大象传媒

The beginning

It is odd, unless you understand the views of an eight-year-old, that the first impact of World War Two was my mother being rebuked for taking pictures of Navy ships anchored off the Isle of Wight. Because my father had landed a good job in Fleet Street, we were able to go away to Sandown in late August, 1939. That day we took the steamer to Bournemouth from Sandown Pier and I remember being told that the thousands of fish swimming under the pier were young eels. (Could this be true?) Certainly they were all heading up Channel in a determined way. But with a threatening political situation developing on the Continent, my parents decided to go home a day early. That was to become the least of my losses in the next six years. That was Friday, 1st of September, 1939.

Sunday, the 3rd of September was one of the most pleasant days in the year, warm but comfortable, and the sun lightly masked by thin cloud. Being a Sunday morning, men were in shirt-sleeves and women in summer dresses, usually with a pinafore as they were busy cooking 鈥淪unday Lunch鈥�, the most formal family meal of the week. Despite the warnings of Neville Chamberlain on the radio, no-one expected much action quickly. Suddenly a strange noise stopped everyone, the 鈥淪iren鈥� or 鈥淲ailing Willie鈥�. It was a sound that we were to hate over the next five years, until the German Air Force was driven from British skies. Nobody knew what to do and groups gathered at doors and gateways. It was later said that the alarm had been raised by the actions of a French aircraft on its way to London for a military conference.

Until the end of 1939, it really was the 鈥減honey war鈥�, as Hitler鈥檚 efforts were concentrated on the Polish Army and he did his best to give the anti-war parties in Britain good reason to move for a treaty. However, many people in authority were aware that we were only in this mess because of the Pacifist lobby, and should have 鈥渆liminated鈥� Hitler years since. American Intelligence had long marked him down as 鈥� a promising trouble maker.鈥� When the war in the west really got going there was early trouble for the Allies. At Dunkirk, men were being evacuated by any boat that could stay afloat and train load after train load poured north from the coast, many by the main line only some two hundred yards from our house. I enjoyed, definitely enjoyed, even at night, a good view from my bed by angling the dressing table mirror. The present British currency, particularly the 5p and 10p pieces, remind me of 鈥淒unkirk Money鈥�, just like various continental coins from France and Belgium, brought back by Allied forces rescued from the beaches.
German bombing

Then the war really hit us. During the Battle of Britain the Germans mainly concentrated on military targets, mostly R.A.F. ones. Since there were 鈥渘ear misses鈥� the Orpington Civil Defence had its work cut out to rescue victims. My mother, being one of the few qualified senior nurses available, took command, first of an outstation at St. Mary Cray, made out of the changing rooms in the local recreation ground, and then of one shift of the Heavy Rescue Unit at the central headquarters behind Orpington Council Offices. I still treasure photographs of her in her wide head dress with her squad of up to ten nurses. I cannot discover whether there was any attendance at Biggin Hill, some five miles to the west, on the day that the Germans bombed the place. But we all heard how the W.A.A.F. Station Commander had been dragged from the wreckage of a shelter, still telling jokes to 鈥渉er girls鈥� to stop them from panicking in the ruins, and all the time knowing that her back was broken, as she told the men that got her out. It was, too. She got a Military Medal for her courage. So did the W.A.A.F. telephonist who stuck to her switchboard despite orders to seek shelter. It was said that she was dragged forcibly, from her post by the Station Adjutant just before a bomb burst nearby. Immediately she went back to her switchboard and managed to reconnect the airfield with the command centre by using the public lines, the only connections left.

After the Battle of Britain, the bombing of civilian targets began. We were, as it turns out, in a fortunate position, -- we were close to a military target 鈥� and therefore less likely to be bombed. The nearest bomb should have damaged our house, but it failed to explode as the detonating mechanism smashed on impact when it hit a solid layer of flint and chalk close to the surface. This was looked on as a miracle as the bomb landed right beside the outdoor shelter occupied by the Vicar. It even knocked one of the inhabitants out of their place in the top bunk. (My father had broken two tines from a good quality fork on this rigid material, when he first tried to dig the garden in 1938.) The bomb did cause some collateral damage. The bomb disposal people were so pleased with their capture that they insisted on steaming the explosive out of the bomb and taking it away. To do this, they had to use a trolley. In order to get this in and out of the garden, they had to knock a large hole in the back wall of the Vicar鈥檚 garage. His Christian forbearance was much strained! At first, my sister and I slept in a cupboard off the kitchen which had brickwork all round. Eventually we got a 鈥淢orrison鈥� table shelter, a six foot by four piece of steel sheeting, supported on four heavy corner pieces and with steel wire guards all round, and a criss-cross network of steel strip joining the lower framework together, to support a mattress. Nights became very noisy. Even so, there was an atmosphere around that I miss. 鈥淲e were all in this together鈥� was the attitude and people were more friendly. The trains were crowded but ran more or less on time. Food was rationed but everyone was treated equally. It was considered quite proper that the King had a line painted round every bath in the royal residencies that showed the maximum amount of bathwater that should be used. (This was to conserve fuel.) The Queen was considered very thoughtful, when she observed, after a raid on Buckingham Palace that 鈥淎t least I can now look the East Enders in the eye.鈥� That part of London had a terrible time, with constant raids of incendiary bombs. I remember standing in my parents bedroom one night, watching the east of London burning. As we were some twelve miles away as the Heinkel flew and were behind the hill on which Orpington railway station stands, this may convey the size of the blaze and the glare that lit up the sky. (The outcry from the Dresdeners in 2004 over the wartime bombing of Dresden cuts no ice with me. We learnt our lesson from the Luftwaffe and showed the culprits what attentive students we were.)

The bombing of civilian targets was even more determined than in the First World War. The actions of the Zeppelin airships and the Gotha bombers, together with the deliberate shelling of towns by the 鈥済allant鈥� German Navy, like Lowestoft, Great Yarmouth, Scarborough and Whitby in 1914-16, were far outstripped by the mass bombing of civilian areas from 1940 to 1943. Thus the large and important railway station at Orpington got virtually no damage. The worst was a few bombs falling on the extensive carriage sheds. But this was only an overspill from a large raid on the housing estate next door. Likewise the huge local hospital had little damage despite being next to the main line railway for over a quarter of a mile. The only part damaged was adjacent to the housing estate on the opposite side to the railway. My local primary school was badly hit because it was in the middle of two housing estates. That this was deliberate may be seen from the fact that my grammar school was not hit although it occupied larger grounds than my primary school. It was said that this was because the German pilots used the school hall as a navigation aid. Certainly it was at least three stories high, and big enough to cater for school assemblies of over 700 boys and was used for orchestral concerts. It dominated the area, as there were few buildings as high in those days, and was therefore a useful navigational aid.

The 鈥淰engeance鈥� weapons

In summer, 1944, there came the flying bombs or V1 or 鈥淒oodlebugs鈥� or 鈥淏uzzbombs鈥�. Despite silly stories in the present day press, these did not cause 鈥減anic鈥�. Whenever one was heard, with their characteristic engine note, everybody would quieten down and listen. If the engine continued, we would listen for signs that it had passed by and then continue what we were doing. If the noise stopped then we all dived for cover. You curled up on the floor with the legs well up to protect the stomach and with hands over your head. You avoided contact with the floor except at shoulder, hip/thigh, and ankle. This was to lessen shocks coming through the floor from any explosion. Advice on the choice of a place to do this was given 鈥� find a strong place in the building, close to a wall or buttress, such as the centre point of a pair of semi-detached houses.

I did see one case of panic. This was at St. Pancras Station in London when my father sent us to Leicester for a few weeks to get us out of range in the school holidays. As we were boarding the train, one 鈥渄oodlebug鈥� came over and the midlanders, who were not used to this, made a panic-stricken rush for the train. We kids were quite ignored and nearly trampled underfoot. I have often wondered since, what good this was going to do them as if there was a hit nearby, they would be trapped in the wreckage of the train and worse off than us. The V1, as the Germans called them, was supposed to dive at the end of its flight with engine running, to cause more fright to the victims. They did this with the Ju87 Stuka dive bomber earlier in the war. However there was a different outcome. As the bomb tilted to dive, the remaining fuel in the tank would often be thrown away from the feedpipe and the engine would stop. It could not re-ignite but as the bomb dived it would reach stalling speed and beyond, and start to glide. Actually this made the weapon more frightening than a noisy dive, as no-one could tell where it would come down. It was rumoured that one actually glided into Leicestershire and hit a primary school, killing many children. I do not know if this was true, but it is unlikely as the shape and wings were not conducive to a glide of over fifty miles. Certainly the gliding bomb was troublesome. The defence used two methods to defeat the flying bombs. Firstly there were the fighters circling above the Channel.

When RADAR picked up a target, a fighter would start to dive into a position behind the target and try to shoot it down. Several times they succeeded, only to be brought down themselves when debris from the explosion damaged their aircraft. Then the practice was developed of flying alongside the bomb and trying to tip it over by overlapping wings and push one wing beyond the point of control by the automatic pilot mechanism in the bomb. This led to dangerous results. One day I was out in the garden when there was a roar from overhead as a fighter flew past, wingtip to wingtip with a doodlebug. I dashed round the house and was just in time to see the pair pass over the hill on which Orpington railway station stands. The puzzle is how they got through the balloon barrage like that. When the 鈥渂uzz bombs鈥� started, all the spare balloons were taken to points south of London in the hope that they would bring down the bombs. They were moderately successful. We could see the last balloons on the north edge of the belt. One could be seen to the southwest, and this caught the starboard wing of a bomb, which turned it in our direction but it came down long before it reached us. The other was to the south of us and we saw one hit the cable head on.

There was a red and black explosion and we dashed inside, only to realise that at that range there was little risk to us. As I returned to the garden there was a light puff of wind passed, the blast wave from the distant explosion. The balloon was damaged as the restraining cables holding the balloon down, were forced into the top of the balloon so that it looked as if a giant slice of cheese had been cut out of it. They very slowly hauled down the balloon and a replacement was in the air next day. One night, my father was sent up to the roof of the 鈥淒aily Telegraph鈥� building in Fleet Street, because it was his turn to do lookout duty. Suddenly one of the lookouts spotted a flame in the darkness. It was a doodlebug heading straight for the building. Someone pressed the alarm button which would send everyone below into the basement shelter. They headed for the lift but realised that if the bomb hit the building, the lift would fall with them in it. They took cover round the back of the lift building, and hoped. They were therefore surprised to see the bomb flying round the back of the building in a curve only a couple of hundred yards away. It was later agreed that the bomb had been diverted by the up draught from another paper. Due to the 鈥渂lackout鈥� mentioned above, warm air could only find its way out of newspaper presses through a limited number of exits, which made the effect much stronger. The rooftop party ran in the opposite direction to the front of the lift building, only to find the bomb coming the other way and closer. After a couple of laps, with the bomb and the lookouts going in opposite directions, they gave up, only to see the bomb tilt the other way, probably in the draught from the 鈥淭elegraph鈥� and the 鈥淓xpress鈥� (or somebody) and fly off to crash somewhere between Ludgate Circus and Holborn Circus. By an ironic twist, this bomb helped to clear the site of the future 鈥淒aily Telegraph鈥� headquarters.

The rockets or 鈥淰2鈥漵 were almost totally ignored, unless they landed nearby. There was nothing that we could do, so the old saying 鈥淚f it鈥檚 got your number on it 鈥︹�� was resurrected. They were peculiar in that if you heard one coming, you were safe as it had already landed. This was because they came in faster than sound. I did see one, once. We were having a do at the church, Christchurch, Goddington, Orpington, and borrowed some chairs from a nearby school. Halfway along the journey with a load, I stopped, unshipped one chair and sat down for a rest. As I sat there looking over the west side of Orpington, I saw a small patch of blue sky. Suddenly there was a blur in the patch, the noise of a rocket coming down and a boom from the explosion, all mixed up. A perfect ring of condensation formed in the patch of blue sky. I also heard the last rocket to fall on Britain, about 1200 yards away. It landed near to Orpington High Street, and blew the back out of the Commodore Cinema. This really did do some damage as the cinema was the only large entertainment centre nearby. It also nearly killed a school friend whose house was hit by the blast wave from the explosion. As is often the case, this rocket, landing about two hundred yards away did more damage to his house, than one that landed about fifty yards off. This was because we had had a rather wet spell and the rocket plunged into a deep pocket of mud, not exploding until it reached about twenty feet down. The worst effect was that a whole lot of guttering, on various houses, had to be cleared of the mud thrown up, and the nearer houses had to replace guttering, which had broken under the load of mud and stones. Such is the peculiarity of blast waves.

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