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Dark Cloud
A Child’s Personal Experience

I was 11 and living in Clacton with my parents, two brothers and older sister. Apprehension and fear overwhelmed me as I made my way to Sunday School, on September 3rd 1940, knowing that in all probability we would be at war before I returned home. My knowledge of war was based on scanty reports on the radio, about the Spanish Civil War and from the hoardings which displayed huge posters showing mothers stretching out their arms in a desperate attempt to protect their children from the bombs raining down.

I still have no idea what those posters were meant to depict but can even now visualise them vividly and recall the horror of the nightmares that they so frequently and frighteningly invoked. Therefore it was with some surprise and certainly with relief that I found the sun still shining as I left Sunday School. As I walked home everything was familiar and reassuring, birds were singing in the hedgerows, men were working on their allotments, and children were playing and squabbling. The world had not ended as I had feared.

Tension was perhaps a little heightened at home as we avidly listened to every news bulletin, but we continued to eat and drink, work and play, laugh and cry. The routine of school life was comforting too. As the days progressed however, changes did take place. As it was a coastal area, the troops moved in and dug themselves into trenches with their terrifyingly large guns covered with branches for camouflage. This was to be the front line of defence against any attempt by enemy planes to reach London. It was a disturbing situation yet the soldiers were reassuring, cheerful and optimistic. They were always so grateful when I carried brown jugs of steaming tea.

The first few months passed uneventfully although gas masks, which we carried at all times, and our newly issued identity cards were a constant reminder of the threat hanging over us. It always amused me that daily I had to show my identity card at the checkpoint set up at the end of our road. I could not see myself as a spy, but there were no exceptions to the rules.

One night in April I awoke trembling as a series of explosions echoed through the night. I wanted to call out but no sound came. What a blessed relief to hear my mother’s voice, ‘It’s all right, come into our bedroom.’ I dashed into my parents’ room and already my brother and sister were there in bed together for warmth, yet shivering with fear waiting for what was to happen next. Had the action really started and was this the war? The ensuing silence became almost unbearable. Gradually dawn came and with it a certain release of tension encouraged by tea and talk.

It seemed very hard to go to school that morning uncertain as to what the day might bring but once there we found the answer to the night’s disturbance. A German mine laying plane had for some reason crashed, killing four and causing considerable damage. Many of the school windows were broken but lessons continued as usual. We were forbidden to go near the devastated area, which was quickly cordoned off and guarded because it was a great attraction foe souvenir hunters as it was the first enemy plane to crash on land.

Having survived that ‘act of war’ it had not been as bad as in my imagination and quickly life returned to near normal again.

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