成人快手

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Dominic Penny of Link into Learning on behalf of Peter Austin and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 Terms and Conditions.

I was just 8 years of age when WW2 began. My father was 52, too old for military service, my mother was 47 and my only sister was 16. We lived at Crofton Park, a suburb in S.E. London. My wartime experiences divide into four distinct parts.

(1) August to December 1939 - The Phoney War
(2) January 1940 to August 1942 鈥� The Battle of Britain and Blitz.
(3) September 1942 to December 1944 鈥� Boarding School-V1 and V2s.
(4) January 1945 to August 1945 鈥� Reunion.

The Phoney War

My war began in August 1939 when the local school children were evacuated. My parents would not allow me to go with the school, instead they took me to Noah鈥檚 Ark, a tiny hamlet near Kemsing, in Kent, to live with an aunt and uncle in their two up and two down terrace cottage that had been the home of my maternal grandparents.
My uncle kept gun-dogs and ferrets. Together we would go to catch rabbits. I can remember going to collect mushrooms from the meadows, sweet Chestnuts on the common and pick blackberries and cob-nuts from the hedgerows. I quickly adapted and thoroughly enjoyed the country life.

War was declared at 11am on Sunday 3 September 1939. I remember the grown ups listening to the wireless with grim expressions. Immediately after the announcement the air raid warning sirens wailed. Everyone ran from their cottages and gathered in the road that ran through the hamlet. The Air Raid Warden tore up and down the road in his car shouting 鈥淭ake Cover!鈥� Nobody took any notice, we were all too busy watching and cheering as two Spitfires, their under-surfaces distinctly painted black and white, zoomed down to intercept a twin-engine aeroplane and escort it towards London. It was in that instant that I determined to become a Royal Air Force pilot. (Something I achieved 11 years later). The all-clear siren sounded for what was later declared to be a false alarm. The excitement over, the villagers returned to their homes but not before they had decided to build an air raid shelter. Over the course of the next few weeks I helped, each evening after school, as a large underground shelter was dug at the rear of the cottages. To the best of my knowledge it was never used and with the onset of winter it filled with water.

The local village school was overcrowded with evacuees. Temporary classrooms had to be found. I had lessons in the church, the village hall and a large room at the back of the 鈥淲heatsheaf鈥� public house. The latter being of particular interest because in those days pubs were the preserve of grown-ups. To ease overcrowding, on fine weather days nature rambles were organised. These I particularly enjoyed.

Unfortunately, my stay in the country was about to end. The anticipated German air onslaught had failed to materialise. Along with many other evacuees I returned home to London at Christmas 1939.

The Battle of Britain and Blitz

I remember the winter of 1939/40 as being particularly harsh with snow, ice and frequent industrial fog (smog). The black-out was strictly enforced. There were no street lights, car and cycle lamps were masked and public transport lighting dimmed to faint glow. After dark, outside movement was almost impossible. I remember my father walking into a lamp post and injuring his face and on another occasion friends having to stay the night because a combination of fog and black-out meant they were unable to find their way out of the street. Evenings were spent huddled around the wireless.

Early in the spring of 1940 my family moved to a large 5 bedroom house on a main road at Brockley Rise. A recently widowed family friend and his teenaged son Graham joined us. The father was a railway engine driver and Graham was initially an engine cleaner boy and later an engine fireman. He became like an elder brother to me. I was enrolled at Dalmain Road School. The Auxiliary Fire Service was billeted at the school and consequently children attended in half day shifts. The curriculum included air raid and gas mask drills along with the traditional lessons. Fire engines at school and the talk of railways and aeroplanes at home, what more could a small boy want?

The German offensive of 1940 and the Allied defeat in France ultimately led to the Battle of Britain and the Blitz. The battle mainly took place during the school summer holiday. The weather was good and from a selected point on Blythe Bill I watched the 鈥榗on trails鈥� that highlighted the aerial dog fights. In early September, from the same spot, I had a grandstand view of the fire bombing of the London docks and the destruction of the church that stood at the top of Pepys Road. Later that day I stood with my father and watched the flickering red glow from the fires that lit the night sky. I had witnessed the start of the long anticipated Blitz.

The Germans now resorted to nightly bombing. We did not have an air raid shelter, so the 鈥榮afest鈥� places in the house were selected. My sister and I were assigned the cupboard under the stairs, Mum and Dad under the kitchen table. Nobody slept. I still recall the distinctive droning beat of the aircraft engines, the bark of the anti-aircraft guns, the whistling of bombs falling and the subsequent violent explosions. The noise was frightening! After each raid I remember that people would gather in the streets to assess the damage and offer support. On one occasion the local church had been hit by an oil bomb and along with others I watched it burn. Nearby a row of terrace houses had been demolished by a parachute land mine and priority had to be given to rescuing victims. A distinct odour always permeated the scene of a bombing. A smell you could taste! An unpleasant mixture of smoke, damp masonry and leaking domestic gas. It still lingers with me.

Souvenir and shrapnel collection was an important part of these post air raid excursions. I quickly acquired a collection that included shell caps, bomb fins, shrapnel and an unexploded incendiary bomb that was later hidden in the garden shed of a friend.

Early in 1941 we were issued with an Anderson air raid shelter. Bunks were installed and thereafter we 鈥榗amped out鈥�. There was no heating. The cramped environment was damp and cold. Condensation would form on and drip from the overhead corrugated iron surfaces. My parents did their best to keep us warm and dry but when the 鈥楢ll-Clear鈥� sounded we would go back into the house and try to get some sleep.

The Blitz petered out in 1941 and my life settled into a wartime routine. Along with friends I sailed boats in the emergency static water tanks, practised aircraft recognition, learned to send and receive messages by Morse Code, made model aeroplanes from balsa wood and hung them from the ceiling of my bedroom. I also maintained a 鈥榃ar map鈥� on the wall showing the latest 鈥榮tate of play鈥�. In December 1941 my map showed a losing situation, but everybody seemed to believe that in the end we were going to win.

In early 1942 the war directly affected the cohesion of my family. In February my sister was called up into the WAAF and soon after Graham was called for pilot training. In September I was evacuated again, this time to Lancashire where Alleyn鈥檚 School had relocated from Dulwich and was sharing the premises at Rossall College Boarding School! Yet another unforeseen experience awaited me.

Boarding School/V1s and V2s

My recollections of boarding school are of order, discipline and routine. The various activities were dispersed over a large area and were co-ordinated by bugle calls. Reveille, cookhouse, classes and Lights Out. All were sounded and in turn we responded with military precision. There was little free time: lessons everyday, games three afternoons each week, including Saturdays and 鈥榩rep鈥� every evening from 7 to 9pm, followed by Cocoa and bed. On Sundays there were morning prayers, choral practice and Evensong.

The school was on the coast and I spent a lot of my spare time on the beach. One day the body of an American airman was washed up. I remember the bare bones of his fingers and his ashen face. We ran and told a master. The Police were summoned and the beach placed out of bounds.

School holidays were taken at home in London and involved long train journeys between Blackpool and Euston stations. By the age of 12 I was a seasoned traveller.

In 1944 the Germans launched the V1 campaign against London. A decision was made that it was unsafe to return to London for the summer holiday. A harvest camp was hastily arranged and for a short time each day working parties would go to help local farmers. I remember being given 6p for the day鈥檚 work. It was at this point that I decided against a farming career!

The autumn term was brought forward with the promise of a long Christmas holiday. It was during this term that I was summoned to the Headmaster鈥檚 office to be told that my home had been severely damaged by a flying bomb, but my parents had been in the 鈥楢nderson鈥� shelter and had survived. I accepted the news and went back to the class, I don鈥檛 remember crying.

The promised long Christmas holiday duly arrived and I went home. The house had been temporarily repaired and stood stark against the rubble of next-door and the other neighbouring properties. This holiday coincided with the last phase of the German V2 offensive. The unannounced violent explosions were terrifying. There was no warning. An explosion followed by an ominous silence. A school friend and his mother died during this holiday period.

Reunion

The spring term of 1945 was the last in Lancashire. At Easter the school returned to Dulwich. Earlier in the year my sister鈥檚 boyfriend had returned from overseas and she had married. I didn鈥檛 attend because I was away at school. I celebrated on beans on toast with friends on the strength of extra pocket money that I had received. Graham returned in 1946 and in due course married his girlfriend. The war was over and we were all reunited. For me the war had provided unexpected opportunities and broadened my horizons. From the back-street of a London suburb I had emerged into a wider world. There would be no going back!

Contributor: Peter Austin

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