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In 1940 I was evacuated with my mother from London to a town called Street near Glastonbury. Later on we heard that my father had been killed at home during an air raid. When this happened my mother decided to move us to Hastings where her family lived so off we went.

It was in Hastings that I pursued my favourite hobby of the time, along with a lot of other children. We used to collect shrapnel and there was a whole trading network going on, a bit like trading cards today. One day I was standing in the doorway to a shop when shrapnel began pouring down out of the sky. I remember one particular piece caught my eye, it was so bright and shiny and stood out from the rest. My aunt happened to be rushing past and she grabbed me and dragged me indoors to safety. Once the shower of metal had stopped I ran out and grabbed the piece I’d had my eye on, it was so hot I burnt my hand in the process. I got such a telling off afterwards for just standing around staring amidst all that dangerous falling debris, as well as for burning myself! It was such a good piece though that it was worth it all!

Later I remember there was a rumour that shrapnel collectors like me were being arrested. It turned out that it was actually just someone trying to scare off the competition so they could have all the best shrapnel for themselves! I guess today it might seem like a simple pleasure, but we all had such a good time swapping and trading and collecting those simple little pieces of metal.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by James Barton and has been added to the website on behalf of Bryan Frederick Burchmore with his/her permission and they fully understand the site’s terms and conditions

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