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We returned home from Great Baddow just before Christmas, 1939 when it seemed safe because there had been no air raids and none seemed imminent.

One of the first things we did was to prepare an allotment over on Wanstead Flats, near to the end of Ferndale Road. It was very hard work for Dad and myself (as far as I was able and strong enough) to double dig the turf and get a reasonable soil. But we did it and were able to grow potatoes, carrots, beans, peas, cabbage and so on — as well as peculiar things called Kohl Rabi which we later grew to fee the rabbits that we, like many neighbours, kept to augment the meat ration!

But it was not long before we read in the papers (our was the old News Chronicle) and heard on the wireless that things were going badly wrong in France. Dunkirk marked, in my memory, the time when we realised that things could get really bad at home.

Our own air raid precautions had been made but, initially at any rate, we began to join the many people who made their way in early evening to the communal shelters. One was in Granleigh Road, by the junction with Melville Road. The other was over in Bushwood, near to the rear of Davies Lane School.

These, however, soon became over-crowded and Dad worked hard to make our own shelter more comfortable. We had supplies of food and water, good blankets and slept there in safety.

That is, until Saturday, 15th September,1940. That was the date of the first major daylight air raid on London. I can still see the scene as we looked from the shelter porch. It was a lovely summer evening with a clear blue sky, and we saw the little puffs of cotton wool (the anti-aircraft shells exploding) and saw the German planes with our Spitfires and Hurricanes weaving to and fro in their attempts to shoot some down.

A very large bomb landed nearby. The blast severely damaged several houses. The result was the decision of my parents to explain that, although they had promised it would not happen, we would be evacuated.

So it was that Tuesday 18th September found me, aged ten, with my brother, aged five, on Euston Station with several other children in long queues. We were all waiting for trains to take us out of London and to safety. In our case we found ourselves ultimately in the village of Barby,near Rugby in the home of Mr and Mrs Ashwell. A small cottage in the village centre, close to the Church and Post Office.

And another unexpected chapter was to follow.

Malcolm Pettit — 29.2.1930 to date
Chichester, PO19 5PH

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