大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from 大象传媒 London on behalf of Charlie Johnson and has been added to the site with his permission and understands the site's terms and conditions.

September 1st, 1940. Priory Road, West Croydon. The Johnson family traipsed their way to East Croydon station for the annual hop picking harvest. A sort of working holiday. They had donethis for yearsbefore the war. They would walk all the way to the station after an hours walk. The ritual would take place, my mother bought a ticket one-way. She would say, "right boys, mizzle frew". This meant go through without paying. When the train arrived at Penshurst Station, there would be about twelve other families on the train. They probably had 14 tickets between them. As kids we were tired and hungry, but we had to keep going. The farm was 12 miles away. However the farmer sent horse and cart to pick us up to take us to the farm. Once we were at the farm the hard work would begin.

Each family was allocated a hut to live in which was 15ft by 12ft. We would put straw on the floor to sleep on and use old coats as blankets.

The most amazing thing to this day that I cant believe is how my mother was able to feed us using only the following:
an iron frame, 8 bricks, and a shovel to dig a hole. She was still able to cook a whole roast dinner for myself and my brother and two sisters.
It was a hard life however there were rewards for us. For us gang of boys it was one great adventure. We had catapults and put them to good use by flinging the stones at the ceramic posts.

We went every year for three to fours weeks. From 1936-1952. We never went to the seaside we always went to Penshurst.

Where we were was known as hellfire corner. The battle of Britain was fought over this area. We watched the vapour trails overhead. I could hear the older people saying when one came down was it a nought or a cross.

Food was on rations, however as we were considered agricultural worker we would get extra rations. During the three weeks all the other kids had gone back to school.

You had to fill a bin with hops. Then a field foreman would come down with a measurer and he would take the hops out of the bushall basket, for which we would get 6pence. If you put too many hops in the bin, he would call it a dirty bin, and not take it. At the end of the day your hands would smell of sulphur. He would blow the whistle at 5pm, and we would all go back to the huts, where my mum was expected to cook a dinner for us all.

On a Saturday night we would all go to the pub. At the time it was called The Rock Inn, which is still there today. They used paraffin oil lamps. The bar was full and we would all sing.

My memories are of us trying to survive these times.

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