David K Bridgnell:Personal Recollections of WWII

Personal Recollections of WWII

I was born in 1937 and lived with my parents and younger brother Timothy at 143 Uxendon Hill, Wembley Park, Wembley, Middlesex.

Our house was semi-detached and to my child’s eyes seemed quite large. The garden which was also fairly large, backed onto fields and in the distance was the underground railway line.

To reach the Wembley Park Stadium we had to turn left from our house and continue up Uxendon Hill, a matter of a few yards to the park entrance.
Turning right from our house and walking down Uxendon Hill we would eventually reach the Wembley Park Underground Station which was above ground.

My father, Arthur Randolph Bridgnell, a Structural Engineer, had previously recovered from tuberculosis and at this time and subsequently, he suffered from rheumatoid arthritis which badly affected his legs, ankles and feet. He found walking quite painful.
My mother, Elizabeth Ann Bridgnell (nee Vye), was a housewife, and this she remained throughout the war.

My first vivid impression of the war came when I was about 3 years old. I was looking out of our front window at the “fire of London” which lit up the night sky — this was about 1941 and was caused by German bombers targeting London, the so-called “Blitz”. I was promptly told to close the curtains and get away from the windows. I had previously been aware of the loud noise of explosions, especially during the night, which until then I had been too young to understand. In the garden we had a bomb shelter, above ground and quite substantial, made of brick, which we used throughout the war.

My father, unable to enlist in the armed services, worked for the Ministry of Supply in London — a daily trip by train throughout the war. It was a somewhat odd name considering that my father worked on military tank design — I saw his drawings long after the war. His other occupation, when he was not working in London, was that of an ARP Warden(Air Raid Precautions) which involved having a detailed knowledge of his “area”: being familiar with the occupants of private as well as public buildings, necessary in case of bomb damage and subsequent efforts at rescue; enforcing the “Blackout”, ensuring that no visible lights were seen from any source; reporting and assessing bomb or other damage in the area and reporting to his area post and finally, maintaining a calm and reassuring presence at all times whilst on duty — this he did throughout the war. I remember one memorable occasion, an evening punctuated with the anti-aircraft guns firing and various thumps and bangs, my father staggering in from the dark with some blood on his face. He had been hit by shrapnel, probably from our own shells. He was not badly hurt, though his helmet had a very large dent in it — we found the piece of shrapnel the next day on the ground in front of our house. It was quite large, and he had plainly had a lucky escape.

My own claim to fame, if that is what it is, was finding some boxes of live ammunition. It happened during the latter stages of the war when some bushes which were growing along the chain link fence around the park were reduced to ashes after a fire. I was using a stick to poke through these ashes, looking for “treasure” and found some charred boxes containing ammunition. I could not believe my luck and, grabbing a handful of this ammo, hurried the short distance home to play with my exciting find (“treasure”), quite unaware of the danger. Fortunately, I was soon spotted by my parents and the resulting furore involving the police was every small boy’s dream! There were some two or three boxes hidden there — small bore, possibly .22 calibre. Anyway it caused great excitement at the time and I was the centre of attention… “Boys own stuff”!

Throughout the war our lives were ruled by the air raid sirens which told of a raid about to commence and then eventually sounded the “all clear”.

One result of the war and the rationing which it entailed was, amongst general shortages, the replacement of beef and lamb by horse and whale meat. To this day I cannot abide the thought, let alone the taste.

As our house was quite large we had to put up a stranger, a lady who was an evacuee, in the spare bedroom. During an exploring expedition, I found that under her bed were many packets of sugar. My parents told me to mind my own business — it was not considered polite to invade someone’s privacy!

The Doodle bugs (V-1’s), towards the end of the war were a source of some concern. It was quite stressful to hear the engine switch off and then wait through the ensuing silence for the explosion. If you heard the explosion you knew you were alright. Sometimes, during the day, you could see the Doodle bug and follow it in the sky until it either vanished or exploded after the engine stopped and it hit the ground.

Towards the end of the war I was sent away to my Aunt Jessie’s house in Folkestone, Kent, where I was well and truly spoilt. She and her husband Reg could not have children so I was their child by default. Uncle Reg was away in the Army during this time. Folkestone, only some 20 odd miles from France, had been seen as an easy target for earlier hit-and-run and strafing raids, but it was not a target for the V bombs which flew over to inflict their damage on London. Off the Canterbury Road, just outside Folkestone are some hills, amongst them one called Sugar Loaf. In the company of my Aunt I spent many happy hours picking fruit and looking for spent ammunition. On occasion, standing on Sugar Loaf hill we actually watched the English and German fighter pilots engaged in dogfights.

I celebrated VE day at a street party in Ethelbert Road, Folkestone — where I had lived off-and-on throughout the war with my Aunt, who seemed more like a mother to me.

Soon after this I returned to our house in Wembley and, aged 7, attended school for the first time. What a shock! There was also a lot of re-building and new construction of houses and housing estates in our area — I wonder what it looks like now?

We moved to Brighton in about 1948 but I remember Wembley and especially Folkestone with affection, despite the difficulties of the war.

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