On 2nd September 1939 , the firm where my father worked (Anglo Iranian Oil Company -- later BP) was evacuated en masse to South Wales where they worked out of the refinery at Llandarcy near Neath.
After a few weeks there my parents found a house in a place called Black Pill, near Swansea and we lived there quite happily (despite air raids) until 1942 when it was deemed safe for everyone to return to London. (Just in time for the buzz bombs and rockets I might add.)
An occasion that I recall vividly was when my mother and I walked down the hill to Black Pill station in order to catch a tram to The Mumbles. The track ran right along the shoreline of Swansea Bay and the entire beach area was reputedly mined as a deterrent to a potential invasion.
Black Pill station sat in the middle of the divided tracks with the 'Down' trams pulling in on the seaward side. It was here that we sat awaiting our transport and admiring the lovely coastal views.
Suddenly somebody shouted, 'There's a dog in the minefield!' and we all froze. But, being British, no one was game to be the first to move to the other side of the station with the result that we all sat rooted to the spot, terrified and unable to take our eyes off this little terrier.
Suddenly a fog horn of a voice shouted out 'Get the hell out of there you lot -- can't you see that dog?' This was the excuse we needed and as one we broke all records for moving from front to back of the station.
Shortly after this our tram arrived and we piled aboard and within a few seconds were breathing heartfelt sighs of relief as we were moved (very slowly) from the danger zone.
We never did find out what became of that dog -- all we knew for sure was that it had obviously not triggered any mines. But forever after we wondered about that minefield -- did it really exist or was it an almighty con?
Peter Dudley, Western Australia, 2002
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