大象传媒

大象传媒/WW2 version

Caption for pic (if it arrives!)
The only war time photo of my dad
William Victor Giffen

Memories of a War Baby
Part One
By John Giffen

IN AT THE BEGINNING

Our family legend has it that my mother Emily was very pregnant when she went to see Max Miller 鈥� the 鈥楥heeky Chappy鈥� at the Empire Theatre in North End, Croydon on Valentine鈥檚 Day 1939. She laughed so much she had stomach ache. On returning home, her stomach ache continued for the rest of the evening until she realised that she was in labour. I was born early the next morning in her bed at 368 Brighton Road, South Croydon on 15th February 1939, seven months before war was declared. My father William (or Will as mum called him 鈥� 鈥淲ill, do this鈥� and 鈥淲ill, do that鈥�) was delighted. Now he had two of each 鈥� two girls and two boys.

In the Croydon Advertiser that week, the lead story was 鈥業n Time of War鈥�, Police Plans, Co-operation with Wardens and plans for Segregation of Stricken Areas. There was an interesting story entitled 鈥業ncendiarism Suspected鈥� about a 20 ton haystack blaze at Addington. An airline pilot flying into Croydon Aerodrome reported seeing the blaze and firemen were despatched. Whilst fighting the fire another 15 ton haystack suddenly burst into flames nearby. Investigators found remains of rubber balloons and some chemicals. Could it have been the work of a Fifth Columnist, practising espionage?

A brand new 3-bedroomed house on the Spring Park Farm Estate cost 拢845. You could buy one for 拢50 deposit and 21/9 (拢1.09) a week. They are now costing about 拢300,000!

My earliest years were dominated by the war, although I cannot remember them. My brother and two sisters are all older than me. My brother Arthur was six at the start of the war and my sisters Olive and Barbara were nine and 12 respectively.

In the preparations and planning before the war started, Croydon was originally declared a Neutral Zone and would not need evacuation under the national Air Raid Precautions Scheme. (This is laughably like those preposterous councillors around the country during the Cold War of the 1960s, who declared their towns and cities Nuclear Free Zones). Croydon Corporation protested about this and got the plan changed to include the borough. Plans were drawn up for the event of a war and when it was declared, evacuation of children, with teachers and helpers started immediately.

My brother and sisters were evacuated the weekend that war commenced 鈥� 3rd September 1939, to Rottingdean, near Brighton in Sussex, so I was not even aware of them. My mother stayed at home nursing me. Arthur and the girls were there for about two years and it was a very unhappy time for them, especially Barbara, who was the subject of unwelcome attention from their host who apparently liked young girls. Eventually, after two years and just after Dunkirk, they were moved to Newdigate, near Dorking in Surrey.

Thankfully I was too young to remember the Blitz, which was in 1941. Probably my first subconscious memory of the war was my mother trying to put me into a gas mask. Adults were issued with an ordinary gas mask. These were placed over the face with a wide adjustable rubber strap holding it in place round the back of the head. It was only effective if it fitted tightly all around the face, so they were too large for very small children. Gas protection for babies was a large rubber container, designed to take the whole baby inside, on its back, with a window to look into or, in my case, out of. My mother said that I was terrified of being placed in this contraption and she only tried to use it a couple of times, finally deciding that it was better to risk me being gassed, rather than her being deafened by my screams. I still find the strong smell of new rubber deeply disturbing.

We came through the Blitz unscathed and eventually my brother and sisters returned from evacuation. It must have been a shock for them as my parents had moved from the large detached house with a big garden at 368 Brighton Road. We had shared the house with my Aunt Winifred (my dad鈥檚 sister) and Uncle Harry who was blinded by shrapnel in World War 1. My aunt couldn鈥檛 stand the bombing, so they moved to Scotland for safety. My mother took me to stay with her mother, to 鈥楥ountry Nan鈥檚鈥�, in Merstham for a while. We then moved about a hundred yards up the road from where I was born to 326 Brighton Road. We settled down to a normal wartime existence of air raids, food shortages, rationing, the blackouts and air raid sirens sounding at any time of the night or day. Eventually our family got fed up with the night time disturbance of getting up out of a warm bed, to rush down to the bottom of the garden and to try and sleep in a cold, damp, overcrowded air raid shelter. It was decided that Arthur and I would sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. Our gas meter was in this cupboard and the medicines were also stored there. Even to this day I can still remember the strange mixture of smells of gas, embrocation and wintergreen cough mixture. One day my brother found a bar of chocolate hidden among the medicine and we scoffed the whole bar in secret. Unfortunately it turned out to be Ex-lax 鈥� a laxative. Apparently we paid dearly for this crime! We daren鈥檛 go far for a few days so that we were near the outside lavatory until things calmed down again.

We lived above and behind an ironmonger鈥檚 shop owned by a Mr. Wakelin. The smell of paraffin, which was stored in big tanks in an outhouse right next to our kitchen window, was all pervasive. It is a blessing that we didn鈥檛 get bombed because the hundreds of gallons of paraffin stored there would have made any fire catastrophic. That, and the smell of shoe polish, candles, nails, buckets, brooms, creosote, gardening chemicals, etc. still brings back memories of those days.

I was still very small at this time, as the following incident indicates. There was an alley about three feet wide (1m) between our house and next door, where the Hansford鈥檚 lived. At the very top floor of both houses was an attic with windows facing each other across the alley. I don鈥檛 know who conceived the idea or how many were involved but it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. I was persuaded to sit in a large wicker shopping basket and was passed from one attic window to the other, across the alley. My mother went mad when she discovered what had happened and my sisters, being the eldest involved, were severely chastised. I鈥檝e never had a fear of heights so maybe some good came of it!

My parents had separated during the early years of the war. My mum moved out and dad was looking after us. He was 40 when the war started, having served in France and Constantinople (now Istanbul) during World War 1. He joined the Home Guard and my only photographic record of the war is a portrait of him in his uniform.

One day in the summer of 1943 my dad read out aloud from the newspaper (a habit he never lost). It said that they were looking to start the evacuation of children again. He asked Arthur and me if we wanted to be evacuated. Not understanding the word, I enthusiastically said 鈥淵es please, can I be 鈥榲acuated?鈥� My brother groaned his gloomy response, 鈥淥h no, not again?鈥� My father decided that we should go.

EVACUATION

I remember the start of a very long day 鈥� Evacuation Day. My brother and I, with our labels fixed round a button of our coats and our gas masks over our shoulders (I was big enough to have one by then), were scrubbed up and presented with a small suitcase of clothes. We didn鈥檛 have many possessions to take with us. With our dad, we caught the tram up the Brighton Road to the centre of Croydon. We got off outside the Davis Theatre and walked down Scarbrook Road to board buses that were parked in the yard next to the telephone exchange. No doubt there were a lot of tearful farewells, but to me it was the start of a big adventure. The journey started inauspiciously, one of the buses hit the iron gate at the entrance to the yard and bent it slightly. That gate was there for years after the war with it鈥檚 testament to my big day.

The buses took us to London and we were then put on trains to 鈥� who knows where? I can remember the singing on the way 鈥� 鈥淥h we don鈥檛 know where we鈥檙e going, 鈥榯il we鈥檙e there鈥� sung over and over again.

One other vivid memory of that journey was that I felt very sick at the time. Apparently I was often sick because I had been suffering from whooping cough for some months. This was another reason that my dad had decided we should go to the country, for the fresh air. I was leaning out of the train window about to be sick and my brother, who was technically far cleverer than me, shouted 鈥淛ohn, don鈥檛 be sick out of that window!鈥�. 鈥淥h, why?鈥� said I. 鈥淏ecause there鈥檚 an electric rail down there and you might get electrocuted up your sick!鈥� Science won the day, so I was sick in the corridor.

We eventually arrived at our destination. It was dark and we were exhausted by the journey which seemed to take about twelve hours. All I can remember at our arrival and selection was being picked up by this stranger, held up at arm鈥檚 length with the enquiry 鈥淪o you鈥檙e little Johnny, come to stay with us, are you?鈥� That was my first meeting with our hosts 鈥� Mr. and Mrs Jones. They were a lovely couple who took us in and had to put up with lots of trials and tribulations over the coming months.

Arthur was ten and hated being evacuated, from his previous experience of it. I was four and was totally bewildered by it all. Two young 鈥榯ownies鈥�, separated from our family and familiar sights, sounds and smells of war-torn Brighton Road, South Croydon - where trams, buses, lorries, cars and horse and carts passed the door continuously; the sound of 鈥楳oaning Minnies鈥� (the air raid sirens); the air raids and nights spent in an air raid shelter, or under the stairs 鈥� thrust into a small two-up two-down terraced house in the quiet of a little country village in the middle of nowhere with a new 鈥榤um and dad鈥�!

We now lived in a small Derbyshire village called Mayfield, a few miles from the nearest town of Ashbourne. The River Dove flowed about a quarter of a mile away, at the bottom of the field opposite our house. Unfortunately, we could not see it from there, but if we walked to the bottom of the village it flowed under the bridge on the Ashbourne road and was a constant source of wonder for us townies. Arthur caught his first fish there on a makeshift fishing line. It was a very spirited trout and it took Arthur and a passing soldier all their combined strength to land it. A few miles upstream was beautiful Dovedale 鈥� one of the wonders of the Peak district. As a child you see these things and just accept them as 鈥榖eing there鈥�. It was not until I returned a few years ago did I realise how beautiful the valley is, even now, after you get past the present day asphalt car park and souvenir shop.

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