The following are extracts taken from the Museum of London's Oral History Archive. Where there is a picture of a wireless you can click on it to hear the person talking. Below you can read contributions made by visitors to this online exhibition.
Stan Harris was born in East Ham in 1928.
'On the Saturday of the first bombing of London, I can, this very second, see myself
standing on there, calling out to my mother, come and see these 'planes, the
sky is crowded with 'planes, and look at all the smoke they're puffing out.
What I don't realise, and I was to shortly, very shortly, about half an hour
after, that's when it all, when it all, probably less than that now, was that
the 'planes were in formation, and the sky was black with them, the German bombers
and fighters, and the puffs of smoke was anti-aircraft fire, what little there
was. And that night was one of the most horrendous nights that I can ever remember.
We were under the stairs, we, you know, the, for some reason or other - we was
frightened to go out in the garden in the shelter. And we all went under the
stairs, so we never had dog's chance if anything happened. And all the night
through you could hear thud, thud, thud, thud and the whistles as the bombs
were falling. And Canning Town, and Rathbone Street where the old shop was,
that was alight from top to bottom, virtually, you know, eliminated.'
Mavis Cook was born in 1934 and lived in Dalston at the beginning of the Blitz.
'I
remember we, the, the neighbour next door, he, he was looking, one day, it was
a nice day, I remember it was a nice day, but I was in the kitchen and my Mum
was cooking, I assume my Dad's tea, she was cooking something with the frying
pan. And the man next door was shouting at something, he was at the upstairs
window and he got some binoculars. So Mum ran out in the garden and I ran out
with her, you know, followed her. And he was saying, go on, there, there, look,
look, look at them, look at them, oh, he said, it's all right they're ours,
they're ours, and then he said, no they're not, they're theirs. And coming towards
us, oh, there was a skyfull of 'planes, it, like, like flies coming towards
you. It was unbelievable. And the noise, the, it was like a droning noise, was,
you know. So with that my Mum just got hold of my hand, and I don't know why
she had the frying pan in her hand as well, but we just ran down the shelter
with that.'
'One
evening we didn't quite make the shelter and I do recall that, and just sort
of lying flat in the hallway, or coming out and just sort of lying flat because
a bomb had fallen very close to the house. Everything shuddered, you know, glass
and everything, you could hear, sort of, the whole house shook. And, we were
just, there was quietness afterwards, I remember the, just quietness, except
a trickle, we could hear like a trickle of water. And then my dad said, oh I'll
go and see what, what's happened. And I remember crying and didn't want him
to go, and pulling, and saying, no don't go, don't go. I was very very frightened
then. And that I think was the first time that I could honestly say I was very
frightened. Because, it was just sort of like the tremendous shake of the house,
everybody having to suddenly go flat, I suppose, you know. And, the suddenness
of it all.'
'And
then he went upstairs and, of course with a torch, 'cause I mean couldn't turn
lights on or anything like that, or you didn't turn lights on. And I remember
him coming down saying what it was, was in my bedroom I had a washstand with
a bowl and a jug of water, and the jug had fallen, had jumped, the blast had
caused the jug to, to jump out from the bowl, the bowl was perfectly alright,
not a crack or anything on it, not a chip. But the jug with the water in just
broke and that was the trickle of water. The most odd things had happened actually
on that day because, or on that evening I should say. Because I had a piano
as well in my room as well with photos on the top, and what had happened, the
washstand had a little cupboard, the cupboard door had blown open with the blast,
and the end photo had got thrown, been thrown into the cupboard, as it were,
the blast had thrown it into the cupboard, and the cupboard door had closed.
So when my Mum went up there eventually, I suppose the next day, and was looking
around to see what damage had been done, apart from ceilings all in, you could
see the rafters, and windows broken and goodness knows what, the strange thing
was she couldn't find this other photo, she saw as I say about three or four
but couldn't find the other one.'
Mrs Morgan was born in Bow in 1918.
'You couldn't forget it, they just come in wave after wave. As one wave went
you'd think 'Is that it?' and then suddenly another wave would come in. The
point was we weren't prepared for it then. We were only starting this sort of
thing, it had been thrust upon us. We couldn't hear any guns or anything but
the fighters must have been must have been up there like they was in the afternoon
during a dog fight. But the fact that you couldn't hear anything, it wasn't
consoling. You know, if we'd heard something like later on, we heard the ack
ack guns, you felt at least something was being done about it, you know.'
'At first when they started the day raids they were going down there 6 or 7
times a day. Well you was running down there , you wasn't getting any work done.
So in the finish, instead of giving us the warning when they came over the coast
we never used to get the warning until they were approaching the district and
then of course you moved fast because you knew they were on top of you. But
that's the principle they worked on in businesses too because as I say, you
couldn't have stopped down there all day. The purpose of it would have gone.'
The following are contributions made by visitors to this online exhibition. We thank them for these contributions:
Douglas Inman was born in 1931:
'I was not evacuated from London (East Greenwich, about a mile from the site of the Dome!). Following my ninth birthday on September 5 1940, I was taken to Greenwich Park to fly my model Spitfire on Saturday afternoon September 7th. The siren went off and we entered a shelter quite near to the Maritime Museum in the park. I remember staying there for some hours before walking home during a brief lull in the bombing. My major memory of this walk is of the fire to the north over the other side of the river which completely dominated the skyline, and was like a vision of hell.
During the winter which followed we suffered repeated bombing in our neighborhood which culminated in a bomb dropping in the road in front of our house which did extensive damage. My mother and I were under the kitchen table at the time but my father, who had served in the Royal Navy during the first World War was in the road fire watching. He and his mate narrowly escaped injury because they ran when they heard the stick of bombs rather than falling flat on the spot which received a direct hit. He later served in the Home Guard on the rocket guns on Blackheath.'
Ray Easthope was born in 1929:
'I lived on a housing estate in Birmingham called Weoley Castle I think it was in 1940 when the city was having it a bit rough when an aircraft flew across our road and dropped a spread of 8 bombs two hitting houses in very close proximity 200 yds or so killing a bus conductress, three or four went into the local cemetery and another one demolishing another house. We were told as kids that they were aiming for the Austin motor factory what was most frightening tho was when the anti aircraft guns went off they were just up the road in a field. Next day we went round picking up shrapnel. This is one of my many memories about Birmingham's blitz thank you for letting me record it.'
Simon Rodway:
'A memory of a neighbour now passed away, who seemed to have rather a racey image in our street in West London. She rented rooms to service men and there was many a night when the parlour piano worked overtime into the wee small hours!
She told of one night when a stick of bombs hit our neighbourhood - one exploded in the loading yard behind the exhibition centre and a shard of metal flew across the road into the Beaconsfield Arms and sliced off the top of a pint glass of beer held in a drinkers hand. The second bomb hit an Anderson shelter in Milsom Road, a third struck a house in Sinclair Road.
On another occasion one night a V1 struck a terrace of houses at the Western End of Shepherds Bush Green. Naked bodies were strewn all over the grass.
A V1 or a V2 hit the centre of the Blythe Road shops and another hit St Marys Church corner of Edith Road and Hammersmith Road. Does anyone know anymore about those last two?'
Isobel Dowden was born in 1913:
'I remember Saturday the 7th september 1940. I was doing some shopping in East Ham High Street when the siren went; it was late afternoon. I rushed into a shop near Wakefield St and went into their basement. I was there until the early hours of the next day. Of course my sister and my son of 4 years were at home and she was wondering what had happened to me. Anyway she was so pleased to see me, I think she had me for being dead.'
Christine Hacklett was born in East Ham in London:
'I was 10 when the blitz took place. I had been evacuated, but was so unhappy that my parents let me come home in February 1940. Every night during the blitz we went down to our air raid shelter in the back garden. We could, of course, hear the bombs coming down, but luckily our house was never hit, and the only damage was a canopy window broken by a falling tile. But many bombs did fall in Woodford (on the east side of London) where I lived. One night we had to go to the public shelter, about 7 minutes walk away. Everyone in the road had to go as an unexploded bomb had landed. We subsequently learnt it was not in our road at all, but quite a distance away. I learned to distinguish the sound of English and German planes. In the daytime I collected bits of shrapnel from our garden and elsewhere. Sometimes a portable AA gun would come and park in the side turning alongside our garden. Its noise was deafeningly loud, but it was a comfort to know we were defended from so close by. One winter night my Dad lent me a tin hat and took me up into the garden to see a huge red glow to the SW of us. I think that was the night in December when the city was so badly bombed and burned. My grandmother lived in East Ham, and when the houses adjacent to her were bombed she came to live with us. My dad made an upper bunk for me so the three adults could sleep below. In fact the shelter wasn't too uncomfortable. Dad had put in wiring which gave us an electric light, and we could use a small heater. We always took food and drink into the shelter, and of course all our valuables were taken there too. Sleep was constantly interrupted, which left us tired the next day. But I don't think I was as frightened as I would have been had I been an adult.'
John Benning was born in 1933:
'I was born in East Ham and spent the first 20 years of my life there. I have recently been writing an autobiography for the benefit of my family, and have included a segment on my memories of the Blitz. This may be of interest to the museum.'
Sheila Benning was born in 1933:
'I have the original two letters written in September 1940 by my uncle, a school teacher at the time, to his parents in Barry, Glamorgan, and his brother in Abergavenny. The letters are written on both sides of lined paper and are five & three pages long. By coincidence my husband whom I met & married in Sydney Australia was born & grew up a few miles from Leytonstone.'
Use the links below to read the transcripts of the letters:
Muriel Sybil Ward was born in 1916:
'This is an extract of my memories of the Blitz is taken from Part I of my memoirs, 1916-1946. I am now 84 years old. I lived in Bethnal Green and Hackney, East London, for over thirty years until 1948.'
Nuala Donoghue was born in 1953:
'My mother used to tell me of her experience of being bombed out in 1944. She saw an aircraft approaching flying a very low height while she was out in the back garden with my brother. The pilot started firing bullets from a machine gun spraying the whole of the back gardens. A few minutes later when they had rushed inside a V2 rocket went off nearby destroying the footbridge over Hornsey railway station. The french windows at the back of the house were warped by the blast - my mother considered it a lucky escape!'
Tom Andrews was born in 1928:
'1942 Kentish Town NW5: A Lucky Escape
My sister had been sent from our house to get water from the public baths on the corner because the water supply had been damaged. When there was a terrific blast my mother rushed to the front door to see if she could see my sister but everything was hidden by clouds of dust. As the dust settled the scene of the disaster became evident because it was the local sweet factory which had been converted to war work. Dell's had a direct hit, it was a four storey brick building which had its floors reinforced to take heavy machinery, all the concrete floors collapsed down into the basement. Most of the workers were local teenage girls, as far as I remember none were saved. But, the destruction was caused by a parachute mine, the spotter on the roof sounded the alarm and when he realised that it was coming straight at him he jumped over the edge of the roof. In the street below was the local road sweeper, the spotter landed on this man, these two were the only survivors! After the war this man could still be seen sweeping the local streets.'
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Last modified: Tuesday, 19 April, 2005
