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Bedfordshire on Sunday May 24th 1981, by Mick Anniwell (Magazine Article supplied by Mr Charles Watts)
As Jarrow men marched by; A memory of a visit 50 years ago.
Why do I remember the weather on a particular Sunday fifty years ago? It was fine, dry, some sun - just the day for a long walk, that's why!
We lived at Keysoe. I had an old Norton motor-bike I bought from Felmersham for £4. My father said, "Come on, boy. Got a job for you. You can take me to Wymington Turn and then bring me back from Milton Ernest." [Places in Bedfordshire]
When we got to the rendezvous at 10-30 they were waiting for us. Hundreds of men, it seemed, grey with the pallor of semi-starvation, in threadbare clothes sitting on the grass verge. Some lying down, talking quietly amongst themselves.
My Dad walked the length of the column, handing out a few fags here and there. Then he came back and said, "Some look bad boy. Tag on behind and pick up the drop-outs. If there's many of 'em, take 'em two at a time". He was the police officer in charge. He went to the head of the parade and called out - "Ready, lads?"
They got to their feet, some of them painfully, but they all stood and formed up on the road four abreast under their marshals, the banner at the front.
God, they were small! It wasn't that my father marching at the head of the column, ex-Coldstream Guards, was six feet four and sixteen stones, simply that they looked to have shrunk inside their jackets and trousers, mufflers and scarves making their scrawny necks thinner. Their peaked caps, the comedians "flat 'at" gave shade, and deep-etched lines to faces that even the long march hadn't managed to colour.
They were split up into sections of perhaps 40 men each to avoid traffic problems, each with a mouth organ to lead it. It had never been played for a better purpose, keeping the rhythm of tired, aching limbs going, persuading backs and shoulders to stay upright.
Some of the men limped. They'd worn their boots down gradually all the way from Jarrow, and while they slept Saturday night in the old workhouse at Irthlingborough, local boot and shoe workers, themselves on short time, collected the worst of the boots and mended them overnight. It was as awkward to walk on the new soles and heels before they were worn in as it had been on the worn-out ones.
George Bass, Charlie Odell, Eddie Freeman, Ernie Harlow and a few more now dead, repaired 60 pairs of boots overnight free.
One or two of the marchers dropped out, sitting quietly by the roadside, an example of the discipline imposed by the leaders and accepted by the marchers. It was the first time I had seen blood literally running out of laceholes. One such man would not accept help. They had their own transport for this purpose, an old bus carrying iodine, plasters, stomach powders and chest medicines.
I watched them struggle down Long Leys Hill and up Temple and over Sharnbrook crossroads. I watched the sunshine on my father's war ribbons and I thought, "Is this what he fought for, one of four survivors out of a company of 120 men?"
The Milton Ernest policemen took over. The men went plodding on, the measure of their intention, perhaps of their bitterness, was that every man except one who started from Jarrow finished on his feet in Westminster. That one man had malaria.
We went back to Keysoe thoughtfully. The old fellow was always quiet when he had no fags, and he'd given them all away.
Mick Anniwell.
Note: George Bass, Eric Harlow & Mick Anniwell were Rushden men, Charlie Odell from Irthlingborough and Eddie Freeman. All five men were members of the Rushden branch of The Free Gardeners Society.
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