War can be fun!

I was just 11 when the war began. For me and my friends it was all good news. We were about to begin at senior school, but it's opening was delayed for several weeks. When it finally opened we spent our time sticking paper crosses to the windows and doing air-raid shelter drill.

We lived about 300 yards outside the Birmingham boundary so we didn't qualify for air-raid shelters or evacuation.

My fther was an engine driver on the G.W.R., and worked variable hours in normal times. During the first air-raid, he was at work, and I sat with my mother under the stairs. After half-an-hour,hearing nothing at all, my mother went outside to see what was happening, and found we hadn't heard the air-raid siren, only the "all clear".

Next morning I went out with some friends and we were excited to find shrapnel in the streets. The challenge was to find the biggest piece.

One morning we saw a German bomber flying above, looking lost, and we watched as it was shot down by a fighter aircraft. We all cheered and we knew we would win the war. My parents were not so convinced.

In fact they thought I should be evacuated and arranged for me to stay with a farmer and his wife in Herefordshire.

I realy enjoyed it. I was up at 5a.m. each morning to let the hens our of the hen houses. Then with the help of a sheep dog I brought 20 head of cows down the road for milking. I helped with the milking and the "mucking out" and then had an enormous breakfast. I had to walk about three miles to school across the fields with two local lads who lived at the gate house across the field.

I learned to use a shot-gun to kill crows and rabbits (and one day perhaps a German!). I learned to lead a cart horse pulling a loaded cart, or ploughing or sowing. I learned to drive a tractor and a car. I learned how to castrate pigs, although I was only used as an assistant.

The village school was fun too. There were two teachers one for the 5 to 10 year-olds and the other (the head mistress)for 11 to 14 year olds.

The Head Mistress was brilliant at football and cricket and what I learned from her provided a good basis for many years to come.

My parents were concerned about my education and I returned to a school in Birmingham and was promptly evacuated again. This time it was to Cinderford in the Forest of Dean. Another lad and I were billeted in the town. We didn't like our foster parents who seemed incapable of understanding children, and we decided they were doing it for the money. We complained to the "authorities" and were moved to another billet. Here the people were welcoming and fun, but very strict. The husband was a miner who had been badly injured down the pit, and now worked above ground.

Every Friday evening hot water was boiled and put in a metal bath in from the fire. We took it in turns. The foster mother made sure we were clean and she scrubbed our backs.

Towards the end of the war the bombing was less and I returned to Birmingham. While I had been away, an uncle of mine who was a gun-smith had his workshops in Birmingham distroyed by bombing, and had taken over a redundant garage 10 miles from Birmingham for he workshop. His speciality was rifling barrels and he was approached officially to experiment with different rifling techiques to improve accuracy and velocity.

My mother had worked for him towards the end of the first world war and had rare experience of the skills of rifling. She agreed to return after a 25 year absence. She was allowed extra petrol to cover the journey each day.

I remember my father, who had been in the Royal Flying Corps during the previous was saying he would have been much safer had he been allowed to join the R.A.F.

One night he was put in a siding to pemit urgent trains to go by. During a bombing raid the rear of his train was hit, but he and his mate were able to rescue the guard from his van without injury.

One Xmas he was due to arrive home from work on Xmas Eve. However he didn't arrive, and my mother, who was used to such delays, didn't worry. By Xmas morning she was more apprehensive. Later during the afternoon there was a knock at the door and a railway official was invited in. He said he was sorry to report that my father wouldn't be home for Christmas. He had been with his train in a siding and there was a heavy bombing raid. The exit rails from the siding had been badly damaged and it would take many hours to repair them. As he was about 50 miles from home he would be in lodgings for the night and. hopefully home tomorrow. Christmas day was an unhappy one for us.

When the war ended I had started work as a cup reporter on a local paper. The reporting staff were very elderly mostly having been recalled from retirment. The day after the war ended I was sent out with an elderly reporter to interview passers-by. Opposite the office was a pub, into which the reporter disappeared saying: "I'll leave it to you to do the interviews. You can have your copy ready for me in the reporters' room when I return".

From that moment I was an adult. I had been deeply influenced by the stoicism of those I had known and the camaraderie that existed amongst the people in general. I had also learned that war "wasn't fun".

One final memory was the short time I spent in a village school to facilitate my mother's work on guns. I was in the same class as my wife-to-be; but we cannot remember each other although we can recall the other members of the class.

We met again, still not knowing each other, at a dance in l948. We were married in l951 -- and still going strong.

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