MY BIG ADVENTURE

At nine years old the serious fact that war was imminent had no reality other than my sister and I being evacuated to a place called Headington which, as we found out later, was in Oxfordshire. We were from the east end of London, Bowen Street St., Poplar to be precise, and up to that moment had not ventured far from home and so it was on Saturday the day before war was declared that we made our way to the nearest railway station, a long snaking line of children completely unaware of what was to befall us.

On reaching Headington we assembled in St. Francis Church and it was here that we would be given our respective accommodation.
In effect we would meet the people we were to be staying with. It all sounds very simple but as my sister would not leave me and I did not want to leave her this caused a problem i.e. 1 boy and 1 girl = 2 bedrooms! My sister's friend, Nelly Stokes, further compounded this because she would not be parted from her best friend. We were like the three musketeers all for one and one for all! By now it was late afternoon and being the last three children and as yet no one had come forward we were feeling pretty low and close to tears and then a decision was made that we would spend the night with a Mr. & Mrs Morris (who lived opposite the church) until more permanent accommodation could be found.

On the next day, Sunday, was was declared and we could feel the tension. We were now realising as children that something was wrong but not being able to understand the severity of the situation and - bless the Morrises - they tried to protect us from it. The next day we were taken to Mr. & Mrs Radborn of Benson Road who had agreed to have us on a permanent basis and so it was that some normality returned to our lives. I stayed with the Radborn family for approx. 15 months in which time I was treated almost like a son, they were very strict but fair and my thanks to them for showing me a different way of life. My reason for leaving was that Nelly had a cousin, Eileen, who cam to stay and it seemed that I was the obvious one to move on being the only boy. I was billeted in a boy's home which I found completely alien after the family atmosphere I had enjoyed, the transformation was too stark and so I returned home.

On returning to London I now had to adjust to the dangers of air raids, making sure where the nearest shelter was and becoming more streetwise. The dangers when out and an air raid was in progress came not only from the enemy but falling shrapnel from our own ack-ack batteries and being near the Docks there was plenty.

My parents were both working, Dad in the Heavy Rescue and Mum in some munitions work and so I had a great deal of freedom. School was very much a casual attendance although having attended Hay Currie School in Poplar I then passed a scholarship to attend St. Paul's Way which was the old Thomas St. Central that had been bombed.

Like many Londoners we all tried to do what we could to help each other and the one notable thing was the togetherness. As a young lad I saw many casualties and deaths. The worst moments being when the school register was called in the morning after a heavy night's raid and no answer given.

I would like to bring to your attention the NFS (National Fire Service) Messenger Service, litle of which seems to have been mentioned in the accounts of the London Blitz that I have seen. I joined it early in 1944 putting my age up to 14, we signed on at various fire stations, Burdett Road, Brunswick Road, Janet St. on the Isle of Dogs. The idea was that if communications broke down then as a messenger, you hopped on the bike and were the go-between, i.e. to call on more pumps to attend. When you first went on duty you were allocated a tender and duly strapped the bike on it (so eat your heart out Harry Potter fans - you haven't lived until you have ridden on the outside of a pump escape on a call out!) Our training was supervised by Ldg. Fireman Hall and Fireman Bird who were our instructors. They were very strict on safety and if we happened to be on duty with them, kept us on our toes. I often wonder why there is no cadet force in the Fire Service today.

My service in the NFS was mainly at the time of the V1 & V2's. I remember the first doodlebug, as the V1 was called, it fell on a bridge in Grove Road not far from where I lived. The Authorities thought it was a German aircraft but as we were soon to find out, it was a flying bomb. I am finding exact dates difficult but I will always remember the drone of the flying bomb and the fear when the engine cut out. We had two such incidents in a space of some 5 hours when at 7 am the first one which was very close exploded in Brabazon St. Poplar, landing on houses and causing many casualties and damage then a second bomb came down at around 12 o'clock making a direct hit on the Co-op factory in Broomfield St. This was far worse as, at the time it exploded the workers were leaving for their lunch and, again, there were many casualties and fatalities.

I am now 75 and looking back I wonder sometimes if it really did happen to me and others I knew so well. The answer was in the recent anniversary of the D-Day landings for when I saw the effect of remembering in the faces of those brave survivors I was proud to have done what I did, always aware of the debt we owe to them.

Tjis was my war, my big adventure, there is so much more one could recall but it can get very painful - I prefer to remember the good times about those who are no longer with us.

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