High Explosive Bomb at Kenton Gardens

I was eight years old at the beginning of the war, and my first memory is of being taken to the local school hall, where the gas masks were being issued. The man gave me a Mickey Mouse one to try which nearly asphyxiated me! These masks were made with two separate eyeholes and a funny red nose to try and make them appeal to young children. It was decided my head was too big for that, and I was issued with a standard black one. I remember feeling horrified that adults could consider killing other people, and I felt so helpless. We had always been told fighting was bad behaviour.
Strange how adults could change their minds.
The first siren went off while I was out playing in the street with my dolls’ pram. I can remember the panic as I tried to pull it up the kerb to go home, the more I pulled the less able I was to budge it. Then my Dad appeared from nowhere, and saved me!
The siren was a false alarm and nothing at all happened. Soon after, my parents thought it safer for my mother, older sister and myself to go and stay with an aunt and uncle in Wallingford, Berks.
After about three weeks as all was quiet we returned home to the London suburb of Harrow Middlesex.
The raids started. The siren wailing up and down made my tummy turn over. Nearby we had Northolt Aerodrome, so the noise of planes taking off became commonplace. We used to count them going out, and count them returning, always hoping it would be the same number…. We had an Anderson shelter in the garden. The lady next door with small children had a Morrison shelter indoors, which was like a big reinforced rabbit hutch. They used the top as a table. Every night after I was in my pyjamas I would be sent down the garden to the shelter, and when no-one was looking, I would get up and go down the back alley to play with my friends. Raids were frequent at this time. Every day the children would go out looking for shrapnel, and the competition was quite keen to find the biggest bit..
My father was working in London on something that he was not allowed to discuss with us. We later found out it was to do with the construction of the amphibious craft used in the invasion. As he was a well-qualified St. John first aider, he was also required to help with rescue work. He was always so tired.
While on his rescue duties, he would sometimes find an unexploded shell, or incendiary bomb, which had to be thrown in the water tanks on the streets. I have an unexploded shell, which he made into a table lighter, having made it safe!
I remember the bomb disposal crews on their lorry having completed a job. Sometimes they would actually sit on the land mine or bomb that they had disarmed. They always received a cheer. - Just, as aircrew would not be charged for admission into our local cinema. Everyone felt they had done more than enough for us. During daytime raids we could often watch the dogfights above us as our planes intercepted the Germans. We could always tell the difference between our aircraft and the German’s even at night. Our planes had a steady hum and the German planes made a pulsating noise.
Our house remained intact, but a nearby house had a landmine suspended inside it. The parachute had caught on the roof, and it was hanging suspended a couple of inches off the floor! We had to evacuate our house while the brave disposal team came and made it safe. They drove off with it on the back of the lorry. I was told the German bombers would take Harrow-on-the Hill church as a landmark
And drop a stick of bombs, hoping to hit Northolt Aerodrome. This meant they passed close to us.

The raids became intense. Our Anderson shelter had flooded, and we had to go to the nearest communal shelter. During the day if the siren sounded on our way to school, we were told to run home if we were nearest to home, or carry on to school if that was the nearest. We had a large underground shelter built on the playing fields at school, and we spent a lot of time sitting on the hard benches around the walls. At home we had decided we were tired of running to air raid shelters at night, so we decided that if the bomb had our name on it, we would get it! We stayed in our own beds.
When I was twelve, I was evacuated to my grandparents in Wales. My mother took me there, and we caught the train from Paddington. Opposite us in the carriage a tired looking lady sat with a baby on her lap. They had no luggage, as they had been bombed out of their home the previous night, whilst they were in the shelter. Her husband was in the army, and she was making her way to the home of relatives.
We arrived at my grandparent’s house. My mother stayed overnight and then went back to Harrow. I found this to be a disconcerting time. Hardly any air raids occurred. There was just the difficulty of fitting into new surroundings. I attended the local school. The local children called us the “Vacuees” and regarded us at first with suspicion. Whist I was there I remember two servicemen returning to the village. They had been prisoners of the Japanese, and looked like walking skeletons. The village held a Benefit Concert for each of them. The concerts were well attended and raised some money to help them recover. I got to know my Welsh relatives, and there were some good times, but there was always the overwhelming homesickness. After nine months things must have quietened in Harrow, or my constant pleas to come home worked. Whatever the reason, I received a letter saying my mother was coming to take me home. Such joy!
We arrived home, and things were quieter. Food was extremely short. I would help my mother to buy the weeks’ groceries for four people and we could carry it home in two bags. If we went to my Aunts’ for tea, we would take our slices of bread and margarine with us. Meat was very short; so on Saturday we would take turns in queuing outside the Butchers’ shop. My mother would queue from six until seven o’clock, my sister from seven until eight and I would do from eight until nine, when the Butcher opened his shop. My mother would reappear at this time and if we were lucky we would have a small piece of meat for Sunday. If we were unlucky, we had to take the ration in Spam. Just very occasionally a neighbour would rush down the road telling everyone she came across that the greengrocers had oranges. We would hurry to the shop and queue hoping that there would still be some left when it was our turn. Usually the allowance was one orange for each child’s ration book. The sweet ration was very small, and we children were encouraged to eat raw carrots instead.
After I returned home from Wales, it wasn’t long before we had the start of the attacks by the V1 and V2 missiles. The V1 was a pilotless aeroplane which carried a large amount of explosives. The engine noise was distinctive, and if you could hear it you were safe, but when the engine cut out, you knew it was on the way down. I was on my way to school, running as the air raid warning had sounded, when suddenly the pavement came up and hit me! A man behind me had been aware of the V1 heading our way and had pushed me to the floor. We were lucky.
Then it was the V2. This silent rocket was unpredictable. No air raid warning, just a huge explosion from nowhere.
The next thing I remember is everywhere being crowded with servicemen of all nationalities. Then of course it was D-Day. The newsreels at the cinema kept us up to date, and also showed us the horrors of camps like Belsen as they were liberated.
The man next door was discharged from the army because of shell shock. I imagine it would be called post-traumatic stress now. He spent all day in his garden, speaking to no one, but gradually he started to communicate again.
VE day came at last, followed by VJ day. We had a street party, I was thirteen years of age and it seemed a long time since I was eight.

As promised here is the first extract from Bob's Diary, covering January and February 1943.

DECEMBER 1942
20 Sunday
At home with Dave. Came back in evening and visited “Royal George” in Tottenham Ct Road. Good pub!

21 Monday
A dance at Regent St Polytechnic. Met Winnie — unfortunately! She clings like a leech — will have to be firm.

22 Tuesday
Saw Mickey again, patched up quarrel. Not a bad kid, but a stupid temper.

23 Wednesday
Started off with good meal at Elephant and Castle, then decided on the “Swan”, at Jack’s recommendation.
Went to “Swan” at Stockwell with Dave, Mac and Jock. Got tight, but respectfully so!

24 Thursday
Xmas Eve. “Swan” at Stockwell. A.F.S. named Betty Ashford. Very good evening.
Date!

25 Friday
Xmas Day at Bushey
Very quiet, but — well, restful!?

26 Saturday
Boxing Day. Dance at Oxley Parish Hall.
Girl named Elsie Roberts. Engaged — No Date!

27 Sunday
Came back to Borough. Xmas mail from Snooty, Yvonne, Deborah, Ida, Dorothy, Mrs Blythe, Mickey, Betty. Answered all mail and wrote to Elsie Roberts.

28 Monday
Back on the course — Valve Theory again — Mech Eng. Dance in evening at Regent St Polytechnic. Date tomorrow with Betty.

DECEMBER 1942
29 Tuesday
Saw Betty. Went to Balham saw Walt Disney’s “Bambi”. Letter from Mickey.
Looks like being an interesting course — in the evenings!

30 Wednesday
Another boring day in Laboratory. Went to YMCA for a shave in HOT water, then on to Salvation Army place in Guildford St — good place.

31 Thursday
New Years Eve. Little or no work done in Laboratory. Theory was an excuse to sleep ready for a late night.
Went to Regent St Polytechnic with Betty, Dave, Joe, Wally. Went out to “Cock Tavern” and celebrated on Scotch Ale. Later on went to Piccadilly Circus and at midnight was on the Yank Station. Crawled into the billet at 2 o/c. Was not caught . Wonder where we’ll be this time next year.

JANUARY 1943
1 Friday
Went to S.A. Russell Sq. and met Sandy there. Had the now famous steak and chip supper. Still learning nothing new about Radio!

2 Saturday
Weekend pass. Went to Leicester Sq. with Betty, saw “Geo Washington slept here”. Very good. Got home by taxi about 2 o/c

3 Sunday
Was home, and slept until 2 o/c! Dorothy and John came to see me. In the evening went for a walk with Betty. Quite a nice evening! P.T. tomorrow — wince!.

4 Monday
Saw Betty and went to Odeon. Saw “Pied Piper”. Very good film. To our disgust we had the old PT Instructor back. The swine! Radio course is a farce!

JANUARY 1943
5 Tuesday—
“Scrubber” got nasty and now we have extra pickets to do! Was on guard — caught smoking — so charged. Read Kitty Foyle. Letters from Betty and Mickey.

6 Wednesday—
Wrote to Mickey, telling her it was no use continuing seriously . Another letter from Betty. Saw Betty in evening and went to “flicks” seeing “King Arthur was a Gentleman”. Awful film. Phoned up Mother. Broke again, pay parade just in time!

7 Thursday—
Bought “Foundations of Wireless”. Received membership card from Queensbury Club. Went to flicks and saw “A Yank at Eton”. Pretty poor film.

8 Friday—
Practical dem. of Blocking Osc at Theory period, had use of logs and 2 during maths. Learnt something for a change! Letter from Ken at Grimsby. Final letter from Mickey! Saw Betty in evening.

9 Saturday
Went to see “Rookies” at Leicester Sq Theatre with Dave. Met a chap named Mike O’Callaghan. Amusing chap. Got his Tel. No. On guard tomorrow!

10 Sunday—
Heard that Tom Melling was at Wandsworth. Got a great scheme for bringing Tom, Ida, Betty, Vera, Dave and Mike together at Stormont Road on Tuesday.

11 Monday—
Went to “Majestic” at Clapham with Bettie. Saw “Big Street”, pretty poor film. Got back my autograph book. Phoned Mike and Mother. Letters from Sturge and Deborah.

JANUARY 1943
12 Tuesday—
Went to Stormont Road, Clapham, with Dave, Joe and Gary. Met Vera and Gladys again. Tom and Ida did not turn up. Left message asking them to be there on Thursday.

13 Wednesday
Went to Balham with Betty saw Noel Coward’s “In Which We Serve”, a really grand film. Wrote to Deborah. Jock and Mac put something in my autograph book. Was told I was more than £2 in credit, which is good news, but suspicious, as I was about £3 in debt when I came here. I won’t quibble however! Started on Cathode Follower in Theory!?

14 Thursday—
Went to “Stormont” and saw Tom and Ida, first time I’d seen Tom for a year, and Ida for seven months. We covered our activities during 1942 in odd snatches between dances. No letters.

15 Friday—
Started our “Mid Term Break”, it consists of three days. In the afternoon during theory, we started on a crossword puzzle and Radio simply never entered into the question!

16 Saturday—
Spent the afternoon wandering around Charing Cross Road trying to stop myself buying books. I succeeded! Saw Betty in the evening.
(4 times!)

17 Sunday—
Didn’t feel so well, so just lazed around and went to bed early. Was kept awake most of night by terrific gun barrage. Jerry was over as a reprisal for our raiding Berlin last night.

18 Monday—
Saw a grand film, “My Sister Eileen” starring Rosalind Russell. Another air raid alert but nothing happened. People were obviously expecting an air raid the Underground was crowded. Yanks don’t like air raids!

JANUARY 1943
19 Tuesday—
Expt. In Lab. on Squezzing Oscillator. Went to Stormont in evening with Dave. Met Tom who gave me my autograph book back. He managed to get Eddie Bamborough’s autograph.

20 Wednesday—
Another air raid midday. Jerry bombed a school killing 34 children, 26 kids are still trapped. 4 Radio Mechs killed at Lewisham. Tubes are crowded once again just like the London blitzes of 1940.
In the evening saw Betty, who looked pretty tired having been up two nights on duty in air raids. I hope Joan is OK.
Saw two pretty good films, “Date With An Angel” and “Sin Town”. Newspapers were of Russian victories again.

21 Thursday—
Again to the flicks, this time with Sandi. Saw two awful films, top film being “Somewhere I’ll find you”. Theory is becoming increasingly boring — its crosswords for me now not Radio!.

22 Friday—
“Flicks” again! Saw Betty and went and saw “The Major and the Minor”. This film was very good. Maxie and Maurice turned up amongst new chaps. Started Boxing Gym this morning.

23 Saturday—
Spent day with Dave and Sandi. AFT: Went over Houses of Parliament. EVE: Comedy Theatre. Saw play called “Murder Without Crime”. Very good. Finished up dancing at Queensbury Club. Very interesting and enjoyable day.

24 Sunday—
Went home in morning. Couldn’t get to Queensbury Club by 4.15 because of fog, so missed Dave and Sandi. Went into club with Bolton and Win, his girl friend. Saw broadcast of Geraldo, followed by a film. Finished up at the Gordon Club (WVS) Victoria.

JANUARY 1943
25 Monday—
Met two girls, Paula and Eileen, during afternoon break at College. In the evening met Betty and went to Odeon at Clapham and saw Diana Barrymore in “Nightmare”. A good film. More American, 8th Army and Russian victories.

26 Tuesday—
Walked, via Waterloo Bridge, to British Columbia Club, with Maxie and Sandi. Walked from there to Queensbury Club, too crowded there, so we went into the “Tartan Dive” of the “SUSSEX” a Youngers pub just off Leicester Sq. Back by tube from C.G.

27 Wednesday—
Was caught in bed after Reveille, fatigues in the evening resulted! Had a letter from Ken in Egypt, his brother is wounded, must visit his wife whilst I’m in London. Main item of news is that Churchill met Roosevelt in Monaco. End of the war in sight? Decided to apply for R.A. commission when I return to New Holland.
In evening after fatigues, Dave and I visited the “George Inn” near London Bridge, an historic pub frequented by Charles Dickens.

28 Thursday—
Saw Betty and went to the Curzon Mayfair to hear a performance of the Middx Regt. Band. A violin solo of “Intermezzo” was good, rest was poor. From there to Queensbury Club. Told Betty I couldn’t see her again.

29 Friday—
Went out with Sandi, Dave, Maurice and Maxie, first to the “Clarence”, then on to the N.F.S. dance in Southwark Bridge Road. The only interesting part of the dance was obtaining a date with a girl named Bobby for next Tuesday.

JANUARY 1943
30 Saturday—
With Maurice to central YMCA, from the L.Sq Theatre and saw “ARABIAN NIGHTS”. Very good film. From there to a hamburger meal at B.C. Club, from there to Queensbury Club where I met Diana and made a date for tomorrow at the Queensbury Club..

31 Sunday—
Went home in morning, had airgraph from Jim Kilpatrick. Missed Diana at Queensbury Club, so went in alone and saw Jack Payne and his band. From there to Covent Garden, where I met Stan Turner and finally found Diana and friend Joyce. Quite a good evening. Date Tuesday. Letter from Dorothy.

FEBRUARY 1943
1 Monday—
Dave was taken into hospital, probably with flu. In the evening went to Trocadero with Sandi and saw “Wake Island” a pretty realistic film, rather spoilt by too much Yankee ballyhoo. Feel pretty rotten, might report sick tomorrow.

2 Tuesday—
Met Diana at Sloane Sq. and went to the Gaumont, Chelsea. Diana goes on leave tomorrow, made arrangement to ring her up when she comes back Monday week. After leaving Diana went to Stephens Club, Westminster. Got a hell of a stiff neck!

3 Wednesday—
Went to Gordon’s Club and met a red-headed South African WAAF named Denyse — with a “y”! Made a date for Friday. The dance wasn’t bad but floor space was limited. Had a letter from Joan saying she’d fixed up with Foyles about my books. Good work! Wrote to Dorothy. Joe and Wally Brown contributed to my autograph book. News of the week: Stalingrad taken by Russians: Churchill in Turkey. U-boats still a menace for ships crossing Atlantic.

FEBRUARY 1943
4 Thursday—
Was on guard at the billet. Read “Mr Norris Changes Trains” by Christopher Isherwood, a mediocre story of pre-war Berlin. Everybody talking of their post war plans as though the war is finished, me included!

5 Friday—
Denyse had to go to Scotland on a driving job, so I went to the YWCA for the dance. Saw Charles, Maxie, Maurice and Joe there. Maxie and I met two ATS girls named Joan and Olwyn. Joan works at the War Office, comes from Sheffield. Made a date for Tuesday, Hyde Pk Cnr 7o/c with Joan.

6 Saturday—
Weekend pass. Dined at Gordons Club with Maxie and Maurice. To Victoria Cinema to see Judy Garland in “Me and my Gal”. In evening went dancing at Seymour Hall, Baker St. Then straight home. Dave came out of hospital.

7 Sunday—
Met Dave, Maxie and Maurice at Queensbury Club. Saw Rawicz and Landauer play “Warsaw Concerto”, also Pat Kirkwood, Geo. Formby, Jack Warner, Hal Monty, Gwen Catley, Geraldo, Maisie Weldon, Carol Gibbons. Smashing show. Finished up at Russell Sq. Canteen.

8 Monday
Phoned Denyse. Went with Dave and Maurice to E&C. ABC to see Errol Flynn in “Desperate Journey”, an impossible film, but quite entertaining. Finished up having supper in the YMCA on Waterloo Stn. Letter from Tom Melling.

9 Tuesday
Phoned Denyse and home. Air raid sirens early morning, another school bombed. In the evening met Joan at Hyde Pk Corner, walked to B.C. Club, then to Queensbuury Club, where we met Ted Fielding and Audrey, his sister in the WRENS, and Sid Bolton and Alvina his girl.

FEBRUARY 1943
10 Wednesday
To Gordon’s Club with Sandi, Dave, Bolton and Fielding, had a really good meal, then went upstairs to the dance. Denyse wasn’t there, her Corporal told me she was on another three day drive. Air raid sirens around tea time. Question asked in the House by Emmanuel Shinwell about food supplies, Churchill’s answer was that we are now drawing on our emergency supplies. Apparently this U-boat menace is indeed a menace!

11 Thursday
Dined at Gordon’s Club with Maxie. Maxie and I met Joan and Olwyn at Victoria and went to the dance at Streatham Locano. Quite a good dance hall, but much overrated. Joan’s a nice kid, seeing her again tomorrow. Wrote to Tom.

12 Friday
Letter - 15/- from Foyles. Answered mail. In evening met Joan and went to British Columbia Club, from there we walked to Queensbury Club. Saw Bolton and Winifred there. Dave, Maxie and Maurice were also there. Seeing Joan again Tuesday.

13 Saturday
Dined with Maxie and Maurice at Gordon’s Club. Met Sandi & Dave in the Strand and went with Sandi to Wyndham’s so see the play “Quiet Weekend”. Marjorie Fielding was excellent. Finished up in the canteen in the Crypt of St Martins.

14 Sunday
Dined at Gordon’s Club with Sandi. Met Dave, Maxie and Maurice at Queensbury Club. Show was compered by Helen Drew, Paramount Film Star. She’s great! Geraldo and his band were there as usual and several big stars. Show followed by “Who Done It” with Abbott and Costello. Very funny. Supper at St Martins.

FEBRUARY 1943
15 Monday
Phoned Joan. Went with Dave and Sandi to Union Jack Club in a frantic effort to swot up 10 weeks work in ten minutes, because of our final Exam tomorrow. Studied 10 minutes, then fell asleep reading short stories!

16 Tuesday
Went with Sandi to see “Thunder Rock” starring Michael Redgrave. A finely acted film, which leaves something to think about. People in the Elephant & Castle obviously didn’t understand it, and so chatted throughout the film. Went to Waterloo YMCA for supper.

17 Wednesday
Went to Gordon’s Club with Maxie. Met Joan and Olwyn at Victoria and went to the dance at Rochester Hall, Bayswater. Prizes for fancy dress — has this war really been on 5 years!?
Heard results of the final examination taken yesterday. Ouch! I certainly paid for my 10 weeks of painting the town red. But it was worth it. Starting on 14 days leave tomorrow, during which I’m going to live every minute as I expect to go abroad.

18 Thursday
Arrived home in temper after carting my kit through London and accidentally hitting 90% of the population with my steel helmet! Spent a restful day reading “The Barber of Putney” by Beachcomber and “The Bride wore black” by John Drummond.

19 Friday
Spent afternoon in Charing X Road, firstly buying “Mrs Miniver”. Met Joan at Hyde Pk. Corner, went to B.C. Club where we met Maxie, Maurice and Oliver. From there to Queensbury Club. Came home by way of Liverpool where I went to YMCA for supper.

20 Saturday
Dined at Gordon’s Club with Maxie, Maurice and Oliver. Went with them to Metropole and saw “Happy Go Lucky”. In evening went with sister Joan, Ron and his family to a dance at Winchmore Hill. Bought book by H.G. Wells. Wrote to Ken and Dorothy.
FEBRUARY 1943
21 Sunday
Met Joan at Victoria. Dined at Gordon’s Club. Went to Broadcast show at Queensbury. This was followed by a better show by the Pioneer Band. Explained the “Mr Hyde side of my personality” to Joan who seemed rather shaken. Nicely though!

22 Monday
Visited Elsie, Ken’s wife, and took her to his mothers. Saw Albert who is now a Cpl in RAF, Peggy and Derek, now young man and woman, how time flies! Wrote off to Ken and told him of evening. Bought “How green was my Valley”.

23 Tuesday
Joan’s birthday. Went with her, Mother and Ron to Wood Green Empire and saw “The Gestapo” a show. Ernie Lotinga is not funny! Sorted out Joyce’s letters for salvage, they make interesting reading — now!

24 Wednesday
Dined at Gordons Cub, met Denyse who has injured her arm. Met Maxie, Joan and Olwyn at Victoria and went to Streatheam Locarno. Edhibition dance by Alex Moore and Pat Kirkpatrick. Supper at St Peter’s, Victoria. Goodbye Joan!
God knows what New Holland or at the best Grimsby will seem like after this course and leave. I shall apply for an RA Commission, volunteer to go abroad, all at once when I get back, if only to keep things moving!

25 Thursday
Met Denyse at St James Park. Went to Gordons Club, from there to Tott. Ct. Rd to see “Squadron Leader X! a fine film with Eric Portman. Afterward went to Gordon’s Club for evening. Deny is rather an interesting conversationalist.

FEBRUARY 1943
26 Friday
Met Albert at B.C. Club, went dancing at Paramount, Tea at American Eagle Club. In evening went with Albert and his family to dance at Hornsey Town Hall, Met Babs, a friend of Peggy’s. Made a date for tomorrow. Slept night at Mrs Guryones.

27 Saturday
Met Babs at Wood Green. Went and saw “Nine Men” a really great film. Babs is only 16, but 16 with a difference! Good luck the girls of 16 didn’t know damn-all when I was 16, a matter of 6 years ago!!

28 Sunday
Gran and Grandad came in morning. Joan was ill. Made a few bargains selling old books and pre-war stories. Read “Winter of Discontent” by Gilbert Fontane. In evening went down to see Mother at B.O.

This story was submitted to the Peoples War web site by Hertfordshire Libraries working in partnership with the Dacorum Heritage Trust on behalf of the author, John Greener. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was born (1st June 1937) and grew up in Edgware, Middlesex (Queensbury, to be precise). Our address was 7 Millais Gardens, Mollison Way, Edgware. Edgware was right on the edge of London then - a sizeable sprawl of the mid-thirties house building explosion. Miles of, mostly terraced (Bauerhaus influenced) , wide windowed houses occupied by respectable upper working class families with aspirations. I think that most were quite happy in their brand new easy-to-run houses in the leafy suburbs - and then came the War.

My childhood memories consist mostly of always going to sleep with searchlights continously passing across the wall and the distant sound of bombs dropping and gun fire. During the day barrage balloons all across the sky and how nice and cosy and almost homely they looked. Air raid sirens and the feeling of dread they produced in your stomach. Of course, the legendary air raid wardens yelling “Put that light out” which infuriated my mother and she used to have angry rows with him. Funny green tape criss-crossed on the windows of underground trains (it was still there in the mid-50s). Air raid practise at school - this consisted of crouching under wash-hand basins until it all went away.My mother found out we were sheltering under these basins at the teacher’s direction and every time the air raid warning went off, she used to run round to the school and take me home.

I grew up in an extended family of extrovert and batty people - I was the only child in a family of eight of us - my sister was twelve when I was born so was almost grown-up. We had two adjoining mid-terrace houses - my Mum and Dad, my sister and I in one house and my mother’s two sisters and their husbands in the house next door. The women had bitter arguments and there was always one sister who was not speaking to another sister but they all had very strong loyalty to each other, bonded together by the horrors of growing up in the Camden Town slums at the beginning of the twentieth century. They all idolised me and whenever one of them found a treat in the shops - either over or under the counter - it would come my way.

When the air raid siren sounded we went en masse to the shelter in the street which was very damp and always flooded but Mum and her sisters decided that it wasn’t very healthy in there and the neighbours were doing unmentionable things to each other which they didn’t want me to see. Therefore we had three Morrison shelters - one for each family. I suppose by then it must have been about 1942.

My sister was eighteen in 1943 and was “called up”. She had the choice of going into the ATS, training to become a nurse or becoming a bus conductress or working in a factory. She chose to join the ATS. She hated the idea of being a nurse or going into a factory and Dad said he wouldn’t allow her to be a bus conductress because they were all tarts (he drove a no. 13 bus!) So then there were just Mum and Dad and I and the cat to sleep in the Morrison shelter.

One night (I think perhaps in the Autumn of 1944) the air-raid siren sounded and we moved into the Morrison to sleep. We were fast asleep in the middle of the night when there was a terrible red flash and flames racing up the wall and I screamed “Mum, we’re on fire”. Immediately after the flash came the noise of the doodle-bug crashing into a house round the corner. It has always seemed as if the reflected flash of the fire came first and then the sound of the bomb. I think Dad must have called out “Is everybody allright” . My mother was screaming hysterically. I was crying because the cat wouldn’t come in that night and I was convinced he must have been killed in all the devastation that seemed to be going on outside. We were right under the window and all the glass from these wonderful wall-to-wall curved Bauerhaus windows blew in. A big lump was chipped out of the piano.

My Dad said “If I have to put up that bloody front door any more I will go mad”. Uncle Ern next door rushed out to see if everyone was allright and cut his bare feet to ribbons on all the glass on the floor. Then there was the sound of fire engines and water hoses and the fire seemed to be all round us. A man kept running up and down the street screaming “My wife is dead. My wife is dead”. I don’t remember any more about that night but I found our cat Sandy hiding in the garden the next morning quite unharmed. That day or maybe several days afterwards I can remember standing in the pouring rain holding the hand of one of my uncles and looking up at our two roofs with all the tiles missing. Some Irishmen were scrambling about trying to fix tarpaulins on the roof and I can remember asking “Will it be allright” and the uncle said “Oh yes I’m sure it will be quite soon now”.

My Dad drove a no.13 bus from Hendon, through Oxford Street and Piccadilly Circus and across (I think) Waterloo Bridge. He used to come home covered in soot from all the fires he had driven through and once stopped just before a huge bomb crater somewhere.

One night I couldn’t sleep. It must have been deep in the winter because I can remember feeling desperately cold. My dad was in the bathroom having a bath and when I heard the door open I called out “Dad, I can’t sleep. I’m so cold”. Dad’s hair was sticking up in spikes (like a punk) from being washed. He said that when he was in the trenches he used to wrap the blanket right round the back of his neck and tuck it in tight. I still do that now with a duvet and it does work.

My dad and Uncle Ern and Uncle Fred used to go fire watching in the flats across the road. They used to sit there all night playing cards and smoking and drinking brown ales. One night they must have all fallen asleep and one of them must have left a cigarette still burning - it set the flat alight and they had to run round to the ‘phone box and call for a fire engine!

My sister who was a good looking girl, came home on leave from time to time with various boyfriends who were in the Services. She also had several American boyfriends but they always seemed to be killed in Europe. She was also engaged to a boy called Frank Ritchie who was serving in the Navy - she used to work with him in a butcher’s shop in Burnt Oak before the war - I think he was the owner’s son. He was killed the day after the war finished. He was in a jeep with a gang of American soldiers - I guess they were celebrating the end of the war. The jeep crashed and he was killed. My sister was devastated and I don’t think she ever really got over it.

Uncle Ern’s sister Gwen was going up to Glasgow to join her sister. My mother was having a sort of nervous breakdown - it’s her nerves they used to say. They all decided I should go up to Glasgow to be away from the bombs and to give Mum a break. We had a nightmarish train journey up there. The train was tightly packed and I think we had to sit on our suitcases for the whole twelve hours it took to get there. The lights kept going out and the train kept stopping while the bombs were dropping. One of the soldiers on the train kept bringing us cups of tea.

I can remember when we got to Gwen’s sister’s house (the sisters had six children between them) she pointed to the Morrison shelter which was full of kids and said “You’ll have to sleep on the top. You can see there’s no more room in there!” I decided I wasn’t going to like it there. Then they made me take cod liver oil before I went to bed and also to drink Ovaltine made with water - Mum always made it with milk at home. So I thought I don’t like it here. I’m going to make such a pest of myself that they’ll send me home. So I kept crying and saying I was homesick and wanted to go home. I used to listen to them talking when I was supposed to be in bed and very soon they were saying “We’ll have to send her home. She’s a horrible child”.

I was there for a month so I did quite well really. I had a great time playing with the children though. I think I did the journey home on my own and the whole family was there (apart from Dad, who was driving his bus, I expect). I had in a month acquired a very strong Glaswegian accent and my mother burst into tears and said she couldn’t understand a word I said.

We used to have wonderful Christmasses. Somehow, between them all they used to produce some wonderful food and lots of drink, despite wartime privations. We always used to have a chicken - a real once a year luxury then. The men always used to do a “turn” for Christmas night - once they each had a sand covered tray which they danced on, doing what they imagined were Egyptian type gestures, copying a comic music hall team whose name I have forgotten. They also loved dressing in drag and larking about. It was their proud boast that we were always the last people to still be celebrating in the whole street and we used to take great delight in doing the conger down the street and all singing very loudly just to wake the neighbours.

When I was a bit older my sister and I rehearsed some duets ( the only song I can remember now is “Sentimental Journey” - I did the descant, I think) to sing at the family Christmas party. During all of this Aunty Vi would sit in the corner, occasionally sipping a small sherry, looking very disapproving, and knitting furiously!

We were always quite hungry - there just wasn’t enough food in the shops most of the time. I think it was during the war that my mother brought home some whale meat. She didn’t know what to do with it so I think she just fried it. It was quite disgusting. Like eating very dense, very fishy liver.
Early in the war Mum and Dad decided to keep chickens. I regarded them as my best friends and used to sit in the hen house talking to them for hours. My favourite one was always pecking me. The smell of potato peelings stewing for hours was quite horrible but we did get fresh eggs - worth their weight in gold then, although they always seemed to be going broody and we had to leave a china egg in the broody one’s nest, which was supposed to encourage it to lay. When one of them got too old to bother any more, Mum used to keep nagging my Dad to ring its neck which he hated because they kept running round the garden even though they were dead.

One day, amazingly, a duck flew into the garden. I fell in love with it immediately and christened it Donald, of course. On my birthday we had a special meal with this rather strange meat . I remember thinking that it was Donald but that I’d eat it anyway and then look for him in the hen house and if he wasn’t there, I’d make a big fuss and cry a lot to show how upset I was.

I can remember going to the Victory celebrations and being carried high above everybody else on Uncle Fred’s (he was quite tall) shoulders.

That’s about it. My Dad and my uncles died many years ago. My mother died aged 95 living in an almshouse in the Hertfordshire village where I now live. My two aunts are still alive and living in care homes in Clacton-on-Sea - they are now 99 and 97.

My father left school in the summer 1939 and went up to university. When war was declared,he joined up and went into the RAF. He was selected to go into flying duties and was sent,to complete his flying training,to an airfield in Texas called Tyrel. This is a small town east of Dallas Fort Worth. In those days it was really out of the way.

One has to remember that the USA was not yet in the war at this time,so to the pacifists of the time to have the light blue uniform of the RAF in their country would not have been at all popular.

My father said that there were hard times as well as good times. There was not only the fun of learning to fly in lovely weather,you had lots of classroom learning to complete. Every week there was an examination. Fail; and you were out and sent back home.

One has to remember that back home in Harrow,rationing was in place and everyday items were either not available,in short supply or rationed. In the USA, nothing was in short supply. Meat,no problem. Fruit,as much as you want. Clothes,what ever you fancy. I can remember my father saying that they used to have BBQ's most weekends. Large steaks,salads,ice cream and lots of beer! Food only to dream of back home.

Because the were in the RAF,they got paid their usual salary. This was topped up with an 'overseas allowance'. This was to cover the extra expence in living overseas. However they lived in barracks on the airfield and were treated 'royally' by the local population. They were treated as a member of the family and no expence spared.

So as you can imagine, at the end of the month,the airmen managed to save quite a lot of their salary.

So what did they do....go into town and purchase for the family back home,items that were unavailable in Britain.

We now move to Harrow in North London. The postman arrives at the door,with a note to say that you have a parcel to collect from the post office. You go down to the Post office in anticipation and excitement.

You collect the parcel and carry it home full of excitement. Once opened,you find that it is full of tins of fruit,chocolate,nylon stockings,tinned butter,tinned meat. For those days, 'mana from heaven'.

The next month,the postman comes again and tells you that there is a parcel to collect. Whilst there is a sense of excitement,you are not quite so quick in collecting the parcel,though the contents make you a favourite of your street.

Come the third month,the fourth month and fifth month and so on, you dread to hear the postman. You want to hide from him, in spite of the goodies inside the parcel.

The reason being,that in spite of the goodies inside and the ability to increase the amount of your food and other rations..

You had to pay a very large amount of duty on goods being imported!! It was breaking the household weekly budget....

Even in war, you cannot escape the taxman.

Each school morning we started the day with a religious service fifteen minutes long, called ‘assembly’, at which the headmaster officiated.He had recently taken holy orders in the Anglican Church in preparation for a second career as vicar after his impending retirement.It was generally a lot of fun with uninhibited singing of rousing and inspiring hymns. Those boys whose voices had not yet broken formed a choir that was chosen to sing one or more verses on their own.Before dismissing us the headmaster would make any announcements. On one memorable day, he waved a note received from a resident of a neighbouring house. The resident wrote that he appreciated he would have to put up with the occasional unseemly noise from the school but “a nigger minstrel show at two in the morning” was too much. The miscreants apparently could not be apprehended so we all got the lecture for that one.At least our firewatchers had been awake. I should point out that the “nigger minstrel” show was a popular singing event on radio at the time by the BBC’s men’s chorus.They would sing songs from the southern U.S. and elsewhere accompanied by banjos, etc.With the advent of television the chorus dressed up in the striped jackets and white trousers and blackened their faces.To put more visual appeal, there was a troop of white ladies in tights who performed dances.With the advent of “political correctness”, this popular show was eventually renamed “The Black and White Minstrel Show”.

During the spring of 1944, the radio news began reporting a succession of “explosions of gas mains in the South East of London”. The explanation offered was that there had been no maintenance during the war and the pipes had deteriorated.In fact, the explosions resulted from the landings of the first V2 rockets.

It was learned later that aborted take-offs of these rockets killed as many people at the delivery end as the successfully launched ones did at our end.The V2 was my first exposure to supersonics.You would hear the explosion before anything else and then the noise of the rocket coming.They were really not very effective.So many blew up on take off while others would explode in the air on re-entry.

At noon hour one day, I was walking along a road in Harrow when one of these rockets exploded far above the ground both above and in front of me so I had a grand opportunity to pick up souvenirs from the bits that fell down onto the road. Surprisingly, I saw nobody get hurt.It never occurred to me that people might get hurt by the falling fragments, some half a metre in length, that were clanging to the ground all around me.

By now I had become a cadet in the school’s Air Training Corps that met every Sunday morning as well as after classes one or two evenings during the week.Some of the masters served as officers and others as instructors.We studied aircraft recognition, Morse code, drill etc., in preparation for joining up when we became eighteen.The organization was really a pool for aircrew training.At least being in the ATC gave you entry into the Air Force which was generally regarded as better than the army and excused you the first six weeks of basic training. Nobody gave much thought to training for a job in civilian life. The ATC was nationwide and even had its own radio programme on Saturday mornings with a rousing theme song “We’re the sons of the lords of the air, the ATC” We were given tickets to attend a broadcast and I joined a group that went to London for the occasion. Instead of the young, manly types we had envisaged singing our theme song we were shocked to find a row of tubby, elderly men! This was only reasonable as all the young singers would have been in the services.We were taken to aerodromes for experience flights and to camps in the spring.It was all fun and we got to see a lot.

On one memorable Sunday morning, our group of cadets was addressed by an old boy from the school, probably no more than five years older than the youngest among us, who had been a member of the crew of a bomber shot down over France.With some of his crew, he had, with the aid of the French Resistance, managed to escape to neutral Spain without being captured.It was an enthralling story and well told.One of the crew was captured when he rode a stolen bicycle into a village in broad daylight while still wearing his British uniform. Our hero kept a lower posture until found by the resistance people.

Incredibly the whole crew, except for the cyclist, travelled together in French clothes to the Spanish frontier by train. Our hero spoke enough French that he was allowed to speak when addressed but if asked where he was from he was to account for his strange accent by telling the Germans he was a Flemish speaking Belgian. An American among the escapees was not to speak on any account but was obliged to say something when he accidentally trod on the toes of a fellow passenger.His tortured rendering of “pardonnez moi” elicited the reply of “that’s alright old chap” in English from the apparent Frenchman he had offended.It turned out two independent groups of the Resistance movement had put Allied Pilots on the same train without knowledge of each other!
One of the greatest attractions of the ATC was to go to Bovingdon for the day, generally on a Sunday.This was an American air force base about one hour away by truck.We would sometimes be taken there for flights, and were always given American food cafeteria-style attended by black men, the first I had ever encountered.One such occasion was the first time I ever ate corn. We would sit and look at the food on our plates wondering what some of it was. Dessert would be canned fruit,a luxury none of us had seen in years.

What the attractions were in the experience flights I cannot now understand because many of us would be airsick into a bucket that was passed up and down the aisle as need dictated. There were none of the discrete little envelopes seen today for use by the ailing traveller, paper was too scarce for such niceties to be manufactured.I don’t think we even wore seat belts as I remember one friend lying prostrate on the floor of the plane calling to God to bring us all down quickly.
The planes we flew in from our local RAF base at Northolt were mostly old twin-engined biplanes no doubt very nostalgic to some but not my choice for comfort.The Americans gave flights in Dakotas but I was never lucky enough to get one.We all kept logs of our flights with the registration numbers of the planes, the minutes we had flown and an officer’s signature.Most of the flights were for twenty minutes or so. The big thing was to be able to brag about how many hours flying you had.Flying was still very much a novelty to the average person.I don’t recall ever meeting anyone who had flown before 1939 and I was certainly the first among my family to fly.

ATC camps were a lot of fun and good replacements for the regular holidays that we missed.I attended two such camps both for one week.One was at a Wellington bomber station in the Midlands and the other a naval Fleet air Arm station on the northern coast of Cornwall where Swordfish biplanes training for torpedo attacks were stationed.

We got more experience flights at each and for the first time I was not sick! Great amusement was caused at the Naval Station where we were required to sleep in hammocks.At the bomber station we were impressed by the Commanding Officer who sported a classic wide moustache and all the language affected by many aircrew of the time.He gave us an explanation of how radar worked which made us feel we had been given secret information.I think everyone by that time knew what radar did but nobody talked about how it worked.
Troops from all over the world were by now a common sight.Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before France was invaded. Our classroom was on the upper floor of the school.We heard marching feet on the road outside.Our French master always an extrovert, threw open the window to waive with one arm at a column of troops from New Zealand while he encouraged us in the singing of the Marseilles with the other.Before the end of the first line we were all at the windows singing and waiving too.How he got us all to settle down afterwards I do not recall.
D-Day, the appointed time for the landing in France came on June 6th, 1944.The landing had been delayed several days by bad weather but we knew nothing of this. All we knew on the appointed day was learned from a brief statement on the morning news that Winston Churchill,the Prime Minister,would broadcast an important announcement at one o’clock. Those of us considered old enough to behave and to be interested in what was happening, were allowed into the chemistry laboratory where there was an ancient radio (even by standards of the time),at the appointed time during lunch hour,along with many of the staff, to hear what was going to be said.The announcement of course was that several landings had been successfully accomplished early that morning.It turned out later that Churchill insisted on doing this job himself whether the landings were a success or not.

It was by no means certain that the landings would be successful. Not only was the weather uncertain but several trial raids and landings had not all gone well. One raid by the Canadians at Dieppe is still remembered as one that went tragically wrong when it was discovered after the landing that the movement of the troops on the beach was impeded by the very coarse pebbles on the beach. The soldiers could barely stand.This time there were several landings, and all more or less accomplished their objectives. The German command had suspected landings would be made during these summer months but had guessed the wrong beaches to defend. Selection of the beaches on which to attempt landings was not made lightly.
It was essential that the beaches be of the right composition to support tanks.A public appeal was made for photographs taken by the public during beach holidays in France. The army also engaged a geologist who was skilled in the science of soil technology. He would be landed on a beach of interest with a small group of commandos.While the commandos created a diversion, the geologist would conduct whatever sampling and testing he could. For the convenience of the moment the geologist was made a colonel,however he refused to shave off his beard as required by Army Regulations and had to be given a special dispensation from the War Office.
Bombing was thought to be the way to get the Germans to give in.The fact that bombing had only strengthened morale in Britain was overlooked.“The Germans are different and do not have our moral fibre” was an indication of the misguided thought pattern of the time.The U.S. planes were far better armoured and equipped with more machine guns to battle enemy fighters than the British planes were. While being so much better protected they could not carry the weight of bombs the British planes could.These differences between the aircraft of the two nations lead to the Americans bombing by day and the British by night. By the end of the hostilities, the British were mounting 1000 bomber raids with some planes carrying “blockbusters” weighing 12,000 pounds each. We could only hear these planes passing overhead at night on their way out and back. Specially equipped “pathfinder” aircraft equipped with special navigational aids led the main force of bombers to their targets. Pilots of these aircraft wore distinctive insignia and were heroes of schoolboys everywhere.
The American planes we could see. They would pass over in great clouds composed of groups of twelve each made up of four clover leaf patterns each consisting of three planes. On their return the planes would keep in the original pattern but there were often spaces left where planes had been lost in action. Great holes were visible in the wings and tails of others. We were amazed how some of them kept in the air let alone stayed in formation. Occasionally we would see a flight of fighter aircraft flown by French pilots. These could be easily distinguished by the custom of arranging the aircraft in the pattern of the cross of Lorraine. This pattern was adopted as a morale booster for the French who it was thought would be pleased to know that their own kind were flying overhead.

The outcomes of the battles that raged back and forth over France and the Low countries were not always in our favour but the progress of the front eastward was something we all watched keenly. Eventually the first troops were into Germany and reports of the conditions found in concentration camps filtered back. Several boys a couple of years my senior had chosen to attend medical school before joining the army. (University courses during the war were run on a system of four terms per year so a three-year degree was completed in only two). The medical schools were cleared out and all the students sent to the concentration camps to administer care. The boys I knew spent their entire time injecting people against typhus and cholera. After several weeks they returned to their studies. They appeared quite nonchalant about the experience.

Once the allied troops were in Germany, air raids of all kinds came to an abrupt end and at school,we were allowed to eat the iron rations we had stored in our desks for the five war years. Mine consisted of chocolate rye vita crisp bread of a variety long since gone from the shops. Everyone had much the same and I can remember us all eating whatever we had with great relish. Mine would not have sustained me for long. Like my friends,we were at an age when boys can never get enough to eat. We would slip out of school after lunch to buy a small loaf of bread or a fruit pie to eat before afternoon classes began.

The other building we used was the Science Building of Harrow School.This is the very elite place where Winston Churchill went to school and is amongst the most expensive of its kind in England. We did all our chemistry and physics laboratory work there as well as took several classes. We also were invited to join “the Boys” for scientific demonstrations after school. The “Boys” generally seemed a stuck up lot but I could never decide whether this was true arrogance on their part or whether a school rule forbade them from talking to outsiders.

The war years with their lack of distractions were ones of considerable scholastic achievement at the school I attended. We did not have the money to go to the cinema more than about once a month, there were few dances held, the street lights went off at ten thirty to save power, and so on. On weeknights there was really nothing else to do but go home listen to a bit of radio and do homework.
The war in Europe seemed to just taper off in the end as there was no formal surrender. The enemy was simply over-run. Other enemy countries such as Italy had quit earlier and were now on our side. Whatever happened to erstwhile enemies such as Romania, Bulgaria and Hungary never seemed to make headlines. They just faded away!

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