大象传媒

When I was five years old my family鈥攆ather, mother, two sisters, me and my brother鈥攎oved to Newhaven, Sussex. Newhaven was probably best known for the ferries that ran across to Dieppe, but, as those of us who were alive during World War II will remember, it was soon known in a much more poignant way.

I was eight when war was declared. I remember it so clearly鈥攍istening to the announcement on the radio with my family, and wondering why all the grown-ups were so solemn.

We were given gas masks and shown how to use them so when the air-raid siren sounded on that first Sunday morning I rushed down into the cellar beneath our hilltop bungalow. When my mother found me, I was sitting on the floor in my gas mask鈥�
I thought that was what we were expected to do!

We were soon involved in helping my father to install an Anderson shelter in the garden. When it was completed, earth was piled on the top and we grew marrows on it, with great success. Later we were to discover it was sited over an underground spring so, rain or shine, we spent many hours baling it out. My two sisters, my brother and I formed a chain gang. On most days there were in excess of one hundred buckets of water鈥攚e thought it was good fun. My father thought otherwise; one night while we were evacuated with mother, he jumped into the shelter during a raid, only to find himself up to his waist in freezing cold water鈥攊n his pyjamas.

Despite being in a Channel port, our bungalow was soon to be a temporary home to a large number of evacuees from South London. We were 鈥済iven鈥� two brothers, aged seven and 13, members of a large family of 14 children, all of whom were billeted in Newhaven.

Fred and Harry called me 鈥淕randma鈥� because I was always telling tales on them. They did things that we would never have dared. One night our aged neighbours knocked on the door to report that 鈥渢hose boys鈥� were standing on the windowsill in full moonlight鈥攚earing absolutely nothing! Another time they had great fun swinging from the top of the wardrobe to the bed using the electric light flex. Stealing was the norm where they came from, and our small police force had a busy time while they were in residence.

How hard my mother worked, cooking and cleaning for six children! No washing machines or vacuum cleaners in those days, and the irons were heated in the fire. Yet I never remember her complaining, and when Christmas came, Fred and Harry were included in the festivities, with stockings and presents and plenty to eat.

Schooling had to be shared with the evacuees. The local children went to school in the mornings one week and the evacuees in the afternoons, and in the following week we swopped over.

On the occasional Sunday, Fred and Harry鈥檚 parents came to visit them. A coachload of evacuee parents would arrive鈥攈aving stopped off at a hostelry on the way!鈥攋ust in time for Fred and Harry鈥檚 parents to join in the lovely Sunday lunch my mother always cooked. After a short rest, off they would go again鈥�
I never remember 鈥渢he boys鈥� being upset at their departure.

Shortly after Christmas 1939 Fred reached the age of 14 and his parents decided that he must go to work. They had already got a job lined up for him, so both he and Harry went back to Southwark. We often wonder to this day whether the family survived the London blitz because we never heard from them again.

With the fall of France in June 1940, the powers-that-be suddenly seemed to realise the imminent danger from across the Channel and rushed the evacuees to other parts of the country, closely followed by the local children. As my brother was under five, my mother was allowed to come with us, so off we all went, leaving my poor father to cope as best he could. After a long tiring train journey, we arrived at Chipping Sodbury in Gloucestershire. Here, to my horror, the family was split up. My mother and brother were billeted with one family, my two teenage sisters with another, while I stayed with an elderly lady who had her 14-year-old granddaughter living with her. I had to share a bed with this girl, who had very little time for me, a child of nine.

Her language was dreadful. I had never heard such words before. We spent most nights in the air-raid shelter because we were only 10 miles from Bristol, which was being blitzed at the time. I recently revisited the area, and what memories it conjured up.

We stayed there for only a few weeks, although it seemed an age to me. Then my parents realised that an aunt lived quite close by, so we were given permission to move there. At least we were all together again.

Their toilet was a privy at the bottom of the garden. It was very eerie, especially in the dark; no electric light, of course, and the nearby chickens clucked and shuffled on their perches. No toilet paper either! Just cut-up squares of newspaper; it was one of our jobs to keep the privy supplied.

The children of the house鈥攖hree from the family and the four of us鈥攕lept in the attic room. I really did not feel very safe; when the German bombers flew over to attack Bristol, the whole house shook with the vibrations.

It was here that we had to walk over two miles each way to school, taking a packed lunch with us, which we ate sitting around the black central stove in the classroom鈥攖he only method of heating available.

My younger brother started school here, and how I remember his first few weeks. Every morning the whole school assembled in the hall for prayers. Before the end of the first verse of the hymn, a loud wail would go up from the infant class at the front. My teacher would beckon to me, and I suffered the supreme embarrassment of having to walk to the front, collect Victor and take him to another room.

Soon my parents decided that we should return to Newhaven, where there had been no air raids, and life was as near-normal as could be expected. It was now the autumn of 1940, and I was nine-and-a-half years old. My father met us at the railway station, and I clearly remember walking home with him and asking what the funny noises were that I could hear coming from the sky. He explained it was the 鈥渄og fight鈥� between the British and German planes. The Battle of Britain was in progress.

My eldest sister, Dorothy, worked at the local Co-Op at the time and told us that they were instructed that if the Germans did invade, they were to carry out a stock-take. We often laugh at his example of bureaucracy gone mad.

A few months after our return we had a hit-and-run raid on Newhaven town鈥攏o air-raid warning. We were sitting at the kitchen table eating tea when there was a dreadful screeching sound as the dive-bombers came in over the cliffs. We got under the table and, when my mother thought that it was safe enough, we ran to the air-raid shelter鈥攜oung Victor wailing because he had left behind his banana!

We had just closed the shelter door when there was a terrible explosion and the sound of shattering glass. The bungalow behind us had been hit, but although many homes, including ours, lost all their windows and some ceilings, no one was hurt. The lady who lived in the bombed bungalow was out shopping at the time. Under our kitchen table was a mass of glass splinters鈥攚e had a lucky escape! For the next two years or so, we had brown paper fixed over our window frames鈥攖here was no glass available to repair them.

My youngest sister, Joy, was working in a sweet shop in the town at the time of the bombing. One bomb fell in the road outside the shop, damaging all the stock, so she was given two 7-lb tins of Quality Street to take home. As sweets were rationed, we were delighted.

By now, Dad had dug up the front lawns and was growing vegetables at both the back and front of our bungalow. He also had two large allotments nearby, and my brother and I used to get paid for collecting caterpillars from the cabbages.

As an insurance agent, Dad used to call on several farms on his bicycle. The farmers used to sell him rabbits, which used to augment our meagre meat ration. I never remember being hungry.

Dad was also a member of the Home Guard and used to go off on exercises and training with Charlie, our next-door neighbour.
I think they really enjoyed these 鈥渨ar games鈥濃�攏o rifles, please note, they practised with broom handles. We all laugh at the antics of the cast of 鈥淒ad鈥檚 Army鈥� on television, but how close it comes to reality.

One of my friends remembers her mother running down the garden path, ahead of the local Home Guard, to place a small stool by the hedge so that the older members could climb over into the field beyond.

During this time, as our area overlooked the Channel, the army requisitioned several of the larger houses in our road鈥攖he owners being compensated to move elsewhere. We children became friendly with several of the soldiers and we used to help out in the local NAAFI, serving crisps and soft drinks. There was an anti-aircraft gun in the field opposite our bungalow and the soldiers would pop in鈥攄oors were never locked in those days鈥攖o tell us of any enemy aircraft they had hit. There were even barrage balloons over Newhaven harbour to protect the shipping from raids.

We spent most nights in the air-raid shelter or the cellar as the planes went over to blitz London. We could see the glow in the sky from the many fires, even though we were over 50 miles away.

In 1942 I passed 鈥渢he scholarship鈥濃�攖he equivalent of the 11-plus鈥攚hich meant I had to transfer to the County School for Girls in Lewes, the County town of Sussex, which was seven miles away. I travelled each way by train and met up with friends to walk the mile or so to Newhaven station.

My start at the new school was delayed for a month because I had to go to hospital in Brighton to have my tonsils and adenoids removed. I remember the air-raid warning sounding as I came around from the anaesthetic and the nurses bustling about, laying out dressing-gowns and slippers in case we had to be evacuated from the ward.

In August 1942, the day of the infamous Dieppe raid, mother took us to a garden fete in the grounds of one of the local doctors. No one was aware of anything untoward until the air-raid siren sounded, and we all went into a large shelter. At the same time the doctor鈥檚 bees decided to swarm. We were much more frightened of them than the prospect of a raid.

It was an extremely hot day and most uncomfortable in the shelter. Eventually we decided that it was safe to go home and were surprised to see wounded soldiers lying on stretchers, lining the pavements and waiting to be taken in ambulances.

It was a tragic raid鈥攖he Germans were waiting for the attacking force, and many of them were killed or maimed.

In August 1992 I was privileged to witness the 50th anniversary gathering and ceremony. Many of those participating were French Canadians, who came back by the coachload鈥攖hey had formed the bulk of the troops involved. Prince Philip was present, and a tree was planted close to the memorial stone, which commemorated the many who had given their lives on that summer鈥檚 day so long ago.

How moving it was to see the survivors鈥攎en in their 70s and 80s, with rows of medal ribbons on their chests. Many had limbs missing but had been determined to make the trip to honour their fallen comrades.

The next few months after the ill-feted Dieppe raid, the number of troops in the town increased noticeably, with more and more houses being requisitioned to accommodate them. In early 1944 we had a young commando billeted with us.

Bill was only 19 years old and came from London. He was only with us for a few weeks; we got up one morning to find he and all his belongings had vanished鈥攏one of us had heard him leave. He had warned us that this could happen at any time, and promised that he would keep in touch if he could. As we never heard from him again we can only presume he did not survive.

In early 1944 we began to realise that something was about to happen. The number of army vehicles, tanks and guns increased in the town and the surrounding countryside, and strange pieces of equipment appeared in the harbour. Later we learned that they were towed to France to assist with the landing of the allied forces and their supplies. How quiet Newhaven seemed after D-Day.

However, we still had waves of aircraft overhead鈥斺�漮urs鈥� this time鈥攏ight and day. The sky seemed full of them鈥擣lying Fortresses, Dakotas, Spitfires and Hurricanes. We used to wave to the pilots because they flew so low, and were thrilled when some of the fighters did a 鈥渧ictory roll鈥�, which meant that they had shot down an enemy plane. We were too young to realise the implications.

Soon we learnt of a new menace鈥攖he V1 rockets, or doodle-bugs. These unmanned weapons were programmed to fly towards a target, and when their engines cut out it was time to take cover. One night in June 1944, we were trying to sleep in the shelter. Dad came in and told us there were lights travelling along the top of the nearby South Downs. Since aircraft were not allowed to show their lights, we knew that this was something new. We soon learned the awful truth. On the whole, we were unaffected because the doodle-bugs were aimed at London. However, if the rockets were faulty, they landed locally. I remember crouching down on the way to school one morning while one flew over at house-height, plunging into the bed of the River Ouse. Luckily it did not explode.

In November 1944 we were all asleep when a barge full of explosives broke loose during a gale from the ship towing it to France. The barge hit a mine under the cliffs at the edge of Newhaven, causing the most tremendous explosion. All of our windows smashed, the ceilings came down and the doors were blown off their hinges. We had only just had the window glass replaced from earlier bomb damage. There was glass and plaster everywhere, and roof beams sticking through the destroyed ceilings. Our back door was leaning against the opposite wall, as if put there deliberately. My sister鈥檚 jewellery, which had been on her dressing table, vanished completely鈥攕ucked out by the blast.

Amazingly, only one person was killed鈥攁 sailor on a ship in the harbour. My future brother-in-law, Jim, was also on a ship at the time, stoking the boilers with coal. The blast blew the coal-dust into his eyes鈥攖he whites of his eyes were scarlet for days.

Daylight the next morning revealed the true extent of the damage. Windows were broken over a seven-mile radius, and some areas were completely devastated. I remember waiting for my schoolfriend as usual to walk with her to the station, and looking down on the housing estate in the valley where she lived. Not a single house had a roof and the scene was totally chaotic.

In spite of the damage to the local railway lines, we were admonished for being late for school鈥攁nd no one apologised when the true story emerged, either!

We were not told the cause of the explosion until much later鈥斺�滳areless Talk Costs Lives鈥� was a popular propaganda poster in those days. The event is commemorated in a tiled inset in the town鈥檚 modern shopping centre.

May 8th 1945 was VE (Victory in Europe) Day. We had street parties and everyone provided something to eat, although food rationing was still in operation. How excited and happy everyone was. There were concerts and parades; I remembered being draped in sheets, with helmet and trident鈥擝rittania in the tableau鈥攁nd very nervous I was!

Life gradually returned to normal, but all of us who took part in those momentous times realise how privileged we were to witness the bravery and resolve of so many.

I started to write this account when I was asked to speak to my grandson Andrew鈥檚 class at junior school. The children were studying World War II, and Andrew had told his teacher about Nan鈥檚 war stories. I spent a half-hour lesson with 30 10-year-olds! They listened with interest and asked intelligent questions. They showed me the war memorabilia they had managed to collect鈥攔ation books, tin hats, stirrup pumps and so on鈥攁nd the computer exercises in which they were involved.
I really enjoyed myself!

How we all hope that they and all future generations may never know the horrors of war.

THE END

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