大象传媒

鈥業 am helping cement relations with our Russian Allies鈥�, well, I made a poster, anyway. There was a schools competition to make a poster about helping Russia with supplies to fight Hitler. John Perryn School sent mine in. It was of a giant British workman in overalls standing on a small coastline waving to a giant Russian soldier on a small coastline, who is waving back. Between them are long lines of little ships carrying boxes, guns, tanks and 鈥榩lanes. I won a prize!

My family were the Brooks living at 18 The Green, East Acton, West London. Mum took me to the school on Gunnersbury Lane, near the hospital, for the prize-giving. There were lots of prize-winners. There were school officials, the Mayor, I think, and some Russians, one who spoke English very well. One Russian was very tall and big built, in a long black overcoat and Homburg hat. He stood very straight, looking straight ahead, and his slab face never showed any expression.

We were called up by name by one of the English officials, the English speaking Russian said: 鈥淭hank you. Well Done, very nice picture鈥� and passed a Book Token to Comrade Blank Face, who handed it me. When he handed it over he looked at me briefly then back up, looking straight ahead. I wondered if he was a Russian robot.

BOMBERS BACK
1944. The Blitz was back again as the German Luftwaffe (Air Force) returned with big raids. We tried to dry out our shelter without a lot of success, so we were kept indoors in the warm and dry as long as possible during raids. Most of the bangs and noise during an air raid was our 鈥楢ck Ack鈥� - Anti Aircraft guns. But dud shells falling were as dangerous as small bombs.

Although our metal windows were shut, and covered by curtains and black-out material, really loud bangs would 鈥榮woosh鈥� the curtains in, like a strong wind. I think Mum expected the glass to break. Then Jasmine, Beryl, me, and Adrienne, if Aunty Glad was visiting, would be put under our oak dining table on cushions. This wasn鈥檛 very comfortable as our table had a thick wooden cross-brace between the legs.

When the bangs got very, very loud the grown-ups would also crouch half under it, bottoms sticking out, which Aunty Glad thought was very funny. I noticed grown-ups laughed a lot when things got frightening, or pretended to laugh, anyway.

If we heard the sound of Jerry bombers followed by deep 鈥榗rump-crump鈥� explosions it was rush to the shelter and scramble through that hole, banging knees, and elbows. Mr. Cuddiford would look in later to check up on mothers and children and the older people. As Warden he knew who was home or away or even had visitors in his area.

I know it was nice to hear him call out, then the crunch of his boots, the door pulled back and the flash of his bright torch. He would say that everything was alright, or there are some broken windows, 鈥渄on鈥檛 worry I鈥檒l report it鈥�, then go on to the next shelter. I think that was the most important thing that a Warden, like Mr. Cuddiford, did. He would be watching out for us and arrive at the right time. I know Mum always cheered up after his visit, I suppose she didn鈥檛 feel so alone.

After one very noisy night in the shelter Mum found our front door wide open 鈥� but the catch was still locked and sticking out. Mr. Cuddiford said that air pressure from exploding AA shells had 鈥榮prung鈥� it open. It was a bit loose after that. There was a lot of dust, twigs and leaves in the hall.

It is strange to see bombed houses. Some have no front walls and look like my sister Beryl鈥檚 opened dolls-house. The wallpaper is still there, picture still hanging up and some furniture 鈥� and the rest of the room is gone. And great piles of wooden beams, broken bricks and slates. The church (St. Catherine鈥檚) on The Westway, going towards White City, was hit. One end of the church is gone, leaving it completely open.

There are shops whose windows have been smashed in a raid. They are boarded up with wood panels and a small window left in the middle. But this window is Cellophane, not glass! I prodded one in Ealing to make sure, and got told off. This one had a box behind it with some empty packets (called dummies) on show. We saw one shop with just a picture of the things they sold. 鈥楤usiness As Usual鈥� and 鈥榃e Are Open For Business鈥� are often painted on damaged shops, in case people think they are shut down by the bombing.

SPIVS
There are men called Spivs (I don鈥檛 know what it means) who sell things from suitcases that are supposed to be rationed, or are hard to find. Aunty Glad says that every factory has at least one Spiv who calls in regularly selling things 鈥榦n the quiet鈥� (which means out of sight, secretly), and asking what people wanted. The stuff they sell is probably stolen 鈥� from bombed shops and houses, Lorries, and depots.

It is called 鈥楾he Black Market鈥�, Mum and everyone says it is terrible, and a bad thing. Then Aunty Glad got some soap for Mum, which she needed to do the washing, because it was very hard to get in the shops. So, even my Mum was tempted by need.

I suppose that鈥檚 why Spivs were successful and became rich. They were also known as 鈥榃ide Boys鈥� and wore expensive suits with padded shoulders, the money coming from ordinary people fighting the war and paying high prices for stolen things that should have been in the shops anyway.

Postscript: I remember my mother was shocked to see warning notices about Looting on local bombed houses. She was outraged at the suggestion that such a thing could happen. But unfortunately the 鈥楬ome Front鈥� wasn鈥檛 always about the ideal of everyone working together for the best to win the war. It was also about exploitation and crime, from petty thievery to organised gangs.

Revised extracts from 鈥楢 Sheltered Childhood ~ Wartime Family Memories of an East Acton Child鈥�

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