Dunkirk The First of Many Mistakes: True Stories from the Second World War

By Roger Payne OAM

Storytelling is an art form, a descriptive account of an event or a succession of events. In this case, all 118 stories within its pages are true and for the most part, describe a calamitous event in each individual's life during the 2nd World War. They all add emotion and physical details to plain facts. We all have story's to convey and when you think about them, the really good ones will actually move us, and in this case, all of them will make us think to some degree because they come from an era we often cannot relate to. Some will shock you; others will bring you to tears, some may even make you smile or laugh. All of them will definitely make you ponder about your life, and what it could have been like if Britain and her allies had not won the Second World War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: VIJ Books (India) Pty Ltd
• Release date: Nov 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9789389620467

Roger Payne OAM

Roger Payne served in Britain's elite Parachute Regiment from 1960 to 1969. He and his family moved to Australia after he enlisted in the Australian Army as a physical training instructor to train National Servicemen for Vietnam. He remained in the Army until 2003. During that time he developed new programmes for the Corps of Infantry and received the Army's highest award, the Chief of the Defence Force Commendation. A year later he was awarded one of the highest awards an Australian citizen can get, The Order of Australia. He is still the only serviceman to be awarded both.

Book preview

Why Were The Germans So Successful Against The French and the British In 1940?

Adolf Hitler was an Austrian who joined the German Army in 1914, and was the product of the upheaval in German society after the 1st World War. The Kaiser (Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia, Wilhelm II), had been forced to abdicate becuase of Germany’s failure to win the war. In the aftermath Hitler was one of many spy’s the Army sent to observe and report on the proliferation of Beer Hall political factions that had sprung up in Munich who were demanding radical changes to the government policies of the day. In one of these beerhalls he liked what he was hearing so instead of spying on the group, he stood up and began to put forward ideas to improve it. They were so impressed with the logic and eloquence of what he had to say they immediately recruited him into the fledging faction eventually called the Nazi party. Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (National-Socialist German Workers’ Party).

At the time Germany had widespread hyperinflation, massive unemployment, and the people were absolutely fed up with the weak, indecisive government and its inability to sort the state of economy out. It was into this melting pot of absolute confusion, daily violence and radical political debate that the NAZI party began invading the streets and demanding change. Unfortunately other radical parties were doing the same and inevitably these groups began to clash with one another and bloody fighting became commonplace. Inevitably the police were called in to sort out the fighting and during one clash several police were killed. Afterwards the police raided all the Beerhalls and arrested dozens of men from different groups. Hitler was amongst them and even though they had no evidence he was involved in the killings he was sentenced to 6 years jail.

After nine months in prison, political pressure from supporters of the Nazi Party forced his release. During the next few years the party grew until it was the biggest in the country and had become a fanatical mass movement that was able to gain a majority in the German parliament (the Reichstag) and by 1932 nobody could stand against them. Since the beginning Hitler was building the case for the ‘Führer principle’ — a belief in the iron infallibility of the leader. Whenever he spoke Hitler spun a picture into a colourful oral tapestry that the majority of the people listening liked, and he was able to convinced them they had a future as a nation if led by the Nazi party.

Between 1918 and 1939, and in violation of the Treaty of Versailles, Germany started rearming. It began on a small, secret, and informal basis shortly after the treaty was signed but it was openly and massively expanded after the Nazi Party came to power in 1933. Despite its scale, German re-armament remained a largely covert operation, carried out using frthat ont organisations such as glider clubs for training pilots and Nazi militia groups for teaching infantry combat techniques. They had also corrupted the Boy Scouts and Girls Guides into teaching children military skills. Front companies were set up to financing rearmament by placing massive orders with Krupp, Siemens, and Rheinmetall, the other big German armament companies, for weapons forbidden by the Treaty of Versailles.

Although Hitler hated the old school Generals he knew he had to have them on his side if he wanted to rearm the military. They didn’t require much convincing and once he had them working with him he gave them carte blanche to develop a completely new military force. They, in turn, designed new aircraft, one of which would become the most terrifying dive bomber of its time, the Stuka. The other, the Me109, was probably the best fighter anywhere. The Stuka took dive bombing into a new age in accuracy, unheard of until then. Meanwhile the Navy went about designing new submarines, (U Boats), that would eventually become the scourge of the Allied convoys, and heavily armed motor torpedo boats that would attack ships in the English Channel, and 6 pocket battleships that were within the treaty requirements in length, but it guns were not.

But it was the Army that turned the theory of warfare on its head. The Army expanded well beyond the restrictions allowed them by the Treaty. On paper it looked to be weak as 80% of it was horse drawn. It required over 1,000,000 horses to pull most of its food, ammunition, basic stores, clothing, fuel, heavy artillery and infantry, and they all relied upon horses. Yet the deadliest part of the Army was its new Armoured Divisions. Although only 20% of the Army was Armoured it was this segment that defeated the French and the British. It was made up of modern tanks, armoured cars, mobile artillery and mobile infantry in tracked vehicles and trucks, and they were formed into divisions that had upwards of 350 tanks per Division. They even developed a new type of warfare, named ‘Blitzkrieg’ (Lightening War). It was tested in the Spanish civil war, and perfected in the attacks on Czechoslovakia and Poland. Each armoured division was a separate entity that was supported by the devastating Stukas, and between the two of them they would demolish the French and British Armies.

On paper the combined forces of the French and the British outnumbered the Germans by 2 to 1 in infantry, artillery, and tanks. The biggest mistake they made was assuming they could rely upon 1st World War tactics and the long line of French concrete bunkers called the ‘Maginot Line’ to protect them. They expected the Germans to do a frontal attack against heavily dug in troops who were protected by extensive minefields and barbed wire, and covered by artillery, and they would eventually wear themselves out and sue for peace. This was old school thinking that successfully ended the 1st World War. The Germans had no intention of attacking a well dug in enemy the old way. Instead they used ‘Blitzkrieg’ tactics.

Since they had helped Franco win the war in Spain they had realised the deciding factor in any battle would be tanks supported by dive bombers and mobile artillery. So on the 10th, May 1940, a third of their Army attacked the Netherlands, Luxemburg and then Belgium. The Allies, instead of staying behind the heavily defended Maginot Line, the major part of the French Army along with the British Army came out to meet the Germans, a fatal error of judgement. While the French and British were concentrating on the German Army in Belgium the majority of the German Army was pushing its way through the Ardennes Forest near the Swiss border, something the French said was impossible for tanks to do. A little over two days later, they emerged on the French plains and defeated what French Divisions were there.

It was still a hard battle to put two bridges across the river Meuse but after two days they succeeded. Throughout the battle Stukas pounded the French dugouts and bunkers night and day, not only destroying their positions but killing and demoralising the defenders in the process. In the end the bridges were built but with huge losses to the German Engineers who were exposed throughout the building process. Once the bridges were finished the tanks could cross and the Germans broke through. Almost immediately they turned toward the sea and they simply couldn’t be stopped. Less than 96 hours later they had effectively cut the French Army off from their British counterparts. From then on and it was simply a matter of time before they destroyed the British Army. The British had 2 choices, stay and fight and be destroyed, or attempt to cross the channel back to Britain and survive to fight another day. They chose the latter of the two and the vast majority of their Army miraculously escaped. Regrettably, they left behind almost 80,000 dead, wounded, and captured, and all their heavy equipment behind.

When the German Army attacked the Allies on the 10th, May 1940 they were completely outnumbered in tanks, artillery and men. The French and the British were also far more mechanised. So it beggars the question: How could an Army that was far more modern and twice the size of its opponent get beaten so easily? The answer is really quite simple - Poor Leadership, Overconfidence, and Incompetence.

IN THE BEGINNING

(1) Dennis Gill - Young Boy - York - Lancashire

It was September 1939 and I remember having the wireless on and hearing that war had been declared. My parents had talked about it for days but when the announcement was made, I was full of fear, in fact, I was genuinely terrified what might happen to us. A few days later I woke to find my father struggling to lift me from my bed and there was this awful wailing sound coming from outside which filled me with a deep almost paralysing dread. Dad said it was the warning siren and that it was an emergency warning and all of us had to leave the house. Mum had my 2½ year old sister bundled up in her arms and we got out of the house as fast as we could and went to stand in a nearby field along with the whole street.

Nothing happened and we were soon back in bed after another wailing sound, the ‘All Clear’ came on. They were sounds we would get used to over the next few years. A few days later and the first Anderson shelters were delivered. They were free to anyone who asked for them. Everyone helped everyone else get them dug into the ground in the back of their houses and bolt them together. Oh, how I came to hate those shelters, they stunk to high heaven, condensation constantly dripped from the roof, and every time a bomb dropped within half a mile the shelter shook like a shaggy wet dog getting rid of the water in its coat.

Mum told me one morning that Dad was going to be a soldier and was going to leave us. I do not remember going to see him off. He just seemed to ‘go’, and Mum cried for a whole day. Nothing would console her, not even Granny and she usually had the right soothing words for every occasion, but not for this one. Maybe it was because Dad could be killed fighting in the war, just like Grandad was. When I asked many of my school friends someone in every family appeared to have died in the War to End All Wars, in 1914 -18. I even went down to the Cenotaph and looked up Grandads name on it. There were 8 large Bronze Plates, 4 on either side. Grandads name was on Plate 3 - Column 4 - He was number 26. I even counted how many men from our area died - 502. That was a lot of men that were supposed to end all future wars, yet here we were going to war all over again with the country that started the last war. I prayed every night that my dad would come home from this one!

We were now using a ration book, a book that you had to hand to the shop keeper which he stamped for meat, vegetables, sugar, butter, electrical items, clothes, fuel, in fact, these books covered everything you would need for daily living. And there was a maximum ration per week that you could have, and once you got to that maximum you COULD NOT get any more until the following week. I distinctly remember the meat ration book that enabled us to purchase bacon and eggs, and other meat to tide us over until Dad’s allowance book came through. Some of the food that had to last each of us a week would fit into the palm of my hand it was so little. My sister and I had always received a penny every Saturday which we spent on sweets. But it wasn’t long before even sweets were unobtainable. Dad was able to make us an allowance and we got a 3 shilling postal order every week. In the New Year, it was decided that we would move from Clifton Moor outside York, to be near my Grandparents. It was whilst we were living there that we heard that Dad was going to be with the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) and was going to France.

We had cards from France. Very fancy they were. We had never seen lovely cards like them before. It seemed quite exciting receiving cards from a foreign country and I began to feel very settled and secure. Suddenly there was fear in the air again. What was all this about Dunkirk? Why was everyone so concerned and upset? Why was Mum always crying when she heard the name Dunkirk mentioned. In the end I was told that Dad was at Dunkirk and he was officially missing. I don’t know why but I was more upset because my Mum was constantly crying, and I did not know what to do. It was then that my older cousin Trevor was told to take me to the cinema.

When the news came on it showed all the small boats involved in the evacuation of our troops from the Dunkirk beaches. How could our Army have been thrown back by these horrible Germans. Weren’t we the best Army in the world? I looked very hard for my Dad, and would you believe it, there he was on a big boat that had huge guns on it. He was sitting on the deck with lots of other grubby soldiers and the big boat was pulling into Margate. My cousin saw him too and we reassured each other that it was him and that he was safe. We could not wait for the big film to end so that we could rush home to tell my Mother the news. I was so excited I do not remember any of the main picture.

I burst through the front door and screamed out the news about Dad, yet for some reason, the news was not received with the great joy that I had expected, instead Mum had a teary smile and gave me a big hug. Of course, it was wishful thinking on my part, but a few days later it was confirmed that he was safe and would really and truly soon be on his way back to us for some leave. I have a photograph of him with a happy smile on his face before he left for his next posting the Isles of Scilly. At least it was not overseas, Thank God.

(2) Anthony Benjamin - The ‘Myth of the Blitz’

Winston Churchill constantly spoke about the indomitable spirit of the British people during the war, especially during the Blitz. Yet it was another propaganda myth, a myth that suggested the whole country pulled together to beat the Germans, that all classes from the lower classes right through to the upper classes refused to let the Nazi’s break their spirits. It was a complete myth for many reasons, not counting the huge class divide that existed throughout the country where the wealthy ate and drank whatever they wanted, and the poor existed on what rationing allowed them to have. Money bought you many things that were simply out of the reach of the working class and it began with the so-called universal ration book. The wealthy could effectively ignore it. If they chose to eat out, they went to one of the expensive hotels or restaurants, handed in their ration books and paid in cash for the extra that was not covered by the ration tickets book, and nobody questioned it primarily because members of parliament went to these hotels for meals. The wealthy could also buy goods from the many ‘racketeers’, men that had bought ‘their freedom’ from conscription with a medical certificate from a crooked doctor for around £100. These racketeers (often known as Spivs) could get their hands on anything from fresh salmon to bottles of Glen Grant Whiskey, all at exorbitant prices.

It was a fact that the upper classes could take refuge during the bombing in their country estates or the expensive basement clubs in the city. The Dorchester, Claridge’s, Savoy or the Ritz were only open to those that could afford it. There was never any restriction on the quality or quantity of the food you could eat, or the alcohol of your choice, or the bed that you slept in, as it was always in a very luxurious bomb proof basement. While they slept the lower-middle and working classes were forced to stay in the cities and face up to the deadly raids with almost ‘laughable provision’ for shelter from the bombs.

If the truth be known it was a time of absolute trepidation, utter confusion, resentment, anger and a great deal of bitterness within the working class. A prime target of the resentment was the Prime Minister who constantly smoked up to 10 expensive cigars every day and drank almost half a bottle of Cognac. He had over 3,000 bottles stored in a small room in Chequers, the country house of the Prime Minister.

He either did not care what the public thought about his smoking or drinking habits, or did not dawn on him the public resented him smoking expensive cigars wherever he went, while the people could only get cheap Turkish cigarettes that tasted terrible, and were restricted to drinking understrength beer. On top of this the Government’s incompetence had no bounds and was almost criminal in its actions issuing safe air raid shelters. Time and again the government displayed what was almost total ignorance about the suffering of the ordinary working people. So, it was time for the people to help themselves to the air raid shelter they needed. The Anderson shelter was the government’s answer to the bombing for the backyard. A bolt together half circular contraption that was sunk 3 feet into the ground and covered in earth. It was claimed it would protect you if a bomb went off near it. Well, it would if the bomb went off 4 to 5 hundred yards away, anything closer and the blast waves often hit one side of the shelter and tore it out of the ground killing everyone inside. A simple equation on how good they were was to ask yourself did the wealthy use them. The answer was a resounding ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Would you believe it there was a second choice, the Morrison shelter, which cost you the exorbitant sum of £5.00, which was well outside what the average worker could afford in those days. It was set up in your kitchen like a giant Meccano set. Unless your home received a direct hit by a 500-pound bomb it would save you even if your house collapsed on top of you. Unfortunately, if the house was on fire afterward then you would most probably burn to death or suffocate. Once again would the wealthy ever consider them - the answer is ABSOLUTELY NOT! Wealthy people did not scrabble around in tiny air raid shelters to protect themselves, it was inappropriate. Now the Public Service in London went one better and spent 1,000 pounds to have an old disused tube station refurbished and made into an underground shelter with all mod cons. Clearly, they did not want to have to go down the tube stations with all the rougher elements of society. Yet they never used it, it remained empty until the end of the war.

At the time there was a real fear that society would quickly collapse under a concerted bombing campaign. So, one would think that the provision of shelter from the anticipated bombing was a major issue of concern. Although there was some thought given to it nobody in powerful positions was seriously concerned about the general public in Britain’s towns who, unlike the upper classes, could not leave their homes and find shelter in the country. Hitler, on the other hand, had provided large, sanitary and comfortable indestructible shelters for his people, but in Britain it was a different story. People in authority understood that the safest means of shelter should be deep underground. Once again 1,000 of pounds were spent on a shelter for the use of government officials in the disused ‘Down Street’ tube station. It was fitted out with bathrooms, offices and living quarters, and it remains in place to this day - never used, forgotten and dusty.

Finsbury, in London, was a communist borough and its councillors also recognised the need to shelter its people safely. However, a pre-war scheme designed by pioneering engineer Ove Arup to build deep shelters in its garden squares was halted, the government though it was excessively expensive and they expressed concern that a deep shelter system might create a ‘deep shelter mentality’. The government feared that hordes of people might descend into the bowels of the earth and never come out, rendering them useless to the war effort and hampering war production. (There was no logic behind this hypothesis, it was just an idea put forward by an unqualified ‘expert’ and accepted by the government.) Unfortunately, the shelters that the government actually provided for the people were completely inadequate. They were long flat brick-built structures built above ground with a concrete roof that were totally inadequate.

Due to the ‘incompetence’ of the Government’s construction specification, an ambiguous instruction was misinterpreted. It resulted in a sand and lime mix being used in the construction, WITHOUT cement. And NOBODY questioned it. On top of which these dark shelters quickly became squalid, unsanitary and dangerous. When the bombs began to fall, they simply crumbled, and many people sheltering in them died. Yet it was never officially corrected. When new ones were built the builders automatically used cement.

On 7th September 1940, as the bombs began to fall on London, it quickly became clear to those seeking shelter that there was not enough space for everyone. And that even those in the poorly constructed surface shelters definitely were not safe. Without anywhere to sleep at night, public anger rose and people felt that it was time to take the responsibility for shelter into their own hands. The demand for deep shelter returned, but this time more strongly. The obvious and most popular move in London was to take over the underground tube system. The government had previously ruled it out - indeed forbidden the use of the tube stations. But for many, it was the last place of refuge. So, by simply buying a ticket and staying underground for the duration of the raid, people slowly began to occupy the underground system.

Those using the underground ‘shelters’ made it clear they intended on making these new sanctuaries their homes. So the government was forced to bow to pressure and began to supply bunk beds and toilets for the tube dwellers. Nightly, a community of over 60,000 would assemble in the London underground and a new alternative community was born. It was the first outright victory for the people and common sense was won.

Following the victory over the tube stations, people began to occupy the safe basements of other public buildings. In church crypts throughout the country, terrified people possibly missed the irony of sheltering among a room full of corpses. The people of Liverpool used the crypt of St Luke’s church for shelter, and here they sat, literally surrounded by death, as the bombs fell around them. When the city was hit on the 3rd, May 1941, British morale had never been so low. Liverpool and its leadership collapsed. Its citizens were caught up in a war that they did not want to be involved in, and many of them probably did not even understand, and they were ready to surrender, but what could they do? Their story was suppressed by government censorship.

In its attempts to cover up low morale, the government made what has come to be seen as a colossal mistake. They tried to show that life in London was carrying on as normal, and there was a great deal of coverage in the press of people going to parties, dining out and clubbing in the West End. This propaganda marketing backfired like nothing else in London. To say ‘all hell’ let loose was an understatement and minor riots occurred everywhere in the capitol. The majority of the population, particularly in the East End, were not dining and partying in reinforced basement clubs. For them, shelter was either completely non-existent or extremely poor.

In response, on the evening of 15th, September 1940, about 100 people burst into the Savoy Hotel, on the Thames Embankment, demanding shelter. During the confusion, the air raid alert sounded, and the manager realised that he could not send the invaders out into danger. The police were called for advice, but before the manager had to decide where to put his unwelcome East Enders, the ‘all clear’ sounded, and the interlopers retreated. They had made their point for specially designed, comfortable and safe shelter. They were sure that officialdom would now take notice of their concerns. They did not.

In late 1940, the tubes began to show their weakness, especially when bombs fell directly on Balham and Bounds Green underground stations. In early 1941, 50 people were killed when a bomb blasted through a ticket hall at Bank station. Perhaps, after all, it was not the tubes that were going to be the most successful solution, but there was another scheme championed by the people of the East End - the astonishing shelter known as Mickey’s Shelter.

Mickey’s was a notorious example of people finding shelter for themselves. It was in the massive vaults beneath the Fruit and Wool exchange in Burchfield Street, and it was taken over early in the war as a shelter for 5,000 people. However, on the first night it was opened, twice that number of people crammed into a space that quickly became the black hole of London. By 7.30pm every bit of floor space was taken up. The floor was awash with urine. People slept on piles of rubbish, and the passages were loaded with filth. The lights were dim or non-existent., and there was no room to move.

Out of this chaos, there came a system of rules to make it more bearable. When the shelter was finally recognised by the authorities, toilets were installed. All of this was thanks to Mickey, a 3-foot-tall hunchback optician, who had established a shelter committee that went on to elect its own leaders. Mickey’s shelter was the people’s success - regulated, but not as regulated as the tube system. Here some 10,000 people slept under the same roof, resulting in nightly scenes of fighting, sex, music and laughter, but it was safe. The people had helped themselves, and it was thanks to their action that the government began to build specially designed deep shelters, linked to the underground system. The class war was won, but the gesture was too little, too late, with the government using the pitiful excuse that the Germans were using heavier bombs to justify the change in policy.

Eight deep shelters were eventually completed, 80ft to 150ft under the ground. Each of them could hold some 8,000 people. However, none of them was ready until the end of 1942, which was long after the Blitz started, and thousands of British citizens had been killed due to government neglect and fabrication in the months immediately before the war. Mind you the government was quite happy to claim that under its guidance Britain had a spirit of never give in regardless of what the Nazi’s did. But that is not true. In many instances, the Government and the especially the public service completely failed the public by their inactions and continued to do so right to the end of the war. And the public was not happy about it as was shown in the first General election after the war with a resounding victory to the Labour Party, who changed government policies very little, in fact, they deliberately kept many servicemen in the Far East under the subterfuge it did not have enough ships to bring all of them home when in fact it was all about preventing the countries where they were stationed from seeking independence.

(3) Elizabeth Akers - Newcastle Upon Tyne - Going to War

At the beginning of the year, I could see that 1939 held great promise for fun and adventure. There were plans afoot for Mary and me to travel down to Gran’s on our own for the Easter holidays, while Mother and Father travelled along Hadrian’s Wall - looking for likely new homes and finding out about good schools in the vicinity.

We had already been to Corbridge and seen the excavation of the Roman remains while we were there, now they were going to Haltwhistle and Hexham further on. I would be 11 in May and we would go up into the Girl Guides and later on that summer I would sit my eleven plus to see in which school I would finish my education. Then in August, Kath was marrying Jack Adams in Portsmouth, and Mary and I were going to be bridesmaids!

Gasmasks came first. We went to the Parish Hall to be fitted - there were small, medium and large. The smell of the rubber when they went on was horrible, and I screamed and cried and refused to have it near me until they gave up and decided I was medium size. At home, it was explained to me that I had to learn to wear it and was allowed to put it on little by little until I was successful and could tolerate it for some time. But I hated it and happily, I never had to wear it in a gas attack.

The journey to Gran’s went ahead in the Easter holidays. Father booked seats for us on the ‘Silver Jubilee’, a beautiful, silver, streamlined train built to celebrate King George V’s silver jubilee. On the day, we went down to Newcastle’s main station and went aboard with four shillings for our two lunches. We had comics to read, and paper and pencils to amuse ourselves. Father gave the steward half a crown to keep an eye us, and see we got off with all our luggage at Kings Cross.

We stopped at York (unfortunately I never have been to see the city), and soon afterward the steward came to tell us that lunch was being served and took us down to the dining car. As we entered he said, ‘This way your ladyship’, and people turned to stare, much to my embarrassment. I do not remember much about the lunch except that the Tutti-Fruitti ice cream was excellent!

Auntie Gwen, Mother’s sister-in-law, met us at London and took us to Waterloo by taxi to catch the Portsmouth train. We had clean white socks and gloves to change into before we got off at the other end. Mary and I had an earnest discussion as to whether we alighted at Fratton or Portsmouth or Southsea, but on looking out the window we saw Gran waiting for us on Fratton platform, so we had done it, and it was so lovely to be back in Farlington with them both All our old storybooks were in our bedroom and best of all my bike was in the shed!

I soon met up with all my old friends. John Ackerman was there; when I was six we walked to Solent Road School together, so he was an old friend. I liked being with him as he was always respectful and polite, and not rough and rude like so many of the boys. To pass the days, we all walked up to the top of Portsdown Hill and sat on the grass, admiring the view of the Harbour and watching the naval ships at Spithead. The hedges were full of birds and flowers, and cowslips carpeted the fields. One day we organised a paper chase and found the hare in the old Redoubt (scattering small pieces of paper would not be encouraged now), another time we went down to Langstone Marshes when the tide was in, too cold for bathing yet but we could play ‘ducks and drakes’ across the water.

A visit to the little corner shop run by Miss Potts, known to Father as Miss Spots, was a must, as we bought our best toy farmyard there. All the people who inhabited our farm came from there as well as a high-class pump for the yard. The sweets were all right too, and if funds were low she would weigh out two ounces of dolly mixtures for a penny and do them up in a paper poke. Such a happy holiday, but all too soon it was returned to the north in time for school.

Back home it was the Cup final, and Pompey was playing. Mother took us girls to the pictures to leave Father in peace. We watched Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs and had Smarties for the first time? Arriving home there was only a note on the mantlepiece saying, ‘Pompey Won!’, and we girls saw no more of Father until the next day! I swear he was suffering a hangover, although all Mother would do was smile.

I was 11 in May, and could join the Girl Guides, and become the youngest in the Kingfisher Patrol, with a new blue overall, brown leather belt and what I thought of as a stylish hat. I had been the sixer of the Pixies in Brownies, but this was better by far. I learnt signalling and knots and we went away for day camps at the weekend, so I learnt to build and light a fire properly!

In due course I took my eleven plus at school, just an Arithmetic and a General Knowledge paper, which I lapped up as my sister and I were both avid readers of any and all books, and it was like a game we played at Christmas. We did not have many books at home, though our library was growing thanks to the bookshop in the Market, and Mary had just received the Pooh books for her birthday. But Mother took us to the Newcastle Central Library, where we were encouraged to browse, Mother was a great reader, but Father limited himself to his Maths textbooks, doing integral calculus to amuse himself in his spare moments. Is it any wonder that he expected us to be whiz kids at arithmetic? But as we were always moving to a new house we were either in front with some things or all behind in the new school!

There were quite a few Jewish people at our school. I sat next to a Jewish girl called Minna Best. The Bible she used in Scripture contained only an Old Testament, and it was printed in Hebrew on one side, with an English translation on the other. When we learnt about the New Testament she read an ordinary book and did not listen to us. This was something new to me and I talked to Mother about it, who helped me to understand.

Then a family moved into the house next door, three boys and their parents, but they had no furniture and put the newspaper up at the window. Also, they seemed to have no other clothes but the ones they had arrived in - very beautiful clothes, better than the ones we wore, but only one set. They were Polish Jews, who had come from their homeland in a hurry after the Germans invaded their country. The two young boys went to our school, and learnt a little English, just enough to take their Mother shopping.

One day a German Jewish girl came into my class, called Hannalore Meyer. She spoke no English and I befriended her, as I knew what it was like not to be able to understand the Geordie tongue, and I had every sympathy with her. Gradually we found out that her parents were in a concentration camp, her brother in Rotterdam and her sister in Liverpool. Poor child. More and more of these children arrived through the term!

At Whitsun we stayed as usual at Mill Farm, Redmire in Wensleydale, Yorkshire. It was a poultry farm down by the river, and we could play there all day - climbing out across the waterfall, which had clumps of wild aquilegia growing in the cracks of the rocks. Mrs Storey had agreed last year to having us three there in case of war breaking out, but now the Government had arranged proper evacuation for the children, this would not be necessary.

The letter to say I had passed the eleven plus arrived when we reached home, and great were the rejoicings, as the family made a point of winning scholarships and I felt I had my foot on the educational road. My Headmistress told Mother that I was top in the General Knowledge paper. There was a form to fill in to say what illnesses I had contracted.

A few days later, a letter came from the Education Authority to say that as I had epilepsy the scholarship would have to be withdrawn - though I could go to a school for less able pupils who were good with their hands. I was furious! It seemed so unfair. Very little seemed to be known then about epilepsy, even the consultants seemed to be feeling their way, the doctors had no treatment to offer and the general public had for centuries believed that it was a hereditary mental illness, suffered by people with a very low intelligence. None of this was true, but people clung to the old beliefs.

I soon learned not to mention it and only put it on forms if directly asked. It took me many years before I could forget the hurt of that moment. But I was lucky, my parents could send me to a private school - they chose Newcastle Central High School for Girls, and I was to start in September. Meanwhile, a list of uniform and textbooks I would need came in the post, and we went down to town to start buying them. It was very exciting to have so many new things all at once!

Things began to happen in the city. Public Air Raid Shelters were being dug in the parks, and built in the middle of town, and great Barrage Balloons were suddenly hanging menacingly at the end of our street, like great black clouds. We were told to strengthen one downstairs room in our home and have a supply of food and water to hand. All the windows were criss-crossed with sticky paper, to stop flying glass!

We brought all our toys downstairs, and packed them in a big tea-chest, with the dolls on top. I knew it was silly, but I could not help thinking that my best china doll would be suffocated, swathed as she was with all the doll’s clothes we had wrapped around her. But she did survive, as I have her to this day.

For some time, we had been seeing newsreels at the cinema of the bombing of towns in the Spanish Civil War, so we had a fair idea of what would happen if there was war with Germany. It was arranged by the government that all school children could be evacuated with their schools, also younger children with their Mothers. My Mother would go with my sister’s school as a helper, but I would go with my own school.

All leave for the Armed Forces was cancelled, so Aunt Kath and Jack were married quietly one weekend, and spent their honeymoon wandering round Woolworths buying things for their new flat. So, we were not bridesmaids after all - so disappointing! We had always gone back to Portsmouth for the summer holiday and stayed at Grannie’s and Grampa’s house. Despite the grave situation, it was decided that we had carried on as usual so off we went cat and all!

Portsmouth was a large port, as was Newcastle, so both were bound to be badly bombed. All my friends were there as usual, and my bike! I met up with John, he would be 14 in a few weeks, wearing long trousers for the first time and quite grown up. He was starting working life with a Mr. Bennett - a builder in Farlington. Peter my cousin was also there for the holiday and came everywhere with us. We had a good time.

There was also a family expedition to Hayling Island for the day, on ‘Johnnie Hayling’, the little train from Havant station. Father wore full uniform, raincoat and trilby hat. On one never-to-be-forgotten day he went sunbathing on the sands in his bathing suit, and spent the night moaning and groaning from pain - he was so sunburnt. After that he took safety precautions against the sun. None of us ever forgot it.

The beach was lovely - it went on for miles, and was very safe for children, we bought bags of shrimps, newly cooked on the beach, built huge sandcastles, and swam to our hearts’ content. Gran was a wonderful sandwich maker and we always said egg-sandwiches ate there were the best there were, it was the salty sand blowing into them!

Once when I was about three we planned a visit there, Peter and I were ready first and began to wonder about the sandwiches. The best way to find out was to unpack them, which we did, and were discovered by Granny. Suddenly it did not seem such a good idea, and Gran stood there looking at us! She listened to our explanation and then calmly told us we would have to rewrap them and put them back in the basket, and if we missed the train it would be our fault and we would not go. We did get there, but the horror of the moment is still with me!

Another trip was to South sea - the beach was just pebbles and shells, and shelved suddenly to deep water, so we only paddled, but there were ice- cream kiosks and other stalls, and we all went on to the Pier to play the penny machines and walk to the end and saw the boats coming in and watched the fishermen catching fish!

There were always navy ships coming and going from Portsmouth Harbour, and if we were lucky we saw one of the big Southampton liners sailing for New York way out in the Solent channel, perhaps even the ‘Queen Mary’ which sailed very slowly past - if she went at her usual speed, she was so large that her wash caused a tidal wave which ran right up the beach and washed everyone’s things away. We admired her very much, because she was the largest passenger ship afloat.

Our great treat, though, was to sail over to the Island, as we always called the Isle of Wight, on one of the paddle steamers. The latest one, the ‘Gracie Fields’, had proper engines, and I loved to go below and watch the engines turning, and a man coming out with a large oil can putting drops of oil here or there. If she was a paddle steamer one could stand beside the paddle and watch the revolutions and the sea dripping down from the paddle blades.

Many of these steamers were sunk in the war, being among the armada of small ships evacuating the British Army from Dunkirk. Those that survived had a brass plaque to commemorate the fact. We only sailed as far as Ryde, which took about 45 minutes, but we went up and down all the companion ways and explored every deck. Mother, poor soul always felt very seasick and sat on one of the decks well wrapped up. On longer trips she retired to a cabin immediately and stayed there until we had tied up at our destination.

Ryde beach was very sandy and a safe place to swim or paddle and I had a new pair of shoes for my birthday. Portsmouth and Southsea on the other shore with all the ships sailing to and fro, was always busy. There was a long pier at Ryde, a mile long I think, and we caught the tram to reach the berth before catching the ship home, then a long bus journey from the ‘Hard Back’ to ‘Farlington’. We must have been asleep on our feet by then!

Towards the end of August, the news sounded very grave, so we travelled home while we still could. The schools started their new term early, Mary went back to Jesmond Council School and I started at my new school, very smart in my new uniform, to find my new form mistress and meet a lot of new friends. I did not know any of them, it was a completely new start. The next day we were told to come to school with our gasmasks and a change of clothing in a haversack ready to be evacuated. I do not remember saying ‘Goodbye’ to my family, but I can remember walking into school and going to my classroom. We were given a label to write our name on, and this was tied onto our coat. Then brown paper carrier bags were given out to each of us, containing tins of food with some chocolate on the top - rations to take to our new home.

We formed into column and walked down to West Jesmond station where a train came in, just for us. It went on and on and strangely it never stopped at a station. We ate the sandwiches we had brought with us, and the chocolate, and sat on watching the fields go by, feeling shy and more and more homesick as the day wore on. At long last we drew in at a station and discovered that we were in Keswick in the Lake District, completely unknown territory, but we formed up in forms and walked down to a cinema where we went in and sat down.

It was strange because all the lights were on, the curtains were pulled back and a group of people waited on the stage. Then they started to read out names, first us and then the hostess we were to stay with. We were in forms in alphabetical order so after Elizabeth Hodges came Elaine Hunter and we both went out to meet the lady we were to stay with. She turned out to be quite young, like my Aunt Kath, and she took us back to her house at 8, Glossop Street, Keswick. It was dark by the time we reached there, so after some supper, we were taken to our bedroom, where we slept in a double bed. After the lights were out, then the tears began and longing for home, I knew where Father was and Tinker our cat, but where was Mother and Mary? They all seemed so far away and when would we meet again?

In the morning things looked better, I put my head out of the window and, Bang! - at the end of our street loomed a great mountain which was Hellvelin. That was exciting, wait till I write home to them about that, they would be surprised! I knew the Yorkshire dales, but this was something different again. There was no bathroom in the cottage, so we washed in a bowl in our bedroom and took turns taking a bath on Saturdays in front of the kitchen fire. Our hostess was called Mrs Bowers, but she told us to call her Auntie Peggy, who was friendly, and her husband was Uncle Robin. They were both so nice to us, and they had friends who popped in called Auntie Morag and Uncle George, who were very jolly.

We were very lucky indeed. When we reached school we heard hair-raising stories about hostesses who were quite different. The trouble was, many households depended on Bed and Breakfast visitors to bolster their incomes, and the few shillings the government paid for evacuees did not cover what they expected to make, so many of them made things as uncomfortable as they could for the children. We shared one of the Keswick schools. The local children had use of the school in the morning and we used it in the afternoon. During the morning the teachers took us for long walks down by the lake, or into the easier foothills of the fells. I was very chuffed when my calf muscles ceased to ache so much, and I could walk up hills with scarce a pause. We had our new textbooks for French, English, History and Geography etc. It would have been nice to go home and discuss them with Mother and share the fun with someone.

War was declared on September the 3rd 1939 - a few days after we arrived, though no-one told us, but we heard about it from one another. I had sent a card to Father with my address, and as soon as possible, joy of joys, he turned up to see me the next weekend. He had been to see Mother and Mary who were now in Carlisle with Mary’s school, so now I knew where they were as well, and could write to them. He topped up my pocket money, assured me that Newcastle had not been bombed yet, told me to be a good girl, and left.

Things felt a lot better now I knew where everyone was, and soon cheering letters came from everyone, including Gran, who sent long picture letters of Portsmouth, with words of encouragement. Mother was very unhappy in her billet; the hostess was rude and unpleasant, and they felt anything but welcome. They had to sit in a tiny little kitchen, and Mother, who was used to running her three-story house in Newcastle with a maid to help her, did not take kindly to it.

At one point she went back home, to be immediately sent back by Father. She brought back our cat with her, as Father was working such long hours at the docks and in the Ministry of Transport office, that he had no time to look after him. Her hostess said she would look after the cat, but she did not want them, so they moved into a billet with a retired headmistress, where once again Mother had to sit in the kitchen in the evening - but this time it was warm and had a big table and they had a radio, which was so important in those days.

Miss Sewell was very pleasant and tried to make us feel at home. But as the weeks went by it became obvious that the war was not going to end by Christmas as everyone had thought, and Father put a suggestion to Mother that perhaps it would be wise to find a house to let in Carlisle where we could all be together, to close up our home in Newcastle, and Father would get lodgings in the countryside outside the city, where he would get over to us as often as he could. Mother was all for the plan, so Father came to Keswick to fetch me. Miss Sewell kindly made room for me for a week or two, and Mother and I started scanning the local paper for likely places and went to see several of them.

One took our fancy at once, it was a bungalow in a village outside the city, built in the corner of a big field. We went to see the owner at Whitegate, who thought it would be better to let the bungalow to a family with two girls as we would be less likely to kick the place to pieces than a couple of boys!

Pleased as punch, we travelled out to Linstock on a coach from the bus-station to measure up for curtains and work out just what furniture we could fit in. We found a lady busily packing to move out, her husband had been called up, so she was moving back home with her Mother until she joined one of the women’s branches of the armed services.

The most important thing was to buy some black-out fabric to make big curtains to cover the bay windows and the other smaller windows. We could not put the lights on until we did. It was nearing Christmas, and the nights were drawing in early up in the north, so blackout curtains were the first priority. Mother sent a list of furniture and boxes to come over the following Saturday, not forgetting the electric sewing machine, and Father was coming too for the weekend.

I cannot express the joy it was to be all together in our own home, with all our own things around us! The big refectory table and chairs had been left behind and the wardrobes and all Mothers’ pretty drawing room furniture, but worst of all there was no room for Mother’s piano. It was never closed because Mother was always playing it, while she dusted the room and when she had fetched our pudding and any other time she was passing. We had all gathered around her to sing our way through Hymns Ancient and Modern and the National Songbook from when we were tiny girls.

Nevertheless, it was amazing what had been rescued. Mother bought a circular mahogany table in the auctions for 15 shillings, and it was worth its weight in gold when we had more and more visitors staying with us later on. Our toys were all with us and my best doll had travelled safely, also our books, which went into our one bookcase.

Mother worked away on the machine to make the curtains and had them up in time and Father came up from Carlisle with a big role of blackout paper and some lathes to make frames to fit in the windows. When it was dusk we all went outside to see the effect and close any chinks. I do not remember any Air Raid Warden coming around at night to check, so we had to rely on ourselves.

Sitting at the table for the first time to eat our lunch in our own home with our own plates and cutlery, was one of the happiest times in my life. As long as we were together, cat and all, things could not be too bad.

(4) Peggy Eddleston - London - The Opening of The War

I was born in Melton Mowbray, a small market town now famous for pork pies and Stilton cheese, on the 19th, August 1917. The Great War was in its last stages, leaving many families without fathers and sons. My father was an agricultural engineer and he spent his days going around the farms and great houses in the area mending farm machinery and servicing central heating installations in the large halls. Mother always stayed at home, she was a wonderful cook and as the food was plentiful, we lived well. My brother was born two years later, and we had a sister when I was ten. My father was always happy with his life, but my Mother was ambitious for us to improve our station.

The chance came in the form of my father’s sister, who had married a local builder and had two sons. Their business was doing well but in order to be really successful the expanding South was the place to be. By coincidence, as I was leaving school at the age of fifteen my Aunt was moving to London. Her condition for moving was that I became her companion and the daughter that she had always wanted.

In London I attended many social gatherings, tea dances and functions. To be seen in the right places meant contracts and they were coming in thick and fast. We lived in Southfields and on a Saturday afternoon we would go to see the local team play football, Fulham. My best friend Betty, whom I had met at a dance, invited me to her house and I was surprised to find that she lived next door to Joe Eddleston who was a former Fulham player and was now in charge of the reserve team who seemed to be winning everything. He was one of the first coaches to gain qualifications and his methods were seen as too revolutionary in many quarters, but much more importantly he had three sons, all good looking and unattached!

I soon started going out with Joe, the eldest son. We had little money but when we did we would go to the local cinema to see the latest release. My favourite was Humphrey Bogart, ‘a real man’. At night we would listen to the radio to hear the latest play or short story. In summer we would go for long walks by the river and during the tennis tournament at Wimbledon we could always get in for free when the doors were opened in the afternoon. Life was always easy paced and gentle.

The big crisis pre-war was the abdication of the King. At the time everyone was confused as to what was really happening. When Edward finally gave up the throne, the public was very sad, and Mrs Simpson was truly the most hated woman in Britain. The new King was seen as being weak and not groomed for the job, but everyone loved his wife. However, during the Blitz they really came into their own, touring the bombed-out areas and talking to everyone they came into contact with.

I remember going past Croydon airport one day, on the runway were two large planes with black swastikas on them. The sight sent a shiver down my spine and made many of us fear for the future as we watched the growing emergence of the military power of Germany once again. It was no surprise to any of us when they marched into Poland, as no-one believed that Chamberlain and his piece of paper could halt the military machine that we had witnessed in action in Spain. On a brighter note just before the war started uncle Robert bought a television, the first one on our road. Everyone came around to have a look at the new invention and the reception was really very good. However, when war started programmes finished, much to the displeasure of the family.

The winter of 1939-1940 was long, dark and very cold. Joe was one of the first to be called up as he worked for the Shell oil company and was an expert on petroleum. He was sent at once to France with the British Expeditionary Force and so began a long and anxious time. Prior to him going we had become engaged as so many of our friends had done. He wrote to say how cold it was and how ill-prepared the troops were, not all of them had the proper equipment and some did not even have a gun, but they survived with the help of the local wine and goodwill.

Back home the criticism of the government had grown to alarming levels and it was a great relief to everyone when Winston Churchill took over as Prime Minister