We found out afterwards that even though these V2s were killing thousands of people, the incredible fact is that more died making them. They were built underground and thousands of people forced into slave labour died in horrific conditions. And the poor souls who did survive were hanged, burned alive or shot.
After the war, Herr Braun went to America and ended up working for NASA. His greatest achievement was that he led the development of the ‘Saturn V’ booster rocket that helped the Apollo spacecraft land on the moon in 1969.
Isn’t it tragic, that from Herr Braun’s and Robert Lusser’s brilliant minds came the expertise for creating devices which caused incalculable deaths and devastation. I often used to wonder what these men thought of their weapons. Were they proud or ashamed?
This particular day I was left in the shop. Grandma wasn’t in – don’t forget she was in her eighties now and only came in three days a week. Uncle was conducting a funeral, so I was asked to stand in for the morning.
The door was opened around 11 a.m. by a small, feeble-looking woman around twenty-five years old. She had two small children with her – a little boy around three and a toddler in a pushchair. She looked ashen, her eyes were swollen through crying, and you could see her hands trembling as she gripped the pushchair. She was having difficulty getting it into the shop, so I walked over to give her a hand. Unfortunately the way she looked was a common sight due to the fact that virtually all of the people that came in had lost a loved one through horrendous circumstances.
‘Good morning, ma’am,’ I said. ‘Can I help you with that?’
‘Yeah, fanks,’ she replied.
We lifted the pushchair in and I took her over to a seat by the desk.
‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ I asked.
‘No, fanks very much, sir, I’ve got uvver jobs I need to do. I ain’t got much time.’ She looked at me with such sadness. The little boy sat on her lap with the toddler asleep next to her. She obviously had the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders.
I felt really embarrassed when she’d called me ‘sir’. I mean, I was only sixteen and wasn’t expecting it. Nobody had ever called me that.
‘How can I help?’ I said.
Taking out a handkerchief, she wiped her nose and said in barely a whisper: ‘Me mum, dad and auntie was all killed the other night after a doodlebug raid. I’d been out, visitin’ me friend, when the raid started and I ’ad t’ find another shelter. When the all clear went, I made me way ’ome and . . . I still can’t believe it . . . virtually all me street and the ones backin’ on to us are gone!’ She stopped talking and started to sob; her little boy looked at her, his eyes filling up. He quickly looked back at me as his lip started to quiver; his eyes were like saucers. I got up and, to be honest, I didn’t know what I should do or say, as I’d never been in a situation like this before. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ I said. I shot outside and filled the kettle. Taking a few deep breaths, I walked back in. Thankfully they seemed to have composed themselves.
‘Have you found out what happened to them?’ I said, as I sat back down.
‘Yeah, they put a sign up in the street . . . it said everyone that was found ’as been taken to Romford Road Swimming Baths. The Rescue Services . . . they dug ’em out and took ’em there. I ’ate finking of ’em lying there in that ’orrible cold place. I just don’t know what to do. You see, me ’usband’s on the war front and I’m on me own now. We’ve got no clothes, nuffink.’ She then burst into tears again.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘You’ve enough to worry about. You tell me their names and we’ll go over and collect them for you and then we’ll sort it all out. Have you any other family or friends you can go to?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got me ’usband’s mum an’ dad not far from ’ere. I went to see ’em earlier an’ she said I can go there. Me father-in-law stopped me going t’ the baths. They ’ad to be identified, see, but he went an’ did it for me, thank the Lord. But I just can’t believe it. Me ’ole family. If it weren’t for these,’ she said, looking at her children, ‘I fink I’d do meself in, I really do.’
I leant over and took her hand. It was strange, I know, but it just seemed the natural thing to do. It felt funny holding a lady’s hand. I’d never held one before, only my mum’s and sisters’, but that was years back. I mean, you don’t get many young men of sixteen holding their mum’s hands, do you? I’d been going out with Joan for a while, but going out then meant going to the pictures or riding your bikes together and obviously I’d held her hand in the back of the pictures, but this was different.
I looked at her. ‘Please don’t say that. You’re very lucky to have these two lovely children and they’re relying on you to look after them, so you mustn’t think like that. We can help you sort this out. Now give me what details you have and, as I said, we’ll get everything sorted this afternoon.’
She looked at me; it was heartbreaking to see her so devastated and the little boy looking so bewildered.
‘Fank you, sir,’ she said, blowing her nose. Their names are Elsie and Albert Fisher an’ me Auntie is Florrie Parks an’ the ’ouse was in Ravenscroft Road.’ She then blew her nose again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘You said you’ll go an’ get ’em today, so when should I come back?’
‘Come back tomorrow around two. My Uncle Tom Cribb will be here and he’ll get things organised for the funerals. Is that OK?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ she said, standing up and heading towards the door. ‘Fank you again, sir. I feel a little bit better now I’ve spoken to you. You’ve been very kind.’ And with that I opened the door and helped her back out with the pushchair. As she went to leave she turned back. ‘Oh, I forgot to say . . . I went into the insurance people earlier an’ they said that everything was in order an’ they’d be paying for me funerals.’
‘That’s fine, don’t worry, it’ll all get sorted out, you just take care of these two,’ I said, looking at the children. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’ And off she walked, looking like she hardly had the strength to pick her feet off the floor.
Back in those days, everybody was organised and had an insurance policy to cover their funeral costs. Mothers would take them out every time a child was born into the family, as they would usually pay around a penny a week per person. It might sound odd, but mortality rates were very high back then and they always wanted to be sure that a ‘good send-off’ would be guaranteed.
Although people were incredibly poor they were also very proud and the thought of having a loved one buried in a ‘public grave’ (graves provided by the council for those too impoverished to pay for their own) would have been unthinkable.
When there was a death in the family the insurers would be informed and, generally, within a week the money for the funeral would be paid out without any aggravation. It was remarkable when you take into consideration the cost of living, wages etc. Pound for pound, funerals then were more expensive than they are today.
Tragically many families were to discover during those hard times that although mothers had been up-to-date with their children’s and husband’s insurance policies, if they died first it was quite common to find that the woman of the house had left herself off. This inevitably caused all sorts of problems for the family, who were left motherless at the same time as having to rustle up the money to pay for the burial. Some managed it but many, sadly, had to resort to burying their beloved mother in a ‘public grave’.
I walked back into the shop, sat down and thought about what had just happened. Then my mind went back to thoughts of Dad and Grandma’s words to me when I started: ‘I don’t know if you’re cut out for this, Stan. It’s a hard business especially during these times, physically as well as emotionally.’ Over the last two years I’d come to realise what they’d actually meant. Since I’d started my apprenticeship the war had been on and I’d seen sights which frankly I wished I hadn’t. I don’t know how I did it; doing a job from fourteen which even grown
men were sickened by . . . seeing things nobody should have to see.
As a very young boy everything had seemed so glamorous: the horses, carriages and clothes, even the bodies lying quietly and serenely in their coffins wrapped up in a white shroud. It never, ever, occurred to me how those bodies ended up being there or what kind of death some of them had endured, as I’d never witnessed that part of it. But now reality had arrived and my ‘childish illusions’ had been well and truly shattered.
I waited for Uncle Tom to return. He wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours but I knew we had to get to the Romford Baths as soon as we could. Just the thought of it filled me with dread.
Many public baths around the country had been requisitioned into makeshift mortuaries since the war had started; the water was drained so the bodies could be placed in the pool area on tin trays.
After a night of bombing a fair number would be pulled out of the rubble and many of them were unable to be identified as family members, next of kin or friends were not around. Maybe the raid happened in the evening, when they were out; so when the siren was heard they would quickly make their way to the nearest shelter, but were then unable to get home until the ‘all clear’ sounded. It was only when they actually got home they’d discover what had happened – like the young woman who came to me so upset.
The Rescue Services would put a notice up stating where the bodies had been taken and then some poor soul would have to go along to the baths and have the unenviable task of identifying them.
A luggage tag was placed on their big toe with details of where they’d been found and the number of the ambulance that had taken them there. After the identification process they’d then make their way to an undertaker, give the details of the deceased, and we would then do the rest.
It was an abysmal job. The stench was so strong it could be smelt from the road, but to go in there was indescribable. I dreaded being told that we had a body or bodies to collect from there.
One time we went to collect someone and a couple of undertakers from Surrey had pulled their hearse in behind us. We watched them go inside to look for the caretaker; they obviously hadn’t experienced anything like it as, after a minute or so, they quickly walked out again then bent over retching into their handkerchiefs, which they had rammed up against their mouths and noses.
Uncle Tom walked over to them and stood talking. They told him they couldn’t go back in, it was too horrifying, but they didn’t know what they were going to do, as they couldn’t return to Surrey without collecting the body.
He called me over to one side. ‘These chaps here are scared to go in there, Stan, can you believe that?’
‘Yes, Uncle, I can believe it!’ I wanted to scream. ‘Why can’t you?’
But I didn’t.
I didn’t blame those men one bit; it couldn’t get any worse than this.
‘Look at them,’ he continued. ‘All burly and acting like sodding pansies. Let’s show them how it’s done, boy . . . come on!’
With that he walks up to them. ‘We’ll go and fetch your body for you. Give us the coffin, their name, and what street they were from.’
With that, the men hurriedly lifted the coffin out of the hearse, gave us the details and, by the look of relief on their faces, I genuinely thought they were going to kiss us – they were so thankful that someone else was doing their dirty work for them.
We headed inside and, twenty minutes later, carried out the body.
The other dread we had after visiting the baths was that your clothes stank of death. It permeated into them. I’ve never known any other smell to do that, and once it was up your nose it stayed there for days afterwards, wafting up; it was sickening. When we took our suits off at the end of the day we would hang them in an outhouse all night hoping they’d get an airing. It did help, but that stench still wouldn’t go away completely.
When Uncle returned to the shop, I told him about the young woman. ‘Right, boy, we’d better get a move on then; time’s getting on and we need to get them back here as soon as we can.’
With that, he picked up his bowler hat and placed it on his head – he never went anywhere without his bowler hat. Bowler hat for general day work and top hat for funerals; I never saw him without one or the other.
We got into the van and headed off. It was now about 2.30 p.m. and still light. We only had about another hour or so of daylight as it was winter and the light was fading fast. The weather was awful – one of those dreary January nights, all murky and drizzly.
We pulled up and Uncle sent me in to check with the caretaker that it was OK for us to go in and collect the bodies. Everything was fine, so we unloaded one coffin and carried it into the baths. Just as we laid it down the air-raid siren started.
‘Sodding hell, would you believe it!’ Uncle shouted.
‘You can stay ’ere with me, Mr Cribb, but we ’ave to go into the basement . . . rules, you know,’ the caretaker said.
‘Alright, Mr Collins, it’ll save us going out looking for a shelter. Come on, Stan.’ And off he went following the caretaker with me right behind.
Just as we got down into the basement two or three bombs dropped simultaneously so close to us the building shook. At that precise moment all the lights went out – we were now in the pitch black.
‘Oh, Christ!’ the caretaker shouted. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Haven’t you got a torch?’ Uncle asked.
‘No, I bleeding haven’t. Left it at ’ome this morning. ’Ad a barney with the missus and left in a rush.’ I couldn’t see his face but you could tell by his voice he was furious.
We stood there for what seemed like an eternity, not knowing where to go or what to do, as we couldn’t see a thing, but, as luck would have it, within thirty minutes the ‘all clear’ sounded. What a relief that was, but we were still in complete darkness.
Just then a light flickers and Uncle has pulled out his cigarette lighter. The caretaker looked as white as a sheet, his eyes were like organ stops and he was shaking like a leaf. I obviously didn’t look much better, as Uncle held the flame up. ‘Bloody ’ell, you both look like ghosts! You’re a couple of nancies, I would’ve hated having either of you with me in the trenches. Well, come on, let’s get moving!’ And with that he turns and starts to climb the stairs. I was hanging onto the back of his jacket with the caretaker hanging onto mine, as we felt our way into the main mortuary area. As we got there the flame went out.
‘Sod it! Burnt me thumb,’ he yelped. I took it from him, lit it and turned to the caretaker. ‘Thanks, Mr Collins, we’ll come back tomorrow.’
Uncle turned to me and said, ‘What you on about, boy? We’re taking them now!’
Oh God, here we go again . . . don’t question the reasons why, just do it.
‘I’ve got no idea ’ow you’re going to do this, Mr Cribb, but I’ll leave it to you to sort out. I’ll be outside.’ He then turned and started to feel his way along the wall to get to the main doors.
So there we were, left in the darkness with the awful stench, looking for three bodies. We had no idea where they were and we only had the aid of a cigarette lighter to find them.
It was unbelievably eerie in there. It gave me the creeps. When I told Uncle all he said was, ‘Pull yourself together, boy, these here won’t hurt you, it’s the bastards outside you’ve got to worry about. Now, let’s get down there and get on with it.’
As he said it I broke out into a cold sweat. I could feel it running down the sides of my face and back, and I wanted to scream: ‘Please, I need to get out of here. I’m scared!’ but I couldn’t. He never seemed to take into consideration the fact that I was still a boy.
My hand was shaking as I lit the lighter, this time putting my handkerchief against the roller to stop it getting too hot, and we edged our way down the steps into the pool area. I started lighting up the feet of the corpses, trying to read the names on the tags.
It was as if I was in some hideous nightmare, waiting
to wake up screaming. Now and again I would have to put the flame out, as it was still burning my fingers even with the cloth on the lighter, and we would stand in the dark for a minute or so. As we stood there waiting, I could feel myself starting to panic. I suddenly felt claustrophobic; my breathing was becoming erratic . . . I had to get out.
‘Pull yourself together, calm down, you can do this, you can, you can,’ I kept repeating to myself.
Out of the darkness a hand grabs my ankle in a vice-like grip. I screamed, and the echo bounced all around the baths. In fact, I have never screamed so loud and long in all my life. They must have heard me in the street; my heart was jumping out of my chest. I wanted to run, but fear had frozen me to the spot. I couldn’t move. I quickly lit the lighter, but how I did so I don’t know, as my hands were shaking uncontrollably, and there he was, still with his bowler hat on, crouching down by my leg, grinning. I remember it flashing through my mind that up until that moment I wasn’t even aware he had teeth.
You know, he’d never been a man for jokes, but for some inexplicable reason he decided now was a good time to start. He scared the living daylights out of me! How I stopped myself calling him all the names under the sun I don’t know, but without a shadow of a doubt if I had cheeked him I knew I would’ve ended up in one of those tin trays.
‘Sorry, boy, couldn’t resist it!’ he laughed. As he stood up he rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, fun’s over, let’s get on with it, shall we!’
Fun, he says! I could hardly keep hold of the lighter my whole body was trembling so much, even my teeth were chattering. I didn’t even have time to compose myself as he insisted we carry on. It seemed like an eternity. At each body we bent down to inspect the tags, and the smell, for some reason, seemed even more overpowering in the dark.
An East End Farewell Page 6
