Evacuee From East End

I was born on the 9/12/1933 named Thomas Peter Sandford at City Road Hospital London. The first child of my parents. My Father Thomas Frederick, a cabinet maker running his own business in London ,and my mother, Ellen Jane,a graduate from the Blue Coat School, London, working for the East India Company. Their address at that time- 13 penn Street, Hoxten.
In October 1935 my brother, Nicholas John was born followed then by my sister Josephine Jane in September 1937. A happy family looked after by a lady friend of the family. Mum and Dad were hard workers and both needed to work to be financially secure.September 3rd. 1939 now living at 125 Culford Rd., Dalston, Shoreditch, our family amongst thousands of others, lives wre turned up-side-down- War had broken out. All cjildren from London were evacuated. I remember at the time of being on a railway station platform standing with lots of other children, seperated from my family- very frightened and crying when some lady came up to me and gave me a glass of milk.I remember being put on a train with the other children. We al had name cards hanging around our neck also we were given a card-board box containing a gas mask. There was fear of gas-bomb attacks. We were also given some sandwiches and a tin of sardines. A strange lunch pack!
We eventually ended up at Bromsgrove, near Birmingham where I lived with an elderly lady. I cannot remember her name. She had an elderly man lodger who used to make me clean his shoes every day.I say- 'make me' because that is how I remember it being, and I hated doing it. But Iwas rewarded most times with home-made butterscotch which she kept in a large jar. A special treat for any five-year-old during war time!
During my time in Bromsgrove I remember helping the local farmer- a friend of the lady looking after me, who took me out each day on his pony and trap, delivering milk. I would collect all the milk bottles and jugs from the door-steps. The farmer filled the jugs and bottles by ladling the milk from the churns on the back of his cart. Something that would be frowned upon these days but no reports of any health problems then.I have vivid memories of seeing Birmingham at night during a bombing raid, all lit up with a bright red glow.Also hearing the noise of guns and bombs dropping on the City.I wonder why were evacuated so near to the bombing! Whatever, my stay at Bromsgrove lasted about a year. My parents were concerned about me and eventually came to collect me and take me back to London along with my brother and sister. I cannot remember where they were placed but I believe the same are. We were all united as one family again. I t was lovely to be back with my parents. However peace dd not last for long. The Blitz started soon after our return to London. Many nights and days wre spent in Anderson Shelters. I remember, one day, whilst out with my father, an air-raid started. We were approaching a large georgian house and we sheltered in the doorway. I was very frightened, holding close to me father. He was knocking frantically on the door. Eventually someone answered the door and we were ushered into a cellar where we remained until the'All Clear' was sounded.These people most likely saved our lives because
When we came out ,the doorway we had sheltered in ,had been blown in by the blast of a nearby bomb. A lucky escape!
My brother and I often used to go out after raids with our wheelbarrow to collect pieces of shrapnel, all shapes and sizes. We were fascinated by this, not realising the seriousness of the war. On one occasion I was hit by a piece of shrapnel, leaving a permanent scar on my right hand.Our family managed to survive most of the Blitz until one day, after being out with the family we returned home to find our road closed. A landmine had landed, severly damaging most of the houses in Colford Road, including our house. We had been bombed out- another lucky escape for our family!We were re-housed in an upstairs flat overlooking Grundy Park Cheshunt, Herts.The war continued for another three years. The usual rushing to shelters every time a siren went, had become the norm for most family lives. You would return to your home, thankful that you had escaped another raid.I remember on another air raid, I thought-'Not another sleepless night';I hated night raids, as I did not like the shelters. So I ran off, causing my parents an hour-long scare searching for me. I was found in a shed nearby, but never did it again.On another occasion the siren went and we were taken to the cellars below the council offices nearby. This time, on our return to the flat there was good and bad news. The bad news- a doodlebug blew up in the nearby park blowing the roof of our flat and a number of timber beams were lying on the bed where my parents usually slept. The good news- my parents were not in the flat. Another lucky escape!
Once again we wre re-housed this time to a semi-detached house in Carlton Road, Turnford, Cheshunt. Nowwe had a Morrison Shelter built in the lounge(a Morrison shelter comprises of a metal table supported on metal legs surrounded with wire mesh. A bed was made inside big enough to take all the family during and air-raid. The idea was that if a bomb exploded nearby causing your roof to collapse, it would hopefully protect you)
This was the first time in four years we did not have to run elsewhere for shelter during an air-raid.
During the first part of the war, when living in London, my father was an A.R.P Warden and later in the Home Guard. He was excused military service because of his skilled trade, as a pattern maker.He spent the last few years of the war working at Hawker Sidley where he was involved with building the Misquito (all plywood planes). All my family survived the war, but tragedy struck when my brother,when aged 22 as he died in a tragic accident whilst serving as an officer in the merchant Navy. My mother never really got over this and died of cancer at the age of 51. My father never re-married, dying suddenly aged 60. I became a civil engineer, eventually starting my own building business, building hundreds of houses in the Hertfordshire area before becoming a land developer. My personal life had suffered over these years but I did produce three lovely children- one daughter, and two sons. I am now retired and happily married, living a settled life in Devon, and have just celebrated my seventieth birthday.My sister, now 65 lives in Bury St. Edmonds. We keep in touch and have many chats about the memories we share. We appreciate we were luckier than many families who were completely wiped out during the war. I hope we never have to go to war again.I fear for my grandchildren. Peace in this world is what I pray, one day, there will be.

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