The War Years

I spent the whole of the war in London, with a fortnight of rest from the doodlebugs towards the end of the war.

Along with a lot of other people I was scared by the air raids. And in the midst of all the noise and confusion of the blitz, it was comforting to hear the sound of a bus or a locomotive going about its business as though nothing was happening. The men driving public transport were real heroes, and gave hope to frightened and worried people.

My family came through unscathed even though in March 1941, during a heavy raid, a stick of bombs fell at the end of our road, about 200 yards away. A crowded bus and a dance hall were hit, with heavy loss of life. I remember particularly that my father proved himself to be something of a hero, and despite the wound he received during the First World War, he sped up the road as fast as he could, and returned about two hours later, refusing to say anything about what he had seen.

I have one vivid memory of the doddlebugs. I was out for a walk one day. It was overcast and I heard a doddlebug approaching and the engine stopped apparently overhead. All I could do was to stand still and wonder what to do. The bomb must have glided on and crashed a few miles away. After a few minutes I continued my walk as though nothing had happened. Brave or indifferent, I do not know.

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