I was evacuated from Morden, a south London suburb at
the time when the V2 rockets started to arrive.
I was evacuated to a small coal mining community
called Smithies just outside of Barnsley in South
Yorkshire.
I was taken in by the Perkins family and spent the
rest of the war in their care.
It was one of the happiest times of my life.
I went to school in Barnsley.
From my bedroom window I could see eleven slag heaps
of the collieries which encircled the village. Living in
a
small coal mining village was an experience I shall
never forget.
================================================================
Hi Gerry and the Gang,
I was very interested to hear what you lot had for
nosh when you were kids in the East End.
Us kids in " Sarf " London, around the Elephant &
Castle area, we never had things like bagels and
platzels.
We ate things like jellied eels and pie & mash
with lots of liquor and faggots ( long before that word
got another meaning) and bubble and squeak, and bangers
and mash, and tripe and onions, and pigs trotters (
neither of which I would or could eat ) and dumplings and
corned beef and bread and dripping, and Fish and
Chips.
I loved the days when Mum made lots of spaghetti with
thick, deep red tomato puree and days when Dad made his
tasty vegetable stews with fresh vegetables straight from
the garden. (As a kid, I used to wander around the
streets with a bucket and shovel collecting horse manure
for our garden ). On Sundays, we had winkles and cockles
and whelks and beetroot and celery. The grownups always
joked about the celery, the men laughed and the women
giggled. Us kids never knew what they were laughing about
(the word sex was never mentioned in them days).
For afters, we ate things like, jelly covered with
Carnation milk or spotted dick with lots of hot custard
all over it, or rice pudding, or treacle pudding, or
bread and butter pudding and my favourite, bread pudding,
which my wife still makes for me.
We always drank lots of tea, so strong that, " you
could stand the spoon up in it ," with 2 - 3 teaspoonful
of sugar and Sterilized milk (we didn't have a fridge ),
added for taste. " Sometimes we had Camp coffee with
Condensed milk.
At school they gave us milk (cold or hot, I always
liked it hot). Some days we were given a big spoonful of
cod liver oil, on another day we got a big spoonful of
malt.
Nobody had heard of Cholesterol and high blood
pressure, and the danger of passive smoking in those days
so we sprinkled lots of salt on everything. Ate lots of
bread and butter, and bread and dripping, and Dad smoked
Woodbines in the house all the time.
When we moved out to Morden, the year the war started;
we went scrumping for apples and pears in our neighbors
gardens at night.
On one such skirmish, the owner suddenly opened his
back door and as the light shone into the garden, he saw
us and yelled out, a girl in our gang, panicked and
pushed me just as I was climbing over a wire fence, the
wire cut into me and I was quite sore for a few days
afterwards but had to suffer in silence because I was too
shy to tell my mother where I had been injured. I can
assure you, it was the closest I've ever come to being
circumcised.
I look forward to hearing more tales of nostalgia from
the gang.
All the best from the West (Australia),
Patrick
=======================================================================
Hi Gang,
It's very interesting to hear all you East End lot
going on
about crossing the Atlantic on the Queen Mary, like a
bunch of film stars,
in 4, 5 or 6 days.
When we came to Australia on the 10 pound assisted
passage scheme our,
ship, the "Fair Star," was only 20,000 tonne, one of
several migrant
ships run by the Italian owned Sitmar Line. Referred
to affectionately by
her former passengers as The SICKmar Line. We left
Southampton on May 9th
1965 and got to Fremantle just before midnight on the
1st of June. (21
days, please note). I can still remember, how the warm
night air was
scented with the wonderful smell of eucalyptus from
the gum trees
surrounding the migrant hostel, as we disembarked from
the bus which had
picked us up from Fremantle docks.
The first words we heard from an Australian, as we
struggled down the gang
plank, were, "Another boatload of bloody Poms"
Apparently, the Australian
Government hadn't done a very good job of convincing
the locals that they
needed us. Thirty years later, it hasn't really
changed, although in the
mean time, Australia has become one of the most
multicultural countries on
earth.
On board the " Fair Star " there was a mixture of
English and European
migrants, including 500 children. The lifts were
coffin size and once we
were in one, packed like sardines, when it became
stuck between decks, the
lights went out and the air conditioning packed up; an
elderly lady from
Southern Europe became hysterical. It was a very
unpleasant reminder that
this was no luxury cruise ship we were on. I noticed
for some time after
that experience, that I avoided using lifts until I
was eventually forced
to use them again when skyscrapers became fashionable
in Perth.
During the voyage, nearly everybody on board
eventually succumbed to "the
runs ." The ship's doctor, was an arrogant young
Italian guy, who obviously
considered all migrants were the lowest form of life
and just gave you
some pills and got rid of you as fast as he could. Any
attempt to talk to
him was ignored so when I tried to say something, he
just looked around at
his ' bodyguard', a big tough looking sailor standing
behind his desk, I
got the message and departed. I assumed that neither
of them had heard of
the Hippocratic Oath.
We first went ashore at Port Said. With four youngster
in tow, we went
sight seeing and inadvertently wandered off into the
side streets. Where
upon, as soon as the local Arab kids saw us they
immediately picked up
stones and other objects and pelted us with them. We
quickly got back into
the main street and stopped a passing horse drawn open
carriage which was
heading back to the ship. When we got there, I became
involved in a nasty
argument with the cab driver, who asked for an
outrageous fare for a very
brief ride. Fortunately, a large Arab Policeman
standing nearby heard all
this and took our side and told the cab driver to take
the money I offered
him and clear off, which he did very reluctantly,
cursing and swearing at
us as the policeman pushed him away.
Our next shore leave was at Aden where Arab
nationalistic aspirations had
recently inspired the locals to attack any vulnerable
Europeans as they
went about their daily activities, in an attempt to
expedite the departure
of the hated Infidels. The week before we got there,
an elderly English
lady had been killed by a grenade thrown into a crowd
while she was out
shopping. On shore, it was very tense, Jeeps full of
heavily armed British
troops, hovered around us as we wandered among the
street vendors stalls,
foot soldiers carrying rifles and sten guns were
everywhere. One migrant
almost started WWIII when she pointed her camera at
some Arabs and found
herself facing an irate bulky Arab women who ran
towards, like a charging
wild elephant, waving her arms and screaming
abuse.
Were there any good things about the voyage? Well
surprisingly, the food
was very good and well served and the wine was not
only very good but was
also very cheap as well. Every night a small band
started the evening's
entertainment with the tune, "Never on a Sunday" which
has remained a
favourite of mine ever since. Actually, considering
all the circumstances,
we had quite a few good times during the trip and when
you think it only
cost us 10 pounds each, it was a bargain compared to
the normal cost of
ship's cruises.
Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, about another
incident that occurred when
we were in Port Said. An Arab came on board and during
a chat with him on
deck with my wife and kids nearby, he looked at my
daughter Judith, then
about 4 years old, and asked me if I wanted to sell
her. I thought he was
joking, and said I would want a thousand pounds (a
colossal amount in
those days) when he said OK, I realized he wasn't
joking, I told him to
forget it, grabbed Judith and we all hurried away to
our cabin.
Cioao,
Patrick
=======================================================================
Hi Gerry,
Your bath times tales reminded me of the very first
bath I had
when I was evacuated. I had been taken into a coal
mining family who lived
in a small terraced house. The front door opened from
the pavement,
straight into a small living room where we all had our
meals and included a
large table and a big solid fuel stove that took up
all the space along one
wall. When bath time came, to my surprise a large
galvanized iron bath was
dragged into the living room, placed in front of the
stove, filled with hot
water and I was told I could get into it. Which I did
with much
embarrassment, because back home, at least we had our
own bathroom and the
idea of ever being seen totally unclothed by another
person was unheard of.
I hurried as fast as I could but before I could finish
Olive, the daughter
of the house, then aged about 10 (I was about 13),
came into the room and
sat down at the table, next to the bath I was in. I
finished my bath, and
then realized that the towel I needed to cover my
embarrassment, was out of
reach and it was obvious by then that Olive had
decided to stay and see
what the London boy's were made of. I remained in the
bath for quite
awhile, as the water got colder and colder, meanwhile,
Olive just sat there
waiting for me to get out. Eventually, I realized I
couldn't stay in the
bath forever, so I lunged for the towel and Olive got
her peep. She must
have been suitably impressed by what she saw because
she was always very
nice to me for the rest of the time I stayed with her
family.
Have a nice day,
Patrick
=======================================================================
Hi Gerry,
It's interesting that Jimmy Edwards should come up
for
discussion just now because only two weeks ago I was
talking to someone
here in Perth, who told me that he knew Jimmy Edwards
quite well when Jimmy
lived here in the nice sea side suburb of Cottesloe
for a while. Did you
know that during the war, Jimmy was a RAF pilot and
won a DFC for bravery.
I remember once seeing him at the Cambridge Theatre in
the Strand and
remember being very impressed by a new young unknown
comedian named Tony
Hancock who appeared in the show and who later became
famous for his, "
Hancock's Half Hour " radio show. You may know that he
later committed
suicide in Sydney, Australia while on a tour Down
Under. A very sad day. I
think he was one of the best.
When someone mentioned the program, " Much binding in
the Marsh" I was
very interested because I was stationed for a while at
the RAF camp,
Moreton-in- the- Marsh, in Gloucester, which gave the
show its name. Just
to digress for awhile. While I was stationed there,
there was a severe
National coal shortage in Britain and while still on
Christmas leave we
were told that we could stay on leave until the
situation improved or
return to camp and survive as best as we could. That
sounded quite exciting
so I went back to Camp and when the coal run out, we
went into the nearby
woods to cut down trees to keep the stoves in the
Nissen huts burning. Each
night we placed bricks on top of the stove and when
they were really hot,
we wrapped them up in our PT shorts and used them as
hot water bottles in
our beds. Actually, It was quite enjoyable. We also
hinted to the few WAAFs
on the Camp that there were other ways to keep warm at
night, but I don't
think any of us guys got that lucky. How pure we were
in those days, well
almost?
Also, while at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, I broke the
cardinal rule of service
life, which is, "never volunteer". I volunteered to do
someone's duty so
that he could go off to play in a football match for
the Camp against
another Camp. It was a big mistake. There was a Pilots
Training School at
the Camp, and that night trainee pilots were taking
off regularly in their
single - engined Harvard's. It was very noisy as each
plane passed very low
over the hut we were in. Suddenly, the loud noise from
one passing over
stopped and for a few seconds there was total silence
and then a great
crashing sound as the plane fell out of the sky onto a
hut. We all rushed
outside and an ambulance set off towards the crash
site, which was one of
the huts where the WAAFs were billeted. Soon, the
ambulance came back and
two stretchers were carried into the Station Sick
Quarters. As they passed
me I saw each had a figure on it whose flying suit was
covered in mud and
blood. I felt panicky and thought I would faint if I
went into the theatre
but I was ordered to get in there quick smart and make
myself useful. The
flying instructor was the most badly injured, his face
was badly smashed,
and as they put him on the operating table, he kept
saying, over and over,
"I'm not going to die am I, I'm not going to die am
I." And then, as they
were cleaning him, up to access the damage, he
suddenly vomited over all
of us. Well, they stitched him up as best they could
and kept him over
night on the Camp. I was told to stay with him and
tried to cheer him up
whenever he felt like talking. Glad to tell, he didn't
die, and next day
he was transferred to RAF Halton where, unfortunately,
he lost an eye. I
found out later that he was Air Vice Marshall
Pendred's son.
To return to the original topic of radio, I also met
Frankie Howard,
another great comedian, when he was on a Far Eastern
tour and visited our
Camp at Mount Davis, on Hong Kong Island because he
was at school with our
CO.
While on the subject of radio. In my house, when I was
a kid, the radio was
turned on first thing in the morning and was turned
off last thing at
night. When I met my wife Margaret, who previous
readers of my
autobiographical comments will remember, was posher
than me. I was
surprised to find out that her parents only turned the
radio on to listen
to the news and then turned it off. Well if that's
being posh, I think it's
daft. I heard all the news, all the music, popular and
classical (remember, "Palm Court Orchestra" ? I do) and
programs like " Twenty
Questions " The radio was my University. At one time,
I only had to hear a
few notes of the latest song and I could whistle the
rest without missing a
note. It's funny what posh people do.
Back in those days, I loved going to see Abbott &
Costello movies.
Eventually, my sisters wouldn't go with me because I
couldn't stop laughing
after everybody else in the cinema had long stopped.
Another guy and
myself, would literally, be rolling in the aisle
whenever we went to see
them. Oh happy days. Then later, do you remember Tommy
Cooper? How lucky
we were to have seen and heard all these great
entertainers.
If there's anyone whose read this lot, sorry about the
length.
Take care everyone,
Patrick
=======================================================================
When I was a kid, living in the Elephant & Castle
area,
before WWII started, I used to stand at the exit of
the lifts on the Tube
and collect cigarette cards from the people coming
out. Although that is
now more than sixty years ago, I can still remember
feeling the rush of
warm air and the distinctive smell from the lift shaft
as the lifts rose and
the loud clanging sound as the heavy double metal
gates automatically
opened when the lift stopped and I would start my
spiel, "got any fag
cards, Mister" Afterwards, there was the pleasure of
sorting them out. I
loved the fantastic colours and designs of the dress
uniforms of the
soldiers in the Regiments from all over the British
Empire. Particularly
those from the Indian Regiments. If only I still had
them, they would be
worth a packet now.
I can also remember other times when a man came round
our street with a
horse-drawn cart which had a small merry-go round on
the back that could
only take two or three kids at a time. You had to give
him a jam jar to get
a ride. When he had a full load, he would wind a big
wheel on the side if
the merry-go round and we would hang on as we went
round in circles, the
girls screaming and the boys grinning from ear to ear.
Then we would run off
to get another jam jar.
Another time a man would come round with a small board
with holes in it
which was covered with silver paper. Some of the holes
had a small piece of
paper in them and if you pushed a match stick into
that hole you got a
prize, usually a sweet. To play the game you gave the
man a jam jar or
some old rags. Those we weren't already wearing of
course.
Later, when we lived at Morden, about once a year, two
very large, heavily
bearded, Indian gentlemen, wearing colourful turbans
and overcoats down to
the ground and carrying large battered cases, packed
full of colourful
silk scarves and pretty looking trinkets, would knock
on all the doors in
the street.
=======================================================================
My first experience of country life was when I
was evacuated to a small
coal mining community outside Barnsley, in South
Yorkshire. Nearly all the
men in the village worked, "down pit." Although the
village was surrounded
by coal mines and their smoking slag heaps that looked
like black
pyramids, there was still plenty of unspoiled
countryside around us to be
explored. For most of us kids from London, this was
our first opportunity
to experience, a way of life that we knew nothing
about before then.
We explored around the old reservoir with the local
boys, searching among
the tall, bull rushes for birds nests. If we found one
with eggs in it, we
would only take one if there was more than one egg in
the nest. The most
prized find was a swan's nest with eggs in it. We
learned how to make a
hole at each end of the large white shell, so that we
could blow the
contents out and keep the egg shells we found as
trophies. I loved watching
the black moor hens, with bright red beaks, swimming
away, as fast as they
could, as we approached them, before noisily taking
off from the water
when we got too close. Their eggs were much smaller
than the swan's eggs,
but they were very pretty; being a soft creamy- brown
colour with lovely
dark brown markings sprinkled all over the shell.
Thrush eggs were bright
blue.
We built a raft from planks of wood, and the thick
stems of the bull rushes
that grew all around the water's edge, so that we
could paddle across the
reservoir. Our best attempt at, ' ship building '
resulted in a very
unstable structure which was always threatening to
fall apart. So, at first
we kept close to the shore while we gradually got used
to the feeling that
every time we went out on the raft, it could, at any
moment disintegrate
and throw us into the water. Even in Summer, the dark,
deep, cold water of
the reservoir looked a bit sinister. So, as I could
hardly swim at that
time, I had a good reason to be afraid. But, one day,
I was on the raft,
when we paddled it from shore to shore across the
widest part if the
reservoir.
Another day I was passing a farm yard where they were
castrating piglets. I
watched as the farm workers, with great difficulty,
first separated a huge,
gray, very angry sow from her brood and then selected
which piglets were
to be operated on. The sow went berserk as the piglets
first squealed in
fear as they were roughly grabbed and then squealed
even louder with pain
and fear as the knife cut. The sow charged, head down,
screaming with
rage, at the gate that shut her in the pen, the farm
workers standing
nearby looked very alarmed when it looked as if the
gate would burst open.
It didn't, but I was on the piglets side, so I was
glad that the sow had
scared them.
There's much more to tell, but I'll save it for
another time. Meanwhile,
what about some ," When I was a kid........."
contributions from other
members, or if anyone has another topic they want to
talk about let's hear
from you.
Until then, all the best from the West
(Australia),
Patrick
=======================================================================
Hi Gang,
I remember as a kid we used a home remedy for
chilblains which was
rather interesting. It consisted of placing a red hot
poker into a
receptacle containing urine and then placing the foot
with the chilblains
on it, into the pot of 'scalded' urine. It must have
worked because it was
quite a common remedy.
Have a nice day,
Patrick.
Hi Patrick & Gang
Chilblains, that's another common ailment most of us
suffered from way back
when..... Supposedly came from roasting our frozen
toes in front of an
open fire! When we had something to burn that is!
;O}
Pleased to say, I have never heard of your remembered
remedy before Patrick,
maybe we were a little more sophisticated on the south
coast (big grin)!
We found that thick green ointment called 'Winter
Green' or the homemade
variety, did the trick.
By the way I was just wading into a nice cuppa tea
(without milk), when I
read your post. Somehow doesn't look so inviting now!
LOL
Margaret
=======================================================================
Hi Gang,
We came to Western Australia (WA) in 1965 and have
lived in
the river side suburb of Attadale, on the south side
of the Swan River,
since May 1974. Our house is about 5 mins walking
distance from the river
which is really a tidal estuary and not a river at
this point. My wife,
Margaret, walks along the beautiful foreshore every
morning, with our dog
Sally. The other day she came back very excited, and
told me that she had
just seen three porpoises very close to the shore.
Occasionally, someone
says they have seen a shark swimming in the river. Our
house is only 10 to
15 min by car from the Indian Ocean.
Margaret loves seeing all the bird life down on the
river and the along the
foreshore, there's lots of Black Swans, Sacred Ibis,
Commorants and Oyster
Catchers and big Pelicans, which are her favourites.
During the Northern
Hemisphere Winter months, a wide variety of migratory
wading birds come
down from China, Russia and Siberia to nearby Alfred
Cove, According to
an official wildlife habitat study, over 130 different
species have been
recorded in the Alfred Cove area which is classified
as an 'A ' class reserve.
Nearly every year, during nesting season, a pair of
ducks land on our
swimming pool to see whether it's a suitable place for
them to build their nest.
Because of Sally, they usually nest elsewhere. Last
year it was on the pool
next door. So when the eggs hatched we looked over the
fence and watched
the ducklings swimming on the pool.
Stoneham Road, where we live, runs uphill from Alfred
Cove, on the east, to
the very impressive Spanish Colonial Style buildings
of Santa Maria RC
Girl's school on the west. So I suppose you could say
we have lots of birds
at both ends of our street. House prices in the road
vary from AUS $400,000
to AUS $2.0 million. When we came to WA in 1965, most
houses in WA were
single story (what we called bungalows in the UK ).
Now, because the
price of land has risen so much, more and more 2 story
and 3 story
houses are being built. The area has also attracted
many Wealthy Asians who
always like to live near water (it's good feng shui)
and usually build
very upmarket homes. One wealthy Chinese investor
likes the area so much,
we heard that he had bought 26 houses in the area.
At most weekends, the surface of the river is covered
by masses of sailing
boats, from the many sailing club around the river,
all engaged in fierce
competition with each other. It's a very colourful and
impressive sight.
Early each day, big Rottnest Ferry boats head
downstream from Perth, on
their way to Rottnest Island, situated 11 Km off shore
from Fremantle, in
the Indian Ocean. ' Rotto ', as the locals call it, is
and has been for
generations of West Aussies, their idea of
paradise.
By car, Attadale is about 10 mins to Fremantle and 20
mins to Perth.
Fremantle, a port, is a very ethnic place, with lots
of ethnic
Restaurants and Coffee shops but also including, some
real ,' Dinkum'
(kosher) Aussie style Pubs and some streets full of
wonderfully preserved
19th century buildings, a 100 year old market and the
building which was
the first synagogue built in WA. Several new hotels
and lots of restoration
work was carried out in Fremantle, during the period
when Western Australia
hosted the Americas cup challenge.
Perth, is the most isolated Capital City in the World,
and although it
covers an area about the same size as London, it has a
population of only
about 1.2 million people. Also, although, Western
Australia, covers a land
mass about the same size as most of Western Europe, it
has a population of
only about 1.8 million people. So, there's lots of
space, but due to lack
or shortage of water, lots of the State, particularly
in the North and
inland, is empty or very sparsely populated or stocked
.
For example, last night, there was a farmer on TV from
Meekathara, about
600 km north of Perth, who runs 6000 sheep on 146,000
hectares. He said he
mostly lived alone and flew a light aircraft to cover
the huge distances
and used new satellite controlled technology to turn
the supply of water on
or off at remote water holes to water his sheep.
Bye for now,
Patrick
=======================================================================
Before we were accepted as evacuees we had to be
inspected
to make sure we were suitably attired.
Well, my mother was so hard up, all she could afford
for me was a pair of
those black shiny shoes with a strap across arch of
the foot, which were
worn by girls at that time. She bought them for me. We
went up in front of
this guy who looked at what I was wearing and said, "
He can't go, wearing
those. " my mother began to cry, and I hated that man
with my whole being.
I said I wasn't going. Somehow the, "problem" was
sorted out and I went. I
could have stayed and been killed for wearing the
wrong shoes. I still hate
that guy for making mother cry.
=======================================================================
About clogs. I was evacuated to a South Yorkshire
mining community and
early every morning as I lay in bed I could hear the
miners, wearing clogs,
walking down the hill of the village street to the
lorry that took them to
the Pit. The clog uppers were made of stiff black
leather and the soles of
wood on which was nailed a rim of steel. As they
walked down the street, the
steel struck the cobble stones with a sharp metallic
sound. I'll never
forget that time of my life.
=======================================================================
I remember, quite well, Sunday Sept 3rd 1939 when the
Prime Minister, Mr.
Chamberlain, announced on the radio that we were at
war with Germany.
My mother, became very agitated, because my eldest
sister had gone to
morning Mass and wasn't back yet. As soon as the
announcement was finished
we heard for the first time the unfamiliar, ominous
wail of the air raid
siren. My mother dashed into the living room and
pulled the curtains
across the front window, although it was still
morning. When the
siren stopped, all the church bells in the area
started to ring out. We
looked up anxiously into the sky but there was nothing
to be seen.
After all the excitement in the morning was over,
nothing much happened
for the rest of the day as far as we kids were
concerned. No doubt our
parents had lots to talk about, but we kids just
carried on as before.
We weren't evacuated until later in the war, when the
Germans started to
send their V2 rockets over. That meant that as the war
warmed up, during
the day we could watch the dog fights high in the sky,
above our heads,
between our fighters and the German planes. Later when
the blitz started we
spent most nights in the Anderson shelter, dug in a
shallow pit, in our
back garden.
There was plenty of dog fights to see during the
battle of Britain period
because there was a Spitfire squadron based at nearby
Croydon airfield and
the German bombers and fighters seemed to fly on a set
flight path
directly over head on their way to bomb the City.
When the blitz started, bombs were dropped all around
us every night and
the screaming sound of some of their bombs sounded
very frightening. When
the bombs landed nearby, the shock wave travelled
through the ground and we
felt the bunks we were sleeping on bounce up and down.
Sometimes we didn't hear anything as time bombs were
dropped silently by
parachute with a fuse set to detonate hours later.
Next day, when everybody
was off guard, the mine would explode. Some woman at a
local shopping
centre were killed when one went off. Enemy bombers
also dropped masses of
incendiary bombs as they flew overhead. Every house
had a bucket of sand and
a stirrup pump at hand to put the fires out.
At night, standing outside in the streets we could
look up and see the
searchlights, criss crossing the night sky searching
for the bombers. When
one was caught in a beam, others focused in on the
small white object high
up in the sky and the ant-aircraft guns gave it their
full attention as
they tried to shoot it down. We had an ack-ack gun on
a truck which moved
up and down our street blasting away all the time. Our
windows rattled
loudly but the glass in them never cracked because we
had stuck wide, brown
sticky tape in a criss cross on each window pane.
The next thing the Germans tried out was the V1 rocket
which sped across
the sky making a distinctive noise until its engine
stopped and in the
ensuing pregnant silence, everybody held their breathe
waiting for the loud
explosion as it fell randomly to earth.
The authorities didn't evacuate us until the Germans
started to send their
V2 rockets over. They were much bigger than the V1
rockets and harder to
shoot down.
I spent that last night in our Anderson shelter,
before being evacuated,
feeling very nervous at the thought that after all
that we had gone through
so far, it would only take one bomb to finish us off
only a few hours
before the morning when we were due, at last, to be
moved to safety. It
happened to some but we were lucky.
Patrick
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