大象传媒

This story has been submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Peter Tester for Kent Libraries and Archives and Canterbury City Council Museums on behalf of Norman Jack Smith and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I was born on 14th April 1936 at 9 Lorina Road in Ramsgate in Kent, which is close to the Whitehall Road viaduct, and pretty close to Manston RAF Station. There was also a coal-hopper on the embankment close to the viaduct. My Father was a 鈥減assed driver鈥� on the Southern Railway.

My first memories must relate to 1938 or 1939, since they concern 鈥淪top me and buy one鈥� Ice Cream bicycles and a marvellous (civilian!) firework display. I do not remember the outbreak of war, but I have vivid memories of the Dunkirk evacuation, which coincided with the evacuation of schoolchildren from Ramsgate. My Mother refused to leave my Father, who was in a reserved occupation, and I was too young to be separated from her. My sister 鈥� then 10 鈥� was sent to Lichfield in Staffordshire. She actually departed from Ramsgate Station at a time when it was crowded with troops returning from Dunkirk, many wrapped in blankets. Loudspeaker vans were touring the town, asking for blankets and bread. I remember that, during this period, my Father was working 16 hour days ferrying troops from Kent to London. He subsequently told me he remembered many armed French troops being bussed from London Victoria to London Waterloo, where they were put onto trains to Weymouth and returned to France. My Brother 鈥� then nearly 17 鈥� also worked on the Southern Railway and subsequently told me that the tracks from the coast to London were littered with abandoned rifles and tin helmets, etc, which the demoralised soldiers had thrown from the train windows. My Mother also took me to Ramsgate Harbour, where I remember masses of white-painted small craft. She also pointed to the coast of France and said 鈥淭he Germans are there鈥�.

I have some other recollections of the period immediately after Dunkirk, the most dramatic of which took place in a relative鈥檚 kitchen. The grown-ups were talking about the French surrender and somebody said 鈥淣ow it鈥檚 just us and the Germans, and that is how it should be.鈥� I do not know if it was at this time but I do recall people 鈥渢aking the mickey鈥� out of Churchill after his famous speeches. The subject of invasion was, of course, discussed in the family, where the attitude appeared to be that the Royal Navy would never allow them to do it. In the short period between Dunkirk and the beginning of the Battle of Britain Thanet was turned into a fortress, with obstructions on the beaches, movement restrictions and simulated gun-emplacements based on Telegraph polls, though we did get a Bofors gun by the railway, presumably to protect the viaduct. Ramsgate became a ghost town, and special papers were need to enter and leave the area.

Meantime my brother had been transferred by the railway to Gillingham where he tried on more than one occasion to join the Royal Navy but was prevented by the Direction of Labour Act. Like my father he had to settle for the Home Guard. My sister had been billeted with a childless couple who did not like children and was desperately unhappy in Staffordshire. Soon she was threatening to run away, giving great problems to my parents. Eventually my mother and I took a long railway journey to collect her. I remember a blacked-out train and masses of uniformed sailors at Chatham and Gillingham. She did not stay at home long, because my parents decided that with the Battle of Britain now in its early stages, London was safer than Ramsgate, and she was passed on to family friends in Peckham. As soon as the Blitz started my father went to fetch her home.

My memories of the Battle of Britain are fragmentary. I recall watching dog-fights, planes falling from the sky in flames and sometimes parachutes, though I have no idea whether they were 鈥渙urs鈥� or 鈥渢heirs鈥�. Our house was not well located between Manston and the Railway, and at some point my parents took advantage of the abundance of empty properties and moved to Margate Road, close to St Mark鈥檚 Church. At both locations we had an Andersen air-raid shelter in the garden. My recollections of using it mainly relate to Lorina Road. For example, I recall that we only slept in it one night, after which my father decided it was so unpleasant that we would take the risk of dying in our own beds.

By now we had become very familiar with the sound of the Merlin engine, which was a help in distinguishing between friend and foe. Unfortunately this did not always work and, on one occasion, I was with my sister on some waste ground when she heard the approach of low-flying aircraft. She grabbed my hand and we ran towards home. On route I was badly cut on barbed wire and the planes turned out to be Spitfires. This turned out to be my only 鈥渨ar-wound鈥�! One great event that summer was Ramsgate鈥檚 biggest air-raid. It took place in August 1940 and popular folk-lore said the town received 500 bombs in 4 minutes. Apparently a formation of German and Italian bombers were turned back from an attempt to reach London and jettisoned their bombs on the last available target. I do not recall the bombs falling, but I do recall seeing the bomb-damaged houses, with furniture still visible in rooms where the outer wall had vanished. I also recall that it was 2 weeks before my mother would go into the town centre for shopping. Actually the town centre was probably safer because of the famous Ramsgate Tunnels, into which I was often taken after the sirens sounded. After that particular raid, my mother made a stew, which I refused to eat, and I recall her breaking down in tears.

I particularly remember in Summer 1940 that my parents took me to see a German Aircraft which had been brought down somewhere to the North of Ramsgate. It was probably an ME109, being quite small, and I was most impressed with its beautiful light-blue fusillage, on which were painted black crosses with white edging.

I remember my first experience of shelling. I was out playing with other children, when without any siren or other warning, there was a huge explosion within earshot, followed by a cloud of smoke. The ARP warden told my mother that it was a stray shell from a Naval engagement in the Channel, which subsequently ceased to be plausible. My most striking memory of shelling would have been in 1942 or 1943. My mother, sister and I were alone in the house at night, when a shell hit the Ramsgate Gasworks, with spectacular results. We watched whilst fire engines from other towns sped past us along the Margate Road, to lend assistance to our boys. Our next-door neighbour was a full-time Fireman, whose wife became pregnant for the first time at the age of 43. She was kind enough to share her maternity ration of Orange juice with me. My Father, too, got extra rations of bacon and cheese. As well as being a keen gardener, he also sometimes got things in the country. On one occasion he came home with a duck, probably from around Ashford. Again I was the 鈥渁wkward squad鈥� and refused to eat it! I positively enjoyed the corned beef which was issued when the meat ration was unavailable.

Turning to 1941 (some of the events in the previous paragraph may also relate to this year), I find it difficult to attach events to even approximate dates. I do, however, have a memory of hearing a 大象传媒 news bulletin report of the German invasion of Russia. I also recall that, by now, Ramsgate was full of servicemen, including Free French and Free Polish sailors manning the MTBs, MGBs, and Air-Sea Rescue launches based in the Harbour. These made desirable targets for the Luftwafe, who often attacked at night, giving us the most spectacular displays as the tracer shells and searchlights lit up the sky.

The servicemen needed entertainment and sometimes the civilians got invited. I recall being taken by my mother (I don鈥檛 remember if any other member of the family was there) to a show at the Westcliff Hall, where one of the acts was a very attractive young lady singer in a pink dress. My mother was scandalised because she said it was obvious the girl had no underwear on! My father was working all hours, often getting up at 3 in the morning, and, as I subsequently learned, like my brother, having his trains attacked by German aircraft.

1942 is easier to relate dates to events. For instance, I remember the great raid on Canterbury in June 1942. We stood on the back steps of our house and watched the city burn on the horizon. The next morning my father and brother cycled to Canterbury to see what they could do, but were turned back. 1942 also saw the reopening of the schools in Ramsgate. I started at the Dame Janet Infants School at the age of six and a bit. On route to school it was not uncommon to find pieces of shrapnel or expended shell cases. It was probably in 1942 that we received a letter form my cousin Nita in Sydney, which was heavily censored. We subsequently learned that we weren鈥檛 supposed to know about the Japanese submarine incident in Sydney Harbour.

1943 is fairly easy to get a handle on. Ramsgate was returning to some kind of normality, though there were still occasional bombs and shells. People were returning, including elderly members of our own family, among them my 87 year-old Great grandmother. The house where she was living was clearly visible from our Dining Room. One summer morning I was reading the Beano or the Dandy at breakfaat, when there was then whine of a Stuka divebomber. It was not after the viaduct on this occasion, but seems to have deliberately dropped its bomb on a housing estate. The plane was very low, and I clearly saw its markings. I think 3 houses in Coleman Crescent were destroyed, and there were several deaths. My father and brother were both in bed after night work, and as soon as they were dressed they rushed to the scenteto help dig out the living and the dead.

My GreatGran鈥檚 house was not subjected to the direct hit, but she was in bed upstairs and had the ceiling fall in on her. Not surprisingly, she died three days later, and is listed a s a casualty of the war. WE had already lost 2 other family members to bombing. My mother鈥檚 2 young half sisters, aged 16 and 17, were killed when there was a direct hit on a street shelter in Lewisham. Their mothe r suffered a broken back as she had been shielding a grandchild. I remember standing on the corner while her funeral cortege passed by. Not long before she had given me sixpence. Also in 1943 I suffered a complication from Whooping Cough which required surgical treatment. I had the operation in the basement Operating Theatre in Ramsgate General Hospital. I enjoyed my stay in Hospital, because of the abundance of toys! Toys were very scarce and, unfortunately, I managed to quickly destroy a magnificent model airplane made for me by a relative. When I got home from hospital I upset my sister by making derogatory remarks about her new hair-style. I943 was probably also the year in which a young cousin of my mother was drowned on an RAF training exercise.

The big event of 1943 for my family was the move from Ramsgate in October of that year. Both my father and brother were transferred to Reading and were at least partially engaged in moving American-built war material from Southampton Docks. Unfortunately Reading, unlike Ramsgate, was hugely overcrowded with evacuees. The only place they could initially find to sleep was on the floor at another driver鈥檚 house. Not only was this unsatisfactory in itself, but it also was not tolerable because my sister, mother and I were in a more dangerous place. He refused to accept this and demanded that the authorities found suitable accommodation for the whole family. He had no success initially, and therefore advised them that he was quitting his job to go home to look after his family. He was threatened with prison if he did this, but, as he pointed out, if he was imprisoned, there would be one less driver which was hardly helpful to the war effort. A house was soon found. Another battle with the authorities followed, since my father would not agree to my going to a rather rough village school, a bus-trip away, when there was an alternative within walking distance. He was not impressed with the County boundary line between the two schools. Again, the powers-that-be were defeated.

1944 means to me the nightly drone of bombers on route to Germany, and also saw a visit with my mother and sister to a black-market clothes-dealer, and an unfortunate conversation. We had a neighbour called Mr Sackett, to whom my mother was, on I=one occasion, complaining about this endless war. She chose to remark that we were only in it because of the Jews, only to be informed by Mr Sackett that he was Jewish.

As far as 1945 was concerned, I recall the newspapers and newsreels covering the final campaigns in Europe and the liberation of cities like Antwerp and Concentration Camps like Belsen. I remember VE night, with firework displays and drunkenness. Indeed my father had an argument with a drunken sailor, who was throwing beer glasses all over the place. Then came the reports and pictures of the dropping of the A-bombs. Suddenly, it was all over. Not quite, though, as I remember things like an emaciated son of family friends returning from a Japanese prison camp, and another young person who also had a rough time. She was a German girl who married a young soldier from our area, and was constantly dressed in black. This was probably to reflect all the relatives she had lost, but local busybodies said she was mourning Hitler.

On the subject of food, I recall not only corned beef, but also slabs of frozen fish, dried eggs, soya bean sausages, collecting rose-hips for syrup and tinned bacon and sausages from the USA. The food problem was largely resolved by the move to Reading, since we had an acre of garden, making us self-sufficient in fruit and vegetables, as well as providing meat in the form of chicken and rabbit as well as eggs. On the entertainment front I used to listen to ITMA and Children鈥檚 Hour, which sometimes carried patriotic messages. The songs which stick in my memory are The White Cliffs of Dover, There鈥檒l Always be an England, and, when the Americans arrived (there were plenty in Reading, but none in Ramsgate), Deep in the Heart of Texas and Johnny鈥檚 got a Zero.

A frequent topic of conversation in the family was the Dover Castle Tunnels, which were much less secret than the authorities supposed! My father and his contemporaries, on the occasion of some victory or defeat, often referred to 鈥淭he Last War鈥�. I also recall many funerals with coffins covered with the Union Flag.

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