大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Pat Mantell from Sidley UK Online Centre and has been added to the website on behalf of Mr Jim Winter with his permission.

Jim Winter, Born 3rd March, 1939, Hammersmith Hospital, London.

The memories of my childhood are still as vivid today as they were sixty odd years ago. I was six months old when the Second World War started and I was growing up fast. Our daily life was very organised, my brother and I were duly delivered to the kindergarten (strange that we should use a German word!) and mum and dad went to work.

My dad suddenly decided that we should go to Edinburgh to be safe. Wrongly I believe, as the first bombing raid was in the north a few months later. On the move again, would you believe it, back to a place called Petts Wood, twelve miles outside London. He must have been going a bit loony! Things went from bad to worse, bombs at night became a regular occurrence and our taped up windows were always being blown out. I am not sure whether it was the Germans or our own large gun emplacement that was supposed to shoot the bombers down that broke the windows, anyway we were in our Anderson shelter in the garden, not a pleasant place to be as there was always water in it.

One day two soldiers arrived, two new uncles, American GI鈥檚. My brother and I lost our bedroom and ended up sleeping on the floor of our dining room, handy for the bomb shelter anyway. One night a very heavy bombing raid took place. When we eventually emerged form the shelter our neighbours at the bottom of our garden had gone, a direct hit. Weeks later this bomb site became our playground. We were starting to roam a bit and one day while playing with my friends I managed to fall into one of the deepest craters. I would have drowned if it had not been for one of the older boys. Peter Parker, I still remember his name, amazing isn鈥檛 it? Any way we lit a fire and proceeded to dry me out. Suddenly my mother appeared absolutely horrified, whacked me and dragged me home naked with my wet clothes under my arm. I was kept in for a few weeks but was soon back with the gang whose activities included collecting shrapnel, and nicking stuff from Woolies when the sirens sounded, yes as kids we survived the war, but only just.

P.S. mum always had plenty of nylons and spent a lot of time dancing with American uncles who left for France on June the 6th. Did they survive? We like to think so. Dave, Ralph, many thanks.

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