Joseph Harford Born -: 23.03.34
What did you do during the war (Grandad) ?
I was born at 215, Nechells Park Road. It was a street lined with trees, every house had the original railings on the front gardens.
My first recollection of WW II was, " Mom some men are pinchin our railings". It was one of my elder sisters, and to our amazement they were cutting down the railings and loading them onto a lorry.
After a heated argument with mother they told her the railings were needed to make bombs for the war. I often wondered where our railings landed in Germany.
For a few months nothing happened, it was when they gave us gas masks to wear and the first air raid warnings were sounded we knew we were. This happened one day at school, and we were taken to a brick air raid shelter in the playground. It had no lights but for one paraffin hurricane lamp which filled the shelter with smoke. It was long and very narrow and they got as many as they could inside. For some of us it was quite frightening.
The school was St Josephs in Long Acre, Nechells. I have been back but all that is left is the floor of the shelter. I will never know how they got so many of us in to it.
Within months the bombing started. Living down the bottom of our road was bad because quite near was a Gas Works, Electricity Station, a Tar Distiller and munitions works etc. so the enemy had easy targets and our houses were right in the middle.
We had to go to the shelter in Eliot Street if the air raids were at night. These shelters were quite big with bunk beds for the mothers and children. When there was a big air raid the place used to shudder with the bombs dropping and the anti-air craft guns firing. We spent Christmas of 1939 down the shelter but we still had Santa with his big sack and a dip for all the children.
I think the last straw came when a massive bomb fell in between Argyle Street and Warton Street - that was close! One of our school chums, a girl called Gloria Loveday, was killed that night, she went into a pals garden shelter during the raid and it took a direct hit.
The Brierley family were closer they lived in Warton Street. There was Mr & Mrs B, Sheila, Paddy & Molly. I’m still in contact with them - to date - Mr & Mrs B passed on a few years ago
In a war everybody did their bit, the young men and women went to fight, the older ones stayed here to do all sorts of jobs to help the ones away fighting.
A whole book could be written about such things; from the two men who climbed on to the gas-ometer to kick incendiary bombs off to prevent a massive explosion, to people riding bicycles and even walking to Coventry the night they had a terrible air raid.
Young boys used their cycles to carry messages during the air raids because the telephone wires had been broken. Yes and even us young ones after an air raid would collect the bits of bombs (shrapnel) or any metal we could find to be melted down to make any ammunition. So everybody did his or her bit to help.
As the bombing got worse they decided to evacuate young children and mothers with babies.
I had two older brothers who joined the army. Both came back safe. One sister who worked in a factory and of course, my Dad.
Mother was sent with my two younger sisters to Gloucester, I was sent with my brother to Hartshorn Nr. Burton on Trent. My two older sisters went to Smisby, which was about three miles from us. If you haven't worked it out there were nine children in the family.
The reason for the first part of this story is to answer the question 'why were children evacuated?'
So the second part begins the day we were taken to school with our little brown cases, our gas masks and a packet of sandwiches -also tied to our coats was a luggage label with our name and address written on. Now this may seem strange but there were children screaming the place down, they did not want to go, others were just sad and there was my brother and I, we could not get on that Midland Red bus fast enough. We hadn't got on to the Lichfield Road when the sandwiches were out.
It was a sunny day and I don't think I had seen so much countryside all at once. They dropped some children of at Smisby including my two sisters and then on to Hartshorn. This part was so strange to us because all the people who had volunteered to have the children were waiting outside the village school.
We got off the bus and stood on the pavement whilst they chose the ones they wanted. I think you can guess what happened. All the girls got chosen first, then the boys, then, the people who had children of their own had problems because they didn't like the look of the ones that were going to live with them so there were a few swaps taking place.
Eventually everybody got sorted out but for the two brothers who stood on the pavement alone. They had agreed to keep us together and nobody wanted two boys. The teachers took to asking passers by if they would have us but no luck. You may wonder how I can remember these events -all will be revealed towards the end.
Back to these two boys, who should come walking down the road but Mrs Fish, not realising that within the next few yards or meters she would be the proud stepmother of two little angels.
The teachers must have done a wonderful job to get her to take us. It gets worse! (for Mrs. Fish) Mrs. Fish owned the local farm with her husband.
Now, to two small town boys this was our wildest dream come true. Most of the heavy work was done with Shire and Clydsdale Horses. Gentle giants as they were called. The horses were the first things we saw as we walked into the farmyard. Then Mr. Fish was the next thing we encountered. 'What’s’ that you got there'! They went into conversation the contents of which at that point in time did not bother us. After a few minutes we were taken into the farmhouse and shown the room that we were to sleep in.
The first morning we woke up to a deserted house, nobody anywhere. After exploring every room we set about getting breakfast, well Tom my brother did the breakfast, all I can remember is burning and a very irate Mrs. Fish.
So the routine started. It seemed we would only just got into bed and before we knew it, it was morning and we were being hauled out again -it must have been 5.00 a.m. I should think this happened every morning. We were given odd jobs to do before going to school.
I think we got into a few scrapes -nothing serious. They had two farm hands that we had a lot of trouble with. On one occasion they caught us scrumping so they pinned us to the ground and dipped apples in a cowpat and popped them back in our pockets. Mrs. Fish was not a happy lady. The better times made up for all that.
The ride on top of a load of hay on a summer evening, was out of this world, or riding the horses back to the stables after work.
My favorite treat was going out on the milk float delivering to the people around the village. The milk was in a couple of milk churns, which, was then ladled out into their jugs. This life was better than the bombs back home -the one thing that I will always remember is the quietness of the countryside.
One day I went down the farmyard to explore one of the barns opening the door and peering into the gloom I had the feeling I was not alone. I was right -in the gloom was this animal -it wasn't a horse, it wasn't a cow -there was a broom leaning up against the wall so I thought I would give it prod to see if it was real -this was not a good idea of mine because all hell let loose. It was then that I found it was 150 ton bull! AND it was alive! My luck was still in because someone had tied the bull to the wall by the ring in his nose.
The roar he let out could be heard back home. This is where my luck ran out because as I beat a hasty retreat I crashed into one of the farmhands, who was on his way to find out what was wrong with the bull. My rear end shuddered once, I don't know whether it was a size nine or size ten boot but when the second one made contact I decided it was time I was not there.
Things got a bit worse, because when I looked back my brother Tom was on the back of the farmhand knocking seven bells out of his head
So back outside the village school there were two small boys again!!, with suitcases and gas masks and a teacher stopping passers by asking if they could find room for us. Down the road walked Mrs. Spencer happily going to visit her mother who lived next door to the village pub, which was next to the school that had these two boys outside.
Mrs. Spencer didn't volunteer to board evacuees when it was first put to the village at the start of the war. So for her to walk into her mothers’ with these two urchins on tow, was to say the least, a shock for her mother. 'Will you be able to cope' said her mother. In Mrs. Spencer's own words which she told me years after' I saw these two poor lads and I thought, if I can take care of these perhaps my son Eric will return safe from the War. Yes, Eric did return safe!.
We went to live in Camp Lane, Hartshorn with Mrs. Spencer and her daughter Hilda. Mr. Spencer was a miner who worked at the local Swadlincote mine. Also he was the caretaker of the local Church so he always took me with him. One of the tasks was to stoke the boilers to warm the Church. This was my favourite. It was dead spooky down the cellar. I can't remember ever being unhappy in all the time I was there.
The beds were always fresh and clean and Mrs. Spencer was a wonderful cook, she baked all her own pies and apple and blackberry was my favourite.
The four seasons were so vivid, with Spring, with all the lambs being born, the Summer, with all that sunshine and hay making and harvest time in the Autumn and lastly Winter. Deep snow, frozen village ponds, skating and something never heard now and that is the humming of telephone wires, which was quite eerie.
I suppose if there was anything that we did not like, it was being set on by the local lads. In the end the school used to let us out early and it was a short cut across the fields, through the clapper gates and home.
We always had Christmas presents and Easter Eggs. Mr.. & Mrs. Spencer used to take us to 'Swad' (Swadlincote) and buy us clothes. which was not in their allowance that was paid to them for our board.
Mrs. Spencer was a cuddly sort of person always made you feel safe and Mr. Spencer was a bit of a stern man, but still wonderful.
A lot of children were very unhappy in their digs, one reason was because their fosters had got young children of their own and they did not get on with each other. Other fosters had not got their own children, so couldn't cope. Sadly others did it for the money.
Quite a lot returned home within weeks, very distressed. I suppose with us coming from a large family, the one to one scene we were now in, was too good to be true. My sisters who were at Smisby were never happy for what reason I don't know.
We had a setback when my brother Tom was 'transferred' to live with Mrs. Cox just a few doors up from us. Two main reasons being that, one he sleep walked. I think one night he was found outside the house -the second reason being, that Tom was a tough nut and wouldn't accept any bullying towards himself or me. I used to scoot at the first sign of bother but Tom would stand his ground and in Mrs. Spencer's words 'was always coming home with cuts and bruises' Mrs. Spencer was alarmed very easy, so it worried her that she was not looking after him.
Mrs. Cox was also a wonderful lady who looked after Tom and could cope.
One little prank of mine, was that one day on the way to school, there was a shop that sold bulls-eye sweets. I only had a farthing and asked for a farthings worth but was told the smallest amount was a halfpenny's worth. I was desperate for these bulls- eyes so on the way home I went in the shop and asked for halfpenny's worth, put my farthing on the counter and bolted. The trouble was I could never go back in the shop again, how that shop-lady must have laughed, she knew me!
They were happy days, so much so that one lad never went home. Maurice Hill still lives in the village, has a thriving business and a super house, his brother Kenny was in a road accident getting of the school bus. We didn't see Kenny for some time. One afternoon a knock came on the door and Mom and Dad had come to take us home. We had been there about 2 years, so I was not too happy to say the least. The War was on the wain but we still had air raids.
To come back to the devastation and danger was terrible. When I was old enough I went back to Hartshorn to visit those wonderful people. Through the years Mr. Spencer died and then Mrs. Spencer. I still visit every
Hilda and Eric, Christmas, , who, though well advanced in years, still live in the village.
Some of the events might be out of sequence but I retain many happy memories and every year, as soon as I drive past Camp Lane, Fishes Farm, that shop, the Church, the pond and the pub, that spot outside the school, those memories come flooding back.
Dedicated to all the foster parents who opened their homes so that we can be here today.
