大象传媒

East Coast Invasion

In May 1939 I was living with my parents in a village called Walton on the outskirts of the east coast seaside town of Felixstowe, Suffolk, where my father owned a licensed grocers. An aunt had recently arrived because her holiday in Kessingland had been cut short because of possible war. It was a glorious sunny morning and aunt and I were digging up potatoes in the garden when my parents called us in to listen to the radio. It was of course the famous Neville Chamberlain broadcast. I was eleven years old and could hardly comprehend the meaning of war but it was obvious that those around me could. Little did I realise what an eventful childhood I would have. That night the sirens sounded which was scary, but apparently was only to test them. One week later we were told that evacuees were arriving from West Ham in London, but due to an administrative error they left after a week. Then it was our turn. Because of the threat of invasion my school was to be evacuated to Redditch in Worcestershire. It was a very hot day when we left Felixstowe station with our gas masks around our necks and our little suitcases. My mother cried and my father looked very sad - I was their only child - but I thought it would be a great adventure. We were hot, tired and thirsty when we were herded into a school room where people arrived to look us over and choose. I insisted on being billeted with friend Cynthia Payne which created problems as people only wanted one child, and it was a great mistake as we afterwards argued the whole time and never ever got in touch later. Eventually a Mr and Mrs Buggins agreed to have us both to be company for their only daughter, also an Audrey like me. The school building was shared with the local children and we each worked half days which was enjoyable as the continuing lovely weather allowed us to do our homework in the garden. One exciting day Mr. Buggins took us around his fishing tackle factory and we saw how all the beautiful 鈥榝lies or bait鈥� were made.
Some two months after we children left, all the residents were advised to leave Felixstowe, and in haste as invasion might be imminent. My mother unexpectedly arrived at Redditch, telling me to pack immediately as I was to go with her to Birmingham to her sisters. Mrs Buggins said this was unwise as Birmingham was a likely bomb target, so she and mother had a row, but my mother of course won. My father soon joined us leaving the shop in charge of an unemployed decorator who, like the few remaining customers, refused to leave. I don鈥檛 think we ever slept in the bedroom of the flat in Sandford Road, Moseley because immediately after moving in the blitz on Birmingham began. We either spent the night in the garden Anderson shelter with the owners of the house and their smelly dog, trying to avoid the condensation which streamed down the metal walls; balanced at the top of the cellar stairs, or in the reinforced room in my father鈥檚 sister鈥檚 home opposite. My uncle was an Air Raid Warden and it was his voice which loudly informed us of events outside. He was Managing Director of the Phosphor Bronze factory and an impressive figure, but he had a plump round face and I always wanted to laugh when he put on his tin hat. My profoundly deaf cousin David always told me when the bombers were coming - he felt the vibration before I heard them.
One night as we left the shelter we found we were completely encircled by fire, although some distance away, but it was very frightening.
Another time we were encircled by unexploded bombs and my mother had no intention of staying in the flat, so encouraged to make a run for it by the police who were keeping people away, we left. We returned at dusk after spending the day with mother鈥檚 sisters. It was a wet wintry evening but the siren hadn鈥檛 gone when we heard a light aircraft overhead. Fascinated at such a low flying plane, we gazed up seeing a swastika on the side of the plane and even the helmet and goggles of the pilot. Suddenly we were pushed from behind into the mud by a man who realised the danger. We then ran for home hearing the explosion before we arrived. It was thought he was after the Lucas factory where my father worked. A punctual man, that night he was late home and the waiting was dreadful. He had had to walk because his bicycle had a puncture. It was the Lucas which had been bombed but fortunately most of the hundreds of workers had just dispersed. Of course the plane was soon shot down. Today he would have been called a suicide bomber.
Before we left the shelter on another misty dawn there was a loud and horrible noise outside. Fearing some secret weapon we hardly dared to look and when we did it was quite frightening, a barrage balloon had come adrift and was hovering just above the garden. The noise was caused by the violent flapping of the enormous balloon and the crashing noises of the anti-aircraft wires.
My parents were delighted as I received an Award to attend Camp Hill Grammar School but it was sited alongside an important railway junction and I was only there for a week before it was completely burned down. I didn鈥檛 care anyway because lack of sleep made us all so tired we fell asleep on our desks.
People began to leave Birmingham if they could because they couldn鈥檛 stand the bombing. My aunt and cousins had gone. Father thought he鈥檇 try Worcester where he had some cousins. The night before leaving we spent the night in mother鈥檚 sisters鈥� outside coal house which they鈥檇 converted as a shelter. It seemed no planes were heading for us and when we looked out the night sky was ablaze with light and we watched Coventry being bombed. A few bombers then seemed to come our way and we took shelter. It was a smaller raid but there was a very loud noise as something actually fell on the roof of the shelter. Although very frightening when the All Clear went it turned out to be the discarded bomb carriage off a plane.
In order to seek living accommodation in an area where Birmingham people were congregating my father became Steward of the Boughton Park Golf club in Worcester. In many ways this was a great experience, we could go to bed to sleep and I had a lovely view of the Malvern Hills from my attic bedroom. But we got a shock when we learned later that the people who lived next door to us in Sandford Road had left their shelter to get a drink and been killed outright by a direct hit the night after we left. Part of the golf club house had been requisitioned for use by the RAF who, we later discovered, were temporarily grounded fighter pilots convalescing from their injuries. The golfers hated the intrusion and the RAF hated the golfers for their lack of understanding. One weekend an Air Commodore came to visit. He had to have a separate table and different food from the other officers and although only twelve I was asked to make his puddings. Not only did we run the special officers mess but we also used to get 100 golfers coming in for tea on Sundays. The fare was tea and toast with, if lucky, a slice of the big long cakes made by my father鈥檚 cousin - a master baker. To get help was almost impossible, everyone was either in the services, the land army or in munitions factories and we had a strange variety of applicants. One poor lady was leaving Birmingham because she had been buried in an Anderson shelter with five dead bodies for 24 hours and was a nervous wreck, but she didn鈥檛 stay because it was too quiet! Then a Hungarian married couple applied. They had escaped before the war and their luggage and clothes were superb but they had nowhere to live and no money. So she was our cook and he was called the 鈥渉ouse boy鈥�. She made wonderful apple strudel by adding vinegar to the pastry throwing it against the wall several times then rolling it paper thin onto a floured tablecloth. One day my father sat on the edge of the table and she had to start all over again shouting Mon Dieu Mon Dieu, but the RAF officers said they wanted ordinary apple pie. We were very conscious of the hot water rationing and she shouted the 鈥淓nglish are dirty pigs鈥� because at that time we didn鈥檛 bath daily, We had many other people coming and going and on Sundays I helped serve the teas and got generous tips.
On one occasion the Chief of Police (Tickle I think was his name) told my father he had to find accommodation for two Americans. All the beds were taken so they slept on two large leather settees in the big hallway by a roaring fire. The Chief produced wonderful fluffy blankets (I鈥檇 only seen crummy wartime utility ones) and also found special food for these fellows who we think were flown in by the RAF. It was all very hush hush and we never found out who they were.
News came that residents were returning to Felixstowe and my father decided we should join them. We were told that just after we left a bomb fell on the 18th hole and all the windows were blasted out of the Golf Club.
The following night after our return to Walton a string of bombs fell two streets away killing untold numbers of people who had only just returned but thought it unnecessary to take shelter. My father who鈥檇 suffered shell shock in the first war seriously wondered if we should have come back but it was the only major air attack on the area It was generally thought that the pilot had jettisoned his bombs before returning, thinking he was over the sea.
We had returned to a Garrison town teeming with members of all the services. Only residents were allowed to enter and you had to show Identity cards at the security points. This continued throughout the war.
We used to cycle to Felixstowe Ferry along the road built on a dyke (the land was drained). We could bathe and sail there because a submarine net protected the Deben estuary. A friend told us that they were experimenting with a death ray from the pylons at Bawdesey Ferry (where Radar was developed). We thought it might be true and felt very exposed incase it misfired, then after the war we laughed at our plausibility. However, years later I was told by one of the RAF personnel stationed there that it had been perfectly true.
Being a grocer my father had all the rationing to deal with and I counted many hundreds of strips of 鈥榩oints鈥� to send to the Food Office.
Just before the 鈥淒 Day鈥� landings hundreds of armoured cars, tanks, amphibious vehicles, and troops rumbled down the High Road, nose to tail for more than 24 hours. Because of the weather they were unable to leave the following dawn but they had completely disappeared and we couldn鈥檛 understand it. Later we learned that they were hidden right up the River Orwell under camouflage. My father was in the Home Guard and was, as a signaller, on duty all that night getting more and more involved as he realised what was happening. He came off duty in the dawn and headed straight for the cliff top and his view out to sea was filled with ships and vehicles of all sizes. A sight he never forget.
VE night was exciting, the outside lights of the cinemas went on briefly to great cheering and the centre of town was filled with service men and women dancing and singing. Like everyone I was thrilled and relieved that the long war was finally over, but saddened that I had been just too young to join the WRNS.

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