My Memories of the 1939 -1945 war period. Although I consider myself to be Welsh as the next man I was in fact: born in Croydon Surrey and lived there until six years of age, but with the onset of war, and the bombing of London, my parents decided that life in and out of the air raid shelter was not for us, so my Mother sister and myself returned to the relatively peaceful environment of my Grandfathers home in Crumlin, (an Irishman who was as Irish as the Pigs of Dublin and with a temper to match) but who helped me to come to grips with the trauma of wartime evacuation, as my Dad stayed in Croydon due to his reserved employment. Many times at night when the German aircraft would fly over Crumlin Viaduct they would drop incendiary devices as guides for the bombers to bomb the viaduct, that would be the signal for my grandfather to Marshall the whole household into shelter mode, all furniture Table, Settee, Easy Chairs, mattresses would be made into a shelter and all the females and children would be made to hide inside the quickly erected shelter and all this would be done in complete darkness my grandfather in the meantime would be outside shouting and screaming at the German aircraft that only cowards bombed women and children, and if they wanted to fight they could come down and he would fight them. Later they built community Air raid shelters and that is where we would go if the air raid siren were to sound . We then moved to Abertillery to live with my grandmother and I arrived complete with an English accent, which did not sit to easily with other children, and in those early days I suffered like many young children for being a little different. But time is a great leveler and it was not very long before I was accepted as being one of them although they considered I had a posh voice, but that was no disadvantage, because it provided me the bridge to other evacuees who sometimes distrusted the local kids. Moving to Abertillery was not to free me of the air raid shelter residency syndrome, for our next door neighbour had one cut into the hillside. They were Mr & Mrs.Welsh and the sons were Walter and Fred and every time the air raid siren blasted out we all used to make a run for the shelter. Whenever that happened Mr Parish the local Air Raid Warden would move along the row of houses shouting lights out please, and woe betide the person who did not obey that command. I am able to remember generalities quite well and a certain amount things of particular interest, and one humorous occasion when we were in the shelter in the dark of night and Mrs Welsh and my Grandmother both ladies of rather generous proportions were worried about the rumoured German Parachutist, when there was this loud hammering on the door, a deathly silence overtook the shelter, and someone said in a timid little voice "Who is it", "Its Parish" came the reply, with that Mrs Welsh erupted Parachutes Parachutes she yelled, misunderstanding what Mr. Parish had said, and being locked in a shelter she tried to get out, and its not the ideal situation to be in when two very determined ladies decide its time It's time to leave A good chuckle was had by all when everything was explained to them, (but bear in mind these two ladies were experiencing the second war in their lifetime, and the heartache that goes with that) I have not written this with any suggestion of a derogatory remark to the Welsh family, for they were nice people, but to help you understand somehow what day to day living was about . The War rolled, on good news was treated with cheers, the bad news never happened, aircraft flying overhead would greeted with cheers and much waving from the children and Spitfires could be identified from Hurricanes with a cursory glance but if an aircraft could not be identified we would dive into the nearest ditch firing at the plane with our imaginary rifles and with many vocal sounds of gunfire but the same problem always arose which of us shot it down. Life went on then one day we heard the American GIs were coming, we didn't really know what that meant until jeeps overflowing with soldiers would come scorching into town. As children, we learned fast and soon became little cadgers; pride was thrown out of the window when Gum and Candy was on offer, and sometimes cigarettes. We became like street children scouting the gutters for dropped coins, cigarette packets, beer bottle tops or anything that was remotely valuable for swapping with other children. The bottle tops were extremely valuable, what you would do was to get a pen knife and prize out the cork seal. Then you would press the bottle top into your shirt and from the inside you would replace the cork seal, and that in turn would hold the bottle top to your shirt like a badge. Of course it goes without saying the more bottle tops on your shirt, was higher you're prestige.

Mike