Who do you think you're kidding Mr Hitler?

In the dark days of 1941 when the country faced the might of Hitler's armies the Rasen Mail published this stirring poem.
Composed by Lance Corporal Wood it was based on Kipling's famous poem 'If'. The author read it out at a Women's Institute party in the town to great effect.

If we can keep our land, when all about us
Are losing their's to Adolf and his crowd,
And put the lid on all Fifth Column fuss,
And prove to Goebbels that it's not allowed,
If we can wait to see the new day dawning
Yet, being bombed, go on and don't lose heart,
Don't give a damn for all Lord Haw Haw's warning,
And as 'Our Herbert' said, "Just play your part."
If we can risk one lonely little Spitfire,
And lose it in one game of tip-and-run,
And heedless of the Bremen's daily liar
Just grimly send across another one,
If we can hear the wisdom Churchill's spoken
Twisted about by Goebbels, the poor mutt,
And see each law of civilisation broken
Yet still keep dear old Britain out of the rut.
If we can walk with crowds and ignore rumours
And talk with strangers keeping our reserve,
If we can keep an air of real good humour
And when the bombers come, don't lose our nerve.
If we can fill the ever ready pocket
Of public purse, and still not raise complaint,
Then see our own homes go up like a rocket,
And somehow, carry on without restraint,
If we can force our rations to go further,
And yet still somehow feed the hungry one,
We are the lie to all Lord Haw Haw's blather,
And what is more, WE'VE WON THE WAR MY SON.

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April 1941 - Disappearance of familiar landmark

THE WAR is to cause one more familiar landmark to disappear. Market Rasen station, one of the biggest country stations on the LNER system, is to lose its roof - not because of a bomb having fallen anywhere in the vicinity, but because the tons of steel girders used in its construction are needed elsewhere.
The removal of the roof, which has already begun, recalls the local story, which apparently has some foundation in fact, according to which the Market Rasen station was originally designed to do duty at Grimsby Town. At the last minute - so the story goes Ð an unexpected hitch occurred, which made the original place unsuitable.
Rather than cancel the orders which had been given, the directors adapted the design, so it is said, to meet the need for a station with a big single span roof, covered with glass and slates, and supported by heavy steel girders.
Glass in the roof was removed during the last war, when minor structural alterations were made to meet certain war-time needs. In the present war a clean sweep is to be made and the whole roof is to go.
Timber and slates are being carefully handled so that they can be used again at other stations. More important still, however, are the steel girders which support the roof. They will renew their services, it is learned, in much more important surroundings.
When it celebrates its centenary in a few years time Market Rasen station will be no more than a shadow of its former self. On the passenger side it will have little to distinguish it from an ordinary wayside village station. The big goods shed standing behind will overshadow the rest of the railway buildings.
Townspeople will view the change with a certain amount of sentimental regret. Placed as it is, however, at a junction of main roads, Market Rasen has become a bus rather than a railway centre and, even in peace time, there has been but little need to give much thought to the comfort of the handful of passengers making use of the station.

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September 1941 - and the auction of Rasen Town Hall.

WHEN the Town Hall at Market Rasen, the most notable building in the town, was offered for sale by auction on Tuesday not a single bid was forthcoming.
The auctioneer, Mr B. J. Cooper, made the customary pause after asking for bids but no one in the crowded company which had gathered at the Gordon Arms Hotel for the occasion spoke or made a movement. Complete silence reigned.
"What will it look like if it becomes known that an important place like Market Rasen cannot sell its Town Hall?" asked Mr Cooper.
He paused again but still there was no response.
Included in the sale, the auctioneer explained, were the main hall, which is occupied as a cinema, and also an office and six shops. The purchaser would also become the owner of the equipment of the cinema. "Though the property is leasehold, it is a distinctly good proposition," Mr Cooper added.
No one allowed himself to be tempted, however. In a sale room where bids have often been seen rising by hundreds nobody spoke and the property - the grey brick building with its imposing balustrade, its public clock (expressly excluded from the sale) and its corner site with long frontages on the market place and King Street - had accordingly to be withdrawn.
When it was offered for sale in 1934 a bid of £750 was made for the Town Hall but this was refused.
The lack of interest in the property was apparently to be found in the fact that it is held on lease from the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, to whom it reverts in 1953.

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During World War II - Home is where the heart is

John Maurice

There really is no place like home! That is certainly what John Higham thought when he sent this poem home to Middle Rasen while serving in North Africa with the 8th Army in World War II. The poem and photo were dropped in to us by John's son Maurice.

Home

'Tis evening, and as in my bed I lay,
I think of home so far away,
The small country village, so trim and neat,
I can picture the house and garden so sweet.

I picture my dear ones, my wife and my son,
As daily through life they still carry on,
Thinking of daddy, far over the sea,
And praying for him where'er he may be.

There in the garden, I've spent many hours,
Planting the seeds and tending the flowers;
Picking out weeds, swatting the flies,
And chasing away the poor butterflies.

Trimming the hedges, too busy for words,
And keeping an eye on the troublesome birds;
Busy as ever a gardener can be,
'Till sonny calls out, "Come, Daddy, for tea."

Many more days I hope to spend,
When this war comes to an end,
And hoping and praying to Him who's above,
That I return safely to those that I love.

May God send that peace for which we all pray,
And through His love there comes a day,
When the hate and bitterness in all men will cease,
And peoples of all nations are once more at peace.

J H

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August 1942- When Market Rasen was invaded!

TEN O'CLOCK on Sunday morning was zero hour at Market Rasen. The town thrilled with expectancy.
Alone in all England, placid easy going little Rasen was preparing to meet invasion attack and representatives of invasion committees from all over Lincolnshire and beyond were gathered together for an object lesson showing how the utmost degree of co-operation between civil and military authorities was to be secured.
At 10am, zero hour, our reporter writes, I sat in the Market Place on the corner of somebody's doorstep waiting for the biggest exercise of its kind ever held in Lincolnshire to begin.
Rasen at this time has already been bombed. Heaps of debris are piled up in the middle of the street near the Greyhound Hotel. Apart from a few of us, calling ourselves authorised spectactors and conspicuous in red armlets, Rasen seems to have lost its entire civilian population.
Then we realise something is happening. Smoke is rising around the Town Hall. Fire pumps go instantly into action in the murky haze, 'casualties' are lowered gradually from an upper window of the National Provincial Bank. Incidents came on in rapid succession. 'Gas' was used and a man was stripped of his clothing in the street. The 'ruins' of the Aston Arms were entered by a looting party who got away with a bottle of whisky before being stopped by Rasen's efficient special constable.
Refugees, turned out of their homes because of an unexploded bomb, strung out in a pathetic line across the Market Place. We have always felt that such scenes could never be witnessed in Lincolnshire but we were reminded today of the grim realities which would have to be faced if an invader were ever to secure a foothold on our coast.
Then came messages flashing over the wires: 'The enemy has broken through the coast defences and is heading fast with armoured forces towards Louth.' At this point the phones break down - as well they might! - and we see the Lincolnshire County Constabulary pigeon service utilised to bear important messages to County Control headquarters at Lincoln.
Then news comes that the enemy has broken through at Louth, leaving the town behind in flames, and mechanised troops are advancing along the road which leads on to Gainsborough. But first Market Rasen is subjected to a terrifying dive bombing ordeal. Big machines come hurtling out of the sky and roar along Queen Street at chimney pot level.
Then we see the first sign of the 'enemy' emerging into view from behind a smoke screen on the Willingham Road. Guns, big and little, blaze away all around and the strong smell of cordite rises up to the railway bridge at the eastern end of Queen Street which is now used as a vantage point by the official observers. The whole action - which terminated with a successful counter attack - was a marvel of realism.
Among the many visitors to Market Rasen for the day was Wing Commander E. J. Hodsoll, Inspector General of Civil Defence in Great Britain. He said: "This has been a really first class show."
Rasen should perhaps have blushed but it didn't. On Sunday it became used to the idea of being promoted to No 1 in both the military and civil spheres.

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