CIVILIANS ATWAR - CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE - CIVILIANS AT WAR

By Len Reeve

This is my memories of being evacuated twice during WW II. aged between 8 and 14 years.

WORLD WAR II began for me, several months before September 1939. At this time, we were living in Melfort Road, Thornton Heath, Croydon. One of my first remembrances of the forthcoming war, was the delivery of an Anderson Air Raid Shelter. Father and the rest of the family set to work, first digging a large hole in which we erected the shelter, and all the earth from the hole was then banked up on top of the shelter. Also, during this time, my mother, hearing a rumour that sugar would be scarce, stock piled umpteen 2lb bags of granulated sugar on the welsh dresser in our kitchen. Another memory of around this time, was an earth bank at the rear of our house which was completely covered in dark red nasturtiums. As the seeds developed and turned black, my father carefully collected them all and pickled them in vinegar. Dad raved about these pickled nasturtium seeds, but I never tried them myself.
Then came the day when we all listened to Mr Chamberlain on the radio, just before dinner. It was the 3rd September 1939, and it must have been a Sunday, as my dad was at home. Very shortly after this, my eldest brother, sister, and myself were evacuated to Brighton on the south coast. We didn’t go with the first waves of evacuees, the evacuation commenced round about the beginning of the month I understand. I have a feeling that we made the journey on double-decker London buses.
The only part of the journey that I remember very clearly, was being processed at Moulscomb Junior School, which we later attended either mornings or afternoons. We were given a brown paper carrier bag, and were made to pass along a series of trestle tables; as we moved along, holding open the carrier bags, women, standing behind the tables, dropped items of food into them; such as jam, butter, bread, sugar etc. I assume that we arrived at very short notice, so that our new foster parents would not have had time to prepare for our coming.
We attended the Moulscomb Junior School, mornings one week, and afternoons the next. The local children attended on the opposite half days to us. We were billeted in Moulscomb Avenue, which had a wide stretch of green down the centre, at least 100 yds wide. In the spring of 1940, there was a very cold spell accompanied by a very heavy fall of snow. We built igloos by rolling large balls of snow, and cutting them with spades to make building blocks. In the following spring the green was ploughed up and turned into allotments.
During our stay, everyone was registered; a man and woman called at our house, we were allocated an Identity Number, and issued with an Identity Card. After the war, our Identity Number became our National Insurance Number. My number was 95/4; 95 was the house number, and 4 was my position in the family. By the summer of 1940, the Germans had started tip and run raids along the south coast, so our parents took us back to Thornton Heath. When we got home, we found that they had moved into a council house in Norbury Avenue.
On our return, I resumed my Saturday and Sunday visits to the Croydon Iron Foundry, where my father worked; sometimes I could earn a sixpence or two by helping out on the bomb casting line. When the sirens sounded the workmen carried on as usual, but a plane spotter was sent up on to the roof of the office, when he saw aircraft coming our way, he would press a button which lit red lamps all over the works, people then took shelter where they were, or carried on with their work.
One sat or sun afternoon we had had a long air raid, though nothing came near us. When my father and I cycled home that night, we could see a large bank of white smoke in the distance. My father thought that it might be the docks area of East London. As darkness fell, the bank of smoke took on a reddish hue until the huge fires lit up the sky. The bombers returned that night, and so they continued both day and night; the London blitz had started.
We spent our summer nights in the Anderson Shelter, down the garden, and the winter nights in the Morrison Shelter indoors. The Anderson had as many creature comforts as we could manage, electric light, an electric heater and an electric kettle for hot drinks. We had mattresses and bedding and could often have a good night’s sleep, if it wasn’t too noisy! There were candles and matches, in case the electricity supply was cut, which was quite frequent. Before we settled down for the night, my mother would diligently examine the shelter, especially the corners, for any creepy crawlies, she would not settle until this had been done.
We experienced several near misses; one night when we were under the indoor Morrison shelter, there was a very loud bang, which sounded close by. After a few minutes, we noticed a strange smell, so dad went outside to investigate, on his return, his face was ashen, an oil bomb had fallen in the front garden of the house opposite ours, oil was spread over several houses, including ours, but the incendiary part had failed to ignite. How lucky can you get?
Another time a very heavy HE exploded not very far from us; after the explosion it was very quiet for a spell; then we began to hear the swish of flying objects which landed around us causing damage to roof tops etc. The bomb had landed over half a mile away from us, debris had been thrown as far as us, and further, when we got chance to see where it had landed, we saw that it had fallen in the middle of the road, the crater was the full width of the road and both footpaths, something like 40 ft across. We lost window glass and plaster, but otherwise our house was undamaged.
We attempted to attend school each day, sometimes we arrived to spend the day in the school shelters; other times we got stuck on the way, sometimes we had to take shelter somewhere enroute. We knew where every public shelter was on the way to school, but, if necessary, we also knocked on the nearest front door, or just ran round the back to join the residents in their shelter. Like many young boys, we walked along the kerb, not playing marbles, but collecting shrapnel. School pals would drop off into their homes as we went along home; and we would collect them on the way to school the next morning, sometimes their house was not there anymore. Parts of a house which received a direct hit, were often scattered far and wide, if there was anybody in the house at the time, they also were often scattered in the same way. It was not uncommon to find bits of bodies lying in the road, especially in the morning.
On our way to school, we passed the doors of a furniture factory. One hot day we found the front doors open wide to let some fresh air in; being curious, as small boys usually are, we went up to the doors to investigate; the factory was full of wooden gliders, the like of which I recalled, when I saw Newsreel photographs of the airborne landings in Normandy. We scrounged small pieces of Perspex from the windows from which we carved Spitfires etc.
We stayed at home for quite awhile, but eventually the inevitable happened, my eldest brother, sister, and I were once more evacuated. We carried a change of clothing, and a packed lunch in a brown paper carrier bag. A large luggage label was attached to our jackets, on which was printed our names and home addresses. Over our shoulders was the regulation gas mask in its cardboard box. We took the number 42 tram to West Croydon Station, and then we walked to the John Ruskin Grammar School for Boys. Here we were sorted into small groups, with a mixture of ages, the elder children having to look after the smaller ones. It was eventually revealed that the small groups related to railway compartments; one group to each railway compartment.
Although there was an air raid in progress, we walked back to West Croydon Station, and boarded a steam train, (normally the only steam trains that we saw were goods trains; Southern Railway being fully electrified for passenger traffic). We spent the rest of the day in this train; making stops to pickup other children during the morning. Occasionally, the train would stop for an engine exchange, or the engine would be transferred to the other end of the train, and we would leave the station or siding in the opposite direction. We occupied our time looking out for suitable tobogganing runs etc. We saw very little of any adults during this journey, if there were any on the train.
Eventually we arrived at Wadebridge Station, Cornwall. Here we left the train and walked, still in our small groups, a short way to a large building, which looked like a railway station, but without the trains and platforms. I believe that it might have been a market hall. We received a hot meal and a lovely hot cup of tea. Straw paliases were laid out for us on the floor, and we were given a pillow and blankets; it was not very long before we were all fast asleep.
The next morning, after a cooked breakfast, we were placed into coaches and driven away, the coach in which my brother, sister, and I were in, took us to Glynn House, near Bodmin Road Station (later to become Bodmin Parkway). This I believe was the home of Lord Glynn. In twos and threes, we were taken away by car from Glynn House, and delivered to our new foster parents. My brother and I went to one cottage, and our sister went to the cottage next door (Dreason Cottages).
It was quite an experience for us, the cottages had no running water, no electricity, no gas, and the toilet was down the garden past the well pump. In spite of the lack of these facilities, we were very comfortable, warm, and well fed. My brother and I were lodging with Mr Lewis and Mrs Rose Trevains. Mr Trevains was a Stonemason on the estate of Lord Roberts of Lanhydrock House, and Lord Roberts owned all the land around. My sister lodged next door with Mrs Cosway and her daughter Esmee.
Esmee was 4 or 5 years older than me, but we spent a lot of time together in the evenings as we were both learning First Aid, and compared notes and practiced our bandaging together. After the war, I heard that Esmee had met an American soldier who had asked her to marry him, but she never heard anything further from him after he left the district, and she was left to bring up their child. She was never able to find out if he had survived the war or not.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.