大象传媒

My memories of WW2 are thin, I was two when it started so most of my
recollections were closer to the end in 1945.
There is though some inkling of events still in the old cells. I suppose
because it was always present as far as I knew we as kids did not know that
things could have been any different from what they were.
We, thats, Mum, Dad, Rita, Tom, Betty, myself lived in a block of council
flats named Brine House in Ford Road [not street], it is still there in Bow
off the Roman Road, we were on the first floor at number 6. I think they are
leaving it as sample of 1940's architecture as all of the other parts of the
road have now been rebuilt. Sister Betty still lives in the next street.

It used to have an air raid shelter on either side; these were built at
about 1939 and were large enough to house all the people in the flats as
well as some from the terraced houses in the road. The idea was that on
hearing the air raid warning everyone would rush down to the shelter and
stay there until the all clear was sounded. There were some false alarms and
as some of the warnings were at night our Mum got tired if rounding us all
up and so would stay in the flat and all crawl under the kitchen table,
except Dad, as he being a lorry driver, classified as essential work, was
away till quiet late.
The shelter was made of cream coloured brick with a flat tarpaper roof. It
contained about 12 double bunks down the side with a passage down the
centre. One had to take down ones own blankets and pillows for sleeping.
As the raids did not last for more than an hour there was not much point in
being down there. But I think the idea was that one would go down to sleep
there every night. Realy silly because they were stuffy and smelt of wee.
We may have stayed half a dozen times in the shelter for short periods.
After the heavy raids of 1940/41 things became easier and no one sleep
there. We as kids would play in them and even plug things into the light
sockets, slide projectors etc. some times fingers by mistake with the power
on too.
These shelters remained until about 1947 and became a main source of
amusement for us cockney kids. Having very little control we were often up
to mischief. One occasion we gathered bricks from an old bombed site and
built a lean-to cubby against one shelter, it took many days to do, it had
three walls and a fire place inside, which on a fateful night three or four
of us lit a roaring fire in it; course the cement/mud not being dry the
whole thing collapsed causing a huge cloud of smoke and flames, we had to
douse the flames with our built in hoses. It worked, but what a smell!
Although we were never came too close to danger on purpose, it was all
around us and after any raid we would spend the mornings, when there was no
school, walking about the local streets looking for shrapnel [bits of metal
that had fallen from the sky.] Not too sure where it really came from could
have been enemy shells or bits of airplanes. We would gather this and keep
them as prizes.
About 1944, V1 unmanned flying bombs were being dropped on east London,
these were easy to see although one heard the peculiar sound of the engine
first, when their fuel ran out, then you knew it would hit soon so that was
time to duck for cover.
I was 6/7 when my best friend at the time Stanley Norton were playing at the
back of "our flats" when we heard the familiar sound of the 'Buzz bomb', as
they were known.
The buzz stopped so we knew that it was coming down, we crouched against the
wall of the building and looked up and back at the sky. Our flats are three
stories high and we saw it clearly glide silently straight over us, the
small bomb then clipped the chimney pot of the flats sailed on to land near
the canal in Victoria park half a mile away, we heard and felt the bang!
Later we went to see the remains, it was said that someone fishing in the
canal was thrown in by the blast and was killed, though this may have been
kids talk.
Mum was terrified of the air raid warning sound even to the last days she
always said that it put fear into her, even if she heard it 40 years later
as a TV documentary, where as myself and younger sister Betty would think it
great fun, we just had no idea of pain and death that it bought to many.

There are more stories outside of London because we were evacuated twice to
the country for a short period until Mum thought it quiet enough to return
to the east end, although it was not, and of the time my Dads sister was
bombed out of her home, twice.
Because we were near Victoria Park we could see parachute practice from a
barrage balloon taking place over the rooftops from the top floor of the
flats. Then wandering to the park at the weekend and seeing huge
searchlights emplacements used for bomber spotting.
Some evenings Stan and I would help his family put together tiny nuts, bolts
and washers then put them into boxes to be sent off to some factory for the
war effort.
We always liked to think that they were going into Spitfires.
I remember the Roman Road section near to us where the number 8 bus would
begin its journey from Old Ford to Willesdon, just after the war it was all
dug up, and this road goodness knows how long it had been there was entirely
surfaced with tarred wooden blocks, houses around had a bonanza of free
firewood then.

There were wooden shades on the windows at night, because of The Blackout.
There were pictures at The Ritz around the corner. We would go once a week
walking home with torch covered in brown paper to stop the Germans seeing
the light.
There was sticky thick orange juice in bottles, sterilized milk, milk
powder, powder potatoes, soap, not shampoo for hair, and the occasional
chocolate that Dad brought home after it fell off a truck

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