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This is Part 3 of 5 of Mr. Imm’s War Memories submitted by Stafford Library on his behalf.

Rosemary was born on 28 March 1944. Mrs. Stacey had again been engaged as the midwife for Mary’s confinement. By 1944 Mrs. Stacey’s home had been converted into a small maternity home. Fortunately everything went according to plan when Rosemary arrived. The weather was kind, not like the January snowstorms in 1941 when Angela was born. Unlike Angela, as a small baby Rosemary slept soundly every night without disturbing our rest. Angela just could not settle down at night. As soon as she got to sleep the least noise or disturbance would wake her up. Mary and I took it in turns on alternative nights for well over 18 months to pace the bedroom with her, trying to keep her quiet. Fortunately at that time during the war we were not being disturbed too much at night by air raid warnings.

During 1944 my father’s health was giving cause for serious concern. He was however able to travel up to Stafford for a few days of holiday at the beginning of August, but even then he was obviously very poorly. I was so proud to be able to sit his second granddaughter on his lap. After his return to Ashford his condition became rapidly worse. Long hours of work in the very difficult and dangerous conditions in the railway works at Ashford no doubt took its toll on him and contributed to the onset of his terminal illness. Soon after returning home from his stay with us at Stafford he became too ill to go to work and by the middle of August the doctor had told my mother that the end was very near. The sad news was passed on to me and I was on standby to go down to Ashford at a moment’s notice.

Early in September 1944 Charlie Payne who was the best man at our wedding was spending a short holiday with Mary and I at Stafford. It was while he was with us that the bad news arrived from Ashford that father was dying. Because we had been expecting the worst I had a small case ready packed at home so that I could get off to Ashford without delay when it became necessary. When the telegram arrived indicating that the end was very near Mary got on her bike and brought it to the works gate at English Electric and asked to see me. I had earlier on told the Chief Draughtsman about my father and the fact that I was expecting bad news. When I showed him the telegram I was given immediate leave. I made my way home and prepared to make the overnight journey down to Ashford. The trip from Stafford to Euston, where I arrived at about 6.30am was quite uneventful. When walking from the arrival platform towards the Underground to make my way to Charing Cross I passed an area that was usually reserved for parcels traffic. On that morning the space was occupied by some 9 or 10 coffins, each draped with a Union Jack, a grim reminder that I was entering the war zone.

In the later part of 1944 the V1 flying bombs (doodle bugs) were at their peak intensity of raids on the south of England. When I walked on to the platform at Charing Cross at about 7.30am the sirens sounded an air raid warning and almost immediately I heard the pop pop popping noise of the approaching V1s which was soon followed up with the noise of anti-aircraft gunfire. On his last visit to Stafford my father had told me that during air raids on the railway works at Ashford, he took shelter by standing alongside the main steel roof support columns. He said that he had seen many buildings in the works which had been damaged by bombs, in which the main structural stanchions were the only parts left standing. By his reckoning he argued that it was safer to stand in the recess of the stanchions than it was to run out into the open to the air raid shelters in the works yard. When the siren sounded at Charing Cross I took up his idea. No one waiting on the platform took slightest notice of the noise of bombs bursting or of the anti-aircraft gunfire. Like everyone else I had to do the same and look calm, so I nonchalantly walked towards and leaned against one of the huge stanchions supporting the station roof and continued to read my morning paper. Explosions of the V1s continued after the pop pop of the bombs motors stopped. Fortunately none hit the station or the railway that morning, but they hit the ground not very far away.

When the Ashford train left Charing Cross it was crowded. I had a window seat in a 5a side compartment. It slowly moved out towards London Bridge station where it stopped to pick up more passengers. There were more pop pops of the doodle bugs to be heard nearby so I wanted to look out of the window to get a look at one. I had never seen one of the infamous things. In spite of the pop pops getting nearer and nearer and the explosions when the engines stopped, no one in the compartment showed the slightest concern. Everyone calmly continued to read their morning paper so I just had to do the same. As the train moved on through the Kentish countryside and the area defended by barrage balloons, more doodle bugs could be heard. Looking out through the window I saw quite a few of them on their way towards London, but they all managed to dodge the balloon wires. Apart from the doodle bugs the journey was uneventful.

I had not been in the house at No. 269 Newtown very long before the sirens were sounding and V1s were flying over. There were at least three flight paths which they took, one of which was directly above our house and the railway works. As the bombs flew over the house shook from the vibration caused by their engines. I went outdoors to get a good look at them. My mother urged me to take cover under the indoor Morrison shelter. I ignored her and said ‘they are all on their way to London and it is only when the engine of the damned things stop that it is necessary to take cover.’ Over Ashford and the surrounding countryside the defences against V1s were fighter planes. While I was watching the stream of bombs flying over, a twin engined fighter plane appeared from the west towards the area above the allotments at the front of No. 269. It fired off its machine guns and made a direct hit on one of the invaders which was flying in a direct line towards our home. There was a thunderous explosion and the plane banked away and flew off with a trail of smoke pouring from its engines. I exclaimed, ‘the bloody thing has hit our fighter.’ However, the plane accelerated and continued on its way. The penny suddenly dropped, our plane was jet propelled, it was a Gloucester Meteor, a plane that was new to me. We had not heard about it in the Midlands. During the war the public were urged to refrain from talking or writing about anything that might be useful information to the enemy. The fact that jet fighter planes were in operation over the south of England without it being common knowledge over the rest of the country was testimony to the public’s reaction to such exhortations.

Following a succession of raids during the day, there were more alerts after dark. Looking southwards from Newtown the flashing of the V1 propulsion motors could be seen coming in over the coast. Anti-aircraft shells bursting all around them lit up the sky. Blast from some of the shell bursts pushed the odd doodle bug off course and some of them were turned right round and flew back across the Channel to the direction from which they came. When the anti-aircraft gunners made a direct hit a large explosion was seen in the night sky.

Amidst all of the fireworks and noise it is sad to say that I do not think that my father recognised me, he was failing very rapidly. During the night he lapsed into a coma. He died during the evening of the next day, 9th September 1944. Although it can be said that he passed away quietly, it was most certainly not during a quiet time that he died. It is so sad that both he and Mary’s father did not live long enough to enjoy having their grandchildren with them for at least a few years. I sent a telegram off to Mary and Charlie accompanied her and Angela down to Ashford for the funeral. Rosemary was left at home in Stafford in the care of Mary’s mother. The funeral took place in the cemetery at Willesborough and he was buried near to the graves of some of his neighbours who had been killed during air raids on the railway workshops. Mrs. Brunger, one of the neighbours on Newtown, looked after Angela while Mary and I were at the funeral.

Immediately after the funeral I returned on my own to Stafford. I had to be back at work as soon as possible. On the overnight train from Euston I shared a compartment with an American GI. We chatted together about the way of life in our respective countries. I was very surprised to learn how much he was impressed by the standard of education of the children in Britain. He said that it made him ashamed at the illiteracy which, according to him, was widespread in the USA and in the American armed forces in particular.

After the funeral Mary stayed on with my mother at Ashford and hoped that after a couple of days she would be able to persuade her to come up to Stafford for a short break in what was at least a much quieter area. Naturally Mary was worried about having Angela with her in such a vulnerable area and she was also anxious to get back home to look after Rosemary. To add to her anxiety about being in what amounted to a war zone, the British airborne assault on Arnhem was mounted while she was still at Newtown. When she the armada of gliders being towed over Ashford she was all the more resolved to get back home to Stafford as soon as possible. In the event it took her a whole week to persuade my mother to make the trip up to Stafford with her.

Mary’s journey back to Stafford with Angela and my mother was quite an experience. First of all there was the anxiety about the possibility of an air raid or of another round of doodle bugs falling while she was in London. Next came the hassle of travelling on the Underground, with crowds being squeezed on the platforms narrowed by the rows of bunks which were used by Londoners at night to take shelter from the air raids. At Euston there were huge crowds making their way to the various platforms and especially to platform 13 for the northbound train. When the carriages were backed in, there was a rush made by the crown to board the train even before it had come to a standstill. Seeing what was going to happen, my mother pushed herself forward with the luggage and managed to secure a seat for herself and pile the cases on one for Mary who followed on with Angela. Was the rush to get away from London due to the mysterious explosions which were at first being attributed to the bursting of gas mains, or was it due to the fact that people were making a run for it to get clear of the range of the new German secret weapon the V2 rocket propelled bomb? According to the official records the V2s, which hit the ground and exploded, did not arrive until early in November 1944. Once the train got under way the passengers settled down to the long journey ahead. An American GI in the compartment gave Angela an orange. She had never seen one before and was afraid to eat it.

Apart from their experiences at Ashford and on the journey home, Mary and Angela had already had quite an eventful journey across London on the way down with Charlie. It was fortunate that he had been able to travel with them to help them over what turned out to be a very harassing part of the journey. It was Angela’s first ride on a train. She was only 3½ years old at that time and had never before been away from what was then the relatively quiet area of Stafford where it was much safer to be than the south of England. It was of course quite a worry for Mary to have to leave Rosemary at home and take Angela across war time London., In an exchange of letters or maybe it was telegrams, my mother had asked Mary to make the journey down to Ashford and stay with her for a few days after the funeral. I was reluctant to agree. However, as Charlie would be able to travel with her I agreed.

After the tiring run from Stafford down to Euston and the harassing transfer on the Underground between Euston and Charing Cross, the tired trio from Stafford saw the Ashford train moving away from the platform just as they arrived at the ticket barrier. They found out that there would be a considerable time to wait for the next train to Ashford. Charlie was familiar with the workings of the trains out of Charing Cross and knew that most of them stopped at London Bridge and many were booked as a connection for passengers arriving from the west at Waterloo just across the road. There was always the chance that there would be quite a long wait at London Bridge if the Waterloo incoming connection was late, and in war time it often was. Charlie soon spotted that another train on a nearby platform was due out almost immediately to a destination other than Ashford. However he also knew that it would stop at London Bridge. He quickly decided that to try and avoid a long wait in the very vulnerable area at Charing Cross it would be worth making a dash for London Bridge and the Ashford train that might still be waiting there for its connection from Waterloo. Even if the Ashford train had already departed the next one from Charing Cross to Ashford would stop there anyway. After a quick transfer to the next platform at Charing Cross they were off. At London Bridge sure enough there was the Ashford train on the next platform waiting for its passengers from Waterloo. Charlie dashed over the footbridge to where the Ashford train was just about to pull out. He was able to hold up its departure for a minute while Mary trudged up and over the footbridge with a very tired little girl and then they were off. Although it had been more than a bit of a rush it had been worth it to ensure a quick get away from London.

As with food, clothes were strictly rationed throughout the war years and for some time after hostilities ceased. Although my father was a stone heavier than me, we were in other respects of almost identical build. Apart from shirt collar sizes, his was 17 and mine at that time was 16, all of our clothing and footwear was of the same fit. By 1944 when my father died, the pinch of clothes rationing was really beginning to hurt. I had to ignore any emotional concern regarding his clothes and was able to put many of them to good use.

What is claimed to have been the last V1 flying bomb to fall on England landed near to a cooling pond at the south end of Ashford Railway Works. It did not explode and Charlie Payne, who was a sergeant in the Works Home Guard Unit was responsible for keeping guard over it until the Army Bomb Disposal Squad arrived to make it safe. When it had been defused and made harmless, Charlie collected a few bits and pieces of the defused missile as souvenirs. He gave me the fuse plug and its detonation cap which I have been able to keep as a reminder of the devastation caused by the flying bombs. A map showing the location of all of the V1s which landed in Kent was reproduced in one of the Kentish newspapers. A copy of the map was sent to me by my mother.

Only a few stray V1st got very far past London. I do not recall having heard news bulletins or reading newspaper reports about any falling in the Midlands. However, during the middle of one starlit night, I think must have been early in 1945, I was awakened by the sound of what I am convinced was a Doodle Bug. Mary and I went to an open window to listen, the sound came from a south easterly direction. We did not see any flashing of the V1 motor that accompanied the pop pop sound. The pops came and went over perhaps a whole minute before they died away. I was left in no doubt that it was a stray V1.

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