A Girls Story Wartime

<div class="LinkButton" id="pgLinkButton_1"><a href="http://www.ideal-homes.org.uk/bexley/images-blackfen.htm"> Photos of the Area 1930's</a></div> <div class="LinkButton" id="pgLinkButton_4"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/stories/16/a2275616.shtml"> WW2 Archive Account</a></div> <div class="LinkButton" id="pgLinkButton_2"><a href="http://www.ideal-homes.org.uk/index1a.html"> Suburbia in Focus</a></div> <div class='textboxV3' id='pgTextboxV3_1'>ROCHESTER WAY, SPRING 1936 We all loved our house on the Rochester Way. I was so excited to move in. The estate was far from finished, many of the roads were still unmade. The garden had nothing in it apart from some fruit trees and lots of rubble. I was thrilled that we had moved in to a proper house with stairs. My parents had the main bedroom at the front; Peter had the small box room over the front door, and my room was at the back, overlooking the garden; the bathroom was next to my room. Peter wasnt that pleased with his room, he wanted mine because it was bigger; but he was only a little boy, not quite 4 years old, and I was almost 9. I shall never forget that Peter always took a small china egg cup to bed every night. Most children would choose a cuddly toy, but he took an egg cup until he was seven. Then I dropped it and it broke. The fuss he made was awful, and he used to cry for hours. He said I dropped in on purpose (I did). Poor Peter but he got his own back many times. I could never keep a doll for long. Dolls then always had china heads. He would get the doll by its legs, and smash its head on my wooden bed, and say thats for breaking my egg cup. Who could blame him? He always told my mum he hadnt broken the doll, and she believed him. I paid for that egg cup many times over. Back to the house. Downstairs was the front room which was only used on high days, holidays and of course Christmas. At the back was the dining room, with quite the latest thing a kitchenette at one end, with a curtain across it. I realise now this must have been cheaper than a fitted kitchen. My mum seemed to cope in this small space. A sink and draining board under the window, a very small worktop with a cupboard underneath, a wall cupboard, a gas cooker and a copper (no washing machines then) and the door into the stair cupboard at the end, where I spent quite a bit of time for being naughty. From the dining room three steps led down to the garden. We lived in the dining room; it had an open fireplace on one wall, with my mum and dads small armchairs one each side. Peter and I had a stool each to sit on in front of the fire. My dad would roast potatoes in the ashes, and make real toast with a brass toasting fork which hung on the wall by the fire. In those days there was no TV, well it had been invented, but only just we didnt know about it. The fireplace was the focus of the room. There was a dining room table and four chairs, and of course the radio, or as we called it, the wireless. What pleasure we all got out of listening to it. Peter and I never missed Childrens Hour with Uncle Mac which was on every day except Sunday, from 5 till 6 in the evening. Uncle Mac was the presenter. We followed the adventures in Toy Town with Larry the Lamb, Ernest the Policeman, and Mr Mayor Sir, and every day there was a serial. Mystery at the Mine was the one I remember best. Uncle Mac always signed off by saying Goodnight children everywhere, and remember be good, but not so very good that someone says Hullo what mischief have you been up to? it was great. I always wanted to read the newspaper as well, but I was never allowed to until I was about twelve. Well except for a sneaky look when no-one was watching. Meal times were very strict: no talking at the table, no elbows on the table, and we had to sit up straight. Posture was considered very important. Many times I have had a wooden ruler put down the back of my dress or jumper to remind me to sit up straight. If we didnt come up to standard, a sharp tap with the cane my mother always kept on the table soon reminded us. We had to say Grace at the end of each meal we used to gabble: Thankgodformygooddinner. AmencanIgetdownplease, all at once. Dont answer back was a favourite saying of the grown-ups. I find myself saying this to my grandchildren now, but somehow it doesnt seem to work as well as it did then. Perhaps it has something to do with the cane? I tried not to answer my mum back, but if I did I got a whack or got sent to bed with nothing to eat but my dad would often sneak me a sandwich and a drink. I used to think it very unfair that she had all the power. I wasnt perfect, so I suffered both punishments quite often. Being a child in those days did have its compensations. We had much more freedom to go out to play than todays children. In the school holidays we could go out all day quite safely. We both had scooters and we went all over the place on them. My mother would pack us sandwiches and a bottle of water each, and off we would go for the day to Jack Woods where we had a den with our friends, or to Danson Park to play, or to go swimming in the brand new pool there. The first time I took Peter to the pool I was in charge. I had a long lecture from my mother about looking after her Peter Boy, as she called him. If he got into any trouble I would be for it. Be a good boy Peter was all she said to him, and dear Peter Boy stood looking at me and smirking. Oh dear I would have to beat the brat into submission. We duly arrived at the pool, and I forbade him to move until I was ready to go in. I could swim. Dear Peter Boy ran straight off to the deep end yelling I can swim, jumped in, and sunk. Horror of horrors. I would be black and blue and starving if I didnt get him out. He came up spluttering, near to the edge of the pool thank goodness. I grabbed his hair and hauled him out, and all he could do was cry because I had pulled his hair. He told my mum when we got home, not that he could have drowned but that Id pulled his hair out. Look at the poorboy she said, hes in a terrible state. Then I got my hair well and truly pulled, a good hiding and sent to bed. What could I do, I couldnt tell her that her precious had jumped in at the deep end I was supposed to have been looking after him! I would have been devastated if anything had happened to him, but that boy could work the system. When I was a teenager and he was still a brat, being five years younger than me, we used to argue a lot, and I used to yell at him I should have let you drown and he used to yell back Yeah but you didnt. Another favourite place was the childrens playground on the Green, built at the same time as Falconwood Parade. It used to have a much higher fence around it with metal spikes at the top. One day I got myself locked in, and had to climb over the fence. I got the back of my dress caught on one of the spikes, and just hung there. All I worried about was showing my knickers, the shame. A man kindly unhooked me, and I went home to more trouble for tearing my dress. Where the church now stands on the Green was an old derelict farm; all of us children had great games in there. Everybody was so thrilled when the Plaza Cinema opened in Blackfen the pictures played a huge part in my young life. We all went once a week in the evening to see Flash Gordon. It was as big a thrill for the adults as for the children. Im sure we must have seen other things too, but Flash Gordon made a big impression on me. It was shown as a serial, once a week, so you had to go every week or you missed an episode. Peter and I went on Saturday mornings as well for the childrens programmes Cowboys and Indians were the favourite. The noise was deafening, and even worse if the film broke, which it did often in those days. Cat calls and jeers till it came on again, then a rousing cheer. How they controlled all those children I dont know rushing up and down the aisles and climbing over the seats. I had enough trouble myself controlling my little brother. We used to walk everywhere then; if there were any buses we never used them. My mother did most of her shopping on the Green, which was only a short walk away. All our main groceries were bought at the Co-op, because of the Dividend. The Co-op was very popular with everybody in those days - there was a butchers, a greengrocers, a chemist and the main grocery shop. A large hall over the shop was used for all sorts of functions. My mother belonged to the Co-operative Womens Guild there and I belonged to the youth club, and it was in that hall that I learned to do the Lambeth Walk. My dad often sent me to the Co-op to buy him ten cigarettes no law against serving children with cigarettes then. When I visited the area in May 2003, 62 years later, I was amazed to find it so unchanged, but it had aged. In the late thirties it was all brand new, and gleaming black and white Tudor design; now it seems somewhat faded, a bit like me. Sometimes we would go to Blackfen shopping when we needed something that couldnt be bought on the Green. My mother was a great knitter, and she bought all her wool at a shop by The Woodman pub, and of course, there was Woolworths. It was an Aladdins Cave then, they sold anything and everything, and nothing cost more than sixpence. We used to have regular trips to Welling, where we all belonged to the public library; next door to the library was a bakers called Rosins, and we always had a dozen of their crusty rolls as a special treat. We didnt have to go out to the shops for some of the basic necessities. The baker and the milkman called every day. Both drove horse and carts. The baker sold buns and biscuits as well as bread; he carried all his goods in a huge wicker basket and had to keep returning to his horse and cart to fill up again. The milkman called twice a day; he would have started his round very early in the morning, leaving all his customers one pint of milk for the morning tea (no fridges then); he came back mid-morning and people bought more milk and eggs and butter. The fishmonger delivered every Friday. Hard to imagine now that a horse and cart could go along the Rochester Way. When I went back there after so many years I found it hard to come to terms with what had happened to the road. When I lived there the houses were on top of a very high grass bank. We used to look down on the traffic, the road was just two lanes. There was a very long flight of stone steps down to the road, where the footbridge now is. We crossed over there to get to Buckingham Avenue to go to school or the Green. I couldnt believe how it had changed, and I cant imagine how it was done, it must have taken a lot of planning. I must say I liked it how it was, so I shall transport this story back to those days. The garden played a large part in our lives. There was a trellis right across the garden about two thirds of the way down with a gate in it. Behind this we grew lots of our vegetables and Peter and I played down there a lot, out of sight of the grown ups and within earshot of the Walls ice cream man. He rode a tricycle with a large ice box on the front. In it were vanilla ices that you could have in a cone or in between two wafers, choc ices, my mum and dads favourite, and penny Sno Fruits, which were our favourites these were the same shape as a toblerone, triangular and on a stick; just frozen flavoured ice, but we loved them. The ice cream man rode along the alleyways at the back of the houses ringing his bell and calling stop me and buy one; he was very popular. The garden also held another big attraction for me my dads shed. I spent many happy hours in there with him. He was a very forward thinking man for his time. He told me that just because I was a girl didnt mean that I shouldnt know about wood, tools, screws, nails and so on. He taught me to use a screwdriver, a chisel, a saw, a plane and many more of the tools he had in his large collection. He also taught me how to hang wallpaper, and to paint. All of these things have been very useful to me in my life. My poor mother was horrified, it wasnt what girls did! My dad was a very clever chap he knew how to build a wireless and how to make the cabinet for it to go in. He could repair clocks and watches. He could build furniture and french polish it. He could also repair shoes we were always well shod. I still have the last he repaired all our shoes on. To see my dad sew leather soles onto a pair of shoes was wonderful. I never could do that, my hands were not strong enough. He was a craftsman. Every Sunday morning Peter and I went to Sunday school; it wasnt an option, we had to go. We walked down Crown Woods Way, through Avery Hill Park to the church which was on the other side of the park in Eltham, quite a long walk. Once again I was in charge of my little brother. We had to wear our best clothes on Sundays: straw hat and white gloves for me, and Peter in his best little suit, tie and cap. I had to keep him out of the ditches somehow, we couldnt get dirty. This took all morning walking there and back. After we had eaten Sunday dinner, the four of us walked back to Avery Hill Park to listen to the band. Then a visit to the Palm House which was near the bandstand. After which we all walked back up Crown Woods Way, inspecting all the show houses on the way home. The houses there were built after the houses on Rochester Way. We understood that rich people were going to live in those houses, which was probably true. When we first moved in I went to Days Lane School for a short while, but when Westwood School was finished we went there. Westwood was certainly the happiest time of my school life, I loved it there best of all when I was old enough to go up into the big girls school (Seniors). It was a lovely building, girls and boys separate, but all in one school. It was built around a grass quad hallowed ground we were never allowed to set foot on. A corridor ran all the way round the school and looked on to the quad. Halfway on two sides of the corridor were big doors, always locked, to keep the boys from the girls, or the girls from the boys, Im not sure which, but it worked. We were not allowed to talk to the boys, not even in the grounds. To get to the girls entrance we had to pass the study of the headmistress Miss Dudman a real tartar, I was scared to death of her. She always stood at the window of her study watching the comings and goings of her girls, to make sure no-one broke the rules, and woe betide any girl that did, she was in trouble. There were lots of rules: no talking or running in the corridor or on the stairs, we all had to walk single file on the left, a bit like nuns really. However, despite Miss Dudman, I loved it there. We had a cookery room where I learned the right way to scrub a plain wooden table, which really hasnt been of much use to me. How to clean an oven, which I have hated ever since. We did do some cooking of course, but the emphasis was put on the cleaning part, and how to organise a pantry, also how to shop wisely. No doubt in the hopes of fitting these little girls into their right slot in life. In the kitchen. We also had a Science lab where the bunsen burners were great fun, and I was sick all over one of the teachers when she cut up a cows eye. Then there was the needlework room where we learned how to do french seams, make a buttonhole, and hem everlasting bits of material but I did learn how to use a sewing machine, which was great, although I wasnt very good. I made myself a green check school dress which was unpicked so many times, and took me so long to make, that when it was finished it was too small for me. I would have liked to have done woodwork like the boys. I also learned French there, most of which I have forgotten. I really dont remember many of the other girls, except Ann Hibberd, and two other girls called Sylvia and Audrey. I have a photo of myself taken with them, sitting on some steps in one of their gardens. I know that we used to play together in each others gardens. One thing that sticks in my mind about Westwood is the Sweet Man I bet other people remember him too. He was outside the school gates every dinner time, and afternoons at four oclock when we came out. He had a tricycle with a big box on the front full of goodies. I got a halfpenny a day to spend, and sixpence pocket money on Saturdays I would spend my halfpenny at four oclock and buy a sherbet dab, liquorice boot laces, four chews, or a huge gob stopper or bubble gum. I have very fond memories of the Sweet Man, he was always there, summer and winter. A memorable thing that happened while I was in the Seniors was our Elizabethan Pageant. Every child in the school had a part, boys as well. We were allowed to mix with them for the day, and the principals were allowed to rehearse together. It took all the summer term to organise, the teachers must have worked so hard. I think it was the summer of 1938, and all the mums and dads were invited. It started about eleven oclock in the morning, and went on into the evening. I sulked most of the day because I really wanted to be Queen Elizabeth. I had red hair, but I wasnt tall enough. The girl that got the part was much taller than me, but she had to wear a wig I had the real thing for goodness sake! I was a Happy Hour; these were friends of the Nymphs, who wore green shift dresses with a golden girdle, and the Happy Hours wore the same, only pink. We had to dance around Queen Elizabeth most of the day showering her with rose petals wherever she went. I hated her. I had to wear this soppy pink dress, and I wished I were pelting her with stones (horrible child). However, despite my dislike of Queen Elizabeth, it really was a fantastic day. We had Sir Walter Raleigh doing his thing with the puddle and his cloak, and Queen Elizabeth made her Tilbury speech (I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman ). One of the classrooms was turned into an Elizabethan street with all sorts of stalls and people selling pies and things from trays, and her Majesty had her throne on the stage in the hall to receive the courtiers and visitors to her court, with us prancing around chucking rose petals. It must have been a good year for roses. On the playing fields were tournaments and all sorts of games going on, strolling players, and of course Shakespeare being performed throughout the day. It was really a very ambitious event to stage, and it worked wonderfully. The railway came to Falconwood while we lived there. There was great excitement when it was built. It made it much easier for all of us to get to London especially my dad who worked at the Public Record Office in Chancery Lane. He used to take me in to visit quite often; there was a small museum in the Public Record Office, and he showed me famous manuscripts including the Domesday Book. Much later in my life I developed an interest in Family History, well more of a passion really, and I did quite a lot of research there before it was closed to the general public. During 1938 my dad worked with an official from the government archives in Ceylon as it was called then. I met him once when I was with my dad at the Public Record Office; I dont think I uttered a word as I was so amazed at seeing a black man. However, this man had a daughter the same age as me, and he and my dad arranged an exchange visit for their two daughters. This was planned for the summer holidays of the next year 1939. I was so thrilled, nobody I knew had ever been abroad. However, things were starting to change in our small safe world. Mr Chamberlain went to Munich and came back promising peace in our time, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. But it wasnt to be. All sorts of rules and regulations were talked about and then put into action, and the whole nation started practising for war. I started to listen to the BBC news with interest. By the time we were due to organise my trip to Ceylon, we were on the brink of war. I couldnt go and was so disappointed I hated Hitler. SUMMER 1939 I was twelve in the summer of 1939, and Peter was seven. All through the summer preparations for war were being made. Trenches were dug in all the parks and open spaces for air raid shelters. Everyone had to tape their windows to stop the glass from shattering. We had air raid drill every day at school, filing out in order into the shelters which had been built on the school playing fields. Everyone was issued with a gas mask which we had to carry everywhere we went. They were worn over our shoulders like a satchel. I hated putting mine on, I used to think I would suffocate, but it came in very useful for swinging round my head an bashing up all my enemies. Id never had a weapon before. We were also told how to protect ourselves in the event of a gas attack. Our front room was turned into a safe room quite useless I expect, but it made us feel safer I suppose. The chimney and every crack was stuffed with paper and the windows all sealed. A bowl of water and a blanket were kept in there so we could hang a wet blanket over the door to stop the gas getting in. A supply of tinned food, plus containers of water, and a primus stove were also kept in there. I dont remember that anything was done about sanitary arrangements, so I presume we were supposed to hold our breath while we crept out to the loo. Thank goodness it was never put to the test because gas was never used as a weapon, but at that time it seemed to be the worst fear. Some time during that summer we saw our first barrage balloon. It was very exciting to see this big silver object floating in the sky. It wasnt long before the whole of London and the surrounding area was covered with balloons a far as the eye could see. We soon discovered that the edge of a balloon barrage wasnt a very healthy place to live. When the bombing started the planes would come in low, and in order to gain height, would drop a few bombs, not because we lived in a target area but just because it lightened their load. However, this was all in the future. Peter and I couldnt understand why all the grown-ups didnt want a war. It was the most exciting thing that had happened to us in our young lives. At last something thrilling was happening and we hoped there would be a war. Looking back on those pre-war days, they were golden days for us. We were quite comfortably off compared with some people. I realise now that we were part of the new elite, living in suburbia in a new house with a large garden. A bedroom each, plenty to eat and best clothes as well as school clothes. I suppose our parents must have had their share of worries and troubles the same as any young parents, but we never knew anything about them. So the preparations went on all that summer. My father joined the LDV (Local Defence Force) which later became the ARP (Air Raid Precautions). He became an air raid warden and was issued with a tin hat, a whistle and an armband. He took all this very seriously, although he was very disappointed that he couldnt get back into the Navy. I got the idea that it would be my fathers chief function in life to go round looking for chinks of light, blowing his whistle and shouting put that light out. Everyone started stocking up with tinned food, my mother always bought extra when she went shopping. Then there was the blackout to prepare for. Blackout curtains were put up in every room in the house. Even my dads shed was blacked out. My father started to work shifts at the Public Record Office. He went to London to work in the morning and came home again on the evening of the next day, then he had a night and a day off. The night he spent at the office he was on firewatching duty. Although the war hadnt started, everyone had to act as if it had. Be prepared was the motto of the time. Peter and I were allowed to go out as usual, as long as we took our gas masks along, otherwise we could be stopped by a policeman and asked where they were. September 1939 So the summer went by until September 2nd, which sticks in my mind, because it was such a hot day. It was a Saturday and we were all up early for we all knew that this was the weekend, short of a miracle, that war would be declared. Sand and sandbags had been delivered to all the houses in the district and we spent all that day filling the bags. They were then stacked all round the front of the house, so the windows were barricaded about halfway up. I dont remember that any were put round the back of the house, so I presume that we must have expected Hitler (we had by then dropped the Mister) to come in the front door if he came calling, which as events show, he did. September 3rd 1939 Every detail of the hour from 11am to 12 noon is as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. We were all gathered round the wireless to listen to Mr Chamberlains speech. My parents had two of their friends staying with us as the time, so there were six of us, along with hundreds of thousands of others, waiting to hear the news. Once again the weather was very hot, and everything was really peaceful. I sat on the back steps to listen to the broadcast. Big Bens chimes came over the air at 11am, and Mr Chamberlain announced that Britain was now at war with Germany. When he had finished speaking, the woman who was staying with us started crying and saying Oh my God, not again. I was rather embarrassed at this, I couldnt see what she had to cry about. Almost at once the sirens sounded, which threw everyone into a panic, particularly my mother. It was decided that we should all go and sit in the Safe Room. So there we all sat, waiting for the bombers to come, but nothing happened. Just silence. My mother decided that she would venture into the kitchen and make a cup of tea. The first of many cups of tea that were to take us through many a crisis. As it happened we didnt get the tea immediately because my mother thought she heard hand bells being rung. These were the signal for a gas attack. She came flying back into the room screaming Gas Attack. We all put our gas masks on, and there we sat waiting to be bombed, gassed, and in my case suffocated. It was then I decided I didnt like the war after all. Soon after that we were rescued by the all clear sounding, and we were able to have our cup of tea at last. PHONEY WAR After that first day things went on much as usual. The war didnt seem to make much difference although a lot of the girls I went to school with were evacuated. But we stayed where we were. The British Expeditionary Force went to France, and we all though the war would soon be over. We had our first wartime Christmas with presents and chicken as usual. Chicken was a luxury then, only eaten at Christmas, not like today. We never had turkey, only rich people ate that. Sometimes the sirens would sound, but nothing ever happened. The Anderson shelter in the garden filled up with water and then froze, for it was a terribly cold winter. This problem hadnt been foreseen by the authorities. In the spring of 1940 all the shelters had to be concreted on the inside, which must have cost thousands of pounds, but it kept the water out. I have only got to smell wet cement now, and it takes me right back to those days. It was a dreary winter with the blackout restrictions, no-one was supposed to show a glimmer of light outside. First of all transport was driven with no lights at all, but road accidents were so bad that they were allowed to use masked lights after a while. Of course there were n o street lights, but people could use small torches. It became a well-known wartime saying: Got your gas mask, got your torchlight, alright, goodnight. After Christmas rationing was introduced for food, but we never went hungry. Bananas and oranges disappeared for the whole of the war. Lots of things went under the counter and the black market flourished. Cigarettes were very scarce although that didnt worry me then. We had an 8oz (ounce) fat ration each per week: 2 ozs butter, 2 ozs lard and 4 ozs margarine. My mother who always prided herself on the fact that her family ate nothing else but best butter now had to mix our butter and margarine ration together. She though this was dreadful, only poor people ate margarine. Tea, sugar, cheese, bacon and meat were also rationed, but bread and flour rationing didnt happen until after the war. Eggs were very scarce too, although we did have dried egg which was quite revolting to eat, but very good for making cakes. Half our garden was dug up that spring, and loads of vegetables planted. Everyone was Digging for Victory. Clothes were also rationed. We all had an issue of clothing coupons once a year. That must have been quite a problem with growing children in the family I had a coat made from a blanket later in the war. Make do and mend became another familiar saying. Life went on in wartime Britain. Peter and I went to school as usual, and we were still allowed out to play, as long as we stayed near home in case of an air raid. But in the early summer in 1940 the Phoney War came to an end, and the British Expeditionary Force were evacuated from Dunkirk. Churchill was now Prime Minister, and what a difference he made to how people felt. We all listened to the news and his speeches were marvellous anyone who could turn a defeat into a victory had to be good news. In that summer we had some air raids, but not bad ones, and lots of false alarms when the sirens went and nothing happened. Peter and I broke up for our summer holidays, not realising that we would never go back to Westwood School again. THE BLITZ, AUGUST, 1940. To me, the next few months were the most terrible times I had ever known. Up to then we had never used the shelter in the garden. We had a few raids and saw the odd German plane, but nothing bad; but as the raids became more frequent it became obvious that things were going to get worse. My mum and dad and everyone else who lived around us began to fix up their shelters. My father built two bunks in ours, one for Peter and one for my mother, and in his wisdom he decided to make me a hammock which would hang in the gangway. The only trouble was it took me ages to learn to stay in it, I was always falling out. My father, to the best of my knowledge, never slept in the shelter. He had a chair in there which he sometimes sat on, but most of the time he was outside doing his duty as a warden. This used to drive my mother mad. I suppose she was concerned for his safety. She used to call out to him Stan where are you? and back would come the reply Standing in the corner. She used to hiss at me through clenched teeth Where does he find a bloody corner out there? This amused Peter and I, we used to think he only did it to annoy her. When the raids were really bad, bombs would be whizzing down, guns banging away, and shrapnel all over the place, but my dad didnt get so much as a scratch during all the raids. By this time we had our shelter quite comfortable. The primus stove, water containers and kettle were all kept in there. We even had a strip of carpet on the floor and our shelter became a second home to us. As the air raids got worse we started going to bed in there. Can you imagine going out into the garden to go to bed? But it was easier than going to bed indoors and then having to get up again. Where we lived on the Rochester Way in Sidcup, nearly every family slept in their shelter, not only because it was safer, but should the house be bombed it was easier to dig people out of an Anderson than search for them in the ruins of a house. So the summer went by, with the raids becoming more and more frequent. SEPTEMBER 7th 1940 The day started off perfectly. A beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, and really hot. The school summer holidays hadnt ended. My father had been decorating my bedroom for me. It was all finished, just needed to be put straight, curtains hung, furniture polished and so on. I helped my mother to do this in the morning. I was really pleased with my new room. We had lunch and then went out into the garden. We picked pears and generally messed about. As near as I can remember the warning sirens sounded about three-thirty, but as usual we didnt take much notice as we hadnt had any daytime raids up to then. However after this day, nothing would ever be quite the same again. The area we lived in came to be known as Bomb Alley. Then we heard planes and a lot of gunfire. Almost at once the sky was filled with wave after wave of bombers. The noise was awful. We had never used our shelter in the daytime before, but it seemed a good idea to go down into it. I was terrified for the next two hours. My small world was breaking up round me. The noise was the worst thing. Bombs whistling down and guns firing almost non-stop. When the all clear sounded and we finally emerged from the shelter, it was like stepping into hell. The sight was unbelievable. The sun had disappeared behind huge clouds of smoke. Houses all around were on fire. The trees had hardly any leaves left on them, and there was debris everywhere. People just stood around dazed, looking at each other. We climbed over all the rubbish and went back into what was left of the house. The whole front of the place had been wrecked, the front door had been blown right off, gone through the house and was laying in the dining room. All the windows were smashed. Bombs had completely demolished three houses right opposite to us and everyone that stayed in them had been killed. My newly decorated bedroom was a wreck, no windows left, and the ceiling down on the bed. I have never been so scared in all my life, not before and not since, although we lived through a lot more air raids in the next few months. We spent the remaining hours ofdaylight clearing up some of the mess. We managed to get the front door back on, and some of the windows boarded up. I helped my mother to prepare a meal, but I remember I dreaded it getting dark. I was sure we would all be killed that night. As it got dark that evening the sky began to glow over London. All the docks had been set on fire, and hundreds of people living round there had been killed. Everyone was saying they will be back tonight, and they were. The sirens sounded again that night about nine oclock. We went into the shelter again, my mother as always carrying the bag she took everywhere with her. In it she had all our birth certificates and personal papers, and most important, our identity cards and ration books. That nights raid seemed even worse to me than the one in the afternoon. By this time everywhere was lit up by all the fires raging as if it were still daylight. So life went on with raids every day and night. My school was closed and I never went back there. This was the time of the Battle of Britain. Sometime in October some houses at the back of us received a direct hit and we were buried in the shelter. Not for long, about half an hour, and then we were dug out by a rescue squad. None of us were really hurt, just odd cuts and bruises. The Anderson shelters stood up really well to the bombing, ours was usable, just that the entrance was blocked with rubble. We had already started to dig our way out from the inside. Although we all hated the bombing it became a way of life to us. They say you can get used to anything. Everyone talked to their neighbours then, and people used to come out of their shelters and joke with one another. Old Jerry still hadnt got us beat. My father had been at work on the night we were buried in the shelter. Looking back on it, what a worry it must have been for both of them when he had to stay away for the night. Neither of them knowing if the other had been killed. By this time the house was such a mess that it was decided we would have to find somewhere a bit safer to live. ON THE MOVE My mother had by then had enough of the war, and Hitler messing up her house. She decided that she wanted to go back to Hull to her family. So far that city hadnt had a raid. However, arrangements had to be made and we needed a roof over our heads for a few nights, so we packed our bags and set out for London of all places, for if we were to get to Hull we had to go from London. There was no public transport running, the railway line was wrecked and there were no buses. People had to rely on hitching a lift. We didnt have long to wait before a covered lorry came along with quite a few more people in it in the same plight as ourselves. There was room for us, so we piled our cases in, climbed into the lorry and were off. We hadnt gone more than a couple of miles along the Rochester Way when we suddenly came to a stop. The driver yelled Everyone out and lay in the ditch. There had been no warning, but a lone German plane was machine gunning the main road we were on. Ive seen this happen many times on the films since then, but I know what its like to be on the receiving end of it. Very frightening. The driver by his quick thinking no doubt saved our lives. We lay in the ditch for quite a while to make sure the plane wasnt coming back, then we all got back in the lorry. The canvas cover was ripped to bits by the bullets. We all thought what a lucky escape we had had, and set off once more for London. The driver put us off at the first Underground station we came to and we made our way to Holborn by tube. I shall always remember the sight of all those people settling down for the night all over the platforms. When we got off the tube it was difficult not to walk on people. They were laying everywhere, but the trains kept running. We finally reached our destination, a flat in a place called Peabody Buildings in Holborn. Here we met two friends of my fathers, somebody he worked with, who made us very welcome and gave us a meal. We were only about half way through it when the sirens went. Nobody stayed in the buildings at night, and we all went to a big public shelter under the Kingsway Hall. We went down into what seemed like a huge cellar with hundreds of people in it. I spent the night laying on the stone floor. It was most uncomfortable and cold, I missed our Anderson shelter, and although we didnt hear much noise down there, I didnt feel safe. I didnt like the thought of being so far underground, I kept thinking of all the huge buildings on top of us, and what would happen if they collapsed. We spent two days and nights in London, and by then my parents had arranged to store all the furniture left in the house. However, the plans for us to go to Hull had been changed. Peter and I were to be evacuated.</div> <div class="LinkButton" id="pgLinkButton_3"><a href="http://falconwood.moonfruit.com"> Falconwood Websites</a></div> <div class='textboxV3' id='pgTextboxV3_2'>PRESS DOWN ARROW FOR FULL STORY</div>