" London was under
Hitler’s siege, bombs were devastating historical buildings and homes,
tearing the city apart.
Like moles we disappeared underground into
various types of protection, deep shelters,
“Andersons”,
in back gardens and the ‘tube’.
It was always unpleasant
in the shelters where we spent our nights. Damp, cold and herded together,
sitting on benches along the wall, or like us, without a place, and lying on
the floor with our heads on a cushion.
For a toilet there was an
“Elsan”,
in a corner screened by a curtain of Hessian – no
place for inhibitions here! The eventful day came when we wandered out of he
shelter to our house only to find police milling around our street. There
were ropes across the road, signs saying no entry, danger or diversion and
people being guided to take other routes. Our house was there alright, but
with a huge crack from top to bottom through which daylight poured. Mother
and I, having nowhere to sleep finished up at a reception centre in
Shepperton Road, a school where as a girl I had had cookery lessons. Names
were called out as social workers tried to sort things out. “Have you got
somewhere to go, dear?” they would enquire. We had an aunt in the country
and mother wrote. A telegram arrived – “Come to us at once”. We were glad to
see tomorrow when we were going to a place called Wolverton. My aunt lived
near there in New Bradwell, a place I had barely heard of before. But there
were no bombs there and I could hardly wait for some peace again. The war
was going on and on, more munitions were needed, more men and to replace the
men, women. A letter came for me, “please report to the works office”. It
was for an interview for essential war work. I had the choice: join the Land
Army, clean out train boilers, be a porter at Bletchley railway station, a
munitions worker or be an aircraft worker. That had appeal, that would
surely suit my seven stone frame. I was now in the works and the year was
1941." |