大象传媒

WAR TIME MEMORIES OF BRIAN STANLEY INDGE:
CHILDHOOD IN HANWELL, WEST LONDON

Though I was under four years of age on the third of September 1939 I well remember the announcement by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, that if we were not informed otherwise, by eleven o鈥檆lock we should be at war with Germany. As this was being broadcast my father was listening, as he cleaned his shoes. I asked him what war was and he told me much that I did not understand, however I did grasp the seriousness of it.
I remember hearing the air-raid siren soon after that, but no raid took place. In fact nothing seemed to happen for months. During this time, sheets of corrugated iron were left for each householder to build an air-raid shelter. My father dug a large hole some four feet deep in the garden and the iron sheets were bolted into place. The excavated soil was spread over the top and a blast wall built opposite the entranceway. It was not long before rainwater seeped in and flooded it. The council workmen came and lined it with four inches of concrete and from there on it remained dry within. My father made five bunk beds, which were fitted one above the other on each side, the fifth being lowered between them.
Suddenly, one day in the summer of 1940, my great aunt arrived and the next thing I knew of was being driven to her home in Hampton. The next day, with my cousin, her mother and another girl we drove all the way to Trebarwith on the north coast of Cornwall. We were being taken there to avoid the likely German invasion. Of course, we had a marvellous holiday living on a farm, playing on the beach and going for rides in a trap pulled by a very lazy pony. The only bad thing was that I did not get any pudding until all my greens were eaten!
Unfortunately, after only one month, we were told to return home as the threat of invasion had now moved to somewhere between London and Cornwall, possibly Dorset, and we would have been cut off.
Within days of returning home the Battle of Britain started. Fortunately for us we did not witness any of the momentous dogfights that took place to the south and east of London as our Hurricanes, and to a lesser extent Spitfires, attacked the German bombers as they tried to destroy our airfields and achieve air supremacy. That soon changed when the Germans turned their attention to destroying London. Night after night for some three months we had to spend the night cramped in the air-raid shelter, four adults and myself.
We lived in Milton Road, Hanwell, which ran parallel to the main Great Western railway line running from Paddington to Birmingham and to the West Country. An obvious target, and yet I do not remember many raids during the early weeks of the Blitz when in particular, east London and the docklands were devastated. I well remember being taken to the end of my road and being lifted on to my father鈥檚 shoulders to see the flame red sky to the east as London burned.
We soon became familiar with the pulsating drone of the German bombers as they passed over us to and from their London targets. One anti-aircraft gun on the Great Western Railway fired at them night after night until a bomb destroyed it.
Though the high explosive bombs were the more noticeable, the more common weapons were the incendiary bombs. Hundreds of these were scattered over the area. My father鈥檚 nighttime job twice a week was to watch for and report fires caused by these bombs. If one was quick enough the fire could be put out with a small stirrup pump. Later the Germans added a small explosive charge or even added phosphorous to the bombs. In one air raid on Greenford Avenue a phosphorous bomb hit Mr. Luck鈥檚 grocery shop. He kicked the bomb out of the shop, but got phosphorous on his leg, which kept on burning. I remember him being pushed around in a wheel chair after this.
Things quietened down after the Blitz and we began to visit friends again. By now I had started at Hobbayne School situated on the slopes of Cuckoo Hill in Greenford Avenue.
Some things did not change. My parents took me for a holiday to Paignton, Devon in 1941. Extraordinarily, I remember sitting on the promenade watching a fleet of ships being attacked by enemy aircraft only three miles out to sea.
On another occasion a British fighter chased a German plane just above the rooftops along our road. My friend and I dived into our shelter just as they passed.
One thing the Germans could be depended on for was time keeping. Provided we were home by ten-thirty we would not get caught by a raid. One night, probably late in 1941 we left our friend鈥檚 house about nine thirty and walked to the bus stop. After waiting about three-quarters of an hour a bus arrived. The crew was changed mid-journey and the new driver ignored our ringing of the bell and did not stop at our stop. By now the siren had warned of approaching aircraft and my father ran, carrying me, along Greenford Avenue past a long row of shops. As we ran down our road we could hear aircraft approaching so we ran straight through our house and into the shelter. Bombs started to fall and caused explosions close by. We heard slates cascading off roofs. The target was the main line railway bridge at the end of our road. Only one bomb, an oil bomb, hit the bridge but did not detonate.
The next morning as I walked to school I witnessed the destruction of the shops that we had run past only the night before. Opposite, a church hall had been damaged and surprisingly only two days later we were allowed to stand and watch the explosive being steamed out of an unexploded bomb by the army. Presumably the detonator had been previously removed. The railway was safe for now. If the bombs had only been a quarter of a mile to the west the huge Wharncliffe viaduct could have been demolished and the rail link severed for many months. Presumably, as this viaduct crossed parkland it must have been difficult to spot from the air.
The day following any raid the young children, myself included, would scour the neighbourhood for shrapnel. We found several pieces, which became centrepieces of our little museums. Another raid destroyed some twenty houses in Cowper Road. I remember seeing baths hanging out from shattered walls and watching as a lorry roped to a chimneystack drove away, pulling the ruined houses down.
In early 1942 I caught many of the childhood illnesses: measles, rubella, whooping cough and finally bronchitis. This kept me from school for three months. In order to recover my mother took me to Exmouth, Devon where we stayed with my great aunt and uncle. They had moved there from Hampton after my great uncle survived being machine-gunned by an aircraft as he tended his garden. Whilst recovering I remember we were allowed to play on a small patch of un-mined beach. The remainder of the beach was covered with iron defences and barbed wire. There were notices stating that the entire beach was mined. One day a dog slipped his lead and ran off over the beach. We waited for him to trip a land mine, but fortunately he returned safely.
What I did not know at this time was that my great uncle and aunt鈥檚 son, who was a Spitfire pilot, had just flown to Malta where he was one of only a few to fight off the German and Italian raiders. How he survived was a miracle. He told his story in his book: 鈥淥ne Man鈥檚 Window鈥�.
As the raids lessened my friend and I ventured further afield on my tricycle. We were about seven then, and had gone about two miles from home at the end of Perivale Lane, when soldiers stopped us. We listened to messages being passed back and forth and concluded that a tank was approaching, an enemy one. I agreed with my friend that we would wait for it to emerge from the lane and then we would peddle like mad home. This we did telling my mother that the Germans were coming. Army exercises? Never heard of them!
Many times school lessons had to be interrupted and we were marched to the air-raid shelters that had been dug out under the school field. Lessons of a sort continued as we sat in lines in these shelters. Often, after no raid had actually taken place we were marched back into school. On one occasion as we were entering our classroom we spotted a small incendiary bomb hanging from the ceiling, fortunately it had not ignited. No school lessons for the rest of that day.
On another occasion a raider dropped two time bombs, one hit the chemist鈥檚 shop between Milton and Shakespeare Roads, the other landed in a small green on the south side of Milton Road, close by the railway line. This mixed up the water and gas supplies and water came out of our cooker. Neither bomb exploded, but both were ticking away so we were instructed to leave our homes. We were directed to walk past the chemist鈥檚 shop, but my mother objected and had quite a row with the warden. Why walk past one ticking bomb and not the other? She eventually got her way and we joined my father in his factory鈥檚 air-raid shelter. Both bombs were made safe later that day.
Christmas 1942 came and our butcher, Hammet鈥檚, had promised us a real treat, a turkey. I went with my mother to West Ealing, only to be told that there weren鈥檛 any. As this was late on Christmas Eve there was only one option, to join a long queue outside Rowe鈥檚 the fish shop opposite. By the time we were served all that was left was a piece of skate. We were lucky to get that as only a week or so later a bomb destroyed the shop and people were killed queuing.
Possibly around this time the department store, Rowse鈥檚, was hit and much of it was destroyed. However this did not stop it continuing to trade. By now it was obvious that the bombs were not aimed at any specific target, but were dropped anywhere. People took their chances and lived as best they could. If you were in a cinema all you could do was cross your fingers and wait for the raid to end.
As an example of the small rations that we were allowed I recollect that one day my mother was ill in bed, my father did the cooking and used the whole week鈥檚 butter ration in cooking two pieces of fish. When my mother discovered this she was most annoyed. She persuaded the butcher to sell her some beef suet and mixed that with meat gravy, making some dripping, which we spread on our bread.
Occasionally, about once a year, a food parcel arrived from mother鈥檚 cousin in New Zealand. As this contained cocoa and dried milk, amongst many other treats, my mother was able to make chocolate, which by 1943 was no longer available in the shops. As a special treat we occasionally had rabbit pie. My friend and I watched as mother skinned the rabbit and prepared it for cooking. It proved too much for my friend and he passed out on the spot.
During 1943 and early 1944 air raids were few and far between. I used to draw maps of the North African, Italian, and after D-day, French battlefields moving small flags of the opposing forces as we advanced, or occasionally retreated, against the enemy.
Suddenly, in summer 1944, everything changed again. Shortly before, a family friend had arrived at our front door requesting accommodation for three nights. He told us he was working in London, but did not tell us where. The three nights stretched to over nine months. One night we were woken by a tremendous roaring and banging noise and I was grabbed by my father and as we dashed down the hall the family friend emerged from his room and yelled for us to dive under the stairs. The noise passed overhead and a minute or so later we heard an explosion. Our friend knew that it was one of the first German flying bombs, but he was not allowed to tell us. Subsequently he told us that his work was in intelligence at the Admiralty. As he spoke fluent German he used to go to sea on patrol boats and if any prisoners were taken he would interview them. He was a tough nut, one day he came home covered in medical plasters, and yet he still went off to work the next day. Apparently he had been shot at by a German E-boat whilst on patrol.
As the school summer holidays in 1944 were due it was decided that I should be sent out of harms way, to Stockport. It was a nerve-wracking journey, particularly running between Euston Square underground station and Euston main line station whilst several V1s passed overhead. Then we had to sit in the train waiting for the raid to cease.
The first two weeks away from home were fine, then I was picked upon by older boys and I eventually smuggled a letter to my father requesting to be taken home. He came and took me home to the comparative safety of the V1s. By this time it was apparent that they flew about a mile either side of our home and I remember sitting outside the air-raid shelter watching them pass by. Not one, other than that first one, passed overhead. The damage done by them was immense. One came down in Deans Road and destroyed over thirty houses. Another dived on Abernethie鈥檚 department store in West Ealing and tragically penetrated down into the basement before exploding, killing some eighty people sheltering there. These raids continued for some months during which several thousand were launched and though many were brought down by our aircraft and gunfire some thousand got through and did a lot of damage.
The next attacks were different yet again and this time without warning; these were the V2 rockets. The first event I witnessed was looking up into a clear blue sky as I mounted the steps to my school and seeing a cloud burst out of the sky. This must have been a premature detonation as the rocket re-entered the earth鈥檚 atmosphere.
Once again the Germans were punctual. My mother said, 鈥渓ast week there was a rocket at eleven o鈥檆lock.鈥� Sure enough, close to eleven o鈥� clock an explosion was heard. This time the rocket hit the Packard aero-engine factory in the Great West Road, Brentford. Many people were killed and a large amount of damage ensued both at Packards and next door at Pyrenes, where my mother鈥檚 cousin鈥檚 husband worked.
As our armies progressed eastwards the attacks by both V1s and V2s became less, but there were times when our advances were stalled. Eventually in May 1945 the Nazi鈥檚 were finally crushed and the war was over.
After the relief of the war ending and the celebratory street parties were over, we expected things to get better. In fact the rationing and queuing for food became worse. It was some five years before we noticed any improvement. We were never hungry, but the monotonous diet was so boring that I did not eat any more fish for some ten years.
Of course as a child during the war years I was probably more excited than frightened and did not appreciate the terrible suffering that was taking place. However it raised my interest in aircraft; this led me to gain an engineering apprenticeship with Hawker Aircraft Limited. After that I joined the Research and Development Department. This gave me a very varied and interesting career for the next forty years.

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