Bombs dropped in the ward of: The Lane

After a few months of the tortuous daily Bus journey to Colfes Grammar School at Lewisham, I'd saved enough money to buy myself a new bicycle with the extra pocket money I got from Dad for helping in the shop.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't a new one, as these were unobtainable during the War, but the old boy in our local Cycle-Shop had some good second-hand frames, and he was still able to get Parts, so he made me up a nice Bike, Racing Handlebars, Three-Speed Gears, Dynamo Lighting and all.
I was very proud of my new Bike, and cycled to School every day once I'd got it, saving Mum the Bus-fare and never being late again.
I had a good friend called Sydney who I'd known since we were both small boys. He had a Bike too, and we would go out riding together in the evenings.
One Warm Sunday in the Early Summer, we went out for the day. Our idea was to cycle down the A20 and picnic at Wrotham Hill, A well known Kent beauty spot with views for miles over the Weald.
All went well until we reached the "Bull and Birchwood" Hotel at Farningham, where we found a rope stretched across the road, and a Policeman in attendance. He said that the other side of the rope was a restricted area and we couldn't go any further.
This was 1942, and we had no idea that road travel was restricted. Perhaps there was still a risk of Invasion. I do know that Dover and the other Coastal Towns were under bombardment from heavy Guns across the Channel throughout the War.
Anyway, we turned back and found a Transport Cafe open just outside Sidcup, which seemed to be a meeting place for cyclists.
We spent a pleasant hour there, then got on our bikes, stopping at the Woods on the way to pick some Bluebells to take home, just to prove we'd been to the Country.
In the Woods, we were surprised to meet two girls of our own age who lived near us, and who we knew slightly. They were out for a Cycle ride, and picking Bluebells too, so we all rode home together, showing off to one another, but we never saw the Girls again, I think we were all too young and shy to make any advances.
A while later, Sid suggested that we put our ages up and join the ARP. They wanted part-time Volunteers, he said.
This sounded exciting, but I was a bit apprehensive. I knew that I looked older than my years, but due to School rules, I'd only just started wearing long trousers, and feared that someone who knew my age might recognise me.
Sid told me that his cousin, the same age as us, was a Messenger, and they hadn't checked on his age, so I went along with it. As it turned out, they were glad to have us.
The ARP Post was in the Crypt of the local Church, where I,d gone every week before the war as a member of the Wolf-Cubs.
However, things were pretty quiet, and the ARP got boring after a while, there weren't many Alerts. We never did get our Uniforms, just a Tin-Hat, Service Gas-Mask, an Arm-band and a Badge.
We learnt how to use a Stirrup-Pump and to recognise anti-personnel bombs, that was about it.
In 1943, we heard that the National Fire Service was recruiting Youth Messengers.
This sounded much more exciting, as we thought we might get the chance to ride on a Fire-Engine, also the Uniform was a big attraction.
The NFS had recently been formed by combining the AFS with the Local and County Fire Brigades throughout the Country, making one National Force with a unified Chain of Command from Headquarters at Lambeth.
The nearest Fire-Station that we knew of was the old London Fire Brigade Station in Old Kent Road near "The Dun Cow" Pub, a well-known landmark.
With the ARP now behind us,we rode down there on our Bikes one evening to find out the gen.
The doors were all closed, but there was a large Bell-push on the Side-Door. I plucked up courage and pressed it.
The door was opened by a Firewoman, who seemed friendly enough. She told us that they had no Messengers there, but she'd ring up Divisional HQ to find out how we should go about getting details of the Service.
This Lady, who we got to know quite well when we were posted to the Station, was known as "Nobby", her surname being Clark.
She was one of the Watch-Room Staff who operated the big "Gamel" Set. This was connected to the Street Fire-Alarms, placed at strategic points all over the Station district or "Ground", as it was known. With the info from this or a call by telephone, they would "Ring the Bells down," and direct the Appliances to where they were needed when there was an alarm.
Nobby was also to figure in some dramatic events that took place on the night before the Official VE day in May 1945 when we held our own Victory Celebrations at the Fire-Station. But more of that at the end of my story.
She led us in to a corridor lined with white glazed tiles, and told us to wait, then went through a half-glass door into the Watch-Room on the right.
We saw her speak to another Firewoman with red Flashes on her shoulders, then go to the telephone.
In front of us was another half-glass door, which led into the main garage area of the Station. Through this, we could see two open Fire-Engines. One with ladders, and the other carrying a Fire-Escape with big Cart-wheels.
We knew that the Appliances had once been all red and polished brass, but they were now a matt greenish colour, even the big brass fire-bells, had been painted over.
As we peered through the glass, I spied a shiny steel pole with a red rubber mat on the floor round it over in the corner. The Firemen slid down this from the Rooms above to answer a call. I hardly dared hope that I'd be able to slide down it one day.
Soon Nobby was back. She told us that the Section-Leader who was organising the Youth Messenger Service for the Division was Mr Sims, who was stationed at Dulwich, and we'd have to get in touch with him.
She said he was at Peckham Fire Station, that evening, and we could go and see him there if we wished.
Peckham was only a couple of miles away, so we were away on our bikes, and got there in no time.
From what I remember of it, Peckham Fire Station was a more ornate building than Old Kent Road, and had a larger yard at the back.
Section-Leader Sims was a nice chap, he explained all about the NFS Messenger Service, and told us to report to him at Dulwich the following evening to fill in the forms and join if we still wanted to.
We couldn't wait of course, and although it was a long bike ride, were there bright and early next evening.
The signing-up over without any difficulty about our ages, Mr Sims showed us round the Station, and we spent the evening learning how the country was divided into Fire Areas and Divisions under the NFS, as well as looking over the Appliances.
To our delight, he told us that we'd be posted to Old Kent Road once they'd appointed someone to be I/C Messengers there. However, for the first couple of weeks, our evenings were spent at Dulwich, doing a bit of training, during which time we were kitted out with Uniforms.
To our disappointment, we didn't get the same suit as the Firemen with a double row of silver buttons on the Jacket.
The Messenger's Uniform consisted of a navy-blue Battledress with red Badges and Lanyard, topped by a stiff-peaked Cap with red piping and metal NFS Badge, the same as the Firemen's. We also got a Cape and Leggings for bad weather on our Bikes, and a proper Service Gas-Mask and Tin-Hat with NFS Badge transfer.
I was pleased with it. I could definitely pass for an older Lad now, and it was a cut above what the ARP got.
We were soon told that a Fireman had been appointed in charge of us at Old Kent Road, and we were posted there. After this, I didn't see much of Section-Leader Sims till the end of the War, when we were stood down.
Old Kent Road, or 82, it's former LFB Sstation number, as the old hands still called it,was the HQ Station of the District, or Sub-Division.
It's full designation was 38A3Z, 38 being the Fire Area, A the Division, 3 the Sub-Division, and Z the Station.
The letter Z denoted the Sub-Division HQ, the main Fire Station. It was always first on call, as Life-saving Appliances were kept there.
There were several Sub-Stations in Schools around the Sub-Division, each with it's own Identification Letter, housing Appliances and Staff which could be called upon when needed.
In Charge of us at Old Kent Road was an elderly part-time Fireman, Mr Harland, known as Charlie. He was a decent old Boy who'd spent many years in the Indian Army, and he would often use Indian words when he was talking.
The first thing he showed us was how to slide down the pole from upstairs without burning our fingers.
For the first few weeks, Sid and I were the only Messengers there, and it was a very exciting moment for me to slide down the pole and ride the Pump for the first time when the bells went down.
In his lectures, Charlie emphasised that the first duty of the Fire-Service was to save life, and not fighting fires as we thought.
Everything was geared to this purpose, and once the vehicle carrying life-saving equipment left the Station, another from the next Station in our Division with the gear, would act as back-up and answer the next call on our ground.
This arrangement went right up the chain of Command to Headquarters at Lambeth, where the most modern equipment was kept.
When learning about the chain of command, one thing that struck me as rather odd was the fact that the NFS chief at Lambeth was named Commander Firebrace. With a name like that, he must have been destined for the job. Anyway, Charlie kept a straight face when he told us about him.
We had the old pre-war "Dennis" Fire-Engines at our Station, comprising a Pump, with ladders and equipment, and a Pump-Escape, which carried a mobile Fire-Escape with a long extending ladder.
This could be manhandled into position on it's big Cartwheels.
Both Fire-Engines had open Cabs and big brass bells, which had been painted over.
The Crew rode on the outside of these machines, hanging on to the handrail with one hand as they put on their gear, while the Company Officer stood up in the open cab beside the Driver, lustily ringing the bell.
It was a never to be forgotten experience for me to slide down the pole and ride the Pump in answer to an alarm call, and it always gave me a thrill, but after a while, it became just routine and I took it in my stride, becoming just as fatalistic as the Firemen when our evening activities were interrupted by a false alarm.
It was my job to attend the Company Officer at an incident, and to act as his Messenger. There were no Walkie-Talkies or Mobile Phones in those days, and the public telephones were unreliable, because of Air-Raids, that's why they needed Messengers.
Young as I was, I really took to the Fire-Service, and got on so well, that after a few months, I was promoted to Leading-Messenger, which meant that I had a stripe and helped to train the other Lads.
It didn't make any difference financially though, as we were all unpaid Volunteers.
We were all part-timers, and Rostered to do so many hours a week, but in practice, we went in every night when the raids were on, and sometimes daytimes at weekends.
For the first few months there weren't many Air-Raids, and not many real emergencies.
Usually two or three calls a night, sometimes to a chimney fire or other small domestic incident, but mostly they were false alarms, where vandals broke the glass on the Street-Alarms, pulled the lever and ran. These were logged as "False Alarm Malicious", and were a thorn in the side of the Fire-Service, as every call had to be answered.
Our evenings were good fun sometimes, the Firemen had formed a small Jazz band.
They held a weekly Dance in the Hall at one of the Sub-Stations, which had been a School.
There was also a full-sized Billiard Table in there on which I learnt to play, with one disaster when I caught the table with my cue, and nearly ripped the cloth!
Unfortunately, that School, a nice modern building, was hit by a Doodle-Bug later in the War, and had to be demolished.
Charlie was a droll old chap. He was good at making up nicknames. There was one Messenger who never had any money, and spent his time sponging Cigarettes and free cups of tea off the unwary.
Charlie referred to him as "Washer". When I asked him why, the answer came: "Cos he's always on the Tap".
Another chap named Frankie Sycamore was "Wabash" to all and sundry, after a song in the Rita Hayworth Musical Film that was showing at the time. It contained the words:
"Neath the Sycamores the Candlelights are gleaming, On the banks of the Wabash far away".
Poor old Frankie, he was a bit of a Joker himself.
When he was expecting his Call-up Papers for the Army, he got a bit bomb-happy and made up this song, which he'd sing within earshot of Charlie to the tune of "When this Wicked War is Over":
Don't be angry with me Charlie,
Don't chuck me out the Station Door!
I don't want no more old blarney,
I just want Dorothy Lamour".
Before long, this song was taken up by all of us, and became the Messengers Anthem.
But this little interlude in our lives was just another calm before another storm. Regular air-raids were to start again as the darker evenings came with Autumn and the "Little Blitz" got under way.
To be continued.

Sporadic air-raids went on all through 1943, but as Autumn came, bringing the dark evenings with it, the "Little Blitz" started, with plenty of bombs falling in our area and I got my first real experience of NFS work.
There were Air-Raids every night, though never on the scale of 1940/41.
By now, my own School, St. Olave's, had re-opened at Tower Bridge with a skeleton staff of Masters, as about a hundred boys had returned to London.
I was glad to go back to my own school, and I no longer had to cycle all the way to Lewisham every day.
Part of the School Buildings had been taken over by the NFS as a Sub-Station for 37 Fire Area, the one next to ours, so luckily none of the Firemen knew me, and I kept quiet about my evening activities in School. I didn't think the Head would be too pleased if he found out I was an NFS Messenger.
The Air-Raids usually started in the early evening, and were mostly over by midnight.
We had a few nasty incidents in the area, but most of them were just outside our patch. If we were around though, even off-duty. Sid and I would help the Rescue Men if we could, usually forming part of the chain passing baskets of rubble down from the highly skilled diggers doing the rescue, and sometimes helping to get the walking wounded out. They were always in a state of shock, and needed comforting until the Ambulances came.
One particular incident that I can never forget makes me smile to myself and then want to cry.
One night, Sid and I were riding home from the Station. It was quiet, but the Alert was still on, as the All-Clear hadn't sounded yet.
As we neared home, Searchlights criss-crossed in the sky, there was the sound of AA-Guns and Plane engines. Then came a flash and the sound of a large explosion ahead of us towards the river, followed by the sound of receding gunfire and airplane engines. It was probably a solitary plane jettisoning it's bombs and running for home.
We instinctively rode towards the cloud of smoke visible in the moonlight in front of us.
When we got to Jamaica Road, the main road running parallel with the river, we turned towards the part known as Dockhead, on a sharp bend of the main road, just off which Dockhead Fire-Station was located.
Arrived there, we must have been among the first on the scene. There was a big hole in the road cutting off the Tram-Lines, and a loud rushing noise like an Express-Train was coming from it. The Fire-Station a few hundred yards away looked deserted. All the Appliances must have been out on call.
As we approached the crater, I realised that the sound we heard was running water, and when we joined the couple of ARP Men looking down into it, I was amazed to see by the light from the Warden's Lantern, a huge broken water-main with water pouring from it and cascading down through shattered brickwork into a sewer below.
Then we heard a shout: "Help! over here!"
On the far side of the road, right on the bend away from the river, stood an RC Convent. It was a large solid building, with very small windows facing the road, and a statue of Our Lady in a niche on the wall. It didn't look as though it had suffered very much on the outside, but the other side of the road was a different story.
The blast had gone that way, and the buildings on the main road were badly damaged.
A little to the left of the crater as we faced it was Mill Street, lined with Warehouses and Spice Mills, it led down to the River. Facing us was a terrace of small cottages at a right angle to the main road, approached by a paved walk-way. These had taken the full force of the blast, and were almost demolished. This was where the call for help had come from.
We dashed over to find a Warden by the remains of the first cottage.
"Listen!" He said. After a short silence we heard a faint sob come from the debris. Luckily for the person underneath, the blast had pushed the bulk of the wreckage away from her, and she wasn't buried very deeply.
We got to work to free her, moving the debris by hand, piece by piece, as we'd learnt that was the best way. A ceiling joist and some broken floorboards lying across her upper parts had saved her life by getting wedged and supporting the debris above.
When we'd uncovered most of her, we used a large lump of timber as a lever and held the joist up while the Warden gently eased her out.
I looked down on a young woman around eighteen or so. She was wearing a check skirt that was up over her body, showing all her legs. She was covered in dust but definitely alive. Her eyes opened, and she sat up suddenly. A look of consternation crossed her face as she saw three grimy chaps in Tin-Hats looking down on her, and she hurriedly pulled her skirt down over her knees.
I was still holding the timber, and couldn't help smiling at the Girl's first instinct being modesty. I felt embarassed, but was pleased that she seemed alright, although she was obviously in shock.
At that moment we heard the noise of activity behind us as the Rescue Squad and Ambulances arrived.
A couple of Ambulance Girls came up with a Stretcher and Blankets.
They took charge of the Young Lady while we followed the Warden and Rescue Squad to the next Cottage.
The Warden seemed to know who lived in the house, and directed the Rescue Men, who quickly got to work. We mucked in and helped, but I must confess, I wish I hadn't, for there we saw our most sickening sight of the War.
I'd already seen many dead and injured people in the Blitz, and was to see more when the Doodle-Bugs and V2 Rockets started, but nothing like this.
The Rescue Men located someone buried in the wreckage of the House. We formed our chain of baskets, and the debris round them was soon cleared.
To my horror, we'd uncovered a Woman face down over a large bowl There was a tiny Baby in the muddy water, who she must have been bathing. Both of them were dead.
We all went silent. The Rescue Men were hardened to these sights, and carried on to the next job once the Ambulance Girls came, but Sid and I made our excuses and left, I felt sick at heart, and I think Sid felt the same. We hardly said a word to each other all the way home.
I suppose that the people in those houses had thought the raid was over and left their shelter, although by now many just ignored the sirens and got on with their business, fatalistically taking a chance.
The Grand Surrey Canal ran through our district to join the Thames at Surrey Docks Basin, and the NFS had commandeered the house behind a Shop on Canal Bridge, Old Kent Road, as a Sub-Station.
We had a Fire-Barge moored on the Canal outside with four Trailer-Pumps on board.
The Barge was the powered one of a pair of "Monkey Boats" that once used to ply the Canals, carrying Goods. It had a big Thornycroft Marine-Engine.
I used to do a duty there now and again, and got to know Bob, the Leading-Fireman who was in-charge, quite well. His other job was at Barclays Brewery in Southwark.
He allowed me to go there on Sunday mornings when the Crew exercised with the Barge on the Canal.
It was certainly something different from tearing along the road on a Fire-Engine.
One day, I reported there for duty, and found that the Navy had requisitioned the engine from the Barge. I thought they must have been getting desperate, but with hindsight, I expect it was needed in the preparations for D-Day.
Apparently, the orders were that the Crew would tow the Barge along the Tow-path by hand when called out, but Bob, who was ex-Navy, had an idea.
He mounted a Swivel Hose-Nozzle on the Stern of the Barge, and one on the Bow, connecting them to one of the Pumps in the Hold. When the water was turned on at either Nozzle, a powerful jet of water was directed behind the Barge, driving it forward or backward as necessary, and Bob could steer it by using the Swivel.
This worked very well, and the Crew never had to tow the Barge by hand. It must have been the first ever Jet-Propelled Fire-Boat
We had plenty to do for a time in the "Little Blitz". The Germans dropped lots of Containers loaded with Incediary Bombs. These were known as "Molotov Breadbaskets," don't ask me why!
Each one held hundreds of Incendiaries. They were supposed to open and scatter them while dropping, but they didn't always open properly, so the bombs came down in a small area, many still in the Container, and didn't go off.
A lot of them that hit the ground properly didn't go off either, as they were sabotaged by Hitler's Slave-Labourers in the Bomb Factories at risk of death or worse to themselves if caught. Some of the detonators were wedged in off-centre, or otherwise wrongly assembled.
The little white-metal bombs were filled with magnesium powder, they were cone-shaped at the top to take a push-on fin, and had a heavy steel screw-in cap at the bottom containing the detonator, These Magnesium Bombs were wicked little things and burned with a very hot flame. I often came across a circular hole in a Pavement-Stone where one had landed upright, burnt it's way right through the stone and fizzled out in the clay underneath.
To make life a bit more hazardous for the Civil Defence Workers, Jerry had started mixing explosive Anti-Personnel Incendiaries amonst the others. Designed to catch the unwary Fire-Fighter who got too close, they could kill or maim. But were easily recogniseable in their un-detonated state, as they were slightly longer and had an extra band painted yellow.
One of these "Molotov Breadbaskets" came down in the Playground of the Paragon School, off New Kent Road, one evening. It had failed to open properly and was half-full of unexploded Incendiaries.
This School was one of our Sub-Stations, so any small fires round about were quickly dealt with.
While we were up there, Sid and I were hoping to have a look inside the Container, and perhaps get a souvenir or two, but UXB's were the responsibility of the Police, and they wouldn't let us get too near for fear of explosion, so we didn't get much of a look before the Bomb-Disposal People came and took it away.
One other macabre, but slightly humorous incident is worthy of mention.
A large Bomb had fallen close by the Borough Tube Station Booking Hall when it was busy, and there were many casualties. The lifts had crashed to the bottom so the Rescue Men had a nasty job.
On the opposite corner, stood the premises of a large Engineering Company, famous for making screws, and next door, a large Warehouse.
The roof and upper floors of this building had collapsed, but the walls were still standing.
A WVS Mobile Canteen was parked nearby, and we were enjoying a cup of tea with the Rescue Men, who'd stopped for a break, when a Steel-Helmeted Special PC came hurrying up to the Squad-Leader.
"There's bodies under the rubble in there!"
He cried, his face aghast. as he pointed to the warehouse "Hasn't anyone checked it yet?"
The Rescue Man's face broke into a broad smile.
"Keep your hair on!" He said. "There's no people in there, they all went home long before the bombs dropped. There's plenty of dead meat though, what you saw in the rubble were sides of bacon, they were all hanging from hooks in the ceiling. It's a Bacon Warehouse."
The poor old Special didn't know where to put his face. Still, he may have been a stranger to the district, and it was dark and dusty in there.
The "Little Blitz petered out in the Spring of 1944, and Raids became sporadic again.
With rumours of Hitler's Secret-Weapons around, we all awaited the next and final phase of our War, which was to begin in June, a week after D-Day, with the first of them to reach London and fall on Bethnal Green. The germans called it the V1, it was a jet-propelled pilotless flying-Bomb armed with 850kg of high-explosive, nicknamed the "Doodle-Bug".
To be Continued.

My Grandfather was Flight Lieutenant Leonard Thomas Mersh and this is just a glimpse in his life during World War 2, like many of the pilots he has a number of log books, with many miles accounted for and the stories to go with them.

Len went to Woods Road School in Peckham and then on to Brixton School of Building, where he qualified as a joiner. In 1938 at 18 he joined the RAF Volunteer Reserve. At Aberystwyth he made the grade to be a pilot and was then sent to Canada for further training in Montreal and Nova Scotia Newfoundland where he gained his wings on Havards and Ansons.

Once back in England he went to Aston Downs and flew many aircraft across England, eventually he was posted to East Kirby in Norfolk attached to 57 Squadron Bomber Command. He flew many missions over Germany and France and as far as the Baltic. Missions included laying mines in the fjords where submarines and battleships where hidden. Dresden; Droitwich, Hamberg, Nuremberg, Brunswick and Gravenhorst were some of the places he bombed. Some times he carried the Grand Slam bomb.

In January 1945 he and his crew where sent to Stettin Harbour to lay mines at night. They where one of the lucky ones, as 350 planes had been sent and only 50 came back. Granddad’s plane was attacked by enemy fighters and was hit but they managed a second run over the target to release their mines.

In March 1945 during a sortie against Bohlen, his aircraft was attacked by a Junkers 88. The plane was hit but they made three bombing runs and then hedgehopped back to England.

On the 26th October 1945 Leonard was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, (DFS), for courage, determination and efficiency.

After completing operational tours and six mine laying sorties he was drafted to 31 Squadron, Transport Command at the end of the Dutch Indonesian Campaign flying VIPs. He flew General Mansergh to Bali being the first RAF plane to land on March 8th 1945 to accept the Japanese surrender.

In 1948 Leonard was drafted to Germany to help with the Berlin Airlift. The squadron reopened airstrips which had been closed at the end of the war, plot routes into Berlin and get them working, the Americans would move in and the squadron would move on to another station. They flew by day and night and were lucky to gain 5hours sleep, which was taken in Mess chairs, which is perhaps why he caught TB, which ended his career and he then spent a lot of time in and out of hospital.

Kallender Marjorie

I lived in London during the war. I was an air raid warden in South London. I worked in Victoria and walked to the warden post in the black out wearing a tin hat and carrying a gas mask it four miles. I never actually used my gas mask, and we had the tests in a Nissan hut, firstly with the gas mask, then without which was horrible, although very quick, as we ran through. We had to do it quietly, because if they heard you running they made you go back and do it again slowly!

I met my husband at the Peckham health center and social club about 1938. We married in the ruins of the church, St Judes in Peckham, on a foggy cold morning he had to report to his regiment. We married at 10am and his train left at 2pm. Sad. It was a long parting. He was posted to Egypt for four years.

I worked as a hairdresser with Arnott & Rosse in Victoria until I retired at sixty to look after my husband who had cancer. He had his last wish and died at home in our living room it was very sad. He was at the Cromwell first as an outpatient, the specialist sent me out to get a sandwich and when I got back he told me he had two years to live. In fact, he lived about two and a half years after that.

I lived in Central London I was bombed out of three homes. My mother managed to get house in Peckham 4 Whittington Road where my husband and I lived until we bought a house in Pimlico.

Fred and I had to leave our very nice house, after he modernized it and redecorated it, as the local council compulsorily purchased all the land and gave us two hundred pounds. They built a block of flats on the land which are still there today.

We put the money towards 90 Warwick Way, which had been owned by an elderly lady who died — it was in a poor state of repair, and we had to borrow money and do a lot of repairs. We made it into two self-contained flats, which we let out firstly to an accountant. Then he was recalled to Birmingham and we found another tenant, a woman from Australia.

We had my mother in the flat with us — it wasn’t so easy, I was still working as a hairdresser at 49 Warwick Way, Arnott and Rosse, run by two ladies, who I helped to look after when they became ill, as well as their mother. One hemorrhaged and I took her to hospital, which is now a big hotel at Hyde Park Corner. The other lady was trying to clear a drain with caustic soda, got it all over her hands; I got the doctor for her. I told Mrs Rosse’s daughter, Esther Macdonald, who was married to a doctor and lived in Surrey, and all she did was turn up, take the ration books for her mother and her aunt, drew the rations and downstairs they had some very old furniture, Jacobean, and she took it out and sold it. When those two ladies died, they left a will, which I was to be included in, for a certain amount of money. Esther disputed it so my husband and I got a solicitor and we got a small sum of money. She wanted me to run the shop which I did, she used to come take money out of the till, leave an I.O.U.

During air raids, our shop windows were blown out, the shop across the road got a firebomb and the two corner shops, one a hat shop the other a butchers, were completely destroyed, leaving just a hole. We used to ask the customers if they wanted to leave during an air raid, but mostly they would say to continue so we worked throughout air raids. The shop closed at seven and I had to walk to Peckham to become an air raid warden, four miles, which took me three hours. You reported to the post, and if they said you weren’t needed you could go home and they would come and get us if necessary. This didn’t often happen! The wardens were responsible for the number of people in the houses and we had to find out if they were in the houses or in the garden shelters at the back and often they were in the pubs!

My husband Fred was in Caterick first in 1939 and then he was sent to Egypt in 1940, where he was in some caves in the desert. The caves were originally used to extract stones for the pyramids. He came home in 1945, and he was sent to Hampshire. And he was there until he was discharged a year later and worked for North Thames Gas as a communications officer. He never spoke about his time in the army. He only remembered the worst bits and he wouldn’t tell me about those.

I only got two letters from him during this time — they didn’t get through. Maybe they got put on a ship or a plane? I used to send him parcels with brushes and polish, toothpaste and socks, which is what he wanted as the army didn’t supply them. And through the bank sent him a draft as his watch got stolen. He got most of my letters, even though they took a long while.

Until my husband came home, my mother had the ration books and she’d collect the rations until we moved to Victoria and she’d go to the butchers in Warwick way — the maypole.

My mother subsequently became very ill with cancer and she was taken to the Old Westminster Hospital. I used to rush and visit her and she died there after a year.

I’m originally from great Yarmouth in Norfolk and that’s where I had my first air raid when I was eighteen. I moved to London with my family because the house was bombed and we lived first for eighteen months in Asylum Road, until we got bombed there, then we moved to Clifton crescent, again in Peckham, for less than a year until once more we were bombed out, so we went to Whittington road which my mother found.

As I’d been left half the hairdressers, we bought the other half from Esther, modernized it and ran it until I was sixty. My husband made me retire then, and dragged me off to the social services as I hadn’t realized I could get a pension. So now I go to the Post Office every week and draw my pension.

On VE Day a lot of the streets had street parties.

These are some of the things I experienced in my apprenticeship we had a metal container over gas ring which was filled with green soap
which was our shampoo the water to the basins came from a large metal tank which was heated with two large open gas rings. One lunch time I was invited to a friend’s house, when I retuned water was pouring out of the door. The water tank had burst. My husband helped Miss Arnott to obtain and install small electric water heaters by each baisin which were a great improvement.

On the ground floor were wooden cubicles painted green and orange. The shop windows had glass sliding panels which I had to clean. The cubicle curtains which had to drawn so no one person could the other ito shampoo thnen be watch and hand things to the first asstiant

Kallender Marjorie

I lived in London during the war. I was an air warden in South London. I worked in Victoria and walked to the warden post in the black out wearing a tin hat and carrying a gas mask it four miles. I never actually used my gas mask, and we had the tests in a Nissan hut, firstly with the gas mask, then without which was horrible, although very quick, as we ran through. We had to do it quietly, because if they heard you running they made you go back and do it again slowly!

I met my husband at the Peckham health center and social club about 1938. We married in the ruins of the church, St Judes in Peckham, on a foggy cold morning he had to report to his regiment. We married at 10am and his train left at 2pm. Sad. It was a long parting. He was posted to Egypt for four years.

I worked as a hairdresser with Arnott & Rosse in Victoria until I retired at sixty to look after my husband who had cancer. He had his last wish and died at home in our living room it was very sad. He was at the Cromwell first as an outpatient, the specialist sent me out to get a sandwich and when I got back he told me he had two years to live. In fact, he lived about two and a half years after that.

I lived in Central London I was bombed out of three homes. My mother managed to get house in Peckham 4 Whittington Road where my husband and I lived until we bought a house in Pimlico.

Fred and I had to leave our very nice house, after he modernized it and redecorated it, as the local council compulsorily purchased all the land and gave us two hundred pounds. They built a block of flats on the land which are still there today.

We put the money towards 90 Warwick Way, which had been owned by an elderly lady who died — it was in a poor state of repair, and we had to borrow money and do a lot of repairs. We made it into two self-contained flats, which we let out firstly to an accountant. Then he was recalled to Birmingham and we found another tenant, a woman from Australia.

We had my mother in the flat with us — it wasn’t so easy, I was still working as a hairdresser at 49 Warwick Way, Arnott and Rosse, run by two ladies, who I helped to look after when they became ill, as well as their mother. One hemorrhaged and I took her to hospital, which is now a big hotel at Hyde Park Corner. The other lady was trying to clear a drain with caustic soda, got it all over her hands; I got the doctor for her. I told Mrs Rosse’s daughter, Esther Macdonald, who was married to a doctor and lived in Surrey, and all she did was turn up, take the ration books for her mother and her aunt, drew the rations and downstairs they had some very old furniture, Jacobean, and she took it out and sold it. When those two ladies died, they left a will, which I was to be included in, for a certain amount of money. Esther disputed it so my husband and I got a solicitor and we got a small sum of money. She wanted me to run the shop which I did, she used to come take money out of the till, leave an I.O.U.

During air raids, our shop windows were blown out, the shop across the road got a firebomb and the two corner shops, one a hat shop the other a butchers, were completely destroyed, leaving just a hole. We used to ask the customers if they wanted to leave during an air raid, but mostly they would say to continue so we worked throughout air raids. The shop closed at seven and I had to walk to Peckham to become an air raid warden, four miles, which took me three hours. You reported to the post, and if they said you weren’t needed you could go home and they would come and get us if necessary. This didn’t often happen! The wardens were responsible for the number of people in the houses and we had to find out if they were in the houses or in the garden shelters at the back and often they were in the pubs!

My husband Fred was in Caterick first in 1939 and then he was sent to Egypt in 1940, where he was in some caves in the desert. The caves were originally used to extract stones for the pyramids. He came home in 1945, and he was sent to Hampshire. And he was there until he was discharged a year later and worked for North Thames Gas as a communications officer. He never spoke about his time in the army. He only remembered the worst bits and he wouldn’t tell me about those.

I only got two letters from him during this time — they didn’t get through. Maybe they got put on a ship or a plane? I used to send him parcels with brushes and polish, toothpaste and socks, which is what he wanted as the army didn’t supply them. And through the bank sent him a draft as his watch got stolen. He got most of my letters, even though they took a long while.

Until my husband came home, my mother had the ration books and she’d collect the rations until we moved to Victoria and she’d go to the butchers in Warwick way — the maypole.

My mother subsequently became very ill with cancer and she was taken to the Old Westminster Hospital. I used to rush and visit her and she died there after a year.

I’m originally from great Yarmouth in Norfolk and that’s where I had my first air raid when I was eighteen. I moved to London with my family because the house was bombed and we lived first for eighteen months in Asylum Road, until we got bombed there, then we moved to Clifton crescent, again in Peckham, for less than a year until once more we were bombed out, so we went to Whittington road which my mother found.

As I’d been left half the hairdressers, we bought the other half from Esther, modernized it and ran it until I was sixty. My husband made me retire then, and dragged me off to the social services as I hadn’t realized I could get a pension. So now I go to the Post Office every week and draw my pension.

On VE Day a lot of the streets had street parties.

These are some of the things I experienced in my apprenticeship we had a metal container over gas ring which was filled with green soap
which was our shampoo the water to the basins came from a large metal tank which was heated with two large open gas rings. One lunch time I was invited to a friend’s house, when I retuned water was pouring out of the door. The water tank had burst. My husband helped Miss Arnott to obtain and install small electric water heaters by each baisin which were a great improvement.

On the ground floor were wooden cubicles painted green and orange. The shop windows had glass sliding panels which I had to clean. The cubicle curtains which had to drawn so no one person could the other ito shampoo thnen be watch and hand things to the first asstiant

Kallender Marjorie

I lived in London during the war. I was an air raid warden in South London. I worked in Victoria and walked to the warden post in the black out wearing a tin hat and carrying a gas mask it four miles. I never actually used my gas mask, and we had the tests in a Nissan hut, firstly with the gas mask, then without which was horrible, although very quick, as we ran through. We had to do it quietly, because if they heard you running they made you go back and do it again slowly!

I met my husband at the Peckham health center and social club about 1938. We married in the ruins of the church, St Judes in Peckham, on a foggy cold morning he had to report to his regiment. We married at 10am and his train left at 2pm. Sad. It was a long parting. He was posted to Egypt for four years.

I worked as a hairdresser with Arnott & Rosse in Victoria until I retired at sixty to look after my husband who had cancer. He had his last wish and died at home in our living room it was very sad. He was at the Cromwell first as an outpatient, the specialist sent me out to get a sandwich and when I got back he told me he had two years to live. In fact, he lived about two and a half years after that.

I lived in Central London I was bombed out of three homes. My mother managed to get house in Peckham 4 Whittington Road where my husband and I lived until we bought a house in Pimlico.

Fred and I had to leave our very nice house, after he modernized it and redecorated it, as the local council compulsorily purchased all the land and gave us two hundred pounds. They built a block of flats on the land which are still there today.

We put the money towards 90 Warwick Way, which had been owned by an elderly lady who died — it was in a poor state of repair, and we had to borrow money and do a lot of repairs. We made it into two self-contained flats, which we let out firstly to an accountant. Then he was recalled to Birmingham and we found another tenant, a woman from Australia.

We had my mother in the flat with us — it wasn’t so easy, I was still working as a hairdresser at 49 Warwick Way, Arnott and Rosse, run by two ladies, who I helped to look after when they became ill, as well as their mother. One hemorrhaged and I took her to hospital, which is now a big hotel at Hyde Park Corner. The other lady was trying to clear a drain with caustic soda, got it all over her hands; I got the doctor for her. I told Mrs Rosse’s daughter, Esther Macdonald, who was married to a doctor and lived in Surrey, and all she did was turn up, take the ration books for her mother and her aunt, drew the rations and downstairs they had some very old furniture, Jacobean, and she took it out and sold it. When those two ladies died, they left a will, which I was to be included in, for a certain amount of money. Esther disputed it so my husband and I got a solicitor and we got a small sum of money. She wanted me to run the shop which I did, she used to come take money out of the till, leave an I.O.U.

During air raids, our shop windows were blown out, the shop across the road got a firebomb and the two corner shops, one a hat shop the other a butchers, were completely destroyed, leaving just a hole. We used to ask the customers if they wanted to leave during an air raid, but mostly they would say to continue so we worked throughout air raids. The shop closed at seven and I had to walk to Peckham to become an air raid warden, four miles, which took me three hours. You reported to the post, and if they said you weren’t needed you could go home and they would come and get us if necessary. This didn’t often happen! The wardens were responsible for the number of people in the houses and we had to find out if they were in the houses or in the garden shelters at the back and often they were in the pubs!

My husband Fred was in Caterick first in 1939 and then he was sent to Egypt in 1940, where he was in some caves in the desert. The caves were originally used to extract stones for the pyramids. He came home in 1945, and he was sent to Hampshire. And he was there until he was discharged a year later and worked for North Thames Gas as a communications officer. He never spoke about his time in the army. He only remembered the worst bits and he wouldn’t tell me about those.

I only got two letters from him during this time — they didn’t get through. Maybe they got put on a ship or a plane? I used to send him parcels with brushes and polish, toothpaste and socks, which is what he wanted as the army didn’t supply them. And through the bank sent him a draft as his watch got stolen. He got most of my letters, even though they took a long while.

Until my husband came home, my mother had the ration books and she’d collect the rations until we moved to Victoria and she’d go to the butchers in Warwick way — the maypole.

My mother subsequently became very ill with cancer and she was taken to the Old Westminster Hospital. I used to rush and visit her and she died there after a year.

I’m originally from great Yarmouth in Norfolk and that’s where I had my first air raid when I was eighteen. I moved to London with my family because the house was bombed and we lived first for eighteen months in Asylum Road, until we got bombed there, then we moved to Clifton crescent, again in Peckham, for less than a year until once more we were bombed out, so we went to Whittington road which my mother found.

As I’d been left half the hairdressers, we bought the other half from Esther, modernized it and ran it until I was sixty. My husband made me retire then, and dragged me off to the social services as I hadn’t realized I could get a pension. So now I go to the Post Office every week and draw my pension.

On VE Day a lot of the streets had street parties.

These are some of the things I experienced in my apprenticeship we had a metal container over gas ring which was filled with green soap
which was our shampoo the water to the basins came from a large metal tank which was heated with two large open gas rings. One lunch time I was invited to a friend’s house, when I retuned water was pouring out of the door. The water tank had burst. My husband helped Miss Arnott to obtain and install small electric water heaters by each baisin which were a great improvement.

On the ground floor were wooden cubicles painted green and orange. The shop windows had glass sliding panels which I had to clean. The cubicle curtains which had to drawn so no one person could the other ito shampoo thnen be watch and hand things to the first asstiant

Kallender Marjorie

I lived in London during the war. I was an air warden in South London. I worked in Victoria and walked to the warden post in the black out wearing a tin hat and carrying a gas mask it four miles. I never actually used my gas mask, and we had the tests in a Nissan hut, firstly with the gas mask, then without which was horrible, although very quick, as we ran through. We had to do it quietly, because if they heard you running they made you go back and do it again slowly!

I met my husband at the Peckham health center and social club about 1938. We married in the ruins of the church, St Judes in Peckham, on a foggy cold morning he had to report to his regiment. We married at 10am and his train left at 2pm. Sad. It was a long parting. He was posted to Egypt for four years.

I worked as a hairdresser with Arnott & Rosse in Victoria until I retired at sixty to look after my husband who had cancer. He had his last wish and died at home in our living room it was very sad. He was at the Cromwell first as an outpatient, the specialist sent me out to get a sandwich and when I got back he told me he had two years to live. In fact, he lived about two and a half years after that.

I lived in Central London I was bombed out of three homes. My mother managed to get house in Peckham 4 Whittington Road where my husband and I lived until we bought a house in Pimlico.

Fred and I had to leave our very nice house, after he modernized it and redecorated it, as the local council compulsorily purchased all the land and gave us two hundred pounds. They built a block of flats on the land which are still there today.

We put the money towards 90 Warwick Way, which had been owned by an elderly lady who died — it was in a poor state of repair, and we had to borrow money and do a lot of repairs. We made it into two self-contained flats, which we let out firstly to an accountant. Then he was recalled to Birmingham and we found another tenant, a woman from Australia.

We had my mother in the flat with us — it wasn’t so easy, I was still working as a hairdresser at 49 Warwick Way, Arnott and Rosse, run by two ladies, who I helped to look after when they became ill, as well as their mother. One hemorrhaged and I took her to hospital, which is now a big hotel at Hyde Park Corner. The other lady was trying to clear a drain with caustic soda, got it all over her hands; I got the doctor for her. I told Mrs Rosse’s daughter, Esther Macdonald, who was married to a doctor and lived in Surrey, and all she did was turn up, take the ration books for her mother and her aunt, drew the rations and downstairs they had some very old furniture, Jacobean, and she took it out and sold it. When those two ladies died, they left a will, which I was to be included in, for a certain amount of money. Esther disputed it so my husband and I got a solicitor and we got a small sum of money. She wanted me to run the shop which I did, she used to come take money out of the till, leave an I.O.U.

During air raids, our shop windows were blown out, the shop across the road got a firebomb and the two corner shops, one a hat shop the other a butchers, were completely destroyed, leaving just a hole. We used to ask the customers if they wanted to leave during an air raid, but mostly they would say to continue so we worked throughout air raids. The shop closed at seven and I had to walk to Peckham to become an air raid warden, four miles, which took me three hours. You reported to the post, and if they said you weren’t needed you could go home and they would come and get us if necessary. This didn’t often happen! The wardens were responsible for the number of people in the houses and we had to find out if they were in the houses or in the garden shelters at the back and often they were in the pubs!

My husband Fred was in Caterick first in 1939 and then he was sent to Egypt in 1940, where he was in some caves in the desert. The caves were originally used to extract stones for the pyramids. He came home in 1945, and he was sent to Hampshire. And he was there until he was discharged a year later and worked for North Thames Gas as a communications officer. He never spoke about his time in the army. He only remembered the worst bits and he wouldn’t tell me about those.

I only got two letters from him during this time — they didn’t get through. Maybe they got put on a ship or a plane? I used to send him parcels with brushes and polish, toothpaste and socks, which is what he wanted as the army didn’t supply them. And through the bank sent him a draft as his watch got stolen. He got most of my letters, even though they took a long while.

Until my husband came home, my mother had the ration books and she’d collect the rations until we moved to Victoria and she’d go to the butchers in Warwick way — the maypole.

My mother subsequently became very ill with cancer and she was taken to the Old Westminster Hospital. I used to rush and visit her and she died there after a year.

I’m originally from great Yarmouth in Norfolk and that’s where I had my first air raid when I was eighteen. I moved to London with my family because the house was bombed and we lived first for eighteen months in Asylum Road, until we got bombed there, then we moved to Clifton crescent, again in Peckham, for less than a year until once more we were bombed out, so we went to Whittington road which my mother found.

As I’d been left half the hairdressers, we bought the other half from Esther, modernized it and ran it until I was sixty. My husband made me retire then, and dragged me off to the social services as I hadn’t realized I could get a pension. So now I go to the Post Office every week and draw my pension.

On VE Day a lot of the streets had street parties.

These are some of the things I experienced in my apprenticeship we had a metal container over gas ring which was filled with green soap
which was our shampoo the water to the basins came from a large metal tank which was heated with two large open gas rings. One lunch time I was invited to a friend’s house, when I retuned water was pouring out of the door. The water tank had burst. My husband helped Miss Arnott to obtain and install small electric water heaters by each baisin which were a great improvement.

On the ground floor were wooden cubicles painted green and orange. The shop windows had glass sliding panels which I had to clean. The cubicle curtains which had to drawn so no one person could the other ito shampoo thnen be watch and hand things to the first asstiant

Since forming the Evacuees Reunion Association many people have asked for an
-Account of my own evacuation and why I founded the Association.

What follows is an attempt to meet that demand.

1938 and the war clouds are forming.
I was seven years old in 1938, living with my parents, three brothers and sister in a five bed roomed house in Camberwell, south London.

As the youngest of the family I lived a very sheltered life, there was always someone there to look after me. Our way of life was strictly governed by the social rules of the time and of our immediate environment.

To understand those rules you need to know the history of Camberwell from when it ceased to be a rural village in the County of Surrey and first became a very fashionable suburb of London, later .to find parts of the area degenerate into crowded slums.

The Victorian houses in our road ceased to be lived in by people who could afford to employ servants but it remained quiet and very ‘respectable’.

On Sunday mornings we children would go for walks to places such as Ruskin Park, but before we were allowed to set off we had to line up and be inspected by our father, who would look to see that our shoes were highly polished, our hair brushed and combed and that we boys’ ties were straight. “No child of mine leaves this house looking scruffy!” was his rule.

We were only allowed to go to the park and there were certain parts of Camberwell and Peckham that we were forbidden to walk through, sometimes, we broke that rule, only to be shouted at by the children who lived there. Such was the social structure of the times and the district.

During 1938 and early 1939 we saw the preparations for war being made, sandbags were stacked in front of public buildings, gas masks were issued and great silver barrage balloons wallowed in the sky over London.

The Anderson shelters were made available for people with gardens and parents were urged to register their children for evacuation. My parents attended the meetings at o schools and decided that we should go if war broke out.

As I was only eight and brother John nine, it was arranged that we would not be evacuated with our own school but with that of our sister Jean who was then nearly fourteen. Brother Ernest was to go away with his own school, but our eldest brother, Edward, had already left school and therefore stayed at home until being called up for military service.

During the summer holidays of 1939 the order came that schools in the evacuation areas were to immediately reopen and all children who had been registered for evacuation were to report daily to the school they were to go away with, taking with them the things parents had been told to pack, plus enough food for a day, but nothing else.

No one knew when, or even if, the evacuation would begin. Everyone involved had to wait for the government to issue the signal ‘Evacuate Forthwith’, which happened on Thursday 3l August 1939.

Evacuation Day

When I went to my sister’s school on the morning of Friday 1 September, with my gas mask in its cardboard box slung over one shoulder and carrying a little suitcase, I didn’t know what was about to happen. Soon we were lined up in a long ‘crocodile’ and the teachers came round tying luggage labels on us.

Then, led by the Head Teacher and two of the bigger girls carrying a banner on which were the words ‘Peckham Central Girls School’, we marched out on our way to a railway station, with a policeman in front to stop the traffic.

We didn’t know where we were going; neither did our parents or most of the teachers. All that was strictly a secret.

I can remember every detail of that day, the crowds of parents standing in silence on the other side of the road — they were not allowed to walk with us — I wondered why so many of the women were crying and why a very angry man was shouting “Look at those luggage labels, they are treating them like parcels!!!” I was wildly excited, after all my parents had told me I had nothing to worry about, it would be like going on holiday and that we would all be home again before Christmas.

Little did I know that four years would pass before I returned home for good, or that our very close family would never again be fully reunited.

I caught a glimpse of our mother in the watching crowd and waved to her, but I don’t think she could see me. I often think what it must have been like for her to return home knowing that four of her children had been taken away, to where she didn’t know, and to see four empty chairs at every mealtime and four unslept beds. How quiet the house must have been.

They marched us to Queens Road, Peckham, station. To reach the platform you had to climb a steep flight of wooden stairs and on the way up some of the girls stumbled, causing others to fall on top of them. The platform was already crowded as another school was already there.

That was when the teachers and porters started shouting “Keep back, keep back” and pushing us away from the edge of the platform. But there was no room at the back.

After a long wait a special train arrived and a mad scramble aboard began, brothers, sisters and friends trying desperately to keep together, teachers trying to push us all into the tiny compartments.

Then the porters ran along locking the doors. It was old fashioned, non-corridor train and therefore had no toilet facilities, the day was hot, the journey lasted hours and the results were inevitable.

Eventually the train stopped at a country station and the staff came to unlock the doors. Then all the shouting started again as they hurried us off the station, but first we each had to collect a carrier bag containing foodstuffs that were to be given to the people who took us in.

In each bag was also a big bar of chocolate.
Soon there were hundreds of children milling around the station forecourt, with their teachers frantically trying to keep them together.

A solution to the problem was quickly found — they put us in the pens of the adjoining cattle market, where we waited to be taken by bus to the village school.

I only saw one single deck bus that ran a shuttle service, so for so the wait was a long one. Someone found a working standpipe in the cattle market to we were all drinking from that.

Eventually we arrived at the tiny village school, but before we could go in we had to be inspected by a woman who dunked a comb in a bucket of disinfectant before yanking it through our hair.

She was the nit nurse! Inside the school the local people had set out sandwiches and drinks for us on trestle tables, but I for one didn’t take anything and I don’t think many others did.

The day had long since ceased to be a great adventure; anxiety had set in. “What was happening to us?” we wondered. I wanted my Mum! But kept quiet about it.

Then a lot of adults came in and stood in front, looking us over before pointing at a child and saying “I’ll take that one!” They were the foster parents.

One by one the children were lead away and the anxiety for those not yet chosen increased as they worried about what would happen to them if they remained un-selected.

Meanwhile Jean was keeping a tight hold on to John and me. She had been told by our parents that she and must not allow the three of us to be separated.

But they couldn’t find anyone to take all of us and John was forcibly dragged away from her and led off. Poor Jean was in floods of tears and desperately worried, feeling that she had failed our parents.

Then she and I were bundled into a car and driven to a very remote cottage, where the woman who lived there at first refused to take us in, but after being threatened with prosecution (billeting was compulsory) she opened the door.

The man who had brought us ran to his car and quickly drove away. “You can’t stay here!” she kept saying, but there was nothing we could do about it.

The cottage was very primitive and not at all like what we were used to. It lacked electricity, gas, piped water or flush toilets, the ground floors were of brick and the lavatory consisted of a bucket in a brick shed at the bottom of the overgrown garden.

There was only a single bed for Jean and I to sleep in. Jean cried all night in spite of me force feeding her some of my chocolate bar in an attempt to make her feel better.

One of the first things we had to do when placed in a billet was to send a postcard home showing our new address. We had been given the postcards back in London and told how important they were, because until they received them our parents did not know where we were.

We younger ones were told what to write on the cards, such as “Dear Mum and Dad, I am very happy here and living with nice people, don’t worry about me.” However it seems that I wrote on mine, “We’ve lost John and the stinging nettles got me on the way to the lavatory!”
“I’ve always wanted to live in a sweet shop! “®
-
After a couple of weeks the Billeting Officer arrived at the cottage and told us to collect our things as we were being moved into the main village (Pulborough, West Sussex). We found ourselves back near to the railway station.

Jean was billeted with the family of a signalman and, to my great delight; I was taken to live with people who ran a shop that sold sweets and many other things. They lived on the premises.

Apparently I said “I’ve always wanted to live in a sweet shop!” and was told that if I was a good boy and did all the jobs they gave me I could have one pennyworth of sweets every day and two pennyworth on Sundays, but I must never help myself.

The jobs included carrying in the buckets of coal, chopping firewood, feeding the chickens, helping on the allotment and, because they had a tea room, doing mountains of washing up.

Very soon they had a surprise because John was also brought to live there, although they had never been asked. He had been living at an outlying farm and was not very pleased about leaving it.

Jean’s billet with the signalman’s family did not work out and she was again moved. That meant John and I saw very little of her because her new foster parents would not allow us to visit. I don’t know why.

Then I was told that John was being moved to another billet because our foster parents could not manage to look after the two of us. He was not far away and I saw him nearly every day, but it did mean that for the first time in my life I was on my own, with no older brother or my sister to look after me.

Another problem for us boys was that because we had been evacuated with our sisters’ school we did not know any of the teachers or pupils other than Jean. When the Village Hall began to be used for the evacuated girls school John and I had to be taught at the Village School.

Initially, as could be expected, there was friction between the village boys and we evacuees, they shouted at us “Dirty Londoners”, we called then country bumpkins and fights often broke out.

Poor John suffered from bullying much more than me, but I was very upset when I saw chalked up messages saying “Vaccies go home. We don’t want you here!” Of course that had been done by a few silly children and was soon stopped, but we evacuees were all suffering from homesickness and all we wanted to do was to go home, but we couldn’t.

Soon after that we were all chalking up big Vs, that being Churchill’s sign for V for Victory. I was given a V for Victory badge that I wore for years. After a year or so John was moved to the Village Hall School, so I saw even less of him.

As the war dragged on.
Earlier I said that we had been told we would be home for Christmas. Many evacuees’ parents defied the government and did allow their evacuated children to return home for Christmas in 1939.

The result was, as the government had feared; many evacuees never returned to the reception areas. My parents were made of sterner stuff and we were not allowed to go home, which was a great disappointment.

In fact our first Christmas back at home was not until 1942, after which we had to return to Pulborough.

What is not generally known is that when an evacuee reached school leaving age they were no longer classed as being evacuees by the government. The allowance paid to foster parents ceased and it was entirely up their parents what happened next.

Of course most evacuees went home, but some obtained work in the reception areas and stayed with their foster parents. For many children the school leaving age was fourteen, but as Jean went to a Central school she left a year later and went back to London.

During the Battle of Britain the skies over Pulborough were the scene of many dogfights and we saw planes explode and come crashing down.

The German fighter planes would zoom low over the village machine-gunning as they went. Anything was their target, even school children, but fortunately none of us were hit.

Then the blitz began and at night we could see the red glow in the sky of London burning.

Very often a policeman would come into school and an evacuee was taken out, we fully realised that that child was probably being told.

Disaster struck the nearby market town of Petworth, where the boys’ school received a direct hit, killing all the children and their teachers.

The threat of invasion turned Pulborough into a fortified village, surrounded by barbed wire, its roads fitted with tank traps. Huge concrete gun emplacements were built, also machine gun posts and slit trenches made behind roadside walls and in many buildings.

Thousands of Canadian soldiers were camped all around the area. Many would call at the sweet shop tearoom, making more washing up for me!
Homesickness-the ever-present problem.

I believe that all evacuees suffered from homesickness, whether they were being well looked after or not. I know I did. It was always there, no matter how hard you tried to keep it away. But in those day’s homesickness was not acknowledged in the way it is now and evacuees showing signs of it were soon told to stop moping around and asked “Don’t you know there’s a war on?” Evacuees became very adept at hiding their inner feelings. You would put on a smiling face and never let anyone see you cry.

That led to many foster parents believing their evacuees were happy, not realising that they were crying themselves to sleep nearly every night.

I managed to hide my homesickness so well that no one knew about it. Apart that is for one occasion that I will never forget. There was to be a concert in the village ball and my foster parents were given a complementary ticket in return for displaying a poster in the shop.

They didn’t want to go so I was given the ticket. Wearing my best suit and tie I felt so important as I was shown to my seat on the night of the concert. It was the first time I had ever been to such an event, especially on my own.

All went well until very near the end when all the caste came on stage, the lights turned to a red glow and they started with some of the songs that my parents used to sing, such as ‘Red sails in the sunset’, ‘The wheel of the wagon is broken’. Then came ‘Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home’. That was too much for me.

I started crying and, try as I might, could not stop. At first no one could see me because the lights were all so low, but then every light in the hail was switched on and the audience stood to sing the National Anthem, the show was over, but I couldn’t stop crying, so I made to get out of the hall as quickly as I could, out into the anonymity of the blackout.

People were looking at me and one woman tried to put her arm round me, but I pushed her away. By the time I had walked back to my billet I had composed myself and showed no signs of any problem, but then I worried for days that someone would come into the shop and say, “Your evacuee was very rude to my wife the other evening”.

But no one did.

Few houses had electricity in those days so wireless sets had to be battery operated. These wireless sets, were cumbersome affairs, they were powered by a very heavy "High Tension", dry battery 90 volts or so. And by accumulators, which were lead acid batteries,even heavier These had to be recharged frequently by the local wireless shop. He charged tuppence for this service, which took all day. Your name was painted on the side of these accumulators in white paint, so that you could retain them, You had to be careful when transporting these devices, as the acid spilt easily, and you would suffer burns to your legs, but what was worse your trousers and socks disintegrated. Many of the children had trousers peppered with holes, as a result of carrying them home too fast. This experience was usually accompanied with a clip around the ear for alleged carelessness. Thanks indeed for an errand
We as children, had our own "wireless sets". We found out (and this defies physics) that if you connected a sensitive pair of headphones, one lead to an earth pipe and the other to a good aerial, you would hear local radio stations quietly but clearly. This was another subject we discussed. Who had got the best reception, or the farthest station, etc. One step down from a crystal set I believe. We would listen to Monday at Eight, or Appointment with Fear, (which very often terrified us).
The surrounding streets were lined with air raid shelters. These were constructed stoutly of 2 foot thick brick walls and reinforced concrete roofs. We spent many nights in these shelters, when the raids were "heavy". Inside our shelter was a large brass bed, an old settee, a few chairs and a piano. The bed housed about 6 or 7 children, who slept there, for the night, whilst the adults amused themselves by singing old tunes to this piano. One night, during the early hours, we were woken by a tremendous crash, the usual dust, screams and darkness. Eventually the ARP called through the door, and said we were safe but not to venture out until the morning. In the morning, we could see the cause of the mayhem. A bomb had landed just 20 feet away from the shelter, in the middle of the road, Furley Road, to be precise. There was a large crater, and houses on each side of the road had been flattened. The gap is still there to this day. The shelter, however. Apart from a few cracks, was intact, a testimony to their amazing strength. We owed our lives to the people who designed and built these havens.
Another shelter we used to frequent occasionally, was in the basement of a bus depot in Meeting House Lane. This was a very large shelter and housed many people. We had a piano ,a wireless set, someone had a silent cine projector, and numerous games for children to play with. We had some terrific parties here, fancy dress parties and even a Xmas Party, with a "real "Santa" who had a small gift for everyone. On one particular Christmas fancy dress party, I was dressed as a policeman, and my sister, Jean, was dressed as fairy. She won the competition, much to Mum,s delight.
We were oblivious to the nightly bangs and crashes above. The only problem with these shelters, were, that you had to get in there early to take up your position. Many people never bothered, and paid with their lives. It was a terrible, but commonplace fact, that nearly every day, news flooded in of nearby deaths. There was indeed very heavy bombing in this area. But as I said earlier, as children, we didn’t realise the full impact of it.
There was a consrant "blackout", at night, it was total darkness. Total darkness in the streets, is uncanny, and has to be seen to be believed. This you never see today. We had large black curtains or black frames in our windows, to prevent any light leaking out into the night. If you did allow any light out. This would invite a knock on your door by a policeman or air-raid warden, to rectify the matter, Or you would receive the loud and common invitation to "Put that light out!!". This was a very common sound in the streets at night. These small leaks of light, we were told would invite the Luftwaffe to bomb us. This miniscule of light, I wouldn,t have thought, would have made any difference. But nevertheless, it was an offence. An extra dose of darkness, would be experienced if there was a fog. However, foggy nights were welcome, as there no air raids on foggy nights. Cars would creep along the roads, showing dipped and diffused lights. There front bumpers were painted white. Pedestrians would be knocking into each other, or into lamp-posts. People could not find their way home, so did not venture out, if it was not necessary. White bands were painted around any obstacles. Lamp-posts had white bands painted around the bottoms. But these were not always obvious. Also the edges of the pavements, were lined with white stripes.
We were issued with gas masks, which reeked of rubber and made you feel sick. They had taped on fronts, for certain gasses, When new gas types came to light we had to have several other attachments fitted until we resembled elephants. Smaller children had unusual masks which resembled distorted Mickey Mouses, they were a sickly pink colour. Babies, like my small sister had to be inserted into rubber zip up case like device, On the out side was hand pump which you had pump up and fill up the interior and keep out harmful gasses, you could observe the occupant through a perspex window.
We were issued with brown cardboard boxes in which to carry our gas-masks around with us. These were soon in tatters, so you could buy rexine ones (plastic had not been invented yet) with press stud clips. These cases soon became an item of fashion, and you could get almost any shape and colour of gas-mask cases. We soon tired of carrying these cases around with us, and they were eventually discarded. The police and air raid wardens were the only persons who carried their masks with them. It was a blessing that gas was not used, as these devices seemed to be a little hit and miss in design.
It was at this time, that my Uncle Bert was enlisted, he had been in the T.A. and was therefore one of the first to be called up, into the Army. He was followed shortly by Uncle Bill, into the Army, and Uncle John, into the Airforce. My Dad was sent up north to work on munitions.
When Uncle Bert came home on leave, I was allowed to hold his rifle, (which they brought home in those days) and helped him to "bull" his boots to a brilliant shine. He treated me for this, which was an added bonus. He used to ask me to deliver his "date requests" to the young ladies in the neighbourhood, especially a girl named Sally, who worked in the corner bakers shop, he was quite a one for the ladies, was Uncle Bert. In return for these errands, I would ask him to take me the cinema with him, and his current girl friend.
I was quite small, and used to sit on the upturned cinema seat. I was obviously a burden, because one day, during an exciting part of the film, I flinched and fell between the seat and the chairback. I couldn,t move, I yelled out for help, but Uncle Bert was too obsessed with his girl friend to notice my predicament. I eventually managed to attract his attention. I must have been a nuisance, because he suddenly stopped taking me to the cinema. In fact when he eventually married Aunt Daisy, I was absent from the wedding photos, perhaps I "knew" too much. I know it was a splendid wedding. Uncle Bert was married in his Royal Artillery dress uniform, very smart it was too.
When we went to the "pictures", very often the film was disturbed by air raids, this warning of air-raids was flashed on the screen, and if it proved to be heavy, we were sent away and credited a return ticket, so cinemas in those days were a haphazard affair. Some of the cinemas we frequented as children, were awful. They were known as "bug-hutches". One in particular, at New Cross, was called the "Golden Domes" of all things. It was rotten, the seats were in tatters, and there were no toilets. Children would pee on the floor. In the summer you could imagine the smell. But it was only threepence to go in, and the films, George Formby or Old Mother Reilly etc. were hilarious. I can remember, on one occasion, it was a baking hot day. I was bursting to go to the loo. The film was good, and I left it a bit late. Halfway home, about an hours walk, disaster struck, and I crapped my pants. I could hold it no longer. I continued my journey home in the heat. The excrement, trickled down my legs and dried like plaster of Paris. When I arrived home, as usual, all my family were in the living-room playing cards. I sat and watched them. After a short while Uncle Bert, sniffed a couple of times, and asked of me "Have you shit yourself, Ging?" . "Yes I replied. There were no toilets and I could hold it no longer!!" I had a good hiding and a rough clean up. There were lots of these old cinemas around. The "Ideal" the "Grand" the "Palais" but the names were deceiving, they were really dirty and should have been closed down, really.
It was about this time that I really came to know my Grand-dad properly, he was, a kind and gentle man, he thought the world of me. He was almost blind, I used to lead him round to the local telephone box to dial Woolwich 2209 (funny how numbers stick in your mind), this was my Aunt Roses number. Uncle Jim, her husband, was a "Turncock" for the Water Board, in Woolwich. They had a phone in their house, for work purposes, A private telephone in a working class house, unheard of in those days.
I loved visiting my Aunt Rose. She was a very kind lady. She bought me a brand new bicycle from Willson,s in Peckham. I have never forgotten this.
My cousin Lenny also lived there, in Woolwich. It was a good fun place to be. You could ride on the Woolwich Free Ferry till your hearts content. We would wander up onto Woolwich Hill and see the Royal Artillery drilling and gunnery practice, in the Arsenal barracks. We would watch the large ships, sometimes warships, entering and leaving the Royal Docks on the opposite bank of the River Thames. Submarines sometimes moored in the river. There was always something interesting happening.
My cousin Lenny used to come and stay with us very often, in Peckham, he was a devil.
One one occaion, we got Uncle Berts, best trilby hat and passed it through the ringer, which was kept in the rear garden. The new shape it then assumed, we found hilarious.
Another time, outside our house , in Goldsmith Road, Uncle Bill, who was a milkman at the time, had parked his milk cart. It was a push cart. The road had a steep camber on it, we found that by both pushing together, we managed to topple the cart over, what a mess, we disappeared. Uncle Bill never knew what really happened.
On another occasion, we came across, in my Grand-dads room, a bottle of Sol Volatile. We thought that this was an alcoholic drink. Lenny thought that it was a good idea to have a swig. This we did, the taste was undescribable, our throats were on fire, we rushed down to the kitchen and rinsed or mouths out. We thought we had poisoned ourselves. Cousin Lenny was full of bright ideas. I bet he can remember more similar incidents.
My Grandad was blind and my Gran was deaf, we used to creep up on the staircase outside their room and start up our "humming top". We could, by undulating the speed , make it sound like an raid siren. My grandparents, thinking it was real, came out and ran downstairs for cover, we were in hysterics ouside their room, What horrors we were.
My Grandad was terrified of the air-raids, he died shortly after the war started. I remember that his coffin was laid to rest in our "front room", a regular occurence in those days. The coffin lid was laid partly back in order to see his face, which was kissed by most of the visitors, paying their last respects. My cousin Lenny induced me to play in this room chasing me round the coffin. I was about 7 years old at this time. He used to knock the lid of and say "He is coming to get you". I was terrified, what a horror my cousin was . I wonder if he remembers this?
It was in this house on a Saturday, night in 1941, a very heavy raid was in progress. It was the custom to huddle together in these circumstances. My mother, my Gran, my 2 year old sister,and myself, were all lying in a large bed in the downstairs front room. There was an almighty crash. And darkness, choking smoke and dust. My mother switched on the torch, saying that we ought to make our way to he nearest Air Raid Shelter, just down the road. She opened the door leading into the passage and was confronted with a pile of bricks, plaster and timber completely blocking the exit, we were trapped, Shortly after we heard voices outside the front window. It was The A,R.P. or air raid wardens, as they were called. We made ourselves heard and they broke what was left of the window or frame, carried us out, and took us to the shelter. On our return, in the morning, to get our possessions, we realised, that, the only room intact, was the one in which we were sleeping. A stick of bombs had fallen in Marmount Road, at the rear of our house, the whole back of the house was destroyed and was flattened except for this one room, downstairs in the front, What a lucky escape!
This was on Saturday night…….

On Monday, The local housing authority, issued to us, another house, in Hollydale Road, New Cross, about 1 mile away. A lovely house with a nice big garden, I remember. You were issued with new furniture, from a local depot. This issue was based on your alleged loss, and was free of charge. Many people made "fairy tale" claims about their furniture losses, and wound up with a far better home than they would have had, under normal circumstances. This furniture, was called "Utility" furniture. This meant that it was built to a basic, economic standard, but adequate. This symbol was also present on all clothing, and other household items. It became a very popular word in our conversations.
At this time, our cat, thought that it would be a good idea to have her litter of kittens, in the ward-robe. My Aunt Doll discovered this by mistake. She was getting something out of the ward robe for my Mum. She said "I didn,t know that you had a fox-fur", (all the rage at the time). My Mum replied, "I haven,t." They all realized then, that the cat had taken up residence.
But on the following Wednesday night, disaster, another heavy raid was taking place, I think the raiders were after the Surrey Docks, which were nearby.
My baby sister and I were asleep in a downstairs bedroom in a small bed. My Mother and Gran were in the kitchen. The raid got heavier, and my mother decided to get me and my sister up and bring us into the kitchen.
( We found out later that this bed was completely destroyed and covered in debris, from a collapsed wall and the floor above, another lucky escape).
We had a Morrison shelter, in the kitchen, we were all sheltering under this, when there came an almighty crash, total darkness and smoke again. The coal fire, which was burning opposite, was blown across the room onto my Grans legs, she suffered nasty burns. We went to the front door, the road was in chaos, debris everywhere, fires burning and people screaming (I can hear them even now). We ran down the bottom of the street, dodging the bricks and rubble in the road, into Queens Road, Peckham. Here, on the corner, was Evans Cooks Depositories, a large furniture warehouse, which was being used as the local A.R.P. Centre. We were given hot drinks and first aid, and taken to East Dulwich Hospital, where we stayed for 3 to 4 days. Unfortunately we never saw our cat, or the kittens again.
Air raids used to vary in intensity, some times we had an undisturbed night, other times, we were kept awake all night. Day time raids were also becoming frequent. I can recall coming out of school one day when we heard a loud roar, we looked up and saw a German bomber it had a distinct yellow underside and prominent black crosses, it was being pursued by a R.A.F. fighter. We were usherred quickly back into the school shelter. This bomber jettisoned his load, apparently, to gain speed. Unfortunately, this bomb load fell on a school in Lewisham, killing many children. On another occasion, a Saturday afternoon, a large bomb fell on New Cross, Woolworths, killing many people. Also opposite Lewisham Clock, Tower fell another, very large bomb, causing equal havoc.
We were running out of vacant houses now, so we were allocated a portion of the local unused school hall, which we shared with many other families. We used this as a base, until we were found a house in Cator Street ,Peckham, which we accepted gratefully. This house had a large garden, in which we kept chickens and rabbits, a lot of people did this, for extra food. Although we became too attached to these "pets" to eat them. One of our chickens had to live in our dining-room. My Mother said that it had rheumatism and had to be kept warm. How could you eat this creature? But we had the eggs, when they laid them. I was afraid to get these eggs from the nest. We had a large cockerel on guard, and he would attack you. I would liked to have eaten him, but I can,t remember whether we did.
We spent the rest of the war years here, ( with the exception of another "bomb out" and partial destruction, in 1943 ).
We used to always have lovely Christmases, during these years. A big party in my Aunt Dolls house, was the high-light. This house was in East Surrey Grove, One of the grown-ups would dress up as Santa Clause, there was a present for all, and party games. One Xmas, my cousin Lenny, and I, took a precious half bottle of Cointreau off a shelf, and drank it. We were violently sick. I have not touched a drop since. But they were lovely parties, I shall always remember them.
Unfortunately East Surrey Grove was the scene of yet another tragedy. My Aunt,s neighbours, the Hughes family, just a few doors away, did not have an air-shelter. They asked their neighbours, the Wrights, if they could share their shelter. It was in their rear garden. The bombing was quite heavy at this time. But a couple of nights later, this shelter received a direct hit, and the occupants were all killed. It was a terrible incident, but unfortunately similar events were occurring, all over London, at the time. My Aunt Doll,s next door neighbour, was on her way to the dentists in Trafalger Avenue, one day. A land-mine, ( a large bomb device ), fell in this road, and she was never found. Her neighbour on the other side, Eva King, was also bombed but she survived, and she is still with us today. Aunt Doll must have had a charmed life. My Uncle Toms, pal, Bill Derby, who he was in the Army, with, lost his entire family in an air-raid. What a dreadful thing to happen, especially, when you were serving abroad. Tragedy seemed all around at that time.
I was always "running errands" in those days. Whilst the grown-ups were playing cards, (which they did night and day) I was either getting drinks from the off-licence, or queuing up for groceries, or getting food for the chickens which we kept. Food, of course was now strictly rationed, and we had to survive on ridiculously small amounts of it. Two ounces of cheese, and butter, one egg, four ounces of bacon etc. per week. Miniscule, but apparently, enough to live on. There seemed to be queues every where for all sorts of reasons, whether it be for food or cinema seats or newspapers, almost any thing that you bought, you had to queue for, especially, in the rare event of unrationed food items. This caused the largest queues of all. This constant shortage of food, was eased, slightly, by the installing of Government run restaurants. We had one in a mission hall in Meeting House Lane, the next street to ours. They also, occupied empty office blocks, elsewhere. In the City, there was a large one on London Bridge, and there were many more in other suitable venues. In these establishments, you could buy a ticket for six pence, which you surrendered, at the counter, in exchange for a substantial dinner and mug of tea. A fourpenny ticket would buy you a pudding. Often treacle, or jam. Good basic food. These places were very popular, and large queues would form for these meals. Often gas supplies were cut-off due to the bombing, so you often couldn,t cook, even if you had the food. Our daily diet was also supplemented by National Dried Milk, Orange Juice Concentrate and Cod Liver Oil, supplied from the local "Food Office". These items were free of charge on production of a suitable Ration Book.
At school, we would all take our own spoons, and just before break, our teacher would take from her cupboard, an enormous tin of "Malt". We would queue, and she would dip our spoons in it, twist it around, and quickly proffer it into our mouths, it was delicious, and we loved it. This was also rationed. When the tin was nearly empty, chosen children, were allowed to scrape the remains from the tin, an extra treat for some lucky ones. We were all given daily, small bottles of milk, a third of a pint, I believe they were. It was lovely in summertime, but in winter, it was very often frozen solid. We would thaw it out under our jumpers. Other less pleasant, services, the school provided, was periodic visits, by the school dentist. Ugh! They would poke about in our mouths, and I am sure cause more trouble than they ever cured. They would recommend treatment for us to have. But these notes they gave to us, for our parents, never arrived home. Also "Nitty-Nora" would arrive and proceed to comb our hair, with a very fine steel comb, onto a piece of tissue paper. Looking for nits or fleas. This comb would stick into our heads and it hurt. In all, a most unpleasant experience. What with this, and the bombing, it wasn,t good enough!. Innoculations, were also now, being introduced, too, The first was against Diptheria, which was rife at the time.
As children, we also spent a lot of our time outside pubs, waiting for our parents to emerge. An occasional treat was a glass of ginger wine or an arrow-root biscuit from a jar on the counter. We would peer into these pubs, Gloomy and smoke filled, full of laughter and swearing. What dens they seemed, but an escape, I suppose from the constant air-raids. We would wait for some time, get fed up and go off with our mates for hours. Nobody seemed to be bothered. Our parents didn,t seem to care where we were.
As children we would continue to explore fresh "bombed ruins". Halfway down Trafalger Avenue, there was an enormous crater. Half filled with water and smelling of gas from broken pipes. There was always the smell of escaping gas and brick dust and burst drains. It seemed to permeate the air everywhere. Next to this crater, on its side was number 63 'bus. Empty, we were told, when the bomb dropped. But then they would say that when you think about. Not good for morale, to admit to bus loads of people being injured. A lot of facts were kept dark at that time.
Anyway, opposite this house, in Cator Street, was a large school, which was partly destroyed by bombing. It also had a very large play-ground. This playground contained four surface air-raid shelters, we used to sometimes use these, but they were very damp and unpopular. This playground also featured strongly in our playdays. In the ground was a very large puddle, almost a small pond in size. To us it seemed like a lake. We used to sail our small home-made boats in this muddy water. Rescuing them , meant that our feet were nearly always soaking wet, and our socks and shoes, much to the annoyance of our long-suffering parents. We would skate pieces of slate across this pond and watch it spin up and across. One of these impaled into my leg, causing a nasty gash, and I spent the rest of the day in hospital having stitches. Raymond was the culprit, I wonder if he remembers?
We used to explore the fascinating interior of this very large old Victorian school, It had lots of dark corridors and small rooms. This is where we would set up our "camps" and store our little secret goodies. We used to climb up and out onto the roof, which was over 80 feet from the ground, perch fearlessly on the outside, on the rafters, (the roof slates had been blown off in the bombing), and admire the view of London. You could see St.Pauls, and Tower Bridge from here. Our parents would "call us down", but we would hide and ignore these requests. My Dad, would often call up, for us to come down. He was obviously very worried, about our predicament. But he was also ignored. How could I treat this lovely man in this manner. I must have been a "sod". Sometimes we were actually chased by the Police, but they couldn,t catch us, we were too agile. This was even greater fun, we thought.
We noticed that this roof was lined in part with lead flashing. We removed this over a period of some weeks, rolled it up and stored in one of the play-ground sheds. It was very hard and heavy work, and of course dangerous. We negotiated a price for this plunder from "Smales", the local scrap merchant. This was going to be our holiday spending money. We went to collect the rolled up lead from the shed one morning, and discovered to our horror, that it had disappeared. Somebody had discovered our "treasure" and sold it instead. What a dissapointment. We consoled ourselves , then by stripping all the brass gas fittings, from the school rooms and sold them instead. We only got a pittance for this metal. We had been exploited by this mean scrapmerchant.

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In the side streets around, there were parked, Military Lorries, lots of them. They were unguarded. At night we would climb into these vehicles, and by cranking them in gear, by their starter-motors, "drive" them along the streets. Also in the streets, on waste ground, were sited "Barrage Balloons". This were silver, gas filled objects, made of rubber. They were about 80 feet long and 30 feet high, with a 3 pointed tail. They were accompanied by a lorried winch, to which they were tethered, and by piles of metal gas bottles, on trailers alongside. These anti-aircraft balloons filled the skies, they were an amzing sight. Often, when it was windy, these balloons, would break free. They would wander aimlessly around the skies, until, through loss of gas, they would descend. Sometimes onto a persons house, draping it in floppy rubber, much to our delight. We would watch the antics of these balloons, and their crews, for hours. The ballons were tethered at night, with eight ropes on each side. When they were unattended, we would creep up, in the dark, and gently untie these ropes, and watch these balloons soar up into the sky. Lovely!!
About two hundred yards from our house, was a Canal, a branch of the Surrey Canal. This flowed from Canal Head by Peckham High Street down to a main branch in Albany Road, Camberwell. This was an ideal play ground for us, fishing for "tiddlers", tiny fish, sticklebacks and other creatures. We fell in many times and used to stay out until our clothes dried. There were many barges on this stretch of canal. We used to clamber on these barges, untie any accesible one, and pole it slowly down stream to Willowbrook Bridge. It was here that the canal narrowed, and we never were able to get past here.
On one occasion we clambered from this barge onto the far shore. Here there was a large Timber yard. We took from here timbers for our "camps", and to make scooters, with ball bearings as wheels. We also made "carts", box like structures, with pram wheels, and swivelling fronts to steer with. Pram wheels and axles, and ball-bearings were in great demand to build these gadgets. Great fun, could be had with them, we would hurtle down the slopes on these canal bridges, skidding at the bottom, and sometimes overshooting into the canal, it wasn,t very deep, but it was very wet, and cold.
My pal, Dan, seemed always to be in trouble, I would knock for him, and be told by his Gran (who brought him up, as he did not have a mother) to, go away, he is not allowed out!!. I would retire, and from upstairs, I would see Dan clamber out of the top bedroom window, gingerly negotiate the wall topped with broken glass, and join me down in the street below.
We would stand by the roadside in Southampton Way, and when the lorries slowed down to turn the corner, we would jump, and hang on the back for a free ride down Commercial Way, this was called "hopping the wag". More great fun, unless the lorry driver caught you. On one occasion the driver in question, turned out to be Dan,s father!! There, then, followed, a good hiding , then another period, when he was not allowed "out to play".
We managed to secrete some chemicals from our school Chemical Lab. We used to make "invisible ink", fireworks, and stinkbombs. One particular stink bomb, I remember contained a lot of sulphur, amongst other substances. It was a really pungent device. So much so, that Dan,s Aunt Mary, who was asthmatic, collapsed under the influence of this smelly device, and was rushed to hospital. Another grounding for poor Dan.
We would play a game called "knockers". You would tie two adjacent door knockers together. Knock on the doors and retire quickly undercover, and watch the antics of these poor people trying to open their doors, against the string, Immense Fun!!
Or tinkle, this was played in the "blackout", A coin was drilled and string passed through the hole. We would hide in the front gardens, and when a passer by approached, we would toss this tied coin onto the darkened pavement. The passer by, thinking they had dropped a coin, would scrabble around the pavement in the dark, looking for the coin. We would be in hysterics in the front gardens. More immense fun, we thought.
One day after seeing an impressionable James Cagney film, we decided to play "gangsters" We bought two bottles of Wincarnis {tonic wine} from the chemists, pinched a couple of cigars, and proceeded to play Monopoly with big money. I do not know who won, but we were all violently sick, and further "grounded"
There was a grapevine in the rear garden of a house further up Cator Street. I remember that when they ripened, we climbed into this garden and filled our "lumberjackets" with these grapes. The owner, Mr. Ninds a plumber, came out, and chased us down the street. We tore through my house, unloading the grapes on the way (they were slowing us down). All my family were there, playing cards as usual,. (instead of looking after the children). We went through our rear garden and eventually lost our pursuer, Mr.Ninds. When we returned home for our spoils, my family had eaten them. Uncle Bert, who was one of the main instigators, of this mean act, remarked that "they were a bit sour".
We discovered, that if you made a loop of stiff wire, and inserted the loop between the rear fire doors of the cinemas, you could hook the push bar on the inside. A gentle pull on this wire loop, would release the door, and in we went via the "Gents" toilet. We would watch the main film in the Gaumont, and then visit the Odeon, down the road, and watch the main film there. Sometimes when we were seated , the Toilet door would open, and a stream of kids would stroll in. This was an hilarious sight, but gave the game away.
There was a commisionnaire, at the Odeon, whom we called "Medals". He was an old soldier from the previous war and he wore his medals when on duty. His war was now waged on us ,and other "bunkers in" as this pastime was called. He caught me one day and hit me with his torch, a large chrome one, and it hurt, the "b………d"!!
Next door , to another member of our gang , Raymond, who also lived in Cator Street, was a small factory called "Woods" it had fascinating machinery in it, which we could see working when we climbed up on packing cases out side. There was also a small works canteen. We could see the men playing darts during their breaks. We thought we would like to try this darts game out. So we climbed into the canteen one day and picked up the darts, and proceeded to throw them in the general direction of the dart-board. This went on for some time until a dart ricocheted of the wall and imbedded itself in Ray,s "head". It proved not to be serious, but he wasn,t very happy about it. He was taken to St.Giles Hospital, but was soon discharged. We had the riot act read to us. This was the same Ray who, whilst playing in an old cast iron bath tub, (which rocked) in a shed, in the playground of Camden Church School, had his finger tips chopped off when this bath, occupied by several of us knocked against the wall, wedging his finger tips. Very painful! He has the scars to this day of this incident.
This school was run by a headmistress called Miss Todd. She was a very formidable lady. We had to stand in the assembly, dead still, not flinching, if you moved you would get a severe look from her, which made you tremble. One day during assembly, a heavy bomb, dropped about half a mile away. The school shook, she glared at us all defying us to move or flinch. We were far more frightened of her than we were of the bombs. I can still see her very stern face glaring at me! There was a shortage of teachers, at this time. Boys would go to school in the mornings, and the girls would go in the afternoons. Such a shame.
My father was on munitions work, he had been despatched to Sheffield, to work on munitions, for the duration of the war. When he found out that we had been bombed out again, for the third time, he sent for us and we went to Sheffield, where he was working, for about 6 months.
The train journey, to Sheffield, from St.Pancras, would normally have taken about four hours. But we had several air-raid warnings en-route and it took all day to get there. It was a novelty for me , we didn,t have many train rides in those days. The train was packed, mainly with servicemen, some American, some Canadians. Returning to their various units.
We found that living in Rotherham and Sheffield, was like living in another world, pubs and theatres doing a roaring trade, and undisturbed cinema visits. We did not have any air-raids here either. At night I used to lay awake listening to the constant drone of aircraft circling above. These were heavy bombers indulging in, multi-aircraft raids, (perhaps 1000 bombers) preparing for their sorties to Germany, The noise was deafening, they must have had a lot more of this treatment than we had. The schools seemed to much stricter than in London, and I always seemed to be getting the cane for trivial reasons. I can recall, that the people up here in Yorkshire, spoke "funny" and that I had difficulty understanding their accents, until I got used to it. We spent one winter here. It was very cold, and we had large snowfalls. All the children went "sledging" on home made sledges. It was great fun. It was here in Rotherham, that I joined my first library and started to read "William" books by Richmal Crompton. They were very popular.
One day. My parents packed a picnic for us kids, and we set of to Conisboro Castle, This was seven miles away, and we were quiet tired when we arrived. But for 10 year-olds this was quite an expedition. We had a great time playing in this ruined castle, and we were a lot more tired when we got back home.
I recall, for my birthday, that my Dad, using his usual skill and patience, made for me, from a kit, a model of a Catalina flying boat. This model aircraft was made of stiffened card or paper. It slotted together, in a complicated manner, to make this 'plane. It was a lovely model, although fragile, and everyone admired it. I cannot remember whether we spent a Xmas in Yorks, but I recall it being much colder than it was in London.
The lady on the corner used to make lovely toffee apples for a penny. They were a real treat. On Saturday morning ,I used to queue at the local bakers for a cream sponge for tea. On the way back home, I used to put my finger in the gap between the slices, scoop out the "cream" and scoff it. My parents remarked on the lack of filling, but I said that due to the war shortages, they were cutting down on the filling. We began to get home-sick and applied to return to London. We returned in August 1944 to the refurbished house in Cator Street. Where we lived for the rest of the war. I then returned to my old school, Peckham Central.

There were many other fascinating aspects of the war which stick in my memory. It was here that we rented for two shillings and sixpence per week, a Relay Wireless system. This was a loudspeaker, fitted with a four -way switch. This selected four radio stations, The Forces Programme, the Home Service, and two others which I cannot now recall. These were "piped" into the house by this Relay company. This was a wonderful step from the old wireless sets, especially as electricity had not yet then been connected into the houses around. The thing which I remember about these "speakers" was that they gave you an advance warning, of a possible air-raid, this message, which went something like this.
" We interrupt this programme to give you a warning that enemy aircraft have been sighted crossing the coast". This gave invaluable extra time to take to the shelters if you wished to.
The usual air-raid would take the shape of siren which gave an undulating wailing sound, which was dreaded by all. This would be followed shortly, by the drone of air-craft and the thumping of anti air-craft guns, which could be just as loud as the actual bombing, when the guns were nearby. Bombs would then start to fall. These came in all varieties. There were butterfly bombs, with wing-like tails, which enabled them to flutter slowly to the ground, long after the bomber had dissappeared, oil bombs, which exploded and spread burning oil in all directions, incendiary bombs clipped in containers of 12 or so which spread all over the place as they descended, and horrifying whistles set in the tails of the bombs (charming devices to use against civilians). Then there was the dreaded delayed action time-bomb. You never knew when these would explode after they landed in the streets. They would scream and shriek down on us. We would all flinch and brace ourselves for the impact. There would be a thud or a boneshaking impact, depending how near the bombs fell. Cracks would appear in the ceilings or walls, and dust would trickle down upon our heads. The gas-lighting would flicker, the gas-mantles would shatter, and the lighting would go out. Some people would scream, others, just sat shaking with fear, and crying quietly. Torches were hastily switched on, and candles or night-lights were lit. This ordeal would go on for either 20 minutes or so, or it could go on for hours. Clattering, could be heard in the streets, from falling shrapnel, and the clanging of Fire Engines, going about their lifesaving business. It would then gradually go quiet, the drone of air-craft would diminish. Then there would come the "All-Clear". This differed, in that it was a constant one note siren sound. What a lovely and welcome sound this was. The whole business, for adults, must have been terrifying. It went on for years. How did they stand it?
I can remember, that on my 10th birthday, my Dad bought me a bike. I was enthralled with it, as bikes were very scarce to buy. It was pale blue, with 15inch wheels, a junior bike. I had not had it very long when the free-wheel "went". I was broken-hearted. The ratchets had broken and it free-wheeled in each direction. Spares for bikes were very scarce, in fact they were not available due to the war effort and shortages. However my Dad bought a used full size rear wheel, complete with a good free-wheel. He proceeded to cut all the spokes, removed the free-wheel, complete with hub, and fitted it to my existing smaller wheel. He removed all the spokes, fitted the good free-wheel, and replaced all the spokes, in the right pattern. He tightened the spokes and had the wheel "trued" at the cycle repairers. I thought that this was a marvellous achievement. I still do, to this day, A wonderful man, my Dad, with such patience. I do not remember him ever raising his hands in anger to us children. He was a wonderful family man, and full of love for us kids.
I can remember that he made lovely and intriguing wooden ornaments on his "Hobbies" fret-saw machine. I used to watch him for hours, he let me try, but I was not as deft as he was.
We spent a large proportion of our leisure time, out on our "bikes", aircraft spotting,
We used to gaze fascinatingly at the contrails high in the sky, fighters, indulging in life or death dogfights, we even saw bombs toppling out of a plane on one occasion, our local sweet shop was destroyed, and also the fish shop on the corner, the occupants of this shop, were killed on this occasion.
Later during the war, when we were out on our bikes, we would watch, from, Eltham Common, doodle bugs, flying towards London, being pursued by fighters, these fighters, would then pull back and leave the guns to carry on with the defences. We would be led away by the local police or A.R.P to take cover in the nearest shelter, and to get told off , and reported to our parents for being left unattended during a raid.
It was on one of our cycling trips, towards the end of the war, that this unbelievable incident, took place. We were cycling down a hedged road between Foots Cray and Orpington, when we saw over the hedge in a field on our left, a battery of anti-aircraft guns. These were 3.7 calibre ack-ack guns, we knew all these details. It was part of the "fun" of war, to know all these details. We had seen these guns many times before, of course, on Peckham Rye, Goose Green, Clapham Common, even on the backs of lorries in the surrounding streets, but never this close. We laid down our bikes, and gingerly, peeked round through the gap. There were 4 to 6 of these guns. Sited In sandbagged enclosures, in this small field. We approached with caution. There was no body around, we went nearer, and eventually touched one of these guns. We were enthralled, there were earphones and wireless apparatus, on the shelves of the bunkers, all sorts of equipment, stacked up, and several vehicles parked around. There was even ammunition stacked up in a separate bunker behind. These shells were almost as big as we were. Although the actual shell was only 3.7 inches in diameter, the cartridge driving it was very large. It had to be to send this projectile 15000 feet or so into the air to tackle aircraft. I gingerly climbed into the seat on the side of this gun and admired the various markings, degrees for aiming etc. on the dials in front of me. I turned the handle in front of me and to my amazement the gun stated to traverse. I said to my pal," Hey Dan ,look what I have done". He retaliated by turning the handles on his side, and the barrel started to go up and down. We were in another world, we played on these guns for what seemed an eternity, but it may have been only half an hour. We began to tire of this game and also frightened in case we got into trouble, so we made our way back to our bikes and resumed our journey. Unbelievable, the sentries, guarding these guns, may have got bored and gone off to the local for a beer, little realising what a fantastic playground they had left us.
Our resumed cycle trip, took us to the Richard Klinger works, on the A22. Next to these works was a large disused and flooded quarry, in which we swam, (can you believe,) probably the most dangerous swimming area there is. Very deep with no visible bottom. And full of obstructions, We used to bathe here regularly. Unaware of the possible danger.
Another unbelievable place we used to bathe, was by Tower Bridge. Next to the Tower of London wall. At low tide, there was a small bit of sandy shore. This was our "beach" We used to swim in, the, then filthy River Thames from here. Until the River Police chased us away. We used to almost live on our bikes, touring the sites of bomb damage, gazing in awe at houses strewn around, often playing in these ruins oblivious of the danger. We seemed to be completely unsupervised. But then apart from the danger of the War, children could wander around ,in safety, in those days.
We were not exactly poor, but we could not afford proper holidays. We went hop-picking or "hopping" as it was known. This meant packing your belongings in a large wooden box on wheels, Which my Dad made, (a hopping cart).
We pushed this heavy and awkward contraption from our house in Peckham to London Bridge Station. A journey of about three miles. This seems like a superhuman feat now, We entrained and went to Kent. Marsden. Paddock Wood ,Goudhurst or some other hop-growing area. We were taken by horse and cart to the local hop fields and allocated, a hut. A corrugated iron or wooden shack. Inside we had straw filled palliases to sleep on, (sheer torture). We spent the next 4 to 6 weeks in the surrounding fields picking hops. We, that is my parents were paid a shilling a bushel for picking these, and you could earn a sizeable sum doing it. It was a very popular pastime. A working holiday, where you could earn extra welcome money.
As kids we loved it, The season started in mid August,which meant we had an extra 2 to 3 weeks off school, and could earn pocket-money by helping pick hops if we wanted to. We used to go nearly every year, My Gran and other relatives would accompany us. There would be campfire sing songs at night, accompanied by an accordian , and lots of jokes. We thought that this was fabulous. We used to watch the dog fights overhead, this was of course, in Kent, known as bomb alley. We watched several aircraft crash during these episodes, and on one occasion. We saw the local farm workers go after a German pilot, who had bailed out, with pitch -forks. He must have been terrified. We had been in the" Cubs for some time, and we were taught to cook dampers and squibs, A Damper was made of just flower and water, (a ghastly mess) and toasted over a fire. A squib was made of the same ingredients, but rolled around a twig. Toasted until brown, the stick was removed, and the now vacant hole, filled with jam,
Gorgeous, even the adults loved them. I think the inevitable dirt on our hands added to the flavour.
Whilst on the subject of holidays, towards the end of the war, many children had never had a holiday. So an opportunity was provided by the Education authorities for children to do so. We were charged 30 shillings to attend a School Camp for two weeks, full board. Our camp, was on a disused Army site at Boxmoor, Herts. We were accommodated in the old barrack sheds, and proceeded to have the time of our lives. We visited many of the local attractions. Tring, Ivinghoe Beacon, Whipsnade, and the nearby Union Canal. The highlight, however, was a visit to the military surplus dump at nearby Bovindon. Here in the fields, were dumped every conceivable wartime gadget, from a billy can to a Flying Fortress aircraft bomber. We were not allowed to remove any items, and all the guns and ammunition had of course been removed. But we had a fantastic time playing in and around the damaged Lancasters, Flying Fortresses, and many other wartime aircraft. What a schoolboys paradise. The best thirty bob, I think, that my parents ever spent.
Earlier on, we of course, followed with avid interest, D.Day and its consequent advances. The newspapers and cinema newsreels were full of details of this momentous event.
I remember that our History teacher was deeply concerned about the safety of the Bayeux Tapestry.
Bayeux, is an historic, medieval town, in Normandy, home of the famous tapestry, depicting the Battle of Hastings, and similar events of the period.
This town featured greatly during the early advances from the beaches, and there was fierce fighting in the area, but it transpired that the tapestry was safe. I am not quite sure of the details now, but our History teacher returned to earth, happily.
The advances of our soldiers featured greatly in our day to day chats about the war, and we used to play many soldier type games based on these events. We said how we regretted not being old enough to get "involved" in the fray. How stupid we were.
At about this time, one of the items which I clearly remember, was, that we, in the school belonged to the "Ship Adoption Society", this meant that we wrote to certain ships, and the crew, or officers replied. The ship we wrote to was a Polish destroyer, the H.M.S Kymichzick. I am not quite sure of the spelling, but it proved to be a rewarding experience. We seldom had fruit in those days, in fact the only orange or banana we ever saw was in the films, on Carmen Miranda,s hat.
Towards the end of 1944, this ship must have been on duty in the Meditteranean. Or some other warm area, for when she docked at Portsmouth or Chatham, some of the crew borrowed an Army lorry and delivered to us, in the school, 2 or 3 large wooden cases containing oranges, Enough for one for every child, it was near Xmas time and I think it was the best Xmas present I ever had. Our Headmistress, Miss O,Reilly, made a very nice thank you speech to the crew, on our behalf, for this lovely gesture. And the crew in their broken English responded warmly, and said how they had appreciated the letters, which we had been sending to the ship.
We had of course been bombed almost continuously for 5 years now, and then, something more sinister appeared, the V1 or doodlebug flying bomb, as it was called, we noticed that these devices gave a much louder bang than we had previously known, and of course cleared much larger areas of houses. Very nasty, you could generally hear the droning, wailing, throb, of these devices, which gave a little warning, Later, we did not get a warning, the rocket age had arrived in the form of the V11 or Vee Two rocket missiles. (Werner von Brauns toys), bless him. These gave an even larger bang, not clearing as much of an area, but creating enormous craters. At night in the street when we were playing, we usually experienced a flash, we winced and then there was the "bang". We thought that this flash was a premature warning, but it was of course the flash of the rocket hitting the ground, somewhere nearby.
We, that is my family, were "bombed out" 3 times during the war, not such fun, but I was too young to really feel the full implications of these incidents.
We met many American and Canadian servicemen during the war, they were very generous and would give us chocolate, strips of gum, and other goodies. They would give us money to go the cinema, and if it was an Adult film, accompany us inside. We repaid them by spying on their prowess, with the local girls, in and around Sevenoaks, where a lot of them were stationed, and where we did a lot of cycling.
Sweets were rationed much to our dismay, we were allowed four ounces a month. Which was two small chocolate bars or a small bag of boiled sweets. The coupons were known as "E" or "D" in the Ration Books. There was a black market but we could not afford the asked prices.
I was never given any pocket money, it was not affordable. I had a newspaper round, and used to supplement my income by selling Ration Books. We, that is our little gang, would after dark, climb up onto the roof of the "Food Office" in Camberwell High Street, There was a blacked out glass window, tent shaped, with side slats. These slats were easily removed. I, being the tiniest, was able to squeeze through this narrow gap, and was lowered to the floor. After my eyes got used to the dark, I would stuff my jumper with as many Ration Books as I could. Much sought after was the R.B.6. Ration book which was issued only to Naval personnel on leave. This book entitled the bearer to twice the current allowance. This was an extra treat for persons serving at sea. (It was also an extra treat for us). I would hide my share of these "books " up inside the chimney in my bedroom, and sell the contents as and when. Most of my relatives bought coupons off me, especially my aunts Doll and Daisy (so they were equally to blame). Tea coupons were very popular, I recall, and we as children didn’t go short of sweets.
We were cycling over Tower Bridge one day, when we saw down in the river below, A submarine. It was a German U.Boat. It had surrendered and was being put on display. It was small and black, and seemed insignificant. It didn’t seem possible that these small boats had sunk thousands of tons of shipping, and nearly brought about our defeat.
The war was now gradually ending, and we we were told that ice-cream was returning to the shops. I can remember the first consignment arriving at our corner shop. We waited nearly all day for it, and there was an enormous queue. But it was worth it, it seemed more delicious than we had remembered , and the shop soon sold out. We were allways queuing for something, then, sometimes you could get "chocolate powder" off ration, or maybe "lemonade powder". This was rather grim, but better than nothing.
As the war drew to a close, we had a new Headmaster, a Mr.Pipe. He had been a Japanese Prisoner of War, for four years. He showed signs of suffering for some time. He told us one or two of his exploits, but what sticks in my mind was this. They were beaten starved and not allowed any books. Most of his companions were teachers, or vicars or doctors, professional men. To pass their time and to stop them going insane, they proceeded to write from memory, on stolen papers, the Holy Bible. Or what they could remember of it, each one subscribing to it. This is a remarkable achievement. He showed us once, a small excerpt from it. And to us, even as children, it was truly admired, and of course very moving.
As the war drew to a close and V.E.day arrived we had wonderful street parties. Great big bonfires in the roads, melting all the tar, nobody seemed to mind. Tables lining the street during the day and dozens of children sitting eating jellies etc. Being entertained by conjurers and the like. Grown ups would sing and dance around these huge bonfires at night, It was an amazing sight. One night, we were watching a bonfire, in Cator Street. We were sitting on the roof of "Woods" factory opposite. It was getting quite warm, even up there. We sat there for a considerable time. When we got up to go, Dan was stuck to the roof. He managed to wrench himself free. The heat had caused the asphalt on this roof, to melt and leave sticky tar all over the seat of his trousers.. We thought this was funny, but I don’t think that Dan did, when he got home!
It was at this time, a lot of the shops and stores were selling off Government War Surplus goods. There were some amazing bargains to be had. We saved our spending money and bought, from Gamages, a large department store in Holborn, an ex R.A.F. rubber dinghy, from an aircraft. They cost £3 .10 shillings each, a lot of money in those days but worth every penny.
It was a single occupant dinghy, complete with sail, paddles, hand inflator, in a clipped haversack about 24 inches square. When inflated it was about 6 feet long and 3 feet wide, it was fitted with a drogue, for stability. It had an aluminium telescopic mast and bright red sail. The sailing instructions were written on the sail in English, French and Polish. They were fitted with a sheet which pulled up from the feet and clipped on to sides, and a shroud coming from the back to enclose the head. Completely weather tight for the protection of the downed pilot. We used to go camping in these dinghies, at Walton on Thames, Shepperton or Twickenham , using them as tents, sleeping in them overnight. We had our own stoves which worked of solid menthol fuel, another ex services device, good little pocket cookers running on tablets of fuel. We took beans and bacon and soup and spent many happy weekends using these devices. During the day we sailed along the Thames in these little rubber craft, from Richmond or Walton on Thames, steering by the triangular sail and racing each other. They were the source of great entertainment, for many years. My one lasted for 12 years before it finally perished.
We used to upturn these dinghies and get underneath, breathing the trapped air from within, and swim gently along. Bystanders on the bank were amazed to see these small craft drifting by and turning around, they could not make it out, until we emerged from beneath, to sometimes, loud applause, from these onlookers.
When we were 11, we graduated from the "cubs" to the "scouts". We used to go on weekend trips, and seven day camps. We were based in the Mission Hall in East Surrey Grove. We were often visited by servicemen, on leave, who would teach us Morse Code and Semaphore. We loved the scouts, the only drawback was that you had to attend Sunday School to join, never mind. We learned all sorts of useful exercises. Cooking, First aid, signalling, tracking, and the like. Badges were issued to mark an accomplishment in one of these subjects. It was desirable to collect as many badges as you could. On certain special occasions, like Empire or St.Georges Day, all the local Scout units would gather near Peckham Rye. We would follow the local Boy Scout band down Rye Lane and into church for a service. We would strut along proudly behind this band. It was quite a sight, 2 or 3 hundred Boy Scouts marching along.
I became a patrol leader in the "Bulldog" patrol, and my pal Dan was my assistant (what a team!). This Scout troop, was run by Mr. Richards, the Scoumaster and Mr. McDonald, his assistant. Mr. Mcdonald, was enormously strong. We called him Tarzan. We had weekend camps and various trips. We would travel to the country in the back of removal lorries. The tents we used were large, heavy bell tents, and a very large marquee, for our dining room. It seemed to take all day to erect these tents, and we were thankful to have "Tarzan" doing most of the work. By the time we had erected these tents, made the latrines, and cooked our supper, we fell into bed exhausted (after washing up of course). We cooked in large mettle cooking pots, enormous vessels, which took all day to clean. On one occasion I was delegated porridge stirrer. It was hard work, stirring, what seemed about 20 gallons of porridge. I paused for a short break, and the porridge burnt. We had to eat it of course (food was still rationed and in short supply), so I was not very popular. My punishment, was scraping and cleaning this sticky mess out of this huge cooking pot. However, we had great fun at these camps.
We did woodcraft, tracking, cooking, map-reading, swimming in the nearby river, and all sorts of out-door activities. On one occasion, in these surrounding woods, whilst we were woodcrafting, an adder snake sliverred across our path. We screamed and climbed the nearest tree, where we stayed until our Scout master rescued us. This snake gave us a wide berth, perhaps this was because, we did not seem to wash, very much in those days.
In 1945 ,our Annual weekly scout camp was held at Fittleworth, near Petworth, in a field, by a river under the South Downs.
The Japanese were still engaged in hostilities, but we were told that the end was near. The approaching, V.J. Day, was to be announced, in the towns, by sounding church bells, which had been silent since the war started, and in the countryside, by lighting large bonfires on the hills along the South Downs.
It was August, a hot night, I remember. We were sitting around the campfire having supper, singing Scouting songs, and listening to our Scout master relating tales. A shout went up, and we saw an amazing sight. All along the downs, on the hills, and visible for miles, bonfires were being lit, and we knew then, that the war was finally over.

THE END