麻豆社

In 1940 I was 18, and my pal, Arthur, 17. Only those who experienced those heady days, after the fall of France, can appreciate the fervour of patriotism that gripped the country and caused Arthur and myself among a million others, young and not so young to sign up for the Home Guard, or what was then called the Local Defence Volunteers (LDV).

What follows are two extracts from my diary of the time. The conversations, apart from the scraps appearing in the original, had to be reinvented, but remain true to the events that were written down soon afterwards.

...I was handed an awkwardly long rifle, so was Arthur, and this I later found out was an American Springfield 300. It was heavier than I thought and it had a sticky feel to it due to the remnants of grease that had protected it since the end of the last war.

We stood in line with an odd mixture of men. Some young, like us, but mostly they were older. Some were fat, some thin, some short, some had caps, some had bowlers and there was a trilby or two, but what we all seemed to wear was an air of determination as we paraded in the forecourt of the old Derby School in King Street.

Our uniforms amounted to no more than khaki armbands with the letters 鈥楲DV鈥�, and just having this seemed to make us straighten our backs more.

After getting into some sort of order and eager to give a good account of ourselves we waited to be instructed on how to fight German parachutists. To begin with, we were put through the complications of arms drill by 鈥榦ld sweats鈥� who showed much restraint of language each time rifles evaded stiff fingers and clattered to the ground.

One of the ways to stop a tank, we were told, was to place an up-turned dinner plate on the road. The tank driver, mistaking this for an anti-tank mine would probably bring his tank to a halt. The rest was easy: wait for the tank hatch to open then lob in a grenade. It sounded all right and the younger ones especially seemed to be taking it in but I had a little nagging doubt myself. If this neat trick has already been tried out in France then it couldn鈥檛 have worked all that well.

After nearly two hours of this training we had to hand in our rifles but kept the armbands. We were told to report for guard duty next Friday night.

...After a fortifying drink or two and ready to take on the whole Nazi army, Arthur and me set off around 9.30 tonight to report for our first, night guard duty. Searching for our headquarters, a deserted farmhouse, we had just crossed a boggy Darley field when all at once a voice came from out of the darkness. 鈥淪top!鈥� it said. 鈥淗alt! I mean. Halt! Who goes there?鈥�
鈥淯s,鈥� said Arthur.
There was a bit of a pause. 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 say that,鈥� went on the voice, sort of indignant. 鈥淵ou gotta say it. You gotta say friend or foe.鈥�
鈥淔riend or foe,鈥� obliged Arthur.
After a longer pause I could just make out this shadowy figure approaching and holding what looked like a broom handle with a bayonet tied to it. 鈥淵ou gotta be one thing or t鈥檕ther,鈥� it complained, getting nearer. 鈥淚 mean, I鈥檓 supposed to make you say it.鈥� By then the sharp end of the bayonet was waving close to our faces. 鈥淵ou gotta say it.鈥�
鈥淲e鈥檙e LDV;鈥� I answered before Arthur could further complicate our arrival.
At the broomstick end of the weapon, the shadow took on a tin-hatted, white disc of a face wearing glasses. 鈥淗ow do I know you鈥檙e not just saying that? For all I know you could be foe.鈥�
鈥淲e ain鈥檛 got bloody parachutes on. We got armbands on, see!鈥� said Arthur with beery aggression. 鈥淎in鈥檛 you got no torch?鈥�
The bayonet lowered itself. 鈥淲e鈥檙e still waiting for new batteries, like. Hold on though, I鈥檝e got some matches here. I鈥檇 better make sure, hadn鈥檛 I?鈥�

After some scraping a flaring match broke through the black-out while this fearless guard scrutinised our armbands. We could then see he was a long-faced youth with two prominent teeth. 鈥淵eah, that鈥檚 right, you got armbands on,鈥� he conceded. 鈥淏it late, ain鈥檛 you?鈥�
鈥淲e鈥檒l be a bloody sight later afore you鈥檝e done,鈥� Arthur told him.
鈥淚 gotta do it, an鈥檛 I? You never know who鈥檚 about these days. That鈥檚 why I鈥檓 guarding this gate.鈥�
鈥淲hat you supposed to do with a bloody spear? Don鈥檛 we have no guns?鈥�
鈥淥nly one and the guard on patrol has that. I just look after the gate, see? Do you want me to take you to the sergeant?鈥�
鈥淕o on then,鈥� said Arthur, getting back some of his good humour. 鈥淵ou keep in front, you and that bloody pig-sticker. We鈥檒l feel safer that way. That right, Perce?鈥�

I was about to agree when the youth said: 鈥淗ey! Don鈥檛 let the sergeant hear you talk like that. He says we gotta make do with what we鈥檝e got. Anyway, we鈥檝e got real bullets for the gun, only we don鈥檛 put them in till we get a full red alert.鈥�

He led us through a doorway and pushed aside a blanket nailed to the frame to hold back the feeble light within. The room, the farmhouse kitchen, was mostly in shadow and thick with cigarette smoke. An oil lamp鈥檚 yellow light was cast over a blanket-covered table, littered with tin mugs and stained playing cards. A candle stuck in its own grease on a high mantelshelf did no more than light a half-circle of the beamed and white-washed ceiling.

A half-dozen or so civilian-clothed men, wearing armbands and steel helmets and with civilian gasmasks at the ready, stood near to dull-glowing coke in the huge fireplace. Looking up from the table and both in denim uniforms with campaign ribbons from another war, an elderly sergeant and an elderly corporal watched our entrance with some interest.

鈥淭hey was outside,鈥� explained the youth, swinging round and pointing us out with his spear.
We had to step back. 鈥淗ey up!鈥� said a ruffled Arthur; 鈥淚鈥檒l show you where to put that bloody thing in a minute!鈥�
鈥淭hat鈥檚 enough of that,鈥� said the sergeant.
Arthur looked fed up. 鈥淲ell, he ain鈥檛 safe to be let out. Nearly got us outside he did.鈥�
The sergeant said to our escort, 鈥淎ll right, Moss, back to your post.鈥� Then he turned to Arthur and me. 鈥淣ow then,鈥� and he held a sheet of paper closer to the lamp. 鈥淵es, here we are, the last two. Made a good start the pair of you, half an hour late.鈥�
Arthur was still looking fed up. 鈥淚t was him. Wouldn鈥檛 let us in.鈥�
鈥淲ell, you鈥檙e here now so let鈥檚 get down to it. Now, my name鈥檚 Sergeant Watts and this here is Corporal Childs. The night鈥檚 orders have been read out and the patrol rostra has been drawn. I鈥檒l go through it again just for you two.鈥�

Those not guarding the gate with the pike, as the sergeant called it, would be on a two-hour patrol with the rifle, unloaded but with fixed bayonet. The patrolling guard would be on the look-out for parachutists. In fact, anybody abroad at all must be regarded as spies and brought back to the guardroom for questioning. But what wasn鈥檛 made quite clear to me was why these squelchy fields would attract spies in the first place.

Arthur and I had been placed on the patrol rostra, my stint being from two till four, with Arthur relieving me. Those waiting turn for guard or patrol used an upstairs room to get what sleep they could on straw palliasses. Up there, I lay cold with no hope of dropping off and wishing myself back in my shabby room.

I must have dozed and became convinced I had overlain and in no time at all was feeling my way down the dark stairway.

The sergeant greeted my return to the guardroom with unspoken wonder, then handed me a mug of cocoa he had made for himself. I thanked him then noticed the alarm clock on the table was claiming the time to be 1.30.

At 1.50 the sergeant broke off his reminiscences of the last war and said: 鈥淭ime to get ready, lad.鈥� He rose to his feet and reached for one of the army greatcoats our platoon shared. 鈥淏etter get into this,鈥� he said. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l likely be glad of it.鈥�

It was heavy and too long for me but it brought warmth to my shivering frame. The returning patrol handed over to me his Ross rifle. It was long, unwieldy and unbalanced with its fixed bayonet. Desperately keeping my legs away from entanglement in its webbing sling, I pushed aside the door blanket, lifted the latch and took my first steps into waning moonlight and active involvement in the war.

I had never realised, until I had paced the perimeter of the first field, how many living things were abroad in those mysterious hours.

Startled movements and swishing in hedges as I approached set the back of my neck tingling that I might come across fifth columnists awaiting with shaded lights ready to guide plane loads of parachutists and invaders. I had the rifle unslung, rattling its bolt every now and then and thrusting its bayonet into eerie wraiths of mist plotting to encircle me.

The haunting clank of a distant train brought to mind more memories of childhood night-fear...

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