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A Child’s Memories of World War 2

Even yet, after more than 60 years, seldom a day passes without a memory of my childhood flashing before me.

I was five-years-old when the war started — living where I was born in Clacton on Sea, Essex. At that time I was the eldest of four children, with another on the way, so had to grow up very quickly.

My father enlisted with the Royal Engineers in 1939 as work was very scarce throughout England in the 1930s. He spent most of his time in Germany attached to a bomb disposal unit.

I remember neighbours leaving their homes to stay in various parts of England. My mother received letters for us children to be sent away as evacuees but she would not hear of it so she kept us all together. Oh, how I hated the air raid warnings — the siren with its everlasting moan!

We hardly ever slept in our beds — those early morning banging on the doors by the air raid wardens, trailing the streets in the early hours of the morning carrying sleeping children, warm blankets, gas masks etc in our rush to get to the nearest underground shelter, the air raid wardens shouting, "Get those bloody lights out!" are still all very vivid memories. Lorries and tanks filled our roads as soldiers moved into our town.

In March 1941, my mother decided that it was getting too much with all the air raids, etc so she decided to take us all off to Scotland to stay with her relations in Clydebank. We were there on the two nights that Clydebank was heavily bombed. I remember peeping out of the window despite my mother screaming at me to keep back — the whole world seemed to be on fire! Even yet, I can hear the dull drone of those German planes. We were very lucky to remain unscathed during those nights — many people lost their lives and many more were made homeless.

We didn’t stay long in Clydebank and soon returned to Clacton. A Morrison Shelter was eventually installed in our living room. It was big and ugly but saved us trailing the streets in the dark.

We only played in our own garden and never wandered far from home. I remember walking to school and climbing over piles of rubble — the remainder of houses and shops.

One of my saddest memories is of when a German plane flew over about half past seven one morning. A young boy who was a classmate of one of my sisters was larking around and jumping up and down on his bed when he was hit and killed by the machine gun fire from the plane. He was the only boy in a large family of girls.

As I was the eldest child, before going to school I had to do the shopping with the ration books to save my mother taking the younger children to wait in long queues at the shops.

There were no sweets, fruit, etc. I shall never forget my first banana after the war — I must have been about 10-years-old. I didn’t want to part with it and I hid the skin behind a picture in my bedroom. You can imagine my disappointment when I had a look some time later to find it all black and shriveled up!

I remember that our radio (we called it the wireless) was never switched off — mainly because my mother liked to hear the news. Child-like, we pricked up our ears when the names Churchill, Montgomery, Rommell and the dreaded Hitler were mentioned over the air-waves. My favourite, however, was hearing Vera Lynn singing, "We’ll meet again".

The war seemed to go on forever. However, Dad eventually returned and it took a while to get used to a man about the house again.

Instead of being the eldest of four, I am now the eldest of nine — just shows you what the war does for you!

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