Big ray

We had quite a lot of refugees come up to our area from London, one of the boys, who became one of my friends was taken in by a family who lived six houses away from ours. His parents were killed in the bombings in London, he must not have had any near relatives, or at least any that wanted or could take him on. The family that had taken him in finally adopted him. He is an old man like myself now, but I regularly see him exercising his dog. As kids we would go along to the local rifle range, the range has long gone now, but it must have been there from as far back as the first world war. We would spend many hours on the range digging out spent bullets, we used to be amazed at the ammount of damage that those bullets suffered on impact with what we thought was soft earth, we were after the undamaged bullet, you would occasionally find one.:kissoncheek:

Welcome to the forum, your M20 will look much better when its all bolted back together, try not to leave it lying around for to long,thats how you lose hard to find bits.:cool2:

Correct!!!!!!!! its to stop you from making a profit. :cool2:

If you went into a shop and all the items had P.O.A. on them, I dont think that they would do much business....... so that speaks volumes.:kissoncheek:

That would be before they realised the need for vast quantities, and the advantages of shipping flat packed..... a lot more Jeeps for your buck.:cool2:

AUTHENTIC ? In the autumn of 1944, after the liberation of Paris, the american army put something like 160 thousand Jeeps through the Hotchkiss factory just outside of Paris. They went in one end, stripped, all useable components set aside for re-use, unserviceable stuff scrapped and replaced with new, they went in as Ford or Willy`s, but came out the other end composite, Ford or Willy`s parts fitted............ whats this authentic, and remember lots of WARTIME Jeeps never heard a shot fired in anger!!!!! The Hotchkiss is a good Jeep.:kissoncheek:

During the war there was always lots of aircraft flying about, sometimes fighters, other times a single bomber or even a group. It was at night time that the Germans flew over, you could always tell the different sound made by German bombers, whilst ours had a constant pitch the german bombers the sound seemed to go up and down... a very different sound. My family spent a few nights in the air raid shelter at the bottom of the garden, it was all just a load of excitement for all of us young boys, we could never appreciate the danger. We also had a large brick built air raid shelter situated almost opposite to our home, I suppose that it would hold about 50 or 60 people, it had a thick concrete roof, but I dont think that the people wanted to use it, they felt that a direct hit would just kill everyone in there.... so I dont recall it being used, but we kids used to climb onto the roof and jump off. I think that we all wanted to be parachutists, it was not demolished untill several years after the war. I remember standing with my grandfather at the rear of the house watching the German bombers bomb Manchester... my grandfather used to say to me Manchester are getting it again lad. Everyone just seemed to accept the nightly bombing, several homes were bombed near to us, we would go and look at the damage the next day, all that we were looking for was bits of German bombs... thats kids for you.:kissoncheek:

Hi Bob, welcome to the forum.......thats a good choice of vehicle if you want something a little on the larger side, take your time making your choice, theres plenty to go at. Nice practical truck for modern traffic conditions. Nice and easy to drive. Let us know when you acquire one, and how you like it.:kissoncheek: Regards Ray.

Hi Peter, welcome to the forum, thats a nice little collection that you have. Its a beautiful part of the world where you live.......... I can feel The Sound of Music coming on!!!!! :kissoncheek:

During 1955, before I was inducted into the army I worked for my family scrapping / stripping war surplus vehicles. We worked on several acres of land, some areas had been neglected and had become overgrown, whilst mucking about in some shrubbery I came accross a Bren Gun Carrier. It seemed to be complete so we decided to put fuel in, and a battery on, the weather was very warm and dry so with fingers crossed we hit the starter, the V8 spun over but no attempt to fire. We checked for fuel delivery at the carb, there was none, it transpired that the lift pump diaphram had perished. So we just fitted a superstructure at the rear and gravity-fed the fuel, cleaned the points and bingo, she fired up and ran very well. We now used the carrier for all sorts of dragging jobs around the yard, in the end it just went the way of most of the gear that came through the yard.... cut-up for scrap. I have never owned one of these machines, but I do remember that it was like riding on the ocean waves, rocking up and down every time that you accelerated or braked, lots of memories.:kissoncheek:

The camp showers were housed in block 3. We were separated from this block by about 80mtrs, so taking a shower involved grabbing your washing gear and walking over to the adjacent block. I went over for my shower one summer evening, got myself under the shower and found myself to be alone, pretty unusual with so many guys in the workshop. So I did what most guys seem to do when on your own in the shower.... I started to sing, I must have been really enjoying the sound of my own voice. Suddenly the door to the communal shower burst open and a gang of block 3 residents ran in with buckets of cold water, they gave me a good cooling off.... I was trying to climb the walls at this point. Whilst they gave me a good cooling, the rest of the gang stole my towel and clothes, the only thing that I had left was the soap. So I had to run the guantlet from block 3 to my own block in the nude...... and the boundary fence ran alongside the path, exposing me to any german civilians on the outside.... but hey..... I was 20 years old, a fine figure of a man..... if they did it to me now, I would just have to stay there and die first...... great memories.:kissoncheek:

My worst xmas would have to be during the latter part of ww2, thats when my grandparents (they were raising my sister and myself) bought for me a kids push along scooter.... no rubber to be had in them days, so the scooter was fitted with steel (or something similar) wheels, the noise made when I rode it along the footpath was terrible, all the neighbours went nuts, all the noise that I was making early on xmas morning.... they all shouted through the windows, telling me to banner-off home. My best xmas was xmas day 1963 when our first born arrived at 1.50pm. She is still the light of my life, she now lives 80 miles away, so we dont see her or her family enough..... but they will all be here for xmas day....... she knocks my eye out every time that we see her.

Wishing everyone a very merry xmas and a happy new year.:kissoncheek:

I recently attended a forties themed day at our local museum, I went along with a few of my friends with our military vehicles, Jeeps,Dodges and my Harley Davidson WLC. The museum is relatively new, built along with such new buildings as the central police station, library etc. We were exhibiting our vehicles on the paved frontage of the museum, the museums main exhibit being a Spitfire fighter plane, the designer of the Spitfire (Reginald Mitchell) was born locally. The museum staff kept us supplied with refreshments, whilst partaking of a cup of coffee I glanced accross the street and realised that the flight of steps on the other side actually went up to the very room that I had visited for my medical in October 1955 for my induction into the army in January 1956, I remember bounding up those steps in 1955...... I dont think that I could bound down them now. :-(

Thank you for your kind words, I hope that you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing down my memories. Ray.

Psycholgical......... 100 times, psychological !!!!!!!!!!! its my age, I would say that it was aultzimers...... if I was sure how to spell it.:yay::yay:

Uncle Jack (Brother) returned home from his RAF service in North Africa in early 1946, I felt his presence immediately, my grandfather, who was raising myself along with my younger sister, was very much into phycological discipline, not physical punishment. Jack had no problem in dishing out a little punishment to me if he felt that I had transgressed any of the house rules, and unlike today, we had plenty of house rules. Many, many months after he had returned home, myself and my grandfather returned home to find him quite distressed and crying. I did not know what was wrong, but my granfather knew, Jack had obviously confided in him the story of a very bad accident whilst he was serving in North Africa. It seems that he was driving a truck, complete with trailer, in convoy, in the Atlas Mountains. Whilst descending the mountain his brakes failed, lack of air in the brake system. This turned out to be a design fault in the brake system when coupled to the trailer on a long descent, even when using the gearbox as a braking aid. A vehicle some distance in front of him had crashed whilst carrying airmen in the rear, the injured men were propped up against the cliff side of the highway. It seems that Jack came around the bend in the road, saw the accident, but could not stop. He tried running into the wall (Mountain) in order to stop the truck but in doing so he collided with several of the more injured airmen, who were unable to move, several men died. He was exonerated of any blame at the subsiquent enquiry, but I think that he never really got over that incident. I had many run-ins with Jack over my subsiquent growth to adulthood, but I learned to love and respect him very much untill his death a few years ago.

I explained in an earlier post that I drove the unit coach (Buzzing Nag) well I just happened to be on the washdown one day, late in the afternoon, when a RAF truck pulled onto the park. This truck like almost all RAF trucks in Germany at that time was of German manufacture. The RAF driver climbed down from the cab and walked over to me, and asked, who drives this coach then?. I replied I do, why?. He pointed to his truck and said, thats the new Buzzing Nag Truck, and would I like to view it, which of course I did. He invited me to climb into the driving seat and see what I thought of the new truck (My coach was very much older) When he said climb into the seat, thats precisely what you did, you climbed up a ladder on the side of the cab. Once seated in the truck you can imagine, it was new, complete with what then was a novelty, a cigar lighter. After a few moments of what can only be discribed as drooling all over my lap, he said, after giving me a few instructions, fire it up. I remember that the starter switch was a spring loaded lever, complete with an associated light on the dash board. For cold starting you moved the switch to the first position and waited for the light to go out before completing the full movement of the lever. The engine, being warm fired into life immediately..... but instead of making the usual diesel engine sound, it whistled when you pushed the accelerator. There was obviously a look of mild perplexity on my face, so with a smile the RAF guy said, its air cooled...... I could not believe that such a big truck would be air cooled. This truck was not only big, it also had a tri-axle trailer hooked onto it, thats one axle on the turntable and two axles at the rear of the trailer, and the trailer was longer than the truck. Once that I had the motor running he said, you might as well park it up now.........I engaged first gear and moved off, I had not noticed that he had parked at an angle adjacent to a brick built ventilation shaft. As I pulled away I clipped the shaft and dislodged a few of the bricks from the top course. He immediately said, thats my fault for parking too close. The next morning the M.T. Sergeant wanted to blame the RAF driver, so I said no Sergeant, that was me......... I then explained what I have just related to you, and he said, for your honesty we will say that we have no idea who has done it, and thats how it was left...... I might add the truck suffered no damage, it must have been the tyre.:cool2:

I explained in an earlier post that I drove the unit coach (Buzzing Nag) well I just happened to be on the washdown one day, late in the afternoon, when a RAF truck pulled onto the park. This truck like almost all RAF trucks in Germany at that time was of German manufacture. The RAF driver climbed down from the cab and walked over to me, and asked, who drives this coach then?. I replied I do, why?. He pointed to his truck and said, thats the new Buzzing Nag Truck, and would I like to view it, which of course I did. He invited me to climb into the driving seat and see what I thought of the new truck (My coach was very much older) When he said climb into the seat, thats precisely what you did, you climbed up a ladder on the side of the cab. Once seated in the truck you can imagine, it was new, complete with what then was a novelty, a cigar lighter. After a few moments of what can only be discribed as drooling all over my lap, he said, after giving me a few instructions, fire it up. I remember that the starter switch was a spring loaded lever, complete with an associated light on the dash board. For cold starting you moved the switch to the first position and waited for the light to go out before completing the full movement of the lever. The engine, being warm fired into life immediately..... but instead of making the usual diesel engine sound, it whistled when you pushed the accelerator. There was obviously a look of mild perplexity on my face, so with a smile the RAF guy said, its air cooled...... I could not believe that such a big truck would be air cooled. This truck was not only big, it also had a tri-axle trailer hooked onto it, thats one axle on the turntable and two axles at the rear of the trailer, and the trailer was longer than the truck. Once that I had the motor running he said, you might as well park it up now.........I engaged first gear and moved off, I had not noticed that he had parked at an angle adjacent to a brick built ventilation shaft. As I pulled away I clipped the shaft and dislodged a few of the bricks from the top course. He immediately said, thats my fault for parking too close. The next morning the M.T. Sergeant wanted to blame the RAF driver, so I said no Sergeant, that was me......... I then explained what I have just related to you, and he said, for your honesty we will say that we have no idea who has done it, and thats how it was left...... I might add the truck suffered no damage, it must have been the tyre.:cool2:

I dont know if anyone out there has a wartime Canadian Dodge, the D15 I think was the model, with the long nose.... civvy truck really adapted for military use. The first time that I drove one along the highway I thought what a lovely truck..... by the time that I had travelled 4 or 5 miles my shirt had rolled all the way up my bag. The seat was lovely and springy, or so I thought untill I realised that the back rest was bolted to the cab, and thats what rooled your shirt up your back, bouncing on that lovely springy seat. It soon became very irritating. Those were the days, great memories.:kissoncheek:

My grandmother came from Wallsend, I spent a lot of time visiting relatives as a youngster in the late 40s and 50s. They (or most) lived in Vine St, Wallsend. All gone now demolished. I had the best New Year 1958 /59 in North Sheilds. I did`nt drink in them days, so my relatives used me as the driver........ they even had me taking complete strangers home in the early hours to make sure that they got home O.K. Welcome to the forum. Regards from a honorary Geordie. Ray.:kissoncheek:

When the ship left Gallipoli with its load of wounded, after less than a day they returned for more wounded, so many of the original troops had died. I do remember that whenever I discussed religion with him, he would always tell me that he actually prayed to die, just to get away from the excruciating pain. He always gave me plenty of food for thought after my discussions with him............. I still miss him, and he has been gone quite a long time now.

A doctor received the wounded as they came up the gang plank, he assessed their injuries and directed them above or below deck, below deck meant that they had little chance of surviving their wounds, and would be sewn into bags and buried at sea. My grandfather was conscious for a few moments at that point, and heard the doctor direct him below deck. He next regained consciousness to find the preist giving the last rites to the man next to himself. My grandfather was making considerable noise with the pain, the preist turned to him and offered a few words of comfort. A nearby doctor heard the priest and asked, is that man still alive, and immediately sent him upstairs. My grandfather went on to recover over many months in a military hospital in the North East of England, where he actually met my grandmother. He was discharged on medical grounds and carried the bullet for the rest of his life. He went many times to try to have it removed but they always told him that it was too dangerous.

My Grandfather, who along with my grandmother, raised my younger sister and myself, after we had lost our parents in 1943, had served in WW1 with the North Staffordshire Regiment (Infantry). He would not talk about his war experiences unless I asked him specific questions. He had served in Gollipoli, fighting the Turks, in 1915. He was a stretcher bearer, they had to go around the battlefield at the end of the days fighting collecting the wounded. On one particular day he was walking around the bend in a ravine when some concealed troops shouted to him that there was a sniper active in that area. He immediately dived to the ground, as he did so a flash of red passed before his eyes, thats all that he remembers, the flash of red was blood from a shoulder wound sustained when the sniper shot him. The impact of the bullet knocked him out, when he came around again he was on his own, the troops had moved, I suppose assuming that he was dead. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder when he dived to the ground, the sniper was probably aiming for his chest area. The bullet hit the shoulder bone and deflected down his ribs, fracturing them, and deflecting off a lower rib and travelling accross to his spine, a considerable injury. The pain down the left side of his body was excruciating, he managed to crawl on his right side, he eventually reached a dirt track, when he again passed out with the pain and loss of blood. The next memory that he had was of being carried onto the hospital ship.

Looking good.