蜜芽传媒

I remember where I was 鈥� when the London Blitz started

A family of five children, we were all born in Stratford, East London and moved to Forest Gate nearby in 1936. My earliest memory of the war was helping to dig a 6 foot hole in the garden to house the Anderson air raid shelter and then the competition among the neighbours to fit them out with beds, tables and surround them with flower beds.

My school, West Ham Secondary, was evacuated to Brentwood in Essex before war was declared and I remember lining up in the road complete with gas mask in a cardboard box (with a leatherette cover made by my Dad 鈥� very posh) waiting for some kind householder to pick me as their evacuee. In the event I was the last to be chosen, which probably scarred me for life! I was taken in by a Mr.and Mrs Foster of Hogarth Avenue and spent many happy months there.

My brothers had both been called up as they had previously volunteered, one for the Navy, who eventually captained minesweepers in the Channel, being torpedoed but surviving ,while the other joined the Royal Corps of Signals 鈥� went to France, survived Dunkirk and later to Italy and Africa. My sisters were both working in the City of London.

As the 鈥減honey war鈥� dragged on , the evacuees drifted back and I returned to school at Stratford, taking a Saturday job delivering telegrams for the Post Office. Although the tips at weddings were good, this was outweighed by the tragedy when delivering telegrams from the services notifying the death of relatives. I was very upset that very often, in spite of tears, they would usually ask a relative to make sure that the 鈥渢elegraph boy鈥� got a tip 鈥� such was the kindness about in those days.

On the Saturday, 7th September 1940, I was delivering telegrams as usual, this time in Canning Town, in the heart of the docks. We had heard the odd German plane at night, recognisable by the unusual engine sound, caused, I was told, by unsynchronised engines, but I was not prepared for the hundreds of huge black aircraft which suddenly appeared over the docks, flying very low and heading straight for me! Air raid wardens were blowing their whistles and the ack-ack guns were banging away, but then I heard different kinds of whistles and explosions taking place all around. Following the shouts of a warden I finally found a surface shelter, leaped off my bike, letting it run down the road, and dived for cover, so shaken that a kind lady put a cigarette in my mouth, although I don鈥檛 believe I smoked at that time.

We all sat there in an unreal world listening to the screams of bombs and shrapnel from the AA guns spattering on the shelter until the all clear siren went some hours later. I found my bike and rode through the streets in a daze, seeing completely foreign sights, piles of rubble where buildings had been, people covered in blood seeking help and dozens of fires burning.

I got back to the Post Office, deposited my pouch and bike and started to walk home to Forest Gate. I was met outside the Pigeons pub by my Dad and sisters who had been to the Post Office and been told I was at the docks, so they were overjoyed to see me . They even bought me a beer 鈥� probably the start of my downfall! When we got home we were told that there was an unexploded bomb at the bottom of our garden and we had to leave, neighbours across the road invited us into their shelter and there we spent the night while bombs continued to fall all around until the early hours.The next day we went to stay with my uncle at Wembley but they were a bit grand for us and it was difficult with our large family, so we returned to London a few days later. The roof had to be repaired and there were incendiary bombs lying all over the lawn, but the unexploded bomb turned out to be a dud, so we were able to move back in.

I continued at the 鈥淲est Ham Sec.鈥�,cycling home the one mile when there was an air raid warning, much to my parent鈥檚 dismay, while my sisters managed to find their way to work in central London each morning, climbing over the debris and miles of fire hoses in the streets and marvelling at the continued cheerfulness of the firemen who had been working all night (Shades of September 11th). Each night we would go down the Anderson shelter with provisions for the night and listen to the planes and bombs, wondering whether one 鈥渉ad our name on it鈥� After a while my sister and I got fed up with the discomfort and ventured back into the house, but having been showered with glass when a window was blown in (in spite of the criss cross tape across them) we went back 鈥渄own the 鈥榦le鈥� as my Grandma used to say.

Eventually the school was badly damaged by an aerial land mine and they decided to evacuate us properly to Helston in Cornwall. I finally joined the RAF in 1943, we were a very fortunate family in that all five took a fairly active part in the war and we all survived.