Goat's Milk and Iron Rations

World War 2

I was 9 years old when Great Britain declared war on Nazi Germany in 1939.

My first recollections include sitting nervously clutching my ‘nice’ new gasmask, waiting for the jack-booted Germans to come marching down the road. Listening to the radio, I found myself wondering if they would find me hiding in the attic of our bungalow with their long bayonets.

The ‘phoney war’ period found me trying to help my dad dig an air-raid shelter in the garden. Quickly filling with water from the heavy clay and boggy surroundings, this project failed completely.

When air-raids did start a strange fascination started to accompany fear. Excitedly searching for the jagged souvenirs from our own anti-aircraft shells and clips from our fighter’s machine-guns became a big game. Even beautiful silken sheets and blue cord from the German’s aerial torpedo parachutes made great material for ‘swops’ with school friends. Great use was made of the silk by the ladies!. A cycle ride to see the damage to a cottage where a small bomb had dropped at Dunton Green here in Kent was my first experience of what was to come. Even more macabre was a ride to Ide Hill to see where a Junkers 88 German bomber had crashed. The rancid smell of aero engine fuel and oil, burning debris and aircrew remains has remained in my memory to this day.

Going to Junior School meant a short walk up the road equipped with rexine-covered gasmask case and “iron rations” in a tin. These latter seemed to have been mainly Horlicks tablets (deliciously addictive — and quickly consumed before the need!). Going under your desk when the air-raid sirens wailed or making an orderly ‘crocodile’ to the air-raid shelters at the bottom of the playing fields to then sit on fresh-smelling wooden benches in the concrete and new brick atmosphere. More Horlicks tablets consumed at this time — “comfort eating”. The teachers were wonderful.

My sister arrived in the middle of the so-called “Second Fire of London”. At 3 years she developed
chronic Asthma and the outside Anderson shelter was deemed unsuitable so — believe it or not — a second Anderson was installed inside our main bedroom complete with a high blast wall outside. We all trooped into this when the sirens sounded and were spared the cold night air!.

Having a very resourceful father the family’s wellbeing was improved by having a succession of livestock — chickens — rabbits — turkeys and then two beautiful goats. All of this in the quite small garden of our bungalow. Milking the goats and bottle-feeding their kids is one of my enduring memories of this time. Was fascinated years later to learn that the little field out side our garden — which we used to tether the goats (unofficially!) later became known as “Goat Field”.

The goat’s milk was in great demand and as the ‘milkman’ I was on my way to deliver six one-pint bottles when I heard a Doodlebug’s engine cut out. Aware of what this meant I threw myself onto the pavement and glancing up saw the beastly thing dive straight into the front of a nearby house.
With glass all around me and a big puddle of spilled milk I looked up again to see debris spinning into the clouds of dust and smoke. The pungent smell of explosives and brick dust was choking but through it came my distraught Dad, thinking that I would have been just where this dreadful thing had happened. Despite much damage thankfully nobody was hurt this time.

Going to Technical College at 13 meant a train journey — very exciting, Our parents must have been so worried to see us go and I remember so vividly on return home the anxious look to see if our home was still there!.
Our home in Sidcup provided a real ‘grandstand’ throughout the Battle of Britain for attacks on London and later was to be directly in the so-called “Buzz-Bomb Alley”. Vivid memories of being on the roof of our bungalow at night trying to help my father replace roof tiles following a V2 rocket which had destroyed many houses in adjoining streets. The scene was brightly lit by searchlights used in the attempt to find survivors.
There was one empty desk at school next day.

Memories of those long five years up to the joyous ‘Victory in Europe’ day are so many and so vivid that these are just those uppermost in my mind. Now in my seventy-fifth year I am so grateful to be able to share them.

Edgar Pluckrose

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