大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Jenny Zmroczek of Norfolk Adult Education鈥檚 reminiscence team on behalf of Peter Reeve and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I was one year old when the Second World War started so the account that follows is a combination of my own memories and the things I have been told.
I was born at 144 Cadge Road, in Norwich. In the back garden we had an Anderson Shelter. We would sometimes stand in the garden and watch formations of Lancaster bombers heading for the coast and Germany. We counted them when they went out and when they returned, and were saddened to realise that some were missing when they came back.

For much of my early life my father was absent, away on tours of duty with his Regiment. My mother was left on her own to look after the four children, and although she had the company of her two sisters living nearby, she told me in later life that she had been lonely. I can remember hearing a loud wailing noise, which I later found out to be the air raid warning. It always seemed to go off at night, and we would all be taken out of bed, whatever time it was, and taken to the air raid shelter at the bottom of the garden. The smell of wet earth and dampness still comes back to me today. We would have to stay down in the shelter until the 鈥楢ll Clear鈥� was given, then everyone would come out and see what damage had been done. My Grandfather would never come down the shelter with us as he was more frightened of going underground than of the bombs falling around us. He stayed in the kitchen under a big wooden table, coming out when the 鈥楢ll Clear鈥� was given and we all returned to the house.

Sometimes my father came home with my Uncle Sam, my mother鈥檚 brother. When they emptied their kit bags, out would come sweets and fruit, causing us great excitement as we had them so rarely. In 1941, Uncle Sam turned up in the early hours of the morning with a young lady. My mother said that she could not stay as there wasn鈥檛 enough room, but after some argument space was found for her. This lady was to become my Auntie Joyce after marrying Uncle Sam a year later. My Uncle had met her in London on his way home to Norwich on leave.

The bombing in Norwich began on Tuesday July 9th 1940 at five o鈥檆lock in the afternoon. There were to be a total of 43 raids on Norwich. The last raid was on Saturday 6th November 1943, beginning at 10.50am and lasting about thirty minutes. There were 340 people killed, 1092 injured, 2802 houses destroyed, 2651 seriously damaged and 25621 slightly damaged between July 1940 and November 1943. At the end of the bombing I was five years and three months old. During the raids there were ambulances and fire engines rushing about, and people shouting 鈥淧ut that light out鈥� at night because of the Blackout.

We had two young airmen billeted at our house for about six months. They were both Scotsmen, one married and the other single. We called one Titch because he was about five feet tall. His real name was Thomas Robert and he was a right joker. He used to tell us that he had two boys the same ages as me and my brother Raymond. The other one, Robert McAllen, was not as boisterous as Titch. One night they were ready to go out and went through the front room door pulling it behind them. Suddenly the door burst open and Titch鈥檚 head appeared with an arm around his throat as if someone was choking him. It frightened us so much that my mother had to come and calm us down. Eventually we were put to bed. These two tried this many times after this, but we got used to it.

The only money coming in was from my father, who was away fighting in the war, and what the Air Force paid to have the two airmen billeted at our house. Rations had been introduced in January 1940, four months after the outbreak of war, and were strict but fair as they applied to everyone. Butter, sugar, bacon, tea and meat were all rationed. It is doubtful that we felt deprived in any way as we knew that there were shortages in wartime, so nobody could be greedy and nothing could be wasted. You had to go and get your ration book at the Post Office each week. Even after the war had finished I remember going with my mother to the butcher鈥檚 shop at the end of the road and giving up some precious coupons for a little bit of meat. On the way home Mum told me that she had used the coupons because my Uncle Sam and his wife were coming for the day on Sunday. With very little money, and food rationing, it was a hard time, but my mother kept us clean, tidy and well fed.

In 1945 my father came out of the army on a 100% Army Pension, and was unable to work.

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