Private Gordon Duffin, 5th Berkshire Battalion Home Guard, Sep. ’41-Dec. ’42.
I remember….
Only a week or two after joining the Lambourn Company I went on the one memorable large scale exercise of my time with the battalion. Twenty or so of us aboard Mildenhall’s builders lorry we headed for Faringdon. Forming up with our company and others of the battalion about a mile from the town we went into the attack, and almost immediately ran into trouble – from the allotment holders enjoying their Sun-day morning gardening. They made it abundantly clear they didn’t want us “mad buggers” trampling on their patch! No sooner clear of their now less than tidy plots; the sound of rapidly approaching aircraft engines heralded the arrival of Wellington bombers to shower us with sacks of straw – not as soft as you might think when one clobbered you! The town now supposedly in our hands, we began the evacuation which was to take us to ‘Tinker’s Corner’
Forming up again, we advanced to the top of the ‘Ridgeway’ and the amazing – near pilots eye view, of Harwell airfield. Appearing peaceful and devoid of human life, we began our downhill attack. Across Grimm’s Ditch and onto Laffan’s Plain, with every small bush and hump suddenly sprouting machine guns – “You’re dead”, “You’re dead”, “You’re dead!”. Annihilated, we charged on unheeding to our objective of the outer buildings.
Given refreshments in the mess of Building 150, we were then taken to the end of Hangar 10 where we were joined by some American officers who had been observing our attack. A Spitfire!, its tail propped up and engine running, loosed all its ammunition from its eight machine guns into a stop butt not more than fifty yards in front. Virtually disappearing in the cascade of gleaming and spinning cartridge cases as they bounced off the concrete. This display of fire-power left us all open-mouthed. As did the American officer when he asked Lester and me where we lived. From Membury, he offered us a lift home in his jeep!. Me, bolt upright in the middle of the back seat rifle at the ready, Lester with the Browning Automatic Rifle resting on the frame of the lowered windscreen and covering everything that moved; it must have looked good! Cruising to a halt outside the Red Lion, it felt even better. Waves of the hand in salutation, “Thanks a lot buddy.” – “OK you guys!”. It was the turn of the loafing locals to stare open-mouthed.
Us twelve strong ‘Commandos’ training every spare evening and week-end. Our practice rapid turn-outs, initiated by words such as ‘bombers’, ‘desert’ commonly heard on the evening nine o’clock news; steadily reducing our time to Bockhampton, and up into the woods. We went on forced marches to White Horse Hill and other high points with cooking and bivouac building parts of the Sunday long exercise. Feeling the need to find out how we would fare as a raiding party;: Cpl Phil Ford decided we should first test the alertness of one of our own detachments and settled for the one at Lambourn Woodlands.
Lester Newbold – he was also in the Air Training Corps, and me volunteering to do a ‘recce’ of their Village Hall HQ and Stores, we went up on their Drill Night, ostensibly for a chat. On the way home, Lester told me he had man-aged to slip the catches on the windows behind the black-out screens, so that we would have no trouble getting in. However, Phil decided this was not fair and decided on a one minute warning. Their next Drill Night we waited poised, while Lester delivered an appropriately worded note – and nearly died laughing when we heard from in-side, the command, “Put on your gas-masks!, Put on your gas-masks!” Phil blew his whistle and in we went for a ten second grab of all we could get. Two rifles and some other equipment – but no gas-masks!; we went locally circular across country to confuse any pursuit and re-united at the Hare and Hounds five minutes later to march unmolested back to Lambourn. Major Jack Wing did his nut! “We’re supposed to be unit-ed against the enemy – not stabbing each other in the back!.”
On Night Guard at the Pit Down Observation Post, Corporal Phil Ford in charge. He left it to Lester and me how we were going to get to Wantage and back with the fish-and-chips. Eunice Gosling’s big Morris car, kept in Lambourn Garages with just enough fuel to get the Night Guard out and back, now parked off the road outside. We gambled – and lost! Stuck half-way up Hackpen Hill, we waved down what from its headlights appeared to be a lorry. Passing to pull up in front of us, we saw it was a Lambourn Garage’s horse-box – with Sergeant Frank Mazey driving!. After much ‘pulling of rank’, argument and discussion, he agreed we could shove the car into the back of the horse-box. Nearly back at the Observation Post, Phil and the other two fully-armed members of the Guard appeared in the road.
“Halt, who goes there?”. “Sergeant Frank Mazey with something you would like to have Corporal Ford.” “Round the back you two, it could be full of Germans!”
The fish-and-chips satisfactorily disposed of, we discussed the problem of the return of Eunice’s car. An early morning call to the Police Station of no avail. We pushed it most of the two miles back to the Lambourn Garages.
Editors Note
This article was sourced from a photograph of a printed page published on Facebook my Mick Dowdeswell. If this article infringes copyright please contact editor@lambourn.org and we will remove the article.
