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I was sleeping, aged 12,in the little downstairs room we used as a shelter. I was awoken when I heard a strange voice, which turned out to be that of my uncle, talking about a building gutted by fire. I realised that he was speaking of my grandmother’s shop and the home which he and his family shared with her. It had been hit by an ‘oil-bomb’, a canister of flammable liquid which ignited on impact and spewed its flaming contents in all directions.
He had been on warden duty and his mother, wife and baby daughter were in a public shelter, so there were no casualties. But they were homeless with no belongings. At daybreak they made their way to our house, about a mile away, and we fitted them all in for a time and found what was necessary.
That morning my aunt’s mother, who lived on the other side of London, unaware of what had happened, phoned the shop. Finding the number unobtainable she decided to go with another daughter to investigate. As they stepped out of Herne Hill Station they caught sight of the ruined building a few yards down the road.
A shopkeeper said he thought the family were with us. They did not have our phone number so they took a bus to our road. When the doorbell rang I went to answer it, and found two weeping women on the doorstep.
Fortunately I recognised them and blurted out, ‘It’s alright. They’re all here.’ You can imagine the emotional scenes that followed.
Although in her sixties my grandmother found new premises and re-opened her business.
**
A few weeks later, after a noisy night, the guns fell silent and we decided to go upstairs to bed, although the All Clear had not sounded. I was sitting up with a cup of tea when I heard an aircraft approaching.
There was a series of loud explosions and sounds of crashing and the house rocked. Twelve bombs had been dropped, but only three hit buildings, one obviously very close.
As a Civil Defence Warden my father rushed out to see what had happened, and returned almost at once to phone for a Rescue Team, saying’ ‘The Joneses are trapped’.
The Joneses lived two doors along in our terrace block and had two children, Robert who was a little younger than me and a friend, and Pauline about three years older.
The Rescue Team soon arrived, and my father was able to report that Mr Jones was out, shaken and with a few cuts and bruises, but otherwise sound. Robert soon followed, but he had a broken thigh.
It took longer to discover and bring out Mrs Jones, unconscious and badly injured, but alive. That left just Pauline.
Finally, as day broke, my father came in with the news: ‘They’ve found Pauline,; she’s dead’.
We later visited the survivors in hospital. They all recovered well, though Robert was left with a slight limp. Sadly he lost his life some years later in a road accident while serving with the Indian Army.
**
Passo was a young woman who worked for my grandmother. I used to watch her at work and listen to her excited chatter about Clifford, her fiancé and their wedding plans and the beautiful home they were buying in one of the new suburbs.
They married just before the war and she left, but my grandmother kept in touch. Towards the end of 1941 she invited her to tea.
I was looking forward to seeing her again, but not prepared for the shock when she arrived. She looked twenty years older, her face was disfigured and she was almost totally deaf.
Over tea she spoke of the night she had lain screaming under the ruins of their new home, in dreadful pain, unable to move, and with Clifford lying dead at her side.
*
In response to the call to ‘dig for victory’ my father kept an allotment at the top of the hill on which our house stood. I would often go up there to do my bit.
It commanded a view across south London to the city about 5 miles away, with the skyline dominated by the dome of St Paul’s cathedral. After a rough night of air raids it was enormously comforting to climb the hill and look across to the north and say, ‘It’s still there’. It was as good as saying,’ They haven’t beaten us yet, and they won’t.
I knew some of the volunteers who maintained a constant watch on the Cathedral. Thanks to their vigilance, courage and skill none of the incendiary bombs which fell on the building started a serious fire.

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