大象传媒

My memories, and those of my family in the 2nd World War, are as follows:

I was born in Bridgwater, Somerset, in 1938 and was about 18 mths old when war was declared in September, 1939. I remember seeing the barrage ballons in the air and hearing the sirens going off to warn us of an impending air raid. I also remember seeing a demonstration by, I think, the fire service and the St John Ambulance Brigade carrying out practice manoeuvres in case of an attack. There were 'wounded' bodies in the road covered in 'blood' and peole runnning about. It frightened me to death and it is still very clear in my mind today!

Later, during the early years of the war, we moved to my grandparents' house in Weston-Super-Mare. My grandmother had a Morrison Shelter in the breakfast room where we took shelter during the air raids.

Both my father and his two brothers served in the armed forces. My father went into the Catering Corps in the Army and his two brothers went into the RAF. I don't know what my Uncle Clifford did, but Uncle Wilfred quickly rose to the rank of sergeant and was a pilot instructor. He was posted to Madras, India and at some later date was moved to Outicamu in the Blue Mountains, India. He lost a lot of his comrades in battle, the trauma of which caused him to lose all of his hair and he was eventually invalided out of the RAF. My cousin has a photograph of him holding her eldest brother as a baby with tufts of hair growing out of his head.

My Auntie Jean, who was later to become his wife, worked as a typist in an office in the RAF, but I don't know where she was posted. Her parents owned the Highcleve Hotel, W-s-M, which was requisitioned by the military and was used as a hospital for shell shocked servicemen.

My father, Richard, also known as Dick, went into the Catering Corps in the Army. He was not able to partake in armed combat because he was practically blinded in one eye by an 'arrow' whilst playing a game of cowboys and indians as a child. After Italy capitulated, he was posted to Rome where, I am told, he played the ukelele on Radio Roma.

The Germans apparently thought that the quiet, sleepy, genteel little seaside town of Weston-super-Mare was of some strategic importance and received some not inconsiderable damage during the air raids that occurred. Bristol, of course, some 20 miles away, received severe arial bombardment. At some time when my father was at home, a passing fighter plane dropped an incendary bomb which shot through my grandparents' kitchen window and landed on the floor. My father quickly picked it up and threw it through the shattered window into the garden where it promptly exploded. Throughout all these years, he never mentioned this once to me, although I did know that something had damaged my grandfather's garden. I learned this from my cousin, Shirley, who was told this by her father, Uncle Wilf. In all these years, I never knew that my father was such a hero. I salute you Dad! He died some 6 years ago after a long illness, just 2 weeks short of his 83rd birthday.

My Auntie Muriel, one of my father's two sisters, trained as a nurse and must have tended wounded service men as well as the civilian population.

My grandmother (Gran), to whom I was very close, joined the WRVS. I was of course a very young child, but remember seeing her in her dark green uniform. She was a wonderful woman who is still remembered by a few people alive today who remember her kindness and the unstinting work she did during the war and after.

My grandfather (Granch) kept the home fires burning.

My apologies to other members of my family not mentioned, but I don't know of their contributions to the war effort.

After the war, I met a relative of my stepmother when I was about 16, who had been captured by the Japanese and held in a POW camp. I thought he was an old man because his hair was snow white, but it turned out he was only about 40 years of age.

I hope this contribution of my memories of the 2nd world war and the contributions made by members of my family may be of some interest to 大象传媒 WW2 website.

My warmest thanks to my cousin, Shirley, who was born in 1949 and, of course, has no memories of the war whatsoever. The information she passed on to me were some of the stories her father (uncle Wilf) told her and scribblings on the back of old photographs taken in India.

Anita Gautier (nee Farr), Teddington, Middlesex

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