David Branchett's Story

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I am currently living in the County of Northamton; England (The Rose of the Shires) I live with my wife of 40+ years not far from where she was evacuated to as a baby in 1940. Very little memories from her side I am afraid.   At the end of June 1944 I, aged 7 years old, with my older brother Peter and my mother were evacuated to the Cinder Hill area of Nottingham shortly after the V2 ('Doodle Bugs,' Buzz Bombs) began to fall on London and also shortly after the invasion of Europe by the Allies (D Day, 6th June 1944). At that time we were living about midway between the large munitions factory at Woolwich, London and the wartime airfield of Biggin Hill. After a journey lasting for several hours we were eventually taken in by a Mrs. G. Cutler and her daughter Cecily of 101 Amesbury Crescent, Cinders Hill, Nottingham. Whilst there I was taught to swim in a Lido just outside Nottingham and also used to play on the railway tracks which could be found at the bottom of their garden. This railway line led to the nearby Cinder Hill colliery and with my new found friends we would have games of hide and seek and cowboy and Indians around the tracks. Today at my venerable age I would be appalled if I heard of my grandchildren doing such a thing! In October 1944 my father, who was too old to serve in the armed services, suffered a serious accident at his place of work which necessitated my mother and brother being rushed back to London, to be by his side, leaving me on my own in Nottingham with 'Auntie Gladys.' I spent Christmas, 1944, in Nottingham and shortly after became ill with whooping cough, the consequence of which was that although I loved Auntie Gladys I missed my mum very much and to my great joy at the end of January 1945 I was delighted to see not only my mum but my dad as well, who came to take me home. Once again a journey of several hours in trains packed with troops and then finally back in my own home. Within a few minutes of arriving there was a loud explosion, which I thought , was a door slamming but which turned out to be a V2 rocket. About 4 months later my sisters came rushing in one evening, and telling me to get my outdoor clothes on took me on a tour of our housing estate. This was VE (Victory in Europe) day and everyone was in the streets celebrating because the war (for us) was over. My one abiding memory of that evening was of seeing all the house lights shining into the street. You see all my remembered life until then had been spent in the 'blackout.' David Branchett     Is it me? Or have I just blocked out the bad times? but I cannot remember anything really bad during the war. All right so I was only three when the war started, but I still have vivid memories of some of it, and they appear to be rather tame compared to the ones that have been related lately. Mara's tale for instance. So here below I set forth some of those memories which mainly took place during the early war years and hope you find them of interest.   Dad's landmine : One day my dad was standing at the back door looking over the estate to his right during a small raid when he suddenly exclaimed „look there is a landmine on a parachute‰ at that moment the landmine explode and although some distance away caused dad to walk around with his head twisted to one side for two or three days.   The un-exploded bomb: I suddenly discovered that our house was full of other people and it turned out that a bomb had fallen into the back garden of a house opposite and had not exploded. Frantic digging was now taking place to locate the bomb and the family effected had moved in with us for a couple of days. The bomb was never found, and the family moved back. (Just recently a WW2 bomb was dug up in London and the 'Authorities' cleared and evacuated a square mile until it was defused!)   Battle of Britain: Playing in the swing park one morning with one of my sisters, I think it was Sheila; I lay on my back on the grass watching aircraft in the sky. This, I believe, was the big day in September 1940 when the decisive battles took place as I distinctly remember all the vapour trails in the sky. .   Mum's soap: Soap like most things was hard to come by and on this occasion my father had returned from work with some Goodies‚ in his bicycle carrier bag which he asked mum to get whilst he was having his tea. This she did and was pleased to find a large bar of washing soap among them. Never being one to waste a moment she promptly put it to good use in scrubbing the kitchen floor. The soap however did not lather and did not clean as she would wish. On complaining to my father she was informed in no uncertain terms "that's not soap...its a piece of cheese".   Dad's bomb: My father had just finished repairing the clothesline post at the bottom of the garden when yet another air raid started. We all went into the shelter and waited until the raid had finished. My father left the shelter shortly before the all clear sounded and soon was heard cursing from the vicinity of the line post. He reappeared at the shelter door holding a bucket in which reposed an evil smelling incendiary bomb that had hit the newly repaired post. He always maintained that the German pilots had dropped it there deliberately!!   Mollie's visitor: The air raid had been in progress for some time and as it was a heavy one we were all in the shelter. After a while my sister Mollie said that something was in her pyjamas and was told to be quiet. However, every so often she complained again and my mother was beginning to be annoyed but eventually all became silent as we slowly drifted off to sleep. The next morning my mother, as was the practice, began to shake out and hang on the clothes line all the night clothes and bedding from the shelter. On shaking Mollies pyjamas she was surprised to see a large stag beetle fall out which had been there all night!!   Peter's revenge: One day my brother Peter decided to make a see-saw in the front room out of a piece of wood and a pile of books, and we were both soon seeing and sawing Suddenly, whilst I was high in the air my brother rolled off the plank, and I came crashing down hurting both my arms. My mother took me to the First Aid Post, and they put both my arms in a sling "because he may have sprained them slightly." By the next day I was out of the slings and thought nothing more about it. However, years later during a medical at school the doctor wanted to know "when did this child break his arms." My mother could only assume that this had happened during the see-saw incident.   Our Gun: During the 'Blitz' we had on our council estate one Bofors gun which during a nighttime raid would trundle around the estate and fire off two or three shots at various points. One of these was near our house, and I well remember listening for the sound of the lorry and then the two or three loud cracks before it was on its way again.   These are just a few of my memories together with queues at the shops, no sweets or toys, powdered egg and nightly air raids. However, I cannot remember ever being hungry or cold or tired and never frightened no matter what happened around me. What I can remember is my family always being there and food always being provided at meal times.   By the way. I do not remember crumpets but do any of you remember any of the following :   Cod Liver Oil and Malt....One teaspoonful every evening. Condensed milk sandwiches.... as a special treat. Dripping sandwiches with salt and pepper. School milk in the winter... warmed by the classroom stove to melt the ice..   David Branchett.     Back in the summer of 1940 I was as a small three-year old playing just outside our front garden when aircraft engines could be heard coming up the road. Looking up I saw several large aeroplanes flying just above roof top height and with the other kids started to wave at them. They were so low we could see the airmen in the cockpits waving back. Suddenly they started to fire their machine guns at us, and we realized that these were German planes. The next thing I remember is being under the kitchen sink (it was one of those old fashioned stone ones) with my sister Sheila laying on top of me. How I got there is still a mystery to me but my sister tells me that the planes went on to bomb a school at Catford (South London) and killed about 250 children. From what I have heard since it was given out that this was in retaliation for the RAF bombing a school in Germany. I have not been able to verify this, but it does seem plausible. We were also told that five of the German planes had been shot down. Again not verified. I do know that we used to go and look at the bullet wholes in the wall of our local school where the planes had a go at the milkman on his horse and cart.   Re the Blackwall Tunnel. My late father had the distinction of closing this for several hours back in the 1930's when it was a single tunnel, and not the dual one it is today. Seems he was driving a large horse and cart loaded with train wheels when a wheel came of the cart resulting in a spilled load.      Jan 2nd 1956. Torn from my comfortable home and great job and sent to the far North of England to start my 2 years National Service. Determined to make the army regret that they ever called me up. Arrived at the camp railway station after an eight-hour journey to be met by a large, red faced 'gentleman', Hah! screaming at us to get into line. Took one look at this apparition with three stripes and decided the army was bigger than I and that if you can't beat'em you had better join them. Two years later, less six front teeth, 4 weeks with double pneumonia and the rise from signalman (private) to Sergeant and back again to signalman I arrived back home a far wiser and better person than when I went in. I wish that they would bring National Service back as today there is little chance of the younger generation being taught the necessity of discipline in a modern civilization. I look back on the good times in the army and the wide range of people I met from all walks of life. The lad from the slums of Glasgow with little or no learning to the Bachelor of Arts (he had been deferred until he got his degree) who was going back to university to take his Doctorate. The chap from a small mining village in Yorkshire (he had never seen or used a fixed bath or inside toilet) and the lad whose father owned a night club. Of course, there was the usual couple of con men and fixers and one or two light fingered people but even they soon saw the errors of their ways. All in all a valuable experience which looking back I would not have missed. Once again I feel I was very lucky with whom and where I served. Dave B (UK)   Early in 1945 I was playing indoors with my friend from across the street Pat (Patricia) a little girl the same age as myself. Seven years old at the time. Now in our front room there was a large wicker work basket chair which was always being argued over as to who would get to sit in it if Dad was not at home. If he were home there was no arguments, he sat in it and that was that. Anyway, on the day in question it occurred to me that if we pulled the curtains (drapes?) and I put a lighted night light under the chair then the light filtering through Ýthe wicker work would make pretty patterns on the wall. If I remember rightly there was no paper on the walls at this time as the plaster etc. was continually being blown off by nearby bombs, and in any case you could not buy wall paper at this time. A night light by the way was/is a small circular candle about one and a half inches by one and a half inches and was normally used in the shelter. Anyway, under went the night light and the patterns did indeed appear on the wall. However within a short time the chair, which was bone dry suddenly burst into flames and there was nothing else to do except tell my Mum that I had set fire to it. Mum rushed in and grabbed the chair and tried to drag it to the back door and garden, but it got caught at the bottom of the stairs. After a short fight with the chair she finally got it to the front door and out into the front area. Fortunately, some workmen were passing by and quickly helped Mum to put it out, but needless to say the chair was beyond repair. On seeing the resultant mess I informed my Mum that "I think I aught to go to bed " (it was mid-morning) and immediately did so remarking as I went "well at least we won't argue over it any more" What my Dad said when he got home I never knew, but the chair and escapade were never mentioned again. Apart from the chair and a slight scorch mark at the bottom of the stairs there was no damage done what-so-ever. Thus ended my first attempt at arson.     I was evacuated to Cinders Hill about quarter of a mile from the coal mine of the same name. Attached is a photo of the house which I came across a couple of days ago. The road was Amesbury Circus.   We were very lucky (my mum, brother and me) as the family that took us in consisted of just the mother and daughter. Father was never talked about, and I got the impression that he was not very welcome and in any case was a merchant seaman. Rather him than I. I think that they were the real heroes of the war, going to sea in old unarmed merchant ships with a possible top speed of around 5 or 6 knots. When we arrived in Nottingham, in the dark, we were bussed around the various estates in cold double deckers and stopped on one estate which was a proper slum. In fact, it was so bad and the people so poorly dressed that most of the mums refused to even get off the bus and most of them came from the East end of London which was not exactly the best of places to live. The people were great though. When I eventually came back to London in Jan., 1945 I had only been indoors about 5 minutes when I heard this loud bang. " Who shut door?" I asked in my new Nottinghamshire accent and my brother replied "That's not a door, it's a bl...y rocket." He is in fact, one of the few people I know who actually saw one come down. He described it as a dark rainbow in the sky. Fortunately, he was far enough away not to be hurt. A few of our neighbors in London never used the shelters which were basically built by contractors (Council tenants had this privilege and got the shelter for free. (A private house had to pay the vast sum of seven pounds for theirs) but went to the nearby Chislehurst Caves every night with all their bedding and whatnot packed into a Hop Picker's trolley. You know a large box about 3 foot cubed and mounted on wheels with a small wooden handle. You can still see relics of the wartime use if you visit the caves today together with artifacts going back to the Stone Age.     Although our shelter was the 'Anderson' type, a friend of ours across the road had a 'Morrison' shelter in the front room. It replaced the dining table and was meant for the older ones among us. (I seem to recall that it was little more than an angle iron box with sides of wire mesh). My dad turned our shelter into a shed, and it lasted us until the late fifties when a proper wooden one was bought. The house my grandparents lived in, in Greenwich, was a Victorian 3 storey affair. At the beginning of the war they moved into the basement and lived there for the rest of their days. The rest of the house was furnished, and the top floor was sub let. Why they never moved back I have no idea. They both died in the early 60's. They never had any type of shelter as I remember. During the rationing my mum would push a baby pram the five miles to Grans and then push it back full of coal. This happened even during the daylight raids. We kept our coal, when we had it, under the stairs in what was always known as the coal cupboard. As the door was adjacent to the front door, it was ideal for the coalman to empty his sack straight in.     My uncle was a bus driver on the 94 bus route for many years, and one evening during a very bad fog was slowly maneuvering his bus and following the tail light of a car in front because as he would say "It was going my way". After a while the car stopped as did uncle and a few minutes later there was a tap on the door to his cab. Sliding back the door he was confronted by an irate business man, complete with bowler hat, who wanted to know when uncle was going to take his bus out of the business man's drive! Yes he'd followed him right up to the front door. The fog was so bad that the bus had to stay there all night. Very unhappy business man, extremely unhappy passengers who had to get out and walk. For years afterwards if for any reason uncles bus ran late, he would be asked whose drive he had been parking in. Now days when a fog appears and visibility is down to 100 yards or so I recall those days before the clean air act came in when literally 'you could not see a hand in front of your face.      One of my dad's old remedies during the war was a bread poultice. This consisted of some sort of bread mixture on a pad, very hot and applied to the cuts and grazes on my knees after a days playing. It was supposed to draw out any dirt and infection. I still have both knees albeit with lots of small scars so I suppose it was effective. One of my Gran's remedies concerned a silver threepenny bit (remember those). One day she rubbed this on a nasty wart that I had on my hand and told me that she was buying the wart and that when it went she would give me sixpence. I don't know wether it was the thought of this vast fortune or something in the metal makeup of the coin but three days later the wart had gone, and I was richer by sixpence. She was also the one that cured my lack of appetite which was worrying my mum. She gave me a shot of her daily medicine and told me that my appetite would return. I drank, back came the appetite and all from an inch of Guinness!     It was late July or early August 1944 that I was awoken early and dressed in my best clothes and outer coat. I was just 7 years old and thought that we were going out for the day. After a walk through the estate we, that is my mum, brother Peter and me, got onto a double deck bus and had a short ride to Chislehurst station. I have the feeling that my dad was there as well but I cannot really remember. At the station there were several other buses and loads of mothers and children all milling around and we, with the rest, stood around waiting to be told what to do. I do recall being very worried about the bus because it had driven up the slope to the station and I could see that there was not space enough for it to turn round to leave. Suddenly to my amazement it started to reverse down the slope and this was the very first time I found out that buses could go backwards as well as forwards! At some time we must have got on the train but of the journey I cannot recall one iota but do remember that we did not have to change trains which meant that we had been routed right around London to head North to Nottingham.   The journey started early in the morning but we did not arrive at Nottingham until it was dark and there we all got off the train and embarked on more double deck buses. These again were something new to me as they were Green! Not the familiar red I was used to. After a short journey we pulled up in a very run down estate on the outskirts of Nottingham and watched as several people came out of the darkness towards us. The mothers on the bus were horrified at their appearance as their clothing and attire was dirty and scruffy to say the least and as one all the mothers refused to even get off the bus. After a lot of wrangling the bus drove on and after several stops where people were dropped off we came to Amesbury Circus on the Cinderhill estate where after a bit of haggling a nice lady  and her daughter took the three of us in. This turned out to be a godsend as Auntie Gladys as I called her became a second mother to me. I can remember being given a hot drink and something to eat and then being put to bed. Thus ended the first day. Dave B (UK)     My father used to cycle about 5 miles to work in a factory on the Thames between Woolwich and Greenwich. He had one speed that he would travel at and this never varied and was about 5 miles an hour. Anyway, one day in 1944, before we were evacuated, he came into the house and told us all to get down the shelter as a Buzz bomb had followed him all the way home! Naturally, we all laughed but stopped when we heard the sound of its engine which stopped almost at once. The bomb dropped about 500 yards away and took out two changing rooms and left a crater in the middle of a local football pitch. My father maintained that the bomb really had 'chased' him all the way from Woolwich. Dave B