Bombs dropped in the ward of: West Ham

The attached Police Report was obtained from the London Fire Brigade records with their permission. No action was taken of the rescue. It was considered to be the thing to do as a professional fireman.

COPY Police Office,
Royal Albert Dock.
10th March 1941
To — The Chief Police Officer.

Sir,
IMMERSION — M.Korn
I beg to report that on the 9th March 1941 at about 8.30p.m. at No. 1 Warehouse, Royal Victoria Dock, Morris Korn, age 33, an A.F.S.Fireman No.2888 West Ham Fire Brigade, attached to No.23 Fire Station near Vernons Gate, was about to step on to the barge “FROME” to assist in extinguishing a fire caused by an incendiary bomb, when he missed his footing and fell into the dock water between the barge and the quay. Fireman Frappell who was on the barge heard a splash, and on looking round, found that Korn was missing. He jumped back on to the quay, looked over the edge and saw Korn in the water. He shouted “Man overboard”, and, lying flat on the ground, reached down and held Korn’s hand. Fireman Fisher, who was in charge of the appliance on the quay lay down beside Frappell and held Korn’s other hand. Together, both men tried to pull him from the water but were unsuccessful. A rope was then lowered and Korn held on to this. Once agtain an attempt was made to pull him from the water but without success. By this time Korn was becoming exhausted and told the others that he could hold on no longer. Frappell then asked for a line to be tied round him. This was done by Fisher and he was lowered into the water beside Korn. Another lione was lowered and this was tied round Korn’s shoulders by Frappell. With Frappell pushing from below, and Fireman and P.L.A.Fire Spotters pulling from the quay Korn was hauled from the water.
Both men were taken to No.23 Fire Station, rubbed down and wrapped in blankets. Frappell had fully recovered by the following morning, but although Korn said that he was not too bad he still seems a little shaky. There were six barges moored at this spot, three to the end of the barge “Frome” end to end, and liable to move in the wind. Korn admitted to me that if Frappell had not entered the water and tied the line to him he would have gone under and probably drowned. The rope dropped into the water had slipped through his hands and had almost reached the end when the other line was secured round his shoulder. Frappell is rather a stout man; his age is 45, and the lines used were the life lines that Firemen carry as part of their equipment, not much thicker than cord.
The thinness of the lines made it difficult to pull the men from the water and certainly appeared a little frail to hold a man of Frappell’s bulk. The water was some feet below the quay edge. A N.N.Easterly wind was blowing at the time which might have blown the barges towards the quay and so jammed the men between barge and quay. Both Firemen were fully dressed and were wearing rubber boots; these filled with water and weighted the men down. There is little doubt that Frappell saved Korn’s life.
An intensive air raid was in progress, incendiary bombs had been dropped and there was every likelihood of H.Es following. So, although Frappell had the line round him, if the barges had moved towards the quay, or bombs dropped near causing Fisher to Release his hold on the line, he would have been in a precarious position.
He said he is a fair swimmer but has not been in the water for some years.
I respectfully suggest that the action of Frappell be brought to the notice of the West Ham Fire Brigade for the commendation he so richly deserves.

I give below statements taken by me.

MORRIS KORN AGE 33 A.F.S Fireman No. 2888, West Ham Fire
Brigade, attached to No.23 Station, states;-

“About 8.30pm 9th March 1941 I was taking a hose from the quayside of No.1 Shed, to a barge on which an incendiary bomb was burning, when I missed my footing and fell into the water between the barge and the quay. Then one of my mates leaned over the quay and held my hand, and tried to pull me out. He could not do this and lowered me a rope. I could not pull myself up the rope and became exhausted.
Fireman Frappell was lowered on a rope and assisted me to the quay. If he had not come to my help when he did I should have gone under again. I feel reasonably well this morning.”
sgd. M.Korn.

CHARLES FRAPPELL age 45, A Fireman No.122, West Ham Fire Brigade attached to No.23 Station states;-

“About 8.30p.m. 9th March 1941 I was standing on a barge (The “Frome” owned by Whitehairs) extinguishing an incendiary bomb when I heard a splash and on looking round found that Korn, who should have been following me on to the barge, had disappeared. I shouted “Help — man overboard”.
I jumped onto the quay and saw him come to the surface of the water between the barge and the quay. I lay on the quayside and put my hand over the edge and he grabbed it. Then Fireman Fisher came up and did the same as me. Each of us holding a hand. We tried to pull him out but were unsuccessful. He then said he could hold on no longer. I asked for a line to be put round me and was lowered into the water beside Korn. Then another line was lowered and I tied this under his arm and helped to push him up while the others pulled him out. I am a fair swimmer but have not been in the water for some years. I feel none the worse for the immersion”.
sgd. C.Frappell
CHARLES FISHER No.088. Fireman in charge No.23 Station, West Ham Fire Brigade states;-

“About 8.30p.m. 9th March 1941, I was in charge of the appliance attending the fire on the barge “Frome” at No.1. Shed, Royal Victoria Dock. I heard a shout of “man overboard” from Fireman Frappell and went to the quay edge and saw Frappell lying on his stomach holding the hand of Korn, who was in the water, between the barge and the quay. I also lay down and held Korn’s other hand and together we tried to pull him out. This we could not do and a rope was lowered to him. He held this and we made another attempt to pull him out, again we could not. Korn then said he could hold no longer and a line was tied round Frappell and he was lowered into the water beside him. Another line was lowered and this Frappell tied round Korn’s shoulder and with Frappell pushing and myself and other firemen together with some P.D.A. men who had arrived, we got Korn out. Both men were taken to this Station, given a rub down and wrapped in blankets. They were fully dressed in full uniform and rubber boots. In my opinion if Frappell had not gone in korn would have drowned.
Sgd. C.Fisher

A.H.Smith.
Inspector.

Sir,
The above Police report on a very praiseworthy act by a member of the West Ham Fire Brigade is forwarded with the suggestion that Frappell’s action be brought to the notice of the Chief Officer of his Brigade.
(signed) F.Hall.
Divisional Inspector.
10.3.41

One evening my friends and I were playing along the road with a ball. We noticed that several people had come out of their houses and were talking together, then some more came out. It was a lovely sunny day but it was very unusual as some were crying, others just talking.

We stopped playing and went to see what was happening, thinking someone might have died. As we drew near, one of the men could see we were uneasy and put his arms around us and said "don't worry, nobody has died" but the news on the wireless said war has been declared. Some of the older people were upset because they had lost family in the last war - killed or wounded. We went to school and were told all that we were to do was not to wander off from our homes when playing.

When the planes came over dropping bombs it was frightening. Such noise - all our windows were blown out. My father covered the windows with boards of wood, so it was always dark so we had to keep the lights on all day. At night outside it was dark too as no street lights were on. That was so that the planes could not see what they were bombing. We were issued with gas masks. One day at school we were all given a letter to give our parents. It was to ask if our parents would like us be sent off to a less dangerous area. My parents said yes so I was sent to school with a change of clothes to be kept at school until arrangements were made for our evacuation.

We all had to take a pack of sandwiches. This same routine went on for about six weeks. Then one day we were told to keep our coats on, pick up our clothes, gas masks round our necks and we walked in rows of two's, all excited at this new adventure, marching off to the railway station. We did not know where we'd be going. Some of the children were frightened of going away, but the teachers were very kind and held their hand as they walked along. At the station the teacher called out our names and we got onto the train.

It took several hours before we got to where we were supposed to be going. Some of the children had fallen asleep, with one of their friends cuddling them. We all looked after each other and sang some songs. At last the train stopped. We had to go in two's again and marched off to a big hall. We were given drinks and sandwiches and told to keep close to our teacher and friends. We had arrived at last in Bath in Somerset. It looked so peaceful.

Then a lot of people arrived and we gradually sorted out to go with different people who would be kind enough to take us in their homes and look after us. This all took time as we all had to have our new address to be added to our teachers list and these people to sign their names and our names on a special register. Some of the king people wanted very young children to live with them. Some of them wanted children a bit older. One of the girls who lived down my road was picked out with me by a man and his wife.. We were asked if we would like to go with them and we went with them to 14 Walcatt Building, Bath. It was out of the busy area. It was a four story building, terraced with a very long garden with a vegetable patch, lots of flowers and some apple trees and a river running along at the bottom of the garden - it looked lovely.

Inside the first floor was a sweet shop, next floor an elderly aunts flat, third floor Mr Barrows and top floor our flat. Lovely bedroom, 2 beds, wardrobe, dressing table, window that looked out onto the street.

We soon unpacked and went downstairs again. By this time the shop had been shut. We had an early meal and then bath and bed.

We were taken for a walk around Bath and then for a walk by the river. Mr Barrow had a boat and I used to go out with him. I learnt how to undo the locks to let the water through till we could carry on again. We could not go to school until arrangements were made to slot us into ability groups, so we had about 6 weeks of helping out in doors, then off for picnics, blackberry picking, making jam, looking after our friends, We wrote home and were soon receiving letters from parents, brothers and sister. They were still alright but very tired with loss of sleep with the guns and the docks when the planes kept dropping the bombs, mostly at night. After a while things in London quietened down and by now I was getting on well at school working my way up in class and sport wise. I was getting very used to this new life when my mother came down to Bath for a visit and then told Mr and Mrs Barrow that she was taking me back to London, as it was much quieter. In a way I was a little bit disappointed as Bath was such a lovely clean place to visit with clean air. Mum and I traveled to London by coach back to my family. It was dark and rubble where houses had been knocked down by bombs and blast. But people were getting on with their lives in the day time but not many people ventured out at night - only those who had to work at night or went to the pub for a drink. It was very different. A lot of my friend had moved right away and I never saw them again. After a while the bombing started in our area again. One night there was a very big bomb dropped.

The next morning we made our way around to one of our friends, but there were no houses standing there, they had all collapsed. My mother turned me around quickly and we went home for a cup of tea.

I remember that my father had to walk home from work and he looked warn out. He worked at the Gas works with over 100 men and a lot of the men had been killed or moved away.

When we went to church on Sunday morning my father and i were in the choir. The parson has a talk with my father and asked if he would like me to be evacuated as times were worse now than ever. So I was sent away again, through the church. Again we were taken to a village hall. It was in Verwood in Dorset. I was soon picked out by a Mr and Mrs Brown who had a daughter two years younger than me and a son about eight years older.

They had a small farm with three cows and some farm land against the moor where some ponies roamed. I was Starlight Farm, Verwood,Dorset. I soon settled in and Eileen liked having someone to play with. Her big brother Victor was deaf and very nice. One week later I was in school and it was so different. I had already done the work they were doing in London, but they didn't do much sport as it was a small school with few facilities for sport.

Girls did not play much with boys. Some skipped by otherwise stood in little groups. At the weekends Eileen and I would take the milk and cream to the people who lived in the lane to the farm. At one house the man and woman were both artists and they had five kittens. I liked them. The mother to the kittens had got knocked down and the vet could not save her so we used to help feed these baby kittens and it took quite a while. Mr and Mrs Browns were about 10 years older than my parents and had their children later in life. One day they had a letter from my father to pay for my coach fare back to Victories Station. My father would be there to meet me and take me to Mount Bures to stay with him and my cousin Bertha. Mother would be traveling down with furniture. Phylis helping her two days later.

Father looked really ill. We walked down to the rectory, where we lived till we could find a bungalow to rent. Everybody soon looked a lot better.

Forty years later I visited Mr and Mrs Brown and took her a large bunch of flowers fro being so kind to me. Mr and Mrs Barrows had died several years before in Bath.

I was grateful for all of the kind people who took care of us, especially our teachers who visited us as often as they could at the school or in the homes we were at. They never went back to London anymore they moved down to Bath for good.

I was born in Prince Regent Lane, London E16 in 1933. My father, William Johns, managed a small grocery shop with my mother Olive assisting him and we lived over the premises. It was about half a mile from the Victoria and Albert docks and this was to have profound consequences when war was declared in 1939.

Things began to hot up in the autumn of 1940 when the Luftwaffe began their raids on London. The docks were a prime target and every night the family took refuge in the Anderson shelter in the garden behind the shop. Though only six-and-a-half at the time, I can clearly remember the nightly fall of bombs close by. One night in particular was different when a new explosive sound punctuated the crash of the bombs and the banging of the anti-aircraft guns sited in the recreation ground just up the road. An almighty barrage of a different nature made us wonder what was happening. The next day we learned that HMS Cossack had been moored in the docks and had contributed its gunfire to the assault on the enemy bombers. This was a tremendous morale booster to everyone.

As the Blitz reached its heights in September, it got too hot in West Ham and my father decided to move us to my aunt Rose's house in Aveling Park Road, Walthamstow. Even this got rather fraught after a while and the two families decided to pack suitcases and get out of London. They had no real idea of destination, but the men decided to get tickets from Euston and go to Bletchley. Why they decided this I do not know.

Suffice to say, we ended up at Bletchley railway station and my father, my Uncle Ernie Young and his teenage son Ken walked off down the road to find somewhere for us to stay. We were refugees in the truest sense. Finally, after a very long time, the men returned and told us they had found an old couple in Fenny Stratford who would give us lodging for a few days.

A long walk ensued and we finally reached the home of Bill Busler and his wife. The 'few days' extended to a couple of years for my family (my uncle and family returned to Walthamstow when the Blitz quietened down). My father commuted to the business in West Ham coming home at weekends, only to find one Monday morning that the shop had received a direct hit the night before.

My sisters were called up for war work. Marjorie, the eldest, ended up at the famous Bletchley Park working with the code-breakers whilst Eileen, my younger sister, joined the ATS and was stationed at the RAOC depot at Bicester.

Our war culminated in a most amazing coincidence. Marjorie's husband, George Alexander, was a Bombardier in the Royal Artillery serving for a time in Iceland. As D-Day approached his unit was billeted in the old West Ham speedway stadium just across the road from dad's shop.

One of George's officers, a Lieutenant Pepper, happened to say that he was short of cash and needed to cash a cheque. Although the stadium was sealed off, officers were allowed out at this time and George said to him 'I can help you there'.

He suggested he visit the shop at the top of the road and say to the shopkeeper (my father) that George had sent him. The cheque was duly cashed and dad told the glad tidings to Marjorie. Despite tight security George managed to wangle a pass out of the stadium for a brief but emotional reunion with Marjorie.

Not long after, the unit embarked at the docks for their journey to Normandy a few days after D-Day, landing at Arromanches Gold Beach.

This is on behalf of my father as he does not have Internet access.

Some Experience of the London Blitz, 1940

My name is John Davey. I was born on December 27th 1924 in South Moltom Road, Custom House, West Ham, and a couple of miles from the Royal Docks. In September 1940, on the Friday evening of the weekend the docks were first blitzed, I was sitting with my friend in his house. At about 7 p.m. there was a series of explosions and the shattering of glass. We ran into the road and saw at the end a flame that shot into the sky, seeming to light up the whole area. My friend and I and lots of others ran towards the fire.

On the way we passed our old neighbour calmly sweeping the broken glass from the pavement as though this was an everyday thing. We reached the end of the road and saw that the first house or two were demolished and several others damaged. It was then I noticed something lying on the pavement, covered up. I lifted the cover and saw my first ever dead person, an occupant of one of the demolished houses.

My father, who had worked as a stevedore in the docks until he suffered a head injury, played an active part in the rescue operations. It appeared that a couple of bombs had been dropped, the first hitting a gas main in the road behind the house facing the top of our road, the second hitting the houses. The plane was visible circling above the fire; the bombs had missed a nearby factory by about 50 feet.

Another friend, Jackie McCall, normally came home from work at about the time the bombs dropped. He was not seen after that day. His body was never found. A few months later workmen were repairing the roofs and a body was discovered on top of one of the gables. The blast had carried it there from the pavement below and it was assumed to be Jackie.

On the night of November 12th 1940 I was standing in our porch behind my dad and an old neighbour called Mr. Cicanowitz (Dutch and known as “Mister” because we could not pronounce his name) and his dog. It was a still night. Suddenly we heard the drone of a plane that dropped several flares, like a gigantic firework display. I asked my dad whether we should go to an Anderson shelter at another house down the road (our shelter was only brick built). He said, “Yes, we’ll go in a minute”.

The next thing I knew everything went grey and I was falling sideways. Eventually I settled on my side, trapped by the rubble of our demolished house. I was screaming abuse. My dad’s voice from somewhere near said “don’t worry son, they will get you out”. ‘Mister’ just called my dad’s name a few times.

After a while I heard voices above. They heard my shouts and the rescue operation began from then. I could see the stars in the sky through what appeared to be a small gap. I could hear the dog trying to find its way out and shouted up for them to see where it appeared. They saw him, giving them some idea as to where I was. I eventually shouted up to them to lower a torch, which they did, and was able to guide them to me.

The marvellous rescue workers toiled throughout the night. I was finally rescued after eight hours or so. Unfortunately, my dad, aged 41, and ‘Mister’ did not survive. They found a pocket watch on my dad, stopped at 8.45 p.m. My mother and younger brother were evacuated when all this happened. I was sixteen at the time but it still remains in my thoughts.

The bomb was evidently a 2000 pounder that landed just 50-60 feet from the house. I never heard it coming or explode – it is strange but true when they say that you do not hear the one with your name on it and I can vouch for that.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Jackie Jude of Chelmsford Library on behalf of Artin Cornish and has been added to the site with his permission.
The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.
As far as I can recall, I only returned to London in August 1941 for just a few days as there were still air raids going on from time to time, although the Blitz itself was over. I think I was only there long enough to perhaps get my new school uniform and then I remember being put on the train to go to Wellingborough where I was met by Mr. and Mrs. Catling and their son Roy. I remember it was a long walk from Wellingborough railway station to Oxford Road where I was to live for the next 18 months or so. This was a small town and quite a different environment from living on the farm. Nevertheless, Mr. and Mrs. Catling were very kind and again a Christian couple, he in fact was a lay preacher in the Methodist church, although his actual job was as a local civil servant. Roy, with whom I got on very well, was younger than me. I think he would be about 9 years old at the time and went to the local school. We would have to go to the Methodist service in the little chapel around the corner from the house, which I found rather strange, being quite different from Church of England and being in the choir at Churchill. The school I attended was West Ham Grammar. St. Bonaventure’s was also evacuated, and we had to share the facilities at Wellingborough Public School and Wellingborough Grammar School. We always used to assemble at Wellingborough Public School and then we would go either into classrooms at the Public School or walk up to the Grammar School. Perhaps half way through the day we would have to go back to the Public School to one of their classrooms.
Sometimes when changing from one school to another we would meet another class en route and a certain amount of bullying would take place, the older boys chasing younger boys. I remember being chased up a side street and rescued by a postman from an older boy who was trying to hit me over the head with a satchel. All part of public school life! As we were a football playing school we used the rather nice playing fields of the Public School because the Wellington Grammar School played rugby. One rather sadistic master we had at the time ( I can’t remember his actual name) if we did something wrong would call the boy up and make him stand against the wall holding his hands in the air until he couldn’t hold them up any longer. As soon as they dropped he would shout “ put them up “ This would go on for a few minutes before he was allowed to sit down again. He later died in an accident and we had to line the road as his hearse went by and raise our caps. There was a six foot Latin master called Mr O’Connor who would stride into the room, slapping a cane on his trouser leg as he came in and frequently caned boys if they had not done their homework properly or learned their Latin verbs or whatever. It did encourage one to attend to one’s Latin homework! As a school we seemed to have no association with the Wellingborough schools with which we shared facilities I expect they regarded us as second class citizens. In fact I can’t remember having a particular mate at school during that period. I suppose partially because we were scattered about and it was quite a long walk from the school to where I was billeted. My main companion was the son of the house, Roy. I played with him in the garden, we would go out as a family at weekends perhaps for a walk, and I would go to the cinema on a Saturday morning, sometimes with Roy. In the evenings I would do my homework and after tea on winter evenings I remember we would all sit down as a family and work on making a rag mat. These were made from cut up pieces of material which we would thread through the weave of a canvas which was stretched on pieces of wood. We used something like a crochet tool. I think lots of people used to do this at the time.
In the summer of 1942 we all went swimming and it was on a lovely evening that I became ill. I had terrible pains in my stomach and initially it was thought that I had caught some sort of chill, but later on a doctor was called. At half past ten at night I was rushed by ambulance to Northampton General Hospital with acute appendicitis. After having my appendix removed I spent ten days in hospital and was then transferred to a convalescent home for another ten days at Naseby, where there was a battle in the 1600s. While I was in hospital my mother and my Aunt Nell came all the way from London to visit me. In those days appendicitis was quite serious and often people would die if their appendix burst. I went back to school before the end of term but was not allowed to play sports until the autumn term.
We used to have long summer holidays and rather than going back to London, other than for a brief spell, I went to Lowfield Farm for most of the summer before returning to Wellingborough.
Wellingborough itself was regarded as a safe area and that was why we were evacuated there but strangely enough, whilst I was on my summer holidays at Lowfield Farm, a stray bomber overflew Wellingborough and dropped a stick of bombs. It was a Saturday morning and Roy was injured on his way to the cinema as a bomb blew out a window, badly cutting his chin. I would probably have been with him had I been in Wellingborough. As a consequence Roy was still being looked after and I could not return to the Catling’s. For a fortnight or so I stayed across the road from the house in a block of flats with one of the teachers’ families. This was very nice because it was a lady teacher, who was very kind and in fact she had visited me whilst I was in hospital earlier in the year bringing me some tinned peaches, which was a great treat. However as soon as I was able to return to the Catling’s I remained for the rest of that term. In December it was decided that it was safe enough for the school to return from evacuation back to London, as the raids had more or less ceased apart from the occasional spasmodic raid at night.
That really ends my story of evacuation but the strange thing was that my mother, now being a widow, was considered to be a single person. As a consequence people of her age had to do some form of National Service and so she was called up becoming a civil servant with the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries which was evacuated down to Boscombe near Bournemouth.
So I found myself back in London, happily staying with my Grandmother in Rotherhithe and in turn my mother had to come back to London and find accommodation in West Ham if I was to be able to continue at West Ham Grammar School. of course I wished to do so and eventually we found somewhere in Upton Park where I continued to live for many years after. Initially I had to commute from Rotherhithe to Forest Gate, taking the train from Rotherhithe to Whitechapel and changing there to travel to Upton Park, walking from the station to my school in Forest Gate. My mother still had to work and when we did settle down she was having to dash out at 8 o’clock in the morning to go up to the West End where she had been transferred to the Ministry Offices. I would go off to school and come back in the evening, wash up the breakfast things, get things ready for tea, light the fire in the winter and do my homework before she got home at about half past six or quarter to seven. Once a week I used to do the shopping which wasn’t very arduous as there were hardly any decisions to be made because most things were on ration so you ‘got your ration’ and anything else that they might have in. Of course, my mother would bring a few things in that she was able to get during her lunch hour. At that time there were very few air raids and those that we did have were in the evening or at night, in which case we would go down to the shelter until the ‘all clear’ went. It wasn’t until 1944 when the Doodlebugs, or flying bombs, started to come across and initially we used to get a warning when they were coming, and then they came in such profusion that there was a constant warning. Then the four occupants of the house, the gentleman and lady from upstairs and my mother and I would actually sleep on the bunks in the air raid shelter, which was in the cellar of the house. One end of the cellar would be full up with coal and at the other end were the bunks and other bits of rubbish that might have been stored there. Not a particularly healthy environment, but we seemed to survive.
When there was a raid during the night I was not expected at school until 10 o’clock. This was a concession which was made when there was a constant alert and we would go to school regularly at 10 o’clock with lessons being held in the cellars of The Friary next door to the school, which was not very satisfactory. As far as I can recall this situation lasted for two or three months until the Allied Armies captured the flying bomb launching sites in Holland. I recall on one occasion sitting upstairs in the living room hearing one of these flying bombs approaching and tearing downstairs. I just managed to reach the steps of the cellar when the bomb exploded about a quarter of a mile away, near enough to bring down part of the living room ceiling and deposit a great lump of plaster on the seat where I had been sitting. If I had stayed there it would have given me something of a headache I should think, but apart from a couple of broken windows I don’t think any substantial damage was sustained.
Flying bombs were rather eerie things. You would hear their very noisy engines getting louder and louder as they approached, then they would cut out and there would be this long silence until you heard the bang and you knew they had exploded. If you heard it you knew you were all right and someone else had been unfortunate. Flying bombs were followed by the V2 rockets where you got absolutely no warning at all, just hearing a very loud explosion in which case, obviously, you were still alive. Unfortunately these continued until the end of the war in Europe in May 1945.
What a celebration that was, with bonfires and people singing and dancing in the streets. By this time I had been working for seven months as in October 1944, after just over two years at grammar school, my Grandfather had phoned to say that the firm for which my father had worked needed a junior in their City office. He felt that I should avail myself of this opportunity as, in his opinion, the war couldn’t last much longer, as after the First World War the troops came back very quickly. I would be leaving school at a time when this would be happening and it would be very difficult for me to find a job. However, unlike the First World War, National Service continued and the men were reduced and demobbed much more gradually. Nevertheless I took his advice and so without any qualifications I started work as a junior clerk in the City office of a small stevedoring company in Leadenhall Street.
I had good intentions of going to evening classes to continue my education but of course that is the beginning of another chapter of my life.

The following account was written by my father, Frank Wilkinson, recollecting his WW II experiences. It was written shortly before he died in 1992. Parts 2 & 3 follow as separate stories.

WW II itinerary of 14701281 (Wilkinson, Frank) — Part 1

In 1938 I was 27 years old and living in Normanton, West Riding of Yorkshire where I volunteered for work in assembling and fitting gas masks for civvies. Then did a bit of LDV preliminaries on the grammar school football pitch. Armour, one broomstick, marching etc.
This sort of feverish activity did not last long but gas masks continued. I qualified for 3 — an ordinary common one, then later a Civilian Service one and then a Services one.
As outbreak of war approached there was hectic preparation at Council Offices, packing and labelling of records and vacation of space to accommodate Civil Defence. I had to take charge of Financial Records, Files, etc.
I was due to marry on 6th September but War, declared on 3rd September, meant cancelled honeymoon but a special concession of 1 day off for wedding.
On 3rd we had to report to Council Offices for “sandbagging fatigue”. The sand was reclaimed ashes from council tips, the bags were fairly open hessian and it absolutely teemed down.
Hoist soggy bag, thick juice flowed up arms, down armpits and everywhere else. My joy was complete as I saw, pipe in mouth, smirking, a Councillor who seemed highly amused.
Wedding Day, carrying gas mask, turned out lovely, although I had been handling a ton of coal delivered that morning to our new home. Decorators had to do a rush job, which they did and celebrated by spreading dried peas etc., under the bed sheet.
Life settled happily and by 1940 I had transferred my voluntary activity to the Auxiliary Fire Service. 1 boiler suit, 1 tin hat, 1 pair wellies and 1 hatchet. Turn out at every air raid warning and home on the ‘All Clear’. Fatigue seemed worse a full 24 hours after call out. 36 hours training was necessary and involved ‘Climax’ pump operating, hose running and coupling, ladder drill, roof work, fireman’s lifts etc. 1 chap came to the ‘station’ and didn’t leave for 36 hours and was most upset not to have qualified as a Fireman. Equipment, 1 Morris Fire Engine (full time brigade), 1 Climax Pump (large) and 1 Climax Pump (small) and 1 GUY M/V lorry known as ‘Spitfire’ and 1 Ford V8 Pilot Support Car. Highlight call was with the ‘Spitfire’ and Climax to a chimney fire on Pontefract Road and we had to door knock to find where it was. It had been choked out.
Before turning out, of course, I had to see wife and daughter safe down the cellar.
Stand-by time at the station was spent either playing the piano (honky-tonk quality) snooker or snacks. This until the onset of the NFS, which brought a promotion to Control Room Officer with shiny metal epaulettes.
All this time I served because I was first in a “Deferred” occupation at the Office followed by a “Reserved” occupation. When this showed signs of terminating my wife took up paid work first in the Food Office and then as a clerk in the Electricity Office, with the Council.
Eventually towards the end of l943 my Call-up notice came telling me to report to “Brancepeth” Castle, County Durham on Jan. 6th which I duly did and woke up to my 33rd birthday to Reveille. What an awakening. Stuffy barrack room, top bed on a 3-tier bunk. We recruits
were received into the Main Hall of the Castle, big open fireplaces both ends fired with full size Pit props. Spam sandwich and mug of Cocoa. We never saw that Hall again.
Made a trio with a man of similar age and an 18 year old from Hull and when I sought to find the nearest Methodist Church they volunteered to walk 2 miles or so with me. We helped each other to settle.
My various items of kit, jabs and aptitude tests followed over the first two weeks, then followed square bashing, rifle drill, bayonet drill, trench digging and crawling with rifle.
This resulted in their conclusion that I was NOT a fighting man, my conclusion that you must be fully fit to be able to report ‘sick’ and wear “Full Battle Dress” and the reward ‘medicine and light duties’.
I was glad to get over the first 6 weeks and was then posted to ‘Signals’ at Catterick. Further tests of temperament and attitude made them put me to Cipher Training, my ability to concentrate being the key.
However, before I could be trusted to secrets of Cipher I must go on an NCO’s course for a number of weeks.
Catterick — we were housed much more comfortably in Hoare-Belisha “Spiders” designed by H-B, a politician, and all the prospective NCO’s were mature age some even older than me. It was now nearly March 1944 and mornings were not so dark and cold.
We had fun! We had to take square drill on our own, watched of course by Regular Instructors.
One chap with a weak voice let us get out of earshot and with Arms at the Trail (arms length and horizontal) left us heading straight for the corrugated cover at one end of the Square, and you can imagine the clatter as the muzzles hit the metal.
At firing practise I did very well and got 8 holes out of 5 shots on my target, and the grouping was good enough to pass me. The man on my left had aimed at my target and had to wait a week to retake his test. “Exercise ME” was interesting. We were each given an Ordnance map and a Compass, sent out in an enclosed lorry driven out into the countryside, dropped individually at wide intervals and then find our way to a rendezvous at say 3 p.m. Failure to get there meant find your own way back. I failed to rendezvous but eventually got to Reeth where I found there would be a bus to Richmond at 8 p.m. and then hopefully some transport to camp. Fish & Chips and a cup of tea in Reeth helped but it was a long wait to 8 p.m. Arrived in Richmond late but found another bus to camp but unfortunately the lad behind me had had too much drink, the bus shook a bit, he exploded and I got the benefit. It was horrible. Just to put the finishing touch, I was called into the Guard Room to explain my late return, they smelt my uniform and suggested I’d been drinking but after a lot of sarcasm and a few dark threats I was sent to my billet. My pals greeted me to say that I was detailed for Church Parade in the morning but they all lent a hand, cleaned my uniform, ‘blancoed’ my belt and gaiters. Got to bed at last, got ready for Church Parade at the Methodist Church, my responsibility to report to the Signals Corporal outside the Church. Couldn’t find him, went into Service which I enjoyed only to find ‘I had been put on a charge for failing to attend Church Parade”. I was marched into the Orderly Room and when questioned claimed that I had been there. “You’re sure of that, Wilkinson?”, “Yes Sir”. “Right, ask Lt.?? to come in. He was at the Service and will question you”. It turned out alright in the end.
Finished at Catterick, passed my exams, was made a Lance Corporal and posted to Cipher School at East Dulwich.
While there my father-in-law died on a weekend when all leave had been cancelled and my address changed to BWEF (British Western Expeditionary Forces). I tried to get compassionate leave, was sent from Dulwich to Signals HQ, from Signals to the War Office and eventually was given a 72 hour Pass and travel warrant and was warned that, in view of the cancellation order, all the CMP’s will stop me to see my documentation. No one stopped me and off I went to my in-laws’ home at Sandal, Wakefield.
Reported back to Dulwich, completed the Cipher course and was ceremoniously sworn to secrecy and posted to 43 WESSEX DIV. at Tenterden (Kent) although officially just BWEF. Spring 1944 was glorious and the streets and lanes in Tenterden a mass of flowers — primroses, fruit blossom, wild flowers — bliss. After Signal Office night duty, a wash, shave, breakfast and then out into the fields. Feeling a Philistine treading on primroses, found a nice sunny spot laid down and slept. It was idyllic. Tudor Rose Café for coffee and scones and back to base for mid-day meal.
Too good to last and were uprooted and in a convoy moved into a marshalling area, which turned out to be London, West Ham Greyhound Stadium. The convoy journey there was fantastic with people lining the route cheering us and offering sweets, drinks, just anything and everything they had. It struck me that we were probably already better fed than them. As we neared London we became impressed by the number of captive balloons.
The stadium accommodation was rank upon rank of 3-tier bunks, some of which protected by corrugated iron roofing. On our first night in West Ham we were deafened by the box-barrage and the peppering of shrapnel on the iron roof. Add searchlights to this lot, and the drone of planes it was impressive we thought as we lay on our bunks fully clothed wearing our tin hats, we soon realised that tin hats wouldn’t protect us much. However, we began to crow about the box-barrage bringing down our planes, until after a few days, we realised it was most likely V1’s with fuel spent, coming down and exploding, not reassuring!
After a few days we got the whisper of D+11, our intended move. We were taken by bus to Tilbury Docks and embarked on the ‘Fort Esperance’, one of the American Liberty ships, welded not riveted. As expected we were assured the welding wouldn’t stand up to depth charges and mines.
In our hold there were 364 of us, some 80 to 100 in shallow hung hammocks, and the rest of us bedrolls edge to edge on the lower hatch covers. There were one or two blue lights to help us grope our way. Sea-sickness or nature made visits necessary and you can imagine the crawlings, groans,
cursings etc., but we managed. One satisfaction, as we moved down the Thames Estuary, was a V1 passing fairly low over us, moving in the same direction as us. The clever ones of us, realised that the V1 had probably had its wings ‘tipped’ by one of our fighters and was now heading back to enemy occupied territory.
We moved out to sea and we were told that the captain would be firing our 4” gun (our main protection). A flash, an explosion, smell of cordite, a shell tearing the air apart and a poor seabird disappearing in a cloud of feathers. Next morning, on deck, we saw we were part of a huge convoy of ships of all kinds and sizes guarded by a cruiser, 2 destroyers and smaller but faster naval craft.
It seemed a very long trip but watching the convoy was interesting and an occasional one couldn’t keep up, so was told it could leave the convoy but it would have to make its own way.
Later in the voyage we could see what looked like a near wreck tethered to a line of fence posts. This didn’t make sense at all but eventually it transpired that it was part of the Mulberry Harbour, being towed into position by one of the ships already filled with concrete ready for scuttling when in position. As we neared land the sea got rougher and stayed so for 6 days during which time we had to ride at anchor; all the others doing the same. Behind us, further off shore, were two battleships, ‘Duke of York’ and another functioning as artillery against enemy shore emplacements. Add to this, spotter aircraft — small biplanes and Lysanders, exploding depth charges and German magnetic mines, life was never dull. Sea explosions brought up stunned fish, which were cleverly caught in empty dry-ration tins converted to colanders. Lucky anglers managed to get the ships galley to cook them. Our food in this period was ships biscuits, ration chocolate, self-heating soup, the latter quite welcome. The heating was achieved by a tube built-in, activated by removing the tip, having first pierced two air holes. Hot soup poured into enamel mug and enjoyed. Soup tin was holed at the bottom to ensure its sinking when pitched overboard.
Less enjoyable were the following facts:-
1. Our Reconnaissance Unit, housed amidships with transport on deck and transport below, was mined, set on fire and was a total loss of men and equipment. There were other losses too.
2. Spotter aircraft used bulldozed landing strips, which were very dusty and so disclosed their locations. Dust was kept down by spraying with heavy fuel oil, which also impregnated the air and fell at night filling our ships holds and our lungs. As the sun rose, so did the temperature and the fumes.

Six days of this (now D+17) it was safe to land so far as the waves were concerned. Our vehicles, together with operational staff were transferred to LST’s (Landing Ships Tanks) forced on to the beach, ramp doors were dropped, and vehicles driven off, but carefully because they were heavily plastered with water-proofing gunge which had to be stripped off as soon as possible. The area was fairly firm sand dunes, and we on foot had followed to help with the de-proofing. It was dusk and soon dark as we worked but I had time to notice in lulls between battle noises a bird singing beautifully (of course a Nightingale) and in the low dune grasses there were glow worms. That was the “Peace of God that passed all understanding”. It was beautiful.
Now we were functional.
We had landed at Courseulles, moved a short way inland unhindered and located around Caen. We could see Caen being bombed by our aircraft, the Halifaxes and Lancasters flying low
in line astern, through the flac, dropping their bombs and turning for home. Real bravery!
Our battalions were engaged in the battle for Mt. Pincon, the dominating high land. It proved very difficult for them but we were back a little way at H.Q.
Montgomery had boxed us in with 25 pounders to do a ‘stomp’. The blast from the guns shook everyone physically but it was a re-assuring noise. German aircraft came looking for the guns and sprayed the area and our signal office caught one or two rounds. Headway was soon made and we moved to Argentan. This was another heavy onslaught and we had a lovely fireworks display as arms dumps were set on fire. Whose? Tracer bullets are exciting in the dark. Every 5th bullet is a tracer.
We had an evening field concert in this area with George Formby in person. We all had our rifles and once or twice an enemy aircraft flew over. Everyone had a go without effect but I felt afterwards we were a bigger risk to ourselves.
Another memorable event was a field ‘Communion Service’ conducted by the duty Padre. Amid thistles, cowpats etc., we knelt and received the Bread and Wine. Another strengthening.
As we followed our advance we saw evidence of our ‘Typhoon’ raids. They attacked enemy convoys with their under-wing rockets, knocked out the first and last mobiles which stopped the rest to become sitting targets. Once saw a German midget submarine little damaged but totally out of its element.
Things were getting desperate for ‘Gerry’ as he tried to retreat back to Germany. We even came across a piece of horse-drawn artillery on its side with the animals dead.
It was a hot late summer, and our khaki shirts got hard and shiny with sweat and our battle dresses were smelly, but we had to manage. Our water, drinking and washing was from our water-cart and used carefully. To heat water for shaving etc., we had a ‘dehydrated potato’ tin filled with sand and soaked with petrol. Up to 10 or so used it in turn — it was thick at the end. Our mess tin mug etc., washing up was similar with the lazy ones just swilling there tins around without bothering to clear uneaten food, bacon rind etc., Foul!
One late evening we took some heated water behind the camouflage netting and stripped off for a much needed wash down. Three young girls arrived on bikes and we made haste to cover our modesty. The girls were quiet but reluctant to leave, we were filthy, so we hurriedly but thoroughly washed. We ourselves saw later what their interest was. One of our D.R.’s, an Australian, was a sun-bather and he too was having a wash-down. He was deeply tanned except for the ‘white’ critical part and in the fading light it must have seemed weird.
I can’t remember place sequences after this period as we cleared France, Belgium and much of Holland as we moved towards Germany. It was surprising to see mobile 88mm guns in emplacements on both sides of the main road being used as heavy artillery. Yet here they were obviously in good order but abandoned.

(cont’d)

The following account was written by my father, Frank Wilkinson, recollecting his WW II experiences. It was written shortly before he died in 1992. Parts 2 & 3 follow as separate stories.

WW II itinerary of 14701281 (Wilkinson, Frank) — Part 1

In 1938 I was 27 years old and living in Normanton, West Riding of Yorkshire where I volunteered for work in assembling and fitting gas masks for civvies. Then did a bit of LDV preliminaries on the grammar school football pitch. Armour, one broomstick, marching etc.
This sort of feverish activity did not last long but gas masks continued. I qualified for 3 — an ordinary common one, then later a Civilian Service one and then a Services one.
As outbreak of war approached there was hectic preparation at Council Offices, packing and labelling of records and vacation of space to accommodate Civil Defence. I had to take charge of Financial Records, Files, etc.
I was due to marry on 6th September but War, declared on 3rd September, meant cancelled honeymoon but a special concession of 1 day off for wedding.
On 3rd we had to report to Council Offices for “sandbagging fatigue”. The sand was reclaimed ashes from council tips, the bags were fairly open hessian and it absolutely teemed down.
Hoist soggy bag, thick juice flowed up arms, down armpits and everywhere else. My joy was complete as I saw, pipe in mouth, smirking, a Councillor who seemed highly amused.
Wedding Day, carrying gas mask, turned out lovely, although I had been handling a ton of coal delivered that morning to our new home. Decorators had to do a rush job, which they did and celebrated by spreading dried peas etc., under the bed sheet.
Life settled happily and by 1940 I had transferred my voluntary activity to the Auxiliary Fire Service. 1 boiler suit, 1 tin hat, 1 pair wellies and 1 hatchet. Turn out at every air raid warning and home on the ‘All Clear’. Fatigue seemed worse a full 24 hours after call out. 36 hours training was necessary and involved ‘Climax’ pump operating, hose running and coupling, ladder drill, roof work, fireman’s lifts etc. 1 chap came to the ‘station’ and didn’t leave for 36 hours and was most upset not to have qualified as a Fireman. Equipment, 1 Morris Fire Engine (full time brigade), 1 Climax Pump (large) and 1 Climax Pump (small) and 1 GUY M/V lorry known as ‘Spitfire’ and 1 Ford V8 Pilot Support Car. Highlight call was with the ‘Spitfire’ and Climax to a chimney fire on Pontefract Road and we had to door knock to find where it was. It had been choked out.
Before turning out, of course, I had to see wife and daughter safe down the cellar.
Stand-by time at the station was spent either playing the piano (honky-tonk quality) snooker or snacks. This until the onset of the NFS, which brought a promotion to Control Room Officer with shiny metal epaulettes.
All this time I served because I was first in a “Deferred” occupation at the Office followed by a “Reserved” occupation. When this showed signs of terminating my wife took up paid work first in the Food Office and then as a clerk in the Electricity Office, with the Council.
Eventually towards the end of l943 my Call-up notice came telling me to report to “Brancepeth” Castle, County Durham on Jan. 6th which I duly did and woke up to my 33rd birthday to Reveille. What an awakening. Stuffy barrack room, top bed on a 3-tier bunk. We recruits
were received into the Main Hall of the Castle, big open fireplaces both ends fired with full size Pit props. Spam sandwich and mug of Cocoa. We never saw that Hall again.
Made a trio with a man of similar age and an 18 year old from Hull and when I sought to find the nearest Methodist Church they volunteered to walk 2 miles or so with me. We helped each other to settle.
My various items of kit, jabs and aptitude tests followed over the first two weeks, then followed square bashing, rifle drill, bayonet drill, trench digging and crawling with rifle.
This resulted in their conclusion that I was NOT a fighting man, my conclusion that you must be fully fit to be able to report ‘sick’ and wear “Full Battle Dress” and the reward ‘medicine and light duties’.
I was glad to get over the first 6 weeks and was then posted to ‘Signals’ at Catterick. Further tests of temperament and attitude made them put me to Cipher Training, my ability to concentrate being the key.
However, before I could be trusted to secrets of Cipher I must go on an NCO’s course for a number of weeks.
Catterick — we were housed much more comfortably in Hoare-Belisha “Spiders” designed by H-B, a politician, and all the prospective NCO’s were mature age some even older than me. It was now nearly March 1944 and mornings were not so dark and cold.
We had fun! We had to take square drill on our own, watched of course by Regular Instructors.
One chap with a weak voice let us get out of earshot and with Arms at the Trail (arms length and horizontal) left us heading straight for the corrugated cover at one end of the Square, and you can imagine the clatter as the muzzles hit the metal.
At firing practise I did very well and got 8 holes out of 5 shots on my target, and the grouping was good enough to pass me. The man on my left had aimed at my target and had to wait a week to retake his test. “Exercise ME” was interesting. We were each given an Ordnance map and a Compass, sent out in an enclosed lorry driven out into the countryside, dropped individually at wide intervals and then find our way to a rendezvous at say 3 p.m. Failure to get there meant find your own way back. I failed to rendezvous but eventually got to Reeth where I found there would be a bus to Richmond at 8 p.m. and then hopefully some transport to camp. Fish & Chips and a cup of tea in Reeth helped but it was a long wait to 8 p.m. Arrived in Richmond late but found another bus to camp but unfortunately the lad behind me had had too much drink, the bus shook a bit, he exploded and I got the benefit. It was horrible. Just to put the finishing touch, I was called into the Guard Room to explain my late return, they smelt my uniform and suggested I’d been drinking but after a lot of sarcasm and a few dark threats I was sent to my billet. My pals greeted me to say that I was detailed for Church Parade in the morning but they all lent a hand, cleaned my uniform, ‘blancoed’ my belt and gaiters. Got to bed at last, got ready for Church Parade at the Methodist Church, my responsibility to report to the Signals Corporal outside the Church. Couldn’t find him, went into Service which I enjoyed only to find ‘I had been put on a charge for failing to attend Church Parade”. I was marched into the Orderly Room and when questioned claimed that I had been there. “You’re sure of that, Wilkinson?”, “Yes Sir”. “Right, ask Lt.?? to come in. He was at the Service and will question you”. It turned out alright in the end.
Finished at Catterick, passed my exams, was made a Lance Corporal and posted to Cipher School at East Dulwich.
While there my father-in-law died on a weekend when all leave had been cancelled and my address changed to BWEF (British Western Expeditionary Forces). I tried to get compassionate leave, was sent from Dulwich to Signals HQ, from Signals to the War Office and eventually was given a 72 hour Pass and travel warrant and was warned that, in view of the cancellation order, all the CMP’s will stop me to see my documentation. No one stopped me and off I went to my in-laws’ home at Sandal, Wakefield.
Reported back to Dulwich, completed the Cipher course and was ceremoniously sworn to secrecy and posted to 43 WESSEX DIV. at Tenterden (Kent) although officially just BWEF. Spring 1944 was glorious and the streets and lanes in Tenterden a mass of flowers — primroses, fruit blossom, wild flowers — bliss. After Signal Office night duty, a wash, shave, breakfast and then out into the fields. Feeling a Philistine treading on primroses, found a nice sunny spot laid down and slept. It was idyllic. Tudor Rose Café for coffee and scones and back to base for mid-day meal.
Too good to last and were uprooted and in a convoy moved into a marshalling area, which turned out to be London, West Ham Greyhound Stadium. The convoy journey there was fantastic with people lining the route cheering us and offering sweets, drinks, just anything and everything they had. It struck me that we were probably already better fed than them. As we neared London we became impressed by the number of captive balloons.
The stadium accommodation was rank upon rank of 3-tier bunks, some of which protected by corrugated iron roofing. On our first night in West Ham we were deafened by the box-barrage and the peppering of shrapnel on the iron roof. Add searchlights to this lot, and the drone of planes it was impressive we thought as we lay on our bunks fully clothed wearing our tin hats, we soon realised that tin hats wouldn’t protect us much. However, we began to crow about the box-barrage bringing down our planes, until after a few days, we realised it was most likely V1’s with fuel spent, coming down and exploding, not reassuring!
After a few days we got the whisper of D+11, our intended move. We were taken by bus to Tilbury Docks and embarked on the ‘Fort Esperance’, one of the American Liberty ships, welded not riveted. As expected we were assured the welding wouldn’t stand up to depth charges and mines.
In our hold there were 364 of us, some 80 to 100 in shallow hung hammocks, and the rest of us bedrolls edge to edge on the lower hatch covers. There were one or two blue lights to help us grope our way. Sea-sickness or nature made visits necessary and you can imagine the crawlings, groans,
cursings etc., but we managed. One satisfaction, as we moved down the Thames Estuary, was a V1 passing fairly low over us, moving in the same direction as us. The clever ones of us, realised that the V1 had probably had its wings ‘tipped’ by one of our fighters and was now heading back to enemy occupied territory.
We moved out to sea and we were told that the captain would be firing our 4” gun (our main protection). A flash, an explosion, smell of cordite, a shell tearing the air apart and a poor seabird disappearing in a cloud of feathers. Next morning, on deck, we saw we were part of a huge convoy of ships of all kinds and sizes guarded by a cruiser, 2 destroyers and smaller but faster naval craft.
It seemed a very long trip but watching the convoy was interesting and an occasional one couldn’t keep up, so was told it could leave the convoy but it would have to make its own way.
Later in the voyage we could see what looked like a near wreck tethered to a line of fence posts. This didn’t make sense at all but eventually it transpired that it was part of the Mulberry Harbour, being towed into position by one of the ships already filled with concrete ready for scuttling when in position. As we neared land the sea got rougher and stayed so for 6 days during which time we had to ride at anchor; all the others doing the same. Behind us, further off shore, were two battleships, ‘Duke of York’ and another functioning as artillery against enemy shore emplacements. Add to this, spotter aircraft — small biplanes and Lysanders, exploding depth charges and German magnetic mines, life was never dull. Sea explosions brought up stunned fish, which were cleverly caught in empty dry-ration tins converted to colanders. Lucky anglers managed to get the ships galley to cook them. Our food in this period was ships biscuits, ration chocolate, self-heating soup, the latter quite welcome. The heating was achieved by a tube built-in, activated by removing the tip, having first pierced two air holes. Hot soup poured into enamel mug and enjoyed. Soup tin was holed at the bottom to ensure its sinking when pitched overboard.
Less enjoyable were the following facts:-
1. Our Reconnaissance Unit, housed amidships with transport on deck and transport below, was mined, set on fire and was a total loss of men and equipment. There were other losses too.
2. Spotter aircraft used bulldozed landing strips, which were very dusty and so disclosed their locations. Dust was kept down by spraying with heavy fuel oil, which also impregnated the air and fell at night filling our ships holds and our lungs. As the sun rose, so did the temperature and the fumes.

Six days of this (now D+17) it was safe to land so far as the waves were concerned. Our vehicles, together with operational staff were transferred to LST’s (Landing Ships Tanks) forced on to the beach, ramp doors were dropped, and vehicles driven off, but carefully because they were heavily plastered with water-proofing gunge which had to be stripped off as soon as possible. The area was fairly firm sand dunes, and we on foot had followed to help with the de-proofing. It was dusk and soon dark as we worked but I had time to notice in lulls between battle noises a bird singing beautifully (of course a Nightingale) and in the low dune grasses there were glow worms. That was the “Peace of God that passed all understanding”. It was beautiful.
Now we were functional.
We had landed at Courseulles, moved a short way inland unhindered and located around Caen. We could see Caen being bombed by our aircraft, the Halifaxes and Lancasters flying low
in line astern, through the flac, dropping their bombs and turning for home. Real bravery!
Our battalions were engaged in the battle for Mt. Pincon, the dominating high land. It proved very difficult for them but we were back a little way at H.Q.
Montgomery had boxed us in with 25 pounders to do a ‘stomp’. The blast from the guns shook everyone physically but it was a re-assuring noise. German aircraft came looking for the guns and sprayed the area and our signal office caught one or two rounds. Headway was soon made and we moved to Argentan. This was another heavy onslaught and we had a lovely fireworks display as arms dumps were set on fire. Whose? Tracer bullets are exciting in the dark. Every 5th bullet is a tracer.
We had an evening field concert in this area with George Formby in person. We all had our rifles and once or twice an enemy aircraft flew over. Everyone had a go without effect but I felt afterwards we were a bigger risk to ourselves.
Another memorable event was a field ‘Communion Service’ conducted by the duty Padre. Amid thistles, cowpats etc., we knelt and received the Bread and Wine. Another strengthening.
As we followed our advance we saw evidence of our ‘Typhoon’ raids. They attacked enemy convoys with their under-wing rockets, knocked out the first and last mobiles which stopped the rest to become sitting targets. Once saw a German midget submarine little damaged but totally out of its element.
Things were getting desperate for ‘Gerry’ as he tried to retreat back to Germany. We even came across a piece of horse-drawn artillery on its side with the animals dead.
It was a hot late summer, and our khaki shirts got hard and shiny with sweat and our battle dresses were smelly, but we had to manage. Our water, drinking and washing was from our water-cart and used carefully. To heat water for shaving etc., we had a ‘dehydrated potato’ tin filled with sand and soaked with petrol. Up to 10 or so used it in turn — it was thick at the end. Our mess tin mug etc., washing up was similar with the lazy ones just swilling there tins around without bothering to clear uneaten food, bacon rind etc., Foul!
One late evening we took some heated water behind the camouflage netting and stripped off for a much needed wash down. Three young girls arrived on bikes and we made haste to cover our modesty. The girls were quiet but reluctant to leave, we were filthy, so we hurriedly but thoroughly washed. We ourselves saw later what their interest was. One of our D.R.’s, an Australian, was a sun-bather and he too was having a wash-down. He was deeply tanned except for the ‘white’ critical part and in the fading light it must have seemed weird.
I can’t remember place sequences after this period as we cleared France, Belgium and much of Holland as we moved towards Germany. It was surprising to see mobile 88mm guns in emplacements on both sides of the main road being used as heavy artillery. Yet here they were obviously in good order but abandoned.

(cont’d)

I was 4 years old when the big day came, September 3rd. 1939.
It took a while before the war started to affect us. It must have been sometime in 1940 that I first remember being woken by my old mum bless her, I remember it was so dark and very cold and she would never, never wake us till the buggers where right overhead.
This was West Ham, deep in the East End of London, with a railway yard, 2 chemical factories and a pumping station at the back of us and right in the middle was No.6 Pond Road.
Before the balloon went up some men came and dug a big hole in our tiny back yard and I saw what is now known as an Anderson shelter, it had 2 long benches inside and this was where we were going to spend many a long night.
My dad had died when I was a baby so my mum, sister and myself found things pretty hard. My mum worked shift Work in one of the chemical factories called Berks.
My sister had been evacuated to Newbury in Berkshire, so when mum was doing her shifts I would be farmed out to different neighbors.
We lived next door to a bakery which was owned by 2 brothers and these 2 men used to be in our shelter and had made themselves at home before we were able to get there, my mother did not like the situation one bit.
My mates and I would scour the streets in the morning after a raid looking for spent cases and pieces of shrapnel, sometimes this was still warm and the shell cases were great for swapping with your mates.
As the war went on us kids became used to dog fights in the sky, planes leaving vapor trails and weaving in and out with there guns blazing it was very exciting to us.
Many, many bombs fell in and around West Ham, one of my sister’s friends was killed during a bombing raid and many of our local shops were also flattened. A school, which was used as a fire station received a direct hit and many firemen were killed.
One of the most amazing night I remember was of being hauled out of bed, taken to the shelter, we were in there all night, the noise was incredible, all we had at the entrance to the shelter was a piece of wood about a yard square and so while all this was going on I peeped out and the picture I saw has stayed with me as though it was yesterday. The sky was alight with color, searchlights were lighting the sky, fighter planes weaving about with there machine guns blazing, the planes were very low and all the time you could hear the loud bangs from the bombs, that picture will stay with me forever.
Next morning not a window was left in our house, our street was completely wrecked, there was slates missing from the roofs and none of the house had windows. There were police everywhere, I remember the street being roped off, my mum was inside collecting things together, then I don’t remember how we got there but we ended up in Mill Hill. We stayed with a lovely family and I remember being given a box of lead soldiers and this was one of the best gifts I was given as a child. I can’t remember how long we stayed with these people but when we got home our house was clean, windows, doors and roofs were as new.
As the days went by and the bombing got worse we had to go to these big underground shelters where there were rows of bunk beds, these were in rows and you were sleeping next to people you had never seen before. There were crowds of us every night walking to the shelters with our blankets, some even took mattresses with them.
You got hardly any sleep and you didn’t know if your house would be there when you got back in the morning. Mums and Dads still had to go to work the next day How they did it I will never know. Could the young people of today do it? I don’t think so, do you?
One day the YANKS came to Pond Road, now the only Americans we knew were in the films so obviously to us kids back home in America they had all been either cowboys or some sort of gangsters like James Cagney.
Where the houses had once stood they started to put up prefabs, they gave us chocolate and gum and we looked at these tanned men in with our mouths open we found them unbelievable. They gave us their time and would stand and talk to us in a way that we were not used to and to us we felt they were all like the film stars we saw at the cinema, they were all so nice and nothing seemed to much trouble for them.
Not far away from where I lived was Carpenters Road, which had lot of factories which had been bombed out and the rubbish had been cleared and a prisoner of war camp had been built there, in it the prisoners were all Italians, they all wore dark battledress and on the back was either a large yellow diamond or circle. We would often see them walking about, we never spoke to them, but we would stare at them till they were out of site.
Sometimes we would see these prisoners with English girls, now this did not mean a lot to us children, but they would be told off by some of the mum’s and the older men as they were the enemy.
One time my girl friend came to our house crying and said her sister’s boyfriend had been killed in the war. I remember everyone just being so quiet. After that whenever we saw her sister, whose name was Vera, she was always alone.
Where my sister was evacuated was quite a nice place, we went to see her once. The house she lived in was opposite a huge park, once a German plane shot at her and her friends as they played in the park luckily he missed and nobody was hurt. Another time a German plane crashed in the park and my sister said they took the pilot away.
As the months wore on more and more parts of West Ham disappeared, whole rows of houses would be there one day and gone the next. In a part of West Ham there was a part you could walk from Stratford to Becton dumps, this long walk was called the “Sewers Bank” it is quite hard to describe what it looked like because I have never seen anything like it since. If you can imagine a really high grass covered bank at leasts30ft. or more high and under this ran a huge sewer pipe about 6ft. in diameter, it carried sewage and went over bridges which were over roads and rivers and went on for miles and miles. One day there was a mighty explosion and a V2 rocket had hit the side of the bank, lots of houses went in the blast and the smell was unbelievable.
You often hear Londoners say, “the Germans bombed our chip shop” well in our case it was true. I was in a neighbors having some dinner, I will never forget, it was stew, when BANG, the ceiling came down in my dinner, dust and plaster everywhere. A crowd had started to gather at the top of Stevens Road where there was a very large pub called “The Lord Gough” this had disappeared along with the small cinema and sweet shop which were next door. Opposite was “Eileens” the fish and chip shop, the front had been blown in and Eileen was badly injured and her face was permanently scarred which was very sad as she was only young and quite pretty,
The Doodlebugs came next and they were scary because you heard them and saw them but when the engine cut out they glided in silence so where they landed was in Gods hands.
The East end spirit saw many people through and we had many street parties, how the mums put food on these party tables must have been quite a feat as it was hard enough in the best of times, but they did it. Out would be brought a piano from someone’s house and a good time was had by all.
When the bombing eased up and things got easier my sister came home, it was very strange, I think my mum stopped doing shift work then and we didn’t use the shelter so much.
The Americans finished building the prefabs and moved away, those prefabs were in use for many years after the war.
I suppose if I am honest we kids quite enjoyed a lot of the war as it was like an adventure, and we didn’t see it the way adults did, to see planes fighting in the sky was so exciting and collecting bits of shrapnel and shell casings was like toys to us as we didn’t have a lot in those days..
I have tried to remember the parts that someone may find interesting of a small boys war.

We lived in Old Canning Town in the East End of London.In 1940 after a devastating weekend during which several families lost their homes because of German bombing they were told by the local council to make their way to a school in South Hallsville Road where they would be temporaily housed whilst buses would be orgnised to take them out of London and into the relative safety of the suburbs. Some of these unfortunate people spent the three nights from Saturday 7th to Monday 9th waiting for the buses, but the buses did not materialise. No one really knew what had gone wrong but it appeared that the bus convoy had gone to Camden Town in mistake for Canning Town. After which they were then hampered in their journey to Canning Town by blocked roads and diversions

Long before the buses reached Canning Town the Luftwaffe had returned and at 3.50 a.m. on the morning of Tuesday 10th the school received a direct hit, probably from a land-mine dropped by parchute. Some four hundred people perished in the rubble amongst them were many of our friends. No other expolsive device which fell on Britaiin caused so many fatalities. Providentially, my family had not gone to the school as our house was undamaged. However, in time we did have to move as we were bombed out in 1941, we suffered no physical injuries as we were in the corrugated Anderson Shelter when the bombs fell. This shelter was cold, damp and very unpopula, but looking back they must have saved many lives. We were evacuated from the East End to Hammersmith West London. and moved to a block of flats called Peabody Buildings Fulham Palace Road, we occupied a ground floor flat with two floors above us.

During the time my family was in the flat I had joined the Royal Marines 1943. Everything was going reasonably well for us considering it was wartime. In the summer of 1944 i was stationed at Westcliff just fifty miles down the line from London, so each evening i went home on unofficial leave, stayed the night and returned by the first train in the morning. On the night of August 22-44 my Mom and Dad were sheltering in the Underground Railway station which they did every night to get away from the bombing while I stayed at the flat and was in bed when Peabody Building was hit by a bomb and collapsed into rubble underneath which I was trapped for three hours. Once again we had lost all our possessions. All I was left with were my underpants and vest.
Someone gave me some clothing and a pair of shoes and I went to the Royal Marines Headquarters at Queen Ann’s Mansions. The duty after telling him what happend he gave me a travel warrant back to Westcliff and a letter to my Company Commander autorising the replacement issue of the lost items of my kit and granting of Seven days emergency leave, I was never asked how I came to be at home in London in the first place.

The family found a new at Ellingham Road Shepards Bush W.12 London, and we started all over again. I am pleased to say we remained there without further disturbance. After leaving the Marines in 1947, and working in and around London my wife and myself moved to Canada. Both my Mom and Dad passed away some years later.

We lived in Old Canning Town in the East End of London.In 1940 after a devastating weekend during which several families lost their homes because of German bombing they were told by the local council to make their way to a school in South Hallsville Road where they would be temporaily housed whilst buses would be orgnised to take them out of London and into the relative safety of the suburbs. Some of these unfortunate people spent the three nights from Saturday 7th to Monday 9th waiting for the buses, but the buses did not materialise. No one really knew what had gone wrong but it appeared that the bus convoy had gone to Camden Town in mistake for Canning Town. After which they were then hampered in their journey to Canning Town by blocked roads and diversions

Long before the buses reached Canning Town the Luftwaffe had returned and at 3.50 a.m. on the morning of Tuesday 10th the school received a direct hit, probably from a land-mine dropped by parchute. Some four hundred people perished in the rubble amongst them were many of our friends. No other expolsive device which fell on Britaiin caused so many fatalities. Providentially, my family had not gone to the school as our house was undamaged. However, in time we did have to move as we were bombed out in 1941, we suffered no physical injuries as we were in the corrugated Anderson Shelter when the bombs fell. This shelter was cold, damp and very unpopula, but looking back they must have saved many lives. We were evacuated from the East End to Hammersmith West London. and moved to a block of flats called Peabody Buildings Fulham Palace Road, we occupied a ground floor flat with two floors above us.

During the time my family was in the flat I had joined the Royal Marines 1943. Everything was going reasonably well for us considering it was wartime. In the summer of 1944 i was stationed at Westcliff just fifty miles down the line from London, so each evening i went home on unofficial leave, stayed the night and returned by the first train in the morning. On the night of August 22-44 my Mom and Dad were sheltering in the Underground Railway station which they did every night to get away from the bombing while I stayed at the flat and was in bed when Peabody Building was hit by a bomb and collapsed into rubble underneath which I was trapped for three hours. Once again we had lost all our possessions. All I was left with were my underpants and vest.
Someone gave me some clothing and a pair of shoes and I went to the Royal Marines Headquarters at Queen Ann’s Mansions. The duty after telling him what happend he gave me a travel warrant back to Westcliff and a letter to my Company Commander autorising the replacement issue of the lost items of my kit and granting of Seven days emergency leave, I was never asked how I came to be at home in London in the first place.

The family found a new at Ellingham Road Shepards Bush W.12 London, and we started all over again. I am pleased to say we remained there without further disturbance. After leaving the Marines in 1947, and working in and around London my wife and myself moved to Canada. Both my Mom and Dad passed away some years later.

We lived in Old Canning Town in the East End of London.In 1940 after a devastating weekend during which several families lost their homes because of German bombing they were told by the local council to make their way to a school in South Hallsville Road where they would be temporaily housed whilst buses would be orgnised to take them out of London and into the relative safety of the suburbs. Some of these unfortunate people spent the three nights from Saturday 7th to Monday 9th waiting for the buses, but the buses did not materialise. No one really knew what had gone wrong but it appeared that the bus convoy had gone to Camden Town in mistake for Canning Town. After which they were then hampered in their journey to Canning Town by blocked roads and diversions

Long before the buses reached Canning Town the Luftwaffe had returned and at 3.50 a.m. on the morning of Tuesday 10th the school received a direct hit, probably from a land-mine dropped by parchute. Some four hundred people perished in the rubble amongst them were many of our friends. No other expolsive device which fell on Britaiin caused so many fatalities. Providentially, my family had not gone to the school as our house was undamaged. However, in time we did have to move as we were bombed out in 1941, we suffered no physical injuries as we were in the corrugated Anderson Shelter when the bombs fell. This shelter was cold, damp and very unpopula, but looking back they must have saved many lives. We were evacuated from the East End to Hammersmith West London. and moved to a block of flats called Peabody Buildings Fulham Palace Road, we occupied a ground floor flat with two floors above us.

During the time my family was in the flat I had joined the Royal Marines 1943. Everything was going reasonably well for us considering it was wartime. In the summer of 1944 i was stationed at Westcliff just fifty miles down the line from London, so each evening i went home on unofficial leave, stayed the night and returned by the first train in the morning. On the night of August 22-44 my Mom and Dad were sheltering in the Underground Railway station which they did every night to get away from the bombing while I stayed at the flat and was in bed when Peabody Building was hit by a bomb and collapsed into rubble underneath which I was trapped for three hours. Once again we had lost all our possessions. All I was left with were my underpants and vest.
Someone gave me some clothing and a pair of shoes and I went to the Royal Marines Headquarters at Queen Ann’s Mansions. The duty after telling him what happend he gave me a travel warrant back to Westcliff and a letter to my Company Commander autorising the replacement issue of the lost items of my kit and granting of Seven days emergency leave, I was never asked how I came to be at home in London in the first place.

The family found a new at Ellingham Road Shepards Bush W.12 London, and we started all over again. I am pleased to say we remained there without further disturbance. After leaving the Marines in 1947, and working in and around London my wife and myself moved to Canada. Both my Mom and Dad passed away some years later.

My name is Len Smith, I was born in 1928 and was about to commence my secondary education at the time when the war broke out in 1939.

Unlike many of my contemporaries, I was not evacuated to a ‘safe area.’ I lived throughout the war years in one of the most heavily bombed areas of Britain - the County Borough of West Ham.

I have experienced life as a schoolboy and then as an adult under these extreme and traumatic conditions, since family circumstances deemed it necessary for me to start earning my living at the minimum school leaving age of 14.

It is worth mentioning that following the first big air raid of September 7th 1940, we were under attack for 57 consecutive nights and thereafter from heavy raids several times per week until the end of May 1941.

Put into perspective, each of those nights, from dusk to dawn, was spent in the musty confines of an Anderson shelter with only a candle or oil lamp for lighting. After May 1941, the air attacks became more sporadic, until the nightmare onset of the V-weapons assault in 1944 and 1945.

In September 1939, following the mass evacuation of children from London and other vulnerable areas, many schools closed. A large number of teachers were evacuated along with their pupils, while younger male teachers were conscripted for military service.

Initially, no provision was made for pupils remaining in London. We were simply told to go home and await instructions about our future education. After about 6 weeks, I was allocated a place for part-time education in a local mission hall, 2 afternoons a week from 1.30 to 3.30pm. The subjects were English and arithmetic.

In February 1940, with the situation at home remaining quiet, many evacuees and some teachers returned and I was able to resume full-time classes.

In September 1940, following the first major air assault of the blitz, the school promptly closed again and there was another mass exodus of people fleeing the capital. Main line railway stations and coach stations were besieged. For the next 3 months, there was no organised education. During this period, a number of schools were destroyed or seriously damaged, while some provided temporary accommodation for bombed out families. Others provided makeshift mortuary accommodation for the large number of fatalities resulting from the bombing.

Meanwhile, the children with no schools to attend were just running wild in the streets. Who cared about education? Personal survival was all that mattered, tonight we may be dead!

Sadly, it was a school that featured in West Ham's single worst air raid incident. Several hundred people bombed out of their homes in the Tidal Basin area of the borough were being housed in the South Hallsville School in Agate Street, Canning Town, while waiting to be evacuated to a safer area. The buses arranged to transport them out on Monday afternoon of 9th September failed to arrive.

It was rumoured that the buses had been sent to Camden Town by mistake, and this meant that the homeless people were obliged to spend another night in the school. In the early hours of Tuesday morning 10th September, the school received a direct hit from a high explosive bomb. The official death toll was estimated between 70 and 80, with scores injured, many seriously. Locally, it us believed that the number of the dead was considerably higher. Whole families were wiped out in this terrible incident.

In January 1941, I was able to resume my erratic education when a total of 80 pupils were mustered, including an intake from a nearby school which had been destroyed. Conditions were far from ideal for studying. We were all under stress, including the teachers. Any homework had to be completed before the nightly trip to the Anderson shelter, as we were still under attack from heavy night raids. Occasionally there were daylight raids, and when these occurred, we would be marshalled into the corridors which had been reinforced with blast walls. Such was the uncertainty of life at this stage, that as I was walking out of the schoolyard with a colleague one afternoon and we turned to go our respective ways, he said to me, ‘See you tomorrow, I hope.’ I said yes and he replied, ‘That’s all we can say now, isn’t it?’

I can still remember a chorus we would sometimes sing at morning assembly. I think it may have been composed by one of the teachers. It went something like this:

‘Jesus is with you, don’t be afraid
He will protect you, all through the raid
When bombs are falling, and danger is near
He will be with you, till the all clear’

My school survived several near misses and sustained blast damage to windows and roof once during school hours.

Many people owe their lives to the Anderson shelter. Named after Sir John Anderson, Minister of Home Security in Neville Chamberlain’s cabinet, they were supplied to all homes with a back garden. A charge was made according to family income, the maximum being £7. They were a crude structure in heavy gauge, galvanised corrugated steel, set into a 3’ 6” deep pit in the ground and covered with earth from the excavation. They were also one of the best life savers of the war. I have seen them mangled and distorted by the bomb blast but their occupants survived. Obviously, they couldn’t withstand a direct hit and sadly, a number of such incidents did occur. In a neighbouring street, all five occupants of the shelter were killed instantly including my mother’s friend and her teenage daughter.

On a lighter note, the air raids during the first eight weeks of the blitz were so regular that the proprietor of our local corner shop chalked on his boarded up window, ‘OPEN TILL WARNING.’ The local baker went one better with this:

‘Though bombs and blast come thick and fast
We’ll carry on quite gaily.
While we’re still here,
We’ll persevere,
To bake out Hovis daily’

During the summer of 1941, our school, along with others in the area, were given the task each afternoon for a period of 2 weeks of filling in names, addresses and National Registration numbers on hundreds of new issue ration books. We were told that we would be helping the war effort by relieving the overworked staff at the local food office and, moreoever, the exercise would help to improve our handwriting skills.

My ‘on and off’ education finally drew to a close at Christmas 1942 when I left to commence my working life and thus complete my early transition from childhood.
I have often been asked what we did for pleasure during those trying years. The answer - by today’s standards - was very little. We made the best of the situation we found ourselves in. There was, of course, no television but we had the radio, known then as the wireless. There were just 2 stations, the BBC Home Service and the Forces Programme the latter providing mainly light music and entertainment shows. However, broadcasting would go off air when a raid was imminent. Cinemas generally remained open, even during air raids. A notice would appear on the screen as follows:

‘The air raid warning has just been sounded. Those who wish to leave the theatre should do so immediately. Meanwhile the show will continue.’

It was decision time, whether to take pot luck and stay or whether to make a swift dash for home, hopefully before the raid intensified. Either way it was a gamble.

Confined to the musty Anderson shelter during the long evenings and nights of the early weeks of the blitz we would sometimes play card games by the light of a paraffin lamp as a welcome distraction from the noisy and dangerous environment outside.

Parks and public open spaces provided some pleasure although some were occupied by anti-aircraft gun batteries and searchlight units, while other housed RAF barrage balloons. With all the coastal resorts of Essex, Kent and Sussex off limits by a government imposed ban, and with notices displayed at railway stations asking, ‘'Is your journey really necessary?'’ most people spent what few holidays they had at home. There was some municipal entertainment provided during the summer months in local parks and recreation grounds with bands and amateur singers. Fruit picking and agricultural camps provided a welcome getaway for some.

Occasionally, we would attend a football match at Upton Park ground. Because most players were serving in the Armed Forces, the West Ham team would often include a number of guest players, if their regular team members were unavailable. The team sheet would always include the player’s military designation, thus there would be names such as Sgt Medhurst, Gnr Gregory, Cpl Corbett and a/c Foxhall, etc.

Ballroom dancing became popular when night raids were less regular, and the favourite local venues were Stratford Town Hall and Canning Town Public Hall.

If anything good arose from the 1940s, it was surely the comradeship that was fostered by the circumstances we were in. We cared for one another as never before, and when someone lost their home or worse when they lost loved ones, there were genuine feelings of sympathy and as much help as it was in our power to give. When a major incident occurred in an adjacent street, our air raid warden came round asking for volunteers to provide tea and refreshments for the rescue teams who had been toiling all night to recover the victims. The response was magnificent in spite of the rationing. We raided our larders to make sandwiches and my mother made tea in a large enamel jug which I took to the grim scene along with a number of other neighbours.

Throughout this story, I have tried to provide just a small insight into our way of life on the Home Front during those troubled times from a teenager’s view. There is so much more to relate, including London’s most terrifying period of the war, namely the nine month assault by the notorious V-weapons of 1944/45.

My unpublished book, ‘The Way We Were’ is at the Local Studies Section of Stratford Public Library. It is a portrayal of life in London’s East End from the early 1930s to 1952. It includes a detailed section on the Second World War and its effect on the local population. The book contains archive photographs of wartime scenes and there is also a local civilian roll of honour of the many who lost their lives, some of whom were my friends and neighbours.