大象传媒

The River Thames was about a twenty minutes walk from the flats, so I
spent quite a bit of time practising to be a 'beach bum'! Dad was
working with the Post Office doing his thing: communication and
interception work. It was then that he became involved with decoding
messages picked up over the airways. He became part of the massive
organisation based at Hanslope, working closely with the code breakers
at Bletchley Park, (known for its work on the Enigma code breaking
equipment.)

The war was in full swing at this time, and 'Gerry' was doing his utmost
to disrupt our lives by dropping incendiary bombs and all other sorts of
nasty things all over the place. What with those and the frequent air
raids, both night and day, it kept us awake and on our toes. At school, it
was accepted as part of the daily routine. As soon as the air-raid sirens
sounded, it was off to the shelters for safety. One shelter for the boys,
another for the girls, (that was the theory anyway) - funny how some
people ended up in the wrong shelter! At home, when the air raids
came, it was downstairs to Grandmas and dive headfirst into the
Morrison shelter, the steel 'cage' that was our refuge from the bombing.
Sometimes I would spend the night down there. I thought it was quite
good fun at the time, a bit like camping - but with a difference.

On a 'good raid' night I would often slip out into the garden and watch
with awe as the searchlights scanned the skies, hoping to pinpoint the
German aircraft as they made their way toward London and the docks.
The gunfire and tracer shells could be seen and heard as they retaliated,
the air thick with smoke and the acrid smell of cordite. In the distance
the skies were often red with the smoke and flames from the oil
refineries at Corytown, advertising the fact that 'Gerry' had scored a hit.
All in all, I suppose it was a bit like bonfire night. After a while the
barrage of gunfire would cease, the skies would darken as the
fire-fighters controlled the flames, and all would return to normal, if only
for a few hours. I can remember searching for pieces of shrapnel on the
way to or from school - they were collector鈥檚 items as far as us kids were
concerned, good 'swappable' items for schoolboy bartering.

The other menace of the war was that of the 'Doodlebug' or flying bomb -
pilotless rocket-cum-aircraft loaded with explosives. They had a
distinctive drone to their engines and we knew from experience that we
were safe as long as you could hear the 'drone'. We would hold our
breath and keep our fingers crossed that the Doodlebug's engine
wouldn't stop - if the silence came then we waited for the big bang as
the cargo of death plummeted earthwards, hoping like hell that it would
miss us! Havoc and destruction was rife following impact - more work
for the wardens and fire fighters.

The one thing I found most impressive was the spirit of comradeship
that existed in the street - all pulling together and doing their bit in
those difficult times. To many it was 'dig for victory' as they tended their
gardens, planting and cultivating their root crops for the benefit of all. It
was share and share alike. They were the days of make-do home
prepared toilet paper, daily newspapers cut neatly into squares and
fastened at one corner by a piece of string and hung in a strategic
position within easy reach of the toilet seat. (It gave us the chance to
catch up with the news in a weird sort of way!). Hair shampoo was a
mixture of soapflakes and warm water, and dandruff was treated by the
use of a 'nit comb', expertly handled by Mum!

Street and road signs were conspicuous by their absence and at night,
car headlights had to be modified so that only a slit of light was
produced to aid night visibility! It was supposed to confuse the enemy
(not to mention the drivers). Petrol was rationed, sweets were rationed,
in fact, there wasn't a lot that was not rationed!

Meals were more often than not make-do culinary delights: Mondays
was usually 'Bubble and Squeak' (cold lamb, spuds and greens left over
from Sunday's lunch) - all chucked into a pan and fried.
The one thing that really bugged me when it came to the subject of the
evacuation of children (a move that was designed to safeguard the lives
of the children.) Some were sent to the coast, some to Canada and
other far off places. - Me, well, when the children were moved out of
London, I was evacuated INTO London - why was that? There I was,
living at Southend, by the sea, minding my own business, when I was
sent to stay with my Aunt Daisy and Aunt Vera. They lived together in a
large town house in Peckam Rye. I found my stay there a lot of fun, and
they looked after me really well. Not only that, but WE won the war.
Street parties followed the victory and then I suppose we got on with our
lives, thanking god for our safe deliverance from the horrors of war.

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