大象传媒

MY MEMORIES OF WARTIME YEARS
CHAPTER 2

The weather in late August /early September was particularly fine, with blue skies, lots of sunshine and very good visibility, This meant that I was outdoors as much as possible-making the best of the opportunities on hand! One day, when I was out skating in a side street of Tredegar Road, I began to hear the faint sounds of what I initially believed to be from a large from a large number of racing cars with their fast-revving engines making sounds which varied from a low level drone up to a high -pitched roar. The sounds then began to get less faint, allowing me to identify the direction from which they were coming.

To my surprise I realised that they were coming from the sky. I then looked up, and in the brilliant daylight I could clearly see that the sky in the south east was full of aircraft vapour - trails; twisting and turning in circles of ever-changing diameters as they intertwined with straight and curved streaks of vapour; criss-crossing in all directions.

In the calm skies, there were vapour trails which appeared to be almost stationary, also other trails which were continually being generated by the planes as they flew around, in what was clearly a large aerial combat, or 鈥� dog -fight鈥�. Due to the distance between myself and the dog-fight it was not possible for me to see the aircraft directly, but it was, nevertheless, possible to catch the sharp glint of their reflections in the sky when the sun shone upon them, as they turned, twisted, dived and climbed though the skies Once again, I was surprised to find that I could hear so distinctly the rapid 鈥渞at-tat-tat-tat-tat鈥� of the combatant鈥檚 machine guns, from such a distance.

I stood there; as if mesmerised, for what seemed an age, although it was probably only a couple of minutes. Eventually it dawned on me that there was the distinct possibility that this conflict could soon move in my direction. I also realised that I was completely on my own, and so I quickly sought the safety of our house! My final memory of the conflict, as I went indoors, was that of the sun shining on a white parachute swinging gently to-and-fro in the midst of the jungle of vapour -trails, as it descended slowly in the sky toward the earth. I remember thinking at that moment --鈥� I wonder if it鈥檚 one of ours鈥�?

Little did I know it at the time, but that day was the very beginning of the Luftwaffe onslaught on London. In fact the bombers began their attacks just a day or two after I had witnessed the 鈥渄og fight鈥�.

They initially began with both daylight and night raids on the 7th of September. For the first few nights we took to the Anderson shelter in the back garden, but we felt we were very exposed to the frightening noises of the bombers overhead, the bombs raining down, and the anti-aircraft guns. Quite frankly we were terrified, and so for next week or so we looked for other indoor shelter.

We first of all tried the nearby local factory storage depot - before it occurred to us that this was not exactly without risk of being a preferred target of the bombers itself !

And so the next choice was the public library in Roman Road, about 400 yards away, and although this was a much stronger building, it was quite clear that it would not provide a realistic shelter from the size of bombs that we were now facing each day and night.

Sadly, it was whilst we were on our way home at 6am from our second night from the library, after the 鈥淎ll Clear 鈥� had sounded, that we noticed what we initially thought, in the dim dawn light, to be a bundle of clothing lying on the pavement , but which proved, upon closer inspection, to bet the bodies of a man and a boy, huddled together against the corner of a wall. Since there was no damage to buildings in the immediate vicinity, it seemed likely that they had been blown from a bomb explosion some distance away.

This was the first time we had seen dead people and, shocked by the sight, it brought us closer to the reality of the dangers we were now facing, and led to Dad and Mum making the decision to find a safer and deeper form of shelter; one in which the bombs could not harm us --- the Underground Railway Station.

So began a lifestyle which was to last many months, during which our days and nights were to revolve around the needs to travel between home and Liverpool Street Underground Station.

Our choice of shelter was determined by the needs of the time taken to travel from our schools, and the times taken for Mum and Dad to get from their places of work, taking into account the various distances involved. This favoured Liverpool Street, as there were good bus services near to home and, notably, a good steam train service from Coborn Road station, close to Tredegar road where we lived.

For both Bill and myself, the typical evening ritual would begin when we returned from school at about 5pm, to a meal prepared and left to us by Mum before she left in the morning for work. Following which we would then pick up our bundles of pillows, blankets and a small case in which we kept our toiletries, etc., and then set out on the walk to the railway station.
In those days it was quite normal for trains to run on time, [even in wartime] which was a bit of a blessing, since it was imperative that we arrived at Liverpool Street in good time to join the queue to enter the Underground, which was usually about 6 .30 to 7pm, when the City rush hour was easing, and around the time of the first air raid warning.[ Bill and I spent many a train journey to Liverpool street whilst the raids were on, urging the train to get a move on !].

Having been allowed to go down to platforms of the Central Line, we would find a place and reserve it for the four of us by laying a blanket to define our territory! Mum and Dad would then join us after they had left work and had snatched a quick meal at home. They would then get a bus from Old Ford to Bishopsgate - a 20 minute journey -close by to Liverpool Street. By the time they arrived, the platforms were completely full with shelter people occupying two thirds of the platform space, even though the trains were still running and travellers getting on and off. I鈥檓 afraid there was rather little room for the passengers to get past us.

As the time passed, the people settled down and to socialise, generally with their immediate neighbours,---in fact we became quite friendly with one family and began to look out for them and save their place in the queue or on the platform.

This arrangement of our evening and nightly living underground was to continue for some months, and although it was very difficult to manage to live a normal a life during the day, we were at least safe in the knowledge that unless something exceptionally unusual was to happen, we were secure and could sleep peacefully at night. [although it took some time to get
used to trains passing a few feet away from ones head!]

Whilst it is not possible, nor practical, to try to give a detailed account of those months in the Underground , it is, nevertheless, worth describing in some detail a few of the unusual events that occurred :during that period.

The first of these events occurred late one night when we were asleep, when we were suddenly awakened by a loud muffled 鈥渂oom!鈥�, followed by a rush of air through the tunnel coming from the direction of the City. Shortly afterward there was a call on the 鈥淭annoy鈥� radio system for men to volunteer to walk through the tunnel in the direction of the Bank station , the next one further down the Central Line, as an incident had occurred which required their urgent assistance.
Dad joined the group of the volunteers, which comprised of most men from those who were sheltering. Those of us who were left behind on the platform watched with some trepidation as they disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, which had, by that time, had its main power supplies to the rails disconnected, with only the emergency lighting on.

It was some time after, in the early hours; before they returned, looking exhausted and haggard. Dad told us that they had walked down the line for half a mile or so until they reached the back end of a train, which had stopped half way into the station They then entered the train and walked through the carriages until they reached the front section, which projected into the platform, where they were then greeted with a scene of chaos and devastation.

Most of the few people in the train were either dead or seriously wounded, and as they made their way to the platform they were met with a similar, but worse, situation.

It transpired that a bomb had fallen very close to the entry to the station concourse, and the effect of this had been to transfer much of the massive blast down the escalator shafts and directly into the platform areas where, sadly, it caused a considerable number of casualties among the people sheltering there.

Dad told us later that, as the first people to arrive on the scene, it was only possible for them to carry out limited assistance, such as stretcher bearing to help the medical people as they gradually arrived on the scene, or to offer comfort to the wounded. Dad was obviously badly shaken. He also told us that the strangest thing about the incident was that there was little signs of physical damage to either the building or to the persons killed or wounded, due, no doubt, to the fact that it was due to blast alone.

The second, and most serious, event in terms of its effect upon the City, which included ourselves as a family, occurred on the night of 29th of December 1940. The morning really started off quite cheerfully, because it was Mum鈥檚 birthday! So with birthday cards all round at breakfast, we went off to our respective daytime destinations feeling that perhaps we might have a nicer day; with the prospect of a special snack as a treat when we all met at Liverpool Street in the evening! This turned out to be as we had hoped, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening before settling down to sleep at about 10pm.

But it wasn鈥檛 to last very long. News began to arrive from ground level that there was a very bad raid developing in the City, which included ourselves, Liverpool Street Station. This was confirmed as the night drew on by the smell of smoke drawn down to our platforms via the escalator shafts, together with the appearance at intervals throughout the night of exhausted, soot--covered, firewatchers who were fighting fires on the station roof throughout the night, trying to deal with the incendiary bombs which were raining down.

Eventually the long night ended, and we emerged at the surface at 6 am, having walked up the escalator stairs. We then broke away from our usual route out of the station and went to the exit on the west side, and there we gazed in absolute amazement at the sight which met us.
Looking further west, we cold see that the entire sky was the most brilliant red, its glow even penetrating through the dense haze of acrid smoke which filled the air. A network of fire hoses lay strewn around, criss- crossing the water--soaked roads, between the burnt out shells of smouldering buildings. But, amazingly, dominating everything else on the skyline, we could see the huge silhouette of St. Paul鈥檚 Cathedral.----Miraculously it had survived the massive overnight blitz.!

What a breathtaking and unforgettable sight! If, in our darkest of hours, we needed something to raise our flagging spirits----- This was it!

We then continued our normal journey back to home by catching the train to Coborn Road station. As we left the station, we were told by the ticket collector that the Territorial Army Drill Hall in Tredegar Road had been hit by a parachute mine during the air raid and that a number of nearby houses had also been severely damaged. Knowing that we lived quite close to the Hall, it was with some trepidation that we hurried up the road, only to find that the worst had happened, and that our house had been seriously damaged in the blast, to such an extent that it was declared uninhabitable. The windows, doors, roof tiles and ceilings were either missing or had been damaged beyond repair, and cracks found in parts of the walls.

This meant that we would not be able to go into the house, until it had been subject to a structural inspection, other than to immediately gather whatever salvageable clothes we could carry away, preparatory to being taken to a Rest Home; a temporary place of residence for families or persons from bombed homes. [These were, generally, schools which had been left empty as a result of evacuation of children a few months earlier.]
And so we were to end Mum鈥檚 birthday, on a cold December 鈥漨orning after鈥�, sitting on a few piles of rescued clothes, and with such small items of value as we could carry, awaiting the arrival of a van or lorry to take us into to yet another unknown.

The first of these Homes turned out to be a really temporary one--- so much so that we didn鈥檛 even stay long enough to get to know its name, or where it was! The reason for this situation ? We had to make a hurried evacuation, in the middle of our first night, when it was set on fire by incendiary bombs.

However, our second Home turned out to be one that was nearer the Tredegar Road area, with which we were more familiar; Attlee Road School and it was here that we spent a couple of months whilst we awaited the offer of another house, or until Mum and Dad could find one for themselves.
It was also here, a few days after our arrival, that we were to discover that our house had been looted, and, most distressingly for Dad, that his large toolbox, containing his collection of tools built up during many years of work, had been stolen. This was our bleakest hour.

Unfortunately, the Rest Home was just that too far from Liverpool Street Underground Station for us to be able to continue to use it as a night time shelter . Therefore we were obliged to stay in the Home, and this placed us at considerable risk, as we were shortly to discover.

The nightly air raids continued regularly throughout the early months of 1941, thankfully with no real impact upon life at the Rest Home----that is until one night in March, when the playground received a direct hit from a high explosive bomb, leaving a large crater just 40 yards from the main school building in which we were sheltering.

At the time the bomb fell, Mum, Bill and myself were asleep on the floor in one of the classrooms, when we were we were awakened by the loudest sounds that I had ever heard--not unlike that of train blowing off steam just feet away! The next thing I can remember was Mum instinctively throwing herself upon Bill and myself to shield us from the falling bomb followed by the ear-splitting, blast of the explosion. Fortunately for us, the classroom we were in was in the centre of the building, so giving the three of us good protection; the old Victorian school standing in good testimony to their high standards of brickwork construction.

Things were not so good for Dad, however who had been outside the building fire- watching on a stairway which gave access to the main hall of the building. Although not in the direct line of the blast, he was nevertheless blown through the access double doors and then across the hall.
Whilst not seriously hurt, he was nevertheless badly bruised and mentally shaken, something from which, added to the accumulation of shocks he had recently endured, he never really recovered. [In wartime, compensation for injuries was never paid unless the injuries were physical and could be seen. Not so if they were less obvious, such as mental or brain damage.]

The result of that particular incident was, however, to have a profound effect upon the lives of us children, since our parents then decided that we had flirted with danger too many times since we returned from Banbury; and so, since there seemed to be no apparent sign of an ending of the blitz, we should be evacuated again!

But this time to Kings Lynn, Norfolk.

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