大象传媒

At the outbreak of war my parents and I lived in Dale Road, Canning Town.

During the blitz we were bombed out and moved to Leicestershire after a brief stay in Slough.

We returned to London in 1946.

My first memory of the war was having to surrender my metal submarine toy for the war effort. For ages after that I really believed that my toy was part of every British plane I saw.

Our house was destroyed more by the blast of the raid than an actual bomb. Luckily my mother and I were at my grandparents' house that night but my father and one of his friends were in the house. The friend was in the kitchen and my father was in the hallway when the blast ripped through the house. The friend was thrown into a cupboard and had to be rescued some time later. He was black with shock and it took some time before her returned to his normal rather palid colour. My father was hurled out into the street. When the mayhem died down he decided to re-enter the house to look for his friend. He felt cold and pulled his jacket around him, except that he was wearing only one half of the jacket, the other half was draped on the gatepost. The blast had torn the jacket up the back seam.

The next day my parents and I went to see the damage. I saw a looter running off with a miniature billiard table I had been given as a present. It was still in its box. Some people really were despicable at that time.

Most nights I had spent with my mother at her mother's house because my father was fire-watching at his firm, Standard Telephones and Cables on the banks of the Thames at North Woolwich. We spent most opf those nights in the shelter in the garden. At first it was fun, but after a short time I got bored with sitting in a hole under a galvanised shelter.

One night I asked my mother if I could stay with my grandfather, who never went to the shelter. Reluctantly my mother allowed me to stay with him. He had an old iron bedstead with a deep feather mattress. When you got into bed you sank into the mattress. With my Granddad there I felt as safe as houses but my mother didn't allow me to do that again.

With nowhere to live we moved to Slough where one of my father's sisters had a house. Back in London it was my grandparents' house's turn to be destroyed. It was in Croydon Road, Plaistow.

As luck would have it my grandfather was persuaded to go to the shelter that night with my father and a soon-to-be uncle. A landmine landed several gardens up and finally blew up under the shelter of the people next door. Thirteen people were killed in that shelter. When the all-clear sounded my father was first out of his shelter but immediately fell into the pit caused by the explosion next door. He rolled down among the bodies. When he stopped he found himself beside one of the young women. She looked asleep and he reached out to see if she was O.K. At that moment her body convulsed and she sat up before falling back across him. He had nightmares for years after.

In the meantime my grandfather was unable to get out. He was a big man and the effect of the shock waves had distoted the shelter walls. He had to wait for the Rescue Crew to unbolt the shelter before he could get out.

My father was in a third raid, on his firm this time, and was injured by flying glass. The firm was then moved up to Aylestone in Leicester where they occupied the factory of Kershaw and Able.

We lived in two houses as lodgers, in Saffron Lane and Cheshire Road. I started school in a school just off Saffron Lane and then moved on to Aylestone Primary. Eventually semi-detached bungalows were built, mainly for the S.T.C. workers in Glen Parva. We lived in Hillsborough Avenue (or Road) and I had to move school again to Cork Lane (later called Glen Hills Primary).

We didn't see a lot of war in Leicester but I do remember the night of the first 1000 bomber raid on Germany. Planes stacked up in the sky above us until it seemed there couldn't possibly be room for even one more. Then they departed and everything was silent again.

My cousin married an Air Gunner who flew in Lancasters. He eventually won the D.F.M. At one point he was stationed at Oadby. He used to billet with us and one evening he asked if I would like to visit the camp. Would I? I almost bit his hand off. I wanted to fly with the R.A.F., I was going to be the first pilot to fly Lancs by night and Spits by day, sleep was unneccessary! Very early the next morning we left home. We cadged a lift into Leicester and out the other side, his uniform helped to get drivers' attention. We had to walk across a field which was very wet from the early morning dew. We picked mushrooms for the crew's breakfast. We got into the camp through a hole in the wire, so much for security! In the hut the crew were still asleep but they soon woke up. Each one of them gave me a chocolate bar. We chatted for an hour or so before I had to leave. Those men were Gods to me, I do hope they all survived the war.

One evening we had another airman call, a very young Pilot Office just in the R.A.F. He had been sent by my cousin's husband because he wanted a break from the camp. He stayed with us for the weekend. He was well over six foot tall and was a great boon when he joined my mates and I blackberry picking. Obviously he could pick the big juicy ones at the top of the bushes.

At one time the school asked us to pick rose hips for making into syrup. We picked tons of them.

After lunch at school we were given chunks of carrot, parsnip or swede to eat, presumably to help our teeth.

We were told one day to go to the hall to hear a broadcast which told us the war was over. The next day, May 8th 1945, my parents, my young brother and I left home to travel to London for the celebrations before joing my grandparents and other relatives at Slough. We waited for the first bus but were picked up by a work's coach taking workers home to Leicester after a night shift. My mother had made red, white and blue rosettes which we wore proudly. The workers sat and slept or remained silent, I had expected them to be excited.

In London it was different. We met up with my aunt and two cousins. We saw Churchill sitting on the back shelf of an open-topped car as it left Downing Street for the Palace. His daughter Mary, in W.R.A.C. uniform was driving. Winnie was smoking a cigar. He kept taking his hat off to wave to the crowds and of course made the Victory sign.

At the Palace we were stuck up against the railings shouting for The King and Churchill. Everyone was so excited and elated. In Trafalgar Square my aunt pointed to Nelson on his column and told my cousin that he was Britain's greatest ever soldier! I think it was only the fact that everyone was happy that prevented her being lynched by a group of Jolly Jack Tars who were struggling to pass by.

Back in Leicester we had a street party for the new bungalow people. It was entitled "ADOTHATISADO." The locals were invited to the evening dancing and most were confused by this title. It stood for A do that is a do. We had a fancy dress competition for the kids. I won the boys' prize dressed as a Rajah. I was given five bob, a fortune in those days.

We moved back to London in May 1946. Most people would consider the next few years as post-war. So it was but the effect of the war was all around us in the East End. We moved from our nice bungalow, with three bedrooms, indoor toilet and bathroom to a half-round nissen hut in Tidal Basin. This had two bedrooms and an outside toilet, no bathroom.

All around us there were reminders of the Blitz. Damaged houses stood empty providing we kids with lots of places to play. The debris were also part of our playground. Some of the houses which had been destroyed had had cellars, great fun to explore. And of course we had rationing still for many years after 1945.

I feel rather privileged to have lived in such momentous times despite being deprived of so many things. When I see today's children so over-indulged but moaning about their lot I wonder if they would have survived as well as my generation.

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