Next episode Wakey wakey up the back there!
Bang went all my hopes when war started on 3rd September 1939. All training for boys was cancelled for those not already in the Air Force. My hopes and aspirations for a Service life were put onto the shelf. In the circumstances of that time, what a small matter! There was considerable fear and trepidation among the population. Air raids were expected at any time - in fact, the air raid sirens were sounded in our neighbourhood (and throughout London) only 20 minutes after Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain broadcast the grim news of the declaration of war at 11am on the Sunday morning of 3rd September.
Our household was prepared, along with most others, and the blackout curtains were in position. The start of an air raid shelter had been dug in the back garden, and gas masks were at the ready. Mother, father and I had all tried on and practised with our gas masks, but sister Pam could not be persuaded, cajoled, threatened or bullied into putting on her mask. Eight years old, she flatly refused to have the object anywhere near her face.
Arrangements had been made for many thousands of schoolchildren to be evacuated from the London area to safe homes in the country, and once war was declared, the movements of trains, buses and trucks loaded with children went on feverishly for several days. My little sister, bless her, went away briefly to the village of Great Wakering, about 40 miles off, but stayed only five weeks before having to come back, very homesick, to be with her family.
I saw the opportunity to leave the office job I had in London, on the pretext that it was far too dangerous to travel on public transport for long distances when I might be subjected to air raids, and I got myself a job at a local factory, Brown Bros Ltd, helping to make petrol tanks for aircraft. I became a "rivet boy" and pushed in thousands of rivets along the seams of the tanks for the experienced operator to punch into position with a hydraulic machine.
I think I lasted three months at this job! Early in January 1940, I found another job much nearer home at the Flexo-Plywood Company, helping to manufacture plywood doors with zinc coverings, obviously a wartime requirement for some particular purpose.
During the first months of 1940, our armies overseas were in dire straits. Germany was invading and conquering countries all over Europe. France was at the end of its tether, and was treacherously "stabbed in the back" by its neighbour Italy, who declared war just at the time when France was succumbing to Germany. The British Army was retreating fast in northern France, having lost the support of its French allies, and at home, we were fearful of an invasion from Germany at any moment.
The British Government formed the "Local Defence Volunteers", later to become "The Home Guard". Old soldiers from World War I rushed to join, young men in reserved jobs saw their opportunity to do their bit, and for youths of my generation there was fantastic fun to be had, as back-ups for the Home Guard, Air Raid Wardens, Fire Watchers, and all the other organisations which became vitally necessary in support and defence of the country. Many of the Air Cadets became messengers for the Home Guard, Tom Wills and I included. We felt terribly important, dashing about on our bicycles, dressed in over-large khaki denim uniforms and equipped with Lee-Enfield .303 rifles.
The tense days from May to August passed. It was a glorious summer, and "Jerry" was over us nightly, pounding London and other cities with bombs galore. Much has been written about the Battle of Britain, and this was when it was all happening. The Germans were determined to destroy our airfields, and it seemed, the civilian population as well. The gallant fighter squadrons were equally determined to defend us to the last. Eventually, our skilled fighter pilots turned the tide, and by 15th September the Battle of Britain was won - by our side. There were many occasions on which I saw dogfights above the skies of London, many nights I spent in air raid shelters with my family and with others, while the bombs hurtled down.
As soon as I was 18 years old, on 28th August 1940, I went to the Air Force recruiting office at Romford to try to join. I was so anxious and nervous, I was unable to cope with the simple mathematical and general knowledge tests which were put to me (and which were well within my capabilities). The recruiting officer kindly told me to go home and polish up my school training, read the daily newspapers to improve my general knowledge, and come back in three months!
On 5th December, I presented myself to the Aircrew Selection Centre in London. Two days of rigorous medical checks, education tests, and interviews followed. To my absolute joy, I was selected for pilot training. I went home on Cloud Nine, having decided that I would like to enlist immediately rather than wait to be called up about six months later, when a flying course would be available. My RAF fate was sealed!