Growing up in Fulham, Doodlebugs and Evacuation
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: Doodlebugs - My Dad would tell me that if you see a Doodlebug, you should ALWAYS run towards it as it is the best way to avoid it. I did see some Doodlebugs as we lived in London (Fulham). My mother and us were always first in the shelter; mother always seemed to wake up just before the hit. This particular night she didn't wake up and the blast from the bomb opened the front door and went straight through the back door. We were coming down the stairs and she said, "Get in the coal cellar" - it was under the stairs. Mum had me on one side (I was the eldest) and George, a baby, in her arms, with Johnny on the other side. That particular night the Doodlebug went underneath the bay window of a house in the next street. There was a bit of a lull, and Mum said, "Quick, get in the first shelter." (There was a bigger shelter with four units and toilets and a hall, but Mum said to get in the first smaller one.) The bigger shelter area was where people would bring in piano accordions and the like and spoons. People would sing and bring jugs of beer from the off-license. It would be like a party. War brought people together; everybody helped one another. If you had something, you shared it, you know.When we were under the stairs, we were sitting on the coal. Mum had her plimsolls on - they were trodden down and didn't fit very well, no time for others. There was a lamp outside our house, but it was shaded. Me and my brother started to run, and I looked back and saw Mum standing, just a silhouette, with the baby in her arms, and I shouted, "Run, Mum," which she did and overtook us!My Dad was an ARP Warden, and he was rescuing people and bodies. When the bomb went under the bay of the house in Laundry Road, we weren't allowed home as the bomb hadn't exploded. So we all went to Lily Road School. I can't remember what I was wearing, but we had been asleep as it was night. All the classrooms had bunk beds for women and children; men were in another classroom. We didn't know whether it was night or day because the windows were blocked up - we only knew the time of day from what we ate. We had breakfast, lunch, and tea there.We were there for a few days, not sure how long, but my Dad was looking for us. He went in the big shelter looking for us, and we weren't there. Everybody was saying they hadn't seen us. Someone must have said, "Try Lily Road School," and that was where he found us.We were evacuated, now, how many times? Our first one was Wellington, in Somerset, I think. I think my Mum came with us because of the baby, and it was a sweet shop.My dad was someone who would help dig people out after a bomb. He also practised with wooden rifles when he was in the Home Guard, but sometimes he'd go down the pub instead, and I'd have to check the 'Rec' to see if the others were down there practising, and he'd be the last one 'caught'.We returned to London, then to Newcastle where there was less bombing. Then me and my brother went to a cottage which the lady and her children had because they were bombed out from Plymouth. She had a little girl and a boy, but the little girl was mute because of the Plymouth bombing. My brother used to torment her and sign to her 'food and bed'. On a Sunday morning, we'd have to go to church because we were Catholic. The lady would come on the bike and bring our week's ration of sweets which we mustn't eat 'til after church! So, on our way to church, we would eat the sweets, put stones in the bag, and show the lady our 'bag of sweets.' We were 'streetwise,' and they were 'country bumpkins' - country children were so well behaved, and we were Artful Dodgers.This lady's husband had been invalided out of the war, so we had to move out so she could look after him. They booked for us to go and live with a widowed farmer in the same area. My mum came to see where we would be going; she phoned my Dad, and he said, "I'm coming to have a look at this place and the man." My dad came down, and we walked, and Mum showed him the bus stop where we'd pick up the bus to school. We kept on walking, and Dad said, "How far is this farm?" It was so far from the bus stop that he said, "No, you're coming home." Back to London and more bombing, but it wasn't so bad then.There was an incident when the shelters were being built - a little boy died. We were playing in Caroline Walk, SW6. We were playing 'fish and chip shops'. The big water tank on the site was our 'fryer' and pebbles were the 'chips.' We used to dip a brick in the water and then in the sand, so it was like 'battering the fish' which we then threw in the 'fryer' (water tank).Sidney Walker, I think that was his name, got killed by some scaffolding which collapsed on him. Somebody, I'm not sure who, came to our house to interview us to make a statement of what we remembered.We used to make dens in bomb sites; get a bit of old carpet, lovely dens, no roof on them of course! You might find a bit of a chair or a saucepan, and we had a lovely time.Street parties when the war was over - each street had their own party. The lady who lived two doors away didn't have any children; she made my fairy costume, she painted my shoes silver for the street party. I thought I was 'done up to the nines'!The people who lived above her were elderly and couldn't get out, so I'd go to the off-license to get them a jug of ale each night. They'd give me 6d a week, it was silver, a lot of money. It was actually at a table down the street.Rationing was still on because when I got married in 1953 it was still on. All the parents would help with food [for the party] - fish or meat paste, jam tarts, jelly, and blancmange. I didn't like blancmange. We had hats and party whistles/blowers. Mum's were there, but the men would set it up and then go to the pub for a drink. A mass of red, white, and blue. There was a parachute factory at Hammersmith, and some of the flags were made with parachute silk, others were crepe paper.My mum worked in the ammunition factory, making bombs.