|
|
|
| I will never forget Stockport Wakes Week in 1945. It was the first year that I would only have one weeks’ holiday. I was a working chap now and would have just the one-week off instead of the full school holidays to do mostly what I wanted. It was also the first time that I had not gone away with the rest of the family. My elder sister, with whom lived, had a young baby barely a year old as well as a five year old so they had decided to stay at home it being easier that way. The scout troop to which I belonged was going to Youlgreave in Derbyshire for their weeks summer camp so I was persuaded to go with them. Being fifteen I was one of the senior members of the troop and the leaders always tried to get the older boys to go to the camp. I wasn’t really an under canvas person but decided a week wouldn’t be too bad. If you cast your mind back you will realise that the summer of 1945 was that peculiar time between the ending of the war in Europe and that of the war with Japan. We had had the euphoria of VE. Day with its attendant grand ceremonial switching off of the blackout and the dancing in the streets to celebrate earlier in the year in May. I had done the Conga along with my schoolmates on VE. Day at 10 30 at night down Wellington Road past the town Hall after the pubs had chucked out. It felt very grown up and decadent I can tell you, I had somehow managed to bluff my way into getting a half-pint of mild from one of the pubs. After all the celebrations were over we all just sat back to wait for the other war to hopefully come to an end. And I don’t think in our wildest dreams that it would come just three months later. Anyway here I was with the Tiviot Dale scout troop on a farm, whose spare land was opened up to scouts and guides for camping purposes during the summer months, in the wilds of Derbyshire. It was the Thursday morning and our troop leader called us all together just after breakfast and told us the news. We were all going on a Church Parade at 11 am. No one would be excused and we had to therefore get ourselves and our uniforms, which by that time of a weeks’ camping were getting fairly grubby, into some semblance of decency. We would march down to Youlgreave church from the farm where we were camped, picking up other groups who were camped nearer to the village on our way. Apparently there was troop of scouts that had a bugle band and when they joined us they would lead the parade the rest of the way in. There was much moaning and groaning by the entire troop. It appeared to be done as an after thought when the scoutmaster said, "Oh! By the way the war is over". This took a few seconds to sink in to the entire group but when it did there was much cheering and jumping about. At least it was a pretty good reason for a church parade in mid week. By 11am we were all ready to march down to the village. Not the best and smartest scout troop in the world but we had done the best we could do under the circumstances. At least the bodies of the boys had been scrubbed under the showers even if the uniforms were a bit the worse for wear after a week under canvas. A couple of other groups were camped further up the road than we were so they went by and we tagged on behind and, with the encouragement of our leaders we tried to outsmart the others in front. About halfway to the church we were joined by the troop with the band that then led the way playing what I have always known as the bugle band march. It has some unwritten words that most scouts and guides seem to know but which are frowned upon by those in charge. They go something like this: We don’t want your bugle band, Stick it up your **** tiddly om pom pom,We don’t want your bugle band’ Stick it up your ****l tiddly om pom pom.Not very Christian like but fun for school kids. Anyway we arrived at the parish church and quickly filled the place with our angelic schoolboy and girl voices. Well at least the younger ones did. I kept my own bass baritone to a very low level. The local parishioners that had managed to find a bit of space left by the youngsters seemed to enjoy it. We did all the usual patriotic hymns. I Vow To Me My Country. Jerusalem. Onward Christian Soldiers. And finished up with Abide With Me which naturally the boys all knew better that the girls. It is the football supporter’s hymn after all. At last it was over and we had the pleasant surprise of being invited into the school hall where, even at such short notice, a spread of sandwiches, buns and pop had been put on for us all. It wasn’t so bad after all. And that is why I shall always remember Stockport Wakes Week. 1945 Wakes Week 1945 by Alan Edwards may 2006
wakes week 1945 click play button for streaming audio
|
