1940, and the war started in earnest. The French army, shot through with apathy and panic, collapsed, and the BEF fought a stubborn if somewhat disorderly retreat and evacuation. A new name sprung to the lips of every Briton: Dunkirk.
Its impact was soon felt in the village.
A well-known light infantry, the HLI, came to billet, home from the beaches. Their uniforms were patched and stained. Some had steel helmets, some Glengarries, some the traditional side (Scottish) hats. Some had rifles, some bayonets, but they marched and drilled as soldiers on or off duty. They were soldiers - regulars - and each with a burning desire to avenge their comrades of the 51st division left behind in France, through trying to prop up a broken French army to which they had been attached.
The battalion was re-fitted with uniforms and equipment, and the pipe band arrived from Murrayhill Barracks. Drills, band concerts and church parades followed. They arrived battered but unbeaten; they left us marching behind the pipes and drums, playing "Will ye nae come back again?", to take up anti-invasion posts on the Channel coast.
One of Hitler's better decisions was not to invade, but this was to the bitter disappointment of the 1st Battalion, The Highland Light Infantry. God bless them! They certainly lifted our morale and, to judge by the number who returned to marry in the district, we must have done a lot for them.
Hitler met three more major set-backs that summer.
He tried to burn the corn crops with incendiary bombs. But the corn had already been cut thanks to an early harvest, and the spaced out stooks of corn made a bad target.
Us locals let the bombs burn out between the stooks, and the odd one or two that he hit were pulled away quite easily from the fire.
The other two were of course the Spitfire and the Hurricane which made the life of some enemy bomber crews a short one.
It began to dawn on me that, while still serving my time as an apprentice cabinet maker in a hand shop, a situation that entailed a 14 mile bike ride 6 days a week, plus some 10 hours away from home, that I should join in the fight against treachery and oppression.
The Home Guard had been formed. Previously known as the Local Defence Volunteers, their name was translated into "Suffolk" as the Look, Duck and Vanish Brigade. Watching this lot in their old denim-type battle dress did not inspire me to join them. First Aid was not my cup of tea.
The Suffolk Police were insistent on a higher age limit, and I knew that I stood a good chance of being disinherited if I joined them. Joining the Wehrmacht would have been a lesser crime.
This left the air raid wardens who it seemed wandered around the village looking for minute chinks of light whereupon they shouted "Put that light out. You want to get us all blown up?" Their uniform was non-existent and their equipment consisted of a large gas mask, a small blacked out torch and a steel helmet painted white with a prominent W in black on the front. They were all pronounced Wallies, or a less complimentary title.
This left the Auxiliary Fire Service.