大象传媒

The time of my life

The summer of 1939 was a rather good summer weather wise, and I remember spending a lot of the school holidays playing outdoors. My Father kept pigeons in a loft at the bottom of the garden and Saturdays and Sundays were more often than not spent waiting for the birds to return from their latest race. The excitement of seeing the first bird appear over the roof-tops, speculation as to whose bird it was and, if it was Father鈥檚, the frantic minutes trying to entice the bird to enter the loft so that the racing ring could be 鈥榗locked鈥� was almost routine.
In the glass lean-to, which was in the garden directly below my bedroom window, a new 鈥榩laything鈥� had appeared in the shape of segments of the Anderson air-raid shelter that the worsening situation with Germany had made necessary. Father kept his pigeon baskets on top of these, mainly to stop my friends and me using them as a slide. This played a part in the first really serious accident that I ever witnessed.
My playmate and I were playing in the garden, both my parents were out, and we decided that we would get into the house through my bedroom window. This meant a climb via the coal bunker to the top of the lean-to and then a very risky balancing act up the glazing bars to the window. I had made the trip before and saw no danger in it, but poor Raymond was extremely nervous and as a result the inevitable happened and he fell through the glass. Luckily he landed on top of the pigeon baskets and, on the top of one of them, he slid down the shelter segments to land, apparently unhurt, at the bottom. In the midst of our laughter (nervous no doubt), he attempted to get up and it was then we realised that he had a huge piece of glass still embedded in his thigh. It was fortunate that a neighbour had seen what had happened and was on the spot immediately to prevent us doing any further damage. Raymond was lucky not to lose his leg or worse, and in later years, probably the only thing he had Hitler to thank for, was the presence of those shelter segments.
In September 1939 I was one of the thousands of children who found themselves being transported away from family to live in some stranger鈥檚 house without knowing why of for how long. I was used to living in other people's houses and was more inclined to look on it as an adventure. The first house I stayed in was a delightful place called 鈥淩ose Cottage鈥� in the village of Felton about six miles from Bristol. I can remember distinctly waking up on the first morning and hearing cows mooing right outside the window.
The sun was shining and the room was a complete contrast to the usual dingy rooms I found myself in. I liked it! Unfortunately it was only to last for a few weeks because the man of the house was off to war and as the cottage went with his gamekeepers job, we had to move. The next place was almost the complete opposite and, looking back I think it must have had associations with Fagin鈥檚 house in Oliver Twist. Always there were numerous children in the house and anything 鈥榝ound鈥� had to be handed over to the adults. There were seven children in the family and I was the eighth resident child. We slept on the floor on dirty flock mattresses which were shared with at least one other but, being one of the youngest, for me it was usually two. I remember spending a lot of time crying and being bullied by the older family children. Not being used to the Somerset dialect made it difficult to understand what was being said to me and as a result I was deemed 鈥渁 difficult child鈥�. By December my Father, acting on a report of a friend who had delivered some clothes to me, had come to see for himself and I was home again. Dirty, unkempt, and minus most of my belongings! I wasn鈥檛 to go away again just yet.
My mother had improved in her health quite considerably and was at work in order to aid the war effort. Father was on shift work, having been exempt from military service because of the nature of his employment and so, when he was at home, a large portion of his time was spent either in bed or tending to his pigeons. The young pigeons were being taken by the military to be used as messenger pigeons and father was given a small allowance to keep them. This came to an end when fathers work was taking up too much of his time to let him look after the birds properly. We enjoyed pigeon pie for a few weeks until all the pigeons were gone! Both of my parents used to go out to the pub in the evenings and so it was that I soon became well used to being on my own apart from the mongrel dog which we kept as a pet. I learnt very quickly how to prepare simple meals and do the shopping and as I got older my skills increased until at the age of eleven I was doing most of the cooking and housework plus a fair portion of the shopping. All this had to be fitted round my school day and it never left a lot of time for boyhood pursuits.
Games with playmates were usually played in the street and there would normally be a gang of about a dozen of us both boys and girls. Our games varied quite considerably from simple games of 鈥榯ag鈥� to more complicated versions of 鈥榟ide and seek鈥� such as 鈥榢ick can鈥�. 鈥楳arbles鈥� and five stones, or 鈥榞obs鈥� as they were known in East London were always popular and, in the right season, 鈥榗onkers鈥�.
鈥楰ick can鈥� was played by selecting one of the gang to be 鈥榠t鈥� and also another to be 鈥榢icker鈥�. The 鈥榢icker鈥� kicked a tin can from a marked spot in the centre of the road as hard as he could down the road, and then joined the remainder in finding a hiding place. The person who was 鈥榠t鈥� had to recover the can and, walking backwards, replace it on the spot. Hiding places were generally people鈥檚 front gardens or gaps in the houses. The object was for the person who was 鈥榠t鈥� to find all the players, but also to prevent the release of those he had found by some hitherto unfound player who, if he could approach the can unobserved, could once again kick the can down the road. Another favourite game, (which had various names and versions that tended to change with the locality in which the games were played.) was 鈥楾ip stick鈥�. This consisted of balancing one stick, about six inches long, on the edge of the kerbstone and then hitting it sharply with another stick causing it to fly upward. You then hit the flying stick as far as you could away from you trying to outdistance the sticks of other players. Versions included allowing your opponents to also take a swipe at your stick whilst it was in flight in order to knock it down. 鈥榃ar鈥� games and 鈥榗owboys and Indians鈥� were popular with the younger children and mainly consisted of the 鈥淏ang, bang, lie down, your dead鈥� type of game. This type of game did become completely unpopular at one period when unfortunately one young lad failed to get up at the completion of the game and was found to be indeed dead! He had died from natural causes but in the children鈥檚 minds they imagined that they had been the cause by wishing him dead. I still remember that the lad's name was Reggie Scott.
In July of 1940 the Germans started to bomb London on a regular basis and the Battle of Britain was under way. Being in the East End of London we were right in the firing line and had to spend practically every night in the air-raid shelter at the bottom of the garden. It was fortunate that it was summer time and that the weather wasn鈥檛 too bad although at that time we used to wish for heavy cloud to prevent the bombers coming over. It was frightening and at the same time exciting. I must admit that at times I was extremely frightened and on one occasion, while my parents were out, panicked when the siren went and the bombs started to fall almost immediately. I was in bed when the siren went and had to dress in the dark because the blackout curtains weren鈥檛 drawn. I finished up with my shirt on inside out and my trousers on back to front, and with no shoes on and crying with fright I ran down the garden path and into the shelter. The sound of the siren was enough to send shivers of fear through you and even after sixty years I still shudder when I hear that sound.
We boys became experts on aircraft types and could identify aircraft simply from the sound of their engines. We collected bits of aircraft, shrapnel, nose cones from shells and the fins of incendiary bombs as boys these days collect `Pokemon` cards and the like. Bombs too were easily recognisable from their characteristic whistle and contrast in sound to the anti-aircraft guns. I think we were in almost as much danger from the shrapnel, which resulted from the gunfire, as we were from the bombs! No doubt the guns had some deterrent effect on the German planes but they didn鈥檛 seem to hit much. There were numerous events at that time which were humorous, tragic, amazing and in some cases, miraculous, but surprisingly it is the humorous incidents which are remembered best. On the night of the biggest raid on London, which was the 7th September 1940, one of the local factories, that produced oil drums, was severely hit and the resulting fire caused the empty drums to expand and eventually bust with a resounding bang. As there were many hundreds of drums this caused a noise which was almost unbearable for a period of about two hours. On another occasion it was a paint factory which was hit and this resulted in cans of paint being blown all over the place and causing the largest, most multi-coloured, abstract painting of all time. I鈥檓 glad to say that the worst we suffered were a few missing windowpanes and roof tiles and a dusting of ceiling plaster throughout the house. Others were not so fortunate! In October (after the bombing had eased considerably) I was evacuated again, this time it was to the village of Lechlade in Gloustershire.

Chapter 2.
*

I enjoyed myself in Lechlade; it was almost a schoolboy鈥檚 paradise. There were open fields and a river with water meadows full of frogs and other creepy crawlies. Trees loaded with conkers and chestnuts, squirrels to chase girls to tease, and, as we were surrounded by airfields, a great many aircraft to watch. My mates and I were never short of something to do and surprisingly we were rarely involved in any mischief. Maybe we scrumped a few apples on occasions and most likely were noisy from time to time, but that鈥檚 as far as it went. One of the pastimes was to build camps and tree houses in which to live out our imaginary games of 鈥楥owboys and Indians鈥� or our own version of the real war that seemed so remote from us. It was being in one of these tree houses at the right time and being completely hidden which gave a friend and myself the first education in adult type 鈥榞ames鈥�. It was high summer, the corn was high in the fields, and it was this that led an airman and his lady friend to take advantage of the supposed privacy and to indulge in a very passionate love making session. This took place almost underneath the tree in which we were hidden and we had a grandstand view of the proceedings. It was not the first time that I had seen a naked woman but it was certainly the first time that I had any inkling as to what 鈥榤aking love鈥� meant! My friend and I sat in total astonishment at what took place although it became increasingly difficult for us to control the fit of giggles that finally gave us away. It was a very red faced couple that hastily dressed and made a rapid exit from the area.
Most of my time in Lechlade was spent on a farm which was about halfway between Lechlade and Fairford and during that period we had a walk of about two miles to school every day. We took sandwiches with us for lunch but, being wartime and shortages being a way of life, our sandwiches consisted of little else but the bread. Sometimes we had a spread of sauce on them or for a treat it was 鈥榙ripping鈥� but whatever it was, it was eaten with relish and nothing was ever wasted. The farm was great fun because we could help with the various chores like fetching the cows in for milking, or 鈥榤ucking out, and best of all helping with the harvest. During the winter we had a great barn to play in and this we shared with all the smaller farm animals and birds. I unknowingly learnt a great deal about the countryside and I don鈥檛 think I was ever really happy in a large town again. It was an unwilling boy who returned home; a move forced on me by the reasons of my foster-mother being ill and a shortage of billets in the area. After a few months at home it was decided that I needed long term treatment on my ankles which had been slightly deformed from birth, so I was sent to Hydon Heath camp in the heart of Surrey close to where St. Thomas鈥檚 Hospital had been evacuated to from London. This was an ex-army camp and housed a few hundred children mainly from the Barking and East Ham areas. It was run on the lines of a boarding school with a Headmistress and teachers to supervise and teach us at all times. The highlights of my stay there were the trips into Godalming to spend whatever pocket money I might have (which was precious little) and the occasional bus trip out into the countryside. Once in a while, if you had achieved something special or undergone some misfortune, you were invited to have tea with the headmistress, and spend the evening in her company. Apart from these outings there was the daily trip to the hospital, which I hated, because, they only meant pain and also cut short my lunch break. Toward the end of my stay the hospital visits were reduced to about once per week. The good thing was that my ankles were now considerably stronger and, for the first time that I could remember, I didn鈥檛 have to wear boots all the time. Nine months later, in November 1943, I returned home again.
Now there was virtually no bombing except for the rare 鈥榟it and run鈥� raids which were usually carried out by low flying pairs of aircraft and did very little damage. I remember that our school was machine-gunned early one morning just as the children were beginning to congregate in the area prior to attending school, but, as luck would have it, no-one was hurt and the only damage was some new chips in the brickwork and a few broken windows. My mother and I had a terrible fright one evening when we were sitting in the kitchen in front of the open grate where a small fire was burning. Without any warning it appeared to us that the glowing embers of the fire jumped out of the grate and then promptly returned. The poor dog, who was lying in front of the fire, must have thought his end had come and he gave a yelp and scrambled to the back door just as fast as his legs would let him. It was then that we heard a scraping noise on the roof of the house. I ran to the front door and when I opened it, saw what I thought was a parachute hanging in the tree which was in our front garden. Leaving the front door open I ran back through the house to my mother who had gone to the back garden and told her what I had seen. Discretion being the better part of valour, as they say, we went to the air raid shelter, to join the dog who had beat us to it, believing that a parachute mine was about to explode. It was there that my totally mystified father found us the following morning when he came home from his work. There was nothing to be seen in the front garden or anywhere else that could explain our experience but later that day we found out that a barrage balloon had broken adrift some-where and had slowly descended and bounced on the roof of our house. This caused a down draught in the chimney followed by an equal up draught thus explaining the behavior of the fire embers. The remains of the mooring cable dragging across the roof caused the scraping noise. Mystery solved!
I joined the Scouts, and also the Boys Brigade and belonged to both at the same time! I enjoyed the activities and the dressing up in uniform and, I suppose, acquired the self-discipline that stood me in such good stead later in my life. The fortunes of war were swinging our way and generally speaking life was fairly pleasant although there were still extreme shortages of some things and some of the substitute foods which we had to live on, were utterly tasteless or revolting. We did experiment with various ingredients to try to make up for some of those things that were missing from our diets. Boiling and mashing parsnips and adding a few drops of banana essence made a very good banana substitute. 鈥楻ussian cream鈥� consisted of a thick mixture of dried milk powder a small amount of sugar and a teaspoonful of jam. 鈥楾offee鈥� was made with vinegar, dried milk and sugar boiled and allowed to cool on a tray. Chocolate鈥� was dried milk, cocoa and sugar mixed into a very thick paste and dried by gentle warming. This was not always successful and depended on the right heat to dry but not melt it.
As I said previously life was fairly pleasant that was only until the 13th of June 1944 when we became the targets for Hitler鈥檚 latest weapon, variously named as the `V1`, the `Flying Bomb`, the 鈥楤uzz Bomb鈥�, or, most commonly, 鈥楧oodle Bug鈥�. I well remember the first intensive night assault by these bombs on the 15th June. I was on my way home from a Boys Brigade meeting when the siren went and the first distinctive sound of the Doodle Bug engine was heard. It seemed to me that every gun in the world opened fire at the same time and the bombardment of the heavens continued almost non-stop for the next four hours and then intermittently throughout the rest of the night and the following day. We were certainly in more danger from the shrapnel than the Doodle Bugs but when they landed they caused considerable damage and loss of life. I was lucky in that, although I had a couple of 鈥榥ear misses鈥�, and on one occasion was so close to a still flying Doodle Bug that I threw stones at it in sheer frustration and anger, neither my family or I came to any harm. By September the attacks had dwindled and when life was beginning to get back to normal the second of Hitler鈥檚 secret weapons was unleashed against us. This was the very frightening V2 rocket that gave no warning of its approach and exploded with devastating power. It was fortunate for us that the allied advance in Europe, and the bombing raids on the launching sites, prevented the attacks from developing into the constant barrage that Hitler had planned. How-ever the attacks continued throughout the winter and it wasn鈥檛 until about March that they finally ceased. In the January of 1945, at the age of fourteen, I left school and started work in a small woodworking factory making a variety of items including tea-trays, egg cups and cake stands, bed trays, toys and novelties. My pay was the princely sum of one pound and six-pence per week and of this my mother required seventeen shillings and six-pence for my keep. Even in those days, three shillings (15p) didn鈥檛 seem much reward for a forty-six hour week and a four mile cycle ride each way every day! I wasn鈥檛 very happy! I stuck it out for a few months but then found myself another job nearer home and paying one pound ten shillings (拢1.50p) although I told my mother that it was only one pound five shillings. The hours were shorter too. In this job I learnt a fair bit about furniture making, especially about how to take short cuts and cut down on the labour! I was shown how to drive screws in with a hammer except for the last few turns, and how to achieve a 鈥榟and polished鈥� look with a paintbrush and a piece of sponge. This was 鈥渦tility鈥� furniture at its best! I eventually got the sack from there for riding on a conveyor belt after being warned not to.

Chapter 3.

The winter of 1946/47 was a very cold hard winter made harsher by the post war shortages and rationing of food and fuel existent at that time. As a young lad who had left school nearly two years previously and who had a scratchy wartime education, I was finding it hard to find my niche in the industrial world for which it seemed, I was destined. Lads like me were competing for jobs with newly demobbed ex servicemen many of whom had the experience and skills required by the employers who saw no reason to spend their time and money on us. When the hold on the job I had in an engineering firm was looking extremely tenuous, mainly due to the fact that the weather was making it difficult to keep the factory running, I decided that I would do something that had always been in the back of my mind. Setting an example that would have been appreciated by a latter-day politician, I jumped on my bicycle and pedalled the four miles from Barking (where I lived) to Romford (where the Naval recruiting office was), and asked to enlist as a Boy Seaman. To my delight, and after passing the preliminary entrance exams, I was told that I would be accepted

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