- Contributed by
- Stockton Libraries
- People in story:
- Brian Weston
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- Contributed on:
- 02 August 2005
When I lived in Thornaby, at primary school, if an air raid started at 10 rather than 9 then you could go to the shop and buy a penny apple as the shop opened at 9.
At the end of George Street, next to the railway station, we used to hear loud bangs during the night, when we were in the shelters. My stepfather told me that one of these “bangs” was a pub being bombed and a woman got killed.
In 1941/42 my friend, Bill, was in the Army located in the Far East, fighting the Japanese. He was sent to guard the Dutch airfield — everything was on fire — so there was nothing to guard. Then stuck with nowhere to go (about 12 men), they saw some British prisoners of war on the road, so they threw away their rifles and joined them. There was nothing they could do. The biggest thing was uncertainty.
Had a good war in Mine, Honshu, where they were controlled by a good man, who kept them starving but didn’t ill treat them,
Near Thornaby airfield there was a border — Basildon Lane border — where a prison hub for Italians prisoners of war (POW) was located.
2 of my uncles and their wives went to Dunkirk, Germany on D-Day and when they returned home they had nowhere to live. The POW huts were in better condition then their own homes. They are squatted in the huts, but the Government turned off the water and electricity — then built prefabs.
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