大象传媒

A Schoolboy鈥檚 Boy鈥檚 View of WW.II

A distraught woman, her 6陆 year old son and baby, wondered the streets of the little New Forest town of Ringwood looking desperately for accommodation for the night. On their lapels were tied the familiar large brown labels with their names and personal details, this confirmed that this forlorn family were war evacuees. They had just been 鈥榩rocessed鈥� as latest batch of evacuees arriving from Southampton. Sadly, they had not been chosen in the line up by prospective billet hosts at the school hall reception centre. The date: 3rd Sept.1939.
A car draws up and a kindly gentleman asks the crying woman if she and her young children would like to sit in his car and listen to the prime minister Neville Chamberlain, who was about to make, 鈥榓n important announcement鈥�. The P.M. then gravely announced, that because the German Chancellor Adolph Hitler had refused to withdraw from occupied Poland our ally,
鈥淎 state of war now existed between our two countries鈥�.
It was thus as a small confused boy, I heard the news that was to become a dramatic milestone in lives of millions of people, especially ours; the declaration of War! Compassionately, the kindly gentleman took us back to his home and family until a permanent evacuation billet could be found for us. Unfortunately, suitable accommodation was never found for all three of us, only me. After a short unhappy and pining time billeted with another more accommodating but kind family, I was eventually reunited with my mother, baby brother and father back in Southampton. Air raids at this early juncture of the war had not yet begun.
I duly returned to my junior school in Foster Rd and I remember later the vivid vapour trails that criss-crossed the sky daily as young airmen fought mortal duels for their beliefs and duty. It should be remembered that these young gladiators, some having just left school and still in their teens, were the 鈥榗ream鈥� of the youth of two great countries. This battle in the warm summer months of 1940 was to be famously known as, The Battle of Britain.
When Luftwaffe dominance of the skies over Britain was not forthcoming, which was essential to ensure a successful invasion, Hitler switched his attacks to the civilian population in the cities. Southampton was now to receive its share of the nightly onslaught of air raids. It is these air raids that are still vivid in my memory and which, is the significant part of this story. This was called the Blitz!
My family were fortunate to live opposite my grandparents, whose large house in Forster Rd had a very deep and reinforced cellar. This made an excellent air raid shelter and was made very comfortable with beds and soft chairs, unlike the damp and cold Anderson shelters buried most people鈥檚 gardens. Our family and friends were to spend many nights here whilst the city was being slowly destroyed above our heads.
Raids on Southampton became so regular and punctual that watches could almost be set by them. Usually, the wail of the warning sirens would start just as it got dark. This would warn of the enemy aircraft approaching the city and people would make their way to their private or public air raid shelters. If the raid was severe the 鈥榙ouble red鈥� siren would sound and all public services would stop, including busses, trams, trains and places of entertainment. Cinema screens projectionists would super-impose over the running film, 鈥楢ir raid warning in progress鈥� and the audience would then orderly file out and head for the nearest shelter.
I vividly recall one occasion when my mother was late in getting my brother and me across the road into my grand parent鈥檚 cellar. The attack had become so severe that when mother opened the front door the hail of flying shrapnel from the anti-aircraft guns, which rained down, was so severe that any attempt to cross the road would have been extremely dangerous. We therefore took temporary shelter in the safest part of our house; under the stairs.
The explosion of the bombs falling all around us shook the house violently, causing dust and debris to fall on and about us. It also caused my mother鈥檚 best cups to jump off of their hooks in a nearby dresser and smash onto the floor. My mother鈥檚 tears of fear and anger brought forth a tirade of words from her, the meaning of which still remains a mystery to me? We eventually made it safely across the road and into the cellar during a lull in the attack and were to remain there for the next 14 hrs. During this particular raid my teen-age uncles ran up and down the street assisting the firemen, wearing pots and pans and small tin baths on their heads for protection. Had it not been so serious the scene might have been from an Ealing Studio鈥檚 comedy film?
It was such a raid as described that on the night of 1st December 1940, the Luftwaffe dropped more that 2000 high explosive and 3000 plus incendiaries bombs, which killed 650 people and injured thousands more. Southampton was a smouldering wreck of devastation!

My most frightening experience occurred much later in the war. The Blitz raids had almost stopped. The air attacks now were mostly sudden daylight raids on the docks without any siren warning being given. The bombers would fly in low and undetected under the radar.
I had just retuned from lunch to my school, which was in the same street, and was playing with my friends in the playground before the start of afternoon classes. Suddenly, three undetected Ju 88 bombers flew low directly toward the school, anti-aircraft shells bursting all about them. No siren warning had been given. Two of the bombers dived straight towards the school and began to machine gun us. Workmen who were painting the outside of the school at that time, screamed at us to get to the shelters. We needed no urging, we were well on our way. As I ran across the playground lumps of tarmac were flying up all around me and the school windows were smashing. Miraculously, I was not hit! I just made the shelter door entrance when the blast from a bomb explosion nearby carried me and my friends well into the back of the shelter. We all ended up frightened and crying in a heap in the corner, but luckily unhurt, except for bruises and scratches. One of the painters, who had been hit in the leg, was dragged bleeding into safely by his workmates.
Meanwhile, my mother not two hundred yards away, on hearing the huge explosion ran into the street. A huge pall of black smoke filled the sky covering the school. Fearing the worst she raced to the school and was relived to find that the cause of the smoke was an adjacent garage, which had been hit and was burning fiercely. We frightened children were soon reunited with our parents after this very frightening near miss. Less than 100yds away from the school, St Barnabas church in Lodge Rd was in ruins, hit by what was believed to have been an aerial torpedo during this attack.
A happy 鈥榖i-product鈥� of these air raids was a commodity, which was to become 鈥榩layground currency鈥� for all schoolboys 鈥� shrapnel! Collected from the streets and bombsites, these jagged pieces of metal could be exchanged for cigarette cards and marbles. Schoolboys soon became experts in identifying these fragments of war, be it shell or bomb! Mothers however, were not so impressed when they saw the torn state of our pockets, caused by the jagged edges.
Gas mask drill in the classroom was a daily practice. Not for me the red Mickey Mouse type which, was especially designed for the smaller children as it was less intimidating. I was issued with the standard 鈥榞rown up鈥� adult version, which we were obliged to carry at all times in a small cardboard box on a piece of string over our shoulders. My baby brother was issued with a large appliance into which he was placed, covering most of his body. Air was provided by means of a hand pump on the outside.
Daylight raids on the docks now became the norm. The bombers were often preceded by the German fighters shooting down the barrage balloons, which protected the docks from low flying aircraft, and made way for the Ju 87 Stuka dive bombers. The falling, flaming balloons were a sad poignant sight but through the eyes of small children, somewhat exciting.
Sadly, our house in Forster Rd was badly burned by an incendiary bomb making it uninhabitable. Consequently, my family moved to the countryside near Fareham and so ended my era of a, 鈥榗ity child at war鈥�. The air raids on both Portsmouth and Southampton would continue and could be seen by the glow of the fires eerily reflected in the night sky from our new home, but now thankfully in the relative safety of a country garden shelter. We were later going to see along the country roads leading from the coast inland for many miles, the huge military convoys camping kerbside in preparation for D-Day. But that鈥檚 another story.

Davis Stiles
September 2005

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