蜜芽传媒

As I mentioned earlier, we lived near Biggin Hill Aerodrome, a major fighter base where pilots from all over the world were stationed. They used to frequent 鈥楾he Old Jail鈥� public house at Biggin Hill, Westerham (along with 鈥楾he White Hart鈥� at Brasted among others!) My Father used to meet them on his Sunday 鈥榩ub crawls鈥� 鈥� a good long walk with friends before Sunday lunch with refreshment en route. He got to know some of those brave, young men very well and I remember being presented with a wonderful iced Birthday Cake for my sixth or seventh birthday by a group of Canadian pilots. As I had never seen (remembered) icing sugar before I was absolutely thrilled and excited. I think it was the best birthday present I have ever had 鈥� sadly, as film was scarce in the War, no photograph exists. I remember 鈥楾he Salt Box鈥� at Cudham, a house shaped like an old kitchen salt box, with a high roof sloping almost down to the ground on one side. It was very near the airfield and had been taken over by The Royal Air Force. It was a landmark for pilots in World War I but was demolished just after The Battle of Britain.

However I do have a lovely souvenir of one of those pilots, a Free French man. He presented me with a book all about General Charles de Gaulle which I still have. I would like to know what happened to this kind man.

I have one other amusing memory of 鈥楾he Old Jail鈥�. As a child I was not of course allowed into the pub but I was allowed to go into the garden, so occasionally when my Mother took me to collect my Father and his escort I went into the garden for a short while. In a cage in the garden there was a Sulphur Crested Cockatoo (probably supplied by an Australian pilot?) Its claim to fame was that it could swear in many languages, a multi-cultural parrot. It had been instructed by all the various nationalities on the base to use their favourite swear words. (I believe that it was able to swear in Australian, Belgian, Canadian, Czechoslovakian, Dutch, English, French, New Zealand, Polish, Rhodesian, South African, and possibly more languages!) Of course whenever a child appeared a large cloth was thrown over Cocky鈥檚 cage so that we would not learn anything offensive but I do remember being allowed to feed him.

Because we lived near Chartwell, Sir Winston Churchill鈥檚 home at Westerham, we sometimes saw him driving home. Usually he was asleep in the back, (I understand he had the ability to take quick naps) whilst his chauffeur drove fast through the village. I forget whether he had an escort but I expect that he did. After the War we would see him, still mostly asleep, but with his chocolate standard poodle sitting on the seat beside him wide awake!

Towards the end of the War we had become accustomed to the bombing etc. but the most terrifying things, which we never became used to, were The Flying Bombs (V1 and V2). When they first came over they were a complete mystery. No one knew what they were but we soon discovered that we were safe if they had passed us before their engine cut out. Some other poor devil was going to 鈥榞et it鈥� instead. I remember standing at the blast wall of the shelter and watching them go overhead, telling my Father in which direction they were going. They were really terrifying and I shall never forget them.

In January 1944 I went to The Royal Masonic School for Girls at Rickmansworth in Hertfordshire as a boarder. This was certainly a new experience with a War on. A senior girl (17 years old) was designated as a 鈥楬ouse Mother鈥� to look after us young ones in the event of an air raid warning, particularly at night. My 鈥楬ouse Mother鈥� was Pamela Shipcott, she came from Orpington in Kent. I considered myself particularly lucky because she was the School鈥檚 best singer and she used to sing me to sleep with lullabies etc. during the air raids! There were air raid shelters at the School which may have been in use earlier in the War but I do not recollect going to them. They still exist (2005) but the present pupils would have no idea what they are because now they just look like a grassy, overgrown mound. I remember that, instead of going to the shelters, all our beds were taken downstairs into the long corridor in the centre of each house and we all slept there (50 pupils per house). In the event of a raid we all had to get under our beds and stay there until the 鈥楢ll Clear鈥�.

Of course throughout the whole of the War we were never without our gas masks. They had to be carried at all times. When I was a very small child I had one which looked like a Mickey Mouse face. They were supposed to make us less frightened of wearing them but they still smelled awful and were very hot and uncomfortable. Thankfully we never had to wear them in a real crisis but we had regular practices and fire drills.

Young children and pregnant women were also given concentrated orange juice each day (because oranges, being imported, were not to be found). This tasted delicious. When the orange juice became scarce the Government asked people to collect rose hips from the wild roses in the hedgerows, as they also were rich in Vitamin C. As a Brownie whilst at School I had many summer evening excursions to pick the hips. Then they were sent off to a central location where they were made into a concentrated, nourishing, tasty, sweet syrup.

Some of the girls at the school never went home because they did not have homes to go to. Their Fathers were dead and their Mothers may have been also, or else they had been bombed out and they were unable to care for their children. Even in the holidays the school was their home. I think the rules were relaxed a bit in holiday times and they were taken on a few treats etc. I certainly hope so.

During the hot summer days of 1944 I remember the pupils sitting on the grass and watching 鈥榯he Window鈥� (strips of aluminium foil) falling down from our aircraft and then running to collect as much as we could to make jewellery etc! I believe that 鈥榃indow鈥� was used to confuse the German radar. We also collected shrapnel whenever we could to see who could get the biggest piece or the one with the weirdest shape. I think that this was also collected and recycled for the War effort.

I was at School when peace in Europe was declared on 8th. May 1945. It was Prize Day at School and my parents attended. My Mother told me later that she had had a hazardous journey home trying to cross London with all the revellers in the streets. Fortunately my father had a photographic memory of London from his own driving days and was able to assist her although London had been so damaged that many of the streets he remembered no longer existed or had been re-routed. The journey took much longer than usual!

The following day at School was declared a holiday and we all spent the day in excitement waiting for the Bonfire to begin. We young ones had to have an afternoon nap because the fire could not start until after 9.00 pm. With double day-light saving it was too light beforehand for the full effect to be appreciated. I had never seen such a BIG bonfire in my life (in fact I had never before seen a bonfire deliberately lit, only those caused by bombs!) We had a wonderful time dancing around it with a tremendous feeling of relief that we need no more be frightened. Also there were fireworks which I had never seen before (as if we had not had enough bangs in the last 5 years!) and we were VERY late to bed that night/early morning! We were even given some sweets in the next few days as a special treat.

My Uncle who had been fighting in Africa was home before VJ Day and his family went on holiday with us to a house near Sheringham in Norfolk. It was memorable for Kenneth (my cousin) and myself because we spent days on the beach. All beaches had been out of bounds during the War. To get to the beach we had to wander over fields strewn with empty brass cartridges. The area had formerly been a practice firing range. We collected many pockets full and brought them back every night. We thought they were so exciting. I鈥檝e no idea what we thought we were going to do with them or what happened to them afterwards. I expect that our parents threw them in the rubbish bin.

Rationing went on for many years after the War and when my Aunt鈥檚 family immigrated to Australia in 1946 we became the recipients of marvellous food parcels which they sent to us. It was always exciting to open them as we never knew what was in them 鈥� tins of butter and condensed milk were always especially welcome as was a tube of 鈥楥olumbines鈥� which I always thought were fudge toffees. Only, when many years later, I too immigrated to Australia did I discover that they were originally chewy toffees which had gone soft on the journey!

We also received parcels from the United States and these included some clothes. I remember one particular pretty striped cotton dress which I absolutely adored, the colours were so bright and cheerful. I wore it for several summers and was most upset when it wore out!

Until she died in 1999 aged 90 years old my Mother used to murmur 鈥淭hey鈥檒l (the German planes) be over today鈥� whenever we had clear blue skies. I think this is an indication of her war-time experiences living so close to a fighter base. We have lived in Australia since 1962 where we have many days with clear blue skies yet she still remembered that 鈥榯hey鈥� would be over!

Have my War experiences had any residual effect? I believe they have 鈥� even now I hate waste. I still save anything which can be recycled, pieces of string, wrapping paper at Christmas, wood, furniture, fabric etc. I hoard tinned food (鈥榡ust in case there is another War鈥�!) and compost anything which will compost. Recycling is not a modern phenomenon for me 鈥� it is something I have always done. Waste offends me and I will recycle as much as possible. I still think of strawberry jam and bananas as luxuries! I have a huge admiration of all those brave men and women who risked everything for us and I have amassed a large collection of war non-fiction. On the other hand, I believe that my experiences have made me more resilient and better able to cope with life鈥檚 buffeting. I do not panic in emergencies and have learned to 鈥榢eep my cool鈥�. Nothing can be as important anymore.

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