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This story has been written onto the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People’s War site by Callington U3A — Meg Bassett — on behalf of Mrs Patricia Woods, who fully understands the terms and conditions of the site

This story has been written onto the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People’s War site by CSV Storygatherer Callington U3A on behalf of Patricia A M Wood. They fully understand the terms and conditions of the site.

As many of us recall, almost immediately after Chamberlain's announcement on the morning of Sunday, 3rd September 1939, the first air raid sirens sounded. This prompted the sudden collapse and demise of my mother's caged canary. He was always a poor singer and may well have felt outclassed.

We lived in semi rural Surrey, amid the outer ring of London's anti aircraft defences. This became a noisy and somewhat dangerous location. It grew commonplace to come home from school to find plastered ceilings fallen as a result of the vibration of the guns. As these became more accurate, some German bomber crews became less willing to attempt the onward flight, so jettisoned their loads locally. Most bombs fell in fields or woodland; none hit the nearby
suburban railway line, so that my journey to school was some- times late but never cancelled, to general chagrin.

In early days, the cupboard under the stairs was our only shelter. Subsequently we were allocated a Morrison 'table-shelter'. This was a shallow cage, with steel top and wire--mesh sides, designed for indoor use. Not the easiest place to prepare homework, let alone sleep. Both refuges probably contributed to the claustrophobia of later years.

At one stage, I remember a lone German fighter plane flying up the Hog's Back in Guildford, machine gunning all and sundry as it came. The county hospital opposite my school cared for many wounded servicemen in their 'blues' and was a target. As was the school. I can still recall my frozenly stoical face and 'jelly legs' syndrome, as I followed my form mates down the steps of the air raid shelter, with this strange clattering all around us. I kept a piece of gun damaged brick from the school building for years afterwards.

Prior to D Day, our hamlet became home to a host of Canadian soldiers. We were asked to provide baths and hospitality. Our protégé was a Campbell from Prince Edward Island. He had two brothers, one a sergeant later demoted, in a nearby unit, so one often became three. All were serious drinkers and madly brave, I would think. So many memories but no space here. There was once a literal goose chase, after pub closing time, with the catch arriving late at night inside a battledress 'blouse'. Neighbouring dogs were most alarmed, as was my mother, who had to pluck, clean and cook the bird very hastily. Subsequent enquiries by the deprived farmer and the local policeman must have been evaded somehow, as there were no consequences. The first time I had ever eaten goose. I have wondered often what became of the wild Campbell brothers, of whom we never saw or heard after June 1944.

The doodlebug epidemic became the main hazard at this time, though we soon became rather blasé. I used to cycle up to the high common to watch the RAF fighters pursue and shoot them down. The V2 never reached our locality, though my father, on war work in London, was once blown off his feet by one. He was unhurt, though deafened temporarily and bemused by hearing the explosion after he was knocked down.

VE Day in London was quite amazing and still vivid. About ten of us had gone up to 'Town' by train and went everywhere we could to see the crowds. Somehow though, we felt rather on the fringe of events, a feeling which persisted for years as if we had missed out on our ‘proper’ youth in a way. In common with many friends, I did not experience mine until entering college at thirty seven.

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