Looking Back: Reflections of a London Child on the War years 1939 - 1945
136
Looking Back: Reflections of a London Child on the War years 1939 - 1945
136eBook
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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781481704526 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 01/25/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 136 |
| File size: | 316 KB |
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Looking Back
Reflections of a London Child on the War Years 1939 – 1945By Eva Merrill
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2013 Eva MerrillAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4817-0454-0
Chapter One
The clouds of war are gathering* * *
Events in Europe during the twenty years between 1919 and 1939 were overshadowed by the nightmare legacy of World War 1
In the 1930's people still talked about the 'Great War', the sacrifices made and the dreadful carnage of men, but at least it was felt to be the war to end all wars. However by the latter half of the decade fears were growing that another war with Germany was imminent. There had been unrest and uprisings in many countries; the Spanish Civil War was raging and Fascism gaining ground, and in Germany Hitler had come to power.
In early 1938 the Nazi occupation of Austria took place. Hitler then made a demand for Sudetenland, part of the Czechoslovakian border areas. Hoping to appease Germany and to forestall any further demands, France, Italy and Great Britain negotiated the Munich Agreement, compelling Czechoslovakia to cede Sudetenland to Germany.
When Neville Chamberlain arrived back in this country from Munich in October 1938, waving his infamous piece of paper, 'Peace in our Time', and claiming that this was a prelude to a larger settlement in which all Europe may find peace, many in this country were profoundly relieved. Others were cynical, fearing this policy of appeasement was a mere stop-gap and that Hitler would not adhere to, nor be satisfied with, this agreement for long. Many also viewed it as a policy of expediency, for Great Britain at this time was totally unprepared for war.
Five months later, in March 1939, Hitler broke the terms of the Munich Agreement, by threatening to bomb Prague into ruins unless the Czechoslovak President placed the country into the hands of the German Reich. Powerless to resist, the Czech Government acceded to this demand.
Though France, Italy and Great Britain issued a public condemnation of Germany's actions, they did not directly intervene. France and Great Britain then abandoned the policy of appeasement and drew up the Anglo-French Agreement, guaranteeing assistance to Poland should they be attacked by Nazi Germany. In his relentless march for power, Hitler was likely to seize upon Poland as his next victim.
The clouds of war were gathering fast, and as the months of 1939 passed there was a feeling of unease and uncertainty in many British households.
As an 11 year old I can remember my parents discussing world events, but to me war seemed far removed from our happy and well-ordered life. We were an ordinary family living in Harringay, North London, renting the downstairs part of a large terraced house. Dad was a messenger in the City of London, working for a firm of stock-brokers, Rowe and Pitman. He also worked several evenings a week on the turnstiles at dog racing meetings, and in 1937 had secured a Sunday job as a doorman at the television studios at Alexandra Palace. Though we did not see a lot of him as he seemed to be always working, his extra duties brought more money in and greatly helped the family budget. We never had money to spare, but we had a comfortable life-style and were in a far better financial position than many working-class families around us. There were three children; I was the eldest, born in June 1927, Dorothy born in June 1930, and John in August 1937. Dorothy attended South Harringay Junior School and in 1938 I had passed the scholarship and was a pupil at Hornsey County Grammar School.
Following the fall of Czechoslovakia Britain began preparing for war in earnest. Contingency plans were made for the evacuation of children from London and other cities, both Dorothy and I bringing letters home from our schools in the summer term of 1939 regarding possible evacuation. Dad and Mum felt Dorothy and I should be evacuated, so our names were put down at our respective schools. It was then announced that mothers with children under the age of 5 should also consider evacuation, taking their toddlers with them As John was not quite 2 years old, Dad felt Mum should also be removed from possible danger, so they too registered for the evacuation programme.
It all seemed rather jolly, most of our class-mates had duly brought their forms back, all consenting to evacuation, rather like signing up for a mammoth school outing. Our school was issued with special song books in preparation, full of rousing and patriotic numbers which the music teacher rehearsed us in relentlessly. We were told that if and when we left London, we were to sing our heads off, there may be a war, but we were BRITISH and must never be down-hearted. I can still remember us all bellowing out 'Land of Hope and Glory' 'Rule Britannia' and 'There'll always be an England' plus similar uplifting songs in the school hall months before the war even started, just so that we should all be in good voice if that fateful day ever arrived.
Dad had been persuaded by his firm to join the Territorial Army in 1937, so along with several of his work colleagues he had spent a week away at Camp on Army manoeuvres each year. Mum thought it was all rather silly; after all he was 41. She said they were like a lot of schoolboys playing games. However, Dad enjoyed the week or so away, and as Rowe and Pitman paid his wages when he was off on these jaunts, not too much notice was taken as to how he had committed himself, nor the full implications realised.
So 1939 jogged along. By July I had completed my first year at Grammar School and had settled in nicely, really enjoying the new experience and managing to cope with the academic requirements. Dorothy was 9 years old and doing well at the Junior School and 2 year old John was a happy and contented little soul.
We must have been more affluent that year for Dad had booked a two week holiday for us at Winchelsea Beach, near Rye in Sussex. This was to be in a disused railway coach, a great novelty - obviously a fore-runner of caravan holidays. We travelled down to Winchelsea Beach by coach in early August and spent a glorious ten days there. John had his second birthday there and I still have a photo of him, beaming away astride a large mock lion. It was a happy time for all of us, Mum and Dad were relaxed and carefree, while the railway coach provided an endless source of amusement for Dorothy and I.
In the middle of the second week a telegram arrived for Dad, telling him he had to report to some Army Barracks, either in Hampshire or Berkshire, I cannot remember which. He had to be there AT ONCE - he was already a day overdue because the letter telling him to report had gone to our home address. Panic and consternation all round, there we were in the middle of a lovely holiday and this bombshell arrives!
We frantically packed up and set off for home, Dad full of anxiety fearing he would be arrested as a deserter, while Mum was furious at what she thought was the Territorial Army playing still more silly games. Dorothy and I were resentful and upset at this sudden curtailment of our holiday, so it was a very unhappy little family that arrived back in London that day.
Once home Dad picked up the travel warrant that was waiting for him on the door-mat along with instructions, and rushed off to report to the appropriate Army barracks. We were left to unpack our cases feeling thoroughly fed-up and let-down. No explanation was given as to why Dad had to go off in such a hurry, or how long it was for.
The days went by and there was still no letter or message from Dad. We all grew very worried. Mum's money ran out and at last in desperation she contacted Rowe and Pitman. They were less than helpful, they told her they did not know where Dad was, they had merely been informed that he had been called up for the Army. As he was no longer an employee of theirs, there would be no wages forthcoming; and Mum should contact the Army.
I don't know how Mum got through the next few days or how she found money to feed us all. I think she probably pawned her engagement ring and watch with other bits and pieces. There was no welfare state in the 30's and no Agency one could go to for help. Food had to be paid for with hard cash and the gas supply was operated via a pre-payment slot meter. 'The Army' seemed a vague concept; how or where one set about finding information Mum had no idea, and nobody seemed able to offer any suggestions. It was all such a shock, one week we were a happy family enjoying ourselves on holiday, the next we were penniless on our own with Dad spirited away into the British Army.
Ten days passed before Dad arrived home resplendent in full Army uniform. Despite being blind as a bat without his glasses, not in very good health and 42 years of age, he was now a Private in the London Rifle Brigade. He had also served in the First World War from 1916-18.
None of the men called up at that time had been allowed to contact their families or give any hint of the massive behind-the-scenes call up. Dad had been frantic with worry about us all - particularly our financial situation for he knew Mum had very little money when we returned from holiday in such a rush - but he had been powerless to do anything. Fortunately he brought an Army pay docket home with him, which Mum was able to cash, and a weekly allowance had been made out for Mum and us three children. This was about half of what she had previously had coming in, quite apart from Dad's earnings on the turnstiles etc. Rowe and Pitman had earlier indicated to their staff when they persuaded them to join the Territorial Army that should they ever be called-up, the firm would consider making good any loss in wages. In the event however, Rowe and Pitman declined to make good any such short-fall.
Dad spent a short leave with us and then returned to Camp. He gave Mum his address but warned that he did not know how long he was to remain at this particular base as movement was likely. A day or so after Dad left Mum received a letter saying we all had to meet at South Harringay Junior School on Friday 1st September at 9.30am. We were all going to be evacuated.
Chapter Two
Cambridgeshire here we come!* * *
There was little time to prepare, Mum hurriedly packed up for us, sent a note to Dad telling him of our impending departure, and rushed around making the necessary domestic arrangements concerning the house etc. We were only allowed to take the minimum of luggage, nightwear and toilet articles, a change of clothing, a top coat and a second pair of shoes or boots. Each child had to have his own bag or case, and most essential of all, his gas-mask. We had been issued with these some time earlier and after the initial novelty of trying them out had worn off, they had been left lying around in their cardboard boxes.
On that Friday morning we all massed in the playground, hordes of children from both South Harringay School and Hornsey County Grammar School. Mums were there to wave their children off, while others, like ours, were coming with us, complete with toddlers and babies.
The officials tried to assemble us in some sort of order - with our party it was difficult for Dorothy should have been with her Junior School class-mates, me with the Hornsey County group, and Mum and John with the mother and toddler contingent. We were on three separate lists it appeared. Mum was not having that and insisted we were all staying together, even though the officials assured her we'd all eventually arrive at the same place.
Fleets of coaches, or charabancs as we called them in those days, were lined up outside the school to transport us to we knew not where. Nobody knew where we were going, it was all a deadly secret, very hush-hush. Parents were virtually sending their children off into the unknown, and there were many exhortations to "write and let us know where you are" passed around. Why the parents could not be told on that day where their children were going I do not know; many must have spent anxious days worrying about their children and waiting for information as to their whereabouts.
As Mum was so insistent that we four were to travel on the same coach, it was finally agreed that Dorothy and I should join a mother and toddler group. We waved our respective class-mates onto their coaches and climbed aboard a coach full of mothers and under 5's. Dorothy and I were the only school age children on that coach - a fact that was to cause problems later on. The coaches eventually took off in a convoy; it was all very exciting with everybody waving to each other. The mothers left behind looked rather forlorn as the coaches increased speed and some of the children on them became tearful.
I thought I ought to be singing my head off - all that rehearsing - but none of the Mums on our coach looked like breaking into song and I did not feel like starting up on my own. Because of the young children on our coach the driver was obliged to make several stops - comfort stops I believe they are called now - and eventually the inevitable happened. He got left behind and completely lost track of the other coaches. The driver had not been told our final destination, he only knew it was somewhere on the Cambridge/Norfolk border.
The coach kept on going and by the middle of the afternoon everyone was becoming increasingly frustrated. Babies and toddlers were tired and crying, mothers tried to cope with them, while the harassed coach driver desperately tried to find his way. He kept stopping at villages, asking for news of the rest of the evacuation party, but nobody had seen any coaches passing through. We went round and round and on and on, until eventually he drew up at a large hall in the village of Upwell.
The W.R.V.S. were out in force and great excitement greeted our coach. They had been told to expect some evacuees and having laid on urns of tea, cakes and sandwiches, etc. were becoming increasingly worried when no evacuees had turned up. Cries of welcome greeted us and we were helped off the coach, but before the first cup of tea passed anyone's lips, it was realised we were not the expected party but a different group altogether. There we stood, the mothers tired and gasping for a cup of tea, while the good ladies of the W.R.V.S. wondered what to do. They were reluctant to dispense their tea and cakes to this stray crowd, when any minute now their bona-fide evacuees could turn up also needing refreshment.
After much discussion, and probably telephone calls to some distant body, we were all led into the hall and the food and tea made available. We still did not know if we were staying here, but eventually the powers that be stated that as we were 'in situ' as it were, Upwell might as well have this lot rather than those planned for the village. Though it was a bird-in-the-hand situation, the Upwell officials were not very pleased. They had been told to expect school children and had canvassed the village for householders willing to take in a child. To be suddenly faced with placing mothers with babies and toddlers was a very different proposition.
We all sat around on long forms, for hours it seemed, while villagers were encouraged to take their pick. They came in, in ones or two's, walked around us and looked us over, it was a most unnerving experience. We sat still and quiet, trying to look pleasant and acceptable, whilst warily weighing-up our would-be hosts. After careful deliberation one little family would be chosen, usually a mother with just one child, and they would be transported away by a member of the W.R.V.S. Our party was the largest with Mum and three children and the officials said we would have to be split up - nobody in the village could take us all. Mum did her solidarity bit again and said we were all staying together, she would not hear of us being separated. We sat on while the room slowly emptied of mothers and children.
We had all been given a brown carrier bag of 'iron rations' to be given to our prospective householder. Delving into this bag - which we had been expressly forbidden to do - I found an enormous bar of Cadbury's milk chocolate. I had never seen such a large bar before, we often had a small bar each at home but this bar was more mouth-watering than anything I had ever seen. When we had our little bars Dad had always insisted we broke off a square at a time and daintily popped this morsel into our mouths. We were never allowed to munch at the whole bar, small though it may be. I had always longed to bite and chomp at the total slab, and now here was this enormous bar in my hands. Behind cover of the bag and shielded by Mum, I surreptitiously peeled off the silver paper and took one huge bite.
Suddenly the air was rent by a thunderous shout from a hatchet faced lady who rushed over and snatched the chocolate from my hands. She proceeded to rant and rave at me for daring to open my bag, let alone to actually start eating Its contents; this appeared the ultimate sin. Mum was rounded on for letting me behave in this way, which left her quite bewildered as she had not even been aware of my misdeeds. Poor Dorothy was subjected to a lecture should she have the temerity to touch her bag which succeeded in reducing her to tears. In all the upset and shouting little John wet himself and a large puddle slowly crept over the floor.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Looking Back by Eva Merrill Copyright © 2013 by Eva Merrill. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
1 The clouds of war are gathering....................32 Cambridgeshire here we come!....................11
3 Home to Harringay....................26
4 A Train to Truro....................31
5 Pilgrim's Progress....................39
6 Shrapnel collecting and sleeping in the cellar....................49
7 A Welcome in Welcombe....................56
8 A Sweet Shop and a Hostel in Bideford....................59
9 Eggless Sponges and Woolton Pie....................72
10 Doodlebugs, Morrison Shelters and the end of the War at last....................76
1 The Birthday Present....................93
2 Dad - a London lad....................95
3 Mum - an Irish maid....................99
4 Great Aunt Eva's mystery daughter....................102
5 Bettering Herself....................105
6 Pemberton Road....................108
7 Family matters....................116
8 Holidays by the sea....................125