蜜芽传媒

Walthamstow Wanderer 2

By

Albert Augustus Crisp
November 1911 鈥� June 2001

I wasn't going to mention an event concerning Bob Beaumont, but as it is one I will never forget, I will do so. He had, as a schoolboy, and not since, cups and medals for boxing. He had taken on Bill Foster, from Upminster, over at the gym. This Foster was a good athlete and ran for Essex Beagles in civvy street. He also ran a boys club. I have never seen anyone walk as far on his hands. I never saw them box, but Foster came back with two badly swollen eyes that turned black the next morning. I mentioned Foster's prowess as an athlete because chaps who watched, said that they couldn't make out why he had so little idea of how to box. Bob Beaumont had kept prodding him in the face and he hadn't even dodged out of the way at all. When I heard, I got onto Beaumont a bit, saying that he shouldn't have "gone to town" on a mate like that, it wasn't a competition. We didn't speak for a few days, but it all blew over. When it had, he offered to take me over the gym. I wasn't keen, but it was in front of several of my mates and I didn't like refusing and so accepted. On getting in the ring (I had never been in one before), I walked towards him, unprepared, to ask him whether we were going to have ten minutes sparring about or a rest in between rounds. He got stuck into me, while my hands were by my side, and viscously too. To me, he didn't seem like my mate, his face read "I am going to knock you so far that it will cost you a fiver train fare to get back". During a spell, when he eased up to have a breather, a funny thing happened. A thought flashed through my head, concerning cigarette cards that I collected as a schoolboy. I had a set of twenty-five cards on boxing instructions. One said, that if an opponent rushed at you, step to one side and punch across at him. When he next came rushing at me, I tried it. The result was, I was standing in the ring on my own. Bob had taken an unwanted dive through the ropes, and on his visit to the floor, had broken a piece off a front tooth. This definitely spoilt his looks. He often remarked afterwards, that he wished I hadn't done it, and that it was his own fault. News travels fast, and another fellow asked me to go over to the gym. He was a nice fellow and knew what went on, saying, just a spar about for a bit of exercise. That's all it proved to be and afterwards, he said, "you've done a bit of this before haven't you鈥�. I said that I hadn't, and why should he think so. He replied that he couldn't hit me.

It was from Ramsey, at the back end of 1942, that I managed to get released to civvy street. I went to M.A.R.C.O.' a Government run engineering firm that made Hispano cannons. On arriving at Marco's we were told that the items we were to work on. We were wanted so urgently, that they didn't have time to teach civvies, both to work the machines and use and read measuring instruments. The R.A.F. men had been taught how to use inside and outside callipers and also to read micrometers. I was put in touch with a Welfare Officer who fixed me up with digs, and what digs. I went to this address which was close to the factory; which was in Grantham Lincs by the way. Once when I came home on leave, I saw planes in the grounds of Lebus's, a furniture factory, and wondered why I couldn't have gone there and worked on aircraft, being that the factory was only five miles from my home. An old lady, with another one of similar age, opened the door. They showed me to my room, which was very sparse. Through the Welfare Officer I had found out the address of a mate who had gone to Grantham before me. I told the old ladies I wanted to see him before settling in. It was early in the day then. Be in before 10pm I was told.

When I got back, there was some small talk for a while, during which, one said, 鈥渋t鈥檚 so cold at that end of the house that we call it the North Atlantic鈥�. I began to wonder where I had landed. No gas, no electric, out comes the old-fashioned candleholder, plus candle of course. I had a soft back book, and thinking at 10 o'clock; 鈥淚'll have a read鈥�. When I got to bed, it was so cold that I couldn't keep my hands out to hold the book. I was a good mind to put my trousers etc back on. Worse was to follow. When I sat at the small table for breakfast, my rations were pushed towards me and I was told to help myself. Both their heads were nearly touching mine and they seemed to be watching my every move. Two ounces of cheese, whatever it was of marge, 鈥渕y fat鈥� - to them. I didn't eat much and got to work.

Then I sorted out my mate, Fred Crane - from Hammersmith, and almost begged him to get me in his digs. I'm sure he thought I was exaggerating as to my abode. His landlady wanted to see me, hurrah for that! She said on hearing my tale of woe that she didn't like to turn me down, but she had her quota and I would have to explain to the Welfare Officer and get new digs. Shame it was nice there!

Anyway I got fixed up with a family; Dixon's of Dysart Road. She had two other chaps, a RAF chap and a civvy. She had a husband and three children and worked much too hard and it showed on her face. First one up, last one to bed and baked her own bread. On top of the RAF bloke and me, both had our wives down there. After a time, Mum was threatened with prison, if she didn't go to a laundry as directed. She wouldn't go - but got out of trouble by working at the factory next door to me. It was all one somehow but called M.A.P. They showed films on a small screen in my place and Mum used to come in. She had a little trouble there, they wanted her to work with gunpowder, but she said some of the girls were the colour of canaries. Anyway she didn't do it. Then I got put on regular night work. We worked there because we could read the micrometer and understand inside and outside callipers etc and so needed only to learn how to operate the machines. I was mostly on a "surface grinder". I worked on parts that had to be ground to a tolerance of thousands of an inch and in some cases. Where parts were not tightened down in the jig properly they would be incorrectly ground. I bought a packet of "Blue Rizla" cigarette papers (as instructed). One of these, placed under one end of a part could get it "straightened out" and so save it from being scrapped. In a way the same thing applied here. You had been taught to grind the carborundum wheel by means of a diamond set on a kind of stand with a protractor to get the angle wanted and you used a little trigger far from the diamond to operate it. At the plant these were missing. The toolmakers made a series of small blocks, all different angles, and the diamond was set in another little block, about 1.5" long and probably the same height. Using these, your knuckles were very near the wheel and the maximum of care was needed. I had one slip up, but was lucky, only two stitches.

There was a film with Tommy Trinder in it that was dedicated to Melville Johns called "The Foreman Went to France". He got a much-wanted machine out of occupied France and this machine was at the M.A.R.C.O. factory, but Johns had left before I got there. Apparently he was in a big bust up. The reason for this was, as told to me, that he could not get enough control in the company. I thought I might be out of the services for good, as I was doing pretty good work wise and had been told so, but I got recalled the back end of 1943 and sent to Henlow. I didn't think of it until I was told that I would be returning to the R.A.F., but enough "locking pieces", on which I was working, had been turned out for two or three wars. To increase production at Marco's, they repositioned the machines, so as to cut down cartage from one to another. They put the milling machines next to the surface grinders, one of which I used to work on. This idea didn't work, as the milling machines caused vibration that affected the finish made by the surface grinders, so they had to move all the machinery back to their previous positions.

Henlow was a large camp and unusual, in as much as the railway ran right through the camp. When on leave you more or less stepped out of your hut and onto the train. I soon met up with slight trouble there. During an assembly, the N.C.O. said that lads wandering the camp in twos and threes made it look untidy - one case was when those on cookhouse duties strolled up to do their job of work. You got a week of this and seven men were concerned. You went early in the morning to help with breakfast, then lunchtime and at night. Not many lads bothered at night - it was a plate of soup and a slice of bread. Anyway there were seven of us for the job. The officer looked us over and pointed to me and said you look a "likely lad"' you can march them up and back. We had to meet at a spot near the huts, fall into "heap" of 3 lots of 2 and I had to walk at the side and march them up and ditto coming back, that is after forming up outside the cookhouse. When we passed an officer, I had to shout eyes right or left, according to what side he was on and "sling one up" as the saying goes.

On the way back, one chap said "I'm not taking orders from a rookie", he was a regular. I said "Okay, I'll see the officer and tell him, unless you want to". He knew that couldn't happen and so he offered me a trip over the gym that night. I didn't fancy it a lot, but what is a guy to do? I accepted and when I did that he started to climb down and said he'd let me off. Sensing he wasn't too sure, I thought it may be that I could take him down a peg and pushed for the punch up. In the end he was more embarrassed than I, because he ate humble pie and backed out.

Then there was the night I stood at the dining hall entrance (there were two halls) and as the lads turned up I asked them if they minded using the other dining hall. It seemed a waste of time and energy, cleaning up after a dozen or so had messed up the tables and floor. Why not all go and mess up the other one not ours. As already stated the lads preferred the NAAFI. All went well until one little squirt said that there was nothing on orders to say that one Dining hall was not in use.

The stubborn little blighter insisted and so we had to let him go and get his plate of soup. It sounds a bit paltry to try to get away with, but they made such a mess. You always got one or two throwing stuff around.

Overseas - eventually

I got posted overseas, the end of 1943 from Henlow, after a couple of false alarms. I had three embarkation leaves before actually going. Mum always came as far as Kings Cross station, both to meet me and see me off, on all leaves. We met under the clock. On the embarkation leave, it seemed as though Mum sensed it was the final one as she shed a few tears this time. George Atkins put his arm around her shoulders, and said, "we'll look after him".

I sailed from Greenock in Scotland, on the P&O liner "Mooltan" bound for Bombay. The ship "The Mooltan" that we went abroad on was an army ship. We were well in the minority and maybe that accounted for us being on the bottom deck. I heard our officer having words with an army officer as to the clearing up down there. He stated that the air force lads weren鈥檛 doing it and it should have been done by the Italian prisoners. The prisoners that had been on our ship obviously knew something of this and reckoned they were similarly treated. . On our table it had "ALTMARK" cut in the lino on the top. It meant nothing to us and I didn't know until the war was finished when I saw on the television how one of our ships "the Kossack" captured a German ship " the Altmark" and found a lot of our lads battened down in the hold and with no room to move. They were so packed in, that they were nearly chewing each others鈥� ears off. The Italians, obviously knew of this and either were, or thought they were, treated likewise. I know about the prisoners, because, this was essentially an army boat, we being well outnumbered, and our officer and an army one were arguing. The khaki blighter was trying to get some of our lads to scrape muck off the woodwork on the floor beneath the last of the irons stairs on the way down. Our officer told him in impolite terms, that the Italian prisoners should have done it and no way should our lads, who incidentally were all housed below the water line.

It was so hot down where we were, that we kipped where we could get. All the decent hammock places were booked. I got up on deck one night and that was okay until early morning, I felt a bit wet and heard "Washee Deckee". I wished they had shouted that before they splashed the water about and not after you were soaked.

When we had our meals, one heard a rat a tat tat on the tabletop. This was caused by the noise of the plates as each man let the cockroaches pass and put his plate back on the table.

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