Patrick Hogan
Getting Around during WW2

The “Blackout”

The “Blackout” had been ordered by the Government on 1st September 1939, the day that Poland was invaded by the Nazis. Two days later, after Hitler had ignored an ultimatum to cease attacking and withdraw from Poland, Britain and France both declared war on Germany.  The Second World War had started.  The blackout was severe and penalties for breaching it were serious.  Air Raid Wardens and Police patrolled to enforce compliance, especially in the first months before it became second nature for everyone.

Before a light could be switched on in a room, thick curtains or blinds to prevent even the merest chink of light escaping had to be firmly in place.  Woe betide  anyone who let any light escape to assist the German Bomber planes which were expected nightly.  The angry shout  “PUT THAT LIGHT OUT” was enough to curdle the blood.  There was a real fear in everyone that if we showed a light we would be letting everyone else down by bringing danger to them from the bombers.  It was all deadly serious and there was never any joking about it.

Outside, it was just as strict.  There were no street lights of course and torches were forbidden. Car lights were reduced to three small slits, indicators and rear lights were dimmed.  Buses crawled along with all the inside lights switched off, totally black inside. Bus conductors, who were nearly all women as the men went off to war, had the greatest difficulty in giving out tickets and taking money. They used dimmed mini pencil torches.  Traffic accidents rocketed and many drivers stopped driving at night because it was just too dangerous. Those who had to drive for some essential war effort drove slowly so that journeys took much longer than they had done pre-war.  The toll of people killed on the roads at night increased to frightening numbers, but the system stayed in force nevertheless. People grew much more careful and only went out in the dark – in towns at least – if it was absolutely necessary.  In the village it was not quite so dangerous as there were fewer cars about, but I can remember jumping into hedges and ditches many a time to save from being hit by some lorry coming out of the gloom round a bend in the road.  No one was at fault, the poor drivers couldn’t see -  it was just the war and we had to take it.    No-one complained.

A word or two about road names

Some readers might wonder why I sometimes call one or two roads in and around Whittington by unfamiliar names. The reason is that we had arrived in the village just after war had been declared when all signposts and road names had already been removed to storage to hinder any invading German forces.  If we didn’t know a road name and there was no-one nearby to ask, we gave it a name which described it. The lane leading to the barracks was called by us “Barracks Lane” instead of the more correct “Common Lane”.  Everyone in the village knew where we meant, so we were not corrected.
‘Common Road’ we may have heard later, but we called it first ‘Freeford Lane’ since that was the direction it was going, and again, people understood us.

Luckily, the more important roads in our village already had names that described then, but the further from the village centre we went, the less we knew the names unless we were told -  and the more detailed our description had to be so that someone else knew where we meant.  If we were subsequently told the correct name then, of course, we used it.  It was a fascinating time, living in England during the “name-blackout” of the Second World War.

If I do make a slip, then I’ll try at least to give the proper name in brackets!

Patrick Hogan 5 April 2010

Getting Around in the War -   By Bus

The Midland Red 822 bus from Lichfield to Whittington, was dropped from the schedule when War started and there was no bus at all to the village. The Midland Red 765 bus running between Lichfield and Nuneaton (sometimes Coventry) via Tamworth (but not via Whittington) thus became our “lifeline” in the War. The bus ran along the A51 and did not deviate.

Only single-decker buses were used as some bridges were low. When the number of buses was reduced, new wartime regulations permitted the carrying of as many passengers as could be crammed into a bus. To get in the maximum number, passengers (especially children) would sit on the laps of family or friends so a seat built for two often carried four passengers.  The aisle would be so crammed full with standing passengers that they could hardly move. 
A poor old bus would trundle along carrying twice its designed weight and the conductress had an awful time giving people their tickets. Passengers would help others by passing money and tickets back and forth. Everyone was grateful to be inside rather than having to wait for the next bus or walk, especially in foul weather.

The 765 bus to Lichfield
At first we caught the bus by walking to Freeford Lodge and having got there, joined the queue. There was usually a queue waiting.

As the War progressed, the bus often got completely filled up at the Barracks so when it arrived at Freeford Lodge, it just didn’t stop. That meant either a wait of another hour or walking on to Lichfield.  We walked.

We then changed our route and walked up to the Barracks stop, to have more chance to get on the bus.  This worked well enough until 1942 when thousands of U.S. Army arrived and small boys were at a disadvantage in getting on buses.  So we changed our ploy yet again, either walking to Botany Bay to catch the 765 bus to Lichfield before it filled up at the Barracks or -  just walked to Lichfield.   Survival of the Fittest !

The 765 bus to Tamworth
To get to Tamworth by the 765 bus needed different strategies.  At first, Freeford Lodge was fine as it was a mile or so before the Barracks.  After the big build up of American soldiers however, the Freeford Lodge stop itself was swamped by US soldiers coming from their tents all over the Common.  We would therefore walk right past the great gaggle of G.I’s waiting there to get the bus to Tamworth as if we were on our way to Lichfield.  Down Jockey Hill we would go, out of sight of the soldiers, until we reached the Horse and Jockey pub, two stops earlier. And as the bus reached the great crowd of US soldiers at Freeford Lodge, we would be sitting innocently in our seats, watching them fight to get on.  Survival of those with Local Knowledge !

Patrick Hogan  26 March 2010

Getting Around in the War  -  by Bicycle

Much has been written about WW2, but not enough importance has been given to the role of what some elevated historians have termed “the humble bicycle”  -  a patronising term that is inaccurate and more a reflection upon the writer than the bicycle, overlooking as it does, the important role which it played in the life of our country during WW2.  There was nothing “humble” about the bicycles produced in great numbers by Midland factories in the 1930’s; they were superb examples of classically designed precision engineering made by skilled craftsmen.

Many years ago in Africa, I came across a worker pushing a bicycle along a dusty track. When I asked him why he was not riding the clearly well cared for bicycle, he looked at me with some amusement and said:

“Bwana, this is a made-in-England, Raleigh bicycle. It is my most precious thing.  When I have something important to do, I ride it  -  when I have not, I walk.”         

There spoke a man who knew something about quality and care.

Traditionally, working people in country districts in England had walked. Farm wages were notoriously low and they had no other option. Even in the early years of the 20th Century, a bicycle cost more than most could afford.  In the First World War, however, more employment and more money about, meant that bicycles were seen for the first time ridden by country workers as well as city factory workers.  After the end of WW1, bicycles steadily took over primary importance in getting people about on country roads and they were held on to like grim death during the long grinding years of the Great Depression which started in the late 1920’s and lasted right up to the start of WW2 in 1939. 

To men particularly, a British made bicycle was a highly regarded example of British mechanical excellence, utterly dependable and cared for lovingly.  Bicycles were never cheap; a man’s full size Raleigh could cost up to full six weeks pay and six weeks pay took a long time to save up in the Depression.  Buying on credit in those days was looked down upon and derided as an admission of inability to manage one’s own money.  In the 1930’s, with many millions in Britain out of work, owning a bicycle kept up a man’s self-respect and could help him get a job for he could travel further afield to look. To a potential employer, an applicant with a well cared-for bicycle indicated that before the Depression, he had probably been a valued worker and earned enough money to be able to save up and buy it.  It was evidence of his ability to manage money and he would probably be careful in looking after the property of an employer.  The big advantage of the bicycle was that, although expensive to buy, thereafter one was guaranteed cheap and convenient transport. A well maintained bicycle provided independent travel at minimal cost with healthy exercise and pleasure as a bonus.

When war was declared on 3rd September 1939, buses were curtailed or simply discontinued and the few cars in Whittington were allowed only enough petrol for War business.  More ponies drawing traps appeared in the village but they were not enough to make a difference.  So in a country now starved of transport, the bicycle became truly “king of the road” for getting about on a personal level.  With a bicycle, the cities and towns of Lichfield, Tamworth, Walsall, Burton upon Trent and even Ashby de la Zouch were reachable from Whittington without having to depend upon the uncertainty of the few buses still running.

Whittington slowly got used to life with less men about and after the fall of France any men still left who were fit and of service age (18 to 45) were called up quickly since we expected invasion at any minute.  The country changed over swiftly to what was called a “war footing” designed to produce enough weapons to confront the Nazi menace – at any cost.  Emergency laws were announced to enable older workers throughout the country to work on beyond normal retirement age without restriction. Already retired workers were actively encouraged to take up their old jobs again and many did so gladly, for the retirement pension was woefully small.

In a matter of a few months, what had been for well over ten years a depressed country with millions of men on street corners, was transformed into a booming economy desperate to find enough workers to fulfil war production targets.   The shortage of workers ensured that wages became attractive whilst regular overtime working increased take-home pay further. It helped even more that prices in the shops were strictly controlled by the Government.  The bitter-sweet paradox of the war was that whilst fathers, sons and even daughters were serving in the Armed Forces and being killed and everyone was desperately longing for peace, the working population of Britain - men, women and working pensioners - had never been so well paid, well regarded and secure.  The shortage of workers was such that literally anyone who was physically able to work could do so – and for good pay. Not even in the First World War had conditions so favoured the working population of Britain.

Most bicycle factories were swiftly turned over to war production. That meant that almost no new cycles were produced until after the war. Cycle repair works everywhere expanded in an effort to keep existing bicycles in good repair and on the road. With skilled cycle workers of service age already gone to the Forces or transferred to weapons industries, old and retired workers were tempted back to work in bicycle repair shops with good pay and relaxed working conditions (e.g. half-day working etc). The Government showed that it recognised the importance of the bicycle by making sure that spares and bicycle tyre production continued.  Young lads not quite fit enough for the Armed Forces were eagerly taken on as apprentices and brought into the cycle repair industry – for that is what, in all but name, it became.

And at home in wartime Whittington, the status of the lucky few who did manage to get hold of a bicycle after having to walk everywhere, became higher and their horizons enlarged in all directions – rather like the ripples from a stone thrown into a pond.   Having a good bicycle set men and women free and they gained a deserved self respect and independence.   Bravo, the Bike !

Yes, village life was indeed much simpler then. But I think, not worse than now!

Patrick Hogan 2 Jan 2010