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Weekend Leave by L/C F.A.Hart
It was nearly dark when I arrived at Kings Cross Station, one Friday evening in September 1940, and I was not sure what I should do next. The evening was fine and there was a sense of urgency in the steps of people making their way home as we all new that the sirens would soon be sounding their warning of an impending air-raid.
The R.A.F. had decided early in the day that it could manage without my services for the weekend, even though they had been hard pressed over the last few weeks. This late decision had meant that I had not had time to inform Doreen, my fianc茅e, of my unexpected leave - having access to a telephone being the exception rather than the rule in those days. Under the circumstances I decided that it would be foolhardy to try to reach the outskirts of Bromley (Kent) that evening as I would probably get stranded part of the way home.
What should I do now? Yes, of course Dennis, my best man to be, lived only a short distance away in a street off Gray's Inn Road - that is where I would I would go for the night. Dennis greeted me as though he had been expecting me. It may sound strange today but at that time to turn up unexpectedly at night on someone鈥檚 doorstep was not all that unusual. Dennis said, "come in", as he was shaking my hand, "come upstairs". He lived on the third floor of this large Victorian house. By now it was quite dark and all of the blackout blinds were in place and the lights were on in the living room, which was quite brightly lit and cozy. "Bill & Charlie have dropped in for a game of cards", he said. I knew both of them, as we had all been on holiday together a few years before. He introduced me to his girlfriend Joan, whom I had not met before, and we all sat around the square table. As I had eaten in the Salvation Army canteen before I left King's Cross Station I was not hungry when I was asked if I wanted something to eat. But we would have a cup of tea before we started the game of cards.
We had just started playing when 'moaning Minnie' - as the air-raid siren was called, sounded. "There she goes" we all said together - we will carry on here,鈥� said Dennis " unless it gets heavy". Of course it got heavy: at first we could hear the distant drone of aircraft and the sound of our guns but gradually these sounds came nearer and became louder. I could not concentrate on the game of pontoon; my mouth became dry and I kept looking at my host with an enquiring look but he appeared quite relaxed as he dealt out the cards. Suddenly there was a thunderous bang as one of our mobile AA guns, from not very far away, let go at the raiders. Then the crunch-crunch of exploding bombs - the whole house was shaking now from the vibrations and then as there were more explosions an ornamental jug fell off the mantelpiece and smashed in the hearth. Dennis quietly announced that he thought that we should make for the air-raid shelter about 100 yards down the road.
I needed no second bidding and was the first person to reach the shelter - although I was not entitled to I was offered a mattress on the floor. There was probably room for 60 or more people in the shelter, which had the air of a social club with a dartboard and a trestle table for dominoes and playing cards, which were all in use, as was the tea-urn. Soon after 11 P.M. People began to get off to sleep, especially as many of them had to do a day's work the next day. I lay down on my mattress in-semi darkness, only the safety lights were now on and the shelter was quiet, although I could still hear the muffled sounds of the continuing air-raid. But as there was nothing to do about it, I went off to sleep. I woke up to the clatter of people gathering up their belongings and preparing to leave the shelter to begin another day in the war against fascism.
The notice hanging by the exit said "ALL CLEAR"; no doubt put there put there by the air-raid warden sometime during the night. Dennis was standing by my mattress - he said "come-on, lets go home and get some breakfast, I have to be at work at 8 o'clock and it is 7 o'clock already." Out in the open, the smell of burning filled the air. A pall of smoke hung over the city and a sense of destruction prevailed. A fire engine went by with the heroes of the night returning to their station - weary eyes peering out from smoke blackened faces. The sight of the four men is something that I will always remember, their faces tired and strained with the heroic efforts of the previous night.
Then after cleaning-up, breakfast with Dennis consisted of tea and toast - bread had not yet been rationed. We bade each other farewell: Dennis went off to work and I made my way to Charing Cross station, where it seemed that at that moment there was not a great deal of activity, at least as far as the trains were concerned. At last I got a train part of the way, with the intention of going the rest of the way by bus.
It was nearly 11 am, and things seemed to be going well, when about a quarter of a mile from my destination, the conductor told us that because the road was blocked we would have to leave the bus. Walking ahead, I discovered that the road was blocked by fire engines and their hoses across the road together with a few army vehicles. Apparently a land mine had been caught up in tree by its parachute and thee army had defused it and loaded it into a lorry, later to take it away and explode it in safety. The firemen were standing by in case of an emergency.
The police held me back until the mine had been driven away by the army bomb disposal unit. I began picking my way over the hosepipes and as I looked up whom should I see coming towards me but the person that I had set out to see - it was Doreen. After the usual loving greetings, she exclaimed "fancy seeing you - what a lovely surprise", much to the amusement of the firemen. "Where are you going?鈥� I replied. "To work of course, I am on duty at 12 noon", she said. Doreen was a G.P.O. telephonist so duty was duty. As she appeared to be going in the wrong direction, I asked her why this was and she told me that because there were no buses going the way she wanted, she had decided to walk the two miles to the railway station, where she might have been able to get a train. I joined here in her round-about way to the telephone exchange and left her at the door, telling her that I would meet her at 8 pm, when she came off duty. Now I was back to the problem of what to do next?
Firstly, I needed to find a place to have lunch and luckily I found a 'British Restaurant'. This was not 'British' in the sense we know today like 'Chinese' or 'Indian' but a restaurant where plain good food could be had quite cheaply. Many church halls had been taken over to serve as British Restaurants' and they were quite successful in supplementing normal rations.
Now, I would pay my future mother-in-law a visit. A couple of hit & run raids by Heinkel 111s took place in the afternoon and then after tea I set out to meet Doreen. By now the buses were running again and so it was by two bus routes that I went to meet her. The first bus had no windows and because there was no glass for the buses, the windows had been boarded up. By 8 pm it was dark when I picked Doreen up. On the way back, the air-raid warning sounded before we reached our changing point, which meant that we had to walk the last part of the journey, watching the searchlights pick up the German bombers in their beams.
We arrived home safely and after a hurried meal joined Doreen's mother and father in their shelter. This was not a large social affair but the family's Anderson shelter made of corrugated iron and sunk partly into the ground, with room for about four people. The most disconcerting thing about this type of shelter was the condensation that dripped off the corrugated iron roof. So, I spent the night reclining in deck chair, as there was only room for two bunks and two deck chairs. The night air was filled with the noise of German bombers, which seemed never ending added to which there was the swish and crack of falling bombs plus the vibrations from the shock waves from the bombs that were exploding not very far away.
The all clear sounded at last but it seemed not worthwhile to disturb ourselves and return to the house, so we stayed where we were until morning. Sunday morning was bright and clear, which was ideal for the Germans to send over their reconnaissance aircraft to photograph the results of their nights work. We watched the Spitfires from Biggin Hill chase them off, swooping down on a lone 'plane with all machine guns firing away. It seemed to be quite difficult for the Spitfires as the German 'plane was flying just above the barrage balloons, which shone brilliantly in the September sunshine.

In order to have some time to ourselves we spent Sunday afternoon at the local cinema. My pass did not expire until 8 am on Monday morning and so I wasn't due to catch the train from Kings Cross until 11 pm. After the cinema, I set out at about 8 pm and managed to reach Charing Cross without incident even though an air raid was in progress; mainly it seemed over the city of London.
I went by underground to Kings Cross and when I emerged above ground things had changed because the incendiaries set light to a great deal of the area around the station. I remember hearing a lady asking a policeman "where can I get a taxi?" "You won't get a taxi tonight!" he replied grimly. "The only thing you could get is a fire engine,鈥� he concluded, dryly.
Sitting in the train carriage alone I wished that it would hurry up and leave because one of the gasholders next to the station was alight. A flame shot high into the air like a monstrous gas lamp. The idea that it might blow up fuelled my anxiety to get away... The carriage door slid open and I saw the 6'2" figure of Lofty Barford filling the door and then get in. I said, "Hello Lofty, had a good weekend?" "Oh, lovely" he replied with some conviction, "and you?" "Terrific, I must do it again", I replied.

漏 Copyright 2005 David M. Hart

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