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The war years were times of great excitement for boys of my age (11 in 1939). While aware of the danger to the Country and our young serving men, we were too young and too interested in the thrilling activities of the war to dwell on the heartache, suffering and loss of loved ones that inevitably was part of war.
My two older brothers were "in"even before the war started; Wyn a 21 year old militia call up and Owen a volunteer for the RAMC. Iwan, my third brother, was called up at eighteen in 1942. My war consisted of listening to the 6 o'clock news for the daily reports (Battle of Britain planes lost - theirs and ours, North Africa Campaign etc.) punctuated by short periods of leave by one or other brother. These were magic times for me as my parents and I were spellbound by the stories of ships sunk by torpedoes, action in various parts of the world (Battle of Malta, Nth Africa Landings, Landings in Italy) , photos, mementoes, gifts (Arab curved knife, trinkets from Egypt, a pair of surgeons rubber gloves no doubt pinched from the RAMC which I wore constantly, imagining myself performing feats of heroic surgery - no wonder I became a surgeon in later life).
Sometimes we had advanced warning that a brother was due home for leave but the best times were when the first warning was the sight of a kit-bagged figure pushing open the side gate and passing the living room window. Which one was it and what amazing tales to tell this time? What joy! It was heartbreaking to have to go to school next morning as it was agony to miss a single moment of those precious days. On one occasion, purely by chance, all three brothers arrived home with just a couple of days overlapping and the stories shuttled forth from one to the other.
My mother seemed to be psychic, due no doubt to her deep maternal anxiety about her boys. Suddenly she would proclaim that something terrible had happened. She would put a mark on the calendar and during a leave visit often months later quietly ask "What day was your ship sunk" and solemnly check her calendar mark. This happened perhaps four times during the war and each time or close to it there would be a significant incident to justify her concern. We were a very fortunate family because in spite of three torpedo sinkings, almost the loss of the Aircraft Carrier HMS Illustrious with horrendous loss of life, and a multiple fractured leg that almost came to amputation, all three brothers survived.
It became a ritual that I should inform Mr. Elwyn Thomas every time a brother came home on leave and he would invite Owen or Wyn and later Iwan to his home for an evening. He was fascinated by their experiences of war but also by their ability to cloak their often awe-full stories with humour and to recall the funnier moments of their adventures. He said to me once about my brothers that he never realised how much fun war could be. He was kidding, of course.
We children had our war time adventures too. Iwan and I involved ourselves with a crashed Spitfire on the north wall of Pen y Fan during our farming days in the early 40s. I souvenired a few scraps but the only thing of practical use turned up a few days later as part of a local farmer's wheelbarrow - the rear wheel of the plane. I recall an Avro Anson that made a forced landing in a field behind the Cathedral. It stayed overnight under guard and after on the spot repairs successfully took off next day.
We liked to listen to "Lord Haw Haw" who knew Brecon well from before the war and occasionally mentioned goings-on in the town lust to show how good the German spy system was.
I remember our poor soldiers, Dunkirk evacuees lounging about the streets, bedraggled and dispirited before being fed, rekitted and regrouped, and we wondered how long it would be before we were invaded and would be fighting in our own streets.
On Sundays, soldiers stationed in Dering Lines and the Watton Barracks would attend the evening service. My Mother spoke to members of the Ladies Guild to see if she could get support to provide a cup of tea and some food. The response was immediate but the availability of food was a problem due to the rationing system in operation. She went to do battle with the Rationing Office and obtained permits for tea, sugar and butter. The soldiers were only too pleased to accept the invitation from my father in the pulpit to join the ladies in the vestry for a cup of tea, sandwiches and cake but mainly to have a chat with a group of kind ladies who could have been their mothers. It was the job of one of the choristers from her strategic position, to do a headcount of the soldiers and as quickly as possible scoot down the choir stairs to notify the ladies. The numbers would be anything from seventy to over
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