大象传媒

I was born on 2nd January, 1937 so, necessarily, my memories are from the latter part of the Second World War. We, lived in Morden, Surrey on the outskirts of London.

My father was a naturalised Englishman although born a Frenchman. He was called Emilien Henri Fernand Cleroux. My earliest memories in the war are of him as an ARP warden in his tin helmet checking the blackout and issuing sandbags and making sure pails of water were on the doorsteps in readiness for incendiary bombs.

I remember the stench of pig bags tied to lamp-posts, full of rotting food and vegetable parings waiting for collection to feed the pigs and I remember gates and railings being taken away for the war effort.

I remember eggs in pails of Isoglas preservative in our front room and the taste of dried egg. I remember spam and wonderful parcels from an uncle in America with goodies I had never tasted before. I remember the endless queues and mad rushes when some scarce commodity was allocated to a shop. I remember rabbit stew and queuing for horse meat which was off ration

My father must have been one of the last to be called up for service. He was 44 in 1944 and my mother was expecting my brother. He was originally in the Military Police as a despatch rider on a motor bike. However, as he had never been on a motor bike before and was not very successful, he was transferred to the Pioneer Corps as an interpreter.

I remember the joy of hearing the sound of his army boots coming down the road when he was on leave and the tears when after may only a day or two, the boots faded into the distance again. I remember his kti bag in the hall with his tin helmet and billy can tied on to it.

My father was confined to barracks along with the rest of the invasion force at the end of May 1944 with all leave suspended. My brother, Malcolm, was born on 31st May, 1944 and my father managed to "escape" and was able to get to St. Helier's Hospital in Carshalton to see his new baby son for which, for all he knew, may have been the first and last time. While there, he was arrested by the red-caps and returned to barracks at Portsmouth. For this to happen to my father who was a perfect gentle man and never stepped out of line, he must have been desperate.

Along with the other thousands he was part of the D-Day landings. He was with the Liberation Forces through France, Belgium, Holland and finally in Germany just behnind the front line and sometimes in front helping to dig trenches and dug outs as well as performing his interpreting duties. He was at the release of Belson, the notorious concentration camp and was never able to fully speak about the atrocities he saw there, only that all the troops and the newly freed prisoners were sprayed with disinfectant and hosed down because of the dreadful insanitary conditions. He saw men, women and children like skeletons hardly able to walk and some were acting like depraved animlas, their minds and bodies destroyed by the Gestapo. He did describe the pits filled with the pitiful bodies of men, women and children. To the end of his days I don't think he ever got those haunting memories completely out of his mind, although he had some good times in the army and made some very good friends until the day they died. He was a staunch member of the British Legion and was very proud to have been selected to be a representative for his branch as a flag bearer for the Remembrance Day Service at the Albert Hall.

My war, as a young girl, was very different. I still cringe inside when I hear the wailing air raid sirens in an old war film. I was not evacuated and went to school carrying my mickey mouse gas mask. If the siren went on my way to school I used to knock at the nearest door and dive into their shelter. We spent months at school in the underground shelters having all lessons, food and games down there. There were not too many children left as most had been evacuated.

My most vivid memory is of the doodle-bugs, those pilotless planes just waiting for the fuel to run out and crash. The sirens used to go and we would go outside and watch for them to come over. I remember praying like everybody else that the engine would not stop until it had passed over us. The real nightmare was when it did cut out and watched the wind direction and began counting and watching that silent monster in the sky gliding lower and lower until suddenly there would be a terrific explosion and we knew that we were safe once again although some wretched people in one or other street nearby would be the victimes.

For about three months, although in my child's eye it seemed like forever, my mother, six week old brother and me slept in the Anderson shelter in the garden. There was always about three inches of mud and water in the bottom and we had to wear Wellington boots. My brother had a small cot in which to sleep with his baby gas mask nearby. This a baby length black coffin-like contraption in which the baby would be enclosed in the event of a gas attack. There were bunk beds in which my mother and I slept. I was in the top one as it was drier away from the wet floor. Our shelter was the only one to serve about four neighbours as they only had Morrison Table shelters. I remember when the doodle-bugs were coming over every half hour or so, we had about ten people all crammed into our shelter. Even though I was very young I remember being scared and excited at the same time. We only had nightlights in there and I will never forget that damp, musty smell. I remember the all-clear siren going and relaxing into sleep and then that dreadful wailing siren woke us all up and we listed to the planes going overhead in the direction of London to the constant sound of funfire and bombs exploding. Ther eerie reflections of the searchlights criss-crossing across the night sky and the hugh barrage balloons.

I don't remember any problem with the amount of food we had. I suppose with a youg baby my mother had a green ration book which entitled her to more than a family without young children. I do remember longing and longing for a banana. I never had one and I remember when my brother was born, my aunt saying to me "Guess what you have got". I shouted "A banana, a Banana". I was so disappointed when it turned out to be a baby brother. I still adore bananas to this day and probably eat more of them than most people.

The war ended at last and fortunately no-one in my immediate family was lost but we did know so many people who weren't so lucky. I remember the huge street parties with everybody waving flags and red, white and blue banners everywhere. The dreaded blackout curtains were vanquished and people began to live without fear again. TheAnderson shelter became a re-vamped coal shed, my father's noisy boots were vanquished to the attic but to this day, I still have his navy and white pin stripe demob suit safely in my wardrobe.

My father's framed war medals are now in the proud possession of my youngest of four sons and I hope his fond memories of his grand-day will be passed on to future generations.

We did indeed live through those darkest days but I think it raised a proud and resilient generation who, in turn have handed down those qualities which I still believe are present in the majority of people with only a minority who hit the headlines seeming to mar what my father's and grand-fathers's generation made such sacrifices to achieve.

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