Early boyhood.

I was born 26th. May, 1931. Nothing outstanding about the actual date, except it was shared by two older people, Queen Mary, and George Formby! My earliest recollections were of the house we lived in, 39, Pearcroft Road, Leytonstone, on the fringe of east London. it was a small Victorian terraced abode, three up and three down, with a small garden.



My most vivid memory of the early years was about 1937, playing on the kitchen floor when a thunderstorm was on. My Mother, busy at the gas oven, was handling a pan of molten fat in the oven, when a flash of lightning startled her, caused her to jump, and the boiling fat was spilled over the floor, and my left foot. I think it was the first time I had felt such pain, and of course, I ended up in Whipps Cross Hospital. I apparently later developed double pneumonia through shock, and was quite ill, and was transferred to Great Ormond Street Childrens Hospital. (I am still on their list of previous patients, this indicated whenever they appeal for funds or support) I still have the scars on my foot to this day.



I attended school, Newport Road, in Leyton, firstly Primary then Junior departments. When the War was declared in 1939, I was aware, in the first few days that half of my friends had disappeared on something called 'evacuation', apparently out to other towns or villages in the country. Questioning my parents about this, they told my Sister and I that we were'nt going anywhere, and we were safer staying with them at home!



Of course, the school was closed for the duration, and what friends I still had and I enjoyed blissful days of play with our bicycles, going to such places as Epping Forest and Wanstead Flats.


During the end of 1939 and the first part of 1940, nothing much different seemed to happen in our everyday lives, and indeed, some of the children who had been hastily evacuated to safer places started to drift back to their homes, and the school reopened. Ironically, things started to happen. Abroad, the so-called 'phoney war' came to life when the Germans invaded Holland, Belgium and then France. Fierce fighting ensued for some weeks, ending with the capitulation of the three countries, and the withdrawal of the British Forces from France back to Britain. Over the next weeks air attacks started on the country, firstly on shipping in the English Channel and North Sea, and then the period known as the 'Battle of Britain' commenced in June with air attacks on the airfields of southern England, in an attempt to subdue the Royal Air Force, prior to an intention to invade across the Channel. For me, and others, this was a period when we watched daily the air fighting between the German and British Fighters and Bombers, wheeling and swooping in the skies, listening to the sound of machine guns and cannons. Sometimes, a 'plane would be seen coming down in flames, not too far away, and we would later mount our bicycles and head off towards where we thought the crash would be. And seeing airmen coming down in their parachutes caused concern, particularly if we thought it was one of our side. And of course, we listened enthralled to the radio news at the end of the day describing the events of the day, and the 'scoreline'.


This went on until September and October, when the daytime activity gradually diminished, and we learned that the feared likelihood of invasion had also receded. But a new menace now occurred, the so-called 'Blitz', a period of bombing, both day and night, on London and other cities. In London, the bombing seemed to be mostly in the dock areas of east London, and the industrial areas, although other areas suffered due to the haphazard nature of the bombing, or 'planes unloading their bombs when under attack from fighters or anti-aircraft fire. During this period, the family slept at night in an air raid shelter constructed in the rear garden. This had been supplied at the start of the war by the local council, and consisted of eight curved sheets of corrugated iron, bolted together to form an arch, with two more flat pieces each end to form a room. This was sunk two or three feet into the ground, and covered in earth or concrete to give some greater protection. Bunkbeds were then placed therein onto a wooden floor. Our own shelter was rather basic, indeed, was only used a few times and was abandoned as a sleeping place when my parents discovered a foot of water under the floor. From then on, we slept in the house on the ground floor, my sister and I under the heavy wooden table in the kitchen. Some neighbours fixed their shelters up like an extension to their house, decorating them, and carpeting, and fixing lights and cooking facilites. Another type of shelter was in fact brought out which was put together within the house, and was like a cage with a strong steel roof.

Being a boy, I was very much into modelling, particularly aircraft, and my bedroom was full of Spitffires, Hurricanes and other 'planes.







on 29th January, 1944, the night of the last aircraft bombing raid on London, a number of bombs were dropped in the Leytonstone area, one falling on the houses opposite. My Mother, Sister and I were under the table because there was a lot of frightening gunfire and sound of aircraft, and suddenly there was the whistle of something falling, and then an almighty bang, and the air was full of dust and bricks, and the lamp-post that had been outside the house opposite came hurtling through our passageway, into the kitchen at the side of us. My Mother became hysterical, because she thought my Father, acting as an Air Raid Warden, had been watching events from the front porchway. Fortunately, just before the bombing, he had passed through the house into the rear garden to go to our outside lavatory, and was safely at the rear of the house, otherwise he most certainly would have been killed. We were taken to a nearby relative for the night, and returned next day to salvage what we could of our smashed home. Nine of our neighbours lost their lives that night. We were later accomodated in a flat some streets away, and lived there for some months until 'first aid repairs' were carried out on our house to make it habitable again.





During the months we lived in this flat, on the second floor, we witnessed the start of the invasion of Europe, 'D-Day', 6th June. When daylight came, the skies were full of aircraft, and the radio news of the invasion was continuous. On cycling down the Southend Arterial Road from Ilford towards Southend, the road centre- verge, and a lot of fields either side were just giant parking places for endless lines of lorries, tanks, personnel carriers, jeeps and all sorts of warfare apparatus, with hundreds of soldiers in attendance. And there was a lot of activity on the airfields in the area, British, American and Canadian, at Hornchurch, Fairlop, Abridge, North Weald and others. It was all very exciting and a little frightening. Gradually, all this activity diminished as all the paraphernalia of war was transferred over the channel into France.



It was about this time that a new menace started, the Germans started launching a new weapon, a pilotless 'plane propelled by a Jet engine mounted above the aircraft, and containing a warhead in its nose that exploded when the aircraft hit the ground. This engine made a distinctive rasping sound and was unlike any other aircraft noise. my Father and I were standing on the balcony one dark evening, and saw the first of these weapons, known as the V1, or 'buzzbomb' or 'doodlebug' fly over. We thought it was an ordinary aircraft on fire, because of the flame coming from the jet, and watched as it went into the East End and crashed with a mighty bang in Bow. The following day, the newspapers reported what it was. Thereafter, more and more of them were fired over southern England, and at intervals, when hearing the familiar sound of one approaching, we would take cover somewhere until it had flown over. If in fact, the sound stopped, we went to shelter doubly quick because it was on its way down. The most serious incident was when a flying bomb came over Leyton, flying on it's side, apparently damaged by gunfire earlier, and because it was leaning to one side it started to circle. After three circuits round the district, the engine cut, and it fell. I was watching this, dived for cover into a doorway, and it exploded with a mighty roar. It fell onto the bus garage at Leyton Green, killing many busmen in the canteen.

The family had recently been living normally, sleeping in our own beds at night, but now we started to sleep under cover, in an air raid shelter at the rear of the flats, because the Flying bombs were coming over night and day, at fairly regular intervals. These were being fired from the Pas de Calais area, just across the channel. Our latest Fighters were stationed at coastal airfields, and intercepted the Bombs as they flew across the sea, shooting them down if they could catch them, or flying alongside, and tipping the wings over to cause them to fly downwards. If they crossed the coast, hundreds of Anti-Aircraft guns stationed in Kent and Sussex tried to shoot them down. And the final line of defence was a Balloon Barrage strung across the approaches to London. Despite these measures, many got through and fell on the huge metropolitan area and suburbs, causing many casualties and damage. Gradually, as the allied Armies advanced across France into Belgium and overran the launch sites, the attacks lessened.

But now came a new menace in the Autumn, a new weapon, the V2 Rocket started up, being fired from Holland towards London, climbing high into the sky, and falling on target within minutes, with no audible warning at all. These became the most terrifying weapons of all, and we lived in a constant state of fright. At night, my father and I used to look east towards Holland, and on a clear night could actually see the rockets launch into the sky, following the fire trail upwards, and later, after a few minutes, hearing an explosion somewhere. One afternoon, I went to a road in Leytonstone where a rocket had fallen, and watching people clambering over the debris of the smashed houses, I picked up a tiny sliver of orange-painted wood, part of the remains of a United Dairies milk-float. Nothing else was found, no body, nothing !! The large crater in the roadway indicated what had happened. This latest terror lasted until, again, the Allies swept into the parts of Holland the V2s were being fired from. This was towards the end of 1944. Gradually, as the raids diminished, then ceased altogether, life returned to happier times, the War, although battles were still being fought, looked as if it would be over in the forseeable future, at least, in Europe. The Allies were into German territory, as were the Russians in the east, and eventually, in May, 1945, a ceasefire was declared. There was much celebrating the end, but much sadness remembering friends and neighbours who had lost their lives, or been badly injured.

For myself, changes happened all of a sudden. At school, within weeks of my fourteenth birthday, I was told the time had come to leave school and go to work. I had not even given it a thought among other things that were happening, but one day, at an interview at school, when I said I did not know what I wanted to do, I was told my friend, who was going into the Post Office where his Father worked, had chosen well, and I might as well do the same thing! So much for a career choice! Some weeks later, I presented myself to a training office in a place called Sloane Square. I think it was the first time I had travelled on the underground railway. Thus, I quickly stepped from the security of schooldays, however chaotic and haphazard they had been, into the big, uncertain working world, of new surroundings and different people! The end of boyhood indeed.

Walking Weekends, Barkingside Boys Walking Club

In April, I shall be meeting up with old colleagues from my Police days, and walking for three days in the Peak District, in the heart of England. We have been doing this since 1990, and we go twice a year, usually in April, then September or October. There are usually between nine and sixteen of us, and our leader, who is a member of the Y.H.A., arranges accomodation in the nearest hostel. We often decide where we are walking next, at the finish of our previous walk, and over the years, we have seen some glorious countryside and many towns and vllages. We have done much walking in the Peak and Lake Districts, Cotswolds, South West Coast Path, Shropshire, and Exmoor. We have also covered the Pennine Way, Vanguard Way, in Kent, and the Cotswold Way.

We started off in 1990, three of us, walking the Southdowns Way, from Winchester to Eastbourne,103 miles, to raise money for a hospital at Epping, and it grew from that.

We meet up at the Police Sports Club at Chigwell, at 8a.m, and after a hefty breakfast travel by mimibus to wherever we are starting. This is on Thursday, and we return on Sunday afternoon.

The minibus we hire, from an old colleague, and of course, all contribute to the cost of that, and our other expenses.

A great weekend away, healthy and companionable.