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This story has been added to the site by Marion McLaren of Blue Anchor Library on behalf of Brenda Watkinson and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

OUR LIFE-SAVING CAT
by Brenda Watkinson

I was born in Raymouth Road, Bermondsey, London in 1937 and lived with my mother, father and brother in the lower half of a terraced house with my grandparents occupying the upstairs. Many local children were evacuated after the war started in 1939, but a few of us stayed behind. I had about 6 friends who were children of neighbours. We endured the bombs throughout the blitz, sheltering in our Anderson shelter in the garden, or – for company – in the railway arches that ran the whole length of Raymouth Road. When I reached the age of about four, I decided to ‘entertain’ the neighbours whilst in the shelters, by singing and dancing. This cheered people up and they would join in and on some occasions drowned out the sound of both bombs and the ‘all clear’, not realising it had sounded until the fire-watcher came in to enquire why we were still there! (Incidentally, this is how Petula Clark started her singing career!)

One night, in June 1944, we had had no air-raid warning and my ‘nocturnal’ mother was occupying herself with finishing off some decorating (in fact whitewashing the scullery!). This was at 2 am! My father was on duty at Fire Brigade HQ at Albert Embankment, where he was a fireman (having been refused the armed forces). My 16-year old brother, my grandparents (i.e. mum’s parents) and I (aged 6) were all in bed. Suddenly my mother noticed our cat behaving strangely, in the way animals used to do when a raid was imminent. I’m not sure how this worked: either they picked up distant droning of aircraft inaudible to human ears, or maybe they just sensed danger. My mother was very sensitive to her animal’s behaviour and decided to take it seriously by tuning into the wireless, as it was then called. I cannot be certain how this worked, but some sort of signal was emitted, or maybe some other procedure, such as cancelling the transmission, but I do know that whatever my mother heard confirmed to her that a raid was indeed imminent, even though no air-raid warning had been heard. This did happen sometimes during the war, and was thought to perhaps be the work of spies within the network.

My mother made great haste to get me up and into the Anderson shelter in my siren suit. This was a copy, made by my mother, of a suit worn by Churchill during times of danger. It was worn over nightclothes, a simple one-piece which zipped up, and lots of children had them for night raids. I decided I was definitely not going down there until my family was with me, so occupied the next period of time by standing in the garden screaming! My mother’s next task was to get her parents up and into the shelter and then get my brother out of bed. Like most 16-year olds he was extremely stubborn, and mum had a devil of a job to get him up. She was as determined as he was, and eventually she prevailed.

Her next task was to rouse the next-door neighbours. We had a terraced house, and a little opening in the fence between our gardens. The neighbours’ surname was Kaley (I expect this is incorrectly spelt). They were dead to the world once asleep and mum went crazy banging on their back bedroom windows and doors and screaming at them loudly. At last she was successful, and they were persuaded to take shelter, even though they didn’t believe there was a raid imminent. Finally all occupants of both houses were safely in their garden shelters.

We spent the night enduring a bad raid, just as mum had envisaged. Next morning, we were visited in the shelter by friends of my brother’s, local boys who had been fire-watching during the night. My mother enquired how they could have got in to the house, as she said she was sure she had locked the front door. They replied there was no front door left! When we emerged we found the house blasted inside-out. All lighter weight objects had been blown through the windows into the garden. Only the heavy furniture was still inside but in different positions. A notable example was my brother’s bed now with a heavy wardrobe lying on top of it. If he had been left in bed he would almost certainly have been killed. The interior of the house was smothered in plaster and uninhabitable. My mother, brother and I were taken by the authorities to a ‘rest centre’ which was the local school hall in this case. We took just what we could carry, and there we stayed, sleeping on the floor, for a week, until we were billeted to a home run by the American Air Force in Surrey.

(For full details of our experiences at this establishment, refer to 'CARE OF BOMBED-OUT CHILDREN'Article ID: 3333133)

My father, already sleeping at Fire Brigade HQ for part of the week, his duties being 48 hours on, 48 hours off, was allowed to sleep there full-time. My brother’s firm, The General Steam Navigation Co. had re-located their Tower Bridge office (nowadays St. Katherine’s wharf) to Beckenham, where they housed their staff. Mum and I eventually ended up with relatives in Norfolk, returning to Bermondsey just before the war ended. My father had found a house that was condemned as unfit to live in since it was so damp, and had moved our remaining furniture into it. Despite being condemned premises, we all moved into it in 1945, just to be together again. I well remember the day peace was declared. Everyone went crazy, rushing into the streets to light bonfires and singing and dancing with anyone who was willing.

And the cat?? Before we left for the Rest Centre, mum tried hard to feed him. He refused all food. We think, in his little cat head, he suspected all the damage to his home was my mother’s fault and refused to have anything to do with her. He wouldn’t even come inside the house. He must have been traumatised. But my father found him a home with a nearby neighbour whose undamaged house allowed her to stay put. And there the cat stayed until years after the war, when he died.

And some time after the war ended my father bumped into our next-door neighbour, Mr. Kaley, who thanked him profusely for my mother saving their family’s life. She did of course, but we all know it was the cat who was responsible for alerting my mother to danger. God bless our pets – and observant owners.

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