大象传媒

There were many other fascinating aspects of the war which stick in my memory. It was here that we rented for two shillings and sixpence per week, a Relay Wireless system. This was a loudspeaker, fitted with a four -way switch. This selected four radio stations, The Forces Programme, the Home Service, and two others which I cannot now recall. These were "piped" into the house by this Relay company. This was a wonderful step from the old wireless sets, especially as electricity had not yet then been connected into the houses around. The thing which I remember about these "speakers" was that they gave you an advance warning, of a possible air-raid, this message, which went something like this.
" We interrupt this programme to give you a warning that enemy aircraft have been sighted crossing the coast". This gave invaluable extra time to take to the shelters if you wished to.
The usual air-raid would take the shape of siren which gave an undulating wailing sound, which was dreaded by all. This would be followed shortly, by the drone of air-craft and the thumping of anti air-craft guns, which could be just as loud as the actual bombing, when the guns were nearby. Bombs would then start to fall. These came in all varieties. There were butterfly bombs, with wing-like tails, which enabled them to flutter slowly to the ground, long after the bomber had dissappeared, oil bombs, which exploded and spread burning oil in all directions, incendiary bombs clipped in containers of 12 or so which spread all over the place as they descended, and horrifying whistles set in the tails of the bombs (charming devices to use against civilians). Then there was the dreaded delayed action time-bomb. You never knew when these would explode after they landed in the streets. They would scream and shriek down on us. We would all flinch and brace ourselves for the impact. There would be a thud or a boneshaking impact, depending how near the bombs fell. Cracks would appear in the ceilings or walls, and dust would trickle down upon our heads. The gas-lighting would flicker, the gas-mantles would shatter, and the lighting would go out. Some people would scream, others, just sat shaking with fear, and crying quietly. Torches were hastily switched on, and candles or night-lights were lit. This ordeal would go on for either 20 minutes or so, or it could go on for hours. Clattering, could be heard in the streets, from falling shrapnel, and the clanging of Fire Engines, going about their lifesaving business. It would then gradually go quiet, the drone of air-craft would diminish. Then there would come the "All-Clear". This differed, in that it was a constant one note siren sound. What a lovely and welcome sound this was. The whole business, for adults, must have been terrifying. It went on for years. How did they stand it?
I can remember, that on my 10th birthday, my Dad bought me a bike. I was enthralled with it, as bikes were very scarce to buy. It was pale blue, with 15inch wheels, a junior bike. I had not had it very long when the free-wheel "went". I was broken-hearted. The ratchets had broken and it free-wheeled in each direction. Spares for bikes were very scarce, in fact they were not available due to the war effort and shortages. However my Dad bought a used full size rear wheel, complete with a good free-wheel. He proceeded to cut all the spokes, removed the free-wheel, complete with hub, and fitted it to my existing smaller wheel. He removed all the spokes, fitted the good free-wheel, and replaced all the spokes, in the right pattern. He tightened the spokes and had the wheel "trued" at the cycle repairers. I thought that this was a marvellous achievement. I still do, to this day, A wonderful man, my Dad, with such patience. I do not remember him ever raising his hands in anger to us children. He was a wonderful family man, and full of love for us kids.
I can remember that he made lovely and intriguing wooden ornaments on his "Hobbies" fret-saw machine. I used to watch him for hours, he let me try, but I was not as deft as he was.
We spent a large proportion of our leisure time, out on our "bikes", aircraft spotting,
We used to gaze fascinatingly at the contrails high in the sky, fighters, indulging in life or death dogfights, we even saw bombs toppling out of a plane on one occasion, our local sweet shop was destroyed, and also the fish shop on the corner, the occupants of this shop, were killed on this occasion.
Later during the war, when we were out on our bikes, we would watch, from, Eltham Common, doodle bugs, flying towards London, being pursued by fighters, these fighters, would then pull back and leave the guns to carry on with the defences. We would be led away by the local police or A.R.P to take cover in the nearest shelter, and to get told off , and reported to our parents for being left unattended during a raid.
It was on one of our cycling trips, towards the end of the war, that this unbelievable incident, took place. We were cycling down a hedged road between Foots Cray and Orpington, when we saw over the hedge in a field on our left, a battery of anti-aircraft guns. These were 3.7 calibre ack-ack guns, we knew all these details. It was part of the "fun" of war, to know all these details. We had seen these guns many times before, of course, on Peckham Rye, Goose Green, Clapham Common, even on the backs of lorries in the surrounding streets, but never this close. We laid down our bikes, and gingerly, peeked round through the gap. There were 4 to 6 of these guns. Sited In sandbagged enclosures, in this small field. We approached with caution. There was no body around, we went nearer, and eventually touched one of these guns. We were enthralled, there were earphones and wireless apparatus, on the shelves of the bunkers, all sorts of equipment, stacked up, and several vehicles parked around. There was even ammunition stacked up in a separate bunker behind. These shells were almost as big as we were. Although the actual shell was only 3.7 inches in diameter, the cartridge driving it was very large. It had to be to send this projectile 15000 feet or so into the air to tackle aircraft. I gingerly climbed into the seat on the side of this gun and admired the various markings, degrees for aiming etc. on the dials in front of me. I turned the handle in front of me and to my amazement the gun stated to traverse. I said to my pal," Hey Dan ,look what I have done". He retaliated by turning the handles on his side, and the barrel started to go up and down. We were in another world, we played on these guns for what seemed an eternity, but it may have been only half an hour. We began to tire of this game and also frightened in case we got into trouble, so we made our way back to our bikes and resumed our journey. Unbelievable, the sentries, guarding these guns, may have got bored and gone off to the local for a beer, little realising what a fantastic playground they had left us.
Our resumed cycle trip, took us to the Richard Klinger works, on the A22. Next to these works was a large disused and flooded quarry, in which we swam, (can you believe,) probably the most dangerous swimming area there is. Very deep with no visible bottom. And full of obstructions, We used to bathe here regularly. Unaware of the possible danger.
Another unbelievable place we used to bathe, was by Tower Bridge. Next to the Tower of London wall. At low tide, there was a small bit of sandy shore. This was our "beach" We used to swim in, the, then filthy River Thames from here. Until the River Police chased us away. We used to almost live on our bikes, touring the sites of bomb damage, gazing in awe at houses strewn around, often playing in these ruins oblivious of the danger. We seemed to be completely unsupervised. But then apart from the danger of the War, children could wander around ,in safety, in those days.
We were not exactly poor, but we could not afford proper holidays. We went hop-picking or "hopping" as it was known. This meant packing your belongings in a large wooden box on wheels, Which my Dad made, (a hopping cart).
We pushed this heavy and awkward contraption from our house in Peckham to London Bridge Station. A journey of about three miles. This seems like a superhuman feat now, We entrained and went to Kent. Marsden. Paddock Wood ,Goudhurst or some other hop-growing area. We were taken by horse and cart to the local hop fields and allocated, a hut. A corrugated iron or wooden shack. Inside we had straw filled palliases to sleep on, (sheer torture). We spent the next 4 to 6 weeks in the surrounding fields picking hops. We, that is my parents were paid a shilling a bushel for picking these, and you could earn a sizeable sum doing it. It was a very popular pastime. A working holiday, where you could earn extra welcome money.
As kids we loved it, The season started in mid August,which meant we had an extra 2 to 3 weeks off school, and could earn pocket-money by helping pick hops if we wanted to. We used to go nearly every year, My Gran and other relatives would accompany us. There would be campfire sing songs at night, accompanied by an accordian , and lots of jokes. We thought that this was fabulous. We used to watch the dog fights overhead, this was of course, in Kent, known as bomb alley. We watched several aircraft crash during these episodes, and on one occasion. We saw the local farm workers go after a German pilot, who had bailed out, with pitch -forks. He must have been terrified. We had been in the" Cubs for some time, and we were taught to cook dampers and squibs, A Damper was made of just flower and water, (a ghastly mess) and toasted over a fire. A squib was made of the same ingredients, but rolled around a twig. Toasted until brown, the stick was removed, and the now vacant hole, filled with jam,
Gorgeous, even the adults loved them. I think the inevitable dirt on our hands added to the flavour.
Whilst on the subject of holidays, towards the end of the war, many children had never had a holiday. So an opportunity was provided by the Education authorities for children to do so. We were charged 30 shillings to attend a School Camp for two weeks, full board. Our camp, was on a disused Army site at Boxmoor, Herts. We were accommodated in the old barrack sheds, and proceeded to have the time of our lives. We visited many of the local attractions. Tring, Ivinghoe Beacon, Whipsnade, and the nearby Union Canal. The highlight, however, was a visit to the military surplus dump at nearby Bovindon. Here in the fields, were dumped every conceivable wartime gadget, from a billy can to a Flying Fortress aircraft bomber. We were not allowed to remove any items, and all the guns and ammunition had of course been removed. But we had a fantastic time playing in and around the damaged Lancasters, Flying Fortresses, and many other wartime aircraft. What a schoolboys paradise. The best thirty bob, I think, that my parents ever spent.
Earlier on, we of course, followed with avid interest, D.Day and its consequent advances. The newspapers and cinema newsreels were full of details of this momentous event.
I remember that our History teacher was deeply concerned about the safety of the Bayeux Tapestry.
Bayeux, is an historic, medieval town, in Normandy, home of the famous tapestry, depicting the Battle of Hastings, and similar events of the period.
This town featured greatly during the early advances from the beaches, and there was fierce fighting in the area, but it transpired that the tapestry was safe. I am not quite sure of the details now, but our History teacher returned to earth, happily.
The advances of our soldiers featured greatly in our day to day chats about the war, and we used to play many soldier type games based on these events. We said how we regretted not being old enough to get "involved" in the fray. How stupid we were.
At about this time, one of the items which I clearly remember, was, that we, in the school belonged to the "Ship Adoption Society", this meant that we wrote to certain ships, and the crew, or officers replied. The ship we wrote to was a Polish destroyer, the H.M.S Kymichzick. I am not quite sure of the spelling, but it proved to be a rewarding experience. We seldom had fruit in those days, in fact the only orange or banana we ever saw was in the films, on Carmen Miranda,s hat.
Towards the end of 1944, this ship must have been on duty in the Meditteranean. Or some other warm area, for when she docked at Portsmouth or Chatham, some of the crew borrowed an Army lorry and delivered to us, in the school, 2 or 3 large wooden cases containing oranges, Enough for one for every child, it was near Xmas time and I think it was the best Xmas present I ever had. Our Headmistress, Miss O,Reilly, made a very nice thank you speech to the crew, on our behalf, for this lovely gesture. And the crew in their broken English responded warmly, and said how they had appreciated the letters, which we had been sending to the ship.
We had of course been bombed almost continuously for 5 years now, and then, something more sinister appeared, the V1 or doodlebug flying bomb, as it was called, we noticed that these devices gave a much louder bang than we had previously known, and of course cleared much larger areas of houses. Very nasty, you could generally hear the droning, wailing, throb, of these devices, which gave a little warning, Later, we did not get a warning, the rocket age had arrived in the form of the V11 or Vee Two rocket missiles. (Werner von Brauns toys), bless him. These gave an even larger bang, not clearing as much of an area, but creating enormous craters. At night in the street when we were playing, we usually experienced a flash, we winced and then there was the "bang". We thought that this flash was a premature warning, but it was of course the flash of the rocket hitting the ground, somewhere nearby.
We, that is my family, were "bombed out" 3 times during the war, not such fun, but I was too young to really feel the full implications of these incidents.
We met many American and Canadian servicemen during the war, they were very generous and would give us chocolate, strips of gum, and other goodies. They would give us money to go the cinema, and if it was an Adult film, accompany us inside. We repaid them by spying on their prowess, with the local girls, in and around Sevenoaks, where a lot of them were stationed, and where we did a lot of cycling.
Sweets were rationed much to our dismay, we were allowed four ounces a month. Which was two small chocolate bars or a small bag of boiled sweets. The coupons were known as "E" or "D" in the Ration Books. There was a black market but we could not afford the asked prices.
I was never given any pocket money, it was not affordable. I had a newspaper round, and used to supplement my income by selling Ration Books. We, that is our little gang, would after dark, climb up onto the roof of the "Food Office" in Camberwell High Street, There was a blacked out glass window, tent shaped, with side slats. These slats were easily removed. I, being the tiniest, was able to squeeze through this narrow gap, and was lowered to the floor. After my eyes got used to the dark, I would stuff my jumper with as many Ration Books as I could. Much sought after was the R.B.6. Ration book which was issued only to Naval personnel on leave. This book entitled the bearer to twice the current allowance. This was an extra treat for persons serving at sea. (It was also an extra treat for us). I would hide my share of these "books " up inside the chimney in my bedroom, and sell the contents as and when. Most of my relatives bought coupons off me, especially my aunts Doll and Daisy (so they were equally to blame). Tea coupons were very popular, I recall, and we as children didn鈥檛 go short of sweets.
We were cycling over Tower Bridge one day, when we saw down in the river below, A submarine. It was a German U.Boat. It had surrendered and was being put on display. It was small and black, and seemed insignificant. It didn鈥檛 seem possible that these small boats had sunk thousands of tons of shipping, and nearly brought about our defeat.
The war was now gradually ending, and we we were told that ice-cream was returning to the shops. I can remember the first consignment arriving at our corner shop. We waited nearly all day for it, and there was an enormous queue. But it was worth it, it seemed more delicious than we had remembered , and the shop soon sold out. We were allways queuing for something, then, sometimes you could get "chocolate powder" off ration, or maybe "lemonade powder". This was rather grim, but better than nothing.
As the war drew to a close, we had a new Headmaster, a Mr.Pipe. He had been a Japanese Prisoner of War, for four years. He showed signs of suffering for some time. He told us one or two of his exploits, but what sticks in my mind was this. They were beaten starved and not allowed any books. Most of his companions were teachers, or vicars or doctors, professional men. To pass their time and to stop them going insane, they proceeded to write from memory, on stolen papers, the Holy Bible. Or what they could remember of it, each one subscribing to it. This is a remarkable achievement. He showed us once, a small excerpt from it. And to us, even as children, it was truly admired, and of course very moving.
As the war drew to a close and V.E.day arrived we had wonderful street parties. Great big bonfires in the roads, melting all the tar, nobody seemed to mind. Tables lining the street during the day and dozens of children sitting eating jellies etc. Being entertained by conjurers and the like. Grown ups would sing and dance around these huge bonfires at night, It was an amazing sight. One night, we were watching a bonfire, in Cator Street. We were sitting on the roof of "Woods" factory opposite. It was getting quite warm, even up there. We sat there for a considerable time. When we got up to go, Dan was stuck to the roof. He managed to wrench himself free. The heat had caused the asphalt on this roof, to melt and leave sticky tar all over the seat of his trousers.. We thought this was funny, but I don鈥檛 think that Dan did, when he got home!
It was at this time, a lot of the shops and stores were selling off Government War Surplus goods. There were some amazing bargains to be had. We saved our spending money and bought, from Gamages, a large department store in Holborn, an ex R.A.F. rubber dinghy, from an aircraft. They cost 拢3 .10 shillings each, a lot of money in those days but worth every penny.
It was a single occupant dinghy, complete with sail, paddles, hand inflator, in a clipped haversack about 24 inches square. When inflated it was about 6 feet long and 3 feet wide, it was fitted with a drogue, for stability. It had an aluminium telescopic mast and bright red sail. The sailing instructions were written on the sail in English, French and Polish. They were fitted with a sheet which pulled up from the feet and clipped on to sides, and a shroud coming from the back to enclose the head. Completely weather tight for the protection of the downed pilot. We used to go camping in these dinghies, at Walton on Thames, Shepperton or Twickenham , using them as tents, sleeping in them overnight. We had our own stoves which worked of solid menthol fuel, another ex services device, good little pocket cookers running on tablets of fuel. We took beans and bacon and soup and spent many happy weekends using these devices. During the day we sailed along the Thames in these little rubber craft, from Richmond or Walton on Thames, steering by the triangular sail and racing each other. They were the source of great entertainment, for many years. My one lasted for 12 years before it finally perished.
We used to upturn these dinghies and get underneath, breathing the trapped air from within, and swim gently along. Bystanders on the bank were amazed to see these small craft drifting by and turning around, they could not make it out, until we emerged from beneath, to sometimes, loud applause, from these onlookers.
When we were 11, we graduated from the "cubs" to the "scouts". We used to go on weekend trips, and seven day camps. We were based in the Mission Hall in East Surrey Grove. We were often visited by servicemen, on leave, who would teach us Morse Code and Semaphore. We loved the scouts, the only drawback was that you had to attend Sunday School to join, never mind. We learned all sorts of useful exercises. Cooking, First aid, signalling, tracking, and the like. Badges were issued to mark an accomplishment in one of these subjects. It was desirable to collect as many badges as you could. On certain special occasions, like Empire or St.Georges Day, all the local Scout units would gather near Peckham Rye. We would follow the local Boy Scout band down Rye Lane and into church for a service. We would strut along proudly behind this band. It was quite a sight, 2 or 3 hundred Boy Scouts marching along.
I became a patrol leader in the "Bulldog" patrol, and my pal Dan was my assistant (what a team!). This Scout troop, was run by Mr. Richards, the Scoumaster and Mr. McDonald, his assistant. Mr. Mcdonald, was enormously strong. We called him Tarzan. We had weekend camps and various trips. We would travel to the country in the back of removal lorries. The tents we used were large, heavy bell tents, and a very large marquee, for our dining room. It seemed to take all day to erect these tents, and we were thankful to have "Tarzan" doing most of the work. By the time we had erected these tents, made the latrines, and cooked our supper, we fell into bed exhausted (after washing up of course). We cooked in large mettle cooking pots, enormous vessels, which took all day to clean. On one occasion I was delegated porridge stirrer. It was hard work, stirring, what seemed about 20 gallons of porridge. I paused for a short break, and the porridge burnt. We had to eat it of course (food was still rationed and in short supply), so I was not very popular. My punishment, was scraping and cleaning this sticky mess out of this huge cooking pot. However, we had great fun at these camps.
We did woodcraft, tracking, cooking, map-reading, swimming in the nearby river, and all sorts of out-door activities. On one occasion, in these surrounding woods, whilst we were woodcrafting, an adder snake sliverred across our path. We screamed and climbed the nearest tree, where we stayed until our Scout master rescued us. This snake gave us a wide berth, perhaps this was because, we did not seem to wash, very much in those days.
In 1945 ,our Annual weekly scout camp was held at Fittleworth, near Petworth, in a field, by a river under the South Downs.
The Japanese were still engaged in hostilities, but we were told that the end was near. The approaching, V.J. Day, was to be announced, in the towns, by sounding church bells, which had been silent since the war started, and in the countryside, by lighting large bonfires on the hills along the South Downs.
It was August, a hot night, I remember. We were sitting around the campfire having supper, singing Scouting songs, and listening to our Scout master relating tales. A shout went up, and we saw an amazing sight. All along the downs, on the hills, and visible for miles, bonfires were being lit, and we knew then, that the war was finally over.

THE END

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