How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On (6 page)

On another occasion at Colman’s, following enemy action, we arrived as the front wall of the building collapsed straight down, sinking the barges that were full of grain. Colman’s
had its own small works fire brigade and they worked alongside us. After a very hard shift, I arrived home to discover that, not only was I covered in spots of black soot from the engine, but that
I had my rubber boots on the wrong feet.

D. Bushell, Norwich

In April 1941, the Luftwaffe again picked on Norwich as their target for bombing with high explosives and incendiary bombs. Huge fires were started at Carrow Works, which was
the home of Colman’s Mustard. I was then a section leader in the Auxiliary Fire Service, stationed at Lawrence Scott’s Gothic Works. We were called to attack the fire at Colman’s
from across the river. After about three hours – around two o’clock in the morning – we wanted to get in closer to the fire. This meant crossing the river and taking the hose
over. To do this, a boat was needed. Looking along the riverbank, I saw, reflected in the water, a rowing boat. It was just what we wanted. I said I would get in, so the crew could hand the
required equipment to me. The riverbank at that spot was about five feet down to the water. So I jumped down. But, instead of landing in the boat, I went straight through the bottom into six feet
of water and oily mud. I didn’t know until then that the boat had no bottom. With just my head out of the water, it took four men to pull me out on the end of the rope. They had to put me
nearer to the fire to dry out before I could carry on.

A. G. C. Tompkins, Norwich

One Friday night during the Blitz on Norwich, there was a fire at a timber yard just opposite our boat station. The crew were fully engaged using two forward water nozzles and
two after nozzles, plus some hand hoses, when a market trader, known as ‘Alf the Handbag King’ from Bethnal Green – he came to Norwich every Friday and stayed near our station
ready for business on Saturday – offered his services as he couldn’t understand why two burly firemen were required to manage only one hose. Of course, he didn’t realize the
strength required to hold a hose steady. He was duly kitted out and instructed how to stand his ground. Full pressure wasn’t put through at once, but when it was, he was down on his back and
drenched with water. We never saw him again.

D. Bushell, Norwich

I was living temporarily in Streatham Hill, SW2, and was helping the local voluntary services. During one air raid, a block of flats close to Streatham Hill Station received a
heavy blast. I was helping an ambulance man assist a lady who was pregnant. Five small children surrounded her. All were, thankfully, unhurt, but since the windows etc. were gone, and all utilities
like gas and electricity were affected, we were taking them to temporary shelter. It was 1 a.m., so they were all in their nightclothes. The mother was a very cheerful cockney type. I was
endeavouring to fit a small boy of about six years old into some trousers, handed to me by his slightly older sister. The boy was shrieking and not cooperating. ‘I don’t want to put my
trousers on!’ Amid all the chaos, and with the AFS and the ARP all around, his heavily pregnant mother looked at her five children and said: ‘You see! He’s just like his dad. My
husband has always got his trousers off!’ I thought that it was commendable that a woman with so many little ones to take care of, not to mention another on the way, could still joke about
her predicament.

Mrs A. Olins, Finchley

I was in London throughout the Blitz. My mother and I would sit by the fire reading until about half past ten and then we went to bed. We had no air-raid shelter. The house
rocked sometimes as many bombs dropped very near – but we’d no wish to be out in the cold garden. In 1944, when the V1s were coming over, I was getting into bed when one just cleared
our house and burst about sixty yards away. All the windows came in on top of me, but by a miracle, I wasn’t badly cut.

Earlier in the war, during the Battle of Britain, near us there was a big field in a built-up area, although it had never been used for anything. I was told that it was a burial place for
hundreds of plague victims. One Sunday morning we had a daylight raid and I saw, for the only time, German aircrew bail out. I knew some bombs had fallen nearby and when the all-clear sounded, I
went out and walked to this field and a bomb had dropped on it. An elderly woman came along with an armful of bones. I said: ‘Whatever have you got there?’ And she said: ‘Bones
– we’re supposed to keep them for salvage, aren’t we?’

Stanley Norman, Brighton

Although I was born and raised in South Yorkshire, I spent the Second World War in Eastbourne where I was partly responsible for checking damaged property. At one of the few
houses still occupied in a supposedly evacuated, leafy street, there lived three very typical ‘Old Lace and Frilly Ladies’. The area, which was close to the town hall, had been
repeatedly bombed, but it never seemed to worry these three. One afternoon I was making a hurried check after a daylight raid, and I knew some nearby houses should really have been knocked down. As
I got to the doorway of the house occupied by the three ladies, I found them busily brushing up plaster, dust and garden soil that had blown into the front hallway. They were not happy and told me
that had they not had to keep the front door open – which was the practice to avoid worse damage from the force of any blasts – then the mess with the garden soil would have been
avoided.

On the outer fringes of Eastbourne there was an electricity station. Opposite stood a row of council houses that were, for the most part, uninhabited. Following raids it was usually my job to
check those that were still lived in. At one house, belonging to a real ‘Cor Blimey’ type whose husband was serving in the army, I got no reply although the house appeared to be intact.
Just to be sure, I went around the back to the garden, where I found her pointing at a hole and a heap of wood and broken glass. When she saw me she shouted out, as if it was my fault: ‘Look
what that so-and-so Hitler has done to my old man’s greenhouse!’

L. G. Lee, Croydon

I had a small guesthouse in Clacton, about one hundred yards from the seafront. There were two NAAFI girls staying with me, as they worked in the Towers Hotel that was their
headquarters. Naturally, most of the properties were taken over by the military, which organized dances etc. at their mess. One of the girls had been invited to one of the army dos and on that
particular evening enemy action put out the lights in the NAAFI and shook the building considerably. This girl was worried about having a wash on the premises as time was cut fine for her date. The
water had been turned off, but she groped her way to the kitchen sink and ‘felt’ some water in the bowl. She hurriedly washed her face and put some powder on. She was adept at the
latter as she often did this in the dark of the cinema. As she’d a greasy skin, she liked her make-up. The air raid didn’t last long and the lights were soon back on in the mess. As she
entered everyone stared at her. She looked such a sight. She didn’t realize that the bowl contained soot that had been blown down the chimney during the raid. Our glamour girl is teased to
this day by those who’ve passed the story on, especially since there were some really dishy officers there that evening.