Rockets over Romford

I am Harold Mitchell aged 81 and a one time sergeant in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (R.E.M.E.), number 10585272.

In mid-November 1944, whilst stationed in Belgium, a garbled message reached me requiring me to return to Romford, Essex immediately as there was “trouble at home”. A driver hurried me to Brussels airport, but there was no flying as the weather was too bad. He then drove me to Ostend where, after waiting two days, a dirty little tramp steamer which had been delivering military stores set off unescorted for Southampton with me and four other recalled soldiers on board.

The steamer had to heave-to every few hours because of suspected U-boats. At each alarm the resident group of Royal Artillerymen dashed to man their 25 pounder mounted behind the funnel. The journey took almost two days.

Arriving at Southampton on a Sunday morning, the four soldiers and I went ashore and were given breakfast before having our foreign currency changed into Sterling. The Pay Corps officer and sergeant were none too please at our very early arrival. Having boarded a London bound train, the five of us discovered that we had each been shot changed by ten shillings. I reached Romford at about 3:30pm.

A bus took me to a stop near my home address in Collier Row lane, opposite the police station, but there was no home left. A V2 rocket had completely destroyed my family’s house and half a dozen others as well as severely damaging many neighbouring properties. Being Sunday afternoon there was no a soul about.

Feeling that I must be a orphan, I walked through the scene of desolation to the next bus stop which was opposite a church. There I met an elderly couple and asked them if they knew of any survivors. They told me that all the refugees were being accommodate in the hall behind the Church of the Good Shepherd.

I crossed over to the church hall and was welcomed by Marjorie, the elder of my two sisters who was very tearful. She told me that my father was working in the kitchen helping to get tea and that my mother and younger sister, Betty, had been killed and in fact had been buried a week earlier. Apparently my father and surviving sister had already left for work when disaster struck.

The vicar kindly put me up for fourteen days compassionate leave before I returned to my unit in Belgium which I finally reached in mid-December.

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