The Glemsford area was bombed by three nations: the master race, 1, the Italians and the super race, 2.
One Luftwaffe raid bombed near Glemsford station - six in all - no damage, plus twelve or so that failed to explode, one oil bomb that exploded in open country and two parachute mines, one of which demolished an isolated farm cottage and killed a pig: very convenient in the times of food shortage.
One cat also suffered but returned later rather bemused.
One Molotov cocktail hit an empty factory, and about two hundred incendiary bombs were dropped, three of which hit and set fire to a bungalow.
The Italians made two raids on the British. They came in daylight, to the delight of the R.A.F.: badly mauled, Mussolini picked his ball up and returned to Rome.
One of these raids led to an attack on Cavendish station.
I saw the attack myself. He missed, but damaged an outhouse on the Glemsford-Cavendish border: no casualties.
Walking to a pub, long since shut, I met a group of 7 to 10 year old lads in a hurry, running down New Cut.
I saw a blue practice bomb half-buried in an allotment: the bomb was four feet long and about ten inches in diameter. It had a small red canister in the centre of the tail fin. The body of the bomb was filled with sand.
As I went up to the bomb, I got a shout from a member of the Home Guard, the late P. Mizon.
"Don't you go near that, boy, it'll go up."
"It's o.k., Perce," I replied. "It's full of sand and the smoke canister has been used. It can't hurt anyone,"
and to give credence to my words, I gave the bomb a kick.
Perce done the three minute mile down New Cut.
"That could give you a tidy old sole of the skull, boy," he informed me later.
"Don't meddle with bombs, met, stick to pints."
A full number one crew were woken one night with "air raid warning - red".
We all slept with clothes on, but a red alert meant getting on wellies and leggings. This had hardly been done when we heard the roar of a diving aircraft, followed by a burst of automatic fire.
On going outside, we saw the entire arch of the sky behind the station lit up by a greenish glow, the centre of which was a flame like a large blow torch. Silhouetted in the glow was the gable end of my home, which contained the two people that meant a lot to me, Mum and Dad.
Grabbing my axe, I ran the short distance to the fire, jumping the iron stile.
I realised the house was o.k. and at the same time got a rocket from Dad, from the second storey window:
"I can handle this. Get back to your post."
This was my first realisation that I had broken the station drill: each station had its own because of the different types of buildings.
Back on the job in less than two minutes, I found Leading Fireman Sparkes lying unconscious by the door. Ted Osborne took his place at the wheel. Beevis and I clipped on the pump.
"Put him on the back seat," said Ted, now in charge.
We did as we were bid, arriving at the fire with the fire captain out to the world.
It appears that on running to get in the car, he had forgotten his drill and Fireman Osborne had not.
His job was to open the door of the tender.
Sparkes hit the door over his right eye, and passed out.
The hydrant was in the centre of the road, thus a heavy one.
The points in the pathways could be opened by a light flick of a lever; this one required keys, of which we had none.
Osborne took one lever, Beevis the other. I stood by to place my axe under to stop the top from falling back.
Thus engaged were all three fit men. Leading Fireman Sparkes (he had the right name), to his credit, came too and tried to resume command, bending down on his knees to view the progress.
I heard a swish, a clang, a clump, then a slight sigh.
The swish was Fireman Beevis' lever slipping; the clang from the lever hitting Sparkes' tin helmet.
The clump was the rest of the lever landing on his already damaged eye.
The sigh was his return to the arms of Morpheus.
Fireman Beevis surveyed the second-time recumbent form of his leader:
"He'll soon've done lying about, 'ont he."
We were now joined by a figure from the direction of the fire: Fireman Parker, regular fireman of the Clacton Brigade.
We could not have had a better man to replace Sparkes.
I did think at the time that Clacton had done well to get here from a distance of 30 odd miles, especially as Long Melford were not on the scene from only 3 miles.
The new man took command, giving orders short and clear.
"2CD run base of fire," he said to me.
Grabbing the hose, I made for the fire.
"Base of fire" meant the sharp end.
On reaching my point, Fireman Parker caught me up.
"Base men always carry a branch nozzle, mate," he said, and thrust one into my hands.
He was a regular pro.
I was not, being only 16 years old, and by rights a messenger.
As we had our overcoats on, he had no way of knowing this. Hence rocket number two:
"Water on Number Two; force the doors; use your axe. Points: don't open them (a pair of large double doors) till you get water. Then, and jet this round the bomb, not direct."
Fireman Beevis had taken over Number One.
Now Number Two, I forced the padlock. Albie put the jet round the bomb.
Leaving the door now open, I resumed Number Two job, taking the slack of the canvas hose.
There then arrived, in a dressing gown, the local shopkeeper and lay preacher, a man of some substance in the old village hierarchy.
He now attempted to use his position to take over the fire.
"Put the water on the bomb," he said to Fireman Beevis in a loud voice.
"We know what we're doing," replied Albie.
Grabbing Albie's shoulder, he repeated his order louder still.
"Hold the branch, boy," said Albie, and padded round the bomb.
He then turned to the shopkeeper:
"You wouldn't be here at all if you hadn't got a few bloody old sticks nearby."
(Property was referred to as sticks.)
"Now, stop getting in the way of trained men. Off the site you go or I'll order the boy to put the bloody fire hose on you."
Exit the spluttering civilian. Fireman Beevis rejoined me.
"That old sod used to weigh his bloody fingers, boy," he said.
Yet a third member of the public arrived - Dad.
"Come on together," he said, "Ernie Younger's bungalow is on fire. This lot can't spread."
Long Melford brigade arrived at the same time. So did Fireman Parker, for the second time.
"Sorry, boy," he said, "I didn't see you were a messenger. Join the section leader of Long Melford. He's in charge now. Top man gets the messenger to pass on the orders."
Doubling up to the bungalow, I joined a group of men near the back door: plenty of smoke.
A member of the Long Melford brigade, my old uncle, George Oakley, grabbed a hose and went in.
The Youngers - all four of them - were outside of the fire, near the door.
"There's a fireman down!" shouted Ernie Younger.
In went Dad, grabbed his relation Oakley's legs and proceeded to pull him out. There followed a description of Glemsford men in general, from Uncle George, and of his relatives in particular.
Dad fled.
Fireman Oakley had been "down" to get under the smoke.
Knowing Dad's temper at the embarrassment, I joined my Uncle George.
"We'll soon have this lot out," he said, "that's if your old man don't come and throw us both out."
There was a sandbag and pole near the door, and on crawling to the open back door I received the bag and pole.
"Drop that on the bomb, boy,"
said George, which was done.
George then doused the same with water.
On a concrete floor, the thing was soon out.
"Ladder," shouted Fireman Oakley.
This came through the door on his command. Long Melford crew were old peace-time hands and knew their jobs.
He then flung open the door to the hall and smashed the ladder through the trap door.
"Up you go boy," he said, giving me a torch.
"Shine it on the roof. Tell me how many holes. That's the amount of incendiaries."
"We got three," replied Messenger Porter.
"Leave the one to your left, forward, under control."
The noise below, of water, broken glass and the hiss of fire, confirmed this.
"Cut out the smouldering timber round the one behind, shout "Water on" and stand back."
I did so, but not before some of the water from below had got me as well.
"Fire to the right behind," I reported.
Firemen don't take kindly to fire at the rear.
"Come down," said George, "branch to the back and rear."
Descending to the hall, I found George standing by the door.
"As soon as you hear the water in there, kick the door in."
I followed his orders to the letter. Fireman Oakley knew his job and the outside crew soon had it well under control.
"Report to Webb," he said. "He's section leader. Tell him I'm making a last check, and stay out till I come out."
By this time, the four residents - three males, one female - all with overcoats on, were about to be moved to a safer area.
Mrs Younger made as if to re-enter the dwelling. She was promptly restrained by the local P.C., a man doing extra time past his pension, due to the war.
"Hold you hard, gel," he said, "you can go in a minute or two."
"I must, I must," replied the woman, "I want me teeth, I want me teeth."
"Teeth, Mrs," said the P.C., "these are bombs falling, not bloody sandwiches."
A fair crowd had now arrived, including two air raid wardens.
Dad had got a torch and was shining it on his own and a neighbour's roof. Too much of a temptation for the Wallies:
"Put that light out! You want to get us all blown up?" they shouted.
A hundred yards away, the factory roof was blazing like a beacon. Dad found someone to vent his anger on.
"I am looking for holes in the roof, to see if there are bombs in there," he replied, and added that if they knew their bloody jobs, it was what they got paid for.
Exit two wardens.
"This is out, boy, return to your crew," said the section leader.
Returning to the first fire, I followed the old drill of "round the bombs" - now considerably reduced.
There arrived yet a new person in the rank of a Fire Officer.
Fireman Parker, who had remained on fire number one, touched my shoulder:
"Officer, boy, give him your report, and don't forget to salute. He's now in charge."
Four head men on one job; I was doing well.
"Two incidents, both now under control. Senior crew returning to station."
Giving him a smart salute, he grew about a foot taller and replied by enquiring as to my name and the state of Fireman Sparkes' health.
"Wounded," I replied.
Sparkes then got his first aid, albeit somewhat overdue.