I was about eight years old in 1943 when I first fell in love. I lived in Woburn Sands which is not far from Bletchley Park of the Enigma fame some of my school friends had parents who were boffins at Bletchley Park and lived for the duration in nearby villages. In addition there were literally hundreds of Royal Navy WRNS working there as back up to the boffins, I assume!
Most of these girls were aged 18 and upwards and of varying ranks. They were billeted at a large mansion called Wavendon House which was the next village to mine. Christmas 1943 most of the kids at my local village school, received an invitation to a party at Wavendon House and some thirty of us accepted the invite.
It was there that I met a young Sub Lieutenant WRNS she was in charge of the girls billeted at Wavendon house and we got on like a house on fire. I was the kid who stabled his pony in the field next to Wavendon House. My new girlfriend, well what’s ten years difference? She was the officer in charge and before the war was a farmer’s daughter and had her own horses. To cut to the chase, I let her ride my pony, she gave me small gifts and quite a lot of attention. I was in love. I was going to be a sailor when I grew up.
At the end of 1943 we, that is my mother, elder sister and I were told that we had been specially chosen to have a family of evacuees, a mother and two daughters to live with us. They were Orthodox Jews from the East End of London and they had been bombed out. Their house had been reduced to rubble while they were in a shelter Their father was in some sort of protected job and stayed in London , he only visited half a dozen times during the duration. I came to love the Levitt family but dad looked like the spiv from Dad’s Army I always expected him to open his overcoat and display wristwatches pinned on the lining! Maybe it was his David Niven moustache! Ma and daughters obviously put their need for Kosher food on hold while there was a war on.
I shouldn’t put this on record but my mother had a licence to keep a pig and we had a sty at the bottom of our garden, it was an enormous sow who bred profusely. Somehow that licence also covered another large sow in a sty on her allotment, this also bred lots of piglets. How my mother juggled all the balls she had in the air I’ve no idea. Possibly she knew the right people to give an illegally slaughtered and prepared pig to. Back to our lovely evacuees they absolutely adored roast pork Oy Vey! Enough already! That’s where my lifetime support for the Jewish people began.
As May 8th 1945 approached there were lots of rumours flying around as happens in small villages; that Germany was on its last legs. I like to think that our village with all its connections to to the Enigma team. My school chums had overheard their parents talking, and my friends in the WRNS were my personal informants.
However the person who was best informed was another friend of mine who owned the local fishmongers and game dealers. He was the source of my piggy bank because he paid me a shilling each for every rabbit I took him. I had a round where I set snares and some weeks earned as much as eight shillings a week. 40p doesn’t sound much these days but I was a wealthy kid. Back to my Fishmonger friend, he certainly knew more than most because more than three weeks before the day, he had conscripted dozens of us to build a huge bonfire on top of the tallest hill in the village, in a field off Aspley Heath. Wouldn’t he have looked daft if he had his sums wrong. Between Woburn Sands and Woburn was mostly forest, part of the Duke of Bedford’s Estate. In one part was a troop of American soldiers. I’m not sure what their purpose was other than to entertain the women of the village while they were lonely due to their husbands being away fighting. In another part of the woodland also encamped was a troop of British soldiers. I did know what their job was because our paths sometimes crossed while I was setting snares. Along all of the roads with wide verges were dozens of Nissan huts full of ammunition I suppose in case of invasion.
These British soldiers used to brag about always first in, last out. They were not brilliant specimens, slightly built, some less than five feet tall. Pigeon chested and certainly did not attract any female attention in the village where they were known as the Pie and Ear Corps. (Pioneer Corps). If you get the picture, they didn’t like the Yanks but physically couldn’t do much about it.
Some three days before the big day we heard on the radio that the big day was here and an Armistice was to be signed. A big party was planned in London and Mr Churchill was going to broadcast to the Nation on the wireless. In everyone who was anyone was going to be there. Everyone except our village together with our friends the WRNS, the Yanks and the Pioneer Corps were going to celebrate our men coming home safe and sound some to babies they weren’t expecting.
Because of my age I wasn’t let into the secret of where all the alcohol came from, certainly a lot of homemade nasties were present and I’m assured that needs must when the devil drives. As I’ve got older, I now know that some people will drink anything. What I really couldn’t get my naive head around was where on Earth all the real booze came from. It was mostly Scotch whisky and lots of gin and vodka. I suppose people must have hidden it under the bed to save it until the war was over. I mean I couldn’t believe any of our upright citizens had been dealing in the black market.
Most people even though we were all excitedly looking forward to the party starting, and our beacon fire being lit ?We all waited at home listening to the wireless. We had made sure that we had our accumulator fully charged to make sure that the big broadcast went without a hitch.
Our next door neighbours joined us and we were all breathless as we heard that Adolf Hitler was dead and the Nazis were finished. An armistice had just been signed. The war was over.
We then joined everyone by the war memorial. What I remember most about the party was being hugged and kissed for what seemed like hours by what seemed like hundreds of women who all seemed to smell of talcum powder with a hint of gin or alternatively of whiskey with a hint of talcum powder. My lovely WRNS girlfriend refused to give me a kiss and told me to behave myself.
The bonfire was magnificent, and the expected fight between the British and American soldiers didn’t take place because they all seemed to happily disappear with a new female friend. I had my first taste of Scotch and managed to finish the glass without spitting it out but couldn’t imagine the attraction, I then drank a bottle of beer and hated the taste. If I had to drink alcohol to be an adult I wasn’t going to become one. ??God save the King ??God save Mr Churchill ?? I shall be playing the Last Post at 1455 hrs on May 8th. Attention on the upper deck, face aft and salute!
A story I missed earlier. There were gangs of army dodgers (my mother’s description) who’s job it was to collect iron and other metal for the war effort. When there was a hint that they were in the area Mama used to lift our wrought iron gate off its hinges and hide it in a back barn. One day she’d done this and we returned home to find that they had cut away the wrought iron fence from the top of the garden wall. I think that was where I got my killer instinct from. She went nuts! Later the scrappys took all the children’s swings, slides etc from the recreation ground. I think mama took out a contract on them because after that they disappeared.
