Manchester at War, 1939-45
Page 9
But bit by bit we built up, so that we each had a rifle, and each had a uniform.
(North West Sound Archive)
The Home Guard march past at Belle Vue in May 1941, before the Americans were stationed there the following year. (Manchester Evening News)
ROY S. ASHWORTH
During the Second World War Blitz there was a searchlight and anti-aircraft battery [in Wythenshawe Park] situated in what is now a collection of football pitches near Altrincham Road.
My other wartime recollection is the way the park was used as an overnight safe harbour for Corporation buses, keeping them well away from Manchester during the Blitz nights of 1941, so that we workers could be taken to our workplace in town, even though when we arrived in Piccadilly it was a blazing inferno of incendiary bombed warehouses, factories and shops. Still, ‘business as usual’ was the British wartime motto, and I feel the park played its part in helping to achieve this for Manchester.
(Wythenshawe FM/Alex Parker-Brown)
ANON.
My baby brother had one of those baby gas masks; well, they were more like a bag and he was inside it and you had to pump it to keep the air going to him. Every time the sirens went my father had to go and I was only young, and my mother was always saying, ‘If anything happens to me, who’s going to pump the bag to keep him alive?’ She was always worrying about that. It was like a carry cot thing and the baby was put in it and was sealed in, and there was like bellows on it which you had to pump to keep him alive. My mother dreaded putting him in that.
My gas mask was Mickey Mouse and it had like a tongue on it. I didn’t like it at first and to get me used to it I had to put this gas mask on, and my mum and I would crawl under the table playing ‘moo-cows’; we’d pretend we were cows and when you made the noise the tongue would inflate.
(North West Sound Archive)
ROY BEVAN
Having got rid of the burning incendiary bomb that was in the alley, I got on the bike and I had to report back to Post 10, which I did without any further incident. And when I got home my mother said, ‘Did you have your tin hat with you?’
I said, ‘Of course, I always have my tin hat with me when the siren goes, because if there’s any anti-aircraft fire and that, there might be slivers and splinters that couldn’t do you any good if they hit you.’
‘Oh gosh, where were you when all those incendiary bombs dropped?’
HERE’S HOW TO GET YOUR NAZI
How would you command a Nazi parachutist or airman from a fallen plane if you had the opportunity, as one woman had recently, of capturing him?
If you could not speak the German language you would have to confine your commands to gestures. But if you learn the following words and phrases – a suggestion made by Mr E. Wilson of East Didsbury – you would be able to make your demand clear.
The translations, given with phonetic renderings, should be of particular interest to members of the L.D.V.
STOP — Halt (pronounce ‘a’ as in apple)
SURRENDER — Ergeben (ere-gay-ben)
DROP THAT GUN — Waffen ablegen (vaffen ab-lay-gen)
I AM ARMED — Ich bin bewaffnet (eech bin bay-vaff-net)
PUT YOUR HANDS UP — Hände hoch (henday hoch)
OR I’LL FIRE THIS GUN — Sonst schiesse ich (sonst shee-sey eech)
KEEP WALKING — Vorwärts ohne halten (fore-verts oney halten)
(Manchester Evening Chronicle, 3 July 1940)
I said, ‘I was miles away. Most of them dropped on Cribden [village near Rawtenstall], but several dropped in the village [Holcombe].’
‘Good job you were wearing your tin hat.’
I thought, ‘Aye, whether I was wearing my tin hat or not it wouldn’t have made any difference – it would have rammed my neck down into my bootlaces.’ [laughs] Anyway we got back and fairly soon the all-clear went, so that was that.
(North West Sound Archive)
T. MARRIOTT-MOORE
We’d done a fair amount of scrounging, one way or another. I remember in my particular [Home Guard] section there were one or two more members of Metro Vicks tool room, and we were talking about daggers one night, and I said, ‘Look, I’ve got a Japanese ceremonial sword, could you cut that?’ – It was probably about 4ft long – ‘Can you cut that into four daggers?’
‘Yes.’ So I took it along, and in due course we got four daggers out of it.
They said, ‘We’d like to know what that steel is.’
I said, ‘Well it’s a very old sword, obviously, or was.’
He said, ‘Well we broke twenty hacksaw blades on it, of high grade steel, and we eventually cut it up into four pieces, by using a high-speed grindstone, and we smashed two stones doing it that way. We don’t know what steel it’s made of, but they’re very good daggers!’
Prime Luftwaffe industrial targets in north Manchesterare clearly marked on this 1940 reconnaissance photo. The main south-west to north-east road is Oldham Road, and the meandering River Medlock may be seen in Phillips Park. The central gasholder is visible, nowadays just to the north of the Etihad Stadium complex. The Stuart Street industrial area is on the site of the present National Cycling Centre at the Manchester velodrome. (Arthur Davenport)
I’ve still got mine, as a matter of fact.
(North West Sound Archive)
ROY BEVAN
There was a fellow in Helmshore; he was called Jeremiah Lord – he was referred to as Jerry Lord – he was an alderman, and at Helmshore Station there was always a [Home] guard on there, and he was coming down this particular night when all these incendiary bombs and that were being dropped and whatnot. He was marching down on his own, and he got to the station, and this sentry says, ‘Halt! Who goes there?’
He says, ‘It’s alr-right, it’s m-me, it’s J-J-Jerry.’ He had a bit of a stammer.
‘Jerry? Just the bugger we’re after,’ [laughs] says this Home Guard man.
(North West Sound Archive)
FOUR
WARTIME WORK
AND PLAY
The Land Army with its squads of land girls was distinct from the Land Clubs, which were more local and informal. (Manchester Evening News)
JEANNE HERRING
It was round about this time [summer 1942] the government sent out appeals on the radio and in the newspaper for young people to volunteer to help on the land; planting, weeding and gathering in crops. I thought it quite exciting and tried to get Edith interested, for I knew my parents would not let me go alone. Edith was not interested but Irene, a friend of John’s, was, and after much persuasion she agreed to try and go with me. We kept on and on at our families until they agreed.
It was a long process applying, I had to take a week’s holiday from work and eventually we were assigned to go to a farm in North Wales on the Cheshire border, at the end of July. We decided to cycle there, saving the train fare so that we would have some money left over from our wages at the end of the week. I seem to remember it was 28s [£1.40].
There was little traffic on the roads and it was comparatively safe to cycle along the country roads. I remember as we approached Wilmslow and were cycling up the hill, we heard a tremendous rumbling noise and around the corner came a huge army tank. We hastily got off our bikes and stood watching on the pavement as this monstrous tank passed.
We both enjoyed the week although it was hard work. I spent most of the time digging out dock weeds from a huge field; not very interesting, but we enjoyed the company of others. It was rather like staying in a youth hostel. In the evenings they used to set up the radiogram so that we could have a dance and the local people were invited.
FRANCIS HOGAN
I joined Metro Vicks as an apprentice in October 1939. I was working on radio-controlled equipment for the Royal Navy, for airships, also working on equipment that helped bomb disposal. And then I also went on instruments for equipment that was in Lancaster bombers.
For bomb disposal – say that was the bomb there – we had a drillin
g machine here, it drilled into the side casework of the bomb, and as it broke inside, hot steam was propelled inside, to deaden the dynamite. Did it work? [laughs] I don’t know, I don’t know! This was in the research department.
I went on from there to dynamos, for submarines. That was the last job I did, before I went into the Air Force.
A bomb disposal team in Lilac Lane, Hollinwood, less than half a mile from the Ferranti’s factory, on 1 November 1941. The unexploded 1,000lb bomb landed here following an attack on the night of 12 October. (Greater Manchester Police Museum and Archives)
MARY MALCOLM GREGORY
I worked at Hollinwood Ferranti from 1941 to 1945. I started on inspection, then machine shop on capstans. We also made fuses for shells, and ‘camera control’ was parts for cameras in aircraft.
We all wore a kind of khaki overall trimmed with blue, and always much too big. We were not allowed to wear any jewellery, only the married girls could wear their wedding rings. You could smoke at your machine all day; lots of people did. If you had long hair, you wore a turban, so you didn’t get your hair caught in the drills.
John Warrington and his band used to play for dancing, and so you ate your dinner as quickly as possible, to have a dance in the canteen.
If you got married while you were there, and had time to make arrangements, and were able to ask for time off, lots of young men got seven days’ leave unexpected. Oval-shaped, hand-painted mirrors were very popular as wedding presents. The whole machine shop would ‘bang you out’. Everyone would pick up a spanner and bang on the machine. Once you’d had your seven days’ wedding leave, you would get ‘banged in’ to come back.
At one stage we volunteered to give blood, at the donor session in the basement, supposedly to aid an unknown soldier. Everyone received a glass of Guinness, but they decided we were too young – under eighteen years – so we gave blood and got a cup of coffee made with milk.
(North West Sound Archive)
JEANNE HERRING
It was round about this time [1943] that I was transferred again to another branch of the District Bank. This time it was to a branch at the bottom of Swan Street, opposite the wholesale fish market. It was common practice in those days to move staff around a lot. I wonder if it was because you wouldn’t get to know the set-up for thieving!
It was a very busy office with the wholesale fishmongers starting work at 5 a.m. and paying in the piles of loose money as soon as we opened. They used to just spill it out of their overall pockets saying, ‘Count that love, I’m going for my breakfast.’ The manager said that they always knew to a penny how much they had handed in and kept a record in a scruffy notebook. One of the bonuses for working there was that each week the employees at the bank were given a parcel of fish to take home. Huge pieces of plaice or cod that had come off the boat that day were given to us. It was quite a treat for all of us. We also sometimes got vegetables and fruit from the market.
NORMAN WILLIAMSON
I got a job where they were making aircraft parts; that was on Upper Brook Street, it was William Arnold’s. In peacetime they made cars, then during the war they switched to aircraft. We had some Rolls-Royces. My job to start with was in the stores, and in the office they thought I was bit bright, so I went into the office then, mainly banking, wages, clerical work.
DIANE SWIFT
My mother worked nights on ammunition, at Thomas French on Chester Road. She made ladder webbing [ammo pouches] for bullets. The lady that lived next door used to let me sleep there, and I would be screaming and crying for my mother until midnight. She could not stand me. She died at ninety years of age. She reminded me of those nights for years after.
My uncle worked at Lancashire Dynamo and Crypto, at Trafford Park, on Reserved Occupation. For some reason none of my uncles or my dad went in the Forces. They seemed to keep the shipyards busy: Clyde, Newcastle, Liverpool and Salford Docks. My dad went out at 7 a.m. and came home late at night, 9 or 10 p.m., very tired and very dirty. His wages were about £5, on a good week.
ALLEN HAYES
I carried on working at the brewery [Groves and Whitnall, Salford] and of course you get snide remarks because the brewery men – most of them were older in the brewery – they never left the brewery workplace because when you started in the brewery you did thirty or forty years …
And they couldn’t understand, all these men had sons and grandsons in the army: ‘How is it you are not in?’
I said, ‘I got Grade 3.’
‘You?’ I had one of the hardest jobs in the brewery! [In the assessment process for Military Service, Grade 3 indicated rejection on medical grounds.]
(Courtesy of Life Times Oral History Collection, Salford Museum and Art Gallery)
HILDA MASON
I left school at 14, in the December [1938] and in the January, that’s when I started work, and in the September, the war started. I worked at Henshaw’s Institution for the Blind, Old Trafford, facing the Stretford Town Hall on Warwick Road. I went there as a machinist, because with the knitwear department, they made the garments and I helped to sew them up. I was there during the Blitz, when all the roof was blown in.
My first week’s wages was 9s [45p], and my spends were 1/6 [7½p], and out of that 1/6 I had to buy my tights, and any other little things that I wanted. In fact, my first 1/6, I put it on a bicycle, from Pennington’s in Stretford, and I paid so much a week to get a Raleigh bicycle, which I used to go to work on, to save on bus fare.
Stretford then was a proper village, with a market there every Friday and Saturday, because my mum used to go there on a Friday night when my dad got paid. Every week or every so often I used to go to Pennington’s with the accumulator from the wireless, and it had to be charged up. Your wireless wouldn’t go without one, and it used to have to be topped up now and again, when it was full of stuff, and you had to be careful because if any of the acid dropped on you, it burnt a hole. We didn’t have mains electricity, nothing like that.
My dad used to work shift work; he worked at British Alizarine [a chemicals company later incorporated into ICI] at Trafford Park, and he used to work 6 till 2, 2 till 10, and 10 till 6, and many a time he used to wake me up in the morning when he came off at six o’clock, and I’d be in the Anderson shelter.
MICKIE MITCHELL
They wanted women in the fire service, so I went off one day and joined up. I said, ‘I’ve come in the fire service, I want to be a driver.’ So they taught me to drive. And me and another girl were the first two to pass the driving test. It was a police driving test, it was very, you know, strict. They didn’t want women [drivers] in the fire service, did they heck!
Anyway, then I was stationed at Withington Fire Station for a couple of years, and I used to drive a petrol wagon at one time: not like they are today, it was a big steel-lined open lorry with four-gallon jerrycans in it, and the petrol was pink. Ambulances and fire engines had pink petrol; they dyed it, so if anybody was found with pink petrol they were in trouble. I used to go round filling fire engines up, things like that. You’d be surprised at people that’d try to buy petrol off you.
A petrol ration book. Towards the end of the war, petrol was virtually impossible to obtain by legal means, except for essential war work. Petrol for domestic war purposes was dyed pink, to reduce the chance of illegal private use. (Philip Lloyd)
There were a lot of auxiliary fire stations. There was one at UCP Tripe Works in Ladybarn, and there was one at Parrs Wood, near where the Parrs Wood [East Didsbury] railway station is. There were little petrol pumps there, or Green Goddess-type fire engines, which I drove from Withington Fire Station sometimes.
I’ll tell you what, there was a big fire in Abbey Hey [Gorton], and bales of cotton were on fire, and it burned for days. Then I remember being in town; D Division, I was in, we went to the docks a few times …
Sometimes you’d be there, oooh, sixteen hours, when it was very bad.
A plane came down, and it managed to miss the houses
at Baguley, and it landed on the allotments. It was a New Zealand plane, and we had to go to that. As I remember, I had to go in the ambulance with, I don’t know whether it was the pilot or the navigator, but he died before we got to the hospital. He was burnt terribly.
The first time I ever saw a dead body was in a house, I don’t know, there’d been a raid or something, in Moss Side – a great big house. The fireman said to me, ‘Don’t go in the room on the left,’ he said, ‘because there’s some burnt bodies there and it’s not nice.’
So I said, ‘OK.’
Anyway I went out to the D.O. [Divisional Officer] and he said, ‘I think I’ve left my lamp in the room on the left.’ I thought, ‘Oh my God.’
I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and I went in and there was three burnt bodies, they were dead, and the smell stays with you all your life, the smell of burnt flesh.
(Extracts from the interview with Bernard Leach – See websites, bibliography)
MARY MALCOLM GREGORY
I worked at Moston Ferranti for a short time, being transferred up to Barry Street, which was much nearer home for me. Then I had a spell at Denis Ferranti’s in Heyside, nearer home still.
Filling shells with TNT, ‘somewhere in the North West’. (Press and Censorship Bureau)
Heyside Ferranti’s had a government order for 20mm shells, a very large shell always being oily and greasy. When they came off the machine they were very heavy to handle. Many were dropped, and men were rushed to hospital. It was said at the time the Oldham Royal had a ward specially for Ferranti’s smashed toes.