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All my junior days at school were spent during the WW2 so we were very restricted in travelling. Only on one occasion do I recall travelling to Whipsnade Zoo — a joint effort with friends. All packed in to my father’s van to enjoy a day of animals and a picnic — it was a happy occasion. Other than that we found our fun by walking over the fields, by the river crouch, behind the then senior school towards the back end of Louvaine Avenue.

The war started in September 1939. I remember the solemn announcement on the radio, but not realising the horrors to come.

I joined the brownies, and was evolved in the procession of decorated vehicles for Queen Mary and King George’s Jubilee. Later there was the drama of the almost coronation of Edward VIII and later the abdication. Eventually of course the crowning of his brother George VI and Queen Elizabeth.

At the beginning of the war, nothing much seemed to happen, then all of a sudden the village was swarming with Black Watch and the Highland Light Infantry, billeted in church halls, and any spare accommodation ready for the invasion of France. It was certainly strange to hear bagpipes followed by platoons of swirling kilts marching up the high street. We often wonder how many of those men returned…

War well in progress now, no foreign fruits were imported, our main products of the shop at the end of Hall’s Corner. There was also a big campaign to ‘Dig for victory’, every patch of garden was being dug up — front as well as back gardens — and so being in the country, trade dropped considerably. Unfortunately the shop had to close, and we moved up to number 8 Victoria avenue, a bungalow where we also dug up the garden, and a large hole in the ground to put the Anderson shelter, a corrugated metal building in which we disappeared when the siren sounded to notify us of enemy aircraft on it’s way. We also spent night after night during the blitz — a concerted effort by the Germans to obliterate London, and as we were on the direct course we also suffered quite a bit of damage. It was horrendous and I do not know how our parents kept sane during the worst of this time.

These were my card sharping days, it was the simplest amusement to play down the shelter. As we only had candle light to see by. Bunk beds were where my brother slept, - can’t remember anything else. Oh! Yes, I unfortunately contracted measles during this time, and my mother and I had to remain in the bungalow, apparently I was very ill, if a raid occurred and mother would here bombs falling, she put pillows over our heads until the all clear.

Junior school days were very mixed. I remember having a Head Master called Mr. Kitson, and his wife, very elderly teachers, but during the war, so many staff were ‘called up’ into the Services, that retired staff were re-called. Dickensian was the type of education metered out by the Kitson’s.. If it wasn’t for one or two young teachers, life would have been intolerable. Pupils could get ‘the cane’ if they couldn’t spell a word correctly. We all lived in terror of making mistakes. Mrs. Kitson would grab the boys by their hair and shake their heads. Enough said of them old grim days. Towards the end of my junior school days, I think reports got back to the authorities of this service treatment. The Kitson’s left, and Miss Sortwell arrived as Head Mistress.

Immediate changes were set in force. Prefects were selected. Every class noticed the changes, and we were much happier, but it took more than a year for us to catch up with the lost time and only a few were clever enough to pass the exam for High School.

So to Senior school, as it was then called. What a difference. Our first year teacher was Miss Amos, she was young, played the piano beautifully, always in assembly and class music lessons. She made lessons fun. I think she actually took us for maths and English; history and geography, Games, needlework and cookery were taken by specialists. By the second year, I had regained all the confidence I had lost in Junior school. Mrs Mason was our second year teacher, and in the spring of this year we sat an exam for qualifying to attending the Mid-Essex Technical School in Chelmsford. I fortunately passed but before leaving Senior school Mrs Mason introduced me to sewing garments and embroidery.

All our garments were made from others, because of clothing being restricted to purchase with coupons. Only so many were allowed for each member of the family. Mens trousers were unpicked and made into ladies’ skirts. Shirts into blouses. Coats were revamped into anything the material would allow. We had to make do and mend. New clothes were considered an exciting addition. We just longed for peace time again. We even had to produce coupons for our new school uniform. All it would allow was one of everything to start with.

This ends my days at Wickford schools before travelling every day to Chelmsford.

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