Preparations for War

My holiday didn’t last much longer and I soon returned home to Beckenham. The general schemes of evacuation were beginning. The Abbey School moved to Woolacombe on the North Devon Coast and I went with it. Woolacombe is a village standing at the northern end of the three mile Woolacombe sands, surrounded by rolling hills. A great deal of this coastal area was owned by the National Trust. Out to sea in the distance stood Lyndry Island.

Woolacombe was about 235 miles from London by train and it was a long and slow journey, taking the best part of a day to get there. The steam train went to Exeter and then trundled on to Barnstaple and eventually reached Mortehoe station, the nearest rail station to Woolacombe. A two mile car ride took us to Woolacombe.

The school took over four hotels in the village the largest of which was Rathleigh which was in a prominent position near the village shops and main entrance to the sands. Two of the other hotels were Hartland and Chatsworth further round the esplanade, while the fourth was Devonia on the opposite side of the road to Rathleigh, and was used solely for teaching where we assembled each day.

With the evacuation the school left behind many boys and a few masters, but another school from Beckenham, Clare House joined us and helped to make up the numbers.

I stayed in Rathleigh Hotel, which was run by Gordon Storrs, a master who had come down from Beckenham, a popular, well-liked and cheerful person, who was nearly always to be seen wearing plus fours, a fashion generally more commonly associated with golfers.

It was certainly a contrast to Beckenham to be in the picturesque countryside by the sea, but all was not complete tranquillity, as while we were there army tanks arrived in considerable numbers for training purposes. The tanks used the sands going up and down the three mile length for many hours at a time. They were parked at the side of the village in what is now a coach park, and went straight from there to the beach.

Coincidences in life often come in quite a surprising way and one such occurred while I was at Woolacombe. On Sundays the soldiers of the tank regiment on church parade would march up the main hill to the small parish church about half a mile distant. We often used to watch them and one day I spotted my Uncle Jim amongst them, and neither of us knew the other was there. We met up several times later before we went our separate ways. The training had a very serious purpose as many of the tank crews were later engaged in the desert fighting in North Africa.

Gordon Storrs was very keen in ensuring that we learned as much as possible of the environment and he took us for many walks around the district to explore the countryside. Some of these walks took us along the beach where we had another reminder of the war. We would find green glass balls about two feet in diameter, which had been washed up and left high and dry on the sands. We later learned that these were used for holding up anti-submarine nets guarding the Bristol Channel, and they had broken away.

Let Battle Commence

One of the major battles of the war, the Battle of Britain, started on 10th July 1940 when the German Air Force began their air attacks on this country. As East Grinstead was midway between London and the South Coast many of the dogfights took place in the skies above us. Little could the school have imagined when they moved from Woolacombe, that they were now going to be in the middle of a battle zone.

The initial battle raged for about three weeks when multiple attacks were made on various targets across the south and then on 15th August the multiple attacks were replaced by heavy mass raids. As young schoolboys, we were not aware of the dangers involved and found it all very exciting.

The air battles in the days ahead followed a very similar pattern. On a clear, warm and sunny summers day, first would be heard a very distant drone as the German bombers flew in at a very great height, usually well over 20,000 feet and often invisible to the naked eye. When our fighters intercepted the planes would start diving and weaving, and as they twisted and turned they could be seen now and again as tiny specks, when they were caught in the sunlight. We would hear the roar of engines, the rattle of machine gun fire, and the whining sound when planes dived. During this period we were constantly watching these fights with very little school work being done. It was very difficult to distinguish friendly from enemy aircraft, but it was a great thrill when we did see an enemy plane crashing down. Many planes crashed around us, and just after the attacks had started, I recall how frightening it was when an enemy bomber roared over the school with smoke belching from the engines, and then finally it crashed.

Two of our masters were extremely interested in all that went on, and often appeared with binoculars to give a commentary on a fight. We also saw plenty of silver parachutes slowly coming down when planes had been shot down.

One incident which we witnessed at the height of a battle was when we saw one plane dive after another. Very unfortunately one of the planes couldn’t pullout of the dive in time, and gathering speed nosedived straight into the ground. There was a loud thump as the plane hit the ground about 400 yards away. The plane turned out to be a Hurricane which had a young New Zealand pilot. Experiences like this went on for many days and we collected souvenirs from parachutes and crashed aircraft.

I returned to Beckenham for the summer holiday and it was during this time that the German losses in the battle were considerable and the daylight raids gave way to the night-time bombing of London.

Saturday 7th September saw the first of the big London raids when the docklands were set alight, and by this time the Germans had admitted the loss of air superiority. This was the start of the eight month long blitz of London with nightly bombing continuing until April 1941.

Back at school, with the end of the daylight battles, night after night we heard the distinctive beat of the bomber engines as they passed overhead on their way to London.

When we awoke about 6:30am we would still hear the roar of aircraft, but this time it was the planes on their return journey home. Many of us wondered why our large mansion, which stood out on a high hill did not seem to be a target. Out headmaster assured us that we would not be bombed, as he used to watch and said that we were the turning point for the enemy bombers, and said that the formations turned a certain angle when they reached the mansion.

This term was coming near to an end when there was one incident nearby. While we were all asleep at about five o’clock early one morning, and the enemy aircraft were returning to France, there was the loudest explosion so far and we all awoke with a start. Apparently a pair of land mines had silently floated down (by parachute) and landed in a field nearby. At the bottom of the hill from our mansion was a valley and on that morning it was covered in fog. A theory was put forward that the enemy had possibly thought that the valley was the River Medway and the mines were being dropped in a river. We visited the craters on our next walk, and they were about a mile away. They were both very large, about fifty yards apart.

Soon after this the term ended, and as Beckenham was being badly bombed, I did not return home, but went up to Glasgow, where my Father was stationed. For the holiday in Scotland, I lived with my Father in a large block of flats in a suburb in North Glasgow called Hyndland.

Glasgow had two groups of air raids lasting about a week in each case, and about four months apart. I was there for the first group. After two night raids my Father decided I must get away from the raids so I returned to London. A case of from one city under attack to another! I arrived early one morning in London after a night raid. The city was in chaos and we tried with great difficulty to get a breakfast. Buildings were burning and collapsing and fuel supplies were cut off. There were many diversions and the people looked very weary after the nightly bombing.

A Matter of Choice

When I reflect back to this period of our lives again, it gives me, as I am sure It gives my colleagues, a greater realisation of the amount of sound that penetrated into Charles Hendtlass’ study in the name of music. One thing that was very rarely lacking at Underwood was the provision of music in one form or another from the classics to jazz. If we consider for a moment, in the room on one side of his study was a radio which was on at almost every opportunity, on the other side a piano which was often pounded by ambitious, if unlearned, musical fingers; and it was highly probably that a gramophone was being played upstairs.

The first radio set we had was brought down by John Price who kindly put it in the outer study for the use of us all. Jerrold Weinstein later brought down a smaller set which was fitted up in the dining room at times. These were greatly appreciated, particularly at weekends and in the winter, and many plays and other programmes were listened to regularly. A particular favourite of the period I remember was the thriller series entitled “Appointment with Fear”. After the supper meal there would be a rush to obtain the best places near the wireless and fire, and concessions were granted to stay up for these late programmes and plays of special interest.

Naturally the news bulletins always had attentive listeners, particularly after the European invasion, and Winston Churchill’s masterly speeches of our time commended full attention with the whole hostel sitting around on chairs and on the floor. When John Price and Jerrold Weinstein left, John Clarridge brought down a set for our use, and later on John Garcia added a further one.

Gramophone music was provided by Joshua Mynk, and in later days by Roger Batey and John Krieger, and many record sessions were held, some on the lawn in fine weather. These were mainly concentrated on the dance and swing music of the day, and such outstanding names as Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington and the Dorsey Brothers.

Although popular music certainly had its followers there were probably as many devotees to the classical type, and there was for instance, a particularly interesting debate held one Sunday evening when Roger Batey defended jazz and Peter Norman the classics, both sides well illustrated with records. Apart from our own poundings, when the piano in the dining room was in the fully accomplished hands of Charles Hendtlass, our classical musical learning was enlarged and enriched and much enjoyment was provided, even if such items as “In the Hall of the Mountain King” were repetitively played, often to the accompaniment of the clatter of china and cutlery.

Keith Donohue also played often and his duets with Charles Hendtlass gave particularly entertaining moments. An Old Violin, Clair de Lune, Beethoven’s seventh symphony and perhaps Chattanooga Choo Choo. A grand pot–pourri!

Gay Spirits

As the end of a term was approaching, with the thought of holidays ahead, there was always a mood of added gaiety, merriment and general high spirits, which reached a crescendo by the last night. The packing of luggage at least a week prior to the term end was among the first real signs of impending holidays. Labels and string were borrowed and hurriedly fixed to cases and trunks which accumulated outside the front door awaiting collection. Inside, the bedroom walls which hitherto had been bedecked with coats, caps, uniforms, and meretricious ties, were horribly bare. The amount of set school preparation work decreased, and preparation periods were therefore not kept fixedly at these times, but a quiet room was      always maintained. In the yard outside, or in the garage, bicycles were getting greater attention as many of us cycled the thirty miles back to London. On the last evening of term itself Mrs Hendtlass always prepared an extra special meal for us, at the end of which a suitable word was said to those leaving Underwood and this was accompanied by a leaving gift from the hostel. The meal was usually followed by games or competitions held on the lawn on lighter evenings whilst winter confined activities indoors.

The type of competition often organised by Charles Hendtlass, and which proved very popular, was a form of treasure hunt. There was one particular mammoth hunt which stands out above the others. The hostel was divided into pairs – my partner was Maurice Swaine – and we were given a long list of articles which were to be obtained from outside the hostel grounds. We had two and a half hours available and some of the items to be sought out included a fried chip, a platform ticket, a bus ticket whose number was divisible by eleven, a blonde hair, a piece of paper stamped with a bus conductors’ machine, the footprint and signature of the man on level crossing duty, a perfectly round stone, a log, a set of false teeth, and a smear of lipstick. A request for the last item caused at least one of our number some lengthy explaining, and the false teeth really proved the hardest to obtain. Jerrold Weinstein and Leo Melzer were the only pair to obtain them – from Timms’ garage! Their enterprise earned them the first prize and our own efforts brought Maurice Swaine and I the second prize.

On these occasions going to bed became a rather prolonged affair. Holiday spirits took command and pillow fight raids between bedrooms would follow. Even Charles Hendtlass would often unwittingly get caught up in the melee.

A tremendous amount of fun was obtained from all these shows. In the last named for instance, we had Maurice Swaine who took the part of a corpse, and who shook with mirth throughout; and in an earlier year Leo Melzer had us all in fits of laughter with his female impersonation. John Garcia on another occasion gave a splendid performance dressed as an American corporal, and probably one of the most effectively realistic, but incredibly simple pieces of acting came from Monty Foster, who in one sketch made quite a number of exits, by going off behind the piano, but as if descending some stairs. Items of a variety nature were often included, and a version of the popular radio programme of the time, ITMA, was put on by the end bedroom and with Monty Foster, Michael Watts, Torben Nordal and Roy and Guy Jones. It came over very well.

In 1944 I discussed the idea of putting on a variety type show with John Corcoran, and calling it the Flanagan and Allen guest show. This was ambitious  and raised many difficulties, including the provision of any musical accompaniment, but we did manage some rehearsals. On the afternoon of the last day of term Monty Foster reviewed the evening programme, and there was already a full schedule, and with room plays taking priority, ours had to be deleted. By the evening however, ours was reinstated again. I duly record and acknowledge the invaluable assistance given by John Corcoran, and in particular for carrying on at one awkward moment, when in the final scene I took longer than anticipated to don evening dress, and he organised some community singing. He thereby did very much to obtain first prize for us that night!

Back in the Blitz

At this time, London was nearing the end of the blitz and other cities were becoming the target for quick, heavy bombing raids. The London blitz didn’t really affect us, as we were just outside the visual and audible sound of anything in the London area.

Now, however Midland cities were to become the targets and as at East Grinstead we would hear the continuous roar of bombers night after night, but we never had any local incidents. After a while these raids stopped and there was a quiet period for a time.

The enemy were to change their tactics and were developing fast fighter-bombers. These would be used for raids to be carried out in the quickest amount of time with the element of surprise. In 1941 the approaching winter brought with it terrible weather and this was to suit the enemy, when quick daylight raids started. These were ‘sneak’ raids when a handful of enemy planes would dive out of the low clouds on an appalling day, drop their missiles, and try to get away before the defences could get into any action. The first raids of this series were carried out on South Coast seaside towns.

Gradually, the enemy’s targets moved inwards from the coast, and one evening Reading was the target.

After afternoon school on a rainy day I went into Wokingham, and just after I arrived the air raid warning sounded. Thinking it best to make straightaway for Underwood I left there immediately. Just as I was leaving there were about six loud explosions which I knew were not far way. The centre of Reading was hit, unfortunately with quite a few casualties, and other bombs fell on Woodleigh, Reading's aerodrome. After this raid, we had other alerts, but there was no further close enemy activity.

Some considerable time later, I was to experience at close hand one of these fast, surprise sneak raids. This was when I was in Beckenham on              school holiday, and it happened on 20th January 1943. There was a great contrast in the weather. Whereas previous raids had been carried out in dull, rainy conditions, this day was bright but cold, with hardly a cloud in the sky. The Germans were making hit and run raids to gain maximum surprise, and the main way they achieved this was to fly in at sea level to escape our radar detection which was virtually ineffective at this level.

I had been to the shops and as the siren had just sounded I was cycling home along Southend Road (between Park and Brackley roads) when, without any warning there was the loud sound of machine gun fire and a plane flew overhead at roof-top height. Instantly I recognised clearly the black crosses on the wings and identified it as a Focke Wulf 190 fighter bomber. A matter of seconds later, a second enemy aircraft roared overhead. I admit to being scared and hid underneath a stationary laundry lorry waiting for any further planes, but none came. So I cycled home as quickly as I could.

I had noticed earlier that all the barrage balloons were grounded, and as I turned down Brackley road I could see a big black cloud of smoke pouring out where a grounded balloon had been machine gunned. In the afternoon I went round to the balloon site in very quick time. This raid was when the ‘school on the hill was bombed in Lewisham.’

It turned out to be Sandhurst School in Catford, when 38 children and 6 teachers had been killed.

At the Alert

Back in Underwood, it is an opportune moment to remind ourselves of the reasons for our being in the somewhat remote, but delightful part of Berkshire County, and to see what general effect the war had on our lives. Once the immediate problems of the evacuation had been resolved the rhythm of scholastic life settled down to a steadier tempo, although in a war of such magnitude there was always uncertainty. The evacuation took us out of an assumed target area to a place of comparative safety in the country, and as far as enemy air activity was concerned, it was fortunately mainly isolated.

I understand that in the early days of “Underwood”, the sounding of the siren produced a certain amount of apprehension and at night all trooped downstairs while tea was made, books read and cards played. This soon clearly became unnecessary although, ironically when this ceased to be the practice, a few stray small bombs were dropped in the area one night, the only ones to fall locally throughout the war. There was however plenty of aircraft activity, and it was particularly marked by enemy planes when they crossed the area to raid midland towns and cities. The roar and throbbing of aircraft engines was heard while the planes travelled northwards, returning a short while later, and this sequence was to be reversed later in the war when our own aircraft went on their nightly bombing missions. Air activity was at its greatest on the morning of the European invasion and the noise and sight of the tremendous air armada passing over will long be remembered.

During the period that followed there were sporadic raids, but in the summer of 1944 London was in for a very rude awakening; when a new weapon was launched against this country from France, the pilotless aircraft or flying bomb.

The first bomb was launched on 12th June 1944 and they were then sent over day and night for ten weeks. As the allied forces over-ran the launching area, so a second phase began when Heinkel III bombers were adapted to carry flying bombs and these were then launched from the air. This began on 16th September when these bombs were first launched.

On one of the Friday early evening periods I was at the Report centre when a particularly loud aircraft drew my attention and I went outside to see it. I noticed that it appeared to be on fire with flames pouring from it, and it was not flying very high. It was travelling towards Binfield and as it was about to disappear from sight, the engine stopped. I went and related this to my companion John Singleton who was full of skepticism. Ten minutes later the Report Centre at Bagshot telephoned to warn us that a flying bomb was approaching! Subsequently, I understand this caused considerable excitement at the hostel, and it finally crashed harmlessly in open country. This was fortunately a stray and we were saved the horror that these new weapons brought.

There was however another occasion later when I cycled to Windsor one Sunday afternoon with Bryan Cross, and as we made our way so the weather deteriorated. When we reached the outskirts of the town there was suddenly a violent explosion and within seconds smoke was rising a very short distance away. There was no alert in progress, and in the appalling weather we had heard nothing. Rescue vehicles and ambulances were very soon in evidence and another V1 weapon had unleashed its destructive powers.

There were other enemy incidents, but generally of an isolated nature. For instance, on an equally wet afternoon as the Windsor episode, I was in Wokingham when the siren sounded. The wailing had hardly ceased when there were several distinct explosions, and then it was all over. The target had been Reading which received direct hits in the town centre during a ‘hit and run’ type of raid.

The heavy raids on London did not directly affect us in any way, but when the blitz was renewed for a period in 1944, the raided area covered a much larger area than previously, and on what proved to be the last night of these attacks, found us on the perimeter with much activity, with fortunately little danger. Prior to this a number of gun batteries had been sited in the environment, and although not at close quarters, they added a distinctive sound to the general roar. Searchlights were on in many numbers probing crazily in the sky, which was soon transformed into a stark brilliance by the many flares which were dropped.

Apart from air activity, which had a grandeur of its own, other war reminders were provided by army convoys which consistently passed through the district, and also by an ammunition store which was created extensively in Easthampstead Park, and later extended in Nissen huts to other roads outside the park area.

With our own preoccupations of this time, it is most probable that we did not realise fully sometimes the effect and significance of happenings in other places. We do therefore give grateful thanks that the war’s impact was no greater for us.

Out and About

A necessity of the first order at Binfield was a bicycle, and even temporary embarrassments like punctures and broken chains could leave us with a great sense of immobility, as if we had been deprived of one of our driving forces.

The acquisition of a cycle however did give us the opportunity of visiting places in the neighbourhood, and cycle rides, particularly at weekends, were very popular. There was an ‘out’ book at the hostel in which we entered proposal destinations and expected time of return. The more leisurely amongst us were content to go for only short distances, perhaps pedaling for a few yards, and then free-wheeling as far again, and so repeating the process. For others the pace was fast, probably covering the same distance in half the time.

The nearest town of any size was the county town of Reading, twelve miles distant, and this was a popular choice at weekends for shopping or tea, with an added attraction being the league football matches played at Elin Park. I recall going with John Singleton, Eddie Veronique, John Dunwoody and Adolfo and Manuel Bulla amongst others, to see many attractive games. The added draw here was the number of well-known names who guested for Reading during the war whilst serving in the armed forces and being stationed in the area.

Nearer to Binfield we had the opportunity to partake in two sports not directly organised by the school, swimming and tennis. There was a particularly picturesque swimming pool at Wokingham, where all Paulines had concessionary terms. Many of us used the pool, although at times it became very crowded. Towards the end a natural pool was discovered in Binfield in the grounds of a local brick-works, and this was used quite often.