When war broke out in 1939, for many there was the patriotic rush to join up to the colours, as there had been in 1914. In some cases this happened within days of Neville Chamberlain’s famous broadcast on the outbreak of war, and in some cases it is clear that the declaration of war caught those in command “on the hop”, as Mr Rouse’s experience proves.
Mr Rouse of Chandler’s Ford had lived in Eastleigh all his life. (This interview, for Wessex Film and Sound Archive project ‘Hampshire’s War’, is used courtesy of the Archive.)
“When war began, I was in Eastleigh. I was working on the railway. I was an apprentice at that time. In the local works itself. I was only a lad of 19. People didn’t marry as young in those days.” He lived at home, with “just my mother. My father died when I was eight. And my sister, she was seven years younger than I am. She was still at school then.
“The day war broke out - of course the week preceding the war, TA [Territorial Army] members were being called out. We knew all this of course being in the RAOC [Royal Army Ordnance Corps]. And strangely enough, we didn’t hear a thing on the Friday. They never bothered to warn us, so I finished work at five o’clock - another chappie who was with me in the TA lived round the corner - we used to walk to work together. Then when I came home I was met at the front gate by my mother who said, ‘It’s come over the radio this afternoon you’ve got to be called immediately - general mobilisation.’ ‘Cause then we realised … so we reported to the Depot. We were then sent home again - we stayed the night, and we reported various stages the following day. I left home and had to be in Southampton before eleven o’clock. They were in King Edward’s School, which was opposite the Civic Centre. What was the Police Station area. And we were issued with one blanket, no palliasse, no mattresses, no nothing; so you were bedded down overnight - you put the blanket on top of you. Your mind was turning all ways, all night long. Nobody could sleep. And of course, eleven o’clock the next day was the Declaration of War. But that was my experience of the lead up to it. From then you didn’t know what the future held or anything else. So you went straight to the services.
“There was one strange experience - it don’t matter what time I arrived home (on leave), whether it was during the night, my bed was made and that happened right through the war.” His mother would say, ‘Reg is coming home on leave today’ and people would say, ‘Have you heard from him?’ and she’d say, ‘I know. I know he’s coming.’ They’d come round, and find that I was home. It’s strange.
“We were allowed to write home, once the beach-head was established. It had to be in a censor envelope, and not sealed down. Just that you were fit and well, and that things were OK. You weren’t allowed to say where you were. You weren’t allowed to mention places or things like that.”
“You actually went on D-Day?”
“Yes. ‘Course, it was cancelled for twenty-four hours. Everybody was sort of … our postings came through. I was nine posting, so our reporting point was Frinton-on-Sea, and the station master at Frinton must have had the key to everything there was going on in that vicinity, because when we arrived at Frinton, there was two of us, and the station master said, ‘What are you looking for?’ and we said ‘So-and-so’. ‘Oh, all right,” he said, “Go and get a cup of tea and come back here in an hour’. When we arrived back, there was transport waiting to take us to the secret destination. From that time on, you weren’t allowed to send letters or anything. You just disappeared from the world.”
Eric Haynes, born 1920 was another one who reported for duty, only to find that duty wasn’t quite ready for him. His experience also highlights the wonderful informality with which it was seemingly possible to move between units and services in those early days, before the massive bureaucracy that eventually governed all apects of the war-time armed services, had come into being. In his case, a casual request for a transfer took him all the way from Portsmouth to the Straits of Messina, and then back to Bognor Regis!
“I did a PTI [Principal Training Instructor] course at Eastney Barracks and was billeted in the Cumberland Ballroom, Portsmouth. We slept on mattresses on the floor for three weeks, going daily to the barracks for our meals and training, then back to Hayling. We also went to Whale Island for a pistol course and practice fire-fighting on a dummy ship.
“Fed up with my job as Corporal Instructor with the 20th RM Training Battalion, I had requested a draft to Sea Service. An officer going to Eastney made enquiries for me and came back with the information that I should go to Portsmouth docks where I would find BPC I [Beach Protection Craft I] which had just taken part in the Dieppe raid, and this was the type of craft I could expect to go to . It was a Mark III tank landing craft converted to a gunship with twin 4.7 guns. I was also told to go to Eastney Barracks and contact two sergeants who would give me further info. This project was being kept quiet at this time and was known as Y Group. I liked the idea and applied for the draft.
“Meantime the 20th RM Training Battalion was moved to Devon to become the RMITC.” After a few weeks there, “My draft came through to report to Eastney Barracks. My group was Y7. We did the full naval gun course at the gun battery, 6 inch, etc. I was pleased to be awarded the gunnery medal, which was presented to me by Admiral Sir Roger Keyes. Things were getting a bit more advanced, I was promoted from corporal to sergeant and a crew was formed of 50 marines, six corporals, two sergeants, two officers to each craft, now to be known as LCGLs (which was equipped with Oerlikons and pom-poms, the ‘L’ standing for ‘Large’). Later Mark IV TLCs [Tank Landing Craft] were used, to be converted. These were wider in the beam. The flat bows were retained, just welded up, flat bottom and drawing three foot for’ard and six foot aft, rather shallow and not very sea-worthy, but getting near the beach was the object. I was glad of the shallow draught, for when in the Messina Straits, Sicily, a daft MTB [Motor Torpedo Boat] fired two torpedoes at us, mistaking us for Germans. I watched them pass underneath us and heard the propellers. They exploded ashore.
“Our crew was to go the LCFs [Landing Craft Flak] and we did ack-ack instruction at the gun battery, Eastney, where there was a special dome which threw attacking pictures of planes round the inside of the dome. The trainee would fire at the targets with a dummy gun, the tracer being visible, clever stuff. One day at stand-easy, when we were outside, Jerry decided to dive-bomb us for real. Lucky for us the bombs sailed over us and landed just outside the barracks. I don’t know what damage they did.
“We also went to Bognor Regis where Oerlikon and pom-pom [guns] were mounted at the end of the pier. The RAF kindly trailed a drogue for us to fire at. If the tracer got too near the plane, the pilot dropped the drogue and pushed off home!
“Up to now, sometimes we were billeted privately in homes and sometimes in barracks, but my opposite number and I took over several of the hotels opposite Southsea Pier for billeting the crews. The WRNS were also billeted in some of the hotels and used to drill along the front Parade. I also used to drill my crew there and our heavier tread used to send the WRNS step haywire. The PO Wren did not think this was funny!
“Now the crew had to do a seamanship course, this was done on the Old Monitor, HMS Marshal Soult, which had been taken out of service. It had seen service in the ’14-’18 war. (My father, a Royal Marine, served on her then and he served in the last war, World War II, at HMS Ganges, Shottey, Suffolk, a training establishment for boy seamen.) I had to march my crew daily to the dockyard, where the Marshal Soult lay. They were victualled on board. After this training, we went to Fort Gomer, where we did route marches and other keep fit. German planes meanwhile had been over, dropping pamphlets and photos of the Dieppe raid and Lord Haw-Haw was also telling us what a failure it was, so Lord Louis Mountbatten, now made Chief of Combined Operations (which is what we were now called) decided to visit us with a pep talk. The usual thing - a soap box appears from nowhere, Lord Louis on top, ‘break ranks and gather round’. Then to get things going he told us a story, I still recall it. He said that a Royal Marine posted to the Far East wrote to his girlfriend in England, breaking off their engagement. She wrote back asking what this girl had got that she had not. His reply was, ‘Nothing, dear, but what she has, she has out here.’ Lord Louis could certainly put it over, a real