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As Told By Alice Burman nee Clarke

I’m trying to put down snippets of memories/information of incidents that happened nearly sixty years ago, so, if some are out of date order, I apologise, for I’m jotting them down as and how I remember them. Hopefully for the benefit of those of you, who come after me.

In 1939, after months of “Will we won’t we be at war?”, things started hotting up, gas masks were fitted, Anderson and Morrison shelters were delivered, (the first was for outdoors, the second inside the home) all in sections to be put up by the man of the house if and when needed. Housewives, albeit on very low incomes, tried to store tin foods etc (in case!). Evacuation plans were being made, I being the youngest, was considered for this, and much to my chagrin, my name was put forward to the education committee, as a prospective evacuee!

Through the summer school holidays we were reporting daily to our schools complete with gas masks (in a little cardboard box) a change of clothes and shoes – some poor youngsters didn’t have any of these. Plus a pack of suitable foodstuffs for the journey, this last had to include a packet of nuts and raisins, which I proceeded to devour on the way to school! Each day they had to be replenished, and I was under mother’s strict instructions not to eat them! This situation continued until Friday Sept 1st, when hundreds of us were (supposedly) being sent off on a ‘trial’ evacuation run, needless to say, what started as an exciting fun journey, was to be our first trip away from home and family. Two days later, whilst in the church, at Warminster, Wiltshire, our destined evacuation area, we were told by the vicar in the eleven o’clock service, that WAR had been declared!

At this point I was frightened, angry (at being sent away) and home-sick! As there were not enough schools to accommodate us, we and the local children learned our lessons on a part-time basis, one lot in the morning, the others in the afternoon. Our teachers, also from London, were I suppose doing a really wonderful job, for when we were not actually in the school room we were out on study/field trips, in and around the countryside, and I for one, learned more than I realised at the time.

Meanwhile in London, there was a ‘phoney’ war, nothing was happening in the first few months, and gradually, some parents were fetching their children home.

My brother volunteered for the RAF at 171/4 years old, the earliest that one could volunteer, my father insisted he would NOT be accepted, as he’d had a bad accident at twelve years of age, which had left him with a badly scarred leg and poor eyesight. Dad was to be proved wrong, Stan left his glasses at home, marched into the recruiting office, and was accepted! Admittedly not in the Air Crew, but ground crew! This of course caused quite an argument between our parents, as Mum blamed Dad for thinking he would not get in!

Meanwhile, my sister Doris, a voluntary St. John’s nurse, had joined the Ambulance Brigade, and in the later blitz of East London, had some harrowing experiences, and was, in her own way, one of London’s heroines! One or two of her tales I will relate as I remember them.

I was to stay an evacuee until Spring of 1941, after the terrific and terrifying Blitz had ended in London, in which the East End of London and Docks had been almost devastated, but NOT people! Every bomb dropped made Londoners more determined to defeat Hitler, although bombing was to continue, my parents decided I could come home, as some of the schools had reopened, and they considered I was old enough to cope with life in London.
Returning to my old school, I found it was no longer a ‘girls only’ school, boys were now accepted, obviously due to bombed out schools and fewer teachers.

As soon as I reached fourteen, I left school and obtained an office job at Unilever House, the soap and margarine concern, whose head office was on Blackfriars Bridge. Normally at fourteen, from an elementary school, I would not have been taken on by them, but Grammar School pupils (whom they had previously employed) were leaving school and going straight into the armed forces. So provided one passed their interview, and an entrance exam, you could be employed as a very junior office trainee!

In those days you grew up overnight - one day a school child the next day a worker there were no teenage years! The war continued, bombs still fell and providing you came up from the shelter in the morning, and had the means of having a wash and a meal (the gas, electricity and sometimes the water were cut off due to bombed mains etc) you went off to work!

One of my amusing recollections was that no matter what was falling from the skies at eight o’clock in the morning I was sent off to work – into the City where bombing continued most days but at night if I wished to go to a dance or pictures (yes – those that could still opened) Mother replied, “No you can’t go out there might be a raid!!” not withstanding I’d been working through raids all day, only going into the firm’s shelter (the basement) when we heard the enemy overhead siren.

Dad worked at Beckton Gasworks a place continually bombed but somehow they carried on supplying gas, if only at irregular intervals. Apart from his normal shift work duties, he was a fire-fighter at work, and air raid warden when not at work. I don’t know how he carried on all the hours he did and kept going!

When Doris was not on her set ambulance duty, she went out with Dad around the local streets applying her nursing skills to the injured as and where needed. She overcame a personal fear of fire (having been caught in a factory fire before the war) on many occasions crawling through and under burning and collapsing houses to administer first aid to the victims. Their need was obviously greater than her fear!

Mum somehow managed to keep the home-fire burning. A necessity often as that was the only way at times that a cup of tea, a hot meal, or hot water was available. Food rationing was difficult to cope with but we did. And when a friend or neighbour received the dreaded telegram saying a loved one was killed in action, a couple of spoonfuls of tea; a screw of sugar etc. was sympathetically produced over the fence, in lieu of a few words of condolence, parting with a treasured ‘cuppa’ was more meaningful than words!

Windows were blown out regularly, as was the respective back and front doors in our house for weeks one could just push the front door open and walk in the same for the back door, this was reported to our landlord, and eventually a workman arrived and put a new lock on – the back door only! He hadn’t got the order for the front. So we continued pushing open the front door, but didn’t use the lock at the back as we needed a quick and easy way out to the shelter. This caused many a chuckle at the time.
As windows were not replaced, the window frames were covered in a type of black tarpaulin, which again in every nearby bomb blast was blown out. My granddad had died just before the war when we became proud owners of a secondhand carpet from his house, before this it was lino and a fireside rug. Mum was proud of her carpet, I can see it now – pale green with red roses in the middle and roses round the edge (quite posh!). After many more raids and seeing the black sheeting continually blown out Dad made a decision, “Help me get that carpet up I’m going to cut it up and nail it over the windows, that strong old Adolf won’t blow that out!” So up came the precious carpet duly cut and nailed into place, pink/red roses inside of course. Dad was right, it withstood bomb blasts! My most amusing memory of this was a while later after an air raid that finished earlier than usual (the all clear sounded at about 4am). Doris and I went back to bed to get a little comfortable sleep before the next day’s work when Mum came into the room, stood ruminating at the carpeted windows and said, “If I only had a *!!- so and so hoover, I could clean the *!!- windows!” We lay there laughing at the thought.

All this time, brother Stan was fighting abroad, our letters were written on a special airmail form, which in either direction were somehow by the powers that be, compressed down to a photo like print of about 5x8 inches! News had to be very general as all mail was read by censors and many had large black lines drawn through some paragraphs, so one could only guess at the missing bits. Therefore most of them consisted of, “I’m alright the family is alright, hope you’re alright, cousin so-and-so has a new baby, her husband is away etc. or about what Dad was growing on his allotment, ours was in the local park, alongside the balloon barrage.

I continued working and growing up into a young lady. My particular war effort was writing to various lads from our youth club, and work, when they either volunteered or got called up at 18. This was to be how I met my husband to be, I actually picked out his name, with a pin from a list of lonely service men, wanting pen-pals in a West Ham speedway magazine!
At Unilever we girls (now young ladies working in the book-keeping machine section) were almost a family, and I’m pleased to say, that up until this day, some of us keep contact, and the friendships are as strong as ever, even if they live far across England and one even in Canada! Even managing a couple of get togethers in our retirement.

There were times at work when the electricity was cut off, due to bombing etc and although Unilever had its own emergency generator it could only be on for a few hours at a time so we worked shifts – an unheard of thing for offices in those days, but of course flexi-hours are the norm now. And on many a day, the firm not being able to supply hot drinks etc., allowed us to go over the road to the ABC café to get hot chocolate. If there was no heating we worked in top coats very often, which again on reflection was a laugh, for many of us were still wearing adapted school uniforms let down and out at every seam! A new dress meant not only money which we didn’t have a lot of but clothing coupons as well and was the highlight of everyone’s day!

We shared a lot – lipsticks (which I had to put on after I left the house as mother didn’t approve), powder, perfume and on rare occasions, party dresses! For we, that is everyone, attempted to lead as normal a life as possible, we still celebrated birthdays and Christmas, although gifts were usually homemade and either practical or useful.

Getting to work in my case was getting on a No.15 bus each morning, and if we met a bomb crater on the way the passengers just got off and walked round the hole and picked up another bus on the other side! Coming home it was easier to use the Underground to Aldgate and pick up an empty trolley bus from there, the procedure was the same though.
I can remember looking across London from outside the firm to see empty bomb blasted areas but old St. Paul’s stood proudly amongst the ruins. Funnily enough and perhaps it was because we were young, we were not afraid but I must admit the advent of V1s and 2s were more frightening, they were unmanned craft and did considerable damage.

During the war there was a government department - The Ministry of Food. On behalf of this Ministry, Unilever who owned Stork (the margarine company), would send out leaflets advising people on how to make their rations last. Unilever junior staff could supplement their wages by taking home and addressing a batch of these cookery leaflets which then folded into envelopes. Staff could earn an extra ÂŁ1 and 10 shillings per 1000 leaflets - or something like that! I must be honest, I didn't read the recipes as I was too busy addressing and folding the envelopes! I do remember one recipe - Woolton Pie - named after the Minister of Food, Lord Woolton. It was horrible - a vegetable and pastry pie.

As I said earlier, my sister Doris and her colleagues in the London Ambulance Service, alongside the firemen and air raid wardens did a tremendous job in the Blitz and after working under terrible pressure and extremely dangerous situations. Many of the men had wives and families evacuated to the country and their pay packets not large to start with had to cover their own costs and pay the expenses of the family living away. But the old East End spirit survived, although living in such difficult circumstances, they remained at their posts and also managed to get a few laughs out of certain droll situations.
One such situation was related by Doris after it had occurred, on one awful night of continuous raids and many casualties she and her driver were picking up pieces of dead bodies, the ambulance was soon filled – they had the unpleasant task of attempting to sort and put together the respective arms, legs and torsos, into body bags, cart them to a hospital (any hospital!) where an overworked doctor was to certify them dead. The necessary documents had to be signed, before relegating them to the mortuary, hurriedly emptying the vehicle, in order to get back to help the living. Eventually a doctor was found who spared the few minutes to put his name to the papers, before returning to attend other casualties, so, off went the ambulance straight to the local morgue, where the vehicle was quickly emptied. They returned to the fray assisting and caring for further casualties, only to find out that the mortuary received a direct hit later that night, and all the bodies, so carefully sorted, had been blown to smithereens, and mixed up once more! Looking back I suppose it was a shock reaction but they laughed helplessly, at the wasted effort. It was good that everyone could laugh, after all there was no counselling then, you were alive, so you carried on. No one had time to think you just did your job to the best of your ability.

Sometimes they had a welcome break from the hell of London raids if a young mother with her newly born baby needed special care, they had the pleasant task of transferring them to a hospital or nursing home situated in a safe area out in the country, even this job was not necessarily easy, for, because of the war and in order to confuse any enemy agents, all sign posts had been taken down, so unless the driver knew his way, they were almost on a mystery tour. Not a sign post in sight and as posters were put up all across the land saying ‘Careless talk costs lives’ local residents were not too ready to be helpful with directions, after all one never knew if the ambulance and its occupants may be Germans! Funny when talked about later but frustrating at the time. Especially as the country folk had a local dialect and the Londoners were mainly Cockneys. Two quite different languages at the time.

The doodlebugs; V1s, an unmanned aircraft and its follow up, the V2 rocket, were deadly weapons, that Germany sent across to London, many were shot down by our anti-aircraft guns, before reaching their target, but those that did get to London were deadly. The doodle bug as we called them made a heavy droning sound, quite different from airplanes which we had got used to identifying – “That’s one of ours” or “Look out it’s a Jerry” and when the engine stopped so did our breath, for you knew then, that it was coming down somewhere near you. The V2 rocket was a silent enemy, it just arrived no warning, just one heck of an explosion! Our RAF boys did a brilliant job in bombing Permamunde, where our intelligence group found out they were being manufactured. I really don’t think we could have stood much more of them!

I realise I’ve rather glossed over my evacuation period, I suppose the reason for that is, that I wasn’t particularly happy there. Some youngsters were very fortunate and were bilited on the gentry, and had stables, horses etc., to ride on, even if they were expected to clean and feed them as well, those must have been pleasant duties (after getting used to the animals, as most London children had only seen animals behind bars at the zoo, if they’d been lucky!)
Some youngsters were used as unpaid farm labourers before and after school. I myself was an unpaid servant, come baby-sitter for the sister of the lady of the house where I first stayed. Who after a while arranged with the Evacuation Committee, to have me stay permanently with the other household, I found out later that was because she was able to let out my little room to an elderly farm labourer for more money! I disliked the quiet of the countryside (I suppose that’s why I could never live in a quiet locality today, subconsciously it reminds me of then?) but I soon got used to the farm animals, I could easily walk across the fields as short cuts to school (or Church).
We were made to go to Church, the country folk, I found, were avid church goers, even if they only went to talk about Mrs So-and-so’s Hat or her daughter’s goings on etc. I quickly learned if you can’t beat them join them and so joined the church choir and Girl Guides, I became patrol leader of the Scarlet Pimpernels.
I’m afraid it was very much ‘them’ and ‘us’ between Londoners and the local children, and I was so pleased to be brought home. I felt I could stand any of Hitler’s bombs after putting up with living in a ‘safe area’.

Another memory sticks in my mind – Aid to Russia. Throughout the war, socials and dances were held in any school or church hall still standing, in which raffles were held, to aid various groups i.e the Red Cross, Service Men’s Children fund, Widows and Orphans etc. Then when the German Army invaded Russia, the Russian people decided that they would leave nothing behind for the Germans to benefit from, so they started a scorched earth policy and burnt everything in their wake! So we had an ‘Aid to Russia’ week. Before the war Dad had bought Mum a beautiful gold leafed patterned coffee set which was never user for the cups were so small and delicate and certainly wouldn’t have held enough coffee to satisfy the working man or woman. At the start of the war Mum carefully packed it in lots of paper, inside a cardboard box and stored it away safely (our everyday stuff on the kitchen dresser was gradually depleted as each bomb blast shook the crockery down, but we all managed with odds and ends.)

One day in the Aid to Russia week Dad came home and asked where the coffee set was, Mum replied ‘safely put away’ ‘Get it out girl, we can use it for a Raffle prize for Aid to Russia’ was Dad’s reply. The expletives used by Mum were beautiful! – no perishing Russian was going to benefit by her lovely coffee set in a raffle! Eventually he got his way, using the obvious statement, ‘Look my girl we could all be dead tomorrow, what’s a blooming coffee set?’
From then on when we mentioned it, it was always called the aid to Russia set and although he promised to replace it, to my knowledge he never did. Still there were at the time more important things to worry about.

There were two very important Ds during the war – Dunkirk and D-Day. Dunkirk consisted of an armada of small sailing vessels, used to evacuate our soldiers and allies, from the beaches of Dunkirk, if I remember rightly, in 1940. The message went out over the radio asking for anyone who had access to a small craft to report to various stations along the Thames and English coast. Paddle steamers, ferries, and small pleasure craft, with their crews consisting of anyone, of any age (mostly old and/or very young) all civilians! Needless to say hundreds of small boats with a brave but motley crew rallied to the call. Fuel was supplied and they were instructed to congregate at the mouth of the Thames thence given more fuel, food and instructions to sail across the Channel to France. The idea was to get to the beaches (where our larger boats could not get in) and pick up our retreating forces. This was NOT to be classed as a retreat, it was almost turned into a glorious victory when these little ships as they were called went in under German fire ignoring danger to themselves, in many cases being blown up and machine gunned as they picked up as many troops as their particular boat could take, in order to ferry survivors out into the channel, and transfer them to the larger ships waiting there.

Our soldiers, some waiting in line, others assembling out into the water in an attempt to board the small craft were always under fire. Some years later, I was to find out that my future husband’s brother George was one of those very brave men, rescued from the beach at Dunkirk. He’d seen many friends die around him and was to turn against any religion from that time on, as he’d asked a Catholic padre to say a few words over his dying pal, the Padre refused saying, ‘He’s not one of us!’ – the friend was C of E.
George’s first boat was bombed and he got picked up by a second craft only to have the same thing happen! Luck was on his side for the third boat made it, and he was taken out to a larger ship and made it home!
Hundreds and hundreds of wet, cold and weary lads were brought back to England this way, to be met by the Red Cross and WVS (Women’s Voluntary Service) with a cuppa and a wad – tea and sandwiches to you!

D-Day was in June 1944, when we and our allies invaded France and Belgium (countries occupied by Germans). For weeks in the run-up to D-Day, troops had been transported across England, in large convoys, making their way to docks and embarkation ports. I remember well standing alongside many local people in Barking Road, East Ham, handing out tea, cigarettes and cakes to the passing lorry loads of men. Don’t ask me where the cigs etc. came from, I guess anyone who had anything edible or drinkable stored away just brought them out and passed them around for us to throw or hand into the lorries!

The cake shop at the top of the street somehow baked buns and cakes and passed them out to us. Many times we were asked, ‘Where is this place love?’ (no sign posts anywhere of course) and on saying ‘east London lads’, the reply was, ‘ God bless East London’. For they had very few stops on their journey and no time for a brew up. I am still trying to work out why it was called D-Day but I have a feeling it was Deliverance Day for the people of Europe.
Looking back I can hear some of the soldiers asking, ‘What shall we do with the cups, thermos flasks etc’ for the convoy was always on the move and we’d reply, ‘Hand ‘em out farther up boys’, they did and somehow they got back to their owners.

I know when we made the D-Day landings it was a nightmare for all concerned, many troops were lost as they hit the beaches, but the majority fought well, and with the aid of allied aircraft overhead, gained ground slowly, this was the beginning of the end of the war!
Life carried on much the same in London, we worked and cheered, when the news on the radio, reported our troops gradually taking back parts of Europe and pushing the Germans back to Berlin!

One of my most upsetting memories was seeing the RAF lads, in hospital blues, with their terribly scarred, burned faces, on leave, but there was a doctor named Archie McIndoe, who was trying out the first skin graft ops, ever done, on these lads, and gradually, their burned faces and noses took on a more normal look, today’s wonderful skin graft operation were only born from these ‘trial and error’ skin surgery.

Mrs A Burman nee Clark

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