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A Bletchley Park regret

Jul29

The Bletchley Girls, a recent BBC Radio 4 programme about the women who worked at Bletchley Park during World War 2, had a particular resonance with me. In 1987 my parents moved to a small West Dorset village, and their next door neighbours-but-one were a lovely brother and sister, Cecil Gould and Jocelyne Stacey, who lived together in what I think had been the old school house: Jocelyne had the upstairs flat and Cecil the downstairs one, which included the huge impressive schoolroom or hall which he had converted into his library. Cecil had been a former Keeper and Deputy Director of the National Gallery in London, and so unsurprisingly had a huge collection of books.

Jocelyne Stacey and Cecil Gould, 1993. Photograph by Jonathan Betts, reproduced in his fantastic 2006 book on Rupert Gould.

Jocelyne Stacey and Cecil Gould outside their home, 1993. Photograph by Jonathan Betts, reproduced in his fantastic 2006 book on Rupert Gould.

Their father, Commander Rupert Gould, was an extraordinary man: a science educator and Brains Trust panellist, umpire at Wimbledon, and researcher into the Loch Ness Monster. But he is perhaps best known for being the man who restored John Harrison‘s marine chronometers.

Jocelyne was a wonderful character, full of fun and mischief. Chap and I always went and had coffee with her when we visited my parents, and enjoyed a natter and a giggle. It was during one of these visits that she told us that she had served at Bletchley Park during the war: she was just about to travel to the United States to give some talks about her experiences. I was fascinated, but this is my eternal regret: I didn’t ask too many questions about her time there. This was in the late 80s, before Bletchley had really impinged on our collective consciousness as a nation, and the conversation moved on and I never steered her back to the subject. The work of all who had worked at Bletchley Park was covered by the Official Secrets Act, and many still honoured their vow of silence, all those years on, even though we were clearly in a time when it was no longer a matter of national security.

Bletchley Park.

Bletchley Park.

Sadly neither Jocelyne nor Cecil are still with us, and I never talked in depth with Jocelyne about her wartime experiences. I wish I had done so, and recorded her reminiscences. She died in 2001.

All I can find out now about her experiences are from the Bletchley Park website Roll of Honour: she worked at Bletchley from 1942, she was with the WAAF, where she was a Leading Aircraftwoman (LACW), and she worked in the Air Section. This section was responsible for decrypting non-Enigma signals from German, Italian and Japanese Air Forces, and produced intelligence reports. Cecil also worked in intelligence, for RAF Intelligence, during the war.

Thank-you, Jocelyne, and thank-you, Cecil.

I can’t recommend enough Jonathan Betts‘ 2006 book about Rupert Gould, Time Restored: The Harrison timekeepers and R.T. Gould, the man who knew (almost) everything. And of course there is Dava Sobel‘s cracking 1995 book Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time.

Sunday stroll: Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay

May25

Yesterday Chap and I headed south, to Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay in the Purbeck Hills of Dorset.

Tyneham has a fascinating and rather sad history. For centuries it was a small, isolated village near the Dorset coast, its inhabitants subsisting mainly by agriculture and fishing. In 1943, the Army took over the area for training and preparations for the D-Day invasions, and this required the evacuation of the 225 inhabitants of Tyneham. They were given just 28 days’ notice. The villagers left, believing they would return after the war, but 72 years on they have not been allowed back to Tyneham, nor are they ever likely to be. The area is still used as an Army Firing Range, and access is limited.

The road down into Tyneham.

The road down into Tyneham.

We have previously visited Imber, a similar deserted village on the Salisbury Plain Training Area, where the houses are closed up but well preserved. Tyneham is very different. All the buildings apart from the church and the school house are dilapidated, with roofs missing, no floors, no windows and generally in a really ruinous state: the once-beautiful family homes are now just shells.

The approach to the village. Army 'keep out' sign to the right of the road.

The approach to the village. Army ‘keep out’ sign to the right of the road.

Row of four cottages. The village has been 'prettified' for the visitors: the pavement and kerbing postdate the village's abandonment.

Row of four cottages, and an old phone box. The village has been ‘prettified’ for the visitors: the pavement and kerbing postdate the village’s abandonment.

Fireplaces inside on of the cottages.

Fireplaces inside one of the cottages.

Another ruined cottage. The tie bars are holding the walls upright - without the roof they have started to spread quite markedly.

Another ruined cottage. The tie bars are holding the walls upright – without the roof they have started to spread quite markedly.

The Rectory.

The Rectory.

Noticebaord at the Rectory. The photo shows that it was once a beautiful Georgian building.

Noticeboard at the Rectory. The photo shows that it was once a beautiful Georgian building.

A picturesuw ruin now. Since the village's abandonment, trees have grown where would once have been beautifully-tended gardens.

A picturesque ruin now. Since the village’s abandonment, trees have grown where would once have been beautifully-tended gardens.

It really brings it home to you on a visit to Tyneham how much a community is about the place as well as the people. And when the people were moved away from the place they loved, and settled in different locations, their community died.

The last villagers to leave pinned a poignant note to the door of the church:

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Sadly the houses were not treated with care. I don’t know whether Tyneham itself was used for target practice, as were and are the surrounding hills, or quite how they came to be so ruinous in such a short period. Certainly the Army is trying to keep them from further decay, but in general their repairs are very unsympathetic to the fabric of the old buildings, with hard Portland cement being used rather than lime mortar, and infills and repairs made with engineering bricks and cement. I know the Army is not a conservation body, but it is so sad to see the buildings as they are.

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View on the way down to Worbarrow Bay.

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Worbarrow Bay. Lots of landslips round here.

Thrift or Sea pink (Armeria maritima).

Thrift or Sea pink (Armeria maritima).

Bulbarrow Tout, and a party of kayakers who pulled up on the beach.

Worbarrow Tout, and a party of kayakers who pulled up on the beach.

May blossom. The hawthorn flowers certainly look nicer than they smell! (Crataegus monogyna).

May blossom. The hawthorn flowers certainly look nicer than they smell! (Crataegus monogyna).

A pretty small area of meadow planted at Tyneham Farm barn.

A pretty small area of meadow planted at Tyneham Farm barn.

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Another abandoned farm on the way out of Tyneham.

We drove past this on our (circuitous) way home: the Osmington White Horse, a hill figure created in 1808, and 85 m (280 feet) long and 98 m (323 feet) high.

We drove past this on our (circuitous) way home: the Osmington White Horse, a hill figure created in 1808, and 85 m (280 feet) long and 98 m (323 feet) high.

Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay are open to visitors at certain times: check the visitors page on the Tyneham PC website for details.

Remembrance Day

Nov11

Today, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we remember all those members of our armed services who fell in war. Today’s remembrance is even more poignant, marking as it does the centenary of the year the First World War started.

Chap and I went for a walk on Sunday around Dinton Park, in Dinton in south Wiltshire, and we also visited the church next door. There in the churchyard, alone against the stone boundary wall, was a military grave. It is the final resting place of Private Edgar Walter Cuff.

The headstone of Private E W Cuff, who died on

The headstone of Private E W Cuff, who died on 11 May 1917.

Private Cuff was in the Dorsetshire Regiment. I don’t know anything else about him, but he gave his life in World War I. As he is buried in the churchyard rather than in a military cemetery in France or Belgium, close to the battlefields, I assume he was injured or became ill and was brought back to England, where he succumbed. Rest in Peace, Private Cuff. Thank you for your sacrifice.

There is a war memorial in the churchyard—as there is in most churchyards throughout the country—and it lists the names of the men of Dinton who died in both World Wars. For such a small village, the toll is great: eight men in World War I and three in World War II. It shows the scale of the loss: this picture is repeated in every village around the country.

The war memorial in Dinton churchyard, Dinton, Wiltshire.

The war memorial in Dinton churchyard, Dinton, Wiltshire.

The plaque on the war memorial at Dinton listing those who died in the two World Wars.

The plaque on the war memorial at Dinton listing those who died in the two World Wars.

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A poppy, the symbol of remembrance. Photo by Gary Houston.

Lest We Forget.