大象传媒

My earliest memory of the war was waking up in my cot hearing the sound of glass breaking. Informing my mother next day caused her some amusement because what I had heard was in fact far more serious. The houses opposite had been hit by incendiary bombs and totally destroyed by fire. The only sound I had heard was of our windows being blasted out.
Before we were issued with a shelter we had the ceiling of the cellar shored up with wooden posts and had camp beds installed. I remember my brother sleeping down there while I had my cot at the top of the stairs ready to be whisked to relative safety in the coal cellar at the first wail of the air raid siren. The sound still causes my stomach to contract even though I was really too young to appreciate the real horror of the war.
Sometimes the raids came during the day. My brother and I felt that we were missing out on all the fun being shut in the ceallar while my mother remained upstairs and I recall venturing up to the kitchen to try and spot the "whistling bombs" from the window only to be screamed at by my mother to get back downstairs. Being more scared of Mum than of the bombs we quickly complied with her orders but I could not understand why she did not join us in the safety below. I still do not understand this.
Apart from a rather unhappy interlude in Dorking as evacuees with Mum, we stayed put in London and were quite lucky in avoiding damage of any severity.
As the war got into its stride we were provided with a Morrison shelter, which was like a great steel table with mesh sides making it into a cage. We spent a great deal of time in this contraption, often sleeping in it. In fact, I remember having to spend part of a birthday in it, accompanied by a basin of Bird's custard as a treat! Before we acquired the shelter I can remember being lifted over the garden fence to be placed in our neighbours' Anderson shelter during a raid. These refuges were cold, damp and cramped but they saved many lives and made people feel safer.
One war-time treat that I remember was the receipt of a Canadian Red Cross parcel. I don't know where we obtaind it from but I recall it included tinned fruit, quilted blankets and, best of all, chocolate powder. Never having tasted anything other than cocoa this was a glorious luxury. One could enjoy it at least as much as in drink form by simply licking our fingers and sticking them into the powder then transferring the delicious sweetness to our ever-hungry mouths.
As part of the war effort we were encouraged to save salvage - paper, cardboard, etc., rather like our recycling schemes now. There was also a large metal bin over the road from us called the "pig bin" into which we tipped all manner of waste food that was sent to the pig farms. Our iron gate and railings were removed to help make military items but I believe it was more a morale-boosting exercise for civilians than anything else. We also knitted squares to make blankets for those bombed out of their homes, grew our own vegetables and kept chickens in the back gardens.
At school there were brick shelters in the playground and, in fine weather, we spent much of our lesson time outside ready to dive into these buildings. On at least one occasion I was the only one in my class to attend school and I spent a happy day out in the sunshine making things with Plasticine. My brother, Eric, along with other boys of similar age, used to collect shrapnel following raids and told me of a German plane swooping low over the playground, machine gun blazing, scattering the children as they ran to safety. Nobody was hurt but I believe it wa a good day for adding to their collections!
Rationing of food and clothes and shortage of furniture were by-products of the war. Children had to accept that they seldom had new clothes and hand-me-downs and second-hand goods were the norm. Items of clothing were unpicked or, if knitted, unravelled to turn them into new clothes. This became known as "make-do-and-mend" and my mother even had a needlework book full of ideas and instructions. My summer sandals had the toes cut out of the uppers to make them last another season after I had grown out of them. So many children had similar footwear that I didn't mind. It was preferable to the agony of winter, wearing too-small shoes until Mum had enough money and coupons to buy new ones. Linen was patched, socks and gloves darned, collars and cuffs turned. My mother did not go out to work but she was always busy trying to make ends meet and keep up with her children's needs.

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