Jack Shear's Story

Jack Shear (1908-1992) His Story.

My uncle Jack Shear was born in 1908 in the heart of London’s East End. His family lived in Turner Street behind the (Royal) London Hospital. Whether it was the proximity of that august institution which made Jack want to become a doctor, I’ve no idea but the family circumstances meant that there wasn’t the money available to support him through medical school so he joined the family business as a tailor/presser and joined the St. John Ambulance in the nineteen thirties.

He was in the Prince of Wales Corps, No.30 (East London) Division. He appears to have made very good progress and became expert in all the skills required of him. He passed all his exams so that by the time war was declared he was leader of a company of men. Stationed as they were near the docks as soon as the Blitz started they were in the thick of it. Jack was always very reticent about his part in the Blitz. He seems to have confided some of his stories to his elder brother, Joseph, my father. It is the remembrance of the stories that he told me that am relying on to relate Jack’s story.

One night they were on duty during a very heavy raid received orders to help in evacuating an area of houses which had been heavily firebombed. In one of the houses he was checking he found a terrified and very pregnant young woman who seemed to be in the early stages of labour. Though the raid was intensifying and they had orders to withdraw, Jack insisted on staying with her until and ambulance or other vehicle could be found to take her away to the relative safety of a hospital. A more horrendous aspect of the St.John Ambulance team’s duties was searching bombed buildings for survivors or victims. His team were sent to search a local fire station which had been flattened. As the senior member Jack went in first to what remained of the building and one by one carried out three headless corpses. My dad said that Jack looked green and could barely eat anything for a week afterwards.

My parents married on the 27th. October 1940. There were three air raid warnings during the service and reception and everyone went home by five o’clock. They honeymooned in Torquay and returned to a house they were renting in Tillingbourne Gardens, Finchley on the following Sunday. Jack joined them on the Monday as a respite from the East End bombings, as Finchley was reckoned to be much safer.
On the Wednesday they had just finished their evening meal when the sirens sounded. My mother and Jack went into the shelter whilst my dad stayed behind in the kitchen to fill vacuum flasks with tea in case it was going to be a long raid. As he was pouring the boiling water into the flask he heard the whistle of bomb which buried itself in the soft earth of the front garden before exploding and blowing out the house foundations.
The blast wall collapsed onto the shelter entrance and the kitchen ceiling fell onto dad. They were soon dug out and emerged unscathed apart from dad having scalded hands and he had gone partially deaf from the blast. My mother’s parents lived about four hundred yards away. My grandfather had heard a bomb explode nearby and without saying a word had left his shelter and despite the falling shrapnel had walked to the corner of his road where he saw three dishevelled figures coming towards him.
My mother remained perfectly calm until she arrived in her old home when she burst into tears. The only slightly comic part of this tale is that the following day dad and Jack had to return to the bombed house and climb the stairs which were barely attached to the walls as Jack had left all his documents and money in his uniform trousers in his bedroom.
Jack was called up in March 1942. He was a fully experienced member of St. John, with a long list of qualifications in all aspects of first aid and medical care. So where did the army put him? In the Rifle Brigade of course. There was possibly a method in the Army’s madness. My Uncle Jack was very fit (he was a first class ice skater) and had a reputation of always being immaculately turned out in his St. John’s uniform. There was one problem with being put in the Rifle Brigade, his eyesight wasn’t perfect, (he always wore glasses) in fact he couldn’t see the target! He was, at 34 years old, considerably older than his comrades. He bought his tailoring skills and the St. John’s experience of spit and polish with him. His uniform was always properly pressed, his boots shone and his buttons gleamed. So much so, as the story goes, when there was a parade or inspection, Jack’s comrades would carry him onto the parade ground so that not a speck of dust would spoil his appearance... If he was judged the smartest soldier on parade his corps would receive extra leave. After a year the army realised its mistake and Jack was transferred to the RAMC 0n the 29th. April 1943.

Jack was in the 33rd. F.D.S. which was seconded to the Canadian Army in the build up to D Day. They were loaded onto the landing craft early and spent a horrendous forty eight hours in very rough seas before they could be disembarked under heavy fire. He always said that they were all so ill and seasick that despite the extreme danger they were all grateful to be on dry land. He spent the next week or so giving blood transfusions under fire, for which he was highly commended.

Jacks route is difficult to trace after leaving the beach area. His wife, Louise, believes he was in Caen assisting with the wounded in a field hospital and then presumably went across France and into Southern Germany as he ended up near the Austrian border with the thankless task of looking after Russian prisoners of war. Apparently he became embroiled in a serious argument with his sergeant over the rations for, and the treatment of the prisoners which cost him his promotion.

Jack was finally demobbed on the 28th. August 1946. He married Louise the following year. In 1948 their son Michael was born followed three years later by David. They all moved from Colindale, NW London to Chalkwell on Sea, Essex in 1963 when they bought a Dry Cleaning business which is still going strong today run by his younger son, David. Jack died in 1992.

Hugh Shear 2005

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