Seckford Hall holds many memories for Terry Basson, both nostalgic and bittersweet.
From tearing around the grounds with his homemade pop gun to sitting amongst young soldiers being serenaded by Vera Lynn, in many ways, Woodbridge is the place where he grew up.
Mr Basson first arrived in Suffolk in 1940, aged six, fresh from West Ham in east London.
The Blitz was relentless, and his father, Arthur Basson, was determined to whisk his wife, Hilda, and their three children to safety.
As luck would have it, a friend had told Arthur that there was a council house available in Edwin Avenue in Woodbridge, and he leapt at the chance.
To be eligible for the property, Mr Basson first needed a job – which was how he found himself fortifying Suffolk beaches against invasion, for it was feared that it could only be a matter of time before the Nazis landed on British shores.
He applied, and soon became a NAAFI manager through a managerial course.
The NAAFI [Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes] was an organisation which provided facilities to military personnel both at home and abroad.
This included catering and retail, with the NAAFI’s goal to provide British personnel with a “taste of home”.
Seckford Hall in Great Bealings, near Woodbridge, had been purchased in 1940 by Sir Ralph Harwood, who was financial secretary to the King. The house was soon commandeered by the army, and remained in use for the duration of the war.
During the evenings and weekends, Terry, Arthur’s youngest son, could often be found at Seckford Hall.
Now 90, Mr Basson visited Seckford Hall once more on Monday.
Sitting by the fireside in the Tudor manor, he comments that the building itself does not seem to have changed much.
“But it was only the officers who were allowed inside in those days,” he explained. Regular soldiers would be outside in the barracks.
The atmosphere at Seckford Hall was, he remembers, “highly disciplined”, for the soldiers based there were tasked with defending Suffolk's skies. Mr Basson remembers the constant noise of the Ack-Ack guns, trained on the skies.
His own pop-gun he made himself, as so many boys did, believing that if the Nazis did invade a homemade weapon was surely better than nothing.
Other memories stand out clearly, such as the long loaves of “yellow cake”, which his father would cut into 26 slices – for only then would a profit be made.
When the cake had turned stale, it would be made into trifle. When it had gone too stale even for this, the young Terry would feed it to the ducks living on Seckford Hall’s pond.
“One day, this duck came towards me, followed by a line of little ducklings,” Mr Basson remembered. “I really wanted one, and eventually my father managed to scoop one up.
“The mother duck went berserk and came flying at us. In the end, I said, ‘Dad, you’ll have to put it back!’”
Being the youngest, and with both parents so often working, Mr Basson could often feel lonely as a child.
The soldiers he met at Seckford Hall were scarcely older than he was, often only in their teens.
Mr Basson vividly remembers sitting with them on the evening that Vera Lynn had visited the base, and serenaded them with We’ll Meet Again.
“They sat there with tears streaming down their faces,” remembered Mr Basson. “They were so young, and they didn’t really want to go. But I was only a child, and I couldn’t understand why they were crying.”
A soldier he had become friendly with one day asked Mr Basson if he would care for the puppy he kept, to which he agreed.
“Sadly, that pup grew old with me,” said Mr Basson. “He never did come home.”
In 1943, Mr Basson’s father opened his own café in Cumberland Street. During this time, there were countless American servicemen living in Woodbridge, many of them based at RAF Debach and RAF Bentwaters, and he was sure that there would be plenty of custom.
Mrs and Mrs Basson could not think what to call their new business – until a young American flyer from Debach came in and asked, ‘Do you sell black coffee, Pop?’
And thus, Pop’s Café was born.
The family kept the café until three years after the war. By this time, many of the American servicemen had departed and demand reduce. The family decided to move back to West Ham, where they opened a second café, aimed at the dock workers there.
However, the young Terry could not settle. When he had first arrived in Woodbridge, he and his siblings had found their classmates’ country accents amusing. Now, he had developed a thick, Suffolk drawl himself, and struggled to settle into life in his former home.
Eventually, his parents were persuaded to allow their young son to go back to Suffolk.
Accommodation with friends was found, and Mr Basson travelled down on the train to speak to his son’s new headmaster.
However, when it came time to say goodbye, the young Terry Basson found he just could not do it.
“We were walking along Quay Street, and I asked, ‘Dad, can I come home with you?’” remembered Mr Basson.
“He didn’t say anything, but he looked down at me and squeezed my hand. And then we walked back to the train station together.”
Mr Basson’s memories of Seckford Hall and Suffolk, including bringing his nephew, a Senator of Oklahoma back for a visit, are immortalised in his book, Romance Without Kisses. To purchase a copy, search Amazon or click here
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