大象传媒

The first air-raid warning, on the 3rd September 1939, heralded my war. Mum was with the lady living in the flat upstairs and we desperately wanted her with us downstairs. I couldn't understand why she wasn't clutching us close and telling us that everything would be all right. No, upstairs gassing! Dad wasn't home, just my two brothers and me, and Mum, if she could see her way clear to joining us. Maybe, in hindsight, she too was seeking reassurance.

By the time that the London Blitz of 1940 was well under way (I was eight and two brothers were slightly older), we were accustomed to the nightly red glow, rumbling of guns and distant exploding bombs. Living in High Barnet it all seemed so close and, to us kids, very exciting. Then our turn came in the form of a landmine. It wasn't a direct hit; we were the last in a row of houses that wasn't gutted, just windows, ceilings and furniture gone. Puppy Winnie's eyebrows turned white overnight with fright. We youngsters were safely asleep in a cupboard under the stairs, whilst Dad dived under the dining room table and, from my recollection, Mum fell in on top of us and the weight of a falling mother was more horrific than what was going on outside. (Our beds had shards of glass sticking from them, so hurray for the stair-cupboard).

We learned later that as the landmine was floating down towards us, the upstairs neighbours were just coming home. The husband was in the Home Guard and had his rifle with him, so he urged his wife to get quickly indoors, whilst he took aim to challenge what he thought was a crew member of a doomed German 'plane. He soon saw it was some kind of bomb and dived for cover, whilst the parachute slowly changed course and drifted a little further along the street. The wife had by this time reached the front door and was about to put the key in the lock when the impact of the explosion blew the door inwards, she following closely. Neither the husband or wife was hurt.

We children weren't aware of being frightened and sensed no fear from the parents, so it seemed we gained confidence from them. The day after the raid we joined the rest of the local youngsters and
explored the bombed-out buildings. We found a paradise playground, finding the odd roller-skate, rummaging for the other one, coming across damaged dolls and complainihng because of their condition.
How little we cared for the owners; not a thought was given to what had befallen to them. Mercifully, the young don't realise the gravity of such situations - that comes with later years of reflection.

Although forbidden to go into the derelict houses, the temptation was too great and we had much fun pushing down inside walls (inside walls!) We dared each other to balance our way across an upper floor charred beam, jump from first floors to the ground, have stone fights with opposing gangs, or anything that reeked of danger. Seemingly we were caught up in the atmosphere of violence and wanted to be part of it. Who knows? At that time I couldn't account for our behaviour but it befitted the mood.

Not long after that, my eldest brother (12) was drowned in a pond on the common. I had a premonition on the morning that it happened, as in my eight-year-old mind I knew he wouldn't be coming home, and said as much to him. We children were sent to live with my Nan in Harpenden, Herts. It was a sudden decision and my brother and I weren't consulted - we at least would liked to have had the thrill of looking forward to it. We arrived on a warm summer day, the annual fair was in full swing on the common and life was suddenly tranquil. I was sent to an equally tranquil convent and life was, indeed, bliss.

I was twelve when VE Day was celebrated, and spent it riding through the West End of London upstairs on a double-decker bus. Mum was a conductress on a route which went
down Regent Street through Piccadilly. The bus could hardly move for the crowd, and I was the only pasenger viewing the masses of cheering people. How I wanted to be amongst them, although I think the experience was better appreciated from my bird's eye view.

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