I said
in an earlier post that I thought my non-combatant parents, both working at
office jobs in London from 1944 to 1946, had a high old time during the war,
and I think in many ways they did. As did many others.
But this
is not to diminish the hardship they experienced, the rationing, the lack of
adequate heat, the drudgery of office work, the homesickness and worry about
loved ones in peril. And even though both my parents arrived in London after
the Blitz that Ralph Yull so vividly evoked in his letter home – see last post –
they were there for the later flying bomb attacks.
V-1 Rocket in flight over London |
When we
were kids, both our parents spoke of the terror the Doodlebugs inspired. People
on the ground could hear the drone of their motors as the rockets flew towards
their targets. The engines cut out just before they exploded. So if the droning was at its loudest to your ears just before the sound stopped, you took cover.
Or if you were a cool fatalist, you carried on regardless.
If you want to hear what a V1 sounded like, accompanied by air raid sirens, click on the Play button below to hear a recording from the BBC.
My father had a couple of Doodlebug stories. One was of walking down a crowded street when a rocket engine cut out somewhere nearby. He knew he should have the sang froid to ignore it, as chances were slim he was in real danger, but he couldn’t stop himself from starting to go down. One knee almost touched the ground, he said, as he broke stride. Then he caught himself and walked on as others around him did.
The
other story, never embellished, was more chilling, about the day he happened on the scene of a
direct Doodlebug hit on a city bus. The gutters, he said, were running with
blood.
The poet Betty Smith, 1944 |
Just
recently, while sifting through documents left by my mother, I came across a slender
sheaf of mostly comic poems, typed on thin browning paper, composed,
apparently, during Betty’s time in London. Among them is this one, untitled:
Every
night I lie in bed,
And hear
strange noises overhead.
It’s not
the angels in the sky,
But
doodle-bugs a passing by.
My heart
into my mouth near sails,
Will it?
Won’t it? Pass me by.
Stay up
doodle in the sky.
With
apprehension I await,
The cut
out of its hymn of hate,
The
throbbing stops the light goes out,
Enough
to give the cat the gout,
Excitement
tense on every face,
As under
tables we all race,
Our
shins we skin, our heads we bump
And then
we hear that awful crump,
So out
we crawl like nervous wrecks,
And
strain our ears to hear the next,
Repeat
the process jerk by jerk,
Then
comes daylight, off to work.
The
lightness of tone belies the seriousness of the rocket attacks. They were at
least as effective as the conventional bombing of the Blitz, damaging or
destroying 1,127,000 structures in less than three months (compared to 1,150,000
in a year of the Blitz) and causing 22,892 casualties (compared to 92,566 in
the Blitz).
Most
poignant, I think, is the notion that residents might be terrorized all night, then
have to go into the office the next day as if nothing had happened. In some of the
pictures of my mother from this period, witness the one above, she does look haggard.
And the mundane office work must have seemed particularly surreal after a night of
terror, which is perhaps what inspired this last piece of nonsense, titled “Horrible
Examples”:
We beg
to advise you and wish to state
That
yours has arrived of recent date.
We have
it before us, its contents noted;
Herewith
enclosed are the costs we quoted.
Attached
you will find, as per your request
The
forms you wanted, and we would suggest,
Regarding
the matter and due to the fact
That up
to this moment your decisioin we’ve lacked
We hope
that you will not delay it unduly
And we beg to remain, yours very truly.
I stumbled on your blog while doing a search for a few lines of a poem. Was this Doodlebug poem written by one of your family members?
ReplyDeleteJust wondering because I just purchased a copy of it on ebay: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=350762908723
How very intriguing. As indicated in the blog post, the doodlebug poem is among several typed poems left by my mother. I had assumed all were written by her. Now I realize I have no reason for believing that, other than that they were in her possession. She was in the Royal Canadian Air Force Women's Division, stationed in London during the V1/2 rocket attacks in 1944. The typescript you purchased looks very similar to the one in my possession. I have messaged your eBay seller. Perhaps he can shed some light.
ReplyDeleteThat is fascinating. I haven't been able to find the text of the poem anywhere else online except your website - so perhaps your mother was the author. From the information on ebay this came from the personal collection of an American named Virginia Shewalter who was stationed in England at this time. If the seller has more information I'd be interested to hear about it as well.
ReplyDeleteI'm working on a film about my grandfather - who was a prisoner at the Dora concentration camp. He was forced to build components for both the V1 and V2 rockets. Here is some information about him: http://www.drsarah.org.uk/in-parliament/news-and-speeches/dojs-memorial-ceremony/1005