1940 Remembered

The following article appeared in the Parish Magazine in Winter 1983 and was written by Commander Will Messinger (the late husband of our member Doris Messinger). It seemed appropriate to reprint the article as we celebrate the 60th anniversary of the end of the Second World War.

In early October 1940, H.M.S. Ark Royal, the ship in which I was serving as a signal officer, came home from Freetown, Sierra Leone. The “Ark”, which normally formed part of the famous Force “H” under Admiral Sir James Somerville, had been detailed temporarily to join a force specially formed to act in support of General Charles de Gaulle and his Free French Forces in the General's attempt to win the Vichy French at Dakar over to his side. Our overtures were resisted violently by the Vichy French and the General, not wishing Frenchmen to spill the blood of Frenchmen, decided to withdraw his troops. Consequently the “Ark” was ordered home to Liverpool for a brief refit, some leave and to embark new air squadrons.

The “Ark” had been away from the United Kingdom for nearly eight months, during which time she had been constantly engaged in Norway, the Mediterranean, the Atlantic and Africa. Despite the onset of winter, continuing air raids and the knowledge that we were not going to be long at home the news that we were going to get some leave, when it was announced, gave a wonderful uplift to the morale of the ship's company. It is of interest, in passing, that this was the last time the “Ark” ever returned to the land of her building. A year later she was to be sunk by a German torpedo and has since rested on the sea bed some miles East of Gibraltar.

The “Ark” arrived safely at Liverpool and was immediately placed in the Gladstone dry dock at Bootle for maintenance and repairs. Half her ship's company of about 1200 men were sent on leave for five days, the other half remaining on board until the first leave party returned.

A few days after our arrival I was free to take my leave. I had been unable to tell my parents or my fiancée, Doris, of the day when I would be arriving and had told them to expect me during the next few days.

My train left Liverpool (Lime Street) at about 11.00 p.m. I had a rather old-fashioned first class compartment to myself and was able to stretch out for what inspired to be a long, tiring, uncomfortable journey. Euston Station was closed owing to unexploded bombs and bomb damage and we were taken into West Kensington. It is a vivid memory that as I came out of the station into the Autumn sunshine a long funeral procession, with many coffins borne by all manner of vehicles and escorted among others, by many young Scouts and Guides, was passing by. The victims of air raid a few nights earlier.

Strangely I recall, I had no difficulty in finding a taxi to take me to Liverpool Street from whence I travelled to Romford, then by bus to Passingford Bridge.

I do not remember my thoughts as I walked carrying my bag up that well-remembered lane, past the spot where just twelve months previously, the girl who was to become my wife and I had become engaged to marry.

As I came to the straight lane which passes Great Tawney Hall and St. Mary's I could see a number of men working in the lane near the Church gate. As I came opposite Great Tawney Hall I met my father on his way to lunch. After exchanging greetings he started to tell me the news. Three nights before, a very large bomb had fallen in the lane close to the Church gates. It had left an enormous crater which the men I had sighted earlier were busy filling in. It was a miracle that the bomb which must have dropped from a considerable height, had penetrated to a great depth so that the blast went skywards and left the cottages and Church still standing but with many windows blown out.

My father did not seem a bit worried as he told me that come dusk the Germans would start coming over. After spending a little time with my family, I made my way up the lane to Little Tawney Hall to be re-united with my fiancée, Doris, and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. J.G. Padfield.

Darkness had fallen and J.G.P. was about to pour out a glass of beer when the first unwelcome German arrived heralded by the heavy thudding noise of its teutonic engines. J.G.P. continued pouring my beer and remarked: “He will switch off his engines before he starts to drop his bombs.” He then passed me the full glass and the engines were switched off, we all went flat, the silence was eerie as we waited, then in seconds the bombs started landing. We counted twenty, each one seeming to be nearer, then the engines roared up and sat in his armchair on top of my glass of beer! The light had gone out and we were in total darkness.

Doris, being the local Air Raid Warden, was worried about those who lived near the Church from which direction the bombs had appeared to land, my own family being among those living there. We collected our tin hats, gas masks and torches and I my naval 38 calibre pistol and set off down the lane. All was well in the village so we carried on to Great Tawney Hall where we found Mr. and Mrs. Lamb, who farmed Great Tawney in those days, in front of the house in the garden. They told us that the bombs had fallen in the fields beyond the farm buildings; and such it proved to be, for it was found that a number of cattle, about 20, and several horses had been killed or seriously injured.

So ended the first night of my leave. A night in which planes kept passing over, a night of gunfire and bombs detonating. Came the daylight and quiet.

The remaining four days passed all too quickly, with many air raid warnings, bombs exploding and the sound of gunfire, but nothing too close.

I recall that on one afternoon I cycled with Doris to Stanford Rivers and kept watch with her at the A.R.P. post being very hospitably looked after by Mr. and Mrs. Billy Hinman, whose farm it still is. I am unable to recall many details of my return journey to Liverpool, but because of the uncertainty of the London stations being open I had been advised to catch a train at Watford. I hired a car from Epping and Doris and my sister Sheila came with me. When we parted on Watford station I was not to see them again for nearly two years.

I remember arriving in Liverpool and the black void of Lime Street Station. An air raid was in progress. I found a taxi and the driver offered to drive me to Bootle for a pound. As I was paying him off at the dock a German plane released a line of flares to the North East. I wondered if he was searching for the “Ark”.

I went up the gangway and was checked by the Quartermaster and his staff. The ship was very quiet. It was past midnight. I went to my cabin, which incidentally was above one of the ship's bomb magazines. I said my prayers and turned in and slept undisturbed.

Three days later the ship was undocked and with our destroyer escort we departed for the West coast of Scotland where our air squadron flew out and landed on. We set course for Gibraltar to rejoin the Admiral and Force “H”.

I was not in the “Ark” when she was sunk, having a few weeks earlier been appointed to the staff of the Vice Admiral commanding the North Atlantic at Gibraltar.

My return to Tawney is another story, a happy one for me, because three days after my arrival in England, on 29th July 1942, surrounded by relatives and friends who had been hurriedly summoned, Doris and I were married in St. Mary's. I had a whole month's leave to look forward to. The war was to last another three years.

Today, 13th November 1982, appeared this notice in the “In Memoriam” columns of the Daily Telegraph. “HMS Ark Royal - Torpedoed November 13, 1941. In memory of all who served and gave their lives in Force H.”

Commander W.E. Messinger O.B.E. R.N. (Rtd).