The Separation (32 page)

Shortages in the shops continue and are getting worse.

Tomorrow I have to return to London.

September 2, 1940

Many more days have slipped by, unrecorded here. I am stuck in London, with no hope of a return home for as far as I can see ahead. I had no idea of the sheer chaos war could bring. Every day I travel to the Red Cross depot in Wandsworth, where I am assigned to an ambulance. With at least one trained medical orderly, sometimes with two, I then drive all day, ferrying victims of the fighting to whichever is the closest hospital.

Like many other married couples, B and I have been forced into war separation. When you find a few minutes to chat to the people you’re billeted or working with, the consequences of being away from home are the most pressing subject. Most people now see their home life as something that is possible only for short periods of time, a weekend snatched from the everyday chaos, an overnight stay while passing through. Almost everyone you meet has been mobilized away from their own districts. Women are on farms or working in factories, while many of the men are in the forces or in one of the support organizations: manning the anti-aircraft batteries, patrolling for Air Raid Precautions, on nightly fire-watching duties, drilling with the Home Guard, on stand-by with the Emergency Rescue teams or working with the fire service. Everyone is on the move, with no permanence or stability. We are obsessed by the threat of invasion, by the air raids, by the battles going on overhead. Every day, they say, the country is growing stronger, is becoming better prepared. Every day that Hitler does not send his invasion forces is another day gained, a bonus, a growing of strength. I feel no fear. Nobody feels fear. I remain a pacifist but pacifism is not based on fear. Nor is it based on the opposite. Churchill remains in power, leading the country with suicidal defiance, almost taunting Hitler to try his best to destroy us. He was born to fight war. Every so often we hear on the wireless the words that Churchill chooses to say to us. You cannot ignore what he says because of the poetic grace and power with which he speaks his unpretentious and inspiring words. Everyone you speak to is moved by his speeches. I do not know what I think any more. Except the basics, which never change. Rumours abound: distant cities have been raided, with horrific results, tonight a thousand bombers will be coming to London, Dover has been bombed flat, German troops have been seen in the Essex seaside towns. For a while you believe the stories. Then the BBC news gives another version of events and you believe that instead. I’m fortunate in that the Red Cross is well informed. It is fairly easy for me to establish the truth, or something close to it. So far, things do not seem to have been too bad for civilians. Shipping and airfields are bombed every day. At night the German bombers fly across all parts of the country, but they are more of a nuisance than anything: the sirens go off in the evening, so that people’s lives are interrupted. Little damage is done. A few bombs are dropped here and there. In places they drop propaganda leaflets, which instantly become objects of derision. You grow tired of hearing jokes about people using them as toilet paper.

So, each morning comes. I take out the ambulance and its medical crew, liaise with our army escort needed in case we are sent to a crash-landed German plane in which crew members may have survived then head for the towns and suburbs on the edge of London: to Croydon, Gravesend, Bromley, Sevenoaks. This is where most of the battle casualties are found. We pick up airmen who have been shot down, staff who were working at the factories and other installations under attack, those civilians unfortunate enough to have been injured by a crashing plane or a stray bomb or fallen shell. Most of the bombing continues to be against ‘military’ targets - airfields, oil-storage depots, factories but in an increasing number of incidents it looks as if the Germans deliberately cast their bomb loads wide. Houses, schools and even hospitals in the general area of the main targets are being damaged or destroyed with increasing frequency. And as is obvious to all of us, more and more towns are being treated as targets.

At first the bombing attacks were confined to the ports: Dover and Folkestone have suffered terribly, but they are the nearest British towns to the Luftwaffe bases in France and have an obvious strategic value. Then the areas of attack spread rapidly along the coast: Southampton and Portsmouth were bombed. After that the Germans turned on the towns alongside the Thames estuary, the threshold of the capital. What next?

September8, 1940

It is a Sunday afternoon. I woke up an hour or so ago after one of the hardest and longest days of my life.

I spent the daytime in the usual round of duties, this time in Chatham on the south side of the Thames estuary. Because of its naval yard the town has become a regular target for the Luftwaffe. As evening came I drove back to London, returned my ambulance to the yard in Wandsworth and caught the Underground back here to my lodgings at the YMCA. I had been home no more than a couple of minutes when the air-raid sirens started again. I was summoned back to Wandsworth immediately. Within half an hour a major attack was taking place on the docks and warehouses in the East End. I was there all night, finally reaching my bed at 5 a.m.

September 19, 1940

I can no longer stand it here in London and need a rest. I have applied to return to Manchester. German bombing tactics have changed drastically. Every night the Luftwaffe bombs London. Occasionally, they send second or third waves to other industrial cities, briefly sparing the capital. The first sirens are heard soon after sunset and the bombing continues, with varying degrees of violence, until well into the small hours. The planes first drop incendiary devices in their hundreds and thousands. They land everywhere - on roofs, in streets, gardens, parks - and almost immediately discharge a burst of white-hot fire that ignites anything it touches. Firewatchers are on duty along every street and on every tall building that has an accessible roof. Many of the devices are doused with sand before they can do much damage, but there are limits to how many can be tackled. It’s dangerous and difficult work. Not long passes before many dozens of fires are taking hold. Soon afterwards the second phase of bombing begins as the Luftwaffe planes drop high-explosive bombs and parachute mines, shattering the streets and buildings and blasting the already burning debris in every direction. Many people are killed outright, hiding under the staircases of their houses or huddling in their garden shelters, or if they are caught out in the open. The public shelters are safer, and the deep platforms of the Underground system are safer still. Every night more and more people are said to be moving down to the platforms to sit out the raids. Hundreds of people are injured in every raid. Among those casualties are members of the fire service, the police, the rescue workers, the air-raid wardens, the firewatchers and the ambulance drivers.

I have myself been close to death or serious injury many times. When the night raids began I intended to use my notebook as a first-hand record of what the experience is really like. I felt at the outset that there should be some evidence, some authentic first-hand account, of what happened to London when the bombers came. Someone, eventually, will be called to account for what is being done to this great city. The bombing of cities is clearly criminal. I am a witness; I am here in the thick of it. But I am always too exhausted after my night-long shift of duty even to feel like lifting the pencil. It is etched in my memory but I have written none of it down. And memory is unreliable: after the first few bombs exploding in the street where you are, after the first few burning warehouses, the incidents run together.

I am already sick of the heat, the explosions, the shock of sudden flares of flame as the incendiaries crash to the ground, the smells of burning, the cries of injured children, the sight of bodies buried in the rubble, the hideous wounds, the dead babies, the grieving parents. I am deafened, half blinded, frightened, angry, scorched. My hair, skin, clothes stink of smoke and blood. I truly walk in hell.

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From letters of J. L. Sawyer and family (Collection Britannique, Le Musée de Paix)

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The letters of J. L. Sawyer.

September 2, 1940 to Mrs Birgit Sawyer, Cliffe End, Rainow

My dearest Birgit,

It has become easier to arrange a weekend pass. I am so sorry I have had to stay away for the last two or three weeks. If I were to visit you again this weekend, arriving on Friday evening and leaving on Sunday morning, is there any likelihood I would see my brother Joe?
Yours ever,

JL

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The letters of Birgit Heidi Sawyer (nee Sattmann).

September 4, 1940 to Flt Lt J. L. Sawyer, c/o 1 Group, RAF Bomber Command
My dearest JL,

No. Come quickly.

As always,

Birgit

September 9,1940 to J. L Sawyer, Poste Restante YMCA, London WC1

Dear Joe,

I miss you so much and wonder when you will be coming home again. Are you able to give me any definite dates? I am able to tell you that you need not worry about me. I am all right in the house and can get by without you a little longer. You must not feel I am constantly asking you to come home. You know I will like nothing more than to have you home again with me, but I understand if your work in London must keep you away from me.

Always with love, my darling,

B

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Papers of Institut Sckweizerfiir Neuere Geschichte, Zurich

The letters of A. Woodhurst, British Red Cross, Manchester

November 4, 1940 to Mrs J. L. Sawyer, Cliffe End, Rainow

Dear Mrs Sawyer,

Although your husband Joseph has been with the Red Cross for only a comparatively short time, he has rapidly become one of our most valued and dedicated workers. In particular, the medical and rescue aid work he has been carrying out in London has drawn praise from all quarters. The Superintendent of Whitechapel Police has written to me personally to state that amongst many other acts of great courage, Joseph was personally responsible for saving the lives of six children who were seriously injured by a German bomb that exploded close to the entrance of one of the shelters in Stepney Green. Although suffering cuts to his face and hands, he pulled all six of the children to safety and drove them to hospital. Afterwards, he continued to drive his ambulance through the streets for the remainder of the night, constantly in danger. On another occasion, the Superintendent tells me, Joseph helped evacuate an area under immediate threat from an unexploded parachute mine. The bomb exploded moments after everyone had moved to safety and no doubt would have caused many deaths and horrific injuries. Joseph’s name has been put forward three times to the authorities, drawing attention to his bravery. He has been an inspiration to everyone working with him in those dangerous circumstances. You will therefore recognize the depth of our concern which we must share with you (although certainly not to the same extent), after he was posted as missing during the devastating air raid on Bermondsey two nights ago. We know that this distressing news has already been sent to you by telegram. I hope this personal letter will be a small comfort to you.

Although Joseph’s ambulance took a direct hit from a bomb, there are no signs that anyone was inside. All of us here are drawing great hope from this knowledge. Joseph was certainly seen in the area immediately before the second wave of the attack and one of his medical crew said he believed Joseph might have gone to one of the public shelters. A full search of the area has been concluded, including a close inspection of all the shelters and damaged properties in the area. There were no unidentifiable bodies found and the lists of the other casualties have been checked thoroughly. In the confusion that follows a large raid at night a lot of people are temporarily listed as missing, but most of them turn up again soon afterwards. We are treating him as missing, but let me assure you that it is only a technicality. The police remain confident he will be found. In Joseph’s case, most of our concern is caused by the amount of time that has elapsed.

We shall of course contact you immediately we have any firm news.

Yours most sincerely,

A. V. Woodhurst (Mrs)

British Red Cross Society - Manchester Branch

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From letters of J. L. Sawyer and family (Collection Britannique, Le Musée de Paix)

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November 5, 1940 to Mr J. L. Sawyer, Cliffe End, Rainow

Dear Mr Sawyer,

We refer to your letter of April 19, concerning the possible whereabouts of a family named Sattmann, formerly of Goethestrasse, Charlottenburg, Berlin, now thought to be refugees within the Federal Republic of Switzerland.

We regret to inform you that no trace has been found of the family, either by the Swiss authorities or by the Embassies of Sweden and the Irish Republic, acting on our behalf elsewhere.
Yours sincerely,

K. M. Thomason - Foreign Office

Assistant Under-Secretary

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The letters of Birgit Heidi Sawyer (nee Sattmann).

November 8, 1940 to Flt Lt J. L. Sawyer, c/o 1 Group, RAF Bomber Command
Dearest JL,

Joe is alive! He was found yesterday in a hostel for homeless men, suffering from concussion. Apart from that he is not physically harmed. The Society is bringing him home today or tomorrow. My darling, it will be all right for us again. Soon, I promise. For now I must care for Joe. My fondest love, which I renew in my heart day by day,

Birgit

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November 8, 1940 to Mrs Elise Sawyer, Mill House, Tewkesbury,

Gloucestershire

Dear Mrs Sawyer,

I am pleased to tell you that my husband Joseph, your son, has been found unharmed and is on his way home. I will ask him to contact you as soon as possible.