My Memoirs of the Second World War

A Few Memories of My Time in the Second World War

By Anne Ewart.

In August 1939, I was 18 years old and had completed one year at King’s College, London and was on holiday in the South of France. I was staying with a school friend and her father (who was an MP) and mother and other friends. Herbert Morrison, leader of the LCC, his wife and daughter were staying in the same hotel. We received information that war was imminent, so we cut our holiday short and travelled back across France to Calais. Our car was placed in a net and hoisted on to the deck of what, they said was the last ferry and they started pushing other cars off the dock. When we passed through villages on our journey many shops were closed and the message “Partie a la guerre” was painted on the windows. We must have arrived back in England on September 1st or 2nd. We, of course, listened to Neville Chamberlain on the “wireless” and had the fright of the sirens going almost immediately.

My college was evacuated to Cardiff and many of my year went there. We were the first age group to be called up, but were advised to continue our course, by the Government. We were transferred to Leicester University and lived in digs. My friend and I fire watched one night a week and Mr. Attenborough (the University Chancellor) was on duty with us. We were up on the roof and he was in his study catching up on paperwork. He was father to David and Richard.

I returned to Esher in the holidays and worked in the kitchen at St Thomas’ Hospital. The worst job I had was to check a crate of “fresh” eggs which had been delayed in transit and donated to the hospital. There was not one that was usable. The best thing about the job was that we were given bread and dripping at mid morning break. I later heard that the kitchen had been bombed the day after I left, which caused considerable damage.

Other things that I did were fire watching, helping in other kitchens and digging for victory and cooking with the rations. We went through the Phoney War and then things became real. We had a string of incendiary bombs across several gardens. My father and I put them out with our stirrup pump. There was some damage to fences, but otherwise we were lucky.

My father joined the Home Guard and became a sergeant and had charge of their machine gun, which was kept in our car. He received a petrol allowance — I think about a gallon every two months — so the gun could be transported to the correct destination. My father had been wounded in W.W.1 and had nearly lost a leg. My mother, who had been a V.A.D. in W.W.1 spent two nights a week in the first aid post in Esher, ready to deal with any casualties.

In 1940-1941, we had many noisy nights. We were told that the Germans were aiming at the railway line particularly the Long Arch between Surbiton and Esher. After a few weeks of the night bombing, heavy navel guns were brought on to the railway, near Esher station and the noise of these guns made sleep very difficult.
We had a cairn terrier at the time and we discovered that he ignored the guns, but barked when bombs fell. I could only think that he felt the vibrations. We had several bombs near and there were several houses damaged, but no loss of life. A stick of bombs fell across the fields and cricket ground in front of our house, but the one nearest to us did not explode, just made a hole. (I wonder if it is still there).

One peculiar effect of the bombing was a real surprise. We had a lovely old corner cupboard and on one shelf were eight or nine wine goblets what we only used on special occasions. Later in 1944, my mother took one out and thought it looked different and then say that there was a ring of glass about ½ inch tall still sitting on the shelf. On further investigation, they were all like that. We tried to salvage them, but it was impossible to sand the rims of the glasses so that they could be used.

After Dunkirk, the activity in the air was increased and we saw several air battles. The only time in the war that I thought we might possibly lose the war was on the 7th September 1940 when we saw bright light aver London from the fires and at 9.00am, a formation of about 20 German bombers, in groups of 3, flew over us from London and turned to return to France and Germany.

At the end of my course, the college was approached by the Ministry of Supply for graduates to work in the engineering section. Five of us went, thinking that if we didn’t like it we could join the WRNS. After a few weeks, I was transferred to be a progress officer at Shellmex House on the Strand. I had to learn this job rapidly as it consisted of obtaining the right empty fuses to go the right filling factory and for the filled fuses to go to the services in the correct quantities and the right place. I had great help from my colleagues in the filling factories and also from the 13 men who were working on other parts of the production and the army experts on fuses. I was then in a reserved occupation and not allowed to leave.

All this time I lived in Esher and caught the train to Waterloo each day. The railway was amazing and the trains were kept running in spite of the bombing. My Father also worked in London.

In June 1944 we had been to a cousin’s wedding and returned home about 6.30. We were in the garden, watching peculiar sounding small aircraft with flames coming out of the back, flying over at fairly regular intervals and then disappearing into the distance. We eventually discovered that they were the V1.

I was working on the 7th floor of Shellmex House and we were told to stay at our desks when the air raid sounded (the two floors above use were told to go to the basement). My desk was right by a window overlooking the Thames and when I heard a V1 coming, I took the phone and paper work under my desk and continued to work. If I was on the phone I often was asked what was going on and I put the receiver in my hand towards the window so they could hear the sound of the “Doodlebug” as we called them. It was only when the sound stopped that we worried. One evening, I was walking to Waterloo Station and as I got on to Waterloo Bridge, the engine cut out. There was a man coming towards me at the other end of the bridge and we looked at each other rather sheepishly and then lay down in the gutter (it’s surprisingly open on the Bridge).

Another near miss occurred one lunch time. I had lunch with a friend who worked at Bush House and she was walking up Aldwych and I had just got to the Strand when there was a heavy explosion. I turned and retraced my steps toward the explosion. I walked up Aldwych with glass, dust and masonry everywhere. I found my friend crouching in a doorway with glass shards all over her. I picked off the worst of the glass and took her back to Shellmex house where I left her with a very kind barmaid who found her a brandy and I arranged for someone to cover my job and I took her home with me. We got her into a bath and with tweezers, removed glass splinters from her back and hair. We lost count of the number.

Working in London at this stage of the war was an amazing time. You could have dinner or lunch at any restaurant for five shillings, plus a cover charge. The theatres were open and we seemed to be able to get tickets for wonderful plays. At lunchtime there were the lunch time concerts at the National Gallery (my favourite were the piano recitals by Myra Hess, now a Dame) and a canteen for uniform personnel and us with our special passes. This canteen was amazing. It was run by wonderful Dowager Duchesses who must have had fresh vegetables and salads sent up from their country estates as they always had vegetable soups, stuffed potatoes and interesting salads. There was a canteen in the Adelphi basement, where a friend of mine from college was working together with trusty prisoners from various prisons. I did not envy her her job.

We were all cheered very much by El Alamin and success in Africa. We, of course, were all hoping for a successful attack on the continent and looked for all signs of preparation for the attack, so it was wonderful to know that it had been successful, but of course were worried when we had set backs.

I was very fortunate, for none of my immediate family or friends were killed in the war. One friend was wounded at Arnheim and lost an eye. Another friend lost an eye in a tank attack and another was injured in Africa.

We were all praying for the end of the fighting and we had a wonderful surprise. My mother and I were at home on the evening of May 7th 1945 when we were telephoned by an elderly neighbour to say that her son “the General” was back from France and would like to come and have a drink with us. They arrived at about 11.45 with two bottles of champagne from France. The General had been on Field Marshal Montgomery’s staff and had witnessed the signing of the Armistice and returned to Esher that evening. So, at midnight, we celebrated the end of the war with champagne and went to sleep feeling wonderful.

My immediate boss at the ministry went to Germany with the Control Commission and wanted me to join too. But I felt that I needed to get a job using my qualifications and build a career, so I refused.

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