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I lived off the Heathway, in Dagenham, and remember the convoys going to Dagenham Dock; I couldn’t get across the road for half an hour. I also remember the injured coming back the other way. As young lads, we stood on top of our air raid shelters — we took pride in knowing before the sirens went off. We always knew when the bombs were coming — the engine sounds changed.
I remember the first V1 bombs, I was very little. All the lads had been out with catapults and I’d copped a stone in the eye. We were in the garden when dad took the bandages off, and he said have a look around to see if my eye was OK. I told him I could see an aircraft with short wings and a LED light had gone off. It was one of the first V1 rockets.
I remember when the war ended — all the bells rang. People brought out all the timber and built a big bonfire in the middle of the road. Also all the flags came out.
My mother wouldn’t let us be evacuated, I don’t know why; I had lots of friends around at the time. My wife as a child went to Diss, Norfolk with a distant relative.
Dad used to work at Dagenham Batteries; he volunteered for the RAF as a rear gunner, but was stopped at the last minute and was inducted as a home guard. He was a sergeant on the anti aircraft guns in Parslow Park.

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