Message 1 - Air-raid shelters
Dear Daphney
WW 2 鈥 1939 onwards - The Thornton Story
Introduction.
In 1939, my father enlisted and fought with Britain鈥檚 7th armoured division in North Africa, then with the 8th army in Cyrenaica, Libya, Tripolitanaia and Tunisia, across the Mediterranean Sea and through Sicily to the mountains of Italy ( the American 5th army joined in at Salerno). Then came the battle of Normandy, each invasion followed by ferocious inland battles.
One parent Family
I were 8 months old when WW 2 commenced. My mother, Kathleen Thornton and I, experienced the loss of two dwellings during the Blitz of New Cross Gate and Deptford, South-East London, my sister Monica were born during the August 1940 Bombardment. Throughout this intense violence, German aircraft dropped cluster, incendiary bombs and land mines, seemingly at random. Twice I were separated from my mother when enemy aircraft machine-gunned the shopping populace, to be given back to my mother by policemen when the 鈥榓ll clear鈥 sirens sounded.
We were fortunate to survive the 57 day, incessant 24 hour blitz during 1940. During this nobody apart from the emergency services and air-raid wardens had the nerve to emerged from their shelters. Albeit wartime records show that Criminals didn鈥檛 baulk at seizing the 鈥 fresh opportunities 鈥 offered.
Occasionally we would visit my aunt at her home at New Cross, South-East London and, often take refuge in her dank Anderson Bomb Shelter, whenever an air-raid attack occurred.
This shelter was a corrugated iron igloo, 2.4 metre by 2 metre and 2. 2 metre tall, Into it my grandfather built two double twin bunk - beds, (much as today鈥檚 bunk beds). There wasn鈥檛 a fitted door, for with the roof being curved, a skilled joiner (of which granddad wasn鈥檛) needed to be employed. Inside the shelter were room for little more than four small persons, the base being let into the earth for stability, and covered in soil for added protection.
Following the 鈥楢ll 鈥 Clear鈥, a local siren indicating the enemy aeroplanes had left, mum would walk home, I holding onto her skirt or coat and clutching our Gas- Masks, in their cardboard containers. The children鈥檚 were red and known as Mickey Mouse鈥檚 due to their shape. Everyone were issued a gas-mask throughout the war.
During this time we didn鈥檛 use our perambulator( Pram) neither did countless other mothers, it occupying the space of three adults in a shelter and, was definitely a hindrance as one scrambled for cover into shops etc.
On our way home following the bombing, it wasn鈥檛 unusual to find staggered rows of flattened houses, with people in tears as they attempted to remove neighbours and family members etc from the burning rubble of their homes, they trapped there having decided to remain at home for whatever reason during the bombing.
By August 1941,a further two of the dwellings we were residing in, also a number of neighbours homes had been flattened or blown apart by enemy bombs. When the local siren sounded a warning of the approaching bombers, we had four choices, but little more than minutes to decide how we safeguarded ourselves.
1. If trapped outside whilst shopping etc, we might shelter in what鈥檚 called the Tube.
This was London鈥檚 Underground Railway 鈥 usually safe, it being situated metres below ground and having a thick concrete ceiling. Many a night we have sheltered here, having nowhere else to go or live, our home being obliterated.
2. Those having Anderson Shelters were usually safe unless it received a direct hit from a missile. None of our dwellings had a garden large enough to take an Anderson Shelter, we were therefore provided with an alternative.
3. This was a Morrison Shelter. A table, usually kept in the living room or kitchen. It was 6鈥.6鈥欌 (2mt) long and, 4ft (1.2mt) wide by 2鈥.6鈥欌 ( O.75mt ) high. The tabletop was reinforced with metal plating, taking two adults to carry.
We had one of these and, when the air-raid warning siren sounded, mother would gather us as she crouched beneath this table, clutching my infant sister and with me sitting between her legs, all of us wearing our gas masks until the all-clear siren sounded, following the raid.
4. A way of protection from flying debris indoors were to shelter beneath the stairs, or a table, even a piano. No real protection if the house received a direct hit by a bomb, but useful if the house suffered a near miss, whereupon imploding glass etc would scatter about .the room.
One afternoon whilst visiting my aunt Polly, we sheltered beneath her Morrison Shelter table. Polly hid beneath her stairwell during the air-raid, I watched as beams of light flashed across the sky as the searchlights looked for enemy aeroplanes. Following the All- Clear siren the adults made the obligatory pot of tea, milk or water for we kids.
An extremely brave air-raid warden (ARP) who had sheltered nearby, in an underground public loo, visited us, carrying the obligatory stirrup pump ( a metal cycle pump used to collect water from a bucket and, douse the flames).
He confirmed we were safe, albeit some of the windows were broken, and advised us the public house, also two buildings nearby, had received direct hits from the bombs. The warden seemed quite relived to find we were all right. It were he who advised us that our third abode in eleven days had been severely damaged and was ablaze.
Apart from the nuisance of loosing ones abode, all, or most of our possessions were destroyed. Everything 鈥 clothing and food, were now rationed by the government and, without ration books, one were unable ( unless using the highly priced black market ) to purchase food etc.
Mum was a housewife and looking after we children. Her income were a percentage of my fathers wage - a military allowance to his spouse, allocated from his monthly earnings whilst in the armed forces.
My mother, now aged 25 were the oldest of three sisters. Molly aged 23, and Polly at 21. All were married, their husbands fighting abroad with the British army and, making provision for their wives, albeit neither Polly or Molly had children at this time.
Aunt Molly was employed locally and able to help financially when mother had to restart building a nest for her family. Although we never starved, many times our two meals daily, a breakfast of toast and, an evening meal of bread and dripping, kept flesh upon our bones. Dripping was a spread made from the melted fat and cost pennies if purchased from a butcher. It cost nothing for those having set aside the juice from the family joint of beef, lamb, or pork, roasted for the weekend lunch.
The first time we were 鈥 bombed out 鈥 our dwelling in South Street, Greenwich and others collapsed, killing eight residents. Luckily we were sheltering in the Tube, but lost everything apart from what we wore that day. From then onwards , mother kept the identification card etc, needed to collect her monthly allowance, on her person.
Others awaiting replacement documentation weren鈥檛 so lucky, possibly going hungry, for It wasn鈥檛 unusual to await weeks for a proxy documents. Wheels turn slowly in governmental departments, in checking claims were accurate. Also with the number of homes destroyed and the change of circumstance, many pets - especially cats, would starve to death, despite developing into excellent mousers.
Sickness.
At the age of two I developed what were diagnosed as Epileptic Fits. These blackouts occurred soon after the air-raid sirens sounded, and bombing began. I would collapse - rigid with fear and loose consciousness. This paralysis would continue until well after the sound of the bombing ceased, whereupon, I would regain awareness, sweating and confused, remembering little of the proceedings.
Following this diagnosis, a midwife visited me following the violence to instruct my mother on how to immerse me in a bath, basin or kitchen sink of cold water quickly reducing my temperature this was considered the suitable way of solving said problem in those days. These fits affected me until early 1943, when bombing in areas immediately about me ceased.
Mum; (and others) must have been superhuman? One morning whilst using the two-penny ( one English penny nowadays) public transport, we had to abandon the vehicle as the air-raid siren sounded. Mum carrying my sister as I ran alongside them, as we reached a grassy bank of earth adjacent to a public bomb shelter. I collapsed and fell into fit.
With everyone and their dog scrambling for shelter, mum was in a quandary. With no-one to help, she wouldn鈥檛 have time to reach to the shelter, leave my sister with a warden or whoever and, return to collect me as I lay rigid upon the grass bank, before the shelter were full, or closed.
Luckily mum was able to rouse the dentist from his basement surgery, situated below the grassy mound. The dentist refused to enter into the fray, therefore mum handed my sister to the woman dental assistant, and Mother quickly left to gathered me and, returned to the dentistry.
The dentist, had retired to shelter within his surgery bunker, we took refuge within the dentistry covered entrance throughout the air-raid. Mum took the opportunity to bathe my face with water from the dentists washbasin and, apparently, I regained my composure soon after the 鈥榓ll clear 鈥 siren sounded.
Evacuation.
The potential invasion by Germany combined with their persistent bombing were causing problems not only to the London, but to other industrial areas and their residents. The British coalition government, decided to clear the blitz areas of non combatants, especially the lifeblood of Britain, its children.
In March 1942 my mother was ordered to leave the London area, to be relocated (evacuated). We were classic escapees; with mother, her infant daughter and her son not old enough for school, keeping our family together proved to be impossible.
At this time, my aunts were employed at a Munitions Factory, my mother was able to join them and by necessity they had a cr猫che Therefore apart from the bombing and the severe lack of food lost through said problem, we were making do.
My mother and sister were evacuated two days after I. They travelled by train (courtesy of the state) to Wales. Here the local council had arranged for them to be billeted with a childless middle-aged married Welsh, couple. Both Mother and my sister were issued with a blanket, but lacking a bed or mattress, they slept upon the stone floor of the scullery, adjacent to the kitchen.
They received very little food, usually a broth. Mother wasn鈥檛 allowed to help or prepare anything, she was also forbidden to remain in the house during daylight hours, therefore she tramped about seeking other billet鈥檚 during the day.
Mother could cope with the rough diamond, sharp tongued London people, but the civility of her Welsh hosts and far from polite neighbours also the fact that there were little chance of a relocated person finding employment, proved intolerable.
Finding a further billet with so many people flooding into the area, proved impossible, therefore within a week, mother returned to the London hell-hole and, settled in with her younger sister, residing at Evelyn street, Deptford, South London.
This return to the capitol were difficult. Throughout the war travelling by the railway and bus system were complicated with wartime regulations. There were very few private motor cars. A number of Lorries 鈥 mostly military. Purchasing a road map was impossible, therefore little chance of hitching a ride home.
My Relocation.
I were evacuated in one of a convoy of three London, double - decker red buses, embarking around 9 am, at a school playground in New Cross - South East London.
I recall mum, clutching my sister as she and, my aunt Molly, wishing me goodbye, advising me to 鈥 Be a good boy鈥 as I were lifted aboard the bus. I were dressed in short woollen trousers, cotton shirt and a grey, hand - knitted jumper, tweed jacket and grey woollen socks with brown leather sandals.
Clasping a brown paper parcel bound with string, containing a change of socks, shirt and underwear, this being almost all I possessed in this world. Albeit In my jacket pocket I had a treasure, a bag containing 录 pound (I had never has so many) boiled sweets.
With my gas-mask hanging by twine in its cardboard container across my shoulder and, a cardboard label with my name etc, pinned to my jacket left lapel, I was off into the wide 鈥 and hopefully, bomb free countryside, although our destination were secret not even my mother knew where we would be going ?
On the bus, we children were segregated. Boys seated on the top - deck, sometimes three to a seat, manufactured for two persons. Girls were seated like-wise on the lower deck. Our bus were staffed by a late middle-aged male driver and, two women in their twenties. One each of these ladies took care of the top and bottom decks of the bus.
Here I became aware of practical socialism. My sweets and those belonging to others fortunate enough to have any, were confiscated and, pooled, then distributed among all the children, at intervals, keeping us all happy..
Although parents were advised by the London County Council who arranged our evacuation, that we were to be absent for three months, some children had little more than the clothing they wore. Others mostly girls, had a small suitcase containing a change of clothes etc, these cases were stacked beneath the bus stairway, .and upon the long seats adjacent.
I am unable to remember much of the journey away from London, apart from sitting on the offside of the bus, four seats from the front. Beside me were twin five year old boys named Martin and Peter Wheeler. They had been blitzed from their home in Plumstead, on the outskirts of London and, Peter was extremely nervous.
Between them they had a stub of pencil and a small grey, DIY covered book of writing paper into which Martin recorded our names and last known addresses, whereupon we exchanged these for possible later use.
About midday, we cut short our journey by visiting a railway station. I can recall this for there were a steam engine coupled to three carriages facing the way we had come. I remember saying to my friends naively that I wished I could join the train and return home to my family.
The girls were ushered into the station using both male and female toilets for their ablutions. We boys were directed by our drivers to pee into a ditch adjacent to the buses. We were provided with two buckets of cold water and four hand towels for our ablutions. It was here that Martin relayed a conversation he had overheard, that there were 290 children on these buses.
Early that evening we arrived at a hall in Batley, Yorkshire. On disembarking and performing our ablutions, we were instructed to sit upon a line of benches, again segregated. Seemingly in the hasty trip, we hadn鈥檛 been allocated to a host family.
We were issued a small tin beaker and chose either an orange or lemon fruit cordial drink from large white enamel jugs dispensed by women, also paste sandwiches.
Soon we were scrutinized and, selected like pet shop animals, by local women, I assume the men were engaged elsewhere as it were early tea time.
Presently all the female children also the older boys were chosen and had departed, leaving I and three others of identical age, wondering what was happening ? Our mystery tour & snack now ended 鈥 where were we and, where was mum ?
Four adults commenced to stack the benches into a side room. Three women visitors arrived, and left again. A woman in her thirties come into view. She had a pleasant smile and strolled up to we children, gathered together in a corner gazing into the fire buckets, filled with sand.
By now, we kids were uneasy friends. I was beginning to feel frightened, after-all, It was almost dark, albeit there were no-air raid siren鈥檚 howling.
The smiling woman approached me and removed the cardboard name tag from my jacket. She then entered an adjacent compartment, here she possibly registered herself as my guardian, etc.
She eventually returned to me and holding out her hand asked me 鈥渨ould you like to be my little boy?鈥 I was unable to reply, how do you answer that question at my age ? so we left the hall with her carrying my brown paper parcel of spare clothing and, I clasped her hand plus the all important Gas -Mask. I often wonder what happened to the remaining three youngsters ?
A short distance away were a shopping centre, and we visited a millinery shop. A man was adjusting the blackout curtains to eliminate light from the shop, depriving bombers etc in their attack. Here my guardian purchased pyjamas for me and we made our way to her home in the dark.
My new abode.
My guardian鈥檚 home, surrounded as it were by countryside, were a detached house or cottage, having three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. The usual kitchen-living room and two rooms downstairs.
Following an evening meal of brown bread (the loaf she held upright and cut towards her, as did my mother). With this bread, butter and jam, also a cup of warm milk inside me, I were beginning to feel less apprehensive. At possibly 7 pm, this woman bathed me in a real plumbed-in bath, unlike the 3ft (1 metre ) zinc bath or even the kitchen sink I had recently become accustomed to.
Being acquainted with the loo, I was put to bed in a room of my own, with linen sheets and fluffy pillows. The woman kissed me on my forehead, I am unsure who was the most surprised, me for receiving or she for delivering it ? I was asked if I wanted the bedroom door left open and the passage lit ? I accepted the former, declining the latter.
Funny enough, I never missed the sounds associated with my mother and sister, and I fell asleep without trouble. Also unlike many other children I later overheard spoken of, I have never wet the bed.
The following morning during a breakfast of a brown boiled egg (rationing were rigid, each person allowed one egg a week) and brown-bread buttered soldiers, this lady, laid down the rules (as its phrased nowadays). Her name was Mrs Lilley, but I was to call her mum. Anything - she said, anything at all troubling me, I was to tell her.
About 10 am, mum took me shopping and acquired further clothing for me. I were also registered at a junior school. Even now I recall the looks of bystanders as they talked to, or watched me being led by my new mother.
That evening. I sat quiet and motionless in Mrs Lilley鈥檚 kitchen, much as I would at home with my Mother, needing to have me close in case of an emergency. I listened to the radio as my new mum cooked a meal of meat and vegetables on the black-leaded, double, coal-fired cooking range. I notice even in Batley, sausage fat were used for frying.
She separated an enamelled metal dish from among three others in the oven, from which she removed a seven by four by 1/8th inch pancake she had cooked and, offering this to me upon a plate, she said 鈥 You look as if you could do with this John.鈥
This: was my introduction to the famous Yorkshire pudding, eaten as a starter 鈥 with the main meal - or with jam or honey as a sweet The latter I called afters ( After Dinner) and caused much mirth from my new mum.
Life in Batley -Yorkshire
Following breakfast on my first Monday morning, a young woman named Kelly or Nelly (who was to became my guardian angel,) collected me from my host and, gathering two other children on the way, we walked possibly a mile (passing just half a dozen houses ) to the local school. Here I attended a nursery class with a number of children, boys and girls up to the age of five. Here we used slate boards on which to chalk. ( whereas children have exercise books nowadays).
After a cooked lunch and sweet, served to us as we sat 8 either side of a large table, we would return to our class to find rush mats and a small cloth pillow had been placed about 3 ft (a metre) apart on the timber classroom floor. Here we rested for about an hour 鈥 To allow your meal to digest.鈥 I often fell asleep during this rest. In the early afternoon after school ended, our guardian angel would collect we three children and return us to our homes.
About three months after my arrival in Batley, I became familiar with the populace, most of who were amused by my accent and what鈥檚 now called estuary English. Words such as ain鈥檛, meaning I will not. Or iffy and dodgy, meaning not to be trusted. The word Tit, caused them to shriek with laughter. This being from the word, tit-for-tat, meaning my hat (cap), most cockneys use the first part of the word in this rhyming slang. I was never much of a chatterbox, but my accent seemed to amuse everybody, bringing me closer to the community.
Each Wednesday evening a middle-aged Butcher, whose name I believe was Arthur, would call and join us for the evening meal. Arthur wore an official looking armband with 鈥榝ireguard鈥 in yellow upon it. This confused me for I knew that we had metal fireguards around the fireplaces, stopping hot coals falling upon the carpet.
Arthur would chat with me about my family, whilst mum busied herself clearing the table etc following the meal. Arthur seemed troubled by a letter from my real mother, addressed to me via Mrs Lilley, which he read to me. Mother wrote she couldn鈥檛 tolerate the squalor and lack of food at the place where she had been billeted and, she and my sister had returned to London. The part unread were, would I like to return home ?
The fact that I couldn鈥檛 remember much of my fathers stature etc, having mislaid any photographs of dad because of the bombing and I being 10 months old when my dad left home 鈥 To do his bit to defeat fascism,鈥 seemed to bother Arthur.
Soon It was time to bathe and I retired with a small tin money-box in the form of a round red, British post-box, given to me by Mrs Lilley as a present that evening, so as to keep my bronze three penny weekly gift (pocket money) Arthur were to offer me.
war-games
One morning whilst playing with my friends we witnessed an aeroplane skim across a
hedge and crash into a field close by. At three years of age, I had little knowledge of, but knew the results of air war combat. Rushing to the area and finding the aeroplane smoking, pilot-less and unsupervised, we began to nudge and play upon it. This at my age, was possibly the happiest and most important moment of my young life, until the warning 鈥 here comes the police, 鈥 whereupon I fell upon the aeroplane wing, injuring myself.
鈥 The police鈥 happened to be two air-raid wardens, one of whom escorted me to the hospital, where I remained for a week as I required seven stitches (sutures). I have the scar to my left eyebrow and arm to this day. It goes without saying, mum ( Mrs Lilley ) was horrified when she visited me that evening.
A seaside holiday.
In 1944, Mrs Lilley took me for a protracted holiday at an Hotel, at, or near Blackpool ( the name meant mucky pond) West of England. It was very peaceful here, unlike nowadays with its Pleasure Beach and nightlife clubs etc. I relished the sight of an anti aircraft gun and its crew, albeit, I never witnessed the weapon used in combat.
Following our meals at the hotel, mum and I would stroll along part of the beach or promenade, safe from military hard-wear. We often saw people called the home guard, known as the Local Defence Volunteers ( or look duck and vanish as my mum called them). I recall two shops in the immediate area, one being a greengrocer - grocer, the other a tobacconist / sweetshop. The latter we visited often. On show were dozens of empty sweet jars, but mum seemed able to purchase something for me to chew or suck. I often chose the home made brown bread ice cream costing just a penny. I knew nothing of the need for coupons and persons being allowed just 3 ounces of sweets per week.
A woman named Mrs Barnacle graced the Hotel as a receptionist. During a walk one day, I asked mum about surnames, especially that of the woman Barnacle ?
Mum explained the reason for surnames, my own included and that barnacles were crustaceans that lived in the sea. I remember musing how apt, this was the seaside. From then onwards I couldn鈥檛 help grin when passing Mrs Barnacle. who wouldn鈥檛 know why, possibly thinking I was pleasant, or simple??
In early 1945, Mrs Lilley, received news that my real mother now resided ( and more importantly) was settled at Kingston - upon -Thames, Surrey.
Homecoming .
Soon after my birthday in 1945, Mrs Lilley and I left Blackpool and travelled to Hampton Wick railway station in Surrey. Here my real mother and my sister awaited us. After much hugging and kissing from my mother, who was amused at my Yorkshire exclamation expression of 鈥 ee - baa-gum.鈥 My sister Monica being shy, she being an infant when we parted.
We walked 戮 of a mile to where my mother now resided. This were at 35 Cedars Road, adjacent to Bushy Park, separated by a 5 mile road called Sandy Lane. My mother was renting the top floor of this huge three floor, hunting type lodge. The section she used were a redundant, gas lit billiard room. The nine billiard tables had been removed, but timber flooring retained the marks where they had once stood.
This room now served as a Kitchen and living room. Adjacent ether side of the landing were two (possibly ex-cloakrooms) now serving as my mother and sisters bedrooms.
The second floor had a loo also five rooms, now used as bedrooms. The tiled ground floor consisted of six rooms. A loo, a huge library and three rooms, also a scullery and kitchen. My fathers Brother, his wife and three children, also his wife鈥檚 grandmother, used the ground floor living space.
I were introduced to my fathers brother Archibald, his wife, my aunt Alice and their children, my cousins Terry age 7, Peter age 5 and Ivor age 3.
By early evening we sat for our tea of bread, jam, and squash, also a homemade fruit cake large enough to feed the whole household. Afterwards we children played for a while, then bathed and by dusk had retired. From then onwards my sister and I used the rooms atop of the stairs as our bedrooms.
Whatever were discussed overnight between my mother and Mrs Lilley, my guardian had departed when I awoke the following morning. I broke down that evening in the solitude of my bedroom, and a few more evenings after that.
From then I took up life as a normal youngster with my mother, sister, Uncle, Aunt and cousins, almost an island of relatives, unlike the recent past as the only child.
By Bye and Hello
Throughout the war, Bushy Park housed a Royal Air Force camp and laboratory (as far as I am aware there wasn鈥檛 an airfield for miles). The Kingston camp within Bushy Park, were the troops living and recreation quarters. The Twickenham camp, being the industrial section, where scientific work were performed. We kids played cricket or whatever in the park, and watched the RAF personnel, wander the two miles between camps to work, returning for lunch and, in the evening back to their living quarters following their days work. Very few of these had time to converse with us children. .
Soon I were (unofficially) involved with my older cousin in the breakfast time sale of English newspapers at the RAF canteen. Here at least 1100 personnel of all ranks and both sex would dine. Later these camps were allocated to the American Army Air-Force (AAF) we called these people yanks.
My cousins and I scrutinised the yanks dressed in their work fatigues most of whom were in their late teens, as they moved into their Nissan-hut, living quarters. There being just one entrance to this camp, the yanks were confined to it for the first week. A couple of them approach the eight feet high chain link fencing, topped with two feet of barbed wire and from a section away from the sight of the sentry box, they beckoned us gawping at them in curiosity.
Queries and supper
One yank introduced himself and asked 鈥 the name of your limey fish dish, and could you obtain some ? 鈥 Seemingly they had been paid in 鈥漧imey money鈥 that day and, as two of us had cycles my father had assembled, the fish shop being minutes away, we obliged. The yanks were vague when asked if they wanted salt and vinegar ? they chose 50/50, and with fish and chips at 1/6d ( 7 陆 p nowadays) a portion, a one-pound note wrapped around a stone, were expertly thrown over the wire.
We soon returned appearing blimpish as we strolled through Bushy Park gates, in full view of the camp sentry. We each had six portions of fish and chips, wrapped separately in newspaper, stored inside our shirt. We were delighted when told to keep the two shillings change from the acquisition as a perk, the purchase and passing the food through a hole beneath the wire without being seen by their security were considered worth the tip ?
(This 2/- shillings were a fortune to us lads. My mother paid me 6d ( 2 陆 p nowadays) pocket money which I had to earn by feeding our animals daily. Picketing the 14 tree orchard of fallen fruit, also shopping for fish-n-chip suppers for my uncle鈥檚 and our family on Friday evenings. Saturday mornings I would cycle into Kingston where I shopped for the household weekend Joint, also groceries etc. The 6d earnt would pay for my Saturday morning matinee visit at the Cinema costing 3d, to 4d, the remainder spent on 2 ounces of sweets, or fresh fruit at 1d a portion at Kingston market)
Whilst our yank friends savoured their meal, one enquired if we had sisters ? My positive answer encouraged him to ask what colour hair she had ?. His colleague explained that, Ginger was a 鈥 limey word for red-head.鈥 He then urged me to encourage my sister to meet him at the camp gate the following Saturday evening. Of course my mother wouldn鈥檛 allow my younger sister to attend said rencontrer.
Begging
For the first month, the yanks were transported to and from work by coaches and large AAF lorries, later most would walk the distance, as had the RAF personnel earlier.
We kids often chanted 鈥淕ot any gum chum ?鈥 when meeting the yanks and frequently received some. Once; a group of yanks walking through the park on its unpaved track, joined us as we kicked my birthday present, a leather football. Unfortunately they kicked the ball so hard it caused the casing to split, nevertheless we made our usual request, they jokingly countered with an offer of a Camel or Lucky Stripe (luckies) cigarette. I accepted a luckie and the proffered light, also the advice to inhale 鈥 blimey; didn鈥檛 I choke !
With the yanks among us, some bought British cars for use socially. One, an Austin 7 were fitted with blacked out windows and painted yellow and a sign reading 鈥 Don鈥檛 laugh mother, your daughter might be inside鈥, were painted in red on either side.
Catastrophes
My cousins and I would watch the parachute training within Busy Park. The site being just 100 yards or so from my abode, we could watch from our third floor windows, having a grand view of their parachute jumps.
Lorries towing a large winch, an oval basket, a dirigible (barrage Balloon) and gas cylinders into the park. The silver coloured monster Dirigible were attached to the Basket following inflation from gas cylinders then a number of the fifty of so troopers assembled would enter the basket. The balloon ascended to 800, or 1000 ft, before the jumping commenced.
My cousins and I would hear an instructor shouting advice and the men would fall from the basket at short intervals, parachuting to the ground. The men would then gather their parachute and be collected in a lorry, then return to the starting point as the dirigible were lowered and, other wo/men embarked before returning to its ceiling for another jump.
One day, we watched as two parachutists, the second from one basket and, the seventh from another, fell to the ground, their parachute failing to open correctly. It took us kids minutes to reach the area to view the victim as s/he lay motionless in a small stream, but we were cordoned off by a number of military policemen. A small jeep type covered vehicle, removed the corpses. Despite the accidents, the parachuting continued. The dirigible continued to climb and, return to earth until the exercise finished for that day.
A handsome stranger.
Very early one morning in late 1945, mum awakened my sister and I. Dad had arrived home on his first ever leave from combat, throughout the five years of his participation in the war. His allowance was a five day ( including travel) leave period prior to his demobilisation.
When mum led me and carried my sister into the billiard room, we were confronted with a very tanned man in his immaculate battle dress browns. His jacket with sergeant stripes also campaign ribbons, was hanging from a chair back and, a steel helmet lay across the seat of the chair. Alongside this was dads Lee-Enfield SMLE rifle, ( of which I was most interested ). Dad took the rifle minus the activating bolt, and hung it from a hook well out of reach of my inquisitive hands.
My sister and I were each embraced in turn, I being an infant and, my sister unborn when Dad went off to war. What joy, Dad had with him a medium size biscuit-tin, full of chocolate bars. After tucking into one, I being very tired, mum urged me to return to bed. My sister didn鈥檛, until she fell asleep in dads arms.
I often reflect on our joy at this meeting and, of other children who were never to meet their father, who had paid the ultimate price during the hostilities.
Dad had received a number of wounds to his neck, chest, hip and leg during his campaigns. I remarked on the scars, on seeing some of them as he performed his ablutions. Dad never divulged how he received them or the length taken for injury to heal, just mentioning the countries where he was wounded, but I felt he had lost interest in the war.
After tea the following day, dad left again to join his Division. He returned to us upon his demobilization in 1946.
I well remember and we laugh at a photograph taken of dad on his return home wearing a brand new demob issue, double breasted, grey pinstriped suit. Also a grey trilby hat, black shoes and carrying an overcoat and a glossy brown cardboard suitcase.
Dad would shake his head in disbelief at the media reports of the Korea and Suez crisis. He died revealing little more than being present when Britain鈥檚 Prime Minister Winston Churchill, also General Bernard Montgomery, visited Britain鈥檚 Eighth Army in North Africa. Dad also watched as Pope Pius X11 give his blessing and spoke in seven languages from his throne at the Vatican city following the relief of Rome.
I now realise ex-servicemen such as my father, after six years of front line action wanted nothing more to do with militarism. Joining veterans鈥 links and regimental exhibitionists were unthinkable.
Whilst our yank friends savoured their meal, one enquired if I had a sister ? My positive answer encouraged him to ask what colour hair she had ?. His colleague explained that, Ginger was a 鈥 limey word for red-head.鈥 He then urged me to encourage my sister to meet him at the camp gate the following Saturday evening.. Unfortunately, my mother wouldn鈥檛 allow my younger sister to attend said rencontrer.
For the first month, the yanks were transported to and from work by coaches and large AAF lorries, later most would walk the distance, as had the RAF personnel.
We kids often chanted 鈥淕ot any gum chum ?鈥 when meeting the yanks and frequently received some. Once; a group of yanks walking through the park on its unpaved track, joined us as we kicked my birthday present, a leather football. Unfortunately they kicked the ball so hard it caused the casing to split, nevertheless we made our usual request, they jokingly countered with an offer of a Camel or Lucky Stripe (luckies) cigarette to compensate. I accepted a luckie and the proffered light, also the recommendation to inhale 鈥 blimey; didn鈥檛 I choke !
Fille de jole
From our home we would also observe the occasional yank and a female companion, scramble through the metal railings surrounding the forest and, make their way to one or the chestnut trees where they made mutual contact. Often in the late evenings, my mother would admonish and urge the lovers to move on as they argued loudly over payment of said coupling, performed against the fence surrounding our dwelling.
My sister and I would walk the three miles, (almost an hour ) stretch to our school and return, using the Sandy Lane route. We wouldn鈥檛 see any vehicles apart from that of the military. Occasionally a Jeep would screech to a halt alongside us, usually as we reached the bleakest one mile stretch between the Park and, the Gas-works walls. A yank would ask 鈥渨anner lift kids?鈥 and we would be lifted to sit behind the driver and his companion, often falling backwards into the seat, as the Jeep flew along the lane until we reached our destination minutes later, where we would be placed upon the path, with the obligatory stick of chewing gum.
Arrows
Upon my fathers demobilisation after the war, he returned to work as a foreman
boilermaker at the family firm based at Hounslow in Middlesex. He would fraternise with colleagues and play darts at a public house called the Station Hotel, adjacent to the local Hampton Wick railway station.
This pub being a mere 戮 mile from the Yank base, many would visit, but very few coloured yanks. African American and white yanks didn鈥檛 mix socially and this public house was considered white by the yanks. The Bridge Hotel a much larger building a short distance away and adjacent to Kingston Bridge were used by our black friends.
My father was an excellent dart player and were soon challenged by the yanks, one of whom, a Sergeant named Skrupe, joined the dart group and with my fathers help became the pub joint dart champion.
During and following WW2, foodstuff, especially those that I enjoyed, sweets, oranges of bananas were impossible to obtain, they being shipped to Britain from abroad with all the problem involved.
Vegetables also apples and onions grown locally in Britain were plentiful when in season. Eggs were difficult to obtain, therefore a egg powder in a box equal to 12 eggs, enough to last a person two months were issued, nice if you used it for cakes and scrambled egg, but useless if you wanted a boiled or fried egg.
Skrupe would often help by passing a packet of this egg powder to my father, the package bearing the stars and stripes. Skrupe also had access to rolling tobacco, I am sure father, who didn鈥檛 enjoy tailor made cigarettes, took advantage of this.
Occasionally I were allowed into the AAF camp for recreation purposes. There I met yank lads of my age who taught me to play baseball, basketball and yank football, (the latter more like British rugby union). I would swap my British comics for the US glossy ones. The yanks would often make me a gift of glass marbles, which I called alley-gobs. I was also able to take advantage of their cooked food at lunchtime, none of which were rationed.
Beautiful Assassin
I were aged 12 when walking with a friend past a house near to where I lived in Cedars road,. The house was hired by the AAF for an officer and his family. Here I were hit in my neck by an air-gun missile.
As my friend looked for the hooligan responsible, I sat on the kerb in pain whereupon a pair of airgun weapons commenced rapid fire from a gazebo in the garden 10 meters away. I and my mate sat out the madcap shooting, and were eventually approached by two teenage American girls. Allegedly they had been fired upon earlier and decided to return the favour.
We were invited to the gazebo that the girls had decorated into their den, complete with water, electricity, camping beds, bottled gas-cooker and racks for their ball-bearing under-leaver air-rifles.
Grace, at 15 years old removed the ball bearing from my neck, her sister Veronica aged 18 seemed strange, and man-mad. She had a collection of 鈥榗aptured鈥 male underclothing pinned to her section of the gazebo. She sequestrated a pair of my underpants within weeks of this meeting. The girls father were a yank colonel.
Grace and I soon became enamoured and, would regularly visit the three cinemas at Kingston-upon-Thames. We could walk the mile or so, but mostly I would use my bicycle and carry Grace upon the crossbar. Veronica called this my 鈥 passion wagon鈥. My friends said it were 鈥 Squeals on wheels鈥. The yank family eventually moved to Germany in 1950s.
What a find ?
One Sunday my friends and I found a dustbin size hole in the Bushy Park industrial camp wire fence, made ( we found out later ) by yanks and used as a short-cut to their living quarters camp. With no-one about, we entered the camp. In what was obviously a dump we found a quantity of cloudy circular glass objects we retrieved for use as marbles.
We entered a number of door - less empty disused huts. One, had a well used dartboard with two darts attached, we played upon this for a while. A lockless cabin type trunk were found in the corner and on opening we were astonished to find 27 sealed cardboard boxes, the labels advertised that they contained .303 mm bullets. There were also a tin containing twenty imitation bullets with brass shells and wooden bullets painted brown and the tips painted red.
This were manna to us kids. We wouldn鈥檛 touch the live cartridges for a while, but eventually removed three boxes concealing two of these in redundant solid fuel stove dumped adjacent to the camp wire. A share out of the remaining 303 bullets gave us enough to take home that evening.
At school the following morning we showed our school friends our booty, they were agog! Especially my bullets which were contained in its rifle munitions clip, looking quite deadly. I retained my bullets until Saturday, unlike others who sold theirs for 6d each, anticipating collecting more the following Sunday.
That Saturday evening I were visited by two English detectives. Apparently an adult had sequestrated his child鈥檚 munitions and tried to remove the explosive contents by cramping the cartridge in a vice and striking the explosive cap using a hammer and nail. The explosion blew off his forefinger resulting in visitation by the police.
Three of my friends were already sat in a green, four door police car and we were taken to collect the remaining munitions from our hiding place. We took the detectives through the camp wire to the hut where we discovered the munitions. These huts being without doors saved us from prosecution, we hadn鈥檛 broken and entered. On returning home, charges were apparently forgotten by the police, but not my parents.
Days later I saw the hole in the camp wire were mended and the dumping site cleared. Presumably a few yanks were upset at the extra half mile treck involved now that the wire had been repaired ?
Lucky for some
During 1946/7 Dad won a pig, a duck and, ten pullets (baby chickens) In pub raffles. During the war most roads had a dustbin situated midway where foodstuff 鈥 leftover meals, vegetable scrapings, stale bread etc were deposited and collected weekly, the contents used as pig (food) swill.
It were illegal to own unregistered livestock, I assume our pig were registered as it lived in our orchard garden (as did the chickens ) until it became adult and were killed and butchered The neighbourhood butcher and some people in our area feasted on pork and unsmoked bacon for a while thereafter.
Four of the pullets lived and supplied us with eggs and future Xmas dinners. I became fond of Donald, the name I gave to the duck, which I treated much as a pet and spoke with it before and after school. Donald was kept in a large basket for a few weeks until my uncle killed it for a meal. My sister and I were aghast when we returned home from school to find the cage empty. We refused the meat, pushing it to the edge of our plates, even though dad told us in no uncertain terms to eat it. Dad had duck sandwiches at work for at least a week following this incident.
Information
In 1942 there were no television or mobile telephones in Britain, News were gleaned by radio from the 大象传媒 situated at Broadcasting House in the West End of London, or the Cinema, who put out short news programmes. It seems Mrs Lilley 鈥 white, learnt of London children in danger of annihilation by German bombers and were being evacuated that day to Batley, from a clippie (who collected travel fares upon the bus). Mrs Lilley witnessed children being led from and, decided to see what was happening within the Hall. The rest of course is history.
Adoption.
Later at my 21st Birthday party, I learned that Mrs Lilley 鈥 White ( my surrogate mothers full name) had taken me to Blackpool, out of range of the German Flying bombs. My mother supposed it were to avoid returning me to her..
Apparently, Mrs Lilley 鈥 White, wished to adopt me and was prepared to marry Arthur the butcher to comply with adoption rules. Mother wouldn鈥檛 agree to this and, I never saw Mrs Lilley - White again.
I understand Mrs Lilley - White sent me greeting cards and 拢1 postal order gifts, at Xmas and my birthday, this ceasing when my father arrived home from the war and wrote requesting Mrs Lilley 鈥 White, desist in this practice.
During my teens I visited the area Martin and Peter Wheeler, my evacuee friends on the bus-ride, had written on the piece of paper I had retained. The area now had high-rise flats built upon it. During lunch nearby, I remarked of the landscaping etc. An elderly couple advised me the children I were looking for, had returned to Plumstead within weeks of being evacuated, but lightning had struck twice on this occasion, for the family had been killed during the V1 or V2 rocket bombing in 1944.
Both my parents are deceased and as I peruse their documentation of WW2 my memory becomes clearer. Unfortunately I鈥檝e been powerless to contact Mrs Lilley 鈥 White as her address were lost or destroyed.
In conclusion
The original theory of evacuation didn鈥檛 help my Mother or sister who put up with a woeful, zero tolerance of evacuees from their Welsh hosts. I on the other hand enjoyed my time throughout the war. Albeit being brought up in a one-parent family, bonding with my mother until 1942 and then with my surrogate mother until 1945. My relocation proved the governmental theory on evacuation, fait accompli.
Fortunately; I am blissfully married, blessed with two female children both happily married. I also have two grandchildren, the eldest an attractive teenager. Therefore the war and its consequences caused me few lingering problems
With fewer child evacuees of WW 2 living, I hope others will record their facts, thereby enabling thinking people perusing said documentation, note the sacrifices and joys endured during WW2 ?
I sincerely wish Ms/Mrs Lilley 鈥 White, this lovely lady, everything she would wish for herself, and I am grateful for the unconditional love, and nurturing she endowed me with, as if I were her son. I will never forget her kindness and, I retain a picture of her in my minds eye that never matures.
Fraternally
J.P.Thornton ID 785835
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