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Epsom and Ewell - World War IIVictory Remembered
'I was one of the four staff resident in Hollywood Lodge, which was a hostel for girls at the Manor Hospital, most of whom were in daily work in Epsom. At 11 pm on the night of 4th July 1944 the junior sister was in the bath, I was with just my nightdress on. We heard a doodlebug: I knew this one had our number on it. The doodlebug landed in the field between the house and West Park path. The wall of the house that faced Horton Lane separated itself from the building, and the floors sloped down. The back stairs had disappeared. The water tank had emptied down the front stairs. The patients were very good. One girl seemed concussed and another agitated. Several others felt reassured when they had had a finger bandaged. The kitchen reeked of gas. Pipes torn from the walls were knotted in grotesque shapes. A policeman thought I seemed to be a nurse and asked if I could not find some tea and put an urn on. He did not comment on my dress. I just carried on as if nothing was amiss with me, and attended to the others. When matron arrived she took her coat off and put it on me. Later, when I removed it, I found I was dressed in shoes, a green baize butler's apron I had never seen before, and the remains of my 'coupon-free' nightie'. (Margaret Nell, Ewell) 'On 3rd July 1944 I had been firewatching at the Methodist Church. Soon after 5 am we heard a doodlebug shut off. We waited several seconds. No bump. So I was just preparing to curl down for another five minutes when, with an awful crashing, rending roar the whole thing was upon us and the whole place seemed to collapse about us. Miraculously, neither of us got a scratch. The minister's vestry, where we were, was the only place where the ceiling didn't fall. The marble clock still ticked on the mantlepiece and the torch was still on the chair beside the bed, though the chair was littered with glass fragments. The church itself was a wreck - even the stone window mullions were lying on the floor and the east window was a huge, gaping hole. When we scrambled out, the whole front of Ashley Court was gone; where our post had been there was just nothing; and a fire was starting in one of the other wings'. (Jessie Cook, Epsom) 'When the air raids came cinema programmes, in tandem with the cinema audience, went gamely on. I don't remember any programme being cancelled, curtailed or cut in any way at the Odeon. This collective fortitude continued when the flying bomb raids began later in the war. I do admit to being a bit scared then. When the 'all clear' siren was heard in the cinema there was a shared feeling of relief - relief plus a slight feeling of victory but then, you know what we're like around here, we never let it show. At one stage of hostilities fire watching was conducted from the rectifier room. Three collapsible beds could be put up and three members of the staff were to go on watch together. The social niceties of the time were upheld. Two ladies could watch together with one member of the opposite sex but there was no question of one lady going on watch with two members of the opposite sex'. (Trevor White, Epsom) 'The first fatality here in Epsom was a man in Links Road. He was air-raid warden there. I was on duty as telephonist that night. The phone rang, and I picked it up and said, 'Town Hall speaking, this is Hook Road heavy rescue'. He said, 'Who's speaking?' I said 'Tipping'. He said, 'Right, now listen carefully, Occurrence Number Three', (you had to write all this down) 'a bomb has dropped on a house in Links Road; get up there as soon as possible' So I shouted to one of the other gang to come and take over the phone, and jumped on our lorry, and we went up there. We knew there was at least one missing, probably two, and unknown to us we were practically standing on this poor man, and we were covering up the body with our rubbish. It took us three days to find him. They said I was cold-blooded, because as I picked him up to carry him away, I said, 'Just a minute', and there was a piece of his intestine lying on the ground, so I picked it up - we had gloves on, naturally - and put it on the stretcher. It's part of your job, these things happen in war'. (Frank Tipping, Epsom) 'At Nonsuch High School the gasmasks arrived for distribution with instructions on how to fit them. First the girls were told how to grasp the straps and draw them on over their heads. Having done this they looked round at their friends and the sight of them in these ridiculous contraptions made them laugh. When they did this it vibrated the rubber, emitting a rather rude noise. This created more laughter which in turned steamed up the visor until it was impossible to see, by which time they were all practically hysterical'. (Ken Mercer, Cheam) 'The vicar was always meeting needs, with a great gift for improvisation. He not only started the club for the Canadian soldiers, sensing their loneliness, but he encouraged all his churchpeople to open their homes to them and to share what they enjoyed of home life, and many of us did. When we had refugees among us he sought all sorts of necessities and comforts for them - and succeeded in persuading people to give them. I remember giving a bed - an act of rash generosity, as it wasn't long afterwards that we really needed it for ourselves - but Hugh gave himself so generously that one hardly stopped to consider with prudence when he showed one a need that could be met at one's hands. It was a spirit nearer to the life of the early Church than anything I have met before or since'. (Nancy Warner, Epsom) 'A few of us marched to Richmond Bridge and erected a rather pathetic coil of barbed wire across it. We began to dig a trench just outside Epsom towards Chessington and, before completing it, moved to commence another by the Drift Bridge, which we never finished either. We rehearsed 'cover from view' in Richmond Park, which involved lying down in the long grass for a chat or a smoke. The odd bomb did fall near the Vickers factory, but fortunately the damage was slight. The main effect of the bombing was that if the siren sounded before we went to the pictures we were confined to barracks, whereas if it sounded afterwards we were told to stay in the cinema. I was once in the Regal all night'. (John Furniss, East Surrey regiment) 'Having served in the Royal Flying Corps in France during the First World War, Dad, like most of his generation, couldn't wait to have another crack at 'Jerry' and I remember that as soon as war was declared in September '39 he was knocking on doors at the RAF Headquarters trying to rejoin his old squadron but, of course, he was too old for military service. Following Dunkirk and faced with the real threat of a German invasion the formation of the Local Defence Volunteers, later to become the Home Guard, found Dad in his element and soon our dining-room table was strewn with rifles and sub-machine guns, as Dad brought his 'home-work' home and stripped, cleaned and reassembled these weapons until he could do it in the dark blindfolded. I think his favourite was the 'Chicago Gangster' style Tommy gun with its original round magazine. My father was also a keen musician and quickly had the idea of forming a brass band for the Home Guard. This band took part in the Victory Parade at the end of the war and I can remember standing with my mother in Trafalgar Square watching very proudly as the band with dad playing his saxophone marched smartly through London'. (Trevor Smith, Horley) 'We had a German come down in the garden in Church Road. We had a chicken run which we used as a hutch to keep rabbits, and this German parachuted down behind there, and he left his parachute and went running down the road, through Mrs.Hill's next door, and she was frightened and knocked on the wall for Dad. Dad was a Warden; he wasn't in the War because his heart was on the wrong side. Mr.Hill wasn't in the War either, I think he had flat feet. Whenever one was on duty, the other used to look after the women. Dad went out and the German went running down the road, but he left the parachute behind the chicken run. I can't remember what happened to him. The parachute was shocking bright yellow and we made underwear out of it'. (Pam Cook, Ewell) 'I worked in the engineering factory in Pitt Road. We made parts for Ford cars. I did nights as well as days. We had a lot of fun, but I hated every minute of the job, apart from the people, because it was so dirty after hairdressing. I had to sign on as we all did, and they asked me if I had any family. I was most put out; I said, 'Well, I am single'. When the doodlebugs came we had to switch off our machines and run to a pit that they'd built - sort of trenches. We called one of the girls Little Anne because she was tiny, and I remember picking her up and running with her, without her ever touching the ground. She was so slow, but I couldn't leave her behind. I did firewatching in the factory. I did it with Joyce, the girl next door. There was one old boy called Botty, who used to walk around, didn't hear a single thing, had a light on - we'd say 'Put it out, there's an air-raid, you'll get us into trouble'. My mother used to make little fish cakes, and we'd grill them for him during the night. I firewatched with Sebastian Lang, the hairdresser in South Street. I don't know what we'd have done if an incendiary bomb had dropped, because neither of us was very brave'. (Doreen Otway, Langley Vale) 'In August 1939 I left school and was due to start a job at Bentalls on Monday; but war was declared on the Sunday, and that was that. Some of my friends who had been at Bentalls joined the Timber Corps, and this gave me the idea of the Land Army, as I couldn't bear the thought of working in a factory. I began work on an old-fashioned farm at Bramley, and then came to Long Grove. I still lived with my family in Limecroft Close, so it was only a short distance to cycle over. I started at 5 am for the milking, so in winter I was coming over in the dark and could hear the owls hooting as I cycled down the track. My friend Barbara came in at 8, but that was because she was on crops not livestock. Patients from the hospitals used to be brought out to scrub the sheds. Some retarded boys came over from the Manor in gangs to stook the hay during haymaking. They always had an attendant with them - he was not very nice to them. The wages were £2 a week for agricultural workers and 42/- for Land Girls (it would have been 15/- a week for me at Bentalls). And you were allowed a 12oz ration of cheese instead of the regular 2oz. But we were still hungry all the time'. (Daphne Snow, Stoneleigh) 'I was 'called up' at the age of 20 in April 1942. I didn't pass the medical for the AFS but my local doctor thought I was healthy enough to join the Women's Land Army. I sometimes wonder if our help was more of a hindrance than a help, as we were all young girls who had probably never been near a farm before and were used to a soft life. In fact it was a very hard life, as we were out in all weathers and only allowed to go home if it rained persistently. We were allowed 1 coupon every 9 months to buy a thermnos flask (you couldn't buy them otherwise) which were so fragile, anyway, that the girls usually dropped and broke them the first week. So unless we had brought cold drinks with us, or were near some habitation, we went all day without a hot drink, any weather. I can remember one very frosty morning in Lower Kingswood, standing on a hill in a field of frozen carrots, unable to see the next person for the mist. We were supposed to dig carrots, but could only wait until the frost disappeared. The carrots were more important than us'. (Dorothy Marlow, Ashtead) 'Possibly the most famous 'shadow factory' in the village at that time was Jameson's in West Street (where Carpenter Close now stands) who specialised in aero engines. During the war, of course, we were subjected nightly on the radio (sorry, wireless) to the whining voice of Lord Haw Haw broadcasting adverse propaganda from Germany.The rumour was rife in Ewell one morning - and in our factory - that Lord Haw Haw had said last night that 'the clock in Jameson's factory was five minutes fast' (or slow, I can't remember). I never found anybody who actually heard him say that, but it was all part of the fifth column attempt to undermine morale. Other tales related to morse code signals being picked up from the vicinity of The Eight Bells Pub, someone sending coded messages to Germany! I certainly saw one small map taken from 'someone' which had all the factories along the Kingston By Pass outlined in red. The continuous workload took its toll on us, for even when you finished the day shift at 8 in the evening, you went home only to spend a restless and usually sleepless night in the Anderson shelter in the garden before cycling back to the factory to start work at 7.30 the next morning'. (John Shelton, Ewell) 'When the War ended we had street parties. We got all sorts of things, cotton and stuff, and dyed them red, white and blue to make bunting. We borrowed a lot of scaffold poles from the builders up at Cheam, put them on each side of the road - and this is just Tonstall Road - and strung it between. My wife was one of the big movers in that. We had this big party, and gave prizes to the kids for running up and down. That was VE Day. There were street parties for VJ Day too, but when the Japanese lot was finished it wasn't half so exciting as the European lot, because we were so far removed from it. We had mainly sausages, and cheese if we could get hold of it. Everybody had to do what they could and make cakes and that. It's surprising what you can do on rations. Each street had their own party. There was a bit of an argument. One of the former mayors of Epsom - he was a bus driver, Tom Holland - he reckoned he had the best street party of the lot, but I said it wasn't a patch on ours'. (Frank Tipping, Epsom) 'My sister and I went to the primary school along by the Grove. At the time of the German invasion of Russia - the headmistress was Mrs.Ede - the school set up a fund-raising thing for the Russian children, by buying sweets in the school, and a proportion of the money went to aid them. We used to take all our lunches with us. The children got jealous because we were able to take an egg with our lunch; eggs were rationed, but we had our own hens. I remember one child very clearly, complaining about me having an egg for my lunch, because the others could only have bread and jam'. (Regina Pickett, Leatherhead) 'Just before the War started there was the beginning of the construction of two strips of road, as part of the Ewell by-pass, going straight from Cheam village to Ewell village. The two strips were not joined: there was a grass patch down the middle. When the war started, the Ministry of Defence ordered humps of earth to be built on them to stop possible landing of enemy planes. But for us, the kids on cycles, it was an ideal ramp for bicycle tricks. And later on, even my children had a go on them. After the War, the road was abandoned'. (Maureen Trumble, Epsom) 'I remember at the end of the War, Dad took me down to the top of Upper High Street to see lights switched on for the first time. I remember the bonfire on Victory Night up on the Hill on the Downs. There was a procession up Ashley Road. I remember the Scouts with torches. We stood by Nightingale's stables at the top of Chalk Lane to see it. Then they had fireworks, and I don't like them, and got upset'.(Pam Cook, Ewell) 8.45 The bell goes - boys file in the door - they look tired. Most of them were up all night, some spent an uncomfortable ten hours in the shelters. Others, seniors, were on duty. 9.0 Prayers over, juniors scuttle to their formrooms excitedly discussing the night's blitz.'I've got an incendiary' - 'That bomb wasn't far away from us' - 'Look at this splinter!' Lessons begin. Half-way through the period the siren goes. Some faces brighten visibly especially when certain subjects are progressing. Soon there is a stream of boys between the school and the trenches. There is no panic, the movement is orderly. 10.17 A humming is heard. No one pays any attention, for there have been many false alarms already. Suddenly fourteen Dorniers sail over the trees about 5,000 feet up. A prefect realises what they are, the alarm is given and masters and prefects cram into the trenches. Three Spitfires plunge into the German formation machine-gunning, and a number of thumps are heard. All wait tensely for - what? 11.00 The 'All Clear' sounds. Boys emerge from the trenches as from prison, survey the faint vapour trails above, and move toward school. Morning school continues'. (A Glyn School diary, 1940) '29 Sept Epsom has its first real taste of the Blitz. Bombs fall in the High Street, Dorking Road, Alexandra Road! Post 1 and Post 3 receive casulaties which under the circumstances are happily few. Mrs. Taylor inquires if we would like the news. 1 Oct We are the news! A 'Molotov Bread Basket' breaks apparently overhead and distributes its flaming cargo all around the Post. Tom and the staff and a dustbin of sand are more than a match for Adolf's effort. 5 Oct £2 was received today for the Spitfire Fund collected from the sightseers at the hole Adolf made in Longdown Road. 10 Oct News received from Warden Dickens that the bomb is about to be exploded and all residents of Kingsdown Lane are to be avacuated immediately. Bomb now reported to be the size of a dustbin and ticking. 13 Oct The bomb still unexploded but the residents definitely are not. 17 Oct The bomb in the news again. RE's try a new method. After a day's heroic work it is painlessly extracted by drilling holes and driving out the TNT with water. Bomb removed having caused no damage. 19 Oct Shops display notices 'More Open Than Usual' and 'Another Blasted Nuisance'' (Diary of Hilda Andrews, First Aid Post 2, 1940) Apr Decided to offer my priceless services to the AFS. Interviewed at Central Station by an extremely courteous and imperturbable 2nd Officer who did everything except start a fire for me. Sept Crisis! Czechoslovakia! And not a single trailer-pump in Epsom. Thank God for Munich! Oct Weeks and months of Hose Running, Hydrant Delivery, Escape Drill, First Aid. Still no pumps! Feb The first wet drill! Now we are getting somewhere. Mar Smoking Concert at the Drift Bridge. The AFS proved beyond all doubt that they knew their 'wet drill'. Aug Growing fears! The shadow of War grows ever bigger. We are given our war stations. Ominous sign - hydrants are painted white, the roads plastered with white lines. September War! Once again. The AFS is ready, and as the first siren shrieks on that lovely morning we wonder if the testing time has come. December Still at our stations, still waiting, and the waiting becomes ever more monotonous. Some day, who knows, the citizens of Epsom and Ewell may be thankful for this organisation, which has been built up with such infinite patience'. (Diary from Epsom and Ewell Auxiliary Fire Service, 1938-1939)
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