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With the fall of Dunkirk, the Home Guard was formed. Initially it was called the LDV, Local Defence Volunteers. Harold Taylor decided that when old enough, he would join up with the Chichester battalion, Chichester being his home town. Harold was born the same year as Queen Elizabeth II, midway between the two World wars. He recalls...
Friends of mine, Fred Stenning and Ernie Weller, being at least two years older than me, joined up at the Police Station, which was to be the recruiting centre. Gradually my other three friends joined, although probably only Alf was old enough. When Tony, who was only 4 months older than me joined, I decided to also. By this time they had sorted themselves out and had uniforms.
The platoon that covered my area was based at the drill hall, where I joined one night in September or October 1940, being about 14 and eight months.
Harry Foster, the butcher from Wilkin's the Butchers in East Street, was the lieutenant. He later became the proprietor of the Punch House. Harry Ferry, the shoe repairer from the Hornet, was the sergeant major. There were three sergeants who I did not know, Hedges and Hicks are two I recall, and later there was Renee.
Then there were Corporals Blytheman, Hounsome and Follet, and Lance Corporals Attfield and Weaver, the latter being the medic as well. Later Chris Palmer was made lance corporal and Ferry became 2nd lieutenant.
We paraded one evening a week for drill. On Sundays we did an exercise, and one night a week we did guard duties. On top of this I was doing one night a week fire watching at my employment, and an occasional one at the cathedral, where my brother, Bruno was on the rota. We would fill in for each other if some other commitment arose.
The fire watch point I kept for my employers was on top of 43 North Street, but also covered the adjoining two cottages, which were offices. We slept on the first floor in a room which was combination showroom and demonstration room.
The points we guarded for the Home Guard were first of all Cawley Priory, the home of Colonel D'arcy Little. What connection he had with the Home Guard I wasn't sure, as he never put in an appearance, although a lot of gear was stored in his garages. We slept in his billiard room and patrolled his grounds, with an occasional visit to some small Nissen type huts in the Westgate fields, which were reputed to hold ammunition and explosives.
Later we moved to St. Mary's Hospital, and slept in the abandoned dwellings in St. Martin's Square. Why the people had been moved, I do not know.
Our next move was to Graylingwell Hospital. Here we maintained guard on top of the water tower, which is still present. It was a long old climb up. We slept in the room beneath the water tank that covered almost the whole interior width, and was about 12 feet deep. We had to climb past this on vertical ladders to gain the flat roof, where our guard and observation took place. It was a good vantagepoint and we could see over the Westhampnett Airfield.
The one disturbing aspect about the night vigil was to hear below us, coming from one quarter or another, the screams, cries and other unnerving noises of the inmates of this mental establishment.
When I was fire watching on the Electric Company, the heavy industrial raids were taking place. All up Broyle Road, and the other main roads in and out of the city, there would be lines of all sorts of A.R.P. groups waiting for the raids to take place. Sometimes I am told there were as many as 300 vehicle in readiness from all over the country. Although distressing, from the roof of 43 North Street, one had a perfect view of the enflamed sky and the drift of smoke.
My first Sunday exercise with the Home Guard was to sit in the dry bed of the Lavant Course, with a Northover Projector. This was a device like a piece of rainwater pipe, which was intended for the purpose of throwing Molotov Cocktails at tanks. I was later moved to a trench on the bank of the Lavant to await an approaching enemy, who crept up and fired a gun through the bushes, which, luckily was loaded with blanks. This was fired so close to me that the flash and debris took nearly all the skin off the back of one hand.
During one evening parade shortly after joining, I excelled myself. The major in charge of the Chichester Battalion was a fellow named Gibson, who was manager of the National Provincial Bank in East Street. He appeared and decided to set the three platoons a hypothetical situation of defence. Each platoon under a lance corporal, in our case Attfield, was given a plan, and we had to state how we would defend it.
I largely devised our strategy, but being so new and bashful, would not be spokesman for our group. It was therefore left to Attfield, who did not outline it very well. Nevertheless, it was the plan that was adopted, with a few minor adjustments from the major to show he was in command.
We were originally equipped with Remington 300 American rifles, which fired rimless bullets, and later were issued with Canadian Ross 303's. However, I did not keep mine and was shortly equipped with a Browning automatic rifle (BAR) and 960 rounds of 300 ammunition. It makes one conjecture in these days - what would the public think if a lad of probably only just 15, was at home with an automatic rifle and nearly 1,000 rounds of lethal ammunition in his bedroom?
I was supposed to have a squad of two with me, though one rarely put in an appearance and the other was Corporal Weaver, who was usually on some other activity. I sometimes had a fellow I used to go to school with, assigned to me by the name of Sivyer, who came from Oving Road and worked at Bishop Otter College.
Pop Palmer, a Canadian of First World War vintage, came to me and told me he had been offered a full corporal's stripes, but he had declined them, suggesting they should be given to me. I was never offered them, however, but then I had only just turned 15. It was a nice gesture, from a man who had been an armourer in the First World War, and was proprietor of a local garage. The site is now occupied by Wadhams Kenning, in Westhampnett Road.
His son, who was a couple of years older than I, was later made up. There was also another older son in our platoon, who I have been in correspondence with in recent years because of two incidents. One was when I supplied material for the Observer regarding an anniversary of the start of the war, and the founding of the Home Guard. The other was because I had come into contact with a fellow who was apparently evacuated to Chichester, billeted on the farm in the water meadows, and used to play with the Palmer family.
The Home Guard, if nothing else, was a damn fine club. We were no. 6 Platoon and our headquarters was the Drill Hall in East Row, which had been the base for the Sussex Yeomanry. We had the advantage of a purpose made building for our training, together with the side offices for the running of the platoon. Better still, was the licensed clubroom overhead, which was equipped with a full sized billiard table, of which we made full use. Here we spent our hard earned 1/8d per month.
There came a point when it was decided that they would conscript people into the Home Guard. This meant that people who were in reserved occupations and not engaged in other emergency work, would be made to attend training sessions. Up till then we used to have a turnout of about 40 per session, which was about two thirds of our actual strength. With conscription we almost doubled our compliment, and there really was not room for them all in the Drill Hall.
About this time Bobby Pine joined us, whether as a conscript I do not know, neither do I know how he avoided call up for the armed services. I do recall in the early days of the war or just before, that his father had died. They ran the hardware store in Eastgate Square. The mother ran the sub post office. When his father died, Bobby took over running the shop.
I was accustomed to see the family pass the house every day. The old boy walked and the mother cycled. Bobby also cycled to school every day and was in the same class as my elder brother, so we were quite familiar with each other. A funny little story went around when his father died, but I do not know if the cause of death had any connection at all. When asking what he had died of, the reply had been, of ptomaine poisoning, that he was trimming his corns with a razor and cut himself.
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