[2002] SID’S WAR

0012 - Sidney Lane War Diary 8

[this is an extract of the war diary, 'An Ordinary War', by my uncle (Sid Lane, my mother's brother) which covers 'A Year Gone By']

24/8/1940

It seems incredible. I have been in the army for a whole year now. A whole year and what is more I feel resigned to face a second year in uniform.

Will I serve a third year or what will happen? [in fact he had another five years to go!]

8/9/40

The war has now had a birthday, but I am not going to wish it "many happy returns". Some people are quite optimistic about the length of the war and interpret the intense air raids on London as an effort to force the issue. It is suggested that the German Air Force is not all it is cracked up to be and that they realise that they must strike before we reach equality in the air. This may or may not be so, such comforting suggestions have been circulated every time there has been a successful move by the Germans, and to my mind it appears that the "wish is father to the thought."

Up to the present we have more than held our own in the air and I do not doubt that we shall continue to do so. The threatened invasion has not yet taken place. I doubt whether Hitler will ever attempt such a task while the mere threat is sufficient to keep the majority of our forces at home. My own opinion is that we ourselves must strike a crippling blow before Hitler can so organise the Balkans that he is able to assist Italy further in North Africa. Italy herself has had some successes already, having forced us to evacuate British Somaliland. This state of affairs cannot go on for long and one gets a very unpleasant feeling that our leaders are again slipping badly. I hope I am wrong. But up to the present we have done little to be proud of and nothing that will bring the conclusion of the war any nearer. By the foregoing remarks I do not wish to imply that I am in any doubt about the conclusion [possibly he was anticipating that that censorship might later be applied to the diary].

What I am in doubt about is the length of time taken before we obtain the ultimate victory.

8/9/40

These comments are probably occasioned by the disgruntled state of mind in which I find myself. On 26/8/40 I was to return to my unit. A state of affairs which pleased me not at all. What actually happened pleased me still less. I, together with three other unfortunates, was held in Doniford [Watchet in Somerset], to form a demonstration crew. With the other two crews we work a shift system of continuous manning in conjunction with the R.A.F. We were to be released at the end of a week when more operators arrived. Needless to say they did not arrive and the work which had been interesting at first became more or less routine and we began to get fed up. Our liberties, in and out of the camp, were also curtailed. The grub which was poor became very poor and in fact the whole outlook became very dim.

Now, on the 23/9/40, our reliefs have arrived and we are to be sent to our different Batteries on the morrow. Really there have been a number of compensations for having stayed another month. One thing, Brian Jones is still here. Then again, the chaps of the crew are pretty decent and worthy of mention in the log.

There is Tony Bentin of the H.A.C. He's an artist (in more ways than one). His impersonations of the other members of our class will be remembered for a long time. And the battles royal on the chess board will also be something to think about. 

Then there is Galvo. Pat Galvin, an argumentative Irishman with a grouse. The army's No1. moaner. A likeable chap with a peculiar sense of humour. On a certain week-end  he took French leave and hitch-hiked his way home to Bristol. The joke of the whole affair was that the first driver to give him a lift (a considerable one too) was the colonel.

We made a very good team and the discussions we held during the night watches were very interesting indeed. we compared our lot in civil life, talked about our jobs, the kind of holidays we liked, the places we had visited and still hope to visit. Tony described life in Peru and Spain, and one night in particular he described a Spanish bull fight. This he did with such a wealth of detail that he really convinced us that far from being a cruel sport, bull-fighting is clean, thrilling and fascinating. I can picture him now, dancing about on his bed, in his little shorts showing us what a picador did.

Galvo was a map reviser and had travelled in remote places of England and Wales, and he and I had long talks about different passes, mountains, valleys and streams. he was a keen fisherman and of course that provided much material for discourse. Yes, we were a good team and I was sorry in a way when the combination was broken up. But there it is.

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