大象传媒

I was 7, nearly 8, when World War Two began. My family - Mum, Dad, older brother Norman and younger sister, Valerie and me - lived in Falconwood, just outside London.

Mum and Dad had both grown up in central London, surrounded by factories and shops. Neither had parents living and when they married Dad moved into Mum's family house which they shared with her sister. They had gas lighting and an outside toilet. When they moved to the new suburban development in Falconwood (just inside Kent) in 1936 they felt they had moved into the country.

They weren't able to enjoy their new surroundings for long however. In 1938 when Germany began its march through Europe, my Dad felt that we would soon be going to war to he joined the RAF as a "volunteer reserve". He had a uniform and used to go training two days a week but rettained his normal job.

The following year, when relations with Germany became very tense (know as the 'Crisis') he became a full-time airman.

At the age of seven it was very difficult for me to understand what was going on, but I can still remember the day when one of our neighbours brough some flowers for my Mum. Tears were rolling down her face. I couldn't understand why everyone seemed so upset, especially as Dad looked so smart in his new uniform. I hadn't realised that he wouldn't be coming home for a long time! His first posting was to Scotland where he spent much of the war.

Without TV or even a telephone in those days, we learned all the news from newspapers and the radio. I remember when my two aunties came. We all sat together in the living room to listen to the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain broadcase to the nation. In solemn tones he announced that we, Great Brtain, had declared war on Germany. I didn't really understand what it all meant but I remember as Mum began to cry, Auntie Loo took me by the hand for a walk round our small garden.

That night we were woken by a terrible loud wailing noise, going up and down. Mum told us it was an air raid warning and we had to get up and sit in a cupboard under the stairs, away from bombs. I couldn't imagine what a bomb was and I actually remember hoping that one wouldn't come through the roof of our house and hit me on the head. I had no conception of bombs exploding and blew whole buildings down! When another siren sounded with one long wail, I was told this was the "All Clar" and we all came out of the cupboard.

We learned later that in the first few days of the war, the air raid warnings and all clears were set off to ensure that they would all work properly if there was a real air raid.

Soon after we all had to go to the local school to be fitted with gasmarks. I hated it. I can still recall the feeling of this monstrous rubber object being strapped on and my face feeling clammy and how the rubber edge fluttered against my cheeks when I blew out. Little children had gasmasks with funny noses and ears like Mickey Mouse and babies were put into rubber carry cots with a cover over the top. From that day, it was compulsory to carry our gasmarks everywhere we went. They were kept in square cardboard boxes with string to carry them over our shoulders.

Adults were then told to complete forms about "evacuation". I wanted to know what that meant and Mum explained that as we lived in an area which might get bombed, children could be sent away, either abroad or to the countryside in England. I dreaded such a situation. In fact, as my Dad was already away in the Air Force it was arranged that my Mum could come with us.

We had to pack one case each and were taken in a big group by train to a place called Edenbridge. It seemed to we three children like the other end of the world, but in fact it was just on the other side of Kent. Everyone was taken to a school where local people came and said how many children they could take into their houses. Some brothers and sisters were split up and stayed with different people in different houses.

We were very lucky. Just outside Edenbridge, there was a little village called Marlpit Hill. A lady called Miss Edwards owned a large house but was on her way to Australia when the war stated so she decided not to return until the war was over. That meant that her beautiful house, Marlpit Oaks, was empty and was taken over by the local Evacuation Office who decided that we could stay there. Miss Edwards' gardener and housekeeper, Mr and Mrs Harris, could also stay and look after the house and the garden.

I had never been in such a grand house and remember walking down the grand wide staircase, feeling like a princess and wishing I had a long dress to trail behind me. In the garden was a tennis court, vegetable gardens, flowers and an orchard and Mr Harris asked each of us to choose our own apple tree!

Not all my friends were so lucky. I know one girl who was evacuated with her twin brother but they couldn't find anyone who would accept both, so they went to different houses. Her mother never visited them and they did not see each
other for 4 years!

We went to school in Edenbridge town - a mile's walk for Norman and I although Valerie went on the "infant bus", all with our satchels and gasmasks over our shoulders. Everyone was friendly but I used to feel uncomfortable when people pointed at us and said "Evacuees!".

Valerie once won a big raffle prize but wasn't allowed to keep it because she was an "evacuee". If we achieved any academic awards the word "evacuee" was always printed at the side of our names. On the other hand, on the rare occasions Dad came on leave, I felt so proud as we walked with him in his smart uniform and shining brass buttons. Complete strangers used to pat him on the back and say "Well done".

In June 1940 I was at home recovering from a cold and went to the bottom of the garden, on the other side of the tennis court where the railway line ran. Trains crowded with soldiers came through. They waved to me and I waved back. I later learned they were on their way back from Dunkirk!

A few weeks later, German bombers began flying over Edenbridge on their way to drop bombs on London. One day one swooped down and fired bullets on Valerie's school bus. Nobody was hurt, but Mum didn't want Valerie to go on the bus again so she walked to school with us.

Ever house had black-out curtains, so that no tiny speck of light could be visible outside - just in case enemy bombers fired on them. Mr Harris, the gardener, was an Air Raid Warden. Whenever the siren wailed to warn us that enemy airplanes were coming over, Mr Harris put on his tin hat, got on his bike and cycle round the village, blowing his whistle in case somebody hadn't heard the siren. If he saw the tiniest chink of light shining through someone's blackout, he would knock very loudly on the door or window and shout "PUT THAT LIGHT OUT".

By that time, all food was rationed and everyone had ration books, full of coupons. When we paid for our shopping the shopkeeper also cut out the right number of coupons for meat, butter, cheese, sweets etc. (We were only allowed a few sweets a month.) Clothes and shoes were also rationed. If her coupons for one month had been used up, even the richest lady in the country couldn't buy any more clothes until next month.

Once Norman went to the larder, saw some cheese amongst the tinned eggs and tinned milk and popped a cube in his mouth. I can still hear Mum's shout "That's your ration for the week! At the end of one month Mum asked Valerie to go to the local sweetshop to use up the family sweet coupons. Valerie came back with a bundle of liquorice bootlaces - Mum was not best pleased.

Although we had locally grown fruit and vegetables, we did not import them. I can remember seeing a banana when the war was over and couldn't imagine eating such a strange object!

On our second Christmas Eve at Edenbridge, the doorbell rang and Mum told us to answer it! There on the step was Dad, wearing a bright blue suit and red tie!! He had been injured and in hospital and we hadn't seen him for months! Mum had kept his visit a surprise and it was the most wonderful Christmas present in the whole world.

When we woke on Christmas morning, there - peeping out the tops of our Christmas stockings - were the most beautiful dolls and other toys we had only ever seen in old picture books. Nothing like them was available in the shops, but kind people had given them to soldiers, sailors and airmen in the hospital, to give to their children.

Mum's friends from home used to write often and when they told her that there weren't having any bombs there, Mum decided that we might as well go back to our real home.

By this time, like everyone else, we had an air raid shelter dug in the garden where we went if there was a raid. they were like big basic huts dug into the lawn with 3 steps going down to them. First, they just had flat sheets of iron for walls with curved sheets for the ceiling but these were later replaced with concrete walls. We had bunk beds in ours - two on each side and we always kept warm blankets down there because we often spent the night down there. There wasn't much room inside but we all felt safe.

We had only been back two weeks when German planes started bombing London again. One day the warning sounded so we all rushed down to the shelter. We had only been reading our comics and books for a short time when we heard the drone of aeroplans. They came nearer and nearer accompanied by the deafening sound of gunfire and then huge, terrifying bangs. Suddenly, there was an enormous explosion, very, very close. When the sound of planes moved away, Mum told us to stay where we were until the all clear sounded and she climbed out of the shelter. As she opened the door, dust blew in. We all peered outside and could not believe our eyes.

There was thick dust flying everywhere, the windows were blown out of our house, there was the constant sound of breaking glass, clattering as bits fell off our house and next door. I can still picture Mum as she put a dustbin lid on her head as protection from falling tiles off the roof.

Yes, a German bomb had landed very near our house. Although not destroyed, it was too badly damaged to live in, so, along with many other families, we were taken to the local church hall where we slept on the floor that night. The next day we were taken to stay with a kind local family until we had somewhere else to live. After a few days, we returned to Marlpit Hill to stay with Mr and Mrs Harris in the much smaller house to which they had moved. We stayed with them for another year until everything seemed quiet and we went home to Falconewood where our house had been repaired and decorated.

I was in my second year at Dartford Grammar School when Mum told us that Dad was coming home for good! He had moved around England during but was back in Scotland where he had been wounded and deemed unfit for further service in the RAF. He was being posted to Kidbrooke, which was the nearest RAF base to our home.

He came home on a 36-hour leave and during the night there was a raid. As usual Norman was outside the shelter watching the planes come over and shouted that several had been hit as they had flames coming out the back. However, Dad immediately recognised the V1 - a new type of weapon, later to be known as the 'doodlebug' - more like a pilotless rocket. He insisted that Mum took us all to stay with his sister in Hertfordshire for a couple of days and return on Sunday, when he would be coming home "for good".

I recall clearly waving him off at the station the next day and saying that we would look at for him as our train went through Kidbrooke station on Sunday - otherwise "first one home put the kettle on".

We looked out at Kidbrooke station, but he was not there. Thinking he'd probably beaten us to it, we went on to Faconwood and as we approached our house with the "all clear" sounding, we saw our neighbour Mrs Way in her front garden. She came out to us and insisted we went into her house. As we stood in the kitchen, she told us that a policeman had just been to our house to tell us that a V1 had landed at Kidbrooke and Dad had been killed!

It was unbelievably horrendous for us all (although I secretly and selfishly thought it was worse for me because I loved Dad so much). In fact I really did not believe it and when we were told that Mum had to go to Kidbrooke to identify him, I knew it would prove to be a mistake.

Norman went with her - I cannot imagine what it could have been like waiting for the train to take them the three stops to Kidbrooke. Many years later Norman told me that when they arrived at the Air Force Base, the Air Commandant came to meet them and asked Mum to confirm Dad's identity badge and other belongings. While a WAAF officer took Mum to to have a cup of tea, the Air Commandant told Norman that they could see Dad's body if they wished, but he strongly advised that Mum did not, since he had been badly mutilated and his teeth had been blown through the side of his face. Nevertheless, he said Norman could see him if he wished. Norman declined. He was then 15 and about 30 years later he told me that he had never lost the feeling of shame at having done so.

They came home and told has that Dad had gone. Some of my thoughts remained forever, one of which was that we must look after Mum - so I asked her if she would like me to boil her an egg. That night I lay in bed and hated every single German.

Another awful memory still with me is the following day accompanying Mum to the nearest phone box to pass on the dreadful news to her sisters and other members of the family. At that time all public phone boxes had large notices saying "KEEP IT BRIEF - there's a war on!!" Mum was only on her second call when a lady started banging on the door of the phone box shouting "Come out of there - don't you know there's a war on?" I wanted to got out and tell her why Mum was using the phone, but Mum put her arm round my shoulder and gently shook her head.

When the war ended, I helped to organise our street party, but still remember feeling a bit guilty for enjoying it.

When I grew up, I married the boy next door but two and, largely through his business, got to know German people, several of whom became really good friends of ours. They are just like us, some of their families suffered in the war. Now, when I think it, the war seems like a mad awful dream. It makes me absolutely certain that we should all do what we can to ensure that we never have to live through another war. If only everyone felt the same way!

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