Bill Lofthouse - Arctic convoys to the Milky Lane
This is one of a pair of stories. Bill Lofthouse and Wilfred Wieners belong to a fast-dwindling group of people who can remember the Second World War. Bill was a sailor on the British side, and Wilfried was born in Germany during a bombing raid. Historical enemies, they have now become firm friends. Read their remarkable stories.
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Bill's story
In 1066, William conquered England. In 1069, the local yokels of Yorkshire revolted and slaughtered the Roman garrison in York, which so upset William that he sent his army to wreak vengeance, killing, burning and destroying everything in sight, in what became known as The Ravage of the North. The last resistance to this “Ravage” took place in the marshes close to the village named Marske, now known as Marske-by the-Sea.
Marske-by-the-Sea circa 1925
It was here - 856 years later - that William Douglas (Bill) Lofthouse was born in 1924.
The village has a long history. It is mentioned in the 1089 Doomsday Book. Originally known as Mersc, meaning marsh, it was a constant thorn in the side of the early Roman invaders. In the 7th century AD, Christianity flourished until the 9th century when the Danish Vikings wreaked havoc along the N.E. coast and destroyed all vestiges of Christianity. They also changed the “c” in the name of the village to their hard “k” and it became Mersk. It was from these Danish invaders that Bill got his surname Lofthouse from the Norse "loph", meaning a loft, and "hus", meaning house - i.e. someone who lived in a double-storey dwelling. In AD 1160, the stone Norman Church of St Germain was built on the cliff top just outside of the village, and in 1760 the father of Captain James Cook, the famous navigator, was buried in the adjoining grave yard.
So Bill came from a village of considerable ferocity, and with a great sea-faring tradition.
He nearly didn’t survive. As a baby he contracted measles and then double pneumonia. This before antibiotics, and the doctor told his mother, “He probably won’t make it to his first birthday.”
Bill was over 70 when I first met him. He was a wonderful old man - dapper, fairly short, with bushy white eyebrows and a twinkle in his eye. He had a habit of raising one eyebrow in a way that seemed to say, “You’re not going to put one past me, mate.”
A true Yorkshire man.
Bill aged 4
Bill enrolled in the Royal Navy at the age of eighteen and served during WW2 from September 1942 until July 1946.
His first ship, HMS Cowslip, was one of the Flower Class corvettes which had been designed and built specially for convoy escort duty. Bill served in HMS Cowslip for almost 18 months, initially in the North Atlantic and then in the South Atlantic. At battle stations he was perched on the wing of the bridge. His job was to load the oerlicons - guns designed for use against low-flying aircraft. The bridge was totally open to the sky, and he felt very exposed when enemy planes came in.
Bill took an anti-submarine detection course and was, thereafter, drafted to a utility escort aircraft carrier, HMS Pursuer, based at Scapa Flow in the Shetland Islands north of Scotland. It was one of the ships in an escort group for the Arctic convoys carrying supplies to the Russian port of Murmansk. HMS Pursuer never went all the way, but left the convoy at the Arctic Circle and then moved nearer to the Norwegian coast to fly off aircraft on reconnaissance and bombing missions.
On one such mission, the ship ran into a massive storm and the sea ripped the for’ard end of the flight deck from its supports. After limping back to port, HMS Pursuer was sent for repairs to America.
Repairs completed, the ship was sent to join the Far East Fleet based in Trincomalee in Ceylon. On the way, they called in briefly at Durban where Bill briefly met a young woman called Amy.
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He was only in port for about six days and then left - not serenaded by the lady in white.
Their sister ship left Durban six days before them, then the Pursuer set sail for Ceylon. Bill’s battle station on HMS Pursuer was in the asdic room deep in the bowels of the ship just above the bilges – way below the waterline, surrounded by fuel tanks. He knew that if the ship were hit, there would be no way of escape. When they caught up to their sister ship in Ceylon, they discovered that she had been hit by a kamikaze. It had smashed a hole in the flight deck big enough for a double-decker bus to drive through. This incident brought home to him how fragile his life was at that time.
HMS Pursuer operated in the Bay of Bengal until V.J. Day when she went to Malaya and put landing parties ashore at Port Swettenham to combat the local Japanese garrison which either hadn’t heard or didn’t believe that Japan had surrendered.
Bill was then drafted to HMS Plucky, a minesweeper tasked with clearing the Japanese mines in the Malacca Straits.
HMS Plucky
I commented once on Bill’s unusual surname, and he told me that when he was in the Navy someone sent him a letter addressed simply: “Bill Lofthouse, Royal Navy,” and it got to him!
About six months after the war, Bill’s demobilisation papers came through and he was dispatched back to the UK to resume his civilian life.
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Three years later, at the end of 1949, Bill successfully applied for a job in Johannesburg, arriving in South Africa in the November of that same year. Over Christmas, he went to Durban and became re-acquainted with Amy. They were married on 23 November 1950. A real-life war-time romance. Because of Bill’s contract, they lived in Johannesburg until 1964 before moving down to Durban.
Tragically, Amy developed a series of psychological problems which put the marriage under a certain amount of stress, as they caused her, from time to time, to think and act somewhat irrationally. Furthermore, by the time I met them, she had been suffering from Parkinson’s disease for a number of years and was confined to a wheelchair. Bill described to me some of the problems he had to deal with, not the least of which was the time it took (up to three hours) to get her to agree to a choice of apparel, and get her ready to go anywhere. Morning services were out of the question so they always attended in the evening where they struck up friendships with some of the youth. I recall, after one evening service, seeing Amy in earnest conversation with a nine year old lad who was also in a
wheelchair.
Nevertheless, despite these difficulties, Bill always remained remarkably cheerful as he kept looking after her year after year.
In spite of her troubles, I always found Amy very pleasant and friendly to me, as did most other folk. Almost every afternoon, Bill took her out for apple tart and milkshake at the Milky Lane in the Pavilion, and they became quite an institution there. People, regardless of age, race or religion would come and comment on their devotion to each other which gave them the opportunity to explain that they were merely reflecting God’s unconditional love. Even one Muslim lady approached them saying that she was having marital problems and asked for prayers for her and her husband that they relationship would be restored to the level of Bill’s and Amy’s.
On their 60th wedding anniversary the Milky Lane threw a party for them, with a number of friends invited – free of charge. Such was the esteem in which they were held by the Pavilion shopkeepers that Pick ’n Pay provided the iced cake, a florist in the centre provided the flowers and Woolworths sent biscuits and chocolates for all. Even the management of the Pavilion turned up and in addition to a R200 shopping voucher, gave them a free parking card which is still valid to this day. It was a wonderful event, and caused quite a stir.
A little over three months later, Amy, who up to that time, had remained in remarkably good general health, rarely needing to see a doctor, contracted pneumonia and was hospitalized. She lapsed into a semi-coma and died about 10 days later on 2 March 2011, just two weeks short of her 85th birthday. Lorainne, the owner of the franchise , wanted to close the Milky Lane on the morning of Amy’s memorial service, because all of the staff wanted to come but her request was denied by head office. So they operated with only two or three staff and the rest went to the service. Even about twenty of the night staff left home early in order to come, and Lorainne paid for the taxis to transport them.
Bill told me that for some reason known only to herself, Amy, who had been a follower of Jesus since before her teens, had always been reluctant to commit to church membership, but was more than happy to be an adherent. Furthermore, as her disability became more pronounced and his commitment as her carer became more exacting, it became increasingly difficult for him to become involved in any church activities, particularly evening ones such as Bible study groups. However, he assured me that they felt at home and happy as part of the Westville Baptist Church family.
At that time, we were building a brand-new church complex, over the road from the old one. It was all very exciting. Then one day, as the building was about three-quarters finished, George Rodgers, one of the original foundation members of the church died. His wife, Rose, thought that it would be nice idea to bury his ashes in the foundations of the new building, to symbolise the blessing of the old members on the new church. I thought this was a lovely idea, and we went ahead and did it. We didn’t actually bury his ashes in the foundations, as they were already laid in concrete, but we buried him inside the unfinished church more or less in front of where the platform would be.
Unfortunately Amy got wind of this as I mentioned it in church, and her irrational thinking told her, “I can’t possibly go to that church now – there are human remains inside it.” Bill, naturally, was taken aback and asked me to help her change her mind. Rightly or wrongly, I suggested to him that we tell her that the remains were not actually buried in the foundations but next to them, and that we allow her to think that they were buried outside the church not inside.
I am generally not in favour of "white lies.” But I do believe in the principle that, when forced to make a choice, we should choose the lesser of two evils. I felt that the 'evil' of the white lie was less than the 'evil' of Bill and Amy having to leave a community which they had, until then, considered as their spiritual home. Somewhat surprisingly, Amy accepted the explanation and they stayed on.
Some months later, with great celebration, we moved into the new complex. Then came the day for the first baptismal service in the new church, and Bill decided to be baptised. (In our church we baptise by complete immersion.) Twenty-four people were due to be baptised that night – most of them young. I thought it would be really nice to have a 70-year-old as the first person baptised in the new church. Bill even organised someone to come and look after Amy so that he could come to church on his own and enjoy the service to the full.
The evening of the baptisms arrived extremely stormy, with thunder, lightning, heavy rain and hail. Amidst the chaos, Bill arrived – with Amy. I was surprised to see her, and much more surprised when she informed me that she wanted to be baptised too. Remember, she was confined to a wheelchair. It was now only twenty minutes before the service, and we had little time to make plans. We explained to her that it would be very difficult carry her down into the water and asked if she would be happy for us to pour water over her, as was often done in the early days of the Christian church. Fortunately, she agreed, and we gathered all the towels we could find to drape over her.
And so the service progressed. It was a magnificent evening of celebration.
Then came the time for the baptisms. I decided to take Amy first – she would have the privilege of being the first person baptised in the new buildings. It would have been difficult to carry her in her wheelchair up the stairs on to the platform, so we baptised her at the bottom of the stairs.
Right on top of the place where the ashes were buried
Post script
Sometime later, I moved out of town. I heard that Amy had died, but little more.
Then, last week, I met Bill again.
He told me that at Amy’s memorial service on 10 March 2011, he discovered that a young woman who was unknown to him or Amy, and who had been recently married, had specifically requested that her marriage vows included the words, ‘To love each other like that old couple at Milky Lane.’
Amy’s ashes were buried in the garden of remembrance at the church. But, Bill told me, “Not even the weeds were bothering to grow, and the water feature that I thought was a heap builder’s rubble was, in fact, the no longer functioning.” So Bill, then in his mid-80s, had taken it upon himself to do something about it. Since that time he has been coming in once a week to do the necessary - fertilizing and composting the soil, and has introduced indigenous plants and small shrubs. He has also bought a new water pump and re-built the water feature. I went to see the garden the other day, and it is now a beautiful tranquil spot where one can sit and enjoy the sounds of birds and watch butterflies flitting by.
I had coffee with him last week, and asked him what had kept him going through all the years of caring for Amy. He told me that he believed that he had been preserved through measles and pneumonia as a baby, and protected during the dangers of the war because God had a calling on his life – to care for Amy.
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Bill sent me an e-mail, which reads:
A tribute to the lass who shared just over 60 years of her life with me.
The day after Amy went to be with the Lord, I noticed two old Bibles in the bookcase. Opening one I noticed an entry on the fly-leaf, dated 23 Nov 1960. It read: ‘Thank you for 10 years of marriage.’ Underneath, she had written Acts 3:6. Opening the other Bible, I found another entry on the fly-leaf, dated 23 Nov 1970. It said, ‘Thank you for 20 wonderful years of marriage.’ Underneath, to my amazement, was written Acts 3:6. Thinking that she was trying to tell me something, I looked up the Scripture. Peter and John had just been accosted by a beggar, who had been crippled from birth, and who was daily taken by his friends to his spot by the Temple gate called Beautiful. In Acts 3:6 Peter says to him, ‘Silver and Gold have I none, but what I have I give you - in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, get up and walk!’ The story goes on to tell how the cripple followed Peter and John into the temple ‘walking and jumping and praising God.’
Now Amy brought almost nothing of material value into our marriage, but what she did bring was the love of the Lord Jesus Christ. At the time of our marriage, I was no more than a nominal Christian. You could say that I was a spiritual cripple, and as Peter did to the cripple, she reached down, took my hand and said, ‘I have nothing of material value, but what I do have is the love of the Lord Jesus Christ. So take my hand and join me in my joyous walk of praising God.’ Is it a coincidence that the crippled beggar received his healing at the gate called Beautiful, and that I received my ‘healing’ at the hands of Amy, who, by any standards, was beautiful?
After 20 years of psychological difficulties, 40 years into our marriage, Amy was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. As it progressed over the next 20 years, Amy became less and less able to fend for herself, until she needed assistance with even the most basic functions. She was a physical cripple, but because she had reached out to me in my spiritual infirmity, I was able to reach out and care for her during her physical infirmity. Just as Amy now, after many years of being wheelchair bound, is ‘walking and jumping and praising God’ in heaven, I too, thanks to her ‘gift,’ am ‘walking and jumping and praising God’ here on earth.
I can attest that, even at 95, Bill is indeed ‘walking and leaping and praising God.’
Well, perhaps not exactly leaping, but I do have a picture of him boogie-boarding at the beach at ninety-three.
This is one of a pair of stories about two men who were on the opposite sides of the Second World War. The other is about Wilfred Wieners . Historical enemies, they have now become firm friends. Wilfried writes:
We actually met Bill and Amy at the Milky Lane. We started talking, and became friends. He was a great testimony to the Muslim population there. Muslim women came to ask him to pray for their husbands.
It's a strange thing: former enemies now firm friends. I call him my father.
We were present at the Pavilion for his 90th birthday party. That day I said to him, "Well, Bill, in 18 years I will turn 90.
So he answered " Well, don't forget to invite me"
Bill has just renewed his driver’s licence – aged 95.
He proudly told me, “Now I’m good for a hundred.”
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A true Yorkshireman.
