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Growing up during the War Years.

I was nearly five when war broke out and I remember that Sunday explicitly. We lived in Willesborough, Ashford, Kent where my father was the local Vicar of the Free Church. Previously he had been a missionary in the Rain Forests of Bolivia where my two elder brothers were born. On this particular Sunday, having already attended Sunday school, as was the norm, being collected by my mother to be taken into the Morning Service, a double whammy. Half way through the service the verger approached my father muttering a few words, after which father climbed into the pulpit to announce that war had broken out and we were all to return to our homes to think and prepare ourselves.
Dunkirk.
I remember with my brothers and sister walking to the railway to see trains pass with war wounded returning from Dunkirk, many were heavily bandaged and a few threw penny’s out of the windows as we waved and shouted. I didn’t realise or envisage what had actually occurred at that time until after the war.
Battle of Britain & Evacuation
I remember the very first air raid sirens when it seemed that we all went out into the street to watch dog fights, shortly after this period we took delivery of our Morrison Shelter, a very heavy large metal table erected in the kitchen.
Then as the invasion risk reared its ugly head my brothers, sister and I were evacuated, my brothers to Whitney, Oxford. My mother slept on the floor if the local village hall until my brothers had been billeted and she had had chance to inspect their new temporary home. During the time they spent in Whitney they were very unhappy. I’m not sure where my sister went except she later turned up and one of my cousins home in Sale Moor, Cheshire. An aunty came down to collect me, I take me to my Grandfathers house also in Sale Moor, where I was well looked after by an aunty. Grandfather took me to School for the first time, we both ended up crying, but soon settled down.
Manchester at the time was being bombed every night so before Granddad went out on his rounds (a Special Police Constable) he scooped me up from my bed and carried me down to the outdoor shelter. I had a special bed made at the end and was given a helmet and truncheon in case the Jerry's landed.
Back ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ and Daylight Attacks.
After the scare of a possible invasion was over my mother insisted that we all came home. Life at home was very hectic, as we were bombed day and night. Going to school in the morning, no, parents didn’t take children to school in those days, I would try and estimate how many raids we would receive each day according to cloud cover. A clear blue sky meant possibly only one raid whereas a cloudy sky would mean maybe three.
We use to listen to the news before going to school and if planes had been shot down near us we would look round the corners in case there were German pilots still at large. Sometimes, if we set off a little earlier we would take the longer way to school crossing the fields to see the ack-ack positions and to talk to the men about their night time activities.
There was a period early on when planes dropped their bombs as soon as they sighted coast. We could be in the playground and hearing planes look up to see enemy aircraft overhead, the ground guns firing while bombs were being released. Our teachers would march us in and orderly crocodile up to the school shelter at the top of the hill, still within the school grounds where lessons continued. If the last raid went on too long our parents would then collect us as soon as the all clear warning sounded. We didn’t do lessons after school hours so sang songs and played eye spy to pass the time away. On another occasion we all went to seen my sisters in a School Play, We hear the warning, the lights went out and someone started us all singing the popular wartime songs. We could all hear the bombing etc but no one left until the all clear had sounded
The Night Raids.
Once home after the evening meal we were all put to bed fairly early, old fashioned parenting, and just before 9.30 pm I would start shouting down to see if we could come downstairs to get under out shelter in the kitchen where there was always a couple of mattress’s laid out with blankets. It was a good ruse to come back down to the warmth of this room but we were never allowed until the warning sounded and the action started. Father would then leave immediately on his rounds of the parish, something that scared us in case he was hit. In those days the clergy living in the danger zones were not permitted to enlist, as local moral had to be maintained.
Our mother even with five young children was asked to go back to work as the local district nurse. One day she took us on our way into Ashford shopping to seen one of the roads in her catchment area she was responsible which had been annihilated during a previous air strike.
Frogspawn came first.
Our local cricket field some 600 yards away was hit one night leaving two unexploded bombs, so we were banned from going there. We still did at times get in especially to scoop up frogspawn to hatch out in jam jars.
One evening sitting down for tea, without warning we saw tracer bullets being fired into the garden opposite us. Needless to say we were experts at getting under the table in a flash. Then there was the time while eating breakfast, no warnings we heard several bombs go off in quick succession very close by, at school we learned that another pupil would never be seen again. This happened from time to time in all our schools and we would talk about it, but I don’t think we really understood it the way grown ups did.
From upstairs loo to the kitchen land speed record!
Another time for some reason I was home during an air-raid, no warning, and sitting on the loo upstairs when there were a series of enormous explosions, I nearly fell down the backstairs trousers round my ankles to get under the table leaving my father laughing as he was busy shaving in the bathroom at the end of the landing as he saw me flash past his field of vision.
It turned out that my brothers, who were at the local grammar school, with the rest of the school just made it to the shelters, as the houses behind their playing fields suffer direct hits.
A very near hit.
On another occasion while we were all at school, my father had taken to watching the air raids through a telescope while leaning against the wooden garage. This particular day after going in the house for a mid morning cup of tea, on returning to the place where he had been standing and, usually did stand, there were large pieces of shrapnel.
As war continued it became a way of life to us all, we listened to the news and advances were pinned up on the wall in the kitchen, the maps cut out of The Times and Manchester Guardian. I was told, and did write to a soldier serving in the Middle East in the Desert Rats. with the same christian name as me, whose family lived in the next road.
The complete loss of our 18 year olds.
All the local boys in my father’s bible class were called up and all without exception died or were killed while in the forces over the next three years. When one parishioner’s son was drowned during his infantry training his coffin was put in one of our front rooms until the funeral. His parents could not be expected to keep it at their home, as they would have liked, being the local butcher. I remember all these lads because they were always full of fun. One use to hare round corners on his bicycle with his hands in the air. very impressive to a 6 year old.
Restricted Holidays.
We still went away for holidays as a friend used to lend us a Bungalow in St Mary’s Bay, Hythe. The first year I remember going was the summer before the outbreak of war and we played on the beach most days, after that the beach was barricaded off and mined. These holidays consisted of walking miles in the countryside; fishing in the small irrigation canals, which seemed loaded with fish as no one else was there. We were allowed to take such holidays because as we were already living in what was regarded as the danger zone. I remember one day out walking with my brothers, we were came across a small line of bungalows, on investigation we found the doors unlocked and they had all been left with out the owners taking their possessions. It must have been just after Dunkirk. and having told our parents, we were banned from ever going there again. I read somewhere after the war that these and other houses were looted before the end of the war and their possessions taken off to London.
Evacuees or out of the fire into the frying pan.
About 1943 we also had three evacuees to stay with us, it seemed strange at the time as we were being continually bombed but the were from London who were obviously have a worse time than us. They must have been very traumatised as they continually wet their beds. At some time or other they moved on, hopefully to a quieter sanctuary. We for our part all moved to Hereford in 1944 just before the buss bombs started and, much to our surprise they not use to air raids we couldn’t believe our luck.
Trauma manifests itself years later.
I never felt any trauma from these years until about 1956 when now married and living in a farm cottage near Chichester, the night time practice of low level night flying started and I would be awakened by this and break out in a sweat normally getting out of bed and shouting at the planes through the window. I did not recognise the symptoms at the time but fortunately local public opinion caused these practices to cease. My wife, having been brought up in Surrey had never suffered the same experiences so must have thought I was a bit odd.

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