I was born in Wimbledon on the 14th July 1931 and lived at No.11 Grand Drive in Raynes Park.  We had a maid.  I remember being handed over the hedge to a neighbour because mum was expecting Iris or Sheila, both of whom were born in London.   

 

On one of my visits to Grandma and Grandpa at the “Earl of Warwick” pub they had just bought a little dog, a thoroughbred.  I so much wanted to take it out for a walk, Grandma eventually said I could as long as I didn’t go too far and not to go into Woolworths.  But I did go into Woolworths and to my horror somebody cut the lead and stole the dog.  Grandpa was so upset and they were absolutely furious with me.  I was devastated and went out looking for it until Uncle Lorri came to find me and take me home saying I was more important than the dog.  He did knock on one notorious door, which was answered by a boy who said his father was in the bath!  The police were told but they said if there was ever any chance of getting it back to go to Camden Market on Saturday, which Uncle Lorri did but didn’t find it. 

 

I can remember walking on Wimbledon Common and crossing Westminster Bridge all on my own when I was staying in the “Northumberland Arms”.  

 

Grandpa Worthington had another child, Richard Worthington - the old man’s half-brother – he was a bit younger than me.  Mum told me later that grandfather Worthington did warn her not to marry his son, Bill.  I was five years old when we moved to Windsor Drive.

 

I was 8 years old when Germany invaded Poland on 1st September 1939 and I particularly remember Sunday 3rdSeptember, the day Britain went to war.  It started out as normal for me, I was given the return bus fare and told to take the kids (Iris, Sheila and Brian) out until lunch time.   As usual, I asked them if they wanted to get the bus or walk and have an ice cream.  Well, what would you expect! I kept on at them ‘keep up, keep, up … cooome on Brian, cooome on Sheila’ as they dragged behind, often resorting to one or other on my shoulders.  Anyway, we were wandering around Cockfosters when the first siren went off. We looked up but didn’t see anything.  People opened their windows and shouted at us to go home.  A man stopped his car to ask where we lived.  He gave us a banana and took us home.  (I think it was 1 each!)

 

I remember the blackouts, constant sirens, going to a shelter on Brookside (soon got fed up with that one) or crawling under the Morrison shelter in the dining room, an awful unsightly heavy metal table put together with big bolts (designed by a man called Herbert Morrison).  Later on, we had an Anderson shelter dug in the back garden, which was smelly and damp.  I sometimes crept to the comfort of my bed and hid under the covers.

 

I was still going to school at Russell Lane, but either in the morning or the afternoon as there was a shortage of teachers due to the war effort.  On the way, scattered shrapnel littered the park so bombs were dropping pretty close. The classrooms were freezing cold and so crowded we had to sit on window sills with our coats and gloves on; we jumped up and down to keep warm.  But we did have free milk.  

 

When about ten or eleven, I remember mum and dad visiting the Northumberland Arms in the evening to borrow money from Grandfather Worthington to pay off debts.  

​

I remember the blitz.  We had no television, radio or clocks; just relied on chitchat.  I easily distinguished the sound difference between English and German planes.  The English drone was more of a continuous pitch, whilst the German’s was heavy and intermittent (God help you when it fell silent!)  It wasn’t until 1944 (the year Britain invaded France on 6th June) that we were evacuated, probably because of the sudden increase in rockets and doodlebugs. I was 12 years old. 

 

We were evacuated to the North of England (September 1943 to June 1945):   Initially to Durham (for sorting).  I was twelve years old.  At the sorting stage lone children were grouped to one side, families to the other.  I really did try to get into the children’s group for billeting out but was pulled back.  Why did I wish I was not with my own family?  My dream was that someone nice would whisk me away and spoil me.  

 

We were taken to three locations over the next ten months: Durham, Boston (a sort of camp with huts in Lincolnshire) then Tynemouth.  I loved the schools I went to with proper classrooms and desks and actual teaching, although we didn’t stay long.  It was quite an adventure however I missed nearly a year’s education!  At the camp a show was arranged to be put on to boost morale.  I wrote home to the old man to ask him to send my tap shoes which, to my surprise, he did.  The stage was in a hall in the kitchen area (where I was sent every morning with a large bottle which they filled up with tea to take back to mum).  Anyone could enter the show.  I did my tap dance and 8-year-old Sheila – always the comedienne – made everyone laugh by clambering on the stage and singing “I Want to Go Home” getting the biggest cheer of the evening.  Not politically correct today, it went something like this:

 

                                        I want to go home, I want to go home,

                                        My mother she gave me a shilling to buy a quarten of gin and a pound of pig’s fry.  

                                        My shilling has rolled down the drain, like a wandering Jew I remain.  

                                        Oh my, I don’t want to cry, I just want to go home.

 

8th May 1945 VE Day – A day my teacher Mrs Ernie said we would always remember.  Families contributed to a street party.  Mr Sizmur was one of the organisers and arranged prizes for all the children.  I was so excited.  I said to him over the garden fence ‘I wonder what I’ll get’ …  ‘Nothing for you, you’re too old.’  I was thirteen. 

 

I had to take days off school for helping at home, especially taking the twins to clinic to be weighed.  I remember mum asking about contraception, the nurse said: ‘Good gracious! A strong healthy woman like you, what are you thinking about?”  Also, when the twins were a bit older, Roy was asked his name and he replied ‘Billy Muggins’.  It was really embarrassing.  I can remember asking mum where babies came from and she said: “You learn to wash up first, my girl!”  Doctors charged 7s6d for a call out and 5s (25p!) a visit in those days but I doubt if mum had to pay.

 

The old man worked as an accountant at the Transport & General Workers’ Union.  The only book in the house was about the national transport trade union.  It was the first book I read cover to cover, much to the surprise and almost disbelief of the old man when mum told him.  Later, I borrowed annuals from my friends until they no longer trusted me to give them back in good condition.  Invariably they would get torn by my younger siblings when they got their hands on them.  Nothing was sacred in our house.

 

I went to the Lillian Baker School of Dancing when I was about twelve.  Lessons were initially held in her home at one shilling per session.  I can remember going scrumping near her house one day but a neighbour recognised me as one of the dancers and told Lily!  As the school grew, Lily had to transfer to St Mary’s Church hall on Saturday mornings.  She put on really good shows.  I think she liked me, as she arranged a party for me when I was 21.  She was a good teacher and I always enjoyed dancing.  A few years later, I was lucky enough to get the opportunity of a place on a two or three year teacher training course at Newlands College.  From there I taught at St Mary’s School in Gerrards Cross where I set up a dance club as an after-school activity for the little ones.  It proved very popular so I started an adult class which I had to give up when I retired at 60 as I could no longer use the school premises.  So I have always been grateful to Lillian Baker for teaching me what I came to love.

 

I often had to take the kids out to the park or to relatives – Grandma or Aunty Win normally.  Invariably, we bought ice cream with the fare money so there was I traipsing home carrying one little one or another.  Later on I wanted more from life and, to my shame, felt my family life was holding me back. 

 

I went to Southaw Secondary School, which was useless, and was made to leave school at the age of barely 14.  Iris saw an ad for a job in the Co-op Butchers.  I was trained to use the till.  I didn’t stay there long as the butcher kept poking me in my bits!  I think I forgave Iris and it really wasn’t worth twenty-five shillings a week. I’ll always remember my first wage packet.  I came home and put the 25s on the table.  Mum and dad went out.  When they came back mum said “we’ve just had a drink on your first wages”.  Getting up for work wasn’t easy with no clocks to go by so I stuck my head out of the window to ask the paper boy the time.  When he said “twenty past” one morning, I flew out of bed only to find I arrived at work an hour early: he meant past 7!

 

My next job was for Charrington’s coal office.  One day I saw a bike advertised for sale at 30s.  I asked if I could pay 5s a week for it.  (That’s 25p in today’s money!)  They said yes but I couldn’t take the bike until it was fully paid up (meanies!).  So for six weeks I had to walk all the way up Longmore Avenue to pay my due.  

 

One of my first real jobs was working in London for the Retail Trading Standards Association whose office was situated above Lilly & Skinner in Bond Street.  I can remember my boss, Roger Diplock, saying to me: “You’re a good office decoration, Audrey, but a bloody awful speller.”  I didn’t know at that time I was dyslexic!  He also said I was wasted and should leave home.  He gave me the confidence I needed.  

 

My biggest break came when I got a job with the airlines.  I had a lot of free time and offered to cook dinner when at home.  That didn’t last long - everyone was so demanding!  Another thing, our electricity and gas was metered so we were constantly looking for a shilling to feed it.  You can just imagine what happened to my baking when the lights went out!  Lots of little finger holes in my lovely iced cake.  

 

I remember visiting mum in Barnet General when she had a baby and thinking “poor little thing coming into this madhouse”.  Another memory is taking the twins to the clinic after Brian dangled a brick on a string from his bedroom window and it fell on one’s head.

 

When the old man fell in his usual drunken sleep, mum encouraged me to go down his pockets looking for money.  Mr Lucas was our landlord.  When he knocked for the rent mum sent me to answer the door and to tell him she was out.

 

One Christmas Eve I was ironing a skirt I’d just made.  Father came in swaying and I sniggered.  He threw a punch, I bobbed down and mum got the hit right in her nose.  It bled profusely.  The next-door neighbour was called in to diffuse the situation.  He was very touchy feely.  When he gave me a hug his arms were always tightly to my chest! There were only two men I hated: my father and Hitler.

 

Another memory: Uncle Lorri, in an act of kindness after his brother died, took me, Aunty Dora and Tommy to Jaywick Sands.  I was asked to babysit Tommy when they went out in the evening.  Aunty Dora left me a Mars bar; I couldn’t wait to fall on it as soon as they went, I was so hungry!  Uncle Lorri gave me some money to buy mum a present and I bought her some pearls.  Jaywick Sands was one of grandma’s favourite places.

 

We did have a lot of fun running wild in Oak Hill Park.  I really loved my sisters and brothers.  They were well behaved - most of the time!  And always polite.  Mum did her best in impossible circumstances and ensured we were clean and fed.  Fed?  I spent my childhood feeling hungry - but I did feel loved.

 

 

September 2018