91Čȱ¬

It was November the 24th and I was 21 years old and living in Clee St Margaret.

The day began very, very wet and misty. I was asked to collect the ponies by my Father and Mother from off the common ā€” The common is more of a separation really - one part was called Clee Liberty, and the other called Clee St Margaret.

Back in the 1940ā€™s the common was running as one ā€” there were no fences. They could come away from over the Ditton Priors area right over and it was quite a labour to get some ponies that gotten over on the wrong side.

There was especially a black pony that belonged to my Mother and Father that they wanted getting down because it needed to go to a doctor. I had a difficulty getting him because it had fallen with rain and it was foggy and I couldnā€™t always see where I was going.

It became later on in the day ā€” about dinner time and Iā€™d been on the common since about 11 oā€™clock that morning and I still couldnā€™t drive them over to the street was I was supposed to- I struggled and struggled but they still couldnā€™t get them over, try as I would it didnā€™t work. I gave in to that idea and brought them down in to a little hamlet called Cockshutt Ford. I decided to drive them along the road as they were all tired. I didnā€™t arrive back home until about half four in the afternoon, and as it was during November we didnā€™t have much light.

When Father met me with the ponies that Iā€™d been chasing all day said ā€œdid you see anything of an aeroplane on the common when you were there?ā€ I said ā€œNo, I never. It was windy as well as very foggy, I never heard anything.ā€ ā€œWellā€, he replied. ā€œThereā€™s supposed to have been an aeroplane come down over there youā€™ll have to go back and have a look please? You can go back now if you like.ā€ I said ā€œI will after Iā€™ve had a refreshmentā€, so I had a drink but he was a bit distressed about the plane as he thought someone might need help, so I didnā€™t waste any time, I went straight back taking Tommy the cob with me.

Tommy didnā€™t want to go, he was quite adamant as heā€™d been running all day long, which was understandable. However, we did manage to go up, but it had become dark by the time we got on to the top. It would have been easier to go through the bogs but he was heavy and if Iā€™d have got him in there I wouldnā€™t have been able to get him out again very well, so I went home back down home and I told Dad ā€œI can see nothing, I went up the paths where the sheep go but I couldnā€™t see anything, nor smell anything.ā€ Youā€™d have thought Iā€™d have smelled something, or the horse would. Father said ā€œWell, weā€™ll take a walk back up later you and me, with some torches.ā€

We did, but we couldnā€™t get any help. He rang the 91Čȱ¬ Guard but he felt the same as they did ā€” it was a bit of a risk as they didnā€™t know the area, theyā€™d just joined as part of their duty. He said ā€œWeā€™ll just go by ourselvesā€. So we did. But oh dear, our light blew out. We only had one of these hurricane lamps and a torch. The torch was the only one surviving so we had to abort our journey and come back home. He said ā€œYouā€™ll have to go up in the morning, as soon as day breaksā€ (that would have been about half past five, six oā€™ clock).

In the morning, I got up and followed the wall which Father had showed me, it was the wall on the left hand side of the meadow ā€” and I went up on to the top of the old quarry (where the radio station is now). He said once you get up there and look down youā€™ll soon see if thereā€™s anything wrong. So sure I did.

Lo, I looked around and I saw this big object, it looked like a crash of some sort ā€” a plane or something that hadnā€™t been there before. I quickly ran down the tracks that the sheep make- down towards this object I could see and lo and behold it was a Wellington Bomber that had crashed!

It had come down from the direction of Ashfield on an angle over an old Well ā€” itā€™s still on the Common, itā€™s called Elsieā€™s well. It had caught the fence which divided the meadows. I came quietly past the plane; I gave the plane a fair distance because in those days you had to be careful you didnā€™t know whether there was any left over shells or bombs theyā€™d been carrying.

I went pretty cautiously along the tracks where it had crashed into the fence and I came across one gentleman, poor man, he was face-down in a pit and I could see blood in the water where the rushes were growing. It was very sad; I knew I was too late to help him.

Further on there was a man with his arm up. Heā€™d got his arm reared up with his watch on and I quickly sped along thinking probably he was alive. I got hold of his arm and it was stiff and cold, the watch was on his arm but I left it there. The watch had stopped though, the time read twenty minutes past four.

I carried on around the plane and I could see a man underneath the one wing. Heā€™d been sheltered, I think, as heā€™d been there all through the night and it was wet and cold. I thought ā€˜that was a good thing, you knowā€™. I quickly pulled off an old top I had on and put it under his head. He was unconscious, but he wasnā€™t absolutely out ā€” he could tell someone was with him and he gave a little moan. I said ā€œIā€™ll be back; Iā€™m going to go and get you some help. Donā€™t worryā€. I ran off ā€” right the way down on to a flat bit of the land, and Father was down on the road - I called and called, and waved and it wasnā€™t long ā€˜til he and Tom Price heard me and came up and brought a flask of tea (with whisky in it) to give the gentleman a drink.

We gave him little sips so as not to choke him but to warm him a bit; I remember we were very careful. Meanwhile Father went to get help from other areas ā€” the air force and what have you, and it wasnā€™t long before we were surrounded by many, many people. Eventually the gentleman was brought down carefully on a stretcher.

That gentlemanā€™s name was Linley James, and the one with his arm raised was called Harold Jessop. Haroldā€™s family have been to seen me since and thank me for what I did to try and help him, which was very, very nice. Iā€™ve never seen Linley James again. Iā€™d love to see him one day if I can.

This story was collected by Elaine Muir and submitted to the Peopleā€™s War site by Becky Barugh of the 91Čȱ¬ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Maud Massey. The story has been added to the site with Maud's permission and she fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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