James Alfred Stoodley

This is my Dad and author of the fascinating memoir, Jim Stoodley's Private War. He was featured in the Guinness Book of Records as the youngest person ever to fly an aircraft - wholly untutored, (hence the little graphic I tailored for him). We have undertaken the joint project of rewriting his memoirs, for electronic publication into a creative non-fiction book of the same name, which includes material not covered in the original book. 

Jim is one of 14 children; a great father to 7 children; grandfather to 6 grandchildren, and a brilliant mechanical engineer and inventor.

Jim Stoodley's Private War

This title is available as an autographed paperback - order online now.

Introduction - by Bryan Guinness, Second Baron Moyne
On reading the typescript of Jim Stoodley's Private War I could see at once what a fascinating story the author had made of it all, and the illustrations, obviously, greatly added to it. James Stoodley tells the reader about his most fascinating childhood adventures in a unique flowing manner in what I believe is an unparalleled autobiography from the Second World War.  An extremely brave young man, skilful, errant, as well as cunning, it appears certain that he would have been prepared to give his life to defend his country. If he had been old enough to serve in the Armed Forces, I would have been surprised if he had not been awarded the Victoria Cross, (maybe posthumously).

Excerpts from Jim Stoodley's Private War

The Yanks are Here

Hitler had started something he could not finish, but so had the Japanese. Admiral Yamamoto's statement after Pearl Harbor must have been the understatement of the century when he said, "I fear all we have done is awakened a sleeping giant and filled him with a terrible resolve." 

I witnessed that resolve. A few months after the arrival of the US Army, and the massive amount of supplies, it took less than an expert to see that we would eventually win the war.

The GIs were deeply angry at the attack on Pearl Harbor and it was like an invisible driving force which showed itself in how they worked like I have never seen men work before. They never once shirked or dodged the column; many worked double duties to load and unload supplies; Technicians prepared vehicles, and various other pieces of equipment. It all went on endlessly in shifts throughout the day and night. You couldn't help but feel more positive of the war's outcome, even though some people thought that the Yanks were just a lot of boasters coming in late to steal the glory. After being around them, and seeing the the way they worked, and the amount of quality military equipment they had - I believed that they had a lot to boast about. 

I met thousands of GIs of all types, some were from the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 10th Armored Divisions, many were from the 29th Infantry, and 82nd Airborne, and many others from divisions I cannot remember. I used to sit for hours with them in the different barracks at Tidworth and Perham Down, just to listen to their stories of 'back home'. They were only young guys, and many confided in me about their personal or domestic problems. They worried constantly about their wives and girlfriends. They were homesick, and some cried too. Seeing a GI cry was a particularly pitiful sight, and I must admit to being bewildered and upset by it at eleven years old. I asked Sergeant Single why one particularly young GI seemed to cry all the time.
    "Oh, Jimmy, that's just Shultz, it's a regular thing every Sunday, he just gets homesick I guess, thinking of his Ma, and family back home. We just take no notice of him and by chow time he's okay again."

I did my best to talk to them, but what did I know? I was in my hometown and with my family. I was not faced with the prospect of going to a war that had already claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. So one day, I decided to borrow a horse from my friend, Desmond Guinness up at Biddesden House. He obliged me with Miss. Bobby, who so long as I didn't sing when I rode her, wouldn't turn round to bite me on the foot. I rode Miss. Bobby to the barracks and tethered her to a hedge near one the billets then went inside. I saw Shultz,sitting on his bed, sobbing as usual, and I sat down next to him.
    "Hi, Shultz, like a Lucky Strike?" he looked up, seeming surprised that someone should talk to him. He wiped his eyes and straightened his collar.
    "No, I don't smoke thanks", he said looking embarrassed.
    "Do you ever ride a horse back home, then?" I asked and his eyes lit up.
    "Sure do," then his eyes went dull again, "I really miss my horse over here".
    "Well, would you know much about horses, then?" 
    "Yeah, spent my whole life with them, know them from head to tail - we must have fifty or more back in Oregon". Shultz seemed to be feeling a bit better as we talked.
    "Well, as you seem to be such an expert on them, would you like to see my horse and give me your opinion of her?" Shultz surprised, looked at me through his red-rimmed eyes.
    "You gotta horse here?"
    "Well - Er - yes, just outside the door actually."
    "Outside the door? Gee! You don't mind if I take a look?"
    "No. Come right on out and tell me what you think, Shultz". Out we went to were Miss. Bobby was still tethered to the hedge, and Shultz's whole face lit up.
    "Shit, man, that's a lovely horse, something like my Grandpa owned years ago when I was just a kid". He walked up and started talking to and patting Miss. Bobby, and I prayed she wouldn't bite him.
    "Here, jump up, Shultz, and have a ride". I locked my fingers together to give him a bunk up, and we set off with me on foot towards the ruins of Tidworth Castle.
    I'd hoped that this would get him out of his fit of homesickness and it seemed to work. It was a lovely afternoon, the birds were singing and the war seemed a million miles away, Shultz was chatting on about his folks back home; worrying whether he will ever see them again; about his sister, who was crippled and who he misses taking riding so much, then he talked a bit about the war.
    "Yeah, I guess you limeys have had a hard time in this war".
    "Well, it's not that bad. When you know you are going to win in the end, it doesn't matter if things get difficult, does it?"
    "I wish I was as sure as you we were going to win, Jim. Those Germans are going to take some beating".
    "Well, I think, with all you GIs, all your resources and brains, and us English with all our guts, we'll win. That is definite".
     "Guess you're right, Jim. Yeah, guess you're right" mused Shultz sitting on Miss. Bobby looking like a professional, reins lightly held in his fingers.
    "Sure is a nice mare, Jim. Great of you to give me a break like this".
    "Think nothing of it, maybe we can meet back in the States after all this is over, and you can take me out on the Prairies to hunt Buffalo , Eh, Shultz?"
    "Yeah, maybe so. Maybe so," he laughed. We looped around the old castle ruins and headed back to the barracks. I knew that I had to get back to Biddesden House and get Miss Bobby fed and bedded down. When we arrived back at the barracks, it was apparent that Shultz was back to feeling his usual self.
    "Gee, Jim, thanks for a nice break".
    "You're welcome, Shultz, I'll have to get back now, see you at work in the Depot tomorrow, Okay?" He waved goodbye and off I went back through Perham Down and on to Biddesden House. 

For as hard as they worked, they could play hard too, and I liked the way that the Americans dressed up smartly to go out on the town. I liked the way they would press their uniforms so you could cut yourself on the creases. Their brown leather shoes glowed, and they would look in the mirror, tilt their forage caps to just the correct angle, and fill their pockets with 'ammunition' for the night out. Usually it was a couple of packs of Lucky Strike, Camel, or Chesterfields, a couple of sticks of candy, a wad of greenbacks, and packets of French Letters.

The GIs usually had a favorite pub and could they drink a lot of English beer! One favorite GI watering hole was the Ram Hotel in Tidworth. To sober up they jumped (or got thrown) into the River Bourne which was conveniently located a short distance from it's front door. Others visited one of the three public bars in Ludgershall, like the Prince of Wales pub near the GWR Station, or the Crown Hotel close to the Triangle in the center of Ludgershall. Some of them gathered and sat around the monument on a fine evening, and while there were always lots of GIs around the place, they did not upset the village life too much.

The SOS (Service of Supply) company had many Black American drivers, and a few told me of the way they were treated back home. I found it hard to believe some of the stories, and felt confused by the reaction of some of the white GIs who were infuriated when a Black soldier either went out with a white girl, got on a 'mixed' bus, or went in to a 'mixed' cinema.

But all the GIs made a beeline for the local ancient monuments around Hampshire, especially Stonehenge. I often went there with a truckload of them and it amazed me how they walked around the place, speechless at the giant man-made wonder. Each one would eventually voice his beliefs as to how the stones had come to be there.

    "I reckon that they have always been here". One GI stated, and another shook his head.
    "No way, these have to have been brought here by aliens". Another piped up,
    "No, look at them. I think they have to mean something, they were definitely put here to worship Gods or something".
    "Well it sure beats the balls off me," said another. Then the nose-picker from the Bronx decided to settle it once and for all.
    "Man, what the hell is wrong with you guys? It's obvious that they were all shipped over here from the States".

They all just looked at him, looked at each other, nodded their heads, and then carried on walking around the stones.

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This page was last updated: 04/23/08 08:05 PM