大象传媒

My 9 year old grandson, who was doing a school project on WW II, recently asked me what it was like "in World War Two". I had to reminfd him that, as I was born in 1938, I was younger than he is now by the time it was all over. However, I do have some memories of what things were like and, for what they are worth, will try and recount them.
I lived with my parents and elder sisityer in Norwood Green, which was then between Southall and Hounslow in Middlesex, though the whole are is now one conurbation. Unlike many people, we did not have an air raid shelter in the garden but, whenever the sirens went, my sister and I would sleep under the heavy mahogony dining room table. The ceiling of the dining rooom was supported with wooden poles and cross timbers and, for added protection, a blast wall had been built outside the dining room window. This, as it turned out, would not have been ver effective because, when my father decided to demolish it after the war, it collapsed with very little effort!
My father was not in the services because of an ankle injury sustained playing tennis some years earlier and he was also in a reserved occupation. He was, however, in the local ARP service and would go out on patrol every evening wearing his tin helmet to render assistance to any families whose houses were bombed. Fortunately, we were far enough West of London to avoid any serious enemy activity but at least one flying bomb landed in Norwood Green and flattened the vicarage.
My grandson's project was meant to focus on people who were evacuated and, while we were not evacuated as such, it was decided that my mother, sister and I should go and live in the country for a while, when the air raids were at their heaviest. Father had to stay at home because of his ARP duties but we went off by train to a farm in Shropshire near the Wrekin Hill. Unfortunately it was a case of from frying pan to fire because we were near an RAF base, which attracetd a lot of attention from the German bombers. We were also on the flight path to the industrial West Midlands, which was another prime target.
We did not stay there for long, probably three to four weeks, before deciding that Norwood Green was probably more tranquil than rural Shropshire but two incidents that occurred while we there have stuck in my mind. One was when we went for a walk and found a place whwre pony rides were available. I wanted to have a ride but, once I was in the saddle, the pony started to go faster than I had expected and my motherr tried to stop it and take me off. She managed to do this but was kicked by the pony in the process.
The second memory I have is of being chased by local lads (I have no idea why except, I suppose, because I was the stranger) throwing roten potatoes at me! I was running alongside a rusty barbed wire fence and, when I turned to see where my assailants were, ran into the fence and lacerated my left cheek.
We were nowhere near any medical facilities, so my mother emptied a bottle of TCP over my face. This had the necessary remedial effect and, since then, we have never been without TCP in the house. However, when shaving and the light is right, I can still see the scars of my 'war wounds' to this day!
That pretty well concludes my very sketchy war time reminiscences, apart from remembering being in the bath one evening when the siren went and being very worried that Hitler would see me without any clothes on!!

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