MEMORIES OF OLD KNOTTINGLEY

recalled by

FRANK WEBSTER CHAMBERS

Published in memory of Frank Webster Chambers with the
kind permission of his Grandson, Carey Jonathan Chambers

BOOK FIVE

KNOTTINGLEY'S WAR

The sirens are wailing, as the country goes to war
The things we love and take for granted, will be the same no more.

But before we start our memories, of the years that span the war
I have many things to recollect, of the years that came before.

I stayed up late last night, to listen to the Big Fight, between Joe Louis and our own Tommy Farr,
We thought our man had won, but that Welsh Tommy Gun, failed to dim that great American star.

Walter Peel brought milk for Brears - he did so for thirty odd years
With his ruddy face and cheerful smile, he must have walked ten thousand mile.

Tonight we reminisced a bit, as we huddled round the fire
Tall tales we'll tell of bygone feats, of which you will never tire.

Ted Sellers' name was mentioned, and his famous cricket hit
It registered six upon the scoreboard, but it travelled quite a bit!

The ball landed in a railway truck, passing on its way to Goole
It, of course, was not recovered!, you can't throw fourteen miles, you fool!

The N.A.D.S.S. Club's off to property new, and gets the nickname 'Coronation'
For at the time a new monarch was due, because of the Kings abdication.

But the Low Club became its new handle, a name far more easy to say
Like mud that name stuck and with good luck, will stay that way for many a day

But come Sunday night, a turn gets the spotlight, you can bet the first thing he will say
"What does N.A.D.S.S. mean?", With dexterous skill, Bob Dawson explains it away.

Who remembers Workers' Playtime?, that kept us all in good cheer
Along with Tommy Handley - "It's that man again", we hear.

Henry Hall and Billy Cotton, their music it was grand
Victor Sylvester for the dancers, and Ivy Benson's Ladies Band.

We used to go to Mrs. Parkin's - she lived in Foundry Lane
To but her home made ginger beer, it got called Knottingley Champagne.

Down now let's go to Mrs. Brown's, she lived in Stocking Lane
We took her bread and tatie peel, and she gave us sweets for the same.

The bits of course were not for her, but for the chicken and the pigs
And if getting cash instead of sweets, you bought a pack of cigs.

There's been an explosion at Y.T.D., a terrible sight, you must agree
And after the shock, what a terrible find, poor Charlie Blackburn could not see.

But he soon overcame the awful plight, of suddenly being bereft of sight
His hands became magic at easing your pains, no finer man ever for curing your strains.

They're taking peoples railings down, without a word of thanks
To be melted down for cannons, and metal parts for tanks.

You hear talk that war is looming, and we don't want finishing short
So a few old iron railings, will away that dreaded thought.

But Chamberlain has told us, not to worry, things are well
He's got a note from Hitler, a kind of magic spell.

It tells us, if there is a war, it wont last very long
What a very silly singer, of a much more foolish song.

So let's not meet trouble, ere it comes, and with our memories carry on
One things for sure, if war does come, we can all be relied upon.

A new White Swan is being planned, across in England Lane
But work to that comes to a stop, as war talk starts again.

But the Winston was allowed to grow, an extra pub for the town
And the poor White Swan's foundations, were the only thing laid down.

It became a playground for the kids, and in a tunnel one got stuck
The Fire Brigade came to dig him out, so that lad was in luck.

But now friends, I fear, the war, it draws near, Chamberlain's note, it does not mean a thing
It just proved a farce, he should have just wiped his arse on that paper, that just proved a sting.

We hear on the wireless the sad news, and suddenly all start to fear
Will it be over by Christmas, or last for many a year?.

One year became six, that's history now, but at the time we knew not
So let's try and recall, from our memory hall, things that should never be ever forgot.

The militia have already been mustered, they wore flannels, a blazer and beret
No-one at all was downhearted, in fact, quite the opposite, merry.

Our fathers, brothers, sisters and uncles, all answer the rallying call
We're all convinced we'll make a quick mince, of those German's in no time at all.

My dad's already been sent to France, a card comes, for Christmas is near
It just had the words 'bonne annee' on front, (That's French for a happy new year).

The first winter of war was bitter and cold, snowbound and everything still
No Germans advance on our troops out in France, 
but we know very soon that they will.

Christmas day and the King makes his broadcast, one planted in history that day
Although the words weren't his own, on me they have grown, 
as the years simply grind me away.

Quote:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: "Give me light that I may tread safely into the unknown", and he replied: "Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.  That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way."

The Desert (c.1908) by M. Louise Haskins, Introduction.
Quoted by King George VI in a Christmas broadcast, 25 December. 1939

It was a moving and sincere quotation, a seed that day in our mind sown
Our fate is in the Lord's hands, as he leads us into the unknown.

We had blackout blinds at the window, you must show no glimmer of light
The A.R.P warden will be coming to check, that no lights are showing at night.

Stumbling round the town at night, was really just like Hell
So to make yourself more visible, an illuminated button in your lapel.

The Royal Devon Yeomanry, have been drafted to the town
Some court and marry local girls, and here later settled down.

Loud wails the air raid siren, it starts an helter-skelter
As everyone jumps out of bed, and makes for the air raid shelter.

But the night, it passes silently, no-one comes to any harm
Because you see, it was the first, of many a false alarm.

The soldiers liven up the place, as they wait to go to France
And everywhere it's possible, to organise a dance.

We sing 'Roll Out The barrel', dance the Lambeth Walk
Hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line, and of Victory we talk!

'This is Funf speaking', we hear on the wireless, I.T.M.A. is up to its tricks
Bing Crosby sings White Christmas, in Holiday Inn at the flicks.

On King's Standard Hill the Observer Corps, has got a listening post
To warn of enemy aircraft, as they fly in from the coast.

Sailors, Bevin Boys and evacuees, amongst us start to mingle
A real life eldorado, for the unattached and single.

The Messenger Service starts to form, you join when you're sixteen
The headquarters of this outfit, Toulson's Garage, Racca Green.

At work you have to fire watch - a few bob for this you earn
You can make arrangements with your pals, so that they can take your turn.

It's up to the fair on Saturday night, at Ponte' under a tent
I can tell you many happy hours, 'neath that vast marquee were spent.

A cleansing centre was erected, to decontaminate the gassed
It was thankfully never needed, it's a showroom now for glass.

Lord Haw-Haw's on the radio, giving out his propaganda
We treated him as a great big joke, and heeded not his slander.

Dig for Victory, National Savings, the posters spell it clear
No careless talk expected, in case the Germans hear.

"Don't forget your gas mask!", Mother shouts out from within
Some carried theirs in boxes, I kept mine in a tin.

The L. D. V. R. becomes Home Guard - a force to be respected
We know this bunch of warriors, will keep our town protected.

Armed to the teeth and ready, they'll make the Germans beg
Instructing them in warfare, is Sergeant Major Clegg.

Lieutenant Northrop, ex-R.N., is the fellow in command
He knows his chaps won't let him down, when they have to make a stand.

Dunkirk comes and Dunkirk goes, as we start to understand
The heavy price that must be paid, to hold our precious land.

Dried egg and spam's arriving, thanks to the U.S.A
A little price for them to pay, to keep out of the way.

But dried egg on toast for breakfast, and then again for tea
Spam sandwiches for dinner, quite boring you'll agree.

It's knees up at the Lime Keel, "Gert and Daisy" come along
'Her breast's were made of knucklebone' - the title of their song.

Those two old ladies made you laugh, until your sides were sore
Real names Gertrude Emmerson ,and Elizabeth Pogmore.

Tank landing craft are being built, by Harker's in their yard
To take their part in 'OVERLORD', when we play our final card.

So you see, the town in many ways, played its own quite special part
If it hadn't been for US you see, we'd have finished in the cart.

An aircraft gun and searchlight, are placed by the pickling tank
That was on top of the depot, if your memory of it is blank.

We see its beam pierce the evening sky, spotting aircraft that overhead fly
But the 'Ack ack' gun never fired in anger, a kind of unused firework banger.

Winston Churchill makes a speech, as high our spirits ride
We sing the Hokey Cokey, and dance the Palais Glide.

A bomb is dropped on Pontefract, the Spanish Works were hit
Luckily no-one was injured - perhaps their pride a bit.

The bombs are raining down on Hull, as the Germans spite is vent
And straightaway with no ado, a Knottingley rescue force is sent.

Food is getting scarcer, and we start to feel the pinch
The only remedy that we get, 'Pull your belts in just an inch'.

But many a pig was reared and fed, in any makeshift sty
And in the cover of darkness, was slaughtered on the sly.

This was called black market bacon, or belly pork or chops
The only thing we must ensure, is that no-one tells the cops.

Did you have soya sausages, just like sawdust in a skin?
If confronted with the same today, they would finish in the bin!

Bluebirds are over the white cliffs of Dover, Miss Vera Lynne tells us so
But looking today they're terribly grey, and the bluebird is only a crow.

I've had a tip from Chibby Reynolds - he said "It's safe as houses"
"Get your shirt on it" he said, I'm glad it wasn't trousers!

If it had been, one things for sure, on my way back from the races
The one thing that was certain, I would have no need for braces!

For a change some young airmen, from a Pollington based flight
Landed in Ponte' to spend a Saturday night.

After a night's drinking and dancing, and causing no fuss
They made their way homeward, on their R.A.F. bus.

But then fate took a hand, before that day's end
And at Knottingley Town Hall, they misjudged the bend.

Young lives that night, were all just swept away
A shock for the township, as they awakened next day.

Two pals and myself, on the bus were to be
But we decided to walk, we were the luckiest three.

What made us walk home?, that's a mystery to be
For Dek Turpin, Tiny Murgatroyd, and lucky old me.

I apologise not for the following lines, that I pen for my own selfish reason
But a big pal of mine, whom I later will name, 
was quite skint come one festive season.

I'll bore you no more with this irrelevant tale, just one man will explain this folly
Ask Maurice Bolton whatever I mean, and the answer you get will be holly.

It's queue for this and queue for that - they've even rationed clothes
The label CC41 is on, your underclothes and hose.

The grapevine buzz today is this, despite the awful weather
A well known local couple, have run off together.

Why not go by taxi, the railway or the bus?
Or they simply could have walked away - it makes no difference to us.

But no, the rule is sacrosanct, and one you must obey
If you're taking off together, you've got to run away.

George Jackson fetched a cabbage, into the Cherry Tree bar
It was the largest specimen, I've ever seen by far.

It measured eighteen inches across, and weighed just twenty pounds
The only problem for us was, could it be shared around?

I tell you not a fairytale, or story you can scupper
Henry Adams served it to his customers, with nanny goat meat for supper!

The bombers make their nightly run, as overhead they drone
Devastating German cities, which will soon be overthrown.

I've just seen my auntie Emma Jane, on her way home from the land
She told me she'd been picking sprouts, and got a badly blistered hand.

For her no compensation, just discomfiture and pain
But along with all the others, she will tomorrow do the same.

You see, this was her war work, the ladies did most things
Some were welders at the shipyard, and some assembled aircraft wings.

But at least we had our ration books, to ensure us life's essentials
And extra tit-bits also, if you had the right credentials.

Some days we went rose hip picking - it was a very thorny task
For this you got a little payment, and no more could you ask.

Many local concert parties, did their best to entertain
The Tappers and the Revellers, are two that I can name.

The K sisters I must mention, a versatile talented pair
Any good cause devoid of cash, and you bet your life, they'd be there.

All those little efforts, helped us through the war
Let's hope its all been worth it, and well worth fighting for.

At last, Thank God it's over, our wounds must now be licked
But what a terrible price was paid, before Hitler's arse was kicked.

We now have children without fathers, and mothers without sons
So just sit back and contemplate, weren't we the lucky ones?

Now for a life among the clover - or so the papers say
And then we hear the latest - they're rationing bread today.

Cigs, beer and petroleum, are all in short supply
Food must still be queued for, it makes you wonder why.

Then suddenly bananas, start appearing in the shops
The children look at them in awe, as outward their eyes pop.

Bananas they had never seen, and with them being bent
To them they're yellow rainbows, that from Heaven had been sent.

[The Festival of Britain precedes the Coronation. 
Mary Asquith was the Queen for this centennial celebration. 
It was a kind of carnival and the town pushed out the boat. 
Peggy Lucas and her revellers won the decorated float.]

They're digging up the streets today - we're getting North Sea gas
No more filthy smoke to see, when the coke ovens we pass.

It will be a benefit to everyone, we felt badly as a dog
When it tried its best to choke us, as it turned in to a smog.

The Guinness Book of Records, is a famous publication
To have your name displayed in it, was indeed an accolation.

But a well known son of Knottingley, proved equal to this feat
And Arty Armitage was recorded for his famous slimming feat.

[Arthur Armitage was recorded as the heaviest man in 1970. 
By 1972 he had reduced his weight from 40st 6lb to 18st 2lb.]

Cod liver oil and orange juice, were, I think, obtained for free
With National Dried Milk for babies - a kind of prize for victory.

A little chap jumps off a bus, 'neath his load he starts to stagger
I suppose he could be loosely called, a modern carpet-bagger.

He totes a great big suitcase, and a kind of blanket bag
He tips it out onto the floor, to display his load of swag.

Coloured socks and jumpers - he tries to tempt you to buy
The other things he carries, are sold upon the sly.

His name was Mr. Wiesleman - that was only known by a few
But to everybody in the town, he was just 'the little Jew'.

To a stalwart I pay tribute now, he was the salt of Mother earth
Let's remember Doctor Murphy, known to all as 'good old Murph'!

Coronation Day's a washout, a victim of the weather
You can always bank on nature, to spoil a get together.

The playing fields were sodden, a most sorry, sticky mess
So we all trooped to the old Town Hall, to watch them judge the fancy dress.

The Carnival has been revived, my niece was chosen queen
She looked as pretty as a picture, in her eight wheeled limousine.

A band plays in the distance, the parade will be here soon
Oh look! I think that's Bernard Smart, as the chocolate Coon.

They tell us Oliver Cromwell, at the White Swan Inn once slept
He got there through a tunnel, a secret most well kept.

[The White Swan was originally situated on Hill Top on the site now occupied by St. Michael's Church.]

It led from Ponte' Castle, or so the legend goes
But if it really does exist, I tell you, no-one knows.

But if that fellow really slept, at every place they claim
He must have had trypanosomiasis, (the sleepy sickness name).

It's now November, sixty-five, a day and night remembered well
A mighty wind began to blow, and the cooling towers fell.

Those mighty structures blown away, just like a bit of dust
Respect ye mother nature, place not in her your trust.

But just lately mother nature, hid us underneath her gown
When a cloud of very poisonous gas, nearly fell upon the town.

We were supposed to get a warning, of this accident to be
But the first thing that I knew of it.....I watched it on T.V.!

Once again my friends, a book I close, I could go on forever
But what do you expect for the price you pay?, a volume bound in leather?

Yours memorably
Frank W. Chambers

Knottingley's War was written by
Frank Webster Chambers
and edited by
Carey Jonathan Chambers
December 1996

Reproduced here with the kind permission of Carey Chambers
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