A Young Man's War 

"Dedicated to the memory of my childhood friend Terry Absalom. One of the 387 people killed in the Swansea Air Raids. Who left this life so soon - reaching first his journey's end." 

    As a boy of nine, I remember the start of the war well and the excitement I felt at the time. I remember the picture on the front page of a Sunday Newspaper of German paratroopers landing into Poland. We lived in Portia Terrace behind Tawe Lodge, which had been a workhouse up to 1929, but at that time was a Hospital. My dad had a plot of land on the side of the hill, beneath the 'round top school', Mayhill School, because any spare land was used to grow vegetables; the saying at the time was 'Dig For Victory'. 

    We were given a gas mask in a small cardboard box, with a string handle that went over the shoulder and were told to take it everywhere with us. The glass in the windows was criss crossed with tape to prevent flying glass when a bomb exploded. Black material blinds-blackout curtains were made to put into the windows to prevent light getting out after dark. An Anderson shelter was delivered to each house and I helped my dad dig the hole for it, in our back garden. Once it was up and bolted together it was covered with earth. Bunks were put in so that my sister, Betty and I could sleep. Although we had an oil fire inside, I remember how cold it was in winter and that is why people chose to shelter under the stairs. Our railings were taken from around the front garden to help the war effort, so as to build tanks, ships and planes. There used to be a First World War tank which went for scrap, on display on the end of the recreation ground on Mumbles Road, in front of the toilets.      A day I remember well, we'd gone by train to Porthcawl for the day. I think it was a Sunday in August 1940, we saw that there were soldiers all along the front, sitting and laying about everywhere. They were dirty, some without boots, jackets and looking very tired. Unknown to us they'd been taken from Dunkirk.

     I remember a daylight raid once and my mum falling onto me in the passageway to protect me from the bomb blast. After the fall of France I remember watching a plane fly over the town which later, my father who was a dockworker told us that, it had attacked the docks and killed some men out at the mole.

     On another day before the Blitz, army lorries arrived on the hill at Mount Pleasant and left open trailer tanks in most streets. No one had any idea what these were for, but we soon found out. The soldiers manning these things ignited the tar, pitch or oil, which filled the area with thick black choking smoke. The idea was to black-out the town so that the bombers couldn't see their targets, but they almost killed us off, as we could hardly breathe. Thankfully they didn't use it again.

     As a dockworker my father had a reserved occupation, and as well as fire-watching he was a member of the Home Guard on the Rocket Launchers at Ashley Road, which fired at planes over the sea.      Once the air-raid warning was sounded, German bombers would come over the town from the sea and first of all drop incendiary bombs so as to start fires to light up the town, they then dropped their bombs. I well remember a wooden building behind the 'round top school' burning and how afraid I was when it collapsed, thinking it was going to roll down on us in the shelter. The next morning, after a raid, my sister and I would be out looking for spent bullets and shrapnel. Soldiers recovering a bomb, which hadn't exploded, gave us coils of phosphorous, which we used to break up, drop down drains and watch it boil up in the water. After one raid my sister and I were looking around a crater on the site of Mount Pleasant Tech. for shrapnel, I can't remember finding anything, but later in the day it was cordoned off as there was an unexploded bomb there!   -

     On the second evening of the Three Nights' Blitz, 20 February 1941, my young school friend, Terry Absalom came to call for me to play after tea. I heard my mother say 'he won't be out tonight son as they'll be over again'. That's the last time ever that I saw my friend alive. Because our streets were terraced some of the houses in Brynsifi Terrace in front of us had garages at the back and of course, they were built up on pillars. There was a nice space under every garage that was made into a shelter. That night, the whole family were sheltering, except Terry's dad, who was out with the other men fire-watching. 

Tawe Lodge had a tall chimney and must have looked like a factory, a bomber dropped a stick of bombs across the hill, hitting houses on each side but missing the Lodge. There was a terrible screeching as the bombs were falling, and awful explosions. The dust was so thick you could not see or breathe. Our house was on the end of the block so we had a pine end wall, which thankfully was partly underground, as the road going up the hill to Wordsworth Street was behind. We were under the stairs this night and my chair must have been up against the end wall and as the bomb exploded the blast hit the wall and the back of the chair hit me with some force. There were three generations killed in that garage that night and only one little girl of my age came out alive. Her surname was Cofflin and her sister was killed along with the rest of the family. The two were named Kitty and Mona, but I can't remember which was which.        In the early hours there was a light fall of snow and of course, when I got up and saw this I wanted to get out in it. My mother wouldn't let me go, as unbeknown to me, all the bodies were laid out on the pavement outside our house, waiting to be taken to Tawe Lodge mortuary. When my mother went to the door, I ran out. They were covered with coats and things, so I didn't know which one was Terry, but that was the last time. Later when they found room in the mortuary, the bodies were taken there on ladders.

     Shortly after the raids, my sister and I were evacuated to farms at Pennard. My sister went to stay with the Davies’s at the Villa and I went to Davies 'the milk' at Green Lane. It was quite some time before I was able to go to school again as so many children had come to the area as evacuees that there were no places in the small school at Parkmill. I didn't mind this, as I enjoyed the work on the farm. It was a novelty for me to wear clogs and to deliver milk by pony and trap, going to the bungalows in Sandy Lane with a churn and measuring milk out into jugs. I had already got up early to get the cows in and helped to milk them by hand. It was only a very small dairy and the milk was first put through a cooler before being taken out onto the round. Sometimes we made small amounts of butter by hand and I used to be encouraged to drink as much of the buttermilk as I could, as it would only be thrown away. After delivering, I would take the pony out to the field near today's Pennard School, which was not there then or the estate, which is now opposite, but was then the fields where I left the pony. Once, when returning him, he bolted and I hung on for dear life. We only stopped when we reached Pennard Castle over the golf links.  Most of my time was spent working on Great Highway Farm, as Green Lane was such a small dairy. Sam Griffiths was the farmer, with two sons John and young Sam. It's strange to see the farms today as all the out-buildings where the cattle were kept are now small cottages and if the people now in the centre building saw the size of the bull that was kept there they'd have a shock! There was a loft above where hay was kept and I used to feed him from above. They had a lovely fig tree in the garden and several apple trees. We stored the apples in the cellar and I remember stories of smugglers having stored Brandy down there.  

     Some weekends we'd go home to see our parents and travel on the yellow Swan bus, a local company with a depot at Bishopston. I hated returning, as my sister who was three years younger, would cry all the way back then I had to almost drag her to the bus station, which was next to the Grand Theatre, with Glamtax on the top floor. Parting from our parents got so bad, because of her, that my dad stopped taking us.  

     When at last a place was found for us at Parkmill School, which is now the Girl Guide Centre, we travelled there by bus from Pennard. One of the boys from London took a dislike to me and was giving me a hard time. It was getting so bad, I thought I should do something about it, so one morning at play-time, I made a stand and came off worse. A circle was formed around us and each time I went down I was picked up and pushed back in. The strange thing is that afterwards we became good friends and worked together on the farm. I've never forgotten Freddie Weyborough from the Elephant and Castle but all I remember about lessons in the school was gardening with the head master Mr. Evans, who I expect, benefited from our Dig for Victory efforts.  

Back home, I remember one night when going to bed, looking out of my bedroom window and seeing the bay full of ships. Next morning as soon as I woke, I looked out and there wasn't a ship in sight. It was just before D-Day, 6 June 1944. It was many years before I discovered that they were transporting the 'follow up troops', the men of the U.S. Army 2nd Division with all their equipment, destined to land on 'Bloody' Omaha Beach, Normandy on D+1.  

As my dad was a coal tipper on the docks we were able to have free passage on the railway which enabled us to afford to go on holiday now and then. I can't remember for certain whether or not the war had ended, but it was in the spring of 1945, when we were in London on a short holiday. We were walking through Piccadilly Circus, just passing the entrance to Swan and Edgar's, when there was the sound of a gunshot and a man was sliding to the floor in the corner of the entrance. A policeman who was standing at the foot of Eros ran across and got hold of him. In the paper the following day there was a report which said he'd been a deserter.

Looking back I must have been very happy, as I can't ever remember being home sick. My academic life in these times suffered, but I had some good lessons in life, which stood me in good stead and made me aware of the good  things around us.