my ww2 childhood memories written by ted prangnell · 2019-10-23 · my ww2 childhood memories...

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My WW2 Childhood Memories Written by Ted Prangnell Introduction I was born in 1934, so in 1940 I would have been about 6 years old when the first enemy activity was recalled. I was too young to keep a diary, and whilst I do remember quite a lot, I am unable to put a positive date to all of these recollections. They are not necessarily recorded in any particular order, nor can I guarantee that they are all 100% accurate. However Kent County Council Archives have hand written reports from various local ARP Wardens on record, which put a date and time to many of the incidents that Ted recalls; which (he says) proves that he didn't make it all up! Once one gets into committing one's memories to paper, the old brain is stimulated, stirring up more and more recollections, which come to the surface - however, some of these memories are now rather vague. The same applies when one chats to people of the same age or older. A few of those memories that appear in this document may not be directly related to War activities, but hopefully will reflect what life was like for us youngsters during that period, and just after the war was over. I realise (to my surprise) that I can relate to odd incidents in that go back to when I was about 3 years old (i.e.: 1937), certainly at a time which was before Childsbridge Lane was widened, and that was before the war. We lived at 29 ("Wendy") Childsbridge Lane, Kemsing, Near Sevenoaks, Kent. We were fortunate to be one of the few homes to have the luxury of a telephone, as our telephone number, 'Seal 79', will illustrate. The telephone-exchange was in a small building by the recreation ground in Seal. There was no dialling system. One simply picked up the handset, waited for the operator to ask you for the number you required, and then she would make the connection by plugging you into her switchboard by hand. The village policeman was based in the 'Police House' at Otford, situated near the village pond. His name was Mr. Parris (Ernie). He always appeared smartly dressed, very erect, and he always looked very serious. He wore the usual policeman's uniform, but with a peaked hat, and black gaiters. He got about his patch on an upright, regulation police bicycle, which may have had a Sturmey-Archer three- speed (That detail I can't remember). Once to my horror and surprise, he caught my mother cycling down the footpath, which runs at the at the side of St Edith's well, down to the Post Office, thereby, taking a short cut from Mr Wellbeloved's, the butcher's shop. Mr Parris gave her a sharp telling off. I couldn't believe that anybody would dare tell my mother off! Later I discovered that he was really quite a nice, and fair, chap underneath his outwardly severe exterior.

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Page 1: My WW2 Childhood Memories Written by Ted Prangnell · 2019-10-23 · My WW2 Childhood Memories Written by Ted Prangnell Introduction I was born in 1934, so in 1940 I would have been

My WW2 Childhood Memories

Written by Ted Prangnell

Introduction

I was born in 1934, so in 1940 I would have been about 6 years old when the first enemy activity was

recalled. I was too young to keep a diary, and whilst I do remember quite a lot, I am unable to put a

positive date to all of these recollections. They are not necessarily recorded in any particular order,

nor can I guarantee that they are all 100% accurate. However Kent County Council Archives have

hand written reports from various local ARP Wardens on record, which put a date and time to many of

the incidents that Ted recalls; which (he says) proves that he didn't make it all up!

Once one gets into committing one's memories to paper, the old brain is stimulated, stirring up more

and more recollections, which come to the surface - however, some of these memories are now

rather vague. The same applies when one chats to people of the same age or older. A few of those

memories that appear in this document may not be directly related to War activities, but hopefully will

reflect what life was like for us youngsters during that period, and just after the war was over.

I realise (to my surprise) that I can relate to odd incidents in that go back to when I was about 3 years

old (i.e.: 1937), certainly at a time which was before Childsbridge Lane was widened, and that was

before the war.

We lived at 29 ("Wendy") Childsbridge Lane, Kemsing, Near Sevenoaks, Kent.

We were fortunate to be one of the few homes to have the luxury of a telephone, as our telephone

number, 'Seal 79', will illustrate. The telephone-exchange was in a small building by the recreation

ground in Seal. There was no dialling system. One simply picked up the handset, waited for the

operator to ask you for the number you required, and then she would make the connection by

plugging you into her switchboard by hand.

The village policeman was based in the 'Police House' at Otford, situated near the village pond. His

name was Mr. Parris (Ernie). He always appeared smartly dressed, very erect, and he always looked

very serious. He wore the usual policeman's uniform, but with a peaked hat, and black gaiters. He got

about his patch on an upright, regulation police bicycle, which may have had a Sturmey-Archer three-

speed (That detail I can't remember). Once to my horror and surprise, he caught my mother cycling

down the footpath, which runs at the at the side of St Edith's well, down to the Post Office, thereby,

taking a short cut from Mr Wellbeloved's, the butcher's shop. Mr Parris gave her a sharp telling off. I

couldn't believe that anybody would dare tell my mother off!

Later I discovered that he was really quite a nice, and fair, chap underneath his outwardly severe

exterior.

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I was prompted to write this account of what I could remember of World War Two after a discussion

with my son (Who was then 37 year old in 2001); who, during our discussion, happened to remark:

"Well of course, nothing much ever happened around here". How wrong he was! Kent wasn't known

as: "Hell Fire Corner" without good reason.

ILLUSTRATIONS. Most of the illustrations are drawn from memory, and some of the scenes are only

a rough representation of some of the dramas that took place. They are drawn with considerable

artist's-licence. The proportions, and scale, are generally fairly inaccurate. I have taken some

photographs of military vehicles, which were preserved vehicles on display at various shows, etc. Part

of a formation of some sixty Heinkel bombers, which had just passed over Kemsing village, flying at

low altitude. They came under attack as they flew overhead, when we were in the 100 acre field*,

which was situated between Beechy Lees, and Childsbridge Lane. The hills in the background are

supposed to be Pol Hill, and Fort Halstead; towards which, the bombers were heading. The 'cloud'

(Orange coloured) in the middle of the picture, was, I believe, a Heinkel Bomber exploding. It was on

fire as it crossed our field of vision, from right to left. The parachutist in the scene was the last of the

three crew members that we saw bail out;

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Illustration showing part of a large formation of maybe a hundred enemy bombers, which had just

flown low over Kemsing, and may have been heading for Biggin-Hill airfield. It came under attack

immediately above us, standing in the stubble of our 100 acre cornfield in front of our home. 5

parachutes left the just before it exploded into a great ball of fire.

The crew bailed out just before the aircraft exploded, and they descended, by parachute, into St.

Michael's School grounds. The plane was blown to smithereens in mid air. I suppose parts of it must

have come down somewhere.

When we first saw the bombers approaching us, they were flying low, and heading up the valley

towards Biggin Hill. The 'attack' involved hundreds of aircraft. For example: on the 15th of August

1940, no less than 500 bombers attacked Kent, and they were accompanied by 1250 fighters - which

are huge numbers by today's standards. The 15th of August was a Friday, and we were returning from

Russell House school (which was then situated at the bottom of 'The Chase' ~ it was a cul-du-sac

then), so one can deduce from that, that, that day, must have been a working day, or for us: a school

day. West Malling Airfield (which was not that far away) was attacked on the 15th, but I don't know if

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Biggin Hill was. The main attack on Biggin Hill was in the 18th, which was a Sunday, and yet again on

the 19th (A Monday). There was another raid on Biggin Hill, by a small force of Junkers, on the 30th of

August.

I haven't been able to resolve this puzzle, because in August we would normally have been on holiday

from school. I suppose the exact date isn't that important, and raids of one sort or another, were

taking place all the time.

* The 100 acre field that we knew then, is now an estate of houses, which comprises what were

originally mostly council houses, with private (some self built) ones developed later. The 100 acre now

has several residential roads on it, e.g. Northdown Road, Collet Road, Highfield Road, etc.

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Chapter 1

FIRST BOMBING RAID

My father was still living at home, and I am fairly sure that he had not yet 'joined-up' at this early stage

of the war.

My brother and I started to realise that something was up. I remember that the front door was open.

There was a bit of a commotion outside, and we saw my parents in an agitated state, and pointing

skywards, with outstretched arms. It was a bright and sunny day. Two or three aircraft were flying

fairly low in the distance towards Sevenoaks. They didn't look very big, nor did they look at all

threatening to me. When my parents realised that we were also outside, and trying to see what the

excitement was all about, they hustled us back indoors in a panic. They insisted that we should each

have a cork, from a bottle, and hold it between our teeth, and then we were told to stay under the

enamel-topped kitchen table (For our protection!). Well we didn't want to miss the 'fun', so we

disobeyed 'orders', and followed them back out to the drive, at the front of the house. We were just in

time to see the aircraft drop some bombs, they looked tiny in the distance. We heard some bangs, but

they weren't very loud, and for us boys, it all seemed to be a big fuss about nothing much in particular.

I realised later that the target was probably the Maidstone bound Railway line, and, or, the rail junction

near Bat & Ball, Sevenoaks, or so I thought at the time. I have subsequently discovered that on one

bombing raid, a bomb damaged the Gasometer situated off Cramptons Road, near Bat and Ball. That

could, of course have been a different raid.

AIR RAID SHELTER

Quite early on in the war, possibly after the first bombing raid, there was some debate at home

between my parents, whether or not, we should have an Air-Raid Shelter. My father drew up some

sketch plans for an underground shelter, with steps starting to go down from inside our small 'glass'(!)

conservatory. This was never proceeded with. Nor were we ever made to bite on corks again, or get

under the kitchen table.

We didn't have a shelter, all through the war, nor did several of our neighbours. My mother was pretty

convinced that we were not going to get hit. She said that, things like that didn't happen to us - only to

other people. It was her philosophy that: if a bullet has your name on it, there is nothing you are going

to be able to do to stop it.

However, one of our next-door neighbours bricked up their front porch of their bungalow to create a

'shelter'. Number 31(?). It was removed after the war. Access into the house, was through the leant-to

conservatory, and the backdoor which was within it.

GASMASKS

I went with my mother to a house in a lane coming off the Pilgrim's Way, which was just east of the

drive up to the house called the 'Dial'. It was a black and white, sort of mock-Tudor style house, set in

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what had been a small chalk quarry. There I was 'fitted' for a gas mask. I hated wearing it. Fortunately

I never had to in earnest, and I rarely, if ever carried the thing about with me. As far as I can

remember, few of us ever did. Though I think we were supposed to. Although people of that time are

always pictured doing so.

EVACUATION

I can't remember if my parents were offered the option, or maybe, I didn't know anything about it, but

I'm sure we would have stuck it out at home. As we did.

The London County Council sent evacuees into Kent. I understand that several were accommodated

at St. Clere.

THE BLITZ

The Blitz of London was part of our experience. We were only 25 miles from London, and must have

been on the flight-path for many of the raids. The Blitz took place at night, and I believe it went on for

57 consecutive nights. Even to this day, if a propeller driven aircraft flies overhead at night, it still stirs

those childhood memories of night bombing. As it also does to my German born wife; Mechtild: "It

sounds like one of yours", we say to each other when we lay in bed at night, listening.

Some of the German Bombers however, had a very distinctive throbbing sound - a sound never to be

forgotten and later, the noise of a Doodlebug was also a sound never to be forgotten). The German

Junkers Bombers were fitted with supercharged diesel engines, and it was these engines, which gave

rise to their eerie throbbing sound. The Rolls Royce Merlin's sound was music to our ears, and still is!

We frequently went outside and watched. There were searchlight beams searching the sky, and

occasionally we would see aircraft as they were caught in a light beam. Then several beams would

concentrate on that one, and the anti-aircraft guns would blast away at it.

The Ack-Ack guns made a distinctive sound, a sound, which I rather liked. I suppose they were a bit

reassuring that something was being done to stop the enemy. And, we often saw red tracer shells

going up into the night sky. The nights were so much blacker then, than they are now, because no

other lights allowed - The blackout was strictly enforced. We also occasionally heard the whiz of

shrapnel - pieces of which, all schoolboys collected. Prized items were shell nose cones. We also

collected incendiary-bomb fins, so many that we had two large hessian potato sacks full, which we

stored in the garage; that is: until my mother made us get rid of them. Shame!

I am convinced that many a bomber crew dropped their bombs before they got to the target, and

'scarperred' back home again to safety. No one would have been any the wiser in the dark. Or, they

dropped them to lighten the aircraft to gain height (To get to a 'safer' altitude). Who could blame

them? There were many bomb-craters in fields and woods around us, which had obviously way off a

proper target.

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We lived in a house; there were bungalows on either side of us. There were no houses at the front,

only a large field (the 100 acre), and another smaller field at the back. Old pre-war photographs show

very clearly, that there were few trees of any size, and largely open fields surrounding our home then

- things have changed an awful lot since. There were bungalows either side of us. So, from upstairs,

we had a fairly unrestricted view all around us. During the time of the blitz, each morning when we got

up the first thing I remember doing, was to look out of each of the upstairs windows to see who, if

anybody, had been 'hit'. Because, many of the bangs in the night had seemed to be so loud, and so

close, one could have imagined that the bombs had fallen in our garden. However, only once, after I

had looked out of the landing window, did I see that a house had been badly hit at the top of our road.

Fortunately the family was not seriously hurt. The story was; they had been sheltering under their

stairs. What little that was left of the house had to be demolished, and it was rebuilt after the war was

over. There was a large beech tree, on the opposite side of the road, the Pilgrims Way. It stood in the

grounds of Falconers Down). The blast blew several pieces of timber, and a door, high up into this

tree, where they were firmly lodged. Some of these bits were still lodged up there, long after the war

was over.

One night, we were outside at the front gate watching the action - or what we could see of it. My

mother was talking to a man. It was pitch dark, and so I couldn't actually see him. I only knew he was

there, because I could hear them chatting. He was the ARP. (Air Raid Precautions) Warden. We

heard the loud screech of a bomb descending, terminating in a very loud bang. It interrupted the

adults' conversation for a moment, and I remember my mother casually remarked: "That was a near

one", and they carried on talking as if nothing had happened!

One night a lot of incendiary bombs landed on the hill (The Downs) above Kemsing, and the woods

were set on fire. As kids we spent a lot of time playing, and wandering, up on the hill, and we were

very upset that the enemy had dared to set fire to our woods! The next morning we went up the hill to

review the damage. These fires hadn't been that serious, and all of them had gone out by the

morning.

This following event, only went to confirm to my mother, that she was right with her theory, that if ones

name happened to be on the bomb, and your number was up, then there was nothing you could do to

about it, wherever you may be.

DIRECT HIT ON WHAT WAS; ISOLATED LODGE (No. 3)

The destruction of North Lodge, of St. Clere Estate, Heverham, is included in the section on V1s.

LIVE INCENDIARY BOMB

One day on one of my wanderings I found an incendiary bomb in the stream (Childs Brook - or Guzzle

Brook - The source of which, is the 'lake' at Lower St. Clere), which flows along the valley as a

tributary of the River Darenth. I took the intact incendiary bomb home – it was quite a prize! Then, on

to my school friend's house (Percy Lodge), which was on the Pilgrim's Way, near Cotman's Ash

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cross-roads, Heverham. His name was John Hall, and if I remember correctly Peter Hamlyn, who

lived in the Landway, was there too. We took the incendiary to John's large shed in the orchard. We

tried to open the bomb up, I was scared and kept well back, but they were unsuccessful. So the

others decided to drill a hole in it! Although it was only a hand drill, the tip of the drill got hot, and a

bright purple flame appeared. The magnesium casing had caught fire! I ran away in panic, like a

scalded cat, to warn John's Mother down at the house. She was horrified, and rushed back to the

shed, and she made them stop what they were doing. John and Peter weren't very pleased with me.

And, of course I was a "scaredy-cat". Looking back now, I reckon it was I who had done the right

thing.

PLANE CRASHES

I saw a few. I was horrified when I saw, what I was pretty sure, was a Spitfire, in an absolutely vertical

dive. It had a stream of smoke coming from it. It went down straight into the ground nose first.

Somewhere in the direction of Wrotham - it was one of ours! Sadly I didn't see any parachute from it

either. There were a few others that we saw go down in the far distance, but too far away to be

identifiable.

I saw an orange coloured an Airspeed Oxford (a trainer?) (There is one of exactly the same colour on

display, suspended from the roof of a hangar at the Imperial War Museum, Duxford) go down at the

back of Oxen-Hill Road, I went down to have a look and it did not appear to have been badly

damaged.

One day, I was walking on the Downs above Kemsing, near Shore-Hill Farm, with my Father who was

home on leave, when a Spitfire flew very low, and quite close above us. I noticed that there was a

small stream of smoke coming from the engine. I said to my Father: "It's going to crash!" He pooh-

poohed the idea, but we watched it go down into the valley, and my Father followed it with his

binoculars. Sure enough it did crash. It made a belly-landing close to the nut wood off Childsbridge

lane. The M26 motorway now runs close to where that spot was.

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There was a story going around at the time that a local ARP. Warden had rushed to the scene, and

had died of a heart attack. I remember that he normally used to walk around slowly with a bent back

and his arms behind him, holding his hands together, from which extended a lead to a little black

Scottie dog; which dawdled along behind him. He wore a raincoat and a trilby or homburg hat. I

certainly never saw him again after that incident. Unfortunately I can't remember his name.

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Chapter 2

The Big Air Battle

We were walking home from school. It was, I suppose, a primary school called 'Russell House

School', which was then situated at the bottom of the Chase (then a cul-de-sac), and which

subsequently moved to Station Road Otford). We were walking across the field of stubble (the corn

had been cut so it may have been late August. If the corn hadn't been harvested, then we would not

have been able to walk directly across it), and it was a warm sunny day. There may have been three

of us children, and one mother walking together. It was a large field, which extended, unbroken, from

the school to Childsbridge Lane, where we lived (it was the "100 acre"). It was not level. We came

over the crown of a slight rise in the field, and the lane came into view. Ahead of us was another

child's mother, who was approaching, or coming to meet us. Then we saw (And heard), ahead of us

(towards the East), a large formation of aircraft approaching, they were flying low. Suddenly one of

the mothers shouted earnestly (I can't remember which one): "They are not ours! They are not ours!"

And we were soon able to see the markings, which confirmed that fact to us in no uncertain terms, as

they flew low over us.

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"They are not ours! ... They are not ours!"

Shortly after they had passed over us, a tremendous air battle broke out, there was so much activity

that it was impossible really to define what was exactly happening, or who was who. However, a

German bomber came round to fly across our field of view, it was on fire. As it came round three

parachutes emerged from the aircraft as the crew bailed out, one by one. The last one to appear,

seemed to us, to be rather lanky, and I remember someone among the adults commenting, that he

was rather tall to be the rear-gunner. Very soon after he had left the aircraft there was a huge orange

flash, and the plane exploded. It just disintegrated into small fragments - one moment it was there, the

next it had apparently vanished before our very eyes. It was simply blown to pieces.

.

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It was simply blown to pieces.

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the crew parachuting into the school's grounds. We watched the parachutes fall slowly, and as they descended, they drifted northwards into the

(extensive) grounds of St. Michael's School, which were at the foot of the Downs, situated between

Kemsing, and Otford.

Notes:

Sunday the 18thof August 1940 was described as the 'Hardest Day' in the book of that name by

Alford Price (Macdonald & James, London). On that day 60 Heinkel 111s attacked Biggin Hill airfield,

and they were supported by 40 fighters (Messerschmidt 109s), which adds up to a lot of aircraft (and

that is not counting our defending fighters). There were a lot, but my sketch doesn't show how many. I

was only six years old at the time, and it is a long time ago. I realise that the particular incident I refer

to when a bomber exploded, could not have been on a Sunday if I was coming home from school.

The timing is probably correct, because we would have finished at lunchtime at the Russel House

Primary school. There was another biggish raid, attacking Biggin-Hill, on the Friday the 30th. I would

think, almost certainly that, I must have witnessed both raids, and there were other skirmishes going

on all the time, though maybe not on such a grand scale. I am only confident that the enemy bombers

were He 111s., and that there were a lot of them. I don't think anybody thought about trying to count

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them! I suppose it may seem a bit strange that with all that flack flying around, we should be outside,

and stand, and watch it. It was a spectacle that I shall never forget, so I am glad that I did witness it.

We must have then finished up standing around in a group on the grass-verge at the front of our

house. I suppose we watched the last elements of the battle fizzle out, which probably didn't last very

long within our sphere of vision; and we were probably reviewing what we had seen, and wondering

what was going to happen about the parachuted German airmen: when a small pick-up vehicle

arrived. I think it was a Hillman 8, or 10. (Horse Power), or it could have been an Austin. It had a

canvass top at the back, and four soldiers sat in the back.

They could well have been Home-guard. I can only remember seeing one of them holding a Lee-

Enfield rifle. The vehicle stopped, and they asked if we had seen the parachutes, and if we had seen

where had they fallen? Of course we eagerly told them that we had, and where. Off they went,

heading up to Childsbridge Lane, and turning in the direction of the School grounds.

Low level attacks on Biggin Hill Airfield took place on the 19th and 30th August 1940. The formations

were heading in the direction of Biggin Hill, though Fort Halstead was also directly in their path, and

that could also have been a potential target.

I have since taken the photographs of a preserved WW2 vehicle, which was on display at

Woodchurch Air show, 2001. They appear on another page.

LOST SCHOOL FRIEND?

When I was at the Preparatory School in Sevenoaks, I arranged to meet a friend at the weekend, he

lived in a ragstone cottage at the top of Watery Lane. This lane ran up from Kemsing Station past

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'Stone pits'. I cycled there on my single gear, 20" diameter wheeled, Norman bicycle*. When I arrived,

all that remained of the cottage was a heap of rubble. It must have received a direct hit. I think this

friend's name was 'Golding', we only used surnames at school (Sevenoaks Preparatory), and I didn't

know him that well. We had only recently struck up a friendship. I never found out what happened to

'Golding'. The only explanation that anybody offered me at the time was that he had gone away. He

certainly didn't show up at school again.

There were some buildings called Chart Lodge next-door to Golding's cottage (Chart Corner

Cottage?), and this housed an army HQ, this could have been the intended target, or it may just have

been a random bomb.

The cottage was later rebuilt, more-or-less exactly as it was.

* Incidentally the very elderly widow of the owner of Norman cycles, until recently, still lived in our

(Canterbury) road.

DIRECT HIT ON ISOLATED COTTAGE No. 2

I was walking on the Downs with a friend and heading home via Clarks Bottom (or 'Clark's Green'),

which is between Woodlands and Cotman's Ash. It was a hot day and we were thirsty. We went

through a white 5-bar-gate to take the track that led through, what we called, the 'Foxglove Wood'.

This was on one of our walking routes, which went from Clark's Bottom (As we knew it), through

Beechy Lees Wood/Carpenter's Wood, along to Shore Hill, which would bring us down Chalky lane

(Shore Hill) across the Pilgrim's Way, to Childsbridge Lane, and home.

Just through a white 5-bar-gate from Clarke's Bottom (Clarke's Green), stood an isolated flint, and rag

stone, cottage. I knocked on the door to ask for a drink of water. A man with a strong foreign accent

came to the door, and he went back and fetched us two mugs of water. Each one was a souvenir

mug, which may have been decorated to commemorate the Coronation of George the V1th.?

The 'Royal' mugs had impressed me, and I thought suggested that the man was a genuinely

dedicated loyal subject, despite his foreign accent.

We carried on home, through Beach Lees Wood, and Carpenter's Woo, which led to another white 5-

bar-gate, which was on the approach road to "Treacle Towers" (later: 'Hildenborough Hall'/Otford

Manor). Then home by going down to Childsbridge Lane via Shore Hill, and part of 'Chalky Lane'. It

was quite a long walk for us youngsters, but we did a lot of walking then.

I can't remember how long afterwards, but in real terms it couldn't have been that long, we happened

to come past that cottage again - or, rather, what little there was left of it: - for it was just a heap of

rubble. However quietly tucked away in the countryside it was, that was no guarantee of its safety. We

searched around amongst the rubble, and I had hoped that I might find a fragment of the Coronation

Mugs, but I was unsuccessful.

That such an isolated cottage should have been hit showed that nowhere was entirely safe, and that

perhaps my mother was right - if your name happens to be on a particular bullet, or indeed a bomb,

then there was nothing you could do to escape it. Which was, or so I am led to believe, by a certain

Len Barton (now in his 80s), a point emphasised to pre-war Territorial Army recruits.

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LONE RAIDER (Hit and Run Raid?) - 5 DEAD

It was during the day. I was outside our property standing on the roadside berm (grass verge) when I

spotted a lone, slim, German Dornier bomber. It was flying on a line directly above the Pilgrim's Way,

from East to West. It was sufficiently close enough for me to see, much to my surprise, the bomb-bay

doors open. At that moment it was at this point between the Landway, and Childsbridge Lane. Then, I

saw a long cylindrical object leave the plane. It was an aerial-torpedo. This 'torpedo' seemed to take

an extraordinary long time, and travel a considerable distance, before it hit the ground. A bit like a

missile. I lost sight of it as it went over the rise of my immediate horizon, heading towards Otford. That

rise was at about Beechy Lees Road. In the distance a plume of dust, and debris, shot into the air,

and then I heard the bang. We certainly soon learnt that sound travels more slowly than light, or sight.

I went down to Otford, via the Pilgrim's Way, on my bicycle, where I eventually discovered that the

torpedo had hit a row of houses in Leonard Avenue, where the Woodman Public House stood on the

corner. Several houses were destroyed and others badly damaged. I understood that five people

were killed.

Leonard Avenue is about two miles away from where the bomb had been released, but it is less than

a quarter of a mile away from Otford Railway Station, which I assume, must have been the intended

target. There was no other obvious target that I could think of in the area at that time. Aerial Bombing

in those days was not very accurate.

The Dornier releasing the aerial-torpedo (The Dornier was known as the 'Flying Pencil)

HOUSE FRONT BLOWN AWAY - AT SEAL

I was in Seal, and saw a house in the upper High Street (above Childsbridge Lane, and the Fawk

Common Road junction), the whole front of the house had been blown away. It was probably the

same house that was damaged in August 1994 by a run-away lorry

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HOUSES DAMAGED IN SEAL HOLLOW ROAD

One morning, as I was cycling to school, I noticed that some houses were damaged in Seal Hollow

Road, near the Bayham Road junction. I would usually cycle up, or get off and walk up, Bayham, or

Serpentine Road, to get to my Preparatory School in Vine Court Road.

Another day, closer to school, as I cycled along the upper, and level, part of Bayham Road; I came to

a point where the road descended to the dangerous, and complex, five-way junction with Hollybush

Lane. I was running a bit late, and decided to take advantage of the short downhill slope, and 'chance-

it', to ride straight across the dangerous blind junction (there was a ragstone wall, which restricted

vision) without stopping, and ignore the 'HALT' sign. There wasn't so much traffic about in those days,

so the risk was fairly slight. But, before I got there, a large policeman on a bike came swinging round

the corner from Hollybush Lane, right into my path, and we collided. There we were, both of us lying

spread-eagled in the road. Horror of horrors! I went in fear, and trembling of Policemen, children really

respected their authority in those days. Not only had I knocked a policeman off his bike, but his

helmet had come off as well! It lay in the road not too far from my bicycle pump, which had become

detached through the collision. "It was: down to the 'nick' for me - what would my parents think?! Their

son blatantly failing to stop at a Halt-Sign?.

I watched the policeman slowly pick himself up. He gathered up his helmet, smoothed his thin hair -

(don't policemen look different without their helmet on?). He brushed himself down, straightened his

uniform; and then he picked up my pump. The dreaded moment had arrived. He walked over to me:

"Hey! sonny, are you alright?" He said in a sympathetic tone. This didn't sound at all like the angry

Policeman I had expected! Even more surprising; he helped me up to my feet, and brushed me down

saying in a friendly voice: "I'm terribly sorry old son, I cut the corner - it was my fault."!

His fault? I was dazed. I was amazed: 'His fault?'

I was a bit shaken and hurt, and I noticed that my bike's front mudguard was bent, but I didn't say

anything. I didn't want to delay him. If he had hung about too long he might have changed his mind.

So I said that I was OK.

'His fault' - 'cut the corner'? Well, come to think about it: he had cut the corner! I hadn't quite got to the

HALT LINE when he ran into ME! So he wouldn't have realised my 'criminal intent' - Phew! What a let

off! He was full of apologies, and kept asking if I was sure that I was all right. He put my pump back in

its place on my bike. Now I even had an excuse for being late to school! And, what a tale I had to tell

everybody at school. I could say to the teacher, in front of the whole class, that a policeman had

crashed into me and knocked me off my bicycle!

I suppose that I was about 10 to 12 years old at the time.

EMERGENCY SERVICES

Police cars were a very rare sight indeed, especially out in the villages. What Police cars there were,

were Wolsely Saloons, and MG. Two-seater sports cars ~ all of them were painted plain black. Except

for Mr (Sgt.) Paris's in Otford, he was occasionally seen driving a Ford 8 (8 Horse Power - side valve

engine). They did not have a siren nor did they have flashing lights. What they did have, however,

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was a small chromium bell mounted on the front bumper, which operated electrically. The bell wasn't

very loud.

Civilian ambulances were white, or cream. They had the same bell as Police cars, whilst fire-engines

usually had a large brass bell, which had a rope dangling from the clanger, and which was rung

earnestly by hand by one of the crew on board the engine. It was louder, and subject to the

enthusiasm of the crew, could be made to sound quit urgent. The fire vehicles were painted the usual

red.

There was no 999 emergency telephone system. With most phones you couldn't dial anyway, but had

to ask the operator for the emergency services.

The nearest Doctor's surgery then was in the next village of Otford. As was the Chemist and

Pharmacy (next to the Woodman Public House). If the doctor made a house call one of us would have

to walk or cycle to Otford, and back, or walk, to collect the prescription.

My brother and I, and our local pal/neighbour (next door but one) David Bridge would have had

Measles (I remember that I had to stay in bed with the curtains drawn), Chicken Pox, and Mumps. In

the latter case my face, and neck was very swollen, and the doctor said that it was: "Good Old

Fashioned Mumps". Perhaps, some of these afflictions would have meant that I didn't go to school

when I was thus affected. I had a scarf tied up round my face. All these complaints are now injected

against, and most of today's children escape these illnesses.

SEVENOAKS

The town was very different then, to what it is now. A high protective wall, which was built up with

sandbags, protected the Police station, and Seal Hollow Road had steel barriers staggered across the

road roughly at the junction of Seal Hollow Road with Hollybush Lane. There was much less traffic,

and few traffic lights. In those days, perhaps not so prevalent in Sevenoaks itself, policemen on 'Point

duty', often directed traffic by hand. And, there were no flashing direction-indicators on motor vehicles,

though some had a illuminated semaphore arm, which swung out at the turn of a switch (if you were

lucky – they weren't very reliable), otherwise most people driving would use hand signals. Most cars

had a single rear light, and no braking lights; and so it was necessary for drivers to give a slowing

down signal, by sticking the right arm fully out of the driver's window, with the hand flat, and waving

the arm up and down. The indication for turning left was made by signalling in a circular clockwise

movement out of the window, and: turning to the right, was indicated by sticking ones right arm

straight out of the window. So, whatever the weather, one had to frequently have the window open.

Sevenoaks Library was in the Drive (just off the High Street). There was also a small museum in

some of the rooms of the same building, and I vaguely remember seeing an unexploded (defused)

parachute landmine on display there. Another one fell, and exploded in the St. Johns area. Several

were dropped in April 1941. There was some talk of a landmine, or 'parachute-mine', having got

entangled round a lamppost in the town and thereby had not been detonated, and it may have been

that one, that was on display in the library - I can't be sure.

Another one fell, and exploded in the St. Johns area, on the North side of Sevenoaks.

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Next door to the library, to the rear of the church, was a hall that housed the 'British Restaurant'.

British Restaurants were set up in most towns. They provided cheap (9d. = 4.5 pence!), basic meals,

and it was where I was supposed to go for my lunch - often I didn't. The food wasn't very good, and

what sticks in my mind particularly, was the custard, it was 'inedible'! Children of today thrown into the

same situation would be in for a shock, but they would be all the healthier for it (That and the greater

exercise). Generally there was little or no choice; one ate what one was given, or we would have to go

without!

There was a lot of military traffic movement in those days, especially up to the period leading up to the

preparations for the D-Day invasion. A small army fuel-tanker truck lost control whilst it was going

down St. John's Hill, and it crashed right into a shop through the front display plate-glass window.

Only the rear end of the vehicle was sticking out of the shop.

There were other bits of bomb-damage around Sevenoaks town, and some serious incidents too

which will be well recorded elsewhere. It wasn't until the V2 entered the fray that really large scale

damage occurred, notable in my recollection was at St. Johns, when several houses were destroyed

in Wickenden Road, and many more damaged; 9 people died in this attack. Quite a few V2s. dropped

all around Sevenoaks.

Private cars were a rare sight. We did see the occasional car with a gas-bag on the roof, and

commercial vehicles towing a trailer with a fuel gas generator on it. A good bus service kept running,

and the fare from Kemsing to Sevenoaks, was 3D (3 old pence = 1½p.). We would either use the

normal bus service, to get to school, or more generally, cycle.

I vaguely recollect that Knole Park was closed to the public during the war, possibly because of the

large number of military vehicles that were stored in the Park.

YELLOW-NOSED MESSERSCHMITT 109

We had a large garden (½ an acre). In it were several tall poplar trees, of the tall Lombardy and

broader Silver varieties. We (My mother, brother, and I) were in the garden on the back lawn.

Suddenly a yellow nosed fighter aircraft came flying extremely low (West to East) indeed, so low, that

it almost brushed the top of our Lombardy Poplar tree. I saw the pilot quite plainly. The Messerschmitt

109 wasn't travelling very fast, and we watched it disappear in the distance low over a house called

'Copperfields' towards Kemsing village.

There appeared to be no other aircraft about at the time, maybe it was sneaking home - who knows?

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I saw the pilot quite plainly.

BIG GUN

One day I saw a train standing on the track of the Maidstone line, between Childsbridge Lane and

Otford. I was able to see it from the road. The train (drawn by a steam engine) was an army unit of

which the main component was a huge gun. It was distinctive not just because of the large gun, but

because it was painted with a camouflaged pattern. I suppose that, in theory it ought to have been

less obvious if it was camouflaged! I have since ascertained that it was most probably in transit from

Addisham to Oakhampton in Devon, where it would have been re-calibrated. It could have been the

18" (460mm) diameter Howitzer Railway gun, which was managed by the Royal Artillery from

Yorkshire - nicknamed the "Boche Buster", or another gun in transit. Apparently this type of gun

needed regular re-calibration. I have been given to understand that it was fired from near Dover, and

when not in action it was hidden in a nearby Railway tunnel.

MY FIRST WAR WOUNDS!

I was in the back garden, of a school friend and near neighbour. We were playing about, some fifty

feet from the back of the house (a bungalow). Suddenly two aircraft raced towards us, flying very low

(from the Kemsing direction - travelling East to West). There was the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. I ran like a

startled rabbit for the back door of the bungalow. The back door was at right angles to the rear wall of

the bungalow, and in my extreme haste I hit the back wall just as the last of the two aircraft passed

over the house. I was going too fast to turn the 90 degrees to get into the back door, and I had hit the

wall with the palm of my hands. The wall had a rough pebbledash finish, and I cut my hands on the

sharp fractured flint stones. My hands were very painful as a result.

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There was the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.

At this same time, a couple of holes had appeared in the roof of our home. My mother who was

working in our garden, said that a piece of shrapnel had knocked a chip off the concrete ornamental

bird-bath, which was close to where she was gardening at the time. There were people who carried

out temporary bomb damage repairs. We soon had some replacement tiles to cover these holes, but

they didn't match the colour of the rest of the roof. So they were pretty obvious.

The attack had happened so quickly that we had no idea who was chasing who, and of course, when

two aircraft are racing low towards you, and you can hear guns chattering, you don't hang about in the

open!

MORE WAR WOUNDS

One day, when I was cycling home from Heverham to Kemsing, along the Pilgrim's Way, when I saw

a formation of about six fighter aircraft in the sky coming towards me. I watched them as they flew

(slightly off to my right) above the crest of the Downs - CRASH! I had gone headfirst down the bank

into a hawthorn hedge. I had learnt the hard way: never to watch anything going on in the sky when

you are riding a bicycle. I received some nasty cuts, and scratches, about my face and neck. The

maxim should be, I suppose: that one should always look where one is going, whatever one is doing,

and especially when riding a bicycle.

GRANDSTAND VIEW - AIR-RAID SIRENS

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We boys spent a lot of time on the Downs. Unlike children of today (2004), we had tremendous

freedom to roam, which we did, unaccompanied by adults, and often for many miles, either alone, or

two or three of us. From the top of the Downs we often had a good view of what was going on; we

could see how the Barrage Balloons were deployed, and watch any Doodlebugs, etc.. Sometimes

there was more than one V1 in the air at the same time, and they often appeared to fly up the valley.

It puzzled us, because it often seemed to us, that as we watched, the Doodlebugs, that they would fly

unhindered clean through all the barrage-balloons without hitting any. It was almost as if they were

being guided up the valley by radio control, or that they had a pilot. And, they would then seem to

bear right at Otford, to continue on up the Darenth valley - heading on for London.

Often, when we were up on the hill, we would hear the air-raid sirens sounding. They didn't just all go

off at once. I can remember on one occasion, having heard a distant siren go off first, one of us

saying: "That was probably Ightham, or Wrotham - we should hear Kemsing's siren go off soon."

"There it goes!" Then: "That's Otford, there 's Seal - hey! Seal was a bit slow." And so on.

SCRAP IRON FOR THE WAR EFFORT.

Much of St. Michael's School's grounds had iron-railings for fencing around its border. This was all

removed, as were most other such railings, to provide metal for the war effort. A lot were never

replaced. Other collection campaigns were made for aluminium. There was no car-park on the

approach road like there is today, it would not have been necessary

.

KEMSING RECREATION GROUND PLOUGHED UP

Kemsing was fortunate to have a large, and beautiful, recreation ground, which had been generously

donated to the village by Sir Mark Collett. This was all ploughed up. People didn't object too much at

the time, because it was all part of the war effort, or so we thought. However it was still being farmed

for an awful long time after the war finished. After quite a lot of local pressure had been brought to

bear, it was eventually reinstated as a (our) recreation ground.

THE DOWNS - (HILLS OVERLOOKING KEMSING).

There were a lot of bomb-craters dotted about the woods, and the downland generally. Several

doodlebugs fell there. There were also one or two dug-out trenches, on what is now known as

Kemsing Down. We rarely met anybody, especially any adults, when we played and wandered about

up there. We had tremendous freedom then, which few children now seem to enjoy - and that was

during a war!

Whenever we returned from the hills we always brought back firewood with us. We always took only

dead wood, and the longer the pieces the better. We then dragged them home to saw them up, with a

bow-saw. We made our own saw-trestles to make the job easier. Working with one either side of the

saw, it made the work less strenuous, but it was important to get the same rhythm, and quite often we

bashed our knuckles against the wood we were cutting. It was teamwork.

Apart from collecting so many incendiary bomb fins, largely on the Downs, (and some in the village)

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we also came across loads of tin foil ('Ribbon'), which was dropped to confuse enemy radar at round

about the time of the invasion of France.

There were occasions when organised parties of schoolchildren and some parents (mothers, no

fathers - they weren't available) went up on the hills to gather rose hips (from the wild Dog-Roses). I

think that too, was all part of the war effort. The hips were probably used to make syrup for to be

issued to babies. You can of course dry the hips, for making Hip-soup, etc..

FIGHTER LOSES FUEL TANK

One day, when I was waiting for a bus in the Sevenoaks bus terminal at Bligh's Meadow; I saw a

fighter aircraft flying overhead. One of its wing-tanks (the one attached to its port wing), became

detached. The tank appeared to split open and fall away from the aircraft. I could see (what looked

like) the fuel spilling out. The plane recovered, and headed off, and away, somewhere out of sight.

So, obviously I didn't always cycle to school.

RIFLE RANGE

On the lower part of the Downs, at the base of the old chalk-pit, there was a rifle range. This was

largely used by the Home-Guard for practice. A Colonel Hadow was Officer Commanding (O.C.) the

Local Home Guard, and there was a Sergeant Ian Pattello from Heverham. When the range wasn't in

use, we used to scour the 'Butts' for spent bullets, cartridges, etc. Once I found a badge there.

ITALIAN PRISONERS

There was an ancient track-way called ' Chalky Lane', that went up over the Downs to Shore Hill

Farm. It passed through some beech woods. One day I was in Chalky Lane when I observed some

Italian Prisoners cutting down some beech trees, on the St. Michael's side of the lane. There were a

few other children in attendance, who came from Dynes Road. The children were collecting chips of

beech wood in sacks for firewood. The prisoners proved conclusively to me that they were Italian,

because they sang operatic arias as they worked. Even though I didn't understand them.

I watched them for a while as they were felling a large tree. Suddenly there was urgent shouting - the

tree had begun to fall! One of the children, a girl, was in the path of the falling tree. She scampered

away, at first dragging the sack behind her, but fortunately she let go, and tumbled down the bank.

She escaped by a hair's-breadth, the abandoned sack lay under the branches of the fallen tree. It was

a very narrow escape. The Italian P.O.W.s eventually retrieved the sack for her, from under the

branches. She had been very lucky.

These same Italians made clogs out of the beech wood whilst they were working there at the logging

site. They had a fairly relaxed time of it!

I was travelling with my mother on the train between Eynsford and Shoreham, when we saw from the

train, two lorries carrying Italian prisoners in the back. There was the metal framework, but the

tarpaulin cover had been rolled back, so we could see them well. They were travelling in the same

direction as the train along the A225, which runs parallel to the railway line. I don't know who started

first, but we waved heartily to each other, all the time they were in sight. They were the enemy? Or,

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they had been.

I have a feeling that the above incident was almost immediately after we had received the news that

Italy had surrendered, which was in 1943. I cannot now explain how we could identify them as

Italians, or maybe we just thought they were.

BARRAGE BALLOONS

Barrage-balloons arrived in Kemsing after the Doodlebug phase of the war had started, and they

would have started to appear among us during July 1944.

[Balloons had been used to protect towns (LONDON in particular) and strategic targets just prior to

the outbreak of the war. Many of those were manned by WAAF Personnel]

A Barrage-Balloon near Otford. [picture supplied by Ed Thompson, Otford Historian, and author of local history

There were several near us, 'Ours' was set up in the field in front of our house, known as the:

"Hundred Acre". Which, as I have already stated, is all built on now, and covered in houses.

'Our' balloon base was stationed just across the road from our home, in the field. There was another

unit further over in the same field. Each balloon-site was manned by about half-a-dozen men from the

R.A.F. Regiment. My Father was serving in the R.A.F. Regiment so I empathised with them. We local

kids spent a lot of time at the site, and I expect that it must have been a boring job for the troops. We

played knock-about cricket, and football, with them. They were lucky to have a proper leather football.

They got a bit too boisterous, and a heavy leather football, kicked by one of the servicemen, hit me

very hard on the leg. They made contact with my mother, because of this incident, and she used to

cook meals for them, especially chips. I especially remember her chips, which were good!

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They were lucky to have a proper leather football

At school, we used to compare notes about 'our' balloon teams, of whom we were proud. I was a bit

miffed however, when John Hall came to school with a tale of how 'His' balloon team had been

shooting rabbits with a Sten-gun (or so he said!). Apparently the one rabbit they did manage to hit,

was in such a mess, that it was useless for eating. So it was a slight comfort to me, to know that it had

all been rather a waste of time - i.e.: they weren't that smart!. They couldn't have done that where we

lived as there were houses about, and we didn't want any stray bullets.

The two barrage-balloons in our field, were really too close together, and there was some great fun,

and games, when their cables got entangled. The crews had great difficulty getting them apart again.

When they eventually left our field, and the balloons had been lowered for the last time, we helped get

the last of the gas out of 'our' balloon by clambering all over it. It was a bit like a partially inflated

bouncy castle. Once, we did see a balloon that had broken loose, and we watched a Hurricane make

a few passes, and we heard the rat-tat-tat of gun-fire as it tried to shoot it down.

More tales about the balloons will feature under V1.s, the Doodlebug section.

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Chapter 3

MY FATHER JOINS THE R.A.F. at BEXHILL on ANTI-AIRCRAFT GUNS

Eventually, my father was called up, and he joined the R.A.F. Regiment. He did his initial training,

which was (he said) almost of a commando role. However he was sent to man an anti-aircraft, heavy

(20mm.) machine-gun (Browning or Lewis?), stationed on the Sussex coast. His firm's company-car

(a Morris 8, series E, Reg. No. ESM 22) was taken away, and put into store somewhere. We down

went to see him by train, and we met when he had some time off duty, at St. Leonards Railway

Station, near Hastings.

I don't remember much about that meeting, but I do remember him saying that they were stationed on

hills by the coast, close to Bexhill. It was a boring job waiting for an enemy aircraft to come their way,

so they occupied their time cleaning and maintaining the weapon, and for practice they had a go at

shooting sea-gulls (whilst they were in flight). He said that they were a difficult target to hit. However,

when they were called to fire the gun in action on the only occasion that an enemy plane did come

within range, and flew right over them, the gun ceased, and refused to fire. He brought home some

spent cartridge cases. My mother polished them up and they fitted exactly into a pair of brass

candlestick holders. When she died, my mother bequeathed the candlesticks to her youngest sister,

who had always admired them (and still has them!). She had not realised though, that the top parts

were machine-gun shell cartridges, until she got them home and examined them more closely.

My father later came home on embarkation leave, but he took ill with the flu or something like it, and

he was transferred to the small Military Hospital at Churchill House, Kippington Road, Sevenoaks.

Whilst he was there, Winston Churchill made a tour of the Hospital, and my father was able to speak

to him.

Interestingly, the comedian, the late 'Spike' Milligan also started off his career in the heavy artillery in

Bexhill at a gun emplacement on Gally Hill.

Higher authorities decided that my father was too old (as he was over 40) to take part in the more

aggressive 'commando' type role, and he finished up at one of the 'jammiest' postings possible. My

Mother was fairly frantic with worry, because she didn't know to which war theatre my father was to be

sent. It wasn't until we received the first censored mail that we discovered that he was in Nassau,

Bahamas, on the other side of the Atlantic . He was there working in the stores of an R.A.F. Base. He

described frozen food to us that he had become acquainted with for the first time (we weren't aware of

it at all). He also made a tour of the Southern States. Being in uniform gave him a free ticket to lots of

things, and he enjoyed great hospitality there. We received some 'food parcels' from him, which

contained: 'candies', chocolate, and chewing gum - all pretty new stuff to us. It also made us very

popular with other children when we shared this bounty around.

My father really enjoyed a great life, playing golf, and swimming. He joked that he was wounded on

the beaches - he had got sunburnt!

He played at the same golf club as the Duke of Windsor, and he returned home, among his souvenirs

he had brought home a photograph of the Duchess, which carried her signature: "Wallis Windsor".

To get to the Bahamas, I believe he went out via America first, travelling on one Cunard's luxury

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passenger liners, and he returned on another. I believe they were the Mauritania, and the Acquitania,

but I'm not certain in which order he travelled on them.

My Father (we never called him 'Dad') was abroad for two years. When he came home, my mother

suggested that we (my brother and I) went (walk) to the railway station at Otford to meet him. I

remember that my brother, and I, debated as to whether or not we would we could remember what he

looked like, and whether or not we would recognise him. However when we did see him; I did just

about recognise him. My brother wasn't so sure at the time. But, it took some time to get used to him

again.

My Father

There was a time when my Father was stationed in Prestwick, in Scotland, and I think that was after

he returned from the Bahamas.

I can't remember what happened after that, how much longer he stayed in the forces, or any details of

his demob. The company that he worked before he was called up, not only kept his job open for him,

but, I believe they paid a wage to my mother all the time he was away serving in the armed forces.

She, or we, as a family, were rather lucky!

Incidentally we, like everybody else, would not have known where he was going be posted, that was a

secret. When we did receive mail, it was always censored, but we did get to find out where he was

eventually.

UNEXPLODED BOMB - FLANESWOOD (AND IN WOODS)

My mother (we never called her 'Mum' or 'Mummy'), in her younger days, and before she was

married, had worked (was in service) in the household of a Mrs Webb at 'Flaneswood' a large house

standing in many acres of ground, near Stone Street and Seal Chart. In fact my parents were married

at St. Lawrence, the local Church (Where they are both now laid to rest). My mother and Mrs Webb

had maintained contact, and she and I had walked there from our home in Kemsing one day to visit

Mrs Webb for afternoon tea. Mrs Webb told my mother how upset she was, because a young officer

had been killed when he was working on an unexploded bomb in the grounds of her estate, and it had

exploded.

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I can't be absolutely sure that this was on the same day, but it could have been. As an aside to this

story, we had walked up Childsbridge Lane, and as it joined Church Lane, there was a house

opposite. I happened to notice what I had thought was a wisp of smoke drifting out of the top of a

partially open upstairs casement window. I told my mother what I had seen, but I was over- ruled, she

declared that I as was imagining things, and we pressed on regardless. However, on our return

through Seal, what should we come across, but the fire-brigade in action, in Church Road, outside the

very house where I had seen the smoke issuing from. Huh, I had been right, there was a fire. I wanted

to tell bystanders and the firemen that I had seen the smoke, but my mother grabbed my hand, and

hurried me on our way.

Mrs Webb came to visit us sometimes in her large Rover (I was impressed), and she had a chauffeur

called (I think) Mr Thoms. I remember that she had very limited petrol, and so she did not come very

often.

MORE UNEXPLODED BOMBS

My mother and I were walking somewhere South of Carter's Hill, possibly at the junction of Mill Lane

and Underriver House Road, when we went over a gate into a copse (probably of coppiced Chestnut

trees). I think she wanted to pick some wild flowers, anemones or bluebells. We came out onto the

road via different five-bar gate. We had to climb over the gate to get out of the wood. There was a

notice attached to this particular gate, which could only be read from outside in the road. In large

letters on a white board these words were printed :-

Fortunately they didn't! ... at least, not whilst we were there.

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Bomb Disposal teams were recognisable, because they travelled around in vehicles with red

mudguards, and they carried the words: "Bomb Disposal" on them. The Military Police (army) also

had red areas painted on the vehicles. On the mudguards etc.

As I have already stated there were very few motor vehicles about, some were used by essential

services such as a Mid-wife (when she wasn't on a bicycle).

Here is one example: the car of a Mid-wife based in Tenterden. The interesting thing that stands out

for me, are the white tipped mudguards (to show up in the dark of the blackout), and the one masked

headlight, and one blinkered headlight.

[this picture was kindly supplied by Brian Mock].

GERMAN P.O.W.s (Prisoners of War).

There were many German P.O.W.s housed in camps around Sevenoaks. One 'prison' camp was at

Wrotham Road, Borough Green (which later became a school). Lots of prisoners used to roam free

around Sevenoaks, and I can remember that many of them used to congregate by the tea-bar that

was then in the Woolworth Store in the High Street. They used to chat-up the girls who worked there.

They wore special uniforms sometimes dyed a sort of purple colour, with usually a different coloured

diamond patch on their backs.

Once, in the High Street I plucked up enough courage to sneak up behind some German P.O.W.s by

Blighs Hotel, and I shouted: "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" Well of course they did, and they tried to speak

to me in German, but that was about all the German I knew, and I ran off. They chased me briefly, but

I think in fun. Many of them were sent out each day to work on local farms.

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WORKING ON THE FARM - P.O.W.s & LANDGIRLS

At school I was friendly with a Jim Fife whose parents had a farm of about 450 acres at West

Yaldham, between Heverham and Wrotham. I used to cycle there at weekends and every day during

the school holidays, travelling through Heverham, and on through St. Clere's Park. For a while, a

truck-load of German P.O.W.s arrived every day to help on the farm; there were no guards to look

after them. Surrounding farms also had P.O.W.s. We boys got on particularly well with some of the

younger ones. We had fun feeding the thrasher with sheaves of corn, and loading the heavier bales of

straw onto a wagon. There were so many prisoners, that there were more than enough spare hands

for us to have a bit of fun. We played football with anything that resembled a ball, and we had apple

fights with (fallen apples), throwing them at each other, and so on. One prisoner I remember well, and

with whom I became particularly friendly. His name was Heinz, my mother gave me a packet of

cigarettes to give him as a present for his 18th Birthday. He made me a ship-in-a-bottle. It was in an

old 'Camp-coffee' bottle (the only coffee we could get). It had a primitive coastline inside, which he

made out of putty. I can remember I used to like the smell of linseed oil, which you got when you

unscrewed the top. I very much regret that my mother disposed of it after a while. The prisoners had

no tools, and I think he told me that he had used a canteen knife to cut the bits of wood. I was very

fond of it.

One day, Heinz showed me some pictures of his family. I was shocked to see his father in German

Army Uniform. To me this was a symbol depicted in films and general propaganda that we had been

taught to hate. My friendship with him immediately cooled, but only on my part I'm afraid. Because

each of us had only a limited knowledge of each other's language, I was unable to explain, and I didn't

want to explain what had caused me to be upset. I have since often regretted my attitude, because he

was a nice friendly lad, and I can now speak enough German to explain, and apologise - if I knew

where to contact him.

The older prisoners were not so friendly. They must have been very worried about what was going on

at home, their family, their future, etc. We heard reports that a few had committed suicide by hanging

themselves from the branches of trees on the next farm, of Lower St. Clere (Aitkin's Farm).

Some of the older German soldiers made traditional German corn wreaths to celebrate the harvest,

they were hung up on the beams in the superb, and huge, old thatched barn. They remained there for

some time. Mr Fife was a tenant farmer, and he lost his tenancy in favour of Brigadier Norman's son.

Tragically, after Mr Fife vacated the farm in the late 1950s, the new tenant demolished that lovely

barn. An ugly modern, shiny black, silo storage-tower was put up in its place.

Though there were Land-girls on the farm, I don't remember them being there at the same time as the

German P.O.W.s. There was one tractor driver called Henry, who lived in the lodge bungalow at the

avenue to East (?) Yaldham Manor. During the war there were two tractors on the farm, a small Ford,

and a Case. They ran on paraffin. I well remember the distinctive smell from the exhaust. There were

five shire horses in the stables. When we were gathering in the harvest they would pull a laden wagon

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up to the farm with two horses. When we arrived, the front horse was detached, it was my pleasure to

ride on the youngest, and my favourite horse: called 'Major', taking him back to the field to help with

another load. The empty wagon was then brought back using just the one horse.

One day, when we were cutting corn, and I was then riding beside Henry on the Fordson tractor, a

rabbit bolted out in front of us. Henry jumped off the moving tractor, and yelling for all he was worth, to

try and petrify the rabbit, and at the same time he threw his cap at it. It was the first, and only time,

that I ever saw Henry without his cap on. The terrified rabbit took refuge under the nearest corn sheaf.

Henry dived on the sheaf like a rugby player scoring a try, but the rabbit was too quick for him, and

scampered away to live another day.

While all this was going on I was still stranded on board the moving tractor, which was towing the still

working, reaper- and-binder. However, Henry quickly sprinted back and clambered on board his

tractor to regain control. Two land-girls that were working with us at that time had a good laugh about

it.

When the corn was cut, excitement used to build up as the machine worked its way to the middle of

the field, and the island of uncut corn got smaller and smaller. As the last bit was cut the remaining

rabbits would bolt as their cover was removed. We would surround the area in the anticipation of

diving on an escaping rabbit. We didn't catch many that way.

One day, when another field was being cut, a group of 'gentlemen' turned up with shot- guns. As the

eleventh hour approached, they positioned themselves strategically all round the remaining island of

corn still to be cut. We did the same, as we were used to doing. When the rabbits bolted, zig-zagging,

and darting all over the place, the shooters opened fire in all directions. One, or two, people got

peppered with shot-gun pellets - it was highly dangerous! The farmer, Mr Fife, quickly put a stop to

that! And there was no more shooting at the final cut after that!

When the corn was cut with a reaper-and-binder, we gathered the sheaves to make stooks, to stand

in the field until they were dry enough for thrashing, or for loading onto a wagon for storing and in a

stack. There was a lot of work to do. The sheaves were full of thistles (there were no sprays to kill

weeds in those days), and our arms got badly scratched. The farmer's son, and two of the workers

sons often helped (Ronnie and Lennie Rye). We also helped with gathering up sheep, and rounding

up cattle, and any odd jobs around the farm that we could manage. It was hard work, but I loved it.

It was fairly standard practice for local women and children to help on the land, especially during the

school holidays. Farming was very labour intensive in those days.

When all was safely gathered in, Mr. Fife gave me a Ten-Shilling note (currently 50p.)! It was totally

unexpected, I had been enjoying myself. Nobody had ever given me such a lot of money before, but

he insisted that I take it.

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I believe that one of the farm workers was killed in an accident when he was ploughing. There was a

large hollow in the large field on the Down's side of Kemsing Road, and East of the junction with

Exedown Road. I believe the tractor overturned on the slope.

Flax was grown on some of the fields, both at Kemsing, and Heverham, as part of the war effort.

When the Flax was reaped, and bundled into sheaves, a large lorry came to collect it. It was stacked

too high. As the lorry negotiated the narrow track that ran beside East Yaldham Manor Farm buildings

(also farmed by Mr Fife) the truck tipped to one side, against a tree, and it was stuck there. Much of

the load had to be carefully unpacked to get the vehicle back on all its wheels again, and then once it

was upright, reloaded. This caused a lot of extra work, but we all lent a hand to get it done.

D-DAY APPROACHES

As the build up to D-Day approached (although personally, I didn't realise that, that was what was

going on, at the time), Kent became one big army camp and depot. Vehicles and equipment were

tucked away in all sorts of woods and copses. Any road, which was of a reasonable width, was used

as a vehicle park. Our lane had been widened at the beginning of the war, and a Bedford army truck

was parked outside every house in the road. The soldiers slept in the back of their trucks. It was the

same along the West End (towards Kemsing) and Dynes Road. Military traffic was on the move

everywhere.

Army trucks like this one (a Bedford) were parked in our road outside every house.

May 1944 in Childsbridge Lane.

CYCLING TO SCHOOL

Cycling to school I would go via a path known as the Ash-Platts, and when I emerged at the A25, it

could take me a long time to get across the road to get into Seal Hollow Road. Long streams of jeeps,

trucks, half-tracks, tanks, despatch-riders, etc. would pass in an uninterrupted flow. There were no

traffic-lights there then to hold up the traffic for a moment, and let me get across the road.

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May 1944, army-lorries parked outside ever house in Childsbridge Lane.

I can remember similar convoys of military vehicles streaming up Dartford Road, by the Vine, into and

through Sevenoaks. DUKW.s (Amphibious trucks), Half-track trucks, Bren-Gun-Carriers, Jeeps,

trucks, Scout-cars, etc., the build up of equipment for 'D-Day' was enormous.

I remember having difficulty coming out of the Ash-Platts path and getting across the A25 into Seal

Hollow Road, because of the endless convoys of military vehicles going by.

We started to notice that the vehicles now carried large white 5 pointed stars, which were for

recognition purposes. Aircraft that flew low enough for us to be able see (as many did) we saw had

three thick white bands on each wing, and on the fuselage. All this was a new departure to us.

In Knole Park there was a huge store of military vehicles stored under the chestnut trees - rows, and

rows of them. Most were parked alongside the Broad Walk, and the Chest-nut Walk, at the southern

end of the park. Some could be seen from the peripheral roads (St. Julian's Road, etc.), which ran

around the Park. They were largely maintained by ATS girls who were housed at a large property

called Beechmont, in Gracious Lane. This was hit by a V1 flying bomb, on July the 12th 1944, and

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although most of the girls had left for work, 2 were killed, and 44 injured. The vehicles were never

used, and remained there until some time after the war, when they were sold off by public auction,

where they stood, in the park. At the end of the auction streams of rusty army vehicles were driven

away, some on trailers, some being towed, some on the backs of trucks, etc.. After that, many local

farmers were to be seen driving around in ex- U.S. Army Jeeps, and such like. Our local builder

(Johnsons?), who was based in Childsbridge Lane, Seal, bought an American truck, which he used

for some years.

We saw American made Bowl-scrapers for the first time, which carved out passing places for these

often large vehicles, in and along, our country lanes. I remember there were some lay-bys created by

them along the Pilgrim's Way.

Once there was a convoy of army motorcycle-and-sidecar outfits, fitted with machine guns, waiting

along the Pilgrim's Way. We boys talked to them and they said that they were Scotch-Canadians.

Just down the road from us, on the corner of Childsbridge Lane, and Dynes Road, I wandered past

boxes of ammunition, and hand-grenades, which were casually stacked on the grass verge. One day,

I found a snub-nosed bullet lying in the road - it was a live round. I had it in my pocket for a while, then

I thought that I had better show it to a soldier. He took it from me, went and fetched a hammer, then

laid the bullet on the kerb - facing into the field, then, much to my surprise, he hit it with the hammer.

Of course it went off with a bang, which made me jump. The bullet presumably disappeared safely

into the field. I thought it was a waste of a good bullet.

I found a snub-nosed bullet lying in the road - it was a live round. I had it in my pocket for a while

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There was some sort of fete held on Kemsing school playing fields. The army personnel, who were

stationed all about us, supported it. Part of the 'Attraction' was a raised boxing ring. It was my first

introduction to boxing (I won’t call it a sport). We watched a bout for a while, and I got more and more

concerned, one soldier was really taking some punishment, and his face was bleeding. I was horrified.

I've never watched a 'game' of boxing since.

I also remember seeing large formations of aircraft flying eastward (towards France), wearing the

'new' white identification stripe livery. On two occasions these included large formations of Dakotas

(C47 Douglas) towing gliders. I can't put a date to these sightings. Judging by the direction they were

heading they could have been heading for Arnhem (Holland), or they could have been part of the

deception plan called 'Glimmer' which had headed for Boulogne as a diversion.

LARGE HOUSES COMANDEERED

Large houses were likely to be commandeered by the military. Several were in Kemsing including the

Box House, Crowdleham, and Beechmont, in Sevenoaks, were some examples. Part of St. Clere was

used too, to house evacuees down from London.

BOMBING

There was bombing that we knew about, and bombing that we just heard about. A lot of bombs fell

landed in woods or fields and did no real, or serious, damage. At night the raids sounded a lot worse

that they effectively were - that was until the V1.s started. Up until then, the damage inflicted in and

around Kemsing, was comparatively light, especially when one considered the number of bombs that

had fallen in the area.

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This aerial photograph which shows the two railway lines heading north from Sevenoaks; at the

centre of -the right-hand-side of this photo is Otford-Junction, with the Maidstone line coming in from

the east (right); a solitary Heinkel bomber can be made out flying low over the junction. This picture

was taken only two days after the hit-and-run attack on St. Leonards Avenue in Otford. [it was

supplied by Ed Thompson]

Some item of ordnance hit the road between Welstead's Garage and St. Edith's Road, and although

the road itself was patched, the damaged kerb was not replaced until about 1992. Which I considered

was rather a pity because it was just about the only evidence that still existed that a war had taken

place there at all. Many incendiaries also fell on the village. Martins Stores had a shed at the back

where they kept emergency rations, and that was hit, and it burnt out. St. Edith's hall had a small fire

that had to be put out. And, the kitchen of the Wheatsheaf Public House was set on fire.

On my way to school, I cycled past a downed Heinkel bomber in a paddock off Hollybush Road, just

before the 'Hole-in-the Wall'.

Some bombs fell in a field by Honeypot Lane, near Kemsing Railway Station. I heard tell that some

horses were killed. A small cluster of free-standing beech trees were damaged by the bomb(s), and a

large branch which had been broken off lay on the ground in the field for years after the war.

Of course the allied forces were bombing too. I remember particularly, aircraft assembling high in the

sky on a bright sunny morning for the 'thousand bomber raids' over Germany. The sky was packed

with aircraft glinting in the sun, many creating white contrails in an azure sky. There were far too many

to even think about trying to count them. It was an impressive and amazing sight, the like of which will

never be seen again. The fact that they were glinting in the sun, suggests to me that they were

American. Probably Flying Fortresses, which were not camouflaged, AND the Americans tended to

make daylight raids with heavy fighter escorts, and the British used aircraft such as Lancasters, which

were camouflaged, and which flew at night, without fighter escort.

RETURNING BOMBER

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One late afternoon, or evening, I saw a lone Avro Lancaster (4 engined) bomber struggling home

flying low over our homes. At least one engine had stopped (with one propeller stationary), and there

were holes in the wings, through which I could see daylight. I watched it carry on in the direction of

Biggin Hill. I presumed, and hoped, that it made I back to base. I somehow, in my mind, I related it to

a shabby old black crow. Bomber squadrons were normally based in the East Anglia area.

LONDON

We did go to London, and we travelled by train (incidentally, train windows were fitted with pull-down

black-out curtains - the problem being, that, when you travelled at night, one never knew where you

were. You couldn't see out of the windows without letting the blind up, and breaking the 'blackout'

restrictions). My mother had a sister who lived in London, which was probably the reason we would

have gone there. We did not feel at all safe in London in the earlier stages of the war, we felt a lot

safer in the countryside.

I can remember seeing French, and Polish servicemen on the train, and it may well have been when

returning from such a trip to London, that we would have seen the Italian POW.s who waved to us

(which I referred to previously).

On one trip later to London, during the war, we saw a 'celebrity' Lancaster bomber on display near at

a bomb-site the, then famous, Gamages store in High Holborn. We could go inside the bomber, which

we did. It was, to me, surprisingly small inside, and the rear gunner's position looked as if it was

decidedly cramped. I have a vague recollection of also seeing a British Long-Tom bomb, which was

on display on a bombed site, in Oxford Street, on the same day.

We saw a strange site of London Transport double-decker buses going about which were towing

trailers on which were gas-generators, which produced their own fuel from coal. In those days every

bus had a conductor on board, who sold tickets, and looked after the passengers.

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Chapter 4

VISITING RELATIONS IN NEWCASTLE

On one occasion we went by train to Newcastle to visit my Grand-parents. The compartment was full

of soldiers going home on leave. They told us that they were stationed at 'DEATH CAMP'. They called

it that, because it was in Cemetery Road, Gravesend (or so they said).

A train attendant came round selling packets of potato crisps from a large wicker basket, with a

leather strap. This was the first and only time during the war that I experienced a packet of crisps.

There was no choice of flavours, make, or anything like that, and the salt was separate. It was

screwed up in a little square of dark-blue paper which was hidden away in the bottom of the packet.

There was only one brand available, and that was 'Smith's Crisps'.

My Grandparents in Hebburn-on-Tyne, near Newcastle. They had a young sailor billeted with them,

and he kindly took me on a tour of his ship, which was being worked on, I guess it was undergoing a

refit in one of the yards on the bank of the River Tyne. I remember it well, it was a hive of activity, and

very noisy too; especially from the riveting and hammering. The River Tyne is so very different now to

what it was then. I think the shipyard (of which there were several) in question was called Hawthorn-

Leslies. I saw pairs of workmen fitting red hot rivets into place with tongs, and then hammering them

into place (very noisy), and I also saw and learnt a bit about 'caulking', when workmen sealed the

decks with tarred string. I imagine now that I was rather lucky to have been allowed to go on board a

warship, especially during war-time.

In a recent conversation with my aunt, who still lives in what was my Grandparents house, that,

according to her, they and other neighbours had several sailors staying with them, and she thinks that

particular ship, the one mentioned above, may have been the 'Agincourt', which was a 'Battle class'

destroyer, but searching on the internet doesn't back that up, although she was built at Hawthorn-

Leslies's shipyard. However she added another interesting little aside to my 'memoirs', which involves

me, on what must have been a much earlier visit to the North (1938?) and which reads as follows:-

My parents liked to be overly prim, and proper, and fought shy of referring directly to such

unmentionable subjects as the toilet, or anything to do with it. They had adopted the practice of

referring to the need for the toilet, especially a No. 2 job, as us children wanting 'ATTENTION'. This I

had grown up with. Only, in my simple child like mind I had always thought the phrase was: "A

TENSION". Apparently we were all sat round the meal table, and the news came on the radio. The

newscaster announced dramatically that: "A tension has spread all over Europe".

I was horrified. I raised my hands still clasping knife and fork, and with mouth half full, and cried out:

"Yuck ! TENSION! That must be terrible!" And it was from that point on that my mother explained to

me that there was another way to refer to one's natural needs, and that perhaps I could, and should,

in future use the term "toilet'.

My grandparents' small terraced house already had a lodger (the sailor), the sleeping accommodation

was all taken up, and there was no room for me. So, I was shipped over the River (across the Tyne

on the ferry - I can even remember my mother chatting with the cheerful ferryman) to stay with

another aunt, who lived in Whitley Bay. There I had three cousins, and I had a super time with my

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aunt (I had four aunts and seven uncles in my mother's family). We children went down onto the

beach and combed the shore. We found coal, and a large leg of ham! How did that get there? We

also took buckets to collect winkles, which my aunt boiled, and we ate. I didn't like them that much,

and they were rubbery, and fairly gritty with sand. I think the public was allowed access to the beach,

but it was limited to two hours. Unlike at home, in Kent, where could not get near the beach at all, as it

was all cordoned off with barbed-wire.

In that part of Whitley Bay a considerable number of army unit soldiers were marched about the

streets doing drill. My younger cousin David Stephenson, referred to them as the: "Left-rights". On

account of the drill sergeants repeatedly shouting all the time: "Left right, left right, left right."

All around Hebburn there were 40-gallon oil drums placed in the street. They were filled with waste

sump oil, or any other oils that was going spare. Their purpose was to act as smoke generators during

an air-raid, they were lit to form a smoke screen to hide the ships and shipyards on the Tyne. I

understand that the smoke used to sometimes settle in the Tyne valley, and thus hide the ships and

shipyards. The resulting choking fumes, and the sooty smut, were unspeakable. Of course there were

no streetlights, and the drums were black, so in the dark people couldn't see a thing. According to a

Mike Ellison who manages the Hebburn Web-site; the very concentration of smoke would have

attracted enemy bombers. I believe that there was a tale that some bombs fell on, or in the region of,

Hebburn lakes (These were artificial industrial lakes that have since been filled in), and it was thought

at the time that the enemy bomb-aimers had been successfully deceived.

All the local streets around my grandparents’ home were named after first World War battles, e.g.: my

Grandparents lived in 'Mons Avenue'.

My aunts, like most ladies at that time, painted their legs to imitate stockings, and to make it look as if

they were wearing them. A line was drawn to run centrally down the back of the leg to indicate the

seam.

When it rained it all just became a mess.

Whilst I was there someone commented on how light it still was at 10 pm. . The summer days tend to

be longer anyway in the North, but this was accentuated by Double-Summer -Time, i.e.: the clocks

went forward two hours - not just the one they do nowadays.

Everybody (officially) had to carry a gas mask, especially when entering a public shelter. My Aunt

Barbara had a young baby, and she had to put the baby in a special gas-mask, a small barrel like

container. She had to keep pumping air through this gas-proof-container. Her husband, my Uncle

George Canham, was in the Air Force. He had made a very neat model of a Spitfire out of a penny

(the old large penny). I remember that when I foraged through some of my Grandmother's nick-

knacks, I was shocked to come across a small round brooch which had a swastika on it. That was

explained away, by explaining to me that it was an old brooch, and that the swastika used to be a

good-luck-symbol. I have also subsequently seen another one in roman mosaic tiles (at Lullingstone

Villa?).

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Toilet-paper was often from newspaper cut into 6" x4" sheets, and then threaded on a string, and

hung up.

My mother had seven brothers, all of whom were on active-service but they all survived the war

unscathed. Yet they were all brought up in a small two-bedroom, terraced house. There was a black

cast-iron (coal) fireplace, which also had an oven alongside, it in the living room. It was all known as a

'Range'. I can remember the lovely smell when my Grandmother baked bread on it. My grandfather

smoked a pipe, which had a silver lid over the bowl. I was most impressed, as a boy, because he

would sit in his armchair with his pipe, and occasionally he would spit into the fire, which induced a

sizzling noise. I amazed at the distance he could spit, and at his accuracy when he did so. Now, I

suppose I should regard his behaviour (some might call it skill) as rather disgusting. Like most people

who had a garden, they also grew vegetables, and kept chickens, in their garden.

My youngest uncle started work, at the age of 15, as a butcher's delivery boy (on a bicycle). When he

was only 16 he went into the Army. He was aboard a troop-ship when it was torpedoed in the

Mediterranean, and he claimed that he managed to swim ashore to the North African coast. He

served with the 8th. Army right through Africa, onto the landings at Sicily, and then Solerno, into Italy.

He 'fought' his way right up Italy until they eventually arrived in Austria. There he met an Austrian girl,

but he got into trouble, because it was forbidden to 'fraternise' with the 'enemy'. He was actually put

into a military prison for a while. Eventually he was released, and, as he put it: "I married one of the

enemy", which was against regulations at the time.

The story he told me was that he had a tough time, and when he came out of solitary confinement an

officer asked him: "Well, have you learnt your lesson?" My uncle was so cross that he hit him. So he

was promptly returned to the cells. I don't know how true this tale is.

The only other detail I can remember was, that on the return journey from Newcastle, we were held

up for a long time in Crewe Station. But, I do remember that the train was pulled by one of those

magnificent streamlined L.N.E.R. steam engines, the Silver Fox (Nigel Gresley, A4 Pacific), it went

very fast at times. This sticks in my mind, because I had gone to the toilet, which was located at the

end of a carriage, where most movement would be felt. I couldn't get the door open to come out, and I

seemed to be stuck in there for some time. The train was rocking and shaking about quite alarmingly,

this old train would touch over 100 miles per hour (160 km.p.h.). Steam trains could be smokey, and

sooty; and one could often get quite dirty when travelling on them. The local railway line then was only

electrified (Southern Railway from London) as far Sevenoaks, and as far as Maidstone East. When

trains pulled by a steam locomotive passed through a tunnel, then it was imperative that the windows

were shut! Passengers used to pull the windows up (to shut them) as we approached a tunnel, so

knowledge of the line was important, so that you knew when to expect a tunnel.

Whilst we had been away, we had left all our house doors and windows open. They were held

partially open by a piece of string. The object of this was to reduce the impact of bomb blast -

hopefully only the string would break if there was any blast from an explosion. Everything was in order

when we returned home. These days, one can't imagine anyone going on holiday, and leaving their

doors open, and expect to find everything to be in order.

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My Grandparents (Stephensons), and now some of my other uncles and aunts, are buried in Hebburn

(Near Newcastle) cemetery. They lie not far from the combined graves many of the crew of the Kelly

(HMS. Kelly). The Kelly was a naval destroyer. She was badly damaged in naval action, [She was

torpedoed by E-boats on May the 9th. 1940, and very badly damaged. For 90 hours, while under tow,

she and escorts fought off attacks by further E-boats and enemy bombers, but under the command of

its Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten she was brought back to the Tyne (sadly this popular hero was

later murdered in Ireland by an IRA. Bomb attack). The Kelly was repaired, but it was sunk by an

enemy 100lb. bomb during the evacuation of Crete, in the Mediterranean in 1942). Many of the crew,

including, Lord Mountbatten, were rescued from the sea. He was certainly regarded as a hero at the

time. He was an Uncle to the Queen.

FOOD & RATIONING etc.

As far as I can remember, we never went really hungry during the war.

The village grocer, Mr Foster, used to call on us every Monday to take orders. He did his 'rounds' by

bicycle. All tradesmen ALWAYS called at the back door, they would not have dreamt of knocking on

the front door. No way! Mr Foster was always dressed the same way, with a suit and a flat cap, and

he wore black gaiters. He never took off his cap, and he always wore the same suit. He had a small

moustache, and I thought that he looked a bit like Hitler (from picture of the Fuhrer!

I can remember distinctly when rationing commenced, because Mr Foster found it rather a nuisance

cutting out coupons from the ration books. My Mother produced a pair of folding scissors of hers, and

they formulated an agreement that Mr Foster promised to return them after the war. He tucked them

into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and off he went. Every time he called, out came the scissors

to cut out coupons from the ration books. When the war was over, my mother naturally asked for her

scissors back, on every occasion that he called on us to deliver our orders, but each time she did, he

argued that rationing was not over yet, and he would return them when it was. My Mother had to wait

another nine year to get her scissors back! But, true to his word, he did eventually return the scissors.

It was a long time after that before such things as sweets appeared back in the shops again.

I liked the smell of Mr Foster's shop. Nothing was pre-packed, and it was fascinating for me to watch

him cut the bacon on his hand driven bacon-slicer. Butter was in wooden barrels, and he made them

up in to small blocks by cutting the butter to shape using wooden 'bats', and weighed them on his

scales, using counter weights. He would cut cheese to shape with a piece of wire. He had become

expert in cutting the correct weight allowance, but he checked the weight of each piece on his scales.

With lots of other things (e.g.: perhaps flour, or rice ~ if he had any) he would sell in a paper cone,

using a little scoop or shovel, and then pour the commodity into the cone of brown paper (Which he

neatly pre-formed), and sealed the cone by folding over the top. He also sold paraffin, out of a metal

barrel, which had a brass tap. We used the paraffin as fuel for a "Valour" heater we had. We had a

metal gallon container with a handle, and a spout, and a metallic screw stopper for that purpose.

We had a large garden (½ an acre), so we grew a lot of vegetables, soft fruits, and apples etc., some

of the fruit was preserved by bottling. We tried keeping rabbits, but some creature got in their runs,

and killed them (Possibly stoats). A lot of people kept chickens, and everybody kept their potato

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peelings for boiling up as chicken feed - the smell of boiling chicken mash was awful. A bit of bartering

went on for, and with, eggs. Sometimes we had the luxury of a chicken, which had become available,

but only because it had stopped laying, known to us as a 'broiler'. Nothing was ever wasted. On one

occasion I went with a school friend (whose surname was 'Offen', and whose father had a butchers

shop in Shoreham) to collect Plovers eggs in the fields there. People ate them, like small or Bantam

chicken eggs, but I only collected them once. To get to Shoreham to village, we would have had to

get there by bicycle. We would have managed without a parent to accompanying us of course.

There was very little choice as to what we had to eat. You ate what you were given, or go hungry.

"Bubble and Squeak" was quite often on the menu. This was mashed- potatoes and cabbage all

mixed together, and then baked (I think). There was only one type of breakfast cereal, and that was

porridge. For 'afters', we quite often had bread-and-butter pudding with a few sultanas (if we were

lucky), which is really quite nice.

Our near neighbours, the Bridge family, kept chickens (their house was called: 'Palstree', now number

25 Childsbridge Lane). Because of the chickens, they were bothered with rats. Mr Bridge made a

snare. We had to go off to find, cut, and bring back, a straight hazel frond. Mr Bridge had identified on

the ground, a well used 'run', used by the rat, or so he thought. Anyway he set up an ingenious trap

using the hazel stick, and a wire noose. The green hazel stick was stuck in the ground at one end.

The noose was attached to the top end, it was then bent in a bow to hook under a twig, which was

also stuck in the ground.

If a rat ran into the noose with his head, then the bowed stick would pull clear of its restraint, and the

rat would be suspended in the air when the stick had whipped back to its original straight shape, and

be strangled. It worked! And, their son 'David' invited us round to see the victim. It was a large black

rat. The trap had worked perfectly. We also learnt from Mr Bridge how to make simple, but effective,

traps to catch birds, but I was rather upset when I caught a robin. That wasn't what I was after. The

bird wasn't hurt, and I let it go. He also showed us how to make a type of flute out of a branch from an

Ash tree. I don't think Mr Bridge was called up for active service because of his poor health. He, and

his neighbour, Mr Duval, both died of T.B. at about the same time (During the war). I remember the

never-ending coughing only too well. There was no cure in those days. It was before penicillin had

become generally available.

My school friend John Hall (he lived in Percy Lodge just east of Cotman's Ash cross-roads on the

Pilgrim's Way) and I, got hold of a ferret (probably near the end or just after the war). We had

permission to catch rabbits in Peter's Hollow, off the Cotman's Ash Lane, on the hill part of the road.

Mr. Peter owned Peter's Hollow. He ran Peter's Diary in the Malt House Dairy, on Heverham Road,

Kemsing. The problem with ferreting is that it had a tendency to clear all the rabbits out of a warren. It

was too efficient. Once a warren had been ferreted, we had to move on, and leave that one for a

while, to allow it to recover. So, I'm afraid, we extended our activities much further afield where we did

not have permission. Technically we were poaching. The local gentry did not like us ferreting,

because they liked to shoot the rabbits. However we had a ready market with a Mr Hilder who lived on

the Pilgrim's Way, and who had a butcher's shop in Plumstead, London. I can't remember now

whether we got 9d. (4.5p) per rabbit, or 9d. per lb. We bought our ferret for 15 shillings, and then we

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had to buy quite a lot of special nets, which closed like a noose when the rabbit ran into them, - so it

wasn't all profit.

We tried using snares, (some we bought, some we 'found'). These were made from pliable wire,

simply had a noose, but we were not very successful with them. I would frown upon such activities

now, but then, when the needs must.......!

We had asked for permission to ferret in a field, which had a very large warren, just below "Kestrels"

(which, I have now realised, should be correctly called: "Kester"), which was a large house on the

crest of the Downs. Our request was abruptly turned down. The house overlooked this warren, and

the resident owner was a person, who was (I believe) called: Air-Vice Marshall Lywood (or some

similar name and of distinguished rank). He used to shoot rabbits around the warren from out of his

bedroom window, or so I was told - and it was said that he even that he shot out of the upstairs

bedroom window whilst still dressed in his pyjamas. No way did he want us ferreting there, spoiling

his 'fun', and depleting his stock of rabbits. So we sneaked up there at night and ferreted the warren in

the dark.

[It should not be forgotten that all this took place before the terrible rabbit disease Myxomatosis was

introduced, and there were many more rabbits about then, than there are now. Myxomatosis was

introduced in the early 1950's, it was an awful disease, and it was intended to wipe out the rabbit

population, which it nearly did. Dead and dying rabbits littered the roads during that time. They

seemed to seek open ground, probably because their sight was affected. It was not a pleasant sight.

We would kill any we saw that were suffering. They didn't, or couldn't, run away.] Rabbits, from almost

being wiped out, have recently staged a comeback.

I can remember my friend John's father (Mr. Hall) referring to this gentleman as: "Air-Vice Marshall

DSO, DFC, and whatever-he-calls-himself: Lywood".

Once, in daylight, we were working a very large warren in a shaw, which was composed largely of

hazel and brambles. It was on the Downs above the Pilgrim's Way, to the East of Cotmans Ash, when

a posse of shooters came along with dogs. We could hear them coming, but the ferret was 'down'

working, and we couldn't leave the spot. They got very close. We laid on the ground keeping as still

as possible, praying that a rabbit wouldn't bolt. We continue to lie there. We could clearly see the

shooters, who were silhouetted against the sky-line, on the higher ground at one side of the shaw.

They had their guns at the ready. They hadn't seen us. We knew that they had dogs with them, we

had heard commands being given to them, and the odd bark, or whimper. We heard them rustling

about in the brambles, and general undergrowth. We were praying that a rabbit wouldn't bolt! Then

the dogs broke out to the small clearing to where we lay. Too scared to move. Each of us, holding our

breath. Too scared to even move a muscle. John groaned quietly: "Oh no!". Surely this was 'IT'. The

retriever spaniel dogs sniffed, and rummaged, earnestly about us. They came within inches of us,

sniffing eagerly here, and there. Amazingly they ignored our prostrate forms completely. I was

expecting any moment, for one, or both of them, to go for us, but they didn't.

Why? Possibly that their brief wasn't to go looking for humans.

Then we heard the characteristic thumps from underground below us, some rumbling, and a rabbit

bolted from a hole into a purse net. We dived on the net. Recovered and smothered the frantically

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struggling rabbit. "Don't you squeal you blighter, don't squeal!" Then our ferret emerged from the hole,

and started to look about and sample the fresh air. One of us dealt with the rabbit, and the other

coaxed the ferret, with a softly-softly approach, and then it placed quickly into his sack, before he

went dashing back (as he sometimes did), and disappeared down the hole again. It was a large

warren, and we had a lot of nets to collect up. We were content to have had only the one catch. Even

though the possé of shooters appeared to have moved on. We wanted to get away from the area,

a.s.a.p. without being seen, or caught.

We didn't feel guilty about our poaching activities. There were loads of rabbits about, which played

havoc with crops. They (the shooting party) were shooting for the fun of it (though it wasn't fun for the

game they were after!), we were trying to increase our meagre pocket-money, and at the same time:

providing food for the nation! So there!

Our 'trade' then expanded when we discovered that Londoners liked Rook Pie! It so happened that

the local 'squires', or 'gentry,' held 'rook-shoots'. There were (but not now) magnificent avenues of

lofty beech trees on St. Clere Estate (much of them were destroyed in the October 1987 Hurricane), a

top of which were extensive rookeries. These shoots took place in the evenings, when the rooks had

returned home to roost, and to their chicks. The rooks never flew away from their nests, or roosting

places then, so they were in a sense: 'Sitting-ducks' (if rooks can be sitting-ducks!). These 'sporting'

Gentlemen used mainly 0.22 calibre rifles. We followed on behind the shooting party with our hesian

sacks, and eagerly gathered up the fallen rooks they had shot (not all of them were dead, and when

they weren't, we had to finish them off). The shooting party never picked any up, they were just there

for the fun of the shooting. We then delivered them (with some difficulty - carrying sacks full of rooks

on our bicycles) to our butcher friend. He paid us 3d. (1½p) per rook. We couldn't meet the demand,

and unfortunately we were restricted, because we depended on whether, or not, any rook-shoots

were taking place at the time. We had to keep our ears to the ground to find out as to when 'shoots'

would be taking place.

I have recently found a recipe for 'Rook Pie' in an old copy of Mrs Beaton's Cookery Book.

I am afraid Rook-Pie didn't appeal to me ~ yuck!

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[Who had any rump steak?] Some of our ferreting probably continued after 'V.E. day' (after the war in

Europe had ended). Food was still not plentiful, and some rationing continued; particularly for sweets.

John Hall had a 4-10 shot gun and we had managed to get hold of a few cartridges for that. It wasn't

very effective. We also borrowed his father's 12-bore shot-gun, and we did succeed in bagging a few

pigeons. Once, we were under an oak tree when a flock of pigeons came in to settle above us, I can't

remember who fired, but we got two birds with one shot. We discovered that crops of the pigeons

were full-to-bursting with fragments of cabbages, they had been gorging themselves, and could

probably hardly fly. Of course the rest of the flock scattered immediately after that. Although we had

bagged two, there was no chance of a second shot. Not only had we gained a meal, but we thought

we had done a farmer a favour, even if we were poaching. One day, tragically, we accidentally shot a

barn owl, believing that it was a pheasant. Which upset us greatly, and I think we reduced our

shooting forays after that.

Wood-Pigeons were pretty wily birds, with keen eyesight, and a keen sense of danger, and of course

they flew very fast. People race them. They also ate them (they were just about large enough to eat),

but shooting them wasn't easy. The shooters would make a 'hide' out of branches from bushes etc, to

'hide' the human form from the pigeon. Sometime they would cower in a ditch, behind a hedge at the

edge of a field of cabbages, for example; then they would lay out some (dummy) decoy pigeons,

which were good enough to fool the pigeons into thinking that it was a good, and safe place drop into.

Even then the shooter had to be quick, and would probably let off both barrels in quick succession,

before the pigeon veered off, and away. That would mean a long wait before another flock of pigeons

happened to pass by.

We tried this ourselves a couple of times, and I think we succeeded in bagging a few. But, cartridges

were difficult for us to come by, and expensive; ferreting was cheaper, more efficient, AND the

creature we targeted wasn't damaged by lead pellet shot.

My memory of this incident is very vague, and I dare not name the individual concerned, in case the

story isn't true, or what I remember of it isn't. The story at the time was: that a certain gentleman of the

district was patrolling, with his gun at the ready. He was probably after vermin, such as: Pigeons, or

rabbits, etc. He was reported to have seen, or he thought he saw; a rabbit running along at the bottom

of a hedge. He took aim, and fired. Then he heard a clatter. On the other side of the hedge was the

Pilgrims' Way; which at that point, as along much of its length, was a sunken lane. When the said

gentleman went to investigate, he is supposed to have found a man lying in the road beside a bicycle.

He had been shot in the head. The man was dead, or died later. One can imagine that the height of a

man on a bicycle could well have brought the rider's head a level with the bottom of the hedge. I

vaguely believe that there was an enquiry, and it was decreed to have been an unfortunate accident

(or so I believe).

Now, reflecting back on our childhood; I am surprised to think that we were given so much freedom,

and trusted with guns, even about anyway, who could keep an eye on us.

I wouldn't want to have anything to do with hunting wild animals now, I haven't any desire to even go

fishing. But, we did learn quite a lot about nature. We knew, for example, that only rooks fly in flocks,

crows not, and that the smaller Jackdaws would often mingle in with the larger birds. We wouldn't

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shoot magpies, because they could bring you luck. If we saw them we would chant: ~

One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy. Etc., As we also did with Cherry stones

and things.

I think it was a very healthy upbringing.

We always went about our ferreting very quietly. If the rabbits got to know that we were outside their

burrows, and above them, they might be reluctant to bolt. When they did bolt, the purse nets would be

drawn shut, like a noose. The draw-string ends were attached to a peg, which were pushed into the

ground. We didn't hammer them in, for fear of the sound alerting the rabbits down below us. Or, we

would tied the draw-string ends to a convenient tree root for anchorage.

I can't put a date to all these events, because our first ferrets was purchased from an Ex-soldier,

called Sid Crawford, so it could have been shortly after the war. However food would still have been

scarce then. He wore his khaki battledress all the time. We acquired the ferret from his home at West

Kingsdown, and we got there by bicycle. The ferret was large, as ferrets go, and he was a rusty brown

colour. John kept him in a redundant rabbit hutch. After a few days I cycled along to John's place, and

whilst I was there, I went to view our ferret. I was surprised, because there was a now a snow-white

ferret in the cage, with bright eyes, and a perky pink nose, and not the brown one I had expected to

see. However it was OUR ferret, because, the cage was now kept clean, the ferret was able to clean

itself up, and it looked a different animal altogether. Unfortunately we lost him when ferreting at night,

despite his white appearance, we shouldn't have ferreted at night. We got some more ferrets after

that, but they were nothing like as good to work with.

We didn't know what a banana, or an orange, tasted like, and we hardly knew what they looked like.

We had no exotic fruit at all. Nor did we have any sweets. However we picked damsons, blackberries,

etc. which were used in jam making (obtaining extra sugar was difficult, and there was little or no jam

available to buy in the shops), and for desserts. Chestnuts and Hazelnuts were obtainable growing

wild (in the Autumn). And we gathered some mushrooms (Here one has to know exactly what you are

doing as some mushrooms are poisonous, and we did err on the side of caution). Eggs were sized

(glazed) and stored in a large galvanised bucket. Carrots were stored in our garage, in sand in a large

plywood tea-chest (a box), potatoes were stored in 'clamps' in fields; usually at the edge of the very

field from where they had been harvested. I suppose that all our veggies were organically grown.

Some of the summer fruits were bottled in Kilner preserving Jars; that is if you were lucky enough to

have any. One of the latter must not have been properly sealed, or the fruit, such as plums and

rhubarb, may have been already 'off'. The bottles were stored in the dark in the cupboard under the

stairs. The contents fermented, and the bottle exploded! What a mess! My Mother learnt her lesson,

and the bottled fruits had to be examined periodically. There was also a problem with the bottling jars,

because they had rubber sealing-rings. These, being made of rubber, were very difficult to get hold of,

and we had been forced into re-using them. So it could have been a perished rubber sealing-ring, that

had let air in, and that had caused the fermentation, and subsequent explosion!

But we ate Rhubarb crumble, blackberry-and-apple pie, and steam pudding, and such like for dessert.

We also had corned beef, which came in a tin, I think mostly from Argentina, when we could get it. I

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liked it.

The Ration Book allowed us: ~ 4 ozs. Of bacon per week A small amount of cheese 8 ozs. of sugar

per week. No chocolate and no sweats at all.

Of course we did not have a fridge, or a deep-freeze, not many people had such a luxury, but we

stored things in our larder, which was pretty effective, keeping cool because it was on the North Wall

of our house.

At school we drank a half-a-pint of milk every day. School monitors ticked your name off the list to

make sure you did. We used to have to queue up outside whatever the weather, and I can remember

times when the milk was frozen in the bottle. Milk was rationed, like most things, but I regret to say

that my Mother struck an arrangement with a 'poor' family in Dynes Road for an extra pint. They had a

baby, and as a consequence had an extra supply of milk. It was my job to go down to that family and

collect the pint of milk, and to give them a shilling. It was an errand, which I detested, but I had to do

what I was told. Apart from the morals, and principles of the thing, which I wasn't happy about; I used

to I have to go into their living room, and they often kept me waiting for some minutes, often chatting,

before I was given the milk, and I could leave. Their lounge had an unpleasant, and overpowering,

smell; largely of urine, that seemed to hang in the air. I couldn't get out of there, and away, fast

enough. There is more about school to follow later on.

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Chapter 5

DIG FOR VICTORY CAMPAIGN There were many posters about to encouraging people to grow their

own food carrying a: "Dig-For-Victory" Campaign. For years there was a large notice to this effect off

the High Street, in Otford, where the car-park by the Village Hall now is. Another poster that I

remember, said "Coughs and sneezes spread diseases, trap the germs by using your handkerchief",

which we always turned into a rhyme, like this: "Coughs and sneezes spread diseases. Catch

them in your handkerchieveses".

My mother used to crotchet, and knit, extensively. We made 'clippy-mats' out of old hessian sacks and

cut up old jumpers and even old stockings. Sometimes we used a large wooden frame, and we made

wooden 'proggers', though we did have one metal one. These rugs, or mats, were very comfortable.

She knitted a lot, often unpicking the better part of old jumpers to make new fair-isle jumpers. We

were often required to help gather up the unpicked wool, and if it was a big jumper, then it was an arm

aching job. She made us boys Lumber-jackets out of the sound parts of an old blanket.

She also crocheted slippers out of white string, and we had some difficulty obtaining old red rubber

car tyre inner-tubing, which was cut out into shapes to use as soles. In some we put inner-soles,

which we made from rabbit's hides - these were the 'luxury' models. We dried, and prepared, the

rabbit skins ourselves. She also made many shopping baskets, and table-mats out of string. Some

went as intended wedding presents. She had a ready market for these items via her sister, who lived

in London, and worked at Plesseys, an electronics factory at Ilford, in Essex.

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Much later, in 1999, when I visited a museum in Bonn, which was about the aftermath of WW2 in

Germany, and its regeneration, I was very surprised to see, what looked exactly like my mother's

slippers, and bags, as among the exhibits there. Could her patterns have been purloined through

espionage I wonder? Or were they just creative art got down to basics?

When one of my uncles returned home from the war he brought with him a large red flag. When I saw

it, it had a large round hole cut out of the middle, and it was later transformed into a smart skirt for one

of my aunts. The missing hole, was of course, where the swastika had been!

We virtually did not have any new toys during the war, apart from what we could make ourselves out

of scraps and bits and pieces. We had bicycles, but they were only second-hand ones, and we

considered ourselves lucky to have those - which we were. We made our own sledges out anything

we could find, and we had trolleys using old pram wheels. My brother made trucks with the back part

cut out of old tins, and wheels from round-section wood, such as an old broom handle, or from a

straight tree branch such as from a Hazel bush. We made the usual bows and arrows, again largely

from hazel wood, and catapults. The rubber wasn't always easy to get hold of. We spent a lot of time

outdoors, largely up on the hills.

We also played with iron hoops that we may have gleaned from defunct wooden barrels, but they

were not easy to come by. We would drive them along and guide them with sticks, and maybe have a

few races especially down Childsbridge Lane). Sometimes we might acquire a worn or damaged car

tyre. We could race with those to, but they were harder to control. Patches of tyre rubber were cut to

make a pad surface to make the handbrake on our homemade trolleys more effective. I can

remember that we took a couple of tyres up on the downs to the chalk-pit, and we rolled them over

the cliff-like edge. They went bouncing down to the bottom, then we would have to go down and

recover our treasures.

We did make kites out of hazel fronds for the frame, and brown wrapping paper. There was no

sellotape! The tail was make from basic string, and small 4" x 2" pieces of newspaper. It was very

difficult to get hold of suitable cord, especially any length, to provide a control line.

Empty barrels were good fun to walk on, especially steel ones if you could get them. We could have

races, and sort of battles, but this was rather a dangerous game, as one could suddenly fly off and

maybe land on one's head. It was an activity which was safer played on grass, but then the drums did

not roll so easily.

We knew some friends of John Hall's sister who lived at Woodlands, tucked up on the Downs. Their

parents (later) owned a small holiday camp. This had quite a bit of land (7 acres), and much of that

was woodland. We gained permission to ferret on that, and of course we would give the family a

brace of rabbits for their trouble. However, without their knowledge we extended the area of our

ferreting from their woods, well into surrounding woods and properties. Technically we were poaching.

Not far away was The 'Rising Sun' Public House, at Cotman's Ash. We knew the landlord Mr Phil

Benstead (always cheerful). He was an amazing man. The Pub also served as the farmhouse of a

small-holding with chickens, and some arable farm land. He also ran a newspaper delivery service,

which he carried out himself. He delivered our papers in Childsbridge Lane, and as far as I can

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remember, usually by bicycle. The Rising Sun, and Cotman's Ash, are no mean distance from our

home, and it stands on top of the hill. So he ran the farm, the pub, and a huge paper round. The pub

had no electricity, just like the Fox pub in Romney Street. As I remember it; 'The Fox' as being a dark,

and dingy, hole of a place with dim oil lamps. I believe that these pubs were popular at night, that

despite being difficult to get to (there being no cars), because they were so tucked away they were a

bit of a law unto themselves when it came to opening and particularly; closing times! No policeman

was going to get up there on his bicycle late at night. I can't remember what I was doing there, or for

what reason I went there, but the place was dingy under the dull yellow light form the oil lamps, and

the yellow tobacco-fume stained walls and ceilings. It was a place, which was steeped in

'atmosphere'; and as my brother-in-law would say: all the customers had "Katzenaugen" (cat's eyes),

i.e.: it was Scary! That was how I viewed it as a young teenager.

In those days 'Woodlands' was a very quiet backwater indeed. The golf course and club-house were

closed for the duration of the war.

Once, on a hot sultry day, I was walking down the footpath from Cotman's Ash, through and via

Whitehill Wood, and which down then ran beside the churchyard and cemetery of Woodlands Church.

It was very quiet. Then I saw a large, hot and sweaty, man in the churchyard. He wasn't wearing a

shirt! "How disgraceful" I thought, and in a churchyard too! Then I realised that he was digging a

grave. He paused for a brief rest from his exertions; he hadn't seen me. Then even worse; I saw him

lift up a dark brown beer bottle, and take a long swig out of a bottle; he paused, gasped, and then let

out a loud belch! How disgusting, in a churchyard! I was absolutely horrified! He made me think that

he could have come straight out a Dickens novel.

AT SCHOOL

At Sevenoaks Preparatory School there was a Morrison shelter in the basement. This had a large

rectangular piece of steel plate as a top, and supporting legs made out of angle-iron about 1 metre

high - it was a bit like large table - the sides were steel grid mesh. We never used it in earnest; we

only went into it once for a practice exercise. It did do some service as a table though.

All glass panes in the school building's windows were covered with strips of sticky tape, which was

common practice designed to reduce the chances of flying glass in the event of an explosion. I can't

really say that the war affected us at school, except the possibility that it could have affected the

availability of teachers, and especially the quality of teachers. There was of course a shortage of

books and materials.

Three of our teachers were sacked whilst I was at that school for 'misbehaviour' towards the pupils,

but I didn't get to know what form that misbehaviour took.

Whilst at the preparatory school we played cricket on the recreation ground off Holly Bush Lane. The

head master, Mr Jukes, was taking a keen interest in my bowling. He placed a sixpence on the

ground to indicate where I should pitch the ball, saying that, if I could hit the sixpence on the bounce,

then I could keep it - well I did, and, with his full round, and rose-red face, all smiles, he gave me the

sixpence. So he did it again, and I hit it again. I thought this is a good lark! However, after the second

time this practice was abruptly discontinued. I tried my hardest to persuade him to continue with his

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sixpenny targeting (I knew when I was onto a good thing), but he steadfastly refused, and he was no

longer full of beaming smiles, so I had to be content with the shilling I had gained. I felt cheated. But,

Mr Jukes had done me a great favour, because from then on, when I was bowling I always visualised

that sixpenny target, and I developed into a very good bowler (but, unfortunately, I was a lousy 'Hit-or-

miss' batsman).

... I had to be content with the shilling I had gained. I felt cheated.

I have unearthed this picture of me, dressed for cricket, and wearing the Sevenoaks Preparatory

School cap, and hand- me-down trousers. I was probably about 10 years old at that time. There were

no artificial fibres in those days.

We sometimes played 'Battleships' if we could get the square paper. We made 'Tanks' out of a cotton

reel, two matchsticks, and an elastic band. These would climb up the sloping desk-top.

There were no photo-copying devices; even carbon paper was scarce. Pencils were plain wood with

no paint on them. We would sometimes copy pictures from the newspaper, using a candle. We would

rub a sheet of paper with a candle, then place the illustration face down, and then rub the back of the

newspaper illustration. It worked, but it wasn't brilliant. The newsprint probably wasn't of the same

quality as it is today.

One of my school pals was named Donald Ramsay. He told me (in strict confidence then) that his

father was a high ranking officer in the Navy, and I now wonder (if what he had claimed was indeed

true) if that person couldn't have been Vice Admiral Bertram Ramsay he was referring to, who was put

in charge of the Dunkirk Evacuation in 1940? I did call on Don at his home, and if my memory serves

me correctly, I think he lived with his mother in temporary accommodation, at a house at the end of

Park Lane, Kemsing.

At Sevenoaks School, where I was until 1950, almost all the male teachers wore their old military

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uniform. I distinctly remember that our P.E. Teacher, Mr Toser, came to school wearing his R.A.F.

uniform with the rank of corporal. Some teachers wore brown tropical kit. But, WE had to wear school

uniform (With short trousers! Even in Winter!)! We managed to persuade Mr Fife (farmer, and father of

James Fife, a fellow pupil, and good friend at the time) to go on the panel, and we were lucky enough

to get Captain Knight who was an ornithologist (and was well known character in Kemsing and around

Sevenoaks); I can't remember who the other panellists were. Mr Jukes the head master was the

chairman. Now, Captain Knight was an extraordinary flamboyant character. He was a huge man with

a beard, and he would be seen walking about Sevenoaks town dressed as if he was on safari. He

wore a large broad brimmed trilby, khaki jodhpurs, etc., and quite often he had a large eagle perched

on his shoulder. He had a large Rolls Royce car, which was a timber framed hooting-brake. It was

beige in colour and the rear of it was a rather box like shape with beech wood trimming (like the old

1960s Morris travelor. Well, I assumed that the wood was beech. When he turned up for the "question

time", he arrived true to his fashion, with one of his large Eagles perched on his shoulder. We boys

thought he was marvellous.

I was lucky enough to be allowed to pose a question to the panel, which was: "In view of the food

shortage, would it be sensible for me to have a dog for Christmas?"

The chairman passed my question straight to Captain Knight. "Well" he said, "I don't really know, I've

never tried one - we always have a chicken, or a turkey, if we can get one".

"In view of the food shortage, would it be sensible for me to have a dog for Christmas?"

Of course I was very embarrassed, people laughed, how could my hero do this to me? However, he

was very nice, and with a wink he said that I should get a dog. The shortage of food was one of the

excuses my mother had proffered for my not being allowed to have a dog. And the lovely dog that I

eventually got from the Aitken's at Lower St. Clere Farm, is another story.

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Captain Knight surprised everybody in the hall by allowing his huge eagle to fly, back and forth, low

across the audience. He eventually had to put a stop to it, because the eagle made a grab at one

boy's head. Captain Knight explained that his bird was attracted to ginger hair, which this particular

boy had. I have a feeling that boy might have been John Hall.

I can't recall any of the other questions.

My impression of Captain Knight.

One day, when I arrived at the Prep. School by bicycle, we were prevented from going inside, and we

were ordered to assemble in the school playground (back garden). We were told that a pupil had

contracted 'infantile-paralysis' (polio) and that the school was under quarantine. We would all have to

go home until further notice. Although I had no idea what infantile paralysis was, this was marvellous

news to me, it effectively meant that we were on holiday. We were supposed not to mix with other

children, but as we tended to play with school friends anyway, this did not present us with too much of

a handicap.

I then, joyfully, cycled home, AND I could safely cycle through Seal without having to run the gauntlet

of the children from the council houses in Childsbridge Lane, as they would, by then, be safely in

incarcerated in their own school classrooms.

As long as I could remember what this "Infertile-per-ally-siss" business" thing was called, because I

would have to explain to my mother about it, and that it had been the reason for our being sent home

from school. Yippee!

I remember once, or twice, crossing Rochester Bridge over the River Medway on the train, and

looking through the lattice steelwork I caught a glimpse of flying boats moored on the river. One was

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"Piggy-Back" unit, and this attracted my attention the most. There was only one of these units ever

built, and so I know that this version must have been the Short's 'composite aircraft' G-ADHJ, 'sitting'

on an Empire Flying Boat. This set-up came into being in 1937. Whilst I can remember it quite vividly,

I couldn't have been very old when I saw them.

One was "Piggy-Back" unit ... Mercury (On Top) and Maia.

Shorts, who built, and operated flying-boats were based at Rochester, but soon after the war, the

factory moved to Belfast in 1948. Unfortunately the Medway was regarded as too restricted for safe

landing, and taking off. Even though that was before the A2/M2 road-bridge had been built.

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Chapter 6

V1.s - DOODLEBUGS

One day, when I was at the top of our garden working on our veggie-patch with my brother, an

unfamiliar and rather noisy aircraft passed overhead (Roughly from South to North). It must have

been at the beginning of July 1944.

My brother (who was nearly 12 years old then) said that it must have been one of the new enemy

pilotless aircraft he had heard about, one without a propeller - a flying-bomb. I failed to understand

how an aircraft could possibly fly without a propeller, and I argued that I had in fact seen that it had a

small propeller, at its nose. Apparently I was partially correct ("I was a little bit right!"), because they

(or some of them) were indeed fitted with a small propeller. This propeller wasn't what provided the

driving force to the machine along, but it drove a counter, which measured the distance the flying

bomb had travelled. It was pre-set at a predetermined distance, and when the aircraft reached that

distance, a device was tripped, which activated the elevators so that they suddenly threw the craft into

a steep dive. That was the theory, but it didn't always work that way.

I soon realised that he must be right, and how! A total of 11 Doodlebugs 'fell' in the parish of Kemsing.

, and many more passed on overhead. Whilst they made only a shallow crater when they exploded,

the blast damage from them was usually considerable. It was to counter the threat of the V1., that

Barrage Balloons quickly arrived on the scene.

Fortunately the Doodlebugs were not very accurately targeted, and several landed, or crashed, into

the Downs, which was thinly populated. From our grandstand viewpoints on Kemsing Hills, we could

often see several of these little snarling terrors in the sky at the same time. After all, more than 9000,

of them were launched towards London from various sites along the Pays-de-Calais coast in France.

Their flight paths for London diverged over us in Kent as they headed for the city. Many of them were

shot down before they got to us by anti aircraft-guns, which were stationed nearer the coast. Those

that got through the barrage, then had fighter aircraft to contend with, and then the barrage-balloons.

About 2,500 actually reached London. Most of those probably flew over Kent, and us!

The 'Doodlebug', or V1 (Victory One) was a small pilotless aircraft 25'-4" long propelled by a 'pulse-jet'

engine. It carried 850 kg. of high-explosive in its nose. It a gyroscopic compass which controlled its

direction and stability. It had a distance calibrator (The small propeller?), which was pre-set for

distance. When it reached its set distance, the elevators were activated to put it into a vertical dive for

maximum effect when it exploded. This activation didn't always work. If it did, then the noisy engine

suddenly cut, and you had about 12 seconds* of silence before the big bang.

* Depending on how far away you were from the impact and consequent explosion.

I was out walking along the hills, when I came across the site of a recently exploded Doodlebug. It

had fallen, and exploded, in a shaw that was not so very far from the rear of, "Treacle-Towers" (The

then home of Sir Oliver Lyle - the sugar Baron of 'Tate and Lyle' Ltd.). "Treacle-Towers" is now known

officially as 'Hildenborough-Hall',* and later as 'Otford Manor', but not by me! 'Treacle-Towers' it was,

and always will be; I think "Treacle Towers" is a much nicer name than Hildenborough Hall! It is

nowhere near Hildenborough! Whilst foraging around in the debris of the aftermath of the explosion, I

found the 'giro-compass'. Quite a find I thought! I was proudly carrying this home, when a man

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appeared from nowhere, and he approached me. He asked me what I was carrying, and I told him, if

he could see it, then would probably have already realised that, without too much trouble, especially

when he looked at it more closely. He demanded that I give it to him. He said that it must be

surrendered to the military authorities for examination. I couldn't really argue. He may not have been

right, but he was an adult, and adults were always right - weren't they? So I reluctantly handed it over.

So I lost my treasured find. Quite who he was remains something of a mystery, because we rarely, if

ever, saw any adults up on the Downs during the war. He was of the age to have made him eligible

for military service, but of course he could have been home on leave.

* now Otford Manor.

Lord Lyle's 'Treacle Towers' house, being rather remotely situated up on the hill, was self-sufficient,

had its own well, and two electric power generators. Cables from the house ran down the hill, to

supply electricity to the St. Mary's Church, St. Edith's Hall, and the Working Men's Club. Sometime

since the war this source of power has changed, and the church has been connected to the normal

national grid supply system for its electricity.

At least one or two more V1s. fell in the woods (Beech Lees Wood) on the hills, and these just

decimated the surrounding trees, but left only their usual a shallow crater. The remote North Lodge of

St. Clere Estate was destroyed when it received a direct hit from a V1. Fortunately the resident Turner

family were in a shelter, which had only been constructed less than two weeks previously. I went

along on my bicycle to have a look at the wreckage, not long after it had happened. North Lodge was

eventually rebuilt, more-or-less back to as it was. I sometimes wonder how such people managed to

be in the safety of their shelter just at the right time. One had to go about our everyday business, or

activity, whatever that was, and one couldn't normally afford to spend much time in a shelter. Not that

a shelter would necessarily guarantee complete protection, especially from a direct hit.

On another occasion, I must have chosen to travel to and from school by bus that day. On my return

home, I had just disembarked, at the bus stop on the Pilgrim's Way. This was situated at the top of

Childsbridge Lane. Before I set off to walk down the lane to my home (near to the junction with West

End), I must have paused for a moment to watch the bus drive off along the Pilgrim's Way to its next

stop, which was at the top of the Landway. The sky was overcast with fairly heavy cloud cover. I

heard a strange noise, one which I had never encountered before. Anybody, who has heard gliders,

will recognise the swishing noise I mean - for it was just like; the swishing noise a glider in flight

makes. I looked up, and just at that moment a Doodlebug dived out straight out of the clouds - it was

heading directly for me! I ran down the road like a scalded cat, as fast as my legs would carry me, a

quick glance over my shoulder showed me that the flying bomb had veered away at the last minute I

skidded to a stop, and turned around just had time to see it disappear above the trees tops, to crash

out of sight into the hill with an horrendous bang. I saw the explosion as the smoke and debris rose

above the trees, and I quite definitely saw several shock-waves spread away from it. The engine of

the Doodlebug must have stopped running, before I had left the bus, otherwise I should have heard it,

before I saw it.

I don't know the precise location of where that particular Doodlebug landed, but it was close enough!

I have already explained that we had a barrage-balloon unit out in the field, and not far from our

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house. I heard a V1 coming, and I stood and watched it come into view (it was as well to know where

a V1 was heading). This one was approaching, and would pass directly overhead - if it did pass! YOU

NEVER COULD BE SURE. And you waited, and you prayed. I had established a theory that:

generally, if the motor was coughing and spluttering, then there was a fair chance that it would keep

on going. If it had a steady 'healthy' note, then the engine could cut-out at any moment, and it would

go abruptly into a vertical dive. This one was spluttering. And, true to my theory, it continued to fly on,

directly over my head. It hit the cable of 'our' barrage balloon. The one in the 100 acre field in front of

our house. The cable parted. Whether it broke, or was cut, I do not know. This impact with the cable

caused the Doodlebug to veer slightly from its course. If it had not it done so, and had it carried

straight on, then it would almost certainly have come in contact with the second barrage-balloon cable

in 'our' field. But, it missed the next balloon, and carried on regardless - spluttering on its way. I

dashed indoors, and raced upstairs to my mother's bedroom window, which was at the front of the

house, and from where I could get a better view. I was just in time to see that Doodlebug strike, and

go straight down the cable of another barrage-balloon, which was located close to the Otford Road,

and just opposite Vestry Road. I saw the explosion, and I ducked down to be below the level of

windowsill, to be away from the window glass (not that I should have realistically expected the blast to

be effective from that distance). I waited, crouched below the window, and it seemed an

extraordinarily long time before the sound of the bang reached me. I remember feeling a little bit

cocky, because I had worked out in my mind the reason why - I knew that sound takes longer to travel

than light (Or vision) does. Sound travels at about 700 miles per hour, but it still a seemed a jolly long

time. Although it probably only took about 2½ seconds for the sound of the explosion to reach me.

Opposite that particular Balloon site was a large nursery, known then as: ' Ladd's Nursery', which had

rows of long green houses. They were shattered, I doubt if a single pane of glass remained intact in

any of them. Rumour had it that the crew manning that balloon unit had dived into a slit trench, and I

think most of them survived - but I'm not at all sure about that. I expect the event will be recorded

somewhere.

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The cable parted. Whether it broke, or was cut, I do not know

I remember the crew of 'our' site winding in the broken cable, to which the balloon had been attached,

had fallen across to the far corner of our field. I have no idea what happened to the balloon. I suppose

my attention was focused on the Doodlebug.

The harsh growling noise of the Doodlebug's pulse-jet engine was most unpleasant, even more so

when you knew the threat that it presented. The sudden silence when the engine cut, was even

worse! The aircraft was set to go into a vertical dive after a pre-set distance, the engine only cut out,

because the violent, and sudden, change of direction starved it of fuel. It wasn't an intentional feature

of its design - the engine was supposed to keep running all the way down to the ground.

As I have just explained, the engine noise was most unpleasant. At night it was even worse. I

remember burying my head under the pillow to hide from the noise of passing flying bombs. If the

engine stopped, you had about 12 seconds of silence and sheer terror, until you heard the resultant

bang, and you knew that you were safe (from that one), and to relax until the next one came along.

However, we must have slept through some of it. One night I was awoken by an almighty bang - the

whole house shook. My mother and I emerged from our respective bedrooms simultaneously,

meeting each other on the landing. There was dust and debris everywhere. The plaster ceilings had

come down, and it was crunching and uncomfortable under our bare feet. Suddenly my mother cried

out in alarm: "Where's Derek?" (there had been no sight, nor sound, from my brother in the other

bedroom). We both went into his bedroom. Fragments of the ceiling were all over the place, on the

floor, and on the bed - that, and dust was everywhere! We discovered that my brother was still asleep.

I vaguely remember that he had a slight graze mark on his forehead.

After we had sorted ourselves out a bit, it was decided that we should sleep the rest of that night

downstairs in the hall, on the floor. My faith, and belief, in my mother's theory, that of bombs were not

going to hit us - she thought that we were invincible, was starting to weaken. However, the next night

saw us back upstairs back in our proper beds again.

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In the light of the next morning, I went to investigate. The V1. had come down almost on the lower

part of Childsbridge Lane where was almost no noticeable crater, but debris was everywhere, over a

huge area.

The lane was quickly cleared of all the immediate debris, and I was able to cycle to school again;

though I didn't always go that way. Often I went to school using the longer, but safer way, via Otford.

Safer for me, because I had to run the gauntlet of the kids who lived in the Council Houses just south

of the railway bridge in Childsbridge Lane. These kids often threatened us (or me, if I was on my

own), and on one occasion I was in the midst of some stone throwing, I was hit by a stone, which

caused me to come off my bike. I suffered some quite nasty bruising and grazing. It wasn't far from

the council-houses (Seal Croft Cottages) to the Ash-Platts bridleway (a short-cut to Seal Hollow

Road), and once I gained that unscathed, and was away along that, then I reckoned that I was safe. It

was up hill until then, which didn't allow me to get past them very quickly.

This, for me, was the most frightening thing I had had to cope with during the war.

I only ever missed one day off school, apart from some genuine ailment such as Chicken Pox, and

the story behind that occasion, was as follows: -

One morning, when I was in the back bedroom, and still in my pyjamas. I was standing on the double-

bed, when I spotted a Doodlebug over Kemsing, and heading directly towards us. That by itself was

enough to grasp my urgent, and undivided, attention, and alert the senses to the threat of the

potential danger it posed - i.e.: in other words: - "Panic-stations!" What happened next took place so

quickly. A fighter aircraft suddenly appeared, it closed on the Doodlebug from behind, and it became

so close that, they were for a moment, visually inseparable. The V1. turned sharply through 90º , went

into a shallow dive, and into the front of a conspicuous white house at the foot of the Downs, called

'The Dial'. There was an explosion, with all sorts of dirt and debris thrown up high. When the 'dust'

settled the house was still there. The aircraft had continued towards me, peeling off slightly in a

gradual curve, which afforded me enough of a side view, to note its silvery fuselage, and blister

cockpit - I took it to be a Tempest, but it might have been a late model spitfire with a blister cockpit

canopy. Whatever, I believe that the fighter had tipped the Doodlebug in towards the hill below

Treacle-Towers.

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A fighter aircraft suddenly appeared, it closed on the Doodlebug from behind ...

At breakfast I related what I had just witnessed to my Mother, and I managed to persuade her (rather

against her better judgement) to let me off school for once, so that I could cycle up to the house called

the Dial, to see what had exactly happened. Which I did. I went up Childsbridge Lane, and turned

right along the Pilgrim's Way until I arrived at the public footpath, which went directly up to the Downs

from the Landway. I went up the footpath to get to the top of the field just below 'The 'Dial'. There was

a handful of people here. I was amazed to find that there appeared to be remarkably little damage to

the house - a few damaged roof tiles, a slight crack at one corner. The 'Dial' had a garden at the front,

which sloped down in large stages, away from the front of the house. The doodlebug had crashed into

their sloping rockery, a short distance from the front of the house. The slope appeared to have

deflected the blast up, and up and over, the house. There were some quite large bits from the flying-

bomb lying around, especially its tail/exhaust pipe.

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I happened to find this picture among some scraps of paper when I was doing a bit of tidying up; there

is no date on it. The juxtaposition with the dial and the church may be a bit awry.

There was a T.V. programme (March 2002) about WW2. And the V1s, in which a fighter pilot who was

flying a Typhoon, called Bob Barckley was interviewed; he said that he tipped a Doodlebug near

Sevenoaks. He said that it had turned and dived into a wood. This incident may not have been the

same one, but if the aircraft had tipped the V1, it would then have flown ahead of the victim, and that

being the case, then, he may possibly not have been able to see too well, as to what precisely did

happen to that particular flying bomb, after he had tipped it. It was slightly wooded immediately

adjacent to the 'Dial'.

I am somewhat puzzled as to what had become of the barrage-balloons at this stage. Where were

they? It would have been rather risky for the pilot of the Tempest to have flown in among the balloons,

although I don't remember there being any in located the village itself. Balloons may well have still

been in place there then. It is just a detail of the time that I don't remember, or it didn't register, if there

were, or not. But, I do vaguely remember a balloon, which had, apparently, broken free (the cable

could have been cut perhaps?) and it was drifting above Sevenoaks. I was waiting with others for a

bus. We saw a fighter aircraft appeared on the scene and it made several passes around and at the

stray balloon.

We used to play with the Barrage-Balloon crew who were based in the field just across the road. They

had a heavy leather football.

We were all watching the drama unfold, One of the men in the group who was waiting for the bus

exclaimed loudly:-

"Eees trying to shoot 'im darn" .

"Why would they would they want to do that?" I asked. I didn't get an immediate answer.

Whilst in the mean time, the fighter was having apparently no affect on the wayward balloon, and

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eventually it departed from the scene.

"Eees run art of ammo, I suspect." said one.

"But why shoot it down?" I asked.

"Cos its an 'azard to airplanes".

"But!" I cried: "its one of ours balloons, being shot down by one of our aircraft!" It didn't sense to me at

the time, but a loose balloon would have been a hazard to friend and foe alike.

Then another fighter came into the fray and this time his fire caused the poor balloon to burst into

flames, it collapsed and sank down beyond the horizon.

"I bet 'e 'ad tracers", said our friend.

Another Doodlebug to cause damage, and injury, fell in Rye Lane Otford, the sister of a friend of ours

(John Hilder's sister-in-law?) was injured in that incident. Another one fell on a house at the top of

Tudor Drive, off the Pilgrim's Way, near Otford, on July the 29th., 1944 - when one elderly lady was

killed. In total 137 Doodlebugs fell in the Sevenoaks rural district.

Things were getting serious! I thought we (The Allies) were supposed to be gaining the upper-hand in

this war.

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Chapter 7

V2.s. ROCKETS Things were indeed getting serious, but worse was to come - the V2s. These were

very nasty, and very worrying. At least with the V1, or Doodlebug, you could hear, and see them

coming, i.e.: you did have some warning, and therefore some chance. They could also be shot down,

as many were. There was a high degree of excitement associated with them. But this V2, there was

absolutely no warning. The only way you knew anything, was when it rudely introduced itself to you

with an almighty bang! That was of course, providing it missed you! Otherwise you wouldn't hear it, or

anything else forever after, amen! You didn't see them coming. They were just not cricket!

When cycling to school, on the 23rd. of February, 1945, I had reached as far as Ash-Platts bridleway

unscathed. I am sure there is such a thing as a premonition. Roughly half way across the Ash-Platts,

there is (or was) a sharp little hollow that one had to pass through. The path made a dip down, and

then there was a short climb out of it - under an umbrella of beech trees (which were still wearing their

light winter coat of a few brown leaves); when I felt a strong sense of unease. A few minutes later,

when I emerged out of the wooden kiss-gate, crossed the A25, and had just started up Seal Hollow

road, when I heard a colossal bang from behind me. I could see nothing from where I was, so I

carried on to school. Later on in the day at school, there was talk that a V2 had fallen near Seal, and

that the Number 9 bus from Maidstone had had its windows blown out. I do not know how exactly true

that was. However, cycling home after school that afternoon we returned via the Ash-Platts as usual.

When we arrived at the half-way point, that of the hollow along the bridleway, we came upon a scene

of some devastation. A V2 had made a deep crater, just to one side of where the Ash-Platt's pathway

had been. We had to circumnavigate the area through a garden to regain the path. I believe that one

man, who had been in the garden, was killed. Whilst the crater was large, surprisingly, the

surrounding area was not as badly affected as we were becoming used to expect from a flying-bomb.

A V2 had made a deep crater

I have already mentioned the V2, which devastated houses in Wickenden Road, St. John's,

Sevenoaks, and killed 9 people. Perhaps the ground was harder there, because the crater was

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smaller, the damage was extensive. The V2 travelled at super-sonic speeds (well over 3000 mph.),

and they carried one tonne of explosive. If one fell on your foot you really did need to have your

fingers in your ears!

DUMMY AIRFIELD

We were cycling along the A225 from Otford to Shoreham, when I spotted some aircraft haphazardly

parked in a field (roughly where the cricket field later was sited). It seemed to my young mind a

strange place to have an airfield. There were tall trees all around, and the ground sloped a lot. We

soon twigged on that the planes were dummies. This was supposed to be a dummy airfield to confuse

enemy bombers - we weren't so easily fooled, nor apparently were German bombers.

GERMAN AIRCREW'S GRAVES

Some German aircrew were buried in Seal Church's graveyard. The graves were marked with

crosses, which bore their names. The bodies may have been transferred elsewhere after the war,

because I don't think they are there now.

Note from Len Barton (of Wingham): Many of these graves of German casualties, as have been

located; have been re-buried with full military honours in the German Cemetery at Cannock Chase.

The ground(s) are now officially recognised as German soil.

LORD HAW HAW

"Germany Calling. Germany Calling"! I remember we were opening our Christmas presents when

someone in the family tuned into 'Lord Haw Haw' on our radio. He was saying what a bad time we

were having, and spoke about all the things that we couldn't get, when my Auntie Peggy opened her

parcel, which contained a pair of 'silk stockings'; she jumped up, danced about, and waved them

about triumphantly; defiant at the voice coming from the radio. We all laughed, deriding 'Lord Haw

Haw'.

[Note from Len Barton: Joyce - who was arrested after the war, was tried, found guilty and hanged as

a traitor in the Tower of London].

THE BBC and Radio Entertainment

There was no Television. We had a Murphy-Richards valve radio. This was large with a wooden case.

As far as I can remember there was only one radio station, and that was the good old BBC. The news

bulletins were very important to us, and we were very familiar with many of the war correspondence,

including Richard Dimbelby, and John Snag.

We always listened to Churchill's speeches. I think he did inspire the nation at that time. Just when

such inspiration was desperately needed.

The BBC's children's programme (Children's Hour) was at 5. pm. Introduced usually by Uncle Mac. I

remember 'Toy-Town' and Larry the Lamb. The latter was a bit juvenile, but we still used to listen to it.

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There were many comedy programmes such as ITMA. ('It's That Man Again). Variety programmes,

and some excellent, and exciting serialised dramas; such as: The 39 Steps by John Buchan, and Paul

Temple by Francis Durbridge, and the 'Man-in-Black' with that eerie spooky voiced actor: Valentine

Dyal.

Also famous were singers: Vera Lynn (we'll meet again…) the 'Forces Sweetheart', Gracie Fields, and

a host of other entertainers. Good comedians and comedy programmes. We certainly didn't go short

of humour on the radio. Most performers used to go off and entertain the troops.

Desert Island Discs (Roy Plumley?), and the "Forces Favourites", which was introduced by Cliff

Mitchelmore and Jean Metcalf. There was a weekly variety programme called "In Town Tonight".

INCIDENTALS

There was a large army training camp above Wrotham in Trosley Park. My Father's cousin, Louis

Bannister, was stationed there for his officer-training course. He 'marched' from there the 5 miles to

our house in his very smart lieutenant's uniform, with Sam-Brown belt and everything - I was most

impressed. Then after he had a meal with us, he had to march all the way back to his camp.

Later, my uncle visited us with his 'new' fiancé. They arrived at Otford Railway Station. My mother

walked all the way to the station to meet them, which was a distance of about 1½ miles, pushing an

old pram. The purpose of that, pram was to be able to carry the couple's luggage, which included a

suitcase, on the walk back to our house. There was no taxi service then.

I believe that the first Taxi in the area, and certainly in Kemsing, did not materialise until the early

1950s, when a Mr Chapman, who lived in Dynes Road started running one, a large black (Virtually all

cars that there were then were black) Austin 16 saloon. Not many, if any families would have owned a

car in Dynes Road at that time.

John Hilder - Myself and Monty (my cat) - Derek (my brother)

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John Hilder - Myself - Derek - David Bridge

Standing outside Knole House main doorway

I can distinctly remember, that when this picture was taken (which I think was taken by my father), I

refused to straighten my school cap. I had this idea that wearing it at a 'jaunty' angle created a more

macho-image. Perhaps I was years before my time! The cap was the only item of the preparatory

school uniform that I wore, though we wore dismal grey thick cotton shirts. Later they introduced a

blazer, and a breast pocket badge. Short trousers were worn to school, throughout the year, at that

age; regardless of the weather. John Hilder, and Derek were 3 - 4 years older, and old enough to be

wearing long trousers.

My brother is wearing a lumber jacket that my mother made out of a blanket. I had a similar one.

David Bridge was our next-door neighbour, but one, and we were about the same age. He went to St.

Michael's School. A sign of those times, sadly, was that his father died of TB. His next-door neighbour

was Rex Duval. His father (Mr Duval) also died of TB. at around about the same time.

John Hilder's father had the butcher's shop in Plumstead (South east London) that took our rooks to

sell, and many of our rabbits. My cat 'Monty' was named after General/Field Marshal Montgomery

(Ironically, many years later my sons had a pet rabbit each, one of which they named Rommel).

One of the pupils at the Preparatory School contracted Polio (David Brown). When this was

discovered, the whole school was shut down, and we were all sent home immediately. Which, for us,

was great for we had an extra long summer holiday. The Polio Virus has almost been wiped out since

then. Fortunately that boy made a good recovery, and he is fit and well today (2004).

CHRISTMAS & DECORATIONS

We cut up strips of newspaper to make paper-chains, making the glue out of flour and water.

Sometimes we were able to get the coloured strips of paper. My mother made what she called a

'Mistletoe" out of newspaper and a wooden hoop (gained form redundant, or damaged butter barrels),

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to hang on the front door. If we were sometimes lucky we managed to get hold of plain coloured crepe

paper. We didn't have a Christmas tree. We would cut a few branches of a yew tree and bundle them

together to make the best Christmas tree we could out of it. The decorations for it, and around the

house had to be mostly home made. Such as walnuts, and fir cones. Nobody had any Christmas

lights!

THE END OF THE WAR

Whilst the general feeling was that people were pleased and relieved that the war was over, I had

hardly known anything else in my life, other than a wartime environment. Most of my war experiences

at that age, had been of excitement, tinged with fear from time to time, and if it hadn't been for the V2.

Rockets I would have been quite happy for the war to have continued. I thought: "Oh dear", the end of

the war would mean that there would be: no more: soldiers, military vehicles, or aircraft dogfights. Had

we been on the losing side, and had I been older, then my feelings would, no doubt, have been rather

different. Now, with hindsight and greater experience of life, I am very glad that I wasn't a parent, or

an adult, during that time.

I remember hearing the sound of church bells being rung, which was a first time for me. However, on

VE. Day we went up the hill, and carved the date, and the words: "VE Day" into the bark of a large

beech tree, just off Chalky Lane, to mark the date. I remember that the bark was very hard. A Mr

Webber, an elderly gentleman (a retired mariner) who lived in a bungalow two doors down the road. I

vaguely remember that his son was in the Navy, and that they named a grandson 'Rodney' after his

father's gallant ship: HMS Rodney. Any way, it was Mr Webber who gave me his ex-naval services

jack-knife (of which I was very proud), which we used to carve the tree (it was a beech, and the bark

was very hard).

AFTERMATH

Kemsing Railway station was always well kept, with flowerbeds and roses, etc.. What went unnoticed

by most rail travellers was, that whilst they might have observed, and appreciated the hanging flower

baskets, that at least one of them was made from a WW2. British Army helmet. It was still there in the

1960s.

We quite often used to cycle down via Noah's Ark along Honeypot Lane to Kemsing Station. Although

it was in an isolated position, quite a lot of goods were delivered to that station by rail, and stored in

the goods-shed. We used to go there to watch the goods wagons, and coal trucks being shunted (by

a steam Loco). There were sidings, and quite a sizeable coal depot there, in those days. We also

stopped off to lay a penny or two on the rails at the farm level-crossing part way along Honeypot

Lane, then retrieve the flattened results on our way back.

The following tale was related to us (Or the gist of it was): in the 1960s, by a certain Mrs Ashdown, of

No. 4 Whatcot Cottages. The cottages, which were situated on the A25, in Platt (St. Mary's Platt, near

Wrotham).

A German bomber crashed between Borough Green, and St. Mary's Platt (Near Wrotham, Kent). The

local policeman became involved as members of the crew were killed or died. It just so happened that

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the policeman's wife, Mrs Ashdown was born in Germany, and hailed from Bavaria. She was drawn

into the affair, because she was German speaking, and became involved in examining the crew's

documents that had been recovered from the crashed plane. Upon examining their papers, she

discovered that, by a very remarkable coincidence, she had in fact, at one time, lived in the same

building/ block of flats, in Germany, as one of the members of that crew! I.e.: She knew him. She took

it upon herself to write to the relatives of one of the deceased, a letter of explanation of the

circumstances, and to offer her condolences. I believe this was sent through the auspices of the Red

Cross.

Apparently, Mrs Ashdown eventually received a reply. To her astonishment, it seemed that their main

concern of the deceased's relatives was that 'Hans'* had owned an expensive pair of Zeiss

binoculars, and they thought that he would have been carrying them on his person during the raid.

The important question they were asking was: "What had happened to his binoculars?"

*The name 'Hans' is concocted.

CHILDSBRIDGE LANE (Kemsing).

Our house was built in 1930, and it was one of the first houses to be built in Childsbridge Lane. On

either side of the lane, and of Dynes Road (then a just a dirt track), there were just open fields. The

Lane was widened in (about) 1939. The original (sunken) lane was an ancient sunken lane that ran

under where the footpath, on the Kemsing side, now is, i.e.: between the telegraph poles. To get into

the '100 acre' field we had to climb up the bank and get through the hedge. That lane was filled in,

and the present footway was built on top of the old lane. I can remember all this work being done. As

a result of the road level being raised, part of the drive into our house had to be filled in, and raised to

meet up with it, and it was then resurfaced.

We didn't have such luxuries as: a dish-washer, fridge, deep-freeze, microwave, spin-dryer, electric-

iron, but we did have a 'COPPER' and a mangle. The 'Copper' was out in our small lean-to

greenhouse (Conservatory) at the back door. Our washing was done in the Copper. The 'Copper' was

a large inverted bell shaped tub, which sat in a cast-iron casing. There was a space between the tub

and the outer casing, which allowed heat and smoke to circulate; for, underneath the tub was a little

fire box. A fire was lit to heat up water in the tub. It took quite a long time to heat any volume of water.

Coal was rationed, and in short supply. This was another reason why we boys always brought wood

down from the hills, even in Summer time. The smoke went out from the back of the copper unit via a

metal pipe, or chimney, through a hole the green-house wall and up the side of the greenhouse wall

and out to atmosphere.

I can't remember what my mother used for washing 'powder', but I do remember large blocks of

'Sunlight-soap'. There was a wooden lid to the copper, and we had a wooden pole to stir, and pummel

the washing. Of course there was no nylon then, only wool and cotton, nothing was drip-dry. So we

had a wringer to squeeze the water out, and a 'Flat-iron, which was nothing like as good as a spin-

dryer of course. The iron was heated by the open fire, and we made toast that way too, using a

toasting fork. So we didn't have toast that often, especially in the Summer.

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We had didn't have any Cereals, except the occasional 'Porridge' (milk was Rationed, don't forget).

We sometimes had lard or 'dripping' to put on our bread. We could make our own jam, (providing we

could get the sugar) and we used to 'bottle' (Preserve) fruit. All that fruit would be locally grown

(especially plums), or collected from hedgerows, such as blackberries, and damsons. Preserving,

other than as a jam, was done in Kilner jars. These jars had a rubber seal, which was only supposed

to be used once, and then thrown away, but since these seals (being made of rubber) were very

difficult to obtain, they were reused. However there was some risk in this, in that the seal could fail. A

failed jar seal could mean that the contents would quietly start to ferment tucked away out of sight in a

cupboard. That is, until the pressure built up and it exploded. The resultant mess was dreadful, and a

major cleaning up operation was then necessary. We so once had a bottle of homemade Ginger-beer

which exploded! What a mess that made Carrots and potatoes were grown in our garden, and we

stored what we had spare, by immersing them in sand, in second-hand plywood 'Tea Chests', which

was kept in our garage. People also made 'clamps' to store potatoes in, or try to. It wasn't always very

successful. There was no exotic fruit like Bananas, oranges, dates, etc. All was locally grown and in

season. But we gathered hazel nuts, and chestnuts, which we roasted on the open fire. We grew

tomatoes too, but usually finished up with green (unripe) ones, with which we made chutney.

Occasionally, we might find some largish field mushrooms. If they were partially nibbled, especially

those found in a sheep field, we felt that this was a sign that they were saved for us to eat too.

All this was largely a very much a combined mother and child activity, as our father was rarely at

home, and abroad for at least two years of the war anyway.

My much older aunt who was one of eleven children said that all she ever got for Christmas was, an

apple, and orange, and a new penny (old money). I am not sure that she was right about the 'orange',

because I didn't see an orange until after the war.

Meats were in short supply. So one can see how important to us the rabbits we caught were. A lot of

people kept chickens, for their eggs and meat, even my Aunt and Uncle did in their very small garden

in London. Dairy produce was rationed. Eggs were sometimes pickled for storage, but this wasn't very

successful.

We ate 'Bubble-and-Squeak' (mashed potatoes and cabbage, all mixed up together), and enjoyed it.

In our house, there was no central-heating, no double-glazing, and poor insulation. My father had

lined the loft with plywood panels produced by breaking down old tea chests. We had electric

blankets. 'Rubber' hot-water-bottles were scarce; we had a (one only) horrible hard stone one, which

you had to be careful not to knock your ankle against when tossing and turning in bed.

We couldn't be fussy over our food. We ate what we were given. We didn't think that life was

particularly hard, we didn't know any other, but I can imagine the modern children would find it very

hard today if they were suddenly introduced to this way of living.

At the time of writing, John Hilder still lives in Kemsing, in Dipper's Close.

My wife and I were married in St. Mary's Kemsing Church in September, 1959, and our first home was

in St. Mary's Platt. My wife is German by birth, and her, and her family’s war time experiences were

far more traumatic than ours had been.

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Heverham (this is, I believe, the correct spelling) was a proper farming hamlet in those days; with the

smell of farm animals, and straw blowing, and lying about the place. Almost everybody that lived there

worked on the land in one way or was associated with it in one way or another. It had a forge. On

occasions I visited the forge and watched horse being shod. It had a quite different homely

atmosphere then, to what it has now.

What struck me most when I returned to Kemsing recently, was the extraordinary number of cars

cluttering up the village. Cars were few and far between in my school days, especially out in the

villages, yet people seemed to manage very well without them. If you went down to the village, I doubt

if we ever saw a car all the time we were there.

AFTERTHOUGHTS

MULTIPLE PILE-UP

I can't put a date to this incident, it may have been after the war. At this time it was long before the

M20 motorway had been built, and there was a simple crossroad junction. The A227 passed through

Wrotham village as the High Street, and it continued straight up the hill over the Downs as the

Gravesend Road. This was a renowned accident Black-Spot. A convoy of (I believe) fourteen army

trucks was descending Wrotham Hill on the A20, when, just as the leading vehicle came up to the

traffic-lights, they changed to red, and it stopped. Fourteen army vehicles ran into the back of each

other. I vaguely remember that a picture of the incident appeared in the Kent Messenger.

UNDERGROUND CHAMBERS

We would sometimes go into the woods that lie between Chalky Lane and Row Dow, above St.

Michael's School. Once we went with my Mother to collect blackberries. We were aware that,

technically, it was a private wood (there was a sign to say so), but we still went in there to collect

firewood or chestnuts in the autumn. However, this time we were 'caught', by a man who was wearing

a trilby hat. He gave my mother a telling-off for trespassing. We weren't doing any harm, and I can

remember my mother telling to him that he was a 'little Hitler'. The ultimate insult! He didn't like that at

all! I was quite shocked that my mother could say such a terrible thing. But, I thought that the horrible

man deserved it. But, 'Hitler', now that was pretty strong stuff!

Us boys, on our own, found our way through the chestnut woods to Rowdow Hill. There was an

overgrown track that led to a gate into the road at Rowdow. Near this gate we found some manholes

in the wood. We lifted these manholes to expose some huge, and deep, underground chambers built

with concrete. There were vertical iron rung ladders, and we climbed down into these chambers. They

were deep and huge. The only light came from the tiny rectangular manhole openings above. It was

cold damp and rather scary. There was little or nothing to see having climbed all the way down there.

We didn't know what they were used for at the time, but they could have been an empty reservoir.

They were our secret, but of course some adults must have known about them. However upon

reflection now, it was a dangerous thing for us boys to do, totally unsupervised, in an isolated spot,

miles from home.

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ARNHEM.

I can just remember large numbers of aircraft flying overhead (due east wards) during the day, and

that several of them were towing gliders. I remember thinking, at the time, that gliders weren't much

good, 'you can't fight with gliders'! Could it have been part of the Arnhem offensive I wonder?

I have travelled quite frequently to Germany for many years now, often by car. However, now, when I

pass, or go through places like: Arnhem, Essen, Dusseldorf, Hamm (Famous for its huge railway

marshalling yards), or cross the Rhine Bridge, all these names remind me of places, which are so

familiar to me, because they featured as front line news on the BBC.'s News bulletins during the war.

Particularly as bombing targets. I have also been to Dresden in 1998 and seen the sea of tower

cranes, which were part of the huge rebuilding programme. Dresden was a beautiful city, which was

devastated by allied bombing during the war. When we were there not long after the reunification the

cathedral was just a heap of rubble. Only this Year (2004) the main structure has been rebuilt,

financed by donations from all over the World. The copular was made in England, and the cross, were

donated by the people of Britain.

E.W.S. (Emergency Water Supply)

In most built up areas, often on bomb-sites, large tanks were constructed, which were designed to

contain water. Mostly for fire fighting purposes. These often her identified with large signs: "E.W.S.",

ADVERTISING POSTERS.

There were a few about, hardly any commercial ones, but I think they would have been displayed

mainly in large towns and cities. I remember "Dig For Victory", and the "Squander-Bug". You can't

imagine that in this day and age! When Squandering goes on everywhere now!

Some signs of the war still remain, such as this 'Pill-Box', which is situated on the Royal Hythe Military

Canal bank at St. Rumwolds Church, on the edge of Romney Marsh. There are several about,

including one in the village of Pluckley. I have photographs of several of them. There are a lot of

concrete Tank Traps still; about, one example is near Howletts Zoo at Lympne.

WW2 Bomb Craters Some sixty years or so (2001/2) since the Battle of Britain, and the Blitz, little

evidence now remains to indicate that Kent was an aerial battleground, or that any bombs ever fell on

the county. Craters have been filled in, over the years they have become overgrown, and bomb

damage to property has long since been repaired. But there is the odd exception as this photograph

can demonstrate:-

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WW2 Bomb Craters

In this photograph (taken in late December 2001), on the distant hill slope, one can see what looks

like, the relic of a W.W.2 bomb crater, and there is possibly a second one, which is less well defined

just above it, and slightly to its right. The shadows cast by the low angle of winter sunlight highlight the

depression caused by a bomb. The location of this particular crater is on the North Downs, near

Coombe Manor, Wye. Quite a lot of bombs appeared to have been dropped randomly way away from

any meaningful target, as were so many on the Downs above Kemsing. In this instance, it may have

been dropped by a bomber, which was trying to lighten its load in a case of an emergency. Or, it was

poor navigation and targeting; or, possibly because of poor visibility due to inclement weather, which

would be worse on a dark night. Sometimes dummy fires were lit on the ground to draw the bombers

away from real targets. Another possibility could have been (And I'm sure it happened), that the

bomber's crew decided to take a "Let's drop our bombs any old where, and get the Hell out of it, and

head for home to safety as quickly as possible" attitude. Who knows? There could also, of course,

have been a legitimate target in the area at the time.

TROLLIES

We used to construct trollies out of salvaged materials. Floorboards could be gleaned from bombed

out premises, and oddments of timber. Things like nails we recycled from where we could get them,

and straighten them out. Obtaining wheels was a problem. It wasn't even easy to get lubricating oil. I

know we got some from pram, or two, that we found in an tip/old rubbish pit that was in the corner of a

filed south of Gore Hill Farm. A bent nail had to make do for a split -pin.

We used to have races down Childsbridge Lane, which was quite wide and straight. The larger, older

boys used to invariably win, because they were heavier. Now, you can't imagine anyone doing that

today, because sheer volume of traffic just wouldn't allow it: - it would be far too dangerous. In the

winter snow, we had our home built sledges. If we were lucky we got hold of metal runners form the

base of a Morrison shelter, or wherever. That was O.K., until some rotten so-and-so would spoil

things by putting down ashes from fires to provide a grip for the odd vehicle, or horse and cart, that

did happen to come along.

Page 73: My WW2 Childhood Memories Written by Ted Prangnell · 2019-10-23 · My WW2 Childhood Memories Written by Ted Prangnell Introduction I was born in 1934, so in 1940 I would have been

There were virtually no fathers around to help us make these things, because they were away in the

war, or on some war duty. So it was a case of : "D.I.O." (Do it ourselves!).

SECRET SIGNALS.

If we were up on the hills, and we were looking for a friend, then we would make our call of a Pewit.

That would let them know that we were approaching, and they could confirm where they were from

the direction of the sound. Also if you heard anybody moving about in the woods, you could check

who they were, without actually seeing them.

UNEXPLODED BOMBS

There is 'nice' one on display in Chatham's town centre.

DIRECTION FINDING

As you will by now know; road/direction-signs were all removed. There were a lot more individual

pubs about then than there are now. They had a variety of names, so people could navigate, and give

directions using public-houses for identification.

For example :~

"Turn left at the cross roads, then go straight on from there. You will come to the Wheatsheaf, and the

Bell. Keep straight through the village until you reach the Fox and Hounds Fork left, and then keep

straight on up the hill until you reach the Rising Sun, at the next cross after the Rising Sun, turn right,

and so on……………

Notes:-

HMS. Kelly:

More very interesting, and exciting, information about the Kelly can be obtained from the web-site:-

www.hebburn.org.uk/pages/kelly.htm

Sevenoaks Prep. School has been relocated at Godden Green (TN15-0JU) since 1968.

Ref:< www.sevenoaksprep.sch.uk > and [email protected]/alumini (School

Magazine?) and [email protected] St Michael's School's e-mail address is : ~<

[email protected] > There is a publication called "The Pitkin Guide, and their : ~ 'Britain

in the Blitz' this carries pictures of the Morrison Shelter, and an Anderson type. The publication also

has an item about ladies painting their legs (no ladders in those 'stockings'), and it has an illustration

of a Ration Book, together with a list of how a weekly ration was made up during 1941. Ref.:

www.britguides.com