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I have so many memories of WORLD WAR II — 3rd September 1939 to 8th May 1945 — the years when I was 9 ¼ to 14 ¾ years old.

A noise I disliked was the up and down wailing of the air raid siren. If I was in bed, I had to don my siren suit (rather like a ‘baby-gro’) before I rushed downstairs to grab my gas mask and bag containing a hot drink in a flask, a few barley sugars, and a torch. With my parents, I found my way to our brick shelter. On a fixed bench I sat with my parents listening for aircraft guns in the distance, which indicated German bombers and fighters were coming our way. I soon got to distinguish the noise of ‘Ours’ and ‘Theirs’! When the bombers shed their load some way from our home, one just heard the explosions as the bombs hit grounds or homes. If it was closer to wherever one was sheltering you could hear the horrible whistling noise as the bombs travelled earthwards.

My school days were haphazard during most of the war years — sometimes I was in Surrey Schools (dashing in and out of their shelters one side of the playing fields) sometimes Shropshire schools. In all, I attended eleven schools. My mother’s family was bombed out of their London home, it was overcrowded in our semi-detached house, as we now numbered eleven people and had just two double bedrooms, and a box room. We gave up using the brick shelter, and in any case it was flooded to a depth of 3 feet!

Before my father arranged to send mother and I away for a break, we stayed at an hotel in London for a month. I was simply fascinated by all the men and women in uniform — from countries all over Europe and America. These included Navy, Army and Air Force — to my young eyes they looked magnificent, carrying their kit bags, gas masks, etc. It also made me feel safe, although being in London was not really such a good idea. The last night of our stay the air raid siren wailed yet again, but this time it was pretty scary. I was in my single bed alongside my parents’ double bed when the noise was absolutely deafening, guns firing, explosions seemed to be all around, and then I heard this eerie whistling, and felt my mother dragging me out of bed onto the floor, and then an almighty bang. My father decided we should leave our bedroom, shattered with broken glass, and make our way to the grand staircase leading down to the foyer. I just gasped because, pouring down through the well of the grand staircase, were gallons of water and masonry. Arriving at the foyer, we were advised to make our way downstairs to the basement restaurant — to our dismay we were half way down the lower staircase when we were brought to a halt — all the laid tables and chairs were bobbing around on about 4 foot of water — all the water tanks had been destroyed by the bomb. Two mornings later I was staying on a farm miles away from London. The farmer’s daughter Betty, aged 11, was showing me the sheep in a pasture one side of the lane leading down to the River and out to the main road when I heard and saw an aeroplane. As always, I knew I had to find cover. I just grabbed Betty’s hand and, spotting a shed on wheels (a hen coop), I opened the door, pushed Betty inside and jumped in too! Squawking hens flew off their perches with feathers everywhere and Betty — I guess she must have thought her new friend Pamela, was out of her mind! The past months had caught up with me and I had not realized there were places in England where you did not have to run for shelter when an aeroplane was in the sky.

Many more days and months were to follow where I travelled to and from my Surrey home. Lots of happy times helping out on the farms where I stayed — learning to milk the cows, haymaking, cleaning out cowsheds and stables, feeding the calves and chickens — it was a necessity when you lived on a farm to work when home from school, because most of the farm workers had been called to serve our country in the Forces.

I was back home when the V1’s landed and exploded — very ghostly at night with the long sheet of flame shooting out of the tail of the pilotless plane. By this time we had a massive iron table in our dining room, called a Morrison shelter. When the air raid siren wailed and we heard the ‘ack ack’ firing, we just crawled under the iron table and adjusted the wire table’s frames at the sides.

Rationing of food and clothing was with us for many years, even after the War finished. No bananas, no oranges, small rations of meat, tea, bacon, eggs, jam, butter, etc, and sweets/chocolate, 4oz and then at one period just 2oz. Clothing coupons were issued. We had to wear outfits for ages even if we grew and they looked pretty funny. I remember I wanted to reach 5 foot and 3 inches and have my feet grow to fit size 5 shoes, because as a child they allowed you to have a few more coupons.

Besides all the ups and downs of the War, I remember special occasions — Betty and I opened our Christmas Day presents, we both received a girl’s story book, a hair ribbon, and a handkerchief — to this day they have remained very special in my memory. My fourteenth birthday (6th June), I was back at home yet again and attending another school — news broke — our troops had landed in France — D-Day. For me my birthday makes me give thanks to the heroic troops who fought for the freedom, I and my family have had through their sacrifices, over the past sixty years. And, of course, even as a young person I used to listen to the wireless (radio), when our Prime Minister, Winston Churchill used to speak to the Nation (Great Britain). He was a marvellous orator, and even I as young as I was, thought I could fight our enemy should he arrive on our shores — never surrender!

VE Day 8th May 1945. No more would I have to worry about bombings, V1’s, V2’s, but I must admit I still have butterflies in my tummy if I hear a siren that wails as the wartime ones. The ‘all clear’ siren was on a long drawn out single pitch and I used to relax when it sounded out. We disposed of our gas masks — I recall one dark misty evening when sitting with my parents in our front sitting-room, my mother suddenly blurting out she had heard rattles being sounded outside. We rushed to our hall stand and opened the cardboard boxes containing our gas masks, fumbling we put our gas masks on and then went back and sat down. Of course, the contraptions muffled ones speech, but after about fifteen minutes we looked around the side of the blackout curtains to see if there was movement in our road. It was very misty and more or less impossible to see beyond our front gate. My mother could bear it no longer and, dashing into our hall, threw open our front door and was away down the path on route to our next door neighbours. To the horror of father and I she had whipped off her gas mask and left it on our hall stand. When she returned she gave us the explanation that she did not want ‘strangers’ to see her wearing the gas mask!! Thankfully it was not a gas attack, but it still makes me smile when I think of this war time episode.

So many memorable events — one in particular was watching the Battle of Britain take place high in the skies ‘Ours’ and ‘Theirs’ looked like angry gnats chasing across the blue, weaving in and out higher and lower, and then seeing dark smoke trailing from an aeroplane that had been hit, and watching it either diving or spiralling down to earth.

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