To carry on as usual: Working on the Buses

In the months leading up to WW2 , I and my friends were all "16 going on 17 and beginning to enjoy life. The adults were worried but we were not too concerned. We'd heard the tales of the Great War and most of them that were told to us were amusing rather than worrying, but we really didn't know what to expect. One day I may have been feeling a little more thoughtful about what would happen and in a quiet chat with my mother I said, "What happens during a war Mum? What do we have to do?" She reassuringly said, "Well, life goes on pretty much as usual, you just carry on with your job". So I thought that's all right then. How wrong can you be?
September 3rd came and within 4 hours of Chamberlain's famous speech, all had changed.
My Aunt, with heavily pregnant cousin whose baby was due that very day, had hired a taxi from London to stay with us in Maidenhead. My Father, being a carpenter, hurriedly made them a bed and squeezed it into my room; so now in a tiny three-bedroomed house we had six people to sleep. A week later, the expected one arrived so a cot was also fitted into my room. I now shared with two adults and one baby. We didn't mind, they would have done the same for us.
In the first few weeks we had numerous relations coming down to see if we could find room for them. Dad took them around to other relations and settled them where he could. He further solved the problem by clearing out the rear of the furniture shop where we lived. We found the storage space made a presentable sized room with fireplace. This was given over to Aunty, Cousin and baby giving us more room (mine) to take in others for a temporary stay. There were so many who were grateful for a few days away from the bombs, for a bath and a few good nights sleep.
Mum was half right, I was carrying on with my usual work but there wasn't much room for relaxing in the evenings. My friends and I still met up, managing to find the odd Social or Dance. We were only just beginning to discover what life was about. The war had not really started yet. It was as if both sides were saying "You first", "No, you first".
Meanwhile, we were having fun. New men in uniform moving in to the area, more social evenings, we were enjoying ourselves. Then sometime in May the boys coming in to town were not quite as fresh-faced or bright-eyed. We were hearing words like Dunkirk, Little Ships. Then the true horror of war hit us. Elsie and I were cycling around the country lanes one evening in June discussing what we could do.
Everyone expected the enemy to follow hard on the heels of the B.E.F. She and I were seventeen. We were both dark-haired, not the Aryan type, so would we be sent to Germany to the Labour Camps or to houses as comforts for the troops? These were the tales we had been told. There were two other options - to somehow find a guerrilla group operating in the neighbourhood or to commit suicide. All this we discussed in all seriousness, though it seems a little melodramatic now, but we were not going to give in. I think we grew up somewhat that night. We never had to come to a decision, suddenly it was all unnecessary. The enemy changed direction, for which we were truly thankful. To have to make a choice like that at seventeen is not an ideal situation. We began to take war more seriously then.
We lived in a countryside suburban town by the Thames so our lives were very much easy going. We had a smallholding so our food was plentiful. We kept ducks, chickens and pigs so we and our neighbours ate comparatively well. When a pig was slaughtered a percentage was kept by the Ministry of food. Various pieces were given to those who had been saving scraps to help feed the pigs, but we never knew what it was like to go hungry.
Gradually, after the fire of London, the Blitz, London had its good days, just the occasional bomb which gave us a chance to go to the West End for a film or see a show. It must have been a terrible time for all parents whether their families were in the Services or not. No mobile phones to keep in touch then!
Conscription came in for women then, either War Work, or Services. When my group came I opted for factory work, making gliders. I was given the job but nobody told me which Labour Exchange to go to for my cards. I went to the nearest to where I lived and all they had on their books was work as a bus conductress. I thought I had to take that, which I did, resentfully. Gliders for the Services would have been important work. Running buses to and from work for the workers was acceptable, but taking women and their poodles into town and listening to them complaining about not being able to get petrol for their cars or servants for their housework did not make me feel I was doing my bit for the war effort.
Inevitably our group became engaged or married in due course. My fiancée's mother and brother were still evacuated in Somerset, his father was working in south London, and he, having been bombed out twice would spend his nights in Chiselhurst Caves. After the second bombing my fiancée, who was home on a few days leave, and I went to see he was all right. This journey involved travelling from Berkshire to somewhere near Lewisham, not an area I was familiar with. As soon as the afternoon began to darken, off Dad would go to the caves so we started to make our way home. Bombing at the time was a bit sporadic; it was better to be as near home as possible. We decided to go by Underground rather than bus but just before reaching London Bridge the train came to a halt. It seemed there was an air raid and trains were not allowed to go under the river at that time for obvious reasons. Well, I am claustrophobic at the best of times but in a packed out train with no air conditioning working, I couldn't stay there. We struggled out of the train, along the track and climbed over the people who were settling down for the night. Children were already in their bunks, this was a way of life for them. The platform and stairs were very soon packed. I couldn't stay despite the possible danger of bombing from above. I pushed against the crowds that were pushing their way down. Finally my man and I stood out in the fresh air. Foolhardy perhaps, but it gave me one of the most unforgettable sights of my life. It was a full "Bomber's Moon" shining on the river like a silver ribbon. It was breathtaking, not another soul on London Bridge, just we two. We stood there transfixed for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, then slowly as if hypnotised we strolled across the bridge watching the river. We had decided we would go wound the corner and catch the bus. Then we heard in the distance, the thrumming of planes. We hastened our pace but the bombs were intended for elsewhere, and to our relief a bus was there waiting. But that time on the bridge was a scene I will never forget, just as if the whole of London belonged to us two. I sight I had never seen before and never will again.

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