大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer from the 大象传媒 on behalf of George Ross and has been added to the site with his permission. George fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

It was 1939, and the war had not yet really started. I was at Marion Park School, Charlton, and was about nine years old.
My brother was seven. My mother received a notice to come to the school on the morning, a normal school day as far as we were concerned, and there she was informed that evacuation would take place and we were going to have to see the nurse that very day. She had to go home to get our clothes and they were put in brown paper carrier bags. A label was tied to our lapels with our names and school. By the time my mother returned with the clothes our hair was all shaved off to the skull, apart from a small tuft in front, and we had blue dye in our hair. We were very young and thought it was a big adventure.
We were issued with one tin of Nestles milk, an orange, a bar of Bournville chocolate 鈥� which lasted about 3 minutes, but no gas mask. They were not issued at that time at that particular school.

From the school we were bussed to Charlton Station (in charabancs), the station was crammed with people, police, nurses, mothers, children and railway staff 鈥� they must have scraped together every coach they could get and we managed a first class Southern Railway coach. It had royal blue and gold covering, white antimacassas and private washrooms. There were about six of us plus the teacher in there.

It was the first time we had been away from our mother, our first time in the countryside, we saw real apples on trees, and cows in fields.
Mother had gone home and we were totally absorbed with everything.

We arrived at Cranbrook in Kent and were taken to a meeting hall in Kent, there were about 100 children there. We waited for transport to a tiny village called Sissinghurst where we went to the school and were selected by our new 鈥渦ncles and aunts鈥�.

A couple came up to us, we were sitting on the floor in the hall trying to get into our oranges. 鈥淲ould you like to come and stay with us little boys 鈥� what鈥檚 the matter with your head?鈥�, my brother answered 鈥淣its鈥�. They took us to two isolated houses at the end of a country lane. They are still there to this day.
We were never allowed out of the garden, even though we were surrounded by beautiful countryside. The only distraction we had was a cow, who used to poke her head into our garden, and we used to feed her apples. We did make a few secret escapes, making tunnels out, we did get into trouble from time to time.

This was still the 鈥淧honey War鈥�, we didn鈥檛 stay that long as mother didn鈥檛 believe the war would ever happen, so after four or five months she came to see us and after talking to us for a bit, she packed our bags and took us home, I鈥檓 not sure how we did get home, it might have been a private car.

After Dunkirk we were evacuated back to Sissinghurst, this time to a Mrs Greenaway, who owned an orchard. We had a great time, we played in the woods, and met the soldiers as they passed through. The Battle of Britain started and me and my brother watched planes being shot down. We always knew when there was going to be an air battle as we saw our planes taking off. We could see the German planes as little silver dots in the distance. Some battles took place over our heads, we were very young and were not frightened, we used to wave at British planes. Once a Hurricane was hit and came down a few hundred yards from us, we all ran up to the plane, the pilot was dead, we could tell though they would not let us near him. That sobered us up a bit.

We used to collect souvenirs from the planes, and exchanged them at school for cap badges, buttons, buckles, etc. We were finally issued with gas masks, and my father, who was with the Post Office Cable Ships at the time, gave us two serviceman鈥檚 gas mask cases. In this we kept our gas mask, sticky jam sandwiches, a bottle of tepid water and a load of old crusts and apple cores. Once we were nearly arrested by young army officer because we weren鈥檛 supposed to have these cases. When he found out that my father was a seaman he realized they were not stolen, still he asked to have a look inside, and when he saw all the mucky food in there he made a face, and quickly left.

We were sent to help the London hop-pickers, when they arrived, they came from the East End. They lived in sheds in a field and picked hops all day, for about 1p a bushel. The Germans came and off-loaded their incendiary bombs right on Sissinghurst Forest, and it took quite a few days to put out. This made the hop-pickers really angry as they were now not earning any money, so any Germans that baled out were chased by them, carrying sticks. I never heard of them catching any of them! One of the highlights of our schooldays was to go after school to the top of Green Lane and watch the blacksmith as he shoed the great cart-horses.

With the lull in the Battle of Britain which must have only been a few weeks, we returned to Charlton. Soon afterwards the Blitz on London started. This time we were literally terrified out of our skins. Nighttime bombing was constant. It was OK during the day, at night you were on your own, our shelter kept letting in water, seeping in through the ground. When the sirens went you ran through the streets to the nearest 鈥渂last shelters鈥�, very traumatic.

Around September 1941 my father was stationed at Dalmuir, Glasgow, so they decided to take the family up to Old Kilpatrick, where we lived on the fourth floor of a tenement block. We went to school at Bowling and settled down for a quiet spell. Then the Germans decided to target the River Clyde. Clydebank was totally decimated 鈥� it took about three nights to devastate the area.

On the first night we were in our rooms and Mrs Baxter the Fire Warden woke us up and warned us of the Germans. We were sheltering at the bottom entrance, and a stack of bombs fell across the way, all the tiles fell off the walls, like a pack of cards, and I was jammed under an old man鈥檚 seat, covered in white dust and grit. We got through the night, spent the next day clearing up, and then they hit us again in the evening. My brother and I took shelter in the cellar of the building, the blasts from across the road caused the doors to cave in and lit up the cellar 鈥� there were a dozen of us and we were all looking like black and white minstrels, with our black faces and staring eyes. The casualty rate was very high, and it was shocking to see the casualties in the streets. The people there were wonderful, they really pitched in. On the third day, at around 7 pm, Mam put a pan of soup on for supper, and it started again, we had to abandon the place, soup and all, and we never went back.

After the three nights everyone was told to evacuate the place and were sent to Milngavie (Mulgay), and we were dispersed, fed, clothed and eventually sent back to London.

In London our house was bombed flat so we moved to Mayhill Rd Charlton, where the Anderson shelter in the rear was like the one we had before, only with more water in it.

By this time we were inured to raids and sirens, as far as children can be. My brother had very acute hearing, and he could hear sirens way in the distance, before ours went off. All our clothes were laid out ready to jump into as soon as possible. This gave my mother time to get out of the house and up three houses to a fire-watchers post, where they allowed us to use their Anderson shelter in the back 鈥� which was nice and dry. It had a mattress and we took our own blankets, and a tiny oil lamp. We had a door on it. Bliss! At the height of this particular raid, we were half-dozing, when there was a kick at the door, and my father was there with a big tray with hot cocoa and slices of bread pudding! His ship had docked in Woolwich and he had come over to see us. He would not come into the shelter 鈥� but spent the night assisting the fire wardens. No matter 鈥� me Dad was home and nothing could touch us. Two days after that we were on our travels again 鈥� to Wareham, Dorset, to a Mrs Hawkins, West Street. She was a right Sergeant Major, slightest infringement 鈥渂ed with no tea鈥�, but plenty of time for exploring and playing. Late 1942, we had a good school, learned gardening, woodwork, had long country walks and for the short time that we were there it was a good place to be. Our highlight was to go to the little picture hall in Wareham, once a week, it was a great treat. Then my father came down and decided to take us back to London.

When the raids became heavy again my mother used to take us down to Chislehurst caves. They were fitted out with bunks, canteens but it got too much for my mam with four children, traveling each night. So we (my brother and I) were evacuated again to South Wales 鈥� (Abersychan) and we were billeted at 8 Glansychan Houses with Mrs Milly Jones, a lovely family. We could roam the hills, very little restrictions 鈥� as usual we caused a few headaches with the neighbours scrumping apples, making stinkbombs, and miners lamps out of old jars and tins. Milly used to leave a little Woodbine all wrapped up on the table for me. My sisters were sent to uncles all far away, we were never really sure where they were. But Mam must have missed us because she brought us all back to Charlton. The raids were still going on but people were more ready and organised it seemed. We had the routine of 鈥� clothes ready, candles, bread and dripping slices even old discarded helmets. It was still a terrible time for thousands with raids on all major cities 鈥� I don鈥檛 make light of it. Five of my school chums died. We had to leave again, and me and my brother were sent to Looe, Cornwall 鈥� West Looe right on top of the downs. We stayed with Mr and Mrs Heywood 鈥� I think 鈥� miles of cliffs, sea, orchards, a boating lake and a cinema. There was a navy boatyard in Looe. Artillery soldiers were billeted on the cliffs, then the Americans arrived and we used to say to them 鈥済ot any gum, chum?鈥�, and they were very generous with sweets and other gifts. They used to go out with some of the ATS lasses, and when we saw them walking down the lanes we used to follow them, and drive them potty.

In 1944 my mam had had enough of separating 鈥� the country was gearing up for invasion so we came home for good. Dad was able to get home a bit more often. There were daylight attacks and some night raids. But by this time we would only shelter if it got too bad. Otherwise it was all in the same bed and stayed in. During the day we would play in bombed houses and beg gum from US sailors, queue up for rations, free milk and shoes we got from school.

One evening my mam was pressing my dad鈥檚 uniform and a policeman knocked at the door, and my dad had to report back to the ships right away. He went off with one leg pressed lovely and the other wrinkled and baggy. He took me with him to Warspite Road, so that I could bring any messages back to my mother, which wasn鈥檛 allowed so I had to come straight home. The next time I saw him was after the Normandy landings, when he brought home German helmets and souvenirs from the beach. He was the senior cable foreman, he would be laying communications equipment there.

We suffered from the doodlebugs, which were dropped at random. In daylight we could see them, people ignored them as long as you could hear the engine and see where the bomb was falling. The V2 was a terror bomb, there was no warning, no noise, nothing. It was just a case of looking over your shoulder.

1945 VE Day, I was now fourteen. My mam died just after VE day but before VJ day, and I had to look after my brothers and sisters until my dad could find a housekeeper. I learned to cook, mend shoes, and when I left school I started working for a builders learning to repair the shattered houses. The men were coming home from war but it was all grey, drab, very austere. But it taught us to be very self-sufficient, make the best of things, but above all don鈥檛 complain. Soon it was time for me to follow my dad to sea, my brothers and sisters are still alive, and we visit the old places when we can.

I would like to dedicate this to my Mother and Father, George Henry Ross, Dorothy May Ross, and my brothers and sisters Gordon, Dorothy, Doreen and Ernest, and to all the men in the Post Office cable ships, HMTS Monarch, HMTS Iris and HMTS Alert.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.