大象传媒

I was born at 22 Musgrave Road, Birmingham on 17th February 1933. Shortly after that my parents moved to Yoxall Road in Shirley and it was there that I have my earliest memories. I was six when the war started and one of my first recollections was that my school, Sharmans's Cross Infant School, was closed and classes were held in the homes of volunteer parents. Apparently the feeling was that if a bomb fell on a school lots of children would be killed, whereas if one of the house groups was bombed only one class would be lost. In fact the scheme proved unworkable and after a short while we resumed normal school.

Although we were young we all took a great interest in the war and even now, after all these years, I can still recall the names of all the ships involved in the Royal Navy action with the German battleship, the Graf Spee, which became known as the Battle of the River Plate. One local involvement with the war was the erection of a barrage balloon site on some ground near our house in Radbourne Road (where the Solihull Sixth Form College now stands). We would often stand and watch as the huge balloon was raised or lowered. The balloons were there to dissuade enemy aircraft from approaching Birmingham.

One day a fellow pupil told us that if a bomb dropped in Birmingham we would all be killed. This worried me and when I got home I told my mother. She assured me it was rubbish and not to believe a word. At school the following day I announced my mother's verdict. However, the originator of the story said that his father had told him and this meant that he was believed rather than me, since it was well known that fathers rate higher than mothers. Only when my mother arranged for my father to confirm her opinion were my worries assuaged.

In 1940 my life fell apart. A few weeks after my seventh birthday my mother died. My father was by then serving in the Royal Air Force and I was on my own. Well, not quite; my grandparents took charge of me and I came to live in 22 Musgrave Road in Winson Green in Birmingham. My new school was Benson Road Infants and Junior School and I quickly settled in.

The school had adopted a naval minesweeper and we used to make and collect things for the crew. The girls knitted woollen squares and then the teachers would sew them together to make blankets. On one occasion some of the crew came to school and told us about their work and thanked us. We cheered until the rafters rang.

On occasion our teacher would shout "Gas, Gas." Then we would grab our gas mask, which we always had to have with us, and put it on. When the teacher had her mask on she would come round and check each one of us to make sure we had fitted it correctly. We children had our own way of checking. We knew that if you took a deep breath and expelled if forcefully it made a raspberry sound. As the teacher moved around the class she was surrounded by a cacophony of rude noises.

From time to time I see items on television or in the newspapers about the rations we had to survive on during the war. What they say is true, but it gives a false impression. I was never hungry during the war. Bread and potatoes were never rationed, nor were many other foods. Lots of things we rarely eat now were consumed during the war. We were often able to buy a rabbit and this made a delicious meal. In today's world people sometimes complain about the flocks of pigeons in town centres. During the war we ate them. The meat is dark and strong, but two pigeons would feed the three of us. Then again, parts of animals which today finish up as cat food we would eat; brains, sweetmeats, fish roe etc.

One rare commodity was bananas. Occasionally some would appear in a shop and the word would spread like wildfire. In no time a queue would form. There would be a notice in the shop window "Green Ration Books Only". Children had green ration books. Adults' books were buff coloured. It was normal to reserve bananas for children.

As the year unfolded we continued to follow the war. Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain and the London Blitz were all explained and discussed in class. Then the bombing started in Birmingham. Now it was no longer discussion; it was for real. When the sirens sounded my grandparents would come to my bedroom, wrap me in a blanket, and we would go and sit on the stairs. Some people had an 'Anderson Shelter' sunk into their garden, but we didn't have one and despite my Gran's frequent requests were unable to obtain one. The stairs, situated between internal walls, were chosen because my grandparents had heard that if a house were demolished by a bomb these walls were often left standing and we would be less likely to be buried in the rubble.

Usually we were joined by Mrs Beech who lived next door. She had two sons who were younger than me. Mr Beech was away serving in the army and she was frightened of being on her own. Whatever the feelings of the adults, we children weren't frightened at all. It seemed like a great adventure

On one occasion Mr Beech was on leave and sat with us during a raid. He explained the different sounds made by gunfire and bombs. Anti Aircraft guns (ack ack) were sharp bangs followed by a distant echo. Bombs were dropped in sticks, that is a series of six or so in a line. These made a low loud 'crump' sound. If they were close to you it was possible to hear a whistling sound as they descended. He also told us about the German bombers and the different sounds they made. There were three types of bomber, the Dornier, the Junkers and the Heinkel. The Dornier had a distinctive low 'rumm rumm' sound. The other two were harder to recognise and at this distance in time I can no longer recall them.

Fortunately most bombs fell some distance from us. The nearest was the night the 'Tizer' works was destroyed. Tizer was a popular soft drink and the factory where it was made was only about a quarter of a mile from us. We certainly heard the whistle when that lot fell. It sounded as if they had dropped in our garden and the whole house shook. When the raid was over we went into the garden and we could see the flames rising behind the houses. Another night I recall was when Coventry was bombed. Our sirens sounded, although we had no bombs ourselves, and when the 'All Clear' sounded we were able to see the glow in the sky. Some of the casualties were taken to Dudley Road hospital which was not far from us.

Apart from the raids themselves there was the aftermath. The following morning we would search for shrapnel. These were the fragments of metal formed when the ack ack shells exploded and then fell to earth. I only ever found two or three, but some children had big collections. A particular event I remember was the aerial mine. Apparently word had got back to the Germans that the British population was carrying on as normal following a raid and so they introduced aerial mines to extend the disruption. These were bombs with a time delay so that they would not explode for some time after being dropped. To slow its fall it had a drogue, like a small parachute, attached.

The morning following a raid I was sent to the shops on the 'Flats'. This was a small shopping centre about a mile away. There was a bakery on a corner at the end of Lodge Road and a hill led down from there to the Flats. On the left of the hill were terraced houses with small gardens in front. One of the gardens had a tree bordering the pavement and as I approached I saw a crowd gathered around it. To satisfy my curiosity I wormed my way to the front and saw that a bomb had caught its drogue in the tree and was suspended a few feet above the ground. This I had never seen before and I had an urge to touch it. There was a low brick wall at the end of the garden and climbing onto this I was able to reach up and just touch the bomb. My desire satisfied I carried on to the Flats.

When I turned for home I found a policeman standing at the bottom of the hill barring entry. I told him I wanted to go home, but he said there was a bomb and nobody was allowed past. "I know," I replied, "I touched it." He gave me a funny look, but asked where I lived and instructed me to go home by using Park Road. "Where have you been" asked my Gran when I eventually made it home. "I had to come the long way home because there was a bomb near the Flats," I told her. She didn't seem very impressed so I added the information, "I touched it." "Yes dear," was her only comment. I think it was only when Grandad came home and confirmed that there had been a bomb that she believed me.

Some Saturdays we would go shopping in town. One of the places we would visit would be the Market Hall. This was a big building in the Bull Ring full of market stalls. Shopping bored me and so my Grandparents would leave me at a huge pet sales area inside the hall. It was a fantastic place. There were big aviaries full of canaries and budgerigars, there were rabbits, guinea pigs, puppies and kittens. I was happy to stay there for ages. Later as we approached the hour they would take me to another part of the hall where, high up on the wall, was a massive clock. As it came to the hour doors would open, the clock would chime and figures would emerge. Then a figure would strike a bell to mark the hour. This never failed to delight me. One day my grandad arrived from work and told us that the Market Hall had been bombed and was completely gutted. My Gran burst into tears. "Oh the poor birds," she moaned and wouldn't be comforted for quite a while.

Going into town after a raid was an experience. Buildings would still be burning and fire hoses would snake across the road. There would be broken glass everywhere. One of my memories was of crossing St Philip's churchyard. Next to the cathedral was a surface shelter. These were simple brick structures with a concrete slab roof. They didn't look very strong, but on this occasion a bomb had fallen next to one. The crater went right up to the shelter wall which was badly pitted, but it was still standing. It had protected the cathedral from the blast, but the blast had had a remarkable effect on some some shop windows in Colmore Row facing the shelter. You would have expected them to have shattered, but they were still in one piece. However, they had bowed inwards in a smooth curve.

One of my most exciting memories was being out in an air raid with my father. He had been posted to a new unit and managed to break the journey to spend a few hours with me. Being asked what I would like to do I replied "Go to the News Theatre." This was a small cinema behind New Street Station near to the old Repertory Theatre. It showed continuous cartoons interspersed with Pathe News. It was a favourite haunt of travellers who had time to kill between trains and could sit in the warm. The trip was a great success, but eventually the time came to go home. As we walked to the tram the sirens sounded. Trams and buses halted and we should have found the nearest shelter until the raid was over. The problem was that my father was short of time and so he decided that we should walk home.

We had to watch out for policemen and air raid wardens who would have ushered us off the street, but we saw none. Then we heard the distant approach of enemy planes and searchlights began sweeping the sky. This was something I had never seen before and I was fascinated. The planes became louder and ack ack started followed a little later by the distant crump of bombs. The bombs were some way away and did not bother my father, but, from time to time, if he judged the ack ack too close, he would thrust me into a doorway and wait so that we were not injured by falling shrapnel.

This proved to be a wise precaution. During one of our pauses I heard the clatter of something in the street not far from us. After a while we left our refuge and approached the source of the noise. Sure enough, it was a lovely piece of shrapnel; a jagged and distorted chunk of metal about six inches long. My father would not let me touch it at first in case it was hot. But, having checked, I was allowed to pick it up and carry it home; a precious souvenir of my night out. The remainder of our journey went without incident. By the time we reached home the all clear had sounded. The only hurdle remaining was to explain to Gran what we had done. She was not best pleased and had some sharp words for my father. He eventually escaped pleading his need to report to his new unit on time.

A new disaster occurred to me in the August of 1943. My Grandad died. I was very fond of him and felt his loss badly. By now the war had moved on. Pearl Harbour had brought the Americans into the war, Singapore had been lost, but we had won the Batle of El Alamein. By now I was ten and following the war closely on maps, in school and on newsreels in the cinema. In the streets one of the main things to observe was graffiti painted on walls saying "Second Front Now." Some people wanted us to invade mainland Europe to take the pressure off the Russians fighting on the Eastern Front.

Gradually things got better. One feature of our life had been the black out. If so much as a chink of light showed at night an air raid warden would be banging on your door. This was now eased and we had restricted street lighting. Our street lights were gas and had been cut off since the start of the war. Now they started up again with frosted glass so that gave just a dull glow, but this made walking around at night much easier. A torch was an essential item of equipment during the war. A popular size was one which took a number eight battery. It was small enough to slip into a pocket or handbag, but this size of battery was hard to obtain. When shops did receive supplies they went 'under the counter.' This practise was common during the war. Goods would be held back for regular customers and anyone else asking would be told they were out of stock.

Another encouraging sign was that we were told to hand in our gas masks. Our depot was on City Road and I remember travelling there to take ours. For a long time we had not bothered with them and they had just gathered dust in a corner. Occasionally we would see American soldiers and the cry would go up "Got any gum chum?" We never did get any, but often we got a smile. It was just a catch phrase current at the time. Now as we moved into 1944 came D Day. The invasion of mainland Europe had started. Every day we followed what was happening on the battlefront.

A real improvement at home was getting rid of our Morrison Shelter. All the time the bombs were falling Gran was desperately trying to get an Anderson Shelter, but she was told there were none available. She was allowed to put here name down for a new type of shelter called a Morrison Shelter. Unlike the Anderson which was sunk into the garden, this was erected inside the house and was meant to be used as a table. Eventually her turn came and workmen came and erected it in our kitchen cum living room. There was a heavy gauge sheet steel top mounted on a very strong steel angle frame. On the base there was a sprung steel mesh on which you placed a mattress. The idea was that when the sirens sounded you relaxed on the mattress and clipped some thick wire grids around the sides making a cage. It was thought that if the house was bombed, even though it was demolished, you were safe in this secure capsule and could be rescued.

I thought this a great idea and it became my den. I was even allowed to spend a night sleeping in it. However, there were problems. Firstly, by the time it was installed the bombing had finished and we never used it for the purpose for which it had been designed. Secondly, it took up too much space in what was a small room. You spent all the time squeezing round it. The sharp corners would dig into you. It quickly became a pain. Now there was a fresh need for them. The Germans had started to use flying bombs against London. There was an urgent need for unwanted shelters. The workmen came and dismantled it and carted it away. It was marvellous to wish it goodbye and live normally again.

At home things were difficult. With my Grandad gone Gran was finding it hard to make ends meet. One thing I recall was that she used to sell the sweet coupons out of our ration books. This was illegal, but it was not uncommon. They would finish up on the 'Black Market.' If you had money you could obtain almost anything you wanted on on the black market. So, no more sweets for me. On the other hand cutting cost meant no more 'Brimstone and Treacle.' Brimstone was the old name for sulphur. It could be mixed with treacle to make a foul tasting sticky goo. Gran was convinced it was needed to keep me healthy and every Friday evening I was given a dessertspoon full which I had to swallow, licking the spoon clean. I used to hate it.

I had won a scholarship to the George Dixon Grammar School. Gran was delighted. It meant a strain on the finances, but she was so proud she took me off in my new uniform to the photographers to record the occasion. By now her health was suffering and in January 1945, just a few weeks before my twelfth birthday she died; my precious Gran. Once again I was on my own. This time it was arranged that an aunt would have me and I was packed off to Southall, just outside London. I arrived just in time to experience the V Bombs and V2 Rockets.

My Aunt Gladys and Uncle Walter were really kind to me and I owe them a lot. Their only son, Cousin Philip, was a flight engineer on Lancaster Bombers. Their raids were secret and they could get into serious trouble if they informed anyone that a raid was due. My aunt would be really worried about Philip. She had managed to have a telephone installed. This was not easy in wartime and there were long waiting lists. She and Philip had a code. If he rang and had a normal conversation all was well, but if he referred to 'Aunt Ethel' it meant a raid was due. My aunt would not sleep on such nights. She would stay up until Philip rang the following morning and she knew that he was safe.

By the time I arrived the threat from the V Bombs was almost over, although I did hear two or three. They were referred to as 'Doodle Bugs.' You would hear a chugging sound in the sky as they approached, although I never saw one. When the sound stopped it meant the bomb would now crash and explode. The only ones I heard exploded miles away. The V2 was a much nastier item. It was the precursor of the space rocket and shot up into the stratosphere on its way to London. It descended at about the speed of sound so you didn't hear it coming. If you were at the impact point you never knew what hit you. If you heard the explosion you were OK. The only one I heard dropped at Greenford about two miles away.

By now the war was drawing to a close. In June VE Day came and my, did we celebrate. It seemed every street had a bonfire and all night parties. At the corner of our street was a wood merchant. His fence was broken down and all his stock put on the fire. He was not a happy man. There was still the war in the far east, so it was not over yet. In August we heard about the atomic bombs being dropped and in September the war ended and we celebrated VJ Day. By now I was on holiday with some relations in the country. Once again there was a massive bonfire, but this time there was plenty of available timber without anyone having to suffer loss. And so ended an unforgettable period of my life.

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