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I remember enjoying visits to Banbury and the autumn came and went with out further incidents. Strange how one retains certain memories and how deeply these become implanted without any prompting. One I recall vividly is because of an Indians head.
We were coming back from Banbury in what may be termed a torrential rain storm in a single decker bus of uncertain age, heavily laden with people and shopping, so much so the poor old thing could not climb one of the local hills. So having charged it at least twice the decision was made to off load some of the passengers. Possibly as we were near the front, near the door, for this was not a London transport bus with the entrance at the rear, we were amongst those asked to get off and walk to the top of the hill, there to wait the bus, when perhaps, even if, it eventually trundled up the short incline. I remember looking at the front of the bus with this big Indian chiefs mascot head on the radiator cap, I also remember the dark and light green colour of the bus, I certainly remember walking up the hill in the pouring rain, that I suppose may be counted one of my first real adventures in life!
The winter came and I had been back to Streatham for a very brief visit. The real war had certainly started by then, so I cannot remember why I had gone back to No 10, but by then I believe I had recognised that the face of my home and my life had and would continue to change.

Mum and dad still had lodgers, but a Mr Janner had gone and a Mr Pedlar had now joined the household as a paying guest or as cousin Barbara recently told me 鈥渁 P.G.. In the garden at the bottom under the trees there had been built an Anderson Air Raid shelter. These contraptions built half into the ground of corrugated iron sheeting and then covered by the removed earth were thought to be safer than staying in our three-storey house down in the basement. One would enter down two or three steps into a room of about eight feet in length with shelves down either side, where you would either sit or lie down to sleep. Food, lighting, heating and blankets would be taken down whenever there was an air raid warning sounded, nothing could be left inside as it was always damp. Some nights we would spend most of our time down there.

I can recall tramping down the garden path in my Churchill Siren suit, a sort of one piece very unfashionable but very practical trouser suit which buttoned up the front to the chin, to be put to bed in the Anderson shelter, there to be joined by the adults who would bring down their candles and coffee, soup and sandwiches to be served out if the raid lasted very long or until the air raid sirens sounded the all clear. I can recall on more than one occasion being allowed to come out of the shelter to watch the Royal Air Force and the German planes fighting overhead. I suspect the true meaning of it meant little to me at the time and I could not today described the atmosphere now from my memory; Yet when I see wartime films of these encounters over London between the RAF and the Germans I do recall the sky and recall that noise, of the firing and the sounds of the engines protesting as the planes were wheeled about trying to evade or attack each other. that noise, that vision, is brought back vividly.

Some nights after we spent the whole night in the Anderson shelter, as we walked back to the house it was not unusual to find pieces of metal or strips of aluminium foil lying around in the in the garden, the visible signs of the previous nights battle in the sky.

No 10 Pinfold Road was a typical Victorian three-storey house with an enormous basement, which was accessed down under the first floor stairs, these stone stairs descended below the central part of the house and as you ducked beneath the 1st floor beams above you, I didn't need to but I recall even my father did, there at the bottom of the first flight of these stairs there was a shelf on the wall where stood a row of glass batteries used to power the front door and various service bells around the house. Incidentally we would take these down to the local cycle shop to be recharged or replaced by freshly charged units. From the bottom of the stairs, immediately on the left was a door leading to the coal store; The coalmen would open a steel plate in the pavement outside, to pour the coal into this cellar. It seems funny to think that men spent many dangerous hours digging this black gold out of the earth for the coalmen to return it to our coal cellar from where we would then drag it up stairs to the various fires in each of the rooms. On turning right, there was a coldroom store and further on the right a large room, in which was stored all manner of household items. Why do I remember this so vividly? Well to go down there was a bit of an adventure in itself, it smelt musty and was not very well lit either.

I recall that whilst home from Banbury, the ceiling in the scullery fell down, probably due to the intence bombing. The scullery was towards the back of the house and just before the door to the kitchen, it was the general meeting room for everybody who lived in the house and I had just walked across the room on my way through to the kitchen when it fell. Luckily I was pulled out of the way of the main plasterwork, but I do remember being covered in the dust.! So back to Banbury.

I went away and only returned for Christmas that year. My return was not a happy one, for a landmine had fallen at the top of the road and many of the houses in Pinfold road had been badly damaged by the blast, this unhappily for me was also the end my clarinettist. I remember riding up the street on my tricycle to visit him and found this scene of utter destruction, nothing but nothing, remained of the flats and I recall coming back to No 10 to report to my mother the loss.
My mother in later years told me how upset and angry I was, as the truth became apparent to me.
I recall how she described the following morning of the landmine incident, where she had found herself like every else in the street, without gas or electricity, but still with the small paraffin stove brought from Falkham, the only person in the immediate area with the ability to make tea or boil water until the services, Gas first, had been restored some many hours later. Apparently the front door was hanging off its hinges and people came and went with out question, in those days there was no such thing as the Health and Safety Act and people just got on with repairing the essential services as quickly as possible. This kind of scene was not unusual in London during the blitz, we were lucky, certainly much luckier than many others who suffered a total loss of loved ones and their homes. It does not seem possible that through bombing over 50,000 civilians were killed in the U.K..

My father had volunteered for the Royal Navy, at five foot four and a half inches he presumably would have made a suitable candidate for the Submarine Service, but upon discovering he had a dual denal ulcer, probably brought on by the irregular and unsuitable meals whilst working for the Tote, he was declared unfit for active service. At about the same time the Tote offices in Praed Street just off the Edgware Road were taken over by the Food Ministry as the main Paddington Food Office. Thus it was from being a senior manager of some ten years experience with the Totalisator Board he suddenly became a Food Officer for the Paddington area.

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