大象传媒

PHILIP SHAPIRO

MY PERSONAL WAR STORY

I was a 9 year old boy, the oldest child of a Jewish family living in London, when World War Two broke out and clearly remember listening to the fateful broadcast telling us all that we were at war with Germany.

At the time the family home was in Sydenham, a southern suburb of London, and my parents in their innocence, decided to move to Sidcup in Kent as they thought that the chances of getting bombed would be minimal. Little did they realize that Sidcup was part of what became known as 鈥楤omb Alley鈥�, - it was on a direct flight path from Germany to London as a result of which, bombs were dropped on us on their way into London and also if they jettisoned their loads on the way back.

We spent most of our nights in the Anderson Shelter, (a dug-out in the back garden surrounded by corrugated iron sheets and sandbags) which was quite fun in the summer, with the warm, balmy nights, but sheer Hell and misery in winter, outdoors in freezing temperatures with no light except torches. If you needed the loo in the night, it was a hazardous journey, picking your way through the mud in the dark (Father had replaced the lawn with vegetable beds in aid of the 鈥淒ig for Victory鈥� campaign, designed to help us supplement our food supplies)

It was because of this discomfort that my parents then decided to have the new upgrade indoor 鈥榯able shelter鈥�, called the 鈥淢orrison Shelter鈥� after the Minister who designed it - a large, hollow steel box with steel mesh removable sides, that served the purpose of a table by day and a shelter by night. We would all climb in when the air-raid sirens sounded and fasten the steel mesh sides to prevent any rubble coming in should the house be hit. With a large mattress and plenty of cushions and blankets, it was quite cosy, especially as my father kept the stove going throughout the night, although with four of us, Father, Mother, my sister and myself, somewhat overcrowded. One of the disadvantages of nights in the table shelter was that my father suffered from chronic asthma and burned various powders such as Potter鈥檚 Asthma Powder and smoked Potter鈥檚 Asthma cigarettes. The smoke from these was, for us, far more life-threatening than the bombing!!

In 1941, my mother had presented me with a new sister, and the 鈥榖litz鈥� had become so bad that Father decided that Mother and the children should be evacuated, so off we went - Mother, my sister, the new baby and I and ended up in Windermere where we were fortunate in being billeted in a wonderful house owned by a wealthy family. We were given the attic flat right at the top of the house which had been the servants quarters (all the servants having gone off to fight in the war by then) and were very comfortable there as the flat was completely self-contained, kitchen, bedroom, sitting-room, bathroom and toilet. Only poor Mother had the problem of carrying baby sister up several flights of stairs, having to leave the pram on the ground floor of course.

The lady of the house was a kindly soul although somewhat aloof and class-conscious ( I think she imagined that all Cockneys were costermongers or something worse) and the two daughters were typically spoilt rich kids and a bit 鈥榟orsey鈥� to boot. We saw the husband rarely as he was the head of a shipping company in Birkenhead and spent a lot of time away from home.

Education was no problem for my sister as she attended the village school and the baby was too young anyway, but I was far too advanced to go to the village school and failed the entrance exam for the Grammar School 鈥� the net result was that I didn鈥檛 go to school at all. I became very friendly with the son of the handyman who lived in the lodge; he loaned me a bike and some fishing tackle and I spent the next 2 years having a wonderful time, cycling all over the Lake District, fishing, hill walking, looking at old churches and all sorts of other lovely pastimes. I would very often go out early in the morning and not get back until evening, sometimes with a salmon or some perch that I had poached, which my mother appreciated to supplement our meagre wartime rations.

Eventually, Father got tired of being on his own; it was too far to travel to visit us and he was on essential war work in a factory so his free time was limited. As the bombing had got less concentrated, we reluctantly said goodbye to the Lakes and returned to Sidcup only to find that Hitler had another surprise in store for us 鈥� the 鈥榙oodle-bug鈥�. These 鈥榙elightful鈥� creatures were pilotless planes, rocket-driven and packed with explosives. They flew quite slowly and not at a great height and sounded like a motor bike engine. We would see and hear them coming, and then the engine would stop and the plane dive to earth where it exploded. If the plane was overhead when the engine stopped you knew you were quite safe, but if you could see it coming towards you and the engine stopped, that was the time to run like Hell!! 鈥� all very well in the daytime, but at night we had no idea where they would fall. This charming episode lasted until the Allies wrecked the launching sites at Peenemunde which put a stop to the 鈥榙oodlebug鈥�, only to be replaced with the V2 rockets 鈥� these were bigger and far more deadly than the little 鈥榙oodlebug鈥� as they traveled faster than the speed of sound 鈥� you couldn鈥檛 hear them coming until after they arrived, which was too late anyway!!

Miraculously, we survived, although sadly many of our friends and neighbours did not 鈥� there were many spaces in our street where houses once stood, even just across the road - such are the fortunes of war. We became amazingly blas茅 about sheltering from enemy raids, staying warm and cosy in bed in spite of the warning siren, sometimes sleeping right through the clamour; it wasn鈥檛 unusual to find broken glass on the counterpane but we took it all in our stride and when hostilities eventually ceased, got on with our lives.

My memories of WW2 are as vivid today as they were then 鈥� after the Allies had liberated Europe, I remember my mother going up to the American Embassy in London every week to search the published lists of 鈥榙isplaced persons鈥� who had been rescued from the concentration camps for news of her sister, brother-in-law and two children who lived in Latvia. Mother had had letters from them up until just before war broke out and from then on heard nothing ( my mother, sister and I had visited them in the summer of 1938 for a 3 month holiday and we had the most terrifying time getting back to England 鈥� but that鈥檚 another story!!) We eventually found out that in 1941, they had been dragged from their home, shot by a Nazi death squad and buried in some mass grave near where they had lived 鈥� man鈥檚 inhumanity to man!!

PHILIP SHAPIRO 7 November 2003

16 Burrow Hill Close Castle Bromwich BIRMINGHAM B36 9ED United Kingdom
Tel/Fax:- 0(44)121 747 6675 mobile:- 07956 662690
e-mails:- shapiro.music@virgin.net and philip@shapiromusic.co.uk
web site:- www.shapiromusic.co.uk

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