for another year. It was therefore quite a while after the first confirmed sighting before we actually found ourselves drawing into the station and alighting from our carriage.
There was a great deal of good humoured pushing and shoving as we all gathered our luggage together and made our way onto the Blackpool scene. After arranging to meet up with our friends later, Herbert and I got on the first tram we could find heading in the general direction of our digs and soon we were knocking on the door of a rather dingy looking boarding house close to Blackpool North station. It was only then that we began to realise just what we had let ourselves in for by booking late.
The door was opened by a formidable looking woman who might well have been the model for all those stereotype caricatures of landladies which are to be seen on comic postcards and who have been the butt of many comedians' jokes, but the reality was far from funny as we soon found out. We politely introduced ourselves and without any ceremony at all she launched her first question.” Where’s your luggage? Haven’t you brought any?”
Not too sure that we hadn't unwittingly committed some major crime we volunteered the information that it was being brought along by van because we had taken advantage of the offer of a greengrocer at home to bring it over for us when he made his weekly business trip. (Mind you we did have to pay him and he made quite a tidy sum on the side from various 'friends' for giving them the same service.) Our landlady gave an unconvinced grunt and barked,” When’s it coming?"“Oh, sometime this afternoon.” we replied.” Well it had better not come while I'm busy with the meals that's all I have to say.” and she moved back from the doorway.” Don’t expect to have it taken upstairs for you; there’s a war on you know!” she continued as she firmly shepherded us upstairs to our bedroom. People were addicted to this saying during the war and whenever something was below standard for whatever reason sooner or later you would hear one or other of the infinite variations of the phrase,” Don’t you know there's a war on?”
Before leaving us at the door of our room she firmly laid down the law for us (her law)."Breakfast at 8-30 sharp and out of your room by 10-o-clock so they can be cleaned. Mid-day meal at 12-30 don't be late I won't have it spoiled. The bathroom's just there. Don’t stay in too long in the morning there's others want to use it besides you. Tea at 5-o-clock.”We more or less took all this in our stride but then she put in a really low punch,” I want you in by 10-30 at night and I lock up then whether everyone's in or not. I have to be up early in the morning."
Well really, I ask you! The cheek of the woman! Whoever heard of such time to ask young people 17 and 18yrs of age to be in when they are on holiday? Dear me, the days had long passed when even our parents would make such a restriction. But we tried to be reasonable, we told her we understood her difficulties in getting staff and asked very politely if we might have a key then she would have no need to wait up for us if we did happen to be late.” You certainly may not have a key!” she snapped frostily,” What sort of a house do you think this is?” Anyway all my R.A.F. men have to be in by then so I don't see why you shouldn’t.” Still trying to reason with her we pointed out the difference between being billeted on her with the Air Ministry paying and being there on holiday and paying for ourselves but it was like water off a duck's back to her and all we got in the end was,” If you don't like it you're quite welcome to go somewhere else but I shall keep your deposit.” We were beaten. She had us over a barrel and she knew it because there was no way we were going to get in anywhere else as things were in Blackpool at that time.
That evening we met up with our friends and compared notes. We told our story about our digs and then were forced to listen to a glowing account of their hotel with it's ever open doors and a night maid who was prepared to make a cup of coffee until unheard of hours of the night. But then as the evening drew on we totally forgot about the time until we suddenly realised it was 10-15 p.m. and our last tram had gone. (Remember what I said about there being a war on?). We had to make a mad dash along the promenade and up the street to our boarding house and there sure enough stood our landlady, waiting at the door, jingling her keys.” I can't do with this every night,” she said angrily,” If it happens again I shall lock the door and that will be that."
I spent much of this holiday after the first couple of days with the young lady whom I later married. Although we already knew each other casually it was only during this holiday that we could have been said to have started courting which meant that, as the week went by, it became more and more difficult for me to keep to the curfew, which had been imposed on us. Florence was at the south end of Blackpool and I was at the north end and it became quite a nerve-racking experience making the nightly dash to be back for 10-30 p.m. More than once Herbert and I came uncomfortably close to being locked out by our self appointed guardian.
Not only was our landlady a dragon she was not especially generous with her meals either although she was nevertheless quite convinced she overfed her guests. In fact she thought she was a very good landlady and her guests should feel honoured to be allowed to stay with her. Most of her contemporaries of the time, although rationing was a problem, would have been quite indignant to think any of their guests should actually be hungry after one of their meals and our landlady was no exception. Unfortunately she really was so very sparing with her meals that we, being of a very good appetite at any time, constantly had to fill up with snacks.
Most places had a rule about not bringing fish and chips, or other snacks into the bedroom and we cheerfully accepted this but it had been a bit awkward for us getting our nightly snack inside us before going back to our digs so we included this as part of the revenge we planned for the last night of our stay. First we stayed at the dance to the bitter end and I took Florence back to her hotel. Then Herbert and I got our supper and it must have been well turned 11-o-clock as we strolled along the street towards where our landlady stood, arms akimbo, waiting for us at her front door.” What time do you call this?” she demanded in an outraged tone of voice.” We were very hungry,” we replied,” You don't put a very big meal on so we have had to have suppers outside. Sorry it got so late."
She was fuming with suppressed anger but she had to bite it back because this time we were the ones who had her over a barrel. We had not yet paid the bill and had already sent our luggage off home during the afternoon.
Depositing our chip papers in the waste-paper basket with studied care we wished her,"Goodnight”, and made our way to our bedroom almost expecting to be thrown out on our ears but all we heard was a grudging,"Goodnight”, which clearly represented a great feat of self control on her part. When we went down for breakfast the following morning we studiously ignored the bill which had been left conspicuously by our plates and we lingered a long, long, time over our food and over our cups of tea as the tables were cleared one by one until at last, our landlady, or our adversary as we now thought of her, could stand it no longer.” You haven't signed the visitors book yet.,” she said,” And have you noticed your bill?” But we were determined to have our pound of flesh and played things out to the bitter end. Still to all intents totally engrossed in our conversation we returned to our room, made sure we had forgotten nothing, and then, long past the 10-o-clock deadline, came downstairs. We slowly and carefully signed the visitor’s book and then, at the very last possible moment, grudgingly paid the bill.
It might well have been better for the goodwill of that landlady and her establishment if she had not bothered to remind us about the visitor's book. The remarks we wrote in there were completely appropriate to the way she had treated us and representative of our honest opinion. You may well imagine what that was.
Chapter 7
In common with everyone else during the war when I reached the age of eighteen I had to register for service with the armed forces although there wasn't any likelihood that I would actualy be called up because of my job. Even though I was still only an apprentice I was considered to be a key worker because I had been promoted to charge hand. I was still expected to keep up with my studies at night school in spite of working a twelve hour day and many apprentices throughout the country were in the same position having been pushed into responsible jobs simply because there was a shortage of skilled workers We all had a very full schedule of activities as a result.
There were numerous problems associated with keeping up our studies during the war and the greatest of these were caused during the blitz by the raids on Manchester. Throughout that winter every lecture for night after night was brought to an abrupt end by the wailing of the sirens within fifteen minutes of the lecture starting and it was straight to the shelters for the rest of the evening or until the all clear sounded. The timing of the raids became so predictable that as the weeks went by and our town experienced no bombs, many of us would leave for home instead of going to the shelters even though this might mean quite a long walk if the buses had stopped running.
If anyone was to do any studying at all and make some inroads into the curriculum something just had to change and slowly a system began to evolve. As soon as we entered the college the roll would be called and we would be given a programme to cover the studies for the week. The lecturer would take us through it as far as possible until the siren sounded and then off we would go either to the shelters, to our homes, or, if we were on night shift, off to work. It wasn't so much as question of 'if' the warning was given, it was more a question of' when', and even the 'when' was very predictable so that you could almost set your watch by the sounding of the siren.
It is surprising how quickly on can adapt if one really has to and it soon seemed as if it was the normal way of life to leave our outdoor clothes on as we entered the classroom, go through the programme of the week and start for home or work as the siren sounded. The possibility that a bomb might actually drop on our town was pretty remote and we were quite sure our area was of no interest in Hitler's scheme of things but nevertheless we were to have two bomb incidents of our very own, which were probably jettisoned by an aircraft that was in trouble.
In the first incident a bomb fell in the grounds of a park next door to the college and in the second a bomb was dropped on a deserted moor land on the edge of town. The latter incident was most noteworthy for the reaction of the residents on a nearby housing estate whose Air Raid Warden must have had a fit when, within seconds of the sound of the explosion, they opened their blackout curtains and tried to see what was going on. It is said, and the reader must judge the truth of this for himself or herself, that the resulting blaze of light might well have rivalled Blackpool illuminations at their most magnificent. Personally I can witness neither for nor against the truth of that story but I can certainly testify to the truth of the following story about the bomb in the park.
Somehow, although I had heard the noise of an explosion in the early hours, it didn't register as taking place in the town itself and I had no idea that it was actually going to have an effect on my college work. Air raid warnings were no longer a problem at the college since a system of internal sirens had been installed which were only sounded if bombers were actually right overhead so we arrived in class full of beans and compared plans for the weekend as we waited for the lecturer to arrive.
At first we noticed nothing unusual about the room. Certainly the blackout curtains covering the windows were a bit damaged. They looked as if someone had been slashing them with a knife and then someone else had hastily stuck them together with tape but this was of little interest to us. We threw our hats and coats wherever they would go in the same way we always did and chattered away quite happily until one of us remarked,” It’s damned cold and draughty in here tonight and there seems to be no heating on.” In fact many of us had already put our coats back on ass the cold began to strike through. Someone then remarked about the state of the blinds and the fact that they were blowing about.” I bet someone's left the windows open.” he said,” Let’s take a look.” and without more ado began to open the curtains, slowly at first and then throwing blackout regulations to the wind more quickly as he exclaimed in disbelieving tones,” Never mind not being shut. There’s no damn windows in at all!” Yes indeed we now had our own bomb story to tell and we certainly enjoyed telling it for some time afterwards at the slightest excuse.
As I recall those days I wonder how we could possibly have got around to fulfilling all the demands upon our time. As well as working twelve hour shifts and attending night school in three evenings a week, I was in the Air Training Cadets, managed to get in at least one night’s dancing, and even found time to blow for George our organist for two services each Sunday. Also on Sunday I had a thing going with a mechanic friend helping him to recondition cars for sale. (The bit of money I made came in very handy at holiday times)
There were many of us in the same situation of course and the result was that sometimes we tended to overdo things. I remember one Friday morning as we came off shift Jack, a fellow apprentice, asked me if I would like to go round the corner to 'Pie Bob's' for Pie and Peas before going home. Now 'Pie Bob's establishment would never be allowed to exist under the present day laws of hygiene and I am not altogether sure how it was allowed to exist then. It was found at the corner of a street about five minutes walk away from our works and was a converted four roomed house which now rejoiced under the title of 'café’ The conversion work was minimal and badly needed updating but this don’t seem to put the customers off.
The tables were old and rickety and the chairs the same but they were serviceable (just). Through the open door of the back room which was now the kitchen, could be seen an enormous iron pot, not unlike a witches cauldron, bubbling furiously as it gave out a great cloud of steam with an absolutely incredibly, tantalising, and mouth watering aroma. There was room for little else on the ancient gas oven except an old iron kettle, which also belched out a cloud of steam. Inside the oven a selection of pies waited the customer's pleasure.
The tables bore no such luxuries as tablecloths, serviettes, or even a menu to further tempt the potential customer. When you went to 'Pie Bob's' you already knew the menu and the one thing you went for was Pie and Peas. You could have Meat or Meat and Potato pie and indeed you were welcome to have both if you felt the need but that was it. Pie Bob's it was called and that was what you got. You ate your Pie and Peas with an enormous spoon if you were male and a teaspoon of you were female and that was the sole concession to etiquette of any kind.
I have never since tasted Pie and Peas of the flavour and texture of those we had that morning. We sat down at scrubbed tables set out on a paved floor, which was 'donkey stoned' to a pristine whiteness and were served our feast in earthenware basins. The peas, I forget to mention, were Black Peas in gravy. Yes that's right Black Peas. You don't see them served in cafes today. Your glitzy American style McDonald’s, your Chinese takeaways, and your Pizza parlours ignore those humble black peas but they were certainly something to be savoured on that morning as we came off a busy night shift. No need either for that bewildering array of sauces which seem to be essential these days; just a sprinkle of coarse salt and a good dowsing with plain ordinary Malt vinegar is all that 'Pie Bob's' meals ever needed.
It was difficult to be sure whether we were having breakfast or supper but this certainly had no effect upon our appetites and soon Jack and I had empty dishes in front of us and a full belly inside us. Then Jack said,” Let’s go to the baths and have a swim I feel fit for anything after that lot.” I too felt great and the idea of a splash in the pool before going home to bed seemed a good one and I tagged along willingly.
The remainder of the morning passed very quickly and it was almost one-o’clock by the time I returned home. I ate the meal my mother had prepared and she suggested it would be a good idea to go to bed for a few hours but sleep had left me and I had a mechanic friend waiting for my help. There was no point in losing the chance to make a bit of holiday money so out I went.
I returned for the evening meal and got ready for our usual night at out local dance hall and as it happens it was just as well I was going no further. I had my usual quota of dances, a couple of drinks in the pub next door during the interval, and really had a very good night, it was only on the way home that things began to catch up with me. There was no bus home of course the last one had long gone so we always had to walk home. On this occasion all my mates seemed to have a girl to walk home so I set off for home quite perkily. This usually took about twenty minutes or perhaps half-an-hour. Did I hear someone ask,” What about a taxi?” Dear me, don’t you know there's a war on?
By now I had been without sleep from five-o-clock on Friday afternoon until eleven-thirty on Saturday night, a total of thirty hours and a very active thirty hours too, as you have seen. Never in my life have I been so absolutely and utterly tired as I was that night. As I walked along my eyes took on a will of their own and refused to focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. I forced myself onward with some success at first but the excesses of the last few hours would be denied no longer and my eyes insisted on closing so that I really believe I was actually sleep-walking for much of the time. Then my leg muscles went into open rebellion and just to move one leg in front of the other took a tremendous effort of will. I could do no more. I had to stop and sit down on the nearest garden wall.
I lost all track of time and have no idea how long it was before I realised I was falling backwards and in imminent danger of falling into the muddy soil of the garden behind me. I rose to me feet with difficulty and forced myself to move again. Thank goodness it was downhill for the rest of the way.
Arriving home I scarcely know whether I undressed or not I was so thankful just to get to bed. It was strange though that I woke up at my usual time and was able to go and blow the organ for George. But it was a damned close run thing as someone once said, and I didn't fully catch up with my sleep for at least the next couple of days.
Chapter 8
It was in the closing months of the war that my employers informed me that I had been given an indefinite deferment of service in the armed forces and I would not be required to apply annually as before. But just how 'indefinite' this was to be became only too clear when some three months later I received my call-up papers and had to attend for a medical. However this still lay in the future and for the time being life continued much as usual and punctuated from time to time by events, which remain vivid in my memory to this day. In common with all those of my generation one such memory is of the night we heard that the war in Europe had ended.
We were in college taking a mathematics examination. Everyone knows how strictly such things are conducted and, even though there was’ a war on’, standards were no less strict. Complete silence was the rule and no one was allowed out of the room except from direst necessity. I hadn't had too much trouble getting through the question paper but was not one of the first to finish so that it was probably about half-an-hour before time was up as I began to sort through and check my papers ready to hand them in. In the meantime some two or three people had already finished and were leaving the room, amongst them Eddie, one of my mates; who gave a self-satisfied grin as he went out and signalled that he would meet me outside but it was barely a couple of minutes later before his face again appeared at the door and in his hands he was holding up a battered piece of toilet paper with the message scrawled upon it,’ The war's over!’
Well that was it as regards examinations and within five minutes everyone suddenly found all the questions were much easier to answer, quickly gathered their papers together to hand them in, and formed up into a jostling, excited crowd hell bent on joining in any celebrations that were going on. Nor was our's the only room in the college to have heard the news so that at every classroom we passed the crowd grew more numerous and more excited as the building emptied.
It was often our practice to go dancing after night school was over and tonight we decided we would see what was happening at our usual haunt where, although this was not one of the most popular nights, an enormous queue had formed ensuring that it rapidly became 'house full’. It was not only the dance halls, which quickly filled up, and soon all the pubs were full as well and their landlords were having a bonanza night as it became clear that the police were ignoring the licensing laws and had declared an unofficial extension to all drinks licences in the area. We left the dance hall around 10-30 and found all our favourite pubs were full but we managed to get a drink at some obscure back street pub we would not normally have been seen dead in. We then did a tour of the town centre where the main focus of all the celebrations was to be found on the road in front of the Town Hall.
Here a big crowd was dancing and singing under the illumination of the streetlights, which had not been seen in full splendour since the start of hostilities, and there were even some 'fireworks' although these were a bit dangerous because they were really thunder flashes, which the Home Guard used during their training. They had quite a tidy little blast effect with them if thrown too close to people but there were very few of these and, in general, everyone just set out to enjoy the celebrations and were thankful that at last we now had peace in Europe even though the war in the far east had still to be brought to a conclusion.
For me the end of the European war simply brought my entry into the forces forward because in order to get men back home as soon as possible the call up was speeded up for those no longer needed on 'war-work' and this was why, as I said at the beginning of this chapter, I soon found out what the word 'indefinite' meant. Within a couple of weeks the papers came through for my medical.
It seemed to be no time at all before I was in the R.A.F. and undergoing training as an Equipment Assistant or to put it more simply as a 'Store-basher’. I won't go into all the details but let it be enough just to say that I did my square-bashing in East Suffolk, my trade course at Kirkham, and then, after the standard two weeks leave, was bundled off to Palestine with the dizzy rank of Aircraftman 2nd.class.In the meantime the war with Japan also came to an end.
We travelled to the Middle East via a route through France, which was known by the name 'Medloc' although where the name comes from eludes me. Some memories of that journey remain and one of the most vivid is of a short stay in a transit camp near Dieppe when we took a walk down to the local market. There we saw chocolate on display at the most exorbitant price for one small piece from a broken up bar. Each piece being carefully and separately wrapped and individually priced. As we walked round the market place we were stopped and offered a fantastic sum of money for just one cigarette, for chewing gum, and for sweets and we were soon made to realise, if we had not already done so, that we in England were indeed relatively lucky compared to the ravaged countries of Europe especially in regard to foodstuffs. But there was not all that much time for a proper look round and within twenty four hours we were on our way again, travelling by train across France to Marseilles where we were to take ship for Port Said.
In peacetime Port Said is a pleasant three-day voyage from Marseilles and we didn't really expect it to be anything other than a nice, lazy cruise. But we were not to be allowed to get away with simply lounging around in the sunshine on deck for we had barely stowed our kit in our bunks when the dreaded voice of a Warrant Officer roared in our ears,” You, you, you, and you; come with me! Move!” and that, we were convinced, put paid to all chances of an easy Mediterranean cruise for us.” You’re down for the job of weather deck sweepers.” he told us as he placed us under the watchful eye of one of the crew. Clearly we had somehow 'volunteered' for something called 'weather-deck sweeping' but what on earth was a 'weather-deck' and where was it to be found? The answer, at least as far as we were concerned, turned out to be any deck which was open to the elements.
We first swept the boat deck, then the promenade deck where the officer’s mess was located, then a lower deck where there was a N.A.A.F.I. of sorts and, after sweeping out all sorts of nooks and crannies in between finally ended up on the foredeck, which seemed absolutely enormous. About the only redeeming feature from our point of view was the possibility of scrounging a few 'perks' from the Officers Mess cooks and the N.A.A.F.I. staff but as it turned out there were also one or two other hidden advantages which weren't entirely obvious at first.
Our duties began immediately after breakfast the next day and straightaway we were introduced to our first 'perk’. We who were on fatigues didn't have to queue for breakfast with everyone else but were given a special pass, which allowed us to jump the queue and this was something which was very useful in view of the enormous time it sometimes took to get a meal.
When breakfast was over we had to report to the boat deck and were issued with brooms by the very friendly seaman who was in charge of us. There was a Leading Aircraftman amongst our number and the seaman was wise enough to know that an L.A.C. had at least some nominal sort of authority. He put the L.A.C. in charge and that was the last we saw of the seaman until much later in the day and no doubt he was himself on a very good thing and had retired to some hiding place of his own for the rest of the morning and indeed for most of the afternoon as well.
We started our morning's work on the boat deck and, as soon as we dared, moved away from there and into the Officer's Mess, which we swept out at breakneck speed. Then down to the deck where the N.A.A.F.I. was located. We were officially supposed to sweep up they’re as well but the staff had already done this and gave us all kinds of odd jobs to do instead. I suppose they must have found us useful because we became grateful recipients of all kinds of perks such as free cups of tea, cakes, and sandwiches. For the rest of the morning a large part of our work, such as it was, was carried out lazing at a table as near to the sunshine as we could get until the time came for lunch when we could again claim our right to jump the queue. Indeed the hardest job we had was looking busy whenever an N.C.O. came past.
After lunch we had to move to the foredeck, which was about the worst one to sweep because it was such a large area but we still managed to return to the N.A.A.F.I. from time to time because after all there was a fair lot of crumbs and rubbish there. At least that was our story and we stuck firmly to it as we claimed frequent offerings of free tea and buns from the staff. Anyway, as long as we went through the motions, no one seemed to be unduly worried how much free time we had.
We thought that we had got everything nicely under control by tea-time on the first day and were looking forward to a film show which had been arranged for the evening but when we went to hand in our brooms we found we still hadn't finished. We were the ones who were expected to prepare the deck for the show. The crewman, who had mysteriously re-appeared, took the opportunity to pull our legs a bit.” Right you lot. Eat your meal and get right back here at the double you'll be at it all night with this job!” It seemed a bit of a liberty, to say the least, that after working all day we should still be expected to do another job in the evening, especially when by far the greater majority of those on board had no jobs to do at all. We complained loudly but to no effect and our 'boss' simply said, "It's nothing to do with me I am only doing what I've been told.”“ What about the film show?” we asked,"Forget it", he said,"You'll not be seeing much of that. You’re going to be far to busy."
Resigned to our fate we reported to the foredeck as requested after our meal and slowly it dawned on us that the crewman really had been having fun at our expense. Far from missing the film we were actually to assist in it's showing. All we were expected to do was to erect the screen and the projection equipment and then to remain on standby seated near the projectionist in case we were needed. (What we might be needed for we never actually found out.) This meant that whilst everyone else was scrambling for the best vantage points on life rafts, ventilator shafts, hatchways and all the other paraphernalia of the deck we were assured of reserved seats. After the show we had to sweep quickly around the deck to get rid of any litter and help to put everything away; which was a small price to pay for the advantage of having what almost amounted to a box seat.
So for three days our 'Mediterranean cruise' continued and was in the end a very enjoyable experience for us all until the time came to disembark and move to a transit camp near Alexandria where we were to wait until we were posted to one of the many airfields in the Middle East.
There was just one other advantage to being a 'weather deck sweeper’, which was purely personal to me. There was a piano in the N.A.A.F.I., which, by order of the captain, was kept locked except for special occasions. After a surreptitious tinkle on the keys one day the staff got me permission to use it whenever I wished and I had a glorious time one afternoon, whilst the N.A.A.F.I. was closed for business, playing for myself and the staff and, of course, for the’ weather deck sweepers'.
Chapter Nine
Our cruise being over we were hustled off the ship and into trucks, which took us once more into the rather basic, if not actually primitive, conditions of a transit camp. Not too bad an experience as it happened for the weather was gloriously hot which made sleeping in a tent on straw palisades an advantage rather than anything else. We were in the camp only two nights but the hours of darkness were enlivened on the first night by a rather dramatic tent fire close to ours. Someone had been careless with a cigarette end and woke to find himself engulfed by flames. He was lucky to escape serious injury but he lost all his kit and so did the rest of those in the tent.
On the second night I woke up feeling distinctly wet and cold and encountered a stream of water rushing through our tent as we experienced a terrific rainstorm. We were told that this was the first rain for months but it didn't make the effects any more pleasant at the time. One compensation of the climate was that the following morning was hot enough to dry our kits by simply spreading our them over the canvass of the tent, which was fortunate for me because on the afternoon of that same day I got my posting to Ein Shemer in Palestine and almost at once was bundled into a lorry going to the station along with those others who were bound for R.A.F. camps in Palestine.
At the station we became the responsibility of a Warrant Officer who was also going to Ein Shemer and, as I later found out, was a store-basher as well. We travelled for a full day and the journey was punctuated by a seemingly endless series of stops at all kinds of small stations all of which bore the stamp of total chaos and utter confusion. Cries of,” Eggs-a-Bread", "Peanuts", "Lovely Peanuts," "Wanna buy a watch," and so on, rose to a crescendo as the train pulled into each station. At each and every one we were surrounded by vendors of all sorts, each striving to outdo the other as they tried to make themselves heard, until eventually their cries were drowned in hissing steam and the train began to move, slowly gathered momentum, and left the station behind.
There was a prolonged stop when we reached the Suez Canal and then, after a long ride through a dreary wilderness, the next station was in Palestine itself and here there was a noticeable change of atmosphere; the hawkers and vendors were still there but the confusion was less; the frenzy was almost non-existent and with each station we passed we experienced a more laid back atmosphere until, as we reached the Jewish town of Ein Shemer, we finally arrived at a station which almost seemed to have fallen asleep under the influence of a rapidly setting sun whilst only a solitary hawker peddled his wares in a comparatively desultory fashion. We left the train and soon, by some miracle of organisation, a lorry arrived to take us to the airfield.
It was a surprise to find that Ein Shemer was staffed by a comparatively small number of people. There were no more than two hundred on the Station Headquarters staff and just one squadron of Lancasters equipped for Air Sea Rescue work when we first arrived. It wasn't to be long before this changed however, and within the next two months the numbers of personnel using the station grew until there were over a thousand airmen there.
The war was well over by this time but in Palestine terrorist activity, particularly from the Jewish organisations, was becoming more frequent. Furthermore this was the time when illegal ships were attempting to bring in immigrants who were the victims of the German atrocities during the war. The Lancasters were given a new role to play by taking part in the detection of illegal emigrant ships and there were also two Spitfire squadrons plus a squadron of Mosquitoes moved onto the airfield.
Apart from the changed role of the Lancasters terrorism, as such, really made very little impact on our life at Ein Shemer at first .The first time it really had any effect upon us was when we went down into the town one day expecting to use the N.A.A.F.I. in the town centre only to find it was reduced to a heap of ashes. This particular N.A.A.F.I. canteen was never rebuilt and this was the last time I remember us being allowed out of camp singly. Afterwards we were only allowed out in two's and carrying rifles. During particularly bad spells of terrorism there were times when we had to travel in fours and there were weeks on end when we were not allowed out of camp at all except in organised parties.
There was only one really major incident as far as we were concerned on the airfield which resulted from terrorist activity and this was really deadly serious and quite frightening at the time but it also had it's humorous side as you will see. Towards the end of one afternoon two heads poked their way round the door of our hut.” Hut 17?"Asked one of them, hopefully,""Yes, what do you want?”“ We’re supposed to bunk down here. Where is there a bed space/"? They were directed to two empty beds and left to get on with sorting their kit out but, of course, as they got rid of their loads of blankets, sheets, kitbags, etc. they were subjected to some friendly interrogation.” Have you been out here long?”“ What was your last camp?”“ How long have you been in?”Etc. Then the question which was always asked sooner or later was,” What’s your demob group?"Which, in this case, brought the unexpected reply,” We haven't got one, we’re regulars, we’ve signed on for three years."‘
We had come across this rare breed of airman before but only at very infrequent intervals, indeed the one regular airman we did know was, we were firmly convinced, absolutely bonkers. Our Warrant Officer down at the Equipment Section (he who was in charge of our train ride from Egypt) had turned out to be a regular mind you and he seemed normal enough but the general opinion in those days was that anyone who joined up as a regular must have a screw loose somewhere. We saw the chance for a little gentle leg pulling.
"I see you've already drawn your rifle and ammo then?” someone asked."Yes, we were told we had to sleep with them in our beds. Does anyone really bother doing that?”.” We certainly do or else they will surely be taken during the night. It’s amazing how people manage to get in a camp so well guarded as this one. The idea is that if sneak thieves get in or the camp is attacked then they are safe and ready to hand for immediate use."
From then on we built up a dramatic picture of the many days and nights during which we had experienced explosions and other forms of mayhem created by terrorists constantly attempting to disrupt the operations of our Lancaster squadron. So commonplace were such attempts, we said, that we treated them as an accepted part of our life and unless we were actually called out to reinforce the guard we took little, if any, notice. As we intended, our new chums began to look a little thoughtful and asked what they should do if we were called out or there was an attack of some sort. We reassured them that we would see they were allright; we would show them what to do for the best and anyway after a week or two they would be just as indifferent to such things as we were. We all went off for the evening meal and then as usual to the N.A.A.F.I for an hour.
By lights out the conversation in the hut had passed to other matters and soon all that could be heard was the sound of a variety of snores punctuated by an occasional grunt and snort. Anyone who has missed the experience of sleeping in a Nissen hut with thirty or forty snoring men has missed one of life's greatest horrors. Some people whistle, some make the sound of sawing wood, some blow raspberries. At whatever time of the night you may happen to waken up there is always at least one pair of nostrils, and possibly two or three pairs, in full song. Once awake the snoring impinges on your ears with ever more persistent intensity preventing an immediate return to the arms of Morpheus but, annoying as this may be one soon learns to bury oneself beneath the sheets to deaden the sound for who knows what they themselves might sound like to others. It is important to be tolerant in such circumstances in the hope that others may themselves ignore our own shortcomings.
So it was with me on this particular night and after a short time I was just dropping off again when there was the sound of an almighty explosion and the whole camp shuddered. This was at once followed by the chattering sound of a machine-gun from quite close by. The sound of bullets ricocheting across a nearby roof sent me slithering out of my bunk in record time and the brilliant moonlight revealed that everyone in the hut had done the same thing and were now peering warily from the relative safety provided by lying down between the bunks. Everyone, that is, except our two new companions who sat calmly up in their beds and asked, with feigned innocence,” This couldn't possibly be one of those attacks you've got so used to could it?"
The terrorists were using home made mortars to try to damage a bridge connecting the Station Headquarters with the aerodrome itself and had concealed themselves in a group of trees on top of a small mound outside the camp. The R.A.F. Regiment spotted the attackers within minutes but someone accidentally shone the camp searchlight right on them so that by the time they reached the trees the birds had flown. The following day the regiment had a great time destroying the trees with their own mortars and getting some practice in at the same time. Thank goodness that we didn't suffer anything worse than this although it did at least relieve the boredom of a life lacking any social amenities beyond those provided by the N.A.A.F.I. and the more basic resources of an R.A.F. camp.
Amongst these were the occasional organised parties organised by the padre to places of interest in Palestine. Most of us were a bit short-sighted when it came to trips with the padre probably because we thought they might be too religious in content but I now realise what an opportunity I missed. Some of the places I could have gone to for a few shillings would have cost a small fortune in those days and are equally costly today. It was only towards the end of my stay at Ein Shemer that I was persuaded to take a couple of trips and began to realise what opportunities I had missed. I have always remembered those two trips.
I am sure Our Lord's earthly life has been a more real thing to me as a result of going first to Nazareth and then to The Sea of Galilee, or Lake Tiberius as it is now called, and as I have got older I have often found myself saying with some justification,” If I had my time to do over again--etc---etc,"
The boredom of life under conditions of maximum security forced one on to one's own resources and there were various societies which were formed with the blessing of the entertainments officer. There was a photographic group for example, there was a squash club, there was a gymnastics team and there was a whole series of educational courses which could be taken. I tried the photographic club for a while but soon lost interest when I became involved in forming a dance band with a couple of acquaintances who I met when I was playing for an impromptu sing-a-long in the N.A.A.F.I.. On this occasion I suddenly realised that I had acquired a drummer in the form of an airman with a tea-tray and a spoon. To say he had such primitive instruments it was marvellous what a lift he gave to my piano playing and when we got talking it became clear that he had been an amateur drummer before joining the R.A.F..I am afraid we rather overdid the beer and eventually got more or less thrown out by the N.A.A.F.I staff but not until we had decided to talk to the entertainments officer about forming a band along with a couple of other blokes we knew who were interested in music.
The officer welcomed our idea with open arms and it turned out he was himself a frustrated professional musician. Within a few days he had pulled some sort of strings and the next time we went to see him he took us to a disused room in the gymnasium and showed us a pile of shiny new instruments and in the corner a really good piano. The N.A.A.F.I.piano, as you will perhaps realise, was a bit rough to say the least. We asked if he would be joining us but some sort of protocol forbade it although he said he would 'guest' with us on a strictly unofficial basis whenever he could. It seems the C/O had ordered that the band was to be a strictly 'other ranks' project.
We practised conscientiously for a few weeks until we had built up a nice little repertoire from a limited stock of band arrangements that were provided with the other equipment and from other tunes which we had to us.We became in fact more of a jazz band than a dance band because it wasn't much use having a dance when there were only twenty-four N.A.A.F.I. girls and over a thousand airmen. A jazz session followed by a sing-a-long was a more viable proposition so that is how we made our debut in the N.A.A.F.I. and it went down very well indeed. We simply walked in there without any prior notice, set up some chairs around the piano, and blasted straight into 'Honeysuckle Rose'.
The dedicated consumers of Gold Star beer and 'Char and a Wad' turned round to see what was going on, the snooker players in the games room gathered at the door to listen, and the N.A.A.F.I. 'bints' leaned their ample bosoms on the counter to stare enthralled at this marvellous new attraction. We had 'arrived’! Instant stardom became ours and we had a glorious night as the customers showed their approval by buying us drinks. We had taken care to inform the Entertainments Officer what we intended to do and we made sure that we were playing our best numbers when the Orderly Officer visited the N.A.A.F.I. and from that time on doors hitherto closed to us became magically unlocked as we received invitations to all the Sergeant's Mess and Officer's Mess parties, to say nothing of numerous free evenings in the N.A.A.F.I..
The first offer came via the entertainments officer who booked us for a Christmas party in the Officer's Mess, then we had one from the N.A.A.F.I. manageress to play for a private party in their quarters and, of course, we also had to play for a 'do' in the Sergeant's Mess. For some time afterwards we had a regular monthly booking at both the Officer's and the Sergeant's Mess. Although we received no monetary reward nevertheless we did very well out of it. A free nosh-up every time and as much beer or shorts as we could drink, and we got off guard duty on many occasions when it clashed with a booking. To say nothing of the hidden benefits which arise from having your face known to the right people. I suppose I was in the band for some fourteen months up to the end of my time at Ein Shemer and I enjoyed every minute of it.
I rarely attended church whilst in Palestine but one can never entirely ignore religion when in a country with connections to so many religions. The only times I actually attended church services, however, was when I was persuaded to do so by Tony, who was one of the original party of us who travelled to Ein Shemer. Tony was the son of a clergyman and I had talked to him about my own connection with the Church. He once persuaded me to play a couple of hymns for a service and I really think he would have liked me to go to church regularly with him but I am afraid the band held more attraction for me.
Tony was the only person I ever knew who actually behaved like the boy in Tom Brown's Schooldays and knelt down at the side of his bed to say his prayers. Nobody threw a boot at him as they did to the boy in the story in fact we were all too surprised to do anything at all when he did it the first time but we soon learned to accept the fact that Tony liked to say his prayers. Later on he lapsed slightly but never gave over the practice completely; he might miss for a week or two but then his conscience would seem to give him a dig and he would be seen to kneel, just for a couple of minutes, before he settled down for the night. Mind you there was one occasion when I am sure Tony found his Christianity a bit of a burden because his conscience would not allow him to lie his way out of an awkward situation.
The first guard duty I did with him when we arrived at Ein Shemer was on the main gate. Next to the gate on the opposite side to the guard room there was a squash court which had an outside staircase leading into it's spectator balcony .The landing at the top of the staircase was a very good vantage point which overlooked the whole area and provided a good view also of the fields directly facing the gates so it was here that one guard was stationed complete with a Bren gun and surrounded by a comforting array of sandbags. The other guard was in the normal place in a sentry box alongside the gate itself.
We worked the usual guard rote of two hours on and four hours off and our turn on was at midnight. We tossed a coin to see who had the Bren gun and Tony won so that meant he had the balcony which was considered to be an advantage since one could get quite comfortable up there and there was little danger of being surprised by the guard commander as he did his rounds. It was a lovely night with a glorious moon lighting up the fields around us and the only sound that broke the silence was the croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets until, suddenly, there was a burst of machine gun bullets from above my head. I don't even remember ducking into the sentry box but I must have done because I found myself peering from a position well down in the box as flashes from the Bren illuminated the area. I saw spurts of dust and sand travel in a line along the ground in front of the guardroom and then back along the corrugated iron roof which magnified the sound as if it was a gigantic kettledrum. I looked carefully up at Tony and asked, very politely as you will imagine,” What the hell is going on up there?" and he replied in a quivering voice,” I thought I saw someone but I must have scared them off."
A silence then descended around us, a silence unbroken even by the sound of the frogs until eventually the guardroom door opened just a fraction and three weapons could be seen poking tentatively through the gap. The type of weapon was a sure clue to the rank of the person behind it although the persons holding them were wary of showing themselves more fully until they were sure what was going on. At the bottom of the very small opening in the door could be seen a rifle, indicating that this was where the corporal of the guard was, slightly above this could be seen a Sten gun, which indicated the whereabouts of the sergeant of the guard, and above all, pointing out the position of the Officer in charge, could be seen a revolver.
A voice rang out aimed in our general direction,” Where did those shots come from?” It was me” Tony shouted back in a weak and still quivering voice.” I thought I saw someone." but he didn't seem half as sure as he had been at first when he answered me.” Sergeant go and see what's going on.” ordered the Officer in charge.” Corporal have a check outside.” ordered the sergeaant."Airman slip over to the Bren and see what's happened out there.” ordered the corporal, and at last the figure of an airman, who had nobody to pass the buck to, emerged from the shadow of the doorway and came towards us. As he did so Tony's voice was again heard and this time with more confidence. Clearly troubled by that very active Christian conscience of his, he called out,” I’m sorry, I didn't really see anyone. I fired accidentally whilst trying to check the gun"
Further questioning revealed that he had no idea how to use the Bren because he was ill when he should have had instruction so it wasn't to be wondered at that he had an accident and it was fortunate that nobody was directly in his line of fire. Tony and I were ordered to swap duties but not until I had first shown the sergeant that I knew how to use the Bren gun. Tony’s real crime was in not telling the guard commander he was unfamiliar with the gun and this is what he was charged with the next day. He might well have got away with it if he had stuck to his first statement that he had seen someone but as it was he ended up on 'jinkers' and a series of fatigue duties. Ah well; we Christians all have our cross to bear.
Chapter 10
The rumour was going the rounds that we were about to leave Palestine. The Jews were within sight of achieving their objective of having a country of their own again. But all this seemed to have very little to do with us at Ein Shemer apart from the effect it had upon our freedom of movement outside the aerodrome. As the end of my second year in Palestine came closer the only really important thing as far as I was concerned was how soon I would be demobbed and could return to civvy street.
After struggling through a trade test I had reached the dizzy rank of Leading Aircraftsman and had been put in charge of the technical stores. I had a bit more pay, but not a lot, and a bit more responsibility, but not too much more and I knew the ins and outs of Ein Shemer well enough to know just what I could and could not get away with. Taking it all in all I was content enough to stay where I was until it was time for my demob until one day our stores Warrant Officer called me into his office and told me I was to be temporarily posted to 120 M.U..
An M.U. is perhaps best thought of as a wholesale warehouse from which the various camps and aerodromes order their equipment. To be posted to an M.U. was the ambition of most store bashers because their were many more 'perks' available to us than on other postings but I wasn't too pleased at the time. I was close to demob and could have done without all the hassle of moving and getting used to the workings of an M.U.. Although one was trained to work in any stores there were many aspects of the work involved which I would have to revise and re-learn.
No one could change what the powers that be had decided and although our squadron leader was losing almost half of his staff there was nothing he could do about it immediately so at best it was going to take some weeks before the postings could be changed.” We’ll soon have you lot back with us”, he said, but we were not so optimistic. Just before we left our Squadron Leader put a letter into my hand for delivery to the Chief Equipment Officer at the M.U. who was,apparently, a friend of his.” See to that for me please and save me a stamp.” I thought little about it at the time but soon found that it was, for me, a very useful letter indeed.
We did the rounds with our arrival chits when we got there and last of all reported to the Chief Equipment Officer to be allocated to the section in which we were to work. There were various warehouses each for a particular type of goods such as technical stores, aircraft stores, domestic stores, and so on. The plum of them all was, of course, the clothing stores but although those of us from Ein Shemer had been amongst the earliest arrivals we were left kicking our heels outside the office until everyone else had been allocated. I had handed over the letter I had been given as soon as I arrived and thought no more about it until I heard the Equipment Officer ask for me by name. "Ah you're the one I have to watch are you? You play the piano a bit don't you?. I wasn't too sure about the bit about watching although I was sure about the piano but I kept quiet.” Right then you and your mates report to the clothing section next door where I can keep an eye on you. Do you think you can manage that job.” There was no doubt at all that we could. What could be better than working in a clothing stores at an M.U. when one is about to be demobbed ?I have often wondered what Squadron Leader Sanderson had put in that letter to his friend but whatever it was it certainly did us a lot of good.
As a store-basher I wasn't too badly off already because all store-bashers used to stick together and although there were rules designed to prevent any fiddling such rules were easily bent especially as one gained experience and friends. It was as if each Equipment Assistant was at the centre of his own little web of power interlocked at numerous points into other webs with other Equipment Assistants at their centre. Need a new pair of socks? Ring Jack in clothing and see if he could use a few torch batteries. Radio on the blink? Ring Bill in electrical and see if he needs some shoes. So it went on and there was very little any of us could not get if we really needed to. There was even a slender strand of one of our webs leading into the cook's domain which made it possible for a bucket of tea to turn up every night in those lucky huts where a store-basher resided.
There was another spin off from that letter which I had so innocently carried and it led to an invitation to practice with the station dance band although I was only able to take advantage of this once because within two weeks I received a posting back to my old station at Ein Shemer. There I had to go through the same old signing in ritual once more and eventually arrived at the Station Warrant Officer's office. But there had been a change of incumbent whilst I was away and, instead of the rather portly and friendly figure who had so often re-arranged a guard duty so that the band could play in the mess, I was confronted by a much younger and more athletic person who was militarily accurate down to the last shiny button and was obviously filling the role of new broom to perfection and enjoying every minute of it.
Whilst at the M.U. one of the labourers, without my noticing, had splashed the leg of my trousers with white paint. It wasn't a very big mark but had I noticed it I would have been able to exchange them for a new pair almost at once. As it was I hadn't seen it until I actually arrived at Ein Shemer. But that dapper little S.W.O. saw it as soon as I set foot in his office and wanted to know what it was. I explained but got no sympathy whatsoever as he barked out,” Get rid of it! If I see it again you're on a charge.”. Not a very good start to my return but at least I still knew his office clerk and he billeted me in my old hut with my old friends.
As I left the office I glanced at the notice board more or less from habit and realised that the latest demob. list was there. I read through it and I saw my own number up there at last and after waiting so long could hardly believe my eyes. The last thing on my mind after that was a bit of paint on a trouser leg. But it still mattered to that new S.W.O. as I was soon to find out.
The daily working parade as conducted by the old S.W.O. had been quite a casual affair. There was the occasional purge if the attendance fell off too much but beyond that it was accepted that because of the variety of places in which Station Headquarters staff worked, there had to be some flexibility. The rule was that we had the parade and roll call and then marched off to our places of work but in fact the roll was very rarely called and we made our own way to wherever we had to go. We in the Technical Stores down on the aerodrome itself had quite a walk to work and usually could be seen strolling down the road with thumbs in the air begging a lift from one of our friends in the Motor Transport section which was opposite the stores.
The new S.W.O., like the new broom he was, intended to have things done by the book. If the rules said call the roll, called it would be, if the rules said march, we would march. We were all to be re-introduced to strict military behaviour even it killed us. It was certainly a good thing for us that he could only keep his eyes on us as far as the road which led down the hill to the technical site. Once out of sight we could revert to our own rules and get that thumb waving for a lift.
The other thing the new man did was to carry out a daily inspection of the parade. This was unheard of before and I was really caught out on the first morning after my return. Because I had not yet had time to get the mark off my trousers I decided they would do for the time being until I managed to change them for a new pair, although this was more difficult to arrange now that my demob. number had come up. Officially there was no way we could get anything new in the last weeks before leaving. As the S.W.O. passed behind me he stopped. I didn't so much see him stop as sense it and immediately knew what was the trouble. He had seen that spot of paint again. Shortly his voice boomed out,” You’re the airman I signed in yesterday. Why haven't you got rid of that mark?” I trotted out the only excuse I could think of.” Sir we aren't allowed to change any clothing in the last month before demob.”.” You’re a store basher aren't you?”.” Yes sir." I replied.
For what seemed an age he surveyed the offending mark and then he invited me to bend down and take a look. We both glared at the offending trouser leg but the mark showed no sign of vanishing of it's own accord and clearly the S.W.O. was totally unimpressed with a store basher who only had the regulation amount of kit and couldn't find a spare pair of trousers.” We are all aware of the tremendous difficulties the store keepers of this establishment have in keeping up appearances”, he said to the accompaniment of a ripple of laughter from the ranks,” but the indisputable fact that you also have to live with is, that if that mark comes to my attention once more you will finish your service on permanent jinkers."
For the next few days I settled down to the old routine and kept my nose clean, as the saying has it, and then one morning before we all went off to our various places of work we found ourselves unexpectedly marched off in another direction and towards the gymnasium. There we were confronted by a group best described as a 'shouting' of sergeants who were, we were brusquely informed, practising for a tug of war against a team from the officer's mess and we were to have the privilege of giving them some practice. They had decided it would be a good idea to have twenty or thirty airmen to pull against. They were full of enthusiasm but we certainly were not and did not try to be helpful at all. Nevertheless they kept us at it for a full hour before allowing us to go off to our work.
The store keepers amongst arrived at the various stores to find there scenes of utter chaos as great queues of people waited to pick up the various things they had ordered. There too waiting for an explanation were our Squadron Leader and our W.O.. When we told them of the tug of war session they were clearly not at all pleased but, of course, officers don't air their differences in front of other ranks. Nevertheless we knew perfectly well that the new S.W.O. was going to get a telephone call such as would make his ears burn as they had never burned before although we could only guess at the exact form of words. Suffice it to say that the following morning the first order given after the roll was called was,” Store bashers form three ranks over here and march off to your work. Whatever had been said over the phone had clearly had an immediate impact.
It seemed to be no time at all before I was again wandering from office to office around the aerodrome getting my departure chit signed up. The penultimate signature was that of the Chief Equipment Officer who was temporarily acting as Station Headquarters Squadron Leader at the time. As he signed my papers he gave me a pep talk about how good a life it was in the peacetime R.A.F. and how I was assured of promotion if I signed on but he realised very well that I had already made my mind up and soon went on to wish me good luck in my job in civvy street. I then headed for the next office to get the last signature of all from the S.W.O..
I knocked and waited for a while before a voice called me to enter. I hardly had time to say anything before he had me again.” Why is that paint still there airman? You're really in trouble this time.” In my excitement I had overlooked the fact that I was wearing the offending trousers. Then his eyes fell on the paper in my hand and he said,” Leaving us are you? Right wait outside until I am ready for you.” He made me wait for what semed an interminable time and then called me in. As I entered a head popped around the door of the adjoining office,” Hold the fort for me I have to go down to the stores.”, and then,” Hello Bates, I thought you would be on your way by now. Is there a problem? Sort him out S.W.O.! Good luck,Bates."and he left the office and climbed into a waiting jeep.
The S.W.O. slowly and deliberately signed my papers, asked a few perfunctory questions, congratulated me on going home, and finally with completely straight face and a stickler for the rules to the last said,” Get rid of that mark before you leave.” But we both knew that was one order that he could not enforce. I never did manage to cha