Memories of Woodhouse Folk

60 years on from the end of World War II

Acknowledgements:

Mansfield Woodhouse Community Development Group The Village Social Group

The Big Lottery Fund

Editor - Lee Chapman Sub Editor - Lynne Taylor

Researchers: Sharon Cawar

Val Devney Ann Edgcombe Barbara Gaskell Janet Jackson

Marion Smedley Gillian Welch

James Devonshire

A big thank you to all those who have contributed to this book with their memories of World War II

Mansfield Woodhouse Community Development Group

Park Road Resource Centre 53 Park Road, Mansfield Woodhouse Nottinghamshire, NG19 8ER

Telephone/Fax Number: 01623 429334 E-mail: mwcdg@hotmail.com

Website: www.mansfieldwoodhouse.info

Pictures Front and Back cover by Mr Keith Morris

Printed by Portshel Industries

Contents

We would like to take this opportunity to offer our sincere apologies for any mistakes or errors found within this magazine.

In order to protect the interests of the contributors, Mansfield Woodhouse Community

Development Group (MWCDG) has decided to add Copyright © to this magazine. The contents of this magazine should not be used for any other article, information or data

without the consent of MWCDG or the author. If the author’s permission is granted, MWCDG should be notified by the author/s.

If you would like a copy of this magazine on compact disc (CD), please contact Mansfield

Woodhouse Community Development Group via one of the contacts on page 47.

Page Article – Author or Source

3 Foreword – Jack Lattimer 4 Introduction 5 Does A Prayer Help? – Harry Jackson 6 Friends Reunited: Geoff Holland and Clive Rowlands – Linda Reilly 7 War Years in Woodhouse – Ken Swindell 8 1518408 Gnr Jelley – Val Devney 9 What can you say about the War in Woodhouse? Not a lot! – Jack Lattimer 10 Joseph Devney – Val Devney 10 Prisoner of War – Irene Stubbs (Nee Clark) 13 A War Story – Cliff Sims 13 The Remarkable Ingaborg Slettin – Mr W. H. Jackson 14 Johnny’s War – John Thomas 17 In Memory of Blackie Sims – Pete Sims 18 Nursing Cadets – Val Devney 18 60th Anniversary of the D-Day landings – Roger Maywood 19 Sergeant Reginald Millns – Margaret Bakewell 20 Life at Pleasley Vale – Freda Longdon and Edith Richardson 20 Daisy Jelley 1909-2000 – Val Devney 22 A Wartime Wedding – Joan Longstaffe 23 In Memory of Sergeant Clarke – Pamela Blagg (nee Clarke) 23 Life and Times During WWII – Mansfield Woodhouse Community Event, June 2005 30 Woodhouse’s Memories – BBC People’s War 33 Articles taken from Mansfield Advertiser and Mansfield , Sutton and Kirkby Chronicle 36 The Evacuation and War Years of the “5 P’s” – Peter Staples 38 Memories of an Evacuee – Mr P. Tee – Worthing 40 Secret War Effort of Mansfield Pensioner – Article featured in the Chad 42 My Secret Role in our Defeat of the Nazis – Article featured in the Evening Post 43 Christmas at War – Jack Lattimer 48 Things You’ve Forgotten or Maybe Never Knew – Robert Bradley © 2005 53 Woodhouse at War – Barry Henson 53 A Stone Alone in Woodhouse – Ann Edgcombe 54 Royal Navy, Gold Beach – Ken Parsons

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Bill’s second sister, Judith Cecelia Grace was born in Mansfield Woodhouse in October 1942. Royal Navy, Gold Beach Ken Parsons Based in the Royal Navy Ken (pictured above), served in the Middle East and France during World War II and he also participated in the D Day Landings. One of Ken’s most memorable wartime accounts was sailing back from France with 200 German and Russian prisoners on board ship and only two guards to monitor them. “I was one of those guards that particular morning when trouble began to kick off. It was breakfast time and all the prisoners had was a tin of corned beef and a couple of biscuits to six men. Due to hunger, one German wanted all the meat, which in turn started an argument. As I tried to calm the situation down, in the commotion the same German tried to get hold of my rifle and so I had to tickle him with my bayonet, just to warn him off. You may ask what the Russians were doing onboard, they had been captured

FOREWORD

Name: John Charles Lattimer Rank: Sergeant (On Demobilisation) Countries Served In: France (Normandy), Belgium, Holland and Germany I had the great honour and privilege to announce the opening of the 2005 Summer Event in Mansfield Woodhouse, which commemorated the end of World War II. It now gives me great pleasure to wish all readers of this ‘book of memories’ some little insight into that terrible but worthwhile undertaking.

“They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait”

The above quotation, made during World War I, I find equally applies to any of the thousands of people left at home “The Home Front” as it was called, especially wives, mothers, children and other loved ones when the time came for their dear ones to go to war. It was especially significant for me in World War II, so I can sympathise with the message it holds.

Jack Lattimer

near Moscow and were marched all the way to France. Well these five Russians did not like the idea of this German having all the meat, so then they started fighting. Fortunately the Commanding Officer (CO) was on the bridge and saw the fight break out and shouted “Parsons down there, part ‘em - stop that fight!”. I unshipped my bayonet, gave my rifle to one of the lads and said “If they overpower me, use this!”. As I approached, I used the flat end of my bayonet and caught the Nazi straight across his eye, blood was streaming everywhere. I had to act quickly and noticed one of the Germans with a Red Cross patch on his arm. I beckoned him over “No, no” he said, “I am no doctor”, fortunately I persuaded him to put a half dozen stitches in to sew up the wound. These things had to be done, otherwise it could have started something, and they could have easily taken over the ship. I was scared to death, but I was glad when it was over”. The Following picture was recently taken and shows Ken proudly displaying his medals he was awarded during his time in the Royal Navy.

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work for double time was increased from 24 to 32 hours. In 1948 Debdale Hall Recovery Hospital at Mansfield Woodhouse opened (now a Nursing home). NB: The photographs depicted in the above article are for illustration purposes only and were not taken locally nor were they included by it’s original author. Also this article was reduced from its original form due to space restrictions. Woodhouse at War Barry Henson I remember during the war years, as a young boy, looking through my bedroom window and watching the searchlights probing the night skies as the German bombers approached to drop their deadly cargo on Sheffield. Then, when the sirens screeched the alarm at Woodhouse, we went down into the pantry and huddled together, believing this to be a safe place in the likelihood of any bomb attack. It sounds daft now, but when the “all clear” sounded, we knocked on the wall to let our neighbours know that we were all ok. Breakfast was some dried egg powder, mixed with water and fried. We went to school with gas masks slung over our shoulder. I remember the static water tanks and obviously the air raid shelters. Every house had a blackout curtain to put up against the window to prevent light escaping. The Air Raid Warden patrolled the streets to check that it didn’t. The Home Guard was formed and the Officer-In-Charge was Major Lane: the Headquarters being Church Street behind Burnaby House.

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S aturday 25th June 2005 saw M a n s f i e l d W o o d h o u s e celebrate 60 years since the ending of the second World War

with their “Life and Times during World War II” community event. The event organised by Mansfield Woodhouse Community Development Group’s Village Social and Fundraising Committee was funded by the Group and the Big Lottery Fund.

Introduction

The event started with a parade led by the Group, followed by standards and veterans from a variety of armed forces. They marched through the streets of Mansfield Woodhouse, joined by other local groups and organisations dressed in clothing of the era. The event continued on at The Turner Memorial Hall and field with a packed afternoon including a Puppet Theatre (pictured above), Street Party, Gang Show, Wartime Memorabilia and a range of other activities. Workshops and displays took place on the field. The Group asked local people to describe their or their loved ones’ experiences during World War II and accounts can be read later in this book.

Pictures by Mr John Cooper and Mr Fred Hutchinson

There were posters everywhere proclaiming “Dig for Victory”, “Careless Talk Costs Lives”, “Don’t Be A Squanderbug” and “Is Your Journey Really Necessary”. I remember workmen cutting down iron railings which were melted down and used to help in the building of guns and tanks. Even today, one can see the stumps of iron railings on Woodhouse Road. We listened to Tommy Hanley, The Western Brothers and Workers’ Playtime on the wireless and The Happidrome. (Enoch, Ramsbottam and Me) and Vera Lynn singing. I remember Victory in Europe (VE) Day and the street parties – bonfires were lit and us young lads went and stripped the air raid shelters of their wooden bunk beds to feed the flames. The next day there were no wooden gates left either. A Stone Alone in Woodhouse Ann Edgcombe When Rolling Stones legend Bill Wyman’s (real name William Perks) father was sent to work in Nottingham building airfield hangers, four year old Bill, his mother and the rest of his family were evacuated to Sherwood Street in Mansfield Woodhouse. In his autobiography, “Stone Alone”, Bill tells of how he was teased about his cockney accent, and the family became known as “The Buppy Kids”, because of the way he pronounced butter. When he was five, he started a local school, and the family moved to 122 Coke Street. Bill lived in the area until August 1942, when he returned to London to live with his grandmother.

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Does a Prayer Help? Harry Jackson In 1940 and 1941 things looked pretty grim for us and even the more patriotic people wondered how we were going to win the war, but after America came into the war things could only get better. In September we had an inkling that our unit was going to Catterick and not just for more training. I asked my girlfriend to marry me so after a lot of discussion she said she would marry me and we set the date for October 18th 1941. Our unit was told that we would move to Catterick after that date. I was given leave from Friday 17th October until Sunday 19th October 1941. When we arrived at Catterick we had medical, dental, and inoculation exams and then we were fitted out with tropical kit. We were given leave, but no knowledge as to our destination or when we should sail. After our leave we went back to Catterick and waited – no Christmas leave, not allowed out of barracks. On January 5th 1942 we were on the move to embark on a troop-ship. We landed somewhere on the West of England; we could not get on the ship as it was undergoing some repairs. However later that same day we moved off to join a convoy of ships. We caught up with the other ships and sailed away. On January 6th I was walking to the rear of the ship to the wash bowls, when a corporal told me not to go down to the wash bowls, because troops, airmen and sailors were throwing water about. The corporal made a suggestion that I find somewhere else to wash. I took his advice and walked back to midship deck. I stopped and spoke to Joe Harris, a Woodhouse lad and as we talked there

was a terrific explosion at the rear of the ship and soon we found out that the ship had been struck by a torpedo. The ship became stationary and one of the destroyer escorts came alongside. The skipper of the troopship informed the destroyer captain that the troopship had been struck by a torpedo; the reply from the destroyer was that because we could not keep up with the convoy, we were told to make for the nearest port. Nearly sixty people were killed at the aft or end of the ship, so it was a good job I did not go to the wash bowls.

The engineers on the ship managed to repair one screw and the ship managed to sail at five knots per hour. In a U-boat infested area, everybody was terrified and in the afternoon two long range German bombers arrived. Each of them made runs over the ship and dropped bombs, fortunately not on the ship. I believe everyone on board was on their knees praying because we had nothing to hit back with. As the bombs came down I said to my friend Walter Cooper, another Woodhouse lad, “Walt, our wives look like being early widows”. The bombings stopped, we had not been damaged anymore and for that we thanked God. During the next few days the remains of the men killed were put into three coffins, Army, Navy and RAF and were buried at sea.

The Torpedo Damaged Llangibby Castle

permission from a National Service Officer.

“Bevin boys” aged 18 to 25 were conscripted into the mines in late 1943 and through 1944 due to the war effort to produce more coal. Every 10th person called up for military service was transferred to the mines. It was a lottery. Every month Ernest Bevin’s secretary put 10 numbers into a hat and for a period of approximately 20 months, two of these numbers were drawn out and all those men whose Nat iona l Serv ice Registration Number ended with one of those two digits were directed into the coal mines. There was no escape, except for those accepted for flying duties in the RAF and Fleet Air Arm or Submarines or certain men on a shortlist of highly skilled occupations required for service trades. They came from all walks of life and many such as sons of doctors or parsons etc had never seen a pit before and were quite unprepared for a job of coalmining underground. Famous names like Eric Morecambe and Jimmy Saville were two such recruits. They were usually accommodated first in local homes then in purpose built hostels (Nissen huts with beds for 12 men, and had lockers, lavatories and baths, there was a welfare centre and recreation room, dining room and food prepared by cooks). Most pits received their quota of Bevin boys and after the war they were “demobbed” like the servicemen but received no gratuity.

Out of 22,000 conscripts nationally, over 2,300 were taken into pits in Nottinghamshire. Many rules were laid down, such as no disorderly conduct, drunkenness, gambling, betting, borrowing or lending money. Miners’ Hostels were set up to accommodate the recruits (and also Polish entrants later). Locally there were Hostels in Hardwick Park (RAF) and at Creswell (for 500 men), Eastwood (for 320) and Hucknall (for 150), Woodhouse (for 250), Worksop (for 400-500), Queen’s Drive (for 500), Abbot Road Mansfield (for 500), Alfreton (for 200), Mansfield East and Mansfield North (for 500 each). A major prisoner of war camp for Germans was in Wollaton Park Nottingham. One for Italians was in the Nissen huts (later a Technical school), now the site of Morrison’s Supermarket at Sutton Road adjacent to King’s Mill Hospital, Sutton-in-Ashfield (originally an American Army Hospital). The Bolsover Ward in the hospital was originally allocated for injured miners. The Mines Rescue Station on Yorke Street at Mansfield Woodhouse covered 74 pits stretching from Yorkshire to Leicestershire. (In 1947, there were 618 fatal and 2,446 major accidents throughout Britain). The five-day working week was instituted by the National Coal Board on 5th May 1947, having been agreed on 18th April. The length of the working week and shift was made uniform and the working week was reduced to five days. An attendance bonus was introduced whereby anyone working the full five shifts was paid for six shifts. Overtime rates were increased to time and a half. The period of weekend

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We were at sea alone for four days before we landed at a port in the Azores and during that time we prayed as we had never prayed before. Our arrival safe at the port was nothing short of a miracle. When the Government sent help to get us back into action again, three destroyers and a gigantic tug took us back to Gibraltar. Before we got into the open sea, the destroyers sank three U-boats. The U-boats were waiting to sink us, but they themselves were sunk. Our troopship was the Llangibby Castle. When we arrived in Gibraltar, I met a fellow named Frank Walton from Mansfield Woodhouse. When he saw the ship he said we were lucky. Was it the prayers said? Or was it luck, that I write this story? I think the prayers. The following photo which was taken during the war is of Harry Jackson along with fellow crew members.

Friends Reunited - Geoff Holland and Clive Rowlands Linda Reilly Some of the older residents of Mansfield Woodhouse may remember Geoff Holland who was born on Poplar Street and lived in Mansfield Woodhouse for many years. Geoff worked at the Co-op on the High Street and was manager there during the sixties and seventies. Geoff (pictured above) volunteered at 16 years of age as a messenger boy

Jack Bartle (from Mansfield), Walter Cooper, Joe Harris and Harry Jackson (all from Mansfield Woodhouse)

rumoured “a ship had come in”! Vegetables were grown in the back garden and sometimes the front, when precious lawns were uprooted for rows of potatoes – grown from the eyes of the past peelings. Bicycle tyres were cut up to mend shoe soles. Of course all children’s clothes were “hand me downs”, cut to size if necessary. Meanwhile on a more sombre note everyone would be quiet as the evening news was read, the grown-ups in deep thought about the hostilities and also wondering whether the accumulator (battery) would last out the week before the man came round to exchange it – no accumulator – no wireless, and news of the war was important. Not many families had much money to spare or indeed any money to spare, but generally they were happy and although limited in the amount or selection of goods they were fairly content, knowing of course the severity of the war. If we lost we would be slaves of a very barbaric nation and things could get worse. Everything was done to try to lift the spirits, even when at times tragic news would arrive, delivered by the “dreaded” Telegram boy with the dispatch in a brown envelope from the War Office stating – “I am sorry to inform you but Private …. (Sergeant, Corporal, Captain or whoever) is reported as missing in action”, many on the street would gather round them and for weeks afterwards would speak in hushed tones when referring to the missing person and all would be overjoyed to learn that they were safe and well after hospital treatment or had been captured unharmed. The Conservative Government bought out the Royalties of all mines in 1938. The Coal Act 1938 implemented the

recommendation of the Sankey or Coal Commission in which the nation’s coal should be vested, compensation being paid to the former mine owners, however the Second World War 1939-45 disrupted the work. Fortunately during the war not one pit was seriously damaged by German action, as one bomb directly dropped onto the pit shafts could have entombed hundreds! Strangely enough not one pit was bombed by the British on enemy territory, which would have done the same thing. A Spitfire Fund, under the Wings for Victory campaign for the War effort raised about £5,800 for a spitfire aeroplane named the “Notts Miner”. The money was collected from all collieries and the generosity of the miners who would have been on about three pounds and ten shillings (£3 10s = £3.50p) a week is shown by the magnificent response to the appeal.

The Government again took over the running of the pits in wartime as it had done in the First World War, but not the ownership and this time only monitored the production, allowing the local districts to dictate. The war industries were demanding more and more coal. With this soaring demand a miner could not leave his place of employment without

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attached to the Home Guard in Mansfield Woodhouse and then served in Asmara, North Africa, from 1942 – 1946 reaching the rank of Staff Sergeant.

It was in Asmara that Geoff (pictured above, right) met his best friend Clive Rowlands (left) where they promised to keep in touch after being demobbed. In 1946 Geoff returned to Mansfield Woodhouse and Clive to Gloucestershire to recommence their respective lives. Some 20 years later after contacting local authorities and the police for an address, Clive arrived out of the blue in Mansfield Woodhouse, ecstatic to find his long lost best friend. Geoff and Clive kept in touch by ‘phone and letter meeting on a yearly basis, until Geoff sadly passed away in 2000. This following picture, taken during a reunion in 1995 showed Geoff with his wife, Violet Holland and Clive and his wife Nora Rowlands.

War Years in Woodhouse Ken Swindell Recalling the war years in Mansfield Woodhouse, there was always plenty of activity for us young‘uns, such as paper rounds to do. Wages for paper rounds were five shillings or five bob a week (5/- = 30p); two and six for a Sunday round (2/6 = 12.5p). In those days the miners had the coal delivered; it was tipped up in the street one ton a time. So you could ask if they wanted you to get it in for them with the going rate usually sixpence (6d = 2.5p) a load. With the coal being tipped in the street, it meant that it got a lot of grit mixed in with it so you had to be careful, especially if Mam had just pegged a new rug for the bits spitting out of the grate. Sometimes me Mam would say “I bet Mrs So & So’s kids are freezing, take her a barrow of coal to keep warm.” That’s how it was then: great camaraderie among people, everyone was the same; we’d got nowt but you shared it with each other. Many-a-time we went to the British Restaurant at the bottom of Woodus which is now a tanning shop. You could get a dinner and pudding for ninepence (9d = about 4p). Mind you, it wasn’t a patch on Mam’s cooking especially the jam rolls, but we still enjoyed the novelty of it.

workers and guaranteed wages were paid.

During the Second World War evacuees were moved out of London and the South East to places in other parts of the country for safety and were billeted with local families, many in the Midlands and in mining. The slogans such as “Dig for Victory”, in other words grow your own vegetables were placarded, along with “make do and mend” etc. All men from 18 to 25 had to register for service in HM forces, or alternatively were given work in coal mining or other important War work. However, in 1943 there was still a manpower shortage in the mines and the much needed production of coal was falling. Blackout restrictions were lifted from 11th November 1944 and the Home Guard was stood down. The War against Germany ended on 8th May and the 8th and 9th May were granted Public holidays to celebrate Victory in Europe Day (VE). Street parties were held to celebrate. Bread rationing was enforced by the Labour Government from 21st July 1946. Each adult was granted 9oz of bread or flour, but some manual workers including mineworkers were allowed 15oz.

From 1st January 1947 all the large mines in the country were nationalised and the 120 mines in Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire came under the East Midlands Division Headquarters Board of the National Coal Board, based at Sherwood Lodge, near Arnold.

The winter of 1947 was extremely severe, with major snow falls 3 feet and 4 feet (0.9m and 1.2m) deep. The big freeze began on 23rd January 1947 and was to last for many weeks, 57 nights of continuous frost was registered around Woodthorpe, Nottingham by March. By 29th January there were power cuts and chaos. On 12th February there were heavy snowstorms and sub-zero temperatures that combined to bring serious fuel shortages. There were power cuts and coal trains were unable to get through 20 foot (6m) drifts and there were thousands of people throughout the country without heat or light. Coal stocks began piling up at the pitheads and the local power stations struggled to maintain minimum supplies. Also the stockpiles of coal were frozen solid and impossible to load out with the equipment on hand … pick and shovel. During the War there was one kind of cheese – “yellow mouse trap cheese” – cheddar. Breakfast food was mainly porridge oats. Queues would form in orderly file at the Co-op when it was

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1518408 Gnr Jelley Val Devney Jack Jelley (pictured above) lived on Morven Avenue, Mansfield Woodhouse and was the son of the late Mr and Mrs G Jelley. He was wounded in action on 5th January 1945 and later in 1948 he emigrated to New Zealand where he lived with his family for many years until his death. A copy of the letters sent to Jack’s parents informing them of his injury can be seen below and opposite.

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sent back to the mines under the Restrictions of Engagement Order, as more coal was needed for the war effort. Emergency drinking water tanks were introduced underground. Each colliery had a Rescue Team whose job was to be always available no matter what shift, and each man had to be very fit. Coal was rationed under the Fuel and Lighting Order. Blackout restrictions were introduced. A major blow to the industry was the loss of export coal to France, and other European countries. Most of the markets would never be recovered. An Emergency War Budget was introduced in Parliament by Sir John Simon on 27th September 1939. The basic duty on tobacco was increased in the shops affecting all users of cigarettes, chewing tobacco and cigars. Sugar duty was increased, making higher prices for jam, tinned fruit etc. From 8th January 1940, food rationing began and started with butter, bacon, and sugar and was followed by meat on 11th March. Foodstuffs from abroad were now severely affected by ship losses by enemy U-boats. Weekly allowance per person for tea 2oz (ounces), butter 2oz, margarine 4oz, sugar 2oz and fats 2oz. Extra cheese allowance allowed to

workers with no canteen facilities and special ration for vegetarians who surrendered their meat ration. The Local Volunteer Defence Corps later called Home Guard (set up on 14th May 1940). The Home Guard had to stand guard in all weathers. Fire watching had been made compulsory at all places of work. Several bombs were dropped on a couple of occasions and a large one fell near to the top of Cuckney Hill, where the explosion blew out the windows of some 300 odd houses. It is possible that their objective was the Edwinstowe Forest where ammunition was stored in Nissen huts. There was a massive air raid by German bombers on 12th December 1940 and Kiveton Park pit on the North Derbyshire border was stood from 16th to 21st December due to unexploded bombs on the colliery premises dropped by a German raider on route to Sheffield. Also during the winter of 1940, a German bomber dropped a string of bombs at Langton. None of the bombs exploded, but the pit was stood whilst the bombs were removed and exploded safely by the Army bomb disposal officers. A couple had been dropped at Ollerton by an Heinkel bomber fleeing from our fighters, and they failed to go off also. Clothes were rationed from 1st June 1941. Coal was rationed from 4th July. Miners were now forced to stay in their jobs and others who had left to join the forces or other industries were being returned to the pits under the Coal Mines (Release) Essential Works Order. A miner could not leave his job without leave from a National Service Officer. Physically fit ex-miners were draf ted back underground, along with some surface

Jack served in the Raiding Support Regiment (RSR) of the Royal Artillery. The RSR was formed in North Africa in 1942 and was actually an offshoot of another special service unit, the Special Air Service (SAS). Their objective was to provide partisan elements with supporting and comparatively heavily armed units. In its early days the regiment was used mainly as raiding forces at the time of desert warfare. Medals and badges received by Gnr Jelley during his army career are shown below.

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What can you say about the War in Woodhouse? Not a lot! Jack Lattimer To try to recapture what Woodhouse was like during the second World War is an almost impossible task: rationing, shortages, wage control, conscription and it was all ‘universal’. We were into and fighting a ‘total war’ and all the British people were in it totally! That is not to say that all people had the same experiences as others. There were people like profiteers, black marketeers, draft dodgers and “spivs”, people who’d get you anything at a price. These were by no means the majority of people in those days. There were also wonderful people who worked unceasingly on voluntary work for the community and the Forces and their dependants. The WVO or Women’s Voluntary Organisation did marvellous work, led by our wonderful Miss Jackson of Oxclose Lane School. “Comforts for the Troops” was an organisation that raised money by Jumble Sales, to provide those little welcome items in a parcel which regularly in turn were sent to us who were away and who they acquired the address of and made sure that he or she got a parcel from home. Knitted balaclava helmets in khaki, air force blue or navy blue; gloves, for those cold night guard duties and patrols; stationery, envelopes, toothpaste, cigarettes; even postage stamps for the forces at home stations, though abroad we were allowed free postage via the Army Post Office. These people were tireless in their efforts and on one occasion after the fall of France and Dunkirk and as the Battle of Britain started, I received a letter from my wife, Barbara that “Today at 2pm here

were 842 evacuees left on Woodhouse Station by the train that had brought them from their homes on the South Coast, mainly from around the Worthing and Newhaven area”. She went on to tell me that by 6pm, every evacuee child had been securely placed with a Woodhouse family to care for and comfort them. Woodhouse can be proud of its record in the war, and it should be, just go and look at those names in the Church. Better still look at those on the War Memorial on Yeoman Hill Park and see there, the names of uncles and fathers of people who are still around today. They did their duty to their country; the country they were born in and were proud of. Some, even considered privileged to do their bit, in stamping out such an evil threat to the peace of the world and its people. Profiteers and black marketers: they came out from under the carpet after the war and boasted of their fat bank accounts but they were well known and didn’t survive long in business once trade and business got back to normal. Their sources of supply dried up and their customers went elsewhere and they too followed them. Woodhouse, could and did manage without such citizens. Rewards? Well, a clear conscience and a satisfaction in having done one’s duty to one’s fellow man was all the reward that was needed. Miss Jackson, I believe was awarded an “Honour” and was invested by the King at Buckingham Palace, an OBE or BEM: well deserved. She was a model and an inspiration for so many in those dark days and before it, with her loving devotion to her little children of which I was one and will never forget her.

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Mere words could not convey the happiness that I felt at the magic of it all. This was the miracle of Christmas for us, my little family and me, so cruelly held apart from each other by the exigencies of this war. A few days ago both of us had reconciled to the fact that again at Christmas, the time for families to be together, we would be apart again. Now, here I was. I had arrived home and sat with my precious baby daughter in my arms as she shyly looked at me and gave me a little kiss on the cheek for her doll. We were all tired and soon we retired. As I put her back into her cot, she hung with clinging arms around my neck; I had to reassure her that I would be here in the morning when she woke up. I lit a fire in the hearth to warm the living room and the all important water in the boiler. Barbara and I were sat in bed and drinking a cup of tea that I had been down and made when Margaret sat up in bed and looked around. I put down my cup and saucer and fetched her to join us in bed and we cuddled and played together and talked about Christmas coming and what Santa Claus would fetch her. I was enchanted with my little girl and she followed me around and cried if I went anywhere at all without her. Her mother had told her so much about me in my absence and although we spoke of her in every letter we wrote to each other, to be together in person was all I seemed to want and her mother of course. She too was shy at first, as I was but we settled down and talked of the war and how long it would continue. I could see that she was worried about me being transferred to the infantry and I reassured her, as I always tried to do, to even making light of the fighting we had been through and referring to it as light heartedly as I could.

As news developed of the German offensive in the American sector of the front and the fierce fighting taking place, I pointed out that they had not attacked on our front and had learned after the battles in Normandy and Holland that the British were no longer the “push over” that they were once thought they were. We had punished them for Dunkirk and they were unlikely to ever again take us on in a straightforward battle, and in fact never did! So, though I was going back to the front in time, first I had to go to train to be a rifleman and that meant 19 weeks of misery on the North Yorkshire moors in the depths of winter with snow and ice to add a touch of seasoning to it all. However, we had Christmas shopping to do, relatives to visit, friends to greet and parties to attend and I had to play Santa Claus to Margaret. It was as if it was meant to be for me. It was a Christmas miracle in many ways and also a lot of magic too.

Things You’ve Forgotten or Maybe Never Knew. Robert Bradley © 2005 The following are extracts from the book - “The Pits in Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire”. In 1939 oil was discovered by the D’Arcy Exploration Company in the basal coal measures and millstone grit at Eakring near Bilsthorpe. Forty American “wildcat drillers” were brought over. This was a War effort move to supply oil in case of enemy action cutting off supplies to the country. The drillers were based at Kirton Priory. The boreholes would hamper the layout of Bilsthorpe colliery however. Many miners volunteered and joined the armed forces, however some had to be

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Joseph Devney Val Devney

Joseph Percival Devney (above) served in the Pioneer Corps as a Wing Sergeant, Army No. 13074482. His time throughout World War II was mostly spent in Sicily and Italy with the 8th Army. Born on Leeming Lane, Mansfield Woodhouse and educated at the National School, he returned to Sherwood Colliery after the end of the war and worked there until retirement at the age of 62.

For many years Joseph played cricket for the Sherwood Colliery Cricket Team (Pictured previously). Both Mr and Mrs Devney served in the Civil Defence in later years. Joseph sadly passed away in June 1981. Prisoner Of War Irene Stubbs (nee Clark)

Irene Clark (pictured above) is the daughter of Richard and Doris Clark. Richard Alfred Clark was born in 1913 in Pleasley. His family temporarily moved to Mansfield Woodhouse for a few years before settling in Mansfield. During World War II Mr Clark joined the Royal Navy (pictured opposite in uniform, below that his official sign up papers).

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she had a dream and a premonition that I would be home for Christmas. She, of course, had never mentioned this and realised that I was trying to tell her that I was on my way home to her for Christmas. So, she had made the necessary arrangements at our home and prepared just in case I really did arrive unexpectedly. After lunch we went to the Medical Officer to be checked out and passed as fit to be amongst the rest of human kind and then we were set free in the late afternoon. We made a whopping mad dash for the railway station for the train up to London with all our kit and equipment and my precious doll ensued. We descended on the underground, now clear of “Shelterers” from the air raids and night fall was on us again as Jim and I surfaced at King’s Cross and St Pancras and he headed for the first and me to St Pancras promising to meet again at Pickering on the 30th. St Pancras was awash with crowds, going and coming for the Christmas holidays but not with many troops just back from the front. We were recognisable with our camouflaged scarves in our blouses and as we strode along and sought a convenient carriage in which to travel, these mere civilians regarded us with some awe and made room for us to put our kit and belongings. My doll was greatly admired and talked about and quite a few offers to buy it were made but no price could be put on that particular doll. Such a doll hadn’t been seen in England since the war started and I nursed it like a precious child all the way home. I still had to get home, however, and with all stops made to Nottingham it was some

time after 2300 hours when we arrived there. Victoria Station was a busy station. I went in search of transport to Mansfield Woodhouse, or even Mansfield but all trains and buses had stopped running for the night. As I stood wondering I heard a voice call out “Anybody for Mansfield?” I saw this taxi loading up and so asked how much to Mansfield Woodhouse? He was paid one pound 13 shillings (£1-13-0). Eventually we got to Woodhouse and he stopped at the bottom of Sherwood Street and Debdale Lane and dropped me off before turning back via Sutton and Kirkby with other passengers. I said Happy Christmas to my companions and set off down Station Street almost at a trot and soon I was turning the corner on Vale Road. I was so excited. I crossed over to our house and knocked at my front door. Almost at once a light came on upstairs. It was now about a quarter to one in the morning and a voice, hers, Barbara’s called “Who is it?” and I answered “It’s me Jack”. Then silence and I waited. A light appeared in the front room and I heard the key turn in the lock and the bolt drawn and she was there in the doorway, then in my arms and I was in the house and holding her. We were both laughing and crying together with the emotion and happiness. I stripped off my equipment and dumped my kit bag and rifle and Barbara went to put the kettle on. I sat on the settee and chatting to her, I saw a little face appear at the bottom of the stairs, looking at me and Barbara asked the question “Who is this then”? She answered shyly “My daddy”. She made us both laugh when she said, “Has he bought me a doll”? Well, she had seen the box on the table that I had been preparing to show her mother and so that little baby of mine had her doll at last.

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Unfortunately Mr Clark was captured and taken prisoner of war. During his time as a POW he kept a detailed war map of Germany showing the enforced marches

that he and other prisoners were made to endure. They had little to eat and never stayed in one place for more than a year. The map that showed the vast miles trekked was unfortunately too large to print. It was his greatest wish to revisit some of the places after the war but sadly Richard never got the chance.

Pictured above is the prayer Irene and her family said every night for her father, before going to bed. Whilst in the prison camps, the prisoners of war put their talents to good use by making birthday and Christmas cards. The cards were inspected and censored before they were sent out. They also held their own shows performing Gilbert & Sullivan operas for the rest of the POWs. The following are samples of some of the many cards Irene was sent by her father during his time as a prisoner of war.

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We set sail at dusk and the journey to England would normally have been made in a few hours but we were at war and some of the Channel ports on the continent were still in the hands of the Germans. This meant that our sailing was rather erratic and prolonged and of course again, in darkness. We didn’t complain at all. As far as we were concerned, we, for the time being at least, were out of the fighting and the further the firing line was put between us and that, the happier we were and so our spirits rose accordingly. We chugged along in the choppy English Channel on this cold December night. Eventually the tannoys on board crackled into life to hear the following announcement, “Now hear this, now hear this, line up for chow, line up for chow!” and somehow deciphered that this was the American Navy’s way of telling us that food was available. We all made a dive into our kit to find our mess tins, mugs and cutlery and joined the waiting ship’s crew and had generous servings of steak, French fries and peaches and cream with coffee instead of tea and all of which was gladly received and consumed.

In the early hours of the 17th December 1944 we were at last heading into the harbour at Folkestone and were tied up to a floating pier. We staggered down the lowered ramp of the Tank Loading Craft and into the waiting arms of the Corps of

Military Police and taken to a hotel that was waiting to accommodate us for the rest of the night. It was almost like peace time and certainly had a dream like atmosphere, as in the early hours we drifted into the Lobby of this hotel. A receptionist took our names and handed us a room key indicating the lift and the waiting room where we had put our luggage away and locked our rooms. Jim Hilton, my Lancashire mate and I almost pinched ourselves as we took it all in and wasted no time in entering and ascending our rooms in the lift with our equipment, weapons and kitbags etc. We were wearing great coats and after taking these off, we washed, shaved and brushed our hair and our boots and down we went to a lovely meal of roast lamb and three veg followed by a suitable sweet and cups of hot sweet tea. We returned to our rooms and slept till 0800 when we were roused for breakfast. Afterwards we paraded in full kit outside the hotel where those with all their kit intact were fell out and told to stay near by as we would be having a Pay Parade and Medical Examination and then the issue of Leave Passes and Travel Warrants would start. We all had to hand in our Army pay books part one and when it was returned we were allocated 12 days pre-courses leave from the 18th December 1944 to 30th December 1944. After leave we had to report to the “Green Howards” depot at Pickering in North Yorkshire for the course. We looked for ways to let our families and dear ones know that we were on our way home but telephones were few and far between in those days. I tried to bypass the Censor in Belgium by answering one of my wife’s letters to the effect of telling her in my letter how strange it was that

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On her father’s return home, a street party was arranged for his and others’ homecomings. Irene wasn’t allowed to play out until she had seen her dad because her mother didn’t want him to pass her in the street and not know her.

He bought her some chocolates, along with a couple of mementos of the war which Irene has kept to this day, one of which was a recovered POW register form (below).

And his War Gratuity and Post War Credit of Wages document (picture of which is below), detailing his total earnings of £68.3.0 (68 pounds and 3 shillings) for over five years of service.

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spotless. I had a bed with snowy white sheets, such as I hadn’t seen since I had been home in March of that year. I was able to undress fully and live and sleep without fear of sudden arousal to man, the gun or any other emergency. It was wonderful! To be under a roof with no wind or sleet assailing me, have my clothes warm and dry was itself a blessing. My beard was removed in clean, steaming water and my boots were permanently shiny. The prospect of perhaps spending Christmas here amongst these so kind and welcoming people was the next thing to paradise, apart from being home with my sweet wife and baby daughter. I was so embarrassed when people came into the café. The Madame of the house insisted on showing photographs of my wife and I around. I was invited to their houses and some pushed little notes into my hand which read “Belgium will never forget how you and your comrades fought and died that she may be free again”. It was very embarrassing and their treating us like heroes was a bit much but quite enjoyable I suppose as we got very little of the same back in our own country, except by our families of course! Each morning we paraded at 0900 hours for roll call and inspection and for the latest information. One morning we were told that we were going back to England for training but that it was NOT to be written about. We would get ten days’ leave and then we would sail the next day or at any time as the boats became available. It was a dream come true. I was beside myself with happiness and as soon as we broke ranks, I rushed over to our Troop Officer and asked him if we could have a Pay Parade. I had hardly drawn any pay all the time since we had landed over here. He told me that all that

would be dealt with when we arrived in England. Our passes, our travel warrants and a pay clerk would sort it out for us. I had promised that whenever I went home, I would take Margaret, my daughter, a doll. I wanted to keep my promise. The lady at my Billet had a friend in Courtai, the nearby town whose husband knew a man who could get dolls on the black market for about 500 francs Belgie (£5) which was quite a sum in those days. I found the café and waved the 500 francs and Henri went out and returned one hour later with the loveliest doll in the whole wide world as far as I was concerned. My little girl’s daddy was coming home for Christmas and was bringing her a doll. Early next morning, the little village was full of tearful Belgian ladies as they bid their own special “Tommies” goodbye. The air was filled with the gramophones playing the old song from the first war, “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and we were scrambling up into our allotted trucks to drive to Ostend. The handshakes and tears continued as we slowly pulled away and disappeared down the village street, on to the main road to the Port. Once there, with all our kit and belongings, Full Marching Order and my Rifle and doll, we were put into a RHU or Reinforced Holding Unit, allocated a bed, and given a meal and told not to stray out of Barracks. We relaxed and some sat and played cards for matches. After tea we were mustered and marched down to the docks and there we were put aboard a just emptied Tank Landing Craft of the US Navy where we dumped our kit in the well of the craft and about 200 of us set sail as the usual nightly Air Raids started on the Port area. Our destination Folkestone, England!

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A War Story Cliff Sims The war in Europe was over, lights shone from every house. The evening was warm, people stood at their gates or in groups laughing with neighbours, no more blackout! One lady said “A war is still on; when my man comes home from a Jap prisoner of war camp then I’ll celebrate”. Months later he came home broken in mind and body. A bonfire was lit on the cricket field, records on a gramophone had people dancing, someone shouted “Here comes a star turn”. A man with an accordion staggered forward, a chair was found for him, he then played songs of the day stopping for a swig of whisky now and again. Everyone clapped when he fell off his chair blind drunk. He was then wrapped in a blanket and four men carried him home, no doubt draining any whisky left in the bottle. The Remarkable Ingaborg Slettin Mr W H Jackson In 1940, the government sent the 8th Battalion, the Sherwood Foresters - Notts and Derbyshire Regiment to Norway. A lot of debating in the House of Commons had taken place, and when the decision was made to send the regiment to Norway, the Germans had already taken the airports and had off loaded many troops. When we landed at Molde, a western port in Norway, we were soon sent to a position south of a place called Lillehammer. We learned that all the heavy armaments in a cargo ship had been sunk by a German U-boat, and that cheered us up a lot especially when the German fighter planes greeted us by

raking us with machine guns in our positions. We were no match for the Germans. They had the better equipment, tanks, mortars, and above all fighter planes and bombers. All we had to hit back with was, a Bren gun and rifles. The news came through that the German Army had outflanked the Battalion, and so, the troops were ordered to withdraw but sadly some of us were trapped and the Germans were taking prisoners. Fortunately about a dozen of us, with the help of some Norwegian men, managed to escape into some high mountains. There were houses in the valleys and the Norwegian people were warned that they would be executed if they helped British troops. The brave Norwegian people asked us not to go near their farm and that they would bring us food. The party of men realised that we could not endanger the lives of the Norwegians and so the alternatives open to us was to surrender to the Germans or make the long journey to Sweden. We told the Norwegians that we were going to make an effort to get to Sweden. The Norwegians advised us to wait until the following day which we did. To our surprise, the next morning, a beautiful young Norwegian lady came and told us that the Germans had sent thousands of troops to Norway and that our party would need help. She said she would help us get to Sweden. We accepted her help, but told her we were concerned that she would be shot if the Germans found her. That did not deter her in any way. We took our uniforms off and the farmers found us some Norwegian clothes. The lady told us to call her Inga. She was very brave going into the villages to find out the positions of German troops, getting us food and then moving on.

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Our main concern at that time was when our next meal would arrive, which had to be brought to us from behind the lines by out Regimental Cooks and served from “Vacuum” containers into our waiting mess tins and mugs. We queued in turn to be served the tinned steak and kidney pudding or stew and treacle pudding and a mug of tea. Then of course we looked for the mail, which also came to us in this way at the evening and we would devour both avidly as we sat in the dug-out and tried to avoid the element’s worst effects and the enemy’s worst attentions. The next priority on our list was hygiene. Being able to get a wash and especially a shave with water was scarce. This was brought to us by a water cart and doled out at so much per man. To complete our morale boosting we needed to clean the ever present mud from our boots and have a shiny pair of Army boots again and we were happy. We had pursued this mode of existence ever since we landed here in the mainland of Europe. The previous June at Arromanches in Normandy, in the heat of summer and battle, we were inured to this existence. Through the long months of battles and hard fighting to the “break-out” and the pursuit up into the heartland of France, through Belgium, into Holland, the battle for the Bridges and the sad blow to our hopes at Arnhem, we settled down to the hard slog through the Polders of Holland and the close up to the River Rhine and then the leap over and the dash for the German capital, Berlin. Those of us that had survived and got through this far, along with our replacements for comrades no longer with us, awaited Christmas of 1944 and our mail and Christmas parcels from home sent by our loved ones that we so very dearly missed.

On 8th December 1944, the Battery Major came on to the Gun site with the Colonel of the Regiment, our Troop Commander and a red collar tabbed Brigadier, from the Army HQ of course being a “Staff Officer”. We were called to assemble on ranks and told that we, along with other Artillery personnel, were being transferred to the Infantry as we were needed for more the battles ahead eg the Rhine crossing and invasion of Germany proper. We couldn’t believe our ears. We knew that after the battles in Normandy and the losses suffered there, we, being the 59th, had our own division broken up of Infantry as did the 50th Division. The Divisional Artillery had been retained by “month” to give the extra fire power when needed. Two days later we pulled out of the Front Line and with our vehicles and guns we headed back into Belgium away from the fighting to some Infantry Training School and then sent to Infantry Battalions in the line somewhere.

We arrived in a small village called Kuurne. After we had been to the mobile there and the dining room in the local Brewery canteen, we were taken in pairs to the houses in the village and placed in civilian “Billets”. My place of abode was a local café with a middle aged couple who welcomed me like a long lost son. Mynheer and Mevrouw Hansen-Pauwels were wonderful to me and my mate and allotted us each a room which was

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One day she called us all together, and said we had a tough assignment to meet. One of the longest bridges had to be crossed and it had to be done during the day because the bridge was heavily guarded by German troops at night. Inga said she had managed to borrow 12 pairs of skis and that we should cross the bridge in pairs carrying the skis on our shoulders. Early next morning the exercise started, one pair left the bridge before the next pair went on. Everything went smooth, myself and a Woodhouse lad named Brian Derbyshire were the last pair to leave the woods and as we slid down on to the bridge, a German armoured column approached. We were terrified. I asked what we should do. He replied “Keep going”. To our surprise the officer in the first tank stopped the column, saluted us and told us to proceed. Brian and I never spoke till we met up with the others. We all waited till the Germans had moved on and then Inga stacked up all the skis for someone to pick up. We only had one more hiccup, before we reached the Swedish border. We had travelled over a vast area of nothing but snow and ice. Suddenly Inga started to laugh. We asked why and the reply we got was that we had walked across a very wide river! When we eventually reached Sweden, Inga had to leave us; we were all in tears. Inga was a very brave lady who risked her life to help us. We asked her full name, but before she told us, she made us swear that once we left her, we would forget she ever existed. We swore and she replied “My name is Ingaborg Slettin and I live in Oslo”. We all kissed her goodbye as the Swedish soldiers came to take us away. Her name was never mentioned again. In 1989 we went to Norway and so I wanted to find Ingaborg Slettin, but to my

great sorrow, I learned that Inga had died in 1988. I kept my word, but I did manage to contact Asmund Slettin, Inga’s brother, who knew all about the men of the Sherwood Foresters and the reason Inga had asked us not ever to mention her name was that she was a member of the Norwegian Underground Movement. She helped many Jewish families to escape to Sweden and that in 1943 the Germans became suspicious of Inga and so to save her life she had to stay in Sweden herself. The Norwegian people were very brave, and I myself always say, that I owed my freedom and probably my life in 1940, to the brave Norwegian people. This is a true story of a very brave nation who risked their lives to help us. When my wife and I visited Norway in 1989 and 1990, we asked some Norwegian people how they felt during the occupation by the Germans for five years. The reply was that England did not capitulate and while England fought, there was hope, and we are now free! Johnny’s War John Thomas

This is the story of local man Sergeant John A Thomas (above), who currently resides on Rose Lane, and his crew.

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In 1941, boffins created Colossus, the world’s first computer, which was built to crack the Lorenz cipher used by Hitler and his generals. The information Wilfred gathered in the six weeks leading up to D-Day told the British Army when and where off France the German’s huge fleet of ships was positioned. Once the allied troops knew that, the order was given to attack and the rest is history. “We had to take down everything that they were sending, including pleasantries and chat between the Germans, at 25 words a minute. I don’t think the Germans even had a clue what was going on. They certainly didn’t know anything about Bletchley Park and the secret work we were doing. That gave us the element of surprise. I don’t think they knew where we got the information from for years after the war”. Six weeks after D-Day, Wilfred returned to Scarborough where he stayed until the following year when news came through that the Germans had surrendered on Victory in Europe (VE) Day. He then returned to Mansfield, to his wife Barbara and the building trade he had left behind when he was called up. The events of the summer of 1944 remained a distant memory until a few years ago when he saw a television documentary called Station X, in which other Bletchley Park veterans were talking of their experiences. He contacted the makers, who told him, despite his having signed the Official Secrets Act, he was clear to share his experiences. “I’d forgotten about most of it, if I am honest, but when I saw that programme, it all came flooding back” he said. “I’ve been back to Bletchley Park several times and been given the

freedom of Bletchley. It was very strange to go back there, to see how much the park has changed. When I went back there for the first time, I couldn’t find the entrance and Bletchley itself is now part of Milton Keynes. It seems strange to think about it again now, after all these years, but I am extremely proud of what I did when I was there”.

Christmas at War Jack Lattimer I suppose that most people have some particular Christmas in their life that they hold special in their memory. For some reason or other and as the time for that feast of remembrance of the birth of our Lord approaches, my mind always goes back to the winter of 1944 when I was a soldier with the 2nd Army in North West Europe, belonging to an Artillery Regiment in close support of our Infantry, then in the first week of December on the frontier between Holland and Germany in the region of Venlo and Roermond. We were sited in a grass field in wintry, freezing, foggy weather which somewhat deadened the sound of incoming Artillery shells but not their effects as we engaged in the occasional exchange of fire with the enemy. The living conditions were bleak to say the least. We lived out of doors with our guns and found shelter in the gun pits and dug-outs that we fashioned and made as warm and as comfortable as we knew how. The dug-out we usually lined with straw from the most convenient nearby farmstead which was usually a burnt out pile of rubble, having been fought for and defended till it was captured and its defenders had been eliminated one way or another.

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The following document entitled “Crew Spends 5 Days in Rubber Dinghy” is taken word for word from the “Daily Sketch” newspaper.

CAIRO, Sunday - Again, for the second night running, one of Malta’s RAF rescue launches has saved the crew of a bomber which was hit in a raid on Tunis and came down in the sea. The airmen were drifting in a rubber boat not far from enemy held shores. The launch forged through the chilly rough seas several hundreds of miles there and back, but met no opposition. The crew of another RAF bomber had a remarkable escape. They drifted for five days in a rubber dinghy within sight of the Cyrenaican coast all the time, but were unable to reach shore because of the strong currents. After flying low over the sea for some hours to try to avoid the bad weather, the bomber crossed the coast somewhat to the west of Agheila and ran into a stream of fire from enemy positions. The pilot turned away, but his plane was intercepted by three Messerschmitts, one of which peeled off and attacked while the other two acted as top cover. The bomber’s port engine was hit, and it lost height and had to be set down “in the drink”. As the captain of the aircraft, a

London sergeant-pilot, said afterwards, they were lucky to shake off the Messerschmitts. “We managed to get clear of the aircraft, which landed well, and we scrambled into the dinghy,” he said. “Our bomber soon sank, and we found ourselves 15 miles from the coast, which was easily visible in the clear morning air. We paddled all day trying to get to land, and at 3pm a fighter came over but evidently failed to spot us. “We decided to impose a rationing system of our scanty stocks of food as we were making slow progress. “Each man had two nourishment tablets and one tenth of a pint of water daily. We strove desperately to reach the beach that first night, jettisoning the equipment to do so, but failed and to our sorrow began drifting out again. “Day after day the same thing happened. By day we drifted near in, then the night saw us swept out again. “It was heart breaking. We hoisted a small sail improvised from our shirts, but there was so little wind that it made no difference. “On the fourth day we had a grandstand view of a big battle in the air over the land and then some of our own fighters were sighted patrolling. “We shot up a Very light to attract attention, but then the Very pistol stuck and we could not get it to fire a second time. “But the first shot had been seen and soon our fighters came back circling over us and dropped an extra dinghy and supplies. Every half-hour they came back

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My Secret Role in our Defeat of the Nazis Article Courtesy of Evening Post It was a secret which Wilfred Bingley had carried with him for 50 years. Far away from the bloody battlefields of the Second World War, in a makeshift wooden hut on a c o u n t r y e s t a t e i n r u r a l Buckinghamshire, he spends days on end intercepting and decoding messages from German command. Little did he know it, but the information he was processing was to play a crucial role in bringing the war to an end. For from April to June 1944, the Ministry of Defence gathered intelligence which was used to prepare for the D-Day Landings. About 176,000 British, American and Canadian troops stormed the French coastline in a concentrated push to kick out the Germans. It is the single most significant event in bringing the war to an end, as allied troops got the foothold they needed to retake Europe and force the Nazis back into Germany, and the preparations were all being done by the 10,000 strong team of boffins the now world famous Bletchley Park estate. Wilfred, 81 of Meden Road, Mansfield Woodhouse, said “People said that, at that time, Bletchley Park was the most important place in Europe and I have no doubt in my mind that it was. Historians have estimated that the work done there helped to end the war two years early and saved more than 10,000 lives”. Wilfred was born in Arthur Street, Mansfield, and called up to the Royal Navy in 1942. Handpicked to go on the three month secondment to Bletchley Park, he was there for the six weeks leading up to D-Day, and the six weeks after. After joining up in 1942, he was

given specialist training as a telegraphist reading Morse Code, and posted to Scarborough. In April 1944, he along with 23 colleagues, were told to prepare themselves for a secret assignment, posted to a stately home in the middle of nowhere. “I can remember it vividly, we were just told to pack our bags and were put on a train by an officer, and we didn’t have a clue where we were going. When we arrived at Bletchley, none of us had even heard of the place.” Wilfred said. On the first day of his assignment, Wilfred, along with fellow servicemen, was taken into an office and threatened with the death penalty if he ever leaked anything about what went on there. The telegraphists were split into three groups of eight, who worked around the clock in Hut Eight on the 55 acre site, taking down intercepted secret German messages, which were then taken to another hut to be decoded. At the end of each shift, he would retire to his tent on the estate. He said “It was a really secret culture there. Secrecy was sewn into everything we did. It was something you just didn’t talk about. Then, once the Germans were defeated, Churchill ordered everything at Bletchley Park to be destroyed, so there would be no trace of it. Even on my service record, there is nothing about the time I spent at Bletchley Park. That gives you some idea of what we were doing at the time, or of what else was going on at Bletchley Park”. The estate was the nerve centre for British intelligence during the war. It was established in 1939, when under the guise of Captain Ridley’s Shooting Party, a group of scholars turned code breakers went there to crack the Nazi Enigma cipher. The odds against them doing so w e r e a s t a g g e r i n g 15,000,000,000,000,000,000 to one.

to check the positions. “They kept us in sight all the time and at noon the next day we were at last helped ashore by a naval party on the beach.” So the captain, with his observer from Caernarvon, radio operator-air gunner from Leeds, front gunner from Yeadon, near Leeds and the rear gunner from Oakengates, Shropshire, got back in time for a Christmas meal in their mess after five days of exposure in a boat so small they dare not move for fear of upsetting it. When they landed they were offered hospital treatment, but they said they did not want to miss a Christmas celebration. As a result of Sergeant Thomas’ actions he was invited into several clubs including The Late Arrivals’ Club, of which his certificate can be seen here:

The most exclusive wartime club in the RAF is the Late Arrivals’ Club. It has only 492 members - airmen who bailed out as a result of enemy action and had to walk home. The club’s emblem is the Flying Boot. Holders of it are given a certificate to show in what circumstances they became eligible. Another club Sergeant Thomas joined was the Goldfish Club. The Goldfish Club was formed in November 1942 by Mr C A Robertson who was at that time Chief Draughtsman to Messrs P B Cow & Co, one of the world’s largest manufacturers of Air-Sea Rescue equipment. After hearing of the experiences of some of the airmen who had survived, “Robbie” conceived the idea of forming an exclusive club for airmen who owed their lives to their life jacket, dinghy, etc. With the company’s backing, the club was named The Goldfish Club - gold for the value of the life and fish for the sea - and each member was presented with a heat-sealed waterproof membership card and an embroidered badge.

With wartime restrictions, no materials were available for the badges until some redundant dinner suits were contributed in response to an appeal by columnist William Hickey in the Daily Express.

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After only three months’ training, he was hand picked for specialist training as a telegraphist reading Morse Code and was posted to Scarborough. However, in April 1944, Wilfred and 23 other gifted telegraphists were told to prepare themselves for a move. “We were just told to pack our bags and were put on a train by an Officer, but we were kept completely in the dark about our final destination, after several changes of train we ended up at Bletchley Park. None of us had heard of this place” Wilfred said. Wilfred could have had little idea that he had arrived at one of the most critical centres of the British war effort. The ability to crack Nazi codes that was perfected at the Buckinghamshire site is believed to have saved thousands of lives and cut two years off the war duration of the war. “None of us were aware of Bletchley Park’s wider importance and we just settled into a routine of hard work” Wilfred stated. The telegraphists were split into three groups working eight hour shifts, covering 24 hours, seven days a week. Wilfred remembers working in Hut eight at the 55 acre site for hours on end taking down the supposedly secret German messages which were then fed into another hut and decoded.

Said Wilfred “We had to take down 25 words a minute and everything had to be included even the casual chit chat between Germans. At Scarborough I remember we were busy at Christmas time because of the seasonal greetings being sent out”. Wilfred’s three months at Bletchley Park covered the period leading up to and immediately after the D-Day landings, but he had finished his stint and returned to Scarborough when news came through the following year of Germany’s surrender on Victory in Europe (VE) Day. He returned to Mansfield and his wife Barbara. They had only been married six weeks when he was called up and settling into civilian life working in the building trade, but he remembering the warnings on his first day at Bletchley Park, he kept his work there secret until the 1990’s when a series of television programmes on decoding reassured him that it was now legal to “spill the beans”. “I do feel proud of my part in the war effort and it is a great relief to be able to talk about it” Wilfred added. Wilfred and Barbara have since returned to Bletchley Park which is now a museum and his memories of life at the site have been placed in the archives.

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News of the new Club spread rapidly and in January 1943, the BBC broadcast an interview by Wynford Vaughan-Thomas with Robbie and two members who had qualified on their first operational flight. By the end of the war the Club had 9000 members from all branches of the Allied Forces and it had been intended that the granting of further memberships should cease but applications continued to arrive. When Robbie left P B Cow in 1947 to start business on his own account, he retained the Club records in order to continue administration at his own expense. The 500-plus remaining members around the world keep in touch with a regular newsletter and the Club hold regular annual anniversary celebrations of which this year (2005) was its 63rd. In Memory of Blackie Sims Pete Sims Alf (Blackie) Sims Born 27/10/27 Died 09/08/05

Alf Sims was a well known local man who was born and died at 17 Shakespeare Avenue. In his teens he was too young to serve in the Army so he joined the Army Cadets. Alf was a renowned local boxing hero and turned professional in 1948. Pictured opposite is an early photograph taken of Alf during his boxing years. Among his many talents, Alf also enjoyed writing poetry. He released a book of his poems entitled ‘Mid Mills, Mines and Meadows’. Here is a poem extracted from his book which was thought befitting to the magazine.

Not just today but every day

Remember the lads that marched away. Boys of the village so young and gay,

Into manhood they grew as the war came their way.

They traded their civvies for khaki or blue, To the lads of the village the war was so

new. Laughed and joked about Jerry the Hun,

Oh, it’s grand, going to be great, he’s sure to run.

Then into battle, training all done,

Tommy Atkins they called him, with bayonet and gun.

From country to country, retreat and retreat, Poor old Tommy was gunned and blown off

his feet.

Then back to England, this great little isle, With its red, white and blue and bulldog

smile. The essence of victory so assured to come

true, For the lads of the village – just boys that I

knew.

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I also saw Albert and his wife some three to four years ago, when I was staying with my cousin at Nottingham. During my last visit I showed my wife the old mills at the top of Vale Road which were now derelict. I was remembering how Mr Mason had shown my parents and me around the mills fifty years earlier. I stood outside and could hear the noise and clanging and banging of the machinery in the vast buildings. Now the only person I saw, as I stood by the water’s edge, was walking a dog and all I could hear was silence. I parked my car where 15 Castle Street used to be; it is now a car park. I remembered as a small child of nine walking up that narrow road with suitcase, gas mask and label. The miners were covered in coal dust as they came off shift. I remembered the smell of fresh baked bread; a bag of chips for a penny; the old Tivole where we booed and cheered the villains and heroes of the silver screen; the clanging of the buckets on their way to the slag heaps; turning the mangle in the backyard for the washing; the colliery band in the park and the Town Centre seemed so small. I enclose this letter Mrs Mason wrote to my parents on my arrival. Friday 21st March 1941

Dear Mr and Mrs Tee

I am writing just a few lines to you. Your little boy arrived at Mansfield on Wednesday safe and sound, is now billeted with us at Mansfield Woodhouse as you will see by the address. We are four in family, Mr Mason and myself and two boys (elder 22 years and the other 13 years old) the older boy is now in the forces which leaves Albert. I am very pleased to tell you that Paul seems to be chumming up together and please do not worry. Mr Mason and I will try to make

him as happy as possible, if any time you would like to come and see Paul, I will try and make you welcome and do my best. I am enclosing these few lines in with Paul, I asked him if he would like to write to you and he said he would like it very much, so I must close now, leaving you to rest content, your little boy is quite alright.

From yours Mrs Daisy Mason Secret War Effort of Mansfield Pensioner Article Courtesy of Mansfield & Ashfield Chad A Mansfield Woodhouse pensioner who kept his vital wartime duty cracking German codes secret for almost 50 years has told his remarkable story. Wilfred Bingley began a three month stint as a specialist telegraphist at the world famous Bletchley Park site more than 60 years ago, playing a little known but crucial role in preparations of the D-Day landings. Amazingly tight-lipped Wilfred kept his secret for almost five decades until he saw other Bletchley Park veterans revealing their memories on television shows. Wilfred, of Meden Road, is now free to talk about his extraordinary experiences at Bletchley Park and his small part in “Britain’s Best Kept Secret”. “When we arrived at Bletchley Park we were all sworn to secrecy and warned that there were still some offences punishable by the death penalty, so I wanted to be absolutely certain before I told anyone, even my wife and family”. Wilfred, who was born on Arthur Street in Mansfield, was originally called up for service in February 1942 as an electrical mechanic in the Royal Navy.

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Nursing Cadets Val Devney Glebe, Australia sent a food parcel to the Mansfield Woodhouse Nursing Section of the St. John Ambulance Division in 1941. The photograph below was taken outside the Manor House, to send to Australia to say thank you. The first nursing division was started in Mansfield Woodhouse in 1939 by Mrs Lane of Charles Street. It later became attached to Sherwood Colliery along with the nursing cadets.

From Left - Top line Mrs Broadbent, Mrs Crooks, Mrs Priddey, Miss Lowe, Mrs Davis. Bottom Line - Mrs Hill, Mrs Lane (Superintendent Nursing Officer), Miss Thorpe (Sister), Mrs Hilton, Mrs Renshaw and Mrs Jelley.

60th Anniversary of the D Day Landings. Roger Maywood The following extract was a talk given by Roger Maywood on the 60th Anniversary of the D-Day Landings - 6th June 2004. Reverend Graham Holloway has asked me to give my reflections and first hand experience of the D-Day Landings. I don’t usually talk about them but on this special occasion I agreed. We sailed from Southampton after 2 days in a tented camp, surrounded by barbed wire – a concentration camp. I saw ‘Tall in the Saddle’ twice; it was the only film in the camp cinema. It was a rough sail and many were very seasick so we were glad to get off the LCT (Landing Craft Tank), which was flat bottomed. I was with 50 Division 69th Infantry Brigade which incidentally had the only Victoria Cross on the D-Day Landings – Sergeant Major Stan Hollis. I was not on the first day landings but landed in an American LCT shortly afterwards with HMS Warspite over to our right, shelling the German positions. I have a vivid recollection of the bodies of men killed when the landing craft they were in was

39 Continued...

The house was very dark as the windows were small and opposite there was a very high wall of the Manor House. Over the wall grew a very large Mulberry tree and we picked up the fruit in the autumn and ate it.

My first Sunday lunch, I will always remember. We all sat at the table and I had a plate of Yorkshire pudding with onion gravy. I asked where the meat and veg were and I was told that it came later – this was most unusual to me. I remember the range in the living room, with the oven on one side, the fire in the middle and boiler for hot water on the other. The tin bath was put in front of the fire on Friday nights.

I remember the smell of bread as Mrs Mason cooked her own twice a week.

I remember taking a candle to bed, the outside toilets that were in the back yard and the old newspapers cut in squares hanging from nails.

Recreation time was spent in the park at the top of Castle Street on the swings and slides. I remember having a swing hit me in the face and being taken to the Doctor’s in Church Street and being stitched. I have still got the scar on my cheek today.

Sunday afternoons we were sent to Sunday school, but we went to the park and listened to the band instead.

There were some allotments up the Vale Road on the right, near where the buckets went over the road from the mine to the slag heap. Further up the Vale Road we picked peas for a shilling a bushel. We used to go the Tivole Cinema on Saturdays.

I remember going off to the Co-op in the High Street to carry home large bags of flour to make the bread.

Further up the High Street at Albert Square we had a meal at a canteen each week called either British Restaurant or named after the Food Minister. (Soup one penny/1d: Meat and Veg fivepence/5d; Pudding one penny 1d – old pence). On the corner of Castle Street and Station Street there was a shop that sold bottles of pop and ice cream. A little further down was the Tripe Shop. I went there to get some pig knuckles for Mrs Mason one day, the lady behind the counter was stoking the fire at the time and she cut off some tripe for a customer and left sooty fingerprints on it. It’s funny how small things stick in your memory. I also remember there were a lot of fish and chip shops there. My parents visited me for a few days to see how I was and they told me years later they had never seen such a good quality bed linen on their fourposter bed. I think that I returned home after about nine months. The return home was a complete contrast. We had tape on all our windows; the blackout was much stricter and the air-raid sirens were going quite often. Back at our school we were trying to catch up to our standards and everyone was trying to adjust. They were trying to get us to talk and lose the words that had entered our speech. My parents kept in touch with Mr and Mrs Mason over the years. I remember visiting them again when I had my motorbike at sixteen. Mrs Mason died at a later date and Mr Mason remarried. He has passed away also. I still send a card every Christmas to his widow, who now lives at 6 Booth Street.

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shelled and bombed by the Germans and their bodies were being turned over by the propeller of my ship. There were many youngsters of 18 or 19 who never saw the beaches as they drowned being weighed down by all the equipment they were carrying. Our ship was driven onto the beach at Arromanches and we disembarked in three feet of water. Luckily I was in a motor vehicle so did not get wet. We were met by a Lieutenant Commander of the Royal Navy who was a Beach Master and he had a bulldog, a reassuring sight to us as it was representative of the British spirit. His job was to get us off as quickly as possible to a safe area where we could assemble and remove all the waterproofing from our vehicle electrics. I noted that nearly all the bodies had been removed from the beach. I saw as we drove off the beach that ditches each side of the road were full of fallen soldiers, they were moved there to save them being run over by disembarking tanks and other vehicles. They were later buried in the huge cemetery at Bayeux. Our next objective was Bayeux, which was recaptured after the third day. I have a recollection of the people of Bayeux burying an 18 year old in a flowerbed in the town centre and they promised to tend it forever, they were so pleased to be liberated. Another recollection was to see a hand sticking out of the soil, which marked the place of a soldier’s temporary grave so that burial parties could find it easier. I was just 20 years of age (as pictured top right) and one of the lucky ones. When I think of all the fallen, I get emotional. My sector was Gold Beach, there were four other beaches with maybe even more casualties.

I have not yet mentioned the wounded that were taken back to England on the LCTs which brought the troops to the beaches, also the prisoners of war were sent to England and many were relieved that their war had ended. We have been back to the beaches and the cemeteries and the French have kept their promise. They are beautifully kept, very poignant when you see the ages – 18, 19 and 20.

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. They are forever young;

they died that we might live.

Sergeant Reginald Millns Margaret Bakewell

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Memories of an Evacuee Mr P Tee - Worthing The War, as I remember it, started as a seven year old, walking down our road one morning to post a letter for my parents, when the Milkman said to me “Hurry home, there was a war on”. My father, owing to his age and a slight touch of rheumatism too, became a War-Reserve Policeman. I also remember seeing a large crocodile of children and grown-ups coming down our road and my parents saying “The evacuees are coming”. Little did I realise that I would be in the same situation myself the following year. Our next door neighbour had a mother and daughter billeted with her, whose father, as I was told, was a Fireman in London, the East End dock area. The house on the other side was empty at the time, as the couple had both joined the forces. I remember the Battle of Britain over our skies on the South Coast, watching the planes wheeling high in the sky and trying to shoot each other down. At this time, my father being in the Police force, decided I would be evacuated with the other kids from our school. I remember being on our local railway station on Wednesday 19th March 1941, with a small case, a gas mask and a label tied to me. I had no idea where we were going, but I do remember a large steam train that was going to take us there. When we arrived we were taken to a large hall and given some food. We slept on mattresses on the floor. The next day we were taken in groups to be billeted on the locals.

We shuffled along Station Street and into Castle Street. Each door was knocked on and someone left our ranks. When we got to number 15, a lady came to the door and it was my turn. I entered a whole new world and a whole new environment, which came as quite a shock to me. I came from a semi-detached house that was only five years old, all gas and electric, hot and cold running water and a bathroom too, to a terraced house with only cold water to the tap and gas lighting on the ground floor only. The family who lived there was a Mr and Mrs Mason. They had two sons, Albert and George. Mr Mason was a foreman at the mills. Albert was a few years older than me and George was in the Army. I don’t think we ever met. It was a very clean and happy house, but for us coming from the South of England to live in a village where everybody worked in the coal mines and Woollen Mills, it might as well have been a foreign country. The language was different, the food and the environment was very different. I think most of us went to Yorke Street School and of course, we seemed to have a higher education for our age. That didn’t seem to help much; our accents didn’t either. Mind you, I must add that 15 Castle Street was a happy house to live in once you got used to it. In those days the milk came by horse and cart, in churns and you collected it in a jug. Also, the coal arrived the same way outside the front door. It had to be carried through the house to the coal shed at the back, whereas at home, the milk came in bottles and the coal by the sack and put in the coal bunkers.

Continued...

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Son of the late Mr and Mrs G Millns and brother of Margaret Bakewell (nee Millns)of Shel ley Avenue, Mansf ield Woodhouse, Sergeant Reginald Millns was a Lancaster Bomber Rear Gunner and was part of the 49th Bomber Squadron based at RAF Fiskerton in Lincoln.

Reginald was sadly killed in action in April 1944 over Essen in Germany he was just 19 years of age. Pictured above is the 49th Bomber Squadron, Sergeant Millns is circled. Life at Pleasley Vale Freda Longdon & Edith Richardson

Pictured above during the war are the employees at the Pleasley Vale Sidings, adjacent to the area now occupied by Pleasley Vale Plant Nursery. Included are Freda Longdon (nee Timpson) and Mrs Edith Richardson (nee Timpson) who worked together with soldiers during the

Second World War. Goods were delivered to the sidings by train from Chilwell Ordnance Factory. These goods, which included nuts and bolts, were packed by workers then coded and sent abroad. The codes were used so that nobody knew the final destination of the goods. Some people worked on the sidings, packing anchors with shackles. When the transport train arrived Freda and others had to stencil codes onto the goods with their destination and then the train would be sent on its way. The factory closed down after the war. Daisy Jelley 1909-2000 Val Devney Daisy was a local woman who lived at 10 Shakespeare Avenue, Mansfield Woodhouse during the war years. She joined the St John Ambulance Brigade in 1939 and worked with the War Organisation during World War II. Eventually she was promoted to the rank of Divisional Superintendent.

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(traction). If he was on the 101 route, he would sometimes throw us some money out of the cab window, for us to buy something. He managed to obtain a house on Blake Street, Mansfield Woodhouse (and it is still being occupied to this day).

Mum, Pat and Aunty Flo came up from Southend a few months later with the furniture and we all settled in. It seemed like we had been apart for years. Paul and myself has a crew cut with a short fringe, the style in 1940’s, along with short trousers and boots. We went to Sunday School and the church on the corner of Blake Street and Sherwood Street. I also remember getting our chips in a basin from a fish shop on Sherwood Street, which was in the front room of a terrace house and served from the front sash window.

We played on the bit of spare ground at the bottom of Blake Street, sledging down the hill when snow arrived, and had kids’ fights with Coke Street, Blake Street and Sherwood Street, but nobody ever got hurt. We would make a fire of wood and coal in a treacle tin, hang some wire for a handle, swinging it round and then put a potato on it to cook. We would walk around and collect jam jars and bottles then take them to a shop to get pocket money, for a barrow full we would get about two shillings (2\ = 10p). Money was hard earned, Dad used to work all hours on the buses. Our mother, Rose Staples who had a lovely voice and was a self taught Soprano, sang in most clubs in this area, like the Ex-Servicemen’s, Miners’ Welfare and British Legion clubs etc. Which gave us a little bit more money. She won a Song Contest by Carol Levis at the Mansfield Palace Theatre in 1942, the song was “When I grow too old to dream.”

Pam went to Yorke Street school in 1940. Paul, Peggy and myself went to Oxclose Lane, Paul and I moving up to Yorke Street upon turning 11 years old. Sometimes on our walks to school we would buy a carrot to eat from Robinson’s Grocery Shop at the bottom of Sherwood Street. Next door to the shop was a big shed which was used by a man who made wooden firelighters, Paul and me would sometimes help him on Saturdays. There was a story going round at that time, that if you sucked a piece of coal you would find a saccharine in it. I think we all knew the reason for that rumour, to keep our mouths moist.

Two mishaps I remember, a fire engine demolished a phone box at the bottom of Sherwood Street outside the Billiard Hall, which is now a motorbike shop. The other incident was a double decker bus got jammed under the bridge on Debdale Lane. We all used to look forward to Saturday tuppenny rush at the Tivole and when we got home Mum would buy us a tuppenny triangle ice lolly housed in blue and white checked cardboard from the “Stop-me-and-buy-one” Walls Ices.

We would play marbles on the backyards of the houses on Sherwood Street backing onto Blake Street. The ground was covered in ash so we used to make holes about 3” diameter and try and get the pritts (marbles) in to win. Another game was to play with fag cards flicked at one standing up against a wall and trying to knock it down. Whoever knocked it down, won all the cards on the ground. The toys we had were made by our Dad, such as motor barrows, wooden spitfires etc. He made a doll for Pat, the youngest, out of black-out curtain, and the suit was green baize (billiard table cloth) - she has still got that doll.

21

Daisy was issued with many awards for her commitment to the St John Ambulance Brigade and also her devoted service to the cause of humanity during the Second World War.

During the war, Daisy also worked as an Air Raid Warden, after joining the Air Raid Precautions. Her devotion to mankind even saw her give up one week’s holiday per year to work in the Hospital Reserve as a volunteer.

Memorabilia collected by Daisy during her time with the St. John Ambulance can be seen below.

In the Queen’s Silver Jubilee year of 1977 Daisy along with her husband George, the then Chairman of Mansfield District Council, acted as escorts for the visit of HRH Queen Elizabeth II and HRH Prince Philip.

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The Evacuation and War Years of the 5 “P’s” Peter Staples

It was 1939, the Anderson Air Raid Shelters had been delivered and our Dad said it had to be in place as soon as possible at the bottom of the garden, so me and a family of five kids started to help Dad to dig the hole to sink the shelter in, then Dad made bunks and a strong door. Mum stocked it with food, books, candles, a torch and games. We spent some nights in the shelter which was very damp, we thought it was great fun, seven of us in a cramped space. We put soil on top and set some flowers; we thought it was great, but our Mum and Dad knew the possible consequences of an air raid. It was 1940 the invasion was being planned by the Germans, so a quick and massive evacuation was planned for children from Southend-on-Sea, Essex. Mum made haversacks, Dad fixed fasteners for four of us. Pam was 10, Pete 9, Paul 7, Peggy 5 and Pat at 2 ½ was too young to be evacuated. The haversacks were part filled with just enough clothes for us to carry. We all had our gas mask and a few sandwiches, Dad made sure the boys’ boots had a good round of studs in. We were told that most children will muster outside St. Mary’s School, Prittlewell. Pam, Pete, Paul, Peggy and the other children had mixed feelings. The buses were all waiting to take us to the Midland Railway Station to catch the train for the north, but none of us knew where we were going. The furthest we had been was London, Clacton and Maldon and Southend sea front. Some time in the afternoon we arrived at Huthwaite and let into a school

playground. The four of us stayed close together whilst we waited for foster carers to pick the children of their choice and although Pam made it clear to the authorities, that Mum and Dad said we must not be split up, Paul and myself were selected by Mr and Mrs Harby of Unwin Street, Huthwaite. Pam and Peg did not know then, where they were taken, or who was looking after them. Paul and I walked into Mr and Mrs Harby’s house. We got acquainted with her son, Granville. Mrs Harby started to empty our haversacks; she took out our sandwiches, which we hadn’t eaten, to throw away but I told her I would need them to get home with tomorrow. She said “You’re not going home tomorrow!”. What a fright we had when Mrs Harby came home. A tin bath was in front of the fire, where Mrs Harby ladled hot water out of a boiler heated by the fire. We had never seen anything like it in our young lives, for this man came in all black; it was Mr Harby, he was a coal miner at Skegby Pit. He then had a bath, we never heard of mines or pit waste tips. The Harbys were a loving and caring family and really looked after Paul and me. We really missed our sisters and parents, but on a Sunday a few days after assuming at Unwin Street, Mr and Mrs Harby took us for a walk along the main road to Sutton. After about a mile, we could hear voices behind a high hedge; we recognised the voices of our sisters, Pam and Peggy. They were being fostered by a Mr and Mrs Osbourne. What a lovely day we had. We used to meet up and play on the fields and hay ricks. Three months later, our Dad came up to us and being a bus driver in Southend and on “Reserved Occupation” he got a job as driver in the Mansfield district

22

A Wartime Wedding Joan Longstaffe

Bryan and Joan Longstaffe were married at St. Edmund’s Church in Mansfield Woodhouse on 15th December 1943 (pictured above). On their wedding day the vicar forgot about the ceremony and so at the last minute the Reverend Bernard Hill stepped in to save the day. The organist was Mr Gill who apparently could only play ‘Moonlight and Roses’, so choice was not an option. Bryan served as Flight Sergeant No 568111 in the RAF, Joan served as Leading Aircraft Woman (LACW) 475529 and throughout the Second World War drove cars and lorries in the WRAF (pictured below).

Brian sadly passed away in 2001 aged 82. Joan still lives in Mansfield

Woodhouse and is the daughter of the late Mr and Mrs Albert Green, who for many years had a shoe shop on Station Street. Samples of memorabilia obtained by Joan during her time in the WRAF can be seen below. Joan’s Official RAF Identification Card which authorised her to drive government issued vehicles is also shown.

The WAAF’s Prayer book (outer and inner picture below) issued to Joan which gave spiritual support in times of stress.

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Death of Mr Mayhall Mansfield Woodhouse - 24th May 1945 By the unexpected death which took place on Monday morning, of Mr Albert Mayhall, of 33 Mansfield Road, Mansfield Woodhouse, the Urban Council of that parish has lost an invaluable clerk and accountant and the district a worthy and highly-esteemed citizen. Mr Mayhall, who was 60 years of age, entered the Mansfield Nursing Home some time ago, and underwent a surgical operation for internal trouble. Apparently the operation was successful and at last month’s meeting of the Council he was reported to be progressing towards recovery. However, he had a relapse and passed away, as stated, on Monday morning. The late Mr Mayhall, who was a native of Lancashire, took his first appointment as assistant clerk to the Tarporley, Cheshire, Urban District Council, and he came to Mansfield as assistant to the late Mr J E Alcock, the clerk of the Mansfield Woodhouse authority. Upon the retirement of Mr Alcock in 1914, he was appointed deputy clerk and accountant and later full-time clerk and accountant to

the council. He was most punctilious in the discharge of his duties and the monthly meetings of the Council were regularly graced by his presence and his meticulously careful presentation of the business gave satisfaction to all concerned. WAR SERVICE During the 1914-1918 war, Mr Albert Mayhall served in the Royal Artillery, rising to the rank of lieutenant, and he saw much active service in France. He was a member of the British Legion. During the recent war, Mr Mayhall acted as food executive officer, sub-controller and co-ordination officer of the Air Raid Precautions services. He was secretary of the East Midlands District of the Clerks of Urban Councils Association and a member of the Executive. Apart from his public duties, Mr Mayhall was also well known in Masonic circles, being a past master of the Forest Lodge 1852, a past provincial grand superintendent of works of the province of Nottingham, and a member of the Forest Royal Arch Chapter. He leaves a widow and one daughter, to whom much sympathy is extended. The funeral takes place today (Thursday) at Mansfield Woodhouse.

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In Memory of Sergeant Clarke Pamela Blagg (nee Clarke) Sergeant Dennis Clarke was a local man and up until passing away lived at Shakespeare Avenue. Sergeant Clarke had exemplary military conduct and throughout his Army career travelled to, amongst others, Malta, East Africa and India. He was decorated with many medals including the Africa Star, Italy Star, Burma Star, and the Defence Medal. During the war Sergeant Clarke encountered many deaths but none so touching as the loss of a fellow ally Bill Boulding who fought with him during their campaign to Burma in 1944. As Pamela, Sergeant Clarke’s daughter, was sorting through his personal belongings, she stumbled upon a “tatty book” of his writings. In there she found a poem her father wrote as a tribute to the passing of Bill Boulding:

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the ramparts we hurried, Not a soldier discharged a farewell shot,

O’er the grave where our hero was buried.

We buried him darkly at the dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning,

By the struggling moonbeams misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not a sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,

With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow,

But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,

And bitterly thought of tomorrow.

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and stranger would tread o’er his head,

And far away on the billow.

Lightly they’ll talk of the spirits that’s gone, And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him,

But little he’ll wreak if they let him sleep on, In the grave where the Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun,

That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame, fresh and gory, We carved not a line, and we raised not a

stone, But left him alone with his glory.

Life and Times During WWII 25th June 2005 The community of Mansfield Woodhouse celebrated 60 years of the ending of the Second World War with their “Life and Times during World War II” event. The event was organised by the Mansfield Woodhouse Community Development Group and was funded by the Group and the Big Lottery Fund.

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Coney Island, the Mecca of millions, was visited, and a walk taken on the three mile board walk. The beach extends along the Atlantic Ocean for about six miles and on hot days is so crowded with people that one can barely see the sand. There are many amusement enterprises that are a part of “Coney”. These include the famous Steeplechase and Luna Park, so often depicted in the pictures. The following day a typical American home was visited. The home is situated in a beautiful part of Long Island known as Garden City. The family consists of father, mother and daughter who, during the war, have been doing valuable work in the Office of War Information. The son, aged 19, is in training for the Navy, the younger boy is 13. It was grand to see Britain and America at afternoon tea on the lawn as one large family with similar interests. Afternoon tea was dinner over there. Afterwards we drove to the Mitchell Air Field, and then on to the Roosevelt Air Field. There was plenty of aircraft to be seen and the British flyer explained many things we had not known before. We travelled on the subways every day. The trains are not kept clean and trim as are the London tubes, but it is surprising how far one can travel for a nickel (1/2d = 2.5p), actually 26 miles. Almost every city bound person has used the subway since gasoline (petrol) has been restricted. From Brooklyn to Manhattan the trains may cross the East River by tunnel or over one of the famous bridges. Our route lay over the Manhattan Bridge (pictured opposite). Brooklyn Bridge is to the left of us and to the right is the

Williamsburg Bridge, also a bird’s eye view of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. All eyes turn right as the bridge is crossed and the reward.

Continued...

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As part of the event, people were asked to come along and share their personal exper iences , a long w i th any documentation they may have kept. As a result the following are those accounts, kindly given by the local community: Betty Slack (81), nee Gunn was born in 1924 and lived at 20 Shakespeare Avenue, during the war. Betty recalled a cherry tree being planted in Yeoman Hill Park to commemorate King George V’s coronation in 1935 and her pram being decorated for the occasion. Although Betty has no memory of the bandstand being built, she does remember Hardy Smith and his accordion Band playing on the bandstand with local girl soloist Irene Bell during the Second World War. In the early 1930’s her father Percy Gunn was Second Officer in the Mansfield Woodhouse Fire Brigade, he was the engine driver. The biggest fire at that time was at Savage’s Farm, Ley Lane, near the fairground. The haystacks caught fire and as a result the firemen stayed all Sunday night to damp down the fire. Betty attended Oxclose Lane and Yorke Street schools and firmly remembers Miss Jackson was headmistress at Oxclose Lane and Mr Goddard as the headmaster at Yorke Street. During the war she worked the night shift at Barringers on munitions, making gas masks and mess tins. As the last bus departed at 8.30pm she had to walk to work for the 10pm clock on. She finished her shift at 6am and caught the bus back to Mansfield Woodhouse, from Regent Street, which was taking the miners to the day shift at Sherwood Colliery.

She knew Bernard Taylor, later Lord Taylor of Mansfield, who lived on Shakespeare Avenue, and on Victory in Europe (VE) Day afternoon recalls there being a street party on Shakespeare Avenue. Roy Frettsome (65), was born in 1939 at Meadow Cottages, Warsop Road. During the war, Roy remembers finding sticks of gelignite near the Meadow Cottages, Warsop Road. The police were called to dispose of them. He remembers hearing the sirens that sounded an air raid. His father, George, who was a security driver in the Military Police drove for Lord Mountbatten. He didn’t see his father for the first few years of his life but when he did, he thought him very strict. Ration books were issued from the Turner Hall and he remembers queuing for them. He used to help his uncle Ted Stokeley, one of the village blacksmiths in his smithy on Albert Square in the 1940’s. Mr Stokeley had the council contract and made the new iron railings that went around the Leeming Lane cemetery and Yeoman Hill Park in the 1950’s (the old ones were taken down to make munitions in the war). Mr Stokeley’s father was also a blacksmith and had his forge on Warsop Road (used until recently as a motor bike repair garage), opposite “The Star” pub. Lewis Straw (74), was born in 1930. From 1938 to 1950 he lived on Manor Road. As a boy he went to Yorke Street School and was one of the “Bucket Street Bangers” so called because as children, they were taken out of school to help with the potato picking. They provided their

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A couple of years after I was shown the models, the storeroom had to be cleared and Mr James sold most of the models to the school children, for as little as a shilling (1s/ = 5p) or two and sixpence (2/6d = 2.5p) each. My two brothers and I bought several of them, including a Heinkel, a Superfortress and a Hampden. Many of the models were thrown around the school playground and destroyed. It still breaks my heart to think of this. Even the models my brothers and I bought did not survive, although we were quite careful with them. In recent times I have written to the local newspaper and appealed for further information about the models and tried to find out if any did survive. I have not had any response. Since the 1970’s I have been a university history lecturer and I now teach a course on World War II. I often wish that I still had Mr James' son's aeroplanes but I doubt if any survived. I do know that Mr James himself retained at least two models - a Spitfire and a Hurricane, which were always on his study desk - I saw them once as I received six of the best for running across the edge of the girls' playground. My friend, who had been with me, also got the cane, despite peeing himself all over the head's carpet! A kindly interpretation would suggest that Whacker was still mourning the loss of his son. Accounts courtesy of the BBC “WWII People’s War” website which can be found by going online to: www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2

The following pages (33 - 35) are a collection of wartime articles which were carried by “The Mansfield Advertiser” and the “Mansfield, Sutton and Kirkby Chronicle” later to be merged as the Chronicle Advertiser or CHAD as it is known today.

Experiences of Woodhouse Airman

The following article has been received by the Editor of the “Advertiser” from Mrs Samuel Knighton (nee Odell) of 44, Wellington Court, Brooklyn, New York, USA, who lived in Mansfield until 1921. Since then she had lived in South Africa, Australia etc, and has received a copy of the “Advertiser” regularly. Terence E Eastgate, of Ashwell Avenue, Mansfield Woodhouse, had just finished his course of training in Canada as an airplane navigator when peace was declared and so instead of being allowed to take the final examination, he was given a fortnight’s leave before being sent back to England. He paid his aunt in New York a surprise visit on September 13th. During that time every minute was filled to capacity. Continued...

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own buckets and on the way to school used to make noises on them by banging. He collected empty bottles and returned them for one penny each to factories like R L Jones and Hardy’s – the money went to school for the war effort. Lewis remembers seeing on the market place at Mansfield Woodhouse, an RAF crew and the Queen Mary transporter trailers used for loading crashed aircraft onto. He also recalled an open air dance on Victory in Europe (VE) night which took place at Yeoman Hill Park. During the Rhineland crossing in the war, his brother, George Straw, was the driver for Field Marshal Montgomery and Prime Minister Winston Churchill. Mr Straw’s father, Samuel, was an air raid warden and his post was on Ley Lane opposite the fairground next to Ley Lane Farm. Village bobby at that time, Police Sgt Chesham was chased by a bull one day and took refuge at the Ley Lane Air Raid Precautions post when Samuel was on duty. The bull was from Wignall’s Farm, at the top of Vale Road. William Clark (75), was born in 1930 and lived in a stone house on Castle Street. Then in the 1950s he lived on Cox’s Lane. He remembers a wooden bandstand on Yeoman Hill Park around 1936/37 which was roped off as a wrestling ring for Buck Cantrell to fight in the carnival, an annual event, to raise funds for Mansfield General Hospital. He says Woodhouse carnivals were the best. Rube Sunshine, from Nottingham Palais,

played in the new concrete bandstand on Yeoman Hill Park, at the end of the war and locals really got dressed up for dancing. Evacuees from Southend and Worthing came via rail to Mansfield Woodhouse Station. His neighbour Mrs Mason took in some evacuees from Worthing. He remembers Mr Spavold, the park keeper at Yeoman Hill Park, in the 1930’s was very strict. Mr Clarke’s father, William, was an auxiliary fireman based at Mansfield Woodhouse during the war. Mr Clarke did his National Service between 1948 and 1950 and from leaving school worked for Saxton’s painters for more than 20 years. Averil Stenton was born in 1939 and lived on Blackgate Yard off Albert Street. As a child she was given a Mickey Mouse gas mask to take with her to Oxclose Lane School. She was met out of school by her father Arthur Bedford, local coal merchant and special constable, on his horse and cart. They did have coal lorries but petrol was rationed at that time. Averil also remembers sweets being on ration. She took her sweet ration to Gascoigne’s sweet shop on the corner of Albert Street (it was also the beer-off) where the Miss Gascoigne would hand out her sweeties. If the air raid siren went off, she was told to get under the stairs at her home on Blackgate Yard. One particular day Averil recalled she could see Sheffield burning from Blake Street where there was an air raid shelter.

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The Father of the family Marian lived with was a local pit Deputy. They had two children of their own - Dorothy and Norman - and she remembers very well that young Norman used to play on the slack fields by the pit where all the coal fines were dumped. She often had the job of bathing him when he came home black from head to toe. The three children all did their share of household chores: dusting, ironing and washing-up. Because the evacuees had to share the Queen Elizabeth High School with the local children, Marian went to school in the afternoons from 1-6pm with games on Saturday mornings, so she did her housework on weekday mornings. Back in Southend her grandparents owned a grocery shop and so they all ate very well. Things were rather different in Mansfield and she didn't much enjoy eating bread and jam for breakfast, but there was always a good Sunday roast lunch with Yorkshire pudding. Although the rest of the family ate their Yorkshire pud as a separate course with jam, she was allowed to have hers with her meat and gravy. The high point of Marian's week was Social Club night from 7-9pm on Saturday and this was the place where she learned to dance. She had strict orders to be back home for 9 o'clock and as they lived one mile away at the top of a hill, it was an uphill run all the way to be sure of getting home on time. To be allowed to go to the Social Club you had to do an hour's knitting for the forces every week. The club provided the wool and the knitting was done at home. Marian was a good knitter and made socks and balaclavas and scarves. Often she did her friends' knitting for them so they could have their night out.

Whacker’s son, a Lancaster Pilot Anonymous In the 1950’s I attended Oxclose Lane School (now Robin Hood School), Mansfield Woodhouse in North Nottinghamshire. In the third form, I did some artwork for the school and my form teacher, Mr Richardson, showed me as a special treat, the headmaster's collection of scale aircraft of World War II. There were at least 100 of these aeroplanes in cardboard boxes in the store room. They took up all of the room. I was amazed to see the models; they were made of hardwood and apparently correct in every detail. Cockpits had been made by making wooden formers and painting many layers of dope onto them. The models were returned to their boxes. Mr Richardson explained to me that they had been made by the son of the headmaster, Mr W A C James (hence 'Whacker James' because he was not at all averse to the use of the cane!) in his off-duty hours as a bomber pilot in the war. The collection included most British types - bombers, fighters, etc, American types, and incredibly, many German types. There were Heinkels, Messerschmitts and Dorniers in scale detail. I believe that Mr Richardson told me that the son had visited Spain in the war and had met up with German pilots on a regular basis. I am not sure if he told me that they had exchanged plans or whether the passage of time has caused me to elaborate this - I really do not know. What I do know is that Mr James' son had been killed on operations in the war and that he had built several models of German aircraft, so he must have had access to German drawings actually during the war.

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Averil recalls that girls used crushed sandstone to paint their legs to look as if they were wearing stockings, before going out for the evening and to make the seam, an eyebrow pencil was used. Her relatives lived at the Dial House, Station Street, and the railings at the front of the property were taken for munitions. The family shopped for meat at Billy Place’s Butchers on the High Street and for groceries at Marsden’s Shop, Station Street. For extra warmth, old sugar bags were filled with wet coal slack and put at the back of the fire to make the coal last longer. She helped her father deliver coal and bricks, from Sherwood Colliery, around the village and wore hand leathers to help load and unload the lorry. When offered her first banana, she didn’t know what it was or what to do with it. Averil joined the street party on Allcroft Street to celebrate the end of the war. She attended Sunday school at Christ Church Methodist Church (now Bethel Church) and remembers the chairs were tiny. She liked listening to the radio, to Workers’ Playtime and George Formby records. In the 1940’s she helped Ted Stokeley, the blacksmith on Albert Square by pumping the bellows in the forge. She also played in the sawdust at Townroe’s undertakers, at the bottom of the High Street next door to her father’s garage where he kept his lorries. She remembers her aunt, Marjorie Slator was married at St Edmund’s Church. The guard of honour was formed by the Home Guard who disbanded when the air raid siren on top of the police station at Swan Lane sounded. The wedding cake was

made of cardboard. Averil recalled saving and baling paper at home for the war effort and that her first teacher was Miss Price at Oxclose Lane School. Roy Waggott (75), was born in 1930. Mr Waggott’s half-brother Ron Glasby, was born at Mansfield Woodhouse and was in the Royal Artillery having joined in 1936. Ron was serving in Hong Kong when the Japanese took over. His mother then never heard from him for years. In 1943 the postman delivered a letter card from the Red Cross who had been informed by people in America that they had been listening to broadcasts from Japan which revealed some servicemen’s numbers that were being held prisoner. His number was among them. It was later confirmed and he returned home after Victory in Japan (VJ) Day. Roy lived on Woodhouse Road in 1938 and remembers going into the air raid shelter on the Market Place. He also remembers a barrier being built across the A60 road at the bottom of Peafield Lane by the Royal Engineers. They were outside the Jug and Glass one Sunday morning, fetched an old bus from Bevan & Barker’s and angled it across the road, jacked the axles up, put them on wooden pegs and took the wheels off. Another barrier was built across New Mill Lane with several large cylindrical shaped concrete blocks stood on end, the idea was to roll them to stop the tanks, if invaded. The Home Guard went to several locations and were given large metal reinforcing bars with iron plates fixed to the top of them, resembling a large parrot

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Having trouble with our aircraft the pilot gave the order for us to standby to bale out. I must say it shook me (to use RAF slang) but I passed the message on to the wireless operator, who thought I was joking. I was far from joking at the time. Anyway, the pilot who was a Canadian Officer and a very fine chap, told me to open the escape hatch. I pulled on the quick release catch and away it went, a terrific in rush of air nearly blew me over. I looked out and there, what seemed like miles below, I could see lights and fires burning in native encampments - it was dark at the time. I returned to the side of the pilot and asked him to check my parachute and harness, which he did and he ordered me to tell the wireless operator to bale out. I did that after first telling him to check his parachute and harness. Anyway, out he went and after a few minutes I was instructed to follow. I went towards the hatch with a very empty feeling in my stomach and tried to go feet first. As soon as I put my feet and legs out, the rush of air clamped them to the belly of the machine and I couldn't move them, so I stuck my head and shoulders out and kicked myself free of the aircraft. Then came the sensation of falling through space and after what seemed like a lifetime, I pulled my ripcord. I saw the pilot's chute fly past my face and in a second or so, there was a jerk and my main chute opened. What a relief that was, what a beautiful sense of security! I never felt so happy in my life. I had no idea how high I was. I could see fires and lights, could hear the wind whistling through the chute cords. I was wondering where the pilot and wireless operator were when I hit the deck with such a thud, knocking all the wind out of me and I thought I had broken every bone

in my body. I lay down for a few minutes, picked up my chute and started walking straight into an irrigation ditch. I was cold enough as it was, but that made it wet and worse. I got out and staggered on for two or three hours, I don't know as I lost track of time and eventually came to a native village. They treated me very well, dried my clothes, gave me food and took me to the nearest town at dawn. They wouldn't take me at night due to robbers! It was some miles and I was very tired. I rode most of the way on a donkey! I bet I looked a comical sight. They were very pleased to see me at the town, as I had been re-ported missing, the rest of the crew being there. After a bath and a good sleep, I felt like a new man and thought I had been dreaming. That is my story. I still have the ripcord as a treasured souvenir of what I consider the most exciting episode of my life. I am also the proud possessor of a gold Caterpillar badge and a membership card of the most famous club in the world, “The Caterpillar Club”. Southend to a Notts Pit Village Marian Morton Marian was thirteen years old and living in Southend in 1939. She was evacuated at the start of the war because of the immediate fear of invasion. Her stay in Mansfield Woodhouse near Mansfield was a much happier time for her as until then she had been living with her grandmother who had already brought up twelve children of her own and at the age of sixty had done her share of child rearing.

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cage. They dug holes in the ground, put in the cages with the iron plate to the top and back filled the hole with concrete. Fixed to them, when necessary were weapons called blackabombarders, like grenade launchers. One was fitted in a field on New Mill Lane at the side of the flood dykes bridge. Farmers whose land they were on received a sum of money to recover them after the war. The farmer who attempted to recover the one on New Mill Lane hit it with a lump hammer to start to break it up. It was so solid the lump hammer flew out of his hand and he said “I’m not bothering with it – it’s doing no harm.” For all we know it may still be there. Tony Barton (74), was born in 1931. He moved to Duck’s Hill (Titchfield Avenue) aged four. His earliest recollection of Yeoman Hill Park is of brass bands playing there and string quartets from about 1938. The bandstand was used regularly on Thursdays and Saturdays by folk musicians and orchestras. Rows and rows of green chairs were put out each time on the apron in front of the bandstand and were presumably stored in the pavilion. Tony remembers the tram terminus at the bottom of Sherwood Street. He went to the National School, then Yorke Street School and after that Queen Elizabeth’s Boys’ Grammar School, Mansfield. He received his school uniform from the school. His form teacher Miss Pogmore lived at Sunfield, New Mill Lane. His headteacher was Mr Davies.

Tony discovered an interest in history and enjoyed cycling around Sherwood. His mother was a professional dress and gown maker and used him as her model when making the dresses. He was in London during the Blitz with his father who was an air raid patrol warden officer in Whitehall. His father was also a relieving officer in Mansfield. Tony remembers queuing for the family’s rations at the Co-op on Warsop Road, and Savage’s butchers on Portland Street. One of Mr Barton’s first jobs as a food executive officer for Northamptonshire aged 18 was to close the rationing scheme about 1949. He then joined the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries. Mrs June Shaw (nee Parmenter), was born in Albert Street and in 1936 moved to Sunnydale Farm. She remembers seeing a doodlebug from her bedroom window, landing over Forest Town. She was 11 at the outbreak of the war and went to the National School then later to the Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar School, Mansfield where, because of clothes rationing, there was no school uniform, but they were asked to wear blue and navy. June’s father, local farmer, George Parmenter, was an air raid warden, being on duty in a hut on the Pleasley Vale Sidings. At home he made wooden shutters which were put up at night. Blackout curtain was used for the upstairs. Before 1939, Mr Parmenter delivered milk around Yorke Street and the surrounding areas. Afterwards delivery of milk was designated to certain areas and he was given the area around

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Army privilege envelopes were issued to soldiers wishing to send letters to their loved ones. As stated on the envelope below, each one had to be signed to certify that the contents contained only private and/or family based material to prevent possible leakage of secret or strategic information falling into enemy hands.

Extracted from a letter sent during the war, the paragraph below gives details of life during the winter in blackout conditions. Letter states: “Am not going to G for Xmas after all as the travelling will be bad but I have promised faithfully to go the first time there is a moon”

Woodhouse’s Memories BBC People’s War The following compilation of memories were also taken from the “Life and Times during World War II” community event in

Mansfield Woodhouse. These accounts however, were taken by a BBC representative for use on their “WW2 People’s War” website. Life in war in Woodhouse Tony Barton I was 8 years old when the war started. I was interested in radios and listened as the war went on, to military messages. At the time whilst I lived in Mansfield Woodhouse as a boy, I noticed there were huge ammunition dumps in the area. They were situated all over Sherwood Forest but these dumps were never bombed. In 1945 I remember that a mine was dropped onto the common near Woodhouse and also another one onto the brook. On occasions I stayed with my grandmother in Nottingham and on one occasion a cannon shell went through my roof. From 1940 I acted as a messenger boy for the Home Guard and Air Raid Precautions. Woodhouse Man’s Adventure David William Temple This is a letter my Father wrote to a local newspaper after abandoning his Bristol Blenheim over Iraq in November 1942. Dear Sirs, Being what you might call a “local lad” having been born and bred in Mansfield Woodhouse, I thought some of your read-ers may be interested to know I have be-come a member of the Caterpillar Club my life being saved by a parachute.

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Sunnydale, the council estates and Park Avenue etc. After taking out milk, he would load up the float with vegetables he’d grown, and take them out. At Sunnydale Farm they had Fred Bird, who was a threshing machine contractor. Yearly he would come and bring Italian POW’s as workers and they used to make corn dollies. At the Grammar School, June was friendly with two sisters who lived on Sutton Road, next door to a garage and café and Sutton Reservoir. When staying with them, she would go and help in the café. American Nurses from the hospital across the road, used to come over. They were very smart. At school, during geography lessons, June remembers looking at maps of Sicily and Italy and charting how far the allies had progressed. Little did she know, that her future husband, Sergeant Eric Shaw (pictured below) of the Royal Tank Corps (Royal Armoured Corps), was one of those soldiers. He served in North Africa and the Italian Campaign. Eric received the British Empire Medal and was mentioned in dispatches.

The following pictures are certificates Sergeant Shaw was awarded during the war, also a photograph of him on location with colleagues.

Letters. The following is a letter from the late Lord Bernard Taylor Member of Parliament, dated 26/02/45 and reads: “Dear Friend, I enclose copy of a letter from the War Office to whom I made representations, you will note that the contents of the letter which meets the point you raise, Yours sincerely, Bernard Taylor”.

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Mail often took many months to be delivered during the war. The following letter was posted on 14 October 1942 and was forwarded many times before finally reaching the correct destination. Just how many different places did it go? The latest date on it was 29 March 1943.

Cards sent to loved ones were often home-made, the following card reads: “Sweetheart With Love, Though sailing today, My thoughts with you stay”.

Cheerio, Till We Meet Again – posted from onboard a troopship setting sail for the war zone.

Incoming mail posted to soldiers was screened to check for any sensitive information and stamped “passed by censor”.