大象传媒

During WW2 we (my mother, brother David and me) lived in a large house on the edge of Horsham, W.Sussex. We were not far from the airfield at Faygate, and there were other military/airforce stations in the area, and a base hospital 鈥� we saw the recovering injured walking around the town in their blue suits with red ties.

The house had a driveway in front of it and a shrubbery next to the front boundary wall, and a large iron gate. Early in the war all such gates and fences were 鈥渃ommandeered鈥� by the government to be melted down 鈥� though I believe most were wasted 鈥� but this left us with no gate, and our spaniel ran out one day only to be run over by one of the many military convoys which passed the house.

Our first 鈥渨artime guests鈥� were two teenage boys from the Merchant Taylor school in London, who spent perhaps eighteen months with us, and an elderly spinster who had worked as a companion to an another elderly woman but after her death was left homeless. I remember one night when there was an air raid we all moved into a partially-underground room which was treated as our shelter 鈥� it was an old dairy or cool-room, from which there was access to a very low under-floor area of the house. We were all lying on the floor on mattresses or whatever we had to try to get some comfort, when the most awful moaning sound started up. All manner of wild theories were put forward, including the possibility of a wounded German airman having somehow found entry to the under-floor area beside us - it took some time to discover it was air trapped in the gas-meter!

After the boys returned to London we gave a temporary home to a series of RAF officers who were based at Faygate. One was an ex-Spitfire pilot but at 6鈥�7鈥� and well-built we never worked out how he fitted into the cockpit! His main work at the time he was with us was inspecting German planes that had come down in the area, looking for new gadgets or developments which could be of help to us. Bob had two cars 鈥� one large one, covered in camouflage paint which was his working transport, and one much smaller one which we called his courting-car 鈥� the only problem was that when he went out in it in his best uniform and cap he always forgot the lack of head-room and as he got in he knocked his cap off o to the ground!

Later on there were two middle-aged women who came for a time, in need of somewhere to live, and then a family of three in similar circumstances and I believe they stayed until close to the end of the war.

My mother and one of the teenage evacuees joined the local 鈥渇irewatchers鈥� 鈥� home owners who after some brief training took regular nightly shifts walking up and down the roads in residential areas to watch for fires started by incendiary or H.E. bombs. The training included the use of stirrup pumps, crawling into smoke-filled buildings (hopefully below the smoke level) to try to put out the fire and/or rescue people, and using sandbags to extinguish fires. I recall the story of my mother and Peter (evacuee) one night practising lifting the heavy bags which were stacked at the foot of each lamp-post. Having hoisted the bag to her shoulder my mother got a face-full of sand which fell from a small hole in the bag 鈥� Peter鈥檚 comments was 鈥渢hink of all the dogs that have been along here!鈥� 鈥� the bag went quickly down again.

Horsham had a busy railway junction and there was a CIBA factory situated close to the line which was thought to be producing materials for use in the war, and both these areas encouraged some attention from enemy aircraft, and our guns were firing from their position on railway trucks moving up and down on the line. We were also in an area over-flown by aircraft from both sides. We stood in the garden and watched many dog-fights as aircraft battled each other over head 鈥� it was an everyday occurrence and no one considered the possible danger. We also witnessed towards the end of the war our planes leaving on the mass-bombing raids on Germany 鈥� a thrilling and fantastic sight and sound. Like all kids at the time, we collected assorted bits of metal and shrapnel as souvenirs.

In early summer 1943 my mother was recovering from mumps but there was little chance at that time of taking things easy even when not well. One morning having gone to the kitchen to make some tea, she lit the gas but before she could lift the kettle into place, she fainted, putting her right hand into the burning flames. When she came round she was in extreme pain, but managed to get upstairs to wake me (then 10) 鈥� my brother was at boarding school and everyone else was away or out. After being rushed to the local hospital, she was quickly transferred to the special burns unit at the Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead where Archibald MacIndoe was doing his wonderful work on all the air crew who got so severely burned. I went to stay with a family friend, and was taken to visit my mother 鈥� but no one realised quite what we would see and I can still remember walking into the ward on my own, having to look for her bed and seeing people with the most terrible injuries to face and body. She was there for three months 鈥� a period which covered the night when the local cinema took a direct hit 鈥� many of the 鈥渨alking wounded鈥� from the hospital were amongst those killed and injured.

Later we had the experience of the flying bombs 鈥� V1 and V2 鈥� and I clearly remember being in a school 鈥渃rocodile鈥� walking to the tennis courts and all of us diving into bushes when the rocket cut out 鈥� you had no idea where the thing would drop or what it would hit.

I have no special memories of VE day or VJ day, except that a class-mate shared her birthday with VE day, and of course that there was excitement everywhere.

I would like to hear if anyone has news of some of the people who featured in our wartime lives.

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