Thursday 8th April 1943.......

It's been a busy week, for me and for my big brother. It was my seventh birthday yesterday. But I'm going leave telling you about that for another time. I haven't got room here.

Instead, let's talk about the day before. That was Tuesday 6th April. It was a big day for my brother Graham and I'll  tell you why in a minute. As you know I have a big sister. I was talking about her last Friday, that was 2nd April 1943. My brother is even bigger. He's five years older than her. That means he's fourteen years older than me.  We all live together on the Chester Road in Streetly. Or at least we did until he was called up last year.

This is Graham in the year I was born (right). He's even bigger now and, as I've told you before, he's a soldier in North Africa. He's 20 and so he's grown up. Because of the difference in ages I don't remember us seeing a lot of each other at home – Graham was at work and when he was at home he spent a lot of time in his bedroom. And he was in the Home Guard for two years and that took up a lot of evenings and weekends. But Graham has always been very kind to me and he used to tell me all sorts of interesting things which I didn't know anything about. We always got on ever so well with each other and I have missed him a lot since he first went away in June last year.

For example, he once sat me down in front of his big wireless set in his bedroom. (That's been put away now). It had a big sort-of-window thing on the front which lit up when you switched it on. Then you could see all the stations you could dial into with all sorts of interesting names. Like Hilversum and Oslo and Allouis and Marseilles and Brussels and Paris and a lot of other places like that. But those don't work any more. Just Hamburg. That's the only one. Apart from the BBC, of course. I don't know if Graham used to listen to Hamburg or not. It's the German radio, as you know. With Lord Haw-Haw and his silly voice. If Mum and Dad do, it hasn't been when I'm around. Dad would probably think it's not the right thing to do, even though it's not against the law. Otherwise it's just the BBC Home Service. That brings us all the news and funny programmes like ITMA and music. But when I was standing at the side of him in front of his wireless, I wasn't only looking at those strange and exciting radio station names. I was even more interested in what he was telling me. He was saying that in peacetime you could buy a wireless set just like that but instead of a glass panel there was something of about the same size which looked like it and was called a screen. And on that screen you could watch pictures which actually MOVED, just like at the flicks. This was called television. A wireless with pictures! It all sounded like a miracle to me and I'll believe it when I see it. If I ever do. But Graham wouldn't tell me any fibs and so I'm sure he's right.

Another useful thing Graham told me. You must never point a gun at anyone, even if you are absolutely sure that it isn't loaded. Never, ever. (That's unless you really want to shoot them, of course!) There is a good reason for that and Graham told me why. It was his rifle I was waving around towards him and Dad at the time. We were in the dining room. I can still see the nervous expression on his face and on Dad's. Until they disarmed me and gave me the lecture.

Like Dad, Graham always had a lot of things to do before he went away in June last year. He worked at the same factory as Dad in Birmingham and he also joined the Home Guard with Dad in Little Aston Hall stables when that all started. So he had a uniform and that rifle - the one I wasn't allowed to point towards him when I was mucking about with it. Here he is, just coming out of "The Greylands" in Middleton Road which is a Home Guard Headquarters. He hasn't got his rifle with him this time, just his gas mask on a strap or it might be a little haversack. That was two years ago, in 1941. It was Graham who, with Dad, would stand guard at the top of our air raid shelter steps when there was a raid on, keeping a watch out for everything. Rather than sheltering down below with the rest of us. There wouldn't have been any room for them, anyway. That was if they were not away on Home Guard duty, of course, and they often were. There were many nights like that, when I could see the flashes and the glow in the distance towards Birmingham and hear the thumps. That's what Dad and Graham would see as well, wherever they were in Streetly or Little Aston. This is what Dad wrote about all that:

Sometimes during the almost nightly raids, the whole area is ringed with burning incendiaries and the Home Guard men on duty experience a feeling of utter impotence when wondering how their wives and families are faring. It's a great temptation, but none succumbs.

Sometimes I was allowed in Graham's bedroom. But only when he was there. He had got his Dinkies and Hornby trains and Meccano in there under the bed and all sorts of treasures. His room was the little bedroom at the front of the house and looking out over Chester Road and all its interesting traffic. It's the top left hand window in the picture (right, and you can see Mum gardening as well). I've moved into it now. It was always interesting when I was allowed in it when he was still there. He had a map of Europe on the wall. That's still there. It's got little tiny flags stuck in it, all over the place. There are Union Jacks and French flags and a lot of nasty-looking swastikas. I think he must have done that a long time ago. We know that really there shouldn't be any Union Jacks on any of those countries now. Just swastikas. I've got the room all to myself now.

Graham's chest of drawers is still there as well. When he went away he sealed up the drawers by attaching little pieces of coloured paper over each corner with sealing wax. The trouble is, the wax has got very hard and brittle and I have to be careful not to touch it. Mum is very worried that the bits of paper might fall off and then we shall be accused of rummaging through his private things when he comes back home. On top of the chest are some little boxes, They are purple and used to have chocolates in them. A quarter-pound of Cadbury's Milk Tray. I can look in those because they're not sealed up. He keeps things like rubber bands in them, and drawing pins and paper clips. All in their separate boxes. In one of them there was nothing but finger nail clippings, I'm still trying to work out why on earth he should want to keep something like that. People do go funny when they grow up, don't they! All the other boxes are interesting, though.

So my brother is all around us, even though he's so far away. His clothes and things are still in the bedroom. He doesn't need them because he can wear civvies only at home. His bike is in the garage. And his khaki cadet's uniform from when he was still at school is in the airing cupboard. I sometimes dress up in it and pretend to be a soldier like him. It's too big for me and it's ever so itchy in hot weather. But it's worth it.  I feel like a real soldier when I wear it.  

We talk about Graham a lot. We remember him from January/February this year when he came home on embarkation leave, went back and then turned up again a few days later because I had got measles. (I told you about that before.) This was him (right) when he was home for the last time then. He's changed out of his uniform and has got his thick winter coat on.

And here he is from earlier, not long after he had been called up (left and below). When we went to see him one Sunday at Church Stretton. I expect he had got his own Army rifle by then but he must have left it in the camp before we all went up into the hills together and had our photograph taken. That was July last year, 1942. Mum, Graham, me and my sister Sheila. It was a very happy day and I shall remember it for a long, long time.

Now I'm going to show you why Tuesday 6th April 1943, was an important day for Graham, like I promised to do at the beginning.  When he can, he'll write to us and tell us exactly what has been happening to him ever since we waved him off down the drive at our house in February. Right up until the day before yesterday. This is what he'll say to us.  It's the story of a young soldier from Streetly on his way to things he can't imagine. It's the unknown. He probably doesn't want to think about it too much. (It wouldn't be the unknown to Dad because he'll remember what it was like from last time. But it was never talked about at home as far as I know).

I think my brother's ever so brave.

THE JOURNEY FROM STREETLY TO TEBOURSOOK (Tunisia)  March/April 1943 (After the 48-hour pass on compassionate grounds to see my brother - and to be photographed with him, see right).... .....It was back to Woolwich for the final few days before detecting signs of imminent departure. We were still able to get out into central London but the opportunities for such activities were clearly numbered. We made the most of our remaining chances to visit such evil dens of vice as the Windmill Theatre ("We Never Closed") and stoically awaited the worst that could befall us. All the transient personnel were divided up and allocated to drafts, each of a sizeable number of people, maybe 200 or so. There were signs of administrative chaos: for instance, I was amongst those issued with full tropical kit ....complete with baggy khaki drill shorts and pith helmet. By the next day thinking by senior minds had changed and it was all handed back in again, not without some feeling of relief – our eventual destination would probably not now be India or Burma. My group was transported the short distance to a dismal railway station, Blackheath, I think, and boarded a special train to Bristol where, at Temple Meads, there was a change of train for the final few miles to Avonmouth. There, the ship was alongside the quay and we went aboard without delay. The rather elderly vessel had once been in service on a Dutch line and was of a respectable size, maybe 20,000 tons or so. We settled down as best we could to conditions that were a new experience altogether. The overall impression was one of severe overcrowding: not surprising when troopships were obviously designed to operate at maximum efficiency, that is, to cram as many individuals into a given space as was physically possible. The accommodation decks contained long tables arranged transversely, and wooden forms for seating along either side. Here the men would sit for meals, six or eight a side and those seated furthest from the ship's side would fetch the rations, sufficient for the whole table, from the galley where they would be issued in bulk in a large metal utensil. Those seated nearest the portholes would become increasingly anxious as the food was passed along the table, diminishing as it was transferred to plates. During darkness the ship was fully blacked out and even a lighted cigarette on the open deck was strictly forbidden. Above the mess tables, hooks were provided and from from these, hammocks were slung................... After boarding, on the same evening we slipped out into the Bristol Channel, headed north through the Irish Sea and joined the convoy somewhere between the Clyde and the Irish coast. By next morning there was no land to be seen and we sailed on for several days. On asking a crew member where we were, the answer came: "In the North Atlantic Ocean" which was fairly obvious although I doubt whether he knew much more than that. During the voyage which must have lasted about 10 days we were all given tasks and I was put with a party cleaning and degreasing rifles and similar small arms stored in a deep hold somewhere right down in the bowels of the ship. No portholes down there and the contours and timbering were reminiscent of the inside of a large rowing boat. Stints of several hours at a time became routine and one tried not to think of the consequences should an enemy torpedo strike us in that area. The weather conditions were good for that time of the year and as the days passed it became noticeably warmer as we turned southwards. Eventually the course shifted to an easterly direction and early one morning the Rock of Gibraltar could be seen on our port side. Continuing with the North African coastline frequently in view we eventually reached our destination, Algiers. We were fortunate in that the entire voyage had been devoid of any evidence of enemy action, apart from the occasional whoops on the destroyers' sirens and the night-time flashes from their signal lamps as they busied themselves in and around the convoy. However the lull ceased abruptly during the late afternoon as we entered Algiers harbour and the Luftwaffe arrived on the scene to try and cause mischief. During the raid all non-essential personnel were confined below decks where little could be seen of the action. A few hours later all was quiet and we disembarked. (After several days in Algiers)..... they entrained us for the lengthy journey to the then railhead at Souk Ahras, some 800 miles from Algiers. There I said farewell to my fellow travellers and proceeded alone to my posting, 10 Battery of 17 Field Regiment, Royal Artillery who kindly sent along a vehicle to pick me up. The rear area for the battery, known as the waggon lines, was sited in the little town of Teboursouk and that is where I joined them, on Tuesday 6 April 1943.

So that was the day before yesterday. It won't be long before he goes into action. Just a few days. It might already have happened.

Good luck, "Our Kid"!  We are all thinking of you.

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