Roland Mitchell
Jill Jones
Miss W
Mr P Calvert
Pauline Storr nee Turner
Rod Mackey
Wendy R.M.Usher-Bacon nee George
Dorothy Taylor
Malcolm Burnett
H Ross
We would like your contributions by email to memories@beverleycivic.co.uk
or complete this form on our VE Day Memories page
I am a Hull man. I am 85, and my wife and I retired to Beverley 20
years ago. In WWII I was in the Territorials and was called up in 1939.
I also got engaged, at Christmas of that year, to Irene.
In May/June 1940 I was a driver in the RASC with the BEF in Northern
France. I had been wounded and was in hospital. The Germans were breaking
through everywhere and I left hospital, joined some other soldiers and
used a truck to make a road block. They wanted me to join them because
I was a driver and could move and immobilise the truck. We then set
up a machine gun nest. Two Germans on motorbikes approached, saw the
road block and then went back. A large German lorry appeared next, Germans
got out and started to try to move the road block. Our machine gun stopped
them.
The British army was in disarray. We had no organisation or ammunition.
I escaped to the beach near Boulogne. I spent some time in the sand
dunes but after a few days it was no use and I was captured. I spent
5 years as a prisoner of war. To start with we walked towards Germany.
Later we were loaded into cattle trucks and I was taken to prisoner
of war camps in Poland.
I spent the next 4 1⁄2 years labouring. I worked underground in
coal mines. I also worked shovelling sugar beet and digging sand. The
coal mines I worked in were not the same as those in England, there
was little danger of gas so the fear of explosions was small. I remember
the night shift was best for we sometimes hid in disused side tunnels
and slept rather than worked. The Polish miners we worked alongside
let us do this.
On one occasion I tried to escape. I had obtained a suit of civvies
from the Poles I worked with down the mines. I was rigged up, to a fashion,
for my escape with a forged civilian pass and ID card and when I came
up from the mine I walked out of the colliery’s civilian entrance.
I got on a train. But a couple of stops down the line an important looking
German got on board, and sat down opposite me. We started to talk, I
spoke some German and he asked me about my socks. These were good quality
and the only bit of British kit on me. I was wearing them because I
expected I would need to walk a long way, and I wanted to look after
my feet.
I was asked where I had got my socks from. I explained that I had bought
them on the black market. At the next station the German got off, went
to a policeman and reported me as a black market dealer. I was arrested
and questioned about being a black marketer. This was serious. Eventually
I confessed to being a POW and was returned to my camp. I had to spend
a month in solitary as punishment.
I mid Jan 1945 I was in a POW camp near Krakow in Eastern Poland. Over
a foot of snow lay on the ground. The temperature was well below freezing.
I was in a Lager of around 300 British POWs. The main POW camps were
Stalags, smaller camps were called “Lagers”.
At 6.00pm we were told to be ready to be evacuated at 0600 the following
morning. Russian forces were advancing fast and overnight we made small
sledges from bed boards to each carry one Red Cross parcel of essentials.
We were not allowed to carry any clothing apart from what we wore. We
set off in the snow marching in a westerly direction and marched for
36 hours non-stop, often changing direction, eventually joining others
until the queue reached to each horizon.
There were POWs of all nationalities in the column, British, Aussies,
New Zealanders, South Africans, French and others. There were political
prisoners clad only in thin blue striped pyjamas and clogs. Stragglers
who could not keep up were shot. Numerous political prisoners lay stiff
by the road side. Their corpses looked like skeletons. At one time we
were strafed by Russian planes, this caused many casualties.
We marched on day after day, week after week, with generally no rations.
Very occasionally we had a piece of bread and we thanked God for the
Red Cross parcels. At night, if we were lucky, we were herded into a
barn, we were luckier still if the barn had straw. Often we were just
penned up in a farm yard. Polish farms were built in a circle with the
buildings on the outside and a space for the cattle on the inside. We
often spent the night out in the open, in farm yards.
One day, after a night in a straw barn, quite a few of our lads were
missing. They had burrowed into the straw to try to escape. The Germans
machined gunned the straw. No one escaped. On another occasion, in a
farm yard, I looked through a little window and noticed a pile of spuds
in a cellar. I got in through the window and started handing them out.
A German guard came up, saw what was going on, poked his rifle in, and
slid back his bolt. I was in trouble. My mate quickly offered him a
tin of coffee from a Red Cross parcel. The guard took the coffee and
buggered off, like any sensible German would.
We got to the Danube near Budapest. To get clean we stripped off and
swam in the river. I hadn’t been in long when I saw a snake in
the water. I got out pretty quick.
The rats seemed quite happy to share the barns and outbuildings on a
night; they didn’t like the cold weather outside either. A couple
of months or so went by with us daily walking 10 miles, or 15 kilometres.
The snow went and it gradually got a little warmer. As we were now leaving
the Russian front well behind, getting a little nearer to our Allies
each day, our guards were getting less aggressive and a little friendlier.
But they still wanted to carry there own rifles.
In the early days of the war, 1940/41, marching German troops used to
sing about “Fahren Gegen England”, “We are travelling
towards England”. They didn’t sing it now, so we took it
up. We were travelling to England. We were in better spirits and going
well on a diet of spuds, swedes and sugar beet.
After 4 months of marching we were in Austria and things seemed very
quiet and peaceful. We bedded down in a meadow, woke up the following
morning and found our guards had disappeared. We were free. The lads
lit a large fire. A pig was obtained from somewhere; it was nicely trimmed,
put on a spit and cooked over the open fire. My friend Frank and I ate
our fill and wandered off on our own. We were sitting on the grass verge
of a country lane when we saw a tank approaching, followed by a line
of others. Out of interest we just sat there wondering what would happen
next. As the lead tank passed us out of the tank came a shower of cigarettes,
sweets and chocolate etc. The Yanks had arrived.
For those two dirty, shabby, khaki clad human beings it was one of the
happiest days of their lives, but more was to come. We got up walked
around a bit and came across our former German guards all nicely penned
up. We had the Americans line them up for us, then inspected them, picking
out untidy uniforms, boots not blacked and those not standing stiffly
to attention.
After that we came across a German Gestapo Opal staff car complete with
its skull and cross bone emblem on the front. It had a hammer put through
the dash board but we got it going, had a drive around and spent the
night with a squad of burial troops. They tidied up bodies. Here we
were introduced to flapjack and maple syrup. We then looked at photos
of their families; it was a real home from home.
The next day found us on the autobahn going into Regensburg. Every thing
was going fine until we came to this cross road where this great big
Yankee military policeman, who looked like a 10 foot gorilla, was controlling
traffic. He stopped us at the head of the queue, came to us very slowly,
the earth trembled with his every step. He came along side, stared menacingly
at us for a long moment, and then said, “You got no papers?”
I replied “No.” “You got no pass?” I again said
“No”. To which he announced “You got no car”.
I said “I’ll drive it to the road side out of the way”.
He said “You got two seconds to get out under your own power”.
We only needed one. Our freedom was temporarily on hold.
That ended my journey. We went to an assembly area at the Messerschmitt
offices at Regensburg where we were kitted out in an American uniform
and field equipment, flown by Dakota to British lines, kitted out again
and finally flown home.
As for VE Day, I am not exactly sure where I was on that precise day!
I came home, married Irene in 1945, and in August it will be our Diamond
Wedding Anniversary.
My twin brother and
I were living in Leamington Spa, and were eleven when the war broke out.
As a builder my father was directed to South Wales to construct a munitions
factory, and so we moved to Newport, where the docks were targeted. About
four years later he was sent to London to deal with emergency bomb damage.
So we moved to SE London, as the V1 and V2 bombs were starting, into a
house which already had its windows blown in.
I went to Goldsmiths Art School, New Cross pending being old enough to
join the WRNS or, as it turned out, start at school of architecture. My
brother went to engineering college awaiting call up. My poor mother would
hear the bombs drop and worry until we got home again. Goldsmiths was
hit and all departments were evacuated except the art students and staff
who, it was felt, could manage amongst the patched up studios. Dad had
been sent south to do hush-hush work which turned out to have been the
Mulberry Harbour landing stages.
On VE Day my brother went with friends on an un-blacked out train to central
London to celebrate in Trafalgar Square. One of his friends over-excitedly
got out on the wrong side of the carriage and was ticked off by the guard.
I went with a group of Blackheath friends to the top of Shooters Hill
to see an amazing lit up London! We walked down, arm in arm, singing “gospel”
songs and flashing our torches everywhere.
My future sister in law, Nancy, living in Bournemouth, remembers going
with her parents to Kings Park where there were crowds of American soldiers.
Their band played, their commanding officer made a speech and with great
gusto invited everyone to come and see a “Ball Game”. He was
quite crestfallen by his audience's lack of enthusiasm. Little Nancy
felt it was all a bit of an anti-climax.
Whilst all this was happening Ken, my then unknown future husband for
51 1⁄2 years, was still suffering in a Japanese prisoner of war
camp in Sumatra. Not until three months later was he released with the
others who had managed to stay alive. His best friend during that 3 1⁄2
years became our best man three years later.
On VE Day, just a normal day at the Post Office, we had lots of POW telegrams to deliver to expectant fathers, mothers, wives etc, so our day was a different and a very moving experience. In those days a 6d tip was exceptional. On that day larger silver coins, two shillings and half a crown, (10p and 12 1⁄2 p) were common. I can recall going to one house in Sloe Lane and as you rode down the street women on the door steeps watched where you went, and immediately cheered and clapped at such great news. Of course there were no cars parked to clog the streets and streets were true neighbourhoods.
A few years ago my sister in law, a nurse in the Community Ward, was told a story by a very elderly lady of the joy of receiving such a telegram. She said she would like to meet the boy who delivered it. So I went along and made a lady happy, and yes, I got a kiss.
The normal working day fell apart and the sherry bottle and cake appeared. I seem to recall we closed early. The evening and late and late into the night was a celebration. The Market Place was the centre of attraction with dancing, even on the roof of the air raid shelter. Next morning Beverley was back to the daily routine.
The next occasion of POW releases happened in August with VJ Day.
Eventually Michael passed the Hymers entrance exam and I passed the scholarship exam to Estcourt Street High School. This meant travelling to Hull daily on the ferry. It entailed a mile walk to the pier, and the ferry crossing, which would take between 20 to 45 minutes according to the state of the tide. There are sand banks in the Humber which made a direct crossing impossible when the tide was very low. After that I walked to the Guildhall where I caught the 45 bus to Flenton Grove School as by then, Estcourt High had been burnt down. When Flenton Grove was partially destroyed Estcourt was moved to the Charter House, on Wincolmlee. This was closer for me.
Some days we had gale force winds and I found the ferry crossing very frightening. On foggy days it didn’t sail (Hurrah!). No radar then. The businessmen would pay ferry men to take them across the river in a motor boat for ten shillings, a lot in those days. At other times mines had been dropped in the Humber and they had to be cleared before the ferry was able to sail. The adults would then catch the train and go round to Hull by Doncaster.
One night I missed the last boat and had to stay with a teacher. I was with her for a week due to mines in the Humber. I was 12 years old.
I would often see buildings, and occasionally whole streets, demolished as I rode to school on the 45 bus.
The house my father rented was small and very basic. Six of us slept in the downstairs front room, three to a bed. My father had a bed upstairs. I can’t imagine where our clothing etc was housed. It didn’t seem a problem to us children. It’s incredible to look back and compare this to today’s standard of living. I must say we were glad to move back to our house on James Reckitt Avenue towards the latter part of the war and live a more civilised existence.
On the evening of VE night (or was it VJ night?), I remember going with some friends into Saturday Market, where a huge celebration was taking place. A band was playing and crowds of people were dancing on the cobbles around the central lamp post. Fireworks were being let off everywhere and a row of sideshows and amusements had been erected facing the Butterdings as far as the Market Cross.
One tent in particular, standing opposite the Push Inn, sparked our curiosity. Here you could pay to see the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ displayed in a glass case. “No one”, we were told, “could ever wake her” and this, to a gang of ten-year-olds on the look out for mischief, was a challenge not to be missed.
We pooled our odd coppers to pay for one member to enter the tent as an observer, whist we others went around the back, lit a ‘banger’ and rolled it under the tent flap. It went off with a huge bang immediately below the glass case. Our ‘observer’ ran from the tent and we all beat a hasty retreat to the bonfire on the Westwood. It was duly reported that our ‘test’ had been a great success and that the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ had “jumped out of her skin”. Her Prince had arrived.
A recollection from the war
My father, like many people in those days, was a great ‘make do and mend’ enthusiast, who collected anything and everything that “might come in useful”. One day, whilst walking across the Westwood, he found a thick light metal object about the size and shape of a crash helmet. As he thought this was a useful piece of pure aluminium, he decided to break it up with a hammer and melt it down in his glue pot on our kitchen fire.
When the metal reached a high temperature, it suddenly caught fire with a blinding flash and we all rushed in panic into the back garden. Our kitchen window shone like the sun for twenty minutes, whist my poor mother wrung her hands in terror and my father ran about with buckets of water. Eventually, the pulsing glare died away and the smoke cleared enough for us to re-enter the kitchen. Everything was covered with a layer of fine white ash, but no serious damage had been caused. What my father had found was half of a flare canister made of pure magnesium!
Spitfires used to fly overhead very low and we could see the pilots in their cockpits looking down on us. Often they would shoot at 'doodlebugs' on their way to London to try to redirect their flight path. The droning noise of the 'doodlebugs was very memorable.
The farm at the back of the house was owned by an old spinster called Miss Johnson - she was the bane of the police and the wardens' lives- she would go out in the middle of the night with a lantern to get her herd of cows in - she wasn't very popular! We all had strict blackout at night. Our windows had white sticky tape on in case of blast from explosions and shutters were put up at night to obliterate the lights. The warden came round checking for any chinks of light, and woe betide you if you had any. A bomb was dropped on a small town a mile from us early in the am - I can remember screaming at the noise of the shutters falling into the room. I thought the house was falling down. We had an Anderson shelter in the garden but it was nearly always ankle deep in water - so we didn't use it much.
My father certainly 'Dug for Victory' - we had a very large garden with every vegetable possible plus chickens, ducks, rabbits and geese. I can't remember being hungry. We had a very good diet and no sweets. Fortunately or unfortunately the Canadian Army came to Miss Johnson's meadows at the back of our house with camouflaged anti-aircraft guns and bags of sweets and chocolate. Us children thought it was wonderful.
I remember on VE day the Church bells were ringing from the village Church and everybody seemed very happy, dancing about and singing. As my Father was in charge of a Hospital unit near our house and all the Staff and their children were invited to a wonderfull party with lots of entertainment. In the evening we had a big bonfire with an effigy of Hitler on the top and everybody sang and danced. It was a memorable day.
Mr Mansfield, a milk farmer, at Thistley, Dairy Farm, Gosmore, Hitchin, had a land girl, who lodged with my parents. As she was leaving he asked if I would work for him. I jumped at the chance. Little did I realise that my working day was no longer 9am till 6pm six days a week, but 5:30am to 6pm six and a half days one week and seven days the next. He was a good boss with two daughters and he treated me the same as them.
There were twenty cows to be milked by hand and Alfa Laval milking machine. The milk was put through a water cooler, then bottled and canned. Bess the cart horse was harnessed and we made deliveries. Mr Mansfield made deliveries from a small Austin van. I loved this part of the work until I returned to the farm and had all the empties to clean and wash.
One morning I was delivering the 400th third of a pint of milk and a cook came out and asked if I could help her. She had a mouse nest on the top of a flour barrel. The mice were new born and all pink and squirming about. How brave was I, not wanting her to know I was as frightened as she was, got the coke shovel, scooped up the nest and contents, and asked the cook to take the lid off the range, and I popped them in, only for the rest of the staff to scream at the crackling of the bodies on the fire. The cook was thrilled as I had not wasted her flour. After all it was rationed and the school boys would never know!
During my time in the land army I sold war saving stamps around the village. For this I received a post office medal.
Dolly King worked on the farm with me and as we had been to school together we went out. One evening we went to the hunt ball. It was miserable. The posh people did not allow us to mix so at 11:30pm we left. We prepared ourselves for the walk home. We both had on long silk dresses but underneath were long woolly socks and wellies. Over the dresses were our green WLA jumpers and overcoats. It had been snowing and was very dark so we sang as we walked home along the country road. We had to pass a Royal Corps of Signals camp. The guard stopped us, asked where we had been and asked if we had a pass. I don’t think he believed us. Long frocks, land army overcoats, and wellies? We were still up to milk next morning.
One morning I got to work to find a fox had got into the chicken hut. He had had a good feast. We had to kill a lot of the chickens as they were badly injured. The fox returned but Mr Mansfield was prepared for him and he returned no more.
When we had bad weather I was shown how to take out nails in horses hooves and replace them with ice nails. One morning with bad snow and ice I walked along the side of Bess for safety. I had left her to deliver milk when a War Agricultural van skidded into the float. Milk flew everywhere, crashing down onto the ice and snow. Bess took off in fright and was found 3 miles away frightened but safe. Jack Izzart, a school boy, was helping me make deliveries. He had been on the float and I could not find him, but a kind customer had taken him in and made him some cocoa. Milk was rationed to two and a half pints per person per week and we now only had what Mr Mansfield had on the van. At each house we had to call and say that all they could have that day was half a pint. It did not go down very well. That night we were milking and bottle washing till midnight when Mrs Mansfield came to say there was a rabbit pie for supper.
In 1946 my sister found work for two land girls in Bridlington and we moved in in April. There was a tied house for us in the middle of a 400 acre field. It was on the top of a hill up a chalk road. It had lovely views of Bridlington bay! It was a two up and two down with no water, electric or gas. Cooking was by coal range. The earth closet was well away from the house and the week's contents were emptied into a hole dug into the field. There was a well but rats were floating on top of the water. The kitchen had been used for a dinner hut and a can of oil had been burnt in it. We had quite a lot of cleaning up to do. The shops were over 2 miles away. We went to them on our bicycles to get paraffin, matches, candles, coal and sticks and then back again for our food rations.
Our work was milking and then out into the fields. I had been used to a modern farm, but this was very old fashioned. The dairy was cleaned once a year. We were used to doing it everyday. The milk was sold wholesale, so no delivering, instead it was hoeing, scruffling, harvesting, muck leading and sowing. How I missed my Bess and the milk round.
1947 was the worst winter for a long time. It started in February and lasted for eight weeks. Blizzards and freezing for days, and all the roads closed with blocked snow. Sheep were buried in drifts and had to be dug out. We melted snow for washing in the kitchen. We carried kilner jars of drinking water up from the farm. We walked about in gas boots on top of the snow.
That summer we had a very good harvest and German POW’s came to work with us. They were good workers. This was the second time I had worked with POW’s as we had one at my first farm.
I enjoyed my Land Army life.
Former
prisoners of the Japanese recently liberated