大象传媒

My father, Alfred Scott was serving in the National Fire Service, when I was born in 1940. I remember him talking about various bombing raids. He told me about times when the Germans bombed the docks at low tide and there wasn't enough water pressure. His pump was at The Elephant and Castle and they were pumping from engine to engine until it reached the docks.
He talked about when the bacon factory in the East End was bombed and all the bacon cooked in the fire till the streets were running with fat, making it impossible to stand with the hoses.

He and his mates kept pigs in a sty at the fire station(Number 47, in Lordship Lane)and those involved had shares in the pig when they were slaughtered.
Dad always kept chickens in the chicken house in the garden which he made himself. I remember going up to Waterloo Station with my Mum to collect 6 day old chicks in a small cardboard box. I don't know where they came from! He used to barter eggs for anything that he could - soap, tea, or other things which were scarce.He had an allotment on which he grew wonderful vegetables.

Outside our house there was an air raid shelter, built in the road. As you went in there was a chemical toilet, and then the space was taken up with rows of bunks, made of wood with sacking. I always associate the smell of hessian with that damp air raid shelter. We had to take our own pillows and a blanket as soon as the siren went. At the end there was a small gap in the mortar between 2 bricks and the wind used to whistle through there. I made everyone laugh one night as I shouted through that gap "Go home Gerry!" I suppose it must have sounded quite funny coming from a 3 year old.

I can remember seeing a doodlebug and hearing its noise when I was out with my Mum. When the engine noise cut out someone grabbed me and ran with me to the nearest shelter, which wasn't our usual one. My Granny was there worrying about the cat! I think that doodle bug fell on Peckham.

Soon after that my Granny decided to go to Devon, to the village of Drewsteignton, on Dartmoor. She knew someone there who was taking in people from London. I was too young to be evacuated, but I went with her and stayed there for about six months. It was a very long journey, by train from Waterloo, and then a bus from Exeter. I missed my Mum and Dad, but I loved being in the country. Granny and I shared the front room of the little house, belonging to the Palmers at the end of a row just before the fields. Many other families were also offering refuge to people from London. We went for walks about the village and I loved seeing the woodman come down for his lunch on his horse every day. He always spoke to me. Granny took me across the fields one day and we came across some American soldiers in full combat gear. They looked terrifying, but they offered me some gum. Granny was horrified and made me run back to the house. I later learned that they were the forces preparing for the
D day landings.
We stayed there till the autumn,1944, and when the weather started to get cold, Granny had to get some warmer clothes for me. Then she decided we had been away long enough and my parents were missing me, as I was an only child. We returned to Dulwich, and I can remember the journey taking all day. My parents were so pleased to have be at home again, but I had missed some of the bombing.
There was so much fear in everyone in those days, - I knew nothing but war for the first five years of my life. My father always instilled in me what dreadful things were going on. I'm sure that is has affected me ever since, and made me appreciate my life.

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