2. OLD NASTY AND MY CLASSMATE SHEILA VICKERS
Wartime memories of Farnborough Kent children
by John Riches. 2004.
Back in 1944 Sheila Vickers was one of my classmates at
Farnborough School, then of course on Starts Hill. She lived at 23
Palmerston Road “down the building fields” as my Mum insisted on calling
it, with her parents Percy and Grace, older brother Allan aged 18,
younger brother Maurice aged 7 and little Carol aged 5. I remember
Sheila well with her little round wide-eyed look. She sat in the double
iron framed desk a row in front of me. David Pucknell was monitor at the
time making sure there was enough ink in the desks’ wells, so that we
could dip our steel nibbed pens in and write. John Cranleigh, Cecily
Bourne, Clive Oates and Donald Curd are just some of the names I recall.
Mr Lesley Moat was Head Master and Mrs Moat his wife was one of our
teachers.
One day, it must have been in May 1944, we children discovered that a
lot of old lorries and cars had been parked under the trees of the wood
at the edge of the A21 close to Hilda Vale Road. Most of us had only
ridden in a car two or three times in our lives at that time, so we had
great fun playing on them using our vivid imagination. We now know that
the wrecks were placed there as decoys to try to persuade the Germans
that the Allies would attack mainland Europe across the shortest sea
distance – the Straits of Dover.
Gordon Johnson, who was staying with his grandparents at the time,
remembers that his father’s brother Uncle Eddie, was preparing Canadian
troops somewhere close to Farnborough, for post D-Day armoured warfare.
One day Eddie happened to be passing along the A21 arterial road and
decided to pop in to see his parents who lived in Orchard Road. Imagine
everyone’s surprise when Eddie drove up in his armour-plated tank,
parked it outside number ten and then proceeded to pop into his parents
house for a cup of tea. Fortunately the Council had not adopted Orchard
Road in those days. As it was not paved with tarmac but simply consisted
of compressed flints and stones, no lasting damage was done to its
surface.
One day during the early summer of 1944 we heard a commotion coming from
the Farm Field – the large gently sloping pasture that stretches from
Fishers Farm to the height of our beloved Firs – Mill Hill. We were
intrigued to discover strange looking soldiers in an unfamiliar uniform.
Most spoke English with a soft drawl. Some even spoke in another
language that our mothers told us was French. They’d pitched their tents
in the shadow of the trees of The Firs and dug slit trenches just inside
the wood to provide cover for their armed guards. The remains of the
trenches can still be seen today.
Their bren gun carriers, light tracked
personnel vehicles, raced across the field and some children even cadged
an exciting ride. They flew their flag with pride – a red flag with a
union jack in the top staff side corner and an unknown coat of arms at
its centre.
It was our first sight of Canadians! They were different and
they were fun! They disappeared a few days later and I often wonder if
the kindly soldiers we knew were some of the many Canadian infantrymen
that were killed attacking Normandy’s Gold, Juno and Sword beaches.
On 6th June 1944 we awoke to find hundreds of large aeroplanes flying
towards France. Some were towing gliders and all had the distinctive two
white stripes painted across each wing.
We knew that D-Day had begun and
a month later on 7th July we read in the one old penny newspapers of the
time bought from Fred Wiffen’s paper shop in the village, that Caen had
been captured and Allied forces were advancing towards the Pas de Calais
where the V1’s launching ramps were located.
Photograph courtesy of the Imperial War Musem.
We were all well used to the sights and sounds of Spitfires and
Hurricanes performing victory rolls over the village just before landing
at RAF Biggin Hill two miles or so across the fields. And at night after
the air raid warning on top of the telephone exchange had sounded and we
were lying huddled in shelters dug into our gardens, we reckoned we
could tell the difference between the distinctive pulsating throbbing of
the German bombers sent over by Old Nasty to bomb us, compared with the
continuous roar of the Spitfire’s Rolls Royce Merlin engines.
But one
afternoon, probably 12th June 1944, we heard a huge roaring
putt-putt-putt noise, as a tiny aircraft raced across the sky over the
village in the direction of London. Half a minute or so later its engine
cut. Then after a pause there came a muffled explosion in the distance.
My Mum, who worked at the Admiralty in London at the time, told
everybody that she had heard rumours of pilot less German aircraft.
Three days later the news on the BBC’s Home Service wireless broadcast
confirmed what we already guessed, that Hitler had launched his new
secret V1 flying bomb weapon from France. It was unguided and could fly
at 350mph – fast in those days. At first we called them “Buzz Bombs,”
but soon the name “Doodlebug” was coined by some cartoonist – and the
name stuck.
Amazingly we soon got used to the doodlebugs racing across our
Farnborough skies en-route to London. We quickly learned that as long as
the engine was running there was no danger. If it cut out you got down
on the ground pretty quickly.
Vera Brewer recalls that in those days when computers hadn’t even been
dreamed of by ordinary people, she was top of the class at Sidcup
Technical School having achieved a shorthand speed of 140 words per
minute and a speed of 50 words per minute on an old fashioned
mechanical typewriter. By 1944 she had left school and travelled to
work in London each day on the noisy electric trains of the privately
owned Southern Railway. Vera explained that it was impossible to hear
Doodlebugs unless they were very close to the train and impossible to
get off even if you did hear one of those monstrous machines. People
were pretty fatalistic and accepted that there was a chance of getting
killed. But life and the war effort had to go on.
Our parents became very anxious about the dangerous situation and many
decided that the wives and children should be evacuated yet again to
safer parts of the country. On Wednesday 12th July a doodlebug landed
quite close to the school and caused some structural damage. The
following day, whilst their father was engaged on important war work, my
classmate Sheila, together with brothers Alan and Maurice, as well as
little sister Carol, set off with their mother in a taxi to travel to
one of the London mainline stations so that they could be evacuated to a
safer part of the country. They travelled no further that the Park Hotel
in Bromley Road, Lewisham when a V1 crashed, exploded and killed them
all. Their names are recorded in the Civilian War Dead Register of the
Metropolitan Borough of Lewisham. Their remains were taken back to
Farnborough and buried in the beautiful, secluded churchyard of
Farnborough’s parish church - St Giles. The next time you walk down
through the churchyard, take the second path to the right and at their
grave say a little prayer to remember my classmate Shelia Vickers and
her family.