1939-1944

My stories will be from memory. I'll open with the approximate year. How far back does our memory go? Some say to the womb. Can't manage that I'm afraid.

My first four years were spent in Sevenoaks, a town in Kent, in south-east England. World war two was in full swing for course. Over Kent, much of the Battle of Britain was fought. As that waned no doubt the hit-and-run raids continued, courtesy of the Luftwaffe. In 1944 things warmed up again in Kent as the V1 'Doodlebugs' and later, the V2s started arriving. Little of this really survives in my memory of course.

No doubt spent cartridges and assorted bits of Spitfires and Me109s etc rained down on the 'Garden of England'. None hit me I'm glad to say.

Real memories? Yes quite a few. Much of early memory is questionable because of subsequent input from relatives etc but I have some very real memories of those four earliest years.

We lived in a big house. Number 56 Granville Road. The powers that be decided that military personel should be 'billeted' in private homes where there was room. I vaguely remember the comings and goings of these strangers. But only one stays firmly in mind. She was a WAAF or a WRAC or aWREN? No idea but I managed to worm my way into her affections, maybe she liked cute little boys. But I do remember being in the bathroom while she took a bath and remember her large breasts ... which may explain much about me.

I created an onomatopoeia all my own duing this time. "Ging-gong". A ging-gong or goods train got the name from the noise the wagons made when their buffers struck those of another wagon during shunting. The word is mine and now that ging-gongs have gone into history I have my small place there with them! Ging-gongs, like those breasts explain a vital side of my later (and current) character.

I remember travelling on buses and not being able to see out, because the windows had been covered in an adhesive 'fabric' to protect passengers from flying glass should a bomb explode near the bus, there was a war going on remember.

In '44 (presumably) a 'Doodlebug' (V1 flying bomb) landed at the top of the road and blew out all our windows. A Sunday morning I think (the Germans were no respecters of the Sabbath!) and I was yelling from my cot that the curtains had fallen down. A cot at 4 years I hear you ask. Well it was thought safer than a bed I'm told. A leaf from the dinning room table was placed atop my cot as protection from falling houses.

I remember being chased by geese in St Botolphs Park. I've never quite trusted geese since.

Well, in '44 we moved to Farnborough .... a nice point to move on.