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Last night i was reading up on War time on the Quantocks, this was brought on when i found an old Illumination shell up in the hills.
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In 1943 a contingent of American troops 40th Tented General Field Hospital and American nurses were stationed in a specially built camp in Alfoxton Park as part of the preparations and build up to D-Day. They were welcomed by the locals who were entertained by concerts of folk songs and spirituals given by the black soldiers.
This all caused great excitement for the children in the area, and one lady recalled this:
if she was on the A39 as US troops were coming past they threw gum to them from the passing lorries, any that were not caught they were forbidden to pick up by the teaching staff - they did of course. She also remembers troops coming to the school yard for water from a standpipe again the children were forbidden to talk to them - you know what happened.
It was interesting to hear how school games were swapped for cutting wood and other practical tasks.
And as for the home guard.. Well the Quantocks Home guard was based in a hut and to start with they weren't too armed..
.''At first we had no weapons, but old Ernest Browning bought along his sledge hammer and I had my shotgun
I never did find out why a illumination shell was up in the hills, but i did learn lots about war time in Holford. Very warming stories too.
Without getting all PC about the whole thing.
Does anyone else have stories from their area, that's warming as well as entertaining in a humorous way.
3" mortar I believe. My dad had the tail section only, which I buried in the garden somewhere...never to be found again! 🙁
The new house owners are going to get a shock one day!
27 September 1940Seasalter is a small village located on the north coast of Kent, facing the Isle of Sheppey and the estuary of the River Swale. This part of the coast is famous for its oysters, fishing and sea marshes, which over the centuries came to serve as a source of salt production, giving the settlement its name. Eastward, the village is a stone’s throw from a fishing town of Faversham. To the west, a vast expanse of swampy marshland stretches broadly in all directions, bounded only by the sea to the north. Mud, clay and the badness of the water made the place unhealthy for settlement. There was one exception: the Sportsman Inn, a remote pub established in the 17th century at the coastal road between Whitstable and Faversham.
Throughout the late summer of 1940, the marshes gained a new role as an emergency landing ground for crippled aircraft. Located alongside an aerial route towards London, the marshy flats were often picked up by airmen to bring down their damaged aircraft. Even though the wheels-up landing could be treacherous if made on a swampy part of the marsh, this quality was not easily observable from the air and anyway, the approaches were clear of obstacles in all directions. A Dornier Do 17 came down on the mudflats at Seasalter on 13 August 1940. Another bomber crash-landed just off The Neptune pub at Whitstable on 16 August.
Waiting for even more downed airmen and aircraft was a detachment of 1st London Irish Rifles, billeted at the Sportsman pub with orders to capture any aircrew shot down in the countryside.
On 27 September, a Luftwaffe bomber would crash-land almost at their door.
The aircraft was a brand-new Junkers Ju 88A-5, the newest variant of this bomber which had been put into service only a few weeks previously. It was characterised by the extended wings, improved handling and upgraded navigational aids, and represented a state-of-the-art of the Lufwaffe’s bomber arsenal.
Piloted by Unteroffizer Fritz Ruhlandt, the Ju 88 was among a force which, despite fierce RAF opposition that day, fought their way through to the capital. Bad luck struck on their return leg from London, as Ruhlandt’s aircraft was hit by the anti-aircraft fire. The blast damaged one of the engines of the bomber, which lost power and gradually had to fall back from its formation. This made it a subject of further interest on the part of roaming Spitfires, which made repeated attacks trying to finish it off. Soon, both engines were out of action and Ruhlandt had no choice but to nurse his aircraft down to a crash landing.
The men gathered at the pub watched as the stricken aircraft approached the Graveney Marsh just outside their windows. The pilot brought down his plane skilfully on the grassy part of the marsh. It came to a halt several hundred yards from the pub.
The Captain of the London Irish regiment gathered an armed patrol of a dozen or so soldiers of the “A” Company, who grabbed their rifles and then departed to investigate the crash scene and put the crew under arrest. Although the aircraft was visible from their position, the distance across the marsh left the Germans a few precious minutes to act. This time was resolutely used by Ruhrland and his crew, who first evacuated the aircraft and then started working on destroying it. An explosive charge was placed under the wing. To secure the destruction of the classified equipment on board, the Germans decided to shot it to pieces, using hand-operated machine guns which were part of the bomber’s armament.
The sound of the machine gun fire had a startling effect on the unsuspecting British troops. They took immediate cover on the ground, taking it as shots being fired at them. They also returned fire. It is debatable whether there was an officer’s order to do it, or if shots were fired through panic and confusion of the moment. Either way, the Captain ordered his small force to split, positioning some of the men along the dykes of the marshland to provide cover for the second group, which advanced along another dyke towards the Junkers.
As they crouched within 50 yards of the aircraft, the Germans, realising they were now under fire, tried to wave a white flag. Unfortunately, this time the British troops were highly suspicious towards their intentions and the shooting continued until the Germans were finally overpowered. No one was killed, but two of the Germans were lightly injured during the fighting.
As the crew was about to be taken away, one of the British soldiers overheard a remark about a bomb in the aircraft which the crew expected to go up shortly. Reacting quickly and with considerable bravery, Lieutenant Christopher Cantopher managed to defuse the demolition charge.
So typically for the Battle of Britain, the entire episode ended in a pub. The captured crew was taken back to the Sportsman and invited for a pint of beer and cigarettes. The tension settled down completely, Ruhlandt’s foot injury was attended to and souvenirs were exchanged between the sides.
“The men were in good spirits and came into the pub with the Germans. We gave the Germans pints of beer in exchange for a few souvenirs. I got a set of enamel Luftwaffe wings.”
Corporal George Willis, piper of the 1st London Irish RiflesIn the end, the Luftwaffe air crew was picked for further investigation and then sent to a prisoner of war camp. The largely intact Junkers Ju 88 was recovered from the marsh and taken to RAF Farnborough for closer examination, the recovery operation providing another break in the monotony of life at the marshes.
Lady 6 doors away is 90, worked at Bletchley Park. Still keeps the code of silence. Respect.
My mum spent several hours in a ditch next to Shoreham Airfield during WW2 when a swimming expedition got interrupted by German bombers.
My father in law lived in Dorset and got given a tobacco tin full of English money by an American soldier on 4th June 1944. Probably thought he wouldn't need it again 🙁
Used to have one of them mortar rounds, we used to take them to school along with sherman tank shells 🙂
Neighbour dug up a battered German helmet on the range
Loads of Americans around the area in WW2.
North Hill above Minehead was a garrison and tank training ready for the invasion of Sicily, not so much ordanace turns up these days.
On the hill are a few buried bunkers and the foundation slabs of the workshops and whats just called "the tank ramp", close to that are some more building foundations and steps, one building remains the old radar station. Listed bunker down at Dunster marsh farm and several pill boxes litter the area.
The invasion of England defence plan.
Stop lines where drawn up and defence positions dug in. If the west country was invaded, a fighting withdrawl was to happen, the stop line was around Taunton, this was the line of last defence and to be held at all costs. A lot of bunkers have long gone, some are now being listed and protected.
On a story of humour.
Local farmer and black marketeer used to invite yank officers round to farm, while he got them smashed on cider the stable lad was draining the jeeps fuel tank, left enough for them to get back into Minehead.
Another scam was with the coloured troops (This is STW so avoiding colour words) they mostly where confined to the hill and not allowed into town, and they worked in the kitchens. They would sink cans of food into the pig swill bins, and in return the farmer would smuggle cider back on base for them in his tractor.
🙂 Sharki vist the top ship in Porlock, they have a little display in the bar from when the germans crash landed a bomber on Porlock beach, bit further down the cost was a waterhole used by U-boat crews to top up. 2 sunken U-boats in deep ish water further down coast, nothing to see unlike coast kids mini subs in Scotland.
worked at Bletchley Park. Still keeps the code of silence.
Not very well then, if you know she was there 😉
Post war story.
Back in 1960's the MOD decided to clean up some of the stuff they left buried.... you know just in case.
Some of the local lads saw the big piles of stacked shells on the cliff tops.
They found out what happens when you check them off the cliff 🙂
Lads are knocking 70 now
I've seen the TopShip display. It's great.
I've also read the stories of the U boat men playing football with rolled up overalls on a secluded beach, as he stretched their legs and collected fresh water. That was near the Hunters Inn, so maybe the same pub and story you know of.
My wife's granddad died 2 weeks ago.
He was in the first wave on D-Day and evacuated a few days later with shrapnel wounds.
He went on to a long career with the police.
His claim to fame is/was being Lincolnshire's oldest driver on a speed awareness course at the age of 93. "only 38 in a 30"!
RIP Tom
The house I grew up in in Bath belonged to the sister of [url= http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Cripps ]Sir Stafford Cripps.[/url]
Nowt special - just a victorian terrace about two miles out from the centre.
There was apparently a very elaborate and sturdy air-raid shelter under the garden shed. Dad bricked it up but allegedly found loads of wartime paper and plans.
Dunno whatever happened to them..
At the start of WW2 my grandad worked at the forge In Kirkstall (Leeds) he swapped shifts with another bloke who needed a different day off , the Germans scored a direct hit that night where my grandad would've been working.
When he joined up he was in the Royal Engineer corp in the far east (I got his photo album after he died) and was one of the witnesess at the Japanese surrender.
Not many happy stories. But me great-grandad used to make his own bikes, raced in the tour de France & was killed the great war. I'll stick a picture up when I learn how...
The British built a submarine pen in the middle of a forest (the New Forest to be precise)
After the war they returned to break it up and clear the area, but the equipment they took with them was not up to the job, so they buried it instead. It is still there today
[url= https://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?msid=214680271911509950593.0004d75bfaf805dccd1d9&msa=0&ll=50.926261,-1.716249&spn=0.001887,0.004823 ]Google Map link[/url]
bentandbroken - was that for bombing practice? There seem to be a couple of bomb craters to the south-west.
Taking you a bit literally with the thread title...
This link, from Deal, where I grew up, shows traces of Fougas flame defences behind the garden wall on Dover Road. There were lots of these experimental defences around the coast, including Deal and Sandwich. The little holes in the wall, in line with the big blocks behind, would have been horribly lethal flamethrowers...
Here's an old photo of one of the fuel tanks...
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They are still there (not the tanks, the bits that shot the flame), I'm in Manston, a fair bit of history here 🙂
cranberry - Memberbentandbroken - was that for bombing practice? There seem to be a couple of bomb craters to the south-west.
Yup
Its part of a 'bombing range'
There is a '[url= https://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?msid=214680271911509950593.0004d75bfaf805dccd1d9&msa=0&ll=50.940772,-1.709168&spn=0.007545,0.01929 ]target[/url]' with concentric rings as well. Hopefully you can see it in this link (it works well in some views, but not others)
WAAF Margaret Horton had an 'unexpected ride on the tail of a Supermarine Spitfire' while acting as a tailweight: she was sitting on the tail of the plane, as was common practice, in order to stop it overturning while it taxied to the end of the runway, a hazard stemming from design drawbacks, strong wind and bouncy grass field. The pilot, anxious to be airborne, forgot about her and failed to stop to allow the WAAF to jump off the tail. As soon as the plane was in the air, the pilot realised that there was something very wrong with the handling of his aircraft. He radioed the control tower to report the problem. The emergency services were called out and the pilot talked back in without being told what had happened. The aircraft landed safely with Margaret Horton still in one piece
One of my local rides goes through an old POW camp; home to a number of Italian and German officers.
Legend has it that an imprisoned u-boat captain, having seen a local pub when being marched back from the local fields, asked the camp commander if they could have a gentlemen's agreement that he would be allowed to go down the road for a pint if he promised to come back; that he would not try to escape.
The commander, being a bang up british gent, agreed; they shook hands, and he opened the gate to allow the nazi officer out for a pint.
Later that night, having walked to the wartime british pub in full nazi uniform much to the surprise of the regulars, the u-boat captain returned to the camp and his imprisoned status keeping to the gentleman's agreement made with the british officer. He then went back to plotting how to escape once more.
If you've heard of [url= http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wojtek_%28soldier_bear%29 ]Wojtek the bear[/url], my grandad was in that company of the Polish army and travelled around the world with Wojtek. Wojtek died in my local zoo, too. The book by Aileen Orr is quite nice and worth a read, quite sad in many ways. The company logo with Wojtek carring a shell is one of the few things I've considered having tattooed on me.
I don't know how heart-warming it is but the main Spitfire factory is a couple of miles or so from my house. I get a strange sense of pride when I go past... My secondary school was a post office for the US Army. Some of my fellow pupils met some veterans who had served there. My great grandmother a lovely but feisty lady was only just missed by a Luftwaffe rear gunner. She was so sick of the disruption and damage caused by attacks on the nearby Kenley aerodrome that she got out of the shelter during a raid and shook her fist as the aircraft literally flew down her road at low altitude.
My step dad's mum made a cup of tea for a downed german pilot during The Battle of Britain.
Most of the men in my area joined the local regiment - the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders.
Churchill decided to sacrifice them at St Valery en Caux to delay the German advance to allow the Dnkirk evacuation. They were told they would be evacuated from St Valery, but weren't told of the high cliffs between them and the beach. The company my grandfather was in fought close combat with bayonets for 3 days because they had no ammo. He had some impressive bayonet scars himself.
So what was good and warm about that?
Eventually they got to surrender and so a decent proportion of them survived WW2 unlike WW1 which wiped out a generation of Highlanders, and I got to keep a grandfather.
The guy I work with, his father was at Arnhem. This is his citation:
During the Battle for the Bridge at Arnhem, Private Lygo was No.1 of a PIAT detachment attached to No.3 Platoon. This Platoon was holding a forward position, east of the Bridge, and was subjected to almost continuous enemy attack. On the 19th September three armoured cars approached close to the Platoon and started firing into the building. Private Lygo fired four bombs obtaining three direct hits and thus forcing them to withdraw. During this time the fire of the armoured cars was directed almost entirely against him. Soon after this two Mark III tanks approached and shelled the Platoon at very close range. Once again, though under heavy and direct fire, Private Lygo engaged the tanks and succeeded in burning out one and forcing the other to withdraw. Private Lygo's PIAT was the only Anti-Tank weapon in the vicinity and it was mainly due to his coolness and courage in the face of devastating fire that the Platoon was able to hold this house for so long. Throughout these engagements he was isolated from the remainder of the Platoon and was acting entirely on his own initiative. On the second occasion he deliberately exposed himself to heavy fire in order to work his weapon forward to a position where he could get a more accurate shot.
Not warming but impressive!
My father was in charge of one of the forts off Portsmouth at one point during WW2, and told of one Stuka raid where a bomb fell near the kitchens.
A door opened from the remains of the building and the chef appeared, covered in red.
It turned out he had been in the storeroom and some shrapnel had flown past, smashing the tomato ketchup jars that were near him and covering him in ketchup!
Another of my fathers stories involved fishing trips during breaks, where they went out in a wooden rowing boat and dropped grenades over the side, and then collected the stunned fish as they floated to the surface.
After a while one of the grenades managed to rotate itself such that the large plug section in the base shot upwards and through the bottom of the boat, sinking them!
Other stories involved reciting that flame-throwers were much the most effective weapon in the jungles of Burma, using the bloated backsides of people who had been shot and fallen into the river near some bridge as navigating landmarks, and how, if they captured any Japanese soldiers they would keep them for a few days and then let them go. When they got back to their own lines they would be executed because of the shame of being captured, and also questioned over why they had been released, believing that they must have 'talked'.
The autobiography of George MacDonald Fraser, the guy who wrote the Flashman novels, is very good - also based in Burma but with the Cumbrian regiment.
His opinions on modern day PTS are interesting, blaming the media, etc for not allowing people to push those feelings/traumas 'down', stiff upper lip style, to ignore them and forcing people to be more aware of them.
last visit home dad showed me some army photos - he was transport, you could see the smile on his face as the memories kicked in
Gearbox McCormick - named after incessant gear changing
Crazy Daisy the Bedford Basher - the odd accident and in convoy everybody wanted to be with them as they could work out bomb patterns and drive through them
quite a few photos of muscly fit people sitting on lorries and landrovers, not seen them before in 53 years...seen every other bloody family photo so often it's tedious, maybe next visit I'll see what else comes out
One day he got to drive some very senior officer to dest X and he got lucky and got the special truck - the boys had got a bigger engine and done some 'work' on it and it was a bit tasty for it's time, so off they went, got to the destination and the very senior officer (who said nothing on the journey) turned to him and said Wrong Destination - dad looked at him, then checked his orders and said No Sir this is Dest X, the officer then smiled and started getting out and said 'you should have landed this at the bloody airport son, wait here for me I'm going back tonight', he also got somebody from the officers mess to take dad coffee/sarnie - something that very rarely happened.
We have a bit of the GHQ line running down the local canal and through the woods so lots of pillboxes to look at 🙂
The book by Aileen Orr is quite nice
added to my amazon basket...
My Nan's village in the pyrenees was a final stopover before Andorra for escaping airmen. 😀 [img] 
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flap_jack - Member
Lady 6 doors away is 90, worked at Bletchley Park. Still keeps the code of silence. Respect.
I heard a story recently about a lady who lived in Torquay until she died not long ago. She kept schtum about here activities in WW2 spying in France as part of SOE right until the end - except for an "appearance" on a modern TV documentary, disguised in a wig and dark glasses.
Clearly old habits die hard.
Not WWII, but I can top Carlo's story.
At the start of WWI my grandfather was a guard at Hartlepool docks, a very important coal port at the time.
He was courting my granny at the time, & swapped shifts with a mate to take her out.
The German fleet shelled Hartlepool that night, & his mate was the first person killed on British soil in WWI. There's now a monument to mark the spot.
Rob went on to win a MM, next bravery award down from a VC.
I heard this tale from a local bloke whose dad was in the forces during WW2.
He was coming home to Prestwich (Manchester) on leave to see his mum and decided to pop into the local for several pints on the way. Then a lone German aircraft flew over and shot up Bury Old Road - The RAF used the adjacent Heaton Park in Manchester as a transit camp.
At this point the pub emptied and several pissed up squaddies stumbled out into the street and blazed off quite a lot of ammunition at it. By some miracle neither the German pilot nor the drunken soldiers managed to hit anything of any significance, but it did liven up what would ordinarily have been a quiet afternoon.
George, a young boy was shipped out of London during the war, as many were and moved up to the North East of England to live with a family. They had a young daughter called Margaret.
After the war George returned home but never forgot about Margaret, they kept in touch and finally he moved back up to the North and they got married and lived happily for 50+ years together until they both died a few years ago within month of each other.
RIP Uncle George and Auntie Margaret....
My Grandpa was in the RAF during WWII he was an airtraffic controller stationed in the Azores, nice and warm there. The only picutre in uniform I've seen is him standing in full dress uniform in a tropical garden.
My mates dad told us this story about being a ten year old in Newport during the war. Apparently German bombers would navigate using the Bristol Channel. Him and his mate were up on the Ridgeway in Newport which is a ridge of high ground overlooking the town, docks and Bristol Channel. They could hear lots of planes flying around and the anti aircraft guns were firing. Out of the clouds diving quite steeply came a Heinkel bomber, they just stood watching this thing about 500 feet off the ground. The gunner at the front of it opened fire at them, my mates dad described the sound of bullets whizzing past them and hitting the ground where they were standing. A Hurricane came out of the cloud and shot the bomber down and it crahed into the channel. He said this happened in a matter of seconds, they were shocked and just stood there and an ARP man ran up to them to see if they were ok and took them home. No one got out of the plane they watched it go in. The next day they went back and dug up the bullets 🙂 The other thing he had from the war were shotgun cartridges that were called Rabbit cartridges but were really anti person shells that just contained 2 or 3 big ball bearings. A bit of subterfuge if the Germans had ever landed.
there was some bloke who used to be real celebrity around here. here being Munich.....
there is a massive above ground Luftschützbunker just arond the corner. in fact, there are loads of Nazi era bits around.
Just a few:
Mother in law lived in london during the blitz when she was little. They would spend the nights in the underground and american troops would pass on though. The soldiers would often put chocolate bars in her hand as she slept.
My Nan was a showgirl who entertained the troops, if it wasn't for a certain amorous american, my dad & i wouldn't be here. This after my nan had leaned that my grandad was missing in action, presumed dead. He turned up in POW camp by bridge over the river Kwai. Nan had some explaining to do, but since they went on to have 4 other sons they presumably worked it out.
The Radar was developed at Bawdsey, which was accessible by a ferry. This was run by my mums side of the family, which at the time was my great granddad Charles Brinkley, who lost his hand on a shooting accident. This hand was replaced with a hook and resembled a tool used during the development. The tool became known as the Brinkley hook.
Mums dad was a nav in the RAF, he was in a liberator going from the USA to back home, across the Atlantic was a dull few hours, eating his dinner at his little table, a bit of sauce fell out if his sandwich onto the map, he had the pilot fly " around" the stain.
Mum still has the bit of map and the log entry that says " course corrections to avoid Worcester"
My Grandad was on the anti aircraft guns in Malta which I think was the most bombed place during the war.
He never said much about it apart from the fact they were always black from the oil drums of tar they would burn to give them some cover.
grew up on an island on the south coast, they used to light fires on the marshes to confuse the bombers that it was porstsmouth. remember a kid digging in the mud and finding a flying helmet, i found a medal in the same area, another guy found a bomb.
went surfing once in devon over some rocks at high tide. came back later and was not allowed to go in, a mine had come up on the rocks. watched it get exploded, a very unsatisfactory 'pop'.
wife's grandad was the super secret dads army. apparently their munitions dumps were in the hills above the local village.
when we lived in the village i had very visual recurring dreams of planes crashing, different scenarios but always a plane coming down or landing suddenly somewhere it should'nt. found out later that a german bomber had come down in the fields (as they were then, now a housing estate) behind our house. since moving 5 years ago i have not once had the dream.
My Mum used to stand on Hoylake seafront as a girl in the war and watch Liverpool burn at night in the Blitz.
Doest that count as a warming story?
My paternal great-grandfather was part of the AA gun crew that shot down the first Zeppelin over Britain during the great war.
My maternal grandfather was an artilleryman in the 8th Army during WWII. I heard my dad ask him about North Africa and Tobruk.
"Bloody loved it i did, birds, beer and sunshine, bloody great". The fact that the entire Afrika Korps were shelling him across the Quattara Depression didn't seem to bother him!
When asked about the Italian Campaign he was heard to say "Hated it, every town we went to was nothing but bloody rubble, no bars, no beer, no women, bloody **** it was"
Yes grandad, that's because you'd been dropping 8lb shells on the place for a week beforehand!
When I was a kid, we used to tease an old man who lived nearby.
He was slow on his feet and always used to be wandering around.
As I got older (about 16) my mum started driving him to her work (a secondary school), because at the age of 70+) he regretted never having achieved much at school and wanted to study for some higher exams. He sat in lessons every day with 15-16 year old pupils from a pretty rough area.
He took a keen interest in my family, mostly due my mother's generosity, but he always bought thoughtful gifts for birthdays and would listen at great length to how my brother and I were getting on (despite us not taking much to do with him).
One day, he passed me a book, rather timidly, and suggested that I might enjoy it.
It was about Russian Convoys during WW2.
It was about him.
As a young lad, my emotions weren't quite developed yet, but thinking about it all now makes the room very very dusty indeed.
Donald was a true hero from 15 years of age, the same age as me when I used join in the mickey taking with the other lads from school.
He's still going on regular walks around the village where I grew up, only now when I see him I relish the opportunity to find out everything I can about him and his utterly engaging life.
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[url= http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/08/a6234608.shtml ]A wee bit about Donald on the BBC[/url]
not heart warming but quite funny as told to me by a quite old employee of suffolk council whilst doing some bridge maintence on a very rural bridge in the 70's some very strange shaped qbjects were found under the bridge these"objects" had been painted over several times over the years one of the road crew working on the bridge had been in the royal engineers during the 60's and had a quick look and thought they looked like demoltion charges bomb disposal from colchester were called and sure enough they were what he thought seams the bridge had been wired during the early 40's in case of invasion and they had been forgotten about 😯
This is what my daughter dug up in out back garden.
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Thankfully decommissioned as she came up the garden with it on the prong of a garden fork, she was about 8 at the time.
There are still some gardens with the old green corrugated huts, being used as sheds. The bomb disposal who came out for this said that people used to hide munitions in case we were ever invaded.
A few. We lived in New Mills. The largest fuel tanks in Britain were held in the tunnels at Chapen en le Frith over the hill. Apparently, accordingling to my dad, of the bombs w3ould have hit them they'd have blown Buxton off the map.
Mor personal then,the only two bombs dropped on New Mills during the war were two. One dropped on the labour exhange and went off. One dropped on my Uncle Harrie's back outhouse and didn't go off. He had a photo of it. It was the size of a small car, just sat there, half cocked on his demolished outhouse.
My uncle Harry fought in the first world war. He hated Germans. Re3ally ****ing heated the. He fought in one war and thought that was in, then they started a second war and dropped a bomb on his crapper. He had this big eff off knife that looked like ut had been used to gut elephants, he showed it me once and told me if any Germans called at his house he'd stick it in them.
Later, just before he died, he gave me a toy gun to play with. My dad took it off me when I got home. You know, what with it being a real gun and everything.
One of my Great Uncles was in R&D in Rhydymwyn Works but he was then shipped off to to Los Alamos for the rest of the war, he never said to anyone what he did, but I have a guess that one of his older brothers had a serious effect on him, as I remember sitting on the knee of my Great Uncle Wid when I was a nipper about 1970 in the nursing home with him wheezing away with his oxygen mask due to the mess made of his lungs in the first war by being gassed in the trenches.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._S._Factory,_Valley
Watching the yesterday channel makes you realise how close we were to being invaded and how brave the people were that were out fighting. - the Taunton stop line is an interesting visit, lots to see. Watching D day landings and visiting the landing beaches makes you realise also how lucky we were and it was down to the bravery of people like our fathers/mothers/grandfathers /grandmothers etc etc Having got to 62 I am grateful not to have gone through what the country did both in ww1 and ww2.
Good thread, enjoyed reading it
During the start of the war My grandad's Twin brother (Eddie) was enlisted in the postal regiments of the Army.
He was based in Nottingham at christmas time, Colin their younger brother was getting very little for Chistmas and Eddie was owed some leave and had what was to him a big wad of cash. He went to the Raleigh factory and bought Colin a 3 speed bike direct and rode it 50 miles to West Bromwich in time for Christmas lunch.
My Grandad had joined the Fire Brigade before the war started, much to his family's annoyance that as their eldest son, he hadn't stayed with the family funeral director and wheelwright business.
When the German bombing raids started he was posted to a mobile rapid reaction Fire team and had to race to which ever Midlands/North West city was being targeted. He could be in Liverpool one night and Coventry the next. He was in Coventry during the worst of the raids on the City and was amongst the firemen who tried in vain to save the Cathedral.
He told a few stories like the time they rescued the crew from a downed German bomber that had crash landed in fields nr Manchester. Moments later the plane was in flames and the remaining bomb load went up.
He actually ended up living in Coventry as the Chief Fire Officer for the city.
My folks live in the countryside nr Barnard Castle - 50m away in the field behind their house there are 3 large holes which fill with water after heavy rain. A german bomber had released it's remaining bomb load on it's way home after a raid on Newcastle or Sunderland.
Warming? I was in Stuttgart (including the anti-Stuttgart 21 rally 😉 ), Heilbronn and Mannheim last week and this week I'm in a place where resistance members were shot and Jews handed over. All fairly chilling really.
Old cycling club mate of my parents Bill, was left behind in France after the BEF withdrew. Managing to evade capture and was taken in by a French family, they used the cover story that he was a cousin from another part of France.
Over a period of time he was taught to speak fluent French, and the resistance arranged false papers for him to make his way down to Spain.
Having made is way across occupied France he reached Vichy France, reaching a town not far from the border, where failing to find the safe house he asked a police man for directions. Even with his flawless French the office then said “Your from Birmingham”.
Tuned out he has spent some time before the war in the midlands so recognised the accent. Copper turned him in and he spent the rest of the war in a POW camp.
When he died (and that was a story in its self) there was a deputation from the French resistance organisation at his funeral
Different kind of story really. When my dad was in his early teens he used to pal around with his cousin George who was 2years older In September 1944 George joined up and left with the Argyll and Southern Highlanders. Sadly dad never saw George again as he was killed in NW Europe in March 1945 aged only 18. Dad always said he regretted never visiting his grave so last week he and I travelled to the Reichswald Forest War Cemetery in Germany where he finally paid his respects 68 years after his death. This week my dad suffered two heart attacks and is facing major surgery at the age of 84 Whatever happens I think we're both glad to have gone
Dad joined the Navy in '38. Specialised as a Wireless Telegrapher, was the youngest Petty Officer & CPO of his generation (a boxing victory against the army mid-heavyweight "champion" may have helped here 😉 )
Served at Dunkirk (where he lost his best mate (who was sitting next to him) to a german 88mm shell that failed to detonate as the armour in the radio room was so thin so it passed through!) North Atlantic, the Med (task force H), the north atlantic convoys (russian), then out to the far east. As a regular he served till '57 was comissioned in '51 for the Korean War. He had 5 ships sunk from under him (4 of them in a row) - he always said it was like the Germans were taking his participation personally! To quote him direct,
"Steve Duffy's on that ship... Sink it!"
Best tale he ever told was when he was serving on a Destroyer (could have been Cossack) on convoy escort duty, they were escorting the RMS Queen Mary full of US troops into the Mull of Kintyre. They were into the Mull itself when the alert went out that a U boat had got past the submarine nets.
The escorts closed alongside the Queen Mary (thus acting as sacrificial shields), they were in blackout, the QM obviously towered way above the escorts, dad stepped out onto the Bridge wing and looked up.... all he could see from the QM were the red trails of cigarettes & cigars of the yanks as they ran around on the upper decks... Dad says they were obviously in a major panic and must have thought the sound of the escort destroyers closing on the QM (effectively colliding) were torpedo hits, next thing he sees a shape descending towards them... BAROOOOOOOOMMMM ... cue one of QM's lifeboats with 40+ americans landing on the hapless british destroyer thankfully with only minor injuries.. the silly buggers had started to abandon ship in panic.
The escorts immidiately began to turn on their deck lights as their commanders realised that the risk of being torpedoed was less than being sunk by falling life boats... bearing in mind a liner of that eras lifeboats are something like 30' - 40' in length and about 10 - 15 tons.. so a couple landing on a small warship potentially could capsize it.
Not so much a local story, however...
When I was living in Moscow (1997/8ish) we decided to take our local workers for a couple of beers after work. We went to the local workers drinking emporium, a bit of a grim affair with poor beer, no music, chairs or bar to speak of but it did have a couple of Formica tables that stood at at chest height.
Anyway, there was about 10 of us stood round the table - 3 UK expats and 7 local lads. Now in 1997/8 there weren't too many British workers in Moscow (not sure how many there are now!) and I guess we could stand out a bit with the clothes that we wore and speaking English of course.
After we had been in the bar for about an hour-ish, a pensioner in a well worn suit pushed his way through the crowd and up to our table. Once he had managed to shuffle in between a couple of us, he banged his fist on top of the Formica table in order to get our attention.
"Excuse, are you young men from England" he enquired.
"Yes" I replied.
I thought he was about to give us a speech about the English needing to come to Moscow for work or a lecture on politics but instead he nodded and wandered off through the crowd of drinkers without saying another word.....
A little later the elderly gent returned to our table with something concealed in a brown paper bag. He banged his paper bag down on our table and produced 11 small white plastic glasses from his suit pocket. He presented all of us with a glass and removed the brown paper bag to reveal a bottle of Vodka!
He carefully removed the top from the bottle of Vodka, crushed the metal bottle top with his hands and threw it to the floor.
He poured each of us a small amount of Vodka, he poured his own drink last of all.
"Nostravia" he shouted as he held the Vodka above his head and then emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth and carefully placed the empty glass on the Formica table.
We all looked at each other, smiled, shrugged our shoulders and copied him, shouting "Nostravia" and drinking the surprisingly good Vodka. One of the local lads commented that the Vodka was indeed very good and went on to state "Bolshoi dengi Vodka".
The old man then filled all the eleven glasses again, emptying the bottle of Vodka.
Once again, "Nostravia" he shouted and the Vodka was gone in one! We followed he lead without pause this time.
He hadn't said a word apart from his salute to the Vodka since his return.
We thanked him for his generosity and said it was now our turn to buy him a drink.
"No, no , no my new English friends. I do not need another drink today" he replied. His English was better than my Russian and I noticed that he had a great many badges (politic party?) on his tatty lapel. He came across as a very proud man.
We insisted but he firmly refused our offer. Money was very tight for the average person in Moscow at the time and the bottle of Vodka must have cost him a lot of money.
We asked why he had bought us the Vodka and after a long pause me told us his story...
"When I was a young man, about the same age as you, I was fighting in WWII. I was fighting the Nazis with my comrades, we fought shoulder to shoulder. We fought for our lives and for our country. The fighting was fierce and I got separated from my friends, my comrades, my countrymen"
"I was lost and frightened. I stumbled across some men, I thought they would kill me but they helped me. They were English"
"We fought together, shoulder to shoulder, like comrades. Me and the young English men. They were very brave. I knew that I had to return to my countrymen and when I had the opportunity I thanked the English men for their kindness and left them to return to my company"
"As I left them I promised myself that the next Englishmen I meet I would buy them a drink, I have now bought my English friends that drink"
With that he thanked us and left the room. His story still makes me feel humble after all these years.
Nothing much but my Dad told me recently about getting blown out of bed from the impact of the bombs falling in the Blitz - he grew up in East London. Was evacuated not long after, which he hated.
It was weird hearing this from my own father, who must've been about 4 at the time. WW2 seems like a story to our generation.
Harder to hear was in WW1, my great grandfather (who was German but had emigrated to London) was conscripted back to the German army and had to fight the English. The family saw this as treachery and refused to talk to him ever again... and he died in the 60's having never spoken to his family again. I think the impact of this on my Gran was significant - feeling abandoned by her father. She also had to go through the pain of racial abuse (being half-German). An unglamorous and unheard impact of war...