An adventure enjoyed by two Keighley school boys at Redcar Tarn.
During the period of the Second World War, circa 1942, my friend and I visited the Keighley Tarn. It was a paradise for young boys, there was the old boathouse to play in although it was in a ruinous state. We were intrigued by the boat mould which was nearby at the edge of the water. The main attraction of course was the enormous expanse of the Tarn. Although it stretched far it was definitely very shallow, Much of it was too shallow to allow us to swim excepting the far side but even there boys could stand up in the water albeit up to their chins. Nevertheless swim in it we did, I don’t really know why, as it smelled awful. We would come out covered in algae and mud, often from head to foot. Our parents would be most annoyed as hot water was hard to come by, five inches was the maximum wartime allowance in a bath. In summer this could only be achieved by lighting a fire which placed great strain on the fuel allowance.
The main attraction at the Tarn was the seething amount of wildlife it contained. There was everything which swam, crawled or jumped, it was wonderful. On the day this little story relates to, the pair of us were stretched out on our stomachs on the edge of the banking prodding into this paradise. Stuck into a hole in the bank directly underneath me I noticed three alarming objects. This is where the story really begins.
“Crickey I shouted they are bombs!”
I could see the fins on the three bombs clearly and the first thing that came to mind were the posters that hung on our school walls. Any suspicious items were not to be touched but reported to the authorities immediately. In those days I always carried a Cherry Blossom shoe polish tin it was full of the usual schoolboys bits if rubbish and so worn that it had turned into a bright metal object, very beautiful to me in those days, when we all had very little. It seemed sacrilege to me but I decided to find a small stone and with it I scratched and recorded a very fair copy of the fins on the tin lid for evidence. Next question was whom shall we tell? I knew there was a Police House in Laycock village and also that Bobby Taylor lived there. We set off to do our duty.
Luckily, PC Taylor was at home. For a start I don’t think he believed us but when I proudly produced the drawing on the tin I’m sure I heard him gulp. He quickly put on his tunic and his cape over his shoulder. This proved unfortunate as he would have had an easier time without it.
Off we marched back to Keighley Tarn.
It may be helpful here to point out that the Army used to use Keighley Tarn for training purposes. The Tarn was full of 303 rifle ammunition. The local lads used to fish it out, often finding cartridge clips full of live ammunition. They would take them home and according to what tools were available prize the bullets from the cartridges, pour out the gunpowder and make fireworks from it. How crazy!
They were still collecting this live ammunition at VE Day, the Guy Forkes was stuffed with it at the celebration bonfire in the old dry reservoir at Highfield Playing Fields. I can vividly remember it exploding now, sixty- four years later.
As we neared the Tarn PC Taylor instructed us to cross the main road and climb over the wall out of the way. We were further told that we must not lift our heads above the wall under any circumstances. This was our invitation to keep peeping.
It was a sweltering hot summers day and on arrival at the Tarn PC Taylor was sweating profusely. When he reached down into the bank to pull out the bombs he turned scarlet and we could see him trembling. We felt very concerned for him. Next we had to trudge down to Keighley Police Station to hand the bombs in. I never knew what for as we were not asked to make a statement of any kind. Now at first whilst on our journey PC Taylor would not let us touch the bombs but carried all three himself. Very often his cape would begin to work off his shoulder and he would very gently place the bombs on the ground, adjust his cape and pick them up again. This was very tedious and we thought we should never reach Keighley. This went on until we reached the junction of Calver Avenue and West Lane. At this point PC Taylor had enough and passed the bombs to us to hold. Being the older lad I was given the charge of two. How important was I now? To be truthful I was trembling in my clogs. We were firmly told “For God sake, don’t drop em”.
Arriving at Keighley Police Station our job was done and we were thanked and allowed to go.
A short time later PC Taylor had reason to be in my father’s company. They were aquainted because my father was a Special Constable and had done duty together.
My father was told – “Yon two lads did a good job, you know, those bombs were mortar bombs and very much alive”.
Boy! Were we tired when we arrived home that day. Our journey had taken us up to Keighley Tarn, over the tops to Laycock Village, back to the Tarn, down to Keighley Police Station, and back up home again.
Couldn’t repeat that now.
Keith Spencer
Deanfield Farm.
February 14th. 2008. (c)
Keighley Tarn pictures below.....ENJOY!
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