The Sandbag Times Issue No: 38

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MRS FOX GOES TO WAR Mrs Fox Goes To War... The Chronicles of Little Hope 1939 – 1945 Welcome to Mrs Fox Goes To War! In our new monthly feature, the Sandbag Times will be rolling back the years (being very careful indeed so as not to accidentally drop 1962 which, you will recall, bought us both the Cuban Missile crisis and a particularly dodgy outbreak of smallpox) to a time in British history which fewer and fewer of us remember personally each year but which collectively, as the children of the little island nation which shook its fist in resolute defiance across approximately 19 nautical miles of open water at one of the most evil political and military regimes in history, we’ll certainly never forget: Namely, the Second World War. The Britain which we’re going back to is, in many ways, very different to the country which we live in today and yet there are echoes of it all around us. Take a drive through the Lincolnshire countryside and you’ll almost certainly come across the crumbling remains of old RAF control towers and air raid shelters lying uncared for in impossibly flat fields, a stroll along the beaches of the south coast may lead to your dog or kids dashing off to explore what to the untrained eye looks for all the world like an old public convenience block which has taken a nose dive from the cliffs above and is gradually being swallowed by a coastline which is wantonly giving itself back to the sea but which is, in fact, a pillbox once manned by armed men who watched the horizon and skies day and night in their fight to keep Britain free. There are streets in London with odd looking pole and mesh railings which, although clearly old, haven’t been replaced in years, take a closer look and you’ll see that they’re actually rows of wartime stretchers, used to carry the dead and injured from the ruins during the blitz. Take a trip to Liverpool and marvel at the many late twentieth century buildings at the docksides; there’s a reason they’re new, vast areas of the city were destroyed by enemy bombers in 1940. Go in fact, practically anywhere in Britain and take a really good look around you, step back from what you think you see and it won’t be long before you’re noticing traces of the Second World War. A lot has been written – and rightly so – about the bravery and endeavours of the allied forces who firstly defended Britain from the Nazi war machine and then launched the greatest armada the world has ever known from our shores when they set off to free occupied Europe, but not so much has been said about the trials and tribulations of their families at home. Practically every British serviceman had one, after all. Ordinary and yet at the same time extraordinary people like my mum, who as a child lived through the Nottingham Blitz, like her grandmother who watched from her house in Mansfield (where I spent many a happy hour as a child years later) as the sky above Nottingham turned red on the night of 8-9th May 1941 and who could only pray aloud that her daughter and grandchildren would somehow survive the night, and people like my darling great uncle George, the flat-footed ARP warden – a little more practical than great grandma – who simply said “Bugger Hitler, I’m going to get those children now!” and jumped into his car and drove off into the night in the general direction of the blazing city. Mrs Fox, with her gravy browning legs, knowing look, slightly dodgy hairdo and complete inability to comprehend the concept of either defeat or surrender is a tribute to the Wartime spirit of the great British home front, she and her villagers were created as a tribute to, and in remembrance of, the ordinary villagers and townies of these islands who raised an eyebrow, drank tea and above all, endured. So, sit back, grab your cuppa (unless you’re driving or operating heavy machinery, obviously) and come back in time with us to 1940’s Yorkshire, to the village of Little Hope, where it’s perpetually wartime, the vicar’s terribly harassed and people are generally keeping calm and carrying on... Julie Warrington | 14 www.sandbagtimes.co.uk
Villager of the Month Hilda Ffinch: The Bird With All The Answers Meet Mrs Fox... Hilda Ffinch, Little Hope's very own Agony Aunt (page 5 of the Little Hope Herald) was easily bored and terribly rich. She loved nothing better than taking on the problems of others and either sorting them out or claiming that she'd never heard of them if it all went tits up and they had to leave the district under cover of darkness having followed her sage advice. "Mrs Fox! Mrs Fox!" shouted Constable Clink excitedly, "I do believe I can see your pussy!" Mrs Fox allowed herself a brief moment of panic before shouting back "Kitchener's at home, dear! This is me fox fur!" Letter Of The Month Born 'behind the Colours' to military parents somewhere in India at a date she keeps conveniently forgetting to mention, Lavinia Fox is the central character in the Chronicles of Little Hope. Terribly ‘Old school’ with an upper lip stiffer than a gentleman’s over-starched collar (I kept that one clean, impressed?) Mrs Fox is a hardy perennial Girl Guide, a diarist, an avid collector of odd people and – given half a chance - the scourge of the Wehrmacht. Is there a Mr Fox? Well yes. Brigadier Fox (Basil) is engaged in top secret work at the War Office and only ever manifests as a voice at the other end of a random telephone call, he and Lavinia manage to avoid actually bumping into one another for much of the war. Keep up to date with Mrs Fox and all the escapades of Little Hope www.mrsfoxgoestowar.co.uk Twitter: @mrslavinafox Dear 'Worried Mum', Firstly, sort your grammar out, one cannot simply start a letter with the words 'Teenage son', one is missing an initial possessive pronoun! Which regiment will your son be joining? If it's a ruftytufty desert commando lot then yes, absolutely use lard - it will come in handy for loosening tight nuts and attracting highly nutritious cockroaches should the food situation become dire. Other than that the answer is an unequivocal 'No!', unless of course you want him to take up with a lady of dubious morals thereby endangering the validity of your heirs and successors. No nice girl will walk out with a fellow who smells of bacon and attracts cats. Yours, Hilda Ffinch The Bird With All The Answers www.sandbagtimes.co.uk 15 |
Page 1 and 2: The Veterans’ Magazine Issue 38 |
Page 3 and 4: The Veterans’ Magazine Christmas
Page 5: Veterans charities and organisation
Page 8 and 9: The Magic Marine: Steel Johnson Ste
Page 10 and 11: The Christmas Truce of 1914
Page 12 and 13: Peter Macey, famed for our regular
Page 16 and 17: Group in Iraq, I jumped at the chan
Page 18 and 19: | 18 www.sandbagtimes.co.uk
Page 20 and 21: Hi all, welcome to Sandbag Times Ra
Page 22 and 23: www.afvbc.co.uk The VBC Website ha
Page 24 and 25: “I though it was just the fireman
Page 27 and 28: I WEEP FOR ALL THE YOUNG MEN I weep

The Sandbag Times Issue No: 38

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