大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Pennie Hedge, a volunteer from 大象传媒 London, on behalf of Iris Humphries and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Humphries fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Bromley at the Start of the War

I was eight when war started in September 1939 and was fourteen when it finished in May 1945.

I lived in Bromley on the edge of London. There was no evacuation until the Doodlebugs started to fall in June 1944, although there were frequent air raids. Quite a lot of bombs fell, particularly in December 1940 when in a heavy raid 8 churches were destroyed and shops and houses as well. Bromley lay between Biggin Hill airfield and Lewisham and so was in the path of planes and bombs.

I went to four schools during period. The first one was a National Church of England school and it was old fashioned and very traditional. We called our teachers 'Madam' and posters on the wall encouraged older girls to go into service as maids, or become shop girls.

We were living in a small, cramped flat at the beginning of the war. My brother was born in 1938. Mum, Dad, baby and me all shared a bedroom. There was no bathroom. We moved to a bigger house with a garden and I went to the Valley School.

It was a lovely, traditional old school building, still in use today and now 116 years old. (I went to a reunion there for its 100 year anniversary celebration in 1989.) The teaching was very progressive for its day and ambitious for its children. We were energetically coached for the scholarship examination. The teaching of history was very imaginative and opened windows in our mind. I started at grammar school in 1942.

The first day of the war was terrifying. The siren went, we had no air raid shelter, but huddled on the floor with cushions around us. My mother put my baby brother in the great gas mask which had already been issued. Nothing happened and we were all greatly relieved when the all clear went. It was a false alarm. Life went on as normal. I walked to school on my own. I changed schools when we moved.

Bombing and air raids started in 1940. Shelters had been dug in the school playground by then. When the siren sounded we scuttled down below ground. Stories were read out loud to us. We would chant tables. I can still say "twelve pennies made a shilling". Needlework and knitting were allowed. The boys played cats cradle with a piece of string. There was often a competition to make a small model of a service person, or a wooden plane or boat. Pipe cleaners would be the base for these little figures, which we turned into little soldiers, airmen, WAFs, ATS, WRENS or nurses.

Make a patriotic poster for the Borough poster competition was popular in art class and the winners would be on show in a shop in the town. My entry would get sent in but it never got on display, much to my disappointment.

The National School was damaged by a bomb and most of the pupils came temporarily to the Valley School causing much overcrowding. But it was nice to see my old friends again. There was still no official evacuation scheme operating.

Empty shops in the town held exhibitions relating to the war effort. They displayed bits of German planes, shrapnel, how to recognise aircraft and unexploded bombs, and how to put out incendiary bombs with sand and a stirrup pump. The exhibitions would be patriotically presented, and added a bit of entertainment to rather dull lives.

The cinema was our chief source of entertainment, long queues would wait for hours in the rain for a good film. I loved the radio Home and Forces programmes with Saturday Night Theatre, Monday Night at Eight, Variety, Tommy Handley in ITMA and the 9 o'clock News, followed by Into Battle to the tune of 'Lillie Balero'. Dance bands with Geraldo and Ambrose and Workers Playtime. We could sing the words of the songs of the day. The lyrics were audible and interesting. I loved 'Coming in on a wing and a prayer'.

We never went hungry. Mother managed the rationing very well, although meals were plain compared to today. Sweets more or less disappeared from the shops for a while, until rationing brought them back again. We valued all sweets, but a piece of chocolate was a real treat. Fish and chips were cheap and plentiful, but still a treat. Pocket money was about 6d (2 1/2p) a week, if you were lucky.

'Holidays at Home' were promoted by the Government. As we never went on holiday anyway, this was an interesting diversion. The parks were kept up well, and free entertainment took place. Lots of band concerts and shows, and adults were encouraged to use the parks and relax as if they were on holiday.

Evacuation At Last!

The war changed for me when the Doodlebugs arrived. The sound was terrifying. They roared overhead. The first night my mother rushed upstairs and shoved at my bedroom door. The lino somehow cockled up, jamming the door and she couldn't open it properly. I awoke to hear her hysterically shouting "There is a train overhead." This one passed over, but when the engine stopped you held your breath. You breathed again when you heard the band and you realised that you were still alive.

Quite soon my Gran, who lived in the next road, had her house destroyed by a Doodlebug. She came to us with pathetic bits of retrieved furniture.

Then we all took off for relatives in Dorset. There was still no official evacuation in Bromley, but we fled. This was June 1944. I remember that we spent the 26 June in the air raid shelter because it was my sister's second birthday. D Day must have happened, but I have no recollection of it because of the air raids which were frequent.

We packed a case, took a pram,went to a bleak Waterloo Station and boarded a train to Dorset. I had never travelled so far and hoardings in the fields proclaimed that we were going to the 'Strong Country' made me even more excited. I later found out that the 'Strong Country' was named after a brand of beer!

We arrrived at the quiet country station, rolled up to the tiny cottage and introduced ourselves to an astonished and horrified unknown relative, who was quite unable to accommodate us.

My father walked four miles into the nearest town, which was Shaftesbury. He was directed to the WVS office (Womens Voluntary Service). They efficiently took over, sent a van to collect our luggage and pram from Semley Station and deposited us in Melbury Abbas. We were billeted at the requisitioned Rectory. We were given a meal, bedroom accommodation on truckle beds and a living room where my mother was able to cook for us.

Several other families were also accommodated and we soon made friends with the Cockney Londoners who had fled from the hop fields of Kent. The children soon organised concerts in the large entrance hall. We knew the words and music of all the songs, as well as the dance band songs, and amused ourselves quite happily.

The local children were rather suspicious and a little hostile. They shouted "Londoners" at us, with a strong Dorset accent. I think we responded to this in our own way. But we were really made very welcome, and life long friendships were formed. I still have friends down there to this day.

It was a lovely summer and we soon explored the idyllic local countryside and climbed Melbury Hill, now designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. We were soon sent off to school, which involved a ride in an ancient taxi, into which about 10 kids would cram themselves, courtesy of the Dorset Education Service.

I enjoyed to local Secondary Modern for a while and eventually got sent on to the grammer school, called Shaftesbury High.

We spent a whole year in 'Thomas Hardy land' and eventually lived in a small cottage, with water from a well in the garden and no flush loo - only a bucket that my mother had to empty at the bottom of the garden. Somehow my mother adapted to this rural life, despite suffering a miscarriage (caused by carrying the bucket) and she spent two weeks in hospital recovering.

The WVS sent we three off to a children's home where I think the other residents were evacuees who were difficult to place. They were an unruly lot and we were glad when we were able to return to the little cottage, with the brook at the bottom of the garden. Mum returned well and rested and continued to cope with a life with no buses, and the nearest town a three mile walk. Thank goodness for the tiny village shop and post office.

I loved this different life and have cherished memories of it to this day. No bomb fell on Melbury, but the Italian prisoners of war livened things up a bit. They worked on the land and were lovely young men. They were very popular with the local girls when we all went potato picking to help the war effort.

VE Day came round and we celebrated it with a party in the garden of the local 'grand lady' who was also the chief WVS lady. In the evening we climbed to the top of Melbury Hill where a great bonfire was lit. We just stood round it, talking and wondering how we would get back to London.

The WVS organised it. We packed up all the luggage we had accummulated in a year and were taken back to Semley Station. A steam train from Exeter drew in, laden with returning evacuees, and conveyed us to Waterloo. We were taken by car to an LCC Office in Peckham, another car took us to Bromley, and yet another took us home to our door. All organised by the WVS.

I don't remember VJ Day at all, but I think that there was a parade and a thanksgiving service in Bromley.

We were home before 26 June because I remember my sister's third birthday party and the family reunion that it was, with my two Grans.

The Gran who lost her home was rehoused in an identical one on the other side of the road, and lived there for the rest of her life.

I lived at home at Shortlands until I got married, but I have been back to Melbury on many occasions over the last 60 years, and love it like a second home.

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