CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Old Faithful

In 1941, Winston Churchill, the first British Prime Minister to address a joint meeting of the US Congress, spoke about the progress of the war in Europe. Germany had taken to bombing the south-coast cities of Plymouth and Portsmouth with fire and high explosives, causing fires and mayhem throughout.

On 10 May 1941, a raid by 550 bombers dropped more than 700 tons of bombs and thousands of incendiaries, probably the worst raid ever in the Blitz. Casualties were high with some 1,500 people killed and over 1,800 seriously injured. The chamber of the House of Commons (Parliament) was destroyed; and the House of Lords, Westminster Abbey, Westminster Hall, St. James’ Palace and Lambeth Palace were among the many buildings damaged. Almost all major main-line railway stations were damaged as well as fourteen hospitals, the British Museum and the law courts of the Old Bailey.

After this first onslaught on the East End, from mid-September the Luftwaffe attacked the rest of London; it was during this period that the famous bombing of Buckingham Palace occurred when Queen Elizabeth (later the Queen Mother) made her remark about being able to look the East End in the eye. People became so used to the raids they just carried on as normal. Cinemas continued to show films during raids and the audience remained watching them.

By May 1941, some 43,000 people had been killed across Britain, and one 1,400,000 were made homeless. Coventry, Plymouth, Manchester, also Glasgow, Liverpool, and Southampton suffered the same fate as London. May was the last of the major raids on London during this period.

Although bomb disposal had faith in Jack’s methods there were some that harboured many doubts over the way he went about his work. An officer accused him of carelessness when a 500kg bomb wrecked half a house while he was trying to neutralize its fuse with gelignite. Jack told them they were meddling in matters they did not have a clue about, and a few weeks later a detachment of the East Surrey Regiment stationed in Richmond Park made complaints about several violent explosions set off by him that had, without any warning, sprayed red-hot metal close to the guard room and Officers’ Mess. One man, to his complete surprise, saw the Earl dressed in airman’s boots and a Stetson, strolling around company HQ.

Jack was exhausted and cold to the bone, something he did not readily admit, and could not remember when he last experienced a decent night’s sleep. His eyes were red and felt gritty all the time, the muscles in his neck, shoulders and back ached through sheer concentration, and the Germans were not letting up. His life and his team’s, up until this point, was bound in the mire of searching for certain fuses, visiting various dumps, collecting likely bombs and taking them to a safe place for examination.

He spent the weekend of 8, 9 and part of 10 May at Charlton Park, away from the wretchedness of London, relaxing with his family in his comfortable familiar surroundings; no better salve to his physical, mental and emotional health. The weather, settled and sunny though a little cool, was an added bonus. Mimi and Jack shared joyous, precious moments together after being separated. Even though she was not kept informed as to what her husband was doing in London and the southeast, she knew it to be dangerous work and she worried for him because Jack would give no quarter, no matter how his health affected him. It seemed to Mimi he was on a mission and he would see it through to the bitter end. It was a joy to watch him taking delight in playing with his three sons, his third son Patrick Greville was now around 7 months-old, teething and babbling away in baby language. Her husband rejoiced in those few days and surrendered himself up to the attention showered upon him. How he had missed them.

His next job was just like all the others. There was no reason to think otherwise. Old Faithful had been lying around for months over winter. The 250kg bomb with two separate fuses – a Type 17 and a Type 50 - was just like many of the others they had worked on. In a few hours’ time he and his team would be going to Charlton Park for two weeks rest. Jack had promised them a rest, and that is what they would get. They were, if being honest, more than a little curious about the Earl’s lifestyle and his home. They had heard snippets of talk about his stately home called Charlton Park and its grounds, and the Earl’s famous wife, her picture having been shown everywhere, even on buses and billboards. The air was quite still that Monday: they heard blackbirds singing and the sparrows chirruping, and the mumbling sound of traffic and life going on in the distance. Now and then the voices of children playing punctuated the air. The bomb had been thoroughly checked over by the Earl the day before, on 11 May 1941, and the lads were confident.

Sergeant Cole was at the scene because Captain Privett had requested he be there and also because Staff Sergeant Atkins offered to drive him to their detachment at Bromley after he had delivered the Mk II electronic stethoscope and Mk II electronic clock stopper the Earl had requested.

Atkins met the Earl at the bomb site at Belvedere Marshes then drove both them and the equipment to the bomb, a distance of about 400yds, and the men began working. Beryl was busy taking down the Earl’s notes in shorthand from a nearby lorry, Fred was kneeling by his friend’s side handing him the tools he required while Jack sat astride the bomb. Everything was as it should be, when, without any warning, the bomb exploded in a thunderous, blistering, red hot blast of noise and light.

Lance Corporal Brownrigg and Sergeant Cole were sitting in a vehicle some 400yds away when it happened; they were completely deafened by the sound, after which shock took over, their minds not fully comprehending the enormity of what had just taken place. Their ears rang with the resounding reverberation of the blast. It took a few moments for them to return to reality. They finally picked themselves up and rushed over to scan the devastating scene of death, and just stood rooted to the spot, gazing at the scene in horror. Grey, black billowing smoke, twisted steel, debris, a massive hole in the ground and bodies greeted them.

The Earl’s lorry was upright and ablaze, the engine block perforated by fragments, only the frame was still intact as were the wheels. Equipment was scattered on the ground and the oxygen cylinder had burst. The doors and name board of the van had been wrenched off and flung 60ft into the air by the blast. Part of the front of the Guy truck had also been blown away, the other lorry just beginning to burn. A number of people were obviously severely injured.

Panic stricken, Sergeant Cole ran among the tragic debris but was unable to find the Earl, Staff Sergeant Atkins, Driver Sharratt, Sapper Jack Hardy, and Fred Hards (who had been with the Earl for seven months). They had all been working close to the bomb they had been so sure it was not lethal. All precautions had been taken. All that remained was a 5ft diameter shallow crater some 18in deep because the bomb had been laying on the ground, the blast having gone out and up. Lance Corporal Brownrigg tried his best to help the casualties until the ambulance arrived then proceeded to put out the flames on the second largest lorry.

They found Beryl in an extremely serious condition. Fred Hards had managed to drag himself a few yards and died calling for Suffolk. One man thought to be Sapper Reg Dutson died within a few minutes of Cole’s arrival. Cole assisted the best he could and helped take the casualties to Erith Cottage Hospital. Brownrigg travelled in another ambulance with a number of others who were injured. Beryl, who had been in the service of the Earl for eleven months, sadly succumbed to her injuries and died in the ambulance. Bertie Gillet died of his wounds in hospital in the early hours of the following morning. Of the others, Routhan received wounds to his left arm and side and had a puncture wound in his face. Bill Fulwell’s right arm was shattered, Nicholls’ injuries were to his throat and face, Travers had wounds deep in his buttocks, and Baxter was in desperate need of an operation for serious abdominal injuries.

Sapper Liposta was in a complete state of shock but still managed to relay to his commanding officer details about what had just taken place. Lance Corporal Brownrigg went and assisted the doctor at the hospital with identifying the bodies then a stretcher party vehicle drove him back to HQ. He sat at his desk and put his head in his shaking hands and wept. He could not take in the enormity of what he had just witnessed. It was hellishly awful. The Earl, along with Beryl and Fred and the team, were gone. He would never speak to them, see them nor laugh with them again. He squared his shoulders, wiped his tears, took a couple of deep breaths and began writing his report while it was still fresh in his mind. What happened would stay with him forever. Some of the casualties of the blast had only been ascertained by counting the living, it being impossible to put what was left into a specific number of bodies.

Captain Bainbridge learned about the catastrophe and arrived at the hospital after the casualties had been brought in. He spoke with Liposta who, in his shocked state, barely managed to inform him of what had taken place before the bomb went up.

Dr Gough was walking into his office around 6.30pm when the telephone rang. It was Dr Paris giving him the appalling news that the bomb the Earl had been working on at Erith Marshes had exploded, killing him and most of his team. It had exploded at 3.20pm. His good friend who, only hours previous, had leant over an office boy’s desk and smiled at him in the Borax factory, the man he had travelled to see to ease his mind that all was well at the bomb site, had just become another statistic of war. Dr Gough was devastated. Everything had been fine when he left Jack. He did not want to think the worse thought of all – he would never, ever, get to see his friend again. He found his chair and slumped in it and stared out of the window with unseeing eyes. The enormous loss would eventually sink in. A light had gone out in his soul.

In a dazed state he arranged for Dr Paris to go straight to the site to obtain all possible information and to keep in touch with him by telephone. As soon as that was done Dr Gough ordered a car to be made available for his use at any time during the night. Owing to the breakdown of telephone communications in south-east London, his repeated efforts to obtain additional information were useless so he was forced to wait for a message from Dr Paris.

At about 11.00pm that night, Dr Paris telephoned and told him of the position. Realizing nothing further could be done until morning when urgent action must be taken which included calls on relatives of deceased, Gough arranged for a car and Major Sumner (ADSR) to meet him at 7.30am the next morning. They were to drive to London to meet with Paris as soon as possible.

At 1.30am, Gough managed to contact Sir William Brown by telephone and brought him up to date. It was agreed Gough would drive to Charlton Park to break the awful news to Lady Suffolk and make any necessary arrangements. He got little sleep that night.

At 7.30am, Major Sumner arrived with the car and drove him to London where he spoke with Dr Paris and Dr Roffey. It was arranged they would visit the relatives of Beryl Morden and Fred Hards, and that Captain Drane would revisit the site; 25 BD Coy to deal with the scene of the accident and talk to witnesses. Gough suggested a posthumous award of the George Cross which Captain Drane warmly supported. He then travelled on to the village police station at Charlton to find that no police communication had yet been sent to Charlton Park. Having traced his telegram, that had only just been transmitted, Gough sighed deeply. He found it had been received by Lady Suffolk at 11.30am that morning. God help us, he thought.

Driving to Charlton Park was not a journey he wished to make. His slowness in getting out of the car, the careful placing of a shined shoe on the gravel, the unspoken words, the sympathy and sorrow that filled his eyes, portrayed everything. Words were not required. He spoke with Mimi alone. Her hand fluttered to her mouth and her thoughts flashed to her now fatherless children. Michael was only six; far too young for the task ahead of him; much younger than Jack had been when his father died. Her heart beat fast in her chest and a feeling of numbness and shock filled her body, just as it must have done when her mother-in-law received news of her husband’s death in Mesopotamia. She could not bear the thought that she would never see her husband again. That he would never walk into Charlton, his home, with that beloved cheeky grin on his face, his cigarette placed permanently into his cigarette holder and black hat crammed on his head. The children would laugh no more when their father got on his knees and played with them. Jack’s whole being had always lit up the room – but no more.

What would become of her and the boys now that her larger than life husband was gone? Charlton Park was now a military hospital and the family was living in only three of the rooms; the War Office had yet to pay them any rent. Her husband’s mother, Daisy, had stopped his allowance some time ago because she said he was working for the government. That maybe so, Mimi thought, but they still had yet to pay him.

Breaking the news to her was extremely painful for Dr Gough, as one might imagine. He could honestly say he loved Suffolk; a remarkable person, the reincarnation of all his great ancestors. In fact, he was a sort of modern day buccaneer – fearless, charming and gay – and what he set out to do he did with great thoroughness and aplomb.

Dr Gough felt utterly drained. Poor Lady Suffolk – nothing he said could stem her heartache. The children, thankfully, were not in the room. He later joined Lady Suffolk’s mother and Major Sumner and inadequately, he thought, expressed the sympathy of the Minister and Secretary and spoke of the excellent services rendered by Lord Suffolk. But they were just platitudes. Nothing one said at a time like this really made much difference. A good man was gone. He sighed deeply then drafted a cable to Lord Suffolk’s mother in the USA.

Gough agreed to take the following steps: to sort out all Lord Suffolk’s personal papers, books and other belongings at Great Westminster House and have them sent on to Charlton Park. Also he would communicate with the family’s solicitors, and arrange for Lieutenant Hon. Greville R. Howard, RNVR, to be informed via the Admiralty. His tasks were numerous. Dealing with any press enquiries arising from the secret nature of Lord Suffolk’s official duties would take time. He made a note not to forget to recover any personal tools of Lord Suffolk that remained undamaged and forward them to Charlton Park.

The question of a funeral was delicately raised and information indicated that ‘no remains’ had been found. This aspect he tried very gently to convey. Before leaving Charlton Park he spoke with Mr Moore, the estate manager, and asked him to let him know if any matters came to light which were unnecessary or undesirable for Lady Suffolk. Thoroughly shattered, Dr Gough finally returned to London about 8.00pm. He tried over the next few months to get Lady Suffolk a war widow’s pension but it met with unsympathetic ears. They found it hard to believe that someone living in a stately home could be in desperate need.

Henry Bishop, now in his nineties, had worked for the Borax factory for over forty-five years; at the time of the explosion he had been working on the cranes on the wharf in the immediate vicinity of the marshes, only five minutes from his home. He had climbed up the jib of his crane but all he could see was dense, black billowing smoke. The first signs that something was amiss to the men working in the factory was when a large crowbar from the bomb site came crashing through the roof, narrowly missing machinist George French. Later, George gave the crowbar to Henry’s father as a souvenir, who in turn gave it to Henry. At the time, Henry heard a rumour that Jack had been sitting astride the bomb when it exploded.

Bishop’s uncle, Charlie Cooper, was walking down Norman Road, Lower Belvedere, on his way home from work when the bomb went off. As he reached the site he saw three army trucks on fire. He ran over to one of the vehicles in case anyone might be alive, and found a horrifically injured woman. Gently, he lifted her out of the wrecked vehicle, but he knew from her condition that she was unlikely to survive.

One of the drivers delivering the equipment had a very lucky escape. In urgent need of a pee as they entered the marsh, he jumped down from the lorry and ran to a bush to relieve himself; an action that saved his life. Henry’s brother-in-law, Bob Wilkins, an officer in the Royal Artillery, was in the Royal Herbert Military Hospital, Woolwich, recuperating from a wound when they brought in another patient – the soldier who got out of the lorry for a pee before the blast. What a tale he had to tell.

Ken Tinker, the office boy at the Borax factory, was in the middle of completing a routine task when he heard the massive explosion. It rocked and shook the building. He and the others raced outside and saw a plume of black smoke rising over the dump and three army vehicles blazing. Debris rained down on the factory’s corrugated roof: amongst it was a 6ft crowbar and a lot of marsh mud. One of their drivers who happened to be crossing the marsh at the time witnessed the Earl and one other person sitting on the bomb just before it exploded. Ken suddenly felt a deep sadness well up inside him. The image of the Earl dressed in a duffle coat, walking into the office to use the telephone appeared in his mind: he was such a kind, gentle giant of a man.

The incident remained vivid in Ken Tinker’s memory while many other events of the war faded into the dim past. He lived on throughout the Battle of Britain as a mere messenger lad on a bicycle answering the call to replace damaged telephone services throughout the long nights or making tea for his others in the frontline of London’s defences.

Ken believed himself to be one of the very privileged few to talk with the Earl before he died. Crossing back over the marsh that night, Ken peddled slowly through the twilight and dimly saw the wreckage of the vehicle that had brought the Earl into his life for one brief instant before he was gone forever. Next morning, he hurried past the site where an army team was searching amid the bombs now scattered by the blast, and no doubt examining other bombs for signs of revived activity.

Once the area was made safe, the team began the task of collecting bombs that littered the ground, dragging them with the lorry and placing them in small piles before blowing them up. Bombs lying on the surface of the ground were no problem. It was the ones that had rolled into the water-filled craters that were causing trouble. The men had to undress, climb into the craters and put a rope around the bombs so that the lorry could pull them out, all the time acutely aware that some of the fuses were intact and of the same type that killed the Earl and his team.