Peter Carroll is the author of Queen of Misfortune – A Lady Jane Grey Novel. For more information, see his website.
Hampden Road in Harrow Weald, just North of London, holds special memories for me. It all started there – the laughter, the sadness of my wartime childhood. On a recent visit I saw the house I knew so well, but it seems so small. My parents, two brothers and I lived there. Gone are the colourful front gardens, the well kempt privet hedges, all concreted over now to make way for the abundance of cars which, cant fit into a road made for horse and carriage.
Now living in Devon, I have shared stories with local folk who lived in Plymouth, who equally remember the horrors of air raids and the losing of loved ones on the battle front as well as at home with the air bombings. Most of us have the same thing in common, we put aside the horrors of war to remember the good things that came out of it.
Significantly, most remember how spirited we were, I guess because we were all in the same boat – and truly – depending if your glass is half full or half empty. For me the spirit of the time had never gone. We can surely rekindle all that was good then. Materially we are much better off now, but spiritually, emotionally – are we the happier because of the way we now live?
I clearly remember wash day Monday’s when we all had to scatter, get out of mum’s way. She spent the whole day over a copper, boiling and washing, then mangling it all before she pegged it out on the line. Then in the evening we would have the left over from the Sunday joint which, somehow we seemed to afford, along with bubble and squeak (left over cabbage and potatoes) we had it cold with pickles and a steaming suet pudding to follow – which kept us growing boys in good stead.
Friday’s was bath day. It was in the kitchen next to the copper – we pulled up a hinged table which covered it and latched it to the wall. The copper we used for hot water to fill the bath with saucepans. We would all jump in one after the other, the whole family, topping up the water between to heat it up.
The toilet was outside and in the winter you made your visit as brief as possible. Sometimes our windows were iced up on the inside, the winter’s seemed much more harsh then. We had open coal fires but to help the economy we chopped up logs and I remember how we used to toast crumpets and chestnuts over a log fire. By picking up acorns for the pigs dropped from the numerous Oak trees, we could make some pocket money, five shillings per cwt from the local pig farmer.
Most of us kept hens and cockerels in hutches for eggs and meat and our gardens were full with all manner of vegetables. There was really something to work hard for, to help dad with the garden and cherish the produce, it was an achievement. All these things, the good things I particularly remember about the forties, during and after the war when we still had rationing for a while.
Like most mums mine worked so hard then because everything was manual, but somehow she always seemed happy enough, she sacrificed so much for us kids but she was strict too, and many times I felt the weight of the copper stick across my behind, I must have deserved it yet, looking back, I thank her for teaching me the values so important then.
I had about a mile to walk to school, but most kids walked then unless they had a bicycle. It was all part of the way we were, meeting our pals enroute no matter what the weather. Most of us had ‘macs’ if it rained and when we got to school, we all had our own lockers and places to hang our clothes. And then, going to our classes, we remained there, no moving from class to class then, the teachers came to you. We would all have our own individual desks and there never seemed any worry about pilfering. If there was the Head would take it very seriously and the necessary punishment of the cane was firmly administered to the culprit.
Indeed, if we talked or misbehaved in class, it would often be two or three lashes of the cane across the palms. Being the ‘tough guy’ I purposely misbehaved just to show off in front of the girls I could take the cane. But a certain new teacher, a Welshman called Mr. Samuel, cured me of that, we wore short trousers then until we were fourteen, he made me bend over between his knees, pulled up the trouser leg and gave me three of the best. I was so embarrassed, in front of a mixed class too, I was always well behaved from her on then.
Mind you I think he went too far because one of my friends Dad came along and punched him on the nose for doing the same to his son. And after that we all had to report to the head for punishment.
But I do strongly feel the way we were brought up then taught us how to properly behave, to value the morals and high respect for our fellow beings as well as each other.
In the early part of the war, when the air raids started, the shelters were still being built. We were thankful that a communal shelter in the local recreation ground was completed.
With our neighbours, we used to tramp down to the shelter, a good half mile away, with a large cart loaded with bedding and one would spend the night there. Despite the awful circumstances we then all shared, spirits were high: sing-songs in the shelter every night, everybody did their bit. Their was always a comedian to keep our chins up. We youngsters enjoyed every minute. It was an adventure. From our perspective it was an adventure because we were too young to understand how it was for the grown ups.
A shelter was built in the street which saved us the regular trek to the recreation ground. I missed all the friends we had made at the recreation ground but we soon made more. We then progressed to the luxury of an Anderson shelter built in our back garden.
Ironically, when bombs fell nearby, we were all in the house. I remember a huge thud which seemed to last forever. For the first time in my life I was really frightened for my life, but dad kept reassuring us it would soon be all over. A direct hit had destroyed two houses in what we called “the bend” in Hampden Road. Our windows were blown in with the blast of the bomb but we came out without a scratch.
During that night my mother, expecting another child, went into premature labour. While my elder brother rushed to the telephone kiosk to call the midwife, my father frantically cleared fragments of glass in the bedroom. God was watching over us that night; the bombing stopped, the all-clear sounded and I was presented with a new brother.
Hampden Road suffered no further hits during the war. A landmine parachuted into the grounds of the nearby Kodak works one night. My father was on night-watch there. Fortunately it didn’t explode.
We collected bits of shrapnel and compared our finds before storing them in biscuit tins. Without a sense of humour life would have been unbearable. There was always someone to help a less fortunate neighbour; unsung heroes were in plenty..
Later in the war Hitler turned his secret weapons on us. In broadcasts from Germany Lord Haw Haw warned us of the destruction the weapon could bring.
One if these, the V1 pilotless flying bomb – nicknamed the Doodlebug – came down in a steep hill on Harrow Weald Common. My pals and I were playing nearby and fearlessly ran to the spot. Its nose was buried deep into the ground but it had not exploded. We ventured nearer, but were send packing by the Civil Defense who erected a barbed wire barrier around it.
A prisoner- of- war camp for Italian prisoners was sited in the field at the rear of our house.. Having heard about the German camps. I could not understand why the prisoners had so much freedom. I guess we were brought up to believe our enemies were like creatures from another planet. I soon discovered they were like us.
Some of them treated us kindly, and my pal and I spent an hour sharing tea with a prisoner through the barbed wire. Afterwards they were all allowed to venture out. Some of our neighbours sympathized with them and invited them to tea. Most of them seemed confused. They could not understand why they were at war with Britain and blamed Mussolini.
Although the war was horrible I will always remember and cherish the great spirit shown by the people of all ages. Peace was grand but a certain spirit of companionship and selflessness had gone forever.
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QUEEN OF MISFORTUNE
A Lady Jane Grey Novel by Peter Carroll
A Love Story of Almost Shakespearean Dimension!
Queen Of Misfortune is the fictional story of Lady Jane Grey as told by her beloved tutor, John Aylmer. At the time of her execution a stranger is recorded to have assisted her when, blind folded, she lost her way upon the scaffold. Was it the same ‘stranger’ who was also recorded to have visited her when she was imprisoned in the Tower? Little is known of this unfortunate girl who was beheaded for treason in the 16th Century. She was only 16. She is omitted from the list of monarchs but was actually queen for nine days. Author Peter Carroll, in his novel, follows John Aylmer’s close relationship with Jane as her tutor and later, as she grows up, her lover. [More...]
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