World War II
This year, 2005, marked the 60th anniversary of the ending of World War II. The official end of the war in Europe.
'VE Day' was celebrated on the 8th May 1945 and the war was finally over when Japan capitulated and 'VJ Day' was declared on the 15th August.
'VE Day' was celebrated on the 8th May 1945 and the war was finally over when Japan capitulated and 'VJ Day' was declared on the 15th August.
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Rodney Vincent was a schoolboy living in the small East Cambridgedshire village of Wood Ditton during most of the war years and the following account of how life changed during that momentous six year period has been taken from his book 'A Tanner Will Do'.
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Village housewives worked on the land alongside the men during the war. This happy group was snapped while hoeing beans on land near Camois Hall. Winnie Woollard, landgirl 'Dick', Violet Bridge Charlie Woollard, Charlie Hardy, Reg Setchell, Charlie Bridge |
The coming of World War II shattered the slow-changing pattern of life in the village as many outside influences were thrust upon us and we found ourselves precipitated into the twentieth century.
During 1938 and 1939, as the threat of war became more and more serious, apprehension grew that the Germans might have devilish weapons capable of reaching us, even in the quiet remoteness of the village. The terror bombing of the Spanish town of Guernica in 1937 had provided a frightening demonstration of their destructive air power.
During 1938 and 1939, as the threat of war became more and more serious, apprehension grew that the Germans might have devilish weapons capable of reaching us, even in the quiet remoteness of the village. The terror bombing of the Spanish town of Guernica in 1937 had provided a frightening demonstration of their destructive air power.
BBC Children's Learning web site
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The government too became apprehensive and everybody in the village attended the school to be fitted with their personal gas-mask. The things smelt of rubber, brought on a feeling of claustrophobia and the mica windows steamed up with condensation from the breath: "Put your chin in first, then pull the straps over your head," advised the officials. The villagers struggled to pull the pig-snouted, sinister looking masks over their faces; straps caught in ladies' hair buns as 'farty' noises and muffled protests came from within.
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"I'm proper steamed up, I can't see a damn thing"; "It's whooley stiflin' me"; "Lord save us!"
Inoffensive spinster Elfie Freestone tore off her mask in exasperation: "Take that thing away, pray do," she pleaded. She would rather take her chance should poison gas descend on the village.
Inoffensive spinster Elfie Freestone tore off her mask in exasperation: "Take that thing away, pray do," she pleaded. She would rather take her chance should poison gas descend on the village.
Staunch locals, too old for military service, took appointments as air raid precautions (ARP) wardens. Mr Dugdale ('The Major') a retired army officer living at The Limes, who had lost a leg in World War I, briefly held the position of chief-warden. He decided he couldn't continue, explaining that by the time he had screwed on his artificial leg the air raid would probably be over. Somebody with a telephone was needed and village schoolteacher, Mrs Grace Hatley (tel. Stetchworth 4) took over the job. We were told that in the event of a gas attack the wardens wearing their masks would walk or cycle around the village sounding hand rattles. Only the village policeman and the chief-warden had telephones so we were none too confident that the warning would arrive before the gas.
Despite our fears we had patriotic confidence in our country's defences. The Royal Air Force had the latest Spitfire and Hurricane fighter 'planes with eight machine-guns mounted in the wings, as well as the new Wellington and Blenheim bombers. We all knew that the Royal Navy was the best in the world. Surely the great British Empire would never be defeated.
Despite our fears we had patriotic confidence in our country's defences. The Royal Air Force had the latest Spitfire and Hurricane fighter 'planes with eight machine-guns mounted in the wings, as well as the new Wellington and Blenheim bombers. We all knew that the Royal Navy was the best in the world. Surely the great British Empire would never be defeated.
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On the day war was declared, Sunday September 3rd 1939, the skies began clearing by midday leaving puffy cotton-wool clouds. Suddenly the roar of gunfire from above struck fear into our hearts. We immediately thought the Germans had wasted no time in attacking; we must grab our gas masks and get to the shelter. Frank Woollard, one of the newly appointed ARP wardens, probably with memories of the Zeppelins used in the previous war, warned: "The devils are hiding in the clouds!" It came as something of an anticlimax when the noise turned out to be a Spitfire shooting down a stray barrage balloon that had broken away from its mooring cable in the recent gales. We had received our first taste of war!
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Many householders dug air raid shelters in their gardens, shored up with timber and covered with eighteen inches of earth. Our family shared the cost of building a shelter with Alf Brown, a carpenter neighbour, who agreed to carry out the excavation and construction. Unfortunately the only suitable piece of ground stood at the end of the stud farm lane, a hundred yards away. During the autumn of 1939 the wailing of the air raid sirens at Newmarket started to sound at night. Not knowing what terrors to expect we leapt out of bed, donned overcoats or blankets and hastily stumbled in the darkness to the shelter, Sam our black spaniel leading the way. Unfortunately, before many weeks had passed, the autumn rains caused the ground water level to rise and we found ourselves sitting on the rough wooden benches with our feet in water. After three such experiences, and not having enough Wellington boots to go round, we decided to take our chance with the bombs rather than die of pneumonia. We never used the shelter again.
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The ARP wardens were taking their jobs very seriously. Bill Cook, our local warden, urgently knocked on the door of any house showing a chink of light through the black-out curtains: "Do you want them German bombs rainin' down? Cover up that light!"
On moonless nights the village street, in normal times dimly charted by the glow of oil lamps showing through curtains, became totally dark with the black-out. On one such night I crossed the road to fill our water-can from the communal tap and became disorientated. Not a star or searchlight beam broke the pitch-blackness. After experiencing a brief attack of mild panic I eventually stumbled over the kerb and felt my way along until reaching our gate.
Vehicle headlamps were required to be fitted with officially approved masks, allowing only a tiny amount of light to filter onto the road ahead. Even cycle lamps and torches had to be partially obscured by layers of tissue paper. This was a dangerous time for pedestrians and cyclists, and vehicle owners painted the edges of mudguards and running-boards white to show up better in the darkness.
Criss-crossing pencil beams of search-lights probing the night sky and the distant drone of 'planes - thankfully ours at that time - became an abiding memory of early wartime. German night raids didn't start until nearly a year later.
On moonless nights the village street, in normal times dimly charted by the glow of oil lamps showing through curtains, became totally dark with the black-out. On one such night I crossed the road to fill our water-can from the communal tap and became disorientated. Not a star or searchlight beam broke the pitch-blackness. After experiencing a brief attack of mild panic I eventually stumbled over the kerb and felt my way along until reaching our gate.
Vehicle headlamps were required to be fitted with officially approved masks, allowing only a tiny amount of light to filter onto the road ahead. Even cycle lamps and torches had to be partially obscured by layers of tissue paper. This was a dangerous time for pedestrians and cyclists, and vehicle owners painted the edges of mudguards and running-boards white to show up better in the darkness.
Criss-crossing pencil beams of search-lights probing the night sky and the distant drone of 'planes - thankfully ours at that time - became an abiding memory of early wartime. German night raids didn't start until nearly a year later.
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Much activity occurred behind the closed perimeter of the new airfield on Newmarket Heath (the Rowley Mile racecourse), four miles to the north-west of us. Before the year ended the Wellington bombers of No 99 Squadron had made one of the early raids of the war, attacking German shipping near Heligoland. Optimistic reports of the action in the newspapers and on the wireless were not supported by the stories coming from Newmarket. Our bombers, sent out in daylight, proved highly vulnerable to attack by German Messerschmitt fighters. Many failed to return. The loss of life of the young aircrews, a few of whom we had come to know, seemed terrible and gave a foretaste of the horrors of war at a time when the major battles had not started.
Christmas 1939 arrived and the expected air raids had not come. On Christmas Eve it started to snow, but this seasonable touch only seemed to add to the general foreboding. It was the prelude to one of the most severe winters for years. |
RAF B24
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The early call-up of young able-bodied men for military service left a vacuum in the village. Lobby Webb, the 'succeed or bust' cider-drinking wild man of the village joined the tank corps as a driver and had no doubt what he would do when he met the enemy: "I'll run over the buggers," he promised. Before many months had passed Lobby had been captured and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner of the Germans.
Soldiers from the camps set up in nearby parks and airmen from the several airfields that had sprung up in our part of East Anglia compensated in some ways for the loss. The visitors brought excitement to the local girls, temporarily deprived of male company.
The elite regiment, the King's Dragoon Guards, set up camp in Stetchworth Park and their light tanks and Bren-gun carriers were soon clattering through the village. A few of the camp personnel, wearing the regimental double-headed eagle badges, used to visit the Blackbirds during the evening. My family got to know John Crotty the Regimental Sergeant Major, a charming, devil-may-care Irishman who later distinguished himself in the North-African desert campaign. One evening, while walking along the dark village street we heard the distant drone of a 'plane that could easily have been German. John, knowing my interest in collecting war souvenirs, made a half joking but to me an intriguing suggestion: "Flash your torch in the sky boy. You can go out to the fields in the morning and pick up the bomb splinters." (German bombers had a reputation for not being very accurate).
Village men left behind were either awaiting call-up, in reserved occupations, too old, medically unfit or, in one case, a conscientious objector. They could hardly compete with the uniformed newcomers. Love affairs continued by post and envelopes passed through the post office with inscriptions such as 'SWALK' (sealed with a loving kiss) scrawled on the back. Stamps stuck on at odd angles expressed varying degrees of passion. Romances were no longer confined to the village boundaries.
Soldiers from the camps set up in nearby parks and airmen from the several airfields that had sprung up in our part of East Anglia compensated in some ways for the loss. The visitors brought excitement to the local girls, temporarily deprived of male company.
The elite regiment, the King's Dragoon Guards, set up camp in Stetchworth Park and their light tanks and Bren-gun carriers were soon clattering through the village. A few of the camp personnel, wearing the regimental double-headed eagle badges, used to visit the Blackbirds during the evening. My family got to know John Crotty the Regimental Sergeant Major, a charming, devil-may-care Irishman who later distinguished himself in the North-African desert campaign. One evening, while walking along the dark village street we heard the distant drone of a 'plane that could easily have been German. John, knowing my interest in collecting war souvenirs, made a half joking but to me an intriguing suggestion: "Flash your torch in the sky boy. You can go out to the fields in the morning and pick up the bomb splinters." (German bombers had a reputation for not being very accurate).
Village men left behind were either awaiting call-up, in reserved occupations, too old, medically unfit or, in one case, a conscientious objector. They could hardly compete with the uniformed newcomers. Love affairs continued by post and envelopes passed through the post office with inscriptions such as 'SWALK' (sealed with a loving kiss) scrawled on the back. Stamps stuck on at odd angles expressed varying degrees of passion. Romances were no longer confined to the village boundaries.
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To make up for the loss of male farm-workers the Women's Land Army had been formed. Mrs Esme Cooper Bland, a born organiser and wife of the Saxon Street racehorse breeder, took on the district organisation. Fit and often attractive young women were drafted to local farms where, dressed in their fawn breeches and dark green sweaters with the WLA badge, they took on any work previously done by men.
A few had an idealistic view of the countryside. The first Land Girl to arrive at Camois Hall Farm wanted to bring her own piano. She soon learned about the mud and muck of farm work and didn't last long. Then, early in 1940, Freda Le Grys arrived, and managed to combine hard work with good looks. Freda was "from away" (the far lands of east Essex) which gave her an enticing difference. With her outgoing personality, dark shoulder-length hair and healthy complexion she caused a stir among the young men. By February 1942 she had married farm-worker Cyril Swann. |
Many of the farm-workers' wives also worked on the farms in addition to running their homes and bringing up the children. Small but wiry housewife Gertie Wright became temporary horsekeeper but she had to get help in putting on the halter - she couldn't reach the horse's head.
The ROC (Royal Observer Corps) established to report aircraft movements to the RAF and police set up their observation post on the bank of the Devil's Ditch, near the golf-links. We boys had no doubt the local volunteers who manned it had important and confidential jobs and that they must be in the know about any new secret 'planes.
The government launched a campaign to collect iron, apparently for melting down to make war weapons. Rusty pointed railings topping our garden wall disappeared in a lorry after being cut off at the base, but we had some difficulty in imagining their transformation into a tank or warship. Householders had to hand in aluminium kettles and saucepans, supposedly to be turned into Spitfires. It became illegal to destroy paper, cardboard or bones and we took them to a central point at The Limes for collection and recycling. Along with a certain amount of self-righteousness we felt a need to demonstrate some patriotic sacrifice, identifiable with helping the war effort.
The government launched a campaign to collect iron, apparently for melting down to make war weapons. Rusty pointed railings topping our garden wall disappeared in a lorry after being cut off at the base, but we had some difficulty in imagining their transformation into a tank or warship. Householders had to hand in aluminium kettles and saucepans, supposedly to be turned into Spitfires. It became illegal to destroy paper, cardboard or bones and we took them to a central point at The Limes for collection and recycling. Along with a certain amount of self-righteousness we felt a need to demonstrate some patriotic sacrifice, identifiable with helping the war effort.
In May 1940 spirits fell to a low point with the British evacuation of Dunkirk. Many of the middle-aged village men had vivid personal memories of four bitter years of trench warfare in France and Belgium during the previous war. Now our army had experienced a new kind of war, the German Blitzkrieg, and had suffered the humiliation of being driven off the European mainland after a few months.
Our church bells were silenced, only to be rung in dire threat of invasion. Frightening rumours circulated about what might happen to all young males if the Germans came. An obsessive fear of German fifth-columnists (secret agents) grew among the population and we had constant warnings to be on the look-out for anyone suspicious who might have parachuted into the country under some unlikely disguise. Ministry of Information posters and newspaper advertisements reminded us that 'Careless Talk Costs Lives' and to 'Keep Mum' about any information that could be of possible use to the enemy. All our road signposts were removed and stored out of sight in Tailor Holland's large barn at the rear of The Blackbirds. Our official identity cards had to be carried at all times. Gas-masks also had to be taken on any journey and we were refused entry to school, the cinema or other public places without them. At first we carried them in the standard issue square cardboard boxes but these soon began to disintegrate. Various types of propriety carrying case came on the market and some regular travellers to school bought cylindrical steel containers, capable of dealing a vicious blow if swung by the carrying cord.
Our church bells were silenced, only to be rung in dire threat of invasion. Frightening rumours circulated about what might happen to all young males if the Germans came. An obsessive fear of German fifth-columnists (secret agents) grew among the population and we had constant warnings to be on the look-out for anyone suspicious who might have parachuted into the country under some unlikely disguise. Ministry of Information posters and newspaper advertisements reminded us that 'Careless Talk Costs Lives' and to 'Keep Mum' about any information that could be of possible use to the enemy. All our road signposts were removed and stored out of sight in Tailor Holland's large barn at the rear of The Blackbirds. Our official identity cards had to be carried at all times. Gas-masks also had to be taken on any journey and we were refused entry to school, the cinema or other public places without them. At first we carried them in the standard issue square cardboard boxes but these soon began to disintegrate. Various types of propriety carrying case came on the market and some regular travellers to school bought cylindrical steel containers, capable of dealing a vicious blow if swung by the carrying cord.
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During the first half of 1940 the news seemed all bad, but newly appointed prime minister Winston Churchill buoyed up spirits with his stirring words of defiance coming from the radio.
The formation of the LDV (Local Defence Volunteers) gave local men who had not been called-up a chance to take part in the defence of their country. They soon became dubbed 'The look duck and vanish brigade'. The force took on more respectability when its name soon changed to The Home Guard. Members eventually received uniforms instead of arm-bands and World War I American rifles, to replace their shotguns for which special ball-cartridges had been issued. Farmer Lionel Long of Camois Hall, known locally as 'The Colonel', was appointed commanding officer of the Wood Ditton/ Saxon Street platoon and soon showed his leadership qualities. Veterans of World War I - George Briggs, Charlie Carter, Bert Wright and Billy Webb took on the non-commissioned officer positions and wore the stripes on their arms to show their authority. |
Confirmed poachers suddenly found a legitimate reason for carrying a gun. Hopefully they would have used their cunning and knowledge of the local woods to good advantage had the feared German invasion come.
On the whole the Home Guards enjoyed themselves and had a good war, as they developed a strong sense of purpose and comradeship. They certainly took their duties seriously and set up road-blocks, stopping all traffic. One evening, while returning from Cambridge in the Austin Seven, the local platoon stopped us along the Stetchworth Road. They knew us as well as we knew them, but they insisted on checking our identity cards to ensure the car carried no German agents.
While loading his rifle in the kitchen in response to an alert, Jack Dean accidentally fired a round that passed through the ceiling, narrowly missing his young daughter Dulcie in the bedroom above. Cyril Swann and Jim Starling were issued with Lewis machine-guns. Jim, who lived at Church Cottages, kept his in his bedroom so that he could quickly take up a defensive position on the nearby church tower should the need arise. Sunday parade usually managed to dismiss at half-past twelve outside the Marquis of Granby or the Blackbirds, when the platoon would smartly disappear into the bar. How the Home Guard would have fared against the German Panzer troops had we been invaded, mercifully wasn't put to the test. At least they would have been of nuisance value. No doubt many would have given their lives in the defence of their homes.
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Food rationing started in March 1940 and everybody had to register with a particular shop for sugar, bacon and butter. With our grocery shop we sometimes had a little extra 'under the counter' for ourselves and for registered customers. We felt some justification for this as the handling of ration-books and coupons imposed a considerable extra burden on running the business and the quantity of food received never exactly matched the coupons. Many imported foods became almost impossible to obtain - luxuries like bananas and oranges virtually disappeared for the duration. But a new word came into the language with the arrival of large quantities of 'Spam' (tinned meat) from the United States. Tins of dried-milk and dried-egg powder also appeared in the shop but all were "on points" (subject to rationing). The Ministry of Food published ingenious recipes for making the best of the substitutes.
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Everyone in the village benefited from the large amount of locally produced food including vegetables, eggs, rabbits and honey, supplemented by pheasants, wild rabbits and hares poached from the fields and woods. Despite the real need to feed families the gamekeepers continued to defend their master's property and usually brought charges against any poachers they caught. Magistrates, who tended to sympathise with the landowners, made few concessions to the exigencies of war and treated the cases with the same severity as in peacetime. The Newmarket Journal, frustrated by censorship from reporting the more obvious effects of the war on local affairs, dealt with poaching cases and other minor offences in considerable detail and with apparent relish. Neighbours formed pig-clubs and saved all their food scraps for a jointly owned animal, later to be killed and the spoils divided. The participants, however, had to give up their bacon ration in order to obtain pig-meal.
Shortages also started to affect the pubs where supplies of cigarettes, beer and spirits fell well below the demand. 'Beer Sold Out' notices appeared and casual visitors or 'pub-crawlers' were looked upon by the regulars with some resentment.
Shortages also started to affect the pubs where supplies of cigarettes, beer and spirits fell well below the demand. 'Beer Sold Out' notices appeared and casual visitors or 'pub-crawlers' were looked upon by the regulars with some resentment.