JOHN FRANCIS NOLAN

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John Francis "Frank" Nolan, a 23 year-old motor mechanic from Blackburn (Lancashire) had enlisted in the Army Supplementary Reserve on the 23rd. November 1938. He had married his wife Elsie in January the  same year, and their daughter Margaret was born the following year on the 3rd. of February.

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He had suspected Military Subscription was immanent due to the ever-growing threat of war with Germany, so along with his fellow mechanic and good friend, Wilf Thomas (also recently married, and who would write a vivid account of his hazardous journey home after the bedlam of Dunkirk), decided to pre-empt the inevitable and have some choice of whom to join up with. In this case it was the Royal Army Ordinance Corps (R.A.O.C.), Royal Artillery, where their motor mechanic skills would be put to good use as fitters, driving and maintaining the gun-towing lorries, the Bedfords, Guys and Scamels, of the 9/13 Medium Battery, Royal Artillery, 4th Medium Regiment.

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After several months training they did receive their call-up, which Frank chronicled in his journey with the BEF*1 over to France:

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“Called up 1st. Sept 1939.  Left Blackburn 10.45 a.m. landed Hillsea Portsmouth 7.00 p.m. Slept on floor in schools Frid. 1st. Sat 2nd. Sun 3rd , inoculated Sunday passed doctor and got uniform. Moved to Fort Gosport, Brockhurst, Monday the 4th. (Thomas, Ianson, Hirst, Nolan) Food beds good. Moved to Christchurch Nr. Bournemouth Friday the 8th. Left here for Southampton Friday 22nd. Camped out in tents Friday & Saturday (23rd.) nights. Boarded “Princess Maud” at 1.30 p.m.,(a former channel ferry now  troop carrier which would play an important part in the evacuation of Dunkirk, even possibly being the ship to take off some of the last few stragglers from the beaches on June 4th.).

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Sailed at 4.00 p.m. Anchored off Isle of Wight with convoy waiting for escort, sailed for France at 12.30 p.m. Sunday. Landed at Cherbourg 11.15 p.m. Monday. Saw Duke of Windsor land from destroyer.

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Billeted in cowsheds full of rats Monday 25th. Tues 26th. Wed 27th. Thurs 28th. Friday 29th.

Left at 4.00 a.m. Friday by road (open lorry) about 5 miles & entrained in cattle truck for 300 miles run to Frevent on Belgium border. Billeted in cart shed at Beauque Maison after 6 mile full kit march in rain, landed 10 o'clock Sunday morning 31st Sept. (this is a mistake, Sat. was the 30th and Sun . the 1st Oct.).

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Mon 2nd. Tues 3rd. Wed. 4th. Thurs. 5th. Frid. 6th. Sat. 7th. Arras Somme Douai etc. Left Sunday morning 8th. At 6 a.m. landed Flines about 2 p.m. Billeted in school 14 kilos (sic) Belgium Frontier (Flooded out). Guns dug in Mon 9th. Tues 10th. Wed 11th.  Wireless Gracie Fields. Blackburn mentioned.

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Thurs 12th. Frid. Sat. Sunday 15th. Went to High Mass at Flines Church 12 kilos (sic) from Douai. Moved by road to Moraq en Boral near Lille.”

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Lille was the Headquarters of the French Army. Also jotted down in pencil on this sheet of paper is “Savon = Soap” ! Frank wrote home regularly and his wife likewise corresponded frequently, often every 2 or 3 days, his Mother would write too. 

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Come December 1939 the so called "Phoney War" was in its fourth month (of 8 eventually), and Christmas Day was able to be celebrated with the traditional dinner for the Royal Artillery 9/13 Medium Battery.

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A Christmas card and Menu was produced with a printed message saying "The B.C. and Officers Wish You a Merry Christmas". The Menu consisted of "Roast Pork, Apple Sauce, Brussells (sic) Sprouts, Baked Potatoes - Christmas Pudding. Brandy Sauce. - Dessert. - Beer. - Cigarettes.".

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Most or maybe all of the Battery present signed their names on Frank's Menu. They had also all received a Christmas Card from King George and Queen Elizabeth with the seasonal message

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"With our best wishes for Christmas 1939. May God bless you & protect you. (signed)  Elizabeth R.     George R. I.".

                                                                                            

That winter was an extremely cold one, the worst for 45 years, and Frank relates Wilf and he waking up one morning with hoar frost on their long-johns hung over a bedside chair.

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Then in April (1940) he received news of his Father's death (24th. April 1940) after a short but severe period of illness. His Father was a retired Police Inspector, who had been the local Aliens' Registration Officer in WW1, and had now volunteered to help in the Front Office at Blackburn Central Police Station. Even though not well, he would still turn up for duty, on one occasion even walking over 6 miles into town from home when a  very heavy snow-fall prevented any public transport operating, and which effort in fact would actually hasten his death aged just 59.

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Frank was granted compassionate leave, but due to Channel fog delaying sailing, he twice had to march down to the harbour then back again, before he could set sail. His route from Camp took him via Marco, La Madelaine, Boulogne, Dover, London, Manchester, Accrington and finally Blackburn, by means of boat, train, bus, hitch-hiking, bus again and on foot, before he eventually arrived home some 60 hours after setting off (the details of which lengthy journey both in duration and route he had noted down).

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Frank duly turned up at home hungry, grimy and travel-weary late on the Sunday night, as his Father's Funeral was the following morning (5th. May).

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On entering the house Frank went straight to his Father's open coffin in the front room and kissed him, and  then said to his wife, "You're frightened aren't you". He broke down and said to her "Love me Bunty" (their pet name for each other), and Elsie gave him a long comforting embrace. 

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On his return to France and after a very short space of time, the Germans were rapidly closing in on the armies of Belgium, France and the BEF*1, when problems with supplies meant that half-rations now had to be implemented. The first German attack by air was on 10th May, then on Sunday 25th. At 1.00 am, the Battalion received orders to retreat and head towards the coast at Dunkirk, some 43 miles to the north of Lille.

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Outside Malo des Bains Frank and Wilf were then ordered to drain the oil from "Old Ammo No.10", their faithful Bedford lorry, and drive it into the roadside ditch leaving the engine running, to seize the engine so the Germans could not use any of these many abandoned vehicles. Military Police at a Crossroads told them it was now "Every man for himself". Here it was that Wilf had to throw away a lovely French rug he had hoped to take home with him when next on leave. They also had to abandon their treasured workshop tools, military kit and personal items. The BEF*1 had 16 Heavy and Medium Artillery Regiments and all were ordered to spike their guns, apart from the 59th Medium which remained operational.

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Shortly afterwards due to all the chaos, with the large crowds of fleeing civilians further hampering the hundreds of now dis-organised soldiers, and the severe threatening and constant air attack by the diving Stukas, Frank and Wilf were split up in the ensuing mayhem. 

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Monday the 27th. May (afterwards described as "Bloody Monday"), was the first full day of Operation Dynamo (the name given to the sea rescue mission), but the same day that the Luftwaffe destroyed Dunkirk, with 15,000 explosives and 30,000 incendiary devices dropped on the hapless port, the BEF, French and Belgium soldiers along with trapped civilians. That Monday was also the first of three main assaults by the Luftwaffe, the others being the 29th. and 1st. June. 

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On the 29th., 400 German aircraft headed to Dunkirk, led by 180 Stukas.  At that time the RAF had only 89 aircraft to call on.

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The German Army's Artillery Guns had pushed the French to within 5 miles of Dunkirk, and found their shore batteries off Calais not meeting any resistance. On Tuesday 28th Belgium had capitulated.

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One Luftwaffe ME 109 pilot was later quoted as saying: - 

 

"I hated Dunkirk. It was unadulterated killing.

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The Beaches were jammed full of soldiers. I went up and down at three hundred feet hose-piping". 

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Unsurprisingly and horrifically, the numerous casualties would bear this out.

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Here on that Monday the 27th., Frank was, in the words he would later dictate, "pretty badly riddled" due to "M.G.W." (Multiple Gunshot Wounds"), as his Army Field Medical Card stated. In fact Frank was given up for dead, and although his dog tag incorrectly gave his religion as C. of E. (Church of England), he was in fact R.C. (Roman Catholic), indicated by a St. Christopher medal which his Mother had given him, and which was attached to his dog tags. This ensured that a R.C. Chaplain would administer the Last Rites over him, as he lay in the field and was left to die. A passing soldier though persuaded a Field Ambulance to take him to safety. This safety as such didn't actually happen for almost 3 days, and Frank was stuck on his stretcher (literally, due to the severe bleeding from his back and chest),  and after the ambulance was itself hit by an attack from the relentless and ruthless Stukas. From the two-man crew and three wounded soldiers on stretchers, one maybe two were killed in this attack, Frank was fortunate to survive. However he was once more left immobile on his stretcher out in the open, tantalisingly near the offshore rescue ships all along the clogged up Dunkirk and neighbouring beaches.

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All this time, Frank (having previously being given morphine two days earlier on the 27th.) knew what was going on around him, but couldn't move or communicate in any way, although internally praying that someone would notice him.

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Some hours later, two passing French soldiers picked up his stretcher and made sure he was taken aboard the Hospital Ship SS Paris, arguing with the Captain who by then didn't want to take any more stretcher cases, understandably, on account of the the space needed on deck for them, since seven walking-wounded could fit in that same area.  The Paris had berthed at Gare Maritime, the old peacetime harbour for cross-channel ferries, and now took on board as many wounded as she could find and cram onto the ship. 

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On Wednesday 29th May 15 British ships, 4 French and 3 personnel vessels were lost, but was the day the Paris navigated between the partly submerged wrecks and ships still afloat to evacuate Frank (the same day that back home Elsie was writing him a letter), along with 740 other wounded soldiers (out of a total of 50,000 lifted off that day), and set sail for Newport, the SS Paris being the Southern Railways' Newport - Dieppe Ferry, now commandeered for a hospital carrier ship. The bulk of her nursing staff was provided by the Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service and Reserve, one of whom would have observed the short hurriedly-written scribbled pencil note on Frank's blood-stained Field Medical Form, saying “Machine Gun Wounds Penetrating Lung” and added neatly in ink "needs dressing".

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On the Channel crossing Frank, on the open deck with other stretcher cases, was given a little water drawn from a bucket brought round by a member of the medical crew, despite the continued and regular bombing by the ever-present Stukas and Junkers. The SS Paris made 5 trips bringing the wounded home, and was the only ship to berth at Calais. However, on returning for a further rescue mission, she was bombed and suffered damage to her rudder which resulted in her drifting onto Dunkirk beach, where she was a sitting target and bombed again and sunk on the 2nd. June, with the loss of two lives. Her sister ship, HC Brighton V, had been ordered to Dieppe to evacuate wounded troops, but was trapped in Dieppe Harbour due to the lock gates being locked, with suspicions held of sabotage by Nazi sympathisers.  Although prominently and identically marked (as was the Paris), to identify as a Hospital Carrier, she was bombed and sunk 10 days prior to the Paris. In all, Southern Railways had provided 8 of their ferries for Hospital Carrier ships.

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In England hundreds of trains were rushed to the main Chanel ports, both for the weary troops and with some designated for the wounded. Likewise special trains were organised from Newhaven, the main base for British Hospital Ships, where Frank was taken. On arriving there he was put on a hospital train, still on his field stretcher, and taken to Burntwood Emergency Hospital, Lichfield. He would stay there for 8 months, before being transferred to Oswestry for 5 months, to learn to walk again, his weight having dropped to 8 stones from his usual 11. Here two nurses would support him, one on either side walking up and down the hospital drive. After this he was finally sent to Winwick Reception Hospital (Nr. Warrington) for 1 month to complete his recovery, making it 14 months in all "out of action".

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Frank was wounded on the 26th May. Six days before (although with a post mark of the 24th) he had sent Elsie both a letter and a Field Post Card. In the letter he had said ”we are all over the place at the moment”, he also added “ the weather is simply glorious, it seems a shame to have a war in this weather”.

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In a previous letter he had warned that letter post could be stopped and only Field Post Cards would be used. The post could normally take 5 or more days to arrive, the latter two would take 9 days, and in Elsie's letter dated 29th (the day she received them) she wrote that the wireless news had reported that there was a fierce battle going on in the North of France and round the Coast. It also mentioned that no word could be sent to France about any relatives over there. 

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Elsie ends her letter with her usual loving signing off, and saying “take care of yourself, Mummy & I are waiting for you” with numerous “x”s (kisses from wife and daughter) filling the bottom of her 7 page letter.

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Elsie would always add to the back of the envelope “S. A. G.”, standing for “St. Anthony Guide”, an abbreviated short prayer to request a safe passage to and for the recipient.

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It would not be until the 7th June that Elsie would receive notification from R.A.O.C. Records, Hillsea of her husband's wounding. Then J & S Leaver Ltd., (Main Vauxhall & Bedford Dealers) the Garage he had worked at, provided a car and driver to take her to Lichfield, which was just over 100 miles away (and before the days of the M6 Motorway). On the way, the car was stopped and the driver queried as to what was the purpose of the journey due to the strict rationing of petrol, and Elsie had to show her "anytime visiting" Hospital Pass. 

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On arriving at Hut 4, Elsie walked into the Ward, and stopped by the first bed, waiting to ask an advancing Nurse where her husband was. As she stood there she looked at the soldier in that bed and thought what a mess he was in, all bandaged from head to toe - but that in fact was her Frank. 

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She would only later learn that the first beds on either side entering the Ward were for those patients who were not expected to survive, a practice common in hospitals  for the convenience of  nursing attention.                                                                                                                                                                     

He was one of the most severe cases, and the daughter of a local wealthy family had volunteered as a Nurse, and had asked to be allocated to those patients, to help and look after them. Due to the bandaged machine gun wounds near Frank's mouth and chin, only liquid food could be administered, with Frank not being able to feed himself. Part of his medicine included Guinness stout which was carefully poured into his mouth by this Nurse, and she also augmented his liquid diet with grapes grown at home, which she would squeeze into his mouth.  Elsie would joke that not every wounded soldier had a posh good-looking young lady squeezing grapes through their lips, but fortunately for her he was all bandaged up and harmless ! The changing of all those bandages, and dressing the wounds, would take 3 hours. Also on that first visit, Elsie saw piles of uniforms stained with mud and blood stacked outside all the Wards.

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In the early days of his stay in Lichfield, his wife, sister-in-law and Mother visited and were still in mourning for Frank's Father who had died back in April, and as such were wearing predominately black clothing. This resulted in them being accosted by the Guards on duty at the Hospital gates, because they were suspected of being spies, since at that time wild rumours were circulating that the Germans were sending spies over to England dressed as French women and Nuns, attired of course in black ! 

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When his brother Tom visited the hospital for the first time he angrily exclaimed, "Look what they've done to our kid, I'll get the buggers !", to which his Mother chided him with "Now Tom". He had received news of his brother's wounding by a telephone call to where he worked, Langho Colony a Mental Institution (Burntwood Hospital was also one such, now commandeered and extended for use as an Emergency Hospital), he had cycled home to tell his wife Lily, "Our kid's been wounded".

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He himself would first join the Home Defence at Langho Colony with all the other men working there, before enlisting in July (1940), "To finish it all off" as he said. After Training in Northern Ireland he would see active service with the 8th. Army in North Africa, Sicily and Italy and, unlike his two years older brother, suffer no more than sunburn, as he would afterwards admit, although he had been in quite a few “hot spots".

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Also frequently visiting the wounded soldiers was the Salvation Army who brought them whatever small comforts they could muster, including cigarettes, which initially in Frank's case he could only smoke if some considerate person held the lit cigarette to his lips. When he was moved to Oswestry Military Hospital, he would leave behind a bedside cabinet full of packets of cigarettes for his fellow patients to have. In his first few days 35 of his fellow mates from 9/13 Medium Battery had  clubbed together to also send him cigarettes, and a Postal Order, organised by DVR. I.C. Taylor G., "Ginger" his pal.

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Elsie never forgot those Salvation Army acts of kindness, and many years later on her husband's death, insisted that any suitable clothes of his and other items were given to their local Charity Shop, along with a cash donation.

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On subsequent visits Elsie would be accompanied by her sister-in-law Lily and their Mother-in-Law Janie, who would sometimes pay for them to stay over in a local public house that had rooms to hire. When travelling with just her 16 month-old daughter, Margaret, and waiting at Railway Stations, the 23 year-old mother would often be greeted with good-natured wolf-whistles from young soldiers in transit. They would also ask a very shy Margaret whether they could have one of her ginger curls, at which she would hide behind and clutch her Mummy's coat.

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On the 5th. July 1940, his local newspaper would print under the heading "Local Wounded", an update on a previous mention, "His many friends will be glad to learn that Private Frank Nolan, who was seriously wounded in France, has now passed through a very critical period, and is progressing favourably. His many friends will hope that the progress may be maintained and that he will be restored to full health and his normal physique". During WW2, 30% of the wounded would die as a result of their injuries. The doctors had told Elsie that her husband's survival was greatly helped by his young age (25), his fitness and his quick-healing flesh, although this would mean his numerous stitches scabbed-over sooner than usual, and then be more painful when taken out, not that Frank ever complained.

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Frank's fellow fitters from 9/13 Medium Battery would write to him, wishing him well and hoping he'd soon rejoin them. His friend Wilf would write similar sentiments, and in one letter ask, "What's the trouble with your left arm, cannot you lift it, or is it your finger, how is your stomach . . . . How is Morecroft getting on, we heard that Waxy, Williams, Young is in your place while Cooky is still missing . . . . . . I shall be paying your wife a visit when I get my 7 day, I won't dash back and forward next leave, so will make more time to go and see her".

                                                                              

When Private Nolan would eventually be discharged from Hospital, he had already written to his Battery the month before to see if he would be able to re-join his former unit. His Sergeant replied that they would do their utmost to get this to happen., and he'd “had a word with the old man” about it.

                                                                                               

Unfortunately his overall medical condition made this not possible, and shortly afterwards he would be discharged from the Army (15th. August 1941). He was classed as being 30% disabled due to his several war wounds. He was officially Registered as Disabled and would later be exempt from paying NHS prescription charges. There would also be free Chiropody treatment, for a war wound to his heel on one foot. He still had a piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest but it was considered too dangerous to try and remove. There was also a small metal shell fragment under the skin on his inner thigh, which would occasionally "sit up" and a sort of thread could be discovered on feeling it.

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Later his son Eric would somewhat impudently, but tongue in cheek, say it was a pity they couldn't be got out, because if they should have "Krupp" stamped on them, they would be an interesting war souvenir (Krupp was a major armament manufacturer for the German War Machine). Ironically Frank had been issued with an old WW1 Lee Enfield rifle and just three rounds of ammunition – but came back with more in him, as his family would comment, not without a sense of wry humour.

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As a result of all this, Frank qualified for a small Disability Pension, mainly on account of him losing the use of his thumb and first two fingers on his left hand, after the nerves had been severed by machine gun fire from the deadly Stukas. 

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This meant his continued career as a Motor Mechanic was over, as sadly was his intention of starting his own garage business.

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However he still had a part to play in the continuing war effort, and joined the Aeronautical Inspectorate Department (AID) as an Examiner, to check and report on the repairs done to damaged aircraft such as Hampden, Wellington and Lancaster bombers.

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After training in Preston and Liverpool, he was posted to Bristol then L.M.S. at Littleover (Derby), followed by Vickers Armstrong at Squires Gate, (alongside RAF Blackpool) and next to A.V. Roe  at  Chadderton (Manchester). His shifts could be late and long, 58 hours and over per week being quite common with frequent overtime required, and it was arduous too with round the clock working. His posting to Derby involved moving his family, now with a 6 month-old baby son, to nearby Littleover.

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Although now relatively well again, he was troubled with back pain while standing, necessitating him having a wide leather belt made at home in Blackburn by a Saddler, to help support his back which had been hit by a shell at Dunkirk. 

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Similarly, due to his damaged left hand which in cold weather would turn an unpleasant looking bluish-black, Elsie bought him a pair of expensive pigskin gloves lined with rabbit fur from Marks & Spencer. This was really more to hide the look of his hand which embarrassed him when in public, than to keep it warm because he had no feeling in most of his left hand.  

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In the March of 1942, his son John Eric was born, to bring happier news and some distraction from the horrors and deprivation of wartime. Eric started walking much later than usual for a child, quite happy to continue crawling around the floor and was in his Grandma's words “a wick 'un”. He was  quite tubby too, with his petite Auntie Lily struggling to lift him, and was unflatteringly referred to as “Little Goering” !

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His arrival though would in some way be recompense to Frank for losing his Father aged a mere 59 years. This sad loss he always considered was the price he had to pay for having his own life spared, after being left for dead at Dunkirk.

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On his Certificate of Discharge, dated 21st. July 1940, the Army Form succinctly stated: 

7592192  Nolan John Francis, Total Service 2 years 266 days, and of those, 244 days with the BEF*1. 

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The Case of Discharge was "Ceasing to fulfil (sic) Army Physical Requirements" Para 390 (XVI) K.R. 40.

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His Military Conduct was given as "Very Good" along with the Testimonial "Keen, hard-working and trustworthy, a fully qualified fitter".

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After the War, Frank would return to his previous employers, J & S Leaver Ltd., the Blackburn Garage, but not now as a motor mechanic but in the Stores Department, where he would work for 37 years in all until retirement in 1979. He was well known in the Trade, and often if a customer, or even a fellow counter assistant, didn't know exactly what part was required, the Staff would say “Just ask Frank” !

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Although physically handicapped with his left hand, he would garden, and loved to grow tomatoes in a small greenhouse, lay brick walls, decorate and perform all sorts of D.I.Y. jobs, despite having to hold a nail between his little finger and next finger on his left hand, before hitting it with a hammer held in his right (thankfully he was right-handed). The same system would apply inserting a screw, and using a hammer and chisel. He made a wonderful hutch for his children's rabbit, called “Bunty”, the reason for the name only found out much later on in life by Margaret and Eric.

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He had problems knotting a tie (it was a godsend when fixed-knot ties with elastic came in), and he couldn't fasten the right sleeve button on his shirt, both tasks Elsie would gladly do for him. Holding a fork was also a struggle, Frank having to somehow pick the fork up with his only two working fingers and flip it over to somehow grip in the palm of his hand.

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Tying shoe laces presented a challenge, but one he overcame. Only later in life could Frank afford to buy a small car, first a second-hand Mini then a Vauxhall Viva, but he needed to operate the hand-brake (on the left) with his "good hand".

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However before then, now living in Langho a small village near Blackburn, he would keep the Parish Priest's ancient Austin Seven in running order, and share chauffeuring duties with Mr. Sykes, the village butcher, since the old Church was several miles away from the Presbytery.

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Frank was a quiet unassuming man, not one to show his feelings very much, indeed his own Mother had said she'd “pity the poor lass who'd marry our Frank”. However he wrote a loving and moving poem to her on her birthday, which was the day before he had been called up (1st. Sept. 1939), with the lines  among the seven verses, “You tried to be brave when I had to go”, and “. . . the little things that I am beginning to miss”.

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Neither was Frank particularly one to willingly socialise, unlike his younger brother Tom who was the life and soul of any company and Secretary of his local Crown Green Bowling Club, his love of bowls no doubt prompted by his late father who had been a Champion Police Bowler. Tom loved dancing, and in fact meet his wife Lily at one, and they continued going to dances all their married life, unlike his brother whom you wouldn't get near a dance floor (a preference continued by his son !).

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For his part,  Frank in his youth was most happy when tinkering with a motorbike engine in the shed.

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In his married life, Frank  preferred a quiet home life with his family and lived to see and enjoy his six grandchildren. He and Elsie would also enjoy going on holidays by car to Wales and Scotland with their life-long friends, fellow Dunkirk survivor Wilf and his wife Cathy. Similar motoring holidays were had with his brother Tom and wife Lily, and other times with her sister, Belle and husband Sam.

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He would find time to help his son with his £50 "bangers" to keep them on the road, trying to pass on some of his car mechanic know-how. One had all the knowledge but only one good hand, the other two good hands but nowhere near half the knowledge.

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Sadly, and all too short, his retirement lasted just two years. John Francis Nolan died on 23rd. February 1981, aged 66.

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In the very first brief letter that he struggled to write from his bed in Burntwood Emergency Hospital to his wife Elsie on 3rd. June (1940), he said "I took pretty bad that night after you had gone, I think it was excitement at seeing you lot again, after giving up hope once or twice".  

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But despite those deadly horrors he had experienced at Dunkirk there was hope, and thanks to the "Miracle of Dunkirk" he had survived against all the odds. He could well have been left for dead on that Dunkirk beach  over 40 years ago aged just 25. However he was given another chance and granted 41 more years, of life, for which he thanked God to his dying day, as did his loving family and friends.

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*1 - BRITISH EXPEDITIONARY FORCE

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NOTE:

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All the personal material above was related to me by my Mother, she it was who kept all of the letters, cards, forms, passes etc., My Auntie Lily also recalled the hospital visits with Elsie and their Mother-in-Law. I bought several books and acquired CD and DVD personal accounts  of the Evacuation of Dunkirk.

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My Father, however, only ever mentioned three things about his war-time experiences.

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The first was that a fellow patient at Lichfield Hospital, badly wounded like himself, desperately wanted to write to his wife but was unable to due to his heavily bandaged hands, so he taught himself to write with a pencil wedged between his toes.

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Secondly, I had once been knocked off my bicycle going down a steep hill and badly grazed my legs and knees on the gravelled road. After a bath one night before I went to bed, he had asked me how my injuries were, and I mentioned they were healing up quite good with the scabs now coming off due to the bath's hot water. He then told me that the same had happened to him with his extensive wounds, and that it would take 3 hours to change their bandages and dress them.

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Thirdly, he mentioned that during his time as an AID Senior Examiner, when damaged bombers came in for repair there was often no rear gun turret remaining, just jagged metal edges, and gruesomely, sometimes still evidence of blood and flesh on them.

 

They would need to power-wash the rear fuselage, trim off the rough edges, then have to cut up square biscuit tins and rivet them in patches over the gap, since they had no replacement perspex canopy, or turret assembly parts, but this crude repair could at least allow the aircraft to return to vital operational use as quickly as possible, albeit without “Tailgun Charlie's” part of the aircraft.

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On Remembrance Sunday, my Father would take me as a young boy into Blackburn Town Centre, to watch the Market Tower clock display 12 noon, when a Time Ball would rise to the top of a shaft, which would trigger a gun to fire from the nearby Town Hall roof to signify the start of the two minutes' silence. He would never say anything, but I was sure those  WW2 memories, especially of his deliverance from Dunkirk were very much prominent in his thoughts during that period of silence.

 

He would later watch the televised Service of Remembrance with his loving wife Elsie (they would be married for 44 years), and together in their own way pay their respect to all those Servicemen and women of WW2, not forgetting the contribution and sacrifices the loved ones back home in the factories and workplaces had willingly made for "King and Country" to help defeat the enemy.