BACK

 When it was first planned, and what a massive project it was, seven miles of tunnels, somebody must have given it the code name "Drakelow" everyone called it so, yet there wasn't any area, place or district around with that name. Even the locals who came to work there had never heard of it before, ( Researching I found out that 150years ago a Drakelow existed, Little known now)

 A tunnel engineer told me that a test boring was made in 1937 to find out if sandstone was suitable for the construction of a tunnel factory, It was found to have faults that could make it unsafe, so the shaft was sealed with a huge concrete covering and the project was abandoned. The experts however were not convinced and some months later another shaft was sunk with results that justified their earlier faith. It transpired that first shaft was over the only fault revealed in the whole project.

 Even in those early days two first aiders had to cover the works at weekends, Seems daft when hardly anyone was there, but it was cumpulsory, the law. We slept in a small bay off No. 1 tunnel and as I lay in bed I often looked up at that great big square opening that seemed to go miles upwards out of Sight. Months after, the bay was used as a stores by then, the concrete slab collapsed into the tunnel. It was then that I learned that I had been sleeping underneath that first shaft.


The Capped off Shaft in Bay 2 off Tunnel 1

 Teddy Waight, one of the original, three to stay at Drakelow was a young man of 21. He would have been in the forces, but early on in the bombing he suffered an eye injury. The system was that all casualties were dispersed to outlying small town hospitals after each nights raid. Somewhere along the line Teds case-papers went astray, the eye was neglected and vision was lost. The last time I saw him (1947) he was working as a Landscape Gardner, a job he started at as a boy.

 A tunnel engineer and a small maintainance squad remained at the works after all construction firms had packed up. That was about spring 1943.The chief was a familiar figure walking around head down with eyes glued to the floor. Being curious I stopped him for a chat. He told me he looked on the floor for traces of sand and if he saw any, then he looked up to see where it came from. The drill was, a wheeled platform would be brought in and one man would bang away at the roof until all loose stuff came down. A risky job. A spray of paint, and this paint served two purposes, hardened the crust and left a clean light reflective surface. One Sunday when he came round to my department, he had a fright. A lot of sand on the floor. No fault could be found overhead. He was a puzzled man. How could he know that some of our polishing operations required sanding. We used 'Trent Sand' mixed with oil to weight it down. I used to be a sander of E.P.N.S from 1912 to l93O. When a fresh mix was made some of the sand spilled around the floor. He learnt something that day! We also used a mixture of emery and oil,"black-sand" describes it perfectly. Gibbons the Engineer had worked on excavations of theTombs in Egypt.

 Days seemed like weeks, All I had to do workwise was to see that machinery, fittings, dust extractors etc. were put in the right place in my department. The dust extractor chaps, two young men, took weeks over the job. The only break was to roam around to see how the other foremen were getting on, and of course to learn the way about the tunnels. Patience was never a virtue of mine, I said earlier that these change overs ran to a time schedule that was strictly adhered to. Any diversion from the normal was welcome. One day a crowd of tunnel men came through my bay, it linked up, as did all the bays, with main tunnels 1, 2 and 3. They came from the unfinished section,4 and 5 tunnels. "What's up" I said to the leader. "We' em on strike - they've stopped our 'danger money!" My "Wait for me, I don't get any, either", didn't go down very well. There had been hundreds of Irishmen especially imported to work as labourers They arrived complete with Priest and an ex. R.U.C.Policeman. Apparently the Priest was the only one the Irish boys would listen to. They must have been a wild bunch according to my informant, who by the way sounded like a midlander. One day the food served up in the canteen wasn't to their liking. Later on after a drinking session, a mob of them herded all the staff into the canteen, piled up bracken round the outside walls and threatened to set fire to it. A posse of Police, always on call from surrounding areas was hastily summonsed to stop them.

 The Vicar of a nearby village took great pride in his poultry, he exhibited them and won many prizes. The Irish 'nicked' them and cooked them up in the tunnels. Police guessed who were the culprits, but no evidence could be found. Probably within a few hours it was under tons of sand.

 There was a constant stream of dumper trucks carrying sand from the face to fill in valley's and depressions in the surrounding landscape. Thousands of tons of concrete were used on tunnel roadways etc. None of the sand excavated was used in the mixing. Gibbons (The tunnel engineer) said it was 'dead' sand, whatever that means.

 When the Irish went on a drunken rampage, which it seems they often did, the whole area was terrified - But wait. - After the in flux of a few hundred 'Brummies' a Policeman told me - his words were "We thought the Irish bad enough, until the Brummies came". It must have been like the Wild West of the last century.

 To get back home for a few hours at week-ends was difficult in those early days before Welfare & Personnel Departments had got things organised. To help myself to get to the nearest railway station, which was. five miles away, I rode my cycle from home one Sunday afternoon. What a ride that was. I couldn't go overland because signposting had been removed as a war-time measure, and so I had to go along main roads wherever I could. It was difficult to ask the way to a place nobody is supposed to know about. At least lots of people must have known some large development was taking place, but wouldn't know what it was. It took about five hours.

 When work was finished on Saturday I would bike it to the station and leave the bike in a shed provided for such. On Sunday evening I would catch the 6 o'clock from Snow Hill, a train crowded with troops returning to camp after the week-end leave. Hundreds got off at my stop. With only one railway man on duty I had to wait until he had taken all the tickets and locked up before he would open the cycle shed. All this he had to do in a total black-out with only a big oil lamp which he carried around to help him. A young lady and myself had the task of sorting our bikes out from all the others and that wasn't so easy in the dark. We cycled the same way for a couple of miles. I never did find out who she was or where she went. I suppose she could say the same about me. Strange when one thinks about it. The hundreds of people one met in those blacked-out war years who you had conversation with, but never saw. Just a voice and a memory, Ships that pass in the night.

 Two of Mother's brothers, Percy and Bob and a sister Nell lived within six miles of Drakelow. Amazingly Percy's place was the nearest house, (a bungalow) to the works entrance I called on them all in the first few months. Aunt Pat was always my favourite, she made me welcome. Aunt Nell had ideas of me staying with them - No fear - too lackadaisical for me. She would start getting the tea at 4 o' clock and still be at it at 6 o'clock. Percy had remarried and had a young family, a boy and a girl about 11 and 6 years old. Peter had been accepted, through some trust or other, as a day-boy at a nearby famous and very old public School. I took Peter home with me in early 1943. Bombing had virtually ceased by then so his parents felt happy about it. Blow me if on the very first night the sirens went. Only a false alarm or a reconnisience plane. l went to his bedroom and sat with him. He didn't seem at all concerned about it. Peter went on to Sandhurst and was a Captain in the Malayan campaign. He married a French girl and his photo and report was a front page feature in the press - the Daily Mirror I think. Aunt Nell's daughter (cousin Phyllis) taught at St.John's, a school near her home. Ralph her brother taught in Birmigham. Aunt Pat's children - Roy was in the Army, Lesley the R.A.F. Loren was born in Bridge street West, Birmigham he was at home. Hazel was in the Land Army. Grant was still at home working in a factory. To combat the effects of enemy bombing, industry had been dispersed to outlying small towns where local industries had been shut down and in consequence had vacant properties and a 'Pool of labour'. I met all my local relatives sometime or other during the next three years. Uncle Percy came to work at the Rover tunnels just before the war ended. I think he was suprised to find his nephew was in such an exulted position there. He needn't have worried It suprised me!!! Percy's new wife Catherine was a nervy, eratic sort, but she made me welcome.

 Entertainment and Welfare at the Rover Hostel was virtually nil. We three 'originals' muscled in at the Tunnel contractors weekly Film Show once or twice. Finding the place in the blackout was an adventurous undertaking. This site of about four acres of living huts and service blocks all in timber, mounted on concrete bases, was the next to be vacated. Within a year it was bulldozed clear, levelled and grassed and was in use as a football field. Later we had a Rover Team with a part-time professional, One or two First Division players were directed here and practiced with the lads on occasions. George Tranter W.B.A. was one , the other was from Sheffield Wednesday. The Team manager, a north countryman, was a works inspector named Charlton. A football fanatic!

 In 1944 the Rover booked up 'Aggbrough' Kidderminster Harriers ground for the Season. When unable to get home at Week-ends I would go with the team as their First-Aid man. It was interesting to see inside the dressing rooms of a semi-professional club. The Pro said, when I remarked about the austere look, "Its not much diferent in the big clubs. Just a large bare room, bench seats round the walls and a couch with bare wooden top for examination and treatment of the Players". The juniors teams today (1976) wouldn't play under those conditions.

CONTINUED