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I can only recall one time during the war when I experienced real fear, and that was when I was thirteen years old and living in Luton.
One morning at school assembly the head master asked for volunteers to act as casualties at a very large exercise being held on that coming weekend. Civilian emergency personnel were to be involved as part of their regular training and free refreshments provided at the conclusion of the exercise. This appealed to my sense of adventure, so I volunteered. At that time of my life I had not heard of the maxim about never volunteering for anything — especially in wartime!
The exercise was being held in a heavily bombed part of town containing many deserted buildings - ruins of burnt-out houses and factories. So on the following Saturday morning I turned up on my bike to join in the fun.
Many of the volunteers were already made up as wounded, with labels attached describing their injuries. They were then told to scatter themselves around the exercise zone, some inside the buildings, others in open areas. My position was upstairs in a three-storey building, supposedly trapped by fire and waiting rescue. That particular building was nothing but a hollow shell, with just a few floorboards to support me. All that remained of the windows were vacant holes in the brickwork. I was already feeling a little apprehensive, not being comfortable in my surroundings.
Anyway, a whistle was blown and the fire engines, ambulances and rescue vehicles quickly moved in. Pumps were started and powerful jets of water directed at buildings previously marked as being on fire. Realism was added by the use of smoke flares, including a couple on the ground floor of my own building.
Ambulance men and first-aiders dashed around with stretchers, whilst others helped to move the walking wounded to a safe holding area. ARP rescue teams tore at piles of debris to remove the buried and helpless. Firecrackers and flash bombs provided further distractions, being thrown at random among the workers. All of this to help give realism and simulate a real disaster.
I looked down at the scene below me. The professionals — fire, police and ambulance — were working as teams and coordinating with each other. However the amateurs appeared to be completely disorganised, with no leadership or overall control. I felt like leaning out of my window and shouting orders and instructions to everybody. After all, I had the advantage of seeing the overall scene from on high.
Two men staggered across the road with a heavy wooden extension ladder, leaning it against my building. At last there was going to be some action where I would be involved. They manoeuvred the ladder to rest against a windowsill of the floor below, where I knew there were at least two people waiting to be rescued. This was going to be easy I thought; all that was necessary was to climb out of the window and down the ladder!
Then I saw what was happening below. Whilst one man held the bottom of the ladder to stop it slipping, the other gingerly climbed the ladder to make the rescue. The lad being rescued was younger than I was and much lighter. I watched with some trepidation as the man on the ladder struggled to get the victim over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The ‘rescuer’ was holding one rung of the ladder tightly with one hand, scared to let go. With his free hand, he tried to guide the boy over his shoulder.
The young boy was leaning out of the window, one hand gripping the sill, the other over the man’s shoulder grabbing a handful of his shirt. Both were too frightened to move! Eventually, the fellow at the bottom of the ladder decided that he should go up and rescue both of them. I could tell by the way that he climbed that he was even less confident than his mate was.
A confident climber will hold their body upright and climb the ladder with arms outstretched. A person without confidence will lean forward; maintaining full body contact with the ladder and crawling up rung by rung.
By the time the second man had arrived at the top to help support his mate, the young boy was virtually wrapped around his shoulders like a horseshoe, his arms locked around the man’s neck. I certainly admired the lad’s courage, but thought the two men should never have tried such a stunt without more training. Maybe with something like a sack of potatoes or even each other!
Eventually they all arrived at ground level, and I could see the relief showing on their faces. The poor boy that had been ‘rescued’ was as white as chalk, and had to sit against the house wall to recover. One of the men went back up the ladder to fetch the other trapped boy, but he had already bolted.
Then it was my turn!
The ladder would not reach fully to the top storey window where I waited. Instead, it rested on the wall a few inches below what remained of the wooden sill. Slowly, one of the rescue team ascended, pausing several times as the ladder sagged and bounced in the middle. Eventually he reached the top, stretching one hand up and over the sill to get a grip. Pulling himself up, he hooked his elbows over the bottom of the opening.
‘Hello son. My name is Bert and I’ve come to rescue you. What’s your name?’
‘R-R-Roy. And I don’t want to be rescued!’
‘But you’ve got to be rescued. This place is supposed to be on fire. You don’t want to be burnt alive, do you!’
‘I don’t mind — honestly I don’t!’
I looked out of the window down to the ground. It was a long, long, way! Normally I was not afraid of heights; tall places didn’t faze me at all. But the thought of hanging over that bloke’s shoulder, only being held by one hand hooked behind my knees whilst descending head-first, completely scared the hell out of me!
My confidence in him was absolute zero. I had seen the way that he had had to be previously rescued by his mate. I could well imagine him if the ladder started to bounce, or his foot missed a rung. He would instinctively let go of my legs and grab the side of the ladder! It was three full stories to the pavement below. One little slip and my head would be mashed pumpkin! He was but an inexperienced lightweight. I was adamant he was not going to practice on me!
He looked into my eyes; I glared back into his.
‘Come on’, he pleaded. ‘If you don’t do it I’ll fail my test. Just lean out over my right shoulder and I’ll grab you with my right arm. You’ll be okay.’
He let go of the sill with one hand to reach out to me, but became uncertain of his balance and quickly grabbed it again. Then I saw the fear in his eyes!
‘I think I’m too big and heavy for you’ I said.
‘Yes, perhaps you are. Why don’t you climb onto the top of the ladder and I’ll guide you down. You’ll be quite safe that way as I’ll be right with you!’
Now, that sounded a much more sensible idea to me, one I was happy to go through with. I swung my legs out of the window, gripping the frame with my hands whilst searching for the top rung with my feet. Bert grabbed an ankle and guided my foot into place. Then I was all right, having no trouble at all descending the ladder. If anything I went too fast, giving Bert the odd kick on the shoulder!
Now, why couldn’t we have done it that way in the first place? My pride may have had to take a tumble, but my body was still intact!
I certainly didn’t hang around once my feet hit terra firma — the organisers may have wanted to run through the exercise again! Ignoring the free refreshments, I headed straight for my bike and home!

Excalibur

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