WWII Through The Eyes Of My Great Grandparents
Creators: name: Project Team, Their Finest Hour
Publisher: name: University of Oxford
Year: 2024
Subjects: classificationCode: 430304
subject: British history
classificationCode: 430308
subject: European history (excl. British, classical Greek and Roman)
classificationCode: 430316
subject: International history

description: Great-grandmother: <br>"I was nine years old when war broke out. I was too young to understand all of the talk and preparations. I do remember a dummy in army clothes and a gas mask. I was aware I may have to be evacuated into the country.<br>On September the 1st 1939, I gathered with my friends at New Cross Station for an unknown destination. We were given a stamped postcard to send to our parents for when we arrived. Our school went to a place in Sussex called Glynde. When we first arrived at Glynde Station, we were met by the W.V.S. [Women's Voluntary Services] and taken to the village hall for something to eat and the villagers came round to pick the children they fancied. Most families wanted two children because they would be less trouble and would look after each other. My hostess wanted a boy, however there were no single ones. I ended up going with Mr and Mrs Hooper. They were in their fifties and had no children and I got on with them very well.We attended school in the local 'big house' belonging to Lord Brand. This was just 10 miles from the English Channel, right in the line for any invasion. The local chalk pit housed the army unit with guns and much of the Battle of Britain was fought in the South Downs. Still, only one bomb dropped in the farmer's field and on our nature walks we watched the odd dogfight between Spitfires and Messerschmitts with great interest.I remember listening on the radio that war had been declared. About a week later our gas masks arrived. They were brought around by the ARP and we all had to make sure they were gas-proof. Mr Hooper was a pig keeper so I had to help out looking after the pigs. I learnt how to ride the vicar's daughter's pony and generally had a fine old time. We would hear the German bombs going over toward London night after night and see the glows of fires on a really bad night which were over fifty miles away. I wasn't worried about my family or relations because it didn't seem real.On my 12th birthday, I went back to London to attend secondary school. My home was in good shape - just a few broken windows although two houses nearby were bombed flat. We had an Anderson shelter in the back garden and went in it to sleep in on a night. It was quite cosy. There were also street shelters, which were little concrete huts with about six metal bunks for people who were caught out away from home. Some neighbours used them each night as there wasn't enough room in the Anderson shelters.We had blackout curtains on the doors and windows. Little torches were allowed but not street lights and you soon got used to your night eyes. It was surprising how easy it was to get about. My father was in his forties and was too old to be called up, however he used to have to go on fire watch duty each night. My dad's mum came down and lodged down in a nearby house after she was bombed out of her house in 1941. A young boy came to live in the same house as her and that was the first time I met my future husband.Rationing was also a thing you got used to. A quarter of a pound of sweets was allocated each month per child. Everything was in short supply so you didn't have much choice when it came to fish, however it wasn't rationed. You had to register with a milkman, butcher and grocer. Then they in turn would inform the Ministry of Food who ensured your share of meat, fat, sugar milk etc. You then took your ration book each week and collected your allowance. If you found out a shop had oranges and you were under fourteen you would take your ration book and queue in the hope of getting some fruit.My mother went out to work and her first job was working in the Sun Pat peanut company, packing army rations. This was a chocolate bar fortified with extra vitamins. Each worker was allowed a few ounces of chocolate and peanuts each week. This was to prevent theft. When a child was past the age of twelve, mothers were allowed to be called up for 'war work'. My mother went to a light engineering firm so once a month I had to go collect the rations.Clothes rationing was also a thing to deal with. If you were over 5'5" tall and size six in shoes, you got extra coupons. I hit this criteria before I was twelve. You didn't have much choice of shoes and as for the soles they were leather and were worn down frequently. A trip to the cobblers was frequent. Stockings were wool or lisle for the winter and needed much darning. I was taught to darn by Mrs Hooper as she had been a ladies' maid. Drill slips and a blouse were the basic school uniform and my mum knitted my jumpers and cardigan. Knitting wool was also rationed.Dad had dinners at his work canteen and I had school dinners so it eased the ration a good bit. By the time I was nearly 14, I was fed up with sleeping in the Anderson shelter, but because doodlebugs and rockets had taken the place of bombers, we remained. The doodlebug engine used to cut out and then it glided for a few hundred yards before the bomb exploded. If the bug came right overhead you knew you were safe, but if it stopped some way off, you cringed. The rockets were more trouble as there was no noise, just an explosion. Our family was lucky as only one member lost their house. A bomb fell on my aunt's flat - she was safe but all of her belongings were destroyed. She didn't suffer any injury as she wasn't home at the time.I was at home by myself one day and I just had gone into the scullery and closed the door to the kitchen to have a wash when a rocket fell in the street behind us. My dad had left the house a quarter of an hour before to go to the pub to meet a friend who had promised him some plants for the garden. I grabbed the most important thing in the house (my cat) and ran round the block to try to find Dad. The street was a shambles as no help had arrived at that point. The houses next to the pub had been flattened and the pub itself had its back half blown off. I didn't know that at the time and opened the door to peer in. It was fortunately obvious that nobody was in the pub and Dad wasn't in the pub. I didn't know then that the barmaid and landlord were found dead. Later Dad told us that he had called into the pub but his friend wasn't there so he went to visit his brother instead (luckily from him).Another tragedy that we were close to involved my parents' friends. The mother and one of the twin daughters were sitting in front of the fire when the shell from the Ack-Ack battery fell through the house and decapitated them. I think this one was one of the things that made me realise the pain of war.When I reached my 14th birthday, rockets were still falling and my mother sent me back to the countryside for three months because she was worried. Then I returned to London once again. I went to the local education offices and although I should have stayed on until I was 16, I officially left. By this time the rockets had stopped and I refused to sleep in the shelter anymore, so me and my mum shared a bed. However, my dad stayed in the shelter until the end of the war.The end of the war was a bit of an anti-climax. Lots of dancing took place in the centre of London so there wasn't much going on where I lived. I don't remember the difficulties of people coming out of the forces but there was a lot of worry about the housing shortage. People were happy to get a couple of rooms in any house. In my house, we had to take on another family with two daughters. There was no bathroom, only one lavatory in the back yard and only a cold water tap in the scullery. We stayed in that house until after my second child was born and then we were rehoused in Essex. However, rationing continued until 1954."Grandfather: <br>"1939 - You would wake up and find homes and whole areas burnt out so rest centres were built and clothes were provided but mainly from America and aid societies in Canada.<br>1940: A landmine destroyed the house.1941 - My grandmother was killed by a barrage balloon crashing into the house.1943 - A close friend in my brigade was killed with his entire family and I attended the funeral as a guard of honour as we were in a Boy's Brigade. Many school friends were killed and many houses were damaged.1944 - V2 rockets."