大象传媒

My input consists of a brief history of my father's conscription, my own very scant childhood recollections, plus anecdotes passed on by my mother.

My father refused to talk about his war-time experiences for many years. It wasn't until I was courting my husband (and he was brave enough to ask him) that little snippets of information were gleaned.

Both my parents were Londoners. They married in 1933 in Hornsey Parish Church, but decided to move to Esher in Surrey in 1939 to begin a new life. My father took a job as Manager of a green grocery shop in Esher High Street. They lived in a flat above the shop. There was a cellar beneath the shop and when war was declared the following September, my parents took to sleeping on a very uncomfortable "put-u-up" type bed in the cellar. The only way down from the flat was via an iron outside staircase. I was born in February, 1940, and spent the first months of my life in a pram in the same cellar. Horrifically, one evening/night (before my parents had retired) a bomb was dropped on the Bank next door to the green grocery shop. Four people died in that blast and the outside staircase to my parents' flat was blown away. My father had to drop 16' to reach me in the cellar - where he found me safe and sound asleep! What if that bomb had come down a fraction of a second sooner (or later), I would not be writing this. On a lighter note, the following is an amusing anecdote told by my Mother. There was an old copper in the cellar which had been used to cook beetroots. My Mum had to commandeer this for the laundry. She said that I was the only baby in Esher with pink nappies!!

My father received his "call-up" papers. (Initially, he was given a 6 x month deferment because he worked in a food shop).
Mum and I had to leave Esher, because the flat went with the job. We were homeless.
Mum had to put all her furniture and belongings in store and we went to live with her cousins in Harrow-on-the-Hill for about 2 years (I have no memory of this).

I started to remember in 1943, when Mum rented a downstairs flat in Alexandra Road, Wood Green, London. By this time my Father was based at Bicester Ordnance Depot in Oxfordshire. He was in charge of all the NAAFI supplies for Bicester and the surrounding Air Force Bases, namely The Heyfords, Brize Norton, Chipping Norton and Shenington, Nr. Banbury.

Life for Mum and myself was hard. I remember the London air raids, the bomb sites, food queues and nights spent in underground shelters. Very often, when we were shopping in Wood Green High Street, the siren would sound and everyone would rush to Turnpike Lane Tube Station. There would be people living down there because they had been "bombed out." Mum would tell me to be careful so I didn't tread on them or their camping stoves. Making the meagre rations go round was a continual nightmare. There was an apple tree in the garden. We had stewed apple for breakfast, apple pie for lunch and apple turnover for supper (after which time my stomach was "turning over").

Two or three incidences "stick out" in my mind during these awful years. Can remember by Mum was sometimes "told off" by the ARP Wardens for showing light in the windows (she hadn't drawn the blackout curtain over far enough). On another occasion, she was scolded for not digging up the front garden to grow vegetables. Mum explained that I was often ill, she had to visit my Granny and help her, my Dad was a serving soldier, so she didn't have the time. I know there was a saying about "Digging for Victory," but I am sure my Mum gave this particular Warden the other "V" sign.

I lived through the May raids and the doodlebugs. After one particularly bad night (when we emerged from the underground shelter), we found that some of the ceilings had come down in the flat and also all the glass had been blown out of the windows. Mum packed our bags and we fled to peaceful Oxfordshire and lived in a B & B until the Landlord had repaired all the bomb damage. At this time we had befriended a little white kitten and asked the next door neighbour (who refused to leave her home) if she would feed her during our absence, but we never saw her again. However, we soon adopted another stray cat - London was full of stray animals.

There were very many beggars. At every street corner, the sightless and limbless would be playing their "squeeze boxes." Mum would always give them a penny, but on one occasion I insisted we gave them SIXPENCE and I wouldn't budge. Poor Mum, out of 拢2.10 shillings a week (rent was 15 shillings), this must have been a fortune. For many weeks afterwards, Mum would always listen when she opened the front door to take me to Gran's or shopping and if the beggars were at the end of the Street, then she would walk me another way.

In 1944, my Father was sent overseas to Brussels (under Monty's command; then at the beginning of 1945 he was sent to the Far East. We didn't see him for almost 2 years. During this time he sent us many letters (still in my keeping) and also wooden boxes of tea when he was in Ceylon. It helped with the rationing.
After Mum had emptied the tea from the box, we would put the box in the outside lavatory. We couldn't afford to buy toilet paper. It was my job to smooth out tissue paper (which was always wrapped around fruit) and newspaper to go inside these boxes, which helped keep this supplementary "toilet paper" dry.

I started school before peace was declared and remember having to take my gas mask. Before long, I caught measles and whooping cough which left me with a weak chest. I had also started to SLEEP WALK. It was recommended that I go to the seaside and so I was packed off to a Children's Home (run by Nuns)in Broadstairs, Kent, for 3 months, but that is another story.

VE Day and VJ Day came and went. Although Dad was not a front line soldier, he told us many years later that he participated in more fighting after these two dates than ever he had previously.

I think it was around June 1946, when Dad ordered one of his Japanese Prisoners of War to drive him to the Bank, but en route the lorry veered off the road and turned over. He broke several ribs and ended his war in Raffles, Singapore. The hotel was turned into a hospital for the military. Dad was eventually demobbed on 18th October, 1946.

On returning to civvy street, Dad had hopes of going into partnership with a friend. They planned to buy their first shop in Weybridge, Surrey, but the dream never happened.

For many years Dad suffered recurring bouts of malaria and other tropical diseases. Many many years later he told of his days in the Malayan jungle. He kept a pet lizard on his desk to eat the mosquitoes, but made a big mistake when he threw something at the noisy monkeys. They then set about demolishing his camp stores and he was left sheltering under a pile of cigarette packets.

I think his worse time was in India. The dead and dying were laid out in the gutters at Sunset. It was my Father's job to go round with the army lorry, gather up the bodies and dispose of them. He cried every day. It was therefore no surprise that after his demob, he refused to collect his medals. He told us "Who wants reminders of a rotten five and a half years."

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