大象传媒

To a little girl at the tender age of seven, war was just a word but became a dreadful reality when my mother woke me one night early in 1940. My little bedroom was full of flashes and bangs but I wasn鈥檛 at all frightened as I thought it was a bad thunderstorm and tried to reassure my mother, 鈥渃ome quickly 鈥渟he said, 鈥渨e must run down to the air raid shelter鈥� and so I put on my dressing gown and slippers and followed my mum and dad down the garden path to the Anderson shelter which had been installed in 1939 very early in the war.

We lived in the London suburb of Abbey Wood, right on the border with Kent and we were only about three miles from the huge munitions factory, Woolwich Arsenal, where my father worked. As soon as war was declared on the 3rd September 1939, we waited for the onset of hostilities but all was quiet to begin with, and this period was known as the 鈥淧honey War鈥�. My father insisted that my mother and I went away from the potential danger area and so we spent a few months at Folkstone near the coast, not far from Saltwood where my mother was born. This was my first experience of being an evacuee but as my mother was with me it wasn鈥檛 an unhappy period and I settled into school and made some friends. After a few months we decided to return to our home and not long after, the first really heavy air raids started. As there was also an ack-ack station on Bostall Heath, less than a mile away, we were right in the hear of the danger zone and every night the sirens would go and the German fighters and bombers came to rain havoc from the skies. We got in a routine of sleeping in the shelter which was set quit deeply into the garden with a corrugated iron roof and to gain access to it, we had to climb down a small wooden ladder. It smelt rather strange, a mixture of earth and damp and it was sparsely furnished with bunk beds and a couple of old chairs. We took with us out hot water bottles, sandwiches, flasks of cocoa and of course, our important papers and documents like ration books and identity cards, not forgetting our gas masks which went everywhere with us! Some times too, there were air raid alerts in the daytime and as soon as the sirens sounded, my mother and I would rush down the garden path to the shelter. During this time, my father cycled to work at the Arsenal every day and worked very long hours but he was always cheerful and it was lovely to hear him whistling away as he pedalled down the alley way at the back of our house, and carefully put his bike away in the shed.

As so many children at my school had by now been evacuated to Devon and Cornwall, the school was closed and the few children who were left in the area had lessons with a teacher who lived at a house further up the road. There were about ten of us, of varying ages and abilities and we only had lessons for two or three hours in the morning. My great friends the Bailey sisters, Sybil, Gwen, Vera and Beryl had long been evacuated and so I used to play in the alley on my own. One day I saw a plane with German markings flying very low that I could see the pilot quit clearly and I was very, very frightened as I had heard tales of women and children being machine gunned but the plane circled and then flew away (I鈥檓 sure it was a reconnaissance aircraft). I told the grown-ups about my experience and they didn't believe me, but I KNOW it was true.

Several times bombs and landmines were dropped in our area and on two occasions our house windows were blown in, despite being protected by criss-cross tape. The blackout had to be very carefully observed and all our curtains were lined with thick heavy material; wardens patrolled the streets to make sure that no one was showing even a little chink of light. There were no street lights and all the direction signs were removed in case on invasion by the enemy. How my mother managed to cook such lovely meals when everything was strictly rationed, I will never know. We were only allowed 2oz of butter and 8oz. of sugar per week and tea, margarine, eggs, bacon, cheese, meat and jam were also rationed. There were virtually no sweets or chocolate and no bananas or oranges. Everyone was urged to grow their own vegetables and fruit so flowerbeds gave way to rows of cabbages, leeks, carrots and potatoes. There were also queues for the very few things which were not rationed like sausages and bread, and even clothes were rationed so that everyone had to 鈥渕ake do and mend鈥�.

After the air raids, I used to go round the alley way and our garden and gather up bags full of shrapnel which was collected regularly and recycled for ammunitions to fight the enemy.. Anything made of metal, like gates and fencing was requisitioned and used toward the war effort.

Soon my father insisted that my mother and I went away from the bombing to stay in North Wales with my Auntie Queenie and Uncle Cecil who were billed with a family called Jones, living in a small terraced house in Caego Terrace, New Broughton, near Wrexham. We were all crammed into this tiny house; there were beds all over the place. I remember the village school, playing 鈥淭ig鈥� and 鈥淜ick the Can鈥� in Caego Terrace, the farm round the corner where I was allowed to collect warm eggs straight from the nest, picking mushrooms in the fields, and the wonderful walks in the mountain nearby 鈥� this began my love affair with the countryside which has remained with me all of my life. I did well at the village school and actually learned to speak Welsh and I also remember the winter of deep snow when my Uncle rolled me in the snow. In the living room of the little house was a kitchen range which was the big focal point, all the coking was done in the range and water heated in big black kettles; bath night was fun as it was on Fridays and took place in a tin bath in front of the roaring fire.

When the Battle of Britain appeared to be over and the Germans did not invade our Island, once again we returned home and things quieted down a little. Some of the children returned from the country, quite a few classrooms at my school were opened and life was returning. In 1943 despite all the interruptions to my schooling, I managed to pass the 11+ exam and was enrolled in Dartford High School in Kent which was quite a long journey from my home.

The period of 鈥減eace鈥� was not to last very long as although the tide of war was turning in Britain鈥檚 favour, the Germans started to attack us with V-1 rockets or 鈥渄oodle-bugs鈥� as these were more commonly called. They were unmanned flying bombs which could be heard droning overhead and which suddenly stopped when their fuel ran out and they fell devastatingly to earth, demolishing everything in their path. My mother was busy in the house and one of my jobs was to stay in the garden listening out for the doodle-bugs. As soon as I heard one approach, I would shout down to my mother and we would rush down to the shelter until the danger had passed. Despite these hazards, I was not evacuated again until just after the even more deadly V-2 rockets were launched and my father decided that enough was enough. Again I went to North Wales, this time by train (in charge of the guard!) and stayed with a most kind lady named Marjorie Evans who had a three month old baby, and whose husband was serving abroad in the Army. The delights of the country were mine again and I started school at Wrexham High School, being the only girl in a green gym slip 鈥� their uniform was navy blue but our clothing coupons did not run to a new gym slip. I felt very conspicuous and therefore did not settled well and soon afterwards I was allowed to return home once again, although the danger was not entirely over. In 1945 victory was in sight and the German finally surrendered on 8th May 鈥� what wonderful celebrations ensued. My mother had painstakingly save tiny amounts of rations and made little iced cakes and jellies as her contribution to the street party. There was such singing and dancing everywhere and the lights came on again. Such joy in everyone鈥檚 hearts but we did not forget the homes where sadness had struck for so many people who had lost loved ones 鈥� husbands, fathers, sons and friends killed in the fighting and families and homes wiped out by the bombing. Even in the midst of celebrations, there were two minute silences to remember those who had given their lives so that we might be free.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Anastasia Travers a volunteer with WM CSV Actiondesk on behalf of Shirley Harris and has been added to the site with his permission. Shirley Harris fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

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