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Below is an extract from the autobiography of David Crocker transcribed by Fiona McNeill of the Folkestone Heritage team and added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Just over a year after I was born war with Germany was declared. Not that I took much notice of the event until the day Hitler's Airforce decided to make it personal. I was waiting outside my home to greet Father as he came from work. Suddenly low over the roofs roared a German fighter firing it's machine guns. Father grabbed and pushed me under the skirts of his long overcoat. It was an instinctive action. Well made as they were , postmen's overcoats were not famous for their bullet stopping qualities. Luckily the pilot's aim was not that good and we survived. Shortly afterwards Father was called in to the RAF and my brother was evacuated with his school to Wales. This was to escape the constant bombing of Folkestone and shelling from the enemy guns only 22 miles away across the channel in France.

My Mother was left to look after my sister and I in a town whose population decreased rapidly as people departed for safer parts.We spent nearly every night in a cold wet shelter sunk in the back garden. This eventually led to my Mother nearly losing her life from pneumonia. After this we shared a neighbour's shelter which was situated in their front room. One night in 1944 a shell hit George Spurgen School, which was just down the road. The two ladies whose shelter it was went to inspect the damage and returned very angry. Part of the school bell had ripped across their garden beheading a crop of young cabbages which they had been looking foreward to as some relief to the strict food rationing then in force.

Folkestone half accupied was a child's paradise. There were acres of untended gardens full of fruit trees. One fateful day my luck ran out. I was apprehended by the local policeman, my pockets bulging with apples. That day I learnt my first lesson on respect for the law. A hard smack on the side of the head and a threat of twenty years hard labour if caught again put me off stealing for life. The smack did not bother me, but I knew the dire consequences to follow if my Mother got to hear about the incident. The stick she used to stir the clothes with in the copper on wash days would have been removed and applied none too softly to my bottom.

At five I went to school. It was to George Spurgen , that had suffered bomb damage but none from shelling, this happened later. Because of a shortage of teachers we either attended in the morning or afternoon, not both. This probably accounts for my lack of any formal education qualifications. My first teacher was a terrifying Queen Victoria double who at frequent intervals, with a wooden ruler, handed out vicious smacks to hands and ears. I got my first taste of this treatment when she noticed one of my cardboard letters, used to teach the alphabet was missing. Later in the day, with my ears still red and ringing, a classmate confessed to me that he had 'borrowed' the letter to avoid the punishment inflicted on me.

The war became part of school routine. Some lessons were spent with the class, including the teacher, wearing gas masks. This did little to help the quality of teaching, as it was almost impossible to understand what was being said. Quite often lessons were interrupted and everyone rushed into air raid shelters deep under the school playing fields. There we sat until the siren sounded telling us the skies were once again free from enemy aircraft.

One weekend my Mother took my sister and I, very excited, to join my Father who was on 48 hours leave in London. I remember walking through the area around St Paul's Cathedral. Bombing had destroyed all its surrounding buildings and it stood alone in the middle of a desert of rubble. Two other events of the weekend that I still remember are seeing a Battle of Britain Spitfire in Trafalgar Square and visiting Regents Park Zoo. Most of the animals had been moved to safer areas outside London, but I did get a camel ride.

In 1945 the war ended. Every street had a party. The trick was to get invited not only to your own party but also to all the neighbouring street parties. In time I became very good at keeping a straight face when explaining that my invitation had come from a relative who lived at the other end of the street. I suspect that I was not believed but people were far too happy at the time to spoil a child's treat.

As the war came to a close food parcels from Canada arrived at the school. Every child received a small bar of chocolate. Chocolate was a wonderful new experience for all of us. Shortly after the war sweets came off ration. Entering the corner shop with threepence to spend the first day after rationing ended was like going to paradise. My sister and I never gave a thought to he possibility that the sixpence spent by us was probably my Father's pocket money for the week. There actually wasn't much choice as making sweets was low on the list of priorities at this time. A penny spent on chips was better value ha one spent on sweets. At the fishshop a penny purchased a large bag of chips,as much salt and vinegar as one wanted and free Brazells thrown in. Brazells were bits of fried batter that had fallen off the fish. All us children loved them and the shopkeeper was pleased to be rid of them as it meant he didn't have to put so many chips in the bag. These days voices would be raised in protest at children eating someting so fatty and unhealthy.

I did have one disappointment at this time. The whole school was buzzing with the news of a farm near Canterbury that had offered us all a free holiday. None of us had ever been on holiday. Each child was given a letter for their parents containing all the details. I could not believe it when my parents told me I would be unable to go. Although the holidy was free there was a five shilling charge to pay for food. Much as they would have liked to have sent me my parents just could not afford the money. It was very hard hearing from my friends on their return what a great time they had enjoyed.

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