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This story was submitted to the People's War site by 大象传媒 Learning Centre staff on behalf of Mrs Carole J Gooding wih her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Memories of my childhood in London 1944-1945 by Carole J Gooding

VE Day 1945-1995

My only memory of VE day, or was it VJ (they were so close together) as a six year old was being carried on Dad鈥檚 shoulders outside Buckingham Palace on a grey day with thousands of people around.

On VE day 1995 memories flooded back. Remembering the terror of running down South Parade in Chiswick, hand in hand with my mother, hearing the sirens wailing, to the nearest shelter. The damp smell of the shelters, of seeing every window broken in my infant school. The playground covered by huge mounds of earth with doors set in to accommodate the shelters. Of our class sitting along the benches in the gloom trying to do lesions and dashing across to the canteen to eat our lunches, which normally consisted of gristly meat, 鈥楶omme鈥� potatoes 鈥� an instant potato mixture which had a very bitter taste 鈥� never any fruit but solid suet puddings which were baked in long steel holders with clips 鈥� the only changes being that one day a few currants were scattered through the lengths 鈥� 鈥楽potted Dick鈥� or the next day with jam. Of sharing the indoor shelter at home 鈥� a steel cage with mesh sides and steel roof, with at least four people. One once occasion being next to my grandmother who was very strict, and being admonished to 鈥樷�檇on鈥檛 fidget鈥欌�� which only made me, as a 4 year old, want to fidget even more. Of disappearing under the table one day when we were about to have lunch as the siren sounded, much to the astonishment of my parents who then discovered I spent most of my days at school in a shelter in 1944.

The day my father went outside to fill the coal scuttle and out neighbour asking him where his wife is and baby went at nights to shelter from the Blitz and offering the use of hers. The same night an incendiary bomb fell through my bedroom and severely damaged the house. God was surely looking down on us as had he not gone down to the cellar at that time our neighbour would not have called round as we lived in a street where people kept themselves to themselves. The consequences would have been that there would have been no Stuart, Alex or Emma. Of seeing flames around the house and our furniture in the street (some of which was looted). Of my father rushing home from Cannon Row and finding his wife and baby had been taken in by a communist who hated policemen and nearly exploded when he found that he had taken in a policeman鈥檚 family. He could hardly throw us out and in fact was very kind but it had its funny side. He was a governor of CAV, an engineering firm in Acton and was always fomenting industrial action. Once humorous story he told was about he poor quality of food being served in the works canteen and particularly about Barker鈥檚 buns which had the consistency of cannon balls. One day the workers marched around the yard with placards saying 鈥渂omb the Huns with Barkers buns鈥�. The foreman was so alarmed he bolted himself in his office. Whether he said buns were ever used as ammunition is still a state secret.

Of being evacuated in late 1944 to stay with the Body family, friends of my godmother in Harrogate. Of being rushed into a bath on arrival, much to the chagrin of my mother because I had come from a dirty place like London. My delight at having a garden to play in which had a sunken oblong pit (originally filled with water) where I played with the daughter of the family. Of seeing fields full of forget-me-nots at the end of the road, playing in stream which bordered the frontier of the territory between us and Starbeck, where lived the dreaded starbeckers gang who used to annoy with the 鈥榟ere come the Starbeckers鈥� chant. Of still seeing the stripes of that lolly now and of wearing a plastic brooch which consisted of a star from which dangled two pink and blue bells with sparkles on which was my pride and joy, but it was stolen from my coat in the school cloakroom.

The Joy of working in a school with an airy gym with a wooden parquet floor and grass outside to play on. The ignominy of going to school with chicken pox and being covered in gentian violet so I looked like a psychedelic leopard. Of being aware of the culture gap between North and South when my parents came to visit and only Yorkshire pudding was served on a plate by itself. 鈥淲here is the meat and veg?鈥� hissed my mother. 鈥淲e always have that after鈥� I said, Now I realise it was to fill you up.

Hearing about my parent鈥檚 arduous journey back by train from Harrogate with trains full of troops and mum determined to board and being shouted at by troops and dad tailing behind saying 鈥渟he鈥檚 not with me!鈥� Of their standing in the corridor unable to pout more than one foot down at a time and a drink being passed down over heads down the corridor. Of arriving back at Kings cross to find the tubes closed and being allowed to stay on the footplate of the locomotive to get some warmth from the boiler on that bitterly cold Christmas Eve of 1944.

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