War Years

I only became aware that something serious had happened when my father became very annoyed one day. I asked him what had happened; he said that Germany had invaded Czechoslovakia. It was not often that we saw our father in an angry mood so I became concerned, and began to read the newspapers.
He had sad that we had a pact with Czechoslovakia agreeing to coming to their assistance if they were attacked, but we did not honour that agreement. He was annoyed that we had betrayed them.
I soon became familiar with the world situation, and became quite interested in events.
At that time we lived in Rainham, Essex. The area was known as South Hornchurch and I went to school at a junior school in Blacksmiths Lane. This was just round the corner from Hornchurch aerodrome about half a mile away. I walked to school most days, which was about a mile and a half.
I had two older brothers and an older sister. My eldest brother, Chris, lived with an aunt in London. My other brother Harry joined the Royal Marines.
My sister Elsie, worked at May and Bakers and then joined the ATS…my mothers’ brother, (Uncle Bert) also lived with us.

I can remember when war was declared when Neville Chamberlain announced it on the wireless. We were all issued with gas masks in a square cardboard box, and we all had identity cards. There were a few air-raid warnings but not much happened at first.
When the RAF aerodromes started being attacked those of us who’s parents wished, were evacuated. We were assembled at the school with all our “luggage”, a label with our name and address was attached to our lapels, and together with a few teachers we were marched to the railway station at Elm Park, this was about a mile away. We marched past the aerodrome “main gate” and on the station.
We finished up many hours latter in South Wales, in a village named Tondu, pronounced Tondee. We were marched along the streets stopping at various points our names were called out and we were assigned to our “billets”.
I was billeted with a |Mr and Mrs Hitchens and their son Allan, he was a year older than I. I must have offended Mrs Hitchens in some way, but I don’t know in what way. I was told to pack my belongings, and was moved to another billet. This was some distance from the main street in Tondu, to a place called Park Terrace. This was a double row of terraced houses with not many other dwellings nearby, but close to a coal “boy-products” factory we knew as “the Copees”. The family I was moved to were Mr and Mrs Albert Jones, and their two sons Clive and Brian at 44 Park Terrace.

I settled in very well with them and I was with them for over three years. Many things happened to me whilst I was with them but more about that later. One of the worst events was to occur was with regard to my brother Harry. I came home from school one day in 1942, and Mrs Jones said there was a letter for me from my brother Chris. She said that I was to go and read it on my own somewhere. I took the letter and went out to an old ruined mine building nearby. The letter said that Harry, who was now in the Royal Marine Commandos, was on the guard outside his barracks in Ventnor I.O.W. He suddenly heard this noise. He looked up and saw a bomb coming at him. He fell flat, and came to later in the bomb crater. He was taken to Parkhurst Military Hospital, suffering from head injuries, left arm injured, and paralysed down the left side. Naturally I was very upset but I didn’t cry. About a week later I received another letter from Chris telling me that Harry had got gangrene poisoning and had died of his wounds. I did cry a little, but I thought that Harry would not like that, and would not have liked to live injured like that so I stopped crying. I think I “grew up” then. War was not exciting.

Mr Jones worked at the by-products works as a stoker, shovelling the fine coal into the furnaces. The process that the factory used was to fill ovens with a fine coal dust, called “duff”. This was then “cooked” to remove the oil, tar and benzene. The remaining coke was then pushed out of the ovens, it was then sprayed with water to cool it, it was then transported to large tips. The “duff” was delivered to Tondu junction in railway wagons, then shunted to sidings. The wagons were collected together then connected to a cable car system which pulled them, together up the incline to the factory. We often used to play on the incline, and around the pump house where the cable was wound round a large drum.
Initially we evacuees were kept separate from the local children, to assess our education. All ages were in the same class with a teacher from our school. We all did the same easy lessons. After about six months many of the evacuees went home, those remaining were integrated into the main school. I went into Standard 4, Mr Evans’ class. The school was Tondu Boys’ School. The girls’ school was next door but completely separate. I did enjoy the singing, because the Welsh language lends itself to singing very easily. The Welsh tenor is an extremely good key to sing in, also. I was not a very good singer.

Mr Evans was very strict, and I can recall the first time he decided to give me a bit of corporal punishment. The boy behind me was talking, and Mr Evans thought it was me. He called me out in front of the class, and said he was going to “give me the stick”. I called not “split” on the other boy, so said nothing other than “It was not me”. He went to the cupboard to get a stick, but decided that he hadn’t got a suitable “swishy” stick. He then gave me a penknife, and told me to go into the Boys’ School wood, and cut a stick which would hurt. You can imagine what it felt like, making the selection. He was satisfied with my selection, and gave me “two of the best” across the hand with it. Very shortly after this we all went up to Form 5, Mr “Jimmy” James class. I found him quite an exciting teacher. He taught Welsh, mathematics, and associated disciplines. I learnt algebra, trigonometry and Welsh with him, and eventually came top in Welsh for four or five terms on the trot. Welsh was not spoken by the populace there.
The only other names I can recall from that time are mainly relatives of the Jones Family. Celia Frost, cousin, just a few doors away. Her father Cecil was in the forces so I did not meet him. Across the road another cousin, Betty Williams, and her parents. I cannot remember many other names now because after I returned home although I intended to write to them regularly. I was distracted by the resumption of air raids, flying bombs and V” rockets.
At the age of 14 I left school and returned home to start my working life.

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