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Memories of Wartime may relate little to WAR as personal explosive involvement.
Memories of the six years of Wartime are as a pot-pourri whose essences became intermixed, confused or dispersed in the draughts of Time. Emotional, Subjective, Fatiguing, Long..
Here are hints of the vaguest of vague memories, which might be enlargeable.

The Knibb family lived at 51 Lowerson Rd, Liverpool 11. We were issued with Identity Cards, Ration Cards, and gas-masks.

Doug, in the Terriers, was mobilized and moved to Shepshed.

‘Walls have ears’ was a major slogan. There was an atmosphere of confidentiality generally. It was all ‘Don’t talk. Don’t ask’. And later came ‘Need to know only’.
‘How long are you home?’ was a bewildering matter…
Oh Dear. And ‘Is your journey really necessary!’

Name signs were removed from Stations, and Direction Signs from roads.
I went with cousin George when he delivered an Industrial Refrigerator from Liverpool to Birmingham. He was misdirected on the way back and we found ourselves in Manchester.

Doug moved to Suffolk with ‘the 187 Field Regt, Royal Artillery’; I think. Doug encountered a very special family which made a point of entertaining troops. Years later they invited me to visit them.

Dad became an Air raid warden. Dad, Herbert Edward Knibb (ZADB 39 1?). Dad was a clerk and we were not eligible for an Anderson Shelter. The Docker’s family and the Policeman’s family who were neighbours were given Anderson shelters.

Sister Rowena became an army driver and was posted to the Blood Transfusion Service at Southmede Hospital, Bristol.

As soon as War was declared Mr Room, ‘St. Christopher’s choirmaster’, started our rehearsing ‘The Alleluia Chorus’. Little did we realize. We would be scattered. Who would be left to sing it? Would the church building be left? Would the very Church be left! We had little idea what terrible things could be.

Dad had wooden shutters fitted to ‘51’. God bless him.

‘Oulton High School’ was evacuated. We were away for months. I terrified myself by climbing a small quarry near Rhosmeirch, Llangefni and later by walking with classmates on the frozen River Teifi near Cardigan.

‘Oulton’ returned to Liverpool in time for the unexpected start of bombing. We formed 701 Squadron, Air Training Corps. I thought it odd that 'Swotty's' parents discouraged him.

Then came the bombing. I recall Mum shouting ‘Get up! They’re over!’ and my eyes opening to the night sky, through the open window, and seeing a most beautiful ‘Chandelier’.
I cowered under the stairs many nights wondering if the sixth of any stick would hit us. But although seeming to be near me they were aimed at the Docks five miles away.
There was some comfort from the occasional bang of the Daysbrook Lane Ack Ack gun!

Rowena who seemed unafraid, during one raid, crashed into the house shouting ‘DUCK!’
Dad had his Wardens to 51 for cups of tea, and, one night, they avoided being killed when a bomb fell near their Post. Was that, for Dad, good luck or not? If he had been killed then the question would never have been thought of.
Mum and other mothers in Lowerson Road gathered outside ‘49’, about 3 am one night after the ‘All Clear’, and wept! …But why then? That was the only time in the War they did!

The term ‘Battle of the Atlantic’ was never heard - the concept was unknown. Mr Pimentil is now buried in Clifton cemetery in Southern Ireland.

Dad ‘dug for Victory’.

Staff and students took turns Fire watching at 'Oulton' in the centre of Liverpool.
Steel pipes were laid on the surface of many roads in central Liverpool, with ramps for the traffic.

There was no Requiem for ‘Oulton’:
Was ‘Oulton’ simply ‘closed down’ in 1942, or was the building ‘needed’ and ‘requisitioned’?
WJR Gibbs, Our most dignified and respected Headmaster, never came to say ‘Goodbye’ even to we Prefects who were amongst the last to quit the building at the end.
During those last hours did Mr Gibbs stay in his room? Mr Wolfe, the secretary, was to be seen occasionally.
Was Mr Gibbs sad over the loss of his school? Or was he anxious contemplating taking over the biggest college in Liverpool — ‘The Collegiate'?
Or could it be he was too terrified to meet us?

I went to ‘Liverpool University’ on A Bursary, and brother Arthur went to ‘The Collegiate’.

I felt badly the stress and fatigue of the Wartime University degree course. It was three Academic years in two years, aggravated with extra requirements (and the curtailing or elimination of others). Civil Engineering with elements of Mechanical and Electrical…and touching on rockets and satellite orbits; and there was ‘The Training Corps’.
The Training Corps and ‘the only Bren Gun'!
‘What are you reading?’ asked the General.
I was never ever more physically fit than then…Ten miles in an hour and forty minutes in full equipment — including a rifle!
A maths student was rumoured to have been away investigating the optimum pattern of Ack Ack batteries.
I had a practical experience of ‘Henri’s Law’.

My fellow Oulton student, Felipe, failed his University course and was subjected to active antagonism in a Liverpool Regiment. He was almost in tears when he told me. His brothers told him he would have to stand up for himself. I heard he did! I never saw him again. I heard he went to ‘The South Staffs Regt.’.

My younger brother Arthur failed his Higher School Certificate and was posted to RAF Kimbolton and soon went overseas.

There was Fire watching duty at The University (on top of everything else), and I recall Mulligatawny soup which I thought was Irish. My Patrol was The Education Centre, Abercrombie Square.
I was hauled before ‘The Students Union Disciplinary Board’ due to an incident associated with Firewatching.

Dad was diagnosed with cancer and elected for an operation. The only hope he had I suppose and he hoped for some miracle of God. The operation took place in ‘Clatterbridge’ in 1943.
He was transferred to a Recovery Ward (or some such) in Childwall, Liverpool. That massive ward was the nave of a church!
Dad came home and was attended to daily by Nurse Davies, the District Nurse.
Aunty Aggie Knibb used to sit with him through the night.
I found the smell overpowering.
Rowena, on compassionate leave, was with Dad when he died on 20th Jan 1944. She loved him very much - She greeted me with the news when I walked in from University.
It was a really dreadful and prolonged end.
Doug, overseas, could not get compassionate leave.

Dad was buried in Kirkdale Cemetery (Section13 Grave 478)

My visit to Wickham Market, Suffolk occurred in 1944 after graduation. The journey from Liverpool was long by train and included a cell in Ipswich Police Station and a lift on a motorbike.
My one week’s post-University rest (convalescence?) with that generous Family extended to a month. I was in a very poor mental and moral condition but I was physically very fit.

The War left me with an impression of ‘Neddo’s story’: Uncle Edward Roberts - ‘They also serve who only stand and wait!' I don’t think he met Felipe.

I was posted to ‘ The Ministry of Aircraft Production’ at ‘Thames House South’, Millbank, London (room 504). And accommodated in an ad hoc Hostel in Beaumont St, Marylebone.
I was poor in money and facilities - as well as mentally and morally. My unexpected £15 overdraft was of concern to Berkeley’s Bank manager. I recall seeing only one show in London (Rigoletto at Saddlers Wells?).
I was so poor…But were we all? Of course some had a start with, say, an adequate collection of clothing, family accommodation in London, and so on?
I occasionally went to ‘The Classic’, Baker St and to ‘Lyon’s Corner House’ (Tottenham Ct Rd or Marble Arch) where I appreciated the live music, usually by a trio or quartet. I went to ‘British Restaurants’ and commonly had Brown Windsor Soup and Macaroni-cheese.
Cigarettes almost always involved queuing. I always had cigarette papers too, so as to be left with only one tab-end after finishing a packet of ten. Cigarettes were 2/4 for 20 (when one could get them). I had a cigarette-rolling machine in case I could only get tobacco. Pipe-tobacco cigarettes were not a success.

I made one visit to West Ham but I never found the house…nor did I look hard…a VI!?

In 1945 I experienced ‘An ethereal fossil’ of an incoming V2. (My term).

For a wedding present I gave a bride-to-be a book of clothing coupons - given to me by a colleague for the purpose … from ‘the black market’ I suppose.

I made a duty visit to Prestwick Aerodrome. I felt Guilt; such a feeling as people were to hear of years later. I saw The Northern Lights in Black and white.

There were Lunchtime band concerts in St James’ Park once a week, and Lunchtime recitals in the canteen in Thames House. Myra Hess played to us.

Feeling very poor, I, for the sake of the expenses, undertook a job on VE day and missed the jollifications in London.

Freddy Jorgenson, an unknown Australian cousin, and his Aussie mate visited me in Beaumont St after being freed from their POW camp. Freddie expressed his disappointment with a London Policeman, who should have been ‘wonderful’, because the constable did not know where ‘B’moin St’ was - and they were near by in Baker St!

I never saw nor heard of Freddie again. I really felt my poverty!

I was moved to a Hostel at ‘Inverness house’, 104 Bayswater Rd. My Dormitory overlooked Kensington Gardens. The cook on one occasion was very upset over complaints of burnt custard. How much dried milk was defective and tasted burnt?

‘Sex’ was always a trouble (Brian Sewell, the art critic, in 2005 suggested ’sex’ goads us every six minutes?).
The only ‘affection based family prospects” seemed to be poverty? One fellow-student was offered £3 per week. I think I got £5, from which I had the hostel and other expenses.
‘Love’, amongst intelligent-and-poor people, was sometimes felt to be a matter to resist?
Oh dear! was this another massive, unappreciated and unsung aspect of the Nation’s impoverishment by war. But perhaps such an idea is totally subjective and comes from fatigue and depression of that time (or even of now?)
Was there only the prospect of devastation from ‘Love at first sight’? Such was almost bound to lead to disaster. In my case though I was stimulated to give up smoking and perhaps that love prolonged my life beyond that of Dad’s, who died at 56.

But what good have I done with the life given me!

Doug (Douglas Herbert Knibb), Captain Royal Artillery, and looking for all the world like David Niven, returned from Austria after service in The Middle East and Italy. He was minus his hat and with a black eye. I recall his residence for some reason in ‘Inverness House’ after I left?

When VJ day was announced I won a place at the window in my own office (room 504) from which to view the fireworks on the Thames (a matter of access to the building and security I suppose?).
When my companion and I arrived at my office the window was already occupied by strangers who seemed to have a casual attitude to my office.
My companion and I withdrew after I sensed the first aggressive selfishness since the War started, six years before?
I was annoyed and tried to console myself with thoughts of ‘Toad Hall’ being invaded by The Weasels.
We walked in St James’s Park. It was a lovely balmy night. There were Gondolas on the Lake. There were Neapolitan songs, and I recall in particular ‘Santa Lucia’.

Doug, after demob, said ‘If I’d signed on when I was called up I would have a pension now!’ He went to Brazil and changed his name to Fenna-Roberts.
Rowena went to Dar es Salaam to The Department of Lands and Surveys.
Younger brother Arthur returned from the forces broken in spirit. He never recovered and for a period asserted ‘It’s Irrelevant!’- Regarding almost, no matter what?

Felipe’s name — ‘F Pimentil’ — can be seen on ‘The Bayeux Memorial’. He was with The South Staffs. Neddo mentioned The South Staffs.

Mum was found dead in bed in the 1970s.and is buried in Walton Cemetery, Liverpool.
Rowena died in 1981 of a brain haemorrhage. Her ashes are in Ryhill, West Riding (‘Mrs Illingworth’)
Doug died later of a brain tumour. His ashes were scattered at The Crematorium near Weybridge, Surrey.
Arthur died in 2005 in a nursing home in Witney, having suffered for years of a Parkinson’s syndrome. He died of a chest complaint for which, it was said, he refused treatment. Poor Arth. He had changed his name to David-Fenner. His ashes were scattered in the Thames at Iffley.

John Knibb (ZADB 39 5)

[This story was submitted to the People's War site by Wolverhampton Libraries on behalf of John Knibb and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions]

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