´óÏó´«Ã½

I was four years old at the beginning of World War II. I lived with my parents in Crendon Park, Southborough, a small town just north of Tunbridge Wells. The air raid siren, situated on top of the local Fire Station, was only about two hundred yards away ‘as the crow flies’ so it seemed very loud. My first war memory is of sheltering behind the arm chair furthest away from the window in our sitting room every time this siren started to ‘wail’. If the glass shattered, my parents thought this was the safest place for me to be! However, when my mother was standing at the door watching the vapour trails from the British and German fighter planes as they fought each other very high up in the sky, I would creep out from behind my chair and watch too! I was told that these battles in the sky were called ‘Dog Fights’. Although most of the time they would be so high up you could not hear their engines or their guns firing, on a few occasions a German plane tried to escape the attention of one of our fighters, and fly very low. Then we saw the pilots in their cockpits as they sped by a hundred feet or so above our heads. Occasionally we would see a pilot dangling below his parachute after having baled out of his damaged plane. We were watching the ‘Battle of Britain’ taking place.

Before it got dark there was a nightly ritual. Mum and Dad would draw the ‘black out’ curtains, and prepare the sitting room. Some families had proper air raid shelters outside dug into the garden for safety, and these were called Anderson shelters. Others would have a Morrison shelter indoors which looked like a steel table with a strong metal grid stretched between the legs. We didn’t have either. We sheltered under our dining table! There was a large bureau against the wall facing the window. Up against this we pushed our dining table. Next, the settee was up-ended against the table so that it rested on its arms with the bottom facing the window. Under the table was placed a flock mattress from the double bed in the spare room. This is where my Mum and I slept. Dad up-ended one of the arm chairs in the same way with its underside towards the window, and slept on a single mattress with his head sheltered by the back and arms of the chair. Of course, at night we were not sheltering from the planes engaged in ‘dog fights’ as that was mainly a day time danger. At night, we were sheltering from the German bombers which were on their way to bomb London. Living as we did between London and the south coast, the bombers had to pass over us on the way to London and also on their way home. Sometimes they did not get as far as London thanks to the fierce defence of our capital city by our fighter aircraft and the anti-aircraft guns. The enemy would turn for home and drop their bombs just to get rid of them and give themselves less weight to carry and thus be able to get home faster! These were the bombs that were in danger of receiving. That is why the area of Kent in which we lived was nick-named ‘Bomb Alley’. Once or twice I had the opportunity to peer between the blackout curtains (making sure the light was off first) and see the search light beams criss-crossing the sky and illuminating the hoards of bombers going to attack London. It was also possible to see the glow of the fires there too, even thought it was nearly thirty miles away.

We did suffer casualties from bombs in our local area, and even had one land mine. My father was in the army in the First World War, therefore, he was not a young person, and was in a ‘Reserved Occupation’, so he was not eligible for service in the armed forces. However, many of his nights were spent Fire Watching, either with a team in our own road, or with two other men in the main street of Southborough. Apparently, when the siren went they would venture into the street with their ‘tin hats’ on, and keep an eye open for falling bombs. In the event of this happening, they would arm themselves with a stirrup pump and a bucket and try to put out any fires started by incendiary bombs, or help with casualties. What is a stirrup pump? Just a pump which is worked up and down vertically, the other end of which is plunged into a bucket of water and the attached hose pointed in the direction of the fire. Very sophisticated! There was excitement on one particular night when the fire fighters had to take cover behind a wall to prevent themselves being shot up by one of our Spitfires chasing a German plane very low, right up the main street of Southborough. When they were not looking for fires to quench, they sat in a small room above a second-hand furniture shop with the name of ‘Standing and Etches’ (which my father called ‘Itchings and Scratchings’!). This was situated on the corner of Holden Park Road. They had blankets up at the windows as black-out, and a kettle permanently on the boil over the fire in the grate. One of my father’s fire watching colleagues was the owner of a tobacconists shop and the other worked as a dustman. They all smoked pipes so the atmosphere in that room must have been indescribable! Of course, when Dad was fire-watching in our own short cul-de-sac, he only had to go just outside our house when the air raid siren was heard. As soon as the siren sounded the even note of the ‘all clear’, he was back on his mattress under the arm chair. While there was a night raid and the ack-ack guns were busy, none of us got much sleep. If Dad was not on duty, we all used to crown under the table, and my parents would read to me. I

particularly remember a very appropriate book which was called ‘Michael’s London’ by Arthur Mee. The picture of the statue of Peter Pan sticks in my memory. Other times I would amuse myself by firing match sticks out of my toy anti-aircraft gun in the direction of the enemy, ‘helping’ the real guns which were nearly deafening me.

We had several near-by anti-aircraft batteries. These consisted of anti-aircraft guns, search lights and occasionally barrage balloons. They were grouped together and protected by rings of sand bags. I can remember seeing one in Southfields Park sports ground belonging to The Skinners’ School, and two, I believe, in St John’s Road, one in the grounds of The Drill Hall and the other in the Cadogan Sports Ground on the opposite side of the road. With all of them in operation, and all within half a mile of my home you can imagine what it sounded like! However, we remained unscathed except for the shrapnel from the spent anti-aircraft shells which rattled down on our roof tiles. If you picked this up in the garden before it had had time to cool down, boy, did you know it! The barrage balloons were attached by a hawser to a winch on a special vehicle on the ground and were raised to obstruct enemy aircraft flying overhead. They were filled with a gas which made them float in the air, and from them dangled ropes which further obstructed the passage of aircraft. Enemy planes sometimes used them for target practice, and occasionally you would see one of the balloon’s tail fins deflated and flapping in the breeze. One night, we heard a huge explosion nearby. We were told that a land mine had fallen amongst the trees next to St John’s Road a few hundred yards away. For many years afterwards many new tiles could be spotted on the roofs of the houses on the opposite side of the road to the bomb crater, where their owners had had to replace ones damaged by bomb splinters. Another sound we used to hear was that of the naval guns mounted on special wagons situated on the railway at Tonbridge five miles to the north of us. They had a much louder and more distinctive ‘bark’ than the local anti-aircraft guns.

One incident at which I was not present happened at home. My mother was in hospital, I was staying with my aunt and my father was fire watching in Southborough’s main high street. When Dad arrived home after his duty, he found large slivers of wood on the path beside the house. On closer inspection he found two large bullet holes in the back gate. When he entered the house, he discovered that a window downstairs at the back of the house had been broken, and there was a bullet hole in the floor just about where his feet would have been had he been sleeping on his mattress. This hole was also about three feet from where my head would have been had I been at home sleeping under the table! He informed the Police, and a large Constable arrived carrying a billycan of water in which to put the bullets! What he thought that would do is anybody’s guess. Anyway, I believe they were cannon shells from the guns of a fighter plane. I wonder if it was one of ours? Very many years later there was still a patch of new lino about four inches square covering the hole!

Dad used our front room as an office. It was also fitted out as our gas attack room. Every householder was told to have one. All it consisted of was a blanket firmly fixed over the door. The piece of wood fixed to the floor between the door posts, which was supposed to prevent gas entering the room below the door, was still there for many years after the war. Of course, another form of protection every house holder had to provide was sticky tape on all windows in the house to prevent the glass from being scattered in the event of bomb blast.

Talking of gas attacks, I can remember very clearly visiting the local ARP Wardens’ brick-built shelter to be fitted with my gas mask. I was too old to have a toddler’s mask so felt quite grown-up when fitted with a smaller version of an adult’s mask. I remember the Warden who fitted it was Harry Nicholls who owned two fish shops in Southborough. Thank goodness I never used my gas mask in a proper attack, but Mum and I did put ours on when we saw that a very low barrage balloon had deflated slightly — as if that would have been a danger, but you never took risks. You always had to carry the cardboard box containing the gas mask around with you, slung on a piece of string around your neck. The only other time I put mine on ‘for real’ was in the main street of the village of Lamberhurst. Dad used to have to visit people who live locally as part of his work, even on Sunday mornings. Mum and I sometimes went with him for the ride as one was unable to travel around freely at that time. Petrol was rationed and Dad had to have a supply so that he could do his job. There were road blocks at regular intervals and you had to have a good reason for travelling, so any opportunity to travel was grabbed with both hands. It was also necessary to have your Identity Card

with you. If you couldn’t produce one when asked for it you were arrested. On this particular Sunday Dad had to visit someone in Lamberhurst, about twelve miles south of Tunbridge Wells. As we approached the village, we were stopped by the Home Guard at a road block and asked for our Identity Cards. Dad could not produce his! We were ordered to visit the local HQ in the village and one of the Home Guard solders, complete with rifle, stood on the running-board of our Morris 8, holding on with one arm through the window, and escorted us to his Headquarters. Dad disappeared inside and we wondered if we would ever see him again! Luckily, the officer in charge was a Magistrate who knew Dad, so all was well. Where does the gas mask come in? Well, while Dad was visiting the people he had come to see, an exercise took place in Lamberhurst’s main street, and it took the form of a gas attack. We were told to put our gas masks on, a gas canister was let off and we all managed to survive. I remember it all very well as I must have been seven or eight at the time.

Going back a few years, when I was five I had to start school of course. It was a little private school, where ages ranged from five to nine or ten, all in the same room, with one teacher. It was called Hillycroft School and at that time was in a building belonging to a women’s Christian association called the C.A.W.G. Hall. It was quite large and of wooden construction clad in corrugated iron and painted dark green. Situated at the north end of Southborough it was about a mile from my home, which meant that my mother had to make several journeys to and from the school every day as there were no school dinners! One of my earliest war time school memories was one lunch time when I came out of school I saw two men with oxyacetylene torches cutting off the iron railings. These were to be melted down and used in the manufacture of planes and ships. Another school war time memory was later in the war — about 1944. In 1940, when there was an air raid, we had to form up into a crocodile in order to walk to am empty garage situated in the basement of a near-by house so that we could shelter from the bombers. In 1944 at the time when the V1 pilot-less planes (nicknamed ‘Doodlebugs’ or ‘Flying Bombs’) were flying overhead, we had ‘progressed’ to taking shelter under the desks instead. If the engine of a Doodlebug cut out, you hadn’t go time to go anywhere. Just ten seconds to take cover before it exploded. On the day in question, a V1 came over, its engine stopped, everyone dived under their desks and it blew up. By this time we were all used to dodging the ‘Flying Bombs’, and took it all as a matter of course. Anyway, the only thing that happened as far as we were concerned was that the front of the tall ridged ceiling showered down like a snow storm. Mum must have rushed up to the school wondering what she would find. We returned home for lunch, crunching through the glass blown out of almost every shop window in the main street by the bomb blast. One of Mum’s friends had been blown off her bicycle by the blast too. At the end of the road where I lived were some allotments. We went to view the wind and part of the fuselage of the V1 laying on the grass. I particularly remember the scorched, smouldering grass along the end of the wing, and the large black cross painted on it. One of the neighbours proudly showed us one of the ‘launching rails’ from its undercarriage. It had demolished his garden.

I remember well the first time I saw and heard a V1. German bombing raids had more or less ceased by June 1944 and most people had given up sleeping in their shelters and had returned to their bedrooms. One night, I was awakened by my mother rushing into my bedroom to look out of my south-facing window. I can see her now, silhouetted against the night sky with the black out curtains pushed apart either side of her. There was a terrible noise drawing ever nearer, and then there appeared two plane-like shapes with huge flames coming out of the back of them. They went over in no time and left us wondering — and worried! However, we all learned to cope. We would even go for country walks and watch two Doodlebugs cross the sky, one on each side of us. We did not feel too concerned until their engines stopped, then we would dive for the hedge! The V1 engines made a very recognisable noise. It was one of the only things that made the window in our front door rattle!

V2 Rockets were a very different matter. You heard a swishing noise, then a huge explosion and that was that. Luckily, I only heard it once. As far as I know we only had one land in Southborough and that was at the end of Park Road where it met Pennington Road. It sliced a house in half. I cannot remember whether there were any casualties. Mum and I went to see the result, and I remember being amazed that it had left the other half of the house standing.

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