大象传媒

I was too young to remember then-Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain鈥檚 speech on 鈥淧eace in our time,鈥� although I do remember being in the yard of our flats when he declared war on Germany after their invasion of Poland.
Britain had signed the Warsaw pact and was honour bound to defend Poland if they were ever attacked by a foreign power. By then, meanwhile, Germany had taken half of Eastern Europe by force.
Everything seemed to come to a standstill; even the traffic stopped. People indoors had their radios turned up high and after the declaration everybody cheered. Now, at my age, I wonder if they would again.
Soon the whole of London was mobilised towards the war effort as England was ill-prepared for war. All metal fences were taken down, as were the swings and roundabouts of children鈥檚 playgrounds, and sent to furnaces to be melted down and turned into bombs or guns or whatever. Young men and women rushed to sign on for the forces; Army, Navy or Air Force, and those too old or infirm were left to tend to the young and the country. Many, like my father and mother, signed up to do their bit for England.
My dad was a bomb disposal technician, dismantling bombs that had not yet gone off, and my mother worked in a factory by day and drove an ambulance by night- which wasn鈥檛 easy as there was a total blackout and the headlights when switched on issued only the tiniest of beams.
I can remember our dad had brought home a sixteen-inch shell, silver both ends and green all over and we all sat round the kitchen table while he dismantled it. Just as he completed the task our neighbour brought a twenty-six-inch flying bomb to our door. Needless to say my mother turned grey; she exhorted my father in no uncertain terms to take it to the air-raid post.
Every home and business had black paper stuck over their windows, which were kept tight shut to keep any light from being seen by any German pilots flying over London, as the tiniest spark could be seen from high above and give them a target to drop their bombs on. Also, it helped if windows were shattered by sticking the pieces together. The schools鈥� ground floors were surrounded by sandbags, stacked to cover the windows, so that children would not get injured by flying shards of glass. All parks and playground were turned into dumps of rubble from bombed buildings and all retired teachers were brought back into service.
We had one teacher, Mr Anstead, who really hated being brought out and took his dislike out on us, me in particular. Until my father went and spoke to him. Nicely!
It took a few years for the war proper to reach us, but when it did it came with a bang, literally. My mother, brother and I were evacuated to Radlett, just outside London, and on the first night of the bombing we could see this big red glow in the sky over the city. There and then my mother packed up, saying that if my father went we would all go. Back we went, which for my brother and I was an adventure.
The first night home, after the air raid siren gave the alarm, we packed our sleeping things and went down to the nearest underground station. It was difficult to sleep as there were so many people and the trains were still running. One night of that was enough, so we went back to our flat and never ventured to a shelter again. It was really funny; if we heard the siren we would duck under the dining room table. Fortunately through the whole time we never received a direct hit, though people in our close vicinity were not so lucky. The far end of our buildings took a direct hit as did the pub on the corner. It was full at the time. Nothing- not even Hitler- could keep the working man from his pint.
The houses across the road on three sides were totally flattened also. Mind you, there were some funny moments. We used to have an Air Raid Warden, Milky Bob, a milkman by day, who would patrol the flats, making sure no light was emanating from them. If he did spy a light, a formidable bellow, much louder than an army RSM, would be heard; "Mrs X, turn that f***ing light out!" Everybody that heard him would cheer.
We were all issued with tin hats; if we were spending time outside we would have gas masks, which made us look like something out of Star Wars.
There was no fresh food; all farming was given over to the Land Army, mostly women, God bless them, who did a wonderful job providing for the forces, so our fare was mostly whale-meat, horse-meat, that ghastly Argentinian corned beef (which was mainly gristle) and spam (who knew what that was made of?) And all rationed...
Yes, at the beginning we were all issued with ration books and National registration Identity cards. The ration books I could understand but to my knowledge we were never asked to produce the other.
There were other little inconveniences we were used to, like having to queue for water in the streets as the house mains were switched off, as was the gas, periodically. One could accept it as necessary. Water was conserved as best it could be, as it was needed to put out fires, when buildings were flattened. The Home Guard and Fire service would clear away the debris and build water tanks. These could hold sixty thousand litres of water, ready for the next fire and a good source of fun for us kids in the winter to go ice-skating on. The police had their hands full keeping us off as they were deemed dangerous. We would also go on our roofs and wave to the pilots in their Spitfires as they flew south and sometimes we would swear that they waved back!
At the top of the hill, just a hundred yards from us, a barrage balloon was housed. This looked like a gigantic silver elephant filled with helium. It was made fast to the ground by a half-mile long hawser which the airforce raised to float it in the sky. It forced the German planes high in the sky, making it hard for them to fly in low over London.
Towards the end, the Germans were sending over V2 rockets, which looked like small jet planes, piggy-backing a two-hundred pound bomb. We called them doodle-bugs. Our Air Force used to fly over the English Channel to meet them and with the tips of their wings try and tilt them into the sea. Quite a few would survive and find their way over London. If we heard the disticntive sound of one coming, we'd duck into a doorway and hope it would pass over us. They were well known for the damage they caused. The bomb would be catapulted from the rocket and wherever it landed, if it went off, it could cause a house to be obliterated or a large crater to be formed. If it didn't go off, it was a call for my father. The rocket itself would slowly descend and with its huge momentum could obliterate a whole street of terraced houses.
Once my father was called out to dismantle a six-hundred pounder which was embedded in a deep crater. The Royal Engineers were called in to dig down and expose it, then my dad was lowered on a rope with a two-way walkie-talkie. Once down there he would discuss, step by step, what he saw and what he was doing, so that if it did go bang the information could be used for the next time. Fortunately he always did survive.
Then came VE day and the unconditional surrender, and eventually the end of the war. The men and women came home, fresh food very slowly became available and there was bunting everywhere as whole streets were given over to parties.
A few years later when rationing was abolished, some sweet shops sold out of everything they had. Schools started giving each child a third of a pint of fresh milk. We all had to save the silver tops and donate a penny for the poor in Africa, so they could have access to fresh water. They still don't have it- and I wonder now if all those men and women that laid down their lives would do it again today.
But I'm glad they did.

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Frances Grahl of Idea Store Chrisp Street on behalf of Francis Gross, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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