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A CHILDHOOD :1939 to 1945 by Ron Standen

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I am Ronald Standen and was aged 7 to 12 during the second World War, just of an age to remember events. My Dad (Arthur) was a long serving member of the RAF and we often moved from aerodrome to aerodrome. Mum (Betty), my twin sister Joan and I generally followed, moving into nearby married quarters. World War II began in September when us children were a few months off our eighth birthday.
In 1939 it was deemed that `The bomber always gets through' and our aerodrome would be attacked immediately. As a result us civilians were hastily evacuated from the vicinity. Mum was told to pack light luggage and that night lorries arrived to transport us away. Our lorry toured the local area compulsory billeting us on surrounding farms and villages. It was all rather frightening being in the night time. Our lorry would stop outside a house and an officer would bargain with the owner as to how many evacuees they should be taken in. We were among the last to dismount to troupe into the unwilling owners house.
We stayed only a short time at the farm we were billeted on but in that time we naughty children managed to knock all the apples off an apple tree and, on the very last day, set fire to a settee whilst playing with matches.
Mum had a sister and her husband living at Dagenham and they agreed we could move in with them. This was not a wise move, the famous Ford motorcar works, the largest in England, was - located in Dagenham and German bombers paid frequent visits. Stray bombs fell on civilian houses and us children were fascinated to see an increasing number of bombed houses. What had been a neat row would have three or four gapes, like rotted teeth. We were not hit but when Dad was standing outside our Anderson shelter a small incendiary bomb thudded into the ground inches from him. It was promptly smothered in a sand bucket and made safe. A feature of our night during raids was the continuous thump of anti-aircraft guns. At this stage of the war they were very unlikely to hit anything, but it was officially recognised that the sound of us hitting back was good for moral.
Some time in 1940 dad was posted to the Firth-of-Forth in Scotland to take part in the conversion of American `Hudson' aircraft for use by RAF Coastal command. The famous Forth railway bridge was nearby and whist attacking a German Heinkel HE 111 was shot down. We billeted at North Berwick on the Southern shore of the Firth of forth and being very near the spot where the aircraft crashed we all turned out to see it. I was told that it was the first bomber to be shot down in the UK. North Berwick was grey and architecturally unappealing but it was a magic place for Joan and myself. It was next to the sea and had a shoreline of volcanic rock which readily wore smooth and made many small caves and pools for us to excitedly explore. Joan and I being 'foreigners' in Scotland were very close. The famous `Bass Rock', now a bird sanctuary, could easily be seen from the shore.
Shortly after our arriving sweet rationing came into effect. We children heard that the penny slot machine on the railway platform still had chocolate in it. We all hurried to the Station, penny's in hand, where a benign Porter lined us up so that each had fair share of this last luxury.
We must have had bicycles for I remember cycling to see the `old' men sailing their superbly made model yachts. With no radio controls it required the greatest skill to set sails so that they reached the intended destination.
I remember very little about school except for the teaching of copper plate handwriting and. having to learn by heart a11 the Scottish Bens and Lochs. Teacher had a rubber roller which when smeared with printing ink rolled out a map of Scotland in our books on which we inserted the newly learned
towns etc. We found that Scottish history was somewhat different to English, Great emphasise being given to the Scottish victories against the English and a particular hero was Robert -the-Bruce with his spider watching activities. We developed broad Scottish accents including (phonetically) `Och I'. `Do yer ken', `I Dinny ken' and `Weel noo'. I reached almost the peak of my artistic career with a prize winning painting of a Norman castle being attacked by matchstick men.
Dad finished converting Hudsons and was posted to Wrexham, North Wales. We got lodgings nearby and our short nine week stay in Wales commenced. At school we probably learned Welsh history and another set of hills and valleys. There was a craze for collecting the round cardboard milk bottle tops, which were threaded onto a string. I was dared to throw my precious collection over a pigsty and luckily succeeded. We also played a great deal of marbles along the pavement as well as kicking balls and the like. After six weeks Dad was posted to Egypt via the Isle of Angles and Hollyhead. We children had little idea of the dangers he faced on the sea but he arrived safely an4 we got our first Airmail letters.
With Dad's departure there was on need to stay in Wales and we moved to Lower Morden, Surrey. Here Mum was in the bosom of her relatives and at last felt `at home'. We billeted with them for a short time and then bought 308, Garth Road, Lower Morden, Surrey which remained our home up to 1965. We settled happily here until in late 1944 self propelled robot bombs (V1 Buzz bombs) began falling on us. These were intended to drop on London but the Germans were fooled into dropping them short onto less densely populated areas. With this new threat, for the sake of us children, we moved, for a period of time to Rookhope, a small hamlet in the county of Durham, and stayed with an uncle and his wife.
This was a dream location for childhood activities, being set in a deep valley between wild hills. One steep hill arose immediately outside our house and it had a line of tall posts on it. When it snowed the very top of them still showed, as a guide to travellers. One particular feature of the locality was an abandon open cast quartz mine. It had rusty railway lines on which were heavy iron trucks, some on the line and others tipped off . All sorts of rusting winches, chains, pulleys covered the site and it was an irresistible play area for boys. From an adult point of view it would have been safer for us to go back again and face the `buzz bombs'.
The village and houses were much more basic than we were used too, for example our privy was an outhouse with a chemical toilet in it. It was often my duty to pull the inner bucket out and tip it's smelly contents into the nearby brook. The local children were down to earth and delighted in catching small animals and being cruel to them. Public transport was scares and all we had was a single bus into the town of Bishop Auckland on Saturday morning, returned in the late afternoon. A trip into Bishop Auckland was a great treat especially to see the latest film. Unfortunately we had to leave before the end to catch the bus home.
Mum did not enjoy the lack of refinement compared with our house and when news reached us that our Morden house had been `Buzz Bombed' we set off back to Morden straight away. Towards the end of the Journey I was handing cases to mum who was already on a tube train. The doors snapped shut and the tube train drew away leaving me stranded on the platform! I jumped onto the next train in a fearful funk. fortunately both trains terminated at Morden and I rushed crying loudly through barrier straight into the arms of a very much relieved parent. We found on arrival home, after easing off lightly nailed boards, that there was very little damaged. This was repaired using a war grant and we soon returned to normal.

From a child's view this was all a normal upbringing which included gathering round our corner Radio to hear exciting war news, Uncle Mack's children's hour and comedy shows like `Itma'. The boys spent much time being fighters pilots or Commandos and the girls courageous Nurses. It was a very patriotic time and the school took us to cinema to see `Henry V' with its stirring Agincourt battle. We had a Morrison shelter, a large steel table which dominated the dinning room. We used to curl up under it, all safe and sound unless we had overnight visitors, when we all slept with our feet sticking out. Fortunately The war kept it's distance and know one we knew was wounded or killed.
I remember very little of school, possibly due to our fractured education, but I can still recall the strong sweaty feet odour which arose from the shared plimsolls box. Pity the pupil who was the last to grab a pair. I also recall the damp and musty smell in the schools brick shelter with its long rows of bench seats. Teacher used desperately find an educational subject to keep us occupied until the `All Clear' sounded. To save paper we wrote into our books in the normal way and the turned on their side so that we could use the very last of the white space. My art work was mainly of Spitfires trouncing the enemy. We boys spent much of our time paddling in, or floating on the nearby Beverly Brook. We had many a boot full of water, and used to run up and down to dry them before daring to go home. In earlier days we found a part started built site, and using its trenches and walls we had many a desperate fight with the Germans. We won. I ones lost 6 pence in some open ground. I came back next day to search further but found that overnight a huge water tank had been erected on top of it.
At last came VE day (Victory in Europe) in May 1945 followed by VJ day (Victory over Japan) In September 1945. We had a street party. Tables were loaded with as much food as shortages allowed and with long hoarded special treats. There was also plenty of beer and the like. Everyone smiled, laughed, sung and danced and there were also tears in the light of the bonfire. For a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders. Festivities continued at a pace until the last couples drifted away at a scandalous four o'clock. I, luckily, won the main raffle which was a magnificent foot long metal Liner, it floated and was driven by a powerful clockwork motor. Incidental on another occasion I won a very valuable prize, half of a small banana.
Thank the Lord, Dad and many others, returned safe and sound. In the future hard times might come and go but the spectra of sudden death had been defeated.

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