大象传媒

I was 6 when war was declared in September 1939 - had been at primary school for about six months; school was about three-quarters of a mile away, and I walked there with my older brother, who was forever teasing me. We lived between Dartford and Longfield in Kent, and the ridge going along the valley was a flight path for bombers intent on destroying London.

Not long after the beginning of the war, air-raid shelter drill became part of every school day. This involved being marched, class by class, into a reinforced, brick-built shelter with no windows and just rows of forms for us to sit on inside. I can remember the smell of it to this day - damp and musty; it was also cold and dark but we were told that in the event of an air-raid, lessons would continue in that place as normal, by candlelight, until the all-clear was sounded. As things hotted up, we spent many hours in that place and to this day I suffer from claustrophobia.

We also had Andersen shelters at home - ours was at the top of the garden. It was furnished with four bunk beds - just frames with thin metal slats forming the base; when the siren went, at first we would grab our blankets and warm clothing, a kettle of water and whatever there was available to eat, and run. A primus stove and candles were left in the shelter, but matches had to be taken indoors because everything was so damp up there. After several false alarms our mum and dad decided to wait until we heard aircraft coming before going to the shelter, and this way we managed quite a few nights in our own beds! I can just remember standing outside the shelter on a moonlit night with my dad, watching the bombers going over towards London; little bursts of gunfire could be heard, and puffs of smoke could be seen in the moonlight - I can't remember being frightened, but that could have been because my dad was there. He was in the Home Guard, which seemed to involve going out on patrol most nights of the week, and getting home just after the pubs closed; twice a week, however, he was out all night. I learned later that the all night sessions were patrols, and the other nights were an excuse to be with his mates, when they would have a natter, a beer or two, and clean their rifles!

When there was a raid, for us children it was exciting to watch the 'dog-fights' overhead and cheer if we saw a Messerschmitt go down with smoke streaming from it's tail - I can't remember seeing a spitfire go down, but suppose I must have done. However, it wasn't long before we were hustled into the shelter. The boys at school would draw pictures of the dog-fights along the pavement on the way to school - some of them were quite artistic; however, our headmaster was a pro-Nazi who was always telling us that Hitler would win the war and then we would all have to watch out as we would all be punished. He even made some of the boys go along the road and wash off the chalk drawings. He remained at the school for quite a while, but eventually some parents reported him and suddenly we had a new head teacher. Never did know quite what happened to him, but rumour had it that he went to prison for a long time. The raids were quite bad in our area and I can remember waking up one morning and being told that a friend had been killed when a shell went through the roof of their house and into her bedroom - the whole school went to her funeral. Gaps would appear in rows of houses from day to day with piles of rubble there instead., and survivors would be evacuated to other areas.

When I was nine, in 1942, my older brother was evacuated to a farm in Devon and my parents decided to send me to my Grandparents in Nottingham until the end of the war; my baby brother stayed at home. This meant a new school for me which was very hard as I was quite shy, but it was nice not to have the air-raids. However, not long after I arrived Nottingham was bombed, so it was the shelter again for a few weeks. I spent two years there, returning home just before VE Day; a new school again, as by now I was too old for primary school. I can't remember there being a party to celebrate VE-Day, but suppose there must have been; I wasn't a very good mixer at that time, so probably wouldn't go if there was one. Later on in the year, however, I joined a local concert party run by a neighbour; my dad played the piano for us, my brother sang and we gathered talent from the village, all of us in the 11 - 14 age group; we had a great time entertaining in local village halls and I think this helped us to forget the horrors of the war.

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