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Childhood memories of war.
Peter B Rushbrook.

I was born about two and a half years before the war began, so growing up with it did not seem strange — I knew nothing else — and living in the country I enjoyed a lot more freedom than the children of today. ��ѿ��ý was in Hyde Lane, Danbury, Essex; with no hot water and an outside toilet which had to be emptied into a hole in the ground when it was full. I have no memories of my father until after the war. He was in the Air Force Mum said, and was in North Africa and later, Italy.
I think Mum kept the garden going for a little while, but all I can remember was the Blackcurrants . Mum made them into a thick syrupy drink — it put me off for life. At one time we had chickens, the surplus eggs were put into a bucket in the pantry in “Izingglass”, they tasted funny when we used them after that.
The Milkman, Mr Quelsh, came every day with a Churn of milk (it was bigger than me) on a Pony cart and measured of how much milk Mum wanted and poured it into her jug. The Baker came round with a covered cart full of bread as well, but not so often. Mr Bell came round with a lorry, which carried ‘Paraffin’ for the Lamp (so we did not have Electricity either until after the war). We must have had coal, as Mum used to cook on a black ‘range’ in the Living room.
The windows had pattern made from a sticky tape stuck to it, to stop the glass from flying if a Bomb landed nearby, and there were wooden shutters to put up at night, to stop the light getting out (and Jerrie dropping a Bomb on us). Dad made them before he went away. We had lino on the floor, and when it was windy this lifted up and made us laugh.
I vaguely remember starting school at Woodham Mortimer because my playmate Colin went there. There were only two rooms, and a large shelter behind it with a thick concrete roof and no windows — we had to go there when the Air Raid Warning sounded (Mum called it “Moaning Minnie”)
About this time the Army dug a hole in the waste ground behind our house and put an AA gun in it. I do not remember hearing it fire, but once Colin and I were allowed to play on it — winding it round and up and down with the handles. About this time a lady (Auntie Gwen) and her daughter, Shelby, stayed with us — her husband was one of the Army Gunners. They all left when the gun went.
We visited Auntie Gwen in Bournemouth, but could not go on the beach as it had Iron poles and barbed wire all over it, but there was a Spitfire in the town square that we had a good look at.
Chelmsford had a display of a Spitfire and a Lancaster Bomber (like Dad worked on Mum said) in the Railway Goods Yard near the station. The other side of the Station was a Bomb Site — it used to be a Picture House said Mum, but the Jerries had been trying to hit the Factory half a mile away.
We went to stay with Auntie Gwen again, but this time near Dartmoor in a village called Denbury, and stayed long enough for me to go to school there with Shelby. She took me into the local church once (a dark and dreary place, but so was the winter weather) I do not recall seeing her after we left, but I did visit Auntie Gwen in Plymouth years later.
On returning home I went to school in Danbury, a two mile walk (no busses). I vaguely remember taking part in the Infants Christmas Play. As an older infant the class-room was a wooden hut behind the main building, with one of those round cast iron stoves, and our teacher was a very old, white haired lady we children referred to as ‘Granny Bowers’. The only lesson I can remember was having to learn to knit, and I was rubbish at that. The Caretaker was Mrs Raven, she had to clean me up once when I had had an ‘Accident’. Her son Michael was in the same class as me .
At least once, I walked home with a pretty little blonde curly haired girl call Kaye and we had a little cuddle in a field, ‘like the grownups’. I’m sure I walked to and from school with out Mum in the nice weather from quite an early age.
One dreary winters morning Mum and I found that our normal road was closed, and we had to take a detour to get by. The road had been used to park a lot of blue/grey lorries each loaded with Gas cylinders for a Barrage balloon site that had been set up in a nearby field. We were able to walk past them that evening.
I do not remember what toys I had, except for ‘Teddy’, or what I did in the winter evenings, or wet days — a lot of reading I think, there was no Television yet. The wireless was on a lot, “Workers Playtime” (Music), “Children’s Hour”, and on Sunday dinnertime “It’s that Man Again” (ITMA) — the man kept meeting funny sounding people, like his cleaning lady, ‘Mona Lott’ “Can I do you now, Sir?” was her first line, and she usually finished in a miserable voice, “It’s being so cheerful that keeps me going”; ‘Frisby Dyke’ wanted to know what the long word meant; the telephone went and the man on the other end had a very deep voice, “Dis am Fump speaking”; -
and ‘Serge Suite’, who spoke with a funny sound and when asked if he was Russian said, “Noo, I tarawake my tirawime” (No, I take my time).
In the summer, I was outdoors a lot — climbing trees and playing in the brook at Chalk Bridge just down the road. Once I went into the woods, and found the crater where the Jerries had dropped a ‘landmine’, it was a big conical shaped hole and about half a mile from home.
Then there were the ‘Doodlebugs’ (flying bombs), Mum said to take cover if I heard one and the engine stopped. I ended in a ditch on several occasions. The other ones, the V2 rockets were another matter — they gave no warning, but luckily the nearest one landed about a mile away, but was strong enough to move the end of our house an inch or so.
We had an Air raid shelter, not the outdoor type. This was like an iron table with the mattress under it, and strong wire ends and sides, and was in Mums bedroom. I did sleep in it, but at the other end to Mum.
Other visitors we had were Granny Smith (Mums mum, and she was older than Granny Bowers at school) and Aunt Lily Rose (a very thin lady). An uncle once stayed the night, he had one leg cut off just above the knee.
Auntie Helen (a nice slim lady with bright red hair and a deep voice) stayed for a while with Sally Anne and Pat (they were both younger than me), they had been bombed out of London, and we did go and visit them at Chadwell Heath sometime later. She used have the wireless on a lot, playing music by Glen Miller and his band. Once we all went on a Tram in the blackout to a Dance Hall, us children sliding up and down the floor between dance’s.
Towards the end of the war, Mum and I spent a weekend at Granny Smiths, she was living at Boreham then, and the house was right in line with the runway. It must have been the night of one of the thousand bomber raid into Germany. The planes kept roaring over the house for what seem hours as the sun was setting.
We did not have any comics, but the Daily paper had some cartoon strips in it. There was ‘Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’ which was funny, and ‘Jane’, a lady who seemed to like taking off her clothes — ugh!
The day after my eighth birthday, there was a Picture on the front page of the paper taken at a German Concentration camp called Belson…. the people were more than skinny, they were just bones held together by skin — I cried then, and am now as I write this down.
A few weeks later, every one was laughing and shouting —‘The war is over — it’s VE day’. In the evening Mum and I went up to Runsell Green. There was a BIG bonfire, music and the people were drinking, laughing and dancing until very late at night. When it got dark, all the houses had their lights on and no blinds drawn, and the Air Raid Wardens did not even notice.
It was a while before Dad came home — on leave at first. I think I was jealous of him at first, being used to having all Mums attention. Then Comics started, they were fun. Banana’s looked strange, but tasted nice. Oranges first appeared Christmas morning in my stocking, but for sweets we had to wait a long time.
Looking back I think I enjoyed the war, but that’s probably because I was too young to know things had been different, and that I was allowed some freedom to explore the area in which I lived. Mum kept in touch with Auntie Helen and we saw them often.
I rang her when Mum died a few years back. I must have been luckier than most, not getting ‘bombed out’, loosing family or friends except the sister I was not aware of.

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