WßD Part Two Chapter 2 ~ Wartime Reserved Occupation by Desmond B Webb (Revised Edition)

Windsor Street Days

Part Two

Chapter Nine

Wartime Reserved Occupation

by

Desmond Budd Webb

Preamble

I’ve chosen this Chapter’s opening image because it captures the Homefront, with my elder brother Ken (fourth from the left). Here, we see the full photograph of B Flight, 3 Squadron, No 5 Initial Training Wing at RAF Torquay in July 1941 just prior to passing out and thence by troopship via Liverpool to Newfoundland, on to Toronto Canada and then south across the Forty-Ninth Parallel, to Craig Field, Alabama to train as a Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve pilot September 1941 ~ April 1942 with the United States Army Air Corps. We were all immensely proud of Ken’s achievement. Torquay was a popular posting on the south coast (English Channel) and it helps to understand the background a little to see just what my brother Ken was part of. The International Bomber Command Centre cites the following and which I know that my son, Ken - Uncle Ken Suzie, Caroline - will be mightily impressed to read. DBW :

“Initial Training Wings (ITWs) were located in the Torquay area where aircrew and other RAF recruits would spend 8-12 weeks receiving basic service training. No 1 ITW was based in Babbacombe on the northern edge of Torquay and trained over 27,000 recruits. No 3 ITW and 5 ITW were based in Torquay itself and trained 8,000 and 10,000 recruits respectively, and so I find that my brother Ken was one of 10,000 in 5 ITW. 13 ITW was in Torquay from June 1941 to March 1944 and 21 ITW was in Torquay from May to September 1943.”

— International Bomber Command Centre, City of Lincoln.

MY LAST CHAPTER ended with Britain’s declaration of war upon Germany, and, let it be said, Germany at last being confronted by a nation, prepared, and with resolve, to stand up to the horror that vests the bully’s mind when he or she thinks they can get away with anything. ‘That man’ or ‘Corporal Hitler’ had underestimated what it would mean for him, his gang and the thousand year German Reich.

The tragedy and desolation which was to face many families resulting from the hostilities of war was great. From my point of view it was severely true, for we had suffered terribly from the loss of loved ones on both sides of the family. It is so easy in these days to forget the traumas or not even be aware of what our ancestors have had to forbear.

Early in this Second World War I was given the opportunity to leave school early by special exemption from the education authority, taking up employment with the London, Midland and Scottish Railway Company, as it was then known. I was employed as a messenger clerk at the Cheltenham Goods & Commercial Yard. Some of my daily duties involved work in the weighbridge where the several draymen would bring in or take out heavy loads of produce pulled by the enormously strong Shire horses!

They were magnificent beasts and at the end of their working day were stabled in the yard.

There was such an emotional tie between the draymen and their horses, and I vividly recall more than one such event to support this theory. One of the horses, named "Joe", was eighteen years of age and had become ill. He was loved dearly by his charge and also by me, who often sought to give him a little treat at the end of the day. One Sunday morning, as Joe was ailing, I decided to visit him at the stable which was about a mile and a half from Windsor Street. Upon arriving on my cycle I was saddened to find Joe had just died and that his charge, Arthur, was lying over him in tears. I also struggled to hold back the tears.

***

Later, on a lighter note, I recall being caught riding one of the horses as they returned to their stables at the end of a working day. This was strictly forbidden by the rules of the railway company, but upon the invitation of one of the draymen who was prepared to ignore this rule, especially as it was late in the day when all the bosses had gone home, I seized upon this opportunity.

Being lifted upon this huge horse was a thrill in itself and it was clear in the drayman's mind that the horse would dutifully return to the luxury of its stable once given the go ahead.

Firmly sat upon its back and sensibly gripping the horse’s long mane, the drayman swiftly slapped the hindquarters with an equally swift response from the horse, which quickly accelerated away to its stable some 300 yards distant. All appeared to be well as far as I was concerned until looking ahead I was somewhat horrified to see a figure approaching before me on a pedal cycle. For, it was the man who was solely in charge of the whole Goods Depot - none other than the venerable Mr McDonald, celebrated GOODS AGENT.

As horse and cyclist quickly passed by, with my enhanced relief upon my safe arrival at the stable to be assisted by other draymen ending their duty, the drayman thought he would lose his job. True to their words, this very junior employee was, the next day, duly summoned to appear before the venerable Mr McDonald.

Feeling a little nervous as to what would be the outcome I recall my strictly disciplined expectancy to stand to attention to await the delivery of my predicted verbal punishment for my errant misdemeanour!

Much to my surprise, there was the comment that it would appear that I had a liking for horses and would, therefore, probably be better suited to working with them instead of in office duties.

"What do you think of that, Desmond?” was the invitation to reply.

I did not take up this option, but having experienced this incursion into my employment as a clerk, I took the opportunity to transfer into the locomotive engineering side of the railway which eventually saw me working in Gloucester as an apprenticed engine driver of steam locomotives; a very much sought after occupation by budding employees in those days.

However, I have moved ahead too quickly, so I’ll wind the clock back four years to 1938-1939.

From Drays to Fish, Poultry, Game, Rabbits an’ Gutting an’ all!

Just at the time I started secondary education at the Practising School which was affiliated to St Paul’s Training College, where prospective teachers are trained, I began to hear of other boys who had sought and succeeded in finding occasional employment, after school hours, as a means to providing pocket money.

Parents in those days, by comparison, were not as well off financially as they are today. It is always hopeful that world economies move on and therefore provide a better standard of living for its peoples. This, however, often leads to war brought about by greed and envy from one's counterparts.

I was six months off 13 and enquired after a job as an errand boy with the local fishmonger and poulterer but was told that I could not be employed immediately as the law of the land did not permit it. One had to be 13 years of age and still has to be, I believe. This was a sensible law, since in earlier times, children were often terribly exploited, and worked for pittance from as early as eight years of age. I got on very well with the fishmonger and had been offered, by letter, to start before my thirteenth birthday.

Soon after starting, the fishmonger spoke with me about learning the trade, suggesting that if I could recommend another boy to take my place for doing the errands, then I would be able to stay in the shop helping to serve customers and to be taught how to prepare fish, poultry, rabbits, small game and the like.

And I got on really well and it wasn't long before I recommended two other boys from my school who also enjoyed the work, and of course, the pocket money! The fishmonger had a son of his own who, by this time, was really running the day-to-day business in preparation for his father to retire, and enjoy the proceeds of his chosen career.

Alas! This was not to be.

The clouds of war had developed . And soon, the entire world was to become involved in the conflict.

With it saw the end of their plans, for the fishmonger's son was conscripted into the Army, where he served in the tank corps. He was one of the lucky ones to survive, returning after the war to continue with his business as a fishmonger.

There had been great disappointment by the fishmonger when, in 1941, I announced that I would be leaving school to take up employment on the railway, since Mr Dean senior, the proprietor of the fishmongers’ business had hopes that the absence of his son would be compensated by my presence.

But what one has to remember is the fact that at age 14½ and rapidly approaching years of adolescence, the last thing one desires is to be constantly smelling of" “fish”!

So, with this ever present thought in mind, I made a hasty retreat to take up my employment with the London, Midland & Scottish Railway (LMS), where I would become involved in the multifarious duties peculiar to my post as messenger clerk, at this point having no idea that I would advance to the footplate and then be told that I was in a reserved wartime occupation and, therefore, that would be where my duties lay, rather than in uniform where, to be honest, I would have preferred, like my elder brother Kenneth, and which would bring me face to face with senior officers on a Royal Air Force Aircrew Recruiting Board in 1943.

Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

In retirement, Nancy and I would often stay at Weston, close to Cheltenham but far enough away to recapture old times and, of course, my former employer the LMS

I write this short section through my son Ken. He knows me and Nancy well, he knows exactly our thoughts and opinions, as indeed do my beautiful daughters Carol and Vanessa.

One evening, in the late 1970s we were having a family evening at Siddington. Fish was on the menu. My son-in-law was about to fillet the fish. I remarked that I knew how to do it. Suddenly, there was a cheer, the whole family came into the kitchen and, bearing in mind I’d not done this since 1941, I determined to show my family that those skills still remained with me.

Ken was dumb-founded and, between you and me, I think he was really rather proud of his father. What a wonderful evening.

Which leads me to what I regard as the best part of this chapter of Windsor Street Days.

For what follows are some wonderful photographs of my four Grandsons, my Grandson Chris and his three sons, my Great Grandsons, Sam (now in his 18th year), Jack (now in his 17th year) and Finn (now in his twelfth year). As you can see, they are very much carrying on my skills learned 80 years ago.

And my other love - motor cars and motor cycles - well, that carries on with them too, but also with my Granddaughters Suzie (Suzanne Louise) and Caroline (Caroline Jayne). I cannot now recall which one - but I was changing a wheel one day when said granddaughter decided I needed help. And help she duly gave. No Grandad. You need a Philip’s screwdriver!’ - aged three!!

And so that is my overall message to you all in this chapter.

Life goes on.

Desmond B Webb

24 June 2025
All Rights Reserved

© 2025 Kenneth Thomas Webb

First written 18 May 2020

Last run 23 April 2024 and updated in June 2025

My Favourite ~ Three Generations ~ Mum and Dad, Son and Grandsons ~ this says it all.

Life is a Giggle!

My Grandsons, All … Chris, Sam, Jack and Finn

A Great Catch!

Getting Ready … Good Prep is imperative …

Gutted, Filleted, Prepared and Presented …

An impressive catch - quite a hoard - by my youngest Great Grandson

Ah yes! I remember these days well!

…and I’m impressed with the method of catching too!

A wonderful coastline and a very successful day’s hunting …

This evening’s meal. Come on Mum! Get the fire going. Dad’s getting impatient…

…and of course my Granddaughter Caroline and her Classic Mini recently lovingly restored … DBW

… and her twin sister - the eldest by eleven minutes - those minutes count I’m informed - my Granddaughter Suzie. I understand they’re enjoying a Virtual live concert by Frank Turner due to the Covid 19 Pandemic … they have been attending Gigs together and often with their parents since I can remember … and I must add this ..I enjoyed snooker and would play regularly with Athur my elder brother … Suzie is now the World No 8 in the Women’s World Snooker Championships DBW

…and of course, little ‘ole me … Desmond Budd Webb circa 1936, aged 8 years at the family home 25 Windsor Street and also this short and very moving Film ~ a Tribute to the Shire Horse and to Old Joe the 18 year old Shire I loved and lost, and all Horses, the world over ~ the silent bedrock of the Webb Family, through my father (Horace Webb), my maternal grandfather (Grampy ~ James Henry Budd) and my son, also named Ken. It captures perfectly the mounted troops in the First World War suddenly responding, and which perfectly brings to life the portrait of my father on horseback in the same uniform on the Western Front. DBW

Pte Horace Albert Webb in Western France. Because of his occupation being a coachman-chauffeur, my father regularly exercised the commanding officer’s charger, and I can remember my father pointing out to me the shrapnel wound on the shoulder. I know, too, that Ken has always loved this portrait and it inspired your Uncle from earliest age to always insist that the donkey rides at Weston-super-Mare and Burnham-on-Sea had to be ‘trotting donkeys’! He hasn’t changed!! Grandad.

Ken riding La Roche ‘Rocka’ on Aggs Hill, Cleeve Common in 1973. Remember Sadie, Girls? Sadie used to race alongside Rocka. What an incredible sight to see our beautiful German Shepherd bounding alongside and almost whooping with delight as Ken wheeled round to then gallop up Aggs Hill towards the Woodland, Sadie easily keeping pace. That’s a long gallop! Grandad

Sadie ~ Pedigree registered name ~ Latitia Freeford. 1973