Starting school in 1941 was very much different from the bustling place we now know. George Lane’s first-year entry seemed to me a vast area of the unknown. Two teachers I remember well were Mrs Barden and Miss Miers. They later introduced a beautiful white fluffy Bunny Rabbit to the range of toys with which we played. The white rabbit was a great favourite and much loved by all the small pupils. The Headmistress Mrs Butler is also remembered with affection as was the white rabbit.

School dinners remain a distant memory but the interruptions of these meals by enemy air raids were, to small children, frightening, especially when together with our plates and cutlery we had to walk briskly from the dining hall to the shelters abutting the gardens of the houses in George Lane. Those shelters were from memory very large, very dark and with copious quantities of spiders and dust and had very low benches for seating. There were toilets, but primitive is the best description. Despite this, we survived but to us, the ‘war’ was a source of wonderment. Each mid-morning the pupils were served a small bottle of milk with a drinking straw. In my opinion, this was just awful. In the summer months, the milk smelled off and had a peculiar tang. Desperately I tried to dispose of mine and was admonished for putting the bottle back into the crate.

These crates, made of galvanized metal, were used by the boys as toboggans in the snowy weather to slide down the slopes in Husseywell Park. To them, it was great fun, but no doubt dangerous in reality.

Food and clothing rationing were great trials for our inventive parents. There was very little wasted and the products from allotments and cultivated gardens were fully utilised.

I’ve mentioned before the Pig Club which was situated on the land now occupied by the flats opposite the New Inn and Hayes Station. This was organized and run on a business-like basis by a group of men from the locality. During the week my grandfather and his friend ‘Smithy’ looked after the animals, feeding, cleaning etc keeping the sties pristine. At weekends the other members did these chores. My father with much help from the members built the sties. The straw and food supplies were kept in one of the two barns adjacent, the second being the cookhouse in which the pig swill was prepared and cooked in an old-fashioned boiler which caused great agitation when the fire was difficult to light. Water was drawn pail by pail from the well which until recently made itself evident by the small stream dribbling across Station Hill. This was quite an exhausting chore for two elderly gents. However we, that is Sally, my friend and I, spent many happy hours helping!

Clothing rationing was quite a thing. In those days the motto of the time was ‘make do and mend’ and, because of the many and serious shortages of supplies, everything that could be mended was. School uniforms were passed from sibling to sibling until they became ‘beyond a joke’. Dresses were shortened and lengthened as the need arose.  Sheets when worn were repaired ‘sides to middles’! We did not seem to mind, because that’s the way things were. Shoes were repaired until it became impossible to continue and as for darning socks, well, we soon became skilled in the art.

During the many raids in and around Biggin Hill, I well remember that together my mother and I watched from an upstairs window the air battles at night, with searchlights and shells overhead and around the airfield. These were sights to behold and will forever remain in my memory.

Following all these trials and tribulations of those dreadful times the war finally ended and a neighbour suggested that he took two of his daughters and me up to town to see the fireworks displays for the VE celebrations. Somewhat reluctantly my father finally agreed that I should join this little band of revellers. We went as arranged to watch from the rooftop of Devonshire House. The displays were many and wonderful, and for three young girls very exciting. We left Devonshire House very late in the evening making towards Charing Cross. There were thousands and thousands of revellers, more folk than any of us had ever seen before, and yes, the inevitable happened. We three girls were separated from our adult carer, and there we were somewhere, supposedly in Oxford Street and not knowing where to go or what to do! What a conundrum!

However, not many minutes after losing sight of said adult we were noticed by a family group on their way homeward. They fortunately took us through the milling crowds to safety. They said they would take us to a police station on their way home. We walked and walked, seemingly for miles. It certainly seemed forever, but as good as their word they deposited us at Tottenham Court Road Police Station. Dead tired we were placed in the care of a Lady Warder who supplied hot chocolate, biscuits, buns and blankets and we curled up for much-needed sleep. Meanwhile, a very concerned/distraught carer telephoned my parents to say ‘I’ve lost the girls’. My parents were able to direct him to the police station and reported that we were safe and suitably fed and watered. He was then sent hot foot to Tottenham Court Road where he too was fed and watered! A couple of hours later we were all bundled into a police vehicle and returned to Bourne Vale arriving around 6 am. In the turmoil of being lost all three of us were nonplussed and in the heat of the moment, Angela remembered only her name, Sally only her age, whilst all I could come up with was the all-important telephone number that in some small way saved the day. Since then telephone numbers have always been very important and a secure anchor. I remember with thanks the family who rescued us and their kindness and care of us three lost waifs. Without their help who knows what might have happened? One can only surmise.

Beryl Grimani-Harrold, President HKVA