Today we had a trip out to Walesby Forest Scout Camp where my son has been learning to canoe. The centre is located within 250 acres of Sherwood Forest and the landscape appeared very familiar to me.
Growing up with Sherwood Forest as a childhood playground instilled a natural affinity for its myths and mystery. In the 70’s we engaged in a traditional form of play which seems strangely alien these days. My parents and grandparents also recalled playing in the woods during wartime with tales of air-raids, evacuees and Allied troops. These were augmented with time-honoured ghost stories and the legend of Robin Hood.
Millitary Service wasn’t terribly common in North Notts villages as many people worked in reserved occupations such as coal mining, farming and munitions. Miners enjoyed this reserved status throughout the 1950s when conscription was still compulsory in Britain.
The “swinging sixties” as presented by TV and the media barely existed in our North Notts village. World War Two was still prevalent in the minds of local boys as demonstrated by the popularity of playground games like Lancaster and British Bulldog and plain old war games using wooden sticks for guns. Commercial toys like bolt-action rifles, uniformed Action Man figures, Airfix models and later, board games such as Escape from Colditz all perpetuated the wartime mythology for me and my friends growing up in the early 1970’s.
The notion that Sherman tanks had once trundled through the woods or that a German bomber had crashed in the neighbouring village was exciting to us. Less savoury aspects of the war were relayed by a Jewish lady in Mansfield Woodhouse whose father was killed by the SS in front of her eyes with knives and meat cleavers taken from their butcher’s shop. My parents were always careful to explain that the Nazi threat was very real and would have had dire consequences for Britain.
It was interesting wandering through the forest at Walesby, discovering the remains of wartime buildings and a nicely preserved air-raid siren, the type that was still used in our village to call retained firemen to the fire station on Mansfield Road whenever there was an emergency. The ghostly wail of the air-raid siren was quite a novel event during my childhood, though it seems odd to reflect on the fact that I was born only sixteen years after the end of the second world war, during which, such a sound would have struck terror into the local inhabitants of our village.
Today we had a trip out to Walesby Forest Scout Camp where my son has been learning to canoe. The centre is located within 250 acres of Sherwood Forest and the landscape appeared very familiar to me.
Growing up with Sherwood Forest as a childhood playground instilled a natural affinity for its myths and mystery. In the 70’s we engaged in a traditional form of play which seems strangely alien these days. My parents and grandparents also recalled playing in the woods during wartime with tales of air-raids, evacuees and Allied troops. These were augmented with time-honoured ghost stories and the legend of Robin Hood.
Millitary Service wasn’t terribly common in North Notts villages as many people worked in reserved occupations such as coal mining, farming and munitions. Miners enjoyed this reserved status throughout the 1950s when conscription was still compulsory in Britain.
The “swinging sixties” as presented by TV and the media barely existed in our North Notts village. World War Two was still prevalent in the minds of local boys as demonstrated by the popularity of playground games like Lancaster, British Bulldog and plain old war games using wooden sticks for guns. Later in the 70’s, commercial toys like bolt-action rifles, uniformed Action Man figures, Airfix models and later, board games such as ‘Escape from Colditz’ or ‘Dad’s Army’ all perpetuated the wartime mythology for me and my friends.
The notion that Sherman tanks had once trundled through the woods on military exercises or that a German bomber had crashed in the neighbouring village was exciting to us. My parents were always careful to explain that the Nazi threat was very real and would have had dire consequences for Britain. My mother once introduced me to a Jewish lady in Mansfield Woodhouse whose father was killed by the SS in front of her eyes with knives and meat cleavers taken from their butcher’s shop. Her chilling tale still disturbs me to this day.
It was interesting to wander through the forest at Walesby, discovering the remains of wartime buildings and a nicely preserved air-raid siren, the type that was still used in the 70’s to call retained firemen to the fire station on Mansfield Road. The ghostly wail of the siren was quite a novel event during my childhood, though it seems odd now to reflect on the fact that I was born only sixteen years after the end of the second world war, during which time such a sound would have struck terror into the local villagers.
