大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site on behalf of Jean Richardson and has been added to the site with her permission...

Jean was three when the war started and lived in Westhill Drive Dartford Kent.

The German planes on bombing raids followed the river Thames and dropped the bombs they had left on the way back, often over Dartford. Jean recalls watching a dog fight from her Aunt's bedroom, near Dartford Heath. One of our men parachuted from his plane, after it had been hit and she can remember the other planes circling around him to keep him safe as he came down.

The dog fights above the Heath caused a lot of loose amunition and she recalls that often they had lots of, it strewn all over their garden.

There was a massive gun on the Heath that thudded all night long and she watched it moving backwards and forwards as it fired.

Although not a Roman Catholic she was sent to school at a convent nearby, they were sent home early around lunch time so that they were always home safe before the bombing started, as this could happen from early evening onwards.

The windows in the house regularly blew out, the only ones that were left in tact were the french windows at the back. So the family had to all sleep downstairs as getting windows repaired at the time was almost impossible.

Air raid shelters made of corrugated iron were distributed and father built his in the garden and grew vegetables on the top, to hide it. They were under constant attack, she remembers mother waking them up to go into the shelter. It smelt of damp earth and for six weeks they had to go in to it nightly.

Her Auntie Di had been courting Charlie Taylor for 27 years and on the first night of their honeymoon there was a raid and they had to spend it in the shelter. Jean's father thought this was hilarious, waiting all that time, only to spend your first married night in the company of lots of people.

There was the Joyce Green Hospital at the back of the house, this was bombed also and Jean recalls the bomb squad detonating unexploded bombs there.

Also in Dartford was a margarine factor, that got bombed. It burnt for days and father sat in the garden reading his newspaper by the light of it.

Father was an air raid warden and often out all night. One night he didn't come home and mother got very worried. He had managed to get tangled in some telegraph wires that had come down and it was too dark to be able to see how to get himself untangled, so he had to wait for daylight.

Her mother suffered a miscarriage and had to go into hospital, Jean had to go and stay with a neighbour (Auntie Di). She had to catch the bus there. The bombs were dropping all around as they travelled. The driver told the passengers to get under the seats, which they did and he continued driving through it. When mother came home she had to stay in bed and as she was lying there one day, a piece of red hot shrapnel flew across the bed, just missing her.

Jean can remember the day war was declared, she was playing in the garden, her mother was ironing and called her into the house to listen. Her father was in her words a 'Churchill addict' listening to all his broadcasts. He encouraged the family to be likewise and Jean remembers going to the cinema and watching the Gaumont News and shouting out aloud, 'I love that man.'

After the war had finished they went to Lytham St. Annes to see Churchill who was at the Clifton Arms Hotel . They all went to see him and along with the crowd chanted, 'we want Winnie'and he came out on the balcony. The following day father spotted him in his car being driven through Lytham, he waved to him and gave him the victory sign. To his great delight Churchill gave him one back and to father this was better than winning the pools, so much admiration had he for him.

War gave Jean a slight speech impediment which has now gone. The doctors at Gt. Ormond St. childrens hospital thought it was the bombings that had caused it. Jean doesn't remember crying herself, but has very vivid memories of other people's sorrow, and says maybe keeping it all bottled up was the cause of it.

As Jean told me this story, she did cry, recalling what a wonderful chilhood and parents she'd had and I think that's a lovely note to finish her story on.

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