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A FRAGMENT OF WAR NEAR ILFORD
(Christine Ridden)

Hello! My name is Christine Ridden (nee Free) and I would like to record in this Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú archive what
I can remember of the War as it happened near my home.

I was born within the sound of
Bow bells, which, technically, makes me a cockney. However, my home
for all of my life up to 25 years of age was at 34 Chudleigh Crescent, Ilford, Essex.

I was born in 1937, although too young to recall much of the beginning of the war, as the conflict
progressed I can recall more and more. those events which were hazy in my mind I amplified by
discussions with my parents...often starting with....’do you remember...’? etc.

The first line on my Identity Card reads: ‘This Identity Card must be carefully preserved.’ I now live in
Canada, and my card is as good as new...I have followed the directives of HM Govt.! The card was
issued to me on 21st May 1940. It is a simple affair being of a thin beige board folded in the middle like
a booklet. Measuring 6.5 inches when opened flat, and 5 inches top to bottom, it further states; ‘You must
not allow your identity card to pass into the hands of unauthorized persons or strangers.’ Presumably
German espionage agents would love to have got their hands on our ID cards...but, being Brits. we held
them close to our chest!.

The terrace houses in the Crescent had long narrow gardens. The houses were well built in about 1930
from good quality materials. Fences ran the length of each garden, and one of the things that I remember
is that the men of each family installed a gate so that every garden could be crossed in the event of an
emergency. Suprising, after the war the gate was one of the first items to go...we each pulled up the
drawbridge, so to speak, and once again isolated ourselves from the neighbours.

The Anderson shelter was delivered after war had been declared. Several neighbours got together and put
one up, then moved on to another. The Anderson was erected by first digging a pit somewhat over 6 feet
long, about 5 feet wide and 4 feet deep. The shelter consisted of 14 corrugated steel sheets which were
bolted together to form a very small shelter. It had a simple corrugated steel door, and the inside had to be
accessed by a trench or steps since the shelter was only about 2 feet above ground. The top was covered
with earth and my father sprinkled some grass seed ontop to hide the structure. The inside was very very
small, it was not easy to sleep in since it was invariablyl damp and always cramped. The longest period that we spent in the shelter was about 6 months, more or less continually. Everyone was heartily sick of the place after a while, but we all realized that it provided excellent protection against shrapnel, but not
against a direct hit.

My parents moved in with my grandmother for a while since she had a coal cellar which had more room than the Anderson. Her house was in West Ham and quite a bit bigger than my parents house. Grandmother seemed to be able to get black-market butter which came to her in slabs circumventing all
of the minute portions obtainable with the ration book. She paid 4 pounds per pound weight for this
luxury...being a bit mean she never gave our family any butter, but charged my father (her son) for it.

At the beginning of the war my father borrowed a car and the family went to the sea-side for a day. Dad
knew the way very well since he had worked in the area. He never noticed that the direction signs had
been removed. When he got to the beach we all got the picnic things out and dad led the way towards
the sea...unfortunately he had chosen a beach which was out of bounds, he did not see the sign until a
soldier appeared and told us this was a possible invasion beach and we could not stay.

We knew that the war had started in earnest when the bombs came down. Ilford is not far from the London
docks, and Germany knew that if the docks could be crippled it would be round one for them. The German
bombers dropped a huge number of incendary bombs on the dock areas, effectively lighting them up.
Succeeding waves of bombers only had to look for the great fires to know where they were and drop more
bombs. From our tiny shelter mother and father would peep out and see the distant sky lit up for miles with
a shimmering red and crimson glow. It was eerie since there was an oppresive silence. I was always kept
well out of the way of potential harm and clearly was my parents No. 1 priority. I think the cat was No. 2.!

As the German bombing increased in area so bombs began to land on civilian targets. Our road was not
spared. Chudleigh Crescent was hit by two oil bombs. One landed diagonally opposite our house, the other
landed at the end of the Crescent. Oil bombs were terrible weapons. They had the strength to crash through
the roof of a house, through the second floor and into the ground floor where they would explode with a
huge ball of fire. My father said that in a matter of minutes a brick and mortar house would be reduced to
rubble. It was hard to escape from these bombs and they were universally dreaded. In both cases, the
people living in the bombed houses were away from home. The odds for this seem to be staggering.

During the height of the German bombing, our AA battery located in nearby Barking Park was firing
almost non-stop. The bang-bang was a terrible noise. At night the searchlights came on in an effort to
pick out an enemy ‘plane. My father maintained that the guns were almost useless and dated from the
first world war. As far as I know they never hit anything. but for all of their weaknesses the AA guns
were a morale booster...people felt that we were hitting back and, ‘teaching Jerry a lesson he will not
forget.’ There were barrage balloons in the park to keep German ‘planes high. I don’t know how the
logic worked with balloons and guns, the balloons kept the planes hight but then they were a more
difficult target for the guns. I think that several women military personnel were killed in or near
to the park.

When the bombing and gun-fire was going at full strength, father would open the door of the Anderson and peer out. This upset mother a lot, ‘Arthur,’ she would say, ‘shut the blessed door and stay inside!.’

I recall that my parents and a pair of neighbours used to play cards in the Anderson to pass away the long
nights. How four adults, their son and myself managed to huddle in the shelter I do not know. After the
war I speculated that everyone was so thin that we could have got a platoon of soldiers inside. My parents
kept a small oil-lamp alight all night in the shelter. One night I awoke with a fright, mother was shouting to
fatlher, ‘Arthur! the flame is blue.’ Father jumped up and flung open the door and got us all out, including
the cat. It seems that the lamp had burnt a lot of oxygen (and we three had consumed more) and the lamp
was producing carbon monoxide. After the war I sometimes wondered how many other people must have
experienced this potentially deadly flame with the various lamps and heaters being used in such a confined
space with little ventilation.

In addition to his full-time work, my father volunteered for the Special Police Force, or ‘Specials’ as they
were known. He rode his bicycle all along his ‘beat’ and encountered many incidents, some funny, some
sad. The sad ones he kept to himself. Once he rode outside of his regular ‘beat’ and got lost! He had a
little armband which he wore and this allowed him to stop people. He managed to flag down a passing
motorcyclist, ‘I’m lost,’ he said, ‘do you know the way to the nearest police station?’ The rider knew the
way, and told my father. As he was about to pull away, he said, ‘Gor Blimey!, first time I heard a copper
asking his way back to the nick.’ Father told him not to be so cheeky.

Father’s duties as a Special involved a lot of bicycle riding and getting on and off the machine. He had to
check the doors of shops and similar premises to make sure that they were locked. He was always on the
lookout for exposed lighting, and if he found one he had to knock up the residents and get them to
cover the window. I used to wonder what happened to stray cats and dogs. No doubt some kind soul
took them in, but a lot must have starved or died of wounds. Anyway, life for the pets must have been a
living hell during a raid.

After a time my father had to give up his job as a ‘Special’. He was working longer and longer hours at
Briggs, and the work was getting harder by the week. He supervised 600 workers who were building
parts for the Lancaster heavy bomber. Everyone knew that this was a vital product and these huge
aeroplanes would eventually be used to bomb Germany. Little did anyone realize at the time just how
heavily Germany would eventually be bombed. Like all other fathers and husbands, dad was continually
worried about mother and me when he was at work. He slept very poorly in the Anderson and at night
used to get up and walk about the garden. With poor sleep, production and supervision pressures, worry
and meager food his health deteriorated. However, when he got back into his regular bed and slept
without an air-raid warning he perked up. We all knew then, how absolutely vital good sleep was.

Of course most of the readers of this Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú archive collection will know about the German V1 weapon,
also known as the, ‘Flying Bomb’, the ‘Doodle Bug’, and the ‘Buzz Bomb’. The latter name came because
this weapon was a jet propelled ‘plane which made a peculiar noise in flight. Only when the engine cut
out did the real drama begin since nobody was sure where it would land. This gave the weapon a sort
of psychological advantage, and we more or less held our breath waiting for the explosion.

At the beginning of the ‘Flying Bomb’s’ appearance it was a complete mystery. It flew at about 400 miles
per hour and carried a war-head which approached 1 ton of explosive. We were in the Anderson when the
first one in our area hit. I expect that father was peering out of the door, no doubt mother was agitated. We
could all hear the beast coming, suddenly dad closed the door and hugged us all together. ‘This one is
ours.’ he shouted. It had stopped overhead somewhere and there followed the eerie silence as it angled
down. I am sure that we were all terribly frightened, I think that I shrivelled up like an old carrot. We were
lucky. The bomb struck with an earth shaking ‘whoomph’, then a few moments after, silence. It had landed
on Barking Abbey shcool, demolishing the chemistry lab. With miraculous good fortune it was a Saturday
and the school was empty. We were only about 400 yards from the school as the crow flies.

Many years later I would attend Barking Abbey as a pupil. It is located on the edge of Barking Park,
where all of the searchlights, AA guns, and balloons and brave people tried so hard to defend our
little island , and they succeeded, so that myself and others like me could leave the Anderson and go to
school.

A ‘Flying Bomb’ landed on Levitt Gardens, demolishing 5 bungalows which were not so strongly
constructed as our terrace house. There were casualties.

When the V2 rockets arrived nobody was frightened. They simply landed with an almighty ‘bang’
and that was that. You wer either dead or alive...or somewhere in between. One landed on the Ilford
Clock Tower which was built in 1901 and re-erected in South Park.
Sometime during the war I was evacuated to an aunt in the country in Sussex. Of course I cried and
cried when mother left me; within 6 weeks I was back home. Mother said it was better for us all to go
together than me to be an orphan. After the war, I read many accounts of children who were evacuated
to strangers. Some were well treated, others were not and bore the scars of cruelty for the rest of their
lives. I still wonder why people can treat children so badly, it was supposed to be a time when we all,
‘pulled together’...clearly some were pulling the other way.

My father’s trade was sheet metal worker, and just before the war he joined Briggs Motor Body Co.
at their Dagenham plant in Essex. Almost immediately after joining he was helping to make parts for
the Lancaster bomber (per above) . Because of his skill he was not called for active duty. He quickly
rose to become Superintendent, at one time he was responsible for the work of 600 workers. He earned
eight pounds per week.

The Germans targeted industrial complexes like Briggs. Despite air raid warnings my father and his
staff continued production even if the bombers were overhead. There was little inclination to stop
work, people took shelter under desks, benches etc. One bomb dropped on the parking lot, killing one
man....dad said it was very unfortunate but he was late for work!

The houses in Chudleigh Crescent suffered relatively little damage apart form the two lost to the oil
bombs. One nearby explosion sent a good number of our roof tiles shuttling off of the roof. These were
heavy tiles, but suprisingly few broke. Dad could not replace them hinself, so he went to work and
made an announcement, ‘have we a tiler here?’. A man came forward and dad said, ‘right, off to my
home and put the tiles back on the roof...take the rest of the day off.’ Our tiles were soon put back.
Dad always took care of his employees. If a worker needed a plumber, stonemason, electrician etc.
dad would tell the man to go find one and get the job done immediately. Dad’s reason for this was sound
and simple. He knew that the men would not be able to work as well if their minds were fretting about
home. Once things were put right at home, the employee would work more relaxed and hence his
output and quality would be maintained.

Many decades have passed now since the war, and the number of people with clear memories of the
terrible and unnecessarily event are diminishing. Soon, only the children born just before the war will be
able to tell others the fragments of history that they can recall. This is what makes this Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú project so
worthwhile. Although war is a record of crime and atrocity, it is also a commentry on the sheer bravery
and tenacity of people subject to hardship, misfortune, and terror. If I could dedicate thoughts to one
section of people in our small island, in addition to others, I would like to thank all of those men and
women in Industry who laboured so long and hard and with such dedication and innovation to bring
our fighting men and women the very best tools and machines that they were able to produce and thus
helping in a very large way to let others and myself leave the Anderson to lead a happy, peaceful
life. THANKYOU!

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