大象传媒

Nearly crushed during an air-raid

My best friend at college was Dora. One Saturday during the winter of 1944.
Dora's elder brother, Eddie, who was in the RAF, arranged to meet her in London on his way through to Hitchin on weekend leave.
I was invited to join them, and we sat chatting in a cafe and then decided to go to a cinema in Leicester Square.

Halfway through the programme the film stopped, there was a groan from the audience and the house lights went on. A notice appeared on the screen telling us that an air raid was in progress and anyone wishing to leave should do so now.
Along with most of the audience we decided to see the rest of the film.

At the end we emerged from the fantasy world of the cinema into the reality of the air raid.
The wide beams of the searchlights lighted the sky as they waved to and fro, lighting up the enemy bombers as they flew lower to drop their bombs. Anti-aircraft guns were firing at them with brilliant flashes of light and ear-splitting noise, as bombs were exploding.
We ran as fast as we could to Leicester Square underground station, grateful to be going down into the 'bowels of the earth'.

We were going to Charing Cross station where we had to change to the overland train for Bromley. Although Eddie had to get to Kings Cross he came with Dora and me to see us onto our train back to college. We alighted at Charing Cross underground station but we were surprised to hear the staff calling "All change" turning everyone off the train, telling them that the train stopped there as no trains went under the Thames during an air raid, something that we didn't know. The train was very full so it was an unusually large crowd of people who swarmed up the escalator and headed, as we were doing, for the passageway that led onto the forecourt of the main-line station. It was here in the narrow passage that a life-threatening situation arose.

Dora, Eddie and I got into the passage but the people at the entrance would not leave because of the ferocity of the air raid.
More people pressed into the passage, some just wanting to get out to catch their trains or to walk over the river, others just being pushed from behind by the passengers being disgorged from the trains that went no further.
Eddie was able to push Dora and me against the passage wall and facing us with his feet apart he put his hands on the wall either side of us.
As the crowd packed tighter and tighter into the restricted space, Eddie braced his body against the ever-increasing pressure, but for how much longer?
I was really frightened as were others of being crushed to death. People were shouting and screaming as more people pushed from behind and then suddenly, like a cork shooting out of a champagne bottle, the people at the entrance gave way.
Carried along by the crowd we made our way out, glad to be alive and so grateful to Eddie whose quick thinking and physical strength kept us alive.

Arrival of the V-l's
One sunny evening at the beginning of June, 1944 the air-raid warning went and as usual the students and staff all came down into the shelters, some still in their day clothes whilst others were in night-wear, having been in, or ready for bed.
This air raid was considered to be rather a nuisance, especially for the second year students, who were in the throes of taking their final exams.
We all thought that the "All Clear" would go shortly and nobody settled down to sleep.
Dusk and darkness had quickly followed the warning siren but time ticked by and nothing happened. Then we heard a new, strange sound.
It resembled the engine of a small motorbike. The engine would slow, splutter and then cut out. Shortly after the engine stopped there would be an explosion.
What could it be? If a bomb had dropped what happened to the aircraft? Why did the engine cut out? As the night went on we realised that these flying objects with the 'motor bike' engines were coming over more frequently and there was a gap of about ten seconds between the engines stopping and the explosions, which were happening all around us. As each engine cut out there was silence in the shelter during the countdown to the bomb bursting and often jolting the shelter.
We were safe, that time, but someone else was suffering.
Towards dawn, the bombardment by these missiles stopped but there was no sound of the "All Clear". It had been a long, tense night and we were all very tired not having slept at all. However it was not until just after 10 am. that we emerged, bleary eyed and hungry, from the shelter, having, at long last, heard the welcome sound of the "All Clear".

We were not prepared for the sight that met us, along the path and going into the building were the survivors of the bombardment by these strange missiles.
Mostly women, with children of all ages, they were in night clothes and slippers, shocked, covered in dust, some, if they could manage it, were clutching a bag of a few pathetic belongings picked from the rubble of their homes.
It was now the responsibility of the first-year students to care for these desperate people as best we could. People in an assortment of uniforms ushered them into the dining hall for a makeshift breakfast served by the students.
We had to forget about feeling desperately tired and hungry ourselves and it was not until these bombed-out people, some perhaps grieving for a family member killed in the raid, were taken to other rooms and halls in the college, that we sat down for some breakfast.

It was not long before the air-raid warning went again and once again the bombed-out people plus all the students and staff packed into the shelters. It was standing room only.
The authorities now realised that the college building and shelters could not cope with so many extra people. By mid-day it was decided to send at least the first year students home that day.
We had to pack our trunks with all our clothes, books and other possessions, rope them and address them ready to be sent to our homes by rail freight, say our hasty 'goodbyes' and head for the railway station by late afternoon. We were told to await further instructions from the college. Bromley had been devastated by what we learned were 'V-1' revenge weapons.
These were small pilotless jet planes carrying a ton of explosives that the Germans launched from France.
When the petrol ran out the engine stopped and then the 'plane glided forward before diving earthwards to explode on impact causing terrible damage. They were called 'V-1's, 'doodle-bugs' and buzz-bombs'.
It seems the site of the launch-pad chosen for the first onslaught of these weapons meant that the petrol lasted long enough to get the V-1's to Bromley, but the enemy changed the sites of the launch-pads to target other areas.

Later in July '44 the Germans launched yet another dreadful weapon against us known as the 'V-2'. This was a huge rocket; it reached a height of over 40 miles, travelling faster than the speed of sound and thus there was no warning of their approach, so no air-raid sirens sounded. One of these rockets fell close to our house in which we used to live before moving to Hever, severely damaging it.

D-Day
A few days after arriving back at Hever for this unexpected early summer holiday, I saw from our back garden an endless army convoy crossing the bridge and heading up the hill to the church.
I ran to join a small group of people sitting and standing on a grassy bank that sloped down to the lane from the castle gates.
The convoy of assorted army vehicles, many being lorries full of soldiers, lumbered up the hill and slowed even further to make the right-hand turn past the 'Henry V111' pub. As they did so the crowd on the bank engaged in merry banter with the troops, who were all Canadian.
Many times I heard "Hi, Red!" and realised they meant me because of my red gold hair.
It was just a few days later that the mystery of this huge troop movement was solved.
By a devious route this convoy had been heading for the south coast, close to Southampton, ready for the D-Day invasion of Normandy in France.
The invasion had been a closely guarded secret, it was June 6th, 1944 that the news broke that British, American and Canadian forces were landing in France, the fighting was fierce and casualties were very heavy.
I often wonder how many of those waving, smiling Canadians, who came so far to help us in the war survived the invasion.

It was not long before a letter came from the college Principal to say that I had to report to a College in Oxford, which would become vacant when the university students 'went down' for their summer vacation.
We students were amazed at the freedom from rules and regulations, where at Bromley we had been treated as if at a strict, girls' boarding school. I appreciate that because of the air-raids we had all to be accounted for at all times, but I don't think that we realised how oppressive our regime was until we went to Oxford, where we lived by the university rules. The town was crowded with American officers and some English service men had leave to do courses in college.

Rationing, shortages and make-do-and-mend
There were so many shortages throughout the war. Rubber was a rare commodity becoming totally unavailable as the war went on.
At school, we could only play games that used a ball containing rubber as long as the ball lasted, and lost balls were found. Netballs were made of leather and contained a rubber bladder that could become punctured.
We would wait patiently anxious to know if the caretaker could mend it yet again and were very relieved when he returned it fully blown-up, until the next puncture.
At the school in Tunbridge Wells our winter game was lacrosse played with a hard, solid rubber ball that, because of the nature of the game, could easily be lost. It was a sad day when our last ball was lost and, despite hours of searching, was never found. There was no replacement so we had to make do with netball.

I remember lots of people we knew digging up beautiful gardens to grow vegetables and keep chickens for eggs, and to eat eventually, if they could bring themselves to kill them. Likewise people were encouraged to keep rabbits to kill for food but it was like eating the family pets.
One evening my mother served up a tasty stew, which we all enjoyed, she revealed, when we had finished, that it was made with horsemeat that was on sale, ration-free, at the local butchers.
Another time, a casserole was made from whale meat, we later learned.
In wartime you could not be a fussy eater. If you didn't like what was put in front of you, you went without.

At college, the kitchen staff did their best with the rationing to produce edible meals, but one could never say that any meals they served up were enjoyable.
The worst was the Sunday evening meal assembled by a 'skeleton' staff.
In my two years at college it never varied and I dreaded being in and having to face it, as did the other students.
It comprised tissue-paper thin, undercooked, cold, fatty beef, about enough to cover a saucer, uncooked, grated, white cabbage, and a jacket potato that had to be eaten without any butter, margarine or cheese. For pudding, there was always pink blancmange, which I never ate.

Through the Red Cross we obtained wool and patterns in order to knit a variety of items for the troops including balaclavas, socks, gloves, scarves and hospital operation stockings.
My mother, sister and I were all 'dab hands' at knitting on four needles and so knitting the fingers of gloves and turning the heels of socks was never a problem. We enjoyed doing this knitting as we felt that we were doing something for the War Effort.
I can remember when early in the War all metal railings were removed to be melted down to make military equipment. Even in private properties the owners voluntarily gave up wrought-iron gates and any railings. We saved every scrap of paper for re-cycling. Vegetable peelings, and leftover food were made into pigswill.

Clothes were strictly rationed and we had to 'make do and mend' no clothing was thrown away just because it was shabby, outgrown or had holes. Old, hand-knitted jumpers were unpicked, the wrinkly wool was wound into skeins and washed to straighten it. When dry it was re-wound into balls, weighed and then we could estimate how much more was needed to knit another jumper. We could usually spare a few coupons for the extra wool. Darning wool was not rationed and when our vests got thin we would darn them from top to bottom to give them a new lease of life. We wore vests to keep warm as we had no central heating, coal was rationed and houses and other buildings were very cold.

I remember my mother and I carefully unpicked the pure wool, checked lining of a coat she had bought in the thirties from Aquascutum, now too shabby to wear.
We bought a pattern, spent a few coupons on some lining material, saved the leather buttons and the shoulder pads from the old coat and a local dressmaker made me a very smart jacket which I wore throughout the rest of the war.

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