THIS ISLAND LIFETHE name of Ron Sparshott has cropped up, on and off, throughout most of my life.
He was spoken of fondly by my father and my Uncle Ron and I played cricket for many years with his inestimable brother, the late Mick.
I was always told Ron had gone to live 'somewhere on the mainland’, which for a Havenstreeter was tantamount to desertion in those days.
However, it would explain why we had never met — and still haven’t, to be strictly accurate —but our paths have finally crossed.
Ron, now 86, wrote from his home in New Milton after being alerted by my article on the exploits of Havenstreet Home Guard a few weeks ago, in whose ranks he had been proud to serve.
Interestingly, he recalls experiencing three distinct phases when it came to home defence in the run-up to the last war and in the first few years of hostilities.
To begin with, he and my uncle (who were pals at the village school) were just nippers in 1938 and were recruited by the local ARP warden, Nipper Stroud, to act as messengers.
Ron said: "On alternate days we were stationed in a sand-bagged hut, which had a phone in it. Everyone thought something was going to start at any moment and in the end it did."
As he pointed out, the role of the Local Defence Volunteers was taken extremely seriously at the start of the war, especially after the Dunkirk disaster.
He said: "Your dad, Jack, was one of the first lads from the village to join up and we were all relieved when he survived Dunkirk.
"But at that time, Europe was defeated. The Americans could not have cared less and we felt as if it was only England and the Home Guard left to carry on the fight.
"We patrolled Havenstreet every night, always ending up at Top Hill (where the village shrine now stands).
"We were expecting the Germans to arrive at any time and were ready to fight them. I don’t know if we would have done much good but we were certainly prepared to have a go."
It was only as the months went by and the threat of invasion started to recede, the Home Guard began to get up to the sort of capers which became immortalised in Dad’s Army.
By that time, however, Ron had joined the Royal Navy and was involved in the campaign against the Japanese in Burma, Sumatra and Malaysia.
Incidentally, his father, Frank, was involved in one of those poignant and personal tragedies which characterised the war for so many people.
He was cycling home from his job as a cowman one evening when he was shot by a soldier in the Black Watch, who were stationed on the outskirts of Havenstreet at the start of the war.
Frank, who was only 42 at
the time, was deaf after serving with the Royal Engineers in the Great War and failed to respond when given an order to stop by a sentry.
This desperately sad event was featured by Alan Stroud in volume four of his series Yesterday’s Papers, in which he scoured back copies of the County Press between 1935-49 for the most interesting stories.
His latest volume, covering the 60s, has just been completed and is available from bookshops throughout the Island.
Days when Ginger and Custard flavoured Island football
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| Brading Town Football Club in 1948. Back row, from left, Bill Cracknell, Ray 'Rocket’ Squibb, Hugh 'Ginger’ Squibb, Jim Scott, Jim Harbour, Gerald 'Custard’ Wade, Gordon Trott and Freddie Pink. Front, Len Simmonds, Peter Henry, Keith White, Jack Trott, Viv Hallett, Mike Stone and Walt Lock. |
A FEW months ago I wrote about former Brading Town footballer John White and it provoked a spate of letters and photographs from people who remembered the team, which dominated Island football in the 50s.
Wives and friends of former players got in touch and the Island’s Mr Football, Mick Bull, was able to name most of the players in one of the pictures.
However, Jeff Arnold has now sent me this photograph, which is remarkably sharp, considering it was taken so long ago.
These are players whose exploits used to empty the village every time they played in a cup final at the old Church Litten ground in Newport — and the trophies on display here indicate 1948-49 was a typically successful one.
Their faces will be familiar to many, none more so than Ginger Squibb, who went on to even greater success as the club’s manager.
It’s also good to see the marvellous Peter Henry in his prime.
He gave the club well over 60 years of unstinting service as a player, committee member and groundsman and the Vicarage Lane ground was named in his honour when he died a few years ago.
One thing, though. Can anyone tell me how Gerald 'Custard’ Wade got his magnificent nickname?