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I was simply, a child of the period. Like thousands of others.
we all have a tale to tell about what it was like 'growing up' then. It is quite remarkable about how little ever gets spoken about our experiences. And yet the experience was unlike any other generations. We were born and nurtured in an unique manner which I have always believed must have had far reaching effects on a way of life that had developed over centuries.
I have privately, considered the psychological impact the DISRUPTION caused by events, may have had. Not just on individuals - I can only speak for myself and my brother -but on the Nation as a whole.
I have never forgotten the sequence of events or the general atmosphere of the times or the people with whom the experience was shared.
I think, probably two words describe the experience. DISRUPTION and UNIQUE.
DISRUPTION, because I shared my upbringing with strangers, as an evacuee, and relatives, primarily on my mothers side of the family, and schooling of course.UNIQUE because I have always told people that my first clear recollection of 'being alive' so to speak, coincided with an Air-raid, when the sights and sounds of War filled the night sky above like some Supercharged Fireworks display.
Searchlights sweeping across the night sky hunting for enemy planes approaching Londons Docks just upstream. Of course, the giant Ford Motor works at Dagenham was also a target. It had been converted into a munitions factory. You could say that Dagenham due to the location of Fords stood at the gateway to the target area.
The enemy bombers droned monotonously toward the City and the Docks to the accompaniment of ack-ack guns firing at them from ground-level whilst the planes discharched their cargo which gave off high pitched whistles before ear shattering explosions.
On the particular night referred to, I remember my mother coming up to my bedroom in the dark,( because we'd been told NOT to put lights on during Airaids,) shaking me awake and announcing ''Wake up John,the wars started''
From the bedroom we made our way down the stairs,out into the street which was empty, and a few paces along the pavement to a neighbours Anderson shelter.
I had never been in an Anderson Shelter before and could not even remember seeing any constructed. These shelters were often referred to as' Dug-Outs'because that effectively was what they were. Two pieces of corrugated metal which slotted together to form an oval shaped roof, the whole then fitted into a rectangular shaped trench or base, 'Dug-Out' of the garden.
These shelters had bunks inside and whatever else people decide to stash inside in an attempt to introduce a little comfort in the event of their feeling obliged to evacuate from the house once an air raid started.
These shelters were cold, dank inhospitable places. Uncomfortable and rarely used. Of course because all provisions were scarce and on Ration, people didn't really have any surplus items to stash. It was as much as most people could do to get by on the rations we were allowed.
So, although it must have seemed a good idea at the time, in practice, most people stayed put in their houses, diving under tables and into cupboards, under stairs etc when air raids began
i.e. when the Air Raid sirens wailed their unforgettable warning note.
As a child I was never conscious of being frightened by events, rather, it was rather exciting. And of course the disruption to family life was viewed more of an opportunity rather than a sorrow.
I spent long periods with doting grandparents although they, living in Barking, were even closer to the Danger zone than was Dagenham. I saw little of my father which for reasons I have never understood was a welcome release. He was a severe disciplinarian and when he eventually got demobbed at the end of the War proved to demonstrate all the worst aspects I had somehow dreaded. It was not a happy time thereafter. I never got on with him, right up until he died. My meetings with him were when he was 'on leave' somewhere.
I know that he was immediately despatched to Dunkirk in 1940 because he had joined the Territorial Army just prior to 1939.He wrote a first hand account of his experience years later which I have in my possession and got a local newspaper to reproduce on Dunkirks 50th anniverary.
As stated, I never had any kind of relationship with my father and was taken entirely by surprise when on reaching the end of the article was reduced to tears I have never shed for him.
This occurrence continues to repeat itself even today.
I can barely utter the word Dunkirk without 'leaking like sieve'. I don't know why.
As you may imagine, I'm weeping now.
My father was one of many stranded on the beaches at Dunkirk and rescued by one of the many little pleasure steamers of the time, by name,The Medway Queen, about which songs have been written and monies raised for its preservation.
These 'little ships' as they have been referred to and commemorated in memory acted out a most heroic task in that period, trundling back and forth across the Channel under Aerial attack from German Dive Bombers. Many men were shot on the decks of these overcrowded pleasure steamers converted to troop carriers but many more were saved by the outstanding bravery of those crewing these vessels as they bounced back and forth across the Channel, hour after hour, day after day.

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