大象传媒

MY MEMORIES OF WARTIME YEARS
CHAPTER 3

And so it was that early in April 1944 we arrived at the door of number 39 Loke Road, the home of Mr and Mrs Chase, a very welcoming middle-aged couple living in a terraced house in an old part of the town, close to the fishing port known locally as 鈥淭he Fleet.鈥� This was the home of the town鈥檚 shrimp, cockle and winkle boats, and it soon became one of our favourite places in the summertime in which to spend our free time.

We loved to watch the boats coming in on the rising tide from their day鈥檚 work in the Wash. It was also nice to smell the salty flavour of the cooking of their shrimps [in sea water] as they entered the narrow inlet to the port. I also loved swimming in the evenings after a warm day.

Mr and Mrs Chase made us very welcome to their home and we were extremely happy during the two years we lived with them. Likewise, we were much happier with our school [the fifth Secondary school in nineteen months]. Altogether we had the longest, most stable period we could remember during the war. We were therefore able to make up for much of the fragmented schooling we had lost since leaving Bow Central School in September 1939.

What we appreciated particularly during our time in Kings Lynn was the peace and quiet. To all intents and purposes the war did not exist, except for the occasional 鈥� rogue鈥� enemy aircraft. Up in the air, however, it was a different matter, because it was the beginning of the RAF bomber raids on the Continent, and they could be heard going over the coast [where we were located] during the nights.

However, our stay in Kings Lynn eventually drew to an end in July of 1943. By then the air raids on London had all but ceased, and many evacuees had returned home. Also, people began to think that the possibility of a renewal of the Luftwaffe attacks was very unlikely. and since we had been away, Mum and Dad and had rented a terrace house in Kenilworth Road, just off the Roman Road, where they had begun to recover from their trauma of the blitz.

So once again we had returned to London, and once again, Bill and I had to endure the problems of starting at new schools, for the sixth time!

This time, for me it was Morpeth Street Central school in Bethnal Green. However, for whatever reason [most probably because I was now becoming quite experienced in changing schools!], I found the problems of integrating and settling - in with new pupils and teachers to be far less demanding than previously.

My progress was therefore much quicker than with the previous five schools; so much so that my rate of improvement was rapid enough to lead me to the position of head boy within a year. To be honest, I am not at all certain as to whether this was the result of my efforts, or perhaps because of the level of available talent in that war-ravaged school in 1943!

Either way, I became very much involved in a particular project which concerned our ideas for the possible rebuilding and regeneration of Bethnal Green after the war. This led to a collaboration of a number of like-minded pupils, including myself and Ron Conners [ who be came a great friend], and Mr Leslie Cope, who was an enthusiastic and friendly guide and teacher.

The project became something of a defining element in my selection of a possible career, and led , in the summer, to a broadcast on 大象传媒 wireless [radio in today鈥檚 parlance] in an interview with a Miss Terri Gompertz at their Oxford Street studio, and to an invitation to visit the Institute of British Architects main office in London order to get an impression of their career possibilities.

Nothing became of either: Why, I can鈥檛 remember, but possibly because I didn鈥檛 find the prospect of spending even yet more time in education too appealing or, more likely, they didn鈥檛 find me too appealing either!

The summer and autumn of 1943 also saw a period of relative calm in regard to air raids, leading to a modest increase in people鈥檚 expectations concerning the progress of the war, and for them to go out more often, for example, to go to 鈥渢he pictures鈥�, the most popular form of mass entertainment of the day鈥�. Therefore it was nothing unusual when, early one evening, the family decided, on the spur of the moment, that we should go to a cinema in Roman Road, located within a reasonable walking distance from home.

We arrived and settled our seats, and were about half way through the film when a notice appeared on the screen advising the audience that there was now an air raid in progress. We left the cinema immediately, and quickly decided that the best option to take, in order to get to the nearest shelter, was to go to the large deep shelter located at the intersection of Roman Road, Cambridge Heath Road and Bethnal Green Road. This shelter was in fact, a partly-constructed extension of the Central Line Tube between the existing stations of Mile End and Liverpool Street.

When we arrived at the shelter, we immediately saw that a crowd had arrived and was rapidly building up into a sizeable but orderly queue at the wide entrance. We then also joined the queue which was moving quite quickly into the shelter. But then, as we moved among the crowd it all changed! This happened when a salvo of anti-aircraft rockets was suddenly fired into the air, from a battery of mobile rocket launching trucks located upon the railway bridge which crosses over the Bethnal Green Road, just 200 yards away. Not only was the sound ear- piercingly loud, it was both unusual and indistinguishable from the sound of falling bombs. The effect upon the crowd, not only upon those in the growing queue outside, [which we were by now a part of] but also upon those already inside the shelter entry tunnel, was to cause an immediate and terrifying state of panic to build up, with a massive surge forward from those people in the rear of the outside queue.

We were being pushed from behind, and then found ourselves being separated and funnelled into the heaving mass of people. From my viewpoint I could see Dad and Bill but not Mum. It was almost too late think of anything other than of how to turn back. And to get out quickly. Instinct, and, I suppose, a sense of self-preservation was responsible for getting Dad, Bill and myself out in a matter of 10 to15 seconds as a guess. But not Mum, The next thing I remember was Dad forcing his way back into the throng, then just grabbing Mum by her clothes and dragging her out!

I cannot believe; even now, how we all managed to get out, considering that we were swept in, and escaped out, in less than a minute.

Only God knows.

Badly shaken and exhausted, we sat on the wall of the church on the opposite corner of the road to recover, and to watch the horrendous drama as it unfolded before our eyes into one of the most serious of civilian incidents of the war, in which over three hundred men, women and children were crushed, suffocated or buried underfoot. It took many hours, it transpired, before all the victims were removed from inside the shelter; but we left the scene as soon we felt able to, and went sadly home.

As far as the causes of the incident were concerned, it was soon established that whereas the initial firing of the rockets contributed largely to the panic amongst the crowd, by far the major cause of the large number of deaths was the fact that whilst the outer doors of the shelter were open, the large steel bombproof inner doors were closed! It was a very solemn ending to an evening which started out with such good intent.

The remaining months of 1943, and those of the first six months of 1944 were relatively quiet ones, with a decrease in the number air raids as the months progressed. On the family front, however, there was a move of house from Kenilworth Road to Medhurst Road, off of Grove Road, a quarter of a mile away. In fact the house was a very familiar one to the Morley family, having been rented continuously by the family for about 70 years. It so happened that it was available, due to the demise of the last member of the live-in family.

It was also the time for me to leave school and to find myself a job, and after one aborted attempt [I would have spent all my wages on travelling]. I managed to get a junior tea boy/filing clerk/print assistant/sometime-in-the-future draughtsman in a civil engineering company in the City of London, by the name of Balfour, Beatty. Life then settled down a to a familiar routine in the new house, particularly since Bill and I had known most of the people in Medhurst Road for many years and old places and associations were quick to be renewed. However, there were things on the horizon about to change all this ---- the V1. Hitler鈥檚 Secret Weapon No1.

One of the most significant advantages gained from our latest move of house was that we had immediate access to two air raid shelters; the first one a steel Morrison in the cellar inside in the house, and the other, a brick one, literally on the road outside our front door.
The latter of the two was for the use of any of the residents, which gave us, in the event of a raid, the opportunity of a getting up to date with the latest gossip etc.

One such opportunity came to us at about 4am one night in mid-June, when the air raid siren aroused us. Since we had not had a recent raid, we went into the brick shelter, knowing that we would have company. We chatted away, rather apprehensively, whilst also listening for the unmistakeable undulating sound of the diesel- engined German bomber.

It was not too long before someone said 鈥渂e quiet, listen鈥�. True enough, we had picked up the faint sound of an aircraft----but it wasn鈥檛 the sound we somehow expected. We knew it wasn鈥檛 a diesel, because it had a constant, harsh, roaring tone. However, we were getting far more concerned with the fact that the approaching aircraft was getting nearer every minute Very close, indeed! Quite suddenly, the engine stopped! No anti-aircraft guns had been firing at the time, and as a consequence the silence seemed both eerie and never-ending. Then suddenly there came a very loud explosion--so loud that it was clearly not very far from us.

Having thankfully survived the incident, the talk in the shelter immediately turned to what had happened to the disappearing German aircraft!. The general assumption was that it must have crashed nearby, a not-too-unpleasant an assumption from those of you who had been on the receiving end of their visitations in the past years! In fact, it seemed to me it was worthwhile going outside to take a look around, particularly since the 鈥淎ll Clear鈥� had sounded almost immediately after the explosion. So it was that I joined a few others, also coming out of their houses as we hurried to the top of Medhurst Road, and turned left into Grove Road where, 200 yards along the road, the most amazing sight lay ahead of us.

The crash site was right alongside the railway bridge where it crossed Grove Road, the destruction seemingly resulting from a direct hit upon the adjacent house. There also appeared to be a structure, resembling part of an aircraft fuselage, lying across the bridge. This seemed to confirm our thoughts concerning a possible aircraft, which were given further, but highly dubious, credence when wet me a person who claimed that he had arrested the pilot鈥�!!
Eventually, of course, it turned out to be the first of many thousands of the so-called 鈥淒oodlebug鈥漵 [ Hitler鈥檚 secret weapon No.1] to hit London during the remaining months of 1944 and early 1945.

I can particularly recall three incidents in which I was directly involved. The first was one that happened in Victoria Park, which, at that time, was almost completely turned in one huge allotment as part of the nationwide effort to become largely self- sufficient in garden vegetables. Wishing to play our part, Ron Connors and myself had taken a plot in the very middle of a large field, by the side of a canal.

One afternoon, as the weather was fine, we were at the allotment busying ourselves, when the air raid siren sounded. Knowing how fast the doodlebugs are we had to make a swift decision ----should we stay put in the middle of the field, or try to hotfoot it to the nearest shelter, wherever that was !

As we had feared, our minds were made up for us by the dreaded sound of the bug! We were staying! And hoping that it would pass us by! In the event, and as bad luck often seemed to happen with V1鈥檚, it continued to get nearer- and yet nearer- until it appeared within eyesight ----coming directly for us! Not only that, but it started to make a shallow, left-banking dive -- with its power still full on!

We were absolutely terrified -----but could do nothing. I remember actually tying to scrape a hole in the ground with my bare hands as it passed no more than 30 feet above our heads., making an earth-shattering noise as it did so. Still under power, it continued out of sight into trees by the side of the canal, and exploded a few seconds later, showering us with earth, small pieces timber and hundreds of leaves. It took us a long time to make tracks out of the field and return to our homes.

We found out the next day, as reported in the Evening News, that the bug did, in fact strike the canal. The only casualty, sadly, was a small boy, killed whilst fishing on the bank of the canal.

The second incident was similar in many respects to the first, except that the
location was the City of London, and I was on my way to work; in fact I was within a few minutes of arriving there. Once again, the siren had sounded and I was hurrying to get to work before the V1 got to me!. I was aware that it was in the vicinity; because of the loud sound, which was getting much louder by the second. Then, just as I was within a few yards of the main entrance door of my office in Queen Street, I looked along Cloak Lane, towards Cannon Street Station, just in time to get a fleeting glimpse of a doodlebug diving straight onto the vaulted roof of the station.

From then on, for the next split second, I stood literally transfixed from fear, in the middle of the road, as I watched, very clearly, the doodlebug disappearing into the station roof.------And then a large hand grabbed me by my coat shoulder and ---wooosh---I was dragged inside the building by the largest Doorman you could meet, just as the doodlebug exploded 鈥淵ou left that a bit late, son鈥� he said, as the blast whistled in through the door behind e.! 鈥淭oo true鈥� I replied, "I鈥檒l run faster another time鈥�.

The year 1945 brought with it the second of the German secret weapons; the V2 rocket, to add to the doodlebug attacks; and this just at a time when the war-weary people of London鈥榮 East End were beginning to look at the successful prosecution by the Allied Forces of the war in Europe as the beginning of the end of the long years of attacks from the air.

This was a completely different kind of weapon from the V1. First of all. It gave no warning before striking its target, No sight and no sound. Secondly. There was one hell of a noise immediately after its arrival, since its approach was faster than the speed of sound. Thirdly. Its penetration of the target was greater, and more concentrated.

Fortunately, we only experienced one rocket locally, about a third of a mile away, with no damage to us.

For me, however, this was a defining year, since it was my eighteenth year - and therefore the time for my notification in September of my call-up in March of 1946 However I had been preparing for this situation for some time, and effectively pre-empted it by joining Poplar Squadron of the Air Training Corp in 1944 and, further, by volunteering in June of 1945, [at seventeen and tree months] for aircrew in the RAF. After acceptance, I subsequently joined in January. 1946, became aircrew sergeant at the age of nineteen and one month and eventually joined, along with the other six members of our crew, Number Nine Squadron of Number One Group ,Bomber Command, early in June of 1948.

I did not see service in the war, but I frankly admit that the intended purpose behind my plans was simply one of revenge. I am fortunate indeed that I was not put to the test.

Finally, I am dedicating these memories of my journey through the war to my friend, Ron Connors, who was killed, along with Mr. Leslie Cope, in 1944.

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