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Chapter 2 Life in the Workplace

After our night in Bristol we took the train to Doncaster and then on to the small village of Dinnington. There we embarked from the bus, 20 refugees and four locals. Our friends had now become the locals and we were the outsiders, however their parents welcomed us with open arms and were very hospitable. They were a strong Christian family and as a result full of love and understanding for our predicament. We stayed with the parents of our friends the Smiths whilst they resided with other members of their family. Three other groups were also billed to members of the same family and we were all touched by the way they pulled together to help us. Thus we were all able to settle with the knowledge that we at least had a roof over our heads, a comforting thought at any time.

Shortly afterwards the men reported to the nearest labour exchange which was about half a days walk each way. Once there we were appointed to work in the mine and ordered to report to the managers’ office, this we dutifully did. We were all dressed in similar attire, our ‘very best’ as we only brought one set of clothes each, the ones we wore at the time. Picture the scene; there we stood all brand new and green as the hills, in Guernsey we used the saying:

“Fresh out of the band box.�

Well the manager took one look at us and though I cannot print the language in these pages he mean in no uncertain terms that we were to get out of his office at once! His parting shot was that:

“If I took you on, I’d kill you on your first day down that pit,�

I could not agree more! So it was back to the labour exchange where we had to explain the situation. We were given another assignment in Maltby where a huge armaments factory was being built; this was half an hour away by bus. We dutifully attended the site and were each assigned different tasks. Mine was to report to a Wakefield prison warder who was looking after 40 prisoners that were digging the foundations, in solid rock! I was in at the deep end and the warder gave me a look that seemed to mean as much. However I was with a gang of understanding men and though I took more than my fair share of leg pulling it was all reasonably good-natured, nothing nasty.

My safety seemed sealed when one day a guardian angel stood before me in the form of a boxer. He stood before me rather than by my side, turned to the crowd and announced in words that they would all clearly understand that anyone who touched me would also be touching him. From that point on everyone showed me a little more respect.

One morning I had to report to another area of the site where I got on with the next job. I always carried a flask of tea with me ‘Guernsey fashion’ and one morning the ‘Ganger’ or under-foreman caught me having a cup behind a pile of bricks. Being a stubborn ‘Guernsey Donkey’ I also answered back strongly (I was getting to know the ropes by now and with that my confidence had grown a bit). However this resulted in me getting sacked on the spot.

So it was back to the inmates and the prison warder who by now was more a friend to me than a boss. It wasn’t long before he informed me that he had found me a better job as an oil rag to the driver of a huge digger. The only additional responsibility was that I had to arrive 15 minutes before everyone else to oil and grease the machine and find the petrol to start the days work, I jumped at the offer. Life in my new role was never dull, and I had several narrow escapes when trying to dislodge boulders that had become wedged in the bucket.

One day I had to go off to fetch a 5 gallon (not small) can of petrol from the depot, this was about a quarter of hours walk away form the site. On my return I found the driver who I had become friends with well blooded. Apparently the night before he had got too friendly with the wife of another worker on the site. There had been a nasty fight that had eventually resulted in my mate getting dragged along the stony surface; his face was a sorry mess. I got a bucket of water and washed his dirty, bloody face as well as I could. This was an important lesson that shouldn’t have to be learned the same way as my mate did.

A Change of Scenery

Unbeknown to us my wife’s brother-in-law and his family had settled in the suburbs of Peterborough. Through the Red Cross he was given our address and wrote to ask after our situation. We informed him that we had only one bedroom and that our daughter had to sleep in the same bed as ourselves as there was no room for another bed. He eventually get in touch again and told us that there was a place for us in Peterborough so long as we were happy to share with one other lady. The house was in Stone Lane where we would have two rooms and a kitchen. The next step was to apply to the Labour Exchange for permission to leave. My first application was refused, as they needed more details as to why I was making the request. After having explained the situation permission was granted and I reported to the Peterborough Labour Exchange where I was told to wait for further instructions.

After very fervent and loving farewells from the dear old couple in Dinnington we departed. We were very sorry to leave but we knew that it would be the best for everyone. We then arrived in yet another new environment, again having to adjust with no job and very little finance. I anxiously waited for news from the labour exchange but day after day nothing came. In the meantime my brother-in-law, who belonged to the Salvation Army Corps in Peterborough, had informed their commanding officer of our plight and he had started making enquiries on our behalf. He was informed of an opening for work at a factory in Warrington, just outside the city.

One morning there was a knock on the door and there stood the Major, he asked if I would be willing to work in the factory should they accept me. I immediately said yes and the same afternoon found myself stood outside the factory gates. Another big burly policeman marched me through to the Works Mangers’ office, where I was asked about my background. I told him where I was from and of coarse he could not pronounce it. However he was professional and not unkind in his manner, which was quite refreshingly different to some of my previous encounters that had to be taken with a pinch of salt. After some further questioning I was accepted, but only with a stern warning that this was the number one factory and on signing the dotted line I was there for the duration of the war. I would have to work wherever they wanted and whenever it they wanted. All of this suited me just fine and I signed on the dotted line gratefully, at last I could again do something for my adopted country and My Beloved Island.

The next morning I was in and a part of the war effort. The workforce numbered between 7 and 8000 men and women. In the beginning it was by no means easy, there were around 350 people in my ‘shop’ and getting to know who to trust, who to be aware of and when to stand your ground with was a difficult but urgent process. You soon learnt that there was no such thing as a ‘left handed screwdriver.’ As far as the work was concerned you started at the bottom on the smallest machine and worked your way up; you had to learn quickly from any mistakes. In due coarse I worked on 5 different types of machine with increasing responsibility each time. With each part came a deadline and with the increasing responsibility meeting that deadline became more important. I took great pride in my work and found the finished products very rewarding.

For the first two years I worked on the night shift, this ran seven days a week from 8pm to 8am. There were few breaks, though on rare occasions we would get a night off. As you can imagine I saw very little of my home life which consisted of sleep before I returned to work. I feel it important to mention the strain on my wife and young daughter at this point. We moved to six different homes during the five and a half years their and our only claim was the bedroom that we would be in at each of these homes. Only at the first house in Stone Lane did we have two rooms and our own kitchen. The rest of the time my wife had to work around the schedule of whomever we would be residing with. My daughter Jean also reached school age during this time. She attended four different schools; this was very disruptive for her education, especially at her last, a village school where she was in a class two years behind her previous one.

Once settled in Peterborough, through my brother in Doncaster we were able to find out where my eldest brothers’ two children were billeted. It was agreed that we would have them in our homes as much as possible, during the school holidays Ethel would come to us and Raymond would go to my brother. Only on occasion would Raymond be able to pay us a visit, how we all managed to stick together now seems incredible. On Ethels’ return journey we would leave home very early to travel to Chester where she would continue the short remaining journey up to Denbigh. I would return home at this point in order to get to the factory in time for 8am if at all possible.

During my time at the factory I made some very firm friends. I can still remember Cecil coming over to me and saying:

“Andy (I was always known as Andy in the workshop), come on give back as good as you get or they will slaughter you.�

These were not his exact words but nevertheless it was sound advice. In time I learnt to hold my own, and without swearing as being a Christian I could not do that, though I could still make my point quite clear. After many years and still to this day Cecil and I have kept in touch. We have visited each other many times and shared our many experiences together.

Some of the most distinctive memories from the factory stem from the nights spent in the air raid shelter, especially during the raids on Coventry and Sheffield. Our hearts went out to our people on those fearful nights when the planes came up the Wash, over the Fens and on to the Midland cities. Also a target were the airfields so near to us, both American and British. I can still remember the thousands of GIs in our city, to their credit they would stop and embrace Jean and give her chocolate or sweets. This of course thrilled her, as our ration books did not extend to such luxuries.

Factory life went on and eventually I was put onto the day shift as I was upgraded onto a centre lathe and very interesting work. The tide of war began to turn in the favour of the Allied forces, the pressure began to ease and we all desperately longed for victory. Then came the wonderful day, as we were on our daily routine a pal came over to me and shouted above the noise (you always had to shout):

“Andy, Mr Churchill has just announced that our dear Channel Islands’ have been liberated.�

The joy, the shouts and the excitement, our bay just erupted as they were all as excited as I was. It was over. The fight for freedom had been won, now we could set out to re-build our lives.

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