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In memory of Billy (William) Samways who died in April 2004. These are extracts from a much longer letter of childhood memories written in 1998.

These are a few of my husband’s childhood memories of the war. He was born in 1936 and had a sister and brother. His brother Victor was born as war broke out. His father had volunteered and was in the RAF. They lived at Burgh Heath Surrey but Bill and his mother, brother and sister were sent down to stay with relatives in Somerset at different times. They stayed at Mudford, Brympton and Box with different Aunts and Uncles.

HIS STORY

During the war we stayed for some time at Box, Brympton and Mudford. It all depended on how my parents saw the danger of the bombing and we were backwards and forwards over about a 2½ year period.

We used to stand in the bakery drive and as the Yanks in convoys passed through Mudford on the way to the coast. Us youngsters would shout out 'Got any gum chum' The Yanks threw it onto the road in response and you had to be nifty to pick the small package before the next wagon ran you over. You couldn't get enough as there were quite a number of kids and as some were very small the older ones got a share for them. You ran onto the road picked up the gum and into the orchard driveway. The next package you would reverse orchard to bakery. Sometimes stray wagons stopped at the shop and Enie and Bill (Aunt and Uncle)were glad, it was good trade. With no risk attached we would still ask 'Got any gum chum' and sometimes we might get a stick. Always they would ask 'Have you any big sisters?'

Father joined up in Spring 1939. At the time it was the 'Phoney War '. He joined firstly because the call up age if war took place was 45. He had experience of the R.A.F. and instead of hanging on in the hope of peace. Where upon if peace failed he may end up as a trooper or matelot. Wise move.

These early boys became the B.E.F. and off to Belgium and France. Father had been out a couple of times via Jersey. He brought home some presents, some are still about today. He was given a short leave to see Victor born and he was delivered the day before war was declared. Auntie Elsie, a midwife, was present.
The war began and off he went to France again.
He came home a couple of times for a day or two to sort out equipment required on the expected front.

On one stop over plane a Dornier was flying around. Father never believed me, no German planes would fly over England. Next, an almighty explosion. Father in uniform grabbed me and we ran down the road towards Tattenham Corner. People were looking about wondering. A man stopped his car and Father was asked to sit in, the uniform had power, while we drove about. Nothing was found. When Father had gone and some days later news filtered through that it was a lone German raider and he dropped one bomb through the centre of the Epsom Grandstand. The crew had acted on their own.

Father's next trip back was via Dunkirk, we had all gone to Somerset by then.Auntie Elsie used our house as her base and one day he turned up bedraggled, a spent force, grubby and starved. Elsie got to Somerset and told Mother to get home fast. Mother went off. The journey was long as it was at night and trains pulled in because their fire boxes could have shown enemy planes rail locations.

He only ever spoke of the fun he and his service pals had months before the serious warfare took place for them. Lots of aerobatics, French girls, learnt to speak French. The only thing he said to me and Mother one day was when France collapsed he and his crew saw the Germans coming down the streets firing at anything that moved and as we know our boys had no option but to run fast. His only mention of war.

.

During the war all these American fighters from Yeovilton used to be winging about those hills. I always thought the aircraft were Brewster Buffalos. All day long the stubby fighters were buzzing around like bees around a hive. When I read the book on the History of Yeovilton , no such aircraft was recorded there. It is a good book. I forgot which type it was. So there you have it. Brewsters Buffalos at the time was all right by me.

At some stage during the war Father was stationed at Hullavington. From home a few doors down was a high ranking officer also there. The officer, a Mr Baron used to travel in uniform, Father in civies. He would bring Father home and take him back on long weekends. Short time off duty he stayed at Box.

One weekend after an air raid nearby all our windows were blown out, houses not far away lost. Father had replaced the glass several times from previous raids. His words were 'Running out of glass. I'll make good when the war is over.' I liked his confidence. That's the way it stood boarded until hostilities ceased.

At this moment he decided with Mother that it would be safer for us kids to be at Box. So one evening the neighbour agreed to take us all to Box. He owned several quality cars and this one was an SS Jaguar. Superb, a thrill for me. It was a long journey in time, handicapped by the car lighting restrictions etc. Before we got to Box my young brother decided to be violently sick. Father , always swift to react, in one swoop off came his trilby hat and caught all the contents luckily. Alighting at Cecil's we were greeted by Marjorie who was astonished to be the recipient of the hat and the substance therein contained. Father said 'Marge find the nearest sink and dispose of this. I'll have the hat back when dry.' Father and the driver continued their journey to camp.

At Auntie Floss and Uncle Sid's at Brympton we used to walk round the rear of Westland's. Hurricanes and Spitfires were built there under licence. All tethered on the perimeter of the airfield. Wonderful sight.

Mother was with us three there. With the fruit in abundance Mother decided to make Elderberry wine. Off we went along the hedgerows of Brympton. After a while you were stained deep purple, hands mainly and where ever you had a scratch. On arriving back at the cottage Auntie Floss saw the state of us and our clothing and out came the tin bath. Early evening though it was each of the three of us were scrubbed and pumice stoned where the stains were deepest and off to bed. Having got there silence for some considerable time as we expected Mother to be given the same treatment as she was stained as well. Of course it was never going to happen. On another occasion we were all on a stroll round Alvington Lane. Suddenly a heavy storm broke. I was ahead and took a chance and ran home. Still raining fast, at back door waiting arms akimbo, Floss. An arm shot out, grabbed one of mine. I was through the door horizontal, stripped into the tin bath, washed, pyjamas on and up to bed. I was upset. As each one of us kids came into range a repeat operation until all three of us were up in bed howling. Why Mother missed out on that episode as well was another mystery because she was even wetter than us.

Mother used to take all the children that lived locally to Preston school as well as me and my sister. Victor was too young but strolled along for the exercise. I and three other local lads used to hang on behind on the return journey and collect 'long dog ends' the Yanks discarded. Mother gave up urging us to keep up and accepted that we would always lag behind. The last field before Alvington had an entrance gate on the road side. Over we went and in an old bomb crater we would sit and puff away. For some time this went on until one day a Yank army policeman came at us. We ran for our lives. Two were able to clear the gate and make good escapes. I and another were about to follow when this Yank shouted out loud 'Stop or I'll fire', a quick glance behind and he had his pistol raised. My legs went to jelly and the gate was suddenly 10ft high. Mind and body ceased to co-ordinate. I was going nowhere and my associate had put his hands up and I waited for the bang. Much to my relief there wasn't one. This guy soon came up to us and thorough interrogation took place. We had been surveyed for quite a long period smoking and he was, he said, trying to find our source of supply. He was told it was throw-outs from passing wagons and collected daily by us, keeping the longest. In no uncertain terms we were told off by the Yank who was dressed in polished Sam Brown pistol holster, jackboots, mention of magistrate courts, prison, fines no end to it. My world had collapsed. The end had arrived. I still had to face Auntie Floss. My mate and I were so tearful and fearful of the list of punishments. He made a memo of our addresses and said expect him very soon to arrive at home.

When I arrived at home I only idled about for a short period and decided to take myself to bed, early though it was. I told Mother I felt tired, weakly and that I did. Also I knew if this fellow called and Floss got hold of the subject I'd have been scrubbed and up there so much faster. Mother had no say in disciplinary matters.
Not too long passed and there came a knock on the front door. I looked out of the window. There in the porch was the back of a tall man in khaki, same polished diagonal sam brown belt and boots. I never heard any commotion. I gave up. Got into bed, sobbed and waited. I waited and waited. No noise, shouting, explosions. Brother and sister came to bed quite normally. Next day, although ready to jump out of my skin, still nothing and nothing was I ever to hear.

About 25 years later I told of this to my mother. She remembered the boys lagging behind and the Yank calling at home. My behaviour wasn't the subject. This Yank was a cunning operator and through me was able to see a chance to chat up my mother.
My mother was quite pretty even at 40ish . I know she did go for a drink with him once at least and he came with gifts, funnily enough would you believe fags. There were oranges that I remember. The Yanks on their camps were well supplied with items of all kinds, the English went without.

Tom Samways had been missing in action abroad and the family were quite subdued. Suddenly a telegram arrived to say he had been located and was hospitalised with typhoid or some tropical ailment. He would be on his way home as soon as possible and might need care.

So off again to Mudford. We went by Southern National and Wakes to Mudford. Harold gave as a leaving present a toy precious to him and to me. It used to actually go under water. When we got off at Mudford I remembered it was still on the bus. Enie phoned Sparkford, no trace. I knew as much.

My induction to Preston Primary School. On meeting the Headmistress I was shocked to hear her say ' I remember your father, he was trouble. I hope you're not going to be the same.' 'What a start ' crossed my mind. You and Bert must have been taught by the same teacher at some time. Her name I never remembered.

At Mudford school I was introduced by Miss King to all the other children gathered around. So sweet, so at home and no axe to grind. She lived nearby opposite the school. One day I was selected to help Raymond to go and collect the buns from the bakery each morning , a kind of ritual tea-break. They were always laid out in a wooden tray on grease proof paper. The pupils paid 1d for them. For me it was an honour to do this. I had achieved at last a pinnacle in life's highway.

I never remember going to school at Box. I may have done. I remember passing Uncle Cecil's Auntie Mill daily. She always waited by her front door. Her house was on the left hand side a short way down the lane. I visited her later with Enie and Bill. She was very old but seemed to me very wise.

At home they had the 1000 plus bomber raids. There were several of these. They congregated over the South East. The skies were black as they formed up not many yards apart for the bombing of Germany.

At home there was very little schooling. At Burgh Heath it was closed because there were insufficient shelters. Some rooms were set aside for those pupils at the Secondary one 200 yds from where we lived at Banstead. When I attended due to my travels most of the time was spent in the shelters singing 'Ten green Bottles'. When the warning bell rang an orderly rush was made for those underground, damp, smelly, concrete rooms with wooden benches down each side.

With two pals I'd hang behind hoping for a dog fight between aircraft. I remember a Doodle Bug once being chased along going straight for London by our boys and also the Army took shots at it. We were scolded by the teaching staff for watching that. At home one day I saw a Spitfire go alongside another unmanned aircraft, tip it with its wing from going towards London from us through 90º and disappear easterly in the direction of Croydon. The very first one we knew about was at night when we heard this loud rasping drone. We all had trained ears for aircraft and could tell reasonably accurately whether it was friend or foe. Father was on leave and shot outside our rear door. Soon returning he had it summed up. 'That one won't last long, it's on fire and will crash shortly.' Perfect, within about a couple of minutes, a huge explosion, shook everything. Father remarked, 'There you are, didn't I tell you'. Many days were to go by before the press revealed what this object was. It had been held back by Ministry advice to prevent panic among the natives.

Father had dug a large hole in the garden and had fitted the galvanised shelter, Anderson I believe the name was, thick corrugated steel. Father had done his best and when he came home Mother pointed out, after many nights in it when bombing was heavy, the whole inside was saturated and we all had awful colds. Blankets were ringing wet.

When the war was over the Government asked £5 for every shelter if you kept it. Father refused but kept the steel sheets , covered the chicken house with it and some of it remains today. His thinking was that he deserved it free as he served his country. They worried him for some time. I don't think he ever paid.

On another leave period of Father's there was a dog fight over Croydon Airport area. Father and I watched this with great interest so fascinating the darting, banking, spinning, so many different manoeuvres carried out, very hard from where we were to tell who was who. There was flack exploding thrown in for good measure. From the shelter entrance Mother appeared . She was livid. She gave Father a massive verbal onslaught on the stupidity of risking our lives., him encouraging me and youngsters to follow suit etc. I remember entering the shelter quiet and suitably chastised. Father got stationed at Blackpool so we lodged up there for a while. Hundreds of aircraft, all kinds around the drome, I spent hours watching them.

We went round Blackpool Tower. Inside was a Zoo. A keeper while we were there walked along inside the safety rail and used to pull the lion's and tiger's etc ears and tails through the bars of their cages as they rested there. The animals would snarl and some folk were amused. Father and Mother thought he was foolish. One might say a Gascoigne type character. A day or so later the lion saw his chance and reversed the situation. He pulled the keeper's arm only he used his mouth and the arm came right off. Father brought the headline on the local paper to our lodgings and it was all round agreement 'I told you so'.

The cottage at Brympton used to be called Samways Cottage. There is now a close of houses near Alvington Lane called Samways Close.

Pam Samways May 2004

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