��ѿ��ý

This story was submitted to the Peoples's War site by J. Marshall on behalf of John Sharp and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions

n October 1942, the Ministry of Food announced that there would be an orange ration for all children up to aged 18 and I just qualified. Within a month of this rare wartime treat the Ministry of Labour and National Service announced that men of 17 years and 8 months were to register for National Service — again I qualified! Until I had not realised the magical properties of oranges; that they could transform “children under 18” into “men of 17 years and 8 months”.

Certainly in common with many other Londoners I had served my apprenticeship in readiness for entry into the Forces. During the past 3 years I had served in various civilian occupations. My evening’s entertainment went from stretcher bearing in the early years to fire-watching when the first bombs began to fall onto becoming a fully fledged A.R.P Warden when I was old enough.

As teenagers (although we were never called that in those days), our collections were not of chart toppers (unheard of then) but of nose-cones, cartridge cases, bomb and shell fragments, and much sought after parachute fabric with silken cords attached. We would brag of our near misses as we cycled between the A.R.P. Posts, Fire Stations, Rescue and First Aid Stations carrying messages during the thick of an air raid. I had been a keen Scout for some years and I suppose to me and my brother it seemed like an adventurous extension of Scouting (shades of Mafeking!)

During the day I travelled to the City where I worked for a firm of stockbrokers but increasingly spent the working hours in the basement shelter at London Wall Buildings. Fortunately the German bombers kept fairly regular hours and would “knock off” during the lunch break giving us time to pop over to J.Lyons, ABC or the Express Dairy for a quick snack before the afternoon bombing started. Occasionally there would be a lull in the activity and I would dash around the City delivering or collecting to or from the other brokers and registration offices.

At times I would be out and about when the raid started and often joined the spectators on the Thames Embankment watching the dog fights taking place high in the sky over the Kent and Essex approaches to London. A cheer would go up whenever one of the bombers went hurtling earthwards out of control but it was never clear if it was one of ours or the enemy. The ‘score’ regularly made headlines in the press or on news vendors billboards and would be shown like a cricket score — “we got 57, they got 21”.

Most of us listened to the news on the wireless set and often heard the ��ѿ��ý announcer, tell us “this is Alvar Liddell reading it!” We would also read The Star, Evening News or Evening Standard during the day to keep up with the latest war news. The newspapers often printed a map of the current area of operation showing the advance or “strategic withdrawal” of our troops on overseas duty and it seemed vitally important to know who was currently holding Mersa Matru, Solum, Derna or Tobruk as they to a fro-ed back and forth across the Western Desert.

The Daily Mirror was still a forerunner in the news world and printed advice to all and sundry. Bearing in mind that this was the first time that many young men had been out in the wicked world, they published articles designed to protect and inform these “innocents”. Dr Glenn wrote a series of articles warning of the dangers, avoidance and prevention of VD. His lurid description of this hitherto unknown affliction (well, I hadn’t heard of it anyway!) convinced many of us that we were in the final stages of “Syph” or “Gon” (even though our only sexual encounter had probably only been a kiss by a maiden aunt!) When I went along for my medical for the Army I was most surprised to be passed A1!

In theory I was to be called up into the army when I reached 18 but actually didn’t go until 3 ½ months later. Even then it was touch and go whether I could “spare the time” as I had arranged to go on a cycling holiday with a fellow Rover Scout who was in a reserved occupation and was most put out about his holiday arrangements being spoiled! I was a bit surprised that he didn’t contact the Ministry of War to win me a temporary deferment.

I was one of many that had left Cassel and Co. to serve in the Forces although the majority of their staff had been in the “Terriers” previously and had been called up just before the War. I used to see them visiting the office on their occasional leaves so had a fair idea of what to expect. One of their staff was a South African, Basil Rennie who had joined the London Stock Exchange scene to gain experience to take back with him when he joined his Dad’s business in Johannesburg. He was a bomber pilot who had been shot down over Europe but had escaped via the very hush-hush “River Line” so was regarded as one the firms “success stories”, apart from being a very likeable chap. Having got away with a number of hair raising escapades he was unlucky enough to get pneumonia from which he never recovered.

I think I was one the last to leave the firm to join the Forces before the War ended.

This extract is taken from a manuscript entitled "A Royal Sassenach" a copy of which was given to Burnham Library during their recent event

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.