IT WAS about a month ago we first ran images of this enormous, amphibious, Heath Robinson contraption making its way through the thronged streets of a market town.

And unless the Timeout team is mistaken, our pleas for information have so far gone unanswered.

Initially we thought the setting of the picture we ran might have been Lewes high street. We could see the edge of a store called Marshalls and the edge of an imposing building which looked like the courthouse.

In that photo crowds were lining the streets while the machine, somewhere between a truck and a boat, trundled by.

But this new angle suggests we were wrong about Lewes, so which town hall is this and what on earth is the “W50” in front of it?

These are 1942 photographs, so was this a recruitment drive?

Or was it an offshoot of the Lord Beaverbrook rallying cry for the people of Britain to donate pots and pans to forge into Spitfires and Hurricanes (which never really happened.)

Was this to encourage the people of Sussex – and where in Sussex – to donate kitchenware to build battleships?

Or was it the other way around – was this a grassroots campaign to encourage the building of warships?

Seems unlikely that at the height of patriotism anyone would be so presumptuous. So somebody, anybody, please... pull back the curtain of history and lift the veil of ignorance on this fascinating device.

Elsewhere on the page there are all kinds of fun and frolics going on.

Try squeezing three children on to a playground slide in this day and age. You would probably either have the health and safety police on you like a shot or some fellow parent might quickly take the photo on her smartphone and upload it to Mumsnet with a withering analysis of your parenting skills.

At least no one can fault the innocent fun of these three young men in their faux-naval uniforms re-enacting some major engagement... surely?