大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Bernie Hawkins and has been added to the website on behalf of Ivy Stoneham with her permission and she fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I lived at Erith, Kent, and was 15 when war broke out. Within a few minutes of being declared, the siren sounded, followed after a very short time by the All Clear. Fortunately this was a false alarm, unlike those that were to follow during the Battle of Britain.

Once the air raids started in earnest, most people who had not originally had the Anderson shelters installed in their gardens did so, although these were not always used, as it was a question of all fitting into a small space. In fact, when you think about it, I wonder how we managed to, as you also required clothing sufficient to keep you warm should you be outside in the night air in the garden.

The nightly sirens normally sounded about 6:30 pm, just about time to get home from work, have a meal, then if things were active, down the shelter.

The alternative to using the shelter was having mattresses placed on the floor in as safe a position as possible in the downstairs rooms. This way you could get a good night鈥檚 sleep, and it was also easier to keep clean. There did seem to be more likelihood of picking up lice during these times than before or afterwards. (On joining the forces we were told that one tenth of the intake had lice.)

It is amazing how the human being adapts to the circumstances they find themselves in. Morale was good, people were friendly toward each other, and most felt that, providing they used sense and precautions to protect themselves, then if a bomb had your name on it, that was it.

When bombs were dropped, you could hear the noise of them screaming through the air, and it was said that if one was for you, you didn鈥檛 hear it coming anyway. I think this was right, as one evening, prior to us settling on our mattresses, my father shouted, 鈥淕ET DOWN!鈥� which we promptly did. If someone said 鈥済et down鈥� in those days you jolly well did. The bomb fell in the road outside the house. I hadn鈥檛 heard it. I think my father was the only one that did, he must have hear it swish over the roof. We were lucky. The aircraft had dropped a string of 20 pound bombs, the rest had dropped in the road at the side of the house. The blackout was down and our windows were out until the end of the war, no glass replaced until then naturally. We were thankful it wasn鈥檛 one large bomb.

Within the space of about 10 minutes we heard a commotion outside. The ARP (Air Raid Precautions), knowing that bombs had been dropped, were on their way to see if they could help. There were of course no street lights, no lights on their vehicles, no lights from houses. They didn鈥檛 see the crater the bomb had made in the road and promptly went in it. Thankfully no-one was hurt and this gave us many a laugh afterwards.

If you were out when a raid was on, and anti-aircraft guns were going, then you walked close to a hedge, or whatever might give you protection against shrapnel, as what goes up must come down.

There were of course raids in the daytime. Many a time we looked up to see our airman fighting off the raiders.

At first people used to close shops, etc. and take cover, but gradually these remained open in order that people could make their purchases. Later on in the War, when the Doodlebugs were being sent over, our neighbour was sitting on the upstairs toilet when the engine cut out, which meant the Doodlebug was on its way down. He immediately ran downstairs. Just as well. When he went back the lavatory pan had cracked with the blast.

I joined the ATS in 1942, and did my training at Danbury in Devon. This seemed to consist of jabs, lectures (although we seemed to doze off a lot during these 鈥� this was evidently expected, I suppose, because of the jabs and the square-bashing). The most impressive thing was while on the square, a small aircraft flew low overhead. The pilot took his cap off and waved. We, of course, waved back and promptly got a ticking-off, but it was worth it. We owed a lot to our airmen during the Battle of Britain, so one ticking-off didn鈥檛 matter.

I was posted to a Searchlight Battery HQ in Sturry, Kent, about 3 miles from Canterbury. This was the time when our cities were being targeted. Exeter was attacked while I was in Devon, now it was Canterbury鈥檚 turn. We resided in a large house in Sturry. When Canterbury was attacked, we, for safety鈥檚 sake, had to vacate the house. So that night, with ground sheet, blanket, gas mask and tin helmet, we were outside in the bushes watching Canterbury burn. The bushes were to protect us from falling shrapnel. A large number of incendiary bombs were dropped that night.

As our battery was at that time non-operational, our stay up in Kent was a short one and we moved to Hadleigh, Suffolk. The move turned out to be a bit of fun.

We went by convoy to the station, then by troop train from Kent to Suffolk, to our surprise without changing trains, or stations, in London, which you can鈥檛 normally do. I was given to understand that we went on the loop line.

As we passed the house on the railway line in London, residents leaned out of their doors to wave to us, and we waved back. They didn鈥檛 know we were only going to Suffolk! It was, as you can imagine, a noisy journey, especially as some on the train passed near where they lived.

We became operational in Suffolk and remained for several months. Then we were on our way back to the Kent area. I cannot remember any of that journey back, or how we got there.

Kent was a very active area during the War as it was so near to France, and the gateway to London and north of the Thames.

As a plotter, we of course worked shifts, splitting the 24 hour day into three. The enemy aircraft were plotted as they approached our area. Sector (from the Air Force) would inform us whether they required a target to be lit or not. If a fighter was going to attempt a kill, obviously he did not want the beams blazing. We in turn sent the map references to all our searchlight sites, and either the target was traced (no beams to be used) or normal (for the beams to shine.) I think the only time I felt sorry for a German plane (or rather its occupants) was when, having been hit, the searchlights kept the beams on them until it crashed. It must have been terrible as I should think the strong lights would have blinded them to add to their misery.

The searchlights were also used should one of our aircraft require assistance to land at an airstrip, homing the aircraft in. In other words, the beams would be raised in the sky and then dropped down to where the airstrip was, and this repeated for as long as required. On one occasion word got back to us that a German, presumably one who had had enough, had homed in also.

Of course later on we were also plotting the Doodlebugs as they left the French coast. Our pilots once again did marvellously by bringing down a large number of them down in the drink before they reached our coast.

I was at Rainham, Kent on night duty when the D-Day landings took place. Our planes appeared to be going out all night. We knew something big was going on, but of course we didn鈥檛 know what. At about 6 am in the morning, we heard one of our planes com limping back and went outside to see where it was, hoping and praying he would make it. Unfortunately the engine cut out and down he came.

When we heard the news that we had landed, and had a foothold in France, we thought 鈥淭his is the beginning of the end.鈥�

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