Pam Cox's Story

My memories of the 2nd World War (in Totteridge) are really just a series of cameos. I was held in my father’s arms at night, looking towards the City, and there was a red glow, apparently all over London. This must have been the Blitz, when I was 3 — 4 years old. Until we had our own shelter, we used to go to our neighbour’s house — presumably feeling there was safety in numbers. Uncle Charlie used to sing to me “If only we had some eggs, we could have some eggs and bacon, if only we had some bacon in the morning”. Was this a popular song of the time? On one occasion I do remember waking up, lying on our dining room floor, with my dad lying on top of me, and my mum covering my brother, as bombs fell around us. We (children) found it hilarious — not so now, when you realise the danger we must all have been in. I hated our shelter, which was a very superior one, built within the house, in our garage. There were a lot of spiders, and it always smelt of concrete dust.

I was frightened a couple of times, once when I was in the loo and the sirens went off. My father stood outside, making comforting, hastening remarks — and I pictured a bomb falling and leaving me sitting on the loo with the rest of the house gone. I think I must have seen a picture of this in the paper — minus a little girl perched there, of course. Another time I was visiting my friend across the road, and a doodlebug stopped overhead. I knew these bombs travelled a little further before they landed, and I was convinced it would land on our house — it actually landed about three miles away.

It was my ninth birthday, 8th May 1945 — I was heartbroken because when dad came home from work, he went quietly in to listen to the 6 o’clock news on the radio — rather than celebrate my birthday straight away. Of course it was VE Day (Victory in Europe) — even more important than my special day!

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