大象传媒

Many memories that I carry from childhood are dominated by the incredible humour that my elders seem to have during this time. I was 5 when the war started and 11 when it finished. In that time I watched doodle bugs fall on my neighbourhood, and even the streak of a V2 which landed in the next street. On one occasion my mother walked me to a neighbour, about 100 yards, the whole street seemed to be on fire incendry bombs falling around our ears. My mother never shewed any sign to me of the dreadful nature of the circumstances, accept when I insisted in going to collect shrapnel after the airaids. On one occasion I went to the front door of my home, an old edwardian style building with a long hall. I grasped the handle of the front door just as a V1 exploded accross the road, the door came off in my hand --- it and I sailed down the hall only to finish up in a heap next to the kitchen, my mother, was frantic but the humour was there with " did you have to come in that way?" after airaids the indomitable spirit of the family always amazed me even at that age, a piano would be wheeled out into the road on the "all Clear" siren and a sing song would commence, only to be rapidly wheeled in again when the invaders came back. My aunt and uncle also shared the house along with cousins. The basement, converted as a shelter, was constantly used, one night during a particularly bad raid, I was ushered down the steps to take cover, my aunt was treading on my dressing gown and was going frantic because I could not get down the steps, on reaching our bunks the lights went out in response to a bomb landing near by, "a water pipe" fractured and sprayed water all over us, but even then laughter was dominant, my dear mother leapt out of her bunk and without further hesitation wrapped a shirt or something around the pipe and held on for dear life while my uncle dashed around trying to turn the water off, all we could hear was shreaks of laughter from my mother as the water ran down her arm and other sensitive areas and cries of " it tickles Dolly it tickles". On another occasion, whilst vacating the house after incendries "Fire" bombs had litterd are garden, we went to another shelter in Garrett Lane SW18, whilst sitting there for others to follow my uncle fell down the stairs landed in a heap laughing his head off! resulting in constination from fellow inmates. We finally got to the bottom of his mirth, although looking back it must have been terrible for him. He was running down Earlsfield road, it was pitch black, and my uncle fell down a bomb crater in the road, the "unexploded bomb was still there", apparently he leapt out of the crater only to run further to the shelter where he tripped on the top step and fell the rest of the way, his humour was amazing, he thought it was hilarious. I say today that my experiences at that early age were character building, my uncle a true Welshman
was no mean musician and played a Banjo Ukulele, in those shelters he taught me to play and we would play together.It has been said I would play myself to sleep, later I progressed to guitar, something that has been a great asset to me and from which I have earnt a consderable income, I still play professionally now at 71 and have just put together my 3rd CD, now where would I have been today had it not been for the conbined efforts of My Dear Uncle Ben and Adolph Hitler, normal perhaps?

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