大象传媒

鈥淭his story was submitted to the people鈥檚 War site by Sam Bailey a volunteer from CSV on behalf of Beresford Campbell and has been added to the site with his permission. Beresford fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions鈥�

I was born in 1941. The family then lived in Wimbledon in Surrey (now London SW19). During WW2, Wimbledon lay along what was known as 鈥榙oodlebug alley鈥�, because it was en route to London and the docks, the targets of the V.1 rockets (nicknamed 鈥榙oodlebugs鈥�) that the Germans launched from northern France throughout 1944. The German bombers used the same route and if they failed to drop all their bombs in London, they would get rid of them on the way home. There were anti-aircraft guns on Wimbledon Common and I can remember seeing the gun flashes through the curtains as I lay in my cot and hearing the bangs and the sound of shrapnel rolling down our roof and bouncing off the gutters.

I do not remember hearing the doodlebug explosion that wrecked our house at 10:35 a.m. on Friday, 29 June 1944. I have researched the event and now know that the bomb started to run out of fuel over South Wimbledon and hit the Gap Road train-washing shed on the main line at the bottom of our road. There was an empty train being washed at that time and the driver was killed. V.1s caused huge amounts of damage over a wide area and the shockwaves would rip through streets sucking out windows and doors and tiles off roofs. Apparently, I sat very still, covered in plaster from the fallen ceiling and went very pale.

Although my mother feared that the next bomb would kill us all, she decided that as the first male child of hers (and her seven sisters), only I was to be sent away to safety! One of my aunts maintained the real reason was that I was very jealous of my 15 month-old sister! My mother heard that the Ridgway School in Wimbledon village was evacuating to Appleby in Westmorland (now part of Cumbria). The school agreed to take me, even at the tender age of three, and Mum and Dad duly took me by train to Appleby and then presumably by taxi to a large Victorian country house on the outskirts of the town. I remember the school matron holding me firmly by the hand as I watched my parents walking down the long drive to the taxi waiting beyond the large wrought iron gates.

School was a shock, mainly because I did not get the affection I received at home (if truth be told, as the only baby boy in the family, I was spoiled rotten). Also new to me was the countryside and the farm animals, none of which had I ever seen before. The other children were aged at least five and I believe I was somewhat of a school mascot. A term report on my progress was sent to my parents, just as it was for the other pupils. I have them now and note that I was described as 鈥榓 bit of a dreamer鈥� 鈥� obviously dreaming of home comforts! My last report said that the other children missed me. One morning I failed to pay attention during prayers (dreaming?) and did not take in the news that a toilet on the upper landing was out of order. Of course, I used it and watched in horror as the flushing went on and on, flooding the landing. For this I got my very first experience of punishment: a sharp smack on the thigh from matron. Generally, however, everyone treated me kindly. Every day I went up to the study of the headmaster, Mr. Brady, to receive an apple (paid for by my parents).

After a few months, my mother decided that if another bomb landed we should go to meet our maker as a family and she sent my father to bring me home. I recall sitting on his shoulders at Appleby Station. Both the station and the train were in total darkness because of the blackout regulations. I鈥檓 told that I was mute for two days after returning home. The sight that greeted me as my father and I entered the family鈥檚 (temporary) flat was of my baby sister having her nappy changed. Subconsciously, I must have thought that I had been sent away as a punishment.

My relationship with my sister was blighted for many years, until I had enough grasp of amateur psychology to work out the probable reason. I have since apologized to her. I imagine that the varied experiences of the young children evacuated during WW2 would have had some sort of emotional impact, lasting for varying lengths of time. In my case, apart from sibling rivalry, I lacked confidence for many years, well beyond my teens.

After the war, in 1945, our first home was at the side of a bombsite in Wimbledon and being the new end of what had been a terrace, had props to stop it falling over. I think my parents paid about £250 for it. Bombsites were great playgrounds for local kids and like many others, ours had an emergency water reservoir on it. Of course, I climbed in to it and could not get out again until my shouts summoned help. Our next-door neighbour kept a billy goat on the bombsite, chained to a stake. Thinking it was a pet, I casually walked up to it and stroked it. The goat鈥檚 body language (lowered head, foreleg stamping the ground) told me that I had made a mistake and I started to run. The chain was about 15 feet (5 metres) long and I managed to outrun the length of it by about half an inch (1 cm)!

In the early fifties, I passed the 11+ exam and went to Rutlish School in Merton Park (two years before John Major started there). Rutlish had had state-of-the-art physics and chemistry laboratories built in the late thirties, but a German bomb destroyed them. In the fifties, these subjects were taught in prefabricated concrete buildings (鈥榩refabs鈥�), with internal walls lined with asbestos. Prefabs were intended as short-term accommodation for people made homeless during the war, but economic constraints meant that they were still being used well into the sixties. Similarly, rationing of food, clothing and fuel lasted into the mid-fifties. I still have some or our family鈥檚 ration books and my identity card.

In 1971, I found myself in Cumbria with my then fiancée and we drove to Appleby to find my first school. I recognized the big gates but lacked the courage to ring the bell 鈥� perhaps next year!

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.