With two Prisoner of War camps close to Ripley, the Italians at Heage Firs and the Germans at Swanwick Hayes, it was inevitable that they would often be seen around the area. A lot of the Italians worked at the flax factory on Heage Road, whilst many of the local farms used both nationalities as labourers.

During 1944 the Americans were responsible for guarding Swanwick Hayes and their Military Police were a common sight in Ripley in their white helmets, belts and spats and armed with a hefty “nightstick”.  “Got any gum chum” became a regular request by kids when they spotted soldiers in the street. Another ploy to get gum was to go down to the outer camp gates. These were situated on the A61 between Hickton Road and the entrance to Butterley Grange. The barbed wire came down almost to the road but the actual prisoner compound was out of sight over the top of the field. When the working parties returned the guards would open the outer gate to allow the lorries in, then close the gate, before guards on the vehicles handed over their firearms. The vehicles would then carry on up the compound into the main camp.

During the second week in June 1944 I was to witness, close hand, one the most amazing scenes ever enacted at Butterley Station. I was late leaving school (Swanwick Hall) and so caught a bus home much later than usual. As we approached the lane down to the station a policemen directed the bus into the car park near to the main entrance to Butterley Ironworks. The police had closed the road at the bottom of Swanwick Hill and at the bottom of Butterley Hill and, for some reason any traffic within the closures had to remain. The bus driver asked the police what the problem was and was told a trainload of German POW’s was due to arrive. Everyone got off the bus and went as near to the station entrance as the soldiers would allow. The train arrived and soon the guards were forming up, maybe two to three hundred prisoners, into columns of three. This was a week or so after D Day and so they must have been straight from Normandy. Altogether a sorry looking sight, odd ones with wounds bandaged, many covered in mud and all looking very dejected. Once lined up they marched up to the camp in the middle of the road with plenty of armed guards on either side.

A few years after the war I was to learn the procedure for closing the road. The Police Sergeant in Ripley in 1944 was Sgt Birch and he explained it to me after he retired. Only the Civilian Police could close the road so the Americans had to request their presence when this was necessary. A jeep would collect two officers from the lock up in Moseley Street and take them down to the two closure points. The first time the request came Sgt Birch went himself together with another constable. Having completed the transfer of the prisoners a soldier came, as Sgt Birch expected, to take them back into Ripley. But he came with a much better offer: an invitation from the Camp Commandant to go up to the camp for lunch. Now remember Britain had been under draconian food rationing since early 1940 but it appeared the Americans were under no such restraint. Sgt Birch and his constable enjoyed chicken and ice cream and food the average Brit hadn’t seen for years. After that every time the request came Sgt Birch made sure he attended and the message to Mrs Birch was “I shan’t be in for lunch”   

In addition to the One That Got Away (albeit not completely from Swanwick) there were other escapes from time to time. We were always aware of this at school when the guards would come into the school grounds to search the air raid shelters which were situated between the main drive and the Headmaster’s House. Their search also involved prodding with their bayonets between the rows of cabbages and brussel sprouts which the school gardener was growing for school dinners…Digging for Victory of course!!

There was always an eager queue of pupils for the bus home to Ripley. In those days the bus stop was situated in front of the church. The pavement was rather narrow and the wall surrounding the church yard was still standing. Imagine our surprise one day when a group of high ranking German officers, escorted by a British Army officer and a sergeant, rounded the corner and started to walk towards the bus queue. The officer had a revolver and the sergeant a bayonet.

This strange procession then had to make its way between the children and the church wall. There was total silence as the upper echelon of the Wehrmacht, in their immaculate uniforms continued their afternoon stroll round Swanwick. They were, I believe, Generals etc who had been captured in the Western Desert campaign.

In later years I have often contrasted the events of that day with the infamous picture, published after the war, of Himmler and his henchmen inspecting a concentration camp and the look on the faces of those children. Yes we were indeed lucky kids.

As the war in Europe ended the prisoners were allowed out on parole until they could be repatriated. The Germans were allowed into Ripley but the Italians could not go beyond the Horse & Jockey pub at the top of Hartshay Hill. One day two Germans came into Dad’s shop and asked if he would like to buy some butter. Now the British people had been living on rationed food, which included just 2 ozs of butter each per week, for the past 5 years, and yet prisoners were able to pilfer large tins of butter from the US Army cookhouse supplies…..and NO Dad didn’t buy.

These recollections would not be complete without relating the story of when a German POW on parole from Swanwick Hayes took Ripley Fair by storm.  In 1945 the fairs started to re-appear complete with all their bright lights etc which had been banned , of course, during 5 years of blackouts. At that time the boxing booth, which was situated in the Thorn Tree Yard, was a central attraction and the boxers employed by the showman would stand on the front of the booth and accept challenges from anyone brave enough to have a go. Three 2 minute rounds was the standard and if the challenger was still standing he got paid. The wise ones lay down in the second, otherwise the booth man let loose on them and more than likely really knocked them out. It was amazing how brave people could be after a night in the White Lion.

But this night was going to be different. A German POW challenged Tiger Morris. Now this German looked, as they say, as fit as a butchers dog. Sun tanned from working on the farms, young and strong. More to the point he could box and punch. His kit was a pair of white plimsolls and a pair of football shorts. Three 2 minute rounds later he was still standing having given poor old Tiger a boxing lesson. The next night the shrewd showman had signed him on and he was on the front, in full professional kit, accepting any challenge.

By now the showman was advertising a special Saturday night spectacular – Six two minute rounds between the POW and Tiger Morris BUT the cost of entry was doubled. It cost me as a 14 year old a tanner (6d) instead of 3d.

So – Big Fight Night. To preserve fair play the showman asked for volunteers to act as referee and timekeeper. So after six rounds of real boxing, rarely seen on a fairground,  both men were still standing but on points there was only one winner – by miles- the POW. However the ref thought otherwise. No doubt primed by the showman he gave a draw. In an instant 5 years of war were forgotten and boos and catcalls echoed round the booth. Sport is sport and the German had won – hands down.

Even the timekeeper joined in the protest and he challenged the referee to a fight to prove his point. What followed was bizarre to say the least.  The showman agreed they could box three one minute rounds and he would referee. They had no kit, the guy who had refereed took his braces down and handed his false teeth to the ref. The bell rang and away we went, it rang again after a minute but that was ignored and they just kept punching. The fight eventually went to one five minute round before it stopped. They wouldn’t have hurt each other if they had carried on all night. There was pandemonium in the place and I can only imagine the POW must have stood there thinking – How on earth did we lose a war to this lot?

Eric Brown