大象传媒

This story has been written to the 大象传媒 People's War site by CSV Storygatherer Coralie, on behalf of Geoff Stanfield. The story has been added to the site with his permission, and Geoff fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

I was 6 years old when WW2 was declared, a fine Sunday, and all the mowers stopped, then after a while re-started. I lived in a 3-bed semi in East Barnet, Herts close to Southgate, N.14, with my sister, father and mother. Preparations for war began, one of which was the issue of gas masks, in my case a Mickey Mouse one with a valve at the front. We had to test them in the mobile gas van, and unfortunately mine had a small leak and I got a whiff of the stuff. We had a large Daily Telegraph World Map pinned on the wall of the dining room and relevant flags indicating the ebb and flo of the war. Every other house was issued with an Anderson shelter, in our case next door, so we all helped to dig a large hole and put it all together, plus blackout for it and the houses.

In May 1940, I was admitted to the Barnet General Hospital with asthma for about 2 weeks, and squeezed into Sunshine Ward, which was full of wounded soldiers just back from Dunkirk. Being the only child I was thoroughly spoilt! The soldier next to me had to have regular ointment applied to his back, behind the screens which I managed to peep through.

When the blitz started in September 1940, our two families, 4 adults and 3 children, squeezed into the shelter every night for about 6 weeks. I well remember the smell of candles, wet sandbags, stale air and smoke, plus the sounds of the air-raids. We also had 2 lodgers staying with us who worked for the 大象传媒, John and Elizabeth Blunt, but I cannot remember where they sheltered, probably under the stairs where we used to go.

School was close by, Russell Lane Infants, and later Juniors, and we would collect shrapnel on our travels, some of it still warm. We also got to know the various planes, both ours and theirs 鈥� I still have some of the spotter books. There were several ack-ack gun emplacements close by, plus searchlights, and I sometimes managed to watch from a corner of the shelter entrance, especially if a German plane became illuminated.

Around November 1940, my mother, sister and I evacuated ourselves to relatives in Nottingham. My father stayed at home as he worked in the City, but cycled up to stay from time to time (125 miles). All main-line stations then were frequented by people in uniform, but all seemed to have a common resolute friendly determination, and were sympathetic to anyone with a black armband, or black diamond on their sleeve. There was a defiant resilience against the common foe. Noel Coward鈥檚 鈥淟ondon Pride鈥� and Churchill鈥檚 oratory said it all, plus the Morse code 鈥榁鈥� for Victory on the radio.

The bombing had eased somewhat by April 1941, so we came home. The grass in the garden was waist-high and the five sycamore trees were even higher and made for great climbing.

On Saturday, May 10th, 1941, the biggest raid on London took place when Hitler sent over everything. For some reason, we had not gone to the Anderson shelter that night, probably fed up with all the various privations, and also things had been beginning to ease a little. We were bombed at around 11 pm. Four bombs in all; one three houses along from us, one on the allotment at the bottom of the garden and two further away. The various blasts blew the curtains in and most of the windows out, some ceilings out and plaster came in. My sister and I, who were sleeping in a double bed in a downstairs rear room, were still asleep beneath curtains, dust and plaster etc. Dad had been in the kitchen making cocoa, and finished up amidst all the pots and pans. Mum had been standing in the doorway to our room and was narrowly missed by the front door, which was blown in. I can still smell the cordite, explosions, plaster, dust and fractured sewers etc.

We were dragged out of the house and up the front garden path, and I can remember stooping to pick up a large bomb splinter that had become embedded in the garden gate, now hanging by one hinge: I was promptly pulled away as it was still very hot, but what a souvenir to have had! We were taken to neighbours for the night and Dad returned to what was left of the house, but it had already been looted, mostly food, but also some cutlery and cut glass. One particular piece was a wedding present to my parents from an uncle who had recently been killed. Dad pulled back the debris-covered bedclothes and went to bed, remarking that Mr Hitler was not going to deprive him of his bed. Most of the windows were out, the grand piano was covered in glass and plaster as were the pictures and furniture, and about 录 of the roof was missing. The plane that dropped the bomb apparently crashed in Enfield, where I subsequently went to live.

We then went to stay with friends close by, whilst the house was repaired, after a man from the War Damage Department carried out an inspection and chalked a large C.B. (Condemned Building) on the front porch. We must have been out of the house for about 6 months during which time Dad joined the Army, aged 39 and, as he had learned Morse code in the Scouts was put into the Royal Signals. He served in France, Belgium, Holland and Germany and during this entire time we exchanged letters, most of which I still have. One in particular was from me saying 鈥淚 was sorry to hear that you have been shot, but do you still have the bullet for my souvenir collection?鈥� plus various pictures of planes, ships, 鈥淒own with Hitler鈥� comments and I.T.M.A. jokes.

My mother, sister and I continued to live in East Barnet. Mother worked in the West End in a Department Store and we were at school. We used to visit relatives in London, in buses and trains with tape covering the windows to prevent flying glass. I continued collecting and swapping wartime souvenirs, swastika rings and daggers being particularly sought after. I did manage to get a piece of a crashed Spitfire at Eastcote on one occasion. Whenever Dad came home on leave, friends or any other member of our relations would very often stay at our house and have parties, with singing around the damaged piano, laughter and lots of noise. We also had an Aussie crew from a Sunderland Flying-boat, who were stationed at Mountbatten, Plymouth. I still have most of their autographs. They slept on the floor or various chairs. I smoked my first cigarette, and felt very unwell!

I developed more chest problems and was an out-patient at St Mary鈥檚 鈥� Great Ormond Street 鈥� from where I was taken, by an Army ambulance, to Tadworth for 6 weeks, where I had my tonsils removed. I did not get many visitors, had to wear hospital clothes, pool all my sweet rations with others and had my mail censored by Sister. I still have the 39 letters that my class at school wrote to me; that was the custom in those days.

We then went to stay with relatives near Ashford, Kent, in May 1944, where there was plenty of troop activity to keep my cousin and I 鈥渁mused鈥�, especially when tanks passed by we used to try and identify all the various battle dress emblems etc. Early June found us back in North London in time for D-Day, so I spent many hours looking skywards at all the planes and gliders with their three black stripes on wings and fuselage.

Dad came home on embarkation leave soon afterwards, in full kit. My first request was 鈥榮how us your rifle鈥�, which he did, and said that I was now 鈥榠n charge鈥� and if the trouble continued I was the follow him eventually.

The 鈥榁1鈥� doodlebugs arriving soon afterwards provided us boys with more 鈥榙ucking and diving鈥�, and endeavour to collect even more souvenirs off wrecked planes and bombsites. I attempted to join the Scouts three times, but each time the air-raid warning sounded so I returned home, as instructed.

The arrival of the 鈥榁2s鈥� in September were really frightening, no warning, just 鈥榖ang鈥�, so in late 1944 we three evacuated ourselves back to Nottingham 鈥� more changing schools! They were very friendly and hospitable: good gangs of boys and girls, plenty of tree-climbing, bird-nesting, tobogganing, horse-riding, tracking, building dams, and camps, both over-ground or under-ground with wooden roofs and turfed campfires. There was the occasional raid and I did witness one dog-fight, a little quieter than London! The first newsreels of Belsen arrived.

In Nottingham, there were lots of Americans who were very good to us children. I was taken to see my first operetta at the Theatre Royal, 鈥楲a Traviatta鈥�, but was not taken to the popular pubs i.e. 鈥楾he Black Boy鈥� and 鈥楾he Trip to Jerusalem鈥�. We stayed until just after V.J. Day when there were lots of parties and bonfires, and then returned to North London and changing schools yet again.

The general feeling I remember on V.J. Day was euphoria, relief, joy, plus street parties, bonfires and church bells. We three went up to Piccadilly Circus and stood at the junction of Shaftesbury Avenue, amongst the joyous throng. I remember a beer lorry coming to a halt with two sailors on the back distributing bottles of beer to all and sundry, unbeknown to the driver apparently. I do wonder if those 3 men are still alive, after all it was only 60 years ago.

The 鈥榳ireless鈥� was the great communicator and morale booster in those days. We listened to the 大象传媒 World Service quite a lot to hear news of the war, the signature tune being 鈥楲illabolero鈥� I believe. Other programmes that spring to mind are I.T.M.A. of course, and In Town Tonight, These You Have Loved, Hi Gang, Monday Night at 7 (then 8), Happydrome, Henry Hall, Worker鈥檚 Playtime, Music While You Work and of course, everything stopped when Winston Churchill was on air. Cinema visits usually consisted of George Formby, Bing Crosby, Walt Disney, Fantasia, Abbott and Costello, and Laurel and Hardy at the Saturday morning pictures (the Sixpenny Rush).

Dad did not return from Europe until Jan 1946, to home, family and 鈥榣ovely grub鈥� as he put it. He had seen some pretty awful sights over there. He used to watch the 鈥榁1s鈥� and 鈥榁2s鈥� being launched sometimes. I was pleased to receive a few souvenirs: a German bayonet, some uniform flashes, an ammo-box and a belt.

Sometime during the war, presumably 鈥�42 or 鈥�43, we had a Morrison indoor shelter delivered and erected, but I cannot remember exactly when. I used to sleep on top because of my asthma, transferring down into the 鈥榗age鈥�, if the siren went, to join the family and anyone else who might be staying. It doubled as a table for eating and games, seating around 10 people sometimes.

After the war, 1946 I think, one of our Australian airmen friends sent us a food parcel from his home in Broken Hill. The contents had to be written on the address label: soup, jelly, meat, milk, pastry mix, jam and cheese; weight 鈥� 8lbs 13oz, cost 15/9d, plus the name and address of the sender. The label has been framed and hangs on the wall in our sitting room. 鈥淚鈥檒l send you a food parcel鈥� used to feature sometimes in various comedians鈥� banter on the radio.

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