Ö÷²¥´óÐã

I have never found it easy to recall the dates applicable to personal memories, and as one gets older memory becomes more like a filing index from which one extracts at random, than a long tunnel receding into the distance. However, I was born on 1/4/27, and clearly remember the war years.

When war was declared in September (?) 1939 by a grave, sad Neville Chamberlain - a man who for all his naiveté was an honourable man, who must have deeply felt his failure and betrayal - I heard his words, and then went to my bedroom and cried; although we all knew it was bound to happen. My father had fought at Ypres and on the Somme, and that was only about 25 years earlier. It was inevitable that there would be a recurrence, given the atmosphere and personalities involved. We thought - let's get it over with!

Within a few minutes, that first wailing siren sounded, and we nervously glued brawn paper strips to the windows, to control the effects of blast. Fortunately it was a false alarm.

There was then a "phoney" war, with very little action, but then of course, things hotted up, with the fall of France, the "Battle of Britain" and fears of invasion. Much of the Battle of Britain took place Over the Ashford area, for we were on the direct route to London for hundreds of German bombers, and continual "dog fights" took place overhead. The route the bombers took was known as "Bomb-Alley", and we-lived in that alley.

Somewhere around that time it was decided that we should be evacuated and I well remember that journey, if not its date.

We were marshalled onto a train at Ashford Station, and departed for "Who knows where?". I was one of five children, and three of us were evacuated, but my two brothers were destined for Oxford, with their School. Only I and my A.G.S. companions were for Witney.

My dear mother had packed sandwiches in a paper bag (no plastic bags then) and these were placed with my few belongings in a small case or holdall. Trouble was, the sandwiches were of two kinds - Marmite for the first course, honey for the second, and by the time they had been crushed by the milling throng, they were inextricably intertwined - a culinary disaster which gave grave offence to my taste buds!

Arriving at Witney late in the day, we were met by willing helpers; but told that it was too late to find billets that night, so we would have to sleep in the (Regal?) cinema. First, however, we were given a meal in a School or Church Hall, as I recall. It was not the most comfortable of nights, but to schoolboys everything is an adventure.

The next morning saw us shepherded through the streets by masters and local helpers, who I think were known as "billeting officers". There was, I believe, some obligation on people to take evacuees, although with the war-time spirit, many householders volunteered. Certainly, as doors were opened, the number of children they were prepared to take was stated.

My friend and I, being artful on opportunities, hung around at the back of the queue till we spotted a house and person who together appeared to offer the prospect of a comfortable stay, and dived forward with beaming smiles - I must confess that I now feel this to have been rather selfish, but it would surely qualify for an award in today's age of "enterprise" and "entrepreneurial expertise"? (Who said childlike irresponsibility?) - they're right!

The house/person we succeeded in choosing (and who was prepared to accept us) was No. … High Street and Mrs. T…... When that sweet little old (she was only 58) lady came to the door, we knew we were alright. She was the wife of a manager at the Blanket Mills, a Mr. E.W. T….., who was then Chairman of the Council. His son owned a garage in the town, and there was a daughter, Ada, who lived in a council house with her children. (I believe … Springfield). … High Street stood - perhaps still does - on the corner by the bridge. A lovely, quiet stone house, ticking away into eternity.

Not all our friends were so fortunate, and a few changes of address took place, but by and large the lads seemed comfortable and happy. The family of one of them was not, however, so fortunate. His mother and sister had been installed in an empty (perhaps commandeered) house in Bicester, but found that when they peeled back the wallpaper, there were bugs behind it! As they say, "all these things are sent to try us"!

At first, there was only half-day schooling, for we shared Witney Grammar School with its pupils, so there was plenty of spare time. We also had Chemistry lessons in a building in the High St,. which if still there, I could recognise, but whose name escapes me. It stood on the left hand side, going from the Bridge towards the Town Centre, and was probably a Free Church Hall. Our Chemistry master was Mr. L…, who had accompanied us from Ashford, and he was a disciplinarian of the old school. Never a lesson went by but someone was caned. It didn't so much matter that your work was right, so long as it was neat and underlined in red ink. (Keeping up appearances, perhaps!)

This building housed a collection of wooden rifles and toy muskets, which had been used by the Church Army, or Boys' Brigade, and being members of the School Cadet Corps, we used these for drill, but thought it a great laugh, for our armoury at Ashford G.S. had contained a selection of ex Boer and Great War rifles for that purpose. Still, we did once go on manouevres with the army in the Witney area, throwing flour bags which burst open on the "enemy", denoting a direct hit.

Some townspeople referred to us as "The College Boys", perhaps because of our School caps and scarves, with blue or grey blazers and grey shorts or trousers. This was compulsory wearing, but I knew we played up to the image when the mood took us, by jokingly talking in "Oxford" English, Saying "Jolly Good Show Chaps", "I say old fellow", "hyah" for here, etc.

Ashford was then a small market town, now much spoilt by so-called development; but Witney was much quieter and to boisterous lads this could prove irksome, and I know we spent a fair amount of spare time chatting-up the local girls. For this "crime" we were threatened with expulsion by the then Head, Mr. W… - a fearsome man - for discipline was very strict. We went in terror of him, but his successor, Mr. E.W. M….. was gentler. Other teachers were Mr. W….. (French) Mr. D…… (who would run the length of the room to kick your backside for a misdemeanour) and Miss G……, a beautiful Indian lady who wore a sari (unknown in those days) and was a Doctor of Mathematics. Women teachers in Senior Bays' Schools were a wartime phenomenon. I have a picture of Messrs. W… and D….. at Witney G.S. somewhere, if you're interested.

Incidents which stick in the mind (literally) are being concussed whilst walking to school, past the Council Offices, which were protected by a concrete block wall against bomb blast. I don't think it would have been much good against bomb blast, for it toppled over onto my head, quite without provocation, knocking me unconscious for 2-3 days - spent in the Radcliffe Infirmary, Oxford, followed by a week's convalescence at a commandeered mansion near Oxford (Kidlington Hall?)

And I remember seeing "Destiny Rides Again" with Marlene Dietrich singing "See What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have", at your cinema; and the wonderful lardy cakes which we would buy for School break, from a little baker's shop in the street off the High Street, opposite the Butter Cross. I've never again had such lovely lardy cakes. Those I've tried down this way are a disaster! And swimming in the Windrush, both in the baths and elsewhere, cycling to Oxford, using "cycle paths", and being approached in Witney High St. by a local promoter of professional boxing who had been told I was good at School boxing. One classmate went to box for him.

There are many memories just beyond recall, trivial perhaps, but it is such trivia that resurrect the ambience of normal life.

After a year, many of us returned to Ashford, the invasion scare and bombing having receded a little; in time to see the RAF shooting down "doodle bugs" — un-manned rockets which looked like planes. I think I saw the first shot dawn one night and remember feeling very sorry for the (imagined) pilot, as it burst into flames. Later, our pilots would fly alongside them and craftily tilt the doodlebug's wing, which upset its stabilizer, causing the engine to cut out, so that it crashed on landing and exploded before reaching its destination.

Much of our school life was spent in the shelters at Ashford, but we still passed our exams, for what they were worth. (School Certificate, Matriculation, Higher School Certificate, etc). I remember all my school days with affection, including Witney, but wonder now whether academic knowledge is any preparation for a working world!

Unfortunately, I have lost track of most Old G.S. Boys, but still belong to the Old Boys' Association, who have a London dinner each year, to which I am sure you would be welcome. Just write to Mr. Cox at the Grammar School, Ashford, (SORRY, now the Knaughton Knatchbull School, Hythe Rd, Ashford), who can, l am sure, arrange it.

A few of my companions became material successes - my friend who lodged with me at No. … High St. has been Managing Director of several knitwear films, and is now in Australia, but has a home in Ashford: and of course, there's Bob Holness, the T.V. presenter, who is a year younger than me. Don't know if he got to Witney, but he is ex A.G.S. so you could write to him and ask.

The local "Kentish Express" also published an article last year about the evacuation, so if you wrote to the Editor, at Ashford, he might help. Never mind the address - it'll find him.

I was conscripted some weeks before the war in Europe ended, and spent V.E. day in training, on manoeuvres; then in Jan 1946 I was sent to Egypt, and thence to Palestine, where I stayed until the withdrawal in 1948, witnessing the Jews fight for a land of their own, and experiencing their acts of terrorism to get it - strange how forty years later, they now condemn the Arabs for any similar act which might regain their homeland. But that's life. We all talk as our bellies guide us!

I hope I have been of some help to you, and not too boring with my ramblings. If I can help again, please let me know. Indeed, being retired I would be delighted to visit Witney again, and call to see you. There are also local books showing Ashford in the war, and Ashford Grammar, available, and I could get you some.

Malcolm G…..
Kennington,
ASHFORD, Kent.
24/2/89

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.