大象传媒

This is my transcription of a letter which my aunt 鈥� Gray Harris 鈥� wrote it in 1940 to my mother (Mabel) in Peterborough, where we were all living during the war years. I have tried to proof-read it, and think I have got it right - but you must remember that Gray did not have a spell-checker (though I have tried to correct where I felt it was justified), and also her style is not quite what I would have said.
A few background notes - my aunt Gray (a short form of Grace) was an infant school teacher, and was married to my father's brother Vic. At the time this letter was written her mother and father were living with them in Streatham. Ken Harris was another of my father's brothers, and was a senior Barclay鈥檚 Bank manager in Victoria Street, London, while Arthur Hibberd was my father's brother-in-law. (Arthur, incidentally, was a cousin of Stuart Hibberd, a senior 大象传媒 newsreader during the war years.) Daisy seems to have been my aunt's live-in maid - how things have changed!
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33 Thornlaw Road, S.E.27
Tues. Sept. 10th 1940

My dear Mabel,
I had intended to write to you in any case tonight because I thought you would be wondering how we were standing up to the strain of Adolf鈥檚 blitzkrieg. Of course I got home late because we have had 4 short warnings today 鈥� at 1.0, 4.0, 5.0 and 6.0. The two last hung me up as I was having a cup of tea with a friend at a teashop when the first (5.0) one went, to be shortly followed by the 鈥渁ll clear鈥�, but before we had finished our tea the next warning went, so we had to wait for that to clear up. Then when I tried to get home there was such a queue of people waiting to get home also (Why do people insist on living on my bus route? So selfish of them!). When I eventually arrived home I found your very welcome letter awaiting me, so, after exchanging news with Vic as to his day鈥檚 experiences, phoned my sister to see if they were all all right, incidentally learning that we have just brought down a 4-engine bomber. I am now settling down to ease your mind as to the morale of the Cockney after some days of hell with the lid off. Well, we have had 3 awful nights when the drone of Jerry鈥檚 planes was the most terrifying sound of the lot, and the wonder if the next bonk will be our house. Everybody thinks that Jerry is making a dead set at his own particular roof, and everybody thinks that each bonk is next door, or, at the farthest, two doors away. It rather takes the wind out of one鈥檚 sails when one learns that it was at least 3 miles away. Last evening, we had a short but very severe go at 5.0. We heard bangs, gunfire, the whistle of bombs, when we dashed as fast as Mother could go into our shelter (of which more anon) and then we distinctly heard a fight overhead, the rattle of machine guns, and the unmistakeable whiz of a falling plane. We were absolutely convinced that it must all be in the immediate neighbourhood, only to find later that it took place at Coulsdon, which must be about 8 miles away. Three planes were brought down in the field at the back of the garden of a friend of mine 鈥� 2 Messrs and a Dornier.
When all this fuss started a couple of weeks back, we used to go to bed and spend the night wondering if we ought to go downstairs, and after a night of this sort of suspense, I decided to put the beds all downstairs as a routine job. So now when bed-time comes, usually about 10.0 o鈥檆lock, the ceremony begins. We clear all the chairs away from a space in the lounge, carry our feather mattress in and make up our bed there. Vic has an arrangement of a screen balanced on two chairs and covered with cushions under which we put our pillows. The theory is that any falling plaster would hit the screen and not our heads. I hope the theory is correct. Then we make up Mother鈥檚 and Father鈥檚 mattresses on the floor in the dining room, with their feet under the table (a billiard diner). It would be better to have their heads under, but they don鈥檛 seem to like the idea of that. (There goes 鈥淢oaning Minnie鈥� 鈥� she鈥檚 very punctual. She now goes soon after 8.0 and lasts until nearly 6.0.) Daisy sleeps in the kitchen, which is really a safe room because it is slightly basemented.
Interval while I do the usual stuff 鈥� fill the bath, all jugs etc., turn off the gas.
We haven鈥檛 got an Anderson shelter because they wouldn鈥檛 give us a free one, and we would have had to pay 拢9 to buy one. But as this house is on a hill, the garden is higher in the back than in the front, and Vic鈥檚 workshop which was originally a cellar, and in which we had two windows fixed, is reasonably safe. There is a trench outside it, and the earth slopes away from the trench. It has a concrete roof which is about a foot thick. We only go in there when the gunfire becomes too insistent, and so far we haven鈥檛 gone in there after we have gone to bed, no matter how loud the bonks are. Vic is amazing. He just goes to sleep. He wakes up occasionally when the noise is too insistent, but he promptly rolls over and goes to sleep again. This gift is a relic of his army days, and I am (touch wood) beginning to acquire a little of the same gift. I slept quite well last night, partly because it was colder, and I am told that last night was the worst so far.
The children are simply marvellous. They don鈥檛 appear to turn a hair. As far as I can make out, they all go down to their shelters and go to bed there. We have had very few at school this week. Yesterday we had to send them home in the afternoon because there was a dent in the allotment in the playground that might have been a time bomb, so we all stayed and got on with various jobs. We don鈥檛 go to school until 10.0 now if the all clear goes after 12.0, and our morning attendance is very small. I haven鈥檛 heard anyone say that they can鈥檛 stick it. They grumble, of course. They wouldn鈥檛 be English if they didn鈥檛, but there is not the slightest sign of anyone wanting to give in. Everyone is mad at Hitler, but there is plenty of laughter and joking about it all. Some people go to the public shelters every night. You see a procession of them going to the local Church crypt with their blankets and pillows on a pram, and a bag of provisions.
Wednesday
I couldn鈥檛 go on last night because the gunfire started and became rather insistent, so we went into the shelter for a bit. Then by the time we came out and had supper, it was time to do the beds and it was too late for me to continue this letter.
It鈥檚 now about 10.0 o鈥檆lock 鈥� Moaning Minnie went about an hour ago, and we are being treated to a noisy battle overhead. I think there must be a mobile air gun in the near vicinity, and it鈥檚 cracking away (it sounds immediately overhead) and we heard a piece of shrapnel hit the window. As soon as there was a lull we crept outside to see if it was an incendiary bomb, but couldn鈥檛 see anything. The moon is as bright as day 鈥� I expect that is why there is so much gunfire.
We had a raid while we were in school this afternoon, and the big guns were making a terrific din. I was in the boys鈥� shelter (a large school-room that has been bricked up) and frankly, I began to feel a bit wobbly about the tum. But all the boys said when there were heavy bursts of noise 鈥淕uns鈥�, and they were otherwise unmoved. And it wasn鈥檛 the quietness of ignorance, because the neighbourhood round the school has been treated to plenty of bombs, exploded and otherwise.
I wish you could see us all. Vic and Dad playing crib, Mother sitting in a chair, me writing this in an armchair, and all of us with cushions on our heads. Dad looks like Aladdin with a green cushion with a gold fringe on his head. I just looked up at him and had to giggle. He looked so funny. Wish I had your cin茅 to send you a picture! Daisy has just come in to clear the supper (we never use the dining room these days except for Vic鈥檚 office and the parents鈥� bedroom) and she has had a tooth out today, so she has a scarf round her head and face 鈥� she looks as if she has come out of a harem. Oh! We do look a crowd.
Well, I could go on for ages, but it is nearly 11.0 (as Daisy says) and we want to make beds, and I do want to post this in the morning. I hope this letter hasn鈥檛 been too raidy, but they are apt to take the foreground of life these days.
Oh! Arthur Hibberd鈥檚 boy John is a prisoner of war after all. So that is good news.
Ken Harris rang Vic yesterday. He is sleeping on hammocks among the coals! (Ken of all people). He said he was among coal, spiders and gas meters. A bomb fell outside and blew up the gas main, after which the smell of gas from the meter disappeared.
Yes please 鈥� I鈥檇 love the tea if you can really spare it. Are you sure you can?
Cheerio my dear. Love to you all,
Yours,
Gray

Mother, whose memory is rapidly getting worse, has just said na茂vely 鈥淲hat are they shooting at? Are they shooting at one another?鈥� Vic has a folded fluffy rug on his head and he just lost his way in it. He looks positively sinister, peering out of one eye, which is all one can see of his face. We keep getting the giggles as we look at one another.

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