Memories of Fred and Louie Midgley by jeremypgriffin

The Memoirs of

‘FRED’ and ‘LOUIE’ MIDGLEY (Robert Alfred Midgley born 7-7-1917, died 27-2-2009 and Louisa Midgley, nee Brett, born 25-3-1922)

At Fountains Abbey, North Yorkshire On 7 September 1996 Their Golden Wedding Anniversary

The Memoirs of

“FRED” and “LOUIE” MIDGLEY Robert Alfred Midgley, born 7-7-1917, died 27-2-2009 and Louisa Midgley, (nee Brett), born 25-3-1922 Written with ‘Neil’ between June and September 2005, (Louie’s with the help of entries in a notebook made some years earlier from original diaries which had then been disposed of). Supplemented by notes from the Pool Archives recorded by Pat Lazenby Chapter

Page

FRED F1

EARLY LIFE

July 1917 – Nov 1936

F2 F 2a F 2b F 2c F 2d F 2e F 2f

ROYAL AIR FORCE Enlistment and Training France (including Dunkirk) Back in England Voyage to the Middle East North Africa Tern Hill and Demob.

Nov 1936 – Feb 1946 Nov 1936 – Feb 1939 Feb 1939 – May 1940 June 1940 – Jan 1941 Jan 1941 – March 1941 March 1941 – Feb 1945 Feb 1945 – Feb 1946

11 11 13 16 16 18 23

L1 L 1a L 1b

EARLY LIFE Childhood Early War Years

March 1922 – April 1942 March 1922 – Aug 1939 Sept 1939 – April 1942

26 26 32

L2 L 2a L 2b

ROYAL AIR FORCE Enlistment and Balloons Flight Mechanic

April 1942 – April 1946 April 1942 – Feb 1943 Feb 1943 – April 1946

34 34 36

LOUIE

JOINT 3

MARRIED LIFE TOGETHER

September 1946 -

F 1 – EARLY LIFE July 1917 – November 1936 I was born on the seventh day of the seventh month 1917 at our family home, 3 Church View, Pool-in-Wharfedale in the old West Riding of Yorkshire. I had two older brothers, Clifford (b. 9.3.1909 - “Chief”) and Tom (b. 14.5.1915) and my lovely elder sister, Doris (b. 29.7.1911). There was only one proper bedroom which was used by mum (Alice Smith b. 16.12.1886), dad (Robert Midgley b. 4.9.1881 – “Bob”) and Doris. Cliff, Tom and I slept in an area at the top of the stairs just curtained off from the landing. Cliff had his own bed and Tom and I shared. Downstairs, on the road side of the house was a small room, with the door opening onto the Main Street, and then at the back was the kitchen with the back door opening onto the back yard. The only heating was from the fire in the kitchen range but we always had a good fire. In winter mum wrapped the steel cooking plates from the range up in a cloth for warming the beds. At the back, across the yard, there was a block of outside toilets, one for each house in the row. I remember having to cross the yard through snow which was deeper than me. The house only had oil lamps and when I was small I used to have to go to Oates’ shop for fuel (further down the Main Street, opposite the Chapel – later Ridealgh’s). It was dark and scary because there were no lights in the village. I used to run all the way and if a car came I used to try to run with it but there weren’t very many. We were a very happy family but they always kidded me about being so small. They said I ‘needed horse muck in my shoes to make me grow!’ One hot summer’s day they all began complaining about a smell in the kitchen. I capped them when I said that I had put plenty of horse muck in my shoes but that they were liars because it didn’t work!

Fred standing in front of nos. 3 and 4 Church View on 7 July 1984 – his 67th birthday. (no. 3 has the fully walled up doorway)

L. to R. – Doris (27-7-1911), Tom (14-5-1915) Mum Alice (nee Smith 16-12-1886), Fred (7-7-1917) on her knee and Clifford (9-3-1909). Photo: August 1918

I started school when I was 5 and hated every minute of it. There were three rooms. The one furthest from the road was for the infants, the middle one was the biggest and main one where things like assemblies were held, and the one nearest the road was for the oldest class. There you had separate desks and chairs but in the younger classes it was just benches. The teacher in the main class, a man called Jimmy Procter, would walk up and down behind you and if there was anything wrong he hit you so hard as to knock you off the chair. I had boils on my neck which made it worse when he hit me. I wasn’t much good at sums then and you were never taught how to do them or what you had done wrong - just hit! I was terrified and dejected. I was good at writing compositions because I used to read a lot and I was also good at football and cricket. This made me a bit of a favourite with the new Head, Ben Hartley. In almost every match report he wrote, “Fred Midgley played splendidly!” Fred – Left: In ‘fancy dress’ at school and Below (on the right) in the Scouts.

My dad did well to start a coal and haulage business. He had two horses, one for the coal round and one for haulage work. He carted stone from Pool Bank Quarries and later worked mainly for the paper mill (B. S. & W. Whiteley Ltd., Pool Paper Mills). ‘Poppy’ was the nicest horse, really docile; I loved riding her back between the railway station and the mill. The other horse was called ‘Tom’ and was used mainly by Cliff. Dad also acquired a smallholding farm up by the mill where I spent many happy hours chasing the hens, but, on the downside, there was a cockerel who took great pleasure in pecking me. One day, after it had been really vicious, my dad said, ‘It won’t be pecking you again – I’ve just wrung its neck!’

Cliff (holding the horse), Fred and his dad on their smallholding. At various times they had 2 horses, up to 6 cows, a few pigs and hens. Photo c. 1922

Even Main Street was just a rough road of white gravel with largish lumps in it. We used to play cricket across the road using the church gates as the stumps. Mr J.W. Tankard had the butchers on Church View and used to join in but the balls broke his shop window on several occasions. When livestock needed to be slaughtered he would call on Eddie Oats whose blacksmiths shop was almost at the entrance to what is now Wharfe Crescent. In winter when a pig was killed Mr Tankard would toss the bladder to the waiting boys who would blow it up to make a football. The church gate posts were then the goal posts. Another shop on Church View was the “beer off” which was run by T.W. March. They were a very nice but rough family from Leeds. One day, when I was small, I went into the shop and Mr March said “Tha looks as if thas been skatting up pigs arse thas so filthy”! The place where we played regularly was at Stocks Hill (at the top of Main Street outside the White Hart pub where replica stocks are now situated). One day Joe Constantine, known to us all as “Uncle Joe”, drew up outside the pub with his horse and cart and went in. We knew he would there for a while so Kenny Wilkinson and Gerald Shann unharnessed the horse and 5

rode it to Castley, Weeton and back down Harrogate Road. By that time Joe had emerged and was wondering what had happened to his horse! Opposite the White Hart, was Denton’s shop – North View Stores. Charles Denton had a daughter, Eliza, who married a Foster and they carried on the business. They included a small tea room and news agents within the shop. Later the Foster brothers built the Half Moon Garage and the new post office further down Main Street. This became known as “Bottom Fosters” with the first one being “Top Fosters”. They were considered to have plenty of money and owned a cini film camera. There was an old railway carriage on some spare ground at the entrance to Holmes’ farm (Pool Hall Farm, next to “Top Fosters”) where the Fosters used to play old films like “Charlie Chaplin” In the early 1920s a wood wagon, pulled by six horses, would regularly come down from Leathley to unload logs at the railway station. The local children loved it as the driver would give us a lift on the back of the dray from Pool Bridge to the bottom of Old Pool Bank. At this point we had to get off to allow the horses to pull their heavy load up the hill. Even then they would strain with the weight. The right hand wall of Old Pool Bank had score marks where the logs had scraped when turning the corner into the station. We never went on holiday. The one day trip in the year was paid for by the Whiteley’s. There was also a men only charabanc trip from the White Hart. When they reached the hill into Filey they all had to get off because the brakes were not very good. When I was about 10 there was a craze for playing with metal hoops. When they broke they would be repaired by Eddie Oates, the blacksmith. One day I went with some friends to Staircase Lane so that we could roll the hoops down the hill. Mine hit the bridge and bounced up into some trees - never to be seen again even though I searched for about a month! In 1924 Dad got his first motor vehicle, a Model T Ford truck. Whiteley’s had a house in Morcambe and one day he had to deliver some furniture there for them. He said I could go with them for a ride to the seaside. Cliff drove; I sat in the middle, with dad on the passenger side. It was thick fog all the way and he said that because I hadn’t seen anything he’d better buy me a stick of rock. Dad was quite adventurous. He’d flown in balloons and in aeroplanes when they visited local shows and loved them but he was never at ease in the Model T. He wouldn’t shut the door and often had his leg hanging out so that he could get out quickly. On a Sunday we attended the (Methodist) chapel. “Old Dan” (William L. Whiteley) would be singing the hymns but at the same time inspecting each row of the congregation to see which of the mill workers were not there. On Monday morning he would be asking why! My Grandfather owned a Café at Shipley Glen. We sometimes went on the bus from Pool to Otley, then the Bradford bus from Otley to Baildon Bridge. Then we walked or went up the Shipley Glen tramway. He was a really unfriendly man who always ignored us. I can’t even remember him ever even speaking to me. Others in the family were really nice though, especially my aunts like Phyllis and Ella. There were a lot of them because he’d had eighteen children, although by the time I was a child and visiting Shipley, six had died. Two had been killed in France in the First War. Visits weren’t just a holiday, everyone was given a job and mine was collecting the pennies from the Ladies toilet. They were just earth toilets and one woman came out complaining at me for “having to pay a penny to be poisoned!” I was only about 8 and I just ran off. I wouldn’t do that job again.

Left Grandfather, Thomas Midgley (bap 21-6-1855) Owner of Shipley Glen Café Photo: c. 1914

Below Brother Clifford and dad ‘Bob’ with their Model T Ford. The house door is that of no. 2 Church View and the windows those of no. 3 Church View – their home. Photo: c. 1924

When Cliff was 16 (c. 1925) he got what they thought was a gum boil but Dr Wolfe, who was brilliant, thought it was a growth and sent him straight to Leeds Infirmary. They said there was nothing wrong but on his way home Dr Wolfe saw him walking down Pool Bank, put him in his car and took him straight back. It was a cancer and had to be cut away. By the time I was 11 or 12 I was playing in the men’s teams for both football and cricket. Only my size remained a problem. One day we were playing football on a pitch at Hunslet Moor which was not much more than gravel. I got knocked off my feet and went skidding along the ground cutting all my side. I was alright until the ref came up and said, “Poor little lad”, then I started to cry! I always knew when I was in the team because I heard Mr Lamb, who was ‘manager’ of the Pool St. Wilfrid’s soccer team coming up to the house. That week I heard him coming and thought, ‘I’m in’, but he said, “You’re good enough – but just not big enough” and told me that I’d better grow a bit more first. When I was 13 (1930) we moved to our new house at 3 Wharfe Crescent. These were newly built 3 bedroom council houses with all mod cons. Then tragedy struck – We had only been there a few months when my mum died (4.2.1931). Chief and Doris used to go to local dances and the first I remember is them saying that when they had come in late they had found mum up all night drinking water. Then Bernard Dawson, who was a family friend, once told me off for being noisy saying, “Your mothers not very well – You need to be more quiet!” When the ambulance came to collect her I was in the corner of the garden upset. She said “Bye Freddie” but I didn’t really say anything to her. That’s upset me ever since because I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t see her again. She died of diabetes which they can control these days. Everyone used to go on about what a lovely person she was.

Mum with Billy Webster (neighbour’s child), pictured in Wharfe Crescent shortly before her death.

After that I was miserable and lonely. Every Saturday night I was given a bag of sweets and left by myself as everybody else went out. Doris was seeing Francis, Chief and Tom were out in Otley, at the pubs playing cards or something. I think this is why I ended up with such bad teeth but I also used to read all the time and that helped me. I left school when I was 14 and started my working life as an errand boy at the Otley Co-op. My main job was pushing a barrow loaded with rolls of lino to deliver them to customers whose houses always seemed to be on a hill top. At 16 you had to leave and that’s when I became a labourer in the Paper Mill at Pool.

In 1935 my dad married Emma Gall. The Galls had lived in Pool and their daughter Margery was one of Doris’ best friends so the two families had known one another for a long time. They must have moved to Morley after Margery’s father John had died. We called Emma “Ma” – she would never be my mum but she was generally kind and nice to me. 9

Fred (far right) pictured on back of lorry during Pool St. Wilfridâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s football teamâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cup winners parade. Photo 1935

F 2 - ROYAL AIR FORCE Service number 536302

November 1936 – January 1946 F 2a) Enlistment and Training - November 1936 to February 1939 I had two miserable years in the mill, being tormented and sworn at by the older men. Then one day it dawned on me. I was almost 18 and I knew nothing. I had no education and no trade. I was so downcast and then, that very night, something happened which was to change my life for ever. Nothing sensational, just a simple advert in the ‘Evening Post’ saying, “Join the R.A.F. and Learn a Trade.” Just a few words; but enough. I heard my mum’s voice telling me, ‘This is it Freddy!’ The very next day, 19 November 1936, I went into Leeds and joined up. A few days later I was notified to gather with other recruits in Leeds from where we were taken to West Drayton, near London, to be sworn in.

Cutting from the ‘Yorkshire Evening Post’ with Fred fifth from the left.

It was then on to Uxbridge for three months basic training. We learned about saluting and ‘square bashing’, as well as having plenty of time for sport, before being posted to a ‘real’ station. I asked for Yeadon but finally found myself at Leconfield near Beverley. Two Heyford bomber squadrons were stationed there and I was posted to 97 Squadron. Early on I was helping to open the massive hangar doors using winding handles. I forgot to let go and it took me right off my feet into the air. They were all laughing at me and said I would be better doing a bit of office work for a while.

The Heyfords were very old planes with a top speed of about 50mph. One day I asked if I could have a flight. I was told to get into the centre gun turret. There were no guns installed, just a nice round space which you could lean out of and get a good view. Off we went to Newcastle, then down the coast to the Wash and then we turned inland. Later the wireless op. pointed down and said, “That’s Cranwell, I learned my trade there. This is where the pilots like to show off a bit.” No sooner had he said that than we went into a vertical bank and I was half way out of the turret! I managed to jam my knees against the side and just hang on until he flattened to level flying. I dropped to the floor of the fuselage and the wireless op. Said, “What’s wrong?” He almost collapsed laughing when I told him I had almost fallen out! I had a really happy time at Leconfield. I had many more trips but I never came close to falling out again! One was to Northern Ireland where the Squadrons had bombing practice on Lough Neigh. I went over and back helping with stores and thinking, ‘Fancy, I’ve been to Ireland!’ This trip had a sad ending to it all. One of the 13 Squadron aircraft crashed into the Pennines on the way home and all the crew were killed. My first parade duty since learning about it was to march, with arms reversed, to their burial in the local churchyard. Theirs were the only graves in a large plot but years after the war we went back to visit and it was absolutely full of pilots and crew from all over the world.

Funeral of 13 Squadron Heyford crew, Leconfield 1937

From Leconfield you could apply to go on your selected course and I chose aero engine fitter. The first part was to train to become a flight mechanic. It was a nine-month course and if you got 95% in the final exam you would go on to Manston, in Kent, for a further 12 months to become a fitter. A lot of that first course was practical and I was hopeless (I had no idea what a drill or a file was for) but we also had oral and written exams. I used to spend half the night studying the manuals. After the exams a Corporal told me, “The Squadron Leader wants to see you in his office.” I arrived there, ‘shivering in my timbers’ as we used to say. 12

The Squadron Leader said, “Now Midgley, how do you account for this? Your practical work was pathetic! (a moments silence, then) but your oral and written answers to all questions earned you, on both counts, excellent figures of 95%! I am rather curious to know how you managed it. Are you a well educated scholar or, thinking of the manuals, have you simply a very retentive memory?” “Yes Sir”, I replied. “Well, be that as it may, you have got the marks, and only two of you out of eighteen did so, so you will go on the aero engine fitter’s course.” Having completed the next course, instead of joining a squadron in England, I found myself on my way to France.

F 2b) France - February 1939 to the Dunkirk Evacuation, May 1940 I was posted to France on the 14 February 1939 to join 4 Lysander Squadron as an aero engine fitter, our address being the ‘Advanced Air Striking Force’, working with the army at Monchy-Lagashe. However, on arrival, I was sent to assist on the transport section. This consisted of ancient lorries and most of the personnel were veterans of the First war. I had never driven but one of the old timers, who I named “Pop”, took me in hand and very shortly I was driving all over Northern France, visiting First World War battlefields and, of course, cemeteries. I never had any other driving lessons or tests but, until recently, have driven cars, heavies, the lot, all my life! From then on the time passed quickly until suddenly the “Phoney War” was over and we were being strafed by German planes. Historical note – Hitler issued ‘Directive Number One for the Conduct of War’ and on September 1st 1939 the Germans launched their ‘Blitzkrieg’ assault on Poland. Having failed to respond to his ultimatum that they should withdraw, Neville Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister, declared war on Germany on September 3rd. Poland was defeated in a matter of weeks; well before Allied forces could get involved. Over the winter of 1939-40, there was no further action. Britain was at war but not at war. American journalists sent over to cover events nick-named it the “Phoney War”. This “Phoney War” came to an end with the German invasion of Denmark and Norway on 8 April 1940. On 10 May 1940 Hitler launched ‘Operation Yellow’, the invasion of the Netherlands, Belgium and France. On the 10 May 1940 we were sent to Lille in Belgium to an emergency landing field for our Lysander aircraft. They were army cooperation planes and their job was to inform army units where the enemy was. We had been at the landing field a few days when orders came through to destroy all spares as the Germans were advancing rapidly. The following day a German Heinkel flew over the field spraying bullets around. Luckily there were lots of bushes on the perimeter. I ran like mad towards a tree at the end of the field. I almost made it but then looked back over my shoulder and promptly fell. The next thing I knew I was on my back, looking up at the plane and staring into the face of the front gunner. He must have felt sorry for me and didn’t fire.

After they had flown off our officer in charge complained, “I know we only have one machine gun with us, but at least we could have fired a few rounds at it.” Personally, I thought that if we had done he might have gone round again and really gunned us. His next order was that if another came over it should at least be given a burst of fire. Some time later I heard a burst from our gun firing at another plane. The problem was that our gunners were so keyed up that they didn’t realise it was a Hurricane, to them a plane was a plane, and they did shoot it down. The pilot was shot through the ankle but, luckily, only slightly injured. I couldn’t have realised at the time just what a blessing that was to turn out to be for Pop and me. The next day I heard weird noises overhead. When I asked Pop “What’s that?” he said “They’re shells son – we must be between the Germans and our lads. Don’t worry, while we can hear them up there we’re safe.” Next day we were told to head back to France, as the German advance was faster than ever. The Sergeant pilot who we had shot down was lifted onto the back of our small lorry with his back against the cab. We set off and soon got entangled with streams of refugees walking along the road. After some time the pilot shouted “Jump!” There was a 109 diving towards us. Luckily the pilot sitting on the back had spotted it some distance off and was able to warn us. We dived off the road and into the ditches with the refugees. The 109 sprayed the road with bullets then pulled up into the sky and made off. None of us were hurt but quite a few of the refugees were dead and injured. As things cleared there was a dear old lady in the centre of the road, head in hands, sobbing and shaking. She had been unable to move and had wet herself. It was a very sad sight. We could not help the refugees and so continued on our way. Eventually we arrived at St. Omer and took shelter in the woods nearby. After a short break the officer in charge said, “Now look here. We’re wandering around like lost sheep and we must do something. Now I know that there is a MT Depot in Calais that stores motor bikes. I need volunteers to go there, get the bikes and get back here as soon as possible.” Instantly Pop piped up and said, “Come on son – we’ll go.” The pilot immediately said, “I’ll come too. If I can get to Calais I can make it home”. Then came our second escape of the day. We had travelled about 7 miles on the Calais road when we were stopped by an army lorry loaded with troops. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” were the army officers first words. “We’re heading up to Calais”, said Pop. A stream of swearing from the army officer informed us in no mean manner that, “The bloody Bosch had been in Calais for over a week!” “You see that bend in the road”, he said, “There are five German Tiger tanks parked up and if you go round there they’ll blow you to smithereens! Where’s your unit?” “St Omer”, Pop replied. “Right – get back to them as soon as possible and tell them to make it to Dunkirk as quickly as they can. We have to get out of France and that’s the only escape route left. The Germans are closing in on it from two directions” Well, we made our way back to St Omer only to find that the party had gone. The question was what to do next. “Where did he say we had to make for?” Pop growled. “Dunkirk”, said the pilot, “and quickly!” “Yes but where is it? I’ve never heard of it!” 14

“”I’ll get you there”, said the pilot – and that’s just what he did. That’s what I meant when I said that shooting down the Hurricane turned out to be a blessing for us. The pilot saved us twice in one day. We would never have been able to find Dunkirk on our own and would have been taken prisoner or shot. When we arrived we found the rest of our unit already there and were able to rejoin them. We burnt the lorry and managed to obtain some food. The next day dense black smoke and clouds of sea mist covered the town. That didn’t stop the German planes from constantly dropping bombs and spraying machine gun bullets over the harbour. Fortunately they couldn’t see us and, of course, we could not see them but we could hear them and the noise was deafening. All day long we hid under some trees. Later, in the night, the Wing Commander got us together to tell us that we had obtained a small boat and it was to take us home the following night. How he managed to arrange this we never knew. However, on the 30 May 1940, we got down to the harbour and what a sight! Bomb craters, bodies and burnt out vehicles everywhere! We found this very small boat in a small boathouse and our little party clambered aboard. I dropped to the floor and knew nothing more until the following morning when I heard Pop’s voice saying, “Come on son, wake up, we’re home.” Well, we clambered ashore and to this day I have no idea where we landed because it was still dark. All I know is, as we used to say in the ‘Raff’, he must have been a ‘clued up navigator’ to get that little boat across the channel in pitch darkness. Historical Note – In May 1940, the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) under the command of Lord Gort consisted of ten divisions which had been placed under the overall control of the French Commander. When the French were being defeated by the German Blitzkrieg, the BEF was in danger of being cut off from the coast. On 27th May 1940, Gort was instructed to abandon any co-operation with the French and to evacuate France. This task appeared almost impossible as Calais had been taken and Belgian forces surrendered to the Germans on 28 May.

Operation Dynamo, the evacuation from Dunkirk began on 27 May, though on that day only 7,000 men were moved. The Operation was a greater success than the British could have hoped for. Most of the men were brought home by destroyers which were helped by every sort of privately owned vessel: pleasure boats, river ferries, fishing boats etc. Around 860 ships took part and between 27 May and 4 June 1940, 338,000 men were brought to England, many directly from the beaches. (from ‘Modern World History’ by Ferriby & Mcabe, Heinemann)

F 2c) Back in England - June 1940 to January 1941 Wherever we were, we were taken up to a railway station where there were two carriages and we were put on board. The train journey took us to an army camp somewhere where, at last, we were fed. Then it was on by lorry to the RAF Station at Ringway (now Manchester Airport). They told us to throw our guns onto a pile. Three of us were sent to sleep at a pub for about a week and then we were taken to Linton on Ouse in Yorkshire. Better than being chased around France! I was given the job of the CO’s fitter, looking after his Tiger Moth. When he had to go anywhere he took me along on the flights. Once we went to Newcastle and we passed over this beautiful countryside with beautiful heather. It must have been the North York Moors but, at the time, I had no idea where it was. When we landed in Newcastle the engine cut out but the Tiger Moths were very light so we hand pulled it along the runway. “What an ignominious way to end a flight”, the CO said and told me to try to fix it. When he returned he asked if I had found out what was wrong. “Yes Sir”, I said, “You had turned the fuel off!” He was very embarrassed by this but when we got back to Linton he did the same again! He made me get out quickly to restart it and make me promise not to tell anyone! On another day he was going to Clifton (near York) and told me to tighten my belt as he was going to have some fun. We were hedge hopping then climbing and looping around. After we landed a pilot came up and asked if he could have a go because they had few planes. He took off with me still in and did the same. This happened two or three times by which time I’d had enough and wanted to get out! I had not been in England so long when I was informed I was being posted. I was sent to a mustering post in Wiltshire where I got talking to an older bloke who had also been at Linton at some time. He asked me where I was from and I said he wouldn’t have heard of the place. When I eventually said Pool-in-Wharfedale he said that he had been there yesterday to see his sister. She lived up Manor Gardens and I knew her!

F 2d) The Voyage to the Middle East - January to March 1941 We were sent to join a boat in Liverpool in January 1941. On a wild and stormy day our boat, “The Scythia”, sailed to a convoy meeting place off the north coast of Ireland (see postscript 1). Two days later the convoy of 32 ships set off. The weather was horrible and lots of men were seasick. Not me though – I was scoffing three dinners at every sitting!

This bloke told me that he had been on oversees postings before and the thing to do was to volunteer for duties because when the ship reached a port the volunteers would be allowed shore leave – so that’s what we did. We were told to report to a corporal on No. 2 deck. He took us into the toilets, which were swimming with urine and muck a couple of inches deep. The smell almost made me sick but my mate told me to smoke a cigarette. When I said I didn’t smoke he told me that there was no better time to start and so that how I came to start. The toilets were like a sheep trough and there were about ten men all sitting in a line. They were all chatting away but standing up and down in turn as the contents of the trough swilled backwards and forwards as the ship rolled. We cleaned up all the mess and then I said that what had caused the blockage was toilet paper in the drain end. My mate said we’d solve that by taking the paper away. That was OK until a couple of days later an officers inspection party came round. We stood to attention as the inspection took place. The skipper then said, “There’s no paper!” We could hear this but it had to be passed down the line of command to us. Then he said, “Why is there no paper?!” This again was repeated down the line to us. We explained the problem and our reply was passed back up the line to the Skipper. As they turned to go he simply said, “Make sure there is paper! We sailed in convoy, with two or three battleships for company. All the ships were in the same position all the time. Alongside us was a cargo ship with a railway engine on the deck. We zig-zagged our way over miles of ocean for four weeks until I heard a cry “Land Ahead!” It turned out to be Freetown in Sierra Leone, West Africa, where we stayed for a week in a large lagoon surrounded by jungle. Finally we set sail again and three weeks later arrived in Cape Town, South Africa and there was Table Mountain. Just imagine seeing that when, as a youngster in Pool, I’d never been any further than Leeds! The ‘Table Cloth’ was not on when we arrived but, lo and behold, next day there it was in all its glory. Two weeks there, then it was up the coast to Durban, where we were allowed ashore but everybody was allowed ashore – not just the volunteers! We had spent weeks looking after the toilets for nothing! We were billeted on a sugar plantation a little inland. After that break we set off again. We anchored one night in Aden just at the entrance to the Red Sea. The cargo ship with the railway engine on the deck was in its usual position but, from there, some were going east to India and Burma whilst we were going up the Red Sea. Years later, long after the war, I was at Armin’s scrap yard in Otley. There was some diving stuff there and I asked if it was his. I didn’t realise that he went diving but he showed me an album of photographs. On the second page I turned I couldn’t believe my eyes! There was the cargo ship with the engine on the deck. He had dived on it at the entrance to the Red Sea. We had sailed in the early hours that morning and the Germans must have raided later and sunk it (see postscript 2). Four weeks later, having sailed up the Red Sea, we arrived at Port Said in Egypt. Just imagine – a three-month cruise on a lovely ship and it didn’t cost a penny!

F 2e) North Africa - March 1941 to February 1945 Having arrived in Egypt I went to a peacetime RAF station named Abu-Sueir. This was on the banks of the Sweet Water Canal – an odd name for it when you saw people completing their ablutions in it and, a few yards further down, women carrying drinking water away on their heads! It was fine on this camp – swimming pool, cinema, cooling fans in the dining hall! Then it happened, after six months of luxury an Irish lad joined us. “Do you get any air raids here?” he asked. “No”, I said, “plenty of sirens but no air raids”. That night the Germans flattened the place! At one time two or three of us were trapped between two blazing hangars before we managed to run to an air raid trench. Then, after a few more bombs in the vicinity, it just fell in on us. However, we managed to scramble out, then, who should we meet but the Irishman. He put it all into a few words. “Well if this isn’t a bloody air raid I don’t bloody well want to be here when there is one!” The Irishman was Jack Thompson, who we nicknamed ‘McGinty’. He was to become a firm friend in the desert and, when I married in September 1946, he was my Best Man. Luckily for us there were no airmen killed, just a few slightly wounded, but four soldiers who were with a Bofors gun died when their trench fell in. Well, that was the end of our luxury. After that we went to set up a desert camp, known as “Kilo 17”, seventeen kilometres past the Pyramids (something else I never dreamed of seeing). Then we got operating again and I had my first flight over the desert. A fitter had to fly with each aircraft after there had been work on it. I went up in a Beaufighter but, after an hour of testing, I realised that the landing gear was not working. The pilot did a dive and pull out to try to swing the wheels down but without success. He then went round again and jettisoned fuel. At this point he turned to me, pointed and mouthed for me to bail out! I had picked up a parachute but they were never checked and it wasn’t on. I waved to say ‘Are you bailing out? When they said ‘No’, I said that I was stopping as well! We did a belly landing but, luckily, there are no obstructions in the desert so we just got a bumping and smothered in sand.

The Beaufighter after our crash landing

The next snag came when the Germans took Crete (end of May 1941). It enabled them to nip over and give us machine gun lessons. After losing a few aircraft, but luckily no men, there came another change. This time it took me to Palestine, and, to get there meant crossing the Sinai, a hundred miles of nothing but sand, a desert made famous by Lawrence of Arabia who, in the First World War, took great pleasure in blowing up the railways and trains full of Turks.

Aftermath of sandstorm at Kilo 17

Working on a Beaufighter

The convoy which crossed the Sinai. This was the truck I drove.

We set up camp at a place called Wadi Shareer where we continued servicing and testing aircraft. There were these things like little kangaroos running about and standing up on their back legs. This lad said we should catch one as a pet so we set up this box with food at the end so that if one went in the door would drop down. Sure enough we caught some. We fed them and put them back in the box but by next morning they’d eaten a hole in the side and had gone. That night though they were back again and they just kept coming. They were in the tents and up on our knees just like kittens. When it came to pulling out nobody wanted to leave them! ( Jerboa – adopted as insignia by the 7th Armoured Division with the nick-name ‘Desert Rats’) It was whilst at Wadi Shareer that I got a letter from Doris saying that Tom was in Jerusalem. One day I managed to get over to his base and spent the afternoon with him. He’d no idea I was coming and it had been nearly ten years since I’d seen him. He had joined the Coldstream Guards a couple of years before I’d joined the R.A.F. and so we’d both been away from home even before the war started. He had been transferred to the Military Police. I remember asking him what action he’d seen and he said, “Oh I don’t fight – I just ride on buses and go into bars listening for ‘careless talk’!” I told him that he always did get the soft jobs! After more months of routine servicing and testing aircraft came my next adventure. By this time I had been promoted to sergeant and I was flight engineer on a Wellington, not on bombing but transporting three senior officers on a service trip. After a time I said to the wireless op’ that there was something wrong. The propellers were still in fine pitch when they should have changed to ‘coarse’ quite a bit before. That’s like the change in sound when changing from low gear to high in a car. Then I realised that the Group Captain was waving to attract my attention. When I looked up he managed to shout, “Hold tight – We’re going in!” I looked at the wireless op’, “Going in? – Where can we go down? There’s nothing but big rocks down there!” No sooner had I said that than I realised we were touching down – but where I thought? It was a bit of a rough landing but gradually we came to a halt and, as we got out, I realised that we were on the flat top of a small mountain. It was an Aussie pilot and, when the officer said, “Why didn’t you retract the undercart? We are only a few feet off the edge!” he used typical Aussie language to explain that he had no control over the trimming tabs on the elevators and that we were “Bloody lucky to get down at all!” The Group Captain said that we would just have to walk back. As we set off the officer said, “You know what those wogs are like – one of us should stay with the aircraft.” As one they all looked at me, the humble sergeant, so I said it, “I’ll stay Sir.” “Good man,” he said, “We will try to get help to you as soon as possible.” Now anyone who has travelled in the desert will tell you that, if you do come to a halt, the Arabs will arrive out of nowhere almost within minutes and be asking for anything you have. True to form, they soon did arrive and, also true to form, they started asking for food, cigarettes or anything else in the kite as we called the ‘plane. I was lucky to have picked up some Arabic and managed to convince them that I had nothing. For the rest of the day and through the night, instead of me giving things to them, they supplied me with food and water. It certainly seemed a long cold night sat on the rocks (I was only in shirt and shorts!) and I was mighty pleased that when daybreak came that I was still alive.

In the afternoon a light plane flew over and dropped a small bag. I thought, ‘great!, food at last.’ But, when I got to the bag, no food – just a Verey pistol with a supply of cartridges and a message – ‘Help is on its way but it will be late tonight or early in the morning. Start firing the Verey lights immediately you see headlights approaching.’ I explained to my friends what I had to do and they demanded a dummy run. So I obliged by firing the pistol along the ground and they cheered like mad. Next they gave me a chapatti, some water and produced some cigs. “Gibit cabrit sawish”, they said, in other words, ‘Give us match Sergeant’. I said, “Mafeesh”, meaning, ‘I had none’. Then they had a brilliant idea. They excitedly and noisily gesticulated for me to fire the pistol along the surface of the rocks again, so I did. Amid great cheers and shouts five of them crouched round the embers of the Verey light, then jumped into the air waving their lit cigarettes in triumph! Things then quietened down for a while until I was suddenly aware that one of them, robed like an Arabian chief, complete with a great knife in his belt, was by my side. He held out his hand for the gun but I said, “La, La” (‘No, No’). For the first time the crowd became agitated, shouting “ahwee sawish,” (‘Let him fire it’). There seemed to be an ‘or else!’ to the way they were shouting. I think they were worried about what he might do if I didn’t give him it and I certainly was! Just a few weeks before some soldiers working with us laying cables hadn’t returned to the base. A party was sent out to look for them and they were found dead with their throats cut and all guns and equipment gone. So, I stood up, gave him the pistol and pointed him away from the kite. But, as he held it up, he pointed it backwards over his shoulder, nodding and smiling to the others as they cheered. At that moment, amidst great shouts and cheers, he fired. The Verey light flew just to where I didn’t want it – onto the port wing of the Wellington! Luckily it bounced off and I tore along to stamp it out causing more cheers and laughter! I was glad that I had given the pistol to him because, after that, he was happy posing with it and my erstwhile friends settled down. The night passed until suddenly they were cheering and dancing again, but this time shouting, “Shufti soweest – Gari is coming” (Gari is a lorry). They took the gun and fired the rest of the cartridges off. They were right; but they’d heard it long before I did. Then, thankfully, I heard the most welcome sound, “Where are you Midge? Where are you?” “I’m here – Where do you think I would be?” “Probably stretched out with your throat cut” came the reply! “It’s a wonder they didn’t kill him” said one of our men. “Well look at him”, said another, “he looks like a wog himself and he’s talking to them in Arabic!” I have always been fairly dark skinned and was certainly very brown by then so perhaps that helped save me. The next day they got the Wellington fit to fly and brought it back to our base. I was told to climb aboard to fly back to Egypt for an enquiry into the incident. I had to report to the squadron CO who gave me a lecture. “Do you realise that you are under threat of a court martial? You signed that aircraft airworthy and you now know that it was not. Three thousand gallons of fuel and ten feet from the edge of a five hundred foot drop!” “Sir”, I said, “I’m a fitter and that was a rigging fault”. “That’s as maybe”, he said, “but you have signed for it. You were the luckiest people to survive but I’m taking into account the fact that you volunteered to stay with the aircraft and so the only action I want to take is to insist that you never sign for anything which you haven’t checked.”

For the next couple of years we had no leave. We were servicing aircraft brought in from bases all over the place. Wellingtons, Blenheims, Kittyhawks, Tomahawks, Bostons Beaufighters and the like – mainly American. We worked night and day preparing planes for battle. During the time we were working hard preparing aircraft for Alamein I saw the worst and saddest crash of the many which I did witness. Fifteen soldiers arrived to lay some communication cables. They asked for a flight and, strictly against orders, someone told them to climb into a Wellington which was just about to go on a test flight. Sadly to say, I don’t think anyone warned them not to move during take off. The Wellington climbed a few hundred feet and then just rolled over, crashed and burst into flames. We think they must have all moved over to one side to look out. There were burnt and broken bodies strewn all over. I must admit there were tears in my eyes when I picked up a partially burnt picture of a little girl. On it was written, ‘All my love Daddy, Joan, XXX’. Historical note – In October 1942 a re-equipped and strengthened British Eighth Army, led by a new commander, General Bernard Montgomery, attacked Rommel at El Alamein. His Afrika Korps was driven back westwards, through Libya into Tunisia. In November 1942 an Anglo-American army commanded by U.S. General Dwight D Eisenhower landed in Algiers and Morocco, forcing the remains of Rommel’s Afrika Korps to surrender. Monty must have appreciated our efforts because he sent us a letter thanking us. After the victory at Alamein they said we could have some time off. The first trip, for four of us, was to hitch hike up the coast to Lebanon and, from there, over some lovely hills to Damascus – following Lawrence’s path again! We were able to spend more and more time visiting places we knew about but had never seen. The Sphinx, the Pyramids, Nazareth, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, the ‘Wailing Wall’, the path taken by Jesus carrying the cross, the Gardens of Eden and Gethsemane. We went swimming in the Dead Sea. It’s true what they say about it, you can’t sink - but it burns your cheeks where you’ve shaved!

As things got better we were moved back to the proper air field at Abu-Sueir which had been rebuilt by then.

It was from Abu-Sueir that, in February 1945, I was posted back to Britain. The voyage was very different to the one going out. We sailed in comfort for two weeks through the calm and peaceful Mediterranean, which was again under Allied control. There was just one stop at Gibraltar then it was on to England.

F 2f) Tern Hill, May 1945 to Demobilisation, February 1946 I returned to Linton-on-Ouse, but was then given almost three months leave to make up for the time off we had missed during four years in the desert. Eventually came my new posting to 24 Maintenance Unit at Tern Hill near Market Drayton in Shropshire just before VE Day 8 May 1945. I was disappointed not to be going back to a squadron but then came the big bonus â&#x20AC;&#x201C; I met a lovely WAAF â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Quite a novelty as there was no such thing the last time I had served in England four years before and certainly not in the desert! I was in charge of a unit stripping, cleaning, checking and re-assembling engines. Louie worked in a different bay at the other end of the same hangar. 23

Our first date was to be a dance at the NAAFI. When I turned up she took one glance at me, went down a corridor towards the ladies and left through a window! Her feeble excuse for doing this was that she thought that I had been drinking. I realised later that what had upset her was that I had not taken her with me. However, she soon recovered and offered to show me around London on a week-ends leave. Louie, ‘McGinty’ and I were met by Louie’s cousin Tommy and we went to White Hart Lane to see Spurs play Stoke City. ‘McGinty’ and I stayed at the Union Jack Club and then we all met up again the following day to have a look round before going back. Louie note – [She recalls events in a different order!] – I remember a chap called ‘Searle’ coming up to me and saying that Sergeant Midgley was going to London for the week-end and that perhaps I could help to show him round. I agreed but got my cousin Tommy to meet us as well. Fred went with ‘McGinty’ and, on the Saturday, the four of us went to see Tottenham Hotspur play Stoke City (Sept. 1945) . That night we saw them off to Liverpool Street where they were staying at the Toc H. Tommy was asking why I had not invited them home but I said my mum had enough to cope with in a small house (Mum, Dad, Charlie, Jim, Harold, me and Aunt Nell!) On Sunday Tom and I met them again and took them round various places like Petticoat Lane before he saw the three of us off on the train back to Tern Hill. On the very next day there was a letter for me from Tommy telling me what a ‘Great bloke’ Freddie was and saying, ‘I don’t know why you don’t take him up.’ So the next time he came across I agreed to go to a dance with him and that’s when I escaped through a window because he was definitely tipsy. On all R.A.F. stations there is an ‘Officer of the Day’ who is accompanied on his duties and inspections by a ‘Sergeant of the Day’. We had done this very casually in the desert but, back in England, it was all very different. When it came to my turn the officer and I went into the dining room and I just shouted, “All right Lads? Any complaints?” The officer was shocked and growled at me “That’s no way to ask for complaints!” The official way was to order silence, then announce ‘Orderly Officer of the Day’ before asking for any complaints. He then said we would go to inspect the Guard and I had certainly not done that before. When we got to the Gate I just went in and said “This bloke wants you outside!” After that he just gave up on me stormed off. He was only a Catering Officer and one of those who I don’t think had seen any service outside England. The war in Japan ended in September and the Government began to de-mob service personnel. Being a regular and not a conscript I could have stayed on in the R.A.F. but by that time I’d had enough and resigned. Lou and I had agreed to get married and the married quarters were poor. There was likelihood of further wars in the Middle East and I didn’t want to be involved again. I wanted to settle down and have a family. I hadn’t been at home for more than six years. Joining the R.A.F. had been the best thing I had ever done but I had joined to learn a trade and I had done that. I was released on 28 January 1946 and, the following day, had to go to a Dispersal Centre at Cardington (near Bedford). You handed in your kit and were issued with your civilian “demob suit” and a travel warrant. From there I made my way home by train to Pool Station.

MEMOIRS OF LOUISA BRETT - “LOUIE” L 1 – EARLY LIFE March 1922 – April 1942 L 1a) Childhood – March 1922 to September 1939 I was born on 25th March 1922 at home, 83 Waverley Road, Walthamstow, London. My dad (Edward Brett - “Charlie”) and his brother, my Uncle Tom, had got married at about the same time (1918) so that they could rent the house together. We lived upstairs and their family lived downstairs. My mum (Mary Ann Matilda Linney - “Tilley”) and dad had had a little girl before me (Matilda Mary Brett b. 8.4.1920) but she had died of Whooping Cough (5.7.1921) so I was the eldest. I was followed by Charlie (Edward Charles Brett b. 4.6.1924), Jim (James Albert Brett b. 23.10.1926) and Harold (b. 20.12.1928). Mum used to say that before I was born it was almost unbearable to hear Tom (my cousin) crying downstairs.

L. to R. Charlie (b.4-6-1924), Louie (b. 25-3-1922), Jim (b. 23-10-1926), Dad “Charlie” (b. 19-9-1891), Mum “Tilley” (b. 8-6-1895) with Harold (b.20-12-1928) on her knee. Photo c. 1929

Downstairs were Uncle Tom and Aunt Em’ with their children, my cousins, Tommy, Fred, Bert, Sid and Lenny, so I was the only girl amongst eight boys! Aunt Em’ had a sister who was in service so she didn’t have a home of her own and on her days off she used to come and stay as well!

Back L. to R. Uncle James Brett, Uncle Jack Brett, Uncle Tom Brett, Front L. to R. Aunt Em. (Tom’s wife), Dad “Charlie”, Mum “Tilley”

Upstairs we had three rooms. There was a front bedroom with a double bed for my mum and dad and then, behind a screen which dad put up, a single bed for me. The back bedroom was shared by the three lads. In the other room the landlord had put in a kitchen range but there was nowhere proper for washing up. There was just a cupboard with a bowl in it and a bucket for the slops. If we wanted more we had to go downstairs. There was no bathroom and no toilet. We had to go downstairs, through the hall and scullery (kitchen) and out into the back yard. You had to pass their living room window so they always knew when I was going to the toilet and I hated it! Then, with twelve or thirteen people, you never knew when it was busy, which was another embarrassment. Sometimes my dad would check first and give me the ‘all clear’. That toilet was absolutely spotless. Both mum and Aunt Em’ cleaned it and I don’t think either was going to be outdone by the other!

Dad was an oil blender at a paint works. He had been the eldest child in his family and had had to help out by working as soon as he could so that he had had hardly any schooling. At first he couldn’t read and write very well but he learnt as he got older. He must have been very clever really because when he got a motor bike and side car he taught himself all about maintaining them and, later, cars as well. Mum was a seamstress by trade but when we were young she just did some cleaning work so that she could still be at home when we came home. Granddad had set up a timber business. At weekends dad and Uncle Tom used to go round to chop wood into sticks. Granddad then went round the streets with a horse and cart selling bundles for people’s fires. They also carried coke to sell.

Left Mum (with Jim on her knee) sitting outside her brother’s house (Uncle Albert Linney’s) at Barrington in Somerset, where the family went for holidays. Dad is standing in the back left. Photo c. 1927 Below L. to R. – Mr Cornelius (farmer) at Barrington, with Jim, Louie and Harold on holiday. Photo c 1934

I went to Wood Street School until I was 11, then Joseph Barrett School (Senior Elementary School in Joseph Barrett Street) because I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get a scholarship.

Louie (standing in back row, second from right) at Wood Street Junior School, Walthamstow. Aged about 7, Photo c. 1929

Because we lived upstairs in the house, Dad used to take us all out to Epping Forest at weekends so that we had somewhere to play. I sat on the pillion behind Dad, Mum in the side car with Harold on her knee and Charlie and Jim sitting side by side in front of her. In 1934 dad bought his first car, a Singer, for ÂŁ25 second hand from a house in Caledonian Road near Kings Cross. In about 1934, when I was about 12, Uncle Tom and his family moved out and we then rented the whole of the house which was a lot better.

Left With Dad at Ramsgate. Below Dad and mum in Singer car, with me in the back and with (L. to R.) Jim, Harold and Charlie sitting on the running board. Photo c 1934 at Stamford Rivers, near Epping, Essex

You had just three years at the senior school and left at 14. All I wanted to do as a job was to sew. Both my mum and her sister, my Aunt Nellie were seamstresses. Nellie had been taken ill with what they said at the time was rheumatic fever but we think now that it was polio. She spent four years in hospital and was crippled for life. When she came home she did out work for a corset manufacturers in Valentines Road. I used to collect it for her and take it back. When I left school I got a job there and worked there for almost two years before moving to a dress factory at the top of Wood Street. In the summer of 1939 my friend Elsie, a girl I worked with, said what about going on holiday together. I asked mum and dad and they must have been alright about it because dad drove us down to near Clacton. We went to Copins Farm at Bradfield which was like a private youth hostel run by a lady. She arranged all sorts of activities, games and coach trips out to Clacton. I met a lad called Stan Johnson who lived at Waltham Forest. At the end of the holiday everybody exchanged addresses and I thought no more about it but a couple of weeks later Stan just arrived at our house in Waverley Road. We started going out together, often to the theatre. He was serving his apprenticeship at a tool makers in Forest Road. The first time he took me home to his house his mum told me that Stan didn’t have enough money to have a young lady but we still went out together for about two years until we moved to Somerset.

Pictured at Joseph Barrett Senior Girls’ School, Barrett Street, Walthamstow in 1935, aged 14. Year 3 (Final school year), Form A, Miss M. M. Bauman Photograph commemorating the Silver Jubilee in 1935 of King George V (Reign 1910 – 1936)

L 1b) Early War Years - September 1939 to April 1942 I used to go to a Baptist Chapel in Blackhorse Road with some friends from work. I was at a service there on 3rd September 1939 when war was declared. The Prime Minister had made an announcement at 11am. I don’t know how the Parson heard it but he said we would have to close and that we should make our way home. I was walking to catch a trolley bus when the air raid warning went off. A lady came running out and said I had better go into her house for shelter. Nothing happened and after a while the ‘All clear’ was sounded. After the war had started I thought I should do some war work. I found out that Maples, at the top of Tottenham Court Road, were making kit bags, tents, sleeping bags and the like so I went there. When the Dunkirk evacuation was on (27 May – 4 June 1940) I remember the men, mostly soldiers, coming out of the station and filling the pavements. They all looked so vacant, exhausted and dishevelled. A lot of them were just lying down and sleeping. Then they started taking them to Regents Park where they had put some tents up for them. On August 24 the first bomb fell on London. There was an air fight over the North Weald Airfield. On September 15 we watched the Battle of Britain in the sky from our garden in Waverley Road. There were 250 German planes. Fire bombs set the docks alight I was at work on the afternoon of September 18 when the air raid warning went. We were all making our way down to the shelter in the basement when we were met with smoke and smother. Bombs had dropped in Oxford Street which was just next to us. The tannoy was saying to get out of the building. I had nothing with me at all but a girl who I worked with took me to her house in Islington, about a two mile walk away. Her mum gave me the fare to get home. On October 28th, in an evening air raid, a bomb fell about 50 yards from Gran’s house in Marlow Road (just off Wood Street) (see postscript 3). It killed a young mum, her two little girls and their grandma. One little girl was never even found. Their dad was away in the army. The same night another bomb dropped in Shernhall Street and took the roof off Uncle Harold’s (mum’s brother) and Aunt Lil’s house. You could see all their bed from the street covered with roof. Luckily they were safe in their Anderson shelter in the back garden. The bomb had landed on the Convent School and one of the nuns had been killed. Historical note – The ‘Battle of Britain’ was the attempt by the German Luftwaffe to knock out the R.A.F. and so clear the way for ‘Operation Sealion’, the invasion of England. From July to September 1940 aerial ‘dog-fights’ raged over southern England. Many more German aeroplanes were destroyed than British, though by early September the R.A.F. was becoming desperately short of both aircraft and trained pilots. However, the Luftwaffe decided that its losses were too great and switched to the (mainly night) bombing of British cities. This became known as ‘the Blitz’ and lasted from September 1940 to May 1941. London was the main target, though other cities, including Coventry and Plymouth also suffered heavily. 40,000 were killed.

Jim and Harold had been evacuated at the start of the war but when mum and dad went to see them they were both so upset that they put them in the car and brought them back. When things got bad Uncle Albert (my mumâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s brother) in Barrington said that we all had to go down there so we gave up Waverley Road and moved to Somerset. There was the six of us as well as Aunt Nellie, Aunt Lou and Stanley her son (my cousin). Mum and dad rented half a house in Barrington but there wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough room for us all to sleep there. Aunt Nell and I slept at a neighbours and Aunt Lou and Stanley stayed with Uncle Albert and Aunt Edna. Mum then cooked all the meals for everybody in the kitchen of the rented house.

Barrington, Somerset. The house on the left with the porch was the one rented by mum and dad.

Uncle Albert got some work for us at Pauls in Matlock (not far from Yeovil) where he worked. I was making tents and Nellie was making kit bags just like at Maples. Albert could palm sew because he had been in the navy when they had sails on the ships. During the first war he served on HMS Weymouth and had been missing for a while when he had been shipwrecked (see postscript 4). At the start of the second war he had gone back in the navy but had then been released because of his hearing difficulties. They reckoned that this had been caused by the noise of the ships guns. It was whilst I was working at Pauls (April 29th 1941) that I had a serious accident. I was trying to do the thick end of a tent with some large scissors when they slipped and went into my other hand. I had to go to hospital in Yeovil for some stitches and an injection for lock jaw. On May 11th there were reports of the German bombers worst attack on London with over 500 planes. There were many fires in the city. 33

L 2 – ROYAL AIR FORCE Service number 2066750

April 1942 – April 1946 L 2a) Enlistment and Barrage Balloons – April 1942 to February 1943 I was working with a friend called Joan when one day (27 April 1942) she came in saying, “Guess what – they are saying that we shall have to go in the army”. The foreman said that we wouldn’t because we were on war work but Joan said, “No; the wireless said that we will have to – I don’t want to join the army; Do you?” When I said that I didn’t she said that we’d go down to the Labour Exchange to find out. Well, the exchange people said that we would be called up unless we joined up first. There were no vacancies in the navy so we decided that we would join the R.A.F. who wanted women for either balloon work or cooking. The next day (28 April 1942) we went to Castle Street in Exeter for our medicals. We were sworn in and then sent home to wait for drafting. When we had moved down to Somerset Stan Johnson had asked me if he could buy me a ring, I’ve still got it upstairs; I suppose we were engaged. He came to visit us in Barrington but when I was joining the RAF he wrote to say that his mother said I would be meeting someone else and that we should break it off. We were sent for on the 8th May 1942 when we reported to Cheltenham for three weeks basic training and ‘square bashing’. We were then sent to Cardington in Bedfordshire (where the famous airship the R101 had been launched) to learn about barrage balloons. I was confirmed in the C. of E. chapel at Cardington on 5 September 1942. Barrage balloons were flown at the end of wire cables and were supposed to make it more difficult for enemy planes to fly in and bomb. We had to learn how to lay out the balloons and how to inflate them from hydrogen gas bottles. You then sat on a winch control powered by a Ford 8 engine and this paid out the cable. We had to look after the engines, check the cables, check gas pressures etc. My first proper posting was to Crewe. When we were on duty it was two hours on, four hours off, day and night until your day off. We were stationed just beside the main railway line and not far from the Rolls Royce engine works which were likely targets. We were sent radio messages telling us what to do – put them up, how high, bring them down because our planes were in the area etc. One day I was at the gate on my guard duty when this man walked up and said, in what I thought was a very strange voice, “Have you brewed yet?” I just turned and ran inside! I told them about this chap outside acting strange and what he had said. They just laughed and told me he was asking if I had made the tea. I had never heard the expression ‘brew’ before! I was then transferred to the balloon site at East Ham in London. This was on the cricket field near the Town Hall and a short distance from the Thames docklands. The billet had just been set up in the changing rooms. There were just a few bunk beds and bare wooden floors. It was so cold and, at first, we had no uniform trousers, only overalls. Under those we used to wear our own knickers and long socks, then pull the R.A.F. bloomers down as low as we could to try to close the gap. 34

Second from left: Anchoring a barrage balloon

On guard duty at night, in the blackout, the city was strangely quiet. You could hear the water in the Thames, the wind and things. Although it was cold, it could seem wonderful, but when the German planes came up the river we were absolutely petrified. On my days off I used to go to stay with Aunt Lou in Marlow Road, Walthamstow. Aunt Lou’s husband, Uncle Stan, was in the navy and when my Cousin Stanley joined as well and she had moved back to London from Barrington so that she could be nearer for them if they got leave. One afternoon I was going back to base when there was a really big air raid. I was in uniform standing in a bus queue behind a chap who was also in R.A.F. uniform. There were a lot of bombs dropping but nobody was saying anything. You just stood there thinking, ‘that was a bit close’; ‘I wonder where that one was’; but nobody moved out of the queue. Eventually a bus came and then we both got off at West Ham and both went down into the tube station. We both got the same tube and both got out at East Ham. When we got out to the street the raid was still very intensive. He said to me, “Would you mind if I walked with you?” I said, “No; It would be nice” and he walked me back to the post. He said he was on leave but other than that I didn’t really get to know anything about him, not even his name. When I arrived back they were all very worried because I was so long overdue. Next afternoon some of the girls came in saying that there was an airman outside wanting to know if that young lady who had been stuck in the raid yesterday was alright. I went out to him and it was the first time that I actually saw him because everything had been dark the evening before. He said, “Excuse me but my mum says would you like to come to tea?” I hadn’t really got any more time due but the other girls were saying ‘Go on – we’ll do it for you’, so I agreed. That’s how I became friends with Cyril (Bates). He was a rear gunner on a bomber based at Holme on Spalding Moor in Yorkshire. 35

When he came for me he said would I mind if we went to his Auntie’s house instead because it was her birthday and they’d all been invited over. I got on this bus with his mum and dad and we didn’t even sit together. He sat with his dad and I sat with his mum and we went to his Aunt’s at Rainham (near Dagenham). Even though I had never seen them before I was so relaxed. They were lovely. It was just like being with my own mum and dad. His Aunt had made us all a lovely tea. On the way back it was really rough with bombs dropping all around but we sat together and got chance to really talk by ourselves for the first time. On my next day off Cyril came for me again and this time we went back to his mum and dad’s house. His mum was such a lovely lady and one day came to see us at the billet. She later told me that when she got home she had cried because of the conditions that we young ladies were having to live in. On January 1943 dad went away to Cornwall to work. He was laying cables on aerodromes for things like lighting the runway. He was then moved to London laying cables on the Underground. Mum moved back from Somerset and they rented 45 Brookfield Avenue in Walthamstow. One day, when dad went into work on the Tube, they found a German landmine still dangling from a parachute. After it had been made safe he brought it home and kept it in the garden. When mum moved out into the flat in we brought it up here and its still in our garden with plants in (at 33 Millcroft).

L 2b) Flight Mechanic - February 1943 to Demobilisation April 1946 By 1943 the threat of the air raids had lessened and so they didn’t need as many on barrage balloon work. In February I was sent to Chigwell to be cleared and then, after a few days, to St Athan, in Wales, for re-training as a Flight Mechanic. Right from being a little girl I’d helped around my dad and I think I had shown more understanding of the winch engines than some of the other WAAF.

In Flight Mechanic’s uniform

On Tuesday May 25th, Cyril was reported missing on a raid over Dusseldorf. They were very good at the base and let me go to his parents straight away. It was only a few days later that he was confirmed killed. His plane had crashed in Holland on its return journey. After the war his parents visited the village and people told them that he was still alive when they got to him but died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I stayed in touch with his parents for the rest of their life. They came to our wedding and we used to visit them when we were in London visiting my own mum and dad. Neil and Gillian used to call Cyril’s mum ‘Nanna Bates’.

Sgt 1586116 Cyril Bates, 101 Squadron, R.A.F. Whitchurch Heath, Lincolnshire, Died 26 May 1943, aged 20, Buried Oden Military Cemetery, Holland. Plot 5, Row D, Grave 11.

My training continued with six months at Henlow and then I was posted to No. 24 Maintenance Unit at Tern Hill, Stoke Heath in Shropshire in, I think, the October of 1943. The aircraft engines were stripped down, cleaned, checked and re-assembled. I had to check parts for wear using micrometers and check for cracks or corrosion. When I had been working there some time the Warrant Officer came to me and moved me to a more complicated job using dti (dial test inspections). I said I didn’t think I could do it but they said that they had been watching me and that they knew I could so I did. And that’s how I spent the rest of the war.

One day there was a terrible accident. A girl called Jean Brockbank was working with an engine on a stand which had a drip tray underneath to catch the fuel from the carburettor. A lad came up and filled his lighter from it. He must have got fuel on his hand as well because when he struck the lighter the flame ran down his hand. He dropped the lighter into the drip tray and it just blew up straight over Jean. All her front was on fire. Her overalls protected her a bit but her hands, arms, neck, face and hair were all badly burnt. I went to see her in hospital at East Grinstead in Sussex and I will never forget it. There were so many air crew there who had been terribly disfigured with burns. They did a lot for her with skin grafts and things but she was scarred for life. I played in the Unit hockey team which was nearly all men with only three WAAF. My friend Joan Roake and I ‘volunteered’ to wash the kit which we had to do up at the men’s ablutions. Sometimes, whilst we scrubbing away at one end of the block, there were Italian prisoners of war working down at the other. I think they must have been just happy to be there because they sang all the time, lots of things, even opera. It was beautiful. Sometimes they smiled at us but they didn’t speak to us and we were told we couldn’t speak to them. It was a really strange situation. Fred was posted to Tern Hill in the summer of 1945 but I didn’t have anything to do with him at first because he worked down the other end of the hangar. A few months later (Sept 1945) I remember a chap called ‘Searle’ coming up to me and saying that Sergeant Midgley was going to London for the week-end and that perhaps I could help to show him round. I agreed but got my cousin Tommy to meet us as well. Fred went with his friend ‘McGinty’ and, on the Saturday, the four of us went to see Tottenham Hotspur play Stoke City. That night we saw them off to Liverpool Street where they were staying at the Toc H. Tommy was asking why I had not invited them home but I said my mum had enough to cope with in a small house (Mum, Dad, Charlie, Jim, Harold, me and Aunt Nell!) On Sunday Tom and I met them again and took them round various places like Petticoat Lane before he saw the three of us off on the train back to Tern Hill. On the very next day there was a letter for me from Tommy telling me what a ‘Great bloke’ Freddie was and saying, ‘I don’t know why you don’t take him up.’ So the next time he came across I agreed to go to a dance with him. When I arrived he was already tipsy. I went to the toilets, climbed out through a window and left, but we did begin seeing each other after that.

Fred was a really good supervisor and they all worked really well for him, but he worked very hard as well. He used to give all the married men weekend passes then, when they’d gone, he’d be going up and down all their trolleys doing all their work for them. One night, just before his demob, he said, “Well, I don’t suppose I’ll see you any more.” I said, “I don’t suppose you will.” Then he said, “Well, I suppose we could get married,” and I said, “Well, I suppose we could!” Not the most romantic of proposals! I had to wait a few more months for my demob on 9th April 1946.

3 – MARRIED LIFE TOGETHER September 1946 – We got married at St. Mary’s Church, Walthamstow, at 3-o-clock on the 7th September 1946. The group photograph shows (left to right) …

Robert Midgley, Grooms father – “Bob” Penny Chester, Bridesmaid (front) - Daughter of neighbours at 45 Brookfield Ave. (This should have been Anne Midgley, Cliff’s daughter, Fred’s niece, but she had measles – the dress had to be quickly altered!). Emma Midgley, Groom’s Step Mother – “Ma” Vera Davis, Bridesmaid (front) – Brides Cousin (Doreen’s Sister) Jack Thompson, Best Man – “McGinty” Robert Alfred Midgley, Groom – “Fred” Louisa Brett – Bride Doreen Davis, Bridesmaid – Brides Cousin (Vera’s Sister) Edward Charles Brett, Brides Father – “Pop” Matilda Mary Ann Brett, Brides Mother – “Tilley”

Louie - We went by train for a honeymoon at Golent, near Looe, in Cornwall. Apart from one day Chapel trips to the seaside this was the first real holiday Fred had ever had. We left London just before midnight and dawn was breaking as we travelled along the coast into Cornwall. I will never forget the wonderful sight of line after line of big ships in the Channel where they had been moored because the fighting was over. Fred - We came to Pool to live in Wharfe Crescent with Ma and Dad. Louie - One of the first things Ma said when we arrived was, “Think on – no babies while you’re staying with us.” 40

Fred - As my R.A.F. release papers said, I was planning to join the family coal and haulage business but this didn’t work out. Instead I managed to get a job at Riffa Garage. Louie – Doreen (Clifford’s wife) knew that he was due to get married and said that it “wouldn’t be fair” if I just came into the business and “had it easy”. I think that she had put quite a bit of her money in after she had married Clifford. Louie – On my first visit to the butchers no-one spoke to me as I stood in the queue. I heard comments like, “Oh, they are dirty down south, they never do any washing; they always send it to the laundry.” “They definitely don’t know how to cook; they always use the bakers.” All this was meant to make me feel unwelcome but George Middlemass, the butcher, was always really kind to me. Fred - A few weeks after our wedding we cycled with my friend Kenny Wilkinson to Headingley Cricket Ground to watch my hero Len Hutton. It poured down for much of the time and we had to try to shelter under coats but Hutton still had time to score a century. Since then I have often thought ‘Greater love hath no woman than that!’ Louie – Ma told me, “You can get a job if you like but think on that I need you to help with the house.” I managed to find a part time job at a dry cleaners in Manor Square in Otley. I got a second hand bike and on most days I cycled there and back. Later I moved to a sewing job at Appletree Fabrics on Leeds Road in Otley. I was making things like bedding, quilts and cushions. I worked there for about 18 months or two years, only leaving when I was pregnant with Neil. Fred - One morning I was in the station yard helping my father with the coal when Sellers, the Station Master, came over. “Just come to tell you Cliff’s rung up to say he’s had a bump. The ladies were with him but there’s no need to worry – they’re all fine.” So that was that and it was the evening before we really found what had happened. Louie – Ma and I were waiting at the bus stop to go shopping when Clifford passed in the lorry. He said he’d give us a lift into Otley. It was a cold and really foggy morning; I sat in the middle with Ma in the passenger side. We’d just passed where the Garden Centre is and were going up that little hill when suddenly there was another lorry in front of us. We were only going slowly and Clifford braked and swerved to try to avoid it but the passenger side crashed into it. My head was pushed back against the tipper screw and my knees were bleeding but I managed to get out of the driver’s side. Ma was far worse; she was trapped hanging out of the crumpled passenger door with sand and gravel from the lorry in front all over her. She looked absolutely dead. The lady from the first house at the top of the hill took me in whilst the ambulance came to free Ma and take us up to the hospital. They kept Ma in but released me and I made my own way home, walking to the bus in Otley and then from the bus in Pool. I don’t know how I did it; I was still in quite a lot of pain. Fred – That’s when we saw her and she still looked a mess. It was a sand and gravel lorry which had broken down on the hill. Whilst it was standing there water had been running out of the back and had frozen on the road. The driver had just managed to start it up again which caused a big cloud of exhaust to add to the fog and the ice – Cliff had no chance. When I saw our lorry I couldn’t believe it; it was a real mess; they were very lucky.

I was still working at Riffa Garage and also doing some coal deliveries for Chief (Clifford) when, out of the blue, I was contacted by Inman Toon who said, “I’ve got a better job for you than carrying coal.” Inman was a very good friend of mine who I played football and cricket with and who had been a pilot in the Air Force. When he said that the job was at the paper mill, I said, “No Thanks! The only reason I joined the R.A.F. was that I hated working at the mill.” “Oh no, this job is not like that,” said Inman, “They are thinking of owning their own lorries for delivery and are looking for a mechanic to maintain them.” I wasn’t sure. I was an aero engine fitter. I had done some work on damaged vehicles in the desert but I told him that I didn’t think I could service a fleet. “Look Fred, You have done splendid jobs on my car and I have told Harold Ellison (works foreman) about you. He says that you have got to see him on Monday morning.” Ellison was a man who didn’t waste words and he hadn’t changed in my time away. I told him that I doubted my ability to do the job but he closed the meeting in his own inimitable fashion, “Get your bloody self here for eight-o-clock Monday morning. The job is yours!” The Whiteleys (owners of the paper mills) did a lot for the village and were on the local council. Old Charlie William had a Rolls Royce which he had to take to Huddersfield for servicing and I drove him. On the way back he asked if we had a house yet. When I said that we didn’t he said, “Well Freddie lad, that’s what’s happening now-a-days. Our Willies having to live with us.” That was true but it was in a mansion! Then he said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have one soon” and within a few weeks we did. I think he must have speeded things up. They did so much for their workers and me especially. Louie – I was always afraid that Ma and Pa hadn’t wanted us living with them and that they hadn’t really taken to me but, when we were about to move out, they gave me this card and said I had to read it in front of them because that’s what they thought of me. It thanked me for all that I had done for them and said how wonderful they thought I was. We moved into 25 Millcroft Estate, a newly built council house on 7 February 1949. (see postscript 5). Just nine months later Neil was born (Robert Neil,16-11-1949) at Otley Hospital and then three years later Gillian (Gillian Mary,11-2-1953) was born at home.

When the children were young most holidays were spent with Louie’s mum and pop. We used to spend time in London visiting all the relatives or go off somewhere like Skegness. Before we had a car we’d go down on the train or they used to drive up here. Then, in 1965 we managed to buy a second hand car. At that time it was one of the first on the estate but that soon changed.

1958 Austin A55, bought second hand in 1965 from the Half Moon Garage. Car Tax was £15. Fred had had a little sports car for a short time whilst at Tern Hill but this was the first family car. It is pictured outside no. 33 Millcroft to where they had moved from no. 25 in the early 1960’s (note the absence of any other vehicles!).

Fred - After a few years of settling into the job at the mill I found myself responsible for three ‘eight wheelers’ and three smaller wagons plus fork lift trucks, a small fire engine and three tractors. It was really long hours, including Saturdays and even going in on Sundays just to check that they were alright to go out on Monday morning. I would spend most of Sundays there because, although before the war I had played with Pool village cricket team, when I went back to the mill I played with them. Lou used to make teas for the players. She was also heavily involved in the Mother’s Union and the Scout group committee. To this day I still don’t know how I managed it, especially after they made me ‘Transport Manager’ responsible for all the administration as well. This involved keeping records of all the vehicles, ordering the diesel, petrol, oil, tyres and all the spares etc. Whiteleys’ left me completely to myself and I just got on with it. I never worked anywhere else and never wanted to work anywhere else, and all because I saw an advert for the R.A.F. all those years ago! I got my gold watch for 25 years’ service in 1974 and retired, redundant really, in 1979. This was a bit of a worry at the time because I was only 62.

Some years earlier a consultant had advised getting rid of all the eight wheelers and getting artics instead. They turned out to be nowhere near as reliable or as economic and so it was decided to get rid of them and to use contract haulage. The garage on Otley Road was let or sold (now the ‘Blue Barn’) and I was moved back to my original garage in the mill yard but, eventually, no wagons meant the end of my job. But, even after that, for several years they kept sending for me when they wanted the fork lift or something mending. When I finished at the mill we had a garage built alongside the house so that I could go on maintaining cars and there were certainly plenty of customers. It’s been a happy time except when people came knocking on the door late at night because they’d broken down. There again, most of them were friends and did things for me in return. We were never short of an electrician, plumber, joiner or anything. We’ve been so lucky. We never had a lot of money but we were never short. So many didn’t live through the war but we’ve had a long and mostly happy life, a long retirement, two lovely children and now two lovely grandchildren. We’ve had lots of really good holidays with them and with Tom and Olive (brother and sister in law). We just can’t complain really. (see postscript 6)

Postscripts Added by Neil Postscript 1 (page 16) Dad gives his sailing from Liverpool aboard the Scythia as in January 1941. ‘RMS Scythia’ was first used as a troop ship when she departed in Convoy WS4 on 1st November 1940. Mersey River pilots records (held by Liverpool Museums, ref MDHB/PIL35/4) show that it was then back in Liverpool from 8th January 1941 to 2nd February when it sailed as part of Convoy WS6. This second convoy seems the most likely but his R.A.F. Release Certificate gives his Middle East service as commencing 7th February. Did this date include the voyage? Postscript 2 (page 17) I am not convinced that the photographs seen at Armin’s scrap yard were of the ship which had been sailing in dad’s convoy. They were probably of ‘SS Thistlegorm’ which sailed from Glasgow on 2nd June 1941 destined for Alexandria, Egypt. Wikipedia reports that her cargo included two LMS Stanier class 8F steam locomotives. The ship was sunk on the 6th October 1941 whilst anchored near Raw Muhammad in the Red Sea and is now a well-known diving site. So, although the Thistlegorm’s journey was similar to dad’s convoy the dates do not match up. It is highly likely that there were other locomotives transported on other ships. Perhaps ‘his’ got through after all? Postscript 3 (page 32) The bombing of Marlow Road is confirmed as 8.40pm on October 28th 1940 (Walthamstow Guardian & Gazette Newspapers, January 27, 1989, article based on ‘The Blitz – Then and Now vol II, November 1988, by Winston Ramsey). However, reference to “Gran’s house” is a bit confusing as Gran (Matilda Linney nee Whittaker) died on 3rd February 1940. Even so, I suppose it was still ‘her house’ and Granddad, Albert Linney was still living there. The article has a photo of the damaged houses and does much to corroborate mum’s account. Postscript 4 (page 33) Aunt Nellie had the full name Helena Weymouth Linney. The family story has always been that she was given this middle name because she was born (on 10-10-1915) whilst brother Albert was “missing” aboard HMS Weymouth. However, the ship was never “lost” and survived the war. The family will, of course, have been in the dark about the ships whereabouts and Albert’s wellbeing. Postscript 5 (page 42) They lived at 25 Millcroft Estate until the early 1960s when they moved to no. 33 where they were to live (hospitals and nursing homes apart) for the rest of their lives. With no. 34, this forms a pair of the around 4,000 Swedish, all timber, prefabricated, dwellings exported to England and Scotland between September 1945 and March 1946. They were a post war gift from the Swedish government (France received a further 2,100). Dad and mum bought no. 33 from the Council in the summer of 1972 at a price of £1,320. This sum being raised from personal savings and loans from Louie’s mum and from me. I was, at that time, serving as a P.C. with Leeds City Police, still single and still living at home, so I had managed to build up some funds. We were both repaid in full! Postscript 6 (page 44) I am so pleased that we made these notes this when we did (2005). Dad, in particular, had re-told his war time stories often and I wanted to get them recorded. A few years after this his mental health went into a fairly rapid decline. He was taken into hospital in March 2008 and never discharged to us. In June 2008 he was given a place at the Riverview Nursing Home in Ilkley and died there on 27th February 2009, aged 91. His ashes were buried in his mum and dad’s grave in Pool churchyard; a mere 200 yards from where he was born. 45