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Margaret Blaker’s father, Henry Blaker, was in the Home Office Police in Leigh-on-Sea. He told her these stories.

Bombs
My father described patrolling in front of a building with an unexploded bomb. There was a barrier at either end of the road, and everyone would start with a gentle policeman’s walk from one barrier until it was out of sight, then scuttle fast until he was within view of the other barrier, then go back to a gentle policeman’s walk. They had to appear calm to the people outside the barriers, but wanted to be as far out of reach of the bomb as they could.

Once a stick of mini bombs had been dropped on Hamstel Road, Southchurch, but they had forgotten to fuse them. My father was on the barrier. An officer asked him if he wanted to see one of the mini bombs, but my father couldn’t leave his post, so the officer brought one out of the house, cradled in his arms. When he had shown it to my father, he put it back.

On another occasion a mine normally used in the sea was dropped from the air onto a pillar box in Grand Drive, and blew it to Kingdom come. If my father had been one or two minutes further into his walk, he would have been blown to pieces as well.

Deserters
Most of the people in Southend were evacuated because there were so many military personnel in the town. Deserters often came to the town because of the large number of military people in the area. They would sleep in the garden sheds left by the evacuation and would queue up for their meals with the people who were on the training courses. The Home Office Police would ignore the fact that they were sleeping in the sheds unless they were doing damage, because they knew that they would be caught sooner or later in a check up when they were getting their meals. They felt sympathetic towards the war-weary deserters – they needed a respite for a couple of weeks before going back to the Front.

Servicemen
When soldiers or sailors got drunk inside the Leigh Elms pub, it was the Home Office Police who had to fetch them as the military police were not allowed on the premises. The sergeant often took my father, who was calm enough not to be provoked into fisticuffs. The Home Office Police had to drag the drunken servicemen across the very large forecourt, and they would fight all the way, but as soon as they reached the pavement they were in the hands of the military police, and they would go like a lamb.

The military personnel were quite bad at following blackout regulations. One time servicemen opened a hotel door just as planes were overhead. The light streamed out and the hotel was bombed immediately.

When the U.S. Servicemen came to town they informed the police that if they were talking to a coloured U.S. serviceman and a white U.S. serviceman came up, the policeman should immediately stop talking to the coloured man. This was the case even if the coloured man was an officer and the white man was a private. The police told them that they didn’t think much of that idea!

Tests
The Home Office Police always outdid the regular police in tests. For example, in First Aid tests, the Home Office Police did best because they had been trained to treat only the visible injuries and get the person out of the bombed building. Meanwhile, the regular police were checking for broken backs, which just was not practical in wartime conditions.

For one test my father was paired with a Home Office Policeman from Great Wakering. The scenario was that a bomb had been dropped on a gas main in Leigh. Each pair of officers was meant to be in charge of controlling the emergency. My father asked his partner if he could lead, because he knew the area so well, and the other man agreed. My father was always suspicious in these situations. When they let off a firecracker, he immediately asked for half a dozen scouts to act as messengers. Soon the announcement that he was expecting came: a bomb had severed communications with HQ, and the only communication was via the scouts. So my father had plenty of messengers, and everyone else only had one or two.

Sergeant Kelly
Sergeant Kelly (or Sergeant Major?) was an old Irish Guardsman, about 6 foot 4 and looking very much like a Sergeant Major. He was very loyal and protective towards his men. He was an extremely observant man with a good visual memory. One day a gypsy that he had been notified about was walking down the side of the road. Sergeant Kelly rushed out and grabbed him, having seen him on the flyer. He was also extremely good at administration.

My father failed to get the official police medal as just short of his four years he had a duodenal ulcer. Sergeant Kelly tried to get him the medal, but they were very strict with the four-year rule.

The medical committee
After my father was discharged, they regularly tried to get him back to do some form of war work. After he had been in front of the medical committee several times, the entire committee threatened to resign en masse if he ever went up before them again: he would never be fit for war work.

My mother
My mother was a secretary at the Ministry of Aircraft Production. She would travel in from Southend to London every day. She had signed the Official Secrets Act, and did not reveal anything to her death. The only thing my father ever heard was that the Ministry was run by Lord Beaverbrook, the newspaper tycoon, and Herbert Morrison, the politician, and that Beaverbrook’s lot and Morrison’s lot hated each other! We suspected that my mother was fairly high up, as whenever they revealed anything to do with aircraft production she always seemed to know about it already.

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