大象传媒

VICTORY CELEBRATIONS

My name is Grace Doe. I was born in 1916 in Southwark, South London.

We were living at Dog Kennel Hill, Dulwich when we got bombed out. We鈥檇 moved there some years before from Victoria Place in Union Street, Southwark. That's where my mum died. It was a little court we lived in there, and there were some nuns who lived up one end who used to take us on outings. We were moved out because of the Thames continually flooding. We had to go. Flooded out, then, bombed out!

The curtains fell down with the blast. There were shouts of 'Turn out those lights!' and the Wardens got us all down the shelter quick. It was a bad night. The shelter next to ours suffered 37 people dead and numerous casualties besides.

It could as easily have been us. Why we survived and not them I'll never know. It's all just chance, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a direct hit. They were brick shelters, solid, but nothing's going to stand up to that, and it didn't. And our house, amongst so many others, got bombed out.

The Council were very good. They got all our stuff together, dried it out, what could be salvaged, furniture and all, and put it into storage for us. I don't know how we would have managed to cope with it all on our own. Well, we wouldn't, not really. It's as well everyone pulls together at times like that. Everyone feels for everyone else.

We hunted around and found a flat in Grovehill Road with a Mrs Mc Neill. The rent was 16 shillings and 6 pence a week. There was a pub on the corner, but I don't remember its name. My old dad, Gilbert Seager, a retired compositor with Reynolds press, used to drink in there with his pal, Bert Rodgers, who lived nearby.

When my dad was working at Reynolds, he used to come home after his long shift and give me the Sunday edition fresh off the press. Reynolds was a Sunday paper. I used to walk proudly out with it and I'd hear people whisper, 'How'd she get the Sunday paper, it's not out yet!' Sometimes, they'd ask me direct, out loud, and I'd tell them my dad worked at the paper. That used to make me feel really good as you can imagine.

At the end of the war, there was only me there to look after dad. My sister, Olive, and my friend, Ella, and I were walking up Ivanhoe Road when we saw the picture being taken. We rushed up in time and you can see us at the top right of the picture by the woman in green.

Ella used to live round the corner from us. That鈥檚 how I met my husband Frank. He was Ella鈥檚 elder brother. He was staying with her, paying quite a bit for his lodging as well. Frank was home on compassionate leave because his family had been bombed out of Dulwich. The house had a direct hit with a land mine. He lost everything.

Anyway, I just thought the photo might be of some interest. You can see people giving the victory sign as well. Does anyone recognise themselves or someone else in the picture? I'd be interested to know.

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