Heath and Reach
Evacuation
Heath and Reach > Second World War
A Wartime Memory of Heath and Reach by Mr. Ronald Frith of
Dunstable
From Dunstable and District Newsletter No. 5 March 1996
In the late summer of 1939 the authorities in London made plans to evacuate mothers and children from the London area to the comparative safety of the surrounding countryside. After the systematic destruction by the German army and air force of the towns and cities on the continent it was assumed that the same would happen here as soon as war was declared. Schools and communities were to organise the children into groups, baggage ready packed, labels round their necks so that as soon as hostilities commenced, trains could whisk them away from danger as quickly as possible. And so in September 1939, my mother, my brother Derek (aged 2) and myself (aged 6) found ourselves boarding a train at Willesden Junction to head North, we knew not where, to be evacuated to the country. The trains were specially chartered and full of evacuees, some excited at the prospect of new adventures, some, particularly the young ones, bewildered and tearful. Some were sad and fearful for the future for the outlook seemed bleak.
The train drew into Leighton Buzzard station and we were instructed to get out. We had some refreshments and the nurses examined everyone for head lice, fleas etc. Then we boarded buses to be sent to our destinations in the surrounding villages. It was thus that we ended up in Heath and Reach, billeted with Mr. and Mrs. Eaton of Lanes End. It was obligatory for householders with spare rooms to take in evacuees and so neither party had much say in the matter. However, we were made welcome and felt a bit more at home when we found out that Mrs. Eaton hailed from Shepherds Bush, not far from our home in Willesden. They had a lovely home, nicely furnished but Mrs. Eaton was not used to lively and energetic children for they had no children as yet. We were to be on our best behaviour and not drip on the carpet when we came in from the rain and always to take our shoes off indoors and keep quiet etc.
After war had been declared nothing much had happened. The expected bombing and strafing had not occurred, the weather was lovely and the war in Europe seemed a long way off. This period became known as the phoney war. We were all rather homesick and my father had been left in London working on important items for the war effort. He said everything was quiet at home so after only a couple of weeks we returned home and resumed our normal lives.
All through the remainder of 1939 and the first half of 1940, London remained largely unscathed. Hitler was consolidating his position on the continent and hoping to persuade our government to join him or at least remain neutral. The Dunkirk miracle came and went and one or two token raids had been made on London and Berlin. In September things started to 'hot up' and the fight for air supremacy in the "Battle of Britain" was on. Daily we saw the vapour trails high in the sky in glorious weather as our airmen battled it out to keep the Luftwaffe away. To most people it seemed only a matter of time before Germany would invade and London befall the same fate as Warsaw and Rotterdam. Once again my parents contacted Mr. and Mrs. Eaton and we were invited back to Heath and Reach, but this time my cousin Oliver was with us. Oliver's mother, my aunt, was a widow living near us in Willesden and she was engaged in essential war work in Park Royal and therefore could not leave and so my mother brought Oliver (aged 10) along with us.
They were idyllic days in the Autumn of 1940. The countryside was lovely and I enjoyed every minute of it. Oliver and I went to the village school down near the allotments, a small cosy place, unlike the huge council school in Willesden. There we met the local lads who took us on to the heath and into Kings Wood and showed us how to make bows and arrows and eat Haws (Hawthorn berries) and 'Bread and Cheese' (Hawthorn leaves). One of the boys - the village policeman's son - was later killed by a butterfly bomb (German anti-personnel mine), which he found on the heath. The hedgerows were laden with blackberries and we often had blackberry pie or tart and loads of jam. Also Mrs. Eaton had several fruit trees and vegetables so we lived fairly well.
On one occasion we went to Leighton Buzzard to the pictures to see Pinocchio and we missed the bus back, so we started to walk along the road to Heath and Reach, when a horse and cart pulled up and the driver offered us a lift. My mother was a bit wary of this character as it looked as though his last load had been manure but us boys soon climbed on the cart and so we set off. At every public house along the way the horse automatically stopped and the driver went into the pub for a drink or some other business. After 10 minutes or so we would resume our journey, the horse becoming more in control, until we arrived outside Mrs. Eaton's house. We thanked the driver, who by now was rather inebriated and off he went. Mr. Eaton said that the cart driver was indeed a well-known local character and dealer who often came back from Leighton market having had 'one over the eight'. The horse knew every pub and could find his way back to his stable on his own while his owner quietly napped on the cart.
With the three boys and one thing and another my mother found things very difficult at Mrs. Eaton's. My father used to cycle to Heath and Reach to see us on a Saturday and back on a Sunday - 40 miles each way. Mrs. Eaton wouldn't allow him to stay in her home so he used to get bed and breakfast at Mrs. Turvey's house on the other side of the green. Mr. Turvey used to repair shoes and I remember, there was always a blazing fire to greet you in his house. My mother decided to move billets and we went to Mr. and Mrs. Arnold's in Sylvester Street.
Next to Mrs. Turvey's was the village shop and then the Duke's Head, I used to love going into the shop. As you opened the door a bell used to tinkle and inside a most wonderful aroma engulfed you; it was a mixture of fresh bread, sweets, tobacco, groceries - everything. It was glorious. Whenever I enter a similar shop the smell reminds me of this particular shop years ago in Heath and Reach.
We must have moved to Sylvester Street when the weather was getting colder for I can remember withered runner bean plants on sticks in the garden and frozen milk at school. The school milk came in a third of a pint bottles and when it froze there was a column of iced milk protruding through the neck with the cardboard cap perched on the top. The bottles came in crates and these were arranged round the open fire in the classroom to thaw ready for playtime. The milk at home was brought round by the milkman resplendent in his highly polished boots and gaiters. He had an oval milk can holding a couple of gallons or so and ladled milk into our own jug using half-pint or quarter-pint ladles.
The house in Sylvester Street was two houses knocked into one and a bit rambling. The Arnolds lived there with their son, Les, who was a bachelor in his thirties, although I believe he was courting. They made us welcome and were very easy-going. I am not sure what Mr. Arnold did. He was probably retired, but Les worked at a poultry farm somewhere out towards Great Brickhill. Cycling on his way to work, he would lay some snares and on the way home in the evening take these up along with any rabbits that had been caught. We had rabbit to eat every other day and I liked it. Christmas 1940 came and I remember some things starting to get scarce. Oranges and bananas were almost unavailable but there were plenty of apples. Many other foodstuffs were becoming difficult to obtain.
Things in Willesden were grim. My father's letters told of nightly raids lasting all night and of whole streets devastated by land mines - aerial bombs on a parachute that exploded 100 feet in the air. After a long day's work he had to spend most of the night fire-watching from the school roof to direct firefighters to the worst affected areas. In this exposed position on the roof there was not much time to sleep or rest and it was very dangerous. In the morning - a quick wash, a bite to eat and back to the factory until the evening when it all started again. Heath and Reach seemed remote from all that and we hardly heard the air raid siren let alone see any action, although I believe at that time some of the towns like Luton and Dunstable experienced enemy action. Then came Tuesday 21 January 1941. I was at school at the time and it was the morning. There came a tremendous explosion and the building seemed to lift, then fall back. Many of the windows went and the ceiling came down. I don't think anyone was badly injured and apart from being covered in dust and somewhat shocked, we were O.K. I had a piece of plaster dust in my eye which was soon removed with a handkerchief, otherwise I was fine. School disbanded and we all went home. On the way home we saw people surveying the damage to their houses; with slates blown off, windows broken, chimneys down, but otherwise it seemed fairly superficial. I was surprised when I saw Mr. Arnold's house - most of the roof had collapsed and inside the upstairs ceilings had fallen onto the beds. The windows at the back were blown in and it seemed as though the house had received the main force of the explosion. There was sand everywhere as the bomb had exploded in the sand pit behind the house. It was dropped by a lone German bomber returning from a raid in the Midlands. No doubt the pilot, finding he still had bombs on board impeding his flight home in daylight, decided to jettison them in what he saw as a quarry. I don't think the sand pit was damaged much but the surrounding houses suffered.
The unusual event of a single bomb being dropped in a sleepy village attracted the Press and soon reporters were around looking for a story. One reporter went to the school and asked if any child was injured and I was pointed out as having a slight eye injury. This appeared next morning in the Daily Mirror as "Lone Raider's attack causes eye injury to evacuee - Ronald Frith of Willesden, London N.W." Of course telephones at this time were not available to most people so my father in London had no idea that anything had happened to us. He wasn't on the phone and neither were we and as no one had been seriously injured, the news would be conveyed by letter. However a work colleague of my father's showed him the report in the Daily Mirror and they asked the police for information. Eventually the police found that the situation was not urgent and could wait for the weekend.
The situation in the house was chaotic - none of the first floor was usable so we boys were soon sent out to play so that the house could be cleaned up and a start made on the repairs. Joining up with our mates, we decided to look for souvenirs (shrapnel etc.) in the sand pit and to see what effect the bomb had on the pit.
On entering the sand pit site we spread out, running and shouting as boys do. Part of the pit had steep sides and Oliver was near the foot of such a side. I was away from there when I heard a dull flop and saw that a section of the sand face had fallen - Oliver was buried by about eight tons of sand and I could not see him. We called but no answer came so we ran back to the house where workmen and Les Arnold were clearing up and making repairs. I said "Oliver - covered in sand pit." My mother didn't comprehend what I was saying but Les knew only too well the dangers of loose sand in the pits. He grabbed a shovel, indicated to the others to do the same and ran to the pit. Ten minutes of frantic digging eventually uncovered my buried cousin.
He was nearly asphyxiated. He was of a blue colour and his leg was broken. It so happened that the Chief Constable of Bedfordshire, Commander W.J.A. Willis R.N., was in the vicinity inspecting the bomb damage. He and another policeman ran to the sand pit and started applying artificial respiration. Mr. Eaton, with whom we used to lodge, heard the commotion from his garden which bordered the sand pit and he scrambled down the sand face to assist. Being a St. John Ambulance man he soon got Oliver breathing again and then they carried him back to the house. The doctor said he would be alright and just needed his leg to be set in splints. My mother asked the police to contact Oliver's mother who was at work in Park Royal, which they did. She went home to prepare to travel to Heath and Reach and met my father on his way home from work, having told him the story. And because of the other matter with my eye, they decided to travel down together on the next available train. So they arrived at Mrs. Arnold's in the evening to all the commotion and upset and spent the night with us on the living room floor.
It was soon evident that the injuries were not life threatening - certainly not in my case so the next day my father and aunt returned to London and it was decided that I should accompany them. My mother, brother and Oliver followed a few days later when Oliver's leg had settled down. I can remember getting out of the train when we returned to Willesden Junction and it was dark. There were no lights, no destination name-plates and if it wasn't for the porter calling out the destination I don't know how you could tell where you were. We boarded a dimly lit trolley bus - just enough light to see where the seats were. The windows were covered with a coarse netting to prevent them shattering if blasted. I had returned from evacuation just four months after leaving Willesden and a week later we were all back. We would remain in London for the duration of the war and take our chances. We experienced the rest of the blitz, the VI doodlebugs and the V2 rockets and saw the end of the war unscathed - thank God.
Page last updated: 28th January 2014