Polly (3 page)

That was the longest, or was it the only, stretch we saw of him during the war. I remember that one night he and Mum went up the music hall in Stratford to see a show, but it got interrupted by a Zeppelin raid. Mum came rushing back
to see to us kids but Dad stayed to see the end of the show and later ambled home as if he did not have a care in the world. I suppose that, compared to the trenches, the odd small bomb thrown from an airship and aimed at the whole of London, was not much of a threat. Anyway, Mum left a note for Dad and rushed us off down to the shelter. When these Zeppelin raids started the authorities decided that they needed some sort of shelters and so they started designating large, sturdy, buildings – which in Lett Road meant the factories a bit further down. Would you believe it, our appointed shelter was a paint and varnish factory, complete with all its stocks of paint and solvents. The shelter was on the ground floor below them all – you say it now and it sounds crazy. If a bomb had hit it we would have all been fried or burned alive, but at the time we only saw it as a large, strong building. I suppose we were very naïve then, we learnt better in the next war.

Walter Robert Chambers – Dad – in uniform.

When the raid ended we set off to go back home and found Dad sat on one of our kitchen chairs under the railway arch, with the bread board on his knees and on it half a loaf and the remains of the joint. He was steadily working his way through it all. Mum went off at him about not being stupid and that he should have gone down to the shelter, but he replied that people and paint
factories were not very important to the war effort, but railways were. So, if anything went wrong, they would be out straight away to deal with damage to a railway bridge but you could not say the same for a paint factory. Looking back, I realise that Dad had seen it at the sharp end and knew a lot more about war than us. He was almost certainly right. But also, when I look back, it frightens me to think what could have happened in that shelter if it had been hit by any sort of bomb at all!

One of the factories down the road was used for housing prisoners of war. They used to be marched down our road, but beforehand we were all instructed to stay indoors, close all doors, windows and curtains and stay out of sight until they had passed. This was all too much for my curiosity and I used to go to the front bedroom and peek round the very edge of the curtain, trying not to disturb it or be seen. I was always surprised because ‘the prisoners' looked just like ordinary men. I think I really expected them to have hooves, or tails, or something, not just to be ordinary, tired-looking men. In one of the Zeppelin raids the factory where they were held was hit. The bomb landed on the gatehouse and killed one of the guards; he was the only casualty. You should have heard everybody going on about it though – they really thought that the Zeppelin had aimed at the gatehouse and that somehow it was typical of the nasty Germans.

Dad went all through the war and came back without a scratch. In fact, the regular food and physical training built him up a lot. He had gone into the army as a short, slim man who took quite a pride in his appearance. He was quite a sharp dresser in his own way. He came back looking more like a barrel, and his mates back at the market gave him the nickname ‘Mudguts'. My brother Bob, the first of the post-war family, was born nine months to the day after Dad was demobbed.

D
ad volunteered for the army almost as soon as the war began and we didn't see much of him for the next four years. He used to send his army pay home or maybe they arranged to pay it direct to Mum, I don't know which, but it wasn't good money in any sense. It was nothing like the market pay and had none of the perks that went with it either, so Mum was soon feeling the pinch. That was when she decided to get a job. Of course, getting a job was easy because there was so much war work with all the men gone. The big problem was what to do with us children but that was soon solved. Doll was already at school and though I was only four the school agreed that I could go as well. Mind you, I went to the infants while Doll was in the ‘real school'. Then the baby, Son (and he kept that nickname all his life!), was looked after by the woman who lived downstairs in the other half of the house we shared.

I still remember my first day. I put on my best clothes and Mum took me up to the school to look around. First of all we met Miss Gray, who was the governess – that is, the headmistress – and she showed us around. I remember the hall because there, tied up in the corner, was the most perfect swing you can ever imagine. Us kids, living and playing in the streets, never really saw a swing except now and again when we went to the park. But here was a proper swing, right in the school. What was more, Miss Gray told us that on Friday
afternoon, if the children had been good, they came into the hall and had a swing. Well, I think I must have been the best-behaved child that they ever had in that school, but I never got a turn on that swing. That was all I lived for and my every action was aimed towards having a turn on it, but it never happened. I think I have held that against the school ever since, and it is still the first thing that comes into my mind about my schooldays.

Apart from that, school was not at all bad. In fact, I think I rather enjoyed going to school and nothing sticks out as being a bad time. I suppose it was wartime and there is always a bit of excitement, but as kids you enjoy the excitement without thinking about the dangers and threats. Talking of which, we did have some ‘raids' and they caused ever such a stir.

As I said, I was in the infants, and we used to finish every day at 4 p.m. I used to go and wait in the playground until 4.15 p.m. which was when Doll finished. I would wait there come rain or shine, hail or snow, and honestly I didn't think anything of it. When Doll came out we would walk home together and then have a load of jobs to do; peeling the potatoes and things like that in preparation for when Mum got in and cooked the tea.

Anyway, early one afternoon there was a raid, goodness knows whether it was a Zeppelin or aeroplanes, though I do remember seeing Zeppelins at some point during the war. We children all had to climb under our desks, which we thought was ever such an adventure. The Germans dropped a torpedo – I don't know whether it was a torpedo, a bomb, a landmine or what, but we called them all ‘torpedoes' – on a factory down the other end of the road. As I said, we thought it was ever so exciting but the teachers were absolute nervous wrecks. It was all too much for them, so it was decided to shut the school and send us home. Trouble was, lots of mothers went out to work so they didn't know whether the kids could get indoors, whether anybody was there to look after them and all that. It was decided that nobody could go home until somebody came to collect them. This was terrible, because Mum worked at the other end of Stratford and so was not likely to hear that the school had closed. Fortunately the lady downstairs came up to collect her daughter and I saw her across the hall. After a few words with the governess she was allowed to take us home, so I went to find Doll and off we went.

The woman downstairs was a bit funny. To tell the truth, I think she was a bit simple and the bloke she married was a real rough piece of work. But he suited her and they seemed to get on alright, which is about all that matters. I think she was too simple to realise anything different was possible. That simplicity was what carried her through life and nothing seemed to get to her,
nothing upset her, nothing got on the wrong side of her. For all that, she was a kindly woman and would do anything she could to help without thinking that she was doing anything at all. You couldn't take any sort of exception to her. One of her oddities, though, was that every day she used to wear a coarse apron and a man's cloth cap.

Anyway, on this day she came up to the school for her kid and so she took us home as well. We were ever so pleased to see her. It was quite a while later that Mum turned up. She wasn't very much earlier than if she had finished work as usual, but it seemed to take that long for the word to get round Stratford about the school closing. She came rushing home to see if we were OK, and of course we were having a great time playing with the woman's daughter. We told her the story and suddenly she absolutely hit the roof. No word of thanks about the woman collecting and looking after us, no appreciation or anything. Mum was just so disgusted that this woman would collect her children wearing a coarse apron and cloth cap! She was disgusted beyond words and was leading off something rotten. She could have saved her breath though, because the woman downstairs just stood there smiling, nodding her head, and saying, ‘yes, Mrs Chambers, oooh yes, Mrs Chambers, oooh, I do agree,' and so on. I don't suppose she had the faintest idea what Mum was going on about and how ungrateful she was being, but that is why I say her simplicity carried her through life.

That raid was on a Wednesday, and there was another on the following Sunday. We called them ‘Torby-Wednesday' and ‘Torby-Sunday' – ‘Torby' was our East End abbreviation of torpedo! That was about all I remember of the war and school. If the truth be told, I think I quite enjoyed it all.

Soon after the war we saw our first aeroplane. The whole school was rapidly ushered out into the playground to witness the amazing sight and we all stood there peering into the sky. Then the aeroplane wrote something using that smoke stuff. I can't remember what it wrote, but three of the girls fainted with the wonder of it all. They must have thought that words in the sky was a sign that the world was ending! The other big excitement, for me anyway, was bath day. None of the houses around there had a bath, so every week ten children were taken off to the public baths in Jupp Road. We were called out of class, formed up in the playground and were led off in a crocodile to the baths. When we got there we undressed and put our clothes in a locker before going on to the cubicles where our baths had already been filled by the attendant. There were no taps on the bath but instead, if you wanted more water, you would call out ‘number-whatever, more hot water' and it would arrive out of a pipe through the wall. I used to love that.

What I really remember, though, was the Depression that followed the war – that truly was awful. When he came out of the army, Dad went straight back into his job in the market. This was secure, paid good money and had very useful perks, so we had no problems. In fact compared with the people who lived around us we were pretty well-off. Lots of men, though, were unemployed and had no real prospect of work. They lived from hand to mouth in a state of destitution. Boys used to come to school wearing baggy trousers and a vest. The trousers were held up by rope, tied either as a belt or over the shoulders as braces. They had to have something on their feet, bare feet were not allowed, so most had boots but no socks. Sometimes they would tie the laces together and hang the boots round their necks, putting them on when they got to the school gate, just so that they didn't wear out so quickly.

Most children didn't have much in the way of food either. Just to give an example, there was the time that I was picked for the school netball team. I was ever so proud and even Mum seemed pleased. Usually she didn't worry too much about what was going on at school as long as I was not ‘getting into trouble', so you can believe that this was a special occasion. But then I discovered the catch – the practices were held at lunchtime so I had to tell the teacher that I couldn't be in the team after all. You see, Mum was pregnant and getting near her time, so I had to go home for lunch and then go to the shops to buy the dinner for Mum to cook in the evening. I got a terrible reputation for being ‘stuck up' and not caring about the team, because they just did not believe me – they couldn't believe that somebody had lunch, let alone dinner as well. Most of them lived on bread and a scrape for breakfast and maybe the same, or some boiled potatoes, for dinner. For them, lunchtime netball practice was at least something to do and help fill the time, because the poor sods had nothing to go home for and fill their tummies!