Welcome to Genuki, ENG, Lincolnshire
Compliments of Rex Johnson
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I was three years old when WW2 started. 

My strongest memory is of the day my uncle Len Millson (my mother's only brother) came back to 
Messingham for the last time before going off to War. He was in uniform, and had a .303 rifle with 
dummy ammunition.  He loaded the gun, and pulled the bolt to eject the bullets all over the kitchen 
floor. Grandma had several "fits".  He left, and never came back. 

Grandma got the usual telegram, which I still have, saying Len was "Missing presumed killed in action". 
It was months before we had further information.  He was in the Royal Corps of Signals, along with a 
large contingent of Indian soldiers who were renowned for being excellent with Morse Code.  He was on 
a ship in the Mediterranean, between Cypress and Malta, and the ship and all hands disappeared.  He 
has a grave stone at Tobruk in Egypt, in a special place for men who were lost and never found. 
Information about him is on the Commonwealth War Graves site, and his name is on the Messingham 
memorial.

(Leonard MILLSON died on 17 August 1942 at age 25, son of John Thomas and Florence MILLSON.)

Grandma never accepted he was gone for good, and constantly talked of him walking in through the door 
one day.  Her husband died in 1937, so she carried the troubles on her own. 

On a lighter note, my gas mask was a "Mickey Mouse", and would be worth a fortune today to a Disney 
memorabilia collector.  I carried it to school every day, and remember putting it on when planes came over 
which weren't "ours".  I could tell which country the planes were from by the engine noises they made. 

Some families had children living with them evacuated from the east End of London.  We had soldiers from 
Canada billeted in our house from time to time.  I particularly remember Paul - a Canadian dispatch rider. 
He put me on his petrol tank and gave me illegal rides down Warren Lane (He didn't make it home either). 

Americans were in the area, and were very generous to the local children, sharing chocolate and particularly 
chewing gum.  Polish airmen were also billeted a few miles away, and we used to imagine we could hear 
them when they had a party. Across the road an Italian prisoner of war was living.  He decided he would never 
go home- and was doing farm work.  He carved doves out of soft timber.  The birds were magnificent - the 
tail feathers all overlapped, but each one was cut to be separate. 

There were no toys at Christmas, unless they were home made. One Christmas I was given a dove, and 
treasured it. I was also given a wooden Spitfire made and painted by another neighbour. 

What symbols of the way things were. This is the sort of topic which brings so much floating out into the mind. 
Quite a lot of it is funny and amusing. Then I look at Len's war medals, sent to Grandma after the war, and think 
of how stupid people have been in times past. What a waste.