大象传媒

I was four years old at the outbreak of World War 2. I have no story to tell, just a collection of disjointed memories. I am now 68 years young, but these few strangely treasured memories are impossible to forget; just like my National service number. My earliest recollection is being in Great Ormond Street Children鈥檚 Hospital in war torn London at the height of the German 鈥楤litzkrieg鈥�, or the 鈥楤litz鈥� as we came to know it. London was literally on fire and the air raid sirens would sound frequently with each wave of enemy bombers dropping their deadly load upon the inhabitants. As children of such a tender age we were largely ignorant of any danger and knew little fear. We were frequently wheeled down to the basement when the bombs started dropping closer. I recall the day when my mother came to take me home. There was no hospital transport available, but they lent us a red blanket for my mother to carry me in. In the street fires were burning and there was rubble everywhere. We hadn鈥檛 gone far when yet another siren sounded, announcing yet more bombs on the way. Somebody shouted at my mother to get into the shelter, which I now believe was an underground station. I have no idea how we got home. I probably slept through the noise!

Underground stations were used to accommodate 鈥榖ombed out鈥� people who had lost their homes. I saw long lines of bunks along the station where they lived and slept.
The windows of the trains and buses were covered in sticky tape in case they shattered. There were posters urging the population to 鈥楧ig for victory鈥�. Parks and lawns were ploughed up to plant potato and other crops. Food was very short. Other posters warned about giving out any information, as spies or enemy agents could be listening at any time, any place. 鈥楥areless talk costs lives鈥� one poster read. 鈥榃alls have ears鈥� and I remember another poster with picture of a 鈥楤utterfly bomb鈥� which looked like a toy and came down by parachute. Any child picking it up would have an arm blown off! It was like a land mine apparently.

We lived at Potters Bar at the time, which is now a part of north London. My father was not at home very much. He was an electronic expert and not in the military. He was called away on a reserved occupation, but my mother told me later that he was unable to talk about it. The house was nearly always filled with strangers coming and going, especially if near neighbours were 鈥榖ombed out鈥�. My father had built an Anderson shelter in our garden, but if there was a sudden air raid there was not always time to get to it. On one such occasion there was a crowd of us indoors. I was thrilled because my Uncle Lester was on leave from the R.A.F and Uncle George who fought Rommel as a 鈥楧esert Rat鈥� and also on leave. My cousin Kenny was living with us and being two or three years older than me was a bit of a wag. I can remember the laughter and good spirits. My Aunty Molly was cooking a meal for everybody and was just about to dish up when the siren went 鈥� another air raid! 鈥淭hat bloody Hitler鈥� she exclaimed and was promptly rebuked by my Uncle for swearing in front of the children. For years afterwards I thought that 鈥楬itler鈥� was the swear word! At this moment Kenny, in mock terror grabbed my Aunt Peggy鈥檚 sewing machine cover and put it over his head and immediately got his ears stuck. Our laughter increased at his antics but quickly subsided when the bombs started to drop. Three houses two streets away were demolished we discovered next morning. All the families were killed.

Everything was rationed and coupons were issued for food and even clothing. My mother was registered with a butcher in the high street who she and my aunt thought highly of 鈥� he would always find extra rations when he could. A 鈥榞ood鈥� man she used to say. She sent me on an errand one morning with half a crown (25 pence) and her ration book to visit this 鈥榞ood man鈥�. I was just leaving his shop with our family ration when, whilst chopping up a joint of meat, he accidentally chopped his thumb with the cleaver. 鈥淥h f * * * 鈥� he screamed in agony. I knew that it was some terrible swear word but kept it a secret from my family. I didn鈥檛 want to disillusion them about this good man.

As young boys growing up in the war years entertainment was limited but we never felt deprived in any way. We went on adventures over the fields and fishing in a flooded bomb crater, which had turned into a natural pond and filled up with wild life.
The German aircraft used to drop silver foil to confuse our Radar defences and after a raid this stuff was to be found trailing over trees and hedgerows. We used to collect yards of these strips at Christmas time for decorations at home and at school. We always were on the lookout for 鈥楽hrapnel鈥� pieces of exploded shells or bomb. These were highly prized and swapped with others. One boy was the envy of the class when he brought to school a small section of a German Dornier which had been shot down.

My father when not away was active in the Home Guard (Dad鈥檚 Army) and I can remember helping him clean his rifle on the kitchen table. It was a Royal Enfield 303 and he was issued with six bullets; should be plenty to keep Hitler at bay!
On my rare visits to central London I saw Barrage balloons and Anti-aircraft gun emplacements and large searchlights were in place. Lots of park gardens and lawns had been ploughed up to grow potatoes. There were storage tanks for water where possible but I鈥檓 not sure if they were for drinking or fire fighting? Probably both.
I remember the salvage drive with people going from door to door collecting old pots, pans and in fact anything to help the war effort. Even railings were sawn off.
My mum鈥檚 old kettle probably ended up as part of a spitfire!

I recall seeing a hurricane chasing a messersmitt across the sky but didn鈥檛 see the outcome. Later I saw aircraft flying over with black and white stripes under the wings, which I later knew to be part of the D-Day planes.

My most important wartime memory I have saved to last. My Mum had gone out to the shops leaving my friend Henry and myself doing a jigsaw puzzle. Before she got to the bus stop she returned home. She had forgotten her ration book and missed the bus. Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion and the whole house shook, the jigsaw pieces went flying all over the carpet just as my mother arrived home. It was Divine Providence I am convinced. My mother was a meticulous woman and would not forget anything. She did on this occasion and it saved her life. The bus was a direct hit and everybody on it killed. I praise God to this day. It was a miracle.

The war in Italy was finally won and I remember seeing Italian prisoners of war in their brown clothing working in the farm near us. They were very friendly. When the war finished street parties were held. I saw Winston Churchill once in an open car complete with cigar doffing his hat with a smile. Church bells were ringing everywhere. From the Armada to this present day this nation has made sacrifices to keep this country free. Let us never forget our history.

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